#oh clearly he's gone I can close the pit trap I built (actually makes it open the other way so father will feel safe and fall in)

[chaos-has-theories]

Complete House MD episode tonight. btw. if you even care

[lazywonderlvnd]

Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually  --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training. 

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger. 

 Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. 

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk. 

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth. 

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself. 

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek. 

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it. 

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate. 

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees. 

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much. 

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw. 

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing. 

[nikibogwater]

The Norse Chaos Chronicles: Chapter Four--In which by some Easter miracle, the Incompetent Vikings defeat the Elder

Been a few days since my last update in regards to Team Bogwater’s exploits in the world of Valheim. This is mostly because we actually had a couple of play sessions that were relatively calm.

We actually did manage to expand to the Black Forest across the sea and set up a functioning base there, where we lived in somewhat cramped quarters for a while until we had gathered enough minerals to enter the Bronze Age (and by cramped, I mean all three of us were crammed into what was basically a single king-sized bed because we failed to make the house big enough to accommodate a reasonable amount of space between each of our beds--clearly some home renovations are in order).

I, being a very kind and responsible sister, spent some time on the server by myself making our base more secure with Stake Walls, setting up a sufficient space for storage, and gathering food, all tasks that the others didn’t seem too excited to take care of. I was expecting the boys to notice and at least tell me that my additions were helpful.

I know for a fact that they at least noticed, because when I joined them for this most recent play session, Gustav had decided that what our base needed now was a spike pit around the front gate, which I know wouldn’t have occurred to him if I hadn’t put up the spiky walls. I was never told that my additions were helpful or appreciated, but considering that there were far fewer deaths happening close to our base, I suspect they were nonetheless. 

Niki: ...Is....Do we really need the spike trap? Like, is it necessary? Gustav: How could you even ask something like that?! I have never been more upset in my life.  Niki: It’s just...like, there’s a bridge that goes right over it. Gustav: Yeah. So we can get across it. Niki: Right but so could the Greydwarves. Gustav: Greydwarves aren’t that smart. (20 minutes later) Gustav, trying and failing to shove a Greydwarf into the pit: You guys, I may have overestimated how unintelligent Greydwarves are.

Gustav got exactly one (1) Greydwarf to fall into the pit and die. The only other thing he caught was Tripe. 

Okay, well, he did manage to get a Troll to walk into the spikes, but then it just smashed them all to pieces. It was at this point that Gustav finally accepted the reality of the fact that a spike pit was completely useless to us in this particular area.

Gustav, filling in the pit with rocks: Man, why didn’t one of you guys warn me that the spike trap was a dumb idea? Niki and Tripe: Yeah, that was our bad. 🙄 (10 minutes later) Niki, just peacefully mining copper in the forest: Wait, so where did the Troll go- *gets slammed by the Troll before I can even finish voicing the question* GUSTAV, WHY DIDN’T YOU KILL IT?!

Tripe and Gustav upgraded to Bronze Gear and Troll Hide (I brought mine over from my single player world to save time and resources). I was still trying to gather up enough Bronze to make a Cultivator so we could eat something other than Cooked Meat and Queen’s Jam, when suddenly I was informed that we were getting into a boat (we upgraded from the raft, finally) and going to kill the Elder.

Tripe: Get in losers, we’re going to kill the next boss. Gustav: *jumps in without any hesitation* Niki: Wait what?! That’s a terrible idea! (5 minutes later) Niki, sulking in the front of the boat: Did I mention this is a really bad idea? Gustav and Tripe: It’s fine. How bad can it possibly be?

Horrible. Absolutely horrible. That’s how bad it was. 

We had rather unlucky RNG with our world generation, and the Elder’s altar was a good 1,000 miles away from us. Which meant a significant portion of this play session was actually just sitting in the boat and watching the scenery pass. 

It sounds like a pleasant time, but I was absolutely terrified the whole way there. 

