#the trembling organist

[notknickers]

alright, friends, enemies and anything in between. i may or may not have something to say about this, specifically about nikola themselves. i am not particularly concerned about whether they could, technically, kill macbeth - the categorisation of which is a pursuit worthy unto its own, just not one i care to engage myself. however, i am in sore need of sleep and will try to come back to this when my need has been adequately satiated. the only words i leave (more for myself and the construction of my future arguments, than for any other reason) are. nikola orsinov started their life as the human joseph grimaldi in the same way a leather sofa started its life as a cow. theseus's nikola. bonne nuit!

Could Nikola Orsinov from The Magnus Archives?

Yes, Nikola Orsinov from The Magnus Archives podcast could kill Macbeth!

((No image available))

At face value, this seems rather easy; she's a sentient mannequin made by Gregor Orsinov, so she applies for all three Clauses, right? Well, it seems to be a bit more complicated than that, from what I can tell.

Nikola used to be a human before being transformed by Gregor, and this human was a man (Joseph Grimaldi), and presumably of woman born. But Nikola is still referred to with She/It pronouns, so we might consider her a trans woman, applying her for the Gender Clause anyway.

As for the other two Clauses, it really depends on whether we see Joseph and Nikola as the same person at different points of her life, or if we see them as two separate entities, and Joseph's corpse was just used as the materials to bring Nikola into existence. The wiki isn't entirely clear on this, and there very well might be something in the podcast itself that disambiguates this, but until someone comes forward with the receipts, we'll leave the Unconventional Birth Clause and Birth Parent Clause untouched.

Either way, Nikola is still able to kill Macbeth regardless!

Nikola Orsinov was also requested by @crows-junk-pile and an anonymous asker (who I will answer separately since they also asked about another character I haven't covered yet). Thank you all for your submission!

[yourflowersfirst]

day 1,421

pages 256-258

filled with pain and unwanted resentment. i wish to be made of love but i’m not; i am the pieces of a child held together by regret, rage, and trusting in an older man- all begging to fall apart. i always think of you before i fall asleep. the words you said, the way you looked, the things we laughed about, the silent moments we shared. when i dream, i always try to make sure it’s of you. it’s always about you. loving you is breathing to me. easy rise and fall of my chest.

you are the knife i turn inside of myself, is this love?

and i thought, so suddenly it jolted me, “he’s so pretty i could cry,” i clutched my ribs, my heart, anything to calm the ache and storm gathering in me. “pretty boy, with pretty hair and pretty eyes. he’s mine, all mine.”

he wants nothing to do with me.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

"the lord knows that even the lowliest amongst us can be worthy of mercy," father jeff was stoic. "but once the devil has his claws in, the fires of hell take over. there is no saving someone beyond it. temptation is one of these things that can lure someone over the threshold. once your soul is engulfed, praying for 1000 years could not save you."

i chewed at my nails. my little sister was looking at her kids' bible, young enough to get away with not paying attention. i zoned out and thought about what father jeff said, how he seemed to be staring straight at me. during communion, my hands trembled, and i almost dropped the eucharist. the organist looked at me quizzically.

after service, once home, i had a fried bologna sandwich for lunch my mom made. i ate half and chewed and spit the other half. i excused myself and went to hide alone in the woods by my house, still wearing my long skirt and saddle shoes from mass. i yanked my hair out of the braid in annoyance, tangled but unbothered by the knots as i trotted to the ginormous oak trees and rushing dirty creek.

my mother just sighed and kept folding laundry as i left, shouting to be back in an hour to do algebra I homework. i barely had a C, she reminded me, not gently. ("high school is going to be terrible for you if you keep behaving like this.") i laid in the tall spring grass on my back and tried texting him on my blue slide phone- a pantech laser 2012 that couldn't download apps, but could play non copyrighted music and text my boyfriend.

i tried sending him a few messages, but it was the middle of the day; he'd likely be at work. though, to my shock, he texted back quickly.

"sneaking on my phone to text u. don't tell my boss ;)"

i snorted and laid my arm over my eyes to fight off the sun. "our secret. miss your voice though."

"i wanna see u so bad," he replied, ignoring me. "ur an angel. the prettiest girl i've ever seen."

i snapped a quick selfie to send (which would take forever on this phone, of course). i hesitated, despising my glasses, braces, spattering of freckles. i always thought my freckles looked like the blood spatter at a crime scene. i sent it anyway, and he gushed over my appearance. "you're beautiful, so sexy, i am so in love with you, perfect darling baby." it felt like a trap. i felt like a caged animal.

"i wanna make u feel good," he replied. "would do anything to go down on u..."

"i wanna meet you irl already, feel ur skin on mine," he sent through after i ignored his other messages, the ones that made bile creep up my throat. a caterpillar crawled up my leg in solidarity. "lets meet at a park in upper arlington. i'm off work wednesday, we could hang at likeee 2?"

i gnawed at my lower lip, free hand fiddling with the dandelions shedding their yellow coats. "i'm in school till 3. plus i can't drive, and if you pick me up my mom will freak LOL." meeting him in person, in truth, frightened me. my blood was running cold and turning pale in my veins.

"have ur mom drop u off, just tell her ur meeting a friend," the solution came too easily to him. "i wanna kiss u!!!!"

my brain was numb as i typed out, "okay."

3 days later, we were at a park 15 minutes from my house. i just wanted to hold his hand, that's all. nothing impure. my mom, sister, krystal, and i all got out of the minivan. as we walked around the park, i saw him. i felt like a deer about to get run over. he sauntered over to me, though, not seeing my mom hobbling behind me. my sister and krystal were running right to the swings, oblivious to the shitstorm about to happen. i trotted ahead, just barely out of eyesight. ignored by all. no one noticed the little girl approaching the man with a class ring on.

"wow, hi! you're gorgeous in person," he ran toward me and kissed my lips so fast i hardly noticed.

my first kiss.

we walked around the park quickly, until we settled under a huge pine tree that was throwing away its winter coat. early april was still chilly in ohio, but the sun was out just enough to tease warmer days.

i was wearing my nicest pair of earrings and most form fitting skinny jeans. we nestled under the tree, him wiggling his tongue into my mouth. anytime i tried to protest and pull away he snaked his hand to the back of my head, pulling my hair, pulling me back in. he smelled very nice, i thought. it's what i tried to focus on instead of the incessant need rising in him and the nausea rising in me.

in my peripheral vision, i saw someone walking over to the tree we were under. i tried to jump away, but it was too late.

she saw. she saw him, had she been catching up this whole time? frick frick frick. i jumped away from him, his dyed hair much more blue in person the more i looked at him. "oh, is this..." he trailed off, noticing my mother, her face turning 20 shades of crimson.

"who is this man?" my mom eventually pulled me away, her anger and grief palpable enough to taste. i deserved this. i waved goodbye to him sheepishly as i was hauled away. he just looked dumbstruck, then annoyed as he sauntered home in his pristine vans and my chemical romance tshirt. "girls! we're going home!" she howled at my sister and her best friend, 11 and 12 years old respectively.

"aww man, we weren't even here for 20 minutes."

"yeah, why'd you ruin all the fun?"

i didn't have an answer. my mother shoveled me into the van. "we'll talk once we're home, with your father."

"no, please don't tell him," i started crying and hyperventilating. my glasses fogged up pathetically. "please."

"sis, why're you crying so hard?"

"you have snot running from your nose. ew."

i wiped my face with my paramore hoodie.

once home, my parents sat me in my room, on the bed. i was preparing for the worst. him arrested, police cars everywhere, the news interviewing how i loved but lost him in the end. me watching from the sidelines, brave yet inconsolable. none of this was my fault, technically. right? how much victimhood are you willing to grant a girl like me, one who knew exactly what i was?

"you're grounded for a month," my mom started with no preamble. "and your phone and laptop privileges are gone except for school, with one of us watching."

i started crying again. "but i love him."

"no. shut up. i won't hear of this," my mom kept going. "you did this, you let him do all that crap i saw on your phone messages. you could have said no and deleted his number, or whatever. either way. no more skype, no more phone, no more minecraft, no more wizard101. i don't know how you met that man, but it ends now."

(author's note: my mom had no clue how to deal with this. i am sympathetic to her now. please don't treat her harshly, this is just what happened to me.)

my dad was silent as the dead. i wailed, "i'm sorry," over and over again.

"you're gonna be."

no police, he wasn't arrested. no one knew of my shame except them and me. and him, of course. my parents threw all the blame on my shoulders for me alone to carry. that night, in the bath, i scrubbed my skin so hard i bled a little. yet i never felt clean and never really would again. in a month, once i got my phone back, i texted him: "it's me. i'm so sorry." i still remembered his number, my love knowing no bounds. it still doesn't.

"whatever. u left me. i have a new gf now, anyway, and shes way hotter than u. have fun at ur marching band practices."

i threw my new phone across my room. it was dark, and i heard cicadas screeching at me. they were calling me a stupid infantile girl, and they were right. i wondered if my soul was still beyond saving. i said 10 hail marys, just in case it would help. god, i'm not these things i do. i'm gonna regret this forever. i sobbed over my gold cross rosary. it still hangs in my room to this day.

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter IX — Part III

“And now,” said the Bishop, when the boys could eat no more, “I’m afraid we must go to evensong.”

This was not the end of the party but only an interruption to it, and it was not even necessary to go out of doors, for a covered way led from the Palace to the Cloisters and the Cloisters led directly into the Cathedral.

A silence fell upon them all as they entered the Cloisters, for the Cloisters always imposed silence. They were built round three sides of a square, the fourth side being occupied by the Cathedral itself, and in the square the dead were buried; those very same bishops whose pictured faces had smiled and frowned upon the Christmas party, together with deans and canons whose names on the headstones had been washed out by wind and rain. It was bright moonlight now, with a blaze of stars, and the headstones showed up black and sharp against the snow. The feet of the living clanked harshly as they passed and all unconsciously they tried to go on tiptoe. Mr. Phillips, the organist, had gone on ahead with Peppercue and Barleycorn so that when the others came into the Cathedral the candles were already flowering in the darkness and the organ playing softly.

They began with a hymn, “Once in royal David’s city,” after which evensong pursued its accustomed course until they got to the anthem, and it was here that Felicity and Jocelyn, who had never before attended evensong on the party day, had a shock, for it was Steggall’s anthem, “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.”

It was always sung on the party day and Grandfather considered it a most depressing choice, and had said so more than once at Chapter meetings, but was not listened to because what always had been done at Torminster always was done, suitable or not, and would be till the Day of Judgment, but Felicity and Jocelyn were not concerned with its suitability so much as with its beauty.

Felicity had always considered the twelfth chapter of Ecclesiastes the most haunting poem ever written. She found in it the same beauty, tinged with a feeling of eeriness, that years later she was to find in the poetry of Mr. Walter de la Mare. “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them; while the sun, or the light, or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened, nor the clouds return after the rain.” A boy’s clear treble rang out in the great Cathedral, where the candlelight fitfully shone on shadowed faces and carved stone and wood dark with age, while above them the pillars soared into darkness and all around them the night pressed in. A strange mutter of voices, quiet but very ominous, took up the next verse. “In the days when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows shall be darkened.”This lament for the fate of man, for the passing of his youth and joy and the coming of old age and death, was very queer and frightening, all the more so because one was not quite certain what it was all about. “Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher, all is vanity … The mourners go about the streets … The wheel broken at the cistern.” Was that the end of the matter? “The spirit shall return unto God Who gave it.” In that word “return” Felicity suddenly found comfort. The fate of man in this world was certainly a thing to be lamented over, a thing of uncertainty and loss and pain, and no amount of easy optimism could alter the facts of the case, yet in death he “returned” to his starting point of sun and moon and stars that are not darkened. Her mind wandering, she thought that the writer of this poem, when he chose sun and moon and stars as the supreme givers of joy, must have felt as Ferranti had done that man can best understand the meaning of perfection when he takes as its symbol a circle of white light. They were very akin, Ferranti and this writer whose name she did not know … Suddenly she started and touched Jocelyn’s arm as he sat beside her. The mist of sorrow that was in his eyes cleared away as he looked at her and whispered the thought that was in both their minds. “The answer … Our play must be presented as a great lament.”

The anthem ended and they knelt down to pray, their lowered eyelids shutting out even the faint candlelight so that each of them was alone in darkness. To Jocelyn, even more deeply depressed than Felicity because depression came more naturally to him, it seemed that the darkness of human life was too great to be endured. The words of the prayers flowed on unheard by him as he sank deeper and deeper into desolation. It seemed that he had touched rock-bottom when Felicity, wise through that knowledge of his thoughts that had come to her through love, put out a hand and gently touched his side. Instantly his spirits rose a little and opening his eyes he saw the candlelight. So often in his experience the minor miseries of life had been eased by the touch of humanity; would the great miseries, when they came, be eased by God’s touch? One would have to be old to know and the old, he had noticed, and not the young, Were more often the men of faith.

They sang a last hymn and filed silently out of the dark Cathedral and through the moonlit Cloisters. Safely back in the Palace any eerie feelings that might remain were dispelled by Mrs. Phillips. “How those boys can sing like that after all that tea,” she said, “beats me.”

[kkodzvken]

suit up - hawks x f. reader

the one where keigo marries the girl of his dreams, and then takes her home and shows her just how loved she is. title cred/inspo: suit up by jonghyun

notes/warnings: smut and fluff (your teeth may rot and fall out, you’ve been warned), soft dom!keigo, praise kink, slight size kink, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex + creampie. reader and kei use the traffic light safe word system and they review it beforehand, and he checks in with her at one point but she’s green, so everything is 100% consensual. they flirt + kei says explicit things at the reception but nothing /actually/ happens in public. mentions of alcohol

wc: 5.3k

a/n: this idea’s been bouncing around my head for a while bc i wanna marry this dumbass so bad :’) my first full hawks fic!! im so happy hehe

Beautiful.  

You’re so beautiful.

Keigo’s always known, of course. He’s found you beautiful since the very first moment that he laid his eyes on you, all those years ago. He tells you that you’re beautiful every single day, no matter how much you roll your eyes or jokingly tell him to shut up.

You’re beautiful all the time, but there are certain moments that leave him especially breathless. The day that you foolishly challenged Rumi to an arm-wrestling match. The determined look in your eye as you clenched your fist, sweat dripping down your brow and arm muscles straining (you lost, of course – the rabbit hero was ridiculously jacked). The brilliant smile that graces your face whenever he brings you flowers or little souvenirs from his work trips. The very first morning after you moved into his penthouse, when he woke up next to your peaceful sleeping form, and realized that he’d have mornings like this for the rest of his life.

The day that he flew you up to the mountains for a starlit picnic. The smile on your face as you polished off your meal, and the way that your hand flew up to your mouth when he got down on one knee. Your teary-eyed look of pure love as he slipped the ring onto your finger, the diamond gleaming like one of the stars that shone down on you. The way that your eyes rolled back and your legs wrapped around his waist when he took you home and fucked you for hours.

And right now. Keigo swore that his heart damn near burst at the sight of you. The organist was playing, but he couldn’t hear the notes, couldn’t hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. Your hands clasped an elegant flower bouquet, and Keigo was sure that the blossoms were pretty, but he couldn’t spare even a second to glance at them. No, his entire focus was trained on you. You, with your beautiful dress that perfectly accentuated the body that he loved so much. When your eyes raised to meet his, and that perfect smile worked its way across your face… he had to bite his inner cheek to try and hold the tears back.

In a simultaneous eternity and heartbeat, you were handing off your bouquet to a bridesmaid and clasping Keigo’s large hands with your much smaller ones. The officiant was speaking, but Keigo didn’t process any of it. The sight of your eyes shining up at him, more beautiful than any of the stars in the night sky, was the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt like he was floating through a dreamscape with only you, the happiness in his chest powerful and all-encompassing.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You’re talking to a group of your old friends from high school when a tap against your shoulder grabs your attention, and you turn to see your fiancé – no, your husband – smirking down at you. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Excuse me, ladies,” he says to your friends. “Mind if I steal her for a moment?” His amber eyes glint mischievously, and you swear that a whole swarm of butterflies take flight in your stomach.

Your friends giggle and nod, and then Keigo’s spinning you around so that you’re face-to-face. He’s stunning, in his black suit and red dress shirt, the shade of crimson matching his wings perfectly. “Dance with me, dove,” he says, before leaning down to press a quick kiss against your lips. You nod, and he leads you towards the center of the venue, where most of your guests are dancing to some cheesy pop song. Keigo nods at the DJ, who nods back and switches to the music. Soft synth notes travel through the speakers, before the singer’s dreamy voice floods your ears.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders. His wings move to wrap around you protectively. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it – it’s such a normal thing, now, for him to shield you, to create a little cocoon for the two of you. You frown as you feel his muscles moving underneath your fingers. “You’re too tense,” you say, fingers gently kneading at the parts of his back that you can reach. “Let me give you a massage once we get home.”

