#voicings? chords but the wrong frets

[geminusrufus]

music theory is. just applied chord studies

[memento-rory]

love love love musician!reader x schlatt as a musician myself 🤭🤭 maybe a little tidbit about reader teaching schlatt how to play the guitar ?

i love that i’d attracted all the musicians to me before even writing musician!reader 🤭

it’s not unlike schlatt to be touching all of your stuff when you’re busy doing something else. he gets so bored so easy.

you’ve taken a moment to hop in the shower after your show, having sweat through several layers of clothing, not only from the spotlights beaming down on you, but how packed and energized the small venue was. you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.

when you step out of the bathroom, squeaky clean and in a fresh set of jammies, you notice schlatt sitting on your bed with your guitar in his hands. of course. can’t help himself.

schlatt strums aimlessly on the instrument, honestly making quite a bit of racket, dissonant chords echoing your room. he catches you watching him and smiles like he’s just been caught in the act. “sorry,” he apologizes, “couldn’t resist.”

“all good, baby,” you say as you make your way to the bed. he starts to move the guitar off his lap, but you put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “you wanna learn?”

schlatt beams up at you. “you wanna teach me?”

“i’d love to,” you tell him, slipping into the empty space behind him, sitting up on your knees so you can reach around him. you rest your head on his shoulder as you take his hand, positioning his fingers where they’re actually meant to be on the frets if he wants to play pretty sounds as opposed to whatever those noises were before.

“show me how to play one ‘f your songs.” schlatt requests, “that one that i like.”

(despite how vague he is, you know the one. it’s in his rotation constantly.)

you show him each chord, walking him through it a few times, your hand just barely hovering over his as he learns. you teach him the strumming pattern, and as he starts to pick it up, he rests his head against yours.

“sing it f’ me?”

you do as he asks, smiling softly. he only messes up a few times, and you distort your voice to match the wrong pitches or pause as he tries to remember what comes next to make him laugh. you run through it a few times, and he finally gets it down perfectly.

“think i’m stage ready?” schlatt asks, and you let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“play it perfectly a couple hundred times and i’ll get back to you.”

[coeurify]

dom!ellie trying to teach reader how to play guitar while touching her down there and every time she fails ellell stops period!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ under the cut.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: tried my best to describe but i havent played guitar in years heh.

“Ellie,” your voice is shaky, fingers slipping slightly from their place on the neck of the guitar. “I can’t focus.” The hum of your heart feels like its reaching your ears, filling it with a noise much louder than the soft screech of rough strings beneath you.

You press into Ellie’s back, looking for comfort in the rise and fall of her chest against you. Grasping at the straws of solace you usually find in her body heat, hoping it will wrap around the shaking form of your own frame that had gone cold. That comfort is lost when her hand stills. The hand that Ellie had slipped under the body of the soft tan colored guitar and into your own lap that rested against hers. It happened about half way into the promised guitar lesson, the damned thing finding its way under your dress easily, making this lesson very hard to focus on.

Ellie didn’t seem to mind the way your breaths had turned from gentle inhales to ragged squeezes from your chest. What she did mind was your hand falling from its place. “Of course you can,” Ellie hums, free hand reaching to twist one of the pegs slightly. “Play the G chord again,” Ellie commands.

Your shaky fingertips have a mind of their own, one quick to bend to the will of your girlfriend, hoping to find some reward for listening so well on the other side of her request. The pad of your ring finger presses down on the first string, index and middle digits following quickly to find their spot on the other strings needed. They searched for the place under the frets that Ellie had attempted to commit to your— slightly hazy at this point, memory.

The theory was proved right when her thumb began circling your clit again, your heavy mind forcing your head back against her with a small whine. The guitar moved with you, but your fingers stayed pressed tightly against the strings. “Good job baby,” Ellie praises, words reverberating against your closely pressed bodies, the growing thrum of energy poking at your shoulder blades. “Try strumming, should be tuned right now.”

It irritated you how normal she was acting like all of this was, like her hand wasn’t creating a heat in your belly that was becoming too hard to distract yourself from with the guitar. But Ellie always had this air of nonchalance to her when teasing you. She knew just what threads to tug in order to make you fall apart under her, knew what words pressed against the shell of your ear had you shivering, what touches had you playing like an instrument of your own..all while staying completely unaffected. Or, seeming so at least.

Your other hand reached slightly lower on the guitar, trembling fingers trying their best to pluck. It creates a sound that appears almost right, which Ellie rewards with a harsher press to your clit, words following the action, “Good girl, now try the chords we went over earlier.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, attempting to ignore the pooling you feel in your center, the rough skin of your fingers falling into a more practiced stance of the C chord. The way Ellie’s lips had rasped out the praise had you moving a little faster, a little more carelessly as your heartbeat grew stronger, playing the notes of your chest with every small huff of air sucked into your lungs. The sound came out all wrong when you strummed due to your sloppiness, causing the evil hand placed between your shaking thighs to pause.

“El,” you whimper, spine arching at the loss of contact.

“Try again.”

[comfort-writing]

Some thoughts I have about Eddie:

- He loves watching you play his guitar. You may just pluck at the strings, asking how to play a chord or two, but he loves watching your fingers glide across the neck of it as you strum nonsense. You’re the only person who he allows to touch his baby. Sometimes he’ll sit behind you, chest pressed against your back, legs straddling your own, and he’ll place his fingers on the frets, show you the strum pattern, and you’ll play a little song together. He’ll hum the lyrics quietly into the crook of your neck, making your skin warm and your head spin.

- His love language is physical touch. At first, you noticed the way he liked to have a hand on you. Holding your own. Resting comfortably on your waist. Playing with the frayed ends of your shorts with his thumb, palm splayed out on your thigh. But as time progressed, and as he got more comfortable, he needed to be as close as physically possible. In public, he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you close as you looked at cans in the grocery store. He’d wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder while waiting in line at a concert. He’d pull you into his lap, holding you tight on his couch as a movie played on the tv in his trailer. It wasn’t sexual or possessive, but he needed to be touching you at all times. There was a few days early on where you noticed that he’d backed off a bit, and you definitely felt the absence. You wondered if something was wrong, and on day three of him avoiding your touch, you finally asked him about it. His hand went to the back of his neck, scratching the skin there as he explained that he was worried that you thought it was annoying, that maybe he was too touchy or clingy. When you hugged him close and kissed him sweetly, explaining that you’d missed his presence, all fear melted away. You called him your little barnacle and he laughed all the anxiety out of his system in that moment.

- Any opportunity that Eddie has to make you laugh, he will take it !! Sometimes he’ll just start telling you the cheesiest knock-knock jokes, and you don’t even really laugh at the jokes, but really laugh at how earnestly he is telling them to you, looking at you expectantly, hoping you’ll crack. When your annoyed-facade finally fades and you giggle, he will keep coming up with more, and even if they don’t make sense, you laugh anyways. His eyes light up and he looks like a little kid on Christmas morning. He loves giving random objects funny voices, making them talk to you, almost how a parent might entertain a toddler. But dammit, it’s really funny when he holds up an onion in the store and says in an unnaturally deep voice for an onion, “Don’t worry baby girl, I won’t make you cry. You should pick me”. He intentionally picks out really terrible, low-budget movies at Family Video just so he can listen to you laugh at, and make fun of, the terrible special effects and acting. Your laugh is his favorite sound on the planet.

-Eddie befriends any animal he comes across. Just looking at him, you wouldn’t really take him as an animal lover, but during one of your first visits to his trailer, you notice a little food bowl just tucked underneath the structure of his home. When you questioned him about it, he told you that he feeds the strays. He tells you that he was essentially a stray as a kid, and sometimes he would’ve loved a good meal. If the two of you ever go for a walk, a dog might approach him and beg for pets, even if on a leash with their owner right there. If they agree to let him pet their dog, he immediately drops to his knees and cards his fingers through the dog’s fur, cooing and telling it what a good dog it is, letting it lick his cheeks mercilessly. If you take a stroll through the woods, little critters might cross your path, and he bends low, sitting patiently and letting it approach him. One day, he managed to somehow pet a literal squirrel, and when it finally scurried off, you called him Snow White. He laughed brightly and claimed that you were just jealous.

- Eddie hates reading, but loves Shakespeare. Not Romeo and Juliet, but stuff like Richard III. He may secretly include its plots into his D&D campaigns. That is all.

- He is either insanely amazing at or incredibly terrible at flirting. There’s really no in-between. One day, he’s putting on the moves, tucking your hair away from your neck and whispering things that drive you mad into your ear. His hands are teasing, brushing your sides gently as he tells you all the things he wants to do to you later, alone. His eyes rake over you and land on your lips, staying there until you just can’t stand it, finally giving in to his suave advances. The next day he says something like “Damn baby girl, you look.. like a girl.. who I like the look of… shit.”

- It took him a long time to finally admit that he loves you. But every day after that, he spews the three words endlessly. When you hand him his coffee in the morning. When you are tying your hair up for the day or brushing your teeth. When the two of you are swaying to the music on the radio in his kitchen. When he’s wiping down the counter after dinner and you’re watching him from your place on the couch. When he kisses your neck while his hands wander. When your laugh becomes infectious. Any and every moment he thinks it, he says it.

- Eddie journals. Every day of his life is written down in endless notebooks. Sometimes they’re short little blurbs, other times, they’re pages and pages describing his grief. It was a way to process his emotions when nobody would listen to him as a kid. His upside down entry when he got home simply says: ‘I’m grateful to be alive.’

[whumpiary]

for anon, who requested christopher and cassius' last time.

content warnings: dubcon, grief, grieving an abuser, choking, death thoughts, passing suicidal ideation

-

Christopher is playing the guitar. Cass can hear the soft notes and chords halfway down the hallway, before he can even see the light spilling out, where the door has been left ajar. If it’s a particular song, Cass can’t pick it. But that’s not unusual. Sometimes Christopher just picks up the guitar and starts tinkering, the music winding in and out of different refrains and patterns, transitioning endlessly from one to the next.

Cass has fallen asleep to the sound of him playing more than once. Curled up on the couch beside him, head against Christopher’s hip. Or on the ground at his feet, arms looped around his calf, the lower notes sending humming vibrations into his bones. The easy tempos schooling his breath. 

It occurs to him, standing outside the door, just out of sight, that he won’t ever be able to do that anymore. That after tonight, he’ll probably never hear Christopher play the guitar again. 

For a moment, he doesn’t step inside. He rests his head on the door frame and listens. To notes weaving in and out. To the subtle ringing scratch of Chirstopher’s fingers moving up and down the frets.

It’s beautiful.

And full of longing.

And very fucking sad.

The music doesn’t stop as he steps over the threshold. But a note rings out longer than the rest and he can see Christopher note him in his periphery. 

They haven’t talked since it happened. Not really. He’s not sure they’ll talk tonight either. He’s not even sure that Christopher will let him stay. But he wanted to see him. He wanted to be in his space, part of his furniture. For one last night.

He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him, actually. For wanting that. But he wants it.

He tucks himself in the corner of the room, on the corner of the couch, far away from the solitary arm-chair Christopher has elected to sit in tonight, and listens to the music. After a while, it seems to not be music at all as much as it is scales, and then tuning. Out of one key into the next. Then more scales.

When Christopher’s hands finally go still, the final strum reverberates out across the room like the ripples in a lake. There’s the final scratch of strings as he puts it down and then there’s nothing. Just quiet.

Without the sound the room feels too still. Too empty. Cass can feel Christopher looking at him. He picks at the skin around his nails and doesn’t look back.

Christopher’s anger is always a weighted, silent thing. Cold and smooth like lead, poisoning slowly on contact.

Sometimes it could be assuaged. Warmed up slowly by syrupy sweetness and good behaviour, or snapped in half and turned into something else, pointy-edged and vicious. Cass doesn’t have it in him to try for either tonight. He isn’t sure it would work either. 

After what feels like an hour of staring, Christopher stands, moves to the bar cart, fixes them both a drink. Himself a whiskey. Cassius a gin. Their fingertips brush as the glass is passed, Christopher’s cold with condensation. Neither one of them looks at the other. 

Cass skin prickles in anticipation of Christopher sitting beside him but it doesn't happen. Instead the man keeps moving, taking gliding steps over to the bookshelves where the record player sits, drawers full of vinyls below them. He starts thumbing through them silently, taking idle sips of Glenfiddich as he does.

Cassius sips his own drink and doesn’t taste it. There’s just the sensation of cold on his lips, down his throat, down his chest.

Christopher seems to want to take his time with every piece of tonight. Or maybe he just can't decide which record. There is a dull crackle when the turntable starts up, before strings ring out, and then a melodic voice.

One kiss, one little sigh That’s all you gave me When you said goodbye.

“Cassius.”

Cass raises his head but he can’t force his gaze to meet Christopher’s. His eyes snag somewhere by his waist. He watches Christopher put down his whiskey. Put his hand out.

But someday, baby Someday, darlin'

“Dance with me, darling.”

You're gonna miss me.

Grief strikes Cass' heart like a spear. Like a physical thing. Sharp and penetrative. Right in the middle of his chest. He stays staring at Christopher’s hands. He feels his features pinch. He shakes his head.

“Cassius, please.”

Christopher’s desire is a steady pulse. For once, not a ravenous, glutinous thing but a low and hungry ache. He wants closeness. He wants gentleness. A quiet goodbye. Cassius can barely stand it. The thought alone makes him want to crumble. He shakes his head again 

Christopher’s voice is sharp and loud. Thunderclap in the middle of the night, “You are still mine.”

Cass tenses to hold down his own flinch. For a moment there is no movement but the tiny slosh of gin in his glass, threatening to overspill the rim. No sound beyond the music.

Christopher breathes sucks in a breath so deep it shakes in his chest. It’s such a strange sound. When he speaks again, his tone is back to its usual softness.

“For tonight, you are still mine.” His voice cracks on the final word. Thick with grief. Close to tears. Cassius doesn’t know what to do with that. “And you will do as I ask.”

Cassius can feel himself shaking. He feels stupid for it. He holds his gin so tight his hand aches, the crystalline patterning of the cup pressing into his palm. He can’t look up.

Christopher tries one more time, gentle and pleading, “Please, Cassius. Dance with me.”

Connie Francis keeps crooning from the record player.

Cassius unfolds himself with the same delicacy as someone folding their hand over a fistful of broken glass. His feet are cold on the floorboards. He can’t feel his hands until they slip into Christopher’s. Then all at once he feels he’s far too warm.

Christopher taught him how to waltz in this room. And to tango. Large warm hands gently holding his boy’s smaller one. Soft laughs at missed steps, a little thrill in Cassius’ stomach when he was twirled or dipped. He wasn’t very good at it. But it was fun. And it felt kinda romantic. For a while.

He knows the steps. How to follow Christopher’s lead.

Oh yes, you're gonna learn I'm not the only one whose heart will burn

What else has his time here been but following Christopher’s lead?

'Cause someday, baby, someday darlin'... You’re gonna miss me

Over and over and over and over.

The song fades out. There’s a small crackle before the needle finds the next.

I was dancing, with my darlin’, to the Tennessee Waltz When an old friend I happened to see

Christopher changes his grip on his boy's hand, brings him in to hold him closer. The steps become smaller and slower. More of a rock. A swaying embrace.

I introduced her to my loved one And while they were dancing My friend stole my sweetheart from me

All at once Cass can’t take it. He feels grief bubbling up and up in his chest like a rising tide, high in his throat and then behind his eyes. Christopher’s gentle grip becomes a vice around his wrist as he tries to shift away. He’s held close, tight, and he pulls against it as a sob wracks him.

“I can’t,” he says. “I can’t do this.”

“You can.” There’s a tightness to Christopher’s voice. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t want to. I can’t-”

“Cassius.”

He lets out a cry, protest and defeat in one breath, a final tug against Christopher’s grip the last bit of fight he has in him. He presses his head to Christopher’s chest and his shoulders shake. He regrets everything all at once. It comes pouring out of him in crushed up sobs, each choking in his throat one after the other. 

“I’m sorry,” he can barely make his voice go louder than a whisper, broken up . “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t- I didn’t want to.”

“Don’t lie to me, darling boy. Not tonight.”

“I love you,” he says instead, voice thick as he pulls back to look at him. He feels like he's dying. “I love you.”

Christopher takes his boy by the chin, running a thumb over his bottom lip. His eyes look so dark in the firelight.

When he brings their lips together, his mouth is soft and hot. Cass sobs into it, kissing him like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe. He kisses him and kisses him and kisses him. He can’t stop crying. It takes him a while to realise Christopher is crying too. 

He brings his hands to the man’s face, thumb running over his cheek, intercepting the path of a tear. He’s seen Christopher cry a small handful of times. He doesn’t think he’s ever been the cause of it before.

“I don’t want to go,” he whispers. Confession and heartbreak.

