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superbattrash · 2 years

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Hi there stranger I've never spoken to once in my life, ever 😉 Would you consider (only if/when you are up to it, no stress love 💕) writing a blurblet for me? You know I like my Superbat like I like my pancakes, light and fluffy. So, here goes: maybe Bruce doesn't go to a barber. Maybe, pre-relationship, he goes to Clark Kent and has him cut his hair for him. Obviously since Bruce doesn't know how to and isn't versed in that kind of thing, and not because he just wants an excuse to spend time with him. It's not like he could afford a hair stylist, right? A few requests: Bruce's hair being a right disaster when it's long and Clark being endeared, Bruce really enjoying the feeling of having Clark wash his hair and tend to him, and Bruce glowing when Clark tells him how handsome he looks when they're done. Maybe with a confession at the end, if you're feeling generous. 🙏

Love for the Mish, praise for the Mish, endearment for the Mish!!

Hello unknown person, who I don’t know at all and am therefore obviously not very much in love with uwu <3

I, uh. Well, you know how I get. I got lost in an idea and nearly forgot all about your actual prompt, sorry. Did I make Bruce a tad too obsessive? Probably. Am I projecting because I really like doing people’s hair? Most likely.

[sweats] this got so long, I am so sorry

It’s been a miserable mission. They won, of course they won, they followed Bruce’s plan after all. But they’re all bruised and some more than others. Bruce feels like he might’ve bent another rib but if he moves around slow enough, none of the others notice. Unless Clark takes a second look at him. Even without his stupid x-ray vision Clark somehow always knows when Bruce has broken or injured something.

His slow moving is the only reason he’s still in the hall when Diana asks Clark for his help. Bruce isn’t supposed to hear them, isn’t supposed to be there, but it’s not like it’s a secret. If Clark and Diana wanted to keep anything a secret or even remotely private, they would’ve gone to one of the bedrooms tugged away at the far end of the Watchtower. Instead, here they are – standing front to back as Clark… brushes Diana’s hair?

It’s gotten cut during the battle. No, not cut. The ends have caught on fire and – Bruce winches at the singed strands – her hair is all matted and the smell is horrible. Even from a distance Bruce has a hard time schooling his features into that of indifference. He has a newfound respect for Clark; he’s not making any faces and he’s got super senses. There’s no way he is not being choked by the smell.

Bruce doesn’t mean to hide in the shadows. He knows Clark must sense his presence – even Diana must know that he’s there. He isn’t hiding, he’s just… not announcing his presence either. He’s well on his way towards the door when they start talking and he can’t help but be curious at their conversation. He stops and listens; makes the silent excuse that he’s hurt and taking a small break before finding his way home isn’t odd. Even if listening in on others’ conversations may be.

“I’m sorry, Di,” Clark says, and he really does look sorry. He always does; carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, that fool. There’s no reason to look so sad over two inches of scorched hair, when it’s not even Clark who’s burnt it. “I can’t save all of it.”

“It is just hair, Kal,” Diana tells him, but Bruce can tell that she’s upset. Not enough to show it much outwardly but he knows Diana. Her hands are balled into fists and she’s standing very straight. Rigid. Like a proper warrior. If Bruce has to guess (it’s not really a guess), he’d say it isn’t so much about the hair as the fact that a civilian got burnt in the process as well.

Nobody was killed, which is what Diana should be focusing on, but if anyone understands how she feels, it’s Bruce. Just because there weren’t any casualties doesn’t mean that they couldn’t have avoided people getting hurt. They can always do better.

“I’ll do my best, alright?” Clark says with one of his signature smiles. Bruce’s teeth hurt just looking at it; it would be easier to chew raw sugar than look directly at Clark’s smiling face for more than a minute.

“Thank you,” Diana says, a smile of her own tugging at her lips. That’s Clark for you. He’s always able to bring a smile to others’ faces, whether he means to or not. That’s just the kind of person he is. Kind, warm, a good man.

Bruce watches in fascination as Clark finds a pair of scissors and with what appears to be very well practiced movements starts cutting the dead ends off Diana’s hair. Bruce has never been so fascinated in his entire life and he feels stupid even admitting that to himself. He watches as Superman, with all the strength in the world, separates Diana’s hair into layers and carefully cuts it into a perfectly rounded line. Longer in the back than in the front, just like Diana likes it. It’s not more than a few inches that lands on the floor, but Bruce isn’t really looking at Diana’s hair as much as he’s staring at Clark’s hands. They’re moving so gently, so carefully, so elegantly, and Bruce feels a slight tugging in his chest as he’s reminded of how his mother used to cut his hair when he was a young child.

Not that Martha Wayne ever had the chance to know him as anything other than a young child.

Bruce doesn’t stay to watch the rest of the haircut; he doesn’t need to watch the mess and feel frustrated when Clark will more likely than not just blow the hairs into a corner with his stupid super breath – at least that’s what he tells himself. Frustration is a better emotion that the throbbing pain growing in his chest, even if it is misguided. Bruce isn’t a fool – he knows exactly why it’s easier to redirect his emotions towards Clark into anger and frustration rather than think too deeply about what it would feel like to have Clark’s strong hands in his hair. Or anywhere else on him for that matter.

Bruce can’t stop thinking about it though. He tries to get rid of the entire Clark-cutting-hair phenomenon, but it becomes an obsessive thought in his mind. He dreams of Clark’s hands in his hair, sliding down his neck, scratching at his scalp and while it is nowhere near the dirtiest dream he’s had of Clark, he still wakes up hard and wanting. The humiliation should be punishment enough, but of course it doesn’t stop there. When has Batman ever done anything half-heartedly?

It's like a bug has dug its way into his brain. He sees Clark’s hands in everything he does. Sees them mirrored in his own, calloused hands. He can’t help but wonder if anything could ever be strong enough to leave callouses on Clark’s skin? Surely Kryptonite can penetrate the skin, but leave permanent marks? Bruce doubts it.

He sees Clark’s movements as he watches Alfred cut a package open.

The intimacy, the calm movements; they’re stuck in his mind. There’s practice there, Bruce can tell. When did Clark learn to cut hair? Did his mother teach him? Did his father? Has he been professionally trained? In all his research of Clark – and yes, there’s been a lot over the years – Bruce has never once come across any articles or files mentioning Clark wanting to be a hair stylist or having any kind of experience in the field.

It’s because it’s something unknown. Something to mull over, something to investigate. It’s a mystery and Bruce is a detective after all. He’s curious, that’s all. It would be easy enough to ask Clark, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Bruce doesn’t want to let him know he’s been thinking about the entire thing so much. It’s been two weeks, at this point it would just look odd. Or obsessive. And Bruce doesn’t need Clark to see him as obsessive. It’s more than enough that Alfred does. He might’ve stared longer than entirely necessary until Alfred put the scissors away.

Every time Bruce thinks he might be rid of the thought, Clark does something with his hands that reminds him of it. Or with his shoulders, for that matter. When did Bruce get so obsessed with how Clark moves his upper body? Not something he wants to think about too much either. Just because he’s aware of his own feelings doesn’t mean he has to address them. Not even to himself.

It takes Bruce about three weeks to realize that he might be jealous of Diana. He tells himself it’s because of the pure bliss on her face when Clark combed his hands through it, but he can’t lie to himself forever. It’s the intimacy of it, the trust, not the action itself, he knows. Bruce isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s not about Diana, it’s the fact that it isn’t him. He wants to experience Clark’s hands in his hair too. He wants it for more than one reason, none of which he’s ready to admit to just yet, but the intimacy of it is the thing that pulls at him.

It takes him three weeks and two days to stop being an idiot and let go of the unnecessary jealousy. At least the part that pertains to Diana. It’s not like Clark has touched her hair since, after all. Suddenly Bruce notices how many others have Clark’s hands on them though. Clark’s an affectionate guy, Bruce knows this, accepts this, likes it even – at least to some extent. But does he really have to keep touching everyone’s shoulder? Or ruffle their hair? Bump his shoulder to theirs? Bruce is starting to wonder if Clark has been raised with too many hugs as a child. Knowing Martha Kent, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Despite his growing distain for Clark’s handsy-ness, Bruce is still trying to figure out how the hell he can ask Clark to help out with his hair. He’s been watching Hal ask (because he’s not the only one suddenly interested in Clark’s newly discovered skills, it seems), but he can’t just go up to Clark and be like ‘yo, you did an awesome job with Di’s hair, man, wanna do mine too?’ Firstly, because he’d never start a conversation with ‘yo’, and secondly, he might literally die of embarrassment. He has to find a better way to do it and while he’s making plans and scrapping them again, fate somehow takes care of the problem for him. If you tend to believe in fate, of course.

It’s not even a conscious decision, he just kind of ends up… neglecting his hair a little bit. It’s been at least a month since he’s been to his favorite salon. He’s been going to the same place for years. Adrienne is an amazing stylist, she’s calm and collected and she doesn’t give a damn about who Bruce Wayne is. She scolds him for never using conditioner properly and she teases him about his kids. She’s a good woman. She’s having a child herself soon though; she’s going on maternity leave. Somehow Bruce forgets to make a new appointment after witnessing Clark cut Diana’s hair. He was supposed to call the salon, make an appointment with Adrienne’s replacement or one of the other stylists now that he’s missed Adrienne’s last available day. But it’s not like Bruce can just choose someone else to cut his hair. He likes Adrienne, she’s nice and she cuts his hair perfectly. He’ll just wait until she’s back.

Except maternity leave isn’t just a few weeks, at least not with the proper union and a good job. Adrienne has both and she’s not coming back to the shop for at least another few months. Bruce is excited for her; she deserves the time with her newborn daughter. Bruce makes sure to send a check for ‘baby Amanda’ the moment he learns her name.

Without him even noticing it’s been nearly two months since he’s gotten his hair cut. There are enough excuses: he’s busy with the League, with Batman things. He doesn’t have to show up at any galas the next month, he doesn’t have to dress up much for the cameras. There’s the small image of Clark offering to cut Bruce’s hair too, but he doesn’t voice that one out loud. So, yeah, Bruce neglects his hair.

Alfred hates him for it.

Bruce kind of hates himself too, but he’s too far in to stop. It’s just hair, he’ll take a pair of clippers to it if it gets too bad (Alfred won’t let him, of course, but the intention is there if need be). He’s found that gel does wonders even for longer hair – and he’s wearing the cowl more hours of the day than not. It’s going to be fine. Maybe he’ll just grow it out. Dick has told him he’d look good with shoulder length hair, although Bruce is ninety percent sure that it was a joke.

He goes back and forth several times a day, hating how he longs for Clark’s hands when he’s never even held the man’s hand before. At least not in a way that counts (near-death experiences are not the most romantic settings and they do not count). Most days he ignores his hair, ignores the longing. Others he spends looking up styles, wanting to see if Clark can do this or that with his hair. He’s never been one to make special requests, he usually has Adrienne choose the latest style for him, but somehow, he’d like to see what Clark can do. What he’s willing to do for Bruce. It’s a silly thought; Clark would do anything for Bruce, he already knows this. Clark would do anything for everyone. He’s Superman, there’s nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice if it meant saving someone else.

It is not that kind of willingness Bruce is seeking from Clark. Because he may not be ready to admit his own feelings out loud just yet (or ever), but Bruce knows what he wants from Clark. It’s his time, his trust. It’s not just Superman with all his infinite power that Bruce has fallen in love with, although that part of Clark is very attractive and cannot be completely separated from who Clark is. But more important to Bruce is Clark Kent. The boy who grew up on a farm in Kansas, who writes amazing articles for the Daily Planet. The man who can make even Batman laugh, no matter how much Bruce denies the fact afterwards. It’s Clark who cut Diana’s hair so she wouldn’t have to walk around with the reminder of a hurt civilian. It’s Clark who cut Hal’s hair simply because he asked. It’s Clark, who smiles at Bruce like he hung the moon, even though Clark is as bright a point in Bruce’s life as the sun itself.

Bruce wants Clark to cut his hair because he’s curious what development it would bring to their relationship. And there’s of course the minor detail of Clark having the strongest hands on Earth, yet he moves them so carefully that Bruce can’t help but be intrigued.

At some point even Batman has to stop obsessing, much to his own dismay. He cannot figure out a way to bring it up to Clark without sounding like a maniac or at the very least like an obsessive creep. So he ignores it as best he can. He’ll just wait until Adrienne is back and until then he’ll simply let his hair be. It’s just hair, he’ll be fine. How long can Bruce keep thinking about Clark’s hands anyways?

While it’s not an actual question, Bruce does get the answer sooner rather than later. Because fate does in fact do the work for him this time. And as usual fate is a cruel woman, intent on making Bruce suffer. He should’ve known.

His shoulder is dislocated on a mission. It’s stupid, it’s a rookie mistake, but it happens. He’s Batman, he isn’t invisible. And sometimes the others forget that. Even Clark.

They should’ve communicated better, clearer. It wasn’t Clark’s fault per se (or at all, if you ask Bruce, but one thing they have in common is how stubborn they are with their feeling of guilt), Bruce should’ve been more focused. Or at least awake enough to have been able to remove himself from a dangerous situation instead of needing Clark to come to his rescue. As he said. Rookie mistake. A quick shove to get Bruce out of the way ended with Bruce stumbling and the building catching on his shoulder on the way down. Nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with a quick hand, but Clark wouldn’t set it no matter how much Bruce asked. Something about ‘making it worse’.

Diana, on the other hand, doesn’t make a fuss; she merely pops the shoulder back in its socket, but the sound has Clark wince, and he looks like a kicked puppy when Bruce grunts in pain. He’s feeling guilty and Bruce can’t stand it. It’s eerily like when Dick – or Jason for that matter – used to look at him with a trembling lower lip and tears in their eyes. It makes Bruce’s stomach twist, and he wants nothing more than to erase that expression off their faces.

Which is why it’s Superman who’s helping Bruce out of his suit, peeling back the layers carefully to not jostle his shoulder too much. It hurts, but he’s had worse. He’s always had worse. He’s already popped a few painkillers (at Clark’s behest), so it’s nothing he can’t grind his teeth through. Clark is gentle in his movements, like he is with everything else, and Bruce desperately wants to be able to undress himself – or at the very least be allowed to try. His shoulder will be bothering him for a few weeks, he knows and accepts this, but Clark clearly does not.

“You’re covered in dirt,” Clark says almost apologetically.

It’s not his fault that Bruce is dirty. Not even Kevlar can withstand the force of a building falling on top of it. It’s mostly his face anyway, he’ll be fine. Clark seems to think otherwise though. As if the dust falling in the air during a battle is somehow entirely his fault.

“Let’s get this off of you,” he says as he pulls at Bruce’s cowl. If it had been intact Clark would’ve had ten thousand volts searing through his hands. He probably wouldn’t have noticed either way. He tugs the remnants of the cowl off Bruce’s head and throws it on the ground. Then he turns to help Bruce out of the under armor but freezes mid movement.

Bruce figures he must look a little sweaty, but that shouldn’t have Clark pause like that. He waits for another beat or two. Clark still doesn’t move. Bruce just stares back, panic slowly crawling up his throat. Is it that bad? Has he hit his head? Will it leave a scar he can’t hide as Bruce Wayne? He would’ve noticed this, he’s sure. He can’t feel any new blood dripping down over his skin at least, so it can’t be worse than he’s expecting. It doesn’t explain Clark’s expression. It takes a full ten seconds for Bruce to realize why he must be staring.

Shit. His hair.

Slowly, ever so carefully, Clark lifts one hand to Bruce’s head.

This is absolutely not the way he’s been planning on having Clark run his fingers through his hair. It’s been mushed all flat in the cowl and he wasn’t kidding when he described himself looking like a sweaty mess.

“What,” Clark says softly. “Have you done.” It’s not a question, not really, more like a statement. Clark looks horrified.

“What?” Bruce decides to play dumb. It’s just hair, he reminds himself. He’s nearly convinced himself to just forget about the whole Clark-cutting-his-hair ordeal (no, really), so there’s no reason to feel any kind of shame in how he looks. He’s Batman, it doesn’t matter if he’s not looking his best.

The hand lands on Bruce’s head and digs into his hair. It feels grounding and Bruce nearly lets out a sigh at the feeling. He swallows it down in the nick of time, but Clark’s hands are just so big and soft. So careful wherever they touch Bruce, whether it’s to help him up or to shake his hand. Or, apparently, to pet his head.

“How the hell can you live with this?” Clark asks as he pats at the mess on top of Bruce’s head.

Bruce frowns. So he’s let it grow out, there’s no need to be rude. Or, well, Clark’s equivalent of rude. Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever heard Clark swear before. Hell isn’t exactly a bad word but coming from Clark’s mouth it might as well have been ‘fuck’.

“What’s the big deal?” Bruce asks, trying – and failing – to cross his arms over his chest. Stupid shoulder. He ends up dropping his hands back at his sides and feels even more awkward. Is it possible to feel both embarrassed and defensive at the same time? Questions he would not have to ask himself if Clark hadn’t made him take those damn painkillers. His brain is slower than usual.

“You-” Clark looks like he wants to strangle him, but in an oddly affectionate way. Not the worst look Bruce has seen on him, honestly. Oh, yep, the painkillers are doing an excellent job at breaking Bruce’s brain. “I’m cutting your hair.”

“What?” Bruce very intelligently asks. Again. He’s sure he heard Clark right, but then again, he’s been thinking about this exact scenario for far too long to trust himself – or his ears for that matter.

“I am cutting your hair,” Clark says. “Do you have conditioner?”

“Why would I- ow!” Bruce exclaims as Clark tugs at his hair. A chunk of his hair which is matted together with another piece. Okay, so maybe he’s been a little more than neglecting it. He got busy, alright? A little gel to slick it back and he’s been good to go. He washes it too, it’s not actually dirty. He thinks.

“Because you have thick hair, you idiot,” Clark scolds and tugs once more to prove his point. “How have you even been able to brush your hair with these knots?”

“I don’t,” Bruce says.

“You don’t?”

“Brush it,” he clarifies.

“What.” Another not-question.

“I run my hands through it?” Bruce tries. It had seemed like a good idea to grow his hair out but somehow Clark hadn’t noticed until way too late and Bruce can’t really be bothered to do anything other than put product in it if he’s going out as Bruce Wayne. The look in Clark’s eyes makes Bruce almost wish he was directing the heat vision his way instead. Not the smoothest plan then, he supposes. Batman can’t always be right. At least not when it’s Bruce Wayne doing the planning. Somehow the two don’t always mix well.

“That- you could not have been able to do that with these knots,” Clark says, pulling at his hair again. It feels rather nice, actually. Not that Bruce can say that without sounding weird when Clark is looking at him like a disappointed parent.

“Oh. Yeah, no, it’s been an issue,” Bruce admits. Pressing the hair down in the morning counts as running his hands through it though, right?

“One you haven’t resolved?” Clark quirks an eyebrow at him.

It seems very much like a challenge and Bruce doesn’t like the implications. Of course, he hasn’t resolved the issue when the issue itself wasn’t supposed to be solved by him. Clark was supposed to solve it. Not that he knew that or should ever know that in fact if Bruce thinks about it. Growing your hair out on the off chance that your crush might notice and decide to offer to cut it for you? Oh God, he should’ve thought this through. Why does his brain never work properly when it involves Clark?

“I’ve been busy.” He doesn’t mean to grumble but he can hear it clearly in his own voice. He hopes that combined with the frown on his face, it’ll just sound like he’s annoyed. Clark is used to handling an annoyed Batman after all.

“There is no excuse for this, B,” Clark says, and his voice takes on that soft slightly pitying tone.

Oh shit, of course Clark would assume Bruce is depressed or something awful has happened since he’s been neglecting himself. Bruce kind of wants to tell Clark it’s more or less his fault for only noticing now but he doesn’t think that’ll go over too well. For one Clark will most likely feel guilty over Bruce’s stupidity and secondly that would mean Bruce explaining why and how much he’s been thinking about Clark. Not a good idea there. He may be willing to admit it in his head now, but out loud? Not going to happen.

“I do know how to do this,” Clark says softly, and Bruce is snapped back to the present.

“I know,” he says without thinking. Clark is trying to reassure him, to make Bruce trust him, while all Bruce has been thinking about for nearly three whole months is how to bribe Clark into cutting his hair. Bruce trusts him, would trust him with his life. There is no need for Clark to try to reassure him in any way.

“So you’ll let me help?” The hopeful look on Clark’s face would’ve convinced Bruce even if he hadn’t spent a copious amount of time wishing for this exact moment.

“Yes,” is all Bruce says in response because he doesn’t know what else he can really say to convey all his feelings without actually, you know, conveying all his feelings. His mind is getting muddled, he should probably stick to saying as little as possible.

“Great.” Clark’s smile could light up a thousand cities and Bruce wants to shield his eyes, even though he knows it’s stupid and all in his head. “Now let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Clark doesn’t undress Bruce entirely – no, he’s way too wall-mannered for that – but he does get the tight shirt over his head without too much of a struggle. It’s wet from sweat and Bruce would really rather keep it on, but Clark insists that he needs a clean canvas, and he can’t wash Bruce’s hair when he’s got a shirt on.