He chuckles, one of his own hands coming up to capture yours. He laces your fingers together before bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. The look he gives you is so tender, the love radiating off his body so palpable, that it makes your knees feel week. “Sweet, but I’m the one who’s going to be taking care of you tonight.” You open your mouth to protest, but he tuts, and a feather flies up to shush at your lips. “No, listen. You’re driving me crazy. Every time I turn my head, I see you looking so damn beautiful that my heart stops. Makes me wanna just pull you away and rip that pretty dress off.”

You gasp at his words, a pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Kei! People are gonna hear you!”

He shrugs, pulling you even closer and swaying your bodies lightly to the music. “Let them,” he says nonchalantly, but the glint in his eye is pure sin. He leans down so that his lips brush against the shell of your ear. You can’t help the shudder that wracks through your body as his warm breath hits your skin. “You’re so cute when you’re blushing like that. Did I make you flustered, baby?” His fingers release yours, instead gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his eyes. “Answer me, love.”

You nod, feeling small. Only Keigo can affect you like this, can reduce you to a trembling mess with just a few words.

You love it.

He smirks at your confession, pressing a kiss against your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours. “What do you say we jump ship, babe?” Your confusion must show on your face, because he continues. “I think I might die if I have to wait much longer to get my hands on you. And judging by the way you’re acting… I’d bet good money that you’re already dripping for me.”

“Kei!” You swat at his chest before burying your face in it. He laughs, one of his real, genuine laughs that makes your heart soar, before kissing the crown of your head.

“I don’t see you denying it.”

“Shut up.”

“Aw, is my cute little wife flustered?”

Wife. The word sounds so pretty rolling off his lips that you can’t resist retreating from the safety of his chest to press your lips against his. He cups your face with one of his large, rough hands and kisses you back. His wings shift to cover you up before the hand on your waist moves down to pinch at your ass – or, at least, it tries. The layers of your dress obstruct him, and he growls in frustration.

You can’t help but whine as well. You want him all the time, of course. Years of being together haven’t changed how fucking badly you want him all the time. You’d used up all your willpower behaving for the ceremony and the reception so far. You’d been good, had kept your hands to yourself throughout dinner and the toasts. But now, the mix of his body against yours, the dirty words that he’d whispered into your ear, and the cocktails running through your bloodstream were making it very hard for you to ignore the pooling heat between your legs.

You wanted him. You wanted your husband.

“Please,” you whisper. Under normal circumstances, you’d hate how whiny and pathetic you sound, but you’re too far gone to care. “Please, let’s go, Kei. Need you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A few whispered words to Rumi, and a knowing smirk from her, and you were gone. It was surprisingly easy to slip out the venue. You’d expected to be stopped by some nosy family member, but it seemed that everyone was too tipsy and having too much fun to care. Nevertheless, you had to be careful once you stepped out into the fresh night air. The number two hero’s wedding was perfect paparazzi bait. You didn’t even want to think about the feeding frenzy that the media would go into if they caught sight of you now.

The night sky was like a shield, though, and it protected you from prying eyes. You’d been discreet when picking the wedding and reception venues, and even more discreet in choosing your honeymoon destination. Tomorrow morning, you and Keigo would fly up to the mountains, where he’d rented a little cabin for the two of you. By some miracle, he’d managed to get a whole week off work – a whole week where you’d have him, entirely to yourself.

But right now, you aren’t thinking about tomorrow morning, or the lovely, peaceful honeymoon that you were about to embark on. Right now, the only thing you can think about is Keigo. Keigo, with his beautifully messy hair that moved like ocean waves as you soared through the air. There’s nothing in this world that you love more than flying with him, pressed against his sturdy body with his strong arms wrapped around you. Light pollution makes it hard to see the sky from the ground, but up here, the moon and stars are breathtaking.

Almost as breathtaking as your husband, who’s eyes are prettier than any stars could ever hope to be.

He looks down and catches you staring, taking him in with your wide, wondrous eyes. You can barely hear anything through the noise-cancelling headphones that he makes you wear whenever you fly, but his words reach you, clear as day – “I love you.”

“And I love you.” Your voice comes out small, stolen away by the rushing wind. You try again, louder this time. “I love you!”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he tries to keep his laughs contained. “You trying to one-up me? I can be loud too.” He takes a deep breath, before tipping his head back and shouting an I love you up into the heavens.

His lips are soft and sweet as candy when they dip down to meet yours. “I’m just so happy,” he whispers against you. “You make me so happy.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The moment that you set foot into the penthouse, you gasp.

“Oh, Kei,” you breathe, hand flying over your mouth.

He bounces nervously as he locks up the balcony door, not meeting your eye. “Do…do you not like it?”

You march up to him and grab his face in your hands, before standing up onto your tip-toes and planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love it, baby. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

He perks up at the praise, kissing your lips once before his hands move down and he picks you up, clean off the ground. You can’t hold your shrieking laugh back as he spins you around, a smile lighting up his face like a god damn Christmas tree.

The house is beautiful. Really, he did outdo himself. Back when you’d first started dating, he’d had to call off your six-month-anniversary date because of a mission. You’d assured him that it was fine, that you understood, but you’d be lying if you said that you weren’t upset. He promised that he would be back in a week at the latest. You’d spent the night with your friends, eating ice cream and watching shitty movies, and left for work the next morning. You weren’t expecting him back for a few days at least, but when you opened your door after an exhausting day at work, he was there, waiting for you. Scratches on his face and bandages on his arms, but he was there. And he’d decorated your apartment with flowers and fairy lights, centered around a haphazardly made blanket fort in the center of the living room. Little candles were placed across the room, each with a red feather standing guard, making sure that the flames didn’t accidentally get knocked over and grow. After you’d gotten over your initial shock – how the hell did you get in here, Kei – you ran into his arms and squeezed him, tight. He didn’t let go of you for the entire night – his body always pressed against yours, fingers constantly entwined, even as he made you cum so many times that you forgot your own name.

It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brought a smile to your face. You’d mentioned it offhandedly last week, while you were in the weeds with wedding planning. Honestly, you didn’t think that he’d even heard what you said, with how stressed and busy the two of you were. He was picking up extra patrols to make up for his honeymoon vacation time, and you were working your ass off to get your overbearing boss off your back.

But he had heard. He heard, and he listened, because that’s just the kind of lover – the kind of husband – that Keigo is. Attentive, sweet, and intuitive. You swear, he spoils you beyond belief. You don’t even know when he got the time to decorate the apartment today, but it’s beautiful. Even more beautiful than the decorations from your six-month-anniversary, because this time, the sight is sweetened by the knowledge that this is your shared home. This isn’t just your apartment, that your friends helped sneak him into so he could fancy it up. This is your shared space, where you’ll spend the rest of your lives together. Where you’ll wake up in his arms every morning, his wings wrapped around you protectively, fragmenting the morning light into shards of red. Where you’ll make meals together and laugh at his bad cooking, where you’ll take sanctuary from the harshness of the world. This place is your home. Keigo is your home.

He finally stops spinning, but refuses to set you down. Instead, he readjusts you so that he’s carrying you bridal style. You almost laugh at how cliché it is. It feels like something out of a cheesy rom-com, but you’re so happy that you feel like you’re in one of those rom-coms.

You do laugh out loud when you see the trail of petals leading to your bedroom. Keigo feigns disappointment, dramatically sighing. “Don’t laugh, princess, you wound me.” That just makes you laugh even more, and soon, he’s joining in, burying his face in your hair as he walks the two of you towards the bed. “C’mon, I’m trying to be romantic! Quit making me laugh!”

“I can’t help it,” you giggle as he gently places you onto the bed. Thankfully, he had the common sense to not put any petals on the actual bed, but the floor is absolutely covered. Blossoms line the walls as well, along with candles that bathe the room in their gentle glow. You take a second to admire how beautiful your husband looks in the soft light. The shadows make his wings seem that much bigger as they unfurl to their full size. He looms over you, looking like the most delicious mix of devil and angel that you’ve ever seen. There’s still a playful smile on his face, but something mischievous simmers beneath it.

“Hope you didn’t forget what you said at the reception hall, baby,” he says, eyes glinting. “What was it? Hmm, something like, need you, Kei, need you to take me home and fuck me, I’m already so wet for you.”

You groan and try to bury your face in your hands, but he’s too fast. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head, easily wrapping them with just one of his large hands. “You’re making shit up,” you pout. “I only said the first part.”

“So you admit you said it? That you need me?”

“Shut up.”

“Mm, no thanks.”

You groan again, trying to suppress your smile. There are plenty of times that you and Keigo have had “serious” sex, but you mostly find yourself like this, devolving into giggles and teasing. There’s something about him that makes you feel so safe and at ease, and you can’t help yourself from giggling at his stupid remarks. He laughs, and releases your wrists to cradle your face with both his hands. He shifts so that he’s properly on top of you, his thighs on either side of your hips, and bends down to press kisses all over your face.

“My wife,” he breathes, in between kisses. “My sweet, beautiful, amazing wife. This dress is so pretty, but let’s take it off, my love. You don’t need it anymore.”

It takes a few minutes of awkward wriggling and tugging to finally remove the lace monstrosity, but at long last, the dress ends up on the floor. Keigo’s hands are on your body in an instant, fingers trailing over the curve of your waist and snapping the waistband of your panties. “God, you’ve got such pretty little lingerie on.”

“Wanted to dress up for you,” you say, pawing at his tie and trying to loosen the knot. It makes you feel small, to be so exposed while he’s still fully dressed. Normally you love to savor in that feeling, but right now, you need to feel his bare skin against yours. “Now take your clothes off, please.”

You finally manage to loosen his tie enough to pull it over his head. After stopping for another deep kiss, your hands continue their path over his body. His suit jacket comes off next, although he has to help you gently maneuver it off his wings. His cuff links clatter to the ground as you almost viciously rip off his dress shirt, and you moan when you finally feel his warm muscles.

You’re practically grinding into each other by now. Little whines leave your lips as you shamelessly roll your hips, seeking any friction you can get. You can feel his hardness, even through his thick pants, and you chase it with vigor. He’s not much better, a light blush dusting his face as he meets your rolls with shallow thrusts of his own. “Off, off, Kei, need to feel you,” you babble, fingers desperately trying to undo this belt buckle. Breathlessly, he pushes your fingers aside and pulls his belt off, unceremoniously throwing it across the room. You half expect it to collide with a candle and set the entire building on fire, but a few feathers fly out to catch it and gently set it down.

You don’t waste a second in pulling his pants down and throwing them as well, trusting that a feather will keep it from crashing into anything. Your fingers try to pull down the waistband of his boxers, but he tuts and grabs your hand.

You look up at him with pleading eyes. “Please,” you whine.

The smile on his face is gentle beyond belief as he answers. “I told you that I was going to take care of you tonight, baby. Let me make you feel good, okay? Can I make you feel good?”

You want to protest, want to beg him to stuff your face or your cunt and fuck into you until you’re lightheaded, but Keigo’s insistent about making you cum at least twice before even thinking about his own pleasure. And you can’t deny that you’re aching for him. You’re certain that you’ve soaked through your flimsy panties by now, and your mind is hazy with want.

You nod. Keigo takes your face in his hand, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Can you give me your colors too?”

You force your mind to push through the fog, force your heavy lips to move and form words. “G-green for good, yellow for slow down, red for stop.”

“Good girl.” The praise goes straight to your core, and you whine. “Oh, baby, I know I just vowed to give you everything you could ever want, but you’re so damn needy. Be patient for me, okay? Let me touch you.”

You nod obediently, but you can’t fight the urge roll your hips and feel him again. With a soft, scolding noise, he presses one of his hands into your hipbone, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Try as you might, you can’t squirm away. He’s so ridiculously strong, his muscles toned from years of training and hero work, that you’re no match for him. But it’s not so bad. You love the dominance that oozes off his body as he moves down, his hands and tongue exploring every inch of skin that they can find. His teeth nip at the sensitive spot on your neck, the spot that always makes you melt for him. You shamelessly sigh and tilt your head to give him more access.

His right hand, the one that isn’t currently pinning you to the mattress, plays with the lacy edges of your bra. He palms you through the thin fabric, making you groan and arch your back into his touch. It’s not enough, you need more, need to feel more of him before you lose your mind. He seems to read your mind, because he doesn’t even bother to unclasp the bra, electing instead to rip it clean off your body. The snap of the straps breaking makes you gasp, but you revel in the sting of the elastic bouncing back against your skin.

“Couldn’t wait,” he says, not a hint of shame on his face. “You know how much I love to tease, but fuck, I need you now.”

He’s a bit more ceremonious when he removes your panties, choosing to use a hardened feather to slice through the fabric instead of just ripping with brute force. He fucking moans at the sight of you, wet and needy for him. It sounds like absolute heaven, but you don’t have even a second to revel in it before he’s diving into you. The sudden rush of pleasure is electrifying, and you go to instinctively slam your legs shut, but Keigo’s hand is too fast again. His tongue doesn’t falter for even a second as his fingers dig into your thighs and push you open. His lips wrap around your clit and suck, and he’s outrageously loud as he moans into your sex. It’s all so much – he’s licking at you like a man on death row, coaxing little whines and gasps from your lips.

His beautiful eyes are trained on yours, pupils blow out with love and lust. He memorizes every little expression that flits across your beautiful face as he eases a finger into you, eyes only leaving your face to admire the way that your little cunt sucks him in. But he can’t tear his gaze away from you, and the way your mouth falls open, or the way that your eyes flutter and roll back. The way that your hands ball up into fists, alternating between grabbing the bedsheets and lacing through his hair. Fuck, he loves how you pull at his hair when his fingers curl up against that spongy spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Loves the little curses and gasps of his name that spill past your lips as he scissors and thrusts his digits deeper and deeper into your perfect pussy.

“Cum for me, princess,” he groans. “Please, cum for me, need you to be a good girl and cum for me.”

And, well, you did just vow to give him everything that he could ever want.

You throw your head back and almost sob as you gush all over his face and fingers. He’s insatiable, licking and fingering you all through it, desperately trying to lap up every single drop of your juices. Your body is shaking, and you whimper, the overstimulation building until it’s too much, until you’re crying out too much, Kei, ‘s too much!

“Give me your color, baby,” he says, slowing his assault against your body.

“G-green,” you stutter out, the words as shaky as your legs. “Green, don’t stop, it’s just – ah! Kei!”

Your verbal confirmation was all he needed to dive back in, sucking at you with even more vigor than before. His fingers twist and curl against your spot, and his tongue lashes at your clit. He doesn’t stop for even a second, burying himself in your heat. It’s all you can do to maintain your grip on his hair, tugging at it just the way that he loves. You’re thrust headfirst into your second orgasm of the night, crying out his name and positively sobbing at the onslaught of sensations.

When he finally pulls away, the lower part of his face is soaked with your cum. He makes a show of licking his lips clean, not breaking eye contact with you, no matter how much you blush and squirm. He saves his fingers for you, though. A gentle tap at your lips is all it takes for you to obediently open your mouth and take in his digits. You swirl your tongue around, eyes lidded with the afterglow of your pleasure.

But you’re not finished, are nowhere near finished. You suppose that you are being needy, but how could you not, when your husband looks like an absolute fucking god? The candlelight makes your cum on his face glisten beautifully. You whine and pull him in for a kiss, mashing your lips against his and greedily swiping your tongues together. It’s sinful. You can taste yourself on him, and it makes you shudder, makes you need him that much more.

“Please, please fuck me,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his slim waist and trying to pull him closer, closer, closer. “Please, Kei, need you inside me, need my husband inside me.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, so quietly that you would’ve missed it if you didn’t feel the word formed against your lips. “Fuck, baby, okay.” His hand slides between your bodies and quickly pushes his boxers down. He uses a feather to pull them all the way off, because he can’t be bothered to focus on that, not when you’re practically drooling at the sight of his cock.

Your fingers twitch, and you aren’t able to hold back any longer. Your hand finds his cock, marveling at how heavy and perfect he feels as you wrap your fingers around him and guide him towards your sopping cunt. You pause before you slide him in, though, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can I ride you? Please?”

He curses again under his breath, practically shivering at your words. His strong hands reposition the both of you, until you’re sitting on his thigh and he’s leaning back against the headboard. He cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Well, then? Get to work, princess.”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh at his antics. “What happened to Mr. Let-Me-Take-Care-Of-You?”

“He’ll come out later. If my pretty wife wants to ride me, she gets to ride me.”

You laugh for real this time, but it quickly turns into a moan as you sink yourself down on his length. No matter how many times you take him, he always overwhelms your senses, always stretches you so deliciously. You lean your forehead against his and give yourself a second to adjust, and then you’re rolling your hips, little whines leaving your lips.

“Feels so good, Kei.” You throw your head back, your fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back to anchor yourself. “You always feel so good.”

His eyes are half-lidded and dark as he takes you in. He’s memorizing every inch of your body, every detail and movement that he absolutely fucking adores. “You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself than you. “So beautiful. I’m so lucky.”

Your thighs burn, but you force yourself to ignore the pain. You’d rather die than stop right now. His strong arms encircle your waist, and his wings surround your bodies, ruffling with every one of your movements.

You want to ignore your exhaustion, but your husband is perceptive as ever. His hips raise up to meet you, and it sends a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. You’re shaky, though, and you’re getting sloppy.

Before you can even process what’s happening, you’re being spun over and pinned to the mattress. A gasp leaves your lips, and you whine as his cock slips out of you. Your hand reaches out and paws around wildly, searching for him through your haze. Keigo’s quick to kiss you and shush your protests, entwining his rough fingers in your searching hand and stroking his thumb against your palm.

“Relax, angel. Let me take care of it.”

He slides into you again, making you both moan. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, clenching and fluttering around him. He pauses once he bottoms out. His face buries into the crook of your neck, and he presses sweet kisses all over your skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze, trying desperately to make him move. “Keigo, baby, please,” you whine, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back.

He coos, cupping your face and kissing you before he readjusts himself. “Of course, pretty girl.”

His thrusts are deep and hard, so hard that they make the entire bed shake. Your eyes flutter shut, but he grips your jaw and begs you to keep them open – please, baby, look at me, need to see my pretty wife fall apart.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he moans, teeth nipping at your lips. “So perfect, and all mine.”

“All yours,” you agree. You’re practically babbling by this point, unable to stop the noises slipping past your lips. You’re floating on a cloud, soaring through the sky, anchored only by his body against yours. “You’re so deep in me, Kei, can feel you so deep in me. Please, ‘m so close, just a lil’ bit more, Kei.”

He coos again, hand slipping down to toy with your clit. You wail, sinking your teeth into his shoulder as the coil in your stomach snaps and you gush uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but cry out for him, can’t do anything but cling onto him and shake and twitch. The feeling of you clenching around him is too much, and with a broken fuck and a cry of your name, he spills inside of you. He fucks you through it, the obscene sounds of your combined release making you feel lightheaded and weak.

He holds you for a few minutes, just like that, bodies entwined. You both pant and try to catch your breath. The weight of his body on top of yours is comforting, so you protest when he finally pulls out and sits back to admire the way that his seed drips out of you.

“Come back,” you complain. “What kind of husband doesn’t give cuddles to his wife?”

“The kind of husband who needs to clean her up,” he says with a chuckle. “C’mon, let’s go take a bath.

Your body feels boneless with exhaustion and the hazy afterglow of your three orgasms, so you’re grateful when he scoops you into his arms. You tuck your face into his neck and hum contentedly, unable to stop the giddy smile that blooms across your face.

“I love you, Kei,” you say, planting little kisses over his neck and jaw.

“I love you too, princess,” he says, grinning and poking your nose. He laughs when you scrunch it up and scowl at him. But, with how cute he looks, you just can’t hold the scowl for long. Soon, you’re giggling too.

You look up at him with so much love that it makes his heart ache. His eyes grow a bit more serious, and he dips his head to kiss at your swollen lips. “I mean it, baby. I’m so happy to spend the rest of my life with you.”

[firemblem-fics]

could you do dimitri with an s/o that plays the violin? ^_^

uh SORRY i am a music nerd and played violin myself so i did take liberties and acted like my readers knew music so im sorry if that isnt the case 

hymn ceremonies. | dimitri

Your bow glided across the violin, strings vibrating as your fingers danced across the neck. The door was locked, preventing anyone from interrupting your concerto. You were immersed in the music, eyes barely reading the sheets in front of you. You had it memorized, after all, and had been practicing the entire week. 

Yes, you were tired, but there would be a hymn ceremony soon in the cathedral and you were asked to play alongside the organist. You couldn’t mess up and be a disgrace to whatever Saint was being worshipped today- as if not knowing which Saint it was would be any better. 

You didn’t hear anything except for your melody- even the incessant knocks coming from behind your door. The person had been out there for a solid five minutes and their knocks were becoming more and more impatient. You finished playing through and set the violin down, finally opening the door to reveal Dimitri. 

“What have you been doing? The ceremony is in an hour and you haven’t been out of your room at all today. You’ve missed classes and training and meals.” He scolded, entering your room like he owned it. 

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “I’ve been practicing?” 

“You’ve been practicing for weeks now. Ever since Lady Rhea asked you to play. How stressed are you?” 

“I’m not stressed, I’m just making sure it's perfect. I can’t just mess up while worshipping a Saint.” 

It was Dimitri’s turn to be confused now. How was ensuring perfection not stressful? He didn’t understand it- he didn’t understand you half of the time- but he decided not to question it. Yo hadn’t eaten all day and he had a tray of food waiting outside for you. Dimitri turned around and brought the tray in, moving your music stand out of the way to set it on your desk. 

“Hey! Chill out, don’t let all the music fall!” You cried, grabbing papers that had slipped off the stand.

“Eat now, music later.” Dimitri replied, sitting on your bed. “I’ll leave when you do.”

“...What? Do you not trust me to eat?” 

“I don’t trust you to eat. I have reason to believe that you’ll neglect the plate and continue practicing.” 

You could only huff, knowing he was right, and sit down to grumpily munch on your food. Dimitri had gotten bored, picking up your sheet music to look through it. You watched him as he looked at it, occasionally nodding. 

“Why did you add a crescendo here?” 

What?

“What?” It was like he read your mind. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just didn’t expect you to know about music, is all.” You recovered. “I added one there because it’s a longer note. The organ’s harmony is going to be moving beneath it, so I want to have my part maintain musicality as it moves…” You explained, feeling a little embarrassed for not realizing that a noble would be at least a little versed in music. 

Dimitri nodded. “Good choice. You know, I heard you playing through the door. You’re quite good- better than I was when I was forced to learn some of those dastardly things.”

You could only respond with a meek “thanks” before returning to your lunch as Dimitri continued to look at your music. You eyed him discreetly, admiring him. His ocean-blue gaze swam across the pages, his head bobbing and finger tapping along to the rhythm as his foot tapped out a tempo. You couldn’t help but look at him, really, he was just so… lookable. You had nursed a crush on him since the beginning of the school year and you’d wished that he’d felt the same. 

It was impossible, but you could dream. You could imagine the two of you together, you playing on your violin and him on the piano- or anything else he chose, you wouldn’t be complaining as long as you were with him. You wished to be the harmony to his melody. The treble to his bass clef. His duet partner. 

Those dreams were destined to fail, though. Especially if you messed up. Then the Goddess would hate you and Dimitri would never see you as worthy of his love if you couldn’t even play a simple song-

“It’s time to go, Y/N. Pack up your things and we can head there together.”

--- --- ---

The vibrato on your last note was impeccable, but you couldn’t tell if it was from you actually trying or your hand just shaking from your nerves. Either way, you finished playing along without any troubles. You breathed out a sigh or relief, glad to be finished. 

As the prayer finished and students filtered out of the Cathedral, Dimitri came up to you, grasping your hand in both of his. 

“You did absolutely wonderful!” He exclaimed happily. “But your entire body is trembling, come here.” The blond prince pulled you into an embrace, which did nothing to soothe your nerves. 

Be still, my heart. 

Dimitri, on the other hand, was feeling the same exact way. Only his nerves couldn’t be justified by stage fright. They could only be explained as his feelings for you. And his happiness that he gets to hold you close, even just for a moment. He held you tighter, wanting to savor the moment, before pulling away. 

He kept a tight grip on your shoulders and took a deep breath. “Maybe we can talk about music and some other things over tea one day soon?” 

Your face lit up in excitement and in a rosy blush. “Oh! Of course, I’d love to.” 

“Great..” He breathed out, his smile growing larger. He brushed a piece of your hair away from your face and leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before heading out of the Cathedral. “Tomorrow evening, okay? I can’t wait to see you then.” 

Then he turned, “And bring your violin. I’d like for you to teach me a few things.”

[magdalenadaniels]

THE LOST LAMB CHARACTER STUDY

FULL NAME: Magdalena Ameena Daniels BIRTH-DATE: May 12th, 1993 AGE: Twenty-seven  STAR-SIGN: Taurus GENDER IDENTITY: Cisfemale (she/her) ORIENTATION: Closeted homosexual/homoromantic OCCUPATION: Church Pianist/Organist TRIGGERS: Death, suicide, alcoholism, hints of homophobia, NSFW

The Beginning…

Lights flickered in the bathroom of the Daniels’ household. A storm was swirling outside the concrete walls of the home as the screams of a woman vibrated over the thunder that in itself, demanded to be heard. With a final cry from the new mother came the first of many from the first and only child brought into the world by Adam and Ameena Daniels.

“It’s a girl!” The father chirped, pulling their blessing into his arms.

But something wasn’t right. Whereas Adam’s eyes welled up with tears of joy, Ameena’s eyes glazed over and stared up at the trembling popcorn ceiling. The tub that was filled with warm water was now crimson, tainted with the blood of a beautiful daughter, wife and mother. Turns out that the newborn child wasn’t the only soul to wail into the night as the lights continued to flicker before going out completely.

Seven Years Later…

“I love you mommy.”

A little girl’s voice echoed through the empty cemetery, her small hands resting a bouquet of daisies against a tombstone marked with the name Ameena Daniels. She tugged at the hand of her father to kneel down with her in prayer. He obliged, pulling a cross from beneath his shirt and holding it between cupped hands.

“Father of all, we pray to you for Ameena, and for all those whom we love but see no longer. Grant to them eternal rest. Let light perpetual shine upon them. May his soul and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.” He prayed, pressing chapped lips to the rosary before the girl next to him began her own prayer.

“In your hands, O’ Lord, we humbly entrust our Ameena. In this life you embraced her with your tender love; deliver her now from every evil and bid her eternal rest. Welcome my mommy into paradise where there will be no pain, but peace and joy with your Son and the Holy Spirit forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen.” He repeated before putting the rosary back beneath his shirt. “Come now, Magdalena. We mustn’t be late to supper with grandma. We’ll be back next Sunday, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.” She quipped, getting up and taking his hand again to make their way back to the car.

Nine Years Later…

“Shh… You’re going to get us caught!” Magdalena whispered in between kisses shared in a closet during her church’s youth group. Her hands wandered over their bare shoulders as kisses were peppered down her neck and to her chest. Her pale blue button up that was a part of her uniform was undone, halfway hanging off her slender frame.

“No one comes back here, Lena. It’s okay.” The voice replied, but they didn’t whisper. They had no secrets to hide. Their lips returned to Lena’s, young and greedy hands finding their way to places they shouldn’t be.

She felt like she was on cloud nine. She knew the sins she was committing as she slid completely out of her shirt, pulling off her rosary and letting it drop to the ground. She lifted herself up onto a table, it creaking loudly in protest as she hiked up her skirt and wrapped her legs around her lover’s waist. Hands then found themselves in unholy places for two teenagers. In the same breath that she moaned a familiar name, the closet door creaked open and the light cast a yellow glow over the two of them.

“Father!” Lena gasped, quickly scrambling out from underneath the other teenager to grab her shirt in order to protect what modesty she had left.

Adam stood in the doorway, taking in a deep breath before leaning down to pick up the rosary that had been his wife’s. He gave it to her recently on her sixteenth birthday. Magdalena stared at her father in fear, holding a hand out for the jewelry to be returned. In no moment’s hesitation, he shoved it into his own pocket before grabbing his daughter by the arm and pulling her from the closet.

“Get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the car.” His eyes burned holes into her soul. Holes deeper and hotter than any scorched before. As she hurried out of the room, Adam turned back to the other teen now quickly putting what clothes that had come off back onto their body. “As for you, Elizabeth–” He paused to take a deep breath. “I will be having a word with your parents. You will not taint my daughter and I will make sure of that.” He didn’t give the girl a chance to respond before turning away and slamming the closet door behind him.

Three Years Later…

It had been a year and a half since Magdalena decided to leave her hometown and go off to college. It had been something her father disapproved of and was the source of a lot of arguments. As heavy bass thumped through the walls of the college fraternity, she could remember the day the left like it was yesterday.

“If you leave, you are not welcome back here, Magdalena.” Her father stood between her and the front door.

She dropped her suitcase, going up to her father with a sneer painted across her face. “Why would I ever come back here? So I can join the stupid church and be daddy’s little girl– just too perfect to be full of so much sin? To speak words of love just to underline them with hate?” She shook her head as she went to grab her keys. “I hope I never see this town again. I hope I never see the people in it.”

Adam furrowed his brows in frustration. “This is not you!” He boomed, reaching out for her hand as he started to whisper the same prayer she heard every single time she made a mistake. Dear God, let my daughter repent her sins, but with about 100 more meaningless words.

Lena jerked away, picking her things back up. “Shut up! Do you think He hears you? Do you think He cares? A God that does what He does in this world is no God in my eyes. I don’t need your prayers. Now, let me go.” She pushed past him, yanking the door open and walking out.

“You’ll end up going to Hell, Lena! I am only trying to protect you!”

She laughed, making it to her car and tossing her things into the back. “Fuck you!” Were the last words she spoke to her father before leaving and they haven’t spoken since.

Now she sits between some guy and his girlfriend, sharing sloppy kisses and sips of vodka from plastic cups. Her breath could start a fire if you placed a match before it. She giggled as she pulled away pick up her now ringing phone. When she saw it was her father, she declined the call only to pull herself in closer to the girl next to her. It was then that her phone rang again, his face popping up to taunt her, and again, she ignored it. That was until about three more calls later. She got up, excusing herself to the backyard to answer her phone.

“Stop calling me! I told you I don’t want to ta–”

She was cut of by the muffled voice of her uncle. They had found her father in the church bathroom, a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. He said that he left a note and told her when his funeral would be and before she hung up he said, “Just pray that your father makes it to his rightful destination. He was a good man. Pray he doesn’t end up going to Hell.”

Six Days Later…

The ivory casket lowered into freshly dug dirt. She could smell the Earth as it wafted through her senses. Her teeth clenched as they released the straps used to put her father in the ground. It was as if an iron rod were sliding down her throat, the overwhelming sensation of guilt burning all the way down into the pit of her stomach. She remembered when she was caught in the church closet and how the holes he stared into her were the worst at the time. Funny how she didn’t even know that on a scale that was only a five and this, well, you know how people save their tens. Tears threatened to leave her eyes, but she quickly slid on her over-sized sunglasses to hide the emotion.

“Now, if anyone would like to say a few words.” The pastor ended his prayer with the invitations, eyes looking in her direction. “Lena?”

It took her a moment, but she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Her voice cracked as she pushed her way through the small crowd of people. All she wanted to do was get away from the guilt that swam through her mind. It had all come to head and for the frist time, Magdalena truly felt that her father’s suicide had been her own doing. She was callous and cruel. She was disobedient and full of sin. He couldn't live with the thought of his ruined daughter and there was no one to blame but herself. 

Dearest Magdalena,

      I am so sorry to have failed you as a father. I failed in saving your mother, I failed at saving myself and most disappointingly, I failed saving you. Forgive me for this final, damning sin and just know that I will forever and always love you. Don’t pray for me. It is too late. However, it is not too late for you. Please save yourself like I never could. Goodbye my beautiful.

The words were memorized. Of course they were memorized. They could never not be permanently etched into brain and as they repeated themselves over and over again, she found herself at the local Gas ‘N Dash, slipping a couple mini bottles of Stoli into her dress pockets and her bra. She was careful not to let anyone see before grabbing a bottle of water and making her way to the checkout. No one would question a grieving daughter whose father just ended his life in the town church.

She stepped outside after making her purchase and opened her water only to dump it out on the ground. A puddle formed around her feet until the plastic was empty. Then, she quickly got into her car, removing all the stolen bottles of liquor of refilling the bottle. Her car floor was littered with empty bottles and smelled of vodka and bile. It has been like this for so long that she didn’t even notice how bad it had gotten. All she could think about was the burn of the alcohol in her throat as she put the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. 

The Rest… 

It had been a week since Magdalena had been kicked out of school. Her grades had plummeted, she had too many absences and when she did show up to class it was either hungover or still intoxicated. The last straw was bringing a bottle of vodka to class, without switching it over to a water bottle first. She had all her things packed and the only place left to go was to her uncle’s house back in Wheeler, Indiana. He already had everything ready for her to go and somehow managed to convince her to go to AA meeting.

To her disbelief, the meetings worked and she was able to sober up with the support of her uncle. Then, she started going back to church on Wednesday… then, on Sundays and by the time she was twenty-three she was converted back to her religion and born anew.

She spent the next three years trying to become independent. She landed a job with the church, saving up enough money to move out on her own and finally be the adult she was meant to be. Her life was finally on the right track and she was doing a great job at keeping her demons hidden.

That was until Cassie went missing.

She had already felt herself slipping when all the chaos started, but upon hearing the news, something inside her snapped. She found herself going back to that place she was in after her father’s funeral, driving towards the place where it all started. She only went to get some coffee, too afraid to sleep. Then a mini bottle of Stoli caught her attention and the next thing she knew she was dropping the bottle and multiple other small items on the counter, hoping and praying the cashier didn’t notice and, from what she knows, they didn’t realize what she was doing.

[lordsister]

In Paradisum (Napoleon Bonaparte x Reader)

A/N:  Yay, Napoleon appreciation week!!! Ready to write some stuff for my bias!!XD

Napoleon Appreciation Week Day 1 Theme: Nostalgia

Tagging @ikevamp-appreciation 

I do not own Ikemen Vampire or any of its characters.

Link to the music this was inspired by--> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-i1ESIRKdA

My ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/lordsister (please consider donating if you enjoy my work!)

The deep, sonorous notes of the organ bring back memories of a similar setting, of another cathedral long ago. As the organist continues to play, filling the time before the main event, a particular note strikes a chord in Napoleon, and the nostalgia that swamps his senses paints a very different picture over what he's seeing at the moment.

Pope Pius VII stands at the end of the aisle, the so-called "crown of Charlemagne" in his hands and a sour look on his face. On either side of him, nobles, courtiers, and those who groveled at his feet for his favor rise to watch him, eager eyes following his every move like vultures. Napoleon doesn't look at them, doesn't acknowledge them or smile. He knows the faces of his family aren't among them anyway. The robes he wears drag heavily on the ground as he walks toward the altar, the blood red carpet he strides upon a reminder of all it took to get to this very moment.

He can hear the rain on the roof of the Notre Dame, pelting down without relent as if God himself was frowning upon the event taking place within. Right now, he doesn't care if he has God's favor though. All he cares about is the added weight about to be placed upon his shoulders, the responsibility he was willingly going to accept for the future of France and Europe, the immense sacrifice he was about to make.

He sits before the Pope who drones in Latin, reciting some meaningful formula of consecration and, without warning, he stands and removes the laurel wreath around his neck. The old man falters, eyes widening in recognition of what was about to happen, and Napoleon takes the crown from his hands, placing it on his own head without the slightest sign of hesitation and coronating himself in the eyes of God and those gathered.

At the time, some accused his actions of being unbelievably arrogant, even mad, but that wasn't the reason at all. Napoleon crowned himself to symbolize that he was becoming emperor based on his own merits and the will of the people, not by religious consecration.

"May the emperor live forever!" The Pope's call is answered by the choirs behind him without fail, filling the cathedral with the echo of what he thinks the sealing of his fate must sound like. Neither he nor any of those present knew how close those few words would come to being true.

Napoleon blinks and the scene vanishes, landing him back in the perfect present as the music changes again and the doors at the end of the aisle open. This chapel is not Notre Dame and those gathered are not those who were drawn to him through a mix of fear and loyalty. According to le Comte, this is a private church used by some of the more pious vampires in his social circles, leant to him for this special day.

The weather outside isn't rainy, but pleasantly sunny, a light breeze shifting through the trees every now and then. Only a few people are here to bear witness to the ceremony, but they're the only ones who truly matter- the other residents of le Comte's mansion. He thinks he sees Sebastian dabbing a few tears from his eyes out of the corner of his vision, but he isn't sure, too focused on the angel making her way towards him.

This time he's the one standing at the altar, waiting for the love of his life as you emerge in glowing white from the double doors across the cathedral, the smile on your beautiful face something he'll remember for the rest of his life. There are no extravagant robes and red carpets and popes and crowns and nobles. There's just you and him, and the few people who need to be here to make this official.

When you finally reach him, Napoleon becomes aware of how madly his heart is beating in his chest and that he's been smiling since the moment you appeared. He has to stop his hands from trembling as the ceremony begins and the time soon arrives for him to slip a ring onto your finger. Taking your smaller, more delicate hand in his own, he manages to slide the band down your digit. The vows he gives now are not to his country, to the decimation of his humanity, but to you, the one he loves so much. Happy tears well in your eyes as he promises you his undying love and loyalty and he reaches up to brush them away, wishing he could just kiss you already.

Napoleon didn't think he could love you any more than he already did until you began reciting your own vows to him, placing a matching ring on his finger just as he did for you seconds before. For some reason, the words seem to lift a weight from his shoulders, your promise to him as his wife a comfort he hadn't felt before.

Finally, the priest pronounces him your husband and you his wife, and he takes your face in his hands to kiss you, smiles meeting in a engagement of love and joy. You are his, and he is yours, in the eyes of God forevermore.

Napoleon remembers being in a cathedral much like this one long ago to claim his crown, but now there are shouts of congratulations instead of hollow chants as he leads you down the aisle, your white dress fluttering behind you as you walk beside him and your sparkling gaze locked with his. He's here to claim the love of his life now instead of a cold crown.

Whereas his coronation was his entrance into more suffering as he gave all of himself to France, this was his entrance into paradise.

[insane-control-room]

The Sketch

Chapter four, segment one

Full chapter on ao3 here

Previous Chapter Part One

Previous (segment) - Next 

...

But I’m stuttering.

Henry hated seeing Joey like that. Hollow eyed, jittery, harsh breathing. Still, it was a reality that had to be faced, every now and then. The way that Joey would spill his tea in shaky hands, the way his eyes welled with blazing tears. Henry wished he could just hug him and will it all away, but he could not, so there he sat in front of Joey, his thumb rubbing the back of the younger man’s hand. Joey stared directly in front of them, not looking at their hands or at Henry, rather at a black stain on the table. Henry hated that it was his fault Joey was acting like this, restless and nervous. ‘Something’s wrong in the world, I can feel it,’ Joey had told him over and over. ‘Something is very wrong.’

Joey could not sleep when something was wrong. Henry always joked that of all the members of the studio, Joey should have been the one who slept the best, but it was never so, unfortunately for the lanky chicano. Too much kept him up; stress, memories, worries, inventions, family problems, money issues, so much, too much. Henry was one of those worries, but everyone Joey met became one of his worries. He worried for those he never even met, at that. A sweetheart with the biggest soul Henry had ever met, scattered in the stars and spread through whispers and will o’ wisps, a hushed secret of immeasurable power, the most gentle giant ever. 

Anyone could see it, and yet, he still, somehow, had enemies, those sworn against him by blood. Even his own step father fell into their number. But Johan had a new family now.

Bertrum joined them in the pub room, chatting with Allison. They poured themselves coffee and sat beside the doctor, making idle conversation. Joey had not slept enough to understand the words flowing from their lips with such ease, such grace. His own words were marred by an ugly stutter that chased after his tongue, tripping his syllables and bashing his own melody of noises. So he often preferred to stay silent, though words burned at his throat, shrieking to be let out. Most of the time his will lost against his desire.

He hated the sound of his voice coming from his mouth, and would much rather hear it played back through a recording instead of himself. Not that his voice was bad, no, it was… wrong. Something about it just seemed so very wrong. He, at one point, had attempted to correct it with cigarettes and coffee. The first time he had a cigarette he was very young, what, five or six? Atabulus had offered it to him, and the young boy had taken it out of curiosity, and found he despised it. Atabulus had laughed softly, patting his head, telling him that he might like it one day. And no, he never did get used to it, nor did he ever like it, but he would rather pay twenty five cents for fifty staved off meals than two full days of work for one meal. Yet the same thing that saved him was a vice, his body craving the nicotine within the folds of tobacco, demanding it, forcing him to keep buying until he locked himself in his office for two weeks until the cravings dropped, and by then he was so hungry and sun sick that Henry had to drag him up to his garden where he absentmindedly ate nana as he lay in the heat of day until Henry brought him real food.

And so he sat there in front of his friends and family in complete and utter silence, merely staring at the table as he wished he had a cigarette between his fingers. He flinched, and took a draught of his overly sweetened tea, the honey within bringing him back to the present. He forced himself to calm, then. It was okay, nothing was wrong. Nothing at all. Nothing. At. All.

Keep telling yourself that, buddy.

Johan jolted, looking over his shoulder to see if he could catch a glimpse of… whatever that was. Henry gave him a Look, and Joey shrank back in his seat. Bad look. Questioning look. Questions were bad. They meant something was wrong. 

No, no, no, calm down there. It’s fine. Just a little nerve wracked. Just a little bit.

There was a rumbling in his chest, an ache in his hands. He had to build.

It was an insatiable urge, he had to build it. But Henry! Henry forbid him!

At the thought of Henry’s order, the rumbling in his chest turned into a shocking pain lacing through his lungs.

He calmly realized he could not breathe. 

How very interesting.

His free hand rose to his lips, under his nose, as if to check if he really was not breathing. How odd! No flow passed through them, and his eyes watered slightly. The rancid taste of bile clung to the back of his throat, and he rose, and quietly left to the bathroom, and prompt expelled the contents of his mouth and stomach into the toilet.

Ink.

Huh.

Joey’s head felt very light.

What was happening? Why was he on his knees? Did that come out of him?

Seemed like it.

He shook, but only a little, and rested his head against the rim of the toilet, lest he feel the urge to vomit again. When the need fell still, he got up again, spruced himself up in the cloudy mirror (he would remind one of the Franks to clean it), and made his way back to the conversing others. He sat heavily, Henry’s hand and his meeting silently in the middle. Henry’s expression was nearly unreadable, but Joey could see concern. Then Susie spoke up (when had she gotten there? Probably while he was in the restroom), her voice a tranquil melody. So different to Joey’s, he wondered how she even beard to pretend to date him. And Henry as well, how could he stand to hear his record scratch tones while his lovely baritone ran deep and true?

“We need an organist, Mr. Drew, Dr. Stein,” she told them, something Joey knew very well, something he knew would be addressed eventually, but he had always dreaded the moment when the topic would arise. Henry pondered it for a moment, and then spoke, “What about Johnathan Derekson agai-”

“NO!” Joey did not know when he got to his feet, eyes wide and wild, teeth bared, shoulders arched forward in defense. Those around stared at him, and he felt his neck burn with warmth as he sat back down slowly. “S-sorry. No. Not… him. Never.”

Bertrum’s rusty gold eyes pierced Johan’s skin, digging into him, silent questions asked a million times with the mere raise of a thick, dark eyebrow. Johan closed his eyes, breathed in, counted to five, and let the air out. Best not to think of him. Best to remember that… the incident never occurred. It was in the, in a past life. Not this one. Here, now, he could start fresh. No fear in his veins at the thought of going to the music department. For there was no Johnathan Derekson there to prey on him. 

‘I do not mean to interrupt,’ Jameson signed to them after tapping Henry’s shoulder for all of their attention. ‘I know this one young lad, he works at a church as an organist, and he is looking for a better job. His name is Doe. Johnny Doe. An orphan. Good natured. Gentle. Not mute like me, but very quiet. Know how to sign very well. We enjoy each other’s company.’

So, Johnny Doe was called in for an interview, and he played beautifully. Joey was smitten by his stunning melodies and he and Henry hired him on the spot, to which they received a little bow and a grin from JJ. 

Nothing happened for a week, though there was an icy bridge between himself and Henry. They bumped into each other in the hall, and Joey nodded, about to head upstairs, but Henry’s hand caught Joey’s, pulling him into a different room.

“Why didn’t you want to hire Derekson?” he asked, puzzled. Joey felt bile rise in his throat, and his hands trembled. He shook his head. “Jo, you gotta answer me. We’re a team, right? And teams talk things out, together. What’s buggin’ you?”

“N-nothin’,” Joey lied through his teeth. Henry frowned at him, teal eyes roving over him sharply, so scrutinizing, Joey felt completely bare before the angel before him. His eyes were wide as Henry examined him. Be honest, Henry’s eyes chided him. Come on. Be honest. “D-Derekson… he….”

At the gentle but confused look in Henry’s eye, Joey felt a dam in his heart shatter.

Words spilled out of him faster than he could think.

Johnny first locking him in one of the art rooms, the fear that hung around him since that encounter, the meeting before that day, the day Joey broke. The last straw being Johnny on top of him, and he fighting.

Henry listened to Joey’s spill of emotions and sounds and record scratched stories, soaking up every word without a single sound of disgust or hatred for Johan.

Joey stared at his hands as the tirade ended, looking at the scars criss crossing them. He instinctively put a hand to his belt, confirming it were there. He shuddered as he felt Henry’s hand join his on the belt. But it was flat and warming, not gripping and chill. A hand came to the underside of Joey’s face, not quite his cheek, not quite his jaw. Henry guided him to meet his eyes, those gorgeous spheres of earthly glory. 

“I’m so sorry,” Henry somberly apologized, and Joey could see the regret in his eyes. “I never should have hired him in the first place without asking you. And you paid the price. He… he tried to… God, I’m so sorry, Joey.”

Henry could not bring himself to finish the sentence, and he shivered. Joey shivered right after him, but not a full body shiver, but a shudder that ran from where Henry’s hands rested on his body and foghorned outwards.

“Honeybee,” Henry crooned, leaning to rest his forehead against Joey’s. “You work yourself far too hard, darling. Why don’t we take some time to ourselves, yeah?”

“Too much t-to do,” Joey protested, but his body betrayed him, arms wrapping around Henry’s shoulders. Henry smirked, and Joey blushed. “In all seriousness, doc, there really is a lot to do. Paperwork f-for Johnny, storyboards for the next episode, and bills to s-sort thro-ooh, oh, ah, Hen, c-cut that o-out.” 

“Cut what out?” Henry asked innocuously with a smile pressed against Joey’s neck, where he placed little nipping kisses. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You v-very well are doing something!” Joey snapped back, then a hand flew to his mouth to keep himself quiet. As low as he could manage, he hissed into Henry’s ear. “S-stop that or else!”

“Or else what?” Henry questioned, his hands roaming all over Joey’s sensitive arms, making the dark man stiffen. “You’ve got an empty threat there, Jo.”

“I will suspend you in the e-elevator shaft,” Joey seethed, red and squirming. Henry only laughed, and continued. “For three hours!”

“Better make it six,” Henry’s voice so close to his jugular  sent shockwaves through him. “So that I’ll get out when work ends. Mmm, that would be pleasant, and then I’d spend the whole night getting some sweet, delicious revenge.”

“You’re a perverted bastard,” Joey grumbled, wiggling in Henry’s tight hold. Henry chuckled again, “That may be so, but you’re my muse, my sybaritic muse.”

The door burst open, and Jack and Wally ran in. 

“What is it now?” Henry asked with annoyance. “If you broke something, don’t care.”

“No, it’s, uh,” Jack seemed at a loss, turning to Wally, who gravely said, “It’s Sammy. He’s sick.”

[barefoot-joker]

Yandere!Jeremiah Valeska X Reader One Shot Pt. 5

Hey, guys! Welcome back to the next installment of Yandere!Jeremiah. I was just going to let you know it does get a bit spicy at the end so if that’s not your thing you won’t miss much. As a side note I’d also like to say that I don’t condone things that Jeremiah does in this chapter and if any of you find the ending uncomfortable I can change it. Otherwise feedback is appreciated and I will see you in Part 6!

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182328341418/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182409053588/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-2

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182862984808/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-3

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183226748438/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-4

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183601483818/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-6

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184215467078/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184513626468/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184712916978/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-oneshot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/185001873563/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/186623351048/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep.

  Beep.

      Beep.

           Clench.

I felt my fists tighten around the fabric of my skirt, my heart pumping wildly. Jeremiah was going to marry me?! At the sound of the door opening behind me I quickly swiveled to see Ecco, her body now in a long, skintight red and black dress. Her eyes instantly lit up as soon as she saw me, her lips spread in a smile. “Oh, Y/n. Don’t. You. Look. Gorgeous! Boss was right, you are the most exquisite woman in all of Gotham!”

She giggled as she walked to me, her heeled boots clicking the wooden floorboards beneath us. “Ecco, where’s Bruce?”

“He’s been taken care of don’t you worry.”

Taken care of? Don’t tell me he’s-

“He’s not dead, sweetheart. Boss made sure he came to your special day!”

Ecco began smoothing the fabric of my dress down and fluffing my veil to give it volume. As she did her pretty work the door opened once more to reveal Jeremiah, his attire being that of a suit in dark red, black, orange and dark blue. His black dress shoes scuffed the floor as he came towards us, my gaze lowering to the ground. “Don’t you look beautiful, darling!~ If I knew blue was your color I would have had you wear it all the time!”

“Isn’t it considered unlucky if you see the bride before she walks down the aisle?”

Jeremiah chuckled and lifted my chin which caused my gaze to be fixed on him. “Not in my mind its not.”

He side glanced at his proxy and waved his hand, her taking the hint and leaving. As much as I didn’t like the both of them I wish Ecco would have stayed. It would have been better than being with the beast alone. As soon as her heels radiated down the hall Jeremiah leaned in and gave a kiss to my neck, I flinching upon contact. “We’re going to be so happy together, dearest. It’ll just be us ruling this city together and no one will stop us, not even your dear Brucie.”