“Don’t lie to me, love.”

Christopher lifts him easily, kissing him again and again as he walks them both to the bedroom. They don’t speak. When they get there, Cassius is undressed piece by piece. It’s only when he reaches for Christopher’s shirt that the man pauses to undress himself.

It feels right for them both to be bare for this. Skin pressed to skin, heart pressed to heart.

Christopher’s hands feel so hot that Cass is sure a trail of singed flesh must be left in the wake of his touch. There must be blackened skin and ash falling from him. Every part of him burned up like a match.

He cries out when Christopher enters him, sobs rattling his ribs and head falling back against the pillows as his body arches up, lets him in. There’s an ache to it. There’s an ache to all of it. To everything.

Christopher’s hands stay on his waist, Cass’ crying an off rhythm staccato to the movement of their bodies. In. Cass can’t breathe, lungs suddenly too big for his chest, expanded by grief. Out. Sobs shake him faster than he can keep up.

Christopher brings his mouth to his boy’s chest, teeth grazing the juncture of his neck, tongue working up his throat. The kiss is suffocating. So deep Cass feels like he’s drowning. In and out. And in and out. And all he can think about is getting closer to him and closer to him and crawling into Christopher's skin so he doesn’t have to leave come morning.

He isn’t surprised when hands encircle his throat. Christopher shifts back, face stoic and unreadable if it weren’t for the tears on his cheeks, not yet pressing in. The want for Cass to stay, to stay still, to stay here, to never leave, bleeds off of him like ink through water. Like an oil spill.

Cass sucks in a breath. When Christopher cuts his air off it feels like being pulled under by a riptide.

He wants to stay there forever, Christopher buried deep inside of him, hands around his throat, claiming him, owning him, killing him. He wants to stay like this. He never wants to separate. He wants to die like this.

He doesn’t want to go.

It’s Christopher who can’t take it in the end. He lets go all at once, brow pinched in his own grief, and collapses forward to pepper kisses all over his boy’s gasping face. His hips snap faster. He grips tight enough to bruise. To claim. To make them one.

When Cass can breathe again, words fall out of him unheeded, “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh.”

“I love you. I love you.”

His body hurts.

He wants to stay like this.

His mouth is dry.

He never wants to separate.

Everything aches. Everything, everything aches.

He doesn’t want to go.

Christopher finishes inside of him and pulls out, sweeping him onto his side to hold him close, kiss his hair, rub circles into his back. Cassius doesn’t know how long the both of them weep for.

Cassius goes to sleep curled against Christopher’s chest, the man’s arms tight around him, the sheets damp with tears and everything else, his body an empty shell.

He wakes up entirely alone.

[neostriatum]

Degrees of Freedom

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

-

Marty thought, in the brief flash of light that warped his view of the Twin Pines Mall parking lot and his memory of Doc lying behind him, prone and silent and still, that he could almost hear the melody of the universe. See also: Holonomic constraints

-

He lived for music. Picking at his guitar, amp reverberating what pulsed through his veins down his fingertips, accompanied by nothing or anything, he felt connected to the world in a way that school or Jennifer had trouble reaching.

It was a testament to how many hours he had spent at Doc’s garage, jamming out mindlessly to the tune of clanging construction and letting his voice be carried along what the strings spoke to him, that even now, frantic and grieving, he instinctively puzzled over the sparking cues of the DeLorean as he sped toward eighty-eight miles an hour.

Marty thought, in the brief flash of light that warped his view of the Twin Pines Mall parking lot and his memory of Doc lying behind him, prone and silent and still, that he could almost hear the melody of the universe.

Later, when he had hopped time the way his fingers hopped the fret board and with equal urgency pumping his heart faster, he listened to Doc’s monologue of how the universe self-corrected. It made sense to him, now, and he blurted out, “Like a dissonant chord.”

Doc blinked at him, a similitudinous echo of the expression the Doc of ’55 had given him when he tried to explain that time-travel was not only possible, but probable. His brows scrunched together, and he watched his friend throw his magnificent mind at the problem.

Maybe it was a side-effect of time travel, but he bounced in place, fingers tapping out a rhythm he couldn’t remember if he tried, only knew it by sense-memory, as he waited for whatever output Doc’s brain would come up with from this new input. It was new, knew it as strongly as he knew his bone-deep senses, but at the same time it felt like it had been there – guiding him – all along.

“Yes,” Doc murmured, looking at him thoughtfully, “I suppose that’s exactly it.”

He got a taste of his own theory in 2015, how bitterly the future – either of them – sat on his tongue, his hand twitching to a rhythm persistently unlike the one his dour, bitter future self was imprinted with. Even 1985B resonated badly to him, like a set of strings tightened to their extremes and too frightful to play without risking a scarring injury.

Pocket burning with the image of a changing tombstone, Marty felt he could almost hear it now, a thumping underneath his pulse that worked in time with his instinctive calls to action. Clara rang… not wrong, but missing – as if the thundering clops of hoof-beats were a counterpoint that could lead anywhere, even to a ravine.

It made him feel a little bit scraped raw, a shell of circumstance that pushed him to rattle forth into Doc’s place. He girded himself against the clanging notes sleuthing through his subconscious, too ready to throw his own handful of earth upon the grave of cacophony he and Doc had created.

The feeling stuck with him, past the sublime echo of an improvised bullet-proof vest and the DeLorean being smashed to pieces on the train tracks he had scrambled away from. Jennifer felt about as real as Clara – circumstances, notes, rather, that worked with the song he could now feel, but never as perfect of a match as they could be.

He caught his breath, in this unmoored 1985 that was neither A, nor B, nor C, and let his fingers dance to the tune time had introduced him to.

-

Author's Notes

Degrees of Freedom (often abbreviated df or DOF) refers to the number of independent variables or parameters of a system. In various scientific fields, the word "freedom" is used to describe the limits to which physical movement or other physical processes are possible. This relates to the philosophical concept to the extent that people may be considered to have as much freedom as they are physically able to exercise.[citation needed]

- Wikipedia

In classical mechanics, holonomic constraints are relations between the position variables (and possibly time[1]) that can be expressed in the following form: f(u1, u2, u3, … un, t) = 0 where {u1, u2, u3, … un} are the n generalized coordinates that describe the system. For example, the motion of a particle constrained to lie on the surface of a sphere is subject to a holonomic constraint, but if the particle is able to fall off the sphere under the influence of gravity, the constraint becomes non-holonomic.

- Wikipedia

I was originally going to remix a title from the Dying Earth (genre) wiki, but the urge to toss in some physics reference was a bit too strong to ignore. I worked backwards this time (ha) in comparison to my Quantum Leap fic Restoring Force when it came to summary references, but degrees of freedom and holonomic constraints are indeed directly related to each other, via the term "configuration space", which may or may not be computed with time as a variable as one wishes.

Music accompaniment: "Distorted Light Beam" by Bastille (lyrics here)

[hakaan05]

Up, down, up, down. I strum all the strings, missing one.

‘God that sounds awful’ I still hear.

Up, down, down, up.

This time I held down the fret too softly, muting the sound. I struggle to do the most basic chords, always pressing too hard or too soft, too far from the fret.

‘Here.’ I remember, your voice in my right ear. You guided my hand through the fretboard, your fingers on top of mine. I felt your chest rise and fall behind me, ‘Place your fingers here,’ and my fingers followed.

‘Then you strum with your thumb— not your nail.’ A small laugh echoed.

Down, down, up.

A basic C chord in an untuned guitar, feeling colder than usual. I’ll place it down in the same corner everyday, and do it wrong everyday. Cause only then can I ever feel your palms on the top of my hand, your head on my shoulder, my back on your chest.

Everyday I wake up and pick up an instrument in hopes that I could revel in the same feeling of being trapped between you and a guitar.

[perpetual-fool]

Music?

In my blind writhing I've picked up guitar again. By 'guitar' I mean 'making music generally', entails means 'guitar + singing'. And it's making me feel a little better? which is very strange for a couple reasons.

Mainly, nothing should be making me feel any better. I've tried everything, there's nothing left. I thought. So I don't know what's going on. Speculating, it might feel like putting feelings to music gives it legitimacy. Like, she has a couple songs that sound like they're about what happened, except the events are completely flipped around. Like "..can't bear you to leave.." when she was the one who abandoned me. And the songs feel like hard proof that she's right and good and perfect and I'm lying and wrong and evil and crazy. So having my own as rebuttal would mean I'm not crazy?

But also, this should be extremely triggering. She's the root of this torment and this was very very much her thing. Professional musician, album on spotify, opened for a big famous band once (supposedly). And it's just not? I think, somehow, this never got contaminated. Like pretty much everything is like: I tried picking up card stacking, then when I told someone about it they it was inherently unethical because the national card stacking association supports a known hate group, and it doesn't make any sense but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth about the whole thing. Which is to say, pretty much everything has bad memories attached. And we just never got into it. I tried. I asked about how to go about writing songs or learning to sing and play. But the shit she told me was like "just do it" and "finish what you started". So she never told me anything about it, actually.

If I keep thinking about her the daymares are going to start up again.

So, music and stuff. As a bass, this is actually fairly complicated. The voice is going to be lead melody of course, would sound very strange otherwise. The problem is that the lowest notes are the foundation of the harmony. And with a single instrument or one that blends really well I can do some interesting stuff. Like, you can play a chord on guitar and keep moving the bass note down one fret, and that still sounds good. But with a different instrument it just sounds out of tune. And up in alto range you can sing/play whatever note you want and it'll sound right so long as it's in the same key. But me, if there's a chord happening anywhere in the low end, then I have to be singing one of those notes, else it sounds off. And singing arpeggios as a melody would be very limiting and strange, so what I'll have to do is rapidly change the chord to keep up with the melody.

Here's a video of that being done well: (https://youtu.be/TLvtw4nXou0?si=nQDI0QGqkjRJulKX)

I don't think this instrument is at all appropriate. I can't change chords that fast, even ignoring the screeching. I could maybe play fast and loose with dyads but the instrument really is optimized for fat six-string filler chords. And anything whose range overlaps mine significantly is going to sound very muddy or be very awkward to play around that. So what then? Bass wasn't totally off base, I could directly harmonize with that. Would be awkward. A chord instrument an octave or more above me would work, ukulele or something. I hate how those sound, not my thing. (https://youtu.be/Vqbk9cDX0l0?si=nYme3tApMTzFwSUG) So it seems like my best option is my first love, viola. I can make that work now. Also, my fingers are too fat for guitar, it's really hard to play. I'd be better off with something more like piccolo bass. Though I also don't have monster bass hands a la Justin Chancellor, so I guess I have cello-sized hands? And speaking of, bass would be more suitable for the kind of thing I'd want to play anyway. (https://youtu.be/ke6Qxkel8cU?si=NAM9FFFQ9haj1pYcl)

I want to hear what bass rock-voice sounds like. Like Chester but down an octave.

Anyway, running out of steam and the daymares are coming back. I should try and go to sleep. I don't hurt when I sleep. currently.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY FIVE

miles edgeworth

“that’s gonna scar”

* WARNINGS: implied SA *

It was a very dark and gloomy evening, a perfect atmosphere that reflected the day you’d had.

Most of your Friday had been spent worrying and fretting over the absence of Miles Edgeworth from the courtroom. He’d had a case to prosecute at 10am sharp, but never showed, nor did he contact anyone he knew. Given, nearly all of what you knew about the incident had come from the local news, so you knew it wasn’t the most up-to-date, but you still found yourself worried. From what limited things you knew about the prosecutor, you could still tell he wouldn’t miss court unannounced unless something was quite wrong.

You’d gone on a single date with Miles Edgeworth a few weeks ago, after meeting him through your required presence as an expert witness on a case. The date was nice, cordial - relaxed, even. You had enjoyed yourself. However, at the end of the night, the prosecutor had sheepishly admitted he didn’t think he was ready for a partner, and since you weren’t willing to fling around, that was pretty much the end of that. You still had your questions, but you felt as if they went better unanswered.

With a sigh, you set down the book you had been attempting to read. It was no use - you were too worried, your thoughts too loud. You considered taking some sleeping pills, knocking yourself out just so you could peacefully reach tomorrow and see if anything developed.

Just as you started to get up, a series of thunder-like sounds erupted around you, and you jolted slightly. For a split second, you had thought it actually was thunder, but after a second of thought, you realized someone was knocking at your door.

Your heart found its way into your stomach as you made your way to the door. Any visitor at this time of night, in this weather, could not be good.

It was only with curiosity, not bravery, that you threw open your front door, your anxiety telling you to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You regretted it as soon as you took in the sight before you.

Miles Edgeworth... soaked to the bone, wearing tattered clothes, and covered in bloody gashes.

Your mouth fell open as you took in the sight. You tried to force yourself to speak, but the shock suffocated you at first. After you swallowed, your vocal chords began to work again, although you couldn’t yet form full sentences. “O-oh, my God... Miles... I-I-...”

“I assume... that you’re still a nurse?”

His voice... his voice. It was so fragile, so tired, a voice you’d never expect to come out of Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. It made your heart physically tighten, constricting with sympathy. “I... Y-yeah, of course, but Miles, you... you need to go-”

“I’m not going to a hospital... I can’t. Can I come in?”

You hesitated for a split second before moving aside, allowing him inside. He took a couple of steps, then stumbled a bit, prompting you to reach out and help him. It seemed as though either his knee or his side was inhibiting him from walking well - from the looks of it, it could have even been both.

You managed to get him to the kitchen table, where he nearly collapsed onto one of your dining chairs, clutching his right side. You took a step back and, bluntly, stared at him - taking him in, examining his injuries.

His arms were slashed with scratches and scrapes. His right knee, swollen and tender, appeared to be displaced. There was an extremely large, nasty gash slicing his left cheek in two. He was covered in bruises nearly everywhere. 

If this is what he looked like mostly covered in clothes, you can’t imagine what kind of damages were hidden.

“Please stop staring at me,” the man mumbled after a silence, looking off to the side.

You forced yourself to stop, trying to look only into the prosecutor’s eyes. His exhausted, pain-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, I... Miles, you’re badly hurt. You really, really need to go to the hospital. I may be a nurse, but there’s not much I can do for you inside my house.”

“I already told you - I can’t go to the hospital. Please don’t ask me why.” He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. Whether he was feeling defeat or pain, you weren’t sure. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

You looked away, trying to decide what to do. You had a feeling that whatever the reason was for Edgeworth showing up looking like this, it could not have been a good one. More specifically, you were quite certain that it was a dangerous one. Perhaps, for now, simply playing along was your best option. 

You shook your head, coming back into the present moment. “Not many. A first-aid kit, some antiseptic, and maybe a little bit of suturing supplies... Certainly not enough for-”

“It’s plenty... I know I’m asking a lot of you, and for that I apologize, but... I’m afraid I have no other choices at the moment.”

He met your eyes briefly, and in them you could see his sincerity. He really was sorry, and he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. You automatically frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Okay,” you spoke, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll go get my supplies...”

You gathered up all the medical items in your possession. Thankfully, you had more than you’d thought. Several antiseptics, many kinds of bandages and wraps, antibiotic creams, and some sutures. Certainly not as many as Edgeworth needed, but hopefully enough to take care of the gash on his cheek and some other, smaller cuts.

“You’re going to have to get undressed,” you told him as you set out your supplies. “I have to make sure I don’t miss anything major.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the prosecutor grimace. “... My shirt, fine... but not my bottoms.”

You paused. Became silent for a moment. Tensed your jaw. Then nodded.

“Okay... not your bottoms.”

You carefully helped him get his tattered shirt off, and once it was over his shoulders, you couldn’t hide your horror at what you saw. “Oh, my God, Miles...”

His back was covered in thick gashes, bruises, cuts, and, horrifically, whipping lashes. All the injuries ran together, blurring the skin into a mess of blood and irritation. It nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“It... It isn’t as bad as-”

“Miles, please, I’m begging you, you have to go to the hospital!” you pleaded, coming around to face him. “I-I don’t have enough supplies to help you, not nearly enough. You... You have to get to the hospital soon!”

He shook his head, unable to meet your eyes. “I can’t go to the hospital,” he repeated. “I just-”

“What do you mean you can’t? Did... did someone do this to you and tell you that you couldn’t? Are you not supposed to? Is-”

“Y/N, please, I... I can’t speak of it now,” he admitted, wincing as he said the words. “I just need you to clean everything up a bit and stitch what you can... The rest I can manage.”

He looked up to you then, and the look in his eyes all but made you crumple to the floor. After only a second of him looking at you like that, you felt yourself nodding. “Okay... okay.”

You started with cleaning all the cuts and gashes that covered him. Since his back held the most, you decided to begin there.

“I’ll warn you, this is going to sting... probably a lot.”

The prosecutor’s muscles tensed slightly. “... I’m aware.”

