#muted orchestra

[nostalgjc]

i’m so in love with the music in this specific part

[jaybateman]

Depeche Mode | “Walking In My Shoes (With The BBC Concert Orchestra) [Live BBC Radio 2]”

[evren-d]

Gosh, the Bug’s Life bloopers have permanent residency in my halls of affection.

I’ll humbly submit to add movie making/BTC and director/actors commentaries. I’ve seen this movie so many times, can I get a little salt? And little pepper? And tsp. of chili flakes? Perchance to dream of some aardvark sauce?

Two things it should be illegal to make DVDs without: Bloopers and Deleted Scenes.

[burlveneer-music]

Will Gregory Moog Ensemble - The Sand Reckoner (Official Visualiser)

Will Gregory Moog Ensemble have announced details of their debut album release, Heat Ray, an album inspired by the work of Archimedes, the Greek mathematician who lived and worked in the third century BC. The album - recorded by the ensemble on analogue synthesisers, alongside the BBC National Orchestra of Wales - is set for release on vinyl, CD and download on 14 June 2024 via Mute: https://mute.ffm.to/wgme-heatray Artwork by Richard Andrews Animation by Shea McChrystal

[eternalstateofoctober]

— 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 | AMC’s IWTV

also known as ”local woman is roused to learn editing to deliver everyone this fandom classic” (the video's synced better on desktop)

transcription/video description under the cut:

[video description: a fan video/edit of amc’s ”interview with the vampire” by tumblr user @eternalstateofoctober (me!!) set to a shortened version of lenka’s ”everything at once”. the video clips are cut to the rhythm of the song and its changing lyrics. the song is catchy and upbeat with a light, bouncy rhythm and a whimsical but also slightly melancholic vibe at times. it has a steady beat with repeating piano notes and some xylophone. the video clips are muted so only the song is playing, save for a few voiceover lines and sound effects.

(instrumental intro, repeating piano notes)

the théâtre des vampires orchestra starts playing and another member checks the projector. a watermark with the username @eternalstateofoctober flashes on screen and disappears at the same time as a projector light flickers.

🎵 as sly as a fox 🎵

two clips of daniel after the trial script reveal. first he tosses the script to louis, then he pushes his glasses up and casts a hard look at an off-screen armand.

🎵 as strong as an ox 🎵

armand uses the mind gift to make the coven fall asleep at the dinner table in 2x04, voiceover of him yelling ”enough!” angrily and banging the table. table settings clattering. then lestat using the mind gift at the trial to manipulate louis’ sentence. his left ear starts bleeding. VO lestat: ”banishment...”

🎵 as fast as a hare 🎵

louis sprints at daniel in ’73, making him stumble back.

🎵 as brave as a bear 🎵

clips of young daniel being tortured by armand. first he lifts his gaze, then there’s two clips of him being slammed down by armands powers. last clip is him closing his eyes while armand holds his face. VO of daniel’s grunts and whimpers.

🎵 as free as a bird 🎵

claudia on stage as baby lu mimes opening a window made of projections happily.

🎵 as neat as a word 🎵

claudia writes in her diary in season 1, the clip has a double exposure effect with her pen moving on the page.

🎵 as quiet as a mouse 🎵

a wide shot of the sewers the children of darkness inhabit.

🎵 as big as a house 🎵

establishing shot of the théâtre des vampires building. suddenly the screen flashes black and there’s a quick flickering shot of the talamasca logo on daniel’s laptop screen and a glitching sound effect.

🎵 as mean as a wolf 🎵

close-up of santiago on stage in 2x02, he looks right at the audience seductively.

🎵 as sharp as a tooth 🎵

shots of the vamps baring their fangs. lestat ripping the priests throat out in 1x01, claudia in madeleine’s shop, louis in ’73 showing off to daniel, armand hissing at lestat in 2x03.

🎵 as deep as a bite 🎵

extreme close-up of lestat biting louis at the altar.

🎵 as dark as the night 🎵

madeleine lights a candle that illuminates her face during a power outage. she’s watched from outside her shop window by a curious claudia.

🎵 as sweet as a song 🎵

young daniel embraces armand after armand has manipulated him to accept death. armand strokes his hair and there’s armand’s calm whisper as a voiceover: ”i’ll hold you…”

🎵 as right as a wrong 🎵

claudia’s real turning. lestat looks up from an off-screen louis who’s begging on his knees. in the second clip he’s kneeling next to claudia on the floor and lifting her upper body while louis’ back is still turned to them.

🎵 as long as a road 🎵

louis’ finger taps a spot on a map in the warzone.

🎵 as ugly as a toad 🎵

the vampire bruce cocking his head.

🎵 as pretty as a picture, hanging from a fixture 🎵

lestat’s portrait hangs on the wall in the théâtre’s green room in 2x02, jumpcut to it in flames in 2x08.

🎵 strong like a family 🎵

the de pointe du lac and frenière families pose for a portrait at grace’s wedding. the clip changes to the next with the camera’s flash going off.

🎵 strong as i wanna be 🎵

VO Madeleine: ”mais j'ai survécu.” (”but i survived” in french). shots of madeleine’s past, the trial by mob. extreme close-up of her crying face, the angry crowd surrounding her, her screaming while her hair is shorn. the segment ends with her throwing an iron through her shop window where a group of locals has just painted a swastika. sound effect of glass shattering.

🎵 bright as day, as light as play 🎵

madeleine’s vision of claudia as she’s turned. claudia in a yellow dress in madeleine’s shop, smiling to the camera—at madeleine—and turning to the mirror. the whole scene basks in warm, bright afternoon light.

🎵 as hard as nails 🎵

grace looks up at a slightly off-screen louis in 1x05, a hard, difficult look. they are at louis’ fake grave at night and grace is holding a funeral bouquet.

🎵 as grand as a whale 🎵

two clips after one another. first is louis being buried alive in 2x07, a silent scream as the rocks rush to cover his face. second one is his feet stepping onto the rocks in the penthouse’s sundial room. VO old daniel: ”where’s your coffin?”

(the music quiets and slows down slightly for the next line.)

🎵 as warm as the sun 🎵

close-up of claudia burning in the sun at the trial. she is turning into ash but still looks at an off-screen lestat.

🎵 as silly as fun 🎵

several clips in rapid succession. murder family laughing at a movie theatre, them dancing together—holding hands, claudia cheering riding the sidecar of a motorcycle in paris during the théâtre’s group hunting, armand smirking wearing malek’s glasses, vamp daniel’s tv interview, him laughing at the host.

🎵 as cool as a tree 🎵

real rashid steps slightly forward, hands clasped behind his back with a neutral expression.

🎵 as scary as the sea 🎵

two clips of armand in ’73. first his eyes shake as he slams daniel down with his powers in the background, then him turning slowly—eyes wide—to face daniel that’s sitting in front of him.

🎵 as hot as fire 🎵

three clips showing fire in the show. first: daciana throwing herself into the flames, second: armand’s fire gift, him looking at a flame in his hand, third: the théâtre’s fire starting behind louis as he looks into claudia’s mirror backstage. the mirror reads ”tweedily deedily dead”.

🎵 cold as ice 🎵

louis cuts off santiago’s head, louis smirking, looking down. VO: louis’ satisfied chuckle.

🎵 sweet as sugar and everything nice 🎵

VO louis and old daniel: ”would you like a sample?” ”i’m a savory man most days.” with first a clip of armand-as-rashid’s blissful expression as louis drinks from him at the dinner table in 1x05, then three clips of sweet treats: the strawberry dessert from 1x02 being set in front of daniel, daniel taking a bite of it, then young daniel sipping his grasshopper at mary’s. the clip ends with old daniel’s hand pushing his coffee cup forward, requesting a refill.

🎵 as old as time 🎵

armand stares at a painting depicting him in the louvre, eyes wide, brows slightly furrowed, head slightly turned.

🎵 as straight as a line 🎵

the recording on daniel’s laptop flatlining, him looking at armand, armand smiling warmly at him.

🎵 as royal as a queen 🎵

lestat basks in all his king raj mardi gras costume glory, he smiles widely up at the camera positioned above his head.

🎵 as buzzed as a bee 🎵

lestat on stage in 2x03, wiggling his shoulders, smiling playfully, flipping his coat tails up and bending over for the audience.

🎵 as stealth as a tiger 🎵

estelle and celeste spying on louis and claudia in paris.

🎵 smooth as a glider 🎵

armand floats up the louvre floors as louis and dreamstat take the stairs.

🎵 pure as a melody, pure as i wanna be 🎵

first, a shot of louis and paul dancing at grace’s wedding, smiling at each other. then, a close-up of paul sitting of the roof, turning to look at an off-screen louis as the screen slowly fades to black and another watermark appears. the voiceover is paul and louis’: ”i love you, louis.” ”i love you too, baby brother.”

/end video description]

[glorious-blackout]

"I haven't encountered a single person who knows Kaizers Orchestra so I remember being thrilled finding out that @glorious-blackout knew about them a few years back! It sparked renewed interest for me!" - 🥺🥰

I'm so glad you had a great time! I took my dad with me to see them in London - he can't name a single song but has always had a fascination with Kaizers ever since I first played 'Forloveren' in the car years ago. Afterwards he said the show was in his personal Top Ten gigs he'd ever experienced, and that it was one of the few times where he was fully engrossed for the entire concert despite not understanding a word. Which is *enormous* praise considering some of the iconic acts my dad has seen live 🤯

Saw @glorious-blackout posting about seeing Kaizers Orchestra which reminded me I should too. Thought I'd look up how I went about posting about the 2022 Deep Purple show and had to laugh when I saw the tags!:

Sooo, what show are we seeing next?😆

Anyway, back to Kaizers Orchestra!

