#the catharsis music hour

[bleedeverywhere]

stuck in my head

[loverboybitch]

trying to be gentle and not so hard on myself...emerging from my chrysalis..the wings im growing are still very tender<3.//.

[jademight]

What’s the best CBM scene and why is it ‘What’s up, danger?’

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: FUSHIGURO

A/N: OH. MY. GOD. Anon. I love you and hate you for this request. This was…hard. I told myself I wouldn’t publish it unless it was fucking perfect (you should see the scalpels I took to each goddamn sentence before this version).

SECOND: I will square up with Gege for writing the most enigmatic, LAYERED, complex, muddled character to exist. I wanted this to be Megumi. Through and through. His darkness, his light, his reservation, his crazy, all in one. And IDK. I think I did it? This one is purely to prove to myself that I can write for characters that are hard to write for (*cough* yuta im glaring at you *cough*)

THIRD: if you do read this (I get people feel things about aged up characters etc), I implore you to listen to this. Guys. I heard this at 0200 IN THE OR during a 6 hour case and the entire concept for this came to me. Meg is sophisticated and unruly, selfless and selfish, etc. So this has some NSFW but definitely probably more on the poetic, long ends of my works.

CW: Aged up characters (20+), college AU, fluffy/raunchy/dark romance-y because LOOK at him. He takes after Gojo AND Toji. Mature, 18+

“You like it when I’m rough.”

Megumi’s melody rings crystal clear.

Low.

Precise.

An F-14 Tomcat fighter jet, flying dark. Below enemy radar.

The piano keys float beneath his tone. His long, slender, deft fingers effortlessly execute the sheet music before him. It’s his GPS system, a personal flight map.

Little Beethoven, his advanced music theory professor calls him.

Truth is, Megumi is a prolific pianist and vocalist. He can tame any note, any melody, any harmony faster than any of his Shikigami.

Speaking of…

Megumi pulls off the piano and tortured love song in an instant. Just as the grade 3 curse creeps through the open door.

The part between his right long and ring fingers is automatic. His left hand grips the web space between his right thumb and index finger.

“Demon dog.” Megumi summons.

Low. Precise. Decisive.

“Eat it, boy.”

A small, approving smile tugs on the corners of his lips. Low level curses are the nothing more than chew toys to his divine dogs. With a tiny wave of his fingers, his technique buzzes inward.

Megumi’s eyes float to the ancient analog clock on the wall.

13:50

10 more minutes until you’ll meet him for your date.

No. Not date.

Study. 10 more minutes until you’re meeting him to study.

Your thought blooms within him like wildfire. It sets his normally cool, porcelain skin ablaze.

Megumi whips his body around to face the piano. To exorcise the feeling. The keyboard has always been his outlet. His life blood. Playing, singing, musing in and out of written songs is his catharsis.

Words don’t come easy. They never have. But lyrics do.

And when he gets to ride lyrics with his voice, his runs..?

The words he can never find on his own are suddenly out there. In the atmosphere. Coating empty rooms in a mist of his thoughts, his feelings.

No certain promise that the person the words are destined for will ever catch them. Or ever walk through the room and be kissed by the remnants of his musical trail. But Megumi has said (sung, played) them. And that’s enough.

“Sorry if I come across a type of way.”

“I’ve been trying to get out of my way…”

His fingers dive into the keys. Angrily. Earnestly.

“I know it doesn’t seem like I care, but you know I care—“

“Wow Meg, you sound incredible.”

You bring him to an abrupt stop. Your voice is maple syrup trailing down Megumi’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its candied wake.

Pitch fucking perfect.

A soft, ethereal C, gliding down Heaven’s staircase. You infuse sunlight into his name, whichever way you choose to say it.

And it’s hell. It’s cruel. To have as keen hearing as he does. To listen to you sing his name and have nothing else follow.

“Fushiguro.” Megumi shoots up from his seat, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“What?”

“Fushiguro.” He repeats, eyes briefly meeting yours before settling above your head. He’s at least a head and shoulders taller.

“Nobody calls me Meg.”

You throw your head back. Feather light crescendo in your laughter. It’s pretty. Tantalizing in the way chandeliers twinkle when they capture a beam of light.

His eyes dart down to catch the feminine column of your neck. Curving into your delicate collar bones. How are your lines so seamless?

So cinematic. Like he’s watching a figure skater land a triple axel. Or a prima ballerina en pointe. It’s not fathomable.

Gorgeous.

You are gorgeous.

“I call you Meg.” You retort with a smile that liquifies all of his joints.

You double your walking speed to keep pace with Megumi’s long strides. Both of you exit the sound engineering building. Heading straight for the campus library a couple blocks away.

“Who were you—oh,” Megumi’s glacial hand along the small of your back steals your voice away.

Your eyes and feet follow his gentle push, shifting you to the other side of him.

“Walking on the wrong side.” He mutters, monotone. Matter-of-fact. Obviously.

He’s a gentleman. Of course he is going to walk on the traffic facing edge of the sidewalk.

Of course he didn’t feel the electric currents wire through his fingers to clench — suffocate — his heart.

No, he didn’t hear that punched out, falsetto gasp when his hand cradled your perfectly tapered waist.

Or notice how well you fit into his hand. How light you are under his touch that had none of his real strength behind it.

You’re made of alluring lines. Intoxicating sounds.

What would it take to coax a pretty melody out of your pouty lips?

His fingers?

They’re long. And smart. Cold. Remarkably patient. You’d like them.

He could make you love them.

Crave them. Need, whimper, whine, and cry out for them.

“So who was it?” You tether him to reality.

“Who was what?” Megumi counters, leading you to a private study room.

“The way you were singing earlier.”

Hairs along the back of his neck stand at attention. Blood runs Siberian cold. Megumi’s gaze on you is subzero.

“It had to be for someone.” You lower down into a seat in slow motion.

The sweetheart neckline of your sundress is mean. Your supple mounds tilt and ripple with every micro movement. Megumi has forgotten why he’s glaring at you.

“You sound too…pretty. It can’t be wasted on thin air.” You continue.

“She must be—“

“Let’s just get started, okay?” He sharply redirects the conversation.

And promptly shifts gear to low autopilot. He’ll speak when spoken to, answer questions intermittently. But his mind’s true coordinates are a galaxy away.

Megumi retreats to his shadow garden.

Watching you.

Drinking you in.

Savoring each detail on his tastebuds like dessert.

The pencil eraser leaves an indent on your bottom lip where you’ve been pressing too hard.

Megumi wants to roll your bottom lip under his teeth. Until it flushes rose and swells beneath his relentless pull.

His eyes fall to your bracelet, far too big for your dainty wrist.

He could hold both of your wrists in one hand above your head or behind your back for hours. Without breaking a sweat.

His other hand would take its time.

To stroke you. Pet you. Learn your sheet music. Then play your body like a harp until you’re a chorus of beautiful, soprano whimpers and moans. Begging and pleading so prettily, enticing him to give in.

But he won’t.

Not until you’re soft enough. A babbling, warm, ruined brook beneath his fingers.

Then he’ll take you, gorgeous.

Searing pain from his sharp swallow and nails digging into his thighs rip him down to the present.

Vision a little fuzzy. Head a revolving door of vulgar scenarios. A dull, demanding ache between his legs draws his eyes to his lap.

Fucking hell.

His jeans are uncomfortable. He’s stiff and needy. Not nearly enough strength in his pants to hold back his drunken arousal.

Not to the mention, the—

swarm of shadows growing at his feet?

Is his…innate domain materializing around him right now?

Megumi aggressively slices through the air at his hip level. Below the table, but you don’t miss his sudden stirring.

“Meg? You okay over—“

“Going to the bathroom.” He gruffs through a clenched jaw. Megumi places his forearm over his crotch before hurrying out of the room.

He can barely recognize the man in the mirror. Flushed to his ears. Volcanoes threatening eruption in his eyes. Api Biru. Pure, triple distilled, blue lava coursing through his veins.

Snap out of it, Fushiguro.

The splash of cold water does nothing for his internal heat. But his milky complexion returns to its effervescent state.

But then he turns a little too quickly to leave. And his painfully hard length drags along his fabric. It’s blinding.

A feeble moan tumbles out of his tight lips.

“Fuck.”

Megumi slams his eyes shut. He needs to readjust. But if he touches himself now, he might not be able to stop.

A slow, steadying breath fills his lungs.

“Just adjust, don’t…” His voice trails off. Icey fingers around his hot, angry base is enough to rip the carpet from beneath his feet.

“Oh, fuck.” Megumi mumbles through one quick pump up his shaft.

He shakes his head as if to tell himself enough. He rests his erection along his thigh before zipping up. Still painful, but tolerable.

A tornado obliterates any remaining resolve in Megumi’s mind on his walk back to you.

You are a dream.

Or a nightmare? A curse?

It doesn’t matter. He couldn’t care less.

Megumi would follow you. Deeper than the crypts of his 10 shadows. Into hell if it meant he could have you the way he wants you.

The way he craves you.

Because fuck the cost.

He’d pay anything.

You’re working on an elaborate concept diagram on the white board. On the tip of your toes. Lip curled under your teeth. And you are just irresistible.

So, he won’t resist.

“Meg! Took you a bit, you okay?”

Megumi is silent. Unblinking. Sauntering toward you.

“Megumi?”

You lower to the soles of your shoes. Neck craning to look at his face. Your eyes widen at his persistent silence. Rosy heat dusting your cheeks.

Pretty little doe, rooted in place by his wolfish glare.

Megumi takes the marker out of your hand and tosses it behind him in one swift motion.

“Hmm,” a tiny acknowledgment of his name. Just because it sounds so sweet rolling off your tongue.

Megumi corners you against the wall. Both of his hands casually in his pockets.

He watches you shift. Flicker your eyes in every direction. Fiddle with your thumbs.

His quiet.

His presence.

It flusters you. Well before he’s gotten the chance to run his hands along the lazy curve of your waist and hips.

“So…so blue.” You stammer. Your warm eyes metronome between his.

“They are.”

Megumi steps impossibly closer. His eyes drop to your chest. Dainty, nervous heaves. Up and down. Up and down.

“You are so,” you swallow thickly, dropping your gaze. “hard to read.”

Megumi snakes his large, graceful fingers into your nape. The temperature difference between your warmth and his cold startles you deeper into his grasp. Your head evanesces into his pull.

A beautiful, shocked gasp escapes you. Just as Megumi’s lips trace the shell of your ear.