The first time the antiseptic hit one of the gashes, the prosecutor tensed and groaned in pain. You bit your lip as you continued to clean the cuts, trying to remain objective and failing miserably.

His groaning eventually became stifled whimpers, then only soft gasps. His back remained tense with the pain, even as you moved to clean some other gashes on his torso and arms.

The one on his face was certainly the worst, besides the whip marks. It was wide and deep, and you took careful time to make sure it was thoroughly clean. You inspected it carefully for a moment, frowning at your conclusion.

You sighed. “That’s gonna scar,” you told him softly, pointing to the gash on his face. “No matter what I do, I think… I think it’ll leave a pretty bad scar.”

After a beat of silence, the prosecutor let out a deep breath. “I assume most of them will.”

Once you finished cleaning all the cuts and gashes, you prepared to suture up some of them, including the one of Edgeworth’s face. That one was your first concern, as a matter of a fact. That wound certainly couldn’t go without stitches - there were others that needed them, but they would still heal without them. This one, you weren’t sure.

“This shouldn’t hurt terribly, but it won’t be pleasant,” you prefaced. “I’ll be tugging on you a bit, but I need you to stay as relaxed as you can. Let me do all the work.”

Edgeworth nodded as you pulled up a chair next to him, sitting close. The table light above you certainly wasn’t the best lighting for medical work, but it was all you had at the moment, so it would have to do.

You began stitching up the gash, your heart tightening each time the prosecutor even slightly winced. As you stitched, you once again started to become overwhelmed by the situation you were currently in - more specifically, how little you knew about it.

“… Am I ever gonna get to know what happened?” you asked softly as you continued suturing.

Edgeworth tried not to tense as you worked. “Truthfully, I really don’t think you want to know.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure the police would like to.”

The man almost shook his head before he remembered what you were doing. “No - the police can’t know. That’s an absolute.”

“So, what? I clean you up, fix your injuries, then you walk out the door and act like nothing happened?”

Edgeworth closed his eyes, letting out a load-bearing sigh. When he spoke next, his voice was considerably softer - more vulnerable. “Believe me, Y/N, I hate it as much as you do, but at this moment, that is my only option…”

And as much as you didn’t want to, you kept silent after that. Truthfully, you just felt like you should. Something you couldn’t explain told you not to push the subject further, at least not right then.

You managed to get the gash on his face sutured up nicely, but at the cost of having hardly any sutures left for the rest of his cuts. In all honesty, you didn’t think you had enough for even one more cut.

You shook your head. “That’s the only cut I can stitch, I… I don’t have enough supplies. I’ll just have to bandage the rest.”

The prosecutor nodded. “That’ll do just fine.”

You began to long process of bandaging the bigger cuts, taking care and precaution not to cause Edgeworth any unnecessary pain. You felt awful when he winced and squirmed beneath your touch.

“Just so I can be certain… is there anything below your waist that I should look at? Clean, bandage, anything?”

Edgeworth stiffened, face twisting in an uncomfortable wince. Whether it was from you touching him or something else, you weren’t sure.

“No, there’s… there’s nothing.”

You paused and examined his back and, once assured you’d bandaged everything that needed it, came back around to face Edgeworth. “I… think you should let me check,” you said carefully, delicately. “What seems minor to you might have done more damage than you realize.”

“There’s nothing,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “Nothing.”

“Miles, I really think I should-”

“No...! No, I... I said no... I said no.”

You thought morbidly about what he’d said for a few moments before shutting out the thoughts. “... Okay. I’ll trust you... I’m sorry for pushing you.”

The prosecutor shook his head, it hanging nearly to his chest. “Don’t apologize... I know you’re only trying to do what I asked of you. I just...” He inhaled, shuddering slightly, “can’t... right now.”

You nodded. “It’s okay, Miles... you don’t owe me an explanation. Not right now.”

Before waiting for a response, you walked into your living room and grabbed one of your smaller blankets. You brought it back over and carefully draped it over Edgeworth’s shoulders. He grabbed it appreciatively, holding it tight around himself and bowing his head to his chest.

His head remained hung low as he sat there for several silent minutes, contemplating. It was in that moment that, possibly for the first time, you saw the true extent of the state he was in. Not only was he exhausted and in pain, but he was worn down from the inside out. He would never willingly let you, or anybody else, see that, but it was true. Someone had taken Miles Edgeworth and broken him down not only physically, but mentally, too.

Before you could stop yourself, you heard yourself speaking. “I... want to give you a hug,” you said simply.

The prosecutor raised his head quickly, eyebrows furrowed.

You shrugged. “I just... I want to... I want to touch you in a way that doesn’t cause you pain... If that would be okay.”

After a moment of keeping his gaze with you, he looked away, his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. He let out a sigh, allowing his eyes to close. “I… would very much appreciate that.”

You weren’t expecting that adamant of an answer - it both warmed and broke your heart. With a sigh, you slowly sat down in the chair next to Edgeworth. You waited a moment before reaching over and, as gently as possible, lacing your arms around his neck. You pulled him towards you, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of your neck. And you held him. Just... held him.

He nestled his head under your chin and seemed to lean into you the longer you held him, all his tension melting away bit by bit. He never would have admitted it to you, but he nearly broke down in that embrace of yours. After the day he’d had, he really had forgotten that human contact was supposed to feel nice - it wasn’t supposed to be painful.

He had no idea how long it would have taken him to re-learn that if it hadn’t been for you.

[libidomechanica]

And yet with their dead

A curtal sonnet sequence

               I

We ranged and all the shaggy shelf, and sunly and last he has fetch thee what in thee on to chance, Julia, I bring thy meed. A fiery-hot to battle. Oh for euer shall rail against her hand; ring of Satanic power? But list applyde. And yet with their dead. Would I put our sail to pipe and squares the rose, and vice. In that last ensample on his very face; all these things ever droop-headed. As I love. He is not then short.

               II

And who Absál long’d my lightly, with song. To be love transient for still. She said, so longer I go the words so often trumpet in the hills in me thing stream of a wall a sphered cheek would not chose beames doe wrecks which the fresh with thee lou’d by thy paines, on the second worke that sinks in Egypt. Was wakenest to inflame round thyself was dry; the distant should be only former! The chords: nor less trouble to her eye.

               III

Unrest. Her gesture, half on her empery of thunder-shower fell Kai Khusrau. If ten of the haunting him lose my pleasures of her tree rustling tree’s supple boughs, better spring-tides seaward, found Him not why, nor game, nor distant gladly sits beholder part, dare wed? Are bound upon her closer lips, he sits down through greedy fyre, that I shall: that thou goest onward with gold, the forest-trees branch rapt to wonderful, were none.

               IV

And o’er lusty spring, dissolu’d there wit vnto thy birth, so many a flute came, or voice more, myne eye, that might by dark invested you done your lips be drunkard. Of thou thy summers’ pride. And through the open contractions together of our own cost to call’d the strange casement-curtain, my bruises and fret, and rights, will not less prisoner led by toil, still with endure when a Signal out of thee, and self-same his larger hope.

               V

Down from his springs hereafter, feigned on libbard’s football, laugh’d, as one that from the whispers of the pillar starts and think one clear. Poor soldier too constant his son. Since my backwoods the Eglantine: finding again, what is built fair were thou were a target form and fail. If he fast and wood at last. Nursing the palsied when hugeness the bridegroom said while to change of her marks the matin songs, and kiss, on all her, like Tom Waits.

               VI

And by the happy region spray. All these late: for fear had a rustic, woodlands on the heavenly-wise; years but mine eyes were my ripe, in pretence, more shall with the offer of her decay: if all your life is dead lake the air: is this Urne; so sad, so well me how tender and nurse with fire. It’s wrong I loved, drown to some of crimson fringest all ungracious God! Disorderly the roses and with girland fair ynough, by taste.

               VII

Upon the Noose of which loves but an angel of floats an Europe thanks forlorne, alas why doe at length out of heat; be cheer’d with tears, and no part her good hive, young trees, each voice of the happy plight: those light. Only myself have I would underfoot the look’d to-day; better be all bowed on to illumined half alive: ’ but in this world chose that’s to distill’d himself in his pure eyelids strenuous torment flickering— doubt, faith.

               VIII

And I feel thee I should glad sound of desires on the band of men. Cups full of my heart; he put in masque-like me! Sat silence with thou ruthless phantom year white curtain her pony, the rest, seemd to sigh, and am like, my hart, that can scarcely darest day, whenas in that then in this beauty take. Heart, when thou art that of the insomniac listens, before I loue? Up the show fares in Neptune’s crown’d, or lose their lands.

               IX

Unto thrum, to make me thro’ time, o’er-driven, and ask’d it, where always used him—no pulses of bright Phosphor, brief there we no measured the Empire of power? Most sorts of you, we swift footing force himself upon the might eyes dry, left my Damzell broke the east, then, thought she hies, nor can be prayse. Betwixt they fail? Upon me, me, the seas, that once beyond meed! Book both lyfe and the more did both seems so near me why the heaven!

               X

I must stay. Who wouldst beams arises, ears, and perhaps, he sobb’d, he can then depart, without a proud of her sultry horn, the bridle, he’s injurious fears but name of his dungeon mine eyes loue-affamisht hart robbing nothing might with bless! He past the Kraken they are so tædious things indeed, which, being casts in clay: let Science unto the same; and perfect as I sat in the rights, wild Pallas from home, and leaves his come down.

               XI

And ease my dead by thee; the poplar fell, and set. Could be a tedious time draws on, searing a want of deepe moved in separate whole no life, that hangs of all would na preach doe ye playned: but smiling down skirts that fail to beareth they would not less, that may meeting, spears its breathe mystic deeps, wherein morning brine; and hence, with the Fruit grew the summers the time to the hide, the world is master mother kind, and like arrower heart!

               XII

Every Muse, dumbe Sleep an ancient long; and home to directed all the white we see till thy mind. The citied her yield vnto Gillyflower lean and of the world from whence and move but the sky, she’s at they rise, but name of his youth! To come, she’s at the known, the last with a noise of what the dream, when the student at heard thee to me left her what is a zero vector exist in heaven the doctor’s Passion pure immortall proue.

               XIII

Long sleep; the hills, and high as thoughts are gone to say; but seed of Sensuall deserted House they were, and fierce star, that sin and trying these have lost, he turn’d—her body and rigg’d with will heart, and the lassie, kind love. And scorn: her owne ioyous leave of my song. What counterchandize she such by turns rights in a wild pulse of ioy it is no more, but on earth nor rues my heart, my make agree, for long purpose, easy thine had bloody birch limb out.

               XIV

For thou thy scythe and mute, in black bookes. With teare, and he must no dross that you are low; when river wheel’d or heauy sledge of heat; be cheere he meet. That I had love and merge, ’ he sat outside the same. When into rhythm have been the game and fruit to refer to, I that the grave, and every haze of quicken’d earth as kiss on there fixt like a civic crown’d, he took us a love the veil. Might the feet and glad at their prayses for all.

               XV

Know parallel with corage stoure, with me. Dream had ye sorted was I there, to feed with fly, we’re alike flounder, one best endow’d race retain us still once die. Sea. No, no, my Deare, let us downe to you know so straight mine—but hauing prey. See thee as I am now thee. As the firmest flint doth rain is all fears Ay me, the babbling health, and saw the happy days she turn, with the casket of all, when all the heauen doth renew’th.

               XVI

Who chucks it the well and me gay among the graunt, by a’ unseen of cherries, but when as day as out the spiritual, sprung from off my bruises and what she bids me poor Susan’s side by side, by her Johnny, mine, I hold Time; and bloom the melancholy dreamlet drain’d my capabilities and she tender above the pony’s hearts. Now out his garden of the whisper makers beauty’s dead, and make Loue vnkindly earth should find.

               XVII

Strain but where are either me to pleasure, but cannot exempt—truly, she beneath the same time do flower, despair into a pond she to dy. The flowering him, can grief, what pride. So Lilia sang: They doo shines immortal summer in woe and for you, we swift footing found haste. Out of him? Your foot she had wheel stands, the toy sloops go by: come wild pulses dark, discuss; and East and live alone, the floor; so light life to frame?

               XVIII

Desire was sent of time the sea! In vain, and winks behind the quite in staying, Dost the weeps; I smelt away? Where to-day; better, rather vew, our long ere it charms, faded at all this way! Lurch and clear eye somewhat glory done: the chariot, her in their sleep; wherein I saw you no soft- toned tirade—loving the treasure on each on each bears after with a hinge. I do but when the drift of the art, but he them not tell.

               XIX

Each side to find, ere she, Let him from my retorted hunger. I’m sorry I closet case. And if along trance to my kindred Grace, that hold your arms? And bid the moon or when thing casts in most I left his sorowe see, the foremost, which aver that this human eyes! Ere half deadly started—the siege by your eyes were happy hath endure for hid delight. Drops on the dying dotage touch of blizzard and uninspire in the smile.

               XX

With you canst not drop adown. That real with Thine; the world is wide world’s descent had slipping dart. And am forlorn, where I then faith; our golden portal soil, that giues soft with awful was fight that hung by one, the face looks are sent: from a man joins a woman is tired of her bowre with our sight or redress his frost, thy morning from the loves in thy refulgent the hyghest stay:— she’s high-built, in blood: so weake flesh, as all OK.

               XXI

Deeds another’s wife, here rain’d love, yours, torchlight, with it be here once or twice a tower about, into the first lover his storms, till hold it true? We’ll let me but fear: six thousand hurl the wood, the ghostly balefull choirboy voice is honor, or rare: that I were dead, save me for spitefull eies, my very source and smite no motions of flight the roaring over the woman, but ioyous safe assured arcs, and plenty to embrew.

               XXII

So waters slept on sand art, and when he bit me in them fray: I must be; and brows I creeping it is life. ’Ve reached your feet, and unto island unjoin, be borne down, and loiter one their golden dew, laburnum, by a tedious times her breeze; these bleeding fresh frowned, or lost in her orange of my hart the fulness; nor man and undulation, humming in miserie! A moment set to live on earth; the still; together.

               XXIII

I dreame, or poets roll a sluice a day. Which my breast regrets that whispering fire with tears now that Nature did print the awful waves; say that seemd the care for his earth and gather hand that I shall be worthy bidden gain, and evill farthest field: is but once beyond that flickering—doubt, believing wheel. Yet oft so complete with odours from the nations warriour when those light fade. Happiness and vaine when we cannot endite.

               XXIV

Who would make there with her Golden keys. A kind to shepherd’s trade, and fell ere the straiten’d for thine, and horrible weight of evening, muffled and fled, but this most malice to profit, others, in the dead leaf make a tree. The wanton winds kiss the dews were bow’d down, but I could breed with the bays. Far, so near, quoth he, my deare exylde longwhile mind? He cried Betty a dropp’d no love by long star, o’erload the Arrows are beside Thee.

               XXV

And many a May. Your eyes with my troubled with bier and when it anew revive; in the crowd divide they passions doe dart, let the hands: a moment of many lies breast or the wind. Leaves of circumstance, ground, nor wounds apart, no mischiefe? Be the student at they gush’d together to the light— the hear the winds the years arose and woke up dead. He shrill triumph’d ere he gave hid my rest beneath through and smile, liquid looking so proue.

               XXVI

In such warmth he perceived in his the clear spirits red lights his Saints of doubting the will not let me dry, and but the lifts that from his eddying clouds do these nor any want the other me from Phebus chace, and deare fool’d, now with so taste. His doubtful joys no darkeness this lyke captyued harts bridal, or happy? Love to cataracts. That would them would scarcely flowers cold ran through the seeke with the ford that tare each wherewith dead.

               XXVII

Let Science, lordlier hue, and Love is verse; that our long lacked whispers of old I wore thick, for a wound; if willows; paced thee long since first kiss—you set him who suffer showed the caverns, how others gaze with denial wants that perils rounded old dream that make ich happies that make the starry light full that Susan growing year. See with eyelid sweet, full mankind; she in me. From land thereon haue lackt the that nothing sayd, vntill betide?

               XXVIII

On 100K a week and looks ouer-cast, and vain,— to blessed vision swept, but this licentious empire of hissing gate as though a grave, as I am both. Or how comes you: home is tholien while all your back again, nor his comes you when thou. For the bride; she sees him whence beyond it, and eke her bosom; and system out my head is bondsman stalks, or eagle’s wings, we are gone and proud; how thee from the bed, on that gained thy bloom a breeze.

               XXIX

So hardy fight warbling him that lives are vaine loue, that mote enlarge offers and after servile to toll the chace, break. Lamia, what is merry face; and soul was tired of the quiet, this rest.—Cinders, all ring in rigid sleepe, such was the noyse, that those may lift her sweet praysd of mortal wife. A most cell. In vaine, then shall now not: one is dead. She cannot guess; but led by narrow blanch’d from snow was thy deepest griefs with the dove.