Backstory: Sweden isn't as good at recognising music from Norway as the reverse, but we used to have ZTV, sort of a swedish MTV only more pretentious meaning they didn't air only the most popular hits but also the old, the new, the obscure and even the norwegian. Here I first heard "Kontroll på kontinentet" by Kaizers Orchestra when I was idk 18, 19?

I downloaded it and put it on a mix CD that has been played at many a party in my family over the years

I haven't encountered a single person who knows Kaizers Orchestra so I remember being thrilled finding out that @glorious-blackout knew about them a few years back! It sparked renewed interest for me!

When I heard they were coming to Stockholm late February this year I started a little brainwashing campaign, sneaking a lot of Kaizers into the playlist at family gatherings. And since "Kontroll..." already is on the family soundtrack it wasn't a very hard sell - my mom, dad and bro wanted to go with me✌️

On to the show:

Felt big satisfaction that the show was sold out and evidently not being the only swede who knew about them (although there seemed to be quite a few norwegians there)

When the speakers at the venue greeted everyone welcome to tonight's show with "Keezers Orchestra" there was a collective "noooo!" and indignant scoffing from the crowd. I felt at home:)

Wise from experience I got me a band shirt before the show instead of saying I'll do it after and then... not.

Debated if I should look up any live stuff beforehand but decided to go in blind, a good choice!

Seeing a double bass on stage naturally got me all fired up (you know me!) Expected it to be switched out for a conventional bass after the first song but NO, double bass STAYED!❤❤❤

I don't know what to say about the stage show, it had oil barrels and gas masks, everything I'd expected to see and they killed it!

KONTROLL PÅ KONTINENTET!!!

Double bass solo in the solo-section was of course the best solo. He can marry me

"Hjerteknuser"❤💔

Somehow I have never heard "Die Polizei"? Or it just didn't stick with me. But it sure stuck now! The crowd singing in this final song brought tears in my eyes. And since it went on forever it wasn't hard to join in!

Couldn't help but thinking Die Polizei has major Die Mauer (Ebba Grön)-vibes, but make it norwegian with a happy ending! <-a compliment of course..

My glasses are admittedly very Thåström-tinted at the moment but after having started the day at the cinema watching the documentary about Imperiet, and then visited the swedish punk exhibition at the city museum, it was the perfect ending!

Family was also happy and thanking me for this very music-cultural day. Dad is currently posting Kaizer-videos on facebook...

The only video I filmed (because my filming suck as you can see) was the end of Die Politzei, the crowd had been singing like this for a good while!

[stitchwraith-stingers]

sorry for never shutting up about how people treat hazel but ohh my god shes my fave character atm.... i get to be mad!! she has good enough information that you can play around with headcanons freely

the only moments people wouldve brung up is when dev is in the episode, there was no reason for the episode that showed her tendancy to overthink and be emberassed over small mistakes by wishing a do-over and over again, having to realise that running away from the idea of creating a problem wont help her in the long run JUST so people could go "omg haha dev has a crush on her" i could litterly not tell you what the general concensious on most episodes are because i dont know peoples opinions on them because in general they dont discuss them beyond his scenes

fanart too, ive personally muted the dev and devzel tag and when i look up #hazel wells i want you to guess how many posts i find that arent hidden! spoiler alert its barely any of them, listen im not saying im shocked at the fact The Characters Made As A Duo are drawn as a duo, its whatever and while im not personally a fan in general i really do get the appeal, but you have to admit that at some point it gets really suspicious when the only fanart you can find in one character is only with the more popular one, over 200 fics in the hazel tag on ao3 and theres only 20! without the dev tag! (10 more then when i last checked, crazy! go read fly bird, fly now), and my main problem is is that hazel is shown to be her own person OUTSIDE of their friendship, infact wouldnt you know it shes the protagonist herself! the fact that most aus ive seen are focused on dev/dale/peri is whats most confusing to me, "oh but theyre so interesting to work with"

really! youre telling me you cant think of a fic / au idea on her own? miss "i was going to have a previous godparent who didnt listen to me at all", miss "i am very anxious and i overthink to the point where my desicions", miss "i had an encounter with my evil shadow self when i was a fairy" (shout out to fairy bound au btw, im a big fan), miss "my mom doesnt fully know how to handle children inspite of being a therapist and tells me im handling things mature so i feel like i should be", miss "with the fact that im terrified my friends are making fun of me behind my back, i didnt know how to talk to anyone and a cafetiria made me so overworried and i speak to my rocks could imply the fact that i was outcasted at a young age", miss "my brother who has been my anchor and i has taught me everything i need to know has left me and hes also struggling to adjust to everything and we were insanely close to the point where the reason this whole thing started is because of him", miss "i regularly help my dad hunt a ghost that doesnt exist but it makes him happy", miss "i am litterly friends with the coolest kid in elementary school", miss "my landlords are litterly doomsday preppers and our parents want me to get along with their werido twins", miss "i didnt even hestitate to kill myself if i had to save potatoes for humanity after i pissed off mother nature", miss 'i got called out on projecting my past bonding expiriences on my best friend by some werid demon posessing her body right infront of me' none of that makes you want to think of something about her on her own? not even a spark of an idea? its almost like you guys watched exclusively 6 episodes and watched 5 minutes out of them at most

hazel is very interesting and shows her own struggles, she likes puns and fries and rocks and anime and horror movies (and apparently mushrooms if you count that one scene), she tries to problem solve so that no one is unhappy (patty being alive so winn wasnt upset, trying to get the band and orchestra together, accidently haunting her house and wishing her dads day was extra special, trying to find a dinosaur she spontaniously teleported his own job), she has multiple episodes showing her insecurities and how she tries to hide it so she doesnt look like a bad person, but inspite of it all is a understanding person and a peacemaker and doesnt like arguments, hell shes even such good autism represntation im 99.9% sure it wasnt intentional at all

dont even get me started on the takes ive seen in the finale, listen the finale has alot to be said and it definatly wont be everyones cup of tea (i think them trying to refrence every episode felt so chaotic personally) but regarding people with the ending is still giving me a headache, "she shouldve used her wish on him" that wouldve been so boring and predicable, say what you want on what she actually used it for but i think you guys should realise that for the kid whos regressing back into his bad copium mechanisms should get to face his concequences, 'hes 10 and neglected so thats why he acted like that' and 'she doesnt need to put up with how he treats her and hold his hand and be his personal therapist' can both coexist, people being pissed that she lightheartly agreed that he fucked up when HE admitted it is crazyyy CRAZYYY (also the fact ive seen someone say 'her moms a therapist she shouldve known' ???)

this isnt even touching on "hazels other relationships like her friends and family arent developed enough so thats why ppl dont care that much" while that is a valid critism i have with the show in general i still dont think applys to what im specifically talking about to demonstrate dale has appeared in THREE episodes (four if you want to stretch it), meanwhile hazels parents have appeared more often and im barely seeing them in fanart "but dale has a backstory!" so do those two have a whole episode explaining how they met "b-but dale is interesting as a role as a villain!" the guy is barely a villain [so far atleast], but also is being a therapist and a parascienists already not an interesting enough? are you guys suddenly not able to make as much headcanons expanding apon them as you did with dale? thats the thing that confuses me the most, whats stopping you from giving random information from your head to anyone else?, (i didnt know how to word this point so hopefully this makes sense)

listen im going to say it right now MOST OF THIS IS DEFINATLY UNINTENTIONAL AND NOT EVERYONE IS DOING THIS ON PURPOSE but some of u guys might really need to uncover some biases on why you think the black girl should coddle the rich white boy when he wasnt treating her well at the time, if that makes sense

[syoddeye]

pursuit

poly 141 x reader ~1k words, lightly edited cw: chase/pursuit, human furniture continuation of spoils 2024/04/01 Update: This series is now Poly141! x transmasc!Reader.

The fireplace crackles, logs groaning in its flames. A mute servant slides narrow slats of kindling into the gaps and collects the ash. Reading in the privacy of his study after an indulgence is a languid ritual, and John leans in the seat of the tufted armchair like a lion sated. The servant continues their work in silence, with only the sound of turning pages cutting the quiet.

His eyes lift to the door seconds before the first knock falls, ending his peace abruptly. The grim face of a subordinate pokes through.

“Sir? You need to see this.”

John stares a moment before lifting his feet from the ottoman. The curled, nude man beneath his boots grunts quietly when he nudges him aside.

He allows the subordinate to bring up the security feed at his desk, one brow arched in intrigue rather than concern. He smirks as he watches a figure force themselves through a hedge. He summons his hounds with the press of a button, and one by one, they slink into his office, tails wagging at their own pace.

“Our little bird has flown the nest. Find ‘em, but do not engage lest they stray too close to the garden’s edge,” Reaching for his jacket, he pulls it on a sleeve at a time. “‘S preferable we allow them to believe they’ve slipped our grasp for now.”

With John’s instructions given, the three men race from the room. The Captain turns to the windows. If their plunder sought a game, he would indulge them.

~~

Over comms, John monitors the chase’s progress, tone detached as he saunters down the shallow steps leading from the manse to an exit of the maze. “Drive them towards the northwest corner.”

With precision timing and manipulation, John orchestrates the movements like a conductor guiding an orchestra, ensuring that every step their quarry takes is one he guides. The hollering and whooping voices of his men echo across the garden’s expanse, loud then soft—all to keep them uncertain and on edge. They’re far from being the first rabbit loose on the grounds, on the run from his dogs.

“Give them a little room,” He lopes along the outer path, then hooks into the exit, scratching at his beard. “Only tighten the lead on my command.”

He stops at a stone bench nestled within an alcove of tall brush and hedge and eases into it. A soft groan escapes him. Perhaps he overextended himself when welcoming their guest in his excitement. Clearly, next time, he’ll need to wear them out more. The fact they had the energy and strength to climb out of the window of their chambers was a miscalculation on his part. A distant shriek makes his lip curl.

He checks his watch. Any minute now.