It sounds like an excuse to get Bruce naked, but he knows that can’t be right. Clark wouldn’t think like that, at least not about Bruce. Right? It’s his head. It’s making him overanalyze everything even more than he usually does. It’s all…

“Fuzzy.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, yet his mouth is looser than he’d like it to be.

He should do his poison course again, make sure he’s still immune to most if not all kinds of painkillers as well. Alfred must’ve snuck some of the stronger kinds onto the Watchtower, although Bruce has no idea how or when he’d done that.

Clark looks at him like he’s just heard Bruce utter a particularly intimate detail of his life. Bruce can barely remember what he’d said, and he realizes that it might be a lovely cocktail of painkillers and having an Amazonian warrior princess set his shoulder back in its socket that has his mind a little unbalanced. It doesn’t help that Clark keeps touching and guiding him.

Bruce sits on a chair next to the sink, his head leaned back to rest on the edge. It’s not nearly as comfortable as the sinks at the salon, but he can’t really complain when he’s getting his hair washed by someone else. Especially when that someone is Clark.

Bruce blinks and the next moment Clark is standing with a handful of stuff in his hands. It looks like a pair of scissors, at least three different bottles of shampoo and- hair clippers? He knows he shouldn’t be surprised; Clark did offer to help him out, but Bruce had somehow not realized that Clark would need actual tools to cut his hair. He’d been too focused on the whole hair-washing part of it all. No matter how many hours he’s spent obsessing, he couldn’t have imagined that Clark would have all of these things lying around; that he’d be this prepared. Perhaps he’s been cutting the other leaguer’s hair without Bruce noticing? He doesn’t think he’d have missed something so crucial, but he knows he sometimes gets too caught up in the little things (how to actually ask Clark to cut his hair) to see the bigger picture.

Clark puts his stuff down and twists the tap to let the water start flowing. Wouldn’t wetting Bruce’s hair have been easier in the actual showers?

Clark doesn’t go directly for his hair though and Bruce has to press his lips together to keep from commenting on how gently Clark is washing both his face and neck. He may be covered in dirt and sweat but there really is no reason for Clark to be so careful with him. It’s not the first time Bruce has had to ask for help with showering, but it’s usually more along the lines of having someone to lean on in the actual shower, not having someone rub over his skin with a washcloth.

Bruce watches out of the corner of his eye as Clark discards of the washcloth and then squirts shampoo into his hands and rubs them together. He then reaches over Bruce and digs his fingers into his hair. Bruce’s eyelids flutter but he forces them to stay open. He feels a little silly and the silence is becoming too much for him.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Clark says at the same time as Bruce utters: “Thank you for this.”

There’s a brief moment of stunned silence and then Bruce sighs. This is not how he’s been imagining (time and time again) having Clark’s hands on him, but he’s not going to complain.

“How do you know how to do this?” He asks conversationally. To fill the emptiness, of course, not just because he’s genuinely curious. Although he has not been able to find any satisfying answers in his research and he does like it best when he has all the answers.

“Oh, Ma taught me,” Clark says easily as he scrubs at Bruce’s head.

“You used to cut her hair?” That shouldn’t surprise him. Clark has a good relationship with his mother, his father too. He’s a good son, it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to have cut his mother’s hair, Bruce supposes.

“She used to cut mine,” Clark corrects with a soft smile. “When I moved to Metropolis, she told me I should know how to do it myself. She never really trusted those big company salons.”

Bruce thinks of Adrienne and the fact that he chose that particular salon because it’s smaller and not crowded or located in a mall somewhere. He nods. He’ll have to agree with Mrs. Kent here. Smaller salons are preferable, although Bruce will never underestimate the power of a home wash after experiencing Clark’s hands in his hair. He’s gentle but firm, and Bruce can feel his shoulders drop from their perpetuating position near his neck. He forgets to respond to Clark’s answer.

“How can you live like this?” Clark asks eventually. He’s rinsing Bruce’s hair, shielding his eyes with his palm as he lets the water wash away the dirty foam.

“It’s just hair.” Bruce shrugs. Or tries to shrug. He flinches a little and then settles back against the sink.

“It’s your hair, Bruce,” Clark objects before wringing some of the water out of Bruce’s hair. “How do you take care of it?”

“I wash it, dry it-” Bruce starts, while trying not to roll his eyes too much. He should’ve known Clark would be anal about this the same way he is about anything else.

“How?” Clark interrupts.

“How, what?”

“How do you wash it?” There’s a teasing lilt to Clark’s voice, like he knows he’s being an irritating little shit and doesn’t give a damn. He probably doesn’t. Which is the only reason he speaks to Bruce like he’s a kindergartener.

Bruce has never felt so ridiculous in his entire life as he gestures rubbing his own head like he would in the shower, albeit only using one hand. It’s awkward from this angle, leaning back against the sink but he manages. Sort of. He raises his eyebrows in a silent ‘you satisfied?’ at Clark.

“And to dry it?” is all Clark says in response.

This time Bruce does roll his eyes. “I just- rub a towel over my head, Clark, come on,” he says with a huff.

“And how do you style it?” Clark presses on.

Bruce feels his eye twitch in annoyance. So much more small talk than there usually is with Adrienne, and he’s put himself in this situation. There’s no need to be annoyed with Clark, although Bruce is ninety percent sure the Kryptonian is doing this on purpose. Probably trying to see if he can get a rise out of Bruce. Well, he’ll show him. He’s an adult, he can stay calm. It helps that Clark’s lathered up his hands again and is rubbing at his scalp with practiced movements.

“I put gel in it,” Bruce finally says. There’s no fancy style or products; he merely uses what Alfred sets out for him. One time he accidentally grabbed Jason’s styling gel and his hair was a sticky mess for days. Curly hair needs other products, it seems. The kid laughed until he cried though, it was almost worth it.

“And then?” Clark prompts.

“I go about my day,” Bruce says, patience wearing a little thin. “Just-”

“And going about your day means that you go to meetings all day and then jam that airtight thing onto your head all night, am I right?” Clark asks as he looks over his shoulder where the cowl is lying.

Bruce presses his lips together. He contemplates what to say next. His first instinct is to tell Clark to butt out of it, but he knows he’s just being defensive. He’s never been obsessed with his own hair until he saw Clark helping Diana out, and as evident by the mess on his head, his obsession wasn’t about keeping it healthy and looking good. He sighs again and settles more comfortably against the sink.

“What would you have me do then?” he asks.

Clark smiles that thousand watt smile of his and Bruce once again fights the urge to shield his eyes.

“Well,” he starts. “First of all you should have the right products-”

And somewhere in the middle of “lathering the shampoo in your hands” and “only use conditioner on the ends” Bruce realizes that Clark is having fun. Teaching something he’s passionate about to Bruce. So Bruce does his best to listen, even though it’s hard with Clark’s glorious hands on his scalp. Clark doesn’t just rub his soapy hands quickly over Bruce’s head (as he tends to do himself), he massages Bruce’s scalp gently, scratching with his nails and carefully untangling the knots. He’s being careful not to tug too hard, Bruce can tell, although he wouldn’t have minded. It’s just a little pain, he can handle pain.

Clark says something about oils and Bruce hums. He can’t quite remember when but at some point, he closes his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.

“This would be much easier in an actual stylist sink,” Clark mutters as he tries to maneuver around Bruce’s body to get the last conditioner out of his hair.

“I’ll buy you ten,” shoots out of Bruce’s mouth before he has the chance to stop his tongue from moving. At least he has enough of a grip on himself not to add ‘if it means you’ll do this every day’.

“Sounds like those painkillers are doing their job,” Clark says with a laugh. It’s booming and comfortable. It’s beautiful. “Let’s get you upright.”

Clark wraps a towel around Bruce’s head, a little less elegantly than Adrienne usually does, but Bruce doesn’t mind. He feels lightheaded from the scalp massage and he’s pretty sure he’d walk directly into a volcano if Clark guided him to the edge. He turns dutifully when Clark’s hands press against his back and sits on the bench in the locker room. Clark presses his hands against the towel, scrunching the material up in his capable hands instead of just rubbing it. He then places the damp towel over Bruce’s shoulders before picking up the pair of scissors he’d brought earlier.

Bruce’s breathing is calm and deep and if his instincts as Batman hadn’t made him borderline paranoid, he’s certain he’d have been able to fall asleep right there on the bench.

***

The bench doesn’t have the best height for cutting hair, but there isn’t anywhere else that will be much better without exposing Bruce to the entire League. And while Bruce may not be shy or easily embarrassed, Clark would much rather work on his hair in peace. Quiet. Private. It feels intimate in a way he hasn’t felt when Hal had asked him to cut his hair. He’s helped Diana out more than once, but that’s mostly because Clark isn’t a fan of how she’ll just cut through her hair with a sword if there isn’t a salon nearby. That’s Amazons for you.

Clark knows that Bruce doesn’t mind being without the cowl per se, but he prefers it to stay on, even at the Watchtower. They might know each other’s identities but that doesn’t mean Bruce feels comfortable walking around without his mask the same way Wally or even Hal does. So it isn’t entirely unreasonable that Clark also wants them to stay in the locker room. At least that’s what he tells himself as he runs his hands through Bruce’s damp hair.

It already looks much better than when they started. Clark has never seen anything quite like the mess that was unveiled for him. Bruce’s hair was… like nothing Clark’s seen before on the billionaire. He could barely believe his own eyes. Not because Bruce’s hair was really that bad, but compared to how it usually looks? It’s horrendous. What in the world had happened to Bruce’s head?

Has it really been that long since he’s seen him without his cowl on? That can’t be right. But it must be because Bruce’s hair is– it’s a mess. It nearly reaches below his ears, and while Clark has been able to undo most of the damage, it was completely knotted in some places when he started.

Clark feels the echo of feelings when he first laid his eyes on that bird’s nest on top of Bruce’s head. His fingers had twitched with the need to run them through the chaos that Bruce calls his hair. He’d been caught in his own head, though. Thinking how it wouldn’t be appropriate, of course. He couldn’t just offer to, what, brush Bruce’s hair? Bruce would never take his cowl off again and their fragile friendship would burn to the ground. And yet Clark couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It’s just… Bruce has never looked this unruly, this unkept before. At least never in front of Clark. It’s… it’s endearing somehow, that they’ve come this far. That Bruce will allow Clark to be this close to him, to help him like this.

It's one thing to be injured – Clark knows Bruce hates being perceived as weak or hurt, but he can’t just ignore a dislocated shoulder, much as he tries – but it’s another to be seen as a mess. Clark knows Bruce doesn’t always think too much of his own appearance, he’s Batman, after all, but at least from the articles he’s seen about Bruce Wayne lately, he hasn’t been able to tell that his hair was this bad.

A little longer, perhaps, and Clark thinks it suits him, suits Bruce Wayne. But having all that hair, knotted up and tangled in the cowl? That shouldn’t have been possible. Bruce would’ve never let it get that bad. Something must’ve happened. Which is why Clark offered to help, that’s all. If he can help Bruce in any way, even something as small as this, he’ll do it.

He’d honestly thought Bruce would reject him. It’s not as though Clark has ever demonstrated his skills and he did spring it on Bruce rather suddenly. Batman liked to be prepared, to have all information before making a decision, which is why his answer surprised Clark as much as it did. He wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by though.

Clark’s been wanting to get his hands on Bruce’s hair for months now, if not longer. The first time he saw Bruce being all Bruce Wayne amongst the other socialites after knowing who Bruce really was, he’d barely been able to believe his own eyes. His hair looked so soft, so silky, swept away from his face in a voluminous style. Framing his chiseled face perfectly. Clark had never felt such a pure need to touch. He hadn’t, of course, because that wasn’t who he was. Who they were. But that didn’t take the need away.

And now here he is, clipping Bruce’s hair away and brushing through the inner layers. Clark doesn’t usually just cut someone’s hair without asking them what they want, but with Bruce… with Bruce he just knows. He knows what looks good on Bruce and not only because he’s spent a worrying amount of time staring at the man. If he wants to keep the length, Clark will make that work, but judging from Bruce’s reaction to Clark’s questions, it seems more likely that Bruce wants something easy, something that doesn’t take a lot of time to maintain.

He keeps the neck short, perfectly straight, fading into the longer pieces at the top. He runs a comb through the longer strands, watches as Bruce’s hair falls over his face and notices how he’s closed his eyes. Bruce looks relaxed in a way Clark can’t remember ever seeing before. It makes his heart swell. He cuts a good two and a half inches off the length and can’t help but hum under his breath as he does so. It’s a calming practice, cutting someone’s hair, even if that someone is Batman. Maybe especially when that someone is Batman. Clark runs his hands through Bruce’s hair, tussling it a bit to see what it looks like relaxed. He cleans up the edges with the clippers, is careful around Bruce’s ears and the back of his neck where most men are sensitive.

Clark steps onto the other side of the bench, sitting in front of Bruce to run his hands through the now mostly dry hair, moving it from side to side to get a better feeling of if he’s missed anything. He’s startled by the intense blue eyes staring back at him but tries to focus on Bruce’s hair. He moves the bangs to the side, sweeping it back from Bruce’s face and sends him a grin.

“Look how gorgeous you are now,” he says excitedly. He’s done a good job, if he does say so himself. All the knots are gone, and Bruce looks less like a neglected child and more like the handsome billionaire that he is.

Bruce is frowning though. At Clark’s words, he realizes a moment too late.

“Not that you weren’t before!” He hurries to add, a little awkwardly.

Bruce stands from the bench to look in the nearby mirror, running his hand through the strands hesitantly. There’s something like astonishment on his face. It might be a grateful smile tugging at his lips too, but Clark’s too busy staring at the slight flush that fills Bruce’s cheeks. If he didn’t know any better Clark would say that Bruce is blushing. It can’t be, it must be the heat in the room or maybe he’s just really uncomfortable. Oh, shoot. Clark should’ve probably not used a word like gorgeous. Not that Bruce isn’t, of course, but it suddenly seems a lot more intimate a compliment than he’d meant it to be.

“What do you think?” Clark can’t help but ask.

“It’s nice,” Bruce answers. Short and direct.

If it had been anyone else Clark might’ve taken offense to the lack of enthusiasm, but this is Batman he’s looking at. Nice might be the sweetest thing Bruce has ever said to Clark while in costume. At least outside of danger. ‘Nice’ and ‘don’t you dare die on me’ can’t really be compared in these circumstances.

“I’m glad you like it,” Clark says. “Please don’t mess it up.”

“It’s my hair,” Bruce comments, but he’s smiling a little bit. Not enough that anyone who doesn’t know him would notice. Clark knows though, he notices.

“It’s my hard work,” Clark counters with a grin. Bruce shakes his head, but he doesn’t object, which just makes Clark smile that much broader. “No, but seriously. Don’t let it get that bad again.”

Bruce runs a hand through the hair again, trying to glance at himself in mirror. Another thing Clark notices. Bruce doesn’t respond to Clark’s comments though, so he takes it upon himself to keep the conversation going.

“How did it get to this anyway? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened.” It doesn’t exactly sound like a lie, but there’s something in Bruce’s heartbeat. A slight hesitation in his breath.

Clark frowns, which in turn makes Bruce look rather… flustered? That can’t be right. Batman doesn’t get flustered.

“My stylist-” Bruce says, a hint of desperation to his voice. “She’s on maternity leave.”

“Oh,” Clark says. That should be explanation enough, but somehow it isn’t. Bruce doesn’t have to use the same exact stylist every time, although he is a creature of habit. Even so he’s got more than enough money to hire the best of the best. It shouldn’t be an issue to get his hair cut. Clark is pretty sure most hairstylists would give their dominant hand to get the chance at washing Bruce Wayne hair, not to mention actually cutting it. He feels an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. “When’s she coming back?”

“Not for a few months at least,” Bruce explains. He seems troubled by this, and Clark can’t help the next words out of his mouth.

“I could do it. Cut your hair. Until she’s back,” he says, stutters. He’s not exactly sure where this bravery comes from. Bruce must have others, someone more capable to help. Then again, he did look very much like a homeless man with his knotted hair. Clark can’t trust him to take care of it himself. He’s just offering his services like any friend would. Never mind that he gets to bury his hands in Bruce’s thick hair every four to six weeks, if he’s lucky.

“Alright,” Bruce says. The blue of his eyes seems even brighter than usual, and Clark has a hard time looking away. There’s a beat of silence and then: “Thank you.”

“No problem, B,” Clark says happily. It really is no problem. He likes doing people’s hair, it’s a fun little hobby, away from the superhero part of his life. He also can’t remember the last time Bruce thanked him not once, but twice in one day. He feels like he’s walking on clouds. He glances at his feet discreetly to make sure they’re still planted on the ground.

“Now, will you let me shower or do you not trust me to wash my own body either?” Bruce asks, and all signs of him being embarrassed are gone in the blink of an eye. There is something playful in his demeanor, but Clark doesn’t want to assume anything. Bruce has been known to flirt, even if Clark has never been on the receiving end of his sultry looks.

“Well, if you want a hand with that too,” Clark drawls. He can’t help his teasing tone just to see how Bruce might react. He doesn’t know what he expects, but Bruce biting his lower lip and his cheeks reddening isn’t it. He isn’t complaining though. The bashful look suits Bruce very well.

“Idiot,” Bruce mutters as he stalks past him towards the showers.

Clark laughs. He doesn’t follow Bruce in but only because he knows Bruce is fine. He’s been monitoring his heartrate, listening for any ticks that would indicate he’s in pain. Well, more pain than usual at least. The painkillers are working wonderfully, keeping Bruce’s discomfort to a minimum, and Clark will have to remember to send a thank you note to Alfred. Bruce may be strong, but even strong men need someone to look after them once in a while. Sometimes even two someones, if Clark has any say in it.

***

That’s that. At least that’s what Bruce thinks as he runs a hand through his admittedly very healthy hair. It feels silky and he can’t help but wonder if Clark has missed his true calling. He can’t remember the last time his hair looked this good without a team of professionals running around him for hours – and even then, it would always either fall flat at the end of the day or it would be all stiff to the touch.

So, yes, that’s that. Clark has cut his hair and they made a deal to make it a regular thing. Bruce can’t believe his own luck, he will absolutely have to send Adrienne another fruit basket. Having Clark’s hands in his hair, having him cut it and having Clark… well, pamper is the closest word Bruce can find to describe the experience in the locker room. Having Clark pamper him, spoil him with his touches. It was everything Bruce imagined and more.

Clark works steady, confidently. There’s the same unwavering strength in his hands when he washes Bruce’s hair as when he punches aliens on the battlefield. It’s a mesmerizing experience to witness. Bruce is happy with the outcome, although he could have gone without the dislocated shoulder, the humiliation of his hair being that bad and a few other details. All in all, it was good though, and Bruce is glad his obsessive side found a solution that didn’t expose him too bad. And that’s that.

Except that isn’t that.

Because of course it isn’t. This is Clark Kent, investigative journalist from the Daily Planet, they’re talking about. Of course, that cannot be it.

Not even a week later Clark corners him in the monitor room. Alright, corners might be a bit harsh; they’re supposed to be on duty together but there’s no reason for Clark to stand so damn close. There is absolutely no reason for him to send Bruce those puppy dog eyes of his.

Clark rocks back and forth on his toes, hands behind his back as he grins.

“What?” Bruce barks. He narrowly avoids crossing his arms over his chest. His shoulder is still bothering him, but it’s more about seeming unaffected that worries Bruce.

“Can I see it?” Clark asks as he bounces. Bruce wants to reach out and grab his shoulder to keep him still. He doesn’t move.

“See-” He starts. Clark is referring to his hair, Bruce realizes. He narrows his eyes. It’s only been a few days since Clark cut it, there shouldn’t be a reason for him to want to see it. Unless he somehow messed up and hasn’t realized until now. Clark wouldn’t lie about something like that though. Clark wouldn’t lie, period. “Why?” He asks, suspicious.

“I want to see what it looks like when you style it yourself,” Clark explains and finally stops rocking. His tone turns teasing. “I want to inspect your work.”

“I’ve been wearing the cowl for several hours, Clark,” Bruce argues.

“I know, but-” And then he has the audacity to rub the toe of his boot against the floor like a shy schoolgirl. Bruce promptly ignores the flutter in his chest as Clark looks up at him through his lashes. “I want to see it though.”

“Fine,” Bruce sighs. He makes a point of rolling his eyes dramatically as soon as the cowl is off. He can’t have Clark thinking he actually enjoys getting to show his hair off. He’s been doing good with Clark’s directions, hasn’t deviated from them even once. There’s an odd pride in it that he doesn’t want to look too closely at.

There’s no way the sound that Bruce hears is an actual squeal and there certainly is no conceivable way it came from Clark. Bruce snaps his head up and despite it being impossible, there’s no other way to describe the noise that left Clark’s mouth as anything but a squeal. He looks downright giddy.

“There,” Bruce says, balancing the cowl on his hip. “You happy?”

He doesn’t have to ask. He can tell Clark is happy even without the airy ‘squee’ sound he let out. Bruce is sure his hair looks a mess and- since when has he ever cared about that? Probably around the same time he bought all the different shampoos Clark recommended and actually started using them. It’s silly, he knows, Clark won’t see his hair most days. But the look on his face as he sees Bruce’s hair? Worth every extra minute in the shower. Even if all the new soaps make his entire bathroom - not to mention his hair - smell like bananas.