“What did you do to him? I swear if you hurt a single hair on his-”

“I would never! Bruce is just as special to you as he is me,” I turned away in disgust. “But you’re my top priority~”

“Why can’t you understand that I don’t want to be yours? Jeremiah, I don’t-”

Before I could finish he put a pale finger to my lips. “Shh, don’t say that. I know this whole thing will take some getting used to but we have our whole life ahead of us! If you don’t love me now surely it will come later.”

I sighed and closed my eyes. There was no point in trying anymore. Jeremiah was just too far gone that no matter what I said he wouldn’t change his mind. “It’s almost time for the ceremony, my love. But before I go I have something for you.”

Reaching into his blue jacket pocket, Jeremiah held up a silver chain necklace with a pendant on the end. Sadness reflected onto my soul as I instantly recognized what it was.

{Flashback}

“Miah, come on! Let me open my eyes!”

“Just wait a second.”

I playfully sighed. Jeremiah had called me down to the bunker for some unknown reason and I was hoping it wasn’t because he was in danger. My bad thoughts were removed when I walked into his study, the area decorated with birthday decorations. According to my ginger friend he was upset that he had missed my special day so he and Ecco arranged to have a small party with just the two of them. I will admit it was sweet of them to think of me but they didn’t have to go through with all of the trouble. Currently I sat on a couch with my hands over my eyes, footsteps rustling in the background. “Okay, you can open them.”

I did so and saw he held a small box with a green bow wrapped around it. “Miah, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I know but I wanted to stick to customs.”

I sighed and took the box from him, pulling off the bow and opening it. I gasped. Inside lay a simple silver necklace, a blueish green pendant on it. “M-Miah, it’s-it’s beautiful! Oh thank you!”

I got up and hugged him. “No problem, Y/n. I’m just glad you like it.”

“Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course.”

I spun around and moved my hair out of the way so he could clip it. It took him a second or two but as soon as he got it I turned towards him. “So, what do you think?”

I gave him a big smile as I posed with it, my friend not saying anything. After a few moments he shook his head and smiled. “I think it looks perfect.”

{End Flashback}

“This should complete your look.”

He came behind me and pushed my hair and veil out of the way so he could clasp it together. I felt my heart lock up as the cool metal dropped to my neck, it seemingly sealing my fate. “It looks just as perfect as it did all those months ago.”

I wanted to cry, scream, do anything. Everything was tumbling down for me. “See you out there, dearest.”

Quickly he pecked my cheek and left me to my own devices. Quietly I turned back towards the mirror and looked at myself. My reflection looked back at me with sadness in her eyes and in that moment I could see the cage that surrounded me, the one that no matter how lovely I sang or flew about the owner wasn’t going to be unlocking any time soon. Taking a deep breath I turned away and walked through the door, Ecco waiting for me outside. She handed me a bouquet of red roses before gently taking my arm and leading me down the hall to a pair of closed doors. My stomach twisted as I bit my trembling lip, nerves fluttering throughout my system. Suddenly the doors flew open and an organ began playing the infamous bridal processional tune as the dirty blonde woman led me down the aisle, her swaying us back and forth. My eyes scanned the room and I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped my mouth. Sitting in the pews tied up and gagged was Alfred, Jim, Barbara, Harvey and Bruce, all of them dressed nice and fancy. Before I could go to them Ecco tightened her grip on my arm and pushed me forwards, Jeremiah catching me. Pulling me up to his level the madman gave me a huge grin before nodding to the pastor who looked like he was about to faint. The poor man flipped through his Bible in a nervous manner while mumbling to himself as Jeremiah gave him a glare. “Could we hurry this up a little?”

“U-um..of course, M-Mr. Valeska-a.W-We are gathered h-here today to join these t-two in h-holy matrimony-y. If there are any objections p-please say n-n-now.”

I looked back at my captive friends, all of them trying to say something. I looked over at the organist only to find a person holding a gun to their head. Suddenly my head was brought roughly back to look at Jeremiah, his pale fingers digging into my cheeks and chin. “Eyes up here, darling.” he hissed.

I gulped and he let go, his hands wrapping around mine in a tight grip. “Continue, Father.”

“D-do you pledge your lives t-to one a-another, to w-watch over the o-other in bad t-times? Do y-you promise to l-love each other-r tenderly-y and p-passionately, care for one another and c-cherish each moment?”

I wasn’t about to reply but I felt a gun pointed at the back of my skull so I changed my answer. “We do.”

“Do we have the rings?”

Jeremiah nodded and a random minion scurried off, returning with Selina’s corpse on a dolly holding the rings. I took in a shaky breath and watched as the minion made it seem like Selina was giving us the pieces of jewelry, her hand cold against mine. “R-repeat after me, Mr. V-Valeska. I Jeremiah p-promise to h-have and to h-hold this w-woman I take on as my w-wife. I p-promise to l-love and cherish her e-each day, for better or for worse, for richer, poorer, in sickness and in health till death do we part.”

My groom did as he was told, his blue eyes staring down into my soul and a big grin stretched across his lips. “W-with this ring I-I thee w-wed.”

Jeremiah slipped the gold band onto my ring finger, the blue jewel glinting in the candlelight. A perfect fit.

“Now repeat after me, Miss L-L/n.  I Y/n p-promise to h-have and to h-hold this m-man I take on as my h-husband. I p-promise to l-love and cherish him e-each day, for better or for worse, for richer, poorer, in sickness and in health till death do we part.”

“Jeremiah, you don’t have to do this. Let all these poor people go!”

“I can’t do that, sweetheart. We need witnesses. Now, say your vows.”

My eyes searched for any remaining humanity in my former ginger friend’s but his grip on my hands tightened and a shadow passed over his blue orbs. “Say. Them.”

I looked over at my friends but I heard the gun cock behind me so I returned back to home base, repeating every word in a trembling voice. “With t-this ring I thee w-wed.”

Silently I slid my gold band onto his ring finger, his having an e/c stone in the center. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Quickly Jeremiah leaned and captured my lips, Ecco the only one clapping. Everything faded into white noise as I stood there enveloped in the madman’s grip.

This is it.

Beep.

You’re trapped forever.

Beep.

No longer will you be able to be with Bruce.

Beep.

You’ll just be a caged bird for the rest of your life.

Beep.

Living your days as a cooped up housewife.

Beep.

                                There’s no escape...Y/n Valeska.

My newly appointed husband pulled away by a few inches, his breath hot against my lips. We stared at each other in the heat of the moment as Ecco pranced about us throwing flower petals. I was numb as Jeremiah leaned down again and kissed me, his excitement and bliss not reaching my body. “Hurray, Boss! You did it! Congratulations you two!”

As Ecco continued her excited chant Jeremiah pulled away and held me close. I felt a few tears fall as my friend’s disappointment clouded my mind, them struggling in the background. “Come now, Ecco! Let’s take the celebrations elsewhere.”

Jeremiah gently took my hand and led me back down the aisle, him turning back to his minions. “The rest of you kill and destroy.”

“NO!”

I screamed as gunfire rang out and smoke piled into the church, the greenette casually walking us down the aisle as if nothing was wrong. In an attempt to get away I hit my husband several times but he just continued dragging me along. I looked back desperately at my friends who tried to get away, my eyes landing on Bruce. Time seemed to slow as I stared into those dark eyes and memories of my happiness came back to me in waves.

Bedside chats.

   Embraces.

Laughter.

    Dinners together.

Our kiss.

“BRUCE!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. Don’t let me go.

I heard Jeremiah growl and turn towards the dark haired male, a smirk on his face. “I did it, Bruce! I won! Y/n’s mine!”

He chuckled and raced us out the door, I screaming my true love's name. Suddenly I was thrust into the backseat of a car, it speeding off with Ecco as the driver. My heart beeped in my chest as the two clown’s laughter filled my ears, my body getting hot in my dress. The night sky seemed to twirl as I felt my back collide with seat, my eyes closing. Bruce…

I don’t know how long I was out for but when I woke up I was lying on a couch with Ecco standing over me. She smiled upon realizing I was awake and helped me sit up, my surroundings new and unrecognizable. “W-where are we?”

“Your new home, Y/n! Boss has been looking forever for the perfect place and now here we are!”

I blinked a few times and looked around. The room I was in seemed to be a living room as there were several chairs strewn about and a few picture frames up. The fireplace was currently burning some wood making the room nice and toasty. “Well we better get you upstairs. Mr. J has been waiting for you to wake up.”

Gently, Ecco eased me up off the couch and up the stairs across the hall, stopping us at a door at the end of the right hallway. She opened the door and led me inside, a fire dancing in the center of the far wall mantle. “Boss told me to get you ready for when he comes back and that he’s sorry for leaving you in such a hurry. I guess some business came up that he needed to take care of.”

Delicately she removed the veil from my head and placed it on an armchair in the corner before going to a dresser and pulling out a green nightgown. She returned to my side and helped me out of my dress before slipping the pajamas over my head, onto my body. Humming she picked up my wedding dress and set it over by the veil, returning to me with a hairbrush in hand. She had me sit on a footstool as she sat behind me, tenderly brushing my locks. “We’re all going to be one big happy family after tonight. If something should happen in that body of yours Mr. J will be pleased.”

I froze. I forgot about that part of weddings. My fingers dug into my legs creating marks. As if on cue Jeremiah strode through the door with a smile upon his face. Ecco stood and curtsied, making her way out and shutting the door behind her. I gulped and turned away, flinching when I felt his arms wrap around me. His nose tickled my neck as he gave a content purr, my body shaking at the thought of what was next. “You’re finally all mine, Y/n. No longer will I have to worry about someone stealing you away.”

His hand reached up and slid one of the straps down on my shoulder, I clutching his wrist tightly. “Please don’t.”

“Dearest, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment. Imagine how much more happier we could be if you gave birth.”

“I don’t want to! Please, Jeremiah!”

“Shh. You’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.”

I cringed as the other strap fell and I knew instantly that tonight was going to be a long one.

                                “Now...let’s have our date with destiny.”

[marie-lamb-b]

The Ink DeMonth. Day 9: Favorite Ship.

No one should ever croos paths with an angry, frustrated, livid Music Director. Guess say Wally was just unfortunate…

Well, kinda pretty late ^^U

I still can’t say is my fave/fave ship, but is the only one I’ve been able to think about the last month and a half, so I guess they’re just growing on me~

And sorry, I got carried away. This thing has over 8.4K words and I honestly didn’t expect this to be so long Dx

But if you still are willing to take a look, enjoy it!! ^3^

(Trigger Warnings: Foul language, Verbal humiliation, Implied homophobia)

Day of rage

This was a bad day. Bad, bad, in every single sense. Bad sleeping, bad morning, bad breakfast, bad trip to work. Bad, annoying, frustrating. Everything. Was. Bad.

Being usually moody and gruff was one thing; being faced to a severe writing block and frustrated all over every single note he put on paper was way another level of anger. And it was better for anyone in the studio to stay away from him, as his mood was so tense that he was even able to tell the president himself to go fuck himself.

If only Wally didn’t disturb him…

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, FRANKS. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A MORON!” The oh, so unfair scolding could be heard from the music department hall. “You can’t even do 1 single fucking thing right!” Norman flinched as he walked off the infirmary, Jack hiding behind him. “But no, of course you can’t. why would I have thought you could?!” Even the window from his office trembled with how loud the frustrated musician was being.

“Mr. Lawrence, I’m sorry. I just–”

“I DON’T WAN’T ANY OF YOUR EXCUSES, KID!” He cut him off, not wanting to hear anything from the poor janitor about whatever fault he had committed. “Now I want you to stop meddling here around and GO TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!” He sentenced with a rage fist smashing against his own desk, making it shake and sending down to the floor a pile of sheets and paperwork precariously balanced; right were the janitor’s mop and dirty water was laying.

The fall was as in slow motion for the wide eyes of the young man, and he acted quickly in hopes of saving the musician’s hard work. Albeit for his misfortune, the sole idea he concreted to successfully save the fluttering sheets was to kick away the bucked and mop, causing quite a mess at the other side of the man’s office.

For a second, he could have felt pretty pride for his quick action in such a desperate moment. But the musician did not allow such instance, as he was the closest to literally fuming out of rage over the janitor’s reaction.

This day started bad, and was about to get worse for the younger man.

“THE FUCK HAVE YOU JUST DONE!” Sammy shrieked, and Wally flinched.

“Mi– mi– mister Lawrence, I– I…” He stumbled on his words as he dropped in the floor, picking up clumsily the papers the other man just threw with his rage.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR A SINGLE SHIT FROM YOU!” His voice thundered, and Wally froze in the spot. “Get. Out. Of my office.” He hissed rather menacingly.

“Bu– But Mr. Lawrence, I have ta clean up tha–!”

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!” He sentenced violently, and Wally stared with panicked eyes. “I don’t want to see your goddamn face! Ever!”

And just like that, every bit of air escaped of the janitor’s lungs as if he was knocked. He felt his eyes starting to sting, and for a much sharp hearing, even could be perceived how his heart just broke.

Numb, in attempt to hide the pain the man’s rage caused over him, Wally simply stood up, leaving the papers he got to pick up on the desk, tilting his cap as to hide his stare in its shadow, and turning around towards the door, reaching for his mop and bucket in the process.

“Understood, Mr. Lawrence.” He said low and quietly as he left, leaving the enraged man panting with his glare lock on him even through the window, as if making sure the janitor won’t ruin anything in his departure.

Once he was absolutely out of sight, Sammy paced by his office, only to slip on the soapy water of the damn bucket that stupid boy left unattended, falling back and hitting his head hard. He let out a painful grunt; he should have let the boy to clean up before kicking out the poor janitor…

*-*-*-*-*

“What’s wrong with Wally?”

“I have no clue at all…”

“Didn’t you hear all that shouting from Sammy’s office?”

“You should never cross path with that man when he’s in such bad mood.”

“That guy is the front-man of any anger campaign.”

“Wally didn’t deserve such treat. He was just doing his job!”

“Well, what could be done? He was just the one being there to receive the blow. Wrong time and wrong place, I guess…”

“Wait, did Sammy hit the boy?!”

“Don’t take my words out of context!”

“Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter now. It’s not like any could fix what’s already done…”

*-*-*-*-*

The word spread easily around the studio, and soon pretty much everyone –except those too busy to get out and chat– knew about the raging music director and the poor janitor that was there to serve as punching-sack for the former.

But even if they all wanted to catch in the last of the studio’s savory rumor, no one really expressed real, earnest concern, as the young man, listening to all of their bickering, trying to asking him something about further details, wouldn’t mind them. He just passed by, complying with his duties, and left with no more than a couple of courtesy words. No one really cared, as no one really knew how deep this was really affecting the janitor, except for Norman.

The taller man made his way towards Sammy’s office, easy going. Any other rage day he would just avoid the man, not willing to be involved in unnecessary quarrels, but the heartless way he treated the young janitor actually made him set up his mind. Not like he was up for a senseless fight with that man, after all, that’s right what he pretended to callback into that man: sense.

Reaching the musician’s door, he knocked to make his presence noted. “Hey, Sammy. How you doin’?” Only a muttered growl he received as answer; obviously wasn’t the right question to ask, but he couldn’t care less. His sight wandered to the office’s surroundings, and he locked his stare in the wet spot that took over the entrance zone of the room. “Mind to explain why’s wet all the place?”

“Because that stupid kid kicked his bucket there.” Sammy grumbled. Now that Norman was seeing clearly he could notice the man’s back was pretty much soaked. Definitively wasn’t going to touch that topic.

“Why would he do so?” He inquired again, earning a soft growl easily compared to a dog which food was taken off its muzzle. “Sorry to tell I didn’ get a word of you say.”

“I SAID,” He rose his voice, quite loudly. “How would I know how that moron’s head does work? He just did it.” He stated dryly, though Norman knew better, and a slight wobble in his tone was one of hiding things.

“…Yeah, sure, because he loves make you angry and get in your bad side.” He retorted, waiting for another of the same tone from Sammy but only silence lingered, leaving space for him to insist. “Seriously, why did so?”

“…because some sheets of mine almost fell over the bucket…” He admitted, his voice lowered.

“Almost?”

“Ok. They FELL over the bucket. He kicked it out of the way.” And slouched over his desk.

An appreciative hum, and Norman kept inquiring. “Why did ‘em fell?”

Silence; shoulders hunched, almost as if trying to turn as tiny as he could.

“Sammy…”

“I DROP THEM! Happy?” He finally turned to face the projectionist, red face but at this point could be said it was more over shame than rage. He was panting, trying to keep his rage façade, but Norman only shook his head in disapproval.

“And even though you called out on the boy as if he really was just horsin’ around only to piss you off.” And Sammy turned back over his desk, gripping his hair in frustration but struggling to not voice it out loud. He heard Norman clicking his tongue in reprehension before leaving. “That boy don’ deserves you…”

Sammy’s head shot up at the phrase, but when he turned to ask the projectionist what he meant the man already left; actually, already was half way the hall near the organist room, never turning back and holding his hands behind.