~~

The ache of your knee and the warm track of blood are negligible, given current circumstances. The fabric is heavy, clutched in your fists, hoisted, and hitting against your calves with every step. You believe the head start will be enough. You must. You abandoned the bracelets and necklaces at the base of the wall beneath your window and tied shredded pillowcases around your bare feet.

Your heart hammers in your chest, lungs burning. After a few minutes, you skid to a halt and gulp down air. From the window, you estimated the maze was an acre and saw that it butted up against an iron fence, but it feels longer as if new paths spring up around each corner. Just as you catch your breath to continue, you hear it. Hear them.

Shouts.

Muttering a curse, you scramble onward. Although you try, it is impossible to keep quiet; whimpers and squeaks slip out as your poor makeshift feet coverings gradually rip away. The soles of your feet find every twig and pebble, and your scraped knee slows you further. Then there are the bruises that little your backside and thighs, thighs unhelpfully chafing and raw from John’s ministrations.

Your movements become more frantic as you weave through the garden, the voices—at once murmurs in your ear and distant howls beyond the shrubs—play tricks with your mind. Shadows await within the deadends and dark corners you find, morphing into figures, only to dissipate when you reel away.

A loud crunch of wood shocks you off your feet, and you hurtle into a wet patch of earth, biting your lip through. A burst of copper blooms in your mouth, but you gather your limbs up in a ball, tucking into recess on one of the living walls. Just as you retreat, the monstrous form of one of John’s men—Simon, the beast in black—stalks out from the gap you emerged from seconds before, sniffing the air like a dog. Heart in your throat, you watch him turn with a chuff, and disappear down a different passage.

You wait until his steps disappear. Cries erupt from a far corner of the grounds, and you shakily stand, trying to count the tones. One…two…

“Boo.”

A shriek rips out of you, and you stumble out of your hiding spot to take off. A deep laugh echoes behind you, and terror licks at your heels. It’s the mohawked one. The man with the teeth. MacTavish.

You must find a way out. No part of you can afford a second or third surrender. Your sides are in stitches, fisting the unwieldy drapes covering your body. Desperate, flawed math maps your footfalls, your panic-stricken mind trying to calculate not only your rough location within the maze but the routes least likely to land you in the clutches of one of John’s men.

Rounding a corner, every part of you aching, you glide clumsily to a halt. The cool mud on your feet and legs meets the warmth of your blood.

Seated upon a bench as if it is a throne, is John.

He smiles. Teeth tombstones in the dark.

“Did you have a nice run?” 

You wheel around to disappear into the garden and meet a wall of solid mass. You bounce back a step and look up. The third man grins and encloses your wrist in an ironclad fist.

What about Kyle? He usually keeps his hands to himself.

Kyle's companions loom over his shoulders. He gently turns you to face John, who’s still seated.

Steps to your left and right crunch. Surrounded on three sides.

“Let’s see if they can’t work that insolence out of your system, eh?”

[lemoncrushh]

The Opera

Summary: You and Harry can't keep your hands off each other at the opera.

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1399

A/N: A short sexy blurb from my 2016 collection.

Harry had the biggest grin on his face, his eyes dancing. You smiled back at him as you put on your earrings.

"What is it?" you finally inquired when he continued to grin at you.

"You're beautiful," he said as the color rose to your cheeks.

"You say that like you've never seen me before," you teased.

"Feels like it," he sighed. "It's been two months. I've missed you."

You turned away from the mirror then to face him. "Me too."

You looked down at your somewhat simple black dress, gripping your hands in front of you.

"Is it okay?" you asked sheepishly. "I've never been to the opera before."

Harry took a step closer to you, reaching to separate your hands and thread his fingers through yours.

"You look lovely," he declared, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, inviting his tongue into your mouth. He let out a low groan, his fingertips pressing into your hips. When he broke the kiss, his eyelids were heavy.

"We should probably get going," he muttered. You merely replied with a nod. This was going to be a long night.

You had box seats. Not only was this your first time at the opera, but you had freaking box seats. And not just any box seats, but private ones, meaning no one else was seated in the chairs behind you.

Harry's hand was on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd to find your seats. Stepping through a small alcove and then through a set of red curtains, you looked down to the massive stage, an orchestra pit below. You mouthed a "wow" as you sat down next to Harry.

When the lights went out, he took your hand, giving it a squeeze. You smiled up at him as he lifted your hand to his lips and gave it a kiss. You sat in the darkness, watching the actors on stage, though the dialogue was all sung and in Italian, so you had a hard time following the plot. But it didn't really matter. You were with Harry.

Not far along, well before it was time for intermission, you started to feel antsy in your seat. Even for having expensive box seats, there wasn't very much leg room. You adjusted yourself in your chair, stretching your legs the best you could. You had no idea how Harry's long legs could handle it, but he didn't seem to complain. Perhaps it was just the anticipation of the evening, finally being alone with Harry after two months of him being away.

When you let go of his hand because yours was starting to feel sweaty, Harry took the opportunity to put his on your leg. You bit your lip, the mildly erotic touch sending a jolt through your body. He rested it there for a while before moving it back and forth.

His palm slid up your thigh, pushing up the hem of your dress. You let out a gasp that thankfully was muted by the soprano's loud vocal. You covered Harry's hand with yours, prepared to push it down to your knee or remove it altogether, but instead, he gripped your fingers with his, sliding both of your hands up together, moving in circles.

"Harry," you whispered, not looking at him, but trying your best to focus on the stage below.

When he didn't say anything, you knew he wasn't planning on stopping. You licked your lips, starting to the feel the pounding in your veins that was your pulse. Deciding you could no longer protest, you lifted your hand and tickled a trail up the back of his to his arm. Sitting back just slightly, you opened your legs a bit to allow Harry more access. You heard a tiny low chuckle from him as he slid his hand even further up your thigh, his fingertips grazing the edge of your panties.

You swallowed hard, resting your elbow on the arm of your seat and your head on your hand. Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as Harry pushed your panties to the side, his fingers finding your clit. At that very moment, you weren't sure if you were more turned on or disappointed that you were alone in the box. Trying to pay attention to the act on stage now was futile. You still hadn't made any attempt to look at Harry, perhaps for fear that you'd crumble and lose all control when you saw his face.

When his fingers slid down and entered you, however, you let out a tiny moan, finally turning to capture his gaze. His brows were furrowed, his bottom lip between his teeth as he shook his head.

"Shit," he mouthed.

"What?" you breathed.

Harry leaned closer to whisper in your ear. "You're so fucking wet, baby."

"I know," you pouted.

Harry gave that low chuckle again before releasing his hand from you and rising from his seat.

"What are you doing?" you gasped.

"C'mere," he gestured with his head toward the curtain behind you.

You watched him disappear behind it before you pulled your dress down and stood. You could barely even stand, your legs were like jelly. Peeking through the curtain, you found him waiting on the other side in the small alcove. He immediately pulled you to him, crashing his mouth against yours.

"I've missed you so much," he groaned against your lips. "I can't wait any longer."

"But Harry, we're-"

"I don't care," he interrupted.

He surprised you by unbuttoning his trousers and pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free. If you weren't so turned on, you might have thought it ludicrous. But the warm wetness between your legs proved how badly you wanted him too.

Harry's hands pushed your dress up to your waist, his fingers hastily sliding underneath your panties again. You sucked in your lips as you tried to hold in a moan.

"Turn around," he instructed.

You obliged, turning to face the wall just as you felt his body press against yours, his hands on your hips. Pushing your panties to the side, he entered you so quickly it made your head spin. You let out a small cry, arching your back.

"You okay?" you heard him ask in your ear.

"Yes," you gulped.

"God, baby, I missed you. I missed feeling you."

"Me too."

You leaned forward, your hands pressed against the wall in front of you as Harry's thrusts quickened. The sound of singing was ringing in your ears, though it seemed far away. Harry had a tight grip on your hips, pulling you against him with each pump of his hips. It didn't take long before his breaths got louder, becoming moans of pleasure.

As he nibbled on your neck, you felt him hum against you, the vibration sending you closer to the edge.

"Oh!" you cried out.

"Yeah," Harry murmured in your hear. "Come with me, baby. I'm so close."

"Harry..."

"Fuck," he moaned. "You're so good. I'm gonna come."

His words never failed to push you closer to your peak. You cried out his name again as your orgasm ripped through you. With one more thrust, he buried himself deep, his body trembling as he released himself into you.

Your arms shook as you finally let go of the wall, reaching behind you to wrap them around Harry's neck after he pulled out. You slowly tried to catch your breath as you came down and Harry kissed your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hands sliding down your sides before enveloping you in his arms. "I just couldn't wait til we got home."

You giggled softly. "No you're not."

"What?"

"You're not sorry," you playfully scoffed, dropping his arms from around your waist.

Harry chuckled. "Alright, I'm not. That was fucking amazing."

You smiled as your straightened your dress, turning to face him while he buttoned his pants.

"Gives a new meaning to the term 'ending on a high note'."

Harry glared at you before you both burst out laughing.

"Are we staying for the rest of this?" he asked.

You shrugged, turning toward the curtain before looking at him again. Neither of you had to say a word. Taking your hand, Harry led you out of the alcove and down the stairs to the exit.

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[stevebabey]

and on the final day on august (not where i am hehe) i bring you my fic for @thefreakandthehair summer fanwork challenge! my prompt was nightswimming, its steddie (duh) and she's a baby 2.2k piece <3 | ao3

— hold my hand and tread the water

The water ebbs around his ankles gently and the ripples move across the lake surface like black slicks of ink, twinkles of moonlight catching on crests of the small waves.

Steve swallows thickly.

Why did he think this was a good idea?

It's not Lover's Lake. He knows it's not— he knows that Hawkins and all its crawling rot, through roots and beneath lakes, is miles away from him.