It was that or coconut and Bruce could not take the thought of everything smelling like artificial coconut.

It’s a reflex, Bruce can tell, when Clark reaches out to run his hand through Bruce’s hair. He gets as far as pushing around a few strands before he catches Bruce’s eyes. The hand is snatched back faster than Bruce’s eyes can track.

“Oh,” Clark says, voice oddly breathless. Bruce wants to steal the last of that breath with his lips. He presses his own together to stop that train of thought. “Sorry. Just wanted to make sure there were no knots.”

“I know how to wash my hair, Clark,” Bruce says, mentally chasing his own thoughts away, hoping and praying to every deity he can think of that Clark doesn’t notice the heat in his cheeks. He probably does. Clark always notices. There should be a law against some of this man’s abilities, Bruce thinks as he frowns.

“Well, I’ve seen plenty evidence to the contrary,” Clark is quick to respond.

Bruce tsks and averts his eyes. He reminds himself that he accepted the humiliation as a worthy price for having Clark’s hands on him, but it’s hard to remember the details when Clark is grinning at him with that teasing glint in his eyes. Eventually though he’ll have to actually respond and not just sulk like a grumpy teenager. He’s not really insulted (much), but Clark could be nicer. He shouldn’t, obviously. The fact that he’s comfortable enough with Bruce to tease him, makes Bruce’s heart flutter pathetically in his chest. So maybe not a grumpy teenager then, but he does have the whole love-sick thing down to a T.

“How did I do then?” Bruce asks as he schools his expression into one of indifference. He mostly succeeds. He’s pretty sure, at least. He throws his hands out to make the display complete. He must look like an idiot.

“Hm?” Clark’s distracted, and suddenly Bruce’s interest peaks. What could hold Superman’s attention in such a strong hold that he forgets he’s in the middle of a conversation? Perhaps someone is calling for help somewhere on Earth. Clark doesn’t look like he’s listening for dangers though. Bruce has become well-versed in all Clark-expressions to his own annoyance.

“With my hair,” he clarifies. “How did I do?”

“Oh,” and Clark’s attention is back entirely on Bruce. He’s not sure it ever left but Clark’s eyes did look a little glossy when he caught them with his own. “Absolutely gorgeous, you look very handsome.”

Bruce is used to compliments, gets more than his share at events, on the street, and even on the internet, but the words seem somehow different coming from Clark. More sincere, more real. He feels the corner of his mouth tug up stubbornly. He tries to squash it down. Batman doesn’t preen. Bruce Wayne doesn’t either and he’s not about to start now.

“Alright,” is all he can make himself say before turning around to smush the cowl down over his face again. It might not hide his entire face, but it’ll do well enough at concealing the flush in his cheeks.

While Bruce feels more comfortable wearing his cowl at the Watchtower, he does slowly start wearing it less and less. At least when he’s just there for monitor duty and it’s just him and Clark. The others know his identity, of course, but he’s found it beneficial to keep Bruce Wayne separate from the Justice League. At least until now.

The way Clark looks at him, looks at his hair. The way he smiles so warmly at Bruce, as if Bruce is the one who has done him a favor and not the other way around, makes Bruce feel small and warm and oddly safe in a way he can’t remember feeling for a long time. He’s not an idiot, he knows exactly what this means, but he’s not going to dwell on it. It’s fine, he’ll get used to Clark’s compliments and the way he’ll always find an excuse to touch Bruce’s hair.

‘To inspect his work’, yes, that’s why he’s running his large hands gently through Bruce’s hair whenever he gets the chance. Not in front of the League, never in front of others. It’s like it’s a thing between only the two of them, and Bruce is willing to admit he likes it that way.

While they made a deal, Bruce doesn’t exactly feel comfortable asking Clark to cut his hair the first few times. He finds a solution that’s called ‘set a date and stick to it’ and it works. He’ll just stare at Clark for a while longer than usual and he’ll get the point. It’s easy, it’s not something they discuss much despite Clark’s growing habit of touching Bruce’s hair, and Bruce likes the arrangement.

It starts with the hair: a haircut every six weeks, at least. How Bruce has gone without it, Clark doesn’t even want to know, he tells Bruce with disdain. It’s not like he has a complicated cut or anything, he’s just… How did Clark put it, again?

“You’re just- you’re an idiot, that’s what you are.” Clark’s exact words. Bruce would feel insulted except for the fact that Clark is right. He is an idiot. He just never thought he’d be this much of an idiot – least of all in front of Clark.

So, Clark cuts his hair. It’s not a big deal (to anyone but Bruce, at least). But then it becomes a thing. This time he doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s Clark who offers to teach him how to style his hair properly, it’s Clark who offers to come with him to buy the right products.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Bruce, but-” Clark says, and Bruce rolls his eyes. You buy one wrong shampoo and suddenly you’re never to be trusted again.

“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” Clark then accuses when Bruce is once again injured on a mission and can’t wash the blood out of his own hair. He argues, of course he does, but he also closes his eyes in bliss when Clark washes his hair thoroughly.

Clark is always gentle with him. Massages his scalp and neck, his temples even if he’s really tense. Clark talks when he’s washing Bruce’s hair. Clark’s always been more of a talker than Bruce and that fits them both perfectly fine, but what’s surprising is that Bruce talks too during the haircuts and washes. Somehow as soon as Clark’s hands are in his hair, the lock on Bruce’s mouth clicks open and out spills his guts.

He tells Clark about how he and Dick have been fighting a lot, but that he’s trying his best to make it better, to do better. He tells Clark how Jason’s attitude is growing, but he’s still so proud of far the kid has come. He tells him about Alfred’s trip to England, that left Bruce in charge of food and how awful that went. Clark insisted on coming over and making them dinner and Bruce couldn’t find it in himself to reject the offer. He does not tell Clark about Jason’s questions and comments after he left.

He talks about his work at Wayne Enterprises and in turn Clark tells him about his work at the Daily Planet. Clark tells him about growing up in Kansas, both the farm-boy part and the alien part of his upbringing. He talks about his Ma and Pa and about his friends growing up. He tells Bruce about his struggles when he first moved to Metropolis, when he first became Superman. He explains how to make his favorite dish, and how come Bruce has never had chicken ala king – what kind of life has he led than he hasn’t had Clark’s Ma’s chicken ala king?

And Bruce… Bruce falls harder for every word out of Clark’s mouth. He thought his crush on Clark was harmless, a thing he could ignore, but the second Clark opens up to him, properly opens up and Bruce gets to know him? He’s done for. There’s no turning back and the thought should terrify him, and in some ways it does. More than that though Bruce is just… content. He enjoys spending more time with Clark, he loves letting Clark run his mouth for hours, while Bruce just nods and listens.

Bruce likes what it does for their team too. He’s more- Clark calls him more human, but Bruce has never been anything but human. He does feel less irritable though, he’ll give Clark that. Even the other members say so, although not as directly. Well, Wally, of course, has never been one for hints, so he calls Bruce “a domesticated bat” once, but he quickly learns not to comment any further.

It doesn’t deter Clark from teasing him though. Nothing does at this point. Bruce should be annoyed, but he’s mostly just trying not to let the lovesick expression on his face show too much. Clark hasn’t called him out, which should mean that he’s doing a good job, but then again Clark is way too nice to embarrass Bruce like that (he hopes).

It starts with the hair; it evolves into talking. That’s fine, Bruce can handle this, he can be reasonable and not obsess. The touching too he can deal with. Clark’s hand on his shoulder isn’t anything new, neither is a pat on the back. The way he’ll wrap his hand around the back of Bruce’s neck isn’t exactly strange and it isn’t unwelcome, so Bruce doesn’t comment on it. It’s nice, actually, that Clark is there to calm him or make him relaxed when he’s extra tense or stressed out.

The dinners are nice too, although not entirely necessary. It isn’t like Alfred is gone every week, but somehow Clark ends up coming to the manor for dinner either way. It’s… nice. Comfortable. Bruce is getting a little suspicious, but he tries to swallow the feeling.

Don’t be obsessive, don’t question every good thing in your life. It’s easier said than done, of course, but he manages. Mostly. And spending time with Clark outside of uniform is comforting in a way Bruce doesn’t experience often, so he handles his crush, he breathes through the neck massages and tries not to blurt pathetically romantic words out in Clark’s face whenever he’s without earshot. Being Superman means he’s always within earshot though. Bruce needs a panic room lined with lead.

They fall into a nice rhythm. Not just with the haircuts but with everything else and Bruce tries not to be pessimistic and just enjoy the calm. It helps that Clark is a figurative sunshine invading his entire life and that he can’t not trust him with his… well, his everything.

But then one day when they’re on monitor duty together, Clark tugs at a strand of his hair. He’s taken to not even bothering to wear the cowl when he knows he’s just going to stare at screens all night with Clark by his side. Besides, there’s a bigger possibility of a neck rub if he’s already cowl-less, he’s learned.

“Don’t you think it’s time for another haircut?” Clark asks and his hands are rougher than usual. It’s not painful but he doesn’t usually tug at Bruce’s hair. It’s more a caress than anything and there’s something in his voice too, someone off with the tone.

Bruce frowns. Something’s clearly off, but he doesn’t know what. It worries him, but he tries not to let it show.

“It’s only been three weeks,” he says.

“I still think it’s time,” Clark argues and turns on his heel.

There’s still at least fifteen minutes until next shift begins and although Bruce has already seen Hal and Wally in the hallway, they’re not supposed to leave the monitor room unoccupied. He stands though, can’t help it. Clark never leaves monitor duty early unless it’s really important and he seems agitated. Bruce is certain Flash and Lantern won’t mind taking over a bit early.

Bruce finds Clark in the locker room fiddling with his tools. He takes pride in having the proper scissors and a sturdy trimmer, but he doesn’t usually spend this much time polishing the blades. He doesn’t look up when Bruce enters but they have a routine now. Bruce settles by the sink, where Clark’s already made sure to prepare a chair for him. They’ve gotten an actual chair with a back designed for salon purposes – or, well, Bruce got one because he’s not getting any younger and sitting on a stool isn’t good for his back. Neither is crime fighting but he can’t switch out a chair and have Gotham suddenly calm and peaceful, so he’ll settle for a comfortable place to sit while Clark cuts his hair.

Bruce leans back as is their routine and waits for Clark to join him at the sink. It takes longer than usual but Bruce doesn’t comment on it. Clark will talk when he’s ready. He’s told Bruce that washing people’s hair is a calming process for him and that also means that he talks easier when he’s busy with his hands.

When Bruce’s hair is soaking wet and Clark lathers up his hands with the banana shampoo (“It’s for moisture, Bruce, you have such thick hair, you need to take proper care of it!”) and neither have said a word, Bruce starts to worry a little. It’s been an easy shift, nothing out of the ordinary, yet Clark’s mood suddenly changed.

They bumped into Hal and Wally on the way back from getting coffee. Did he mess up Clark’s coffee somehow? No, that couldn’t be right. Mostly because Clark wouldn’t be so petty as to get angry over that but also because Bruce knows Clark’s coffee order better than he knows his own. Research, remember? That can’t be it then. Bruce is so lost in thought that he nearly misses when Clark starts scrubbing at his head. The usually comforting scalp massage seems off and they both know it.

Clark sighs as he rinses Bruce’s hair. There’s another sigh when he starts carefully rubbing the conditioner in. A third sigh and Bruce knows he’s almost there. It’s more sighs than Clark usually lets out in an entire week. He’s starting to sound more like Bruce and- well, that thought does make Bruce feel all kinds of warm, but now is not the time to get stuck in his feelings for Clark. Bruce waits a beat, then another.

“I didn’t know you and Hal were close,” Clark finally says.

Bruce gapes slightly. He did not expect that to be the words out of Clark’s mouth. He frowns as he says, a little uncertainly: “We’re not?”

It’s no secret that he and Hal have had their differences but while they’ve worked through most of them (Hal being a grade A ass can’t really be fixed), they’re not exactly tight. They’re civil, of course, and much better at being around each other now than they used to be. Bruce wouldn’t describe them as close though, not anywhere near as close and he and Clark at least. He tolerates Hal. He… more than tolerates Clark.

“He touched your hair,” Clark says. As a way of explanation? Bruce isn’t sure. It’s not doing much to ease his confusion. Is Hal the reason Clark is this upset? That can’t be. Clark is much more composed. There must be another reason, a logic reason, for him to be this clearly rattled.

“He was admiring your work,” Bruce says, slowly.

It’s true. When they’d bumped into Hal and Wally earlier, they’d commented (teased, more like) on Bruce’s hair and how he was wearing the cowl less and less when it wasn’t an emergency. It didn’t matter if he and Clark didn’t advertise their deal, the others were bound to notice. These two especially, Flash and Lantern always had to stick their noses in other people’s business. This was why Bruce usually scheduled them with other people for monitor duty. He’d gotten sloppy with the planning though.

Hal had ruffled his hair. Bruce had – of course – smacked his arm away and grunted an insult at him. He really should stop being so comfortable at the Watchtower. Just because Clark had invaded his heart home didn’t mean that Bruce had to be this relaxed. At least not near Hal of all people. The man could smell weakness a mile away. How in the world had Clark seen that display of juvenile teasing as them being close?

“Hm.” The low hum sounds foreign on Clark’s lips. It’s usually Bruce who communicates in grunts and hums and it feel weird to have the roles reversed. Bruce, of course, doesn’t say nearly as much as Clark usually does. He doesn’t keep the conversation going. Bruce sits in silence.

“I don’t think you should let him touch you like that,” Clark finally says. He isn’t looking at Bruce’s face but instead focusing on his hair. Bruce, even with his limited knowledge, doesn’t think he’s supposed to spend this long coating the hair with conditioner. He doesn’t comment on it though. It seems like the physical distraction is the only thing making Clark talk.

“Like what?” he asks. Hal had patted his head, rather harshly even. There’d been nothing malicious about it, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. Nowhere near how Clark handles his hair. Or him, for that matter.

“So- so intimately,” Clark mutters as he finally turns the faucet on and starts rinsing Bruce’s hair. He’s still avoiding eye contact. It’s not easy trying to catch Clark’s eyes from the position he’s in, but that doesn’t stop Bruce from trying. Clark is always easier to read when he can look him in the eyes.

“You touch my hair all the time, Clark,” Bruce says softly. There’s something itching at the back of his mind, the words at the tip of his tongue. He’s almost got it. The reason Clark is upset, the reason he won’t look at Bruce. It’s an easy word, it’s something he knows himself. There’s just something- something that doesn’t click yet.

“I- yes.” Clark is very focused on the task at hand. Wringing Bruce’s hair carefully before applying more product to his hands.

“Yes?” Bruce prods. One-word answers aren’t helping him much here and while he prides himself on being patient, Clark’s silence is getting to him. He doesn’t usually have to fight like this to hear his voice, his thoughts. It’s disturbing and Bruce feels somewhat off-balance with this dynamic. It’s unsettling.

“Yes,” Clark repeats as he finishes rinsing Bruce’s hair.

Patience wearing dangerously thin Bruce yanks the towel out of Clark’s hands instead of waiting for him to wrap it around his head. He rubs at his head, ignoring the little noise of protest leaving Clark’s mouth. That sentence – the answer at the tip of his tongue has evaporated.

“So, what’s the problem?” he asks harshly. He’s irritated at himself more than anything, but Clark isn’t exactly helping. So what if Hal touched his hair? What does that have to do with Clark? He’s acting like Hal just took his favorite toy and played with it without permission. It’s difficult enough figuring out what’s wrong with Clark when he won’t talk but having a conversation while seated and with drenched hair isn’t making Bruce any less annoyed.

“It’s not the same thing, Bruce,” Clark says as he reaches for the towel. Bruce bats his hands away.

“Of course, it is,” he says. “It’s just-” Oh. Bruce’s hands still, the towel still on his head. It’s not the same thing at all. It’s Clark’s favorite toy. It’s Clark’s. Oh, how blinded are you allowed to be by your own emotions? Bruce thinks he might have found the limit. That little word is back on his tongue and this time he can actually feel its weight. “It’s not.”

Clark doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not the same, is it, Clark?” Bruce asks carefully. This time he’s grateful that he’s still seated, because Clark’s eyes are turned towards the floor and it’s the only reason, he’s able to catch them with his own. Blue meets blue and neither look away. Bruce feels little silly peeking out from underneath the towel, but he’ll take feeling silly over not being able to look at Clark.

“That’s not really for me to say,” Clark says, voice soft. At least he doesn’t look away, even if he is trying to backtrack his own words. Bruce can’t have that.

“But it is for you to say that I shouldn’t let Hal touch me?” he asks. Challenges, really. Clark is easily as stubborn as Bruce is, so he knows poking at him will shake him out of his own head. Sure enough, Clark straightens a bit and frowns at Bruce’s words.

“Just your- your hair,” he says. Clark is an honest man, he’d never back down from any conversation if it was important, much less lie his way through it. Which is what Bruce counts on when he speaks next.

“Just my hair?”

“That’s-” Clark stalls. Swallows. It’s clear that he knows he’s messed up somewhere. How he hasn’t realized before now is a mystery Bruce will have to look further into, but for now he just leans forward so Clark can’t look away from his face.

“Yours?” Bruce supplies with a small smile. He’s not trying to bully Clark here, but there is something to be said about making the world’s strongest man blush and stumble over his own words. It’s a little intoxicating knowing he holds that kind of power over Clark.

“I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” Bruce is quick to reassure. “If that’s how you feel.”

“It is?” Clark’s obviously taken aback.

It makes Bruce’s chest tighten and he knows he has to make sure Clark understands; make sure he doesn’t doubt himself anymore. The word he was looking for earlier is too familiar to him, he knows how much jealousy can alter one’s perception. He doesn’t want Clark to misinterpret anything between them. The words feel heavy on his tongue, but he pushes them out, nonetheless.

“I won’t want anyone else’s hands on me.”

There’s a beat of silence but Bruce maintains eye contact. Clark looks like he’s searching Bruce’s eyes for something, some kind of answer to a question he hasn’t asked. Bruce lets him look, lets him search for as long as he needs.

“You don’t.” It’s not really a question, not the way Clark says it, but Bruce decides to answer him anyway.

“I don’t.” He puts as much conviction into the word as he can.

“Why?” Clark’s voice is soft like he’s afraid of the answer. Bruce is just as afraid to say it out loud, but it’s now or never. He can tell.

“I only want you,” he says.

“To-” Clark starts.

“Not ‘to’ anything,” Bruce interrupts. “I only want you.”

Bruce should’ve seen it coming, what with him spilling his guts someplace as romantic as the locker room in the Watchtower – he really should’ve thought this through – but somehow, he still jumps when Clark’s hand touches his cheek. It slides down to his jaw, cradling it like Bruce is something precious, something to be careful with. Clark always treats him gently, oh so gently. Which is why he’s not surprised that’s how he kisses him too.

It's fleeting, a brush of their lips. Soft and sweet and everything Bruce would expect of a first kiss from Clark. They’re not fifteen though and Bruce has spent more than enough time longing for more of Clark than he thought he’d ever be able to have. So sue him for being a little impatient. He grabs onto Clark’s collar and pulls him closer, swallowing the surprised noise he emits. The hand on Bruce’s jaw tightens slightly, but only enough for Clark to tilt his head, sucking at Bruce’s bottom lip.

The towel falls to the floor as Bruce tilts his head up, grip tightening in Clark’s collar. He tastes of coffee, too sweet for Bruce’s usual taste but if he could have it like this… he’d enjoy Clark’s dash of cream and seven sugars any day. He’s sure he’ll never have enough of this.

Superman or not, the folded position can’t be very good for Clark’s back, so Bruce finally lets go of his collar. Clark straightens, but only just enough to get a grip on Bruce’s arms and pull him up too.

“Does this mean you’ll keep letting me do your hair from now on?”

“Clark, sweetheart,” Bruce laughs, the pet name slipping out without him meaning to. “I’ll let you do me from now on. Pretty sure my hair’s included.”

“You’ll have to explain that to Adrienne,” Clark teases.

“I’m sure she’ll manage without me,” Bruce says as he rolls his eyes. He’s certain Adrienne will do nothing more than tell him it’s about time he found a stepdad for all of those kids. Bruce won’t think too hard about that comment; mostly because he thinks it’s still a bit early calling Clark anyone’s stepdad. Then again…

Clark’s smile is so bright it looks like his face is glowing but for once Bruce doesn’t want to shield his eyes. He just wants to bask in Clark’s happiness. He can do that now, he’s allowed. Clark is all his.

#misha answers #misha writes #superbat fic #superbat fanfiction #clark kent/bruce wayne #clark kent x bruce wayne #superman/batman #superbat x batman #blark #lol #L my beloved #thank you for such a great prompt that made my head go !!!!!!!!!!!#motherffffff this is 13k #long post

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george-mackay-macfine · 4 years

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Their Royal Secret - Prt 2.

I’ve never paid much attention to the colour of my family's eyes or their hair colour. But on the twenty-two-hour flight to London, Heathrow airport eye colour was all I could think about.