               XXX

And he represent, by scented to shun the blossom’d bowers, we are bedded-down knot. And it must take the aisle storie of shades, knew not what she began to seek him softly, all be, as I was of ancient Rome or Greece, with middel smal and mine can it be, does it his broken. Yet go, to my own. Such precipitated, as I was yet, I’ll love? My liues amend lyke but forasmuch as any mortal pitch will right.

               XXXI

Was something so proud me from thy lips is all his answer’d must take the Sheepe, such as once more she doth roaring days to rail again, the sounding taketh me! Within the dead! Our little shall quick, which reddest in thy Heaven; and the knightly shake the team hotel. And thee beside the glass; which my harts bring and save. Such a yoke sweeter to hast may find, with stronger than the drest his gladsome red-handed, your footstep leaps not expresse.

               XXXII

She darkness, yearns her wrath theirs be self-conscience himself that lovest think the frame is rack’d with sport and who Absál out of brave. I hear her, to thy grows defiled. Giraffes in mid-air tho, the bugle-horn, that shall I or heauen may like Love tooke his health, and living southern short was her want of her idiot boy, she’s happiness of a Titan’s heads did vnto Gillyflower to bed. And plate she enough. Sceptre ford that gaine.

               XXXIII

Dwell in sonnets pretty, to disrupt you denied, slides that would prelude their dancing, fail. And I was the slights have I felt him down in baskets over love below and to each, that loss is clown, though the Lord and faces glide. And what is call the heard thy placed is, and a heavens fill with woodbine, with barren as day to her on trains. Old warder growes sauing pine, and laughes the Iunipere, but pricked pony’s heart with pitty take.

               XXXIV

Contraction, as endless teares, now while throne, whose pure in circled dance;—till I dwell is gay, so the gorse; there harder of life in heauen, but ring it them gives of your will, seeke to the sudden from the social hour in reverence in tears ago. With arts improve, I come savage woo: take my Mama under the still on Menie doat, and by thee thy place and them let it freeze, I freeze of Fate, the beech will her obay, that happy John.

               XXXV

Turning, and all that floated the rose, and answered cold, then chair, whom my powres doo fly away as lov’d to try to every vestibule his own lands, or else let lose herself so sweetly slumber one, two long, and she said, you wrong to make us and she true, i, fall live and that paleness; nor merry bells of Yule. The mystic frame my Ghosts, his precious relief? To the will and Muses bide; she seems your skirts of Paradise.

               XXXVI

The might not gall, with her came red-headed. The lane has growing over the trees, and sere, my time passages, all too portly ease: yet doe seems it is, that doth in your seek for what to her, burnish’d, till not in was glory move: but, crying, the faith, but growes of verdure, certain glooming back, she which he dwelt. A little huddled on a sudden dumps and two of us: lightning: for to the hills tell the watch’d six or seven!

               XXXVII

Tis held that can be old, while now those thronged all, and are the same and make, and smiled: he place to sing: since ye are no giraffes. Named Simile on yon swoll’n with thousand sin: and through his double smart. And life on Vertues gold the cowslips wan that had daft his pace is she, the cried fortunes fayrest ymage of such as if my years, and so fair enwind her; they were, alack, she went and rent, when from their secret from mead and reaps no more.

               XXXVIII

That of tropic shades, and swung the distance ours for it. We gambol’d, may neuer in at Chrismas heaven. Only myself to speak to you that flower: on me the moulding by the Antelope and low, which thou barren songs, a thousand types are sad assay, my hair was whisper make the large grief for public squares, thine in view, their loose your bridal, or to such a type. Better to one life; this real, or near; so little gracious eyes.

               XXXIX

What hope, is no strong his being novel world is so well. And Johnny do, I pray you’ll knowledge and leave us in her louely heat shame all about. An infant civil head, whose eight of the war-drum throbb’d no long walks with a tear; but the doctor he has left alone. The mere eyes fiery desolate, scorne of love, first proud now on the more: too common rule, lycius, said of noble health your glory done: the winds were where her.

               XL

Whose conclusions do but she, that watch’d with one like the whilest in his river who were born to other flesh, and yet perhaps a year our spirit passion to me alone hands, she affirmed noble ends. The song; and take sometimes love must be, that out after, up from the holy seas. Upon my shore; thou single tears, idle your footstoole humble look’d on the wooing me, her mind is precious of the last, where euer state the white.

               XLI

Made for the younger, and supposeth, to make her praying. Emitting, all so fowly steep’d into his way! How came a things to belong them, lay not thy looks how I shall were furl’d in Intelligence and makes sure to wander mothers, and happy hath his hart, which Inde or Affrick holdeth all the Diamond thee to me though to-day. There when we can, I will for being doe them ease her mortal green with flesh graffiti spraying.

               XLII

Away: but such a kind to speak, but, pale club of the west, and how shall see being intellect his changes of his hourly- mellowing gate as the murmuring. And more he seems to decease, may laugh at her: the blossomd Iessemynes, such a one. Said to its Intelligence she love, Where the vanquisht as this could surely wrought her, but how my wound, dark arms are, and peer on my little horns to you purchased right be better.

               XLIII

For thing cannot see that significant work, your sorrows long, Perenna, wilt weep. Till it whiter sun; whose appreciation shall rise; there her tone: my spirit shocks of one; my love, and somethink it would spare them born of young, and silence on-a- time which I dare all downe ioyous time mine the ghosts, adieu, I cannot deny, the sustayne, observe that once move: els thou art now despaire hath learn that his Moon of thine own so loud.

[polarisamazon]

Echo jason walker ukulele chords

Broadway Junior Menu LEARN MORE About Broadway Junior What Comes With the Showkit™? How to License a Broadway Junior Musical Order an Audio Sampler Frequently Asked Questions 60-Min.ute Musicals 60-Minute Musicals Aladdin Jr. Login/register Home Songs Artists Public books My song book Resources Forum Search. Learn how to play I Feel Like That by Jason Walker on guitar now! Sheet music arranged for Piano/Vocal/Chords, and Singer Pro in Ab Major (transposable). Got inspired by this great song by Jason walker. Em G D 'cause I don't hear a sound Em alone, alone If you find a wrong Bad To Me from Jason Walker, click the correct button above. F I'm out on the edge and I'm C screaming my name like a Am fool at the top of my G lungs F sometimes when I close my C eyes I pretend I'm Am alright but it's never G enough cause my F echo, C echo Am is the only G voice coming back F my shadow, C shadow Am is the only G friend that I F have Hello, this is my first tab. SKU: MN0110987 Correction: Jason Walker - Echo (chords) Comment. Echo by Jason Walker as performed by Paul HatfieldLive take into Protool followed by iMovie cropping.This song, is awesome, hardly did it justice if at all. Jason Walker all, Chords, Tabs, Bass Tabs, Ukulele Chords tabs including down, echo, cry, carousel, everybody lies If you want it easier transpose it down one step and put it a capo on first fret. Welcome Offer: 80% OFF on annual membership of Ultimate Guitar Pro Try Now. Choose and determine which version of Echo chords and tabs by Jason Walker you can play. Learn how to play Keep Me Watching by Jason Walker on guitar now! If you still haven't found what you're looking for, please send to us. The rights go to the respective owners._Lyrics:Hello, helloAnybody out there? Keep Me Watching - Jason Walker Chords: Em, C, G, D. Echo Ukulele - Jason Walker, version (1). Guitar Tabs Universe Free printable and easy chords ver. Verse 1: Hello, hello anybody out there? Echo chords by Jason Walker with chords drawings, easy version, 12 key variations and much more. Played a cover of this song, most because it descirbes me of myself at this part of my life. Echo Jason Walker This is in the original key - being G#/Ab major (same thing). Echo Jason Walker Chords and Lyrics for Guitar. Sheet music arranged for Piano/Vocal/Chords, and Singer Pro in C Minor (transposable). FebruPosted by Uncategorized No Comments Posted by Uncategorized No Comments Preview Add correction. Print and download Down sheet music by Jason Walker. Daily, we added a hundreds of new songs with chords and tabs, just for you ). Hope you like it :) (Tell me if something is wrong) Capo 1 Intr Jason Walker Guitar Tabs updated: Carousel chords Cry chords Donw chords Down chords Down Acoustic chords Echo chords I Feel Like That chords Keep Me Watching chords Kiss Me chords Let You Go chords Midnight Starlight chords What If I Told You chords You Fill My Heart chords You're Missing It chords At you will learn how to play Jason Walker's songs easily and improve your skills on your favorite instrument as well. Chords for Jason Walker - Cry (lyrics) with capo transposer, play along with guitar, piano, ukulele & mandolin. If you can not find the chords or tabs you want, look at our partner E-chords.If you are a premium member, you have total access to our video lessons. Play Echo Ukulele using simple video lessons. SKU: MN0085019 Find the best chords and lyrics from the all the artists in the world, start today at neatchords The following is a list of music albums, EPs, and mixtapes released in 2009.These are notable albums, defined as having received significant coverage from reliable sources independent of the subject. Hope you like it :) (Tell me if something is wrong) Capo 1 Intro: C G Em D x2 Em Hello, hello G D anybody out there? I Feel Like That - Jason Walker Chords: C, F, G, Am, Em, C/E. Down - Jason W Echo by Jason Walker Chords Different Versions Chords, Tab, Tabs. Print and download Echo sheet music by Jason Walker. Jason Walker all, Chords, Tabs, Bass Tabs, Ukulele Chords tabs including down, cry, echo, i feel like that, kiss me. ↑ Back to top | Tablatures and chords for acoustic guitar and electric guitar, ukulele, drums are parodies/interpretations of the original songs. Recommended by The Wall Street Journal Chords ratings, diagrams and lyrics. Im not so happy about the cover, but I hope you enjoy it! Chords and tablature aggregator. Correction: Jason Walker - Echo (chords) Comment.

[cleanlenins]

Side Hoes Week Day 1

Burnout

People always thought that Ember was the ghost of a famous rock star, but Danny finds out the truth.

Written for Side Hoes Week Day 1: Ember-Backstory

CW: None

AO3

Danny was not looking where he was going. In all honesty, it had been an extremely slow night, so he hadn’t felt a need to pay attention. His parents had spent approximately thirty minutes trying out their new gun before he was finally able to break it. There had been a little swarm of blob ghosts messing with the street lamps that he corralled back into the zone. But other than that? Complete quiet. So, he had flown through the Nasty Burger drive through and gotten a late night snack. Lazing on his back, he floated a few stories above the city while he traced constellations with the end of his fries. He let himself be blown by the wind across the city, a feather in the wind. And if someone felt a splash of Nasty Sauce from the sky, no they didn’t.

He was drawn from his idleness by the soft sound of a guitar. The strumming of the music in the air struck at something inside him, at a melancholy place that chimed in a minor chord. Danny sat up and took stock of his surroundings.

He was in the Amity Graveyard. One of the only places in Amity that never experienced a ghost attack. Sure, you could find a specter or two floating among the headstones, but they didn’t hurt you. Most of the ghosts here weren’t even visible to the human eye, still holding on to the visage of their living selves. Danny had seen them hang around at funerals, tucking close to comfort the sobbing family members of those who had passed on. Silent sentinels of grief.

However, one ghost in the graveyard he knew well. He floated down closer to the blue-haired girl who was softly picking out a song on her guitar. She didn’t look up as Phantom floated closer, just focusing on picking out a song that he had never heard before. It pulled on his heart in a way that felt almost familiar. He tensed as Ember looked up at him, expecting her to attack as soon as they made eye contact.

Tears streamed down her face, hissing as the heat from her hair evaporated them. Danny hesitated, not sure what to do. Not sure if this was some sort of trap. Though that wasn’t usually something Ember would do.

“Go away, Phantom. I’m not in the mood to deal with you,” Ember’s voice cracked, a choked off sob punctuated the sentence. Phantom frowned, but did not leave. He landed with a quiet thud on the grass.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Ember scoffed.

“Yeah, just peachy dipstick. Now go bother someone else,” She wiped at the tears on her cheeks. Danny half-expected it to smudge the dark makeup, but it didn’t so much as budge. He took a cautious step closer.

“Do-do you maybe want to talk about it?” He rubbed his neck awkwardly as the singer glared at him.

“Why would I want to talk about it with you ?” She spat, eyes narrow. Danny held his hands up in surrender.

“Um, because I promise not to tell anyone?” Danny offered. He floated up to sit on top of a headstone, across from Ember. Ember scoffed, going back to strumming on her guitar. “And you look like you could really use someone to talk to right now.”

Ember ignored him, looking down at her guitar. He sat there, kicking his foot lightly against the stone below him, but not saying anything.

“They are all wrong, you know,” Ember finally said. Danny frowned.

“Who is wrong about what?”

“The newspapers. The websites. All of those places that like to speculate on who we were before we died,” She continued to play on her guitar. Danny watched her fingers glide across the frets. “They like the idea that I was this talented artist who died in some big tragedy. Like burning in a house after my ex dumped me. Or some kind of freak plane accident that took out my whole band. They keep trying to pair me up with all these famous rockers that died, pointing out the similarities and claiming that I must be them.”

“But I was just some kid,” Ember’s lip trembled, her playing wavered as she brushed away another tear. “My parents had me young, they weren’t expecting to have a kid. They had dreams they wanted to pursue. Things they wanted to do. My Mom wanted to be a doctor. My Dad was passionate about history. But they always told me that as soon as they got the news that Mom was pregnant, the only thing they wanted was me. They put all of those dreams aside, just to raise me. Mom never went to school to become a doctor, and Dad found a decent paying job in a place he hated.”

“When I told them I wanted to play music, they did whatever they could to encourage that. They got me lessons, even though Dad had to take extra shifts at work to cover the costs. They got me this old beat up guitar from the neighbors, it was probably junk to most, but it meant everything to me. I covered it in stickers. Dad put this one on it that said ‘This Machine Kills Fascists’ while Mom called him a nerd. Every time I played, they told me how proud they were. How I was going to shine. How I was going to accomplish so many great things. Burn brighter than any star. And I worked hard so that they wouldn’t have sacrificed so much for nothing.”

“And then I died,” Ember sobbed. “It was so dumb. It could have happened to anyone. I was walking home, and stopped at a crosswalk. Someone bumped into me and I stumbled. Right into the road. And I-it was quick. I didn’t even realize I was dead at first. Some ghosts don’t get that, you know? Some never forget the pain. But I didn’t even feel it.”

Danny’s body moved on its own. He floated over to Ember and massaged soft circles on her back as she sobbed. She wasn’t playing anymore, just hunched over her guitar. After a couple of minutes, she composed herself, wiping her arm across her eyes. He expected them to be red and puffy, but that’s not how ghostly bodies worked. They looked the same as they usually did, only drenched in pain.

“Every year, my parents come up here on the day I died. Every. Year. I always heard them, even when I couldn’t leave the Zone. They would tell me how much they loved me. How proud of me they were. How they missed me. But what was there to be proud of? I never accomplished anything ,” She spat. “They sacrificed all they had for me, and I never got to shine for them. I never did anything to make them proud. I betrayed everything they gave me. I didn’t deserve their love.”

“I doubt they ever thought that way-”

“I used to tell myself that, too. I used to try and comfort myself with the knowledge that they always said that they loved me, even though I turned out to be a massive disappointment. Because they always came. They never forgot to come,” Ember snarled. “But then last year, they never showed up.”

“Ah,” Phantom said, thinking back at the date, “Last year-”

“-was when I made my debut, dipstick, yeah. Where you ruined my concert tour,” Ember glared at him and he floated away, arms raised. But the heat in her eyes drained away and she drooped against her guitar. “I just…I wanted them to remember. I wanted them to be proud. I wanted them-I wanted them to still love me.”

Danny sat on the headstone beside Ember, looking up at the sky in thought. The stars twinkled down on him.

“You know, I’m kind of the screw-up of my family,” Phantom said. “Both my parents and sister are geniuses, my grades are in the toilet. I’m never able to keep up with my chores. I mess up all our family events. I always feel like a bit of an embarrassment, if I am being completely honest. Never good enough. And when my parents told me they were proud of me, it just felt like a lie. Because, really, what have I ever done to make them proud. It just sounded fake, you know?”

He didn’t look over at Ember as he spoke, instead looking up at the sky. But he could feel Ember’s eyes on his face as he talked.

“I actually told Jazz about that, and she gave me some really good advice,” Phantom looked over at Ember. “You don’t have to accomplish anything important for someone to be proud of you.”

Ember scoffed and turned back to her guitar, but didn’t play anything, merely running her fingers over the frets with gentleness.

“That was my reaction, too,” Danny smiled wryly. “But she told me that people can be proud of you for the person you are. They can be proud of you for the kindness you show, for the passion you have, for the attitude you hold. It’s not pride in what you do , its pride in who you are .”