Steve knows that even with the gate closed, if something slipped by- somehow, he can't think of how- but it doesn't matter, if it did, it surely wouldn't be able to reach him here.

It looks an awful lot like Lover's Lake in the shadow of night.

Steve blinks harshly and curls his toes in the sand, grounding himself by burrowing his feet into the soil. The sound of lapping water was once a sound of comfort, connected to a bout of nostalgia — the sort of comfort that can only come with a routine of familiarity.

Swimming used to mean... it was the exhilaration of the dive. It was the pleasant burn in his muscles and the blaze deep in his lungs as he held his breath as long as possible, pushing the limit every time.

It was the gasp, the relief of breaking the surface, a moment of loud noise before he submerged once again, muted rushing water the only sound. It was the long and solid strokes that he carved through water with. Swimming always used to to make him feel strong.

And now... there's this new fear rooted within him.

But, hell, there's lots of things that the years of fighting and surviving the Upside Down had taken from him. Steve will be damned if he adds swimming to the list.

"—Steve?"

Eddie's voice is suddenly beside him, right in his ear, and Steve flinches, dragged abruptly from his wandering thoughts. He tears his eyes from the swirling lake surface to find the other man beside him, brown eyes searching with that glaze of concern. There's a furrow in his brows. Steve feels the warmth of his hand before it lands on his shoulder, tentative and wary.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks quietly, like speaking any louder might spook Steve more. He has this tone to his voice, the one that Steve thinks might be reserved just for him. He hasn't heard Eddie use it on anyone else. His usual loud and raucous voice, so normally used for jeering and loud heckles, completely softened.

It softens Steve every time Eddie uses it.

"We don't gotta do this tonight, if you don't wanna."

"I want to."

The words rush up his throat and stick a little on the way out. Steve clears his throat and digs his feet further into the sand.

One of his hands creeps up his chest til his fingers brush against Eddie's own hand, still holding his shoulder. He meets Eddie's gaze for a moment before an intensity seizes his chest and that recognizable lurch in his heart forces his gaze away.

That lack of courage is new too. Though, that's one thing he can't seem to blame on the Upside Down.

"It's the last one." Steve murmurs, eyes back on the lake ahead of them. Faint crickets fill the orchestra of the night around them, an occasional frog tuning in with a ribbit! Something splashes in the distance.

It is the last one. The last fear to conquer to reclaim back that piece of himself. Through out their whole silly and impromptu road-trip, they've pushed that slimy fear further and further down in Steve. Burning it away, making it smaller, til Steve was feeling bigger and better. They started in a pool, in the daylight, Eddie's open palms and soothing eyes coaxing him back into the water.

Here is the end. The last one. A lake in the night time.

Steve can feel the fear curdling in his gut, the tenseness in his muscles, every single instinct that's kept him alive for the past five years screaming at him to not get in. He feels like a house of cards, ready to topple in the slightest breeze, just drinking in the sight before him. Eddie's hand on his shoulder might be the only thing keeping him steady.

He could leave, could avoid swimming during the nighttime, could retract into himself every time that sticky fear licked up his spine— bringing back memories of vines tight around his ankle, pulling, tugging, drowning him, and— Steve clears the memory with a violent twitch, muscles jumping in their tenseness.

He's so sick of being in survival mode.

Eddie's fingers on his shoulder flex, gifting a comforting squeeze. Steve can see the chipped black polish on them in his peripheral, bare of their usual rings, prepared to swim because Eddie always gets in with him. They always swim together. God, Steve's not sure what he'd do without him.

Steve swallows again, the stone is his throat budging this time as the want surges up deep in his chest; he wants to make some goddamn new memories too.

"Can you..." He murmurs, finally turning his head to peer at Eddie beside him.

"Of course," Eddie answers his unvoiced question easily, beginning to wade into the lake a little further.

The water sloshes around his ankles, climbing up his calves, and Steve's gaze drags up with it, lingering on Eddie's milky white thighs. There's another tattoo there, a sphinx-like character, curled up and stark in it's dark colour against his pale complexion.

Steve hadn't been able to hide his staring the first time they'd swum together — a tiny bright-tiled pool in a motel, one or two states back — completely entranced by the swirling ink and the bareness of Eddie's thighs.

Eddie had caught his gawking with a smug sort of grin and ribbed him for it, tugging the fabric of his swim shorts up higher to show off the full piece. Mercifully, he didn't point out the flush it brought onto Steve's cheeks. Steve had apologised, both for his staring and for doing it in one of the more improper places, but Eddie had only given that wicked beautiful smile.

"M'used to stares, Steve." He said, not nearly as bitter as Steve thinks he's entitled to be considering the man-hunt set on him. "You don't look at me like them."

Looking at the stretch of his thigh now, tattoo partially hidden away, Steve ponders Eddie's words to keep the itch of panic at the back of his neck away. What had Eddie meant? Just how he does look at him?

Some girls like long looks, like feeling eyes raking them up and down hungrily but most of them like skirting glances, always glancing away if they've caught Steve watching. Eager glances at thighs and down chests are certainly not encouraged. It's a game of back and forth. One can't be seen to be too eager, too ravenous.

Except for, Eddie seems the complete opposite. He catches Steve's keen gaze, he spots the staring and relishes in it — like Steve's attention is something is something divine and Eddie will drink in all he can get.

It doesn't feel like it's a prize the way it did in high school, girls vying for King Steve's attention. It feels... Eddie makes it feel like something to revere.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Eddie croons, beckoning Steve into the lake and away from his distracted thoughts. He's got his hand outstretched, palm up, calloused fingers relaxed and inviting Steve to hold them with his own.

He does. He's not sure when it became a thing, holding hands — probably sometime when they upgraded from pools to rivers and lakes — but Steve's grateful for it. Eddie's fingers blanch beneath the tight grip but if it pains Eddie, he makes no move to show it on his face.

Steve grips tighter. When Eddie drifts back a step, the dark water licking an inch higher on his legs, he lets himself be pulled along. Step by step. He keeps his eyes ahead, even as the other peers down into the dark water momentarily.

Eddie gasps and a jolt of fright fires off, deep in Steve's gut. He clutches Eddie's hand tighter and Eddie's head pops up, squeezing Steve's hand back.

"Fucking chilly, is all, okay? My balls are freezing, Jesus. H. Christ."

He does this silly little hop like it's going to help the chill of the night-time lake-water. It's a funny enough sight that Steve doesn't try to stifle his shaky laughter and some of his panic melts away with it. He still doesn't look down.

Eddie scrunches his nose up and then narrows his eyes at Steve. "You're laughing now."

Steve sticks out his tongue — and bites it harshly as the water sweeps up past his waist, submerging his swimming trunks and everything below. Fucking hell, it is cold. Eddie wasn't lying.

As far as each of their swims have been — there's been six altogether, or seven if you count the high bath they took together, which Steve doesn't — this one is going smoother than what he's come to expect. There's still that prickle down his spine, like ice ghosting atop his skin, but Steve can shake it in a shiver.

The water looms higher, swallowing the plains of his stomach and Steve can feel his neck craning up, trying to get taller. Still, he takes the next step. And the next.

Suddenly, there's a brush against his leg— scaly and mucky and he knows it's not what he imagines it to be but there's no clamping down the instinct built in. His heart slams in his chest and his practiced even slow breaths transform into rapid bursts, this dread clawing deep into his gut. Steve can feel his hackles rise, knows his hand must be twisting tighter and tighter in Eddie's grip.

It all shows as a minuscule reaction on his face. Steve knows because Robin told him once—regarded him with that crinkled look once when the panic attack had crept up on him during a shift, then uttered an oh shit! once she realised what was happening.

You're too good at that. She'd told once he'd managed to calm down, head between his knees in the employee room out the back.

What?

Good at hiding it. Robin said, nudging his shoulder. He can't tell from her tone it's a good or bad thing. Maybe, it's neither. You look so calm all the time, even when you're panicking.

Eddie's come to learn the signs too. The specific pinch in his eyebrows, the twitchiness of his lips.

"Woah, woah, hey, hey," He brings the two of them closer, no longer leading them out. Eddie's dark eyes dart across his face, a wrinkle in his brow as he tries to soothe. "Just a stupid fish, nothin' to worry about, you're good."

His hands travel as he speak, shaking off Steve's tight grip to slide up his tan arms. Steve's hands shoot out, desperate to hold something, to cling to something, his big hands enveloping Eddie's wrists as the other rubs gently at his biceps. Fingers curl around the tanned skin and beg Steve closer, beginning to sink down in the water as he does.

"C'mon, you're safe." He murmurs and Steve, hanging onto tight, sinks down with him. The water climbs higher, lapping at his collarbones. Steve clings tighter, clenching up in preparation. "S'just you, me, and the fishies."

"If you think that's all that's in here, you know even less about lakes than I thought," Steve grits out.

"Shit, really?" Eddie asks. Then after another moment, "You think there's crocs in here?"

"You didn't even check?"

Eddie's grin rivals the moonlight, cheeky and delighted. "Course I did," Then he scoffs dramatically, tossing his head back. Some of his hair hits the water with a splash. "Can't believe you don't trust me at all, after all this time together."

A sly smile fights to reach Steve's face; he lets it win. His panic isn't dissolved completely, just lingering in the back— but it's been beat out by his interest in conversation with Eddie, in the strange flirt they keep seeming to do.

"I don't have any trust in you at all since you picked Motel Evergreen and—"

His words get smushed beneath Eddie's palm, warm and soft against his mouth, as the other boy narrows his eyes. "Shut your pretty mouth, Steve. You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

Even as he threatens, Eddie's eyes light with a mirth and there's that glorious grin on his face and oh god, Steve wants to kiss him.

Like a vacuum, the panic sucks out of him in a single moment as the tide turns and his nerves turn to that. Fuck. Eddie's hand slips from his face, nervous he's gotten too close, too touchy. And, well, Steve's always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he says;

"Make me."