Gustav: ...Oh hey, we discovered the ocean. Niki, who has seen videos of Sea Serpents absolutely wrecking well-equipped players: BACK TO THE SHORE. GO BACK. DO NOT MOVE INTO OPEN WATERS. GUSTAV, FOR THE LOVE, GO BACK TO THE SHORELINE! (Passing a Plains biome) Niki: ...Did you guys know there are one-hit death bugs in the Plains Gustav and Tripe: Will you please calm down

We happened to run across Haldur the merchant shortly before reaching our destination. Since Valheim doesn’t tie your inventory to individual worlds, I went ahead and bought a few things to bring back to my single-player world (namely the fishing gear). I hopped off the server for a minute to transfer the items, and while I was in my world, I grabbed some extra food (the boys are terrible about keeping food in their inventories) and, since I figured we’d need all the help we could get, grabbed a few jugs of mead without really paying attention to what effects they gave.

When I came back into the server, Tripe and Gustav were setting up our temporary base so we could reset our spawn points. Right. Smack. Dab. Next to the altar. As in, when the Elder spawned, he was going to basically be standing directly on top of it. 

Niki: ...You guys that seems like a poorly-conceived plan. Gustav and Tripe: No, it’s fine. Stop worrying. 

At this point, I was pretty resigned to the disaster that was inevitably going to unfold, so I just grabbed some wood and set up my own shack a decent ways away without making any further attempts to convince the other two. 

Gustav: Niki, where are you? We’re all ready. Niki: I just...I’ll be there in a minute, hold on. Tripe: What are you doing? Niki: ...I’m building a house. Gustav: YOU ARE BUILDING YOUR OWN HOUSE WHEN WE HAVE A PERFECTLY GOOD ONE RIGHT HERE?! RUDE! Niki: I DON’T WANNA RESPAWN AND THEN JUST IMMEDIATELY BE SQUISHED AGAIN, ALRIGHT?!

Houses built and weapons readied, we all gathered at the altar. I chucked the Ancient Seeds into the flame and immediately booked it out of the vicinity as fast as my meaty Vikings legs could carry me, frantically downing a jug of mead as I went. The Elder spawned in and within seconds, absolute carnage reigned supreme.

Gustav died within the first two minutes and spent the next ten trying to make it back to his grave. Which he couldn’t really do because his respawn point was right next to the Elder, and emerging from the house naked of all armor and gear was basically an instant death sentence.

Gustav: I’ve died six times trying to get my gear back. We really shouldn’t have built the house this close to the altar. Niki, why didn’t you warn us? Niki, fleeing from the massive thorny vines that the Elder is trying to impale her on: I hate you guys so much right now.

I was hanging back as much as I could, dealing damage with my Finewood Bow, but the Elder has a huge range of attack, and it had me down to single digits in health within less than a minute. And it was at this point that I realized I had majorly screwed up.

The mead that I had been frantically chugging in hopes of gaining better health regen? It was actually slowing my health regen and only increasing my stamina.

Niki: YOU GUYS THE MEAD WAS A MISTAKE. OH MY GOSH, IT’S MINUS FIFTY HEALTH REGEN, NOT PLUS! OH CRAP CRAP CRAP--I’M LITERALLY SLOSHED OVER HERE! Gustav: WAIT, NIKI CAME INTO THIS FIGHT DRUNK?! Niki: I DIDN’T NOTICE THE MINUS SIGN!!!! *yeets the rest of the mead into the ocean before meeting my first demise at the hands of the Elder*

Miraculously, I only died twice during the fight (again, mostly because my respawn point was away from the altar, meaning I had a clearer path back to my graves when I respawned). I have no idea how many times the other two died. Towards the end we were also being bombarded by hoards of Greydwarves, which only made things ten times worse.

Gustav: Have either of you seen my corpse? I mean, I have several lying around here at this point. 

I don’t even know how we managed it, but we did finally take out the Elder and received our Swamp Keys. We all stood around the scene of destruction for a minute, just kind of collecting ourselves. 