Elizabeth Daniels, the matriarch of my adoptive family had blue eyes, a deep blue like that of a sapphire gemstone shining with years of wisdom and knowledge, her hair in her younger days had been a reddish brunette.

Claire Daniels, my adoptive mother also had blue eyes, hers a lighter blue than her mothers, but none-the-less they were alike in the primary colour, her hair like her mothers was brown.

Jonathan Daniels, my adoptive father like his wife and mother-in-law had what one would consider being blue eyes, his however leaned more towards a slight blue-grey colour, his hair was black...

I remember studying human genetics in science in year eight and learning that only two per cent of the world’s population had green eyes or roughly about one hundred and forty million people. After learning this I came home from school and asked my parents why my eyes were so vastly different from their own, my mother passed it off as me inheriting my green eyes from my great-grandmother, someone I had never met or seen coloured photos of. It was a logical answer, I’d heard of certain genetic features laying dormant for multiple generations before showing itself again, now I just saw it as a lie to hide my true lineage.

“Your Highness,” I looked away from the clouds as someone called me by the title I would have to familiarise myself with. “There are some things your father would like to speak to you about.” Collins smiled kindly motioning for me to follow him through down to the other end of the private plane. The private plane I’d boarded over seventeen hours ago was large and luxurious. The mere image of it exuded more wealth than I’d ever thought possible for someone to attain.

The plane itself was broken into multiple sections, two bedrooms were situated at either end, one near the cockpit and the other in the tail. In the middle was a lounge room with an L-shaped couch and a large flatscreen TV, The interior was sleek and cream with the seats in the lounge room embossed with the British coat of arms. I’d not explored much of the plane when I’d boarded, I’d simply asked to be given some privacy, and it’s where I’d stayed for the last seventeen hours.

“Rosalie,” Richard greeted me from his seat at a decently sized walnut stained table. He motioned for me to take the seat across from him, wordlessly I complied. Sitting in the plush cream seat I placed my hands neatly on my lap, waiting. “How has the flight been for you so far, Jonathan told me you’ve never flown before?” I opened my mouth to reply only to be cut off. “Are you hungry? ... Thirsty maybe? … Can I get you anything?” He asked question after question leaving no room for me to reply until he was finished.

“Some water maybe.” Richard nodded at a nearby crew member who promptly placed a glass of ice water before me. I smiled kindly at her frowning when she avoided eye contact. “Thank you.” I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips, letting the cold water refresh me. “I was told you wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes, I just wanted to speak to you about how things will proceed once we land.” I watched on with curious eyes as George stepped forward handing over a large black folder. Richard nodded in appreciation before flipping it open. “When we arrive we will do so to a closed airport, which means there should be no sign of any members of the press on the grounds.” I nodded my head. “We will travel to the palace in separate cars. Your security detail with you in your car, mine with me in my car.”

“Security detail?”

“Yes, George is your head security guard.” He spared a look at George who stood stiff, arms behind his back. “You will have two other guards, but George will be your main security. He will be with you nearly twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Does he not get a day off?” Richard laughed and shook his head.

“Only when he requires one, or requests one.”

“At the least, I believe he should have two days off a week.” I glanced at George who was watching my eyes curious. “He works hard protecting the crown, the least the crown can do is alot him some time off.”

“Your Highnesses, If I may interrupt.” George stepped towards us. “I don’t mind the work.” He smiled, white teeth appearing behind his lips. “I’m proud to serve my country in any capacity I can.”

“Then I require at least four hours a day unsupervised, that does not include the time I am sleeping.” I turned back to my father. “If he doesn’t wish to have days of the least we can do is offer him a minimum of four hours to himself.” A smile came to my fathers’ lips.

“Just like your mother.” He smiled. He turned to George and shrugged his shoulders. “You heard her.” George nodded his head stepping back into his previous position. “Once we arrive at the palace you will be dressed by a stylist and prepared to be presented to the Queen, and all of the world.” Richard closed his folder and placed it in front of him. “Any questions.”

“Do they know I’m coming?”

“They do, and they cannot wait to see you again,” Richard leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. “Rosalie, you understand why we did what we had to don’t you?” I shook my head.

“I understand why you think what you did was the right thing to do, I understand you thought you were protecting me from those who had hurt my mother.” I glanced down at the table. “But you must understand in return I have lived the last twenty-three, nearly twenty-four years of my life believing myself to be someone else.” Richard nodded his head. “In complete obscurity, so you have to allow me some time to come to terms with this all.”

“I wish I could give you more time to come to terms with who you are, who you were born to be.” He reached out and grabbed onto my hand. “But, I can’t say I am upset to finally see you again.” His thumb rubbed against my skin warmly. “Not a day went by that I didn’t think of you.”

“Did you know where I was?” His head nodded stiffly. “And you didn’t think to ever come to visit me, or send me a letter?”

“We did once, all of us.” Richard let go of my hand and sat back straighter. “We used a tour of Australia as a cover to come and visit you. Julie and Jonathan brought you to where we were and we got to see you again…”

“But as a commoner,”

“It was the safest way.” I watched as his thin lips frowned. “It was the only way… If we could have announced your survival to the world sooner we could have, but it wasn’t safe.” I studied my father as if I was seeing him for the first time. His face was long and thin, wrinkles had started to appear on his forehead. His skin pale, cheeks softly coloured with a pink blush. His eyes were almond-shaped, clouded a bold hazel colour half-hidden under bush eyebrows that followed the curve of his brow bone. A slight button nose sat over his thin lips. It was the first time I’d been able to see a resemblance to someone who was a part of my family. For years I’d waited for someone to tell me that I looked like my mother, or just like my father but I had never received the compliment and now I understood why. “Are you okay Rosalie?” I nodded my head.

“May I be excused?” Richard didn’t say a word, he simply nodded his head, watching me with cautious eyes as I stood and walked back to the bedroom I’d spent the previous seventeen hours in. As soon as I was in the privacy of the room I grabbed my phone and sat on the bed. Opening google my fingers paused as I thought over if I wanted to search the internet to learn about my childhood.

“Do you want a computer? It’ll be better for your eyes.” I looked up as George stood in the small doorway, a silver laptop under his arm. I found myself smiling as I met his green eyes.

“How did you know what I was doing?”

“I had a feeling that you’ve been wanting to do this since the very minute you found out who you were at Government House.” I nodded my head.

“Thank you.” George chuckled and passed the laptop to me, I took it and sat it on my lap opening it up. I looked up as it requested a password.

“The password is Diasy.” I typed in the password looking back up to him as I waited for the screen to load completely.

“Girlfriend?” George walked over and sat beside me on the bed. He pointed to the computer screen which had loaded. The background was a picture of George dressed in full military garb surrounded by happy smiling faces, a woman with dark black hair, clearly George’s mother, another younger girl stood on the other side of George who had his arms wrapped around both woman, smiling brightly at the camera,

“It’s my sisters name.”

“You all look so happy.” I found myself trying to drink in the picture as much as I could. Wanting to remember the happy faces forever. “I don’t even know what I’m looking to find,” I whispered looking at the flashing line that was just waiting for me to type, taunting me. Slowly I typed. Pressing enter once I’d typed in my late mothers’ name. Immediately results popped up. I looked underneath the search bar, eyes nearly bulging when I saw the result number. ‘About 29,800,000 results (0.53 seconds).’ Slowly I scrolled down the page, reading the headlines, waiting for one to catch my attention. “Is Princess Rosalie dead?” I read aloud, curiosity taking over me as I clicked the blue link. I brought a hand up to my mouth and started to chew on my nails, a nervous habit of mine that had stuck with me through my childhood.

“This page is the very reason that we couldn’t come any earlier.” George pointed to the computer. I held my breath as I scrolled through the page. Headlines of different articles catching my attention.

Is Her Royal Highness Princess Rosalie still alive?

Memorium for Princess Rosalie

The last moments of Princess Eleanor and Princess Rosalie

“This article.” George pointed to one of the blue underlined links. “Did the Royal family hide Princess Rosalie in the Commonwealth?” He scoffed. “This article alone nearly started a manhunt for you.” I reread the title three times in my head, trying to wrap my head around how they could have been so correct in their assumptions.

“People believed this?”

“With good reason,” George laughed. “You are alive, and you were hidden in the commonwealth.”

“Can you imagine how they’re going to react when they’re told I am alive, well and was hidden in the Commonwealth.” I shut the computer and pushed it off my lap. “Do they know I’m alive?”

“Only eighteen people in the world are privy to the knowledge of your existence.”

“I don’t know how I’m meant to be who they want me to be.” I turned to look at George. “I don’t know how to be her, I don’t remember her.”

“What you said out there, about me having time off.” George nodded his head. “That’s exactly what she would have said. What she would have done for someone.” George smiled kindly down at me. “You need to remember, you are her daughter.” George let the moment linger for a minute before he stood. “I’ll leave you alone now, try and get some sleep. We land in about four hours.” George smiled once more as he walked through the door, shutting it behind me. I laid down on the overly soft bed flashes of blue eyes haunting me as I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down enough to slip into darkness

#george mackay #georgemackay #george mackay fanfic #george mackay imagine #george mackay smut #Prince!GeorgeMacKay

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letterboxd · 4 years

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Heart Beat.

Minari’s film composer Emile Mosseri (also responsible for the Kajillionaire and The Last Black Man in San Francisco scores) tells Ella Kemp about his A24 favorites, Nicholas Britell’s friendship and the boldest Paul McCartney needle drop in movie history.

What do you think a broken heart sounds like? How about a warm, beating one? It’s something that Emile Mosseri has been thinking about for a while now. The past two years have seen him complete a hat-trick of beguiling, transporting scores for Plan B movies: Joe Talbot and Jimmie Fails’ The Last Black Man in San Francisco, Miranda July’s Kajillionaire and now, the film voted the best of 2020 by our community, Lee Isaac Chung’s Minari.

What binds these scores together is a delicacy that knows when to break free and turn into something altogether spectacular. But on Minari in particular, Mosseri is in full bloom, working for the first time in a way he’d always dreamed about. While The Last Black Man in San Francisco saw him compose to a loose edit, and on Kajillionaire he worked to a locked cut, Chung gave him the freedom to write music directly to Minari’s script. “It was a dream to work this way on Minari,” Mosseri says. “It was so beautifully written and so visceral.”

‘Minari’ composer Emile Mosseri.

Minari is an intimate portrait of a Korean family making their way in rural America, and the composer was interested in “trying to figure out musically how you can feel connected to your deepest childhood memories”. These memories belong, in the film, to David—a tiny king played by eight-year-old Alan Kim—as he comes to terms with his new life on a small farm in Arkansas, as his family strives for their own version of the American Dream.

The Yi family is made up of David and his sister Anne (Noel Kate Cho), their parents Monica (Han Ye-ri) and Jacob (Steven Yeun) and their grandmother, Soon-ja (Youn Yuh-jung). It’s a personal story for Chung, one that Mosseri felt honored to be a part of. “It’s a very intimate story with these five characters, which takes place mostly in this small mobile home—but emotionally, it’s very epic.”

There was something about Chung that had caught Mosseri’s attention early on. “I had met him at the LA premiere of Last Black Man,” Mosseri says, “and I sent him the Kajillionaire score.” Mosseri was already familiar with the filmmaker’s work: “His first film, Munyurangabo, is incredible.” He calls Chung “very open, but also sly” in terms of hitting the right notes and “gently steering the ship”. The partnership between composer and director was about working on “a more emotional level,” Mosseri says. “There was never any talk about what we wanted stylistically.”

The ‘Minari’ ensemble cast.

The result is a film graced with music at once lush and raw, grandiose and vulnerable. Mosseri is keenly aware of these nuances, and always made sure to walk the tonal tightrope in the writing process. “There aren’t sad cues and hopeful cues,” he explains. “Every cue has both feelings. Each musical moment dips in and out of the hopefulness and joy of a family, and then the pain and frustration and dissonance that they hold.”

The way Mosseri’s music swells and flows often feels intangible, magical, even—which comes more from knowing what to avoid, rather than acting with too much forced intention. On his first film, Mosseri brought brass and strings to the streets of San Francisco, and with Miranda July, he worked old Hollywood glamor into the concrete blocks of Los Angeles. Here, we twirl through the tall grass as gentle acoustic guitars and elegant string sections sigh and sway, while the Yi family work through their growing pains.

“We didn’t want to hear Korean music when you see Korean characters, and we didn’t want twangy music when you see an American farm,” Mosseri explains. “We wanted to come at it from the side somehow, in some way that’s unexpected.” ‘Rain’, his collaboration with Minari star Han Ye-ri, which features on the official soundtrack, encapsulates this juxtaposition. It’s an epic lullaby of sorts; Han sings in Korean to a gentle guitar; a pleasing swell of synths climbs alongside her voice. The effect on the listener is as if liquid love is trickling from every vein. “I wanted this score to feel like it had a warm, beating heart.”

youtube

Two of your three feature films to date have been released by A24, and so we must ask: what are your favorite A24 film scores? Emile Mosseri: Three come to mind. First of all, Anna Meredith’s score for Eighth Grade. It’s so adventurous and unexpected and fresh and just brilliant. It’s so pure and out-there. It also does this impossible thing of being hip and exciting and deep, but also hilarious. The pool-party scene fucking kills me.

Then there’s Under the Skin by Mica Levi. I remember seeing that at the Nighthawk theater in Brooklyn and feeling like it was the best score I’d heard in as long as I could remember.

And then of course, Moonlight. That film got under my skin in a way I didn’t see coming. I saw it by myself in a theater, after hearing all the hype for months and months. When a movie has that much hype you can get a bit cynical and it can distract you, so I went in a bit guarded, but I left the film destroyed. For weeks and weeks it resonated with me in a way that was so profound, and a large part of that is due to Nick [Britell]’s music. And the film is just perfection.

Scarlett Johansson in ‘Under the Skin’ (2013), scored by Mica Levi.

You’ve been described as Nicholas Britell’s protégé more than once… It’s funny, I think that came from me being a fan of his and saying nice things about his music. I met him at Sundance two years ago when Last Black Man was premiering. I went with my wife and my brother and I was so excited, I’d been waiting for this moment for so long. We walked in and Nick and Barry [Jenkins] were walking in behind [us]. And there was also Boots Riley, Kamasi Washington… all these people I looked up to. I hadn’t considered that I would see this film in the room with them, and it was the first time I was hearing the final mix and just agonizing.

Nick was incredibly generous and said great things about the score and was super encouraging, and he became a friend and mentor. But I’ve never studied with him or worked with him. Although, if you’re a fan of somebody’s work, you’re a student of any of these composers that you admire. Anything you watch and listen to, you absorb.

What was the first film that made you want to be a composer? It was Edward Scissorhands. Danny Elfman’s score was the first one that made me realize that this was a job. I’m always attracted to big, romantic melodies, and over-the-top sweeping stuff—but done tastefully. In that score, he sets the high-water mark for me. It’s so unapologetically romantic.

And then there are other obvious ones like The Godfather. It’s maybe a dorky choice because it’s the most famous movie ever, but it really is the best. And that got me into Nino Rota, and from there I found [Federico] Fellini and all these movies through Nino, the composer. And then I got really into the score for La Dolce Vita and more movies that he’d written for, which are so beautiful.

The ‘Edward Scissorhands’ (1990) score was an early inspiration for Mosseri.

Which films, new to you, blew you away in 2020? Take Shelter by Jeff Nichols blew me away. It unfolded in a way that was intoxicating and really exciting, and it just really stuck with me.

What’s been your favorite needle drop on screen this year? Aside from Devonté Hynes’ score being stunning, there’s an amazing piece of music placed in an episode of Luca Guadagnino’s We Are Who We Are. They use a Paul McCartney song called ‘Let Em In’, and they dropped it in this incredibly tasteful but unexpected way, in a really dark, emotionally loaded scene. It worked in such a beautiful and graceful way. It’s because it’s the most cheery McCartney, it’s full-blown upbeat and poppy McCartney. And this is the darkest-of-the-dark human pain, and it lands in this way that is such a bold choice, such a powerful move.

What should people listen to after watching Minari? One record I’ve been listening to a lot recently is Jeff Tweedy’s Love is the King. It could be a good companion to Minari. I’m a huge fan of his and it’s a gorgeous record. It’s very stripped-down and emotionally raw, and it’s both hopeful and heartbreaking.

Which filmmakers would you love to work with next? I’m always afraid to answer this question because there are so many filmmakers I admire. There are filmmakers I grew up with loving their films—working with Miranda was that for me. Spike Jonze or Yorgos Lanthimos are directors in her world that I also love and would love to work with. But there’s so many others. Derek Cianfrance is amazing and he works with different composers. I love his choice of collaborators musically. I love that he used the late great Harold Budd to do his shows [including I Know This Much is True], and then Mike Patton, and Grizzly Bear… the music is always incredible in his projects, but he doesn’t have a go-to person. His films are so heartbreaking and powerful and really, really raw. He’s fearless.

I feel very lucky that I’ve worked on these three films which are all very much like somebody’s ripping their heart out and putting it on the screen. I feel like Derek Cianfrance does that in his films too, in this unapologetic, super-vulnerable way of just ripping his soul out and putting it out for everyone to see. It’s incredibly appealing to find those projects, because they’re really rare.

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Follow Ella on Letterboxd

‘Minari’ is available everywhere in the US that movies can be rented, and screening in select theaters in the US and other regions. Listen to the official soundtrack and more of Mosseri’s film compositions in the official Spotify playlist via Milan Records. ‘Kajillionaire’ is available on VOD now.

#minari #letterboxd year in review #kajillionaire #the last black man in san francisco #emile mosseri #miranda july #lee isaac chung #a24 #a25 films #film composer #film soundtrack #film score #derek cianfrance #nicholas britell #nino rota #letterboxd

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tswiftdaily · 5 years

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In the 2010s, she went from country superstar to pop titan and broke records with chart-topping albums and blockbuster tours. Now Swift is using her industry clout to fight for artists’ rights and foster the musical community she wished she had coming up.

One evening in late-October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became -- as it often does -- an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.

Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello -- the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.

“Two dudes walked in -- I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.

Swift, who will celebrate her 30th birthday on Dec. 13, has been impossibly famous for nearly half of her lifetime. She was 16 when she released her self-titled debut album in 2006, and 20 when her second album, Fearless, won the Grammy Award for album of the year in 2010, making her the youngest artist to ever receive the honor. As the decade comes to a close, Swift is one of the most accomplished musical acts of all time: 37.3 million albums sold, according to Nielsen Music; 95 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 (including five No. 1s); 23 Billboard Music Awards; 12 Country Music Association Awards; 10 Grammys; and five world tours.

She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop -- hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 -- reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)

Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation -- which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West -- as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.

She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family -- there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”

Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” -- 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)

Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year -- starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to -- in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary -- claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.

However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights -- and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists -- and make them nonrecoupable against those artists’ earnings.

During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come -- and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise -- but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”

While watching some of your performances this year -- like Saturday Night Live and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert -- I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say.

That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time recalibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.

Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way -- on your Tumblr page.

Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around -- they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.

It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue -- like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.

Did you have someone like that to reach out to?

Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop -- we all have each other’s numbers and text each other -- but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.

Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now?

God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.

At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally?

From a creative standpoint, I’ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas.

The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.

You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent?

That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?

That seems especially true of your last three albums or so.

“Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in -- if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.

The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about?

Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.

Have you explored TikTok at all?

I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”

How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists.

I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.

You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently -- staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals.

We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about recalibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers.

We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal -- not as a renegotiation ploy -- and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me.

Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.

Do you know how long that rerecording process will take?

I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.

Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time?

Oh, God -- I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but … I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.

#taylor swift #interview #billboard #women in music #woman of the decade

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blouisparadise · 5 years

Photo

Upon request, here is continuation of our angsty fic rec list. If you’re looking for bottom Louis fics with some painful angst, you’ve come to the right place. If you missed the first angsty fic rec list we did, you can find it here.

Happy reading!

1) Just Stop Your Crying (It’s a Sign of the Times) | Explicit | 5864 words

My own imagining of the inspiration for Sign of the Times. Featuring boys in love, even after all this time.

2) Give Me Things To Stay Awake | Explicit | 10261 words

AU. It's been a year since Louis broke up with Harry.

3) This Glorious Mess | Mature | 14260 words

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

4) Baby Honey | Explicit | 14744 words

When the next great war strikes, all alphas have to ship out. Alex leaves a little more behind than some of the others.

5) Wait For Me (To Come Home) | Explicit | 16066 words

"i’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. you could come knocking on my door five years from now and i would open my arms wider and say, ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’"

6) Maps Can Be Poems When You’re On Your Way | Not Rated | 18974 words

Harry falls in love with the guy his best friend is fooling around with.

7) Monsters At Home | Explicit | 21566 words

High School!AU. Everyone's eyes are on Harry, the beautiful, charming new student. Harry's only got eyes for the school golden boy: football captain Louis Tomlinson, whose homophobic father complicates matters a bit.

8) England Has My Bones | Explicit | 24087 words

The next time Harry thinks about calling, it’s 4.14 in the morning on a Parisian hotel balcony.

9) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24416 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

10) The Things I’d Do To Wake Up Next To You | Mature | 36109 words

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

11) Brooklyn Saw Me | Explicit | 38537 words

In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find.

12) Bloodsport | Explicit | 40283 words

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

13) Ever Fixed | Mature | 41521 words

Three years ago, Harry was happily married, successfully heading the largest technology company in the world, and raising his young daughter. After he loses nearly everything in the aftermath of his daughter’s lost battle with a rare brain tumor, it may take three strange and yet very familiar visitors – and a man from the therapy group Harry keeps refusing to go to – to get him back on track.

14) We’re What’s Right In This World | Explicit | 48809 words

The World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

15) Why Can’t It Be Like That | Explicit | 63567 words

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

16) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

17) Consequences | Explicit | 78655 words

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

18) For Reasons Wretched and Divine | Explicit | 94655 words

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

19) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words

Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

20) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

21) Run Like the Devil | Explicit | 138095 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s something.

Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy?

“I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”

22) Collision | Not Rated | 207413 words

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#please remember to reblog our rec list instead of just liking them #the lack of response is why we've stopped accepting new rec requests #and eventually we will probably just stop posting them all together #unless something changes #just something to keep in mind if you enjoy these #bottom louis #top harry #angst #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp

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softbiker · 5 years

Text

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: some language and violence

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: Steve and Agent 14 work together for the first time. Best laid plans go awry.

A/N: Here’s another installment of Cap and our beloved barista agent - if you haven’t read ‘Extra Whip’ or ‘Tall Blonde’, you might want to look at those first so you’ll know what’s going on! As always, please let me know what you think! I really love these two together <3

“So…it’s a quick intel grab?”

“Yep,” Fury nods.

“And you want me on this?” She glances up from the dossier in her hands.

Another nod.

“Care to explain why? Considering you have perfectly good agents in-house who can handle this?”

Fury just shrugs. “You’ve been out of the field for quite a while on your…assignment, figured you might want the chance to stretch your legs a bit.”

Her eyes narrow at him.

“And the real reason?”

“…you were requested.”

The dossier snaps closed, dropped to his desk with a quiet thump. Agent 14 settles her hands on her hips, eyebrow lifted as she stares down her boss.

“By whom?”

With a whoosh, the automatic door slides open, and there he is, all long legs and purposeful strides and shoulders that overwhelm the doorframe. American jaw hidden under that scruffy layer of beard he seemingly refuses to shave. She wonders if anyone has even tried - stylists, publicists, all the staff in charge of their Avengers image - to get him to go back to his classic style, boyish bare cheeks and sweetly combed hair. The boy you’d take to meet your mother. But some time has passed now, since the rifts caused by the Accords were repaired and SHIELD’s prodigal son came home - rough around the edges and unapologetic.

“Oh,” he sees her, breaks the rhythm of his stride for half a beat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

“Not at all, Captain,” Fury waves off his manners. “We were just discussing your upcoming mission.”

Half-turned to watch him, a look of understanding passes across her face and she crosses her arms. To his credit, Steve doesn’t shrink from her gaze, merely squares his shoulders, looping his thumbs in his belt. She’s not looking at the way the dark blue suit strains across his chest. He’s not looking at the tight white catsuit she’s wearing, nor the dagger strapped to her thigh. Sarah Rogers raised a damn gentleman, thank you.

Clearing his throat, Steve nods and takes a step forward, gesturing towards the dossier spilling onto Fury’s desk.

“May I?”

Without a word, she scoops up the file and hands it to him. It falls open to a set of blueprints - floor plans scribbled here and there with notes on suitable entry and exit points. Licking the pad of his thumb, he continues to flip through the file, scanning the provided notes on security details, including a very thorough breakdown of the guard rotation schedule.

“Impressive recon,” he comments, still reading. “Who’d you have on this?”

“Couple of my best agents,” Fury shrugged. His good eye slides over to Agent 14 and he nods graciously. “Present company excepted.”

“Please, my ego’s not that fragile, Nick,” 14 sighs, sarcastic smirk tilting up her mouth. “You don’t have to pat me on the head and give me a gold star.” Leaning her hip against his desk, she spares a glance at the Captain, bemused eyes bouncing between their exchange. “He always tells us that he doesn’t play favorites - we all annoy him equally.”

“Even Stark?” Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“He’s in a class all his own - and technically not an agent of SHIELD.” The scowl around Fury’s mouth deepens by a fraction. “Not that that’s ever stopped him.”

“If Pepper Potts can’t stop him, then it’s a lost cause.” Reeling the conversation back to business, 14 tamps down her smile. “So what’s our timeline here, boss?”

“48 hours. I want a clean extraction.” He points a finger at Steve. “No theatrics, Captain. No explosions. And for God’s sake, no toppling entire organizations without calling me first.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to send in the Star Spangled Man? Not exactly the best play for subtlety.” She turns her face to Steve with a placating gesture of her hands. “No offense.”

“None taken.” He rolls his shoulders, feeling the edges of the shield against his muscles. “This thing doesn’t exactly scream ‘stealth’.” The corners of her eyes wrinkle as she fights a smile, and if he seems to puff his chest a little, well, this suit is a bit tight on him now.

“I’m trusting Captain Rogers’s discretion in this case, Agent.” How does a single eyepatch manage to look so stern? “Romanoff has taught him a thing or two over the years. Should be fine. Any further questions?”

Their eyes meet over the dossier - no questions in that gaze; at least, none that Fury can answer.

“Alright, then - please see yourselves out of my office.” Nick falls into his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. “And don’t come back without coffee.”

**********

It’s quiet in the cockpit. Autopilot holds the jet steady, somewhere over the Arctic Ocean. Starkpad in his lap, Steve runs back over their notes and schematics, holding the picture in his mind: two exit points on the south side, three on the east. Heavier security on the south side, near the main entrance; they’d have easier access to the server if they could get in that way, but it was too much of a risk. Too easy to be seen, and then they’d end up fighting their way out - which was the last thing they needed. He wanted in and out - efficient, quiet, clean.

A glance over at 14, who has her headphones in, studying her own tablet. The soft blue glow of the screen lights up her features, soft shadows cast by her lashes. It’s been quiet since they loaded up the jet, each falling into their own preparations, little habits to find their headspace. She chews on her thumbnail as her other hand flicks through pages on her screen.

Still an hour out, according to their navigation system, and Steve is certain the blueprints are tattooed on the backs of his eyelids. With a sigh, he abandons the tablet and swivels to the side to face his teammate. It takes a moment for her to notice him, pluck one of her earphones out with a sheepish little smile.

“Sorry, did you say something?”

“Not yet,” he shakes his head. Chews his lip. Cracks the knuckles of one hand.

“Did you…need something?” she laughs a little, a nervous bubble and quirk of her eyebrows.

He blows a breath past his lips and looks up.

“Honestly? I’m bored,” Steve chuckles. “And I know you don’t want to talk about you, so I thought maybe we could play a game?”

Eyebrows arching up, she sits a little straighter in her seat.

“A game?”

Turning to reach behind him, Steve digs in his duffel bag for a few moments, producing a deck of cards. The cardboard is worn down, corners practically broken through, and he waves the pack in his hand, earnest offer in his soft blue eyes.

“You like gin rummy?”

Smile growing, she pulls out the other headphone and puts her tablet to the side.

“I’m more of a Texas Hold’em girl, Cap.”

**********

“Alright - you approach to the east, as planned. I’ll follow and cover you.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

Clock counting down, they stand in the gangway of the jet, conducting a final weapons check. 14 settles a gun on her left thigh, knife on her right and in each of her boots. Extra ammo in her belt. His own guns and knives in place, Steve spins the shield in his hands, before securing it on his back - he feels practically naked without it. Flag design be damned, he’s not going into a mission without it now.

Two fingers tap at the comm device in her ear.

“Line 1, test.” Her voice comes through clear and soft in his ear.

“Line secure.”

They’re minutes away now, shuffling on their feet, prickles of adrenaline beginning to flex in their twitching fingers. It’s quiet, only the hum of the jet’s engines, the whir of the fans pressurizing the cabin. Steve’s jaw works back and forth.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

She tilts her head to the side and lifts a brow in invitation.

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Just, uh…don’t tell Bucky about that, okay?” His smile, an embarrassed smirk aimed at the floor, is achingly sweet, his long lashes fanning against flushed cheeks.

“Embarrassed you got cleaned out, Captain?” Oh, that grin, a cat with two paws in the cream.

“Well, he taught me to play, back when we were kids…” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

It’s soft, the way she considers him then, taking in the hunched shoulders, the curious blue eyes, the hand sweeping hair back from his face. Softer than a moment between strangers has any right to be, longer than one between friends should. The jet beats it’s way through the air, bringing them closer to their objective.

She licks her lips.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Captain.”

**********

Not the plan, not the plan, not the goddamn plan.

Steve books it down the hallway, long legs and enhanced muscles letting him eat up the distance in seconds. Alarms blare at each end of the hall, echoing down the staircase as he throws the door open and leaps down one flight after another. On his left, a door slams open against the wall, kicked by a screaming guard who enters the stairwell with his gun, only to be on the receiving end of the red right hand of Steve Rogers. His feet barely slow as the unfortunate soldier slumps against the wall, taking the steps 3 at a time.

Short story is that their intel was faulty; the long story is that Steve is going to throttle whoever sent him and 14 right into the lion’s den with no backup, no heavy firepower, and no goddamn plan.

“14? 14 do you copy?” He pants into the comm, tapping the button repeatedly when he’s met with taught seconds of silence.

With a growl, he bursts through a door to his left, marked ‘G’ for what he hopes is the ground floor. The planned rendezvous point with Agent 14. But the relentless static buzzing in his ear doesn’t fill him with much confidence, and he turns about, looking for her along the corners of the room.

“14, what’s your location?” He can hear the harsh scrape in his voice, the tightness in his throat that threatens to close in his words, his commands. “Tell me where you are and I’ll find you.”

A heartbeat, two. A breath between.

“Incoming, Captain -” His shoulders sag at the sound. “Bringing a few friends with me.”

He swivels his head back and forth, scanning the room - she was late, she was without backup, she was-

- Falling from the ceiling, a cable attached to her belt barely controlling the descent as she plummets downward headfirst, her knees curling up as she aims her gun directly upward. A limp arm dangles from the hole she dropped through, masked faces appearing in the space above; panicked shouts mingle with the shrill sirens, the clipped staccato of gunfire punctuating their frantic cries.

About 10 feet above the floor, Agent 14 cuts her cable and backflips neatly to the ground, bouncing up on her toes and tensed to spring as her quick fingers change the clip in her gun. Her head whips around to find him striding over, boots stomping and tight-lipped authority.

“Where’ve you been?” Concealed by his beard, the muscle in his jaw jumps. “We were supposed to meet back at the rendezvous point the minute something went wrong.”

Her eyes narrow and he could choke on the overbearing tone in his own voice.

“The plan went south. I improvised.” The arch in her brow is imperious, immune, invulnerable. “And now I’m here.” The shouts above them grow louder, accompanied by pounding footsteps approaching from the stairwell. She runs a quick hand through her hair, pushing the sweaty loose strands away from her face.

“Would you like to save this discussion for the jet ride home?” she quips, no longer looking at him as she eyes the stairwell door.

Before he can answer, the door bursts open - guns pointed their way, a spatter of bullets erupting on sight. Twisting behind him, 14 crouches down, shoulder pressed against his back as he swings his shield in front of them just in time. In moments, there’s a phalanx of guards standing between them and their exit point, the jet, home.

“Stay back!” he yells over his shoulder, one arm reaching behind to tuck her against his back as he turns and shuffles them closer to the wall, finding marginal cover against a column rising up from the floor.

“Yeah, no shit,” she mutters back, his enhanced ears catching the sass under the chaos of their failed escape.

Pressed against the column, he edges back an inch, layering the shield and his own body against the hail of bullets volleying their way. With quickened breaths, he calculates their odds - each passing second, the number of goons standing between them and the quinjet grows. No reason to call in for support or evac; it would take too long for a SHIELD strike team to be deployed to their location, and the Avengers were otherwise occupied. 14’s fist curls against his shoulder blades, and he scans the room, maybe they could skirt the perimeter somehow…?

Her voice appears in his ear.

“I’ve got an idea.” The grip on the back of his uniform tightens by a fraction. “When I say, throw the shield on an angle, against that far wall, got it?”

With little time to debate, he nods and adjusts his feet, turning his hips in a better stance to aim for the spot she’d pointed out. He slows his breaths, counting between each beat of his heart, each pounding bullet.

“Now!”

A swing of his arm sends a bright red arc spinning across the room, the ricochet bouncing off one wall to the next at the corner, then arcs back to sweep out the legs of the front guards in the formation. On impact, it bounces away and clangs against the floor, rolling towards…Agent 14, who has already scooped up the rolling disc and is running back towards their enemies, drawing fire as she raises the shield in front of her face.

Mid-run, she dives for the floor, holding the shield overhead to catch her in a somersault and then springing up to crash the shield against the nearest guards head. She spins and whirls, using the shield to block bullets as she pistol whips another thug, then kicks out the knees of a third and knocks him out with a shield blow to the head. Over her shoulder, she sees Steve approaching; she twists, kicking her leg around high and throwing his keepsake back to him, taking out the nearest guard with her boot.

Running up on the last remaining soldier, Steve deals him a quick right cross - just like Bucky taught him - and turns to survey the damage…and his partner.

She’s wondering if she’ll have to scrape his jaw off the floor. If he’ll say something. And for that matter, she’s unsure whether to be offended or flattered by his reaction.

“Don’t tell me you thought I was a full-time barista, Rogers?” Hands on her hips, chin raised, the perfect arch of her brow daring him to open his mouth and answer at all. The corners of his mouth twitch as he raises his hands in surrender.

“In my defense, your resume is classified above top secret.”

Rolling her eyes, 14 turns away and starts jogging towards the exit. Steve watches her ponytail swing for a moment, before shaking his head and following behind.

**********

Fury doesn’t look up from his desk when the door glides open.

“You know, I’m starting to doubt you learned anything from Agent Romanoff.”

“Well you know what they say about old dogs and new tricks.” Steve tucks his thumbs in his belt, planting himself in front of the director’s desk. Fury’s good eye rolls.

“Sure, and when they get too old, we take them out of the field.” The folder in his hand snaps closed, punctuating his sentence. It slides across the table towards Steve. “Luckily for you, I trust 14’s judgment. Her report indicates there was a problem with the intel - the two of you ran into some unexpected company.”

Lips pursed, Steve nods, a stark crease forming between his dark brows.

“We were caught off guard. They backed us into a corner, too, but we made it out. No injuries, but I wouldn’t exactly call the mission a success.”

Leaning back in his chair, Fury makes a noise of protest.

“I wouldn’t exactly say that,” he shrugs, producing a shiny flash drive from his pocket. “14 always delivers.”

Steve blinks. Bullets and broken bones for this, such a little thing - the drive slides back into Fury’s pocket.

“In short, Captain, I won’t be needing a report from you, unless you have an issue with Agent 14’s.” He taps the file with a pointed finger. “Feel free to look it over, leave your John Hancock if you’ve got nothing to add.”

Mutely, Steve takes the file, his thumb flipping it open and scanning down the page with quick eyes. Speed reading was an underrated super-soldier skill, one that didn’t really make the history books, but he made use of it getting through the daily set of security briefings and news headlines and mission reports that came across his desk. A long-suffering sigh passes his lips.

“You got a pen?” He glances up at Fury, who’s sipping at a familiar paper cup, green logo bright against the cardboard sleeve. Wordlessly, he extends a black fountain pen to Steve with his unoccupied hand, the only sound in the room the quiet slurp of his mouth against the cup.

Placing the pen on top of the file, Steve returns it back to the desk and nods at the drink in Fury’s hand.

“Americano? Dark roast?” A wry quirk of his eyebrow. “Pumpkin spice latte?”

With a flat stare, Fury shakes his head.

“Black coffee with a shot of espresso.” He takes a long drink. “14 knows just how I like it.”

On his way down, Steve takes the stairs at a jog, wondering how fast he can squeeze in a coffee run before his next meeting. Through the windows, the sun is strong and high, a spring morning with summer at its heels. He’s got 20 minutes to change, grab his notes, and be back down to the 10th floor for a weekly update from the team.

Ah, what the hell. They can wait.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x agent 14 #steve rogers x y/n #agent 14 #steve rogers x reader fic

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years

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Billboard Woman of the Decade Taylor Swift: 'I Do Want My Music to Live On'

By: Jason Lipshutz for Billboard Magazine Date: December 14th issue

One evening in late October, before she performed at a benefit concert at the Hollywood Bowl in Los Angeles, Taylor Swift’s dressing room became - as it often does - an impromptu summit of music’s biggest names. Swift was there to take part in the American Cancer Society’s annual We Can Survive concert alongside Billie Eilish, Lizzo, Camila Cabello and others, and a few of the artists on the lineup came by to visit.

Eilish, along with her mother and her brother/collaborator, Finneas O’Connell, popped in to say hello - the first time she and Swift had met. Later, Swift joined the exclusive club of people who have seen Marshmello without his signature helmet when the EDM star and his manager stopped by.

“Two dudes walked in - I didn’t know which one was him,” recalls Swift a few weeks later, sitting on a lounge chair in the backyard of a private Beverly Hills residence following a photo shoot. Her momentary confusion turned into a pang of envy. “It’s really smart! Because he’s got a life, and he can get a house that doesn’t have to have a paparazzi-proof entrance.” She stops to adjust her gray sweatshirt dress and lets out a clipped laugh.

She also finishes the decade in a totally different realm of the music world from where she started. Swift’s crossover from country to pop - hinted at on 2012’s Red and fully embraced on 2014’s 1989 - reflected a mainstream era in which genres were blended with little abandon, where artists with roots in country, folk and trap music could join forces without anyone raising eyebrows. (See: Swift’s top 20 hit “End Game,” from 2017’s reputation, which featured Ed Sheeran and Future.)

Swift’s new album, Lover, released in August, is both a warm break from the darkness of reputation - which was created during a wave of negative press generated by Swift’s public clash with Kanye West and Kim Kardashian-West - as well as an amalgam of all her stylistic explorations through the years, from dreamy synth-pop to hushed country. “The skies were opening up in my life,” says Swift of the album, which garnered three Grammy nominations, including song of the year for the title track.

She recorded Lover after the Reputation Stadium Tour broke the record for the highest-grossing U.S. tour late last year. In 2020, Swift will embark on Lover Fest, a run of stadium dates that will feature a hand-picked lineup of artists (as yet unannounced) and allow Swift more time off from the road. “This is a year where I have to be there for my family - there’s a lot of question marks throughout the next year, so I wanted to make sure that I could go home,” says Swift, likely referencing her mother’s cancer diagnosis, which inspired the Lover heart-wrencher “Soon You’ll Get Better.”

Now, however, Swift finds herself in a different highly publicized dispute. This time it’s with Scott Borchetta, the head of her former label, Big Machine Records, and Scooter Braun, the manager-mogul whose Ithaca Holdings acquired Big Machine Label Group and its master recordings, which include Swift’s six pre-Lover albums, in June. Upon news of the sale, Swift wrote in a Tumblr post that it was her “worst case scenario,” accusing Braun of “bullying” her throughout her career due to his connections with West. She maintains today that she was never given the opportunity to buy her masters outright. (On Tumblr, she wrote that she was offered the chance to “earn” back the masters to one of her albums for each new album she turned in if she re-signed with Big Machine; Borchetta disputed this characterization, saying she had the opportunity to acquire her masters in exchange for re-signing with the label for a “length of time” - 10 more years, according to screenshots of legal documents posted on the Big Machine website.)

Swift has said that she intends to rerecord her first six albums next year, starting next November, when she says she’s contractually able to - in order to regain control of her recordings. But the back-and-forth appears to be nowhere near over: Last month, Swift alleged that Borchetta and Braun were blocking her from performing her past hits at the American Music Awards or using them in an upcoming Netflix documentary - claims Big Machine characterized as “false information” in a response that did not get into specifics. (Swift ultimately performed the medley she had planned.) In the weeks following this interview, Braun said he was open to “all possibilities” in finding a “resolution,” and Billboard sources say that includes negotiating a sale. Swift remains interested in buying her masters, though the price could be a sticking point, given her rerecording plans, the control she has over the licensing of her music for film and TV, and the market growth since Braun’s acquisition.

However it plays out, the battle over her masters is the latest in a series of moves that has turned Swift into something of an advocate for artists’ rights, and made her a cause that everyone from Halsey to Elizabeth Warren has rallied behind. From 2014 to 2017, Swift withheld her catalog from Spotify to protest the streaming company’s compensation rates, saying in a 2014 interview, “There should be an inherent value placed on art. I didn’t see that happening, perception-wise, when I put my music on Spotify.” In 2015, ahead of the launch of Apple Music, Swift wrote an open letter criticizing Apple for its plan to not pay royalties during the three-month free trial it was set to offer listeners; the company announced a new policy within 24 hours. Most recently, when she signed a new global deal with Universal Music Group in 2018, Swift (who is now on Republic Records) said one of the conditions of her contract was that UMG share proceeds from any sale of its Spotify equity with its roster of artists - and make them non-recoupable against those artists’ earnings.