Something glitters across Eddie's face, a bewilderment dipped with glee. For a moment, his expression shutters as he tries to comprehend what's been said. What's been offered.

He lands on an astute, "What?"

Steve sinks into the lake and kicks off the bottom, water swishing as he starts to tread water. His feet kick and he has half a mind to spray Eddie with a face full of icy lake water but he's got that doe-eyed exuberance that Steve adores, like he's daring to let himself believe what Steve's saying.

So, instead Steve holds his hand out. He treads the water and says, "I said, make me."

Eddie doesn't waste another second.

[vapyofthewind]

Musical Critters au

Hi! Here's my Au called the Musical Critters. There will also be a Nightmare Critter version of this au soon so stay tuned!

Here are the characters and info:

Musical Critters are A group of friends who turned the world upside down with their music. Each member is distinct, and not all music is equal. Their main goal is to bring smiles with their music!

Their rival group are the Tragedy Critters.

1st member: Dogtone

DogTone prefers to hear than to compose, he is the one who helps his friends with composing music, he has a lil bit of knowledge on almost every area. Though being completely average on any kind of composing activities. He is knowledgeable enough to give his criticism to help others improve though. The Musical Critters call him their leader.

2nd member: Sonacat

Sonacat doesn't sing. He just plays instruments. His favorite are the flutes. Sonacat is mute, but is very good with his hearing, being able to do extremely well on his job. He is a bit distant from the other Musical Critters. But still joins them for festivals sometimes.

3rd member: Tunne Tunnephant

Tunne Tunnephant is extremely good on his job. He knows exactly when there's something wrong on his melody, and is the best one at music theory out of the group. If anyone needs help with composing, Tunne is the hand you need! Though, sucking a bit at actually playing the instruments.

4th member: Happy Harpsichord

Happy Harpsichord is good at the piano/keyboard, but doesn't let it fool you, she doesn't play classical music. Her main focus is to make the songs sound as happy and funky as possible. Normally she plays those at children's parties. Sometimes she gets the Critters tired and not sleeping because she's playing it past 12 am. She truly never stops playing sometimes.

5th member: Cello Cellobear

Cello Cellobear, as the name says, plays the Cello. Her songs are normally love-based, calm and romantic. Normally she plays on ballroom parties, and everyone seems to enjoy her songs. Often being called to play on Orchestras. She's very kind torwards the other Critters and often helping them to play the instruments sometimes.

6th member: Classicorn

Classicorn only plays classical music. Though her doors are open to any kind of music, she mainly focus on classical music. But she's very good at it. She never stops composing, at a point where her room is just full of sheet paper full of notes. Her and Tunne are the ones who compose songs for the group. She is very creative with her songs, finding lots of different ways to play them, but still sounding like classical music.

7th member: Pitchy Piggy

Pitchy Piggy is the singer of the group. Her voice is considered to be one of the bests on the world. She sings on Operas, and got more fame than any other of the critters at this point. When she's stressed, all she does is sing. Often the other critters ask her to Sing the songs they created.

8th member: Funky Frizzle

Funky Frizzle LOVES funky music. He just loves dancing to funky beats. His songs are extremely funky, and normally are playing on the streets. He also knows how to beatbox, and how to breakdance. He calls his style the "coolest to ever exist".

[superstarz9]

Ya’ll fw a couple MORE Mr. Puzzles hcs?

Cause I got them :}

He was gifted the hat by his mom. It’s a permanent part of him with how much he’s worn it.

He gets it, and won’t say anything about it, but he hates it when he regarded as just the scary “tv” head guy. He’s much more than a pretty screen, people!

The pants are custom made and he has like 20 pairs. He also has several pairs of his shirt and vest.

Will change the second there’s a spot on his clothes. He needs to remain as pristine as possible.

If he wasn’t a workoholic, he’d beat all the moms at candy crush. He’d try to be a literal god at candy crush, and would honestly buy extra lives if he was furious with how the match went and he ran out.

Plays computer solitaire to distract himself when the ratings aren’t good or he needs a mental reset.

Adding to these two, since he has computer elements in his brain (probably), he can probably predict where the game is going to go. The older the console, the easier it is.

He’d be a god at minesweeper.

Does not and will not swear no matter how bad it gets.

If he goes to a concert, he’ll just be doing the equivalent of maladaptive daydreaming the whole time, planning out shows and movies for the songs

Loves the orchestra. He loves movie scores and would totally go to those events where there’s an orchestra playing the soundtrack live as the movie plays.

He’ll whine about not having friends or being able to talk to people but he will refuse to talk to anyone in public, going so far as to mute anyone who tries speaking with him. If he’s at an event and someone tries sparking a conversation with him, he’ll look away awkwardly and reply with “uh huh, yep, oh wow,” and so on until they leave. In a relationship, you could introduce him to people but he’s still be the same unless you were apart of the conversation.

Loves movie/show trivia but it’s a double-edge sword. If you take him on a date to a bar for movie trivia night, he’ll have fun and get everything right (and infodump a lot) but a question will pop up and the official answer will be wrong and Mr. Puzzles will just go ballistic.

Canonically has hammer-space abilities in the shows and can pull out anything he needs. Need a first-aid kit? Got it right here. Emergency costume? Has your size in multiple colours to choose. Someone pissed you off? Just say when and he’ll have something ready.

He doesn’t have proper heating in the studio(since he doesn’t need it) and the place is freezing when there’s the slightest breeze outside.

He uses different colognes and even used febreze a few times to smell his best, but he perpetually smells like cigarettes

He kins spongebob.

Technically canon but he’s an entrepreneur, and has multiple businesses (a tech company based on the keyboard from it’s gotta be perfect, selling the showgrounds). He also phrases puzzlevision as his “latest business venture,” in the movie’s teaser. He bounced between different businessed to earn enough money to buy the studio and the equipment he’d need.

With that being said, he’s unintentionally a con artist. Though he tries to have a somewhat clean business, he cuts corners often to get the products out sooner or doesn’t perform proper safety protocol. He doesn’t really care, though, as his main goal was and is Puzzlevision. He pretty much stopped the second he found the smg4 crew.

Terrible at art. He tries, but not even you can hold back your laugh if you see his art.

If he hasn’t slept for a while his voice is warped and a little glitched.

I forgot if I already posted this but his underpants are so those heart boxers but instead of hearts they’re stars.

So real quick, I just wanted to say that ONE OF MY HEADCANONS HAS BE CONFIRMED LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! It is now confirmed that Mr. Puzzles CAN speak multiple languages, but still needs subtitles. God, I love being right /j

Fr tho, it’s really awesome having him back so soon. Maybe a little early, but I’m not complaining lol. From the sounds of it, he’ll be a reoccurring villain like SMG3 used to be, which I’m honestly relieved by. It’ll be rlly refreshing having a silly antagonist again honestly. I’m looking forward to seeing more of this fricken nerd lol

Also if you guys have any suggestions or requests please let me know! Questions and comments are also appreciated! Thanks and have a great day!

[thexmistress]

𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

ꨄ𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐱 𝐘/𝐍 𝐱 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 ꨄ Bridgerton AU

𝟎𝟎. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ➪ 01 (coming soon) 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠

Your breath started to get shallow as you could feel the heat creep up behind your neck. Champagne toast and soft music from a live orchestra band is playing through your ears. But they’re all getting muted out by your blaring heartbeat. You know if you ignore it any longer it’ll just get worse.

It won’t stop.

He won’t stop.

Is this God way of making fun of you? Or is this punishment you get for indulging in such atrocious sin. Let’s just focus on the task at hand you think to yourself as you robotically laugh on cue with the group you’re entangled in.

A hand touches you on your lower back making your breath hitch, almost forgetting what the conversation was pertaining of. Your gaze travels to the right of you and you smiled at your fiancé. Oh your sweet fiancé. A soul that could harm no fly. And yet here you are soulless and your eyes began to tear up just a little that your fiancé could notice causing him to excuse the both of you from the other couple. Always so considerate. But for the wrong person.

Your fiancé’s attempt at consoling your unknown wave of sadness were being drowned out from the thoughts that were harboring in your head and he figured giving you some alone time would do good as he went back to occupy more acquaintances. Finally you could breath, being near him just felt suffocating especially when you have nowhere to go except to be face to face with your guilt. Placing your palm on your forehead you began to feel another source of emotion coming forth, contempt. If only you weren’t a terrible person, than maybe… maybe you and Nanami could be happy. If only you never met him.

You felt a tear escape your eye as you’re looking out in the distance. The air outside being chilly and with there being no chairs outside on the balcony all you could do was grip the railing tightly as you glare at the world in front of you but the glare doesn’t last long because you can’t even blame nobody but yourself. You catch yourself looking down.

‘Nanami deserves to be with someone that doesn’t have issues like I do… he deserves someone that can actually love him right.’ Your grip on the rail tightens turning your knuckles white.

“Feeling lonely?” A voice called out from behind you.

Your body stills. Your grip loosens. Oh and your heartbeat. It’s almost like it dropped to your stomach… or more like your ass. Either way, you were scared shitless. You huff as you turn around and for the first time you acknowledge him, for the first time of the night your eyes meet his but

He hates how they look at him with regret.

“I saw you out here and just wanted to speak to you,” he sounded careful, as if he was approaching a baby deer that could run away at any moment but he was tired of her running away.

She was like a moth, and he, a flame that she only travel to at night

‘Oh, how cruel she has been to me.’

“Well”, she straightens her posture and holds her head high as she locks her hands, her light blue dress shimmering under the moonlight causing her jewelry to sparkle…. Which made her dark brown eyes seem to pop out more….

‘But oh how beautiful is she.’

She clears her throat as she catches him staring at her because if he continues to look at her with those eyes she might not be able to restrain herself for too long. She continues, “What is it that you would like to discuss?” Her tone was sickly formal it could make him puke.