Tripe: ...I feel like that could’ve gone better. Gustav: Yeah.  It’s just, Niki goes and does all this research and watches videos and then she doesn’t bother to tell us not to put our house so close to the- Niki: *punches him*

The trip home was blessedly uneventful. Tripe did decide to cut across the ocean instead of following the shoreline in order to save time. I was 90% certain we were all going to be eaten by a Serpent, but we were fine. 

We made it back to our camp only to find a Greydwarf Shaman mucking around in our front yard.

Gustav: What is he--is he barfing on our house...? NO, HE’S SMASHING THE CART! OH YOU SON OF A-- *takes a flying leap out of the boat and tears through the shallows, furiously waving his spear*

The Shaman poisoned Tripe, who had a mild panic attack because his respawn point was still back at the Elder’s Altar, and if he died now he would have to walk all the way back here. 

Tripe, with 1 HP left: NO I’M NOT DYING LIKE THIS! *dives headfirst into the nearest bed*

So yes. That is what I was doing this weekend, in case any of you were wondering where I disappeared to. I am hoping to spend some time working on ToA stuff today, but I again, I think it is important to record these events for posterity...and perhaps as a cautionary tale for others.

[s-horne]

25. National Wine Day

It had been one of those days. The kind that had seemed like it was going on forever and ever and that it would never end. There had been meeting after meeting in the morning, an investors meal with a bunch of dinosaurs that had spent the entire afternoon making snide comments towards Tony that he wasn’t allowed to snap back to, and then he’d ripped one of his favourite shirts on his way to meet Steve. 

The whole day had been a disaster and it was a reminder of why Tony used to drink. The slight tremor in his hand only got worse as he got more frustrated and the urge to throw himself off the wagon with an insane amount of strength was getting harder to control. 

Eighteen months sober and he was still struggling with remembering why when the resignation started to set in. It would be so easy to just give in and pour a bottle down his throat. Any stress he’d had, any worries or angers that had built up throughout the day would all vanish for one blissful evening.

The only thing that kept him going was the date that he and Steve had planned. 

The whole thing had blossomed out of the blue. Steve and Tony had known each other for years, had always moved in the same circles thanks to mutual friends, but they’d never clicked particularly specially. Until one day when Tony had seemed to wake up and seen what had been staring him in the face. 

 *

“Can I get you any drinks?” 

Tony couldn’t help his flinch. Six days out of seven, the question didn’t bother him, but on that final one, it was the worst one of all. 

Steve reached out across the table top and took his hand. “No, thank you,” he answered the waiter, perfectly casually as though nothing was wrong. His thumb soothed over the back of Tony’s hand. “Just water for the table at the moment.”

When the waiter had left, Tony slumped. “I’m sorry. You can have something if you want.”

“I’m debating it,” Steve said and before Tony could feel too betrayed, he carried on. “My options are a cola or a lemonade. Tricky decisions to be made.”

Tony’s lips curved into a grin, relief crashing over him. He squeezed Steve’s hand and relaxed. “I’d go lemonade; it’s a little lighter. I think I’ll get some sort of juice.”

“Good choice. Orange?”

“I’m feeling frisky tonight. Maybe grapefruit.”

 //

“Oh, shit!” Tony froze in horror as he felt liquid pour down his back, ice cubes bouncing to the floor and goosebumps prickling over his skin. “Cold. That was cold. Holy shit; it’s so cold.” 

“Oh my God!” The voice from behind Tony was more like a shriek, terrified and wobbly. There was no movement for a long moment, the restaurant suddenly silent around them. As an entire tray of drinks soaked through his blazer, Tony sat perfectly still in a weak attempt to lessen the impact. “I’m sorry. Oh, god. I’m so, so sorry. I tripped over the chair leg – I couldn’t see over the tray and… I’m – oh, God.” 

Tony winced as the cold liquid dripped down his spine, shirt sticking to his back. He let his eyes fall closed and tried desperately to count to ten instead of just leaping into the air and yelling.