“I want you.”

His breaths collide with yours, now. Heat welling deep in his groin. His cock thunders against his thigh.

“Can you read that?” Megumi rasps. Ensuring his voice vibrates down your spine.

A new sound tumbles from your lips. Like you choked on your last swallow. How pretty. You gurgling and gagging like that.

“W-want me? Megumi wh—“

“I.” Megumi nudges his thigh between your legs. His steel pipe erection digs into your dewy, hot core. He angles his leg slightly upward, inching you on the tip of your toes.

His prima ballerina, en pointe.

“Want you.” His lips ghost against yours. Free hand cups the flesh beneath your thigh. Pads of his fingers twitching to dig in.

The two of you drink in this lock-in-key fit. Megumi revels in you. Like this. At his complete mercy.

The prodigal son, born with more power than he knows what to do with.

Ten shadows. Ten Shikigami. It’s been centuries since the last head of his bloodline had power buzzing beneath his fingertips like him.

And somehow he’s never felt more powerful than this.

With you, heaven’s most precious angel, cradled in his arms. Drowning in sinful ecstasy. He brands this freeze frame into the most permanent part of his memory.

Then, he free falls off your cliff edge.

Megumi takes your lips with unfettered greed. Hunger woven into the way his tongue traces every corner of your delectable, soft mouth. His fingers push your head deeper into him. Sucking and nibbling on your warm muscle.

You shower him with airy, choppy little pants. Moans and whines so light they crescendo to fairy dust. You can’t keep up with his bruising kiss. His other hand palms your thigh, kneading little bruises into your silky smooth skin.

Marking what’s his.

“Oh my god.”

You breathe into his mouth when he lets you up for air. Megumi’s eyes dart down to the meeting point of your sex and his muscular thigh.

Did you really think he wouldn’t notice how you’re rutting your pretty little cunt against his leg like that?

Crimson high on your cheeks. You look away when he tries to catch your fucked out gaze.

“Don’t hide from me, gorgeous.” His hand traces up to your hips. You preen into his firm grip.

“Megumi.”

“Don’t stop, pretty girl.” He forcefully moves your hips in more dramatic, languid, deep rolls against his thigh. He’s not paying any mind to the pool of his precum soaking through his pants.

You bury your head in his neck. Fingernails digging pretty crescent moons into his back. You take over the pace. Undulating against him. Shameless. In complete heat.

“You feel s-so…so good.” Your lips smear against his dampened neck. Megumi responds by circling your puffy, slick bud with his fingers.

And fuck. The slurred, broken whimper that rings in his ears.

The way you hump him even more sloppily.

He could finish from that alone.

Your hand flies to your mouth. Empty huffs spilling. Whines ascending in pitch. You are close.

“Such pretty sounds, baby.”

“Megumi…meg..I-“

“Let it out.” He grips the back of your neck. Feeling dangerously close to his own nirvana. Drunk off your precious melody.

“Sing for me.”

“F-fuck, GOD.”

You bite down on his neck. Waves of pleasure crashing into you like hurricane winds. He grips your waist steady. Feeling every involuntary twitch and jerk of your doll-like frame.

Blessing or curse?

He doesn’t know.

But he will follow you to the end of his lifetime and the next.

“God, Fushiguro. That was…” The lusty haze from your peak settles around you. The once shattered world, slowly pieces itself back together.

“No.” Megumi pulls you out of his neck. Dropping his lips to yours, so he can breathe the air directly from your lungs.

“Meg. You call me Meg.”

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 1: Smoke and Mirrors

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7k

Chapter 1/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: I was going to wait to post this since I have fifty-leven WIPs but to make up for me not being able to write for a while and also finishing two stories in the coming weeks - here we are. I'm nervous about posting this one for some reason. Hope y'all like it.

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

Track 1 - Smoke and Mirrors (each chapter is a track)

In the world of music, there's no denying that Velvet Rebellion's sound is electric, their melodies are undeniably addictive. But offstage, the drama and chaos surrounding this band have been the subject of endless tabloid fodder. It's a classic case of the music being sweet, but the rest of the package is a tad sour. Will their rock 'n' roll lifestyle ultimately overshadow their undeniable talent? That remains the question on everyone's lips.

The TV channel flicking produced a rapid succession of blips and static.

"You know, when it comes to Velvet Rebellion, it's clear that Natasha Romanoff is the best thing about the band. Her vocals are just on another level!"

"Oh, absolutely! Natasha's stage presence is incredible, and her voice, that raw emotion she pours into every note, it's what sets them apart. But let's not forget the rest of the band; they bring their own magic to the mix!"

Another press of the button. Another channel emitting the same rhetoric. 

"So, what are your thoughts on Velvet Rebellion, the band that seems to be taking the music scene by storm?"

"Look, I won't deny that they've had their moments. Natasha's got a powerful voice, and they've had some catchy tunes. But let's not forget, there's more to rock 'n' roll than just one person. We bring our own unique sound to the table, and we're here to show that rock isn't a one-trick pony."

Suddenly, the screen goes black. The television has been turned off. The room is silent. 

“Whatever,” The mysterious person tsks. There are better things to do. 

In the dimly lit room, the first flicker of a cigarette lighter illuminated a shadowy figure, and a guitar's haunting melody echoed through the air. It was a simple beginning, a humble birth of sound that would eventually become the anthem of a generation.

Images flashed in rapid succession—a chaotic whirlwind of memories and moments that had defined their journey from obscurity to stardom. The flashing lights of a small, dimly lit club, the very place where they had played their first gig, gave way to a sea of screaming fans, arms raised in fervent adoration.

“Bucky! Bucky!”

“Steve, we love you!”

Talk show interviews brought them into living rooms across the nation, their faces beamed into millions of homes as they shared their stories and their music with the world. The camera panned to Natasha, her fierce gaze unyielding as she answered questions with poise and grace.

And then, there were the guitars. Guitars being smashed in a blaze of glory on stage, a ritual that had become their trademark. The destructive catharsis of the act symbolized the release of their raw energy and passion into the world.

Groupies and fans clamored for their attention, their devotion evident in the longing looks and outstretched hands. Each face in the crowd told a story of how Velvet Rebellion's music had touched their lives.

Late-night studio sessions followed, with the band working tirelessly into the early hours, crafting the songs and lyrics that had earned them their place in music history. In the dimly lit room, the flicker of a cigarette lighter once again marked the beginning of a new song.

Magazine covers splashed with their images adorned newsstands across the country. Excerpts from clippings of their first studio album, "Velvet Love," told a tale of raw, unbridled emotion set to music—a story that had resonated with countless souls.

The montage painted a vivid picture of a band that had journeyed through the highs and lows of fame, never losing sight of the music that had brought them together. Velvet Rebellion had carved its path through the music industry, leaving an unforgettable mark on the hearts of those who had listened and loved.

*************

Sunlight filters through the curtains of Natasha and Wanda's cozy Los Angeles apartment. Disheveled yet determined, Natasha sits on the edge of her bed, cradling her guitar. She strums the strings absentmindedly, searching for that inspiration that once fueled Velvet Rebellion. Her fingers danced over the strings of her trusty guitar, each note a whisper in the quiet solitude of the bedroom.

Natasha's hair framed her face, and frustration lined her expression as she strummed the chords once again. The next album's melodies were meant to be born here. Yet, inspiration remained at arm’s length, teasing her like a fading dream.

"Come on Natalia," she whispered gruffly, remembering the name she had left behind long ago.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze to the muted TV on the dresser. A NEWS REPORTER's face appeared on the screen, accompanied by headlines that could never escape the relentless clutches of the media. She searched for the remote to turn up the volume as the face of one of her bandmates, Tony Stark’s pictures appeared. 

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“In a surprising turn of events, Velvet Rebellion's Tony Stark was arrested last night for public indecency.”

Natasha's eye-roll was instinctive. Tony always had a way of making headlines for all the wrong reasons.

NEWS REPORTER

(on TV)

“...fans and critics alike have noted the band's gradual decline, and it seems the once-revered punk rock indie sensation is now on the verge of falling apart.”

The reporter's words cut through Natasha's indifference, a scalding reminder of the shadows that had been gathering around them. She couldn't deny it; the band had been stagnant for too long.

Fury sparked in her eyes, and she clenched the neck of her guitar, momentarily abandoning the song. The Velvet Rebellion of yesteryears, the band that had ignited stages and won hearts, couldn't be reduced to this—a spectacle of controversies and dwindling star power.

Returning her attention to her guitar Natasha sighed. The room's stillness hung heavy as she gently laid the guitar down on the floor. It felt like a futile effort, the muse remaining frustratingly out of reach, leaving her with an empty canvas and an aching desire to create.

Her gaze dropped to the small, black notebook, its pages filled with aborted attempts to capture the essence of their experiences and emotions in song. But today, those pages mocked her, an unforgiving reminder of the creative void that had taken its home within her.

Just as her frustration reached its peak, the bedroom door swung open with a soft creak, and in walked Wanda, a bowl of popcorn cradled in her hand. She plopped down on the bed beside Natasha, her eyes rolling in a knowing, teasing manner.

“How’s writing going?” Wanda asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn to plop into her mouth. 

Natasha let out a weary sigh, her notebook momentarily forgotten as she shared her woes with her best friend.

“You have no idea. It's like I've hit a wall, and I can't seem to find my way around it.” Natasha said. “How are we supposed to come up with another album with no songs? It’s been two years. We’re going to be known as one-hit wonders.”

“First off that’s a bit dramatic,” Wanda attempted to calm her down. “We made the hot rock and alternative songs billboard charts for our debut. I think the momentum is still there.”

Wanda cast a glance at the muted TV screen, where a news reporter was still busy dissecting Tony's latest escapade. She couldn't help but roll her eyes, mirroring Natasha's exasperation.

“And of course, our dear Tony adds another branch to the publicity tree. It's almost impressive how consistently he manages to get into trouble.” Wanda shook her head. 

After placing her bowl of popcorn on the dresser, Wanda decided to abandon her sitting position and instead flopped onto her belly, propped up on her elbows. She grabbed Natasha's small notebook, a curious glint in her eyes as she skimmed through the handwritten lyrics and scattered notes.

“You know, Nat, I think I see where you're stuck.” Wanda hummed to herself for a moment. 

Turning her attention to Wanda, Natasha felt her frustration momentarily ebb away, replaced by curiosity.