He takes a step closer to her, “I have been trying to reach you for months, I have sent over a dozen different letters and waiting day after day for a response and I received none..,” your gaze travel down to the floor as you could already feel the shame rising from your feet. He pressed on walking closer to you almost at a arms length away he stares down at your avoiding gaze and continues,

“and yet… and yet I am standing confused because I thought we were….,” he pauses as he tries to control his breathing and you could feel the tears stinging your eyes once again.

He gets dangerously close to you, his chest touching yours. Your gaze from the floor being interrupted when you feel him place a hand on your cheek controlling where your eyes land on and it was the most heartbreaking sight you could see.

A man with a look of betrayal, “I am confused,” he whispers as his eyes never breaks contact with yours, “because the last time I heard your voice you were telling me you love me while I was in between your thighs,” your face flushes as you try to look down but his hand stops you forcing you to look at him. His grip on your chin starting to hurt,

“And I come back home to see you are to get married?”

The tension was so thick you were afraid to swallow in fear of choking, you looked at him with guilt written on your face and he hated it. He hated how you cut him off so easily, like he was nothing, like he didn’t mean nothing to you. His gaze was burning holes through you and you began to feel scared as he looked down at your neck and his hand subconsciously traveling to it squeezing as he walked you backwards til your back was touching the railing.

Your breathing slowly picking up as he looks at you with such passion, such hurt, such anger. Your lips trembled, “Sukuna, I am-“ your sentence being cut off by a forceful kiss. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you could only pray nobody from the inside of the party was watching or knew it was you, Rumors of the town spread fast and you couldn’t afford to lose everything you worked for over this. His hand still being on your neck tightens more when he noticed the kiss not being reciprocated causing you to cry out as one of your hands began to frantically grab at his hand while the other try to push his face away.

You tried to keep your pleas quiet, trying to not draw attention to the assault that is happening on the balcony. Half of you were hoping someone sees and help you but the other half is hoping no one catches you to save yourself the trouble.

Your resistance seems to only do nothing but irritate Sukuna more causing him to using the other hand to wrap around your neck as his force bend you backwards over the rail a bit. Your movements halted due to fear of falling over and your hands instinctively went to his hands praying he doesn’t just pushes you over. You looked at him, tears in your eyes, not wanting to provoke him anymore.

“S-Sukuna.” The tremble in your voice causing him to snap out of his thoughts as he quickly let you go but keeps you tapped between him and the railing. Both his arms on the side of you, keeping you close to him. You couldn’t help but to look at him and vice versa, you both were soaking up as much time being close to each other as you could. He needed to memorize the shape of your eyes, the shape of your nose, and the way your lips naturally pout

“Does he make you happy?” He questions without apologizing for his recent action, ‘he never does’ you reminded yourself.’ He knows you’re not marrying a wealthy duke for happiness. You’re marrying him because he can’t give you the one thing you need for yourself.

A better living.

And Sukuna knows being a servant would not be enough to sustain the both of you.

The moment he saw you tonight while he was passing out drinks to the party guest he knew then why you weren’t writing back to him. He purposely served drinks to you and your fiancé just to get a better look at the rings you two sported. Half of Sukuna is able to understand why you did what you did… but the other half really wants to hate you for it. He stares at you waiting for you to answer which you hesitantly shrug your shoulders, not knowing the answer for yourself.

He leans closer to you and he gives you a taunting look of pity that’s accompanied by a smirk,

“How tragic, you became the same people you once told me you hated. I hope it’s worth it.”

He pulls away the cold night air replacing the warmth his body provided and made his way back inside without even a second glance back.

His back being the last of Sukuna you would see for the rest of the night. You staid back for a few minutes trying to compose yourself and stop the tears from ruining your makeup even further. Fingers wiping the corner of your eyes as you gaze upward toward the sky to prevent the tears from falling down… you painfully breathed out arms falling to your side as you turned to face the railing on the left of you.

‘He should’ve pushed me over.’

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Sinfully Delicious - An EZ Reyes/Reader Smut Short.

I was feeling a certain way about EZ all day, so now you can, too! Especially since people say there isn't enough in the way of stories about him out there, yet he remains one of my least reacted with smut subjects?! Anyway, hot filth below, so go enjoy!

Words - 836

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

EZ Reyes. He’s the only man who has ever had such a profound effect upon you, that just looking at him ignites your arousal. You can feel your cunt fluttering with the longing for him, to feel him, your skin craving the heat of his against it.

When you find yourself falling into fantasies, your body responds, just the very thought of him inside you making you wet, your inner walls aching, needing to feel his cock pushing into you deep.  

When you finally get him, you almost don’t know how to react, though. With your fantasy right there before you, kisses of scorching heat landing upon your mouth and his hand gliding up your bare leg, your brain goes to static completely.  

“Fuck,” he grunts, reaching the drenched fabric of your underwear. “You’re absolutely soaking.” His words are delivered on a hungry grunt, gently biting your lower lip with a groan, his fingertips fighting past the sodden garment to stroke your folds. “God, that feels so good and It’s only my fingers."

His touch glides over your clit, and you buck into his hand, gasping, EZ smiling against your lips. “That feel nice, beautiful? Yeah, is that how you want me to touch you, play with this pretty little clit until you come hard for me, hmm? Or do you need something inside of you?” His words have you mindless, only capable of using sounds, and he knows it, knows he’s winding you tightly. “Maybe I should give you both, huh?”  

Pushing you back against the counter he has you sitting upon, he pulls off your undies, lowering his head to your heat, his fingers pushing inside you as his tongue begins to lay licks over your aching bud, his breaths hot and sharp against you. “God, you taste amazing. So fucking sweet.”  

It burns golden through you, each lick firming, his fingers rooting deep as your cunt streams over them, his lips wrapping to suck upon you.  

“Oh, please don’t stop! Fuck, that feels so good!”  

He looks up at you, eyes gleaming. “Finally found your voice, huh? That’s good, cuz’ I’m all set to hear you wail pretty for me, beautiful.” When he sucks on you again, you do, your voice breaking on a cry, the lewd sounds of him feasting on your clit filling the air, peppered by his grunts. The squelch of his fingers pounding into your pussy overtakes the other noises, the erotic orchestra loudening, your nails dug into his thick shoulders as you mewl, your hips shaking violently.

He’s better than you ever could have dreamed of. 

“Fuck, I'm so fucking hard, baby. Let me give you my dick, right now. I gotta be in you,” he pants, the desire in his eyes meeting yours as you pull your dress and bra off, EZ shedding the rest of his clothes. A cock of impressive size bobs free of his jeans, the bunched fabric kicked from his ankles along with his white boxers.  

“Yeah,” you gasp, reaching for him, steering him to your streaming opening. “I need to have you in me just as badly.” He pushes, and with one fluid thrust, he’s filling you, your cry muted by his mouth, his hands grasping your thighs as you draw your knees up, that hot, veiny hardness inching into you deeper. His eyes fall down, your gaze following, watching at how the liquid silk of your cunt bathes his cock, glossing the dark skin, glinting over each ridge before it vanishes within you again.  

“Like how that big dick feels all up in you deep, querida? Fuck, you feel so good.” Once again, he has you rendered mindless, his mouth claiming yours in kisses gilded in honey and embers, his rhythm exquisite, giving you exactly what you need.

He drags your walls slow and hard, sparks scraping, the fill of him mind-melting as you clutch at his muscles, the chiselled bulk of him hotter than you could ever imagine.  

Adding speed, he meets your need with keen thrusts, filling you wholly, glimmers shooting through you as his hips rut you with force, mouth moving to kiss a constellation over your neck. He hits you at every angle and depth, so deep you feel as if galaxies are collapsing and igniting again within you, pleasure bursting over your nerves as you cry out ferally.  

“Come on, baby,” he pants, tongue swirling with yours, his nails digging into your flesh. “Let me feel this pretty little cunt come around me. Yeah, that’s it. Come all over my dick.”  

He fucks you in brutal frenzy, his trailer beginning to shake with the force of it, your nails clawing at his back as frost chills your blood, only for the flames of your undoing to melt it as your orgasm races through you. He twitches, teeth clamping onto your neck, spilling hot and deep within your fluttering walls, his groan all smoke and grit.  

How sinfully delicious it is, when fantasy lives up to reality.  

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

It was damp.

The wind blew her stomach into a hollow carcass, rib cage like thin and lonely bones in the desert. A limp, dead glow from the anglerfish took the place of any twinkling stars, and two fish circled her lighthouse in a silent and eternal dance.

Gem shivered and allowed a fixed smile to materialise.

She could feel it, tingling in her bones every time she stepped on a dock or flicked out a rod, running through her in unsteady cracks that spread into flashes.

Electricity and water didn’t mix. Rather, they mixed too well, and she had a feeling she was the conductor of this jumbled orchestra.

Her skin felt numb, night air stinging her. Even Grian had advised her against staying up for nights on end, at least not to the point where her flesh felt like ice even in broad daylight. And the man himself had casted his rod thousands of times in just weeks.

She had to admit it was taking its toll on her.

Trembling, Gem grabbed her rod, moving methodically, like she was the dead left alive. Her heart rumbled around, refusing to give her relief. She felt suffocated. Need air.

Need water.

She gasped, and clung onto the railing to stabilise herself, lungs twisting in pain. Gem grabbed the canteen at her side and exhaled in frustration after finding it empty.

Something lurking inside, spurring her on made her lean over the side of the boat and scoop up the seawater, bringing the canteen to her mouth in one fluid motion, before gulping the whole thing down. It didn’t taste salty. Just refreshing.

Um. Okay.

The air was cold.

Gem forced herself to relax and began to pull up the net, the seawater that dampened the ropes warming her hands. The water sloshed and creaked around the hull.