“It’s okay,” he managed to stutter out. The suit was an old one and he didn’t particularly care about it. What Tony did care about was the smell of alcohol thick in the air and dancing up to his nose. “Let me just…”

It was all he needed on a day like the one he’d had.

Tony felt rooted to the spot, anger burning in the pit of his stomach at his rotten luck, even as Steve jumped up from his chair to help.

“No, Sir,” the waitress hastened to say, springing into action. “Please sit down. One of the glasses broke – I can’t have you hurt yourself on it. It’s okay, I can manage.”

“Look at this mess. Ugh, this shit is going to stain.” Tony plucked at the wet material sticking to his shoulder and crinkled his nose. Disappointment set in, curling its way around his shoulders just as the alcohol was doing. It seeped down to bones, the coldness more pleasurable than the taunt of the booze. It was an assault on his senses as dozens of unique scents twisted together and beckoned Tony in. A siren’s call. “Just the perfect end to my day.”

“I’m so sorry, Sir.” The girl quickly threw her empty tray onto the table with a loud thud. She bent down and started to pick up the fallen glasses, pieces of fruit, and straws that littered the floor. Her hands shook as she did, glasses chinking against each other in an almost deafening symphony. “I really didn’t mean to do it.”

Tony’s head was spinning. The stench of booze was almost overpowering and the image of spending one-too-many nights in the same drenched clothes sprung to his mind. He had been doing so well to not end up back in that state and yet, of course, it had happened. Perfectly innocently, but it had happened nonetheless.

On a date with Steve, even, which was the very last place that Tony would have ever wished to have a panic attack. One was definitely starting; he could feel it in the way his breathing changed pattern and the pricking at the back of his neck. He was either going to be sick or start crying.

Neither of those options were attractive, but they were also a damn sight better than turning around and licking his own shoulder.

“No, seriously it’s fine. It’s only a bit of alcohol,” he said, any anger he felt softening when he looked down and saw the expression on the waitress’s face. He swallowed thickly and forced his next words out. “It never hurt anyone.” 

“I’m going to get fired,” the waitress said, sniffing loudly, down on her hands and knees. “I really didn’t mean to, Sir.”

“Oh, hey.” Tony got off his chair quickly and bent down next to her. As harsh as it was, her pain gave Tony something to focus on and he tried to channel his energy into comforting the young girl. “Don’t cry. It’s fine! Come on, you won’t get fired. I won’t let them fire you.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with her forearm, shaking her head. Before she could protest, Tony shook his arm, little droplets of sticky cocktails flying out, and plastered on a smile he didn’t feel.

“It’s just liquid. It will come out.” Tony paused and squinted, twisting to look up at Steve. “It will come out, won’t it?”

When Steve nodded slowly, clearly a little stunned, Tony turned back to the waitress. “See? We’re all good. Hey. Come on. It was just a mistake. They happen. Not to me, granted, but they happen.”

Even as he gave a cheeky smile, Tony shivered as the cold of the drinks started to set in. He was going to needed at least seven showers with the water turned as high as it could go in order to scrub himself clean. Not only did he need to get rid of the sticky juice that made up the cocktails, but he needed to never smell those tell-tale scents of booze on his body again.

Just being that close to the mixture of smells was making his heart pound and his stomach churned threateningly. Concentrating on their waitress hadn’t helped him enough and Tony could still feel the burning threat of a panic attack. He could also feel Steve’s worried stare boring into the side of his head.

“You’re fine,” Tony said to the waitress, trying to convince her as much as himself, refusing to look back. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

It was true. It wasn’t as true as Tony would have liked, but it wasn’t a complete lie either.

Because it was only alcohol, after all. Tony could do it; he could manage a little shot of booze trickling down his back. As long as he didn’t fall back into that trap, so long as he didn’t turn his head and poke out his tongue. He shook his head sharply and stood up. When Steve made to follow him, still eerily silent, Tony held up a hand.

He needed to be on his own.

“I’m just gonna go clean up and dry off. It’s fine. Have you got this clean-up?”