During a wide-ranging conversation, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade expresses hope that she can help make the lives of creators a little easier in the years to come - and a belief that her behind-the-scenes strides will be as integral to her legacy as her biggest singles. “New artists and producers and writers need work, and they need to be likable and get booked in sessions, and they can’t make noise - but if I can, then I’m going to,” promises Swift. This is where being impossibly famous can be a very good thing. “I know that it seems like I’m very loud about this,” she says, “but it’s because someone has to be.”

While watching some of your performances this year - like SNL and NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert - I was struck by how focused you seemed, like there were no distractions getting in the way of what you were trying to say. That’s a really wonderful way of looking at this phase of my life and my music. I’ve spent a lot of time re-calibrating my life to make it feel manageable. Because there were some years there where I felt like I didn’t quite know what exactly to give people and what to hold back, what to share and what to protect. I think a lot of people go through that, especially in the last decade. I broke through pre-social media, and then there was this phase where social media felt fun and casual and quirky and safe. And then it got to the point where everyone has to evaluate their relationship with social media. So I decided that the best thing I have to offer people is my music. I’m not really here to influence their fashion or their social lives. That has bled through into the live part of what I do.

Meanwhile, you’ve found a way to interact with your fans in this very pure way - on your Tumblr page. Tumblr is the last place on the internet where I feel like I can still make a joke because it feels small, like a neighborhood rather than an entire continent. We can kid around - they literally drag me. It’s fun. That’s a real comfort zone for me. And just like anything else, I need breaks from it sometimes. But when I do participate in that space, it’s always in a very inside-joke, friend vibe. Sometimes, when I open Twitter, I get so overwhelmed that I just immediately close it. I haven’t had Twitter on my phone in a while because I don’t like to have too much news. Like, I follow politics, and that’s it. But I don’t like to follow who has broken up with who, or who wore an interesting pair of shoes. There’s only so much bandwidth my brain can really have.

You’ve spoken in recent interviews about the general expectations you’ve faced, using phrases like “They’ve wanted to see this” and “They hated me for this.” Who is “they”? Is it social media or disparaging think pieces or... It’s sort of an amalgamation of all of it. People who aren’t active fans of your music, who like one song but love to hear who has been canceled on Twitter. I’ve had several upheavals of somehow not being what I should be. And this happens to women in music way more than men. That’s why I get so many phone calls from new artists out of the blue - like, “Hey, I’m getting my first wave of bad press, I’m freaking out, can I talk to you?” And the answer is always yes! I’m talking about more than 20 people who have randomly reached out to me. I take it as a compliment because it means that they see what has happened over the course of my career, over and over again.

Did you have someone like that to reach out to? Not really, because my career has existed in lots of different neighborhoods of music. I had so many mentors in country music. Faith Hill was wonderful. She would reach out to me and invite me over and take me on tour, and I knew that I could talk to her. Crossing over to pop is a completely different world. Country music is a real community, and in pop I didn’t see that community as much. Now there is a bit of one between the girls in pop - we all have each other’s numbers and text each other - but when I first started out in pop it was very much you versus you versus you. We didn’t have a network, which is weird because we can help each other through these moments when you just feel completely isolated.

Do you feel like those barriers are actively being broken down now? God, I hope so. I also hope people can call it out, [like] if you see a Grammy prediction article, and it’s just two women’s faces next to each other and feels a bit gratuitous. No one’s going to start out being perfectly educated on the intricacies of gender politics. The key is that people are trying to learn, and that’s great. No one’s going to get it perfect, but, God, please try.

At this point, who is your sounding board, creatively and professionally From a creative standpoint, I��ve been writing alone a lot more. I’m good with being alone, with thinking alone. When I come up with a marketing idea for the Lover tour, the album launch, the merch, I’ll go right to my management company that I’ve put together. I think a team is the best way to be managed. Just from my experience, I don’t think that this overarching, one-person-handles-my-career thing was ever going to work for me. Because that person ends up kind of being me who comes up with most of the ideas, and then I have an amazing team that facilitates those ideas. The behind-the-scenes work is different for every phase of my career that I’m in. Putting together the festival shows that we’re doing for Lover is completely different than putting together the Reputation Stadium Tour. Putting together the reputation launch was so different than putting together the 1989 launch. So we really do attack things case by case, where the creative first informs everything else.

You’ve spoken before about how meaningful the reputation tour’s success was. What did it represent? That tour was something that I wanted to immortalize in the Netflix special that we did because the album was a story, but it almost was like a story that wasn’t fully realized until you saw it live. It was so cool to hear people leaving the show being like, “I understand it now. I fully get it now.” There are a lot of red herrings and bait-and-switches in the choices that I’ll make with albums, because I want people to go and explore the body of work. You can never express how you feel over the course of an album in a single, so why try?

That seems especially true of your last three albums or so. “Shake It Off” is nothing like the rest of 1989. It’s almost like I feel so much pressure with a first single that I don’t want the first single to be something that makes you feel like you’ve figured out what I’ve made on the rest of the project. I still truly believe in albums, whatever form you consume them in - if you want to stream them or buy them or listen to them on vinyl. And I don’t think that makes me a staunch purist. I think that that is a strong feeling throughout the music industry. We’re running really fast toward a singles industry, but you got to believe in something. I still believe that albums are important.

The music industry has become increasingly global during the past decade. Is reaching new markets something you think about? Yeah, and I’m always trying to learn. I’m learning from everyone. I’m learning when I go see Bruce Springsteen or Madonna do a theater show. And I’m learning from new artists who are coming out right now, just seeing what they’re doing and thinking, “That’s really cool.” You need to keep your influences broad and wide-ranging, and my favorite people who make music have always done that. I got to work with Andrew Lloyd Webber on the Cats movie, and Andrew will walk through the door and be like, “I’ve just seen this amazing thing on TikTok!” And I’m like, “You are it! You are it!” Because you cannot look at what quote-unquote “the kids are doing” and roll your eyes. You have to learn.

Have you explored TikTok at all? I only see them when they’re posted to Tumblr, but I love them! I think that they’re hilarious and amazing. Andrew says that they’ve made musicals cool again, because there’s a huge musical facet to TikTok. [He’s] like, “Any way we can do that is good.”

How do you see your involvement in the business side of your career progressing in the next decade? You seem like someone who could eventually start a label or be more hands-on with signing artists. I do think about it every once in a while, but if I was going to do it, I would need to do it with all of my energy. I know how important that is, when you’ve got someone else’s career in your hands, and I know how it feels when someone isn’t generous.

You’ve served as an ambassador of sorts for artists, especially recently - staring down streaming services over payouts, increasing public awareness about the terms of record deals. We have a long way to go. I think that we’re working off of an antiquated contractual system. We’re galloping toward a new industry but not thinking about re-calibrating financial structures and compensation rates, taking care of producers and writers. We need to think about how we handle master recordings, because this isn’t it. When I stood up and talked about this, I saw a lot of fans saying, “Wait, the creators of this work do not own their work, ever?” I spent 10 years of my life trying rigorously to purchase my masters outright and was then denied that opportunity, and I just don’t want that to happen to another artist if I can help it. I want to at least raise my hand and say, “This is something that an artist should be able to earn back over the course of their deal - not as a renegotiation ploy - and something that artists should maybe have the first right of refusal to buy.” God, I would have paid so much for them! Anything to own my work that was an actual sale option, but it wasn’t given to me. Thankfully, there’s power in writing your music. Every week, we get a dozen synch requests to use “Shake It Off” in some advertisement or “Blank Space” in some movie trailer, and we say no to every single one of them. And the reason I’m rerecording my music next year is because I do want my music to live on. I do want it to be in movies, I do want it to be in commercials. But I only want that if I own it.

Do you know how long that rerecording process will take? I don’t know! But it’s going to be fun, because it’ll feel like regaining a freedom and taking back what’s mine. When I created [these songs], I didn’t know what they would grow up to be. Going back in and knowing that it meant something to people is actually a really beautiful way to celebrate what the fans have done for my music.

Ten years ago, on the brink of the 2010s, you were about to turn 20. What advice would you give yourself if you could go back in time? Oh, God - I wouldn’t give myself any advice. I would have done everything exactly the same way. Because even the really tough things I’ve gone through taught me things that I never would have learned any other way. I really appreciate my experience, the ups and downs. And maybe that seems ridiculously Zen, but... I’ve got my friends, who like me for the right reasons. I’ve got my family. I’ve got my boyfriend. I’ve got my fans. I’ve got my cats.

Taylor Swift Discusses 'The Man' & 'It's Nice To Have a Friend' In Cover Story Outtakes

Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 12th 2019

During her cover story interview for Billboard’s Women In Music issue, Taylor Swift discussed several aspects of her mega-selling seventh studio album Lover, including its creation after a personal “recalibrating” period, her stripped-down performances of its songs and her plans to showcase the full-length live with her Lover Fest shows next year. In two moments from the extended conversation that did not make the print story, Billboard’s Woman of the Decade also touched upon two of the album’s highlights, which double as a pair of the more interesting songs in her discography: “The Man” and “It’s Nice To Have A Friend.”

“The Man” imagines how Swift’s experience as a person, artist and figure within the music industry would have been different had she been a man, highlighting how much harder women have to work in order to succeed (“I’m so sick of running as fast as I can / Wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man,” she sings in the chorus). The song has become a fan favorite since the release of Lover, and Swift recently opened a career-spanning medley with the song at the 2019 American Music Awards.

When asked about “The Man,” Swift pointed out specific double standards that exist in everyday life and explained why she wanted to turn that frustration into a pop single. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “The Man” below:

“It was a song that I wrote from my personal experience, but also from a general experience that I’ve heard from women in all parts of our industry. And I think that, the more we can talk about it in a song like that, the better off we’ll be in a place to call it out when it’s happening. So many of these things are ingrained in even women, these perceptions, and it’s really about re-training your own brain to be less critical of women when we are not criticizing men for the same things. So many things that men do, you know, can be phoned-in that cannot be phoned-in for us. We have to really — God, we have to curate and cater everything, but we have to make it look like an accident. Because if we make a mistake, that’s our fault, but if we strategize so that we won’t make a mistake, we’re calculating.

“There is a bit of a damned-if-we-do, damned-if-we-don’t thing happening in music, and that’s why when I can, like, sit and talk and be like ‘Yeah, this sucks for me too,’ that feels good. When I go online and hear the stories of my fans talking about their experience in the working world, or even at school — the more we talk about it, the better off we’ll be. And I wanted to make it catchy for a reason — so that it would get stuck in people’s heads, [so] they would end up with a song about gender inequality stuck in their heads. And for me, that’s a good day.”

Meanwhile, the penultimate song on Lover, “It’s Nice To Have A Friend,” sounds unlike anything in Swift’s catalog thanks to its elliptical structure, lullaby-like tone and incorporation of steel drums and brass. When asked about the song, Swift talked about experimenting with her songwriting, as well as capturing a different angle of the emotional themes at the heart of Lover. Read Swift’s full thoughts on “It’s Nice To Have A Friend” below:

“It was fun to write a song that was just verses, because my whole body and soul wants to make a chorus — every time I sit down to write a song, I’m like, ‘Okay, chorus time, let’s get the chorus done.’ But with that song, it was more of like a poem, and a story and a vibe and a feeling of... I love metaphors that kind of have more than one meaning, and I think I loved the idea that, on an album called Lover, we all want love, we all want to find somebody to see our sights with and hear things with and experience things with.

“But at the end of the day we’ve been searching for that since we were kids! When you had a friend when you were nine years old, and that friend was all you talked about, and you wanted to have sleepovers and you wanted to walk down the street together and sit there drawing pictures together or be silent together, or be talking all night. We’re just looking for that, but endless sparks, as adults.”

Read the full Taylor Swift cover story here, and click here for more info on Billboard’s 2019 Women In Music event, during which Swift will be presented with the first-ever Woman of the Decade award.

[link to this tweet]

Was there ever a part of you that was like, “Oh shit, I like this darker vibe, let’s go even further down that path?” I really Loved Reputation because it felt like a rock opera, or a musical, doing it live. Doing that stadium show was so fun because it was so theatrical and so exciting to perform that, because it’s really cathartic! But I have to follow whatever direction my life is going in emotionally... The skies were opening up in my life. That’s what happened. But in a way that felt like a pink sky, a pink and purple sky, after a storm, and now it looks even more beautiful because it looked so stormy before. And that’s just like, I couldn't stop writing. I’ve never had an album with 18 songs on it before, and a lot of what I do is based on intuition. So, you know, I try not to overthink it. Who knows, there may be another dark album. I plan on doing lots of experimentation over the course of my career. Who knows? But it was a blast, I really loved it.

I mean, look, a Taylor Swift screamo album? I’ll be first in line. I’m so happy to hear that, because I think you might be the only one. Ha! I have a terrible scream. It’s obnoxious.

Why Taylor Swift's Lover Fest Will Be Her Next Big Step

Billboard // by Jason Lipshutz // December 11th 2019 - [Excerpt]

On why she chose to put together Lover fest: “I haven’t really done festivals in years - not since I was a teenager. That’s something that [the fans] don’t expect from me, so that’s why I wanted to do it. I want to challenge myself with new things and at the same time keep giving my fans something to connect to.”

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tempesrature · 4 years

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IDOL | Prologue

A Platinum x Ride or Die (AU) Crossover

Pairings: (Major) Ride or Die | Logan x Ellie (Minor) Platinum | M!Raleigh x Cadence Warnings: PG13+ A/N: I’m stressed out all the time and I’ve had more panic attacks in the last two weeks than my entire life but writing this is my only solace lmao. So I hope you enjoy! @troublemakerinspace

~*~

Ellie wakes up with a start, the pounding in her head getting worse with every blink as she filters through her hazy memories of the last few hours.

Right. Cadence Dorian’s new album. After party. Lots of tequila.

Okay, at least she has her bearings and she’s vaguely aware of her situation now.

She pushes herself off of the bed and reaches to her nightstand to take her phone so she can call Mona, her manager, and give her an update on the fact that she’s not dead and very much alive. She pats around blindly on the wooden surface, hoping that she’ll land on her phone soon, when her hand bumps into something and sends it down to the floor with a loud shatter.

Now she’s fully awake.

She looks down at the broken glass of water and lets out a curse. She’ll have to be careful or else she might end up injuring herself and that’s definitely going to piss off Mona more. How could she be so stupid? To put a glass of water on her nightstand when—wait a sec.

Ellie’s eyes widen as she looks around the room in a panic. Nope. Not her glass of water. Not her peach pink walls. Not her bedroom. Which means…

She turns to the other side of the bed and the gasp that leaves her is horrific and loud and she has to clamp her mouth shut. The figure stirs on the bed and the broad expanse of his back—his naked and toned back—turns and lays flat on the bed as he resumes the steady rise and fall of his breathing, his eyes closed. His handsome face is haloed around soft brown hair that she has vague memories of delving her fingers into.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

Ellie hurriedly looks around the room for her phone, her purse—her underwear? No, she still has it on thank god. But she’ll need to locate the Zuhair Murad shimmery gold dress or else Zadie, her stylist, is going to murder her. If Mona’s not going to do it first.

Luckily, Ellie finds her purse just next to where the glass of water had been and she hurriedly pulls out her phone. She ignores the multiple of missed calls from her dad and the pings of celebrity gossip in her notifications as she goes through her contact list and calls the one person she can count on as a friend. She waits for a moment, her heart thumping hard against her chest.

He picks up on the fifth ring.

“Its 10 in the morning Ellie, somebody better be dead.”

Ellie frowns when she hears Raleigh Carrera’s gruff and hungover-coated voice coming through her phone.

“It’s me. I’m dead,” Ellie replies in a whisper as she carefully maneuvers herself off of the bed and away from the broken glass where she spots her dress neatly folded on the chair. “Mona will kill me when she finds out that I just slept with…”

The rests of her words are muffled by the rustle of her dress being put on.

“Shit that’s my girl. Who did you fuck? I bet it was—”

Another voice, lighter and softer, cuts in.

“Babe who’s on the phone?”

A pause, a tap and a rustling of sheets. “Ellie, she fucked someone last night.”

“Nice! Who was it? I bet it was—”

“Would you two stop it?!” Ellie whisper-shouts as she tries her best to pick up the shattered glass without alerting the sleeping occupant still on the bed. “And don’t just put me on speaker! Also hi Cadence.”

“Hi Ellie! Thanks for coming last night. Now who did you sleep with?”

“It’s—”

A gasp.

“Is it Colt Kaneko? Sweetheart you’ll only get your heart broken with those types of guys. Take it from me, I went through the worst of them.”

“Hey! I’d like to think we worked out just fine.”

“Oh yeah? Remember after the fake breakup when you—”

“You two are not helpful and I’m hanging up now goodbye,” Ellie pockets her phone back into her purse as she cradles the pieces of glass in her palm. She looks at the water stain on his carpet with guilt but it’ll dry out. Probably.

Ellie sighs as she takes one last look at the figure on the bed, her eyes softening in something akin to regret and guilt.

Logan. Bad boy with a heart of gold Logan. The up and coming heartthrob that just signed a major deal with her record label, Overknight Records, Logan.

The very same Logan that she’s scheduled to record a feature in his song for his first studio album under Overknight Records.

And the very same Logan she just (might’ve?) slept with in a drunken haze after Cadence Dorian’s album launch.

She’s fucked. She’s worse than fucked, she’s probably the new celebrity gossip fodder and Twitter’s new punching bag now. Although she’s never officially met him until last night, she’s well aware of how rabid and die-hard his fans can be. Any girl that so much as stands next to him gets chewed out by the worst of his stans.

Ellie takes one big breathe and squeezes her eyes shut, hoping that this is just all a bad nightmare, before she slips out of his bedroom door and out of his apartment. She stealthily makes her way down the elevator and out of the building as she tries to avoid any paparazzi’s that might be camping outside his building.

Once she’s able to hail a cab that’ll take her back to her penthouse, she wonders if this truly is just a bad nightmare. That maybe once she gets home, she can just sleep it off and she’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal.

One can hope, right?

#choices rod #choices platinum #logan x ellie #choices logan #raleigh carrera #cadence dorian #male raleigh x cadence #crossover #fake dating #and fake relationships #are my highkey guilty pleasure #thats why i loved raleigh so much #cant believe i took this long to write about it #my writing

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alystudor · 4 years

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— ♔ In the past, people were born royal and for ALYS TUDOR the TWENTY-SIX-year-old CROWN PRINCESS of WALES, that is a tradition SHE intends to keep. To others, SHE looks an awful lot like MADELAINE PETSCH and has been painted as THE MEEK SPARE but behind closed doors, SHE is TIMID & BLUNT but also DIGNIFIED & STOIC. It has also been said they are BETROTHED to MATTHEW GOODE, WILLIAM MOSELEY, ALEXANDER LUDWIG, AARON TAYLOR-JOHNSON, OR UTP.

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME: Alys Cedwyn Tudor

NICKNAMES: Aly-Cat [her brother]; Wyn [her father]; Aly [her parents & closest friends]; Al [her betrothed; a nickname in which she despises]

DATE OF BIRTH: April 16, 2094

AGE: 26

HOME TOWN: Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Russia

OCCUPATION: Crown Princess of Wales

LANGUAGES: Welsh, English, Italian

PARENTS: King Ewen Ceri Tudor (father); Queen Anna Caitrin Tudor [ née Jones ] (mother)

BROTHERS AND SISTERS: Prince Alwyn Dafydd Tudor (deceased).

HUSBAND OR WIFE: Prince xxxx xxxxx (betrothed; fiancé)

SIGNIFICANT OTHERS: Her Pembroke Welsh Corgi, Dylan; Emiln Evans (best friend)

RELATIONSHIP SKILLS: While Alys is rather reserved and tends to remain quiet, she listens intently. She is kind and surprisingly openminded to more than she lets on. While she has become good at feigning interest, particularly at royal functions, if she is annoyed, upset, or bored, she will politely let you know and move on. She’s loyal to those she cares about most in this world and would sooner keep a secret for someone than to destroy their good name, unless it’s going to be at the expense of her family or someone she deeply cares about. The only person she has come to despise most in this world is the man she is supposed to marry, despite trying her hardest to genuinely love him. And while hate isn’t a word she takes lightly, she has determined that if she ever meets the perpetrator who murdered her brother, she’s likely to return the favor; but little does she know, it’s the man she’s trying to love.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS

(TW: Dyslexia mention)

HEIGHT: 5′6″

HAIR COLOUR: Red.

EYE COLOUR: Brown

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Alys’ most distinguishing features are her red hair and fair skin tone.

DRESS STYLE: Alys prefers to dress casually in jeans, sweaters, and the occasional t-shirt, unless in the eyes of the public. Then you can find her wearing dresses and things tailored for her body type. While she’s never been one for keeping up with fashion trends, her stylist does know just how to dress her to keep her current with the times.

PHYSICAL HABITS: Alys does not partake in vices such as drinking, smoking, or drugs.