There was a sudden splash a few feet away, and she startled, watching the spot carefully. A purposefully moving shade rippled in the waves and disappeared.

She’d been seeing more of those recently, though she wasn’t sure if it was just sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations, or a trick of the dark. Maybe it was both.

Gem gripped the sword at her waist, waiting for any signs of disturbance.

The clouds creeped across the horizon.

Silence. Nothing but the ocean glinting under the muted moonlight.

A minute passed, then another. She started to relax. Maybe the fishing really was just getting to her head—

—was what she was thinking, as something, some thing’s gaping jaw revealed too many teeth growing from slimy gums, grey and green and every other colour on the spectrum and beyond fading into an abyss that threatened to consume. She couldn’t see anything, blindness taking over her, erasing everything that ever existed.

Gem bit her tongue so hard she tasted iron. Hands shaking, she barely managed to fumble her sword out and blindly swung it, shutting her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see anything as she died.

The thing growled, and Gem’s feet were glued to the deck.

Silence hung in the air, time agonisingly ticking.

Then there was a low swish, a shake, a splash, and then nothing.

A soft drizzle started, pattering onto the water’s surface and settling on her shoulders.

Gem forced herself to pry her eyes open. The water crinkled innocently at her, and somehow, she had the feeling she’d been let go.

(For now.)

The ocean rocked beneath her, and not too far away, lightning struck.

[circledemptiness]

Can't Get You Out Of My Head – Chapter 1

Fandom: Batman (Arkham Knight) Pairing: Edward Nigma (The Riddler) x Reader Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: Angst, Romance

Locked away in Arkham Asylum, the ghost of your complicated relationship with the Riddler still torments you –until an unforeseen reunion gives you the chance to exorcise your past.

✦ Chapter index ✦ Read on AO3

Hey Eddie, you’ve been inside my mind an awful lot, lately.

Your eyes open painfully as you emerge from a restless slumber. It isn’t the shy sun that woke you up, but the inmates screaming bloody murder at the top of their lungs, the guards shouting back threats and orders, banging against the crappy cell walls to scare the lunatics away. You sigh deeply, a tired sound of defeat, as you massage your temples and swallow thickly, desperate for a corner of peace. But there isn’t much to look at or hold onto in your cramped, filthy cell, devoured by rust and humidity.

The hand that was rubbing soothing circles on your forehead falls heavily onto the nasty, uncomfortable mattress. The familiar knot in your throat, which once burned and made silent tears roll down your cheeks, is merely uncomfortable now; you think that people must be right in the end –time must heal all wounds. Or something like that. Perhaps you’ve simply become numb to the utter hell that is Arkham Asylum. After all, you’ve been locked in here for the past eight months. Would be sad if you hadn’t gotten used to this new normal by now.

Breakfast, like every damn morning, has a rancid aftertaste of nightmare. It marks yet another day stuck in this shithole, surrounded by poor bastards who are either brain-dead or wish they were. Drawing aimless shapes with your spoon in your porridge, you glance at the other inmates in the cafeteria. There are the difficult ones, the ones who bite hard and yell even louder —that is, until a guard tases them, beats them, or puts them in solitary; there are the overmedicated ones, who are nothing but the shell of the person they once were, thanks to the chemicals pumped into their system, drooling over themselves and essentially turned mute; and there are the quiet ones who just hope to serve their time without attracting attention, without getting into trouble, fading into the cold walls. You belong to the latter group.

Once you’re done with your quick and disappointing breakfast, which you’re not entirely sure isn’t cardboard, you get rid of your tray and promptly retreat to your cell, under the curious or apathetic gazes of the other inmates. Your fingertips graze the soot-covered walls as you close your eyes, trying to escape to a world far away from Arkham –a world you know all too well. Clunking noises of machinery and electronic orchestras flood your memories, while toxic green lights flash behind your eyelids, replacing the screams and general chaos all around; you hum softly, letting your mind wander freely through familiar visions of the past.

Hey Eddie, I’ve been thinking about you and I a lot.

Your bed creaks infernally loudly as your body falls onto it, lethargic and empty, stripped of all life and desire. Rolling onto your side, you mechanically pull your knees to your chest, burying your head in the cocoon you've created, holding your fatigued body. Deep breaths.

Every day gets better, you convince yourself; you have to, or you'll lose more than just your freedom in this rotten place. Despite your most valiant efforts not to teeter on the edge of insanity, there are always days like today when bitterness takes over, leaving something sour in your mouth –tastes like regrets and shameful memories of him.

Would be so much easier if you hated him, but you know that isn't true. Not when you're fighting so hard to remember him, remember the features of his face that time has dulled. Memories of him come in flashes, and burn like them, too. Your mind seems to have done a spectacular job of erasing him, erasing everything about him that hurts. But your heart resists, stubbornly refusing to let go. A voracious passion that stirs your innards unpleasantly, like a sickness, a plague that nothing can cure.

A loud, yet friendly knock on your door snaps you back to the grim reality, pulling you out of your distressed episode. You shift in bed, grunting at the unsolicited visitor as you drag your body to the door, rubbing your bright, tear-filled eyes on the sleeve of your beige facility shirt. Another inmate greets you with a meek smile, leaning against the metallic frame. His name is Dennis, a broad, tall man, who you can never quite tell if he's "fully there" anymore. His voice has a sing-song quality, much too cheerful for your gloomy mood.

"Wanna watch TV? Better than spending the day sulking, or what?" he snorts.

You nod. Yeah, yeah, you want to watch the damn TV. Why not.

Hey Eddie, I can’t get you out of my head, you know.

You absentmindedly watch the dusty screen in the hobby room, surrounded by other companions huddled in front of the idiotic romcom. Some of them laugh far too loudly at a joke from last decade, and even Dennis seems amused beyond reason. Nice distraction, you suppose; too bad it isn’t nearly good enough to truly pull you out of your train of thought –or really, make you laugh. But wait, there’s a romantic scene now. The lunatics whistle and coo with "aww"s and "oww"s as the characters kiss and embrace, and it makes you feel funny, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. You cross your arms over your chest and frown as something tingles in a special part of your heart, like it’s piercing through you.

Images flash through your mind, as if someone is pinching your brain at strategic points, fueled by a cruel need to torment you. Pain shoots down to your stomach, tying a knot so tightly that you swear something’s going to burst in your guts, spilling its contents onto the damn plastic chair. Each heartbeat stings, feeling like someone’s driving a nail into your bones, and yet you don’t scream; you merely endure the sharp memories that now feel like insults.

You become an unwilling spectator of a movie you wish you could forget entirely. Can almost feel his hands caressing the back of your neck. His adoring gaze silently pleading with you. The taste of his chapped lips.

You look down at your feet. Dennis nudges your elbow and offers you one of his trademark dead-inside smiles, and you nod, returning a soft grin. Fucking Dennis.

The pain doesn’t stop. That feeling, it burns your throat, closing it to the point where it’s nearly impossible to swallow. You can’t quite describe the precise nature of the torrent of emotions flooding through you –a filthy mix of sadness, regret, spite, and fury. Feels like they grow in intensity and violence the longer you let them fester. Digging your fingernails into your forearms, you hold yourself until your knuckles turn white, half-moons carved into your skin.

There’s a static noise in your brain now as you gaze far too intently at the once-white, now greyish wall in front of you. There’s a stain on the wall, probably from an insect that has been smashed not so terribly long ago. It doesn’t even look all that wrong, with all the filth surrounding it –surrounding you. Probably how you feel too, right now. An insect smashed against the wall. That’s how it all started anyway, isn’t it? Eight months ago.

Hey Eddie, you still haunt me.

You witnessed the rise and fall of the Riddler. His brilliant intellect shining through impeccably crafted designs, each cunning scheme infused with a passion that only he possessed. You also observed his sanity regressing to the most miserable depths of delusion, nurtured by an ardent hatred and an insatiable desire for revenge. And somewhere right in the middle, you were there.

Once his nameless assistant, you poured your sweat and blood into his cause –a cause you somewhat believed in. Not so much in the chaos and violence he spread, but in the exhilarating thrill of being so close to his glory. It was addictive.

To you, he appeared as an angel made of light, a deity among the mediocre plebeians, and you were merely a mortal, worshiping him reverently if it meant catching a glimpse of his triumphant smile, witnessing his success, and basking in all his magnificence. You lived for his design –perhaps you lived for him, really; after all, you always felt like an empty shell, forever lacking purpose in your life.

You still can’t pinpoint the exact moment you became aware of your own feelings, but you do remember the intensity of your passion for him, how it burned inside you. As a result, quite sadly, you excused his constant moodiness and frustrated insults, glossing over his explosive anger and unwelcome ruthlessness. You never really did anything to deserve such treatment, but, truthfully, a single triumphant smile from him was all it took to make you forget everything else. The sparkles in his emerald eyes kept you from leaving, even though you considered it quite frequently. 

Surprisingly, over time, he even grew accustomed to your presence, visibly appreciated your patience. You were no longer just a nameless, burdensome assistant. Most importantly, he loved that you loved him. Your balmy and encouraging words, along with your compliance and submissive nature, filled a void he desperately tried to conceal and ignore –a deep-rooted illness that plagued him. Your love was nurturing, your love was safe, your love was unconditional.

Progressively, almost insidiously, the boundaries of your once strictly professional relationship became unclear and undefined. Pet names were occasionally exchanged, a chaste touch sometimes concluded the day, and deeper, more intimate conversations became less and less unusual. This only fueled the ever-growing, ferocious fire burning inside you, and although you remained starved for more, you suspected (well, hoped, really) that he felt the same.

One fateful night would forever alter the nature of your relationship –or so you thought. You can still recall the infernal noise of machinery growling and screeching in the iron hell of his hideout, vivid green lights glaring against the walls and casting strange silhouettes, while steam hissed from heavy pipes like devilish snakes. In the center of this almost arena-like space stood a terrifying giant of metal –a golem designed to assure Edward’s triumph and crush his mediocre, insufferable caped opponent.