“Oh?” Natasha eyed her. “Please, share your wisdom.”

Wanda's eyes sparkled with an unexpected idea, and she pointed to a particular verse in the notebook. Her voice took on a sultry, poetic quality as she suggested a new lyric.

“How about this: "In the shadows of desire, we ignite the night."

Natasha's eyes widened in surprise as the words resonated deep within her. She quickly reached for her instrument and strummed the guitar, incorporating the new lyric into the melody, and in that instant, it all fell into place. A smile grew on her face, and she turned to Wanda.

“Wanda, that's brilliant! Thank you!” Natasha leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I know why I keep you around.”

Wanda beamed in response. 

"Speaking of," she began, her voice casual yet laced with an underlying purpose, "we've got a gig this weekend. It's a birthday party for Harley Jameson, you know, the producer's daughter."

Natasha's response was swift and uncompromising, her will clear in her refusal. Her head shook slightly as she firmly voiced her decision, her thoughts already drifting toward the disturbing pattern of her bandmates taking liberties with decisions without consulting her, the lead.

"Absolutely not, Wanda," Natasha declared, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Aren’t we better than performing for snot-nosed brats?

Wanda, ever patient and understanding, propped herself up on her elbows. 

“Well, when that snot nose brat is paying us fifty thousand dollars plus a retainer,” Wanda shrugs. “And all the booze and food we want.” Her words were measured, spoken with the calm that came from knowing this conversation was inevitable." Nat, remember," she began, "you're the lead, not the boss. We haven’t been taking gigs because you've been declining. You know we need to keep the momentum going."

Natasha's jaw clenched in frustration. She leaned back, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as she contemplated her response.

"There's a reason, Wanda," Natasha explained, her voice tinged with concern. "Our brand has taken a beating lately with all the scandals we've had over the years. It’s not a good look being so new. I want us to lay low for a while, let the storm pass."

Wanda sighed, her eyes reflecting her understanding of Natasha's concerns. But she also recognized the band's need to keep going ahead despite the challenges.

"Nat," Wanda said, her voice gentle and reassuring, "I get it, I really do. But we'll be fine. Harley's party should be a breeze, and I promise we'll stay out of trouble. We'll stick to the music, no antics."

Natasha's hesitation lingered. Ultimately, the trust she had in Wanda, her lifelong friend and partner-in-crime, began to outweigh her reservations. She finally nodded, a reluctant but willing acceptance of the gig.

"Alright, alright," Natasha conceded. “We'll do it. But just this one, and we'll play it safe."

Wanda's eyes sparkled with a victorious smile, recognizing that she had won this battle for now. With that agreement, they returned to their songwriting. 

**************

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn of Harley Jameson's grand estate, Velvet Rebellion gathered on the makeshift stage. Around them, staff and party planners began to decorate the backyard. Their instruments glistened under the setting and stage lights. 

Natasha, her guitar slung securely across her shoulder, couldn't help but notice Tony, seated behind the drum kit, his sunglasses doing little to hide the lingering effects of his earlier indulgence. She approached him with a stern expression, a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Tony, you better get it together," She warned. "We're not messing this up tonight."

Tony, ever the charmer, brushed off her concerns with an easy smile and a wave of his hand.

"Nat, I promise, I'm fine. See?"

With that, he launched into a lively drum solo, his sticks dancing skillfully across the drumheads. The rhythm was tight, the sound electrifying. Natasha couldn't help but acknowledge his undeniable talent, even as she sighed in resignation.

"Great," she muttered to herself, "the sunglasses are his secret weapon now."

Standing beside Natasha, Steve placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His quiet and calming presence was a balm to her nerves.

"It's alright, Natasha," He reassured her, his voice steady and comforting. "We'll get through this gig, just like our old days. Tony’s recovering but he seems fine."

Together they glance back to their bandmate who was more than likely inebriated. Tony chugged a bottle of water, before crushing it and dropping it down onto the floor beside him. 

Natasha's gaze softened as she looked at Steve, a small smile forming on her lips. “Yeah, he’s the epitome of fine.”

“Okay,” Steve pulled her gently to the side. “What’s the problem?” 

“Nothing,” Natasha shrugged. “I just can’t help but think that gigs like this are beneath us. I mean we went from performing at the MTV Video Music Awards to this? A sweet sixteen?”

Steve looked at her. He had been through thick and thin with Natasha and knew the depth of her concerns. 

“Natasha,” He replied. “I get your worries, but I promise this is a good thing for us. Todd Jameson is one of the biggest music producers in Hollywood right now. There will be a lot of executives here just to support his daughter. Think of what that could mean for us.”

“Fine,” Natasha nodded. “But if he fucks up I kick his ass.”

“Oh, you bet. Right after I’m done kicking it,” Steve joked causing Natasha to burst into laughter. 

Natasha steps back over to the mic. “Alright let’s take it from the top.” 

As Natasha prepared to lead the band into their rehearsal of the first song, the peacefulness of the backyard rehearsal space was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of Harley Jameson. She swept onto the scene with all the extravagance befitting a Hollywood princess, accompanied by a harried-looking party planner and another woman, who appeared to be a guest.

Harley, the embodiment of a spoiled heiress, immediately began issuing orders with a sense of entitlement that left the party planner flustered.

"No, no, no! These decorations are all wrong! Change them around! The mirror ball should be over here. And I want a live peacock by the pool. It's not too much to ask, is it?" Harley demanded impatiently.

The party planner, clearly overwhelmed, tried to keep up with Harley's demands. "Harley, we only have a few hours before the party starts. It's going to be challenging to make all these changes in such a short time."

Harley huffed, uninterested in the logistical challenges she was causing. "I don't care about that. Just get it done. My dad said I could have whatever I wanted."

Meanwhile, Harley's attention shifted to Velvet Rebellion, her face lighting up with enthusiasm.

"Oh, my God! I've been dying to meet you! I'm a huge fan!" she exclaimed with excitement. “I’m so happy I could get you here.”

She bounded over to the band, seemingly oblivious to the chaos she was creating, and introduced them to the party planner and you.

"This is Velvet Rebellion!" Harley introduced with enthusiasm. "Steve, the keyboardist, Tony on the drums, Bucky on the electric guitar, Wanda, the second lead singer and bass guitar, and Natasha, the incredible lead singer!"

You and the other woman exchanged glances, your expressions a mixture of frustration and amusement at the whirlwind that was Harley Jameson. You gave a small wave, opting to be in the background of this exchange. 

Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, managed to maintain her composure and put on a friendly smile despite Harley's overwhelming energy. She nodded graciously at Harley's enthusiasm.

"Oh, thank you so much, Harley!" Wanda replied with genuine warmth. "We're thrilled to meet you too. Your party looks like it's going to be incredible!"

Harley's energy showed no signs of waning as she delved into the details of the band's performance. When Wanda mentioned their planned first song, "Smoke and Mirrors," Harley immediately piped up with an alternative suggestion.

"No, no, no," Harley interrupted with fervor. "I want you to start with 'Ink and Whiskey.' It's my favorite!"

Natasha, who had been preparing to protest the sudden change to their setlist, hesitated as she saw Wanda's meek demeanor. However, it was clear that Harley's demand had disrupted their carefully planned sequence.

Natasha began to voice her concerns, but Harley's retort was swift and smart-mouthed. 

“We’ve already planned this out for-” Natasha began. 

“Oh, you can change it, can’t you? It’s just a silly setlist,” Harly questioned. 

Before Natasha could respond, you intervened with a calm yet authoritative tone.

"Harley, let's tone it down a bit," You advised, your demeanor oozing an air of authority that surprised Natasha. Harley listened, her earlier defiance giving way to a more composed demeanor.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Harley shrugged. 

Natasha found herself intrigued by your presence and the respect Harley seemed to show you.

"Alright," Natasha conceded with a smile, "since it's your birthday, we'll start with 'Ink and Whiskey.'"

Wanda offered a nod of agreement, and the tension in the air began to dissipate.

Harley, feeling triumphant, turned her attention to the party planner.

"Sarah, darling, let's make sure everything is perfect. I want it to be a night to remember!" Harley changed the subject, pulling you both back into a conversation with ease. 

Sarah, the party planner, nodded and tried to hide her relief that the brief crisis had passed. 

"Of course, Harley. Everything will be just as you want it."

Natasha watched the exchange between Harley and Sarah, her curiosity piqued more by you. 

“Who’s the chick?” Natasha pointed over to you with a tilt of her head. She got shrugs from Steve and Bucky. Tony was way too distracted to answer as he flirted with one of the staff. Wanda squinted to see if she could guess. 

“I don’t know,” Wanda said. “She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m guessing it’s not her mom.”

“Interesting,” Natasha mumbled to herself. She shook her head. There was no time for whatever the thumping in her heart was proving to be. She was here for the band and for the music. Also for the money, she couldn’t forget the money. 

As the preparations for the party continued, your cell phone suddenly rang, breaking the conversation flow. You excused yourself with a polite smile and stepped away from the group, heading toward a quieter corner of the backyard a few feet away.

Natasha couldn't help but overhear snippets of your conversation, the tone of your voice suggesting a heartfelt exchange, likely with a significant other. Natasha discreetly glanced in your direction, her curiosity getting the best of her.

Your voice held a gentle warmth as you spoke softly into your phone, your words filled with affection and longing.

 "I miss you too, sweetheart. Yeah, the party's getting started here in a couple of hours. It's not the same without you. Can't wait to see you soon." You smiled. 

Natasha couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but the tenderness in your voice painted a clear picture of a loving connection between you and someone special.

Meanwhile, Harley, always the inquisitive host, began questioning Steve and Bucky about the band and its music.

"So, guys," Harley started, her interest genuine, "Have you ever thought about going solo? I am dying to know the secret."

Steve and Bucky, accustomed to answering these questions, engaged in a friendly chat with Harley, even if they also found her annoying. 

As Natasha discreetly observed you from the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but be captivated by your natural beauty. You were dressed in a simple white t-shirt and form-fitting jeans, a look that should have been unremarkable, but on you, it was utterly captivating.

The way your hair was styled, framing your face in soft waves, added to your appeal. Your skin had a radiant glow, and your features held an understated elegance that drew Natasha's attention. Despite the casual attire, you exuded a timeless charm that was impossible to ignore.

Natasha found herself admiring the effortless beauty that seemed to emanate from you and she wanted to know more. 