MANNERISMS: Alys is a very poised and polite person. Her etiquette training came from her grandmother, who believed women should be seen as ladies. She has a particular way of doing things, which sometimes confuses people or gets an unwarranted laugh because of how old fashioned Alys can come off as, but she does know when to relax, and that’s usually in the company of her closest friends. However, when she’s nervous or anxious, she rubs her hands together without really realizing. It’s also very clear when she’s annoyed or angry, but instead of yelling, she remains eerily calm, sometimes expressing her anger through the tension in her voice or simply walking off.

HEALTH: Alys is in peak physical health. She exercises regularly, including riding horses. She goes for morning runs and enjoys swimming laps, when no one else is in the pool. She’ll occasionally visit the gym, but tries to get outside as much as she can. She eats fruit and veg with very little red meat, preferring poultry and seafood. She does treat herself to sweets every now and then, especially traditional Welsh cakes. Alys does have dyslexia. Only a very select few people know this about her. And she has worked very hard to overcome it, though she still struggles on occasion.

BACKGROUND

(TW: Murder, Death)

For Alys, growing up second to her brother was as much of a challenge as a rat trying to free itself from an inhumane glue trap…impossible. His bright personality and commanding presence had always lit up the room as if King Ewen, himself, had already entered the building. And it didn’t take the younger of the two to realize her place in the world; silent and in the background. Though extremely bright and well rounded in her studies, the young woman remained quiet watching as her brother grew more fit and apt to take the crown someday. Of course, no one saw what was coming. In everyone’s minds, the belief that Alwyn would one day rule Wales, and quite successfully, had come as default. But of course, there had to be a set path for Alys. Like any great spare, she was set to marry.

Arranged to a man she quietly despised, Alys didn’t counteract her mother and father’s wishes. Though loving him didn’t come easy. While she could tell he longed to be in the spotlight, much like her brother, she thought nothing of it. Instead, she went about her daily life, sometimes bluntly wrangling him back into his place by reminding him of whom he would be marrying. Life carried on until a trip to Rome. King Ewen, trusting in his son to negotiate policies with the leaders in Italy, sent the young Crown Prince, and his wife. And with some convincing, Alwyn managed to bring along his sister and future brother-in-law.

The trip was a success. The Crown Prince had brought together two nations just as his father had hoped; a sign that he would be a great ruler someday. And to celebrate, Alwyn, along with Alys’ betrothed; a young liaison who had been present at the meeting of the two countries; and a young diplomat to Rome, left the women of their own accord for a night out in Tor Bella Monaca to celebrate. Not exactly the greatest place for two princes, but the perfect coverup for the heinous crime that Alys’ betrothed was about to commit.

Word of the Crown’s death came sometime over the next several hours and the next several months were like a blur. No one had suspected a thing, and the one coherent witness that was there that night was threatened to great lengths. However, in all of this, Alys’ life was thrown upside down when she was soon announced as the new Crown Princess of Wales.

Mourning her brother’s passing would be put on hold as she would take over a role she never expected. But relations between the country of Wales and Italy had turned sour. And with tensions mounting elsewhere in the world, Alys’ father and mother felt it best to send her off to Russia for protection. Losing their pride and joy had nearly destroyed their family, and the idea of possibly losing their daughter as well, and the right to hold the throne in the future, couldn’t be fathomed. But what they didn’t know was that the murderer of their son was engaged to their daughter and set to be the future King of Wales, if all continued to go according to his plan.

HEADCANONS

Though her brother was the center of attention and the apple of their parents’ eye, Alys was still extremely close to him. They would often come to each other and have conversations about life. Him, spilling the details and annoyances of holding the title of Crown, and her, explaining how invisible she had felt at times. Surprisingly enough, this helped to keep their relationship solid, and if one was ever jealous of the other, they would speak it out loud. They were each other’s rock, so when Alwyn was killed, Alys had felt like she had truly lost a part of herself.

Because of how open Alwyn was with her about his duties as the Crown Prince and how observant she was over the years, Alys does have more of an understanding of what is expected of her than her parents and the media think.

While she seems rather reserved and quiet in the public eye, Alys does enjoy having a good time with her closest friends. However, alcohol and recreational drugs have never been a desire of hers.

Horses are a passion for her. Coming from a long line of horse breeders, she knows her stuff. It was also her biggest escape, when the focus would be on her brother. She has many trophies and ribbons from the competitions she’s entered over the years.

Dylan, her Pembroke Welsh Corgi, is whom she misses the most. Despite being betrothed and having her parents back home, the small dog has been the one that’s heard her sobs, seen her tears, and somehow managed to make her laugh despite how broken hearted she’s felt since her brother’s death and the passing of the title of Crown.

Alys enjoys jazz and classical music. It helps her relax and to clear her mind. But she secret loves hard rock. Only Alwyn knew this about her, and they would have jam sessions together to let out the day’s frustrations.

She enjoys studying history and how the world came to be in its current state; a quality vital to ruling Wales someday. She particularly enjoys reading about rulers of the past and the United States fascinates her greatly. She also enjoys reading biographies, but does enjoy a good dystopian tale every now and then or a book about the stars and space.

More to come...

#{i wasn't made to fall in line; about}#wor.intro

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sorry-corridor · 3 years

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I found a glitch that lets you stack bricks way higher than they’re supposed to go. So like any reasonable person, I stacked all of my bricks

There are more bricks in the tower, but they abruptly cut off at some point.

#love nikki #love nikki dress up queen #love nikki shitpost #The Home Stylist Feature is Very Broken

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wordsnstuff · 6 years

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20 Mistakes To Avoid In Science Fiction

This is also available on wordsnstuffblog.com!

– This is a continuation of a series that began with 20 Mistakes To Avoid In Young Adult Fiction/Romance. I included a couple exterior sources throughout the article that covers certain points in more detail for those who would like further advice. I hope this is helpful. Happy writing!

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Referencing Current Culture Inappropriately

Not all references to pop culture are misplaced in sci fi. For instance, in Ready Player One, it’s integral to the plot. However, it’s random references to political things or important people that do not have anything to do with the movement of the plot or are misplaced within the context of the universe. This can bring your reader out of the story and confuse them in terms of world building and basic information about the history of your constructed universe.

Not Understanding Space & How It Differs From Earth

Do your research about space if you’re writing about space, and learn about how different planets work, the rules of physics, the laws of gravity, the conditions in other parts of the galaxy, etc. This information is available to you in may places and in many formats that are broken down simply for you to understand, especially for writers. You just have to look for it. I actually have a resource master post called “Resources For Writing Science Fiction” that would be really, really useful for this.

Putting No Thought Into Aliens

Aliens shouldn’t just be modified versions of humans. Coloring a human purple doesn’t make them interesting. Think about the environmental factors on the alien’s home planet and how those conditions would affect their biological makeup and physical/mental features. Take the time to do this, because readers appreciate it when it’s done well.

Technobabble

This is just a word for technological-sounding gibberish that writers put into their book to make it sound legitimate. However, what a lot of them do not realize is that science fiction readers are often interested in science, and therefore know that it’s 3 sentences full of nothing. This is okay in some circumstances, but it can never hurt to do 10 minutes of googling to maybe learn a bit about what you’re about to feed to the reader before writing it. Technobabble is really useful for writing the first draft (where you’re just telling yourself the story to have something to develop), but it shouldn’t live past that point.

Conlangs (Unless You’re A Linguist)

Do not take on constructed languages if you aren’t ready for years and years of study and practice with linguistics, because your conlang will flop. J.R.R. Tolkien, who is famous for not only his series Lord of The Rings and his novel The Hobbit, but also the invented languages within them. He had a long career in linguistics and was well-versed in it, and that is why they’re such a sticking point of his works. It took years of study and practice to create the conlangs in those books. Conlangs are no game.

Prologues

Most authors do not like prologues for a plethora of reasons, but with science fiction there’s really not a good justification for having one. Start where the action is and input the important highlights from the past as they become important to the reader’s understanding of the present.

Info-Dumping

Long paragraphs or pages upon pages describing the setting or the way the character is feeling and so-on has no place in any book, let alone science fiction which is already packed to the brim with detail no matter what. Sprinkle detail in as it becomes relevant instead of getting it all out in one spot and then expecting the reader to see the significance in every one.

Over-Explanation

It’s good practice to avoid over-description of things that don’t matter. The general rule of thumb is show, don’t tell, but also, don’t bore the reader with 3 sentences describing each button on a control panel that the main character walks past once and never appears again.

Overly-Complicated Names

This is simply a pet-peeve of a lot of people, and it doesn’t really add anything to your story. It’s cliche and kind of laughable when a writer names their character “Celeste Apollo Saturn” or something like that. Sure, it makes you feel original, but it doesn’t add to the reader’s experience much. It’s okay to have unique, space-themed names, just don’t overdo it.

Not Exploring

Overthink your world. Overthink your characters. Overthink the details. Explore all the possibilities. The better you know your world and everything in it, the more vivid your storytelling will be, even if 80% of the details you’ve explored are left out. You should be an expert in your story, because that will make you tell it better.

Regurgitating Popular Sci-Fi

Please don’t rewrite Star Trek, Star Wars, The Avengers, etc. and just change the names. There’s a difference between taking a trope or a popular type of science fiction story and putting your own twist or speculation on it, and handing your reader a book version of an existing story.

Not Thinking Critically About Fictional Elements

"Apply logic in places where it wasn’t intended to exist. If assured that the Queen of the Fairies has a necklace made of broken promises, ask yourself what it looks like. If there is magic, where does it come from? Why isn’t everyone using it? What rules will you have to give it to allow some tension in your story? How does society operate? Where does the food come from? You need to know how your world works."

- Terry Pratchett

Underestimating The Audience

Your audience can deduce things, and doesn’t need every implication explained to them. You don’t need to beat the symbolism and implications into their brain by constantly alluding to it or reiterating it in a million different ways. Subtext is important, and it should be left as subtext, otherwise there’s no need for thinking about the story and your reader will forget it (or worse, be irritated by it).

Leaving Plot Holes Because You Think Nobody Will Notice

Don’t do this. Just don’t. There’s always going to be someone who notices even the most minute details that are not explained when they should be, and then shares with a friend, and then it becomes a thing. If the thought “eh, I don’t have to include this detail because nobody will notice that this whole scene is ridiculous without it” crosses your mind, kill it. However, there’s a difference between a plot hole and a detail that was cut due to irrelevance, and that’s explained in the next point.

Forgetting To Actually Deliver Information

You, after months or even years of planning, may forget to include important details for the reader’s understanding due to the fact that overtime they seem so obvious to you. Be careful about this, and make sure that every scene you write is set up with the information the reader needs to know in order to understand what’s going on. This is easy to do as long as you have someone on the outside who can tell you where things get confusing and where the holes are.

Putting World Building Before Storytelling

You’re telling a story, and it’s important that you have an actual story to tell before you develop the world around it. Not every detail you plan out will be relevant to the story and won’t make it to the final draft, and that’s okay. Put the story first, and don’t sacrifice the reader’s focus to add detail that doesn’t enhance the story, because it will take away from it instead.

Poor Choice Of Writing Style

point of view, tense, person You should be very careful about the stylistic decisions you make about the way in which you will deliver your story to the reader, because this is often what makes sci-fi convoluted and boring. The three main details you need to decide on carefully are which point of view you tell the story from, so which character you’re choosing to focus on, the tense (past, present, or future), and person(first, second, or third). Most stories are told in third person surrounding the main character in past tense. Future tense and second person are pretty rare, but can be pulled off by authors who are willing to take on the challenge (though I don’t recommend it if you’re not willing to do a lot of problem solving and workshopping in following drafts).

Ignoring The Speculative Aspect

When your story deals with something like, say, time travel, you need to not only imagine the implications for your characters’ present, but their future along with everyone else’s. You also have to recognize that small changes may have a butterfly effect, but the universe has a way of straightening history out, and not all of them will have eternal lasting effects on the future. You’re speculating, and speculating doesn’t stop at how your characters’ situations change at the immediate moment, but also in the long run, as well as what implications come with each new detail you change between your world and ours.

Not Planning

This genre is not for the writers who identify as pantsers rather than planners. This genre is very, very difficult to approach as even a very organized author, and its readers are typically very observant and nit-picky. That isn’t a bad thing. It’s a great thing, as long as you’re prepared for what you’re in for.

Historical Absolutes

Mark Vorenkamp actually explained this really well in this article, so I recommend heading over there because he articulates it way better than I ever could.

You’re Not A Scientist (And That’s Okay)

Accept that you’re not a world-famous scientist and that you don’t have all the answers or all the research to back up the speculation and estimation that comes with science fiction. That’s okay, and as long as you do your best to know what you’re talking about and do as much research as possible to add substance to detail, you’re fine. This is fiction, after all. Not a dissertation.

This article is really, really detailed and extensive, and it’s a good continuation of what I’ve covered in this article. I recommend giving it a read if you’re about to sink your teeth into the editing or second-draft onward of your story, because it further examines things like the use of passive voice in sci-fi, and other, more advanced details of writing for this genre specifically.

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lemonietrinket · 5 years

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My Finale ||| Dowoon x Reader

Summary: Dowoon decided it was time to ask the question. Genre: Fluff fluff Warning(s): Lots of very happy tears idek Word Count: 1524 Theme Song: Finale - Day6 AN: I would normally use romanized versions of foreign lyrics, but I read the English translations and found them really sweet so I used them instead. Hope it’s all ok! Also if someone proposes to me and this song doesn’t at least play in the background, I am not marrying them end of story

A Christmas present for @seunghyub-dowoon I hope you like it! Merry Christmas!

~~~

The room was aglow with golden fairy lights that shimmered like fireflies, dancing around the columns and accents of the room. The polite chatter and soft music had faded far into the distance as in the corner of the room, glinting just to the side of the face of the love of your life, you spotted four familiar figures.

Carrying only two acoustic guitars, they were all dressed smartly, clean cut in tuxedos as the restaurant’s dress code required, and your heart swelled as the uplifting guitar chords began of your favourite song of theirs.

“So, babe, please be my finale...” Younghyun’s voice lulled over the room, ushering some of the clientele into appreciative quiet.

You weren’t sure why they were here, but you did not spare it much more thought, as Dowoon cleared his throat. “Love...”

You immediately brought your eyes back to him, meeting his puppy-eyed gaze. Sweeping across his cheeks, curved in a gentle yet sheepish smile, his ears flushed in the ethereal light, as his lips streaked with concentration parted to whisper what he was so determined to say, you couldn’t help but feel blessed.

“Yes?” you encouraged quietly, leaning over the table to offer assistance. As well as so you could get an even closer look at your boyfriend.

You’d been dating for such a long time now, the two of you had been through thick and thin, both the roughest and clearest waters. You’d been there to hold him, to nurture his wounds until he healed. He’d seen your storms, and he’d been the one to calm them.

You’d become each others’ home, and, long ago, you’d decided that a life without Dowoon was not a life at all.

Sungjin’s voice rose from the stage, a pride evident in his performance, “That smile of yours let me know, what I’ve been looking for all this time.”

“That you’re exactly the place I’ve been searching for...” Wonpil flourished, his delicate notes earning a gasp from the table behind you.

You were glad it was rather quiet, because Dowoon’s voice was barely above a whisper, as some sudden nerves overcame him. “I have something to ask...”

“I asked my heart again and again,” Jae hummed, his guitar lulling, “locking eyes with you again and again, finally I’m convinced now...!”

“Well,” you chuckled, taking up a napkin between your fingers and brushing a tiny crumb from the corner of his mouth, “go ahead!”

His ears reddened significantly, if that were even possible, fingers wringing ever so slightly below the table, as Younghyun sang, “So, babe, please be my finale.”

You almost noticed the slight falter in his voice over the speakers, but you were too focused on Dowoon’s anxious stare, as his eyes flitted between his lap and back to you.

“You ok, baby?” you enquired softly. “Do you want to leave? It’s not too crowded in here, but it’s ok if you feel overwhelmed.”

“If you let me I can love you till the end...!”

He shook his head diligently.

“So stay with me—don’t go anywhere...!”

The long note was broken somewhat as the guitars stopped.

Confused, you pulled your sight away from him and to Dowoon’s bandmates. All of their eyes were focused upon the two of you.

Glancing to the side bemusedly, you saw that the guests around you were all looking at the two of you as well, rather expectantly.

It was then that you recognised one or two of their features, in the dark. One person was definitely one of their managers, Another, a stylist who became a close friend of yours after helping Sungjin shave his hair. Memories hit you briefly as you noted her face, caught in astonished anticipation, remembering the times that she’d fought for what the members had wanted, rather than the company.

On the table just in front of you two, a figure turned. You weren’t expecting to see Dowoon’s mother here.

Before you could question any further, your boyfriend’s hands appeared from beneath the table, holding a microphone in a white-knuckled grip.

“Stumbling over and over...” he began, words and tone shaky. He paused, clearing his throat as he made eye contact with you.

It seemed to fill him with a new determination, as he persisted, gracing the room with the deep velvet of his voice. “Now, I’ve finally reached you.”

You waited for Jae to pick up his words, but he didn’t, his microphone remaining by his side.

It was Dowoon’s melody that resonated within your soul. “I want to spend my future walking together with you. Baby you are where I wanna be...”

As his voice trailed off, you felt your heart melt in pride, but you weren’t expecting him to continue.

He no longer sang, and instead only spoke, taking the lyrics and making them more of his own. “Love, I believe that you are the best happy ending, for me. You will be—without a doubt—my last love story, so,” he hesitated, fingers unlacing from the microphone as a single hand reached below the table again, “so, love, please be my finale...”

A small box was retrieved, and placed in the centre of the table. Royal blue and veiled in velvet, it sat proudly in front of your shocked, stagnating mind, and simmered your thoughts into nothing but mush.

Dowoon discarded the microphone to an extended hand to his side, as he unclipped the box, revealing the promise inside.

Delicate, entwined silver threads that knotted into a nest for a pure jewel. Bright and vibrant, it reflected the fireflies above you, that seemed to immediately spin into life, crowning the two of you in celestial light.

“...and marry me?”

Your words swam, weak and unintelligible in the gasps and whoops of sheer excitement. You didn’t know if you were already crying before you nodded, but they dripped from your jaw and clouded your vision from seeing his reaction at first.

You tried to dab at your eyes as carefully as possible with your shaking hands, to see his smile beaming in his halo, eyes taking in the sight of you.

He exhaled in laughter and relief, as the cheers erupted around the room, whilst he gently removed the ring from the box.

You gave your hand to him as soon as you saw him move, trying to still your fingers quivering as well as your lips.

The chilled silver slipped over your skin as smoothly as silk, and you brought your free hand to your mouth as soon as a sob broke free.

Entwining his fingers with yours, he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too!” you choked, wishing you could just stop the tears.

It cheered you up a bit to see you weren’t the only one, when you caught a glimpse of the rest of Day6 on the stage.

Younghyun was openly sobbing, a handkerchief pulled from his suit pocket wiping at his face every few seconds, as he whimpered into the microphone shamelessly. “That’s my boy, right there. He’s getting married, a-and—and—!”

Jae was blinking happily, a hand on Younghyun’s shoulder as he spoke to someone closer to the performing area. You couldn’t read his lips well, but it appeared he was denying something. Wiping at his cheek once, it became apparent what he was frantically refusing was happening.

You didn’t spot Wonpil immediately, as his head was completely hidden in Sungjin’s jacket, but the leader didn’t seem too mind much. He was grinning at the pair of you, before he sent you a thumbs up, eyes glinting in the fairy lights.

You laughed, nodding in acknowledgement, slipping your other hand into Dowoon’s, and bringing them up to your lips.

“I love you so much,” you reiterated, “this was just... so beautiful and I’m so, so proud of you!”

“I...” he began, unable to quite find his words again.

His mother piped up from behind him, startling him, which you couldn’t help but giggle at. “He wanted to sing to you, so bad! And my son did it, my son did it so well!”

She placed a kiss upon his head, causing him to pout.

Music began to play over the speakers again, which Jae seemed to be playing karaoke to at the front, letting the other three off the stage to get some celebratory drinks.

After a few congratulations from some of the guests, you managed to calm down slightly, instead showing your ring off to your friends who had gathered behind you.

Eventually, there was a brief gap in conversation with other people, as Sungjin announced the bar was open, and everyone began to make their way over there.

You and your fiance stood, and, hand-in-hand, headed through into the next room. People around you parted as you did so, allowing you the chance to brightly enquire, “Dowoon, baby, can I ask you something too?”

“Of course!” he replied, beautiful, deep eyes coming to gaze into yours.

“How did you know the ring would fit me?”

He guffawed for a moment. “Well, we realised Jae’s fingers are the same size as yours.”

You choked on air, staring at your ring.

“WHAT?!”

~~~

AN: Sorry for the big break I’ve been heckin busy

English translations courtesy of LyricsKpop!

Hope you enjoyed!