The young girl sniffed loudly and nodded. “Yes, Sir. Again, I’m really–”

“It’s not a problem,” Tony said with a calmness he was nowhere near to feeling. “It never hurt anybody.”

 //

 As Tony walked back to their table, he noticed that Steve was staring up at him with a soft smile on his face.

“What?” Tony asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’d been gone for a while, scrubbing desperately at his back to try and remove as much of the alcohol as he could. Though probably not the best thing for the material, Tony had dumped his shirt in the sink and wet it through before doing his best to dry it under the hand-dryer. It had worked quite well, but he’d discarded his blazer completely. It was far too thick and he didn’t have a chance of getting the stench of booze out in a restaurant’s bathroom with cheap hand soap and not much else.

“Nothing,” Steve said lightly, not losing his smile as he lifted his water to his lips and took a long sip.

Tony squinted at him in disbelief, but gave in without fighting. As he pulled his chair out slowly and sat down, he was relieved to see that all traces of the accident had been cleaned up. His chair was dry, there was no debris of fallen drinks on the floor, and their tablecloth had been changed.

“Seriously,” Tony said when he looked back up to see Steve still smiling at him. “What?”

“You handled that so well.”

Tony swallowed and looked down at the candle flickering in the middle of the table. He watched it for a long moment, concentrating on the way it danced and twisted. “I nearly lost it. Really. Felt myself going pretty drastically, actually. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”

“It was perfect,” Steve said, voice impossibly soft. “I mean it, sweetheart. You could have screamed and yelled.”

“I was tempted.” Tony pressed his lips together and shrugged. “I thought about it for a moment. Thought it might have made me feel better, until I decided that nothing would make me feel good in that moment. It was hard.”

Brutal honesty. That was one of the steps in Tony’s recovery course and it was something that was still taking some getting used to. There was so much that Tony wanted to keep to himself and never admit, but he was learning that it was okay to open up.

Especially with somebody like Steve.

“I’m so proud of you.”

That was something else that had taken a long time to get used to. Tony wasn’t used to people being proud of him. Ashamed, sure. Angry, nearly all the time. But pride wasn’t an emotion that Tony was used to having directed at him. Until Steve had come along and changed everything.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, honesty colouring his tone. “And I love you.” 

Tony stared at him in shock for a long moment, but the soft look on Steve’s face didn’t change. Thinking that he’d give Steve a chance to get out of it, Tony kept his eyes on Steve’s and furrowed his brow. “What did you say?” 

Clearly not taking the bait, Steve reached across the table and took Tony’s hand. “I love you.” 

Tony squeezed it back and swallowed, knees suddenly week and a whole different kind of shiver fluttering down his spine. “I love you too.”  

[roadtophantom]

Phantom Manila Review (Down Once More - with feelings)

Hi! I think I'm back so without further ado here's a review or at least a thought depository of my first show back in Phantom, 5 years after I saw it in AsiaWorld Arena in Hong Kong. 

March 9, 2019 8:00 PM

I want to start with a note that it had been a very distracting week so I honestly don't think I was able to focus on the moment and a lot of things flew over my head. There were a lot of things happening irl and plans kept changing, so I came to the theatre all winded and in a daze.

Not to mention we were 45 minutes in before the show, there wasn't much pre-theatre prep I could do. The most I've done was have a look around the merch store, fit the hoodie (the smallest was too big for me), buy the brochure and then fall in line for at least one photo with one of the many backdrops (the one with an illusion boat where my sister and I reenacted an Obi-Wan and Anakin higher ground scene. Why are we like this I don't know.)

Anyway, the lines at the other backdrops were hella long.

We sat at the orch left restricted seats (because cheaper orch seats ftw) and the view is not bad at all, though be prepared not to catch whatever happens in stage right (this is why on our next show we'll get the orch right restricted seats). It's amazing how close we are to the stage, Solaire is a very snug theatre is why. The orchestra pit seems narrow in my pov.