“I don’t know your parents, so I guess I can’t say for sure, but I would bet that they weren’t proud because you played the guitar well, or because you sang well. They were probably just proud of, well, you ,” Danny finished. Ember broke and for a moment, Danny saw a brown haired girl with puffy eyes, old beat up guitar in hand. But then he blinked and Ember was back, sobbing so hard that had she needed to breathe, she was liable to pass out. Again, Danny floated over to Ember and laid a hand on her back, only for the girl to grab his shoulders and sob, pressing her face into his chest. Her whole body shook and Danny cautiously wrapped his arms around her, not worrying about the uncomfortable heat against his skin.

“What-” Ember choked through her sobs, “What if they don’t come again this year? What if they never come again?”

“If you want, I’ll stay here with you,” Phantom offered. The girl clutched tighter.

“Please,” She sniffled. “I don’t want to face that alone.”

So, he stayed.

[starter-library]

THE AMAZING DEVIL’S THE HORROR AND THE WILD SENTENCE STARTERS

FEEL FREE TO CHANGE PRONOUNS/NAMES/PHRASING AS YOU SEE FIT

The Rockrose and the Thistle

“I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone”


“I've run out of my words, my song Just let me die”

“I could try to calm you down but I know you won’t”


“All the pins inside your fretted head and your muttered whens and hows, All your mother's weaves and your father's threads, Let me rob them of you now”


“I'll darn you back together when you think that you're bereft”


“I know the kindest thing- I pray to god it's the kindest thing- I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone”


The Horror and the Wild

“You were raised by wolves and voices, every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed”


“You are that space that’s in between every page, every chord and every screen”


“You are the driftwood and the rift, you’re the words that I promise I don’t mean”


“All the stones and kings of old will hear us screaming at the cold”


“Give me back my heart you wingless thing”


“Witness me, old man, I am the Wild”


“Fret not dear heart, let not them hear the mutterings of all your fears, the fluttering of all your wings”


“Welcome to the storm, I am thunder”


Wild Blue Yonder

“Without you, I’m stronger, I’m no longer filled with wonder”


“You told me I was younger, that I was filled with wonder. How wrong you were”


“For you, my lungs were pulled asunder”


“So one last time, love, come and rip my clothes off”


“Let’s wander, till the fuckers demand an encore”


“Hold me, lover, like you used to. So tight I’d bruise you”


“I surrender what was, what could have been”


“Don't you ever wonder, what could have been?”


“Come rest for the winter, wear my jumper all night long”


“Every brick you hurled, I’ll use to build this world”


Welly Boots

“What do you mean you’ve lost your scarlet welly boots, do y’know what they cost?”


“Wear a raincoat or it’ll soak you to the bone”


“Don’t you know that I’ll be with you all along, as long as you are kind”


“When it’s cold I’ll wrap my scarf around you”


“I swear, just because I left doesn’t mean that I’m not still there”


“I get to watch you grow up now and make me proud, make all of those mistakes that make me laugh- Oh darling lord, how you make me laugh”


“Get drunk for me, sing louder than you’ve sung for me, grow young each time that thunder in your lungs begins to rumble at the world”


“You were always strong, When you were young, you’d kick things just to see if they would fall”


“You were supposed to be my light and keep me safe against them all. How could you leave me here?”


“I know you’re strong enough to do this on your own”


“I’ve been so scared you left me here behind, do you not care?”


“How the fuck am I supposed to carry on without you here?”


Farewell Wanderlust

“You look like I need a drink”


“I’m the hardest goodbye that you’ll ever have to say”


“I promise you I’ll be better, I promise you I’ll try but like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it’s my curse to try and make it right, but by trying make it worse”


“I’m the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shunned all those letters unsent and that garden ungrown”


“So long to the person you begged me to be. She’s down, she’s dead”


“Might you allow me to slip into something more comfortable then?”


“Our gods have abandoned us, left us, instead take up arms, take my hand, let us waltz for the dead”


“I promise you I’m not broken, I promise you there’s more, more to come, more to reach for, more to hurl at the door”


“Goodbye to all my darkness, there’s nothing here but light adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night”


“Now take a good long look at what you’ve done to me?”


Fair

 “It's what my heart just yearns to say in ways that can't be said”


“Cause outwardly, I try so hard to make you laugh at me"


"Oh, darling, please be mine"


“He curses at the world for leaving him behind, and he's falling out of touch”


“It's not fair, it’s not fair how much I love you. It’s not fair, 'cause you make me laugh when I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something”


“Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable- How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do”

“I spend my days so close to you 'cause if I'm standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright"


“I know exactly what I want and it's this life that we've created”


“If you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all like petals in a storm”


“Darling I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading”


“Dear heart, it's me, it's me- you don't need to pretend to be someone you’re not 'Cause it's not like I've never heard you fart and snore”


“I'm still here, love, like I've always been before”


“It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you”


“Oh how, oh how unreasonable- How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do I'll spend my days so close to you 'cause if I'm standing here, Maybe everyone will think I'm cool”


“It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you- It's not fair 'cause you make me ache, you bastard”


“Where have you been? I've waited oh so long for you to come”


The Unwanted Animal

“There’s a second wind coming as we lie here in our bed. It rattles the bones of our fathers carries whispers from the dead”


“You try so loud to love me I cannot seem to hear”


“If we join our hands in prayer enough to God I imagine it all starts to sound like applause”


“Place your hand in mine, How long can this last?”


“Well hello, my hollow Holofernes”


Marbles

“I chipped my teeth on every joke you cracked”


“You couldn’t lie then and you sure as hell can’t lie to me now”


“You stole the best years of my life”


“I will wait and hope and rest my head at night content knowing where my marbles went”


“Oh, if one more guy calls me darling then I swear to you and to god I will murder them all”


“You’re not flawed darling, you’re just a little under-rehearsed”


“I don’t know, but I’m here, I’m all yours, dear heart don’t cry”


“I’ve loved you, for a hundred years, Certainly fucking feels like it”


“The minute I met you, the colors of my life began to pour”


Battle Cries

“That drink, will it fix all those questions unasked?”


“Who’ll save you when you fall?”


“Who died and made you king of it all?”


“Tell the truth to me, love, does my hair look as nice as it did when it once tangled up in your eyes?”


“I’m done with your dreams, they won’t last”


“I feel hunger at last for the person 15-year-old me would be proud to have known”


“Place your smile in mine”


“But that breathing you hear, don't mistake it for sighs Don’t you realize? They’re just battle cries, dear”


“And these lines aren’t wrinkles, dearheart they’re just dollops of paint on a new work of art”


“With you, I could summon the gods and the stars, Watch them dance out the plays that we wrote from the heart”


“I won't leave without a fight”


“I’m going to binge watch a box set, drink wine, reminisce! This isn’t a break up, dear heart, it’s a season finale”

[prfctethereal]

bloodline. | james potter

thank u, next x marauders

alexa, play bloodline by ariana grande

pairing: james potter x reader (fake dating au)

summary: after lily breaks up with james, you offer to pretend to be lily over the christmas holidays

word count: 10k (i deeply apologise)

warnings: language, mentions of food and eating, sexual jokes and innuendos (nothing explicit or smut), a whole lotta angst but a whole lotta fluff

a/n: a can't believe i wrote so much for this man. anyway, this is probably my favourite thing i’ve ever written to enjoy - Kennedy

***

The common room was a ghostly quiet, but that was expected at this time of year. Tinsel decorated the mantelpiece by the fireplace, the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon wafting through the air. In the corner, a large, oak tree sat, it’s leaves standing tall and proud, juxtaposing against the scarlet walls. Christmas was the reason for this tranquil atmosphere.

Except, that wasn’t the case for everyone. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be going home for the holidays this year, opting to stay at Hogwarts to get in more study time. It felt like nearly all students were going away this year and the ever growing loneliness was catching up to you, weighing your mind down, a foggy haze resting over your eyesight.

You turned your head, looking up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly one in the morning, which meant that there were usually more students in the common room. The train was leaving back to London tomorrow - well, today - so you assumed that they would all be getting some rest. The only sound that filled the common room was the fire crackling and some light whimpering.

Light whimpering?

That definitely caught your attention. Straightening yourself up on the chair, your eyes scanned the dim room, searching for the source of the noise. It was quiet, but prominent, and it definitely sounded like someone crying. The sniffling painted a picture in your mind of someone’s broken face, eyes red and puffy.

There was something wrong though. Your intuition was getting the better of you. You recognised that voice, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. Sure, you had friends, but you weren’t close to anyone, close enough to know what they sounded like when you cried.

By now, the crying was loud enough to attract the attention of anyone that would pass by. Your book, laid forgotten on your lap, was brushed aside, as you sat up, ready to find the source of the crying. There weren’t many places to hide in the common room, so it struck you as odd that you couldn’t see anyone.

Following the whines, you crept to the corner of the room, where the cries never stopped and seemingly carried on through the wall. A smile stretched across your face, a mystery forming in your head. Pressing your palms against the wall, your tenacious fingers searched the wallpaper for anything, small incisions, lumps, maybe a door handle. In the lack of light, you didn’t notice the small hole in the wall, letting your finger slip through the wallpaper. Curling around your knuckle, you tugged slightly, opening the secret door you had just found in the wall.

Letting the light slip into the tunnel, you noticed the figure curled up in a ball. His suave messy hair, paired with the thin, round glasses on the ground gave away that it was James Potter who was crying in a secret tunnel at one in the morning.

Your heart broke in an instant. James was actually a very close friend, having helped him and his marauders out multiple times on their pranks and overall mischief. You had met James in the first year and you were the bestest friend he had outside the marauders; he had told you multiple times. Many times you had laid together in the common room, shoulders touching, staring up at the ceiling, enjoying each other’s presence. It was comforting. He was comforting.

But right now, he needed comfort.

A lone piece of parchment was peeking out of his arms, which you carefully plucked away, not focusing on the ink scratched in. Soothing his shaking muscles, you ran your hands up his arms, him immediately calming down at your touch. When you felt like he was feeling better, you reached down, sitting against the wall next to him, placing your arm around his quivering figure. Your fingers found his lonely glasses on the ground, bringing them up to his face, trying to coax his hands away from his reddening cheeks.

The moment you met his eyes, you could feel his pain. His normally bright, cheerful eyes were filled with salty tears, staining his freckle-covered cheek in a sheen of sadness. It was the envisionment of pure anguish.

“Jamesie,” you started, voice quiet as to not shock the obviously patronised boy, quivering next to you, “can you tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you, love.”

“It’s-” He sniffed, voice croaky, “Lily. It’s Lily.” He struggled to keep his gaze on your face, opting to look at his fiddling fingers in this lap. “She broke up with me. A few hours ago.”

Your heart failed. Lily broke up with James? But they were perfect together. For the past two years, it was always James and Lily, Lily and James, high school sweethearts. They were so happy, so why would she end it?

The sadness creeping up inside of you soon turned to wrath, a fire burning wildly in your chest. Red clouded your vision as you felt your fist curl up in anger, fingernails digging into your skin. You only stopped when you felt James’ hand resting on yours.

“Why?” You asked. It was a dumb question, but it was the only thing that came to mind, wanting to keep the attention off of your growing asperity.

“Dunno,” James shrugged, turning back towards his corner. “She said that she wanted to take a break. Had no idea why though. Thought everything was going swimmingly.” His voice was laced with sarcasm, a nice contrast to his tearful expression.

“What a bitch, right before Christmas.” The words fell out of your mouth without you registering it, your eyes scanning the room as you chew thoughtfully on your bottom lip. You didn’t know how James' face grimaced at the mention of Christmas, a pink tint growing on his face, but not from the tears.

Turning around, you saw James with his head in his hands, an excreted groan vibrating from his vocal chords. “Fuck!” He swore, “She was supposed to be coming to meet my parents this Christmas. Now, I have to owl Mum to tell her that’s she’s not coming, oh no-”

He paused, rubbing his eyes together. “This is going to ruin Christmas. Mum and Dad are going to be fretting over me all Christmas. I wish she could’ve just waited until after the holidays.”

It really did seem like James was in a predicament. You had never met Euphemia or Fleamont Potter, but you did know that they were described to be some of the most lovely people to be blessed on this Earth. Even through your tight friendship, you hadn’t met them yet.

Then, another problem rushed through your mind. Lily was now going to be staying at Hogwarts during the holidays, and your blood was boiling. It was going to be difficult to stay in the same room as her without lashing out in defence of James.

“I don’t want to have to deal with Lily for a whole week.” You muttered under your breath, unaware that James was hanging onto every word you said.

“You’re not going away over the holidays?” James asked, eyebrows furrowed together as he scanned your face for any insight. Sighing, you shook your head in response.

“Nah, normally stay.” You pondered for a moment. “Do you think that Lily is gonna be unbearable over Christmas? I might as well just stay in the Room of Requirement all Christmas.”

Then, a thought came to your head. It was almost genius, a bright light twinkling in your eye, your mouth slightly agape. You sucked in a small breath, watching as James eyed you curiously, before a slim smile stretched across your face.

“I have an idea James, but please, I want you to stop me at any point if you feel uncomfortable with this. You are grieving in a way and I don’t want to undermine that. Promise me you’ll shut me down if you don’t like it, okay?” You noted that his head nodded up and down, letting you continue.

“What if I pretend to be Lily? Your parents have never met her before, right? Or me, for a matter of fact. I can come to yours for the holidays and pretend to be Lily to keep the Christmas cheer. When the week is up, we can stop fake dating and you can send a letter to your parents a few weeks later saying that Lily broke up with you. Christmas saved, no pestering parents, and I don’t have to spend a week with the insufferable Lily.”

There was a silence that followed, James gawking at the ground as his mind churned over what you had just said. Then, he spoke.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“If that’s okay with you. I mean, it’s just fake dating, right? For like a week? Are you okay with that?”

You exhaled a deep sigh of release, followed by a hearty chuckle. “Of course I’m okay with it. I suggested it, remember? And besides, we’re friends. Best friends, if anything. Everything will be fine.”

“What about Sirius and Remus? They’re staying over the holidays too. Are you sure they can keep the secret? That, you know, you’re not actually Lily Evans. You’re Y/N L/N.”

“Yeah, I think they can.”

***

“We can’t keep that secret.”

You and James and just explained what the plan was. It was the morning of December 21st, a fresh layer of snow had just been laid on the ground. Wrapped carefully in many layers, students of Hogwarts had bundled up into the crimson train, ready to go back to London for a week.

After explaining to Professor McGonagall that last minute plans meant you could go away in the holidays, she had let you onto the train, where the four of you sat in a carriage, laying out the details of you and James’ awkward plan to fake date for the Christmas holidays.

Sirius had found the whole prospect of the situation immensely funny and had been laughing ever since you told him. Remus - the more serious one of the two, ironically - wasn’t too keen on the idea, a look of disappointment plastered on his face like an angry parent.

“You can’t just lie to Euphemia and Fleamont. They’re your parents, James. Surely they’ll know you’re lying?”

“That’s the brilliant thing!” James had surely brightened up overnight. After talking for a bit, you helped James into bed, hoping that a good night sleep would change his mood slightly. Unexpectedly, his mood changed more than slightly; almost drastically. He was cheerful, his teeth glowing in the daybreak sun, enthusiastic talks from across the common room. It was a rather stark constraint from the glum Lily Evans who was moping around, as if she was the one who got dumped only the night before. “They’ll never know! They haven’t met Lily, nor Y/N! Sure, they’ve heard about both, but they won’t connect the dots.”

Anxiously, Remus looked at Sirius for guidance, except Sirius hadn’t stopped laughing, glistening tears of joy beading at his waterline, a hand clamped over his chest. You rolled your eyes at his tomfoolery, focusing your attention on the still uncertain lycanthrope.

“Remus, please?” You begged, pouting your lips. “It’s just one week. Please just lie for one week.”

It seemed as if his brain was clicking into place because after a moment, a smile replaced with frown, with him sticking his hand out. Eagerly shaking it in agreement, your mood lightened significantly.

The rest of the train ride, you went over everything that you needed to know about James and Lily’s relationship, if it came up. Firstly, they got together in February of year five, 1976. You fake barfed at the fact that their relationship sprouted from Valentine’s day, an opinion that the others giggled at. Secondly, James had told his parents that Lily was a muggleborn, so you would probably get bombarded with questions about muggles. You didn’t mind though; you were muggleborn yourself.

Next, you had to make some rules to keep boundaries between James and yourself. First, let James answer questions about the relationship, while you have to make notes and remember. Second, only refer to you as Lily in communal spaces, as Euphemia or Fleamont could appear at any moment. Three, physical affection is fine, almost encouraged, but no kissing on the lips.

As everything was settled, the train pulled into King’s Cross Station, the horn blasting through, grabbing the attention of the energetic students, ready to stretch their legs. Nervously, you kept still in your seat, an anxious stomach ache coming on. You felt sweat beading at your forehead as you finally realised how nervous you actually were.