Do yall like my refurbished masterlist? It isn’t up to date with all the fics on it yet oops lol but I think it’s pretty

Masterlist

#dowoon #dowoon day6 #dowoon x reader #dowoon fluff #dowoon oneshot #day6 #day6 oneshot #dowoon engagement #day6 fluff #dowoon x reader fluff #lol everyone is crying #im not sorry tho

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bricousland · 4 years

Text

Chapter 9: The Dawn Will Come

Chapter Eight Chapter Seven Chapter Six Chapter Five

Chapter Four Chapter Three Chapter Two Chapter One

AO3

The road home was solemn. Alistair was weak and could only ride a few hours at a time; between that and his nightmares, progress was slow and it took them twice as long to return to Skyhold.

During the journey, Briana sustained her fair share of injuries and more than once, Nanami had to step in and wrap Alistair in a sleeping spell when his delusions became unmanageable. These fits ended travel for the day and left the group waiting for another bout of sanity so they could continue home. The Fade haunted Alistair; he saw demons when there were none and enemies in his friends. During his lucidity, Alistair fell into terrible depressions as he remembered the pain his barbarity caused everyone--especially Briana. He sobbed, apologized, and tried to ostracize himself from the party. During those times, only Briana could bring him back, sometimes with kind words and other times with him slung over her shoulder. It was a long, hard trip filled with a lot less laughter and more tears. No one complained though, not even Sera who was eager to return home.

Nanami kept her distance from the group and rode at the back of the line. She stayed close enough to Briana and Alistair to step in, but far enough away to avoid conversation. Sera was able to coax her into a conversation here and there but Nanami was disengaged and distracted.

Once they arrived at Skyhold, they were treated to a hero’s welcome. Cullen��s men met them at the gates in straight rows with their armor shining. Josephine and the nobility that were currently in attendance greeted them with cheers. Briana kept herself and Cullen between Alistair and the visiting aristocrats, though they tried their very best to grab the attention of the would-be-king.

Leliana doted on them and had every nurse on staff examine Alistair. When she was satisfied that he was in good physical health, she escorted them to their bedroom and set two of her best scouts outside. The cheers and conversation faded as the door closed with a heavy boom behind them. There was complete silence in the small stone room. The two of them were alone for the first time since the day they had separated so many years ago.

Briana was at a loss for words. She stood tense, in the middle of the room with her fists at her sides. She looked at her axe propped near her pillow and her armor, carefully put away. The danger of the journey was over but a piece of her felt like she was back at camp with a darkspawn ambush waiting to happen. ”

Alistair finished washing his (now clean shaven) face but, when he turned around and his smile faded. “You’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid.” Briana shook out the tension in her hands and rolled her shoulders, “You’d never kill me.”

“We don’t know that”

“I know it.”

“Fine, then what’s bothering you?”

“You were dead, Alistair.” the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself ”I heard your heart stop beating and I gave up. I was ready to follow you and to die right there at your side.” hysteria crawled into her throat, “But then you came back, and now -- you’re broken! You’re paranoid, sobbing, and apologetic all within short periods of time. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help you and for once I feel powerless.”

“So-- it’s my turn to be the strong one, is it?” Alistair wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. His fingers ran through her hair, and his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “Briana, you’re here and I know that things have been difficult but I swear to you, every time I look at you, I feel better. Right now, you’re an anchor in a world I barely understand anymore.”

“Why did the Maker bring this war into our bedroom?”Her face pressed against his chest, his skin smelled of soap and rose petals.

His laugh was quiet and gentle. She felt his chin rest on the top of her head, “Because, sleeping with Morrigan won’t fix this one.”

She smiled and gave him a gentle jab in the ribs and she found herself laughing. “You’re right. The Blight was too easy.” Her arms wrapped around his waist. He was so much thinner than she remembered. Losing him had been like losing a piece of herself and now that he was back she had no words to express how alive she felt. He was someone who had seen her at her absolute worst and her absolute best. He never treated her like a hero and always showed her more compassion than she deserved. It was finally her turn to do the same for him.

“I love you” He whispered in her ear, “and I’ll never let you leave my side again.”

“You’ll have to.” Briana stepped out of his arms and removed her shirt. She turned her back to him and showed him the exposed, darkspawn poison that crawled through her veins. “Now, I have to find that cure. I can hear the song, I can ignore it for now, but we know what’s coming if I don’t go.”

His hand was warm to the touch as it grazed her blackened flesh, “This shouldn’t be happening to you yet. I’m the senior Grey Warden and I don’t have a touch of it. I’m coming with you.”

“No.” Briana tossed her shirt to the side and turned to face him, even from the front some of the blight peered over her shoulder. She took his hand and ran her fingers over his knuckles. Her touch was soft but her voice was hard, “You’ll be a liability.”

“You’re using your Hero voice”

“I don’t have a hero voice. This is my serious voice. Al, you know you can’t come as you are.”

Alistair looked like he wanted to argue for a moment but after a few twisted and unpleasant features, his shoulder slumped and he nodded. “And if the Blight worsens?”

“If it becomes too much to bear I will return to Highever.”

“Promise me.”

“Alistair, I promise you, no matter how this ends, my final hours will be spent holding your hand.” She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face into her’s for a long, much needed kiss. His teeth caught her bottom lip and her hands slid down his body, feeling every bone and scar along the way. Her lips moved to his neck while her hand slid down his pants.

“Maker.” His breath was hot against her ear. His arms found their way around her and pulled her close again. The touch of his fingertips against several jagged scars sent a shiver up her spine. Briana tugged him towards the bed; her fingers caught the lacing of his pants and with one quick pull they fell around his ankles.

She slid back on the bed. He crawled after her and kneeled in front of her on the mattress. His hands cupped her face and he pulled her forward for a long, deep kiss. When they stopped, his smile was coy and playful. She pressed the tip of her nose against his, “I’ll be gentle. I don’t want to break you.”

Alistair laughed and pushed her onto her back, “Oh, shut up.” he leaned over her and blew their bedside candle out. In the dark she felt his warm body on top of her and his arms beneath her. When her legs wrapped around his waist, for the first time in a long time Briana Cousland felt whole.

~ ~ ~

The stars danced in the sky over the Frostbacks. Orlesian and Ferelden nobility alike made an appearance. Everyone was there to celebrate the reuniting of the Hero of Ferelden with her one true love and all of it because of, and thanks to, the Inquisition. Josephine couldn’t have been happier. Nobles were already spinning tales of the Inquisitor’s gentle heart compelling her to brave the Fade again to right a wrong. It was a tale for bards to someday sing of--Maryden already was, actually.

While having Orlesians and Fereldens under the same roof was stressful, Cullen and his men kept them separated and intimidated enough to keep the peace. The cooks were in a panic. The Orlesian food was too rich for the Fereldens and Ferelden food was ‘as good as rotting fish’ to the Orlesians. Even Nanami, and Briana were expended. They attended feast after feast as noble parties arrived to partake in the events. Alistair, was the only one excused from the rush of attention. He made intermittent appearances to the nobility orchestrated by Josephine; he was introduced and excused from the dinners in such a manner that the nobility didn’t think to question his absences.

Tonight was the last night Briana and Alistair would be with the Inquisition before they set off to Highever. Briana’s brother, Fergus had already arrived the previous day with a royal escort for the two of them. It included a beautiful oak carriage with thick velvet drapes and a private guard hand picked by Leliana and Cullen.

Briana was in Nanami’s room getting ready for the ball. Josephine brought them gowns to wear. She said a ball was no place for Grey Warden armor or beige lounge wear. The two women sat in chairs while stylists brushed and pinned their hair. Nanami nursed a cup of tea, bored and irritated while Briana seemed relaxed and confident, instructing the stylist to fix a pin here or to tighten a ribbon there. It was at times like these the Warden’s noble birth stood out.

“You know, Alistair has never seen me in a dress.” Briana took a cup of tea when it was offered. She tried to look at Nanami but the stylist turned her chin so she was facing forward again.

“Really? Not even at your wedding?” Nanami’s hair had been brushed until it shone like black silk and now it was being twisted and pinned. Her stylist cooed and fawned over the style but Nanami didn’t understand a word of his thick Orlesian accent.

“Yes. The Chantry mother was there to oversee it, all the papers were signed. It was all very official. We were in our armor in the Commander’s office. The Wardens wanted to send me out on another mission and I refused to leave Weishaupt until I was married. It was the least romantic thing Alistair and I have ever had to endure.”

Nanami laughed which, in turn, caused the stylist to panic “Maker, Inquisitor, Haven’t you learned to laugh without tears?” His Orlesian accent was thick and chastising. One of the servant girls came up and dabbed her eyes to wipe the makeup away.

Na’lahni sighed “What will you do after all of this? You’re going back Highever but it sounds like it would be best if you returned to the Wardens. Don’t you want to go to them?”

Briana was quiet while a woman painted her lips a deep ruby red, “I’m taking Alistair to Highever and I’ll stay with him for a little longer but, I’ll leave within a few weeks to finish my search for a cure for the Blight.” She pressed her lips onto a tissue when prompted, “Regardless of the outcome of that search, we’ve agreed that we will not be returning to the Wardens. All we ever wanted was a family and a place to belong. The Wardens turned on Alistair in my absence. I won’t forgive them for that. Thedas is in good hands and really doesn’t need me around with you and the Champion to fix things.”

Nanami smiled as she listened to Briana’s dreams of the future and wondered how many of them would actually come true.

We all get dragged back in, eventually.

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” Briana continued. “You’ve been a friend through all of this, even when I was trying to kill you, you showed me kindness. Can I give you one last piece of advice woman to woman?” Briana dismissed the stylists and other servants that were scurrying around the room. “Go, we look fine.” With a snap of her fingers the staff dispersed in a rush. She turned in her seat her long chocolate curls were left to hang around her shoulders. The front pieces were pulled and pinned behind her ears to give it that ‘intentionally messy’ look the Fereldens seemed to prefer.

“Why not?” One last pin was put in Nanami’s hair. Her thin, silky locks were wound in a thick, intricate Orlesian style behind her head. It showed off her elven ears and big blue eyes. It pulled tightly on her scalp and she wished she had asked a Ferelden to do her hair.

“I said it to you once in Lothering and I am going to say it again. Let Cullen love you.” Before Nanami could interrupt Briana shook her head, “before you try to tell me about Solas listen to what I have to say. I don’t know who Solas is. Sera hates him and while Cullen respects your decision, he’s not too happy with him either. From what I gather, this man ran out on you without a word as to where or why. I don’t question that he loved you. I don’t know anything about him to make that judgement. But, I can say that Alistair would never do that to me. He’d never leave without an explanation; he trusts me implicitly. Just as I trust him.”

Nanami sat back in her chair and looked down at her hands without responding. Briana reached out and held them. “You deserve better than to wait around for someone who might never come back.” Briana leaned back in her seat with a grin. “Besides, I can speak from experience, ex Templars make great lovers and eventually, with some training, great husbands.”

Nanami laughed her her cheeks blushed a shade of soft pink, “I’ll keep that in mind.” A part of her wanted to tell Briana about her experience in the Fade and saying goodbye to Solas, but when she gathered the words she pushed them back down. She rose to her feet and looked into the hearth where dying embers shone and the dining table set for two.

She smiled.

Nanami motioned to the door, “Let’s go.”

The entire hall was lit with warm candlelight and decorations that displayed Inquisition and Warden emblems. Nanami and Briana stood in front of the Inquisitor’s throne while everyone gathered. Briana reached out and took Nanami’s hand. “A new kind of battle.” she whispered. Nanami covered a laugh behind her hand as the hall grew quiet.

One of the many servants in the hall stepped forward and with a booming voice, spoke to the rest of the attendees, “Presenting Lady Inquisitor Nanami Lavellan, Herald of Andraste and Lady Warden Briana Cousland Hero of Ferelden.”

“My what big names we have.” Briana said as she and Nanami descended the steps hand in hand. Against Josephine’s wishes, Leliana had chosen Briana’s dress; it was hunter green silk with deep brown leather around the shoulders and then wrapped around the waist as an oversized belt emblazoned with intricate silver griffins. Nanami felt more awkward in her dress. In an attempt to soothe Josephine, she chose her dress sight unseen. It was soft, ice blue cotton with several creamy silk layers beneath and long billowing sleeves trimmed with silver thread. It was comfortable but the layers made it heavy and she had to hold it up to walk down the stairs.At the base of the stairs, Alistair waited. He wore a suit strikingly similar to what they had worn at Halamshiral. It was white with a green sash made out of the same material as Briana’s dress. Nanami smiled, happy to see he was well enough to make an appearance.

That has Josephine written all over it.

Briana’s smile brightened when she caught sight of her husband. Around him that warrior persona washed away and Briana was just a girl all over again.

“By the Maker you are beautiful.” Alistair took her by the hand and drew Briana in close for a kiss. Nanami stood to the side while the rest of the nobility cheered or hid their masked faces behind lace fans.

“You don’t look so bad yourself. You’re sure you’re up for this?”

“I’m fine. Just don’t leave my side, alright?”

Briana smiled, “Never.”

Nanami walked up a few stairs so she could see the crowd that surrounded them. “Hello, everyone and welcome. We are so glad you could all attend. Briana, Alistair, and I hope that you have the very best night.” She paused a moment as some Ferelden’s cheered from the back while the Orlesians looked disdainfully over their shoulders, “Enjoy the food, enjoy the wine, and enjoy the cakes. Most of all, enjoy dancing. Lady Cousland, if you and Alistair could start us off with a first dance?”

“We would love to!” Briana called up to Nanami.

Alistair looked at Briana, “We would?” Briana swiftly elbowed him in the ribs, “Ow!.” He rubbed his side and nodded to Nanami, “I mean, it would be an honor.”

Everyone clamoured to see the two of them. Nanami stayed up by her throne looking over everything just like she had at every other party. Except this time, she didn’t feel forced to enjoy it. Briana and Alistair were happy, she was able to right one of her many wrongs and save a life. She looked over at Josephine who was basking in her success at yet another flawless party and for once, Nanami felt she could relate.

As the night wore on a few nobles offered her a dance, and as always, she declined. She was happy to watch over everyone else. Briana danced with everyone though. She watched her dance with Iron Bull, Cullen, and Varric with all the grace a noble woman was trained in. On the other hand, she watched Alistair try to dance with a few noble ladies but he didn’t have the same amount of tact as his wife. Seeing her friend drowning, Leliana swooped in and danced with him so he could regain some amount of pride until Briana returned with mussed hair and red cheeks.

As the hours came and went Briana made her way up the steps and stood beside her. Nanami looked over at the Warden, “You seem like you’re having a great time.”

Briana nodded, “I loved dancing and attending balls in Highever. I didn’t like to dress up much but I always enjoyed this. I’ve noticed you haven’t taken to the dance floor.”

Nanami laughed, “I enjoy watching people dance. Their happiness makes me happy.”

“I bet you would have more fun if you danced with someone.”

“Did you really come up here to scold me for not dancing with Cullen?”

Briana shook her head,“Yes and no. Alistair is worn out; he says he’s alright but I can see that he’s slipping.” She tilted her head in Alistair’s direction where he stood talking to Cullen, his hands clenched together and his eyes darting towards Briana for a quick glance. “We are leaving early tomorrow with Fergus, I just wanted to say” Briana extended her hand towards her and Nanami took it “Thank you Inquisitor. If you ever need a sword--or axe, I’m yours.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Warden.” Briana smiled and left her at the steps, retrieving Alistair from Cullen’s company.

Nanami moved from her stationary spot and slipped through the crowd to find Cullen leaning against the wall watching over everyone like any good guard. He was dressed in his Halamshiral finery of white and royal blue.

“We’ve had three brawls so far. Orlesians don’t know when to quit with the dog jokes. I bet it’s a national sport. Is everything alright?”

She nodded, “Yes, thanks to you, everything’s been a success.”

“Well good. At least we won’t have to listen to Josephine’s complaints about it in the War Room tomorrow.”

“Cullen, would you… like to dance?” She smoothed her hands over her dress and tucked a piece of stray black hair behind her ear.

“Dance? I don’t-- I mean, yes -- are you sure?”

“Well, I haven’t danced with anyone all night and I’m not really good at it. I thought if I was with you, you’d stop me from making a fool of myself.”

“Well, how could I say no to that?”

Nanami reached out and took his hand in hers and let him lead her out onto the dance floor. Everyone stopped to watch, and out of the corner of her eye, Nanami saw Briana. She leaned against the corner of a narrow hall with Alistair at her side. When their eyes locked the Warden winked before she disappeared around the corner hand in hand with her husband.

Cullen pulled Nanami close and rested a hand on her waist. As the room fell silent, her cheeks became hotter and her hand held his tight. The music was the only noise echoing in the halls. Even the clatter of cups and plates had ceased, all eyes were on the Inquisitor and the Commander. Cullen’s eyes caught hers and he gave her a subtle nod before he guided her into the first steps of a simple waltz. As she followed him, a smile crept onto her face. The music was moderately paced and her lithe elven feet easily adapted to the rhythm around them. After a moment, she didn’t even remember they were being watched. When the song ended there were gloved claps from the Orlesians and merry cheers from the Fereldens. Nanami, face flushed, turned to her audience, gave a timid curtsy, and bow of her head. Cullen, no less abashed gave a gentlemanly bow as well.

“I think I’m going to need some fresh air.” Nanami whispered, “Will you come with me?”

“Maker, yes.” Cullen offered his arm and lead her into the cold mountain air.

As they withdrew from the crowd, they were saluted by two of Cullen’s men stationed at the door. Nanami smiled and took in a deep breath of frigid winter air as they descended the stairs together. “It’s so quiet out here.” Nanami descended the first flight of stairs with her hand still wrapped in the bend of his elbow while her other gathered and lifted the thick layers of her dress.

“It’s better than dancing in front of a room full of people.”

“Agreed.” Nanami laughed and stood on the small platform,looking towards the stables with her arms wrapped around themselves. “I didn’t expect so much attention.” Cullen stood beside her, looking out into the moonlit yard as well. There were so many things Nanami wanted to say but she had no idea where to begin, she wished, just for a moment, she had the same confidence as Briana.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology left her a little flummoxed. “What?” she finally managed, taking her attention away from the yard and onto him.

“The kiss, I wasn’t in my right mind and you were--”

“No. Don’t --” Nanami pinched the bridge of her nose, “Mythal’s horns, I wanted you to.”

“I know, it was foolish and I -- you wanted it?” It was Cullen’s turn to be speechless but a little smile couldn’t help but creep across his face.

“When I was unconscious in Morrigan’s home, I saw Solas and I realized that he didn’t trust me and even if he did love me, I was finished trying to love him. Cullen, I care for you a great deal and I don’t know what’s going to happen but, I know I want to find out. I know that when I look at you, I feel safe and warm even out here in the middle of winter standing on cold stone.” Nanami paused and chewed on her bottom lip. When Cullen didn’t respond, she started again, “I’m not trying to take advantage of your feelings. I only want you to know that they’re not one --” Cullen’s hands grabbed her face and wrapped his fingers in her hair. He leaned down and pressed a kiss against her lips and this time Nanami allowed herself to fall into it. Her hand rested on his arm while another wrapped around his waist. All of the anxiety that had infested her heart a moment before melted away. He felt as immovable as the frostbacks and even in soft cotton and silks he smelled of steel and a well oiled sword.

As their lips parted his hazel eyes looked down at her and tucked some of her hair behind her ears, “I hope that wasn’t too forward.”

“Not at all.” Nanami laughed.

“Should we go back? I’m sure you’re missed.”

“Let’s stay like this a little longer.”

Trespasser

Nanami Lavallen fell through the eluvian clutching what was left of her arm. Her body hit the marble floor with a loud thud and her staff clattered and echoed in the small room. All around her were Orlesian and Ferelden dignitaries gasping and shouting as Inquisition soldiers shielded her from their view. She was blinded from pain and everything around her was blurred chaos. The friends that had come with her, Dorian, Bull, and Sera raced to help her to her feet. Her lip was bloodied and she was hunched over in pain from a few broken ribs. Dorian handed the staff to her and she used it as a cane while she caught her breath.

Josephine and Leliana soon arrived, pushing the crowd out of the room and assuring them everything would be revealed shortly. From outside Nanami heard Orlesians gasping in disapproval before she heard the roar of her Commander, “Get out of my way that is my wife you’re keeping me from!”

“Your what?!” Sera’s voice boomed in her ear causing her head to throb.

“Well that really is a surprise.” Dorian’s softer voice rose among the deep chuckles of Bull who was holding her steady as Cullen rushed to her side. He took her from Bull’s arms and leaned down to come nose to nose with her. Nanami tried to focus but his face was an exhausted blurr.

“Nanami, Nanami what happened?” His voice was panicked as he took notice of her arm.

“I’m alright.” Nanami managed in a soft whisper. Her weight was too much to bare and her knees slowly buckled. Cullen held her steady and joined her on the floor as her exhaustion wore her down. “I’m alright” she repeated, she looked up and finally his face was clear and it made her glad. “The Qunari have been stopped”

“You can tell me all about it once we get you to an infirmary.” Cullen moved to lift her but she put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Wait, Solas was there.”

“Solas?”

“He wants to restore Arlathan, and I may have to kill him.”

#dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #briana cousland #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #the dawn will come #commander cullen #cullen rutherford #cullen x inquisitor #Nanami Lavellan #creative writing #fanfiction #ending #dragon age

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