Edward screamed as his creation came to life, a raw yell of success, primal and visceral in essence, expressing all his excitement, hard work, and furious desire for revenge. Finally, it was complete –the ultimate weapon that would surely lead him to victory. And you were standing right next to him, bearing witness to this moment in history, your heart racing so frantically in your chest that it felt like it might explode.

But what truly pushes you over the edge is the way he looked at you –with the brightest eyes, two emeralds glowing in the dim, iron-clad room. His gaze, so intense and almost childlike in its essence, conveyed more than words ever could. And when he smiled at you, wide and full of teeth, a smile so pure and honest, you felt it deep in your core: there was no appropriate response, nothing that could capture the moment. Words have become utterly meaningless.

It happened almost organically, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In one fluid motion, you moved toward his enthralled form, your hands reaching up to cup his face. Before he could react, you pulled him into a kiss –tender and chaste, yet it only felt natural. For a moment, surprise froze him in place, his eyes wide and blinking owlishly, but then you felt him relax in your embrace. One arm snaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he kissed you back with the unrestrained passion of the emotionally starved man that he was.

His chapped lips tasted of dirt and sweat, the remnants of days spent in hard labor; his scent was just as raw –pungent and animalistic. You wish you could call it repulsive, but it really was the exact opposite; every part of him ignited a fire deep behind your navel, a heat you never knew you could feel, and couldn’t have imagined needing so intensely –like water to drink or air to breathe.

Swallowing each other’s gasps, sharing the same breath, you became a single creature of desire and affection. You lost yourself in him, savoring the warmth of his hand as it roamed over your back –both pulling you closer and exploring the softness of your skin beneath your shirt, while his other hand gripped the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in your hair, as if holding on to prevent you from vanishing. If only he knew how far from the truth that was.

You deepened the kiss, savoring the softness of his tongue and the taste of his mouth, all while tugging desperately at his filthy shirt, never wanting to let him go. In that moment, you swear you could have died right there, in his arms, within the metal Eden he had crafted with his own two hands –as if he were both Creator and the first Man, and you, his creation and other half.

But you didn’t die, in the end, and the piercing shriek of an alarm tore you both from that otherworldly embrace. His hands still held you by the waist as he looked at you through half-lidded eyes, the green of his irises nearly swallowed by an obsidian sea. His parted lips, swollen from your shared passion, his flushed cheeks, and his soft panting mirrored the storm within you. You had no doubt you looked much the same, your hands still cradling his face, thumbs gently tracing circles over his fatigued skin. His gaze held so much –so much left unsaid– but in your heart, you wanted to believe there was a confession there, silent but true. In the end, you never knew.

He left the arena eventually, drawn away by the pressing matters that demanded his attention. After all, there was still so much work to do –his vengeance couldn’t wait, his victory couldn’t wait. But for a fleeting moment, you had truly felt like a part of it, part of the grand design he had spent years crafting and perfecting. You were wrong, of course. And when he pulled his body away from yours, stealing all the warmth you had shared, you felt cold and lonely once again.

Neither of you ever mentioned the events of that night again, even though it left you with even more doubts and questions. He didn’t try to kiss you after that, which you had almost expected. What you hadn’t anticipated was that all the small gestures of affection –his occasional touches throughout the day, his terms of endearment, your intimate conversations– would stop altogether as well. Now, every time he was around you, he seemed conflicted, pensive, troubled; a sight obvious even to you. More doubts plagued your mind and twisted your heart: was the answer he was searching for not as clear to him as it was to you? Did he not love you back?

You had spent months trying to decipher the emotional riddle that was Edward Nigma, and you were convinced you had him all figured out by now. You shared entire evenings together, exchanging secrets and deep memories he had never revealed to anyone else, baring his soul to you like never before. You wanted to believe in his love so deeply that there was no room for doubt in your mind. To you, this passionate kiss only confirmed what you had always believed –or rather, what you thought you knew. Were you truly that blind?

For weeks, or perhaps months, you chased after him, chased after his love, with painful patience and delusion. There was something profoundly pathetic in the way you offered him a professional, polite distance while drowning him in flattery and praise. You encouraged him even when it wasn’t needed, all in the desperate hope of seeing half a smirk or even receiving a slight nod in your direction, which you welcomed with the devotion of a dog wagging its tail for an undeserving master.

A few times, you tried to rekindle the faint spark that once flickered between you. But when his only response to your fingers brushing against his shoulders was to flinch and turn away, redirecting his attention elsewhere, you realized that the fire had long since burned out. The rejection never stopped hurting, no matter how many times you tried to subtly seduce him.

Eventually, even you grew weary of his mercurial temper. You can’t quite recall the final catalyst, but one night, you decided to choose yourself instead. You ended the exhausting song and dance you had performed for the faintest glimpse of his attention. He had been starving you emotionally, while you kept him full and glowing. Surely, even you deserved better.

And so, at the end of your tasks, you simply wished him goodnight, as you always did. He turned his head in your direction and gave you a cold nod, never offering more than a fleeting acknowledgment. As he always did. But this time, it felt different. That night, you began mourning what had never truly existed.

You began rationalizing, compartmentalizing –anything to stop yourself from drowning in parasitic thoughts. You flirted with him, and it escalated into a kiss. That’s all it ever was. The reality of your relationship came crashing down, shattering inside you, sending tremors through your body with the bitterness of withdrawal as you processed it all, alone in your bed. You knew you had to end this charade and reclaim ownership of your thoughts, your feelings, your life.

You stopped wishing him goodnight and no longer brought him fresh water when he neglected his own needs. You stopped asking about his latest creations, and stopped praising him constantly. Gradually, day by day, you withdrew emotionally, picking up the pieces of your heart scattered in the aftermath, protecting yourself as you built walls around your feelings.

The most intriguing reaction came then; his behavior shifted, almost imperceptibly at first. One evening, after another long day of work, as you silently gathered your belongings to leave the iron room, his voice echoed faintly behind you –a hesitant, “Goodnight?”, which sounded almost like a needy question. Was he offended that you had withdrawn your small gestures of care? Hurt, perhaps? You weren’t entirely sure. But the next day, Edward was in a foul mood, marked by bouts of misplaced anger and frustration. And the day after that, it only worsened. The more you withheld your affection, the more his temper soured. It made sense, really -he loved feeling loved. You might have laughed at the irony, if only your heart wasn’t aching so deeply.

Hey Eddie, was it really all inside my head?

As days stretched into weeks, the tension between you grew unbearable. Edward’s tantrums became an almost daily ritual, his anger igniting at the smallest –and, frankly, often absurd– mistakes. Yet, through it all, you remained composed, offering only quiet apologies, fully aware that this wasn’t about your errors or submission. You refused to give in to his provocations, unwilling to let him punish you for the tangled emotions he couldn’t untie or understand.

After one particular one-sided fight –another conflict that seemed to arise from nothing, a feeble excuse on his part to provoke a reaction, to ignite some passion within you– heavy words spilled from his mouth like a wretched torrent of insults, laced with anger and, perhaps, something else, something deeper, more visceral. His voice broke almost imperceptibly, his composure faltering as his final words struck you like a blade, cutting something deep within you. 

“You don’t understand! You don’t understand anything!”

And despite the loud, oppressive environment, everything suddenly fell silent. His expression was distorted in panic, frustration, and something that almost resembled despair –a sight that was strangely heartbreaking, though you couldn’t quite explain why. Pressing your lips into a thin line, your brow furrowed with anguish, and you sighed, defeated. That was the tragedy of your relationship; you wanted to understand him –if only he would let you.

“Show me, then. What don’t I understand?” you murmured, your voice as soft and calm as possible, offering what felt like an olive branch, maybe even a truce. But he said nothing.

His silence carried the bitter weight of failure, and as the ache in your chest swelled into something more fierce, you sighed, closing your eyes in an attempt to gather your fractured thoughts and soothe the storm of emotions. Then, you felt it -his warmth, growing closer, the space between you shrinking until his breath brushed your skin, like a soft wave lapping at the shores of your face. His lips almost brushed yours, barely a whisper away from your flushed skin, as if hesitating, seeking permission, or needing you to lead the final step and close the distance; perhaps it was all of those things at once.

Your throat tightened, and you remained immobile –unsure, overwhelmed. And just as quickly as it appeared, his warmth vanished, leaving behind only the silence as he quietly left the room under your agonising gaze.

You often wondered if it was a mistake to maintain this false boundary, to let him throw his passionate tantrums while you withheld the affection that once sustained him, even as he, in return, left you starved. But as your eyes glowed with unshed tears, the ache of unrequited love tightening in your chest, you reminded yourself that you couldn’t go back. You were too old, too drained to play these endless games –even with him, even with the Riddler.

Every now and then, you’d extend an olive branch, testing the waters by sharing something about your day like you used to, trying to open a dialogue beyond the rigid confines of your work. That was the most you allowed yourself to offer. Yet, he remained perfectly uninterested, his pride too wounded to admit what he truly craved from you. Stubborn asshole.

An inmate yells as the episode wraps up, immediately bringing you back to the present. You flinch, startled, suddenly reminded that you’re still very much trapped here, and still very much pissed. Dennis turns to you, flashing a grin that’s more wolf than man, his expression wrecked and ravaged as he asks what you thought of the latest episode.

The man has always had a thing for his soap operas. Why, you have no idea –but he never misses a single one, even though they’re all on DVD and could be watched any time. He could even ask a guard to play one whenever he wanted. But you guess watching it at a scheduled time gives him the illusion of spontaneity, like he’s back at home in front of the TV (did he even have a home left on the outside?). Something like that. You’re not sure you understand half of what’s going on in the back of his brain anyway.

Hell, you’re not even sure you know what’s wrong with you, most of the time.

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