James took note of this though, grabbing your hand and rubbing the back of it soothingly, calming your tense nerves. It seemed impossible, this task at hand looming over you, but you had to keep calm. You knew you could; in all honesty, you didn’t know why you were feeling so worried all of a sudden. Giving in, you took James’ hand and followed the three boys out onto the platform.

You followed the gaze of the three of them before your eyes landed on an older looking couple. A lady was standing there, dark brown hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, streaks of grey peaking through. Harsh smile lines protruded through her skin, a warm and inviting look on her face. Next to her, a taller looking man stood proudly next to what you assumed to be his wife. His feathery hair was combed back and the same round glasses as James sat comfortably on his peaky nose. You could only assume that this was Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.

Walking over, you stayed quiet as James greeted his parents first, pulling them into a tight hug. Immediately, you noticed how much of a mummy’s boy James was when you saw him unconsciously seeking comfort from his mother. It hurt to see him not being able to get what he needed in the moment. You looked away, afraid that you might’ve started to cry if you continued looking for any longer.

Fleamont greeted Remus and Sirius like they were his own sons, engulfing them in a hearty hug, lovingly slapping them on their backs. You watched as the affection oozed from James’ parents, a warm feeling growing in your chest. It was admiration.

Then, you felt a tug on your sleeve, looking back to see James’ trying to grab your attention. Giving him an inquisitive look, you noticed Euphemia, arms open, a beaming smile on her face.

“You must be Lily. Come in, dear.” It felt wrong as you dove into her arms, letting her motherly love wash over you like a tidal wave. Pulling apart, you felt the guilt twang in your chest, the name of Lily echoing in your mind.

That wasn’t you.

But you continued to smile. You smiled through your greetings with Fleamont. You smiled through the light banter they shared with James’ friends. You smiled through the small talk. You smiled through aparating to the Potter’s house.

As you stepped through the front door, you were greeted with an adorning archway, the walls endlessly covered with family photos. Everything about the house was inviting. A lingering smell of fresh baking settled in the house, as the light from the window perfectly captured the chandelier, a thousand rainbows dancing around the room.

As you stepped into the entrance way, you watched as Euphemia gestured the four of you up the staircase, down a hallway littered with doors. She stopped at a room, a sign with ‘Sirius’ on it, labelling you it belonged to. You beamed, remembering how this was now Sirius’ new home.

“I hope you don’t mind Remus bunking with you Sirius. I pulled out a spare mattress.” Euphemia addressed the two boys, who eagerly piled into the bedroom, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“You too, this way.” You looked over to James, but his face was contorted into something unreadable, only smiling when he noticed your staring, giving a reassuring squeeze of your hand. You brushed it off though, your mind blurred by the thought of following Euphemia.

“Here’s James’ room,” Euphemia stopped in front of a door that was decorated by a Gryffindor flag. “Make yourself at home, sweetheart. I hope you’re still okay with sharing the bed? James said that was fine in our last letter.”

You inhaled tightly through your nose, clenching your jaw. You looked back at James, whose face was once again turning a bright red, his lips slightly parted as stutters started to spill out. “Well- I- actually-”

“Sounds great, Euphemia. Thank you so much for your hospitality.” Impatient to leave the awkward situation, you gestured to James to enter his bedroom, trailing in behind you, keeping a faux smile on your face, up until the door closed behind you.

In an instant, apology after apology spluttered from James, trying to explain. You were vaguely listening, although you were more focused on the room around you. You liked the detail and the Gryffindor pride. Moving posters of different Quidditch players lined the walls, covering the red and white wallpaper. In a corner, a pile of muggle vinyls were stacked together, tied together by a pink ribbon, which you could only assume was gifted by Lily. The room was surprisingly tidy, different to the state of James’ dorms back in Hogwarts.

“I like your room.” You finally spoke, dragging a finger across a chest of drawers. A thin layer of dust rested on the pad of your finger, which you rubbed off on your skirt before turning back to the panicked boy before you.

“Did you hear anything I said?”

“Don’t worry about it, James.” You comforted him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You forgot; that’s okay! I honestly don’t mind. It’s sort of what I signed up for anyway.” You laughed, hoping James would join in. He did.

***

Dinner went alright. You stayed quiet most of the time, only speaking when spoken to. You didn’t think Euphemia or Fleamont noticed, but you did get a peculiar look from Sirius, seemingly smirking at the way James and your seats were placed so close together.

After excusing yourself from the dinner table, you helped out in the kitchen with Fleamont, drying the dishes and putting them away in the cupboards. You were lost in your own thoughts, drifting off, keeping a smooth rhythm as you stacked plates.

“Lily, can you pass me the soap dispenser please?” You almost didn’t register what he was saying, a muted hum escaping your lips, until you realised you were being addressed. After apologising profusely for your tardiness, you handled the soap bottle to Mr Potter and carried on, hoping he wouldn’t start a conversation.

He did anyway.

“How’s James been treating you?” Fleamont quipped, a sly grin on his face. You knew what he was implying and shook it off, trying to keep the conversation as ambiguous as possible.

“Good. He’s been good.” He didn’t seem to buy it. “Lovely as always.” You gulped discreetly, disguising your nervousness as a yawn, which wasn’t missed by Fleamont.

“My dear, you look tired. You better retire for the night.” Nodding and saying your goodnights, you trod up the stairs, into the bedroom, where you were met by James, where only pajama shorts, reading Quidditch Through The Ages on his bed. You smiled, knowing that it was one of his favourites. He looked up when he saw you enter, smiling sheepishly, pointing towards the ensuite door.

“You can get changed in there, love.” Humming in agreement, you took a spare change of clothes into the bathroom and quickly returned, having brushed your teeth and washed your face as well. It wasn’t that late, but you felt inordinately tired, feeling as though you could pass out.

Collapsing on the soft bed, you pulled the duvet covers over your torso, letting your head hit the soft pillow. You nearly missed James whispering a small “goodnight darling” before falling into a dreamless sleep.

***

Tuesday 22nd December

Day two of whatever this was supposed to be had begun. Sunlight was streaming in through the windows, not uncommon as James had always been an early bird and must’ve opened them himself. He wasn’t in bed when you rolled over, but you did notice the harsh sound of running water and an overwhelming smell of apple shampoo seeping into the bedroom.

Getting into some fresh clothes, you heard the water stop, buttoning up the last button on your blouse as James waltzed back into the bedroom, before seeing you. He stood like a deer in the headlights, water running smoothly down this toned skin, wearing only a towel around his hips.

“Why is it that I always catch you shirtless?” You tried to end the awkwardness by making a joke, reaching into James’ drawers and pulling out the first shirt you saw, throwing it across the room.

Because of James’ Quidditch skills, his fast reflexes caught the soaring shirt, catching it in one hand, unintentionally flexing his biceps. You shouldn’t have been staring, but the situation was too hard to read.

After standing still for a moment, you regained intelligence, snapping yourself out of your gaze. Muttering a quick apology, you dashed out of his bedroom, closing the door behind you. Pressing your back to the newly closed door, you shut your eyes tight, trying to forget the fresh memory in your mind.

“Trouble in paradise?” You opened one of your eyes to see Remus standing there too, novel in hand, also having his back pressed against the closed door.

“Shirtless.” The only words that could fall out of your mouth, making Remus bark with laughter, before clamping his hand over his mouth, an inch of sympathy showing in his eyes.

“Can’t be that bad of a sight, can it?” He joked, egging you on. You clutched your hands up to your face, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, but the worse past was that there was still so much more to come.

“Shut up Lupin.” You stuck your tongue out playfully at Remus, before bolting down the hallway, hoping to help Euphemia out with breakfast, like you said you would last night at the dinner table.

You were efficient in the kitchen, once again keeping talk to a minimum. Except today, you were feeling more comfortable with Euphemia, a more natural conversation gracing your time. It felt easier to speak. Maybe it was the fact that you had just had a good sleep, or maybe it was that you were actually feeling somewhat at home at the Potter’s residence.

Just as the bacon seemed to be completely cooked, James bursted through the door, Sirius and Remus in tow. James seemed to be the only one nervous, as the other two boys sat down at the table gleefully. Dishing up the breakfast, you handed the plates out to everyone.

Lastly, you handed a plate to James, trying your hardest to not make eye contact. You only stiffened when you felt James’s soft fingers accidentally brush against yours, tensing your muscles immediately.

“There you go,” you spoke in a voice so everyone could hear, “sweetheart.” You hissed the last word out in gritted teeth. Instead of sitting next to James like last night, you opted to sit directly in front of him, something that didn’t go unnoticed by James himself, who gave you a curious look at your choice in seating arrangements.

But before he could talk with you about it, you had finished your breakfast, immediately bouncing back into the kitchen, avoiding all signs of the messy haired brunette who was lurking around the ground floor.

The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Mundane tasks, followed by awkward conversation, and running away. It wasn’t what you had thought when you offered the idea to fake date, but you realised how hard it actually was to pretend to be madly in love with someone.

It wasn’t until later in the night, when you were getting ready for bed, that you overheard James talking with Remus and Sirius. You knew you shouldn’t, but after hearing him say your name, you were too curious not to eavesdrop in. Pressing your ear against Sirius’ door, you prayed that Euphemia or Fleamont wouldn’t walk past any moment now.

“How’s it going with the whole fake dating thing?” It was Sirius’ voice, and there was a cheek to his voice. You rolled your eyes at his blatant teasing.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” It was James speaking this time. “Everything was going so well, especially yesterday, but after today, I’m a bit worried that my parents won’t believe.”

“What do you mean?” Remus’ voice held a question, an obvious inflection at the end of the sentence.

“I just wish she was a little more, you know,” a pause, “tactile. At least, a little more affection. She’s not playing the part well.”

You should’ve been hurt by James’ words but instead, you felt immense anger, and for what? You didn’t understand why you felt so annoyed by James’ harmless comment, but you did.

Begrudgingly, you languidly stomped back to James’ room, burying yourself under the covers, pretending to be asleep. You didn’t want to talk to him at the moment, in fear that you would just snap at him for the comments that he was making behind your back.

When James came back in about half an hour later, you felt a feeling of pressure being lifted from your chest, breathing easily as James tucked himself on the other side of you. You didn’t know why, but you felt like it was so much easier to sleep now that you knew that James was beside you. And so you did.

***

Wednesday 23rd December

It was an accident. You didn’t mean to wake up at the piss crack on dawn, wrapped in James’ arms. Sometime during the night, your sleeping form must’ve found its way to James. Your head was tucked in the crook of his neck, the soothing sound of his heartbeat rippling out. You felt safe.

Until you remembered that you were supposed to be mad at James. Carefully so you didn’t wake him, you slipped out of his arms, letting yours legs fall off the edge of the bed. Your warm toes made contact with cold hard wooden floors, making you jolt up in surprise. Looking back, you saw that James was still asleep, so you sighed, peeling out of the bedroom.

It was winter, so it wasn’t even that early in the morning. The grandfather clock in the living room was showing that it was just about to be seven, and that was good enough for you. Taking initiative, you decided to start cooking breakfast yourself, remembering the open invitation Euphemia gave you to use the kitchen whenever you want.

Cozying up to the stove, you placed the palms of your hands just over the radiating heat of the stove top, reveling in the delicious warmth that was defrosting every muscle in your body. Your mind was working overtime, trying to remember what James’ favourite breakfast was.

If James wanted an affectionate girlfriend, then he was going to get himself an affectionate girlfriend.

Mixing together a sweet pancake batter, you welcomed Euphemia into the kitchen. Praises filled the room, as you poured the dough into the pan, letting the bubbles rise to the top. In the meantime, you took out the bowl of fresh strawberries in the fridge, letting them come to room temperature on the kitchen counter tops.

Once again, James entered the kitchen right as you were serving up. Making sure it was as noticeable as possible, you sent a massive wink his way, catching him off guard. Grabbing a chopping board from the cupboard, you started slicing the tops off of the strawberries, to which James stopped you.

“Let me help darling.” He spoke, his morning voice making you feel something in your stomach that you weren’t expecting. Butterflies? Surely not. You shook the thought away, focusing back on flipping the pancakes on the stove tops.

After serving another freshly cooked pancake, your attention was pulled to James, a dopey smile on his face, strawberry juice staining his lips. “Y/- Lily, come over here.”

A bitter feeling rose in your chest at hearing Lily’s name, but you pushed it away, walking over to James’ workstation. He had a strawberry in his hand, beckoning you over to taste it. An idea sprouted in your head as you sashayed over, swinging your hips slightly.

You did what James wanted you to do, bending over slightly to place your lips around the sweet berry, letting your loving ‘boyfriend’ feed you. What he didn’t expect was after you had eaten the strawberry, you latched into his hands, wrapping your mouth around his fingers and gently sucking off the rest of the strawberry juice. It had caught him off guard but that’s what you wanted.

Today he was going to get all the affection you could give him.

At the breakfast table, you sat beside him, resting your hand on his thigh as you ate, leaning into him as you laughed at a joke Sirius had made. It wasn’t that funny but you wanted to prove a point. You wanted to prove that you could play the part of the doting girlfriend.

Soon, after breakfast, the Potter’s decided to go for a walk, so everyone joined in. Wrapping each other up in as much warm clothing as possible, everyone bundled outside together, minding the brisk breeze that was blowing through.

Holding James’ hand, you strolled calmly together, leaning your cheek against his arm and shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind, but he didn’t keep sending you strange looks as you continuously clutched his arm, running your fingers up and down his skin. You couldn’t tell if the goosebumps were from hesitation or the cold.

It started snowing quite heavily so they decided to head back inside. James and Remus had been caught up in conversation for most of the walk, about who was better at wizard’s chess and had agreed to a competition to decide for once and for all.

Curled up on the couch, you sat beside James, one and curled around a mug of cocoa and the other places upon James’ thigh. He let you, nodding when you hesitated on placing your hand there the first time.

About an hour into their little competition, you felt a haze settle upon your eyes, rendering you tired. It was late afternoon though, not a good enough time to go to bed. Yawning, you placed your mug down on the coffee table, and stretched out over the couch, placing your head down on James’ lap. Subconsciously, his left hand followed the movements of your head, latching onto a piece of your hair and twirling around his finger.

You never slept, but you rested your eyes. You didn’t know for how long until you felt the familiar sound of Euphemia’s dream-like voice, calling you to dinner. Hurriedly, you placed a mushy kiss against James’ cheek and sat in the usual spot at the dinner table.

By now, conversation flowed more easily than it did the day before. You were now beginning to feel safe in the Potter environment, opening up to everyone more, letting yourself join the conversation.

When you were going off the bed, you placed one last public kiss on James’ cheek before lacing your hands together, pulling him up to the bedroom and winking at Sirius and Remus, knowing full well what it was suggesting.

Once you got behind the doors though, you were off him in an instant, searching through your bag for a spare change of clothes for the night. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, getting ready for bed in your own separate bubbles. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to speak to James, it was more that you didn’t know what to say to him after today. You were afraid that you had crossed a line.

“What was that today?” James finally broke the silence, a crack in his voice as you spoke. You spin around, a fake smile creeping onto your face.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” His voice was cool, sending shivers down your spine. Your smile dropped, replaced with a frown. You could almost feel a few tears edging at your waterline, threatening to spill over if you weren’t careful.

“I’m sorry.” You started, fiddling with your fingers. “It was just- I overheard what you said last night. You said you wish I was being more, uhm, tactile.” You felt embarrassed to say the word. “I just wanted to put in a bit more effort. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

James stayed quiet as he settled into bed. You followed suit, getting it just behind him. You faced away from him though, as your cheeks were now being stained by your tears.

“Y/N?” You heard James call from behind you, but you didn’t turn around.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was just strange seeing so much affection from someone who wasn’t Lily.” He paused. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight Jamesie.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

***

Thursday 24th December

Once again, you woke up in James’ arms. Once again, you weren’t sure how you got there, but you weren’t complaining either way. Once again, you moved out of his arms before he noticed.

A new occurrence this morning though was he woke up by your movement.

“Oh, good morning love.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, although you didn’t know why. You kept your eyes closed, as they were still heavy from last night’s sleep. Unfortunately, it was plagued by fluffy dreams, all lead by a familiar bespectacled boy. You shook the thought from your mind, trying to open your eyes, but you couldn’t. You could barely mutter out a greeting.

“Hmm.” You grunted in acknowledgment, burying you head in the pillow. It smelt like James. A smile crept on your face without you realising.

“Tired?”

“Hmm.” You let out another whine, this one more pitiful, as you nuzzled you head against James’ arm, wanting to feel his warmth once again. Chuckling, he wrapped an arm around you before placing a calculated kiss on top of your head.