Just as Natasha started to pretend she wasn't eavesdropping, you turned around with a warm smile, catching her off guard. She quickly toyed with her microphone stand, feigning indifference.

You found her reaction amusing but were soon drawn back into your phone conversation. Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the person on the other end of that call and what had sparked such a genuine smile on your face. 

She toyed with the mic stand for as long as possible, physically forcing herself not to look your way. It’s a few more minutes before you returned to the group. You turned your attention to Harley and Sarah.

"Harley, don't forget, you have that hair appointment in an hour," You reminded her, glancing at your watch. "We need to make sure you're all set for your big night."

Harley, momentarily distracted by the band's presence, nodded in agreement.

"Oh, right! Thanks, y/n. I'll head out now," Harley replied with a grin. She turned to the band and offered her farewells. "Catch you all later!"

With that, Harley and Sarah departed, leaving Velvet Rebellion alone in the backyard.

As the group began to disperse, you took a moment to say goodbye to the band. 

“See you guys tonight,” You said. “I’m sure you’ll do great. If you need refreshments just ask one of the staff and they will be happy to help you with anything you need.” 

Natasha responded with a small smile and a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of the brief but pleasant interaction.

Once you, Harley, and Sarah were out of earshot, the rest of the band couldn't resist teasing Natasha. Wanda, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, chimed in.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Wanda teased, earning a knowing chuckle from the others. Natasha's momentary fascination with you hadn't gone unnoticed, and her bandmates were more than happy to playfully nudge her about it.

“There’s no look, I don’t have a look.” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Sure, you don’t,” Wanda grinned. “Any bets on how long until she gets her number?”

“I say within the hour,” Tony raised his hand pulling out a single, crinkled five-dollar bill from his back pocket. 

“Fifteen says they sleep together after the show,” Bucky shrugged. Steve is the only one to remain silent. 

“I don’t know,” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “I think I’ll save my thoughts for later. The girl barely said two words to any of us.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said. “Now, can we rehearse like a proper band?” 

She tried to erase your image from her head as she positioned herself in front of the microphone. 

From the top. 

*****************

The night was alive with energy as Velvet Rebellion took the stage, the crowd gathered around, eager to soak in every note of their music. Natasha oozed confidence and charisma, a star in every sense of the word. The opening chords of "Ink and Whiskey" filled the air, and the crowd erupted in cheers. This birthday party was a rager if she’d ever seen one. Natasha always considered rich people stiff and uptight. Going to plenty of parties once their debut kicked off their careers. Stiff drinks, weird pleasantries, and even more drugs. She was being proven wrong with this particular shindig. 

She moved to the edge of the stage, her presence magnetic. She sang with a passion that could be felt in every corner of the space, her voice carrying the weight of their lyrics. The audience couldn't help but be drawn into her performance, and they eagerly joined in, singing along and dancing to the beat.

Wanda, standing beside Natasha, bled a different kind of cool and calm. Her steady presence provided the perfect balance to Natasha's fiery performance. It was clear to anyone watching that their dynamic was the secret to their success.

Natasha lowered her head, giving Wanda the floor to sing her part of the chorus. Wanda’s hands moved steadily between the chords as she sang into the microphone. 

Ink and whiskey, the pages of our hearts,  

Tangled in the chapters where love starts,  

In the darkness, our secrets we confide,  

With every word written, our souls collide

Natasha steps forward, moving close enough to the microphone so that she and Wanda could harmonize the last verse. Her eyes travel from Wanda’s, smiling as they share in the energy and joy of being on stage before she maneuvers herself to face the crowd. 

In the night's embrace, our love's sweet refrain,  

Ink and whiskey, like a runaway train,  

Through the highs and lows, we'll find our way,  

With every word we write, love's here to stay

In the front row, Harley danced with her friends, reveling in the music and the excitement of the night. The atmosphere was electric, and the joy was contagious.

As Natasha sang, she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on familiar faces among the sea of B-listers and music enthusiasts. But the one that stood out the most was you. Your eyes locked, and Natasha couldn't resist a playful wink, a silent acknowledgment of your earlier encounter.

You raised your glass in a silent toast and clapped enthusiastically when the song came to an end. You weren’t a huge fan of the music genre but you could see why Velvet Rebellion was such a rising star amongst new artists. Their stage presence was undeniable, the song was catchy and the beat was electrifying. It helped that Natasha was cute. All good things in your book. You can’t take your eyes off the stage as they move into their next song. It’s a bit disjointed considering Harley made them change the setlist around the last minute but it seems smooth either way. Natasha dances a bit for this one, her body movements fluid and effortless. Almost as if she’s had some training. 

You’re momentarily distracted when a distant family member comes to say hello. 

The show must go on as Natasha continues to sing her heart out. 

**********************

The final notes of their setlist rang out, and the crowd roared in appreciation. Velvet Rebellion had given their all, and now it was time for the DJ to take over and keep the party going.

Wanda had convinced Natasha to stay a while longer, promising that the night was still young and full of possibilities. Tony, ever the charmer, remarked with a grin, "I see a few MILFs in the crowd that I wouldn't mind mingling with." He slipped into the crowd with ease, chatting up the first single woman he saw. 

Natasha, however, remained all about business. She stood at the bar, surveying the party and keeping a watchful eye on her bandmates. The chaos and revelry around her seemed to blur into a colorful swirl of dancing bodies and laughter.

It was then that you approached her, catching Natasha's attention. Your presence was a welcome change of pace, and Natasha couldn't help but appreciate the genuine compliment she received.

"You guys were incredible," You said with a smile. "I'm impressed."

Natasha, always a woman of few words in such settings, offered a gracious nod of acknowledgment. 

You extended your hand with a warm smile as you introduced yourself, "I'm y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Natasha shook your hand firmly and replied, "Natasha. Likewise."

You couldn't help but notice Natasha's reserved demeanor. Almost as if she felt too cool to be here. 

"I couldn't help but wonder," You began, your curiosity evident as you raised your voice above the music. "why aren't you out there dancing like the rest of your bandmates?"

Natasha offered a wry smile and shot back, "I could ask you the same thing."

“Touche,” You nodded. “I’m not much of a party girl.” You turn towards the bartender. “Do you want a drink? Eric here makes the best mojitos.”

“Sure, I’ll have a sex on the beach,” Natasha asked. 

“You heard the woman,” You jokingly said to Eric as he began to make your drinks. As you focused your attention on grabbing a few napkins, Natasha gave you a once-over. Your party dress was a delightful balance of simplicity and style. The knee-length and backless dress showcased a flattering silhouette, hugging your curves in all the right places. The deep, midnight-blue fabric was decorated with tiny, shimmering glitter that seemed to twinkle with each movement you made. Its sweetheart neckline and delicate spaghetti straps added a touch of femininity to the ensemble, while the mid-thigh slit allowed for easy movement as you moved. The overall effect was a cute yet elegant dress that perfectly suited the festive atmosphere of the party.

Natasha's observant eye caught the jewelry adorning your wrist. It was subtle but tasteful, hinting at a level of refinement that didn't go unnoticed. It was at least half of her salary for tonight’s show. This only interested her more. She needed to know who you were. She wanted to know the mystery behind you and your name. 

“Here you go,” You step back over to Natasha to hand her a drink. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“Not at all,” Natasha shrugged. 

"You know, if you're looking for a bit more quiet, we could step inside for a breather." You suggested, tilting your chin towards the house. 

Natasha considered the offer, realizing that a change of scenery might be a welcome respite from the party's chaos. With a small smile, she agreed, "That sounds like a good idea."

You led Natasha through the sea of people and inside the mansion to a nearby office where the music's relentless thump was muffled, and the atmosphere was quieter. It was a welcome change from the frenzied party outside.

As you settled into seats close to each other on the couch, drinks in hand, Natasha couldn't help herself and began to ask you questions. 

“Why did you ask me in here tonight?” Natasha asked. “Not that I’m complaining. I have been invited into much worse places.”  

“Thanks, I think,” You chuckled. You sensed Natasha's curiosity and offered a simple explanation, your eyes holding Natasha's in an unspoken connection."I enjoy meeting new people," you confessed, your voice soft but sincere. "And I've decided I wanted to talk with you."

You took a sip of your drink, your gaze thoughtful. "I also wanted to apologize for Harley's behavior earlier. She can be... spirited at times."

Natasha waved off the apology with a small smile, understanding that spirited was one way to describe Harley's antics.

You went on to explain, "Usually, I don't speak up like that, but my uncle has a way of spoiling Harley. It's... complicated."

Natasha's curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "Your uncle? He’s Todd Jameson?"

You took a moment before revealing, "Yes. He and my dad are half-brothers. Making Harley my little cousin. I don’t admit it often."

The revelation left Natasha intrigued. She had heard the name Todd Jameson before, a figure of significance in the entertainment industry. The connection between you and Harley was now becoming clearer, and Natasha couldn't help but wonder about the family connection.

“That would make your dad…” Natasha began. 

“Nick Fury, the one and only,” You finished for her. “Different fathers. My dad is somewhere out there tonight. It’s a thing I don’t like to admit to strangers.”

“I get it,” Natasha nodded. 

The revelation about your family connection to Todd Jameson made Natasha pause for a moment. She had always admired the award-winning jazz player turned talent manager, Nick Fury, from afar. His contributions to the music industry were legendary, and Natasha couldn't deny that she was a fan of his music.

She decided not to fangirl, though, and instead offered a genuine smile. "Your dad is a legend. I've always been a fan of his music."

Your eyes lit up with appreciation. "Thank you, Natasha. I'll be sure to pass that along to him." You set your half-empty cup onto a coaster, before turning back to Natasha. “So, watching you on that stage. Not many people have that star power. I was wondering if you have experience dancing? You were incredible.” 

Natasha's eyes sparkled as she recalled her performance. "The way I danced on stage during our set, it's a part of who I am. I guess you could say it's a bit of my background showing through."

Your curiosity piqued, and you guessed, "Ballet, then?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I did ballet for sixteen years as a child. I even got into Juilliard."

Your eyes widened in admiration. "That's amazing, Natasha. How did you get into singing and music?"

Natasha took a sip of her drink and smiled as she delved into the story of how she got into music. It was a story that she didn't often share, but there was something about her conversation with you that made her feel comfortable opening up.

"It all started back in high school," Natasha began. "I was really into dancing, and it was an elective at my school. But then, one day, I decided to join the choir on a whim. And I fell in love with singing and songwriting. I grew up in a rough neighborhood. I needed something to keep me out of the house and off the streets."