The stage fills up pretty quickly, because it is tiny. The proscenium does not seem so empty in turn because of how compact the overall look is, though I definitely miss the angel, it's simply iconic. But not so much to mar my experience of the show.

The sounds of Solaire are reputed to be bad so imagine my surprise to be blown away by drums during the Overture. It was quite a bombastic experience. But yes, you can hear the whirrings of the sets, but not very bothersome. 

The chandelier falls pretty fast but slows down just before the crash. 

@operafantomet was telling me that the advantage of a smaller stage is the closeness and intimacy, she is absolutely right. And if I add something the crowdedness actually led to a lot of movement, activity and energy. There is no such thing as a background character here, each member of the ensemble is attention-grabbing, I especially love the interaction between the ballerinas. I remember noting how vibrant the slave girl costumes are but I need another look to see where they were sourced from. The ensemble especially shone in Masquerade (which got applause at curtains up, even before they started singing). The little marching band did play, triangle and drums quite audible, and you see how the different players influenced Christine and let us peek into her tormented psyche. Il Muto was another highlight where the dancers were clearly troubled at what's happening around them and the Shepherd was complaining.

Oh by the way there were lyric changes in Masquerade and it is now using the Broadway choreo.

Clara Verdier was a vulnerable, emotive Christine that has the potential to be versatile. I love how at the start of the show that she seems to watch Carlotta longingly. I see her as a young good-hearted Christine, capable of different emotional palettes, her face is her great asset and she doesn't sound bad either. Though I surmise that there had to be some adjustments vocally, her Think of Me cadenza is short and she easily drowns especially at Final Lair. But she already shows the foundation and can no doubt grow into her own distinct character. She definitely shows feisty moments, like I could swear she nearly would have gone and rip Carlotta's wig at Notes II. She perfects the trance look whenever the Phantom sings but although fearful she is of the Phantom she feels sympathetic for him and shows reverence for him as her teacher and 'guardian', especially at PONR when it looked like she is conflicted to unmask, but unmask him she does. There is no doubt she chooses Raoul and adores him and feels safe with him.

Matt Leisy is a Raoul who gives it all out. His remarkable characteristic is his confidence and in-charge attitude. He is not just born into wealth, he manages it. I love how he is a devoted protector, with a 'chill I got this' vibe. His shining moment is showing how pissed off he is of the Phantom at the THE DISASTER WILL BE YOURS. This is a Raoul who is pretty, handsome, well-kempt, smooth BUT WILL FISTICUFF WHO HURTS CHRISTINE. I also like how I can hear him during Notes and is not a passive roving lost vicomte. It looks like he gives the most comfy hugs and does a lot of little touches. I LOVE his interaction with Giry during Masquerade where Giry cockblocks him a few times and he is like OH COME ON NOW.

Principal: Thabiso's comedy FINALLY comes through. Beverley has the best facial expressions and has no business playing nice. But oh how heartbreaking when she sees Piangi in the end... Kiruna-Lind hands down my favorite Meg, she doesn't overdo the HE'S THERE and her other lines. She looks appalled at the managers during Prima Donna, I love her darker sounding voice. She is cute, with a nice musculary built and shd is a true friend. The managers do the work, James Borthwick is calculating, Curt Olds isn't say as exaggerated as Jason Ralph was but still has great timing. Melina I feel lacks in authoritativeness, and her soft cane thumps does nothing to help (this is technical issue I think) but she IS a PITA at Raoul and she is so beautiful.

As for Jonathan, how to even begin. I saw him last in October 2012 where he is already a force to reckon, and has that grasp of character that is undeniably solid. He knows what he is doing, he is at the top of his game and he knows how to break hearts with how forlorn his Phantom is and dat thunderous voice. He makes the show, so where to go from here? Well, further. So the Phantom is kind of two parts right? The angel of music slash opera ghost and then the disfigured lonesome man. Jonathan has the man part downpat, he knows how to carry that injustice dealt to the character and hone on that abandonment. Lead me save me from my solitude is the Phantom that describes his best. Come 2019 he not only retains this humanity but he expounds on the angel persona by well, singing way even better that he grew octaves. I invite you to compare his title songs and hear how his voice is so much larger, much controlled. He sounds damn good and what a perfectionist composer and musical genius would. He owns all his scenes.