What did he just say? What did that even mean?! Ugh, that only made him feel confused and that turned only in more anger. Just perfect, now he won’t be able to focus in his already useless task.

*-*-*-*-*

No. Wrong. Trash. Piece of shit! Nothing came out right! At this point not even the sheets Wally rescued for him were useful anymore, as now they were part of a steadily growing pile of crumbled rejects all over the floor.

So now he just was there, head against the desk, swallowing back every urge to shout out loud even the deepest of the growls. Vain attempts that were interrupted by the delicate sound of the squeaking hinges of his door. He peeked over his shoulder and started to shot daggers to the unwelcomed visitor.

“So– so– sorry, Mr. Lawrence, but I can’t find–…” Wally stammered, feeling the scorching glare of the man as if was carving holes through his skull. He still wasn’t forgiven… “Ah… Nevermind, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll just look somewhere else. Sorry fer interrupting ya…” And with no more fanfare than a soft mournful murmur, he left.

The door closed softly and the steps of the janitor marching away were quiet. Sammy just watched him through his window, reaching to see the young man meeting with the projectionist at the end of the hallway. Some words were exchanged; a sag on the younger’s shoulders, lying his head on the elder’s chest, to finally be held on a side hug and be leaded out of sight by the taller man.

And as he watched, Norman’s words resonated in his mind again, turning him again thoughtful, for it to be turned in confusion, to it to be turned in anger again.

He had no time for such senseless shit.

He got back over his desk, rather abrupt must say, and he tumbled his empty mug down the table. Lucky him, it fell on the trashcan where a pile of discarded sheets lied. He lunged to pick it up, but a clinking sound caught his attention.

Wally’s keys…

*-*-*-*-*

Ugh, this was pointless! What a waste of precious time, and still can’t go and get a single. Fucking. Note written down. How could be so hard deciding between a F sharp and a G flat?

Worst of all, his head was starting to pound heavily. He really needed a coffee.

He straightened up in his chair, ready to call the janitor as he usually prepared his coffee around the noon (what kind of services did Joey put him on charge, he still didn’t understand). But he froze as he recalled the events of the day. Could he call him to ask him his usual just like that? And think on the matter felt like a punch to his pride, but something else clenched in his chest.

Deliberating, he almost made up his mind: if he wanted a coffee, he’ll need to go to the break room, meaning he’ll need to get out of his office… and that’s just aside of all those chit-chattering employees that always liked to meddle their noses in whatever wasn’t their business. Ah, he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate any of that. But in the other hand, if he didn’t he wouldn’t get his coffee, and gosh, he really needed it…!

…

Well, he better got through those bothering pests just for a while; luckily everyone noticing his mood there won’t be a soul who’d dare to do more than step out of his way.

And so he stood up, and reluctantly he abandoned his office.

*-*-*-*-*

“C’mon, Wally. We can’t help you if you don’t tell what’s happening!”

“Nothing’s happenin’, Ms. Campbell.” Wally answered quite monotonous. “Ya don’ need to worry yerself, but thanks for tha concern.” His smile was polite but notoriously strained.

He was cleaning the tables from the breakroom. It was soon to be noon and with it comes the lunch break and he was commanded to clean it all up before and after lunch there.

“But surely there’s something I could help, ain’t it?”

“I appreciate yer offerin’ but fer real. I just havetta end cleaning this up–…”

Everything went silent when the door squeaked open, and whoever was there doing whatever just froze at the sight of the music director. He stood up there, feeling their fearful but scrutiny stares, and he scorned in response, descending the flight of stairs.

“I– ah…” Wally stammered, but released a sigh. “I finished cleanin’. I’m outta here…”

Tilting his cap down once again, he picked up his cleaning tools and left the room rather quickly, nearly tripping over the musician but avoiding him at a safe distance in the end.

Sammy just looked at him, although too tired for glares this time. Shrugging it off, he made his way to get some coffee, being joined by Susie in the process.

“Rough day, eh Sammy?” She teased a little, but he just huffed. “Why don’t you stay and have lunch with us? It’ll help your soul! …You do have a soul, don’t you Lawrence?”

Although the musician was on the verge of fuming, he just limited to heavily sigh by his nostrils and turn to her with the most constricted face he could muster.

“My soul is pretty much contented with just coffee, thank you very much.” He turned and started to look around the counter. “Ugh, where is the cream? Isn’t there anything in this god dammed place?”

“What are you talking about?” She questioned as started to stab the jar of clustered sugar with her spoon. “With how cheap Joey is, we are pretty lucky to have sugar here! Although I’d like the guys stop to using their wet spoons when taking it. Gosh, this is so hard!” She hissed as she kept stabbing the jar, and when a few grains got stick to her spoon, she took it in her mouth and then kept stabbing. All under the watchful presence of the horrified music director.

Besides the display of shameless ill-mannered Susie, he couldn’t help the train of thoughts that flooded his mind. Wally always prepared his coffee with cream and two sugar cubes… Sure, the first time he told him as a joke that’s the way he drank his coffee, but he always made his cup that way since. How could he, if they barely had that watery coffee with taste of socks and that jar of stone they pitifully called sugar grains?

Susie stopped, seeing him frozen in spot, seemingly staring at the jar she held in her hands.

“You want some?” She offered and that seemed to take him off his thoughts, as he looked at her, then the jar, and then he shook his head with disgust and a new gruff.

“Forget it. I’ll just have it black.”

And after preparing it, he left.

*-*-*-*-*

Definitively didn’t worth it, that beverage tasted as bad as he thought: as sweat soaked socks. How he could recognize such flavor, better now question it too deeply, as it only made his already insufferable headache to worsen.

The only thing in his mind was to return to the comfort of his messy and littered and wet office as soon as he could. But when he was about to turn the corner leading to his office’s hallway, he couldn’t help but hear a distressed sob.

Curiosity poked and he stopped his pace; the mopping came from the recording room. He stood on the inner threshold, he could hear it, but no one was there. At least not that he could see.

“Why do I even keep tryin’? He hates me!” Was that Wally?

“No, he don’. You just found ‘im in the worst moment possible, that’s all kid.” Oh, so they were at Norman’s booth.

Sammy stayed close to the threshold, out of sight. What were they talking about?

“No, Mr. Polk. It’s not tha first time. Today was tha worst but…”

“Kid, with all honesty, he treats everyone like trash. It’s not somethin’ against you, I’m sure of that.”

Were they talking about him?

“But… but all I ‘ave done for ‘im? I just– keep tryin’ and tryin’ but I’m no more than a fly on tha wall for ‘im!”

“You know how oblivious he’s. An elephant could be dancin’ tap right next to ‘im and he wouldn’t notice! And if he do, prob’ly he would just shot daggers thru his eyes before even question why there’s an elephant in his office.”

Ok, he wasn’t that oblivious, although he’d never been in such situations to argue back. At least that last joke did make the young janitor to release a chuckle, albeit weak.

“Heh, yer probably right…” Silence, barely his hiccupping sobs could be heard. “I’m not like an elephant, do I?” He sounded fearful.

“Neh, you’re not. First place you’d need a trunk sticking outta your face!”

“Mr. Polk, ya know what I mean…!” Barely above a whisper, it was hard for Sammy to catch what he said; not impossible, just hard. But a tight silence followed that statement.

“…No, kid. You’re not…”

Knowing Norman’s personality only fluctuated between a bad timing jokester, easy-going, severe paternalist or straightly intimidating, it was strange to find him being so comprehensive and supporting– at least by what he could take by his soft and quiet voice.

He stood a little longer in there, but the only thing that broke the silence was the hiccupping sobs of the janitor. Sobs that were product of a distressed boy– man, that only was doing his job and had a little accident that actually was the musician’s crew fault!

Did he really shout that bad to him? By the time he already forgot what he said to the poor janitor. Was that bad? Was he so out of his mind to made him believe he hated him?

I don’t want to see your goddamn face! Ever!

Oh, gosh… did he really said that?! No surprise he believed Sammy hated him. And Wally also said about things he tried before, what did he mean? What else had he tried?

Wait…

Why was he thinking all of this? Goddammit, Sammy. It’s not like it mattered!

But then why he felt his chest so clenched and his throat so tight?

Everything was so confusing and annoying!

Just annoying…

He gave a last glance to where the booth was located, and with a sigh and soft steps, he made his way back to his littered, soaked, messy office with a cold cup of watered, tasteless, sock-flavored drink that couldn’t even be called coff–

Between what he expected from what he remembered, what he found could be called having got into another dimension, one of tidiness, organization, even bright dimension. Every sheet of paper he discarded was taken away, and a new pile of blank sheets lied on his desk. There was no more a wet spot, but a spotless, clean and shiny floor. Even the keys he found earlier in the trash can were no longer there, taken. But what baffled the musician more was the steaming mug just in the middle of his desk; the cream still as a lump atop, slowly sinking in the beverage, and two bright sugar cubes aside, ready to be dropped in the hot drink.

Glancing between that mug and the one he brought from the break room, he slowly approached to his desk, taking seat and leaving the later next to the other. He dipped his pinkie in the steaming one; hot indeed, but the cream made it smooth. And the sugar… the only sugar the rest of the studio crew could get in here was from that clustered jar, so how was that he could have pristine sugar cubes? Or more like, if Wally was the one making it, how was that he had those…?

The brightly clean office, the new stack of paper, the steaming coffee…

He still made all of these things even when he believed Sammy hated him…

He shouted at him, he mocked of him, treated him like he was an idiot, an illiterate child, as if he was too dumb to notice anything around him, like how the world worked, how people worked…

…or more like how Sammy worked…

He slouched in his desk, clasping his hair tight in his fingers as he let the steam hit his face.

Norman was right. Wally didn’t deserve him.

*-*-*-*-*

Can’t say it got easier along the day, although he could manage to not drop a piece until the entire sheet was useless scrap and that actually made the littered pile– now appropriately thrown in the can instead the floor– to be smaller in the last 6 hours of works versus all he threw away in just the first three.

By the time most of the studio members were already gone, the ones remaining were just busy with the last tasks of the day.

Regardless, what Sammy was currently doing hardly could be called a task, as he remained thoughtful for nearly two hours already. He tried to distract himself with the music, with his compositions, but no avail, and these thoughts lingered in his mind shouting to be noticed, and so he did.

At this point he couldn’t even give himself the privilege to feel angry, irritated and frustrated over those ideas that didn’t leave him alone, as he was worn down, too tired to try even, and so those ideas just settled in him.

Not like he was going to admit it anyways…

A knock on his door and a jerk from his side due the suddenness; Norman was there.

“Hey Sammy, work time’s over.”

There were so many things that Sammy could answer, from his usual sarcasm with something like ‘don’t you tell me’, to just flip off his middle to the man with not even bothering to turn around. But his rage storm had simply worn him down, and now he barely gave a mute shrug as an answer, sinking deeper on his desk.

Norman glanced around. He knew Wally took his chance to clean up this office while the music director was out, but he had never seen it lasting almost as pristine by the end of the day. There were still crumpled sheets on the trashcan, but curious was that it was actually used as trash can instead of littering the whole floor as he did in the morning. It almost seemed like he was being careful about the work of the janitor.

“Huh, this place looks neat!”

“What do you want, Norman?” He finally snapped.

“Just makin’ sure how you doin’. You had a really tough day after all.”

“Sure that’s all…” He muttered and laid his head on the desk flatly. “Nothing else you want to mom me about?” Alright, he opened the chance to drop it.

“You should go and apologize with Wally.”

And despite his weariness, he couldn’t help the grunt to form in his throat as he turned to the man.

“Why do you care so much about that? It’s not like if you were his dad!” And the way Norman shook his head, so filled with disappointment, actually hit him hard.

“I wish I would be. That kid really ‘ave had a tough time.”

“Yeah, sure, because is so hard to swift a broom from side to side.” He turned back, quite ashamed even if he wasn’t going to admit it. Such answers were the ones that most naturally came even if he didn’t mean it by the time.

“I can’t believe you still don’ get it.” Norman finally walked in, and that cornered feeling was dreadfully palpable, even if the musician still refused to look at him. “After all this time, with all the things he done for you…”

“Where do you want to get with this?”

He paused his march, right behind of him. His towering shape projected a shadow that lunged over his reduced figure in the chair.

“Sammy…” The man swallowed hard, feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead. Why he felt so nervous over the projectionist? “Sammy, stop it.”

“Stop what?” He said back, albeit his voice betraying his so called steadiness.

“Just stop bein’ such an oblivious idiot and look at Wally for the first time in your damn life! Can’t you see the boy is dyin’ for you?”

As if a rope tied to his chest tugged him forcefully, he felt the air in his lungs abandoning him for an agonizing moment, as he shot up and shoved away his chair to turn and face the man standing behind.

He… wasn’t as close as he thought, but that look so full of disapproval still burned him coldly.

“Wha– what… do you mean?”

“Really still? Haven’t you noticed how he usually like to spend more time here ‘round, despite he’s the sole janitor in this whole goddamn place? Or how he seems to smile widely at you?”

“That means anything, he’s always smi–”

“What about that coffee that he always make for you? I saw you goin’ to the break room, you can’t be so blind to not notice there’s no cream nor fancy sugar cubes up there.”

Sammy kept his mouth shut, barely could stand that accusatory stare from the man in front of him.

“What about the way he always shrug off every time you mock of him or yell at him, givin’ you a smile and respondin’ to everythin’ you ask ‘im to do?” Norman kept talking, and Sammy couldn’t help but glance aside, casually seeing the aforementioned janitor getting into the organ room, pipe-cleaner in hand and his cap still tilted down hiding his frown. Sammy felt his chest tight, the weight of shame barely bearable. “That kid’s no dumb as you think he is, but he’s still willin’ to do anythin’ as long as he could see you around. But to be honest, I could think he’s a fool myself for bein’ so invested in you.”

Sammy side-glanced the man in his office, trying his best to straighten up his face but was too constricted to look natural.

“Why… are you telling me all this?” He hesitated, but asked anyways.

“Becos I’ve seen the boy. All this infatuation thing has gone since quite a time, longer than I got to know, and the more time it pass, the more he drowns with no knowin’ if his efforts really worth the shot– or shots. So I tell you, so you now can go and ground his mind where it has to be. So go! Tell ‘im you’re not interested, shatter his heart, I don’ really care. But the less the kid deserves is a closure, and only you can give it to ‘im.”

With that final statement, Norman left his office, walking away and out of sight. And once he was sure he was all alone again, he allowed himself to sit back in his chair, askew for shoving it and conveniently looking to the hall, where the door that lead to the organ was kept ajar, where the man the projections was talking about just a moment ago was located.

He hunched, gripping his head on his hands as once again those thoughts about the young janitor flooded his mind. The so many times he called him idiot, moron, stupid, too immature to understand, that he was too childish with that smile always stuck on his face, how he couldn’t understand how people worked…

…seemed like all of this time he was the one that couldn’t understand it…

Was he really such a disgusting person?

Why even would Wally like him… after all he had done to the poor kid…?

*-*-*-*-*

Wally was cleaning up the pipes of the organ. It was the best he could do by now as he waited for the people to finally leave the studio– and maybe then he could go and enclose him in a forgotten room and cry out loud what he had been bottling up the entire day. At least he knew this task was quite demanding, polishing the pipes in and out, taking off every bit of dust and the pipes would look as bright as new. Yeah, this would keep him perfectly busy–

The hinges squeaked open to then the door be pulled shut, eating away every bit of light right before the lights up were turned on. Steps behind; someone was approaching.

“Wally…” Oh, great. Just when he thought he could last until he left at least…

“He– hello, Mr. Lawrence!” He weakly greeted, not daring to turn behind as his eyes were already stinging. “Do ya need somethin’ I could help?”

“Actually…” Swallow back your pride, Lawrence! “I needed to talk to you…”

“Oh…” He muttered so eloquently, as he lowered his arms and gripped on the edge of the massive instrument. “And what is it?” He didn’t dare to look at him.

“I–…” A bite of his own tongue, hindering his speech. “I… I just…” C’mon, only two miserable words! “Ah! I’m sorry, ok? I shouldn’t have treated you that way. It was unfair and the accident wasn’t even your fault, and you… don’t deserve the way I treat you. I’m… I’m sorry…”

Deep and slow breaths, Franks. Deep and slow. Don’t quiver.

“…Thanks, Mr. Lawrence. I… accept yer apologize…” He managed to say rather flatly. But he felt him, he was still there. How long would he be able to resist…!

“Aren’t you gonna say something else?”

Oh, God. What he meant?! Say what?

“I, ah… I’m… sorry, Mr. Lawrence. I shoulda been more careful with all them stands and I–”

“No, not that! I already said that wasn’t your fault!” He cut him off, and Wally felt cornered. What did he mean? “Really, nothing to say?” What did he want?! “Could you at least turn around?”

Wally felt his blood run cold. Face him?! He couldn’t do that too quickly or else he would burst with all the emotions he had kept inside. So he took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes with his forearm’s sleeve, and slowly, ever so slowly, he turned back, never releasing his grip on the edge of the organ.

Well, there he was, albeit cap still tilted and shadowing his face.

“Take off your hat, please.” The janitor whimpered, as he knew it wasn’t a request but an order. He took it off, revealing finally his distressed countenance. “Really you have nothing to tell me?”

“I– I– I, ah, I’m… Mr. Lawrence, am so– sorry, but I ‘ave no idea of what–”

“Norman told me.”

Wally shot wide open his eyes, panic crawling up from the bottom of his stomach. He felt it, as his heart skipped more beats than he could notice and the air abandoned his lungs as if he received the worst blow he could ever resist.

“So?” He started to walk, getting close to him.

“Mi– mister Lawrence, please! No– no need to fuzz about it. I– it– it’s not what ya think!” He tried to placate, but with every step closer the more cornered he was. “I– it’s nothin’, for real! Please, I promise I don’ bother ya anymore!” He was standing right in front of him, an arm away. And he couldn’t control any longer the tears prickling down his eyes and the whimpered high pitch of his voice. “I– I– I’ll stay away from ya, I promise! But please don’ tell Mr. Drew, I know I’m disgustin’ but please I don’ wanna lose this job! I’ll stay away, I promise! P– please don’ tell ‘em, don’ tell anybody! I won’ bother you anymore but please–…!”

“Wally.” Sammy cut his rant off as he grabbed his hand… gently… “Wally, stop it. I didn’t come for it so don’t need to worry about it. I came to know…” He lowered his stare, fixing it onto the hand he was holding. “…to know if that’s true…” He looked back at him, and though his prominent frown never abandoned him, Wally could tell, even with his racing mind, that those eyes never had looked so… soft, even concerned.

The silence stretched for a while, and though the musician showed an amount of patience he had never done before, those eyes, soft, sweet, concerned, frown eyes still begged for an answer. But the janitor’s eyes were drowned in tears and his throat was tightly closed, so the only response he could give was a whimpering nod.

Sammy sighed, and his look wandered to anything around before returning to the young man’s face.

“Why…?”

He swallowed heavily, but his mouth was too dry still. “I– ah, I swear I don’ know. If even I could make it work right, dunno, looking for Ms. Campbell instead, but I–”

“That’s not what I’m asking!” He said rather louder, and the janitor flinched whimpering. Sammy recoiled, lowering his volume. “I mean… why… me? I… I haven’t treated you with anything but despise, insulting you and even making mock of you…! Why then?”

“I don’ know… I don’ know, I swear! I just… saw you tha first time and though–… I thought ya were–… I just… wanted to make ya happy somehow, I don’ know! I just–…” tears upon tears, his cheeks were a constant waterfall. His mind was already racing and his heart beating painfully with fear; how could he articulate what he never understood in first place?

“Wally…” Sammy called him; the weight of guilt and shame was already lead in his stomach, and seeing him so distressed didn’t do any favors to him. “Wally, stop crying…”

“I can’t…” his voice wasn’t above a whisper. “I can’t…! I can’t, I’m scared…!”

“Of what?” Silence, only interrupted by the janitor’s whimpering. “Why are you scared?”

“Of ya knowin’…! Knowin’ tha truth and tell ‘em! Of them thinkin’ I’m a deviant, a mistake! That ya– that ya’ll really– really hate me for this!” His sobs were cutting his voice, hiccups between his words. “That ya beli– believe I’m a– a freak! That ya– ya hate me for re–e–al!”

He couldn’t help it anymore, and his cry just burst with the same shock of a little child lost and afraid. His hand holding his cap was so tight that almost hurt, and he fought to not grip the other man’s hand as hard or worse. His legs were wobbly, he just wanted to plump himself right there and recoil to a dark narrowed corner, to be left alone with his grief. But Sammy didn’t allow it, not with the way he was looking, nor with the way he held his hand, nor with the way he reached with his arm behind him and pulled him in a tight hug, releasing his hand to be able to engulf him, pulling Wally’s head onto his shoulder and muffling his sobs as he stroked his hand on his hair, and trying hard to keep together all of those pieces the janitor was tearing apart from himself.

“Wally, no. I don’t hate you…” He never heard his voice so low and soft, and him talking so close to his ear made the goosebumps to mix with his already shivering body. “I can’t even think about it; with all you’ve done for me… but… I’m the one who can’t notice the elephant dancing…”

Wally barely could believe it; Sammy Lawrence, the Sammy Lawrence, tried to humor him! But albeit his efforts, he couldn’t do more than just sigh as a weak imitation of a laugh with a wobbling frown.

“The truth is…” The musician continued. “…that I… I really can’t get relationships… I just can’t…! Not even as a child, not even making friends. I always kept my mind straight forward and whenever I was teased about if someone liked me, I just booked it, just thinking that they were a bother. But now, with all that you’ve done for me, all you’ve been through for me and what Norman told me… I just… I can’t believe I’m so oblivious! And treating you the way I did… I’m so sorry I never had idea. I really am.”

They stood that way, Sammy making sure Wally would calm down eventually as he stroked his hand up and down through the janitor’s head and neck, even downer to his back. Time didn’t matter, he just wanted to make sure he’d be okay. And when he felt the young man’s hiccups recede and his shoulder no more damp than it already was, he pulled him away, enough to be able to see his swollen red and tired eyes, but keeping him close as he held him by his shoulders.

“Wally?” The man mentioned felt so tired, exhausted, he didn’t think he would be able to react to anything the music director could throw at him anymore; perfect instance to be dropped gently.

“’m okay, Mr. Lawrence…” He held the man’s wrist, ready to pull him off him when the bomb was dropped. “Thank ya. I really appreciate yer apologize and all ya been with me, for real, but… I know what comes now, so if ya–”

“You know?” Sammy questioned, not allowing him to drop his hands from his shoulders. “Franks, I didn’t come here to tell you a lousy story of why I don’t hang out with people. I didn’t come here to tell you a sad story of my childhood, nor I spent half an hour in my office trying to think of a way to tell you I’m sorry for you to just shrug me off in the end.”

Wally’s tears stopped from how dumbfounded he was. The idea of not being all opened a new race of thoughts as the same time he found himself frozen in spot, trying to articulate anything, mind begging for an explanation, but only able to mumble incoherently, fear rising up his throat as his eyes widened in growing panic. Signs luckily caught by the musician.

“Wally. Wally, stop it. I told you, I didn’t come for it. So better stop it and listen… please.” He added as trying to placate the sever tone he used to use, as he held the younger man steady. “Wally, I came… I just… What I’m trying to… Arg!” Sammy roared frustrated, tensing up and not noticing how tight his grip on the janitor’s shoulder was getting.

“Mir– Mister Lawrence, yer hurting me…!” He hissed as his knees wobbled, in the verge of bending as to escape the grip but unable as the musician held him on spot, almost pinned.

“It’s just… I… AGH! Iwanttogiveyouachance!” There, he said it. and as quickly as his words tripped out of him, he let go of the janitor and turned, mumbling through a hand that muffled his words– if there’re even words.

Wally had to pause to make an effort to process the phrase in its individual words. And even though he wrote and rewrote his sayings on his mind, it still didn’t allow him to take the weight of such sentence.

“Mr. Lawrence, I’m sorry, but–”

“It’s ‘Sammy’.” He interrupted, catching off ward the even more dumbfounded janitor. “Stop calling me ‘Mr. Lawrence’. I told you, I want to give you… a chance… You don’t have to keep the formalities.” Sammy added as he slowly tuned once again to the young man, standing on his statement as firm as he could. But seeing Wally broken on tears once again wasn’t what he expected. “Wally?”

“No… No, I can’t…!” He cried out muted, not allowing such statement to sink in him

“What? Why not? What do you mean?” He reached Wally’s arm but he shoved away, retreating until he hit the organ keys, shaking.

“This is wrong… This is wrong…! I can’t let ya, this is wrong!”

“Why are you saying that? Who says so?” He approached him, but Wally flinched as he shook his head in denial.

“Everyone… everyone says… they will talk, they will judge… they will tell Mr. Drew and then will be all for us! They will kick us out, that would be all for yer career, and I can’t let that happen!”

“Then they don’t have to know.” He finally held him, stopping his trembling head as he cooped his cheeks with both hand, gently forcing him to lock stares. “You are the best knowing what happens around and what not. No one will be able to say anything without you noticing.”

“That’s not how it works. The one they talk about always is the one who knows at last!”

“Then what about Norman? He knew and he didn’t say anything to anyone before. He knew about you and you do trust him, do you?” Sammy waited for Wally to nod at least. “Don’t you think he would alert you in case of anything?” Another jerked nod.

“It’s too much of a risk. Ya could lose everything!”

“Would I lose you?” The silence from the janitor stretched fearfully, only interrupted by his hiccupping sobs. “Would I?” Wally’s jaw clenched as his neck jerkily started to move side to side, prompting his head to shake in negative. “Then I’ll take the risk. I don’t want to see you wearing yourself for me and still acting like, like a jerk around you. You… don’t deserve that. And if this is what I should do to at least return a part of all you’ve done for me…” A pause; Sammy sighed flickering his stare and breathed deep, gathering his own courage as he locked his eyes on the janitor’s ones. “…then I want to be with you. And don’t start with all those things of ‘is wrong’ or ‘you can’t’ or ‘people’ll talk’. I’ve never gave a damn to what they say and I won’t start now. If you want to, we can keep formalities in public. But…” He released his wet cheeks as now he was looking for Wally’s hands to hold together. “…from now on, I want you to know that I’m with you, Wally. And better get that in your head ‘cos I don’t pretend to change my mind this far, got it?”

And he stood there, holding his hands as they got tighter and tighter on his grip, shaking as reflection of all the janitor’s body. Sammy studied him thoroughly, expecting any other sign from him that could replace his tears. But again, against anything expected, hiccups of a repressed cry started to leak from the young man’s throat.

And as Sammy’s unsteadiness grew, Wally let out his cry out loud, no more barriers holding it in, and bereaved wails broke through his vocal cords, all while he parted his grip on the musician’s hands and threw his arms around the man’s shoulders, clenching his fits around the back of his shirt, afraid of letting go, as if this very moment, this very man, could slip from his embrace and reality would come to mock of such a ludicrous fantasy of him. But no, he was real, he stood there, prevented him from fall back and over all that, he… accepted his feelings. He was willing to be together, to be with him.

“Hey, Wally, now what’s the problem?! I thought this would make you happy somehow? Why’re you still crying?” He asked puzzled and still quite reluctant to such unprompted contact.

“I– I do! I am! Sorry, it’s just… Sammy, I love ya so much; I’ve loved ya fer so long…! I can’t… please, tell me yer not lying, tell me this’ real! Please…!”

Love… the weight of that sole word suddenly made it feel way too much real for Sammy, whose thoughts and movements slowed as he tried to let that sink. Oh, gosh, he wasn’t just a silly infatuated boy, he meant it! How long had he been suffering this hard for him, if he even deserved such affection? That only made him feel more of an idiot than he already assumed; one thing was hear that from someone else not involved, but another entire level was to hear that from the main source. He… he really was deep down on his heels for him, and Sammy couldn’t give the chance to screw this.

“This… this is real, Wally.” He finally said quietly as his arms engulfed him too, comfortingly, reassuringly. “I’m not… I’m not lying, I’m with you now… I am for real…”

That was the last statement of the musician, allowing the silence be filled by the cries of his companion, which were slowly subsiding though he never let his grip to loosen. All the while he gently stroked his mess of a hair, careful of not tugging it too hard, and pressed his cheek against the janitor’s neck, somehow dumbfounded of himself as he never had been so gentle before, let alone touchy. But that only remained as a buzzing bug in the back of his mind, as new questions started to brim in the frontline, as what he should do to not mess this, or if he will ever be as deserving of so much affection as the young man invested in him, or what his natural fragrance would be under all those chemical smells he sported thanks to his job. Cinnamon and honey was the first thing in his mind albeit random as he really hadn’t felt such… was it too soon to smell and guess?

“Wally? Wally, my boy, where are you?” The voice of the head of the studio, so gleeful and charming as only a severe boss voice could sound, thundered from behind the door, making both of theme to go as still as statues, hoping for no intromissions in the room.

“Sorry, mister Drew, but he’s kinda bussy right now.” Norman voice intercepted the first one, to what both new lovers shared a glance full of concern.

“What do you mean? An hour has passed since work time’s over and still there’s a lot of things that left!”

“Didn’ you hear the rough day the boy had? He already did everythin’ else he had to, just give ‘im some time and I make sure he’s done with everythin’ else.”

Silence stretched but no footsteps; seeming like he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Until a sigh was heard.

“Will you make sure he’s done with all of his tasks? I don’t want him waddling around because some lost keys.”

“Don’ worry boss, I’m sure he’s already on check to do that.”

“Alright, I trust–…” He felt silent, why was that for? “Did… did Sammy leave already?” He questioned, seemingly having looked to the empty office.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s in the restroom. Y’know, too much coffee can really do effects inside if you don’t eat properly.”

Again the silence outside stretched, but inside Wally was fighting for retain his giggles in, earning a side glare from the foretold man that, curious enough, didn’t burn even half of what they used to.

“Alright, then remind Wally to go and check the toilets whenever he finishes, okay?”

The last part seemed to fade as footsteps joined to the outside noises, fading as they progressed and out of earshot finally, allowing them to finally break the silence.

“That’s a close one…” Wally released first, shaking fearful yet quite excited against the risk proximity.

“Yeah, luckily Norman was there to–…” Sammy halted in his words as realization hit on his self. “Does this… does this mean that Norman heard us all along?”

Wally stared at him, as confounded as him while he tried to process the statement, though swollen eyes didn’t allow him to focus properly.

“No, I wasn’t. I just passed by the last part of your chat tho, very movin’. Now, would you two lovebirds get outta there? I don’t think Joey will eat another ‘xcuse if you take any longer than already.”

The last part sounded faded, distant, but how quiet the projectionist’s footsteps used to be was hard to tell if he already left. Their only indicator was the silence reigning once again, one that was cut by the giggles of the janitor and a humorous roll of eyes from the musician.

“You know, now that I think so, is weird not having heard your laugh in the whole day. It really fills the spaces.” Sammy complimented as Wally earned a darker tone on his face, tenderly looking at the man. “Okay, we better keep moving before anyone else notices.”

He spun on his heels, ready to go, but a hand was trapped, laced with the other’s one. Wally’s giddy face had his stare lock on the act, cheeks still warm though no longer from the tears; and he walked to be right next to the man– his man, contemplating the height difference as his own chin barely reached his shoulder. His goofy smile, so pure and now incontrollable, raised along the rest of his features to see the music director’s eyes, so compassionate as never before, and even a lopsided smile creeped up to his face.

“Sorry, it’s just… I never thought this could really happen…!”

Sammy just watched him, watched as he never did before. And with eyes fluttering and lips puckered, he bent a little, enough to reach his cheek once again, only that this time giving a soft and tender kiss on his side, leaving the young man completely stunned.

“Well, seems like it is happening.” He humored right when he parted from his side, releasing his hand as well and walking towards the room entrance. “Now better get things done, Franks. If Joey already came once he surely will come back to check you have it all done. Understood?”

He stood still for a while, holding the doorknob but not quite opening it yet. He looked over his shoulder, eyes half lidded as he gave the janitor a last glance. And with a contained huff, a slow close of the eyes and a tender smile, he gave a solemn bow with his head to his new couple before abandoning the room.

Wally couldn’t be more flustered.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

[imaginemontypython]

Short Terry Gilliam Fanfic

“And just what are you doing, looking all tantalizing,” you grinned as your eyes raked down Gilliam’s form. He had on a short, blonde wig (one of the good ones that didn’t sit too high on his skull and look weird) and a small darker blonde fake mustache. He did look pretty good like that….but what really caught your eye was that he was naked to the waist and only a towel hung on for dear life around his skinny hips. The poor man shuddered under your gaze as if you’d actually touched him, shifting from foot to foot as you got closer.

“Dooon’t,” he begged quietly when you reached out for him, making you stop and stare at him,”I don’t need a boner the moment I go on.”

You pouted, but opted to wrap your arms around his neck and give him a couple of kisses. He accepted happily. He never said no to kisses.

“You better watch out then,“ you whispered, pulling him in closer and running a hand down his chest to his navel, just slightly dipping your finger into the towel,"Cause Jonesy’s probably gonna be staring with his dark, heated eyes, lookin’ at ya all over as he remembers how good you are in the bedroom-”

Gilliam started to tremble again as your voice became soft, but persistent and incredibly descriptive in his ear. That evil, evil woman…

(Just so you know, this is when he's the nude organist)

[bonbonswirl-blog]

Answer

All characters belong to @brueklynn I OWN NOTHING.

I dont even have to say this is not canon. This one is a part of the bad fanfics its very rushed so if you didnt like reading I wont blame you at all XD

The whole studio was in a turmoil

Every single worker was rushing together to join the jammed crowd, all of them Clustering a single certain "chipper" person that all the studio knew and loved, or thats what they thought he was, until the cruel truth had been discovered. What is that truth you ask? Well, it seems that a specific young, organist may had very accidently dropped a clear evidence that reaveled his...

Real identity.

A wall behind him, a hundred of people imorisoning him in a small circle, there was no way of escape. Everyone he met, everyone he talked to, everyone he helped, everyone he friended, everyone, are now locking him up for interrogations with no where to go, nobody is by his side, nobody. The crowd seemed to flow down with every new person joining in every second. Who could have assumed that Johnny, the sweet boy who would light up the air every time he is present, is the same person as the mafia leader who is in the top of every police force dangerous criminals list? It was all unintelligable. Sadly, the truth never lies.

Hundreds of thousands tones of voices erupted around him, all filled with anger, confusion, even dissapointment. Johnny dark motives were invisible to everyone, cause they never imagined it, they could never do. Inside all of them is one question. 'why?' It had no way of an answer, or atleast for now. How could they get answers? Where will they get answers? What will you say as an answer for the reason behind your actions?

Johnny just stood there as still while the magnitude of his panic swept over him. the gravelly tones flowed to his ears like a cold tide. Every word over pronounced, slicing rather than tumbling through the dry air. All these voices were like small parts of a cluster exploding his brain, it was on fire now anyway. His eyes shifting to both sides in a rapid speed. Everyone is a stranger now, everyone is infurated, everyone is a....former....friend? Pretty sure he will be alone from now on, nobody was having the pleasure of watching the horrified recognition of who he was spread over his perfect features. Questions shot faster than gunshots at him, all at once from every single angle that he couldnt even get any kind of a simple word from anyone or anything, the world was erasing around him.

Remorseful, Guilty. That was how he felt at that very moment. He wished for a Time Turner so he could go back, rectify the mistake , the worst of all he had done. However, he cant, Impossible, He has to live with it. Remorse etched at his heart. Guilt gnawed like a worm at the core of an apple, making it impossible for him to put his self bacm together. The questions seems to never end, eaither they are eternal or on a loop, both around his head inside and out. He just wanted it all to stop, to finsh, he wished he could press his hands over his ears not hearing anymore pain. The Only thing he ever heard was from the person in the front row standing infront of him, which was his boss blondie with a sentence of "Johnny we trusted you!..." type. He was mad too, Just like all. The sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped from his chin, free flowing like condensation on a window pane. What could he say? What could he do? How would he explain? He cant, he doesnt even deserve to, its his fault since the start, it will always stay his fault. He analyze every action and speech and writhe in the agony of paths taken, he fret about what others will think of him, well now he knows why he was very concerned. The feelings his friends held for him hadnt gone, right? But Everything had now just been distorted into a close mimic of....'hatred'? He bundled all the hitting panic into his chest. Tension grew in his face and limbs, his mind replaying the last. more shallow. In these moments before his personal hurricane. He could feel it, building like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of his stomach. He cannot concentrate on anything else. Being alone while he is starting over and his whole world is crashing down. Everyone stayed shocked when the the hidden veracity was uncovered. And Jacque was No expection, Nobody was in a bigger denial than he was.

How could a truth be so cruel?

His heart felt like it was beating in a tight cage. He was connected to a part of johnny others never feel. His emotions are not perceptible, they are him, and they consumed him.

It was as if johnny heart had suddenly stopped beating and all the blood had run down into his boots.

When he saw two cops appear in the studio.

"No..."

His pupils couldnt be more dilated. How?!? When?!? The only question he knew an answer for was "why". But at that moment he didnt know that..someone called the police on him. He couldnt believe, they are here to get him, to take him, to arrest him. He wanted to jump right out of his skin and join the ether. This is too much, he cant take it anymore. The constricted feelings grew, as if he was strangled by just the air around him. He was terrified of whats going to happen the next second....Watching the rest of the police team emerge from behind, Made him feel the urge to run, escape, hide

This was the moment.

He took a step back to leave, but a wall still blocking his way, without a thought he toke the other road. Pushing people out of the path then running aimlessly. His brain in mental conflicting instructions, he hoped he was Trapped in his own psychosis, a living nightmare for him, tailor made by his own brain to play on her deepest fears. But sadly

You cant escape everytime.

He couldnt dodge the two men who held his trembling arms faster than lightning, immobilizing him painfully to the cold ground, it wasnt colder than the way his heart froze. As Police slapped on the handcuffs He was forcefully lifted up on his feet, With the limb he given he took heavy steps until the outside, he was familiar to these officers though he did not recognize them, it was time to take him to the ward. All the surrounding eyes watching their beloved oragnist led his way out of their lives. Nobody was able to shout for him a last word, maybe they had pushed him a little too hard....They did want to meet him or catch a glance of him before his finale departing, with a rush of footfalls after the officers under the dark sky in a hope for a change of events, those of course were just useless wishes. There was Only One person who dared enough to yell from behind, speaking for all.

"Stop he isnt what you think he is! I-i-i am sure there is some kind of mistake!" That was what jacque tried to persuide those 'harsh' officers, or more likely himself. Then out of expection, johnny turned around. "Tell them johnny! Tell them there is something wrong here!! Tell them this isnt you!!" But when their gazes intertwined like they never used to, the waves of regret hit them like a rock eroded by the sea. johnny had to turn around, sadly in words never wanted to be heard.

"This is the truth jacque.."

Those grey eyes bored into the lyrcist as if trying to convince him he wasnt lying. However, he still found it hard to believe. Johnny had always been so honest and telling, so he wondered why he didnt believe him now, he didnt want to, yet the burnette quivering lower lip begged him to believe, and his heart told him he would never lie to him. Johnny couldnt look into anyone eyes straightly anymore.

 "...johnny?...." "..im sorry..." It was his last whisper, a whisper only the two cops and jacque could hear, before The officer in front opened the door with the 'criminal' dipping his head into the police cruiser, all out of balance before he is lost from view behind windows, apparently he doesnt warrant that. but behind him every curtain twitches. The damp evening disappeared with the slam of the door. Its not a fast run with flashing lights, just a slow ride to be questioned, to be prisoned. The blue and red lights are little more than smudgy illuminations in the slanting blackness.

Stakeout was over.

The mood of the people swirled in an unseen currents beneath the dark surface of their faces. And Jacque has never been in a deeper denial, but the truth is truth. He remained watching the car driving away with his love, Not caring about any kind of loud noises before him. The sadness drained through hum rather than skating over his skin. It travelled through every cell to reach the ground.

Oh, Why the world must be so cruel?

If only, if only This was just a nightmare of sorts, if this was just a bad vision. Tonight he wont only be broken, but shattered into fragments more numerous than the stars. He wanted to beg, plead, get down on hid knees and tell the leaving man that his life here had a meaning. He felt a division of his body and soul. The body wasnt dead, the soul in the other hand, wasnt the same condition. There was something deep feeling in his chest, something inexplicable. The grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks. His gaze fell to the ground. In that moment the sure knowledge that life would go on without him, that time was only stopped for him. there was nothing he could do. With no way to break through his silence a chasm opened between them. This could not be johnny. This could not be his life.

It hurts...but it can heal...He will heal, right? Well.

One this known for sure is that

He wont move on any time soon.

[dustedmagazine]

Jennifer Castle — Angels of Death (Paradise of Bachelors)

“Tonight the Evening,” on Canadian songwriter Jennifer Castle’s third solo full-length, is larger and longer and more dramatic than anything she’s ever released, a seven-and-a-half minute, full-band epic that meshes her beautifully breathy, tremulous voice to a widescreen cinematic soundscape. Her band here, largely drawn from the Canadian alt.country band One Hundred Dollars (guitarists Paul Mortimer and David Clarke, steel pedalist Stew Crookes and organist Jonathan Adjemian are all veterans of that group), envelops her in airy, enveloping propulsion. Multiple guitars cascade and twine around each other, a string quartet swells under her, and a wash of pillowy voices joins hers in intoxicating motion. It’s not that Castle has always worked alone — Owen Pallett arranged strings for her second album Pink City — but this song, and indeed the album it next-to-closes, feels shared and universal in a way that previous work, however lovely, never did.

Nearly half of the songs, including the title track, deal directly or indirectly with death. Castle recorded them in a church near Lake Erie, close to family, very likely in the aftermath of sad (though unspecified) events. Castle’s lyrics have always used natural imagery as a lens for viewing human experience, and, on this album, she again finds her most vivid metaphors outdoors. “Tomorrow’s Mourning” starts with the singer wrapped in indeterminant weather and mood, “not a fog/not a mist/not a cloud/but you get the gist/the water is all around me/passing through/the myriad of confusion.”  The song, which kicks off a cycle about the aftermath of grief, suspends her in pearly humidity, unable to see or sense a way forward. Yet by the end, she is sensing “the ever omnipresent song,” that will guide her through the rest, whatever it is.  

The idea of music, not as comfort or distraction, but as an essential element of life and moving forward turns up again in “Rose Waterfalls.” The disc’s most countrified track (lovely waltzing pedal steel by Stew Crookes here) is also its most empowered, as Castle sings about fending off the muse in the day-to-day verses, then surrendering to inspiration in the surreal, ecstatic chorus about rose waterfalls cascading down from heaven.  

Castle’s voice is, as always, lovely and fragile, trembling softly in the quieter parts and taking sudden thrilling flight in the crescendos. She puts a high country vibrato in at the end of phrases, sounding not far off from Dolly Parton, but in between these fluttery highs, her tone is clear, liquid, transparent. It’s a distinctive instrument, yet here, nestled into fuller, softer arrangements of rock instruments, strings and female backup singers, she sounds surer than ever. Half a decade ago, at the old Dusted, I wrote about Castlemusic,  as if that voice was the whole experience. Now two albums on, she’s found a way to transcend and expand upon it and open her solitary music to include us all.

Jennifer Kelly

[askthehatboxghost]

What if Lilly had arrived as an adult?

A soft knock had drawn Thomas’ attention to the front door of Gracey Manor. He watched, invisible, from behind a rusting suit of armor as the door slowly opened, creaking with all the agony of years of neglect. A face peeked around the splintering wood into the foyer. It was a young woman, who, Thomas noticed as she stepped inside, was drenched from the storm that raged outside. 

“Hello…?” she timidly called, “Hello? Is anyone home?" 

When no one answered, she carefully closed the door and gingerly stepped onto the ragged carpet. The woman looked around in awe. The grand foyer was clearly a marvel to her. It was beautiful, far more so long ago. Thomas wondered if she was imagining how it once looked. 

"Hello?” she tried again, before thinking aloud, “It must be aband-" 

A great crack of thunder exploded throughout the house, making the very foundation tremble. She shrieked with fear and bolted. Thomas hurried after her, still keeping to the shadows. He followed her into the parlor, where she had collapsed onto a dusty, old couch, clutching her heart in fright. The spirit pitied the poor girl. She was already frail, he could tell and now the storm was only making it worse. He rushed back out into the foyer, forming a plan. 

Thomas quickly made himself look as much among the living as he could manage. Though still deathly pale, he was very solid and only looked, perhaps, as though he were suffering some ailment. He cleared his throat and smoothed down his coat, reluctantly leaving his hat and cloak on a hat-rack by the door. 

"Hello?” he called, “Is someone there?” He poked his head into the parlor, eyes wide, as if surprised by his guest. The woman quickly stood up. 

“Oh, yes!” she replied, “I’m so sorry for intruding. I got caught in the rain." 

"That’s alright, miss,” he said with a small bow, “you must be cold. You’re more than welcome to stay until the storm passes." 

"Thank you very much,” the woman sighed with relief, “mister…?" 

"Thomas Gracey, madam. This mansion is my home,” Thomas said, “and if I may, you are miss…?" 

"Um…” she paused, as if she had forgotten, but finally answered, “Lily. Short for… Lilian. Lilian… R-Ravens… croft. Lilian Ravenscroft. Sir." 

Thomas smiled and nodded in response, but he knew better. She had made up that name on the spot. He had seen the organist’s mausoleum countless times and had read the name ‘Ravenscroft’ about as many. But whatever reason she had for travelling under a false name was one he would be patient, but wary, about. 

"Well then, Miss Ravenscroft,” he said, offering a hand, “I would hate to leave you here, soaked to the bone. Allow me to take you somewhere you can warm yourself." 

Lily stood, deciding not to take his hand, but instead to watch him like a frightened rabbit. It made Thomas’ heart ache when someone was so terrified of him. He would gladly frighten away vandals and thieves, but there was something different about this lady. He wondered if she had run away from something. She seemed somehow abused and it bothered him deeply. Regardless, she followed him to the large fireplace in the dining room. For once, it was blessedly quiet and the fire had already been lit, making it surprisingly cozy in the frequently drafty room. Thomas pulled up a chair for his guest to sit in. 

"If you’ll relax here by the fire, miss, I’ll go fetch a blanket,” he promised, turning to leave. 

“Th-thank you,” Lily said softly, “that’s very kind of you. I didn’t realize anyone even lived here anymore, to be honest." 

"There are many beside myself who live here,” he assured her, “I’m sure later on, you’ll find the mansion to be very 'lively’. But most here are kind souls and those who are a little less than that are only… grumpy, really. But please, do make yourself at home." 

She seemed to relax a little at that. Perhaps she would be able to rest a little longer before the other residents became quite the opposite. 'Miss Lilian Ravenscroft’ was in for a surprise.

[askthesamefaces]

Hmph! I GUESS you guys are alright. AndmightbecuteBUT- What OTHER music genres can each of you pull off? Or are you boys unable to embrace the beauty of music's many varieties? How do you feel about classical music, hmmm?! And here's some chocolate for you each, I guess. Don't get the wrong idea, though!! -Tsun Anon

Osomatsu whistles. “Looks like we got a firecracker! ... I thought those were for after the show?”

“Alas ...” Karamatsu sighs. “Perhaps one went off before the intended time. Still! A lovely display this one makes, no?”

Choromatsu clears his throat. The other brothers seem to pull away from him a little, knowing that this subject is serious business.

“Well, we might just play pop and rock on stage, because that’s what people like to listen to, but we like all kinds of music! I, for one, can play several instruments, including things that belong in an orchestra.” He sighs. “I just only have these two hands, and an organ is so useful, you know? Just because we play one kind doesn’t mean we don’t like other kinds of music, I happen to hold a season ticket for the symphony! And -”

“Yay, chocolate!” Jyushimatsu’s shout cuts Choromatsu off. That may be a good thing, because he was going to get ranty. Todomatsu laughs, stepping in front of Choromatsu so the trembling organist can chill out for a second.

“Thanks so much for your support!”

[bts-theory]

WINGS Short Film: #4 First Love

Quotes from the book “Demian” and similarities which relate to scenes from this short film:

-piano-

"Twice or three times during my walks I had heard organ music coming from a small church at the edge of town. I had not stopped to listen. The next time I passed this church I heard the music again and recognized Bach. I went to the door, found it locked, and because the street was almost deserted I sat down on a curbstone next to the church, turned up my coat collar, and listened. It was not a big organ but it had good tone. It was being played with a strange, highly personal expression of purpose and tenacity that gave the impression of prayer. I felt that the organist knew the treasures hidden in the music, that he was wooing, hammering at the gate, wrestling for this treasure as for his life. "

" The church was almost completely dark, only a very thin beam of light penetrated the window closest to me."

-whistle-

"Kromer's whistle would erupt, destroying the game, crushing my illusions. "

"The day after tomorrow I'll whistle for you. You know what my whistle sounds like, don't you?" He let me hear it. I had heard it before. "Yes, " I said, "I know it. " He left me as though he'd never seen me before. It had been a business transaction between the two of us, nothing more. I think Kromer's whistle would frighten me even today if I suddenly heard it again. From now on I was to hear it repeatedly; it seemed to me I heard it all the time."

-walking-

“A great restlessness overcame me. I put on a hat and walked out of the house through the alley as though compelled, ran through innumerable streets and squares as though driven by a frenzy, listened briefly in front of my friend's dark church, searched, searched with extreme urgency--without knowing what."

-car-

"No. Something drew me. Did you call me? You must have called me. What are you doing here anyway? It's night. " He clasped me convulsively with his thin arms. "Yes, night. Morning will soon be here." (...) But suddenly I knew everything. Not only what had transpired between us but also why I had come here and what Knauer had wanted to do out here.

"You wanted to commit suicide, Knauer?" He trembled with cold and fear. "Yes, I wanted to. I don't know whether I would have been able to. I wanted to wait until morning."

BONUS:

Other than the quotes, there’s still at 1:12 the whistle- heard on the RIGHT side of the headphones. The last whistle of the video however, is heard on the LEFT side just like in Begin film.

-gifs are not mine-

the quotes have been selected by my dear sister and I only arranged them in here (•ө•) teamwork makes the dream work✿