She paused for a moment, reminiscing about those early days. "So, I started writing songs, and my friends Wanda and Steve would go over to Steve’s small bedroom. We'd play our rented instruments and experiment with different sounds. It was just a fun little hobby at first."

Natasha's gaze drifted, lost in the memories of those simple beginnings. "Then Bucky, Steve’s best friend well, he's always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he's got a talent for the electric guitar. And Tony...his dad's pretty wealthy and bought us all our equipment. Plus, he's good at the drums."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "It was a bit of a motley crew, but that's how Velvet Rebellion came to be. We started playing in small venues, dive bars, and country clubs. And somehow, we made it here."

Natasha's usually guarded demeanor had softened in your presence, and she found herself enjoying the opportunity to share a piece of her journey with someone who seemed genuinely interested in her story.

“I love that,” You nodded. You and Natasha share a smile before she asked. 

“Is your boyfriend here tonight? I don’t want to keep you too long,” She fished for more information. 

“No, no,” You shake your head. “No boyfriend. You?”

“Not really into monogamy at the moment,” She shrugged. She doesn’t know if this statement will bite her in the ass later but for some reason she trusted you. “Tell me about you. Are you in the family business or?”

"I've always had a bit of a connection to the music world," You began. "As a teenager, I sang a few backup vocals for artists my uncle produced. I guess you could say I almost pursued a career in music, but life had other plans for me. I got pregnant at seventeen. Dedicated to finish school and go to college."

You took a thoughtful swig of your drink and continued, "Now, I'm a publicist. I don't mean to brag, but I'm good at what I do.When I'm not working, I'm taking care of my daughter, Isabella. She's nine years old and the light of my life."

Your face softened as you spoke about your daughter, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and joy. "She's with her dad for the weekend," you added, "and we co-parent quite well."

Natasha was genuinely interested in your life outside of the party scene, and she couldn't resist asking, "Do you have any pictures of Isabella? I'd love to see her."

Your eyes twinkled with delight as you pulled out your phone and began to share a few adorable images of your daughter. Natasha couldn't help but smile as she admired the photos, enjoying this glimpse into your world beyond the music and the party.

“Here she is at gymnastics practice,” You flipped through a few pictures of Isabella’s smiling face. “And swim. She is a little spitfire and she wants to do it all.”

“Wow,” Natasha smiled as if Isabella were her own child. “Do you ever want more?”

“Maybe one day,” You said wistfully. “For now I feel pretty full with everything in life. You?” 

You noticed the change in Natasha's expression and asked, "Is something on your mind?"

Natasha sighed, leaning back into her seat. "I just don't know if I'm cut out for motherhood," she admitted. "I have a younger sister, Yelena, she’s attending the University of Cambridge in England now. She's even developed a bit of a British accent." Natasha couldn't help but chuckle at the thought.

"But," she continued, "I enjoy the fast-paced life, the music, the performances, and the constant movement. A significant other won’t quite understand that I don't always have the time. Not that I don’t ever want that someday but…” Her voice died down. 

You listened empathetically, understanding the complexities of Natasha's life as a musician. "I get that," you acknowledged. "But it's essential to find the right balance for you, whether it's in your music career, personal life, or something in between. My dad was able to do it. When he crossed over into hip-hop there was definitely a lot he missed but he still made things happen"

“Really? Well, I will have to ask him for pointers.” She grinned. 

Just as the conversation was reaching its peak, there came a polite knock at the office door. A member of the party staff popped in to inform you that they were ready to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley.

You turned to Natasha with a warm smile. "It was nice meeting and talking to you, Natasha," you said genuinely.

Natasha, not wanting the connection to end, began, "You know, I'd love to..."

But before she could finish her sentence, your cheeks flushed, and you interrupted already knowing what she was going to say, your voice bold, "Are you going to call me, or are you going to leave me hanging in the wind?"

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at your sudden assertiveness. It was a pleasant surprise. "I’m not that type of woman," Natasha said. At your look, she laughed again. “You got me there.”

You returned her smile and handed Natasha your phone, saying, "You'll just have to trust me with your number instead, and I'll call." Asking for her number instead eased the pressure off Natasha, and also your nerves at hoping she’d call. 

You gave Natasha a wink and chucked a thumb over your shoulder to indicate you were going back to the party. Natasha nodded and watched you walk away. When her eyes trailed lower she doesn’t even feel guilty about it. 

Natasha left the office, rejoining her bandmates outside in the backyard, just as they were preparing to sing "Happy Birthday" to Harley. The festive atmosphere was in full swing, and the energy of the party was infectious.

As the crowd gathered around Harley, Natasha's eyes scanned the faces, and they landed on you, who was standing among the partygoers. Your eyes met, and you shared a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you had developed.

Tony, always quick to pick up on things, couldn't help but tease Natasha when he noticed her grin. "So, did you get her number?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at Tony's assumption but then burst into laughter. "No," she replied with a playful smirk, "she took mine."

The party was still in full swing when someone on stage stopped the music with a loud, "Hey, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?"

The spotlight shifted to the stage, and all eyes turned toward the source of the interruption. It was a friend of Harley's, and he had a mischievous grin on his face as he spoke into the microphone.

"I have a special surprise for our birthday girl tonight," he announced. "We have someone here who's agreed to sing 'Happy Birthday' to Harley, and I think you're all in for a treat."

A collective cheer and applause erupted from the crowd as they eagerly anticipated the surprise. The spotlight moved to you, highlighting your face and putting you on the spot. You managed to not look like a deer in headlights which was a feat in itself. Natasha's curiosity was piqued, especially considering you had mentioned you weren’t much of a singer.

You tried to protest shyly, but the crowd begged you to come up on stage. Encouraged by their cheers, you reluctantly made your way up to the spotlight.

Once on stage, you cleared your throat and took a deep breath, your nerves palpable. You began with a little birthday speech, your voice tinged with affection and humor.

"I want to wish a happy birthday to my cousin Harley," You began, your smile directed at the birthday girl. "Even though she's a bit of a brat," you teased, earning laughs from the crowd, "she's my brat, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Then, as expected, you began to sing "Happy Birthday." Your voice, which you had modestly downplayed earlier, was nothing short of remarkable. It was soulful, sweet, and filled with a depth of emotion that resonated through the entire backyard.

The crowd, including Natasha, was utterly blown away by the unexpected talent that you possessed. Your voice filled the air, making the birthday celebration even more special and memorable. It was a moment of pure magic, and Natasha couldn't help but be captivated by your incredible singing ability.

Natasha decided two things then and there. One, she really liked you, and two, boy, was she in for a ride.

---> next part

[fairuzfan]

I don’t ask this expecting you have THE answer or that there is one, but I follow a non Palestinian white man on insta (in addition to many Palestinian folks in diaspora and in Palestine) who mostly shares things from Palestinian ppl/sources.

He has several times criticized / shared criticism of charity dinners, music festivals etc raising funds for Gaza with the perspective of, it’s not appropriate to have a dance party or dinner while people are undergoing genocide, but also that in this moment, art isn’t resistance because there needs to be physical resistance, blockades of weapons, etc.

I’ve seen this echoed from some others especially critiquing white folks trying to claim “joy is resistance” right now, which makes sense to me, but i also wonder if it’s reductive to say art or music is not resistance because I feel like it can have a lot of power especially alongside social movements… was wondering if you had thoughts on this or perhaps knew where I could look to learn more.

Please ignore if this is too much, and thank you

I think things like writing and illustration and music feeds into the spirit of revolution and is necessary in that way. You have to energize the masses somehow, and to ensure that your message spreads as far as possible. A good way is to make art, or to sing a song, or write a story.

That's why Wisam Rafeedi wrote his book and different resistance factions make posters and videos — to spread their ideas and garner support among the masses.

It's not as important as putting yourself in immediate physical danger to incapacitate the colonial entity — but I think for Palestinians and other colonized peoples, they do need to make art to really process their thoughts. Of course there's a difference when a Palestinian in Palestine, a Palestinian in the diaspora, a nonPalestinian ally of color, and a NonPalestinian white ally do this. I won't deny that there's a nuance when it comes to this.

But writers who write about Palestinian Liberation historically have been assassinated because of how they participate in liberation actions and also spread ideas of liberation themselves. I don't know which white guy you're talking about but I feel like this is mostly a conversation that should be led by Palestinians if we're talking about Palestine because they understand the nuance of saying statements like "the only resistance is physical." I understand what he's saying to an extent but that does erase a lot of Palestinian resistance the past few decades by making sweeping statements like "art is not resistance" and kind of simplifies the issue at hand.

Charity dinners and galas and that stuff... I don't know what I think about them, I think that people are going to do it either way so my opinion doesn't really matter. Hey, if you're going to raise thousands of dollars for Palestine, I'm not going to stop you at all. I personally think you should try to avoid posting pictures and stuff like that from the gala itself if you're going to host one just out of courtesy.

I guess overall what I'm trying to say, art resistance becomes physical a lot of the time. I think its really reductive to say "art isn't resistance" and also personally insulting considering I have family members and friends who were journalists, creative writers, and artists and killed/targeted for their work.

Here's this article by Fargo Tbahkhi about the role of writing during a genocide that might be a good read. They also mention how Israeli propaganda (calling Palestinians "human animals"/"Amalek" as an example) is specifically a use of culture and writing to energize people to commit genocide. An especially poignant part that I completely agree with, and am trying to get at:

Palestine requires that we abandon this catharsis. Nobody should get out of our work feeling purged, clean. Nobody should live happily during the war. Our readers can feel that way when liberation is the precondition for our work, and not the dream. When it is the place we stand, and not the place we shake ourselves towards. In this way, what the long middle of revolution requires, what Palestine requires, is an approach to writing whose primary purpose is to gather others up with us, to generate within them an energy which their bodies cannot translate into anything but revolutionary movement. This is what Boal modeled for us in his theatrical experiments, which were dedicated to empowering audiences to act, to participate in a creative struggle to envision and embody alternatives. For Boal, theater was not revolution, but it was a rehearsal for the revolution, meant to gather communities together in that rehearsal. Creative work readies us for material work, by offering a space to try out strategies, think through contradictions, remind us of our own agency.  

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x succubus!reader. you're dragged along by a friend to verosika mayday's anti-blitzø party and find yourself drawn to a certain imp as the night progresses. after blitzø's heart to heart with the hostess, he's left stewing in his own mind. when you approach him and offer to keep him company there on the balcony, he may just see you as a sorely needed reprieve from his traitorous thoughts.

anon request. 3.2k

featuring: hurt/comfort, smut, an emotionally wrought blitzø, some stolitz feels.

Hugging a plastic cup to your chest, you watch the party move around you with wide eyes. You weren’t at all surprised by the level of debauchery – hell, by Lust Ring standards this was actually pretty tame – but by the strange kind of… catharsis you were witnessing amongst some of the other guests. Sure, not all of it was exactly healthy – you were pretty sure playing pin-the-dagger-on-the-dickhead wasn’t therapist approved – but people seemed to be…

Well.

Maybe ‘moving on’ weren’t the right words for it.

But, hey, you weren’t here to judge. You’d been invited by a friend to a Verosika Mayday party, and even among fellow Succubi that was huge deal. So, that had been enough for you to put together a poor attempt at a Halloween costume and tag along for the night.

You hadn’t realized that the dress code had a different theme until you had opened your apartment door to see you friend wearing a shirt emblazoned with a crudely written “Fuck You Blitzo”. Now it was easy to tell the two groups apart by their wardrobes – those invited by Verosika herself, and their guests all dolled up in their Halloween best.

Still, decent booze, better music, and the intoxicating energy that always radiated off a group of Lust demons this large has your head spinning pleasantly, even if this isn’t exactly what you’d been expecting. You’d grilled your friend on how they’d scored themselves an invite, and honestly, it felt as though you only needed to be tangentially involved with this ‘Blitzø’ guy to score yourself an invite from Mayday.

You weren’t complaining. It beat sitting at home.

The hours pass in a blur of booze and bodies, and you’ve long since surrendered yourself to the fun. An incubus you’ve already forgotten the name of has you pressed against the wall, his tongue in your mouth and his hips flush against yours. You can feel him hard against you, the energy swirling through the party spurring you on. You hook one hand in his belt, the other slung over his shoulder, still holding your half-full cup. He doesn’t seem to be worried about wearing the contents, and his lips move to the side of your throat, his stubble teasing over your skin.

You hum happily at the sensation, rolling your hips into his. An incubus isn’t going to feed you those happy-vibes as much as a human soul could, but even without the power rush your own excitement is an addictive sensation. The incubus grazes his teeth over your collarbone and you gasp, eyes opening lazily.

You cast your gaze across the throng of dancing bodies and upward, following the line of the stairs to the balcony above. A figure wrapped in what looks like a stained tablecloth sits up there alone, feet dangling over the edge. You find yourself staring up at them for a long moment before you feel yourself pushing the other demon away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotta go,” you tell him, only semi-apologetic. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, taking it in stride the way only an incubus can, and you step past him to wander up the stairs. Coming to a stop beside the figure… an imp, you realize… you hesitate for a moment.

“Mind if I join you?”

You can barely make out the shrug of his shoulder and you take a seat beside him, swinging your legs out over the edge of the balcony. Discontent is just radiating off of him, and you bite your lip.

“Y’know… you might be the only person here who out even less thought into dressing for the theme than me,” you joke gently. You’re wearing a barely-there dress made of thick black threads woven together to emulate a spiderweb. It left the matching set of black lingerie clearly visible underneath, the hem ending a few inches above your thigh-high boots. “Are you supposed to be a… ghost or something?”

The imp doesn’t answer, and you bit your lip against the sheer awkwardness. You could just take him blowing you off in stride and leave, but there was something so… magnetic about the guy. You take a sip of your drink, holding out the cup in offer.

“You want some?”

There’s a pause, then he reaches out from under the tablecloth to take the cup, his claws brushing against your fingers as he does. He throws back the rest of it, sighing and letting the cup drop from his hand to the floor below, heedless of anyone it might hit. “…Thanks.”

“Sure,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear. “You, uh… don’t seem to be having fun. Did… you know this Blitzo guy?”

The imp is silent for a few moments, his voice barely audible. “He ruined my fucking life.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

The imp glances your way, stiffening for a second as he studies your face. “I don’t… did Blitz fuck you over, too?”

He has nice eyes.

You shake your head. “Got invited by a friend. And I don’t think they really knew the guy either. Hell, half the people here are like that from what I can tell. Honestly, this whole thing feels kinda… fucked up.”

The imp stares at you for a few more moments, and there’s something weighted about his gaze. You swallow, fingers tangling in the webbing covering your stomach. Then, he casts his eyes down over the crowd, and he tenses.

“What’s wrong?”

He seems to struggle to decide whether he wants to tell you. You follow his gaze and spot the Goetian Prince you’d heard sing earlier in the night, currently being spun around the dancefloor by an Incubus you’ve seen at parties in the past.

“Ah.” you say. “An ex?”

He nods, almost pitifully. Still, his fists clench against his thighs, an outward show of irritation. Possessiveness.

The two of you watch the couple laugh and dance for a while, and you fight the urge to reach a hand over to him as he growls quietly when the incubus kisses the prince’s neck.

Instead, you swallow, raising your voice over the crowd again. “Hey… did you drive?”

“What?”

“Did you drive tonight?”

He nods, eyes still glued to the Owl Prince.

“…D’you think you could give me a ride home?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The two of you ride in silence, all the way back into Hell and down into the Lust Ring; you only speak up long enough to give him directions to your apartment. His claws are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, hard enough that his knuckles are pale. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and after a while you reach out over the messy seat of his van to touch a calming hand to his knee.

The imp glances down at it, almost surprised, but his jaw stops tightening.

He comes to an abrupt stop outside your apartment building, mounting the curb and narrowly missing the bench bolted to the footpath. You unbuckle your seatbelt, the awkward feeling hanging between the two of you like so much smoke.

You should end it here, let him take himself home and drink away his troubles or smash shit or send his ex a barrage of texts over what he saw tonight. It’s not your business and you don’t owe the guy anything. So, why instead do you hear yourself say: “Hey, um… d’you want to come inside?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On any other day, Blitzø might have scoffed at the idea of a shy succubus, one that treads lightly around his feelings rather than just asking or seducing him into a rough fuck, but tonight he just follows you into your apartment quietly. He still wears the tablecloth like a security blanket, but you don’t comment on it.

Instead, he takes a seat on the couch as you pour the two of you a drink of Asmodean whiskey. It’s not as strong as Beelzejuice but it’s marketed as a nightcap, and it feels more suitable in this moment than a party drink. It burns his throat when he downs half of it, his fingers wrapped almost too tightly around the glass.

You try to make conversation, voice stilted and quiet, and he offers you brief responses that float away like debris in water. All he can see in his mind is Stolas’ happy, carefree smile as that incubus had held him in his fucking arms, and Blitzø just needed his brain to stop.

“You wanna fuck?”

You stop midsentence, caught off-guard.

“I…” you give a surprised, breathless laugh. “I’m… you want to…?”

“Fuck,” he nods decisively. He feels like he should be leaning into you, fixing you with bedroom-eyes or at the very least be speaking in a huskier tone but instead he just sits there, a matter-of-fact. “Now.”

You seem to consider him for a moment before you reach up, and he stiffens as you touch the edge of the tablecloth.

“Depends,” you say, pushing the cloth back away from his face. “Do I have to fuck a ghost?”

He chokes on a laugh despite himself before you lean down to kiss him. He meets your lips almost hesitantly, and it isn’t until later that he realizes that this is the first time he’s kissed someone other than Stolas in months. Your kiss is different, softer and more tentative… there’s no urgency behind it, none of the desperation that’s usually tied to a scheduled fuck. It leaves him cold for a moment, uncertain, but then you cup his cheek gently and slide your tongue into his mouth and he feels warmth bloom in his gut.

He kisses you back, claws curling in the threads barely covering your thigh as the tablecloth falls off him completely. The feel of it sliding over his back makes him shiver, and he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck, tugging you closer and deepening the embrace.

You taste of the sweet nectar of Beelzejuice and something tart like cherries, and he groans, low and reedy into your mouth. The sound thrills you, sends a shudder through the very middle of you, and you scratch your nails over the base of one of his horns.

Blitzø almost purrs at the sensation. “Fuck…”

He inhales sharply as you trail your hand down from his face and over his chest and further… you urge his jacket down off his arms and he shrugs it off, taking your face in his hands. His teeth catch your lip and he tastes the metallic hint of blood, his cock stirring as you whimper needily in response. His eyes roll back behind the lids as you finally palm his cock, squeezing the bulge in his pants as you break apart to catch your breath, forehead bumping against his.

He barely gives you a chance to steady yourself before he’s pulling you in again, because as long as he’s feeling this, feeling you, those whispers in his brain can’t be heard. You’re a balm against the poison of his mind, and Blitzø finds himself torn between the idea of laying you out and pounding your ass into the mattress or splitting you open over his lap.

Blitzø grabs at you, clutching at your hips, your breasts. “Fuckin’ piece of—”

You giggle as his claws tangle in your dress, pulling away to tug it off over your head. Tossing it aside, your breath catches as the imp buries his face against your chest, licking and nipping at the swell of your breasts. He sucks at a nipple through the cup of your bra, and you dust kisses over his horns and his forehead as his fangs graze the hardened point through the silk. He reaches up to tug the cup down, his claws drawing lines against the soft swell of your breast, dark red against the cotton candy color of your skin. He seems to admire the marks for a moment before he brings his mouth to your breast again, curling his forked tongue around your nipple and sucking hard.

The way you arch against him is the closest Blitzø will ever understand as poetry, and he decides right there he needs more of it, pulling you into his lap. You straddle his thighs obediently, grinding yourself once, hard over his crotch. He snarls at the feeling of it, wrapping your hair around his hand and dragging you back down into another kiss, his other claws clutching at a handful of your ass.

The imp’s touch is hot and rough and amazing, so good you’re almost surprised you’re not sucking up a supernova worth of soul energy from the demon. He encourages you to ride his lap with a tight grip on your thigh and your ass, his tongue sliding almost languidly into your mouth.

You unbuckle his belt with practiced ease, lowering his zipper and wrapping your fingers around his erection. The imp groans into your mouth, bucking into the warmth of your hand. You squeeze the base of him with every downstroke of his cock, bending down further to dust kisses over his cheek and the side of his throat. Your teeth graze his collarbone and he curses, claws flexing so hard on your ass that you feel them prick your skin.

“Fuck me…” he groans, and you kiss him again, bracing an arm against the back of the couch beside his horns.

“That’s the idea,” you say breathily and he swats your ass with the spade of his tail. He begins to roll his eyes at the joke but the gesture melts away as you take hold of his wrist and lead his hand between your legs. The imp takes the hint immediately, and you moan quietly as he tugs your underwear aside and slides his fingers against your clit.

“Oh, shit…” you murmur, riding his hand slowly. The imp presses kisses to your chest, reaching behind you unclip your bra. You shrug it off, letting out a drawn-out, broken moan as he guides his cock into you. “Fuck…”

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he agrees, head falling back against the couch. Bracing both hands against the couch on either side of him you corkscrew your hips slowly over his until he bottoms out inside you. He surprises you by leaning up to kiss you again, and you let that linger as you begin to move against him.

You ride the imp’s lap slowly, reveling in the way every inch feels inside you. He thrusts up into you every time you lower yourself again, claws claiming your thighs, just above the top of your boots.

He watches you with wide eyes, his gaze dropping down over your near-naked body before always returning to your face. You shudder with the way he feels filling, stretching your cunt, pushing your hair out of your face so you can press a kiss between his horns.

The way he’s watching you is more intoxicating than anything else you’ve sampled tonight, and when slips a hand between your legs to play with your clit you keen, head falling back.

Blitzø stares at the column of your neck as you tighten around him, your cum dripping down over the base of his cock. He feels your tail wrap around his calf, feels your cunt squeeze around him, and he closes his eyes tight.

The flash of feather and glowing red in his memory makes his brow crease, and he runs his hand over your waist, your thigh, reminding himself of the soft, smooth expanse of your skin. He thrusts up harder into you, retaking your hips to encourage you into a more brutal pace.

You let out an ‘uh’ every time he hits that spot inside you, and he’s cursing and groaning and you palm your breast and squeeze. There’s a furrow between his brows and you can tell he’s trying to hold out, to make this last. His hands are so tight on your hips you’re sure that you’ll bruise, but you don’t care, circling your clit with hurried fingers as you bounce on his dick.

“Yes…” you moan, sparks igniting up along your spine as he angles his hips just right. “Oh, fuck, yes, Blitz!”

“Kiss me,” the imp says just as your second orgasm crests. “Please… fuck. Kiss me.”

You take his face in your hands and bring his lips back to yours and he moans into your mouth as he cums inside you, hands gripping roughly at your shoulders. You keep kissing him until you feel him relax, breaking away to dust soft, slow kisses to his cheek and between his eyes. His hips bump up into yours a few more times as he finally comes down, his chest heaving.

He freezes as you bump your forehead against his and pulls back to meet your eye. “You… how the fuck did you know I’m…”

You raise an eyebrow, the beginnings of an amused smirk playing on your lips. “Your ex is the Goetian Prince and they were kinda burning you in effigy at that party… I took a gamble.”

Blitzø chuckles, the sound half torn between amusement and self-deprecation. “Fuck…”

“Well, hey,” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll have earned an invite of my own to next year’s big Halloween bash.”

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I’m kidding!” you laugh, taking hold of his wrists and dragging his hands away from his face. “I’m only kidding, I swear!”

He raises an eyebrow at you disbelievingly, and you smile softly, reassuringly.

“Seriously, Blitz. I mean, I don’t really know you, besides the whole…” you gesture down to where you’re still straddling his lap. Your thighs ache slightly with him still inside you. “… y’know… but I didn’t bring you home with me thinking I was going to ‘fix the asshole of honour’.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.” you shake your head at his skepticism. “I learned a long time ago that no one expects monogamy from a succubus. And I’m fine with that. I do better without the strings attached. But,” you continue, grinding your hips slowly over his once and making the over-sensitized imp groan in the back of his throat. “I also know you looked like you could use a break from the self-hate for a little while.”

His gaze drops, and you skim a finger down his cheek and under his chin to tilt his face back up to yours.

“Seriously. We’re good here.”

Blitzø sighs, letting his head drop back against the couch. “So, I don’t have to worry about you bitchin’ about me to your friends after this?”

“With dick that good, nah.” you joke, grinning when he snickers despite himself. “Look, I think you clearly need to figure out what’s going on between you and the Prince that’s got you all… how you are. But I also think that if you wanna stay the night, that’s fine too.”

“I don’t…”

You dip your head down to kiss his cheek before he can formulate an answer.

“Maybe don’t answer that offer while you’re still inside me.” you tease, and he smirks weakly, his hands squeezing your hips. You climb gracefully off his lap, unabashed by your disheveled appearance – mussed hair and smeared lipstick, wearing only latex boots and underwear stained in both your cum. “I’m going to shower. And I promise, I won’t be offended if you’re gone by the time I get out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To your surprise, he isn't.

[minkdelovely]

a note from mink

hello and welcome 💖 i am the lady of this mess, and this is where i write and post whatever i like — akin to a frantic spinster living in a weathered victiorian house filled with clutter. feel free to take a look around while i bare my soul 🙏🏻❤️‍🔥 you’ll find music, memes, fan art, fan fiction, and pretty things. i hope you enjoy your time here. i certainly do 😈✨

i am open to taking requests, as my imagination doesn’t always want to cooperate with me. all i ask is to please be as specific as you can (i thrive off context lol) and bear with me as i am a corporate shill and have to write between business hours 🫠

my sincerest thanks to any and all who read what i’ve made. it’s very humbling and i’m never not overwhelmed by your likes, comments, and reblogs 🥺💖 it truly sends my soul to another dimension

requests: closed (limited and not guaranteed <- read for more info; i will open again when i can) current hyper-fixation: hazbin hotel currently writing for: hazbin hotel || MDNI 18+

masterlist under the cut

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

series:

Love and Power: Alastor x Fem!Reader status: ACTIVE || SLOW BURN || EXPLICIT prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two ; epilogue

Dexterity: Alastor x Lucifer Part One: Curiosity ; Part Two: Discovery MINI SERIES || STEAMY || EXPLICIT

Dissemblers Human!Mafia AU Alastor x Lucifer || EXPLICIT

one shots:

Ptolemaea Nun!Alastor x Demon!Lucifer || EXPLICIT

Catharsis Alastor x Lucifer || ANGST

Between Breaths Alastor x Shadow || EXPLICIT

I Like You A Lot High!Alastor x Fem!Reader || EXPLICIT

blurbs:

Homebodies Domestic!Alastor x GN!Reader || FLUFF

Velocity Alastor x Lucifer || FLUFF

Hands On Alastor x Fem!Reader || EXPLICIT

requests:

Alastor x Playful GN!Reader || FLUFF

[srbachchan]

DAY 5927

Jalsa, Mumbai May 10, 2024 Fri 11:58PM

🪔,

May 11 .. birthday greetings to Ef A. S. Abdul Rahim .. and Ef Jasmine Jani from USA .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

💐 .. wedding anniversary greetings to Ef RB Prajapati .. their 5th wedding anniversary .. on May 11 .. our love and wishes .. 🙏🏻❤️

.. time spent at Saptaswar and the strings of emotion run boundless till the late morning hours .. mind running back to the loop created, again and again and again .. and still not a whiff of satisfaction .. thoughts dither, wither and stumble upon the possible events it could initiate - the chords .. the situations it would enhance .. those silent looks into the hemisphere , clouded with the watered eyelids ..

and then it disappears ..

it is the essence of life , when the strings of our emotions strike in resemblance to the imagined moment .. and the beauty of it is that , no other shall or will be able to understand your meaning and thought ..

so there is a defiance on its sharing .. which the many that have had silent presence within the walls of this compact room, expressed repeatedly, on when the music shall share the lights of an audience ..

perhaps never .. for if the emotions do not comply with the reason of the thoughts of the maker, it will be a devastatingly unreserved chariot that shall never ride on the waves of the creation ..

"The emotion embedded within music, understood solely by its creator, is a private symphony of intimacy. It resonates with the echoes of personal experiences, untold stories, and hidden vulnerabilities. Each note carries the weight of unspoken truths, painting a canvas of emotions too intricate for words alone. It's a language of the soul, whispered in melodies and harmonies that only the composer comprehends fully. The music becomes a sanctuary, a refuge where emotions find refuge, where the complexities of existence find expression. It's a journey inward, a cathartic release, a testament to the profound depth of human emotion."

such a joy .. such a fulfillment .. such an entirely soulful catharsis ..

make music .. but may it remain in the domain of the self

my love 🌹

Amitabh Bachchan

[explosionkatsu]

Just some random drabbles lol (Bakugo's too OCC in here, I think?)

Every weekend, people flocked to this place to enjoy good food, great company, and of course, the incredible live performances by the resident band, "The Serenite Band."

At the lead of this talented band was their charismatic leader, Bakugo. He was not only an exceptional singer but also a gifted songwriter. Bakugo poured his heart and soul into his music, and his lyrics resonated with the audience on a profound level. 

However, behind the scenes, Bakugo was going through a painful breakup. His partner, whom he had trusted and loved deeply, had betrayed him by cheating on him with someone else. The pain and anger he felt were consuming him, but instead of wallowing in self-pity, Bakugo decided to channel his emotions into their new album.

The band members, who were like a family to Bakugo, were aware of his heartbreak and fully supported him. They encouraged him to use their music as a means of catharsis and healing. They spent countless hours in their small studio, pouring their creativity into the songs that would make up their new album.

As Bakugo penned the lyrics for each track, his anger and frustration transformed into powerful melodies. His voice echoed with raw emotion, expressing the betrayal he had experienced. The band's music became a reflection of Bakugo's journey through heartache and the process of moving on.

The night of their album release arrived, and the resto bar was packed with eager fans. The Serenite band took the stage, and the energy in the room was electrifying. As Bakugo sang the song from their new album, the audience could feel the intensity of his emotions. His voice carried the weight of his heartbreak, captivating everyone in the room.

The band delivered a performance that was both cathartic and empowering. The crowd cheered, danced, and sang along, connecting with the raw vulnerability in the music.

By the end of the night, it was clear that The Serenite band had created something extraordinary. Their album resonated with people who had experienced similar heartbreaks, giving them a sense of solace and empowerment. Through their music, the band had transformed their own pain into something beautiful and relatable.

--

Y/n found herself seated alone at the bar, surrounded by the joyful sounds of her friends dancing on the vibrant dance floor.