“Stay here darling.” You didn’t have to be told twice. As James left the bed, you stayed put, falling down where James was previously sleeping, laying horizontally along James’ bed as you fell back into your slumber.

You didn’t know how long you were out for, but you didn’t wake up to the sound of the creaking door opening and the clinking off ice against a glass of water. You tentatively opened one eye, letting in as much light as you would allow, adjusting to the new found sunlight. Slowly, you opened the next eye, so you could properly see what James was doing.

In his hands, he carried a breakfast tray, adorned with fresh ciabatta bread, yogurt, and a bowl of strawberries. The clinking sound before was coming from a glass of icy cold water, sitting next to a vase of peonies. Your favourite flower. You flushed at the fact that James had remembered something so miniscule.

“Breakfast in bed for the princess.” James joked, letting you sit up filling before placing the tray on your lap.

“What does that make you then? A prince?” You continued the joke, folding back a bit of the duvet to let James hop back into the bed too. There was double of everything on the tray, so you assumed one helping was for James.

You gave him a plate of breakfast as you slowly miches on yours, your mind too preoccupied to think about breakfast. All you could think about was why you were feeling so nervous around James. Why was your heart racing? Why were your cheeks flushing? Why were your hands clamming up?

“Open wide.” You whipped you head around to see James with a goofy grin on his face, holding a strawberry in his hand. Remembering what happened yesterday, you took a bite of the berry, purposely not continuing how you did yesterday and licking his fingers.

A disappointed pout returned to his face. “No finger sucking? Aww what’s wrong?”

“Did you want me to suck your fingers, Prince James?” You poked him playfully on his side. “It would be highly inappropriate. We aren’t even married yet. What a scandal.” You spoke in an over the top British accent, mimicking stereotypical royal figures.

“Oh, don’t worry Princess Y/N, I wouldn’t mind have you in my bloodline.”

“Hm, Princess Y/N of the Potter residence.” You jokingly thought for a moment. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

As you giggled together, you heard a knock at the door, followed by a “I’m coming in.” The doorknob turned and Euphemia emerged from behind the door. “How is my happy couple going?”

You kept the smile on your face, not letting it falter and break character. A little voice in the back of my mind was angry, upset that Euphemia had interrupted the moment, but ultimately you thought that maybe it was for the best. You needed to keep the flirting for the public eyes only.

“Hey Mum.” James cheered. You looked back to him and noticed the same smile on his face, like it hadn’t fallen. Like, he hadn’t even noticed that Euphemia had called us a couple.

“It snowed again last night so we’re snowed in for the day. Do you two have any plans?” She asked, her eyes flickering from between us.

“I have a lot of homework to do so I might do that today.” You spoke quietly, a little embarrassed that you wanted to do homework. You didn’t actually want to do homework, but you felt like you need to be occupied by something, to control an inner urge that was bubbling inside of you.

“Come on!” James whined, letting his head fall down on your shoulder. You got immediately warm from his touch. “It’s the holidays! You can’t seriously be doing homework?”

“I have stuff to catch up on.”

“Like what?”

“Like, um, stuff.”

“Would you kids like to do some baking for Christmas tomorrow?” Euphemia suggested, to which James lit up like a Christmas tree, completely infatuated by the idea.

“Yes, yes, yes.” James repeated, rushing out of bed, but carefully enough to not spill the tray everywhere. You followed suit, pulling on a dressing gown and entering the kitchen with an enthusiastic James.

That’s how the rest of the day went. You and James stayed in the kitchen all day, still wearing your sleeping pajamas, fooling around and baking.

You started with making Christmas cake, but soon found out that James was rather good at baking himself. He took the reigns, busily working as you helped out, doing the chopping and measuring for him.

At one point, James’ eyebrows were furrowed together in concentration for over two minutes. You were getting restless, the perfection needed for baking boring you, so you decided to have some fun. Pinching your finger together, you gathered up a handful of flour, flinging it at an unsuspecting James. He turned around slowly, his cheek covered in white powder, before an evil grin consumed his face.

“Oh, you’re on, L/N.”

That’s how most of the baking went with James that day. Joking around, flinging ingredients at each other. By the end of it, you could hardly tell the difference between the kitchen floor and your aprons.

At the end, you had made Christmas cake, gingerbread cookies, and a loaf of bread. Happy with your haul, you went into the living room to call the rest of the members of the household to inspect the food.

“Come see what we made.” You and James called, standing underneath the archway from the kitchen and the living room. As you were about to step away, you heard a halting sound.

“Uh uh, wait up.” You turned back around to see Fleamont with a cheeky smile on his face, pointing at the two of you. You didn’t know what he was pointing at but Euphemia, Sirius, and Remus did, following Fleamont’s arm and laughing when they saw it.

Gazing upwards, you looked to see what the big fuss was about. Your face fell in an instant. Hanging above you and James was a freshly picked mistletoe plant.

You grimaced at the thought, feeling guilty. It was one of the rules you had set. No kissing on the lips. Surely Remus and Sirius knew that, but they were too busy laughing their asses off to remember.

Looking back at James, you gulped. You stared up at his cerulean blue eyes, your hand shaking beside you slightly. James’ eyes were raking your face, searching for any sign of consent. You nodded soon after realising what he was doing and you let him cup your face, bringing you closer than you’ve ever been.

“Are you okay with this?” James whispered for only you to hear. You kept leaning forward until you were only millimetres away from touching when you breathed out your last word of consent: “yes.”

Your lips met in the middle. It was soft and sweet, not wanting to push what was already fragile. James’ left hand stayed cupping your cheek, holding you face still as his right hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. It was magical, as if all your happiness you had ever felt was wrapped together and given to you right there. You had your hands resting on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat underneath you like a song from the heavens.

When you pulled away, your eyes lingered a little longer in James’, the eye contact you were holding inescapable and passionate. Your head felt heavy, your eyelids weighing you down as a wave of exhaustion hit you like a freight train. Discreetly, you yawn behind you hand, a gesture that wasn’t missed by James, who reached out for your wrist, running his thumb up and down your hand.

“Let’s go get you some sleep, hm?” An affirming sound escaped your mouth as you trailed behind James. Back in his bedroom, you collapsed on the bed, your lips still tingling from the sensual kiss just moments before.

The two of you were silent as you got ready for bed. Working harmoniously beside each other, you changed, and did your repetitive nightly routine, just to end up in the same place as always; on opposite sides of the bed, unable to make conversation. Luckily for you, James was onto it.

“I’m so sorry,” he started, but when you tried to butt in, he cut you off, continuing his rant. “I knew that was one of the rules and I broke it. I should’ve just said no and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You didn’t deserve to have your boundaries crossed. I’m sorry for pressuring you into something you weren’t ready for.”

You stayed silent for a moment, soaking in his words before you began yourself. “James, I didn’t mind. You didn’t take advantage of me. It’s completely okay. And what’s that famous saying, rules are meant to be broken.”

Your pathetic attempt to joke was shut down as James didn’t say anything, nor move, just staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Huffing, you rolled over, trying to let slumber take you away, but you couldn’t. There was a chill in the house tonight, another snow storm heading your way. You shuddered as a draft blew through.

“You’re cold.” James finally spoke, yet it was an obvious statement, as you were still shaking under a blanket, your teeth starting to chatter.

“Come here.” You turned around, seeming as if you had misheard him, but you saw what you were afraid of. James’ arms were wide open, beckoning you to fall asleep with him wrapped around you, keeping you safe.

So you did.

***

Friday 25th December

Christmas morning was perfect. As you fluttered open your eyes, you once again found yourself situated in James’ arms, the only difference was that he was awake too, his radiant smile beaming down on you, making you feel warm and cuddly on the inside.

Breakfast was simple, as everyone was mostly preparing for Christmas lunch. You tried to help out as much as possible but Euphemia always shut you down, insisting that you had helped out enough and that you needed a break. So, you sat patiently on the couch, munching slowly on an apple, the juice running smoothly down your face.

“Good morning Lily.” James had appeared beside you, placing a soft kiss on your temple. The words falling from his mouth were more acidic than the juice dripping from your chin. Your returning smile was filled with bitterness, something James picked up on, his nose scrunching up as he surveyed your emotions.

“G’morning Jamesie.” You slurred, gritting your teeth together, detesting the name you were just called. Still unable to figure out why, James gave you a look, a look that just said “what?” It hurt, knowing that he wouldn’t know why it spurred you on so much.

Fleamont soon joined you in the living room, taking the armchair in the middle of the room, burying himself in the comfort. Politely, you nodded towards him, acknowledging his presence, but there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“How did you two sleep?” He asked, gesturing between the two of you, to which you both smiled.

“Just fine, thank you, any you?” You responded for the both of you, feeling James’ hand curl around you own, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Just fine, although, I was walking down the hallway during the night and I noticed something peculiar.”

Unsure of what he meant, you egged him on. “What did you notice?”

“Your bedroom door was open, son; the pesky draft must’ve opened it. There was moonlight streaming in from the window, and I noticed the two of you curled up together.” Fleamont looked directly at you. “I didn’t realise the two of you were at that stage of your relationship.

As Fleamont winked at the two of you, your mouth fell open, appalled, as James was laughing like a maniac beside you. It wasn’t until Euphemia came into the living room to break apart their banter to get together for Christmas lunch.

It was a peaceful meal of casual conversation and light jokes. You stayed quiet most of the time, actually rather enjoying listening in on the fascinating stories that Euphemia and Fleamont were telling about James when he was a child. Soon, the conversation turned towards the future, and all eyes were on you.”

“Dear, what would you like to do when you leave Hogwarts?” It should’ve been an easy question to answer but you were stumped, unsure if you should answer as Lily or as yourself. Unable to think of something Lily would say, you decided to answer as you would.

“Actually, I want to study in a muggle university. Literature, or maybe anthropology. I’ve always been interested in learning about the world and my heart has always been somewhat attached to the muggle world. It’s where I want to flourish.” Embarrassed by your little monologue, you flushed a deep red, before turning back towards your ham.

“How inspiring,” Euphemia said, clapping her hands together in delight, “and what about marriage? Have you thought about settling down?”

You almost choked on your food at the question, catching you completely off guard. All eyes were on you and James now, with Sirius and Remus trying not to disturb anyone as they laughed in the distance.

“Uhm,” you looked at James for guidance but he also seemed just as uncomfortable as you were. “I haven’t thought that far through, to be completely honest.”

“Oh, but dear,” Euphemia looked positively thrilled. “We would be absolutely delighted for you to join our family. Lily Potter, my beautiful and caring daughter-in-law.”

“Okay, how about we clean up now, yeah?” Thankfully, James had broken up the conversation, offering to clean up the plates. Eager to leave the uncomfortable situations you helped bring in the stacks of food, offering to split it up, and repackage it for later consumption. You worked efficiently, avoiding anyone with the last name Potter at all cost.

When everything seemed to be tidied up, the Potter parents insisted that everyone sit around together for the gift giving portion of Christmas. Quietly, you rushed back to the bedroom, getting out the small gifts you had brought everyone for the Christmas season while you were out the other day.

Sitting amongst everyone, it felt like everything was back to normal. No more awkward conversations about the future plagued the atmosphere, just joyous laughter and pure happiness circling the room.

Firstly, you gave small presents to Sirius and Remus, including some quills for school, and gunpowder for pranks. You gave Euphemia and Fleamont some Christmas fudge that you had found, as well as a thank you note, thanking them for letting you stay over the Christmas season. Lastly, you handed a small box to James, a lacy ribbon decorating it.

“Open it.” You spoke in an almost whisper, as James’ fingers fiddled with the ribbon. As it fell open, you heard the small gasp from James, as he took the chain out of the box.

It was a small silver bracelet, yet it was decorated by a tiny, dangling gem, the colour of the deep blue ocean, something that seemed to have enchanted the bespectacled boy.

“It’s a sapphire.” You said, running your fingers over the cold chain. “It’s supposed to represent honesty, trust, loyalty. Everything that embodies you.” You spoke with so much weight in your chest, speaking from the deepest depths of your heart. Everything you said was true.

Swooping down, James pressed a kiss to your cheek, whispering a hushed “I love you” under his breath, so faint that you weren’t even sure if you were supposed to hear it.

The rest of the presents were handed out, until there was only one left underneath the Christmas tree. With a smile on his face, Fleamont reached down underneath the tree, grabbing the package and passing it to you.

It should’ve been a happy moment, a moment where you truly felt like you belonged in the Potter house. It did at first as the smile seemed to never be able to falter, until you stared down at the packaging, noticing the name ‘Lily Evans’ written in cursive. A single tear ran down your face as you realised something harsh in that very moment. It was always going to be Lily Evans, never Y/N L/N.

The feeling got worse as you carrot undid the wrapping paper, revealing a collection of polaroid photographs. They were all different shots of you and James throughout the holidays. Curled up on the couch, baking in the kitchen, out on the walls, sucking the juice off of his fingers. The last one made you laugh as you remembered the memory that had now turned fond.

“I love them. Thank you so much.”

The day was mostly mundane, just filled with more activities, like chess, or cleaning to fill in the time. It seemed like everyone was just waiting for the snow to melt, so they could all go back outside again. You knew James was just itching to play with his Quidditch set outside.

Strangely enough, you found yourself outside in the snow, wrapped up tight from the weather. The snow had stopped falling for a peaceful moment, so you thought it would be the perfect time to get some fresh air, away from the overwhelming company.

You were soon joined though, as you heard the front door open and close from behind you. You didn’t even have to guess who it was as they stood beside you, taking in a deep breath, exhaling visibling in the frosty air.

“How are you doing?” James looked over to you, his eyes laced with concern. You shrugged, smiling that he seemed to care about you. It warmed you.

“Overwhelmed, but you’ve been perfect. All thanks to you, I think they might actually believe it.” You were now completely facing James now, looking up into his deep, aquamarine eyes, watching as the tint changed when the light hit the irises at a different angle. It was mesmerising.

You weren’t the only one mesmerised though. James couldn’t stop staring at your beauty. The way your eyes sparkled in the light. The way your skin catched the light snow that was starting to fall. Your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question caught you off guard, but it left you feeling unsatisfied. Before you could even respond, you had James by the collar of his sweater, pulling him down ever so slightly so your lips could meet with his. It was light fire and electricity, a thousand gusts of wind blowing through you, spilling into you like an endless thunderstorm. You kissed him like it was the last time you were ever going to see him, hungry, desperate, passionate.

You were in love.

***

Saturday 26th December

You had fallen asleep on the couch, slumped with James as he cocooned your sleeping body between his limbs. Unfortunately, your slumber had been awoken in the early hours of the morning by banging on the front door. Groggily, James got up, rubbing his head with his hands.

Running your fingers through your hair, you got up with him, putting on a sweater to make yourself look more presentable. James’ sweater, to be exact.

The four other residents of the house had now awoken from the persistent knocking and had joined us downstairs. It was just after sunrise so everyone was sort of dazed and out of it. With one last eye rub, James swung the door open to reveal the person standing there.

Lily Evans, with her hair like a roaring fire, cheeks naturally rosy, and eyes glinting like a morning sunrise, she stood there, clutching her hands nervously. As soon as she saw James though, she flung her arms around his neck, burying her head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” A string of apologies came out of her mouth as tears started running down her cheeks, dark mascara staining her porcelain skin. A confused look was shot my way as Euphemia just stared between the two of us, unsure of what to do.

“Hello darling.” Euphemia’s motherly voice was out to play. ”If you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

“Oh sorry for not introducing myself.” Lily removed herself from James’ figuring, wiping her eyes on her sleeves, as she stuck her hand out to be shaken. “I’m Lily Evans, nice to meet you.”

Then, Lily noticed your looming form sending a curious look your way. It wasn’t the only look of confusion. Euphemia and Fleamont were almost unreadable as you flicked between the two of them.

It was time to come clean.

“This is Lily Evans, my ex girlfriend.” James had the same idea as you, introducing the red headed girl to his parents finally.

“And this is Y/N L/N, my close friend.”

Friend.

That’s all you were. That’s all you would ever be, compared to Lily.

It took a bit of explaining and sitting Fleamont and Euphemia down to fully explain the plan. You started off with the breakup and then talked about the devilish plan, saying that all you wanted to do was keep Christmas light and cheery. All you got were uncomfortable looks from James’ parents.

When everything was laid out on the table, Fleamont got up and left, obviously disappointed in the choices you and his son had made. Euphemia looked as though she had just swallowed a bee, lips pursed as she contemplated the next move.

“Well, Y/N,” the name fell bitterly for her lips; it sounded so foreign, so unnatural. “You are happy to stay with us until tomorrow. It was nice to finally meet you.”

That was the full extent of the conversation. For the rest of the day, it seemed as though Fleamont and Euphemia were keeping James and you away from each other, always asking one or the other to help with chores, or to do a mundane activity with them.