Which! Makes it fun now with Matt's Raoul because the vicomte is not sitting down. I was so delighted to see their take of the Wandering Child Trio (I KNOW I WAS SCREAMING INSIDE) Jonathan's Phantom looked so threatened that there was a moment of panic where he had to try extra hard to keep Christine in control. And he was so desperate to undermine this man who clearly has Christine's heart, makes it more effective how he begged Christine to choose him in the end. And I swear each time Christine fights back and when she throws away the veil, he gets 9999 hit point damage (sorry, Final Fantasy reference). He holds the show so well together.

Also HIS HANDS. They fiddle with the Red Death's tassel, they smooth his hair a lot (even outside the title song) they bring down the gates to trap Raoul and Christine, they have innate mind wave power. 

My little cousin (who fell asleep halfway the show back in 2012) fell so much in love and it's so cute to see how inspired she was (know your feels kid) . My sister who I expected to grow tired, couldn't stop talking about it. I think they did an amazing solid job and and I can't wait to see it again.

Oh the travelator was also broken when I saw it, I thought they got rid of that. So something to comment about next time.

More costume observations to follow hopefully. Oh Carlotta had like white roses on her head at Notes II I've never seen that kind of hat before.

[k-p-p-d]

Afterglow (A)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: How long did you have until the glass shattered and everything you both had carefully built came crashing down?

Length: 1.4k

A warm beam of sunlight floating through the window illuminated a wide line across your bed. It made you toss in your sleep and push the blanket off your shoulders down to your waist. From in front of you, a soft chuckle followed by a soft sigh could be heard. It was music to your ears. Though you kept your eyes closed, a smile tugged across your lips. He didn’t say anything for a few moments but he knew you were awake. He just watched, admiring you like he had been for some time now.  “You’re ethereal,” he cooed from a distance. “My solace. I would move heaven and Earth with my bare hands to have the chance to hold you. How can you be so close but so far?” There was a real hint of pain in the sweet-nothings he whispered. “My entire world… Confined to a bedroom by her love for me. I’m so selfish. So stingy.” 

You let your eyes flutter open then, the morning light proving brighter than you anticipated. Your gaze found him, trapped behind the sliding mirror that was your closet door. In the reflection, he was standing right up against the glass with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his head tilted to the side. By now you had memorized his untouchable features: Skin that had been kissed by the rays of the sun and jet black hair that hung into his dark brown eyes. His build was athletic, both muscular and lean, and he was taller than you. He cracked a smile as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. How could he wake you up by giving you butterflies?

“Have you been awake long?” The two of you dozed off the night before while lying on your sides facing the glass. Your nose was as close to the mirror as you could get, so close he watched your breath fog it as you fell asleep. He urged you to get into bed before you could fully slip away. He didn’t want your body to be sore in the morning.

“I didn’t sleep much,” he shrugged. “I just… Hung out.”

“I’m sorry,” you yawned. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep so early.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ll spend whatever time with you that I can.” 

You sat up as he spoke, your loose shirt falling off of one shoulder. A certain part of what he had said earlier was what stuck in your mind. Particularly the word ‘confined.’ “Do you really think I’m confined to my room by my love for you?” 

Sorrow etched into his features. “You don’t?”

You didn’t even hesitate to say, “Not in the slightest.”

“Look at what we do, baby,” Jungkook sighed heavily. “I worry when you’re away, constantly looking for a way to get to you… You hurry home, neglecting actual human contact outside of your work…”

“But I come home to you,” you countered stubbornly.

“Is this contact??” He raised his voice slightly, and for the first time it was directed at you. You stared, bewildered, at why he was so worked up so early. “I can’t touch you. I’ve never touched you. Not once.” His hardened scowl softened as fast as it came. He realized his irked tone with you was not only futile, but it was clearly hurting your feelings. He gave up with a sigh.

“There is no other place I’d rather be, Jungkook,” you reiterated softly, drawing into yourself as you spoke. “I thought you felt the same.” 

The hurt on your face deepened and he shifted his weight anxiously when he noticed. All at once, he was like a puppy behind a fence, partially pacing in desperation to be on the other side. “Sweetheart, no— That’s not what I meant, not at all.” You were easily hurt, and first thing in the morning he had your eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my god, please don’t cry,” he panicked, pushing his bangs off of his anguished face with one hand atop his head. You didn’t say anything, you only pouted in a way that made his chest ache, tears seconds from spilling down you cheeks. “I just… Are we going to grow old here? Like this? In this room?” You didn’t appreciate the way he grilled you about the future. The tears free fell from your eyes now. “Please don’t cry. I just...I have to ask...”

You couldn’t do it, not this early and not this abruptly. You cast the covers aside and rushed into your attached bathroom, slamming the door and letting the tears come with light sniffles. You could hear him protesting, begging you to come back, but you didn’t listen. He was right for asking the hard questions that you shoved aside. How could two people live like this for the rest of their lives? He knew where you were, but he couldn’t describe to you where he was. An alternate universe? An alternate timeline? He didn’t know how he found you. How he was able to only come and go in the reflection of your bedroom mirror was something you couldn’t understand. Yet from the moment you met him, you were crazy about him. You reached towards the shower to turn it on so you could escape into its warm embrace and wash away your anxieties, when you heard a sound that made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach: Shattering glass. 

You barreled out of the bathroom only to hear him scream in protest, “Don’t step on the glass!” You stopped in your tracks.  He was still trapped behind the mirror, only now a large chunk of the upper right corner was gone, completely shattered on the carpet in front of your bare feet. “I’m— I didn’t mean to, I just got upset and it broke! I swear I didn’t touch it!” 

Your heart was pounding heavily with fear and panic. “How…?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” His chest heaved and he tried to control his breathing. The glass splintered again without warning, this time across the bottom, making you both flinch in surprise.

“Stop! Stop breaking it!” you cried frantically.

“I’m not touching it!” he whined helplessly. Jungkook seemed close to tears as he covered both ears with his hands. “Look at me, I’m not doing this!”

“Just calm down,” you tried, steadying your voice with a foreign control. “Just move back from the mirror.” He followed your direction and the bed dipped beneath him. Circling your own you did the same, so as not to step on the glass. It felt like an eternity that you guys sat in silence, waiting to see if the mirror would be damaged any further. Deeming it safe to speak after a few minutes, you tried again. “Jungkook. Look at me.” He lifted his eyes from his lap, and they were sparkling with the tears welling in them. “I don’t want you go. I don’t know what’s going to happen later, but right now I don’t want you to go.”

“What do you see on your side, where the mirror is broken?” You were puzzled by the way he ignored your confession.

“Just-“ you were going to say wood of the door that was behind the mirror, but you were wrong. In the spot where the glass was gone there was just black. Jet black nothing. “There’s nothing there. Literally nothing. No door, it’s just black?”

“I see light,” he revealed. “It’s a bright glow coming from your side.”

“What does it mean,” you felt your heart rate pick up again. “What-“

“I don’t know.” He stood and moved closer to the mirror carefully, holding a hand up that told you to stay where you were. He walked right up to glass, caution in every step. You held your breath as his hand disappeared behind the empty space in the reflection. Slowly, a trembling hand came through the darkness. 

You gasped. 

“Sweetheart…” He didn’t want to ask what you saw. He thought if he acknowledged it, he would lose the moment. You rushed over, haphazardly avoiding the shards of glass on the ground and laced your fingers with his. He squeezed your hand, his breath shaky as he tried to grasp how this was happening. His eyes flicked between the two of yours, a stray tear staining a line down his cheek.

Your heart soared as you softly commanded, “Come here.”

—Creator Hera