She, as well, had been going through a painful breakup after discovering that her boyfriend had cheated on her. The wounds were fresh, and the weight of betrayal weighed heavily on her heart. Seeking solace and an escape from her pain, she turned to alcohol to drown her anger and sorrow.

As Y/n sat there, her gaze fixed on her glass, the band on the stage began to play a haunting melody. The lyrics spoke of heartbreak, betrayal, and the pain of being cheated on. Intrigued, she looked up and glanced toward the stage, her eyes meeting those of the lead singer.

Their eyes locked for a moment, and in that instant, Y/n felt a connection. It was as if the singer understood her pain, her struggle, and the turmoil that had consumed her since the breakup. But overwhelmed by emotions, she quickly averted her gaze and returned her attention to her drink.

As the band continued to play, the song resonated deeply within Y/n's wounded heart. The lyrics seemed to echo her own experiences and struggles. She felt a mix of sadness and relief, knowing that she was not alone in her pain.

With each verse, Y/n's emotions intensified. The anger, hurt, and sadness she had been trying to numb with alcohol bubbled to the surface. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over, but she quickly wiped them away, determined to keep her composure.

Despite her inner turmoil, Y/n realized that drowning her emotions in alcohol wouldn't solve anything. She knew she needed to face her pain head-on, no matter how difficult it might be. 

--

After the final song, the band members stepped off the stage, sweaty and exhilarated. They hugged each other tightly, proud of their musical journey and the bond they had formed. However, amidst the celebration, Bakugo couldn't shake off the pain of his recent breakup. His heart still ached, and he longed for solace.

Feeling the weight of his emotions, Bakugo made his way to the bar and took a seat. He ordered a strong liquor, hoping it would numb the pain, if only for a little while. As he sat there, lost in his thoughts, he noticed a woman sitting beside him, quietly sipping her drink.

Curiosity piqued, Bakugo glanced at her and noticed the sadness in her eyes. It was as if he could sense her own heartache, mirroring his own. He avoided glancing for a moment before striking up a conversation. "Breakup?" he asked.

Y/n looked up, startled by his question. She sighed and replied, "Yeah." Her voice trembled with a mixture of sadness.

Bakugo nodded, understanding the pain all too well. "Cheers to that," he said. As they continued to talk, their conversation flowed effortlessly, as if they had known each other for years. They strangely found comfort in each other's presence, offering a listening ear and understanding words.

As the night unfolded, the rest of the band members joined in the revelry, dancing and laughing with the crowd. But Bakugo and Y/n remained at the bar, finding solace and connection in their shared experiences.

In that moment, Bakugo realized that this unexpected encounter brought a random connection. The pain of his breakup still lingered, but he somehow no longer felt alone.

As the night drew to a close, the Serenite Band bid farewell to the resto bar and their fans.

Bakugo hesitated but decided to bid goodbye to Y/n.

Y/n, however, feeling the connection, wanted to stay in touch but it felt like its too soon

[koter-irl]

I'm serious, I can't even convey in words to someone who isn't already a fan of The Dear Hunter just how fucking amazing this song is, like just look at this:

This list from the TDH subreddit, which isn't even technically complete, attempts to outline every reprisal throughout all five albums, just open it up and see how many different songs have a reprisal in The March.

That isn't even to mention the fact that throughout all five of the Acts there are lyrics foreshadowing this very climax and tragic end that the song (and Act V as a whole) represents, which is completely transformative to the experience on repeat listens.

If you have a few hours, seriously listen through Acts I-V front to back and really pay attention to the composition and lyrics, then when The March comes on, just experience the complete musical catharsis and chills that I get every time I hear it without fail. It's worth it.

[authenticcadence18]

I’ve said it once I’ll say it again

The Tortuted Poets Department was born of heartbreak and loss. The loss of a longtime partner, the loss of a longtime friend, the loss of a potential romance, the loss of ideals about love, the loss of places you used to love that you have to leave behind in order to grow, the loss of your past self.

it feels absolutely AWFUL to be in that sort of state, to lose things that were once so vital to who you are.

Common critiques of TTPD are that it is “too long” or “not cohesive” or “all the songs sound the same” or “the songs aren’t written as well”.

but guess what that’s what heartbreak feels like !!!!! it lasts too long!!!!! it doesn’t just GO AWAY it lingers like a 31-track album!!! thoughts after heartbreak aren’t cohesive! they are frantic, they aren’t put together, they’re all over the place they’re devastated. And “all the songs sound the same” so do your thoughts in the wake of major heartbreak. In my experience, the brain likes to shuffle through the same thoughts over and over and over again. And to people saying the songs aren’t as well written I mean. Thats what happens when you have to keep functioning and “do it with a broken heart.” TTPD is what it sounds like to have your heart broken. Each song is a different hour, day, week, month of dealing with it. Those songs ARE well written, and even if some of them don’t contain the most polished lyrics they are raw and real. That’s what makes them comforting.

I just think a lot of the critiques of TTPD are looking at it purely from a musical standpoint and not an emotional one. TTPD is about catharsis, capturing as many feelings as possible bc if you don’t write them down they’ll stay in your brain and haunt you. TTPD is about taking your demons and making something beautiful out of them so they hurt a little less

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Ruby: Has anyone seen Jaune? Is he doing alright?

Penny: *Eyes Flashing* He has been listening to "The Mind Electric" By the Miracle Musical on repeat for the past two hours. Would you like me to retrieve him?

Ruby: Please and thank you.

Penny: I will try to be right back!

*Half an hour later*

Ruby: Penny? Are you in there?

Penny: Hm.

Jaune: Hey Ruby.

Ruby: What are you doing?

Jaune: I'm not sure. What's anyone doing? Why do we do anything?

Ruby: ... Okay. Your having a depressive spiral. I'm gonna add some more songs to the playlist, grab some stuff to snack on and pick at, and join you guys.

Penny: For what reason?

Ruby: It feels like we could all do with some catharsis, and you haven't eaten all day Jaune. Plus after the third or fourth direct repeat it loses it's meaning like pieces of cake.

Jaune: ... Thanks Rubes. I didn't realize how hungry I was getting.

Penny: Does it feel better to feel sad around others?

Ruby: So long as you're not bringing down the mood. Since we're all on the same page, it should be fine.

[nockfellblues]

Integra with a partner who is an artist (painter/ singer/ all around performer) :D

Yes! I’ve always envisioned Integra as a lover of the arts- especially traditional art? She seems like she’d enjoy a peaceful trip to an art gallery or museum. Sorry for the delay on this one, between work, the Summer games showcases and being sick I didnt do much besides veg out whenever i was free this week lmao Anyways! Have some Integra being soft because, dammit, she deserves it 😤

Warnings: None

Integra definitely reworks her entire study so there’s room for her SO to work in the same space as her

Artist!SO will get a whole art corner with a beautiful custom easel and comfy desk space right next to the windows for optimal lighting and an inspiring view- whatever they need to spark and stoke their creative process

Would immediately say no if her SO asked her to model but secretly is super flattered. If they draw or paint her anyways, she’ll pretend to be annoyed but will cherish the hell out of it- They’ll find the work later tucked away in a safe place, framed safely so it wont smudge or crack.

Keeps a portfolio hidden in her desk of sketches her SO deemed not good enough and meant to toss. Alucard and Seras have caught onto this and actively keep an eye out for other loose drawings- they sneak them into her study between paperwork and folders like a fun little surprise. Seras finds her reactions soo sweet- its so hard to not say anything when she sees Integras eyes soften at the half-hearted sketch! So cute!

Integra finds the sounds of sketching comforting- that little scratchy noise as her SO absently hums to themself is like catharsis, especially when she’s dealing with a lot of stress

If her SO is sighing or muttering, having a tough time with conceptualizing something or is going through art block of some kind? She does get a little annoyed with it, but she understands.

Sets her work aside and comes up behind her SO to wrap her arms around their shoulders from behind. “If you sigh at it anymore im going to toss that canvas out the window. What’s the matter, love?” She means this entirely lovingly, but will absolutely do it.

Musician!SO would absolutely have a space in her study too- She’d move offices to a whole different room if the acoustics are good enough, she doesn’t care.

Maybe not the biggest fan of hearing her SO practicing a new peice of complex work- the repetition of practicing the same sections over and over to perfect them would get on her nerves after so long.

“Love, I adore you, but if you play that part one more time i’m going to lose it. Please, play literally anything else.” She means this with the utmost love and care, but hearing the same section over and over is killing her.

Adores when they play free form compositions. Just starting with a generally familiar melody and letting the music develop a life of its own? She could listen to them for hours. She will listen to them for hours.

Definitely will lose track of time listening to them play- Sometimes gets a little too distracted and zones out to the melody when she’s working on a particularly boring bit of paperwork. Before she knows it, its nearly dusk and she’s gotten little to nothing done. Honestly? worth it.

She cherishes her SOs hands so, so much. She knows how much of their passion is dependent on them and how devastating their loss or degradation could be.

In quiet moments Integra will softly trace the callouses on their hands, massaging their palms and wrists, setting a gentle kiss to the back of their knuckles- absolute reverence for the beautiful hands that can create so much that she loves.

Integra being soft with an SO makes my brain go fuzzy- I just want her to be happy dammit 😭

[quindriepress]

🐉 LIVE ON KICKSTARTER 🐉

From the publisher behind Wolvendaughter comes four more fantastic short comics! Check out the Kickstarter here!

Catharsis by @elljwalker: Dimitri is an aspiring heavy metal musician with one small problem: he's too shy to share any of his music. Well, okay, two problems: he's shy and he has also accidentally summoned a demon made of his own anxieties, and it's about to tell everyone all his deepest, darkest secrets.

Find a Seat by @pppondi: It's hard being dumped. It's even harder when, on the way home from being dumped, you get on the wrong train. Some would say the hardest thing of all is being dumped, getting on the wrong train, then finding out that the train belongs to Death and they don't plan on letting you leave.

Flesh & Flora by @prehistoricfrog: Gen is alone, with only their robot companion Hare and the creatures they tend to for company. When Gen and Hare discover a creature they've never seen before, Gen's world - and even Gen themself - begins to fall apart.

Witching Hour by @bethfuller: Esio knows all the rules about travelling to the fae realm: stick to the path, don't say your name, and don't eat any offered food. She is determined to make it to the realm's castle and ask for a wish from the mysterious being who lives there. Unfortunately for her, a struggling stockbroker has invited himself along for the dangerous journey.

Want to get your hands on these gorgeous comics? Head to Kickstarter!