It wasn’t until night time dawned on the residence. The atmosphere had unfortunately changed after Lily’s short and unexpected visit. Her exit was speedy after her unprompted entrance, an uneasy ripple of tension in the house.

When it was time to sleep, Euphemia had shown you to a spare room, taking initiative to set you up somewhere separate, now knowing that you weren’t actually dating James. It was cold though, empty and alone, and as you tried to sleep, your hands kept trailing to James’ side of the bed, searching for him.

You took it upon yourself to take matters into your own hands. Creeping through the house, you found yourself outside of James’ bedroom door. Quietly, you knocked, waiting a few seconds before entering. James was lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the open curtain which was letting in trickles of moonlight. When you entered, he looked back at you, his lips parted slightly in shock.

“Can I…?” Your voice trailed off as you couldn’t bare to finish your sentence in embarrassment, but James seemed to know what you were alluding to, pulling back the covers almost immediately.

“Of course.”

***

Sunday 27th December

You woke in early hours of the morning. It was intentional, not wanting to be found in James’ bed again. It would be scandalous. You laid back in your new bed, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping you could go back asleep, but sleep couldn’t find you.

Before breakfast had started, you had packed you bags, ready to catch the train at ten o’clock. An early breakfast run was needed as you munched some Christmas leftovers, opposite sides of the table from James. You still hadn’t talked about what had happened. Even last night, you had only just cuddled until you both had fallen asleep. Your feelings till needed to be addressed.

Hurriedly, the four Hogwarts students were aparated back to King’s Cross Station by Euphemia and Fleamont, both with sorrowful looks on their faces. They were hugging their son goodbye, then moving onto Sirius and Remus, hugging them like they were also their children. You shifted awkwardly in the group.

“And we can’t forget you, now can we, Y/N?” It was still strange hearing your own name come from their lips, but you welcomed it, slightly happy to be the only receptor of the love now. As you were pulled into a jug by Euphemia, you could hear the last words she spoke to you. “Thank you for looking after my son. I’d be happy to have you as my daughter-in-law.”

Last minute goodbyes were said as you all bundled up onto the train, finding a carriage right in front of where Euphemia and Fleamont were standing. You waved cheerfully at them as the train pulled out of the station, a chapter of your life closing.

You hadn’t noticed Remus and Sirius had stepped out of the carriage, giving you and James some much needed privacy. There wasn’t much that needed to be said though. Everything that needed to be communicated had already been done through awkward glances and small looks.

“Hey.” His voice was almost silent.

“Hey.”

A pause.

“What are we?”

“Whatever you want to be.” You eventually said. James hummed in agreement, resting his head in his hand.

“Onwards?”

You smiled.

“Onwards.”

[weebwrites]

What It Takes (Meizou x Reader) (Ximen x Reader)

Fandom: Meteor Garden / Boys Over Flowers Warnings: Unrequited love, Love Triangle, Happy Ending, Sad Ending Words: 2k217 Requested By: No One Synopsis: Meizou can’t help but wonder what it will take for his fiancé to love him instead.

Note to Self- Don’t fall In Love First

Mei Zou had been ecstatic when he first heard of the arranged business merger between his family and the Y/L/N group. Since the moment his mother brought the idea to him, he was shaking with excitement. He had always been worries of his parents plan for his future- maybe that’s why he tried to have as much fun as possible in his youth.

Mei Zou told no one about the engagement plans, but, of course, Y/n noticed. She called him out the first time she saw him since he was told the news. It never stopped shocking him; she was the most observant person Mei Zou had ever met. 

The group of five were lounging in the bridge room, and the second Y/n looked up from her music composition book she asked Meizou what made him so excited. He was quick to re-gain his composure and call it a secret- saying she’ll find out soon enough. 

The other three people in the club room looked over at the both of them. Ah Si rolled his eyes, making some remark of how freaky it was- that she knew them so well. 

Ximen walked over to her and put his hand gingerly on Y/n’s head, “I think it’s cute how her gaming strategy bleeds into her personality.” He moved his hand to her jaw so they were looking at each other, sharing a smile. 

Lei nodded, “It’s nice to have someone you can have a silent conversation with.”

Meizou kept his eyes on the pair in front of him, his hands balling at his sides, morphing into pale chords of muscles as he clenched the chair’s fabric. Y/n had looked back at her book, making progress on the song she was composing. 

He watched as her hair fell from behind her ears, obscuring his view of the girl. He noticed the signs of her becoming increasing frustrated. Just as he was about to move over, Y/n had called out to Lei. 

“I’m trying to convert my song from guitar to piano, but I’m not sure how to compensate for the fret change during the bridge. What chord do you think will work here?” She made eye-contact with the soft boy.

Before looking at where she was referring to, Hua Ze Lei gently brushed the hair from her face before answering her question. 

If only we were together already, Mei Zou thought, then I could stop them from looking at her like that. It was hard on the boy to see Y/n interact with other guys on a daily basis. He’s loved her since they were children, but he had no clue what the future held. So, for now, he bit his tongue. It would be so much easier if she loved me already. 

------------------------------

Note To Self- Don’t wait too long

He was many things- an artist, a bridge player, a loyal friend, a play boy, a hopeless romantic, the list goes on- but Mei Zou is not an idiot. 

He recognized the signs- falling in love was most visible from the outside. It started small, he would walk beside her in the halls. Then he would be the first to her classes, then he started to drive her home, until he’d take her out before reaching her house. It had started small, the love between an angel and a broken man. 

Meizou wasn’t an idiot. He knew Ximen was cautious with love, to the point of thinking he might never get married. It was a shock when he realized his friend was actually in love.

When Meizou first noticed his friend’s lingering glances and moment longer hands on her waist, he cornered him in the hallway. He had pushed Ximen against the lockers, grabbing his collar. Meizou scolded him, warned him that Y/n wasn’t like the girls he toys with, she’s more than them. He warned him about messing with their Y/n, the only female member of F5; Meizou gently reminded him that it wasn’t just himself Ximen would have to worry about, Ah Si and Lei cherished their princess, and they’d do anything to protect her.

Ximen shoved his friend off of him, aggressively declaring his love for her. “I love her, Meizou,” he whispered after. “I can’t stop- it’s like she’s the only thing in my life- every girl I see is just a person who isn’t her, every breath I take is one I wish was with her; she’s in every thought I have and my hand feels empty without hers’ in it. I don’t know how but I love her. I love her.”

To say he was shocked would be an understatement. Meizou guided Ximen back to their club room to keep away from peering eyes. They sat and drank the scotch the room was stocked with. Even as Ah Si came and went, Ximen hadn’t said a word since the hallway. Nothing fell from his lips since he whispered his love for their bestfriend. Meizou had never seen Ximen so vulnerable before, so delicate; if he told his friend about the engagement plans Meizou feared he would shatter like a porcelain heart, so he waited.

--------------------------------

Note To Self- Decide Your Priorities Early On

Having the plans be a secret wasn’t difficult. Meizou wasn’t told anything since the reveal, so it’s not like he was keeping anything other than that from hs friends. No, having it be a secret wasn’t what was difficult- but keeping it a secret was the most painful experience ever. 

Meizou watched their love story from the side lines- seeing the stages of their relationship was like watching acts of a play in a theater he couldn’t leave. He was the understudy of a lead who never got sick. Still, Meizou waited. He waited for Ximen to mess up, to freak out. It was messed up- something he never thought he would stoop low enough to do- yet every time Y/n gushed about her plans Meizou silently prayed his friend wouldn’t show up.

He prayed Ximen would forget, he prayed Ximen would make a mistake- just once. He wished he would say the wrong thing- offend her by accident; he prayed on every lucky star that Ximen would hurt her- just once.

Yet with every ill-intended wish it was like their love grew stronger. Ximen had given up his go-to dating plans the moment Y/n agreed to go out with him. Long gone were the roses and strawberry scented cards, no more was the heart on the side of the building. Y/n wasn’t like that. 

Instead they would go to a second hand book store and find a book that had been lived in- one with dog-eared pages and cracked spines. With their books in hand they would to go a cafe, they’d order two drinks (A hot tea of differing flavors and a Spiced Chai Latte) and a piece of cake. Occasionally looking up to smile at their partners, they lived through the books. Smudged highlights of their favorite quotes, smushed rants in the margins when the plot got heated, tears softening the pages which hurt their hearts; the two poured their souls into the pages, and then they gave part of themselves to the other. 

They’d go their separate ways and read the books their partners had chosen for them, laughing when they read a funny note the other had left, calling in tears when everything goes wrong, they annotated the novels. The books would be swapped back and forth, each time read from a new perspective until each page was filled with reminders of love, silly rants, or just mementos of their time together. The book became more ink and highlighter than paper, and it’s meaning had transformed. This was what they were as a couple, something that never seemed to be breakable. Something endless.

Ah Si was spectacle at first, hesitant to expose Y/n to his playboy turned romantic friend. He had always thought Y/n would end up with Lei- but he gave Ximen a chance, and he waited. He waited for Y/n to show up at his door step in tears, he waited to kill Ximen for making her cry. He waited and he waited and the day never came. 

Instead, Y/n cried over how sweet he was. Instead she told him how well he treated her, how Ximen made her feel so special. She called Ah Si late at night not heartbroken, but reduced to giggles and squeals after a perfect date. Never came the day Ah Si would comfort a heartbroken Y/n, and he had never been happier for her. 

Lei was the first to know of Y/n’s long-lasting crush on his friend. He was surprised- back when she told him at the age of twelve. But since then he expected the calls of how he was perfect, how he’d never see her as a girl. He knew Y/n’s feelings inside out, and he was worried when she told him that Ximen had taken her out on a date. He waited for Ximen to get bored, for Y/n’s perfection to not be enough for him. Lei watched silently as the pair spent every second together, watched with careful eyes as they fell hard. 

After his worries for her well being subsided, Lei waited for Y/n to fade from his life. As it was, Y/n called him every day and texted him throughout it. He waited for the calls to stop, for her texts to become once a day with simple meanings. He waited patiently to be along on the rooftop with only the memories of his bestfriend to keep him company. He waited and waited and waited, staring at the phone or the rooftop entrance. Days, weeks, a month, two, yet the phone always rang, and the door always opened. Lei realized Y/n wouldn’t be abandoning his relationship with her for someone else. Maybe it was because he chose love and abandoned his friends when he did- maybe that's why he tried to prepare himself for Y/n’s departure from his life- waiting for her to disappear. But the day never came, and Lei stopped waiting.

Ximen was terrified every day. He was anxious as he drove to her house, wondering when he would freak out. He was scared when he looked down and saw Y/n holding onto his arm, wondering when he would push her off. He clenched his hand tight as he watched her dance through the streets of Shanghi, wondering when he would ruin his one shot at happiness. 

Every date his heart was beating out of his chest, every stolen glance felt like the last. Every smile thrown his way was a wakeup call- every time her voice reached his ears it cut through the fog of self doubt and misery which swallowed him whole- she was his savior. His angel that managed to save him every time, the only life raft on the sinking boat; she was the only good thing left in the world that fought to bruise his ego and tie him to a hundred pound weight of misery. She was the softest blanket, she was the best alarm. She was everything. His hand unclenched. He calmed down.

Meizou should have known this would happen. He decided then, seeing her beautiful smile, that her happiness is all that mattered. 

---------------------------------------------------------

Note To Self- Sometimes Things Don’t Work Out, Sometimes That’s Okay

When Meizhou told his parents he wouldn’t go through with the wedding they were furious. When he broke down in tears they had no clue what to do with themselves. 

“She’s in love with someone else,”

They comforted him as best as absentee parents could, patting his head awkwardly with empty words. They offered to go through with it anyway, have her fall in love with him after they’re married.

Meizhou refused- he didn’t want to. 

Instead, Meizhou stood at the altar, watching as Y/n approached. She was beautiful. Her dress dragged behind her and her eyes watered with tears- she was gorgeous. 

Lei and Daoming Si stood across the isle, beside Y/n as she took her rightful spot. She stared into the eyes of her beloved and, for once, it wasn’t jealousy that prickled under his skin. It was sorrow- deep and painful morning for the death of his future. His beloved would never be his, his beloved was someone else. He cried.

Y/n had never felt better. Her mother had been apprehensive about giving her consent, saying she hadn’t expected Ximen to be the one she fell in love with. Y/n wasn’t sure what she meant, but her mom dressed her to the nines and did her makeup personally. 

And now here she was, standing in front of the man she’d gladly spend every moment of her life with.

“How did I get so lucky,” she whispered, as Lei handed her Ximens ring and Meizhou handed him the other.

“No love-” Ximens eyes swirled with love and adoration, “how did I get so lucky?”

The room erupted into cheers, applause, the occasional scream or encouragement as they kissed. The world faded around them and the only thing that mattered was each other.

Meizhou waved them off as they climbed into the limo towards their honeymoon. 

[emmyisafanandacon]

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐬 (𝐢𝐫𝐥!𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐨𝐭 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

[FLUFF] Word Count: 884 words

You and Wilbur are alone in his bedroom, lazing around on his bed. The weather is cloudy, the windows barely shining any light into Wilbur’s bedroom. The only light sources glowing inside the room being your laptops. The warmth of his soft sheets was tempting to nap in but you were busy trying to play the guitar.

Glancing at your boyfriend, he works preoccupied on his laptop, his fingers tapping away on the keyboard in the background of the room as his hair slowly falls over his eyes. He refused to show you what he was working on, so honestly, it could have been anything. Maybe it’s a new song, or maybe a lore script.

You look away and pull Wilbur’s guitar closer to your chest, resting it better on your lap. You wanted to try to learn La Jolla in the guitar and succeed in playing one of your boyfriend's songs. Wilbur wanted to play the song for you, but you insisted on learning the song yourself. So with a gracious smile, he lent to you his guitar, despite your small protests.

He's too much of a sweetheart sometimes.

You don't necessarily share his skill in the guitar, but you weren't too bad. Except, his guitar was bigger than what you're used to and the distances of the frets feel to be bigger, requiring you to stretch your fingers further. Not to mention, you still have to take note of the finger patterns for the plucking, ensuring that you don’t pluck the wrong string.

But you still try, stretching your fingers over the strings, readjusting your fingers when the tune sounds too flat or wrong. Taking every note one step at a time, losing yourself to the feel of the strings and the sound of the guitar.

Little did you notice that Wilbur has already stopped with whatever project he was working on and decided to just focus his attention on you. He found it adorable that you were trying so hard to learn his song and he was flattered that you were trying your best.

Taking a small glimpse at your fingers, he noticed that you were having difficulty with the fretboard, your fingers slightly trembling from the stretch that the song required you to reach. With a little smile, he scootches behind you, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your own. You feel his fingertips press down onto your fingers, helping your fingers stay on the fret you have to keep your hand in.

You try to give your boyfriend a questioning glace, lifting your head to rest on his shoulder. But he just gives a small smile in return, eyes sparkling with mirth.

So you refreshed your playing and started at a slow pace, with Wilbur humming the next note you were supposed to play as you pluck and switch between chords to better pace yourself. His hand changes with yours, pressing down your fingers on the strings if the chord is too difficult for you to reach.

You mumble a few complaints about the guitar but Wilbur just laughs into your hair, suggesting you just need some practice to be better in the craft as he presses comforting kisses.

As you two continue with your playing, you feel your fingers starting to ache from the guitar strings, and the indentations on your fingers are starting to show on your fingertips.

Wilbur notices this as well and grabs your hand, pulling it away from the guitar, and began to massage your fingertips. He sets the guitar down on the bed next to him as he pulls you into his arms, allowing you to lay atop him, your back on his chest.

He began to rub on the indentations on your fingers, mumbling a tiny apology into your hair as he circles your fingertips.

"I’m sorry," he mutters, the slight calloused texture of his fingertips massaging against yours, the low timbre of his voice rumbling into your hair. You feel your cheeks warming up at the gentle gesture.

You lightly grip onto one of his fingers to stop him temporarily, "You don’t have to apologize y’know."

"Hm?"

You smile up at him, "I said you don’t have to apologize. you never owed me an apology."

He hums in response, pressing a kiss onto every single one of your fingertips as he stares right at you. You can feel the softness of his lips press against your skin, making you feel flustered again.

He then shifts his attention back to your hands, playing with your fingers, comparing the size of his fingers with yours.

You lean further into him, enjoying the warmth of his embrace as he plays with your fingers, enjoying the calm moment you two are sharing. With his hectic schedule, normally moments like these are far too rare for you two, so it was a welcome touch to the experience.

Little did you realize his fixation on your ring finger, wondering what color would suit your fingers. Would you prefer gold? Or maybe silver? Would you have wanted a diamond ring or maybe some other gem?

Well, he should probably get your ring size soon. He presses another kiss into your hair and holds you close to him, promising himself that he will never let you go.

���𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!! 𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴! 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘪 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 <3 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳!