#where's my fallen angel piano player when I need him :(

[k1w1fru1t]

BRIAR WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF THE HOTEL YOU GO RIGHT BACK THERE!!!!

[simp4reggie]

Found Family

Reggie x Alive!Reader  

Word Count: 2,457 Words

A/N: Thank you so much to @shellbeerocks and @dr-rigatoni for looking this over and proofreading. Every comment was appreciated and I hope you enjoy the final product! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Julie is sitting in her chair getting ready for her performance at the Orpheum. The world (well the audience in Los Angeles) was about to get blown away by Julie and the Phantoms. While she seems calm, I definitely am not. See, Alex, Reggie, and Luke made a bad decision the night they were supposed to have a gig at the school dance. They ended up going to this ghost club and meeting a ghost, Caleb Covington, who, looking back at it now, was not a great dude. Now, a couple weeks later, they have three options. They can either perform at the Orpheum and hope they cross over, stay at the ghost club and be the house band for eternity, or get destroyed by these jolts that Caleb gave them to force them back to the club and that's the last thing they want. So, here we are. After some ghostly tricks, Julie was called to open for Panic! At the Disco. However, Julie has to go on in like 10 minutes and the boys are still not here yet. 

“Where are they? They wouldn’t do this to you again,” I say, walking back and forth. 

“It’s fine. Stop pacing you're gonna make me more nervous than I already am,” Julie replies.

“Sorry,” I said sitting down on the couch. “It’s just their jolts were pretty bad when we left. I know that they’re going to be gone after the show but it’s different knowing they won’t be in pain.”, I sigh. We never got to actually say goodbye to them. Sure, they had a band meeting and I had wished them good luck, but it wasn’t enough. Especially when I’ve fallen for a certain bass player. Reggie and I have gotten really close over the time they’ve spent in the garage. I’m not in high school so I was able to spend a lot of time in the garage hanging with guys. My days consisted of making sure they didn't get into any ‘trouble’. Our younger brother, Carlos, was suspicious enough after dad found three orbs in his picture of the garage. 

Anyway, being there all the time, I was able to get to know the boys and become close with each of them in different ways. Luke and I bonded over song writing and some guitar playing. Alex and I would go on little adventures whenever he needed to get away from the other two dorks. Reggie and I bonded the most, about movies and video games and...pizza. 

Now, you can understand why I am freaking out a little. Julie turned around in her chair to look at me.

“Okay first calm down. Sit.” I sit. “Now, breathe.”

“I should be saying this to you. You’re the one about to go on stage.”

“Like you said, the boys wouldn’t let me down again. We have to trust them.” 

A knock on the door interrupts us. “Julie, I got your roadie,” Rob, the Stage Manager says. Julie goes to open the door and Flynn walks in. Rob then says he’ll be back when it’s time to go on stage. Flynn doesn’t say anything until the door is shut.

“You see this backstage pass?! I had sushi with Brendon Urie.”

“Good for you. I threw up in the car on the way over here,” Julie says, reminding me of that disgusting moment.

“And you still look amazing. I made friends with the tech crew. You’re gonna love what we have planned.” Flynn looks around. “The guys are here right?”

“No. They're not,” I say, upset 

Flynn looks surprised. “Wait. You don't think they changed their mind and took Caleb’s over, do you?”

“No. That's the last thing that they wanted.” Julie looks at both of us sorrowfully like she’s trying to convince herself that too. 

Flynn stands next to Julie facing the mirror, “You’re gonna kill it,” she says. I stand up from the couch and stand on the other side of Julie. We all hug each other and go back over the couches to have a few snacks. Little did we know, shit that was going down on the other side of Hollywood.   

After about 10 minutes, a knock disturbs us, bringing us back to the reality of the situation. Julie and I look at eachother. 

“Hey Julie. It’s time,” We hear Rob say. 

“Just a second!”

“What are you going to do? They’re still not here yet. I knew something was wrong. They wouldn't do this,” I say, starting to freak out. I start to panic, thinking about how much pain the boys must be in. What if they're just sitting somewhere alone with those jolts, hurting. No one to call for help. No one to be there with them at the end. We should be there. What if they’re already gone? No. They can't be. Stop thinking like that (Y/N).

“(Y/N) stop you’re not helping anything,” Flynn looks at me sternly, nodding to Julie, who looks like she’s going to cry.

“No. She’s right. The jolts were getting bad when we left and they wouldn’t leave me alone again. They must be gone.” 

The idea of never seeing Reggie again set in and I broke down crying. I’ve never had a relationship with a guy like I've had with him. As much as I would love to hug him and kiss him, it was nice to meet a guy and just be able to talk to. He listened to me and I listened back. He told me all about his parents and their fights. I’ll never be able to hear him play his bass again, watch him go on stage doing the one thing he was born to do. I miss him so much already. I miss all of them. “Why did this have to happen? We didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

Flynn walks over to give me a hug.

“Hey, Julie. You’re on,” Julie then runs out of the room. Flynn lets go of me to run after her. 

I get up knowing I have to be there for my sister. As much as I want to sit here and cry over what I lost, she lost something too. These boys helped her through so much. I didn’t think I would ever see my sister sing and play piano again. I leave the room and see the stage manager facing the stage door. I go outside and see Julie looking up at the sky, crying and talking.

“...supposed to help the guys, we didn't. They’re gone and I’m so sorry. They were my friends, my band, my family. Why can't you just come pick me up and hold me in your arms and tell me everything's gonna be okay. That even though they're not here with me, they're still up there with you. I just wish you were here.”

I go over to her and wrap her in the biggest hug ever. For what felt like a minute, we were just there outside the theatre, hugging and crying together over everything we’ve lost. First, our mom, now, this found family we had. A woman walks by and hands us each a dahlia flower. We look at the woman then each other. I grab Julie’s hand and smile with her. She’s definitely listening and looking down on her girls. Julie squeezes my hand and then runs back inside. I try to keep up with her.  

We see Flynn and Rob standing near the stage. Rob starts to tell someone over his headset to tell Panic! to go on now. Julie goes up to Flynn, shows her the dahlia, says “Signs.” then marches right up on to that stage. 

“YES JULIE!” I screamed! Flynn and I walked closer to the stage, so we’re standing in the wings. 

“Hi I’m Julie. I would like to dedicate this song to my mom, who’s been with me every time I played and for not giving up on me. I would also like to dedicate tonight’s performance to three special friends,” Here come the waterworks, “who have changed my life completely, who have brought music back to me. It was their dream to play here; this is for them. This song is for anyone who’s lost their way. Step into your greatness. Don’t give up. Stand tall. Thank you,” By the end her speech I was full on crying. Flynn and I were holding on to each other for dear life. 

Then Julie started singing.

Don’t blink

No, I don’t want to miss it

One thing, and it’s back to the beginning

Cause everything is rushing in fast

Keep going on never look back

And it’s one, two, three, four times

That I’ll try for one more night

Light a fire in my eyes

I’m going out of my mind

Whatever happens 

Even if i’m the last standing 

Ima stand tall

Ima stand tall

Whatever happens 

Even when everythings down

Ima stand tall

Ima stand tall

I gotta keep on dreaming

Cause I gotta catch that feeling

Whatever happens 

Even if i’m the last standing 

Ima stand tall

Ima stand tall

I’ve heard them rehearse this song so many times I knew when everyone was supposed to come in, so when I heard the drums I thought I was going crazy. Then I looked up to see Alex smiling at Julie. After a couple more lines I see Reggie pop up. He looks at Julie and then looks over at me. We stare at each other for what feels like a century. He’s really here. My heart swells at just the sight of him standing in front of me. After I compose myself I wave at him. He winks back at me. If he wasn’t in the middle of performing and I wouldn’t fall through him, I would run up to him and give him the biggest hug. 

Then there was one. One more to complete the band. Then Luke starts to flicker, but he’s not staying. “C’mon Luke. C’mon Luke,” Then just when his line comes up. He’s there.

I’m going out of mind.

The crowd goes nuts. They're electric out there and they know it. Luke and Julie are feeding off of eachother like it’s the last time they will ever sing to each other. Which it might be. I couldn’t stop looking at Reggie. I went from thinking they were gone to them singing in front of me. I need to burn this memory into my brain forever, knowing they will cross over after this. 

When it gets to Reggie’s solo, we lock eyes and don’t let go. 

Whatever happens 

Even if i’m the last standing

Ima stand tall

Ima stand tall

He starts walking over to me still on stage. I take this as an opportunity to yell “I love you Reggie!!”. He winks and mouths  “I love you too.” 

At the end of the song, they walk to the front of the stage to take their final bow. Then in a flash, they’re gone. Julie looks around, thanks the audience, bows again, and walks off the stage. We immediately hug, our boys are gone. 

When we get back home, Dad, Carlos, Julie, and I are in a conga line singing Stand Tall. Julie and I say goodnight to dad then head out to the garage. We walk in tears already coming to our eyes. 

“I know I already said this, but thank you guys,” Julie started. 

“You really changed our lives,” I finished.

“You’re welcome,” We heard in the dark room. 

Julie runs to turn on the lights, and we see the boys lying on the floor, groaning and in visible pain. I run over to Reggie to grab his hand but remember that I can’t touch him.

“I thought that you guys crossed over. That your unfinished business was done,” I cry. 

“Well obviously playing the Orpheum wasn't it. We wanted you to think that we crossed over, so we pretended to. We just...we had nowhere else to go,” Luke says with red rimmed eyes.

“We thought you would go straight to bed,” Reggie adds.

“Yeah well, I knew they would come out here but nobody ever listens to me,” Alex groans.

Julie and I try to convince the guys to go back to Caleb’s club. It’s better than not existing at all. 

“Please, go. You’re just hurting yourself,” I say to Reggie.

“No. We’re not leaving. I’m not leaving you.”

I look over and see Luke and Julie by door and hear Luke say, “Music is not worth making Julie if we’re not making it with you.” I looked back at Reggie and he nodded. I went to grab him knowing that it wouldn’t work but I yearned for his touch. To my surprise I felt his hand. He looks down with wide eyes and doesn’t let go. A ring of light starts to glow around him and he stands up. He looked up at me and gave me the award winning smile I fell in love with. After a moment I saw him look behind me I turned around to see Julie and Luke hugging. I wrap my arms around Reggie and hold him as close as possible. He pulls away and puts his hands on my face. We lean in until his lips are on mine and it makes me think about what I almost lost. I almost didn't have this. 

“Aw, look at the lovebirds.” I hear behind me. I pull away from Reg and see Alex behind me,  smiling. I walk over to Julie and Luke. “Alex, Reggie, get over here.” We form one big group hug and see the purple signs on their wrists lift off and disintegrate in the air. We hug one more time and jump around for a couple seconds.

We stand in a circle and I look at each of them. I think of all the moments that we had and how one fateful night changed all of our lives. Who knows if Julie would ever have played piano and sang again? I think about the two new best friends I’ve made and how my life will never be the same without them. 

Finally, I think of Reggie and how even though he might be a ghost, some higher power beyond my imagination knows we should be together. Something caused us to be able to touch. I look up at him to see he’s already looking at me. I grab his hand and put my head on his shoulder. I never want this moment to end. I look at everyone again and feel the biggest grin appear on my face. 

Our little family is here to stay. 

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Thanks for reading! If you have any suggestions/requests  please feel free to send me a message!

- Maddie xoxo

[gypsydanger01]

THE STORM - Part twenty-five

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

A/N: So sorry for the wait!!!! I'm back and ready to write! Here's part twenty-five, hope you enjoy✨ it's a bit of a fluffy/filler chap but it leads into the rest ;)

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot. I don’t own “Thinkin bout you” by Frank Ocean.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

I have your back

[Next morning]

Luckily, the next day was Saturday and Sarah rolled over in bed with a content sigh. Lengthening her arms out to her sides, she patted the bedding beneath her: she had fallen asleep on top of the comforter. Suddenly, the evening before came rushing back and she stilled, a barely contained smile stamped on her face.

He must’ve carried her to bed, she realized as she stood and stepped out into the hall.

She padded into the living room where she found Noir scrolling through her mp3 player.

He didn’t need much sleep to function and had soon grown restless. First, he’d skimmed through the books she’d salvaged from her bookcase; two were charred beyond recognition but he appreciated the rest of the book collection. Then, he’d made his way back to the stack of picture frames she had piled in a corner. There was the picture of her in Tokyo, which he marveled at tracing the lines of her face; a few other pictures displayed rolling landscapes and he wondered if she’d taken them herself; another picture of a desolated beach sat at the bottom.

Finally, he’d fixated on her mp3 player.

He knew of her fondness for music and quickly scanned her playlists: a mix of rap, 90s rnb, and alternative rock were oddly bunched together.

Noir slipped her earbuds in, settled back onto the couch and let Dr. Dre, Ludacris, and Frank Ocean keep him company in the early morning hours.

Time passed, and soon he heard Sarah moving in her room. He waited for her to come around the couch, gazing at her as she went. She smiled, seeing that he hadn’t slipped his mask or gloves back on.

She enjoyed seeing his expressions, the emotions that seemed to flash in his eyes. It was like being granted a glimpse into another dimension, a version of Noir no one else was privy to. It felt intimate, like another line of communication they shared.

Sarah was surprised to see him holding her mp3 and she leaned in, checking the screen. Noir inhaled her scent and tensed at her close proximity.

“Hey, Kendrick,” she approved, “that’s a good one, it always lifts my spirits, y’know.”

He looked at the screen, printing the title, Alright, into his memory.

To his surprise, she plopped down next to him, pulling her legs up to the side and leaning into his side. He tentatively reached behind her, gathering her closer. Sarah grabbed one of the earbuds dangling from the device and slipped it into her ear. Gently, she took the mp3 from his hands and flipped through her playlists. Finally, she settled on one song.

A tornado flew around my room before you came

Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain in

Southern California, much like Arizona

My eyes don't shed tears, but, boy, they bawl

 She leaned into his side and let the mp3 fall back into his lap.

“One of my favorites,” she murmured, and he could avert the sleepiness in her voice. “Do you listen to music,” she asked.

He signed. A little.

Sarah glanced around for the notebook but assumed it had stayed in the kitchen. Too comfortable to go fetch it, she went with the alternative.

“Ok, I’ll go through some genres and you stop me when I hit the ones you like.”

With her close proximity, looking up at him through heavy eyelashes, he thought he’d do anything she asked. He knew he should feel concerned at the amount of trust he’d placed in her, the strong hold over him he’d allowed her to develop. But he’d chosen, and he felt liberated.

She was still waiting for an answer, and he simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Sarah settled her head back on his shoulder, “Hmm…,” she mused, “Let’s see, rap and rnb.”

He pinched his fingers close together. A little.

She continued, “How about pop,” small pause but no response, “Rock music? Punk?”

The woman sped through a few more choices, ranging from trap all the way to gospel. Finally, she ran out of options and paused, thinking of other music genres she hadn’t thought of. However, she was pulled from her train of thoughts as he brought one hand forward, his fingers dancing close to his knee.

She quickly caught on, “You play the piano?”

He squeezed her slightly against him, and she took it as confirmation.

“So, you listen to classical music, I assume.”

Noir nodded. It had always soothed him to play the piano. It was comforting to excel at something so delicate and precise, when those same fingers could destroy anything they touched. It reminded him of the control he was taught to maintain ever since he could walk.

Sarah covered his hand with her own, her warm skin tone touching his.

I'm lyin' down thinkin' 'bout you (Ooh, no, no, no)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you (You know, know, know)

I've been thinkin' 'bout you

Do you think about me still?

Do ya, do ya?

 Or do you not think so far ahead? (Ahead)

'Cause I been thinkin' 'bout forever (Ooh, ooh)

 “I’ve always loved music,” Sarah began, and Noir immediately focused on her voice. “It’s what I need in every situation. Sometimes it makes me feel strong, invulnerable…” she trailed off before clearing her throat. “Other times, I’m just detached from everything and I need it to remind me I feel, and I’m human.”

Noir brought his other hand over hers, trapping it between his.

In the early morning, cream colored light filtered through the curtains and lazily traced their features on the large couch. After being up for three days, Noir was starting to feel the pull of sleep. And with her softly leaning into him, the mp3 playing soft music between them, he felt at peace. Utterly detached from the world outside.

He gently moved her so he could rise from his seat, passing his ear bud back to her. Sarah’s eyes widened and she stayed silent waiting for his next move. He’d spent the night and she knew he probably needed to head back to the Tower. Still, she felt an odd tug in her chest, like a string tightening around her. She settled down on the couch, stretching her legs out. Propped up on one elbow, she pressed back into the soft material.

She was surprised, however, when he began to dismantle his suit. She looked away flustered when she caught a peak of his toned stomach. Finally, lifting her gaze from the carpet, she found him stripping the last part of his chest armor, revealing a grey shirt underneath. He set the armor and weapons on a chair in the corner and returned, the top half of his armor gone.

Sarah stayed quiet, watching him as he laid back on the couch, facing her. He finally looked at her and wondered how it was possible to find such comfort in another person. She smiled and let him slip an arm under her head, the other one tracing lines down her sweater-clad arm. They were so close, she thought he could read her mind.

With the soft, hazy morning light filtering through the window behind him, the man appeared angelic.

She whispered, “I’m going to make you a playlist,” she promised, slipping his earbud back in place. Noir felt a shiver down his spine at her touch and reveled in the feeling. “And one day, I’d like to hear you play the piano.”

He nodded and his fingers began to dance against her arm, as if he were playing right then and there. She smiled again and snuggled against him with a deep sigh. In the enclosed space between the couch’s backrest and Noir’s body, she felt warm and safe.

And at that moment, he too felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep in the morning light.

 [A few hours later]

A few hours later, they finally woke up. While Sarah stretched, Noir quickly patched his armor back on and ducked into the kitchen where he gathered his gloves and mask. She watched him grab their notebook and jot a few words down.

I must go back

She nodded, understanding.

I will be back, he quickly added. He then mentally paused and wondered if that was a mistake. On the internet, he’d found multiple websites with dating tips where over-eagerness was something to avoid.

Sarah smiled at that, “You’re welcome to come over any time.”

He mentally sighed in relief. The silent man looked at her and reached forward to push a strand of curly hair behind her ear. She gazed at his pensive face and wished she could search his thoughts, understand what was bothering him.

He finally dropped his hand and took the pen back into hand.

Stay away from Homelander

Sarah stilled. She already knew to stay away from that man and avoid being noticed. She was supposed to blend in with everyone else. She already knew all of this and more, so why was he telling her this?

She frowned, “I know to be careful…” she trailed off. “Is something going on?”

He gazed at her for a long moment before cautiously answering.

He seems fascinated by you, she read. Underneath he added, Bad feeling

A shiver ran down her spine and she suddenly felt cold.

I will not let him hurt you.

She nodded more to herself than to Noir. They would need to accelerate the timing on her and Martha’s plan. They needed to finish before someone sensed what was going on. Before Homelander looked into her profile a little too closely.

Finally, she looked up at Noir and spoke with a hint of amusement, “You know I can hold my own, right?”

Believe me, I know, he wrote, and Sarah was surprised to see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She laughed but quickly grew serious again and thanked him.

He had her back and she felt comfort in knowing it.

Noir slipped his dark, skull-like mask back on and quickly head out the back.

She watched him disappear and thought of his words. Her heart sighed at the idea of seeing him again, while her mind sharpened at the work ahead.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 ​  @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues @angelocipriano @reborn-rekall

[wallwriterstuff]

If you're available I would love to see a Twilight request! The reader has a one or two year old child. She falls asleep with the child in a nearby playpen napping as well. Edward, Jacob or Emmett(Or even the Cullen family returning home from a hunt) arrive and find the child awake, out of their playpen, face covered with marker marks and in the process of coloring sleeping mom's legs. Thank you so much in advance!💖💖

So this took a while because I really struggled to think of a way to write this at first, but I finally got an idea I was happy with because it combines a cute request with some quality Emmett and Rosalie fluff! I hope you enjoy it chickadee :D 

Dream A Little Dream

Words: 2756 

Warnings: None, just a simple bit of fluff! 

Summary: Emmett needs a reprieve from Rosalie’s temper tantrum, so he goes to check on a DIY project, only to find someone else is living their dream. 

“C’mon Rose, talk to me, just tell me-“

“Get out Emmett!”

The door had slammed between them before he could dare say another word, but Emmett was nothing if not persistent. He had spent 66 years married to the woman after all and if he had learned anything from that experience, it was that Rosalie’s temperament was as precarious as an unweighted seesaw - he was confident she’d be cuddling him by tonight.

“Babe.” He rapped his knuckles against the door to the garage but the only reply he received was the loud and sudden blast of a bassline from the CD player. His eyes rolled and he puffed out his cheeks, exhaling in a huff and turning away from the garage to leave his wife to cool off. Edward remained seated at the piano, grinning down at the keys while his fingers diligently moved across the ivory keys.

“No, I have no idea what’s wrong with her.” His voice drifted through from the music room, carrying on the sweet notes of the song he’d composed. He hadn’t played for quite a while but it was a nice, soothing change to listen to the melody he plunked out, Alice’s sugary soprano harmonising beautifully with the key he played in. Emmett scowled in his general direction, moving through the house towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Carlisle’s voice made him stop and turn, his hand on the door handle.

“Out. Rose needs space.” He answered. Carlisle’s brow furrowed, his expression troubled. Emmett couldn’t quite understand it himself. He had never really seen the downsides to vampirism, not when it had gifted him an eternity with his very own angel, not when it came with the added perks of agility and strength and speed he could only have ever dreamed of in his human days. He didn’t have it in to lament for his soul or whatever the rest of them seemed to do. They were vampires, and vampires drank blood – accidents were inevitable. So what if the Swan girl fell prey to Edward’s temptations? They moved on and returned in a few decades when the memory of her had faded, as they had done before and would no doubt do again.

It really wasn’t rocket science! They all knew the laws and neither option was a particularly bad one to him. Either Edward got a good meal, or he had a chance at finding his epic love, his Rosalie, and he might stop brooding for the first time in over a century. Rosalie’s desire to kill the girl was understandable but so was Edward’s urge to protect her, but Emmett didn’t need to be Alice to know there was no future in all the realms of probability that could ever exist where Bella Swan would grow old and grey. Isabella was destined to die one way or another.

“Be safe.” Carlisle’s words made him snort, a smug grin crossing his lips as he opened the door.

“Me be safe? I’m the most dangerous thing out there.” He quipped. Emmett left without looking back. The forest flew past him in what should have been a blur of greens and murky browns, but his eyes saw every detail. Each crack in the bark, the dew glistening on cobwebs, the smallest of insects scuttling up the stems of leaves…it was all a gift to him. He would kill for Rose to see the beauty in it all as he did but she never would. Rose had had all her dreams taken from her by Carlisle long ago, and she was forever going to be bitterly frozen, trapped in her own cycle of self-loathing. He’d burn the world if it put the faintest smile on her face; had taken her to the most incredible places with the most astounding views, bought jewellery so expensive it made even the richest men shudder in disgust at his actions. The one thing that would make his love truly happy was the one thing he could never give her, but he had been thinking of ways to at least soften the heartache.

There was a house (a small ramshackle thing a few miles out from their own sleek residence) that he’d visited once or twice. He’d taken photos and done some minor fixing up of the place, making sure the roof no longer leaked, that the walls were weather-proof and so on. Emmett had laid floors, plastered walls…he’d made the small house viable once more and the only thing he had yet to do was take down a portioning wall between what he envisioned would be the kitchen and lounge space. It would be his anniversary gift to Rosalie, a place she could truly make her own, where she could build her own home. There may not be little feet pattering on the wooden floors, but he could give her two out of three couldn’t he? Renew their vows so they were confirmed husband and wife once more, help build her a home…

He slowed when he neared the site, his nose twitching. Emmett inhaled deeply, an odd mix of smells drifting up his nose. He didn’t remember peonies, and…was that lavender? Emmett approached his little project cautiously, straining all his senses to read his environment, predatorial instincts rising to the surface. A heartbeat, odd rhythm…no, two heartbeats? One slower, one faster, neither the same sort of pace or rhythm as any animal roaming the woods. Humans then? Emmett frowned deeply, struggling to understand why hikers would come all the way out here as he picked his way over the tree roots trying to trip him up, hand dragging over moss covered bark.

A billow of white was the first thing he saw, a sheet in the light breeze. It fluttered, surrounded by bright coloured clothes much too small to be adult sizes, and damp towels. There had been a brief moment of sun this morning but Emmett still had to scoff. Whoever had stolen his project from him was clearly no native to Forks or they’d have known better than to hang their laundry on the line at the slightest bit of sun. Sunshine rarely lasted in Forks. Emmett paused, looking at the fence now enclosing the house he had transformed with his own bare hands. He definitely hadn’t put that up, nor did he recall painting a fence bright green. He hadn’t installed a laundry line either but someone had driven that stake into the ground, the line coming from some sort of contraption nailed into the exterior of the house.

Someone was definitely living in his DIY project, and he was not-

“Shhhhh!”

Emmett was paralysed briefly by the little giggle that followed. It was a soft sound, full of innocence he could never recall having, and it came attached to the sound of scratching and squeaking. His brows pulled low over golden irises, his body moving of its own accord. It had to be a child, but who would leave a child alone in front of their house? Was it even supervised? His curiosity had piqued and though he wanted to be frustrated he just couldn’t be. Maybe Rose wouldn’t ever get to live in this house with him but someone else had clearly made it their home, someone who had achieved the dream Rose had always wanted. He wasn’t quite sure how he had managed it but he had to sigh, because only he could attempt to resolve his wife’s bitter disposition and end up adding to it instead.

He didn’t recognise her. From the exterior alone Emmett could tell that in the few weeks it had been since he’d last visited this place, she’d put a lot of effort into making the house a home. The outside had a fresh lick of paint, the windows clean and windowpanes a freshly painted grey, the front door a bright green to match the fence surrounding the house. A wooden picnic table had been added just in front of the kitchen window, and she was sat folded over with her head resting on her arms, eyes closed and skin peppered with goosebumps. Stray wisps of hair blew about her face as his eyes tracked down her figure, noting the gentle, even breathing and the way her eyes twitched about under their lids in her sleep. Beneath the picnic table was the source of the musical laughter.

Emmett crouched, forearms resting on his knees and lips curling into a small smirk as he watched a curly haired little boy press a marker pen to her leg, scribbling a design into her skin. She didn’t even appear close to waking, but the temperature had dropped and clearly the little boy had escaped from the playpen across from the picnic table, the door open and the locking mechanism snapped, paper strewn about the garden by the breeze. Emmett could see the dirt under her fingernails as he got closer, a pair of gardening gloves on her opposite side. She’d clearly done her laundry and a bit of gardening while the sun was out, leaving her son to play in his playpen, but the little boy had seen an opportunity once she’d fallen asleep and took it.

He had the cutest little dimples when he smiled, green eyes shining bright with mischief. Emmett chuckled lowly, zipping about the garden to clean up the papers he’d spotted before approaching the picnic table and clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?” he called. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion evident in them for a second before she jumped, straightening in her seat and watching him with wary eyes. Emmett watched her glance to the playpen, her eyes widening. He could hear the way her heartbeat leapt in her chest, the panic stricken expression she wore telling.

“Oh my – no no no –“

“Erm Miss? Don’t panic, he’s under the table.” Emmett smiled, flashing his own dimples in an effort to calm her. He was a naturally unnerving being after all and most humans tended to be either hopelessly attracted to him or deathly afraid – there wasn’t really an in between. She whipped her legs out from under the picnic table, moving so swiftly Emmett was left in awe. She very quickly scooped her son out form under the table and swung him onto her hip, cradling him close and closing her eyes. Her heartbeat began to calm, her breathing growing less rapid now she knew where her boy was.

“Oh god, thank you. I…I guess I fell asleep, the weather was a lot nicer earlier,” She shivered a bit, hand cradling the back of her sons head until he wriggled in her grip. “Not now baby just – really? Oh Damian!” she groaned exasperatedly. Emmett watched amusedly as she licked her thumb and rubbed furiously at his cheek.

“No Mama! No!” the boy cried, squirming in her grip. His face was covered in marker pen, a mixture of blacks and blues and pinks all swirling over his cheeks and down his nose. Emmett couldn’t help but chuckle.

“He’s a real mischief maker huh? He got your leg to.” He informed her. She looked down to her leg with another soft groan, her cheeks turning pink.

“Sounds about right. Have you ever tried to renovate with children?” she questioned, shaking her head. Emmett shook his head, his eyes stuck on the little boy. He shared his mother’s dark hair though not her eyes. Emmett wanted to be upset his plans for Rose’s anniversary surprise had fallen through, but he had been stupid enough to not check the market for this property and it had gone to someone who clearly needed it, though the property was fairly out of the way and an odd choice for a young woman and her child. She seemed intent on making it somewhere nice to live for them both though, and for that he couldn’t fault her.

“Never had any of my own, but your boy sure is a handsome guy. I did renovate this place though, I’m glad it went to someone who needed it.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes widened, the surprise in them obvious.

“Oh! It was you! The real estate agent said they had no clue who had started the renovation’s, but it didn’t stop them selling it to me…we didn’t know it was taken.” She bit her lip, hoisting her son higher up on her hip. Damian was still wriggling slightly, looking up at Emmett with wide, curious eyes. It was clear what she was worrying about it, but Emmett shook his head, hands held up before her.

“It’s yours, really, me and my wife live nearby, this was a second property we didn’t really need. It wasn’t like I checked it was for sale or anything either, you won it fair and square.” He promised. The relief was palpable in her eyes as her son squirmed again. She set him down, hand running through his curls briefly before he darted back into the house. She watched him go with a small smile.

“Well I’d be happy to give you the tour of the place, if you like? Show you what I’ve done with it Mr….”

“Cullen, Emmett Cullen.” He introduced himself with a nod, knowing his frigid skin would put her off if he dared shake her hand, and he didn’t want to put her off. Emmett’s brain was spinning a hundred miles an hour, and he was starting to form a plan. Rose might not get to live in the house, but she could spend time perhaps with the one thing she wanted more than anything. Her smile brightened.

“Y/N L/N. Maybe if you give us a little time to clean up first you could drop by later? Neighbours seem rare out here, it’ll be nice to know someone.” She admitted, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Emmett tilted his head slightly, glancing up at the house.

“Yeah. Yeah I er, would you mind if I bought my wife to? She had plans for this place, think she’ll enjoy seeing how you designed it for yourselves.” He said. She didn’t hesitate to nod and he tried his best not to feel too pleased with himself.  

“Of course!” she agreed, and with a time organised between them Emmett sped off home to barrel his way into the garage. Rose was stuck beneath a car still, her BMW to be precise, though Emmett could never fathom what exactly she found to tune up on that thing – he was sure she spent more time under the car than under him. When she didn’t respond to his tapping on the hood, he pulled on her legs till she wheeled out, her expression sour and a smudge of grease across her cheek.

“Emmett.” She huffed. Emmett grinned down at her, completely unperturbed by her pouty glare.

“Rose. Come on, shower, dress up, do whatever it is you do, we got an appointment to keep.” He told her. Rose’s glare was enhanced by the way her nose wrinkled.

“An appointment? Emmett I swear if you’re trying to get me to go to marriage counselling again-“

“I’m trying to make you smile again.” He groaned exasperatedly. Her expression fell immediately, her golden irises softening from hardened topaz to gooey caramel. Emmett sighed, pulling her to her feet and reeling her in close. She was made for him, her body fit perfectly in his hands, against his. She was his shining light but she had been so dim since Bella had come to Forks.

“Emmett-“

“Rose, babe…I know you. I only have eyes for you. Who cares about some human? This family is immortal, we’ll survive it like we’ve survived everything else that comes our way. For one afternoon, just one, can I please, please have my wife back?” he pressed his forehead to hers, running a hand up and down her back. Rose remained tense for a while, but slowly her arms wound around his torso.

“What did you have in mind monkey man?” she tilted her chin, her lips a fraction of a centimetre from his own. Emmett’s smile returned.

“How’s about I take you to meet a really cute baby?”

By the end of the afternoon, seeing Rose smile at the young boy in her arms while he pretended to admire the newly fitted kitchen in Y/N’s house,  Emmett started to understand what made her dream so beautiful, and so painful to wake from.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Sing Once Again With Me: Stranger Than You Dreamt It/Notes (The Witcher; A Phantom of the Opera AU)

A/N: The longest chapter so far. An amalgam of three songs really, though I only titled it with two because Prima Donna is happening in the background basically. I don’t like it put together as one long chapter. I hate it split apart as two. This is the struggle with writing a fic based on something that is contiguous. Word Count: 3129 Content Warning: None Taglist: @hermeowyn @joz-stankovich @sennextheassasinkingoflight Previous Chapter: The Music of the Night Cross-posted to AO3: here

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Jaskier woke with a groan, head pounding as if with the worst hangover of his life (and he had plenty to be familiar with the feeling). But he didn’t remember drinking the night before, so why did he feel this way? The night felt blurry, and as he sat up, clutching his head, palms pressed to his eye sockets, he tried to piece it all together.

The showcase.

The standing ovation.

Geralt.

The stranger in the shadows who wasn’t a stranger.

It all came to him in flashes. How much of it was real? He struggled to his feet, vision full of fog which turned out to be real rather than a side-effect of whatever mental effect he was under. He looked around shakily at the decadent bed he had been asleep in, which he definitely didn’t remember laying down on, and the rich velvet curtains draped over the walls of the room and the lace one over the doorway. None of this was sparking a memory and that fact made his heart beat in his throat like a trapped bird, wings fluttering desperately.

The soft notes of a piano melody that reminded him of a lullaby floated through the heavy fabric and drew him in. Gently parting the cloth, he wandered toward the source of the sound, mouth unconsciously falling open in awe of the player’s talent.

As he rounded the corner, sitting at the piano was the man in the mask, fingers caressing the ivory keys like a lover. Cautiously, Jaskier approached.

He remembered that the Angel had played what he had come to understand as their song. Many years ago, when he was little more than a foolish child, he had fallen in love with a fellow musician student at Oxenfurt. The two had bickered and battled, refusing to acknowledge the truth behind their feelings for much of their time together, converging violently and passionately for a time whenever they finally came together, only to push away again. But through it all, there was a confession in their music, a melody than ran through every composition that only the two of them knew, that spoke the truth when they wouldn’t or couldn’t out loud. But how could it be that this spirit, this creature knew it? Why had his muse become a phantom of a time so long past?

He felt his hand shake as he reached up to caress the man’s face. He needed to see.

The man leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, eyes closed and face slack with trust. He felt his gut twist with guilt as he laid his fingers along the edge of the mask. Was he taking advantage of the other man? It didn’t matter. He needed to see. His nails caught the edge of the smooth white porcelain and he lifted, as slow and steady as he could in the hopes that it would be unnoticed.

Instead, the Phantom’s eyes shot open, and his hand shot out, as if at first to strike Jaskier, before quickly redirecting to cover his face where the mask had been.

“Damn you!” the Phantom roared, shoving away from the piano, startling Jaskier into a stumble.

Jaskier watched him, curled small with fear on the floor.

He ripped a cloth off the wall, revealing a mirror and the reflection of his twisted visage. “You little viper!”

Jaskier’s mind fought against what was before him: this thing that was Valdo Marx and yet somehow not. It was not just the curls which had been pulled back instead of falling, frustratingly artfully around into his face. It was not just because he was practically gaunt in the face, already sharp features exaggerated into something little more than skin stretched over skeleton, an odd contrast to the rest of his figure which was, if anything, more muscular and defined than ever. Even the vicious blackened scarring across the side of his face which Jaskier had revealed, much to his own shock and Valdo’s rage, when he pulled off that frustrating white mask, would not have been enough to stop him from being the man Jaskier once knew.

But his eyes, Jaskier might have once quite poetically compared to a sunny forest clearing on a summer afternoon. And now they were just cold. An icy hatred burned behind them, more vile than any of the (many, many) monsters Jaskier had ever met, more cruel than the scowl which twisted Valdo’s face.

“Curse you!” Valdo hissed, clutching at his face, trying to cover the way his face had been marked as if it was not written across his whole being. He flew about the room in a tirade, throwing and kicking at things, the scene an obvious attempt to terrify and distract his fellow bard from his face. Finally he came to a panting halt before the silvered glass once more.

“Is this what you wanted to see?! Go on! Gaze upon my wretched face and laugh! That’s what you wanted after all! I know what I am now, but do you? This path you’ve set us on now, you will never be free of!” He delivered the speech to the mirror, but his eyes remained locked on Jaskier’s through the reflection, teeth clenched and nostrils flared, breath panting.

He turned away again and his voice broke.

“Fear can turn to love,” he said softly, “you’ll come to see in time. You’ll have no choice unless you’d like to suffer forever. Oh Jaskier, I don’t want to make you suffer. Please don’t make me.”

Silently, trembling with unshed tears, Jaskier offered back the mask, his heart breaking.

Valdo took it, hesitating as if he thought Jaskier would whip it away at any moment. Jaskier tried to pretend he didn’t notice how the hands that reaffixed it over the scaring shook.

“Come,” Valdo said, seizing Jaskier’s still outstretched hand to pull him roughly to his feet. “They’ll be looking for you soon.”

~

Geralt had considered breaking down the door of Jaskier’s room but thought that might upset him, not the best start to making amends. But there had been a voice in there with Jaskier, and it set Geralt’s nerves on edge. Growling as he rattled the door again and received no answer to calling out the bard’s name, he stormed off in search of Yennefer once more.

Unfortunately, she had already gone home with her wife and he didn’t know where they lived, nor would anyone help him. Greeted with glares and rude gestures, and several people spitting, he got the distinct impression he was unwelcome and it wasn’t only because he was a witcher. Finally, he stumbled upon the two bumbling managers. Before he could ask any questions they threatened to call the guard and have him arrested if he didn’t leave immediately. With a surrendering sigh, he had left and found a room at a relatively cheap inn nearby.

The following morning, he woke before dawn had fully broken and when he spoke to the innkeeper to return the key, he was given a note that had been left for him in the night. The heavy, folded parchment was closed with a raised skull in deep green wax.

A brief jolt of fear raised the hairs on his scalp as he cracked the seal, and read the short note within.

Do not fret for dear Jaskier. The Angel of Music has taken him under wing. Leave here and do not try to take him with you. ~Opera Ghost

No one could tell him where it came from. Growling, he threw a few coins at the innkeeper and stalked off back to the music hall, determined to see Jaskier even if he had to tear through every actor and musician within to do it.

“Where is Jaskier?” he demanded through clenched teeth when he saw the managers arguing in the foyer.

“How should we know?” the shorter of the two, Andre he thought uncertainly, said incredulously.

“He’s not here? This note isn’t from you?”

“What note?” the taller one, Firman then, snapped.

He thrust the paper out toward them. One of them took it, reading it aloud with confusion. They both frowned and swore under their breath.

“We had thought, hoped even, that he would be with you. You were the last person to see him. And we received these notes this morning.”

They each held up a small, folded parchment with a raised green wax skull.

Dear Firman,

I expect certain conditions be met and have been lenient so far though you have failed to do so. My salary should be paid, and box five be left open for all performances from here forward. Mind yourselves and keep to an office where you belong instead of on my stage.

~Opera Ghost

Geralt frowned. It wasn’t a ransom. In fact, it hadn’t mentioned Jaskier at all.

Dear Andre,

What a lovely showcase. Jaskier truly shined. So much so no one will miss “the Countess.” You have a true star in your midst; must you continue to employ a failure when she is well past her prime and not worth her diva attitude?

~Opera Ghost

This one had a bit more promise, but still wasn’t really anything to go on. There was definitely something strange going on in this place, he decided. And perhaps that, rather than the bard, was what had drawn him here. The thought made him strangely sad, and he shoved it aside. Emotions were best dealt with when alone, and only when they had become too much to keep ignoring.

Suddenly, a woman burst in, dressed in a positively eye-scorching pink dress with what Geralt suspected was more decoration than fabric. She was followed by an entourage as she bore down on them like a galleon at full sail, face pinched with rage.

“How dare you?” she snapped. “Who do you think you are? To send me this note. To try to pretend your little bard is better than me. Me! What would you know? Rabid dogs don’t know music.”

It took Geralt a moment to realize that she was talking to him and he reeled back slightly in surprise.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he growled back.

“Oh now you play dumb? I could have you thrown in jail and tortured for this you know. Do you know who I am?”

“No. Should I?”

She scoffed, face turning nearly the shade of her impractical attire. And then Geralt’s eyes narrowed in on the paper fluttering about in her gesticulating hand.

“Give me that.”

“Oh you want the evidence back now? Regret what you’ve done?”

“Countess,” Andre interrupted with a cajoling purr. “We did so miss you last night. And of course if this witcher has offended you in some way, we will deal with it with swift and sure justice.”

“May I see the letter? Please?” Firman asked.

She handed it over to him, simpering and he began to read aloud.

Your performing days are numbered. Jaskier will take your place. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to interfere. ~Opera Ghost

Every few words, the Countess would make some confirming gesture or echo the words, in particular Jaskier’s name.

Geralt frowned. He had never heard of a ghost that communicated in letters. And what did all of this have to do with Jaskier’s disappearance? Nothing made sense. And why the hell did his chest suddenly feel so tight? It was like he was listening to the bickering humans through layers of wool.

Suddenly, the staccato of heels on the polished marble floor cut through his disorienting haze. Yennefer, dressed resplendently in blue (he had never seen her in a real color before Y/N came along, he realized), strode into the room, commanding all attention.

“Jaskier has returned,” she stated plainly.

“No worse for wear I trust?” Firman asked, more concerned with whether the instantly popular young man could perform again at the night’s show than in his well-being.

“Where precisely is he?” Andre asked, curious and wanting to ask questions of where he’d gone.

“I thought it best he be alone.” Yennefer’s voice made it clear that this was an order as a sorceress.

“He needed to rest,” Y/N chimed in, stepping forward to defend her wife and or her best friend if need be. Geralt jumped guiltily. He had somehow completely missed her presence until that moment.

“May I see him?” he asked softly, pleading to Yennefer with his eyes and banking on whatever affection she may have left for him.

“No,” she shook her head a little sadly. “He said he’ll see no one.”

“But will he perform? Does he expect to take my place again?” the Countess snapped bitterly.

“Here,” Yennefer said, holding up a folded paper and Geralt cursed under his breath, very quickly becoming sick of the sight of such things.

“I have a note.” She handed it off to Firman, folding her arms over her chest in a defensive challenge as he began to read.

Gentlemen,

You should now have received several letters. In them I have detailed how things are to be done. I do not like to be cruel, but I also will not broker fools. You have one chance to do as you are told.

Jaskier has returned to you. I intend his career to progress. You will give him the starring role in your newest production and if the Countess must be on stage, it will be in a silent capacity.

I shall be watching the performance. Do not disappoint.

Should these commands be ignored, you will bring a disaster down on yourselves with no one else to blame.

I remain,

Your humble and obedient servant

~Opera Ghost

The letter, like the others, was written in flowing but unfamiliar script. As soon as the manager finished reading it, the Countess flew into a rage, and the managers practically bowed over backwards in attempt to calm her. They insisted that clearly it was some fool in love with Jaskier, perhaps ‘his witcher friend’ even who had sent the note in an attempt to flatter and appease him, charm him into their bed. They would not comply and the only one their production would star was the Countess, that Jaskier was nothing beside her talents.

“You’re fools to scorn his word. The Angel sees, and knows, and he won’t take it kindly,” Yennefer snapped before sweeping off to her office. Y/N watched, eyes dark with concern and bit her tongue.

~

“Y/N,” Geralt said softly, catching her wrist lightly when the crowd had begun to disperse. “Can I speak to you a moment?”

Her eyes flitted briefly to where Yennefer had retreated to and the hall to the dormitories before turning back to meet his golden ones. “Fine.”

Stepping to the side, she faced him, eyes just barely narrowed enough to be noticeable, one hip cocked and hand planted firmly on it.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“You’re Jaskier’s friend, right?” he asked almost hesitantly.

“His best friend.”

“Then can I…” he sighed through his nose. “Is he alright?”

She thought of the morning’s events. Yennefer catching Jaskier as he stumbled out of seemingly nowhere backstage. How pale and glassy eyed he’d been. The way he was practically limp as he draped over the two of them and they took him to the dormitories. The tremble in his hand when she’d patted it comfortingly after putting him to bed. His incoherent mumbling about fog and a mask and a melody.

And then she remembered the fear from the night before. He’d seemed convinced that if either of them spoke ill of the “Angel of Music” that it would separate them, permanently. She clamped her jaw shut, not wanting to risk losing him. Geralt seemed to pick up on her tension and frowned.

“Please, I just…I want to help him if I can.”

The softness in his voice shocked her and she made a decision.

“You know, this used to be more of a theater,” she said gesturing to the building around them. “For plays and things, operas even from time to time. The cutting edge of entertainment. And then it was nearly destroyed, and when it built back up it became a mediocre music hall. The new managers, Andre and Firman, they say they want to restore it to its glory days.”

“What does this have to do with Jaskier?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get your super tight leather pants in a bunch, I’m getting there.”

He huffed.

“As I was saying, restore it to its glory days. But those glory days come with a darker side. They say this place is haunted by some phantom who, every once and a while, will begin to terrorize the theater. Accidents, fires, murder, the whole deal. The spirit can only be appeased by following its demands. Every story ends with the ingénue dying or disappearing.” She shrugged. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed, studying you in your excessive casualness. “Do you?”

She scoffed. “What I believe doesn’t matter.”

“Then what does? Why tell me this?”

“Let’s get one thing straight first. When Jaskier came here, it took months for him to really be a person again instead of the broken down wreck you left him. And its damn miracle I ever broke through the walls Yennefer built on your account. I don’t like you. But for some reason, they both still trust you. So for their sake, I will to. But if you ever hurt either of them again, I will gut you like a fish, witcher powers or not.”

He nodded, something like respect in the glint of his eye.

She took a deep breath, glad they both knew where they stood before she did the hardest part.

“One of the things that helped Jaskier through was the…lessons I guess…he was taking with some mystery person. He said it was his ‘muse.’ But not in a regular romanticized ‘the thing that inspires my songs’ way. The way he talked about the ‘Angel of Music’ like it was an inhuman spirit of some kind…I don’t know…”

A bell chimed and she jumped, not realizing how late it had gotten.

“Damn. I have to go to rehearsal. Yenna will kill me if I’m late again. Try asking around. This place has a lot of…history. Maybe ask Yennefer if you can get her. I think she stayed here a while, the city at least, somewhere between the Brotherhood and…you.”

She walked away before he could get another word in, only to turn back when she were about half way across the room.

“Just remember,” she called, making an exaggerated ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. “You’re carp.”

[flipping-voltron-imagines]

Request: Hi! Sooo you are lacking of Keith’s requests and I’m lacking of Keith’s content🤔 hahahha! soo, could I request a Keith x reader scenario where reader in a high school au where they are both paired up for a drama/singing contest and they sing together? Like, he plays the guitar/piano and reader (or/and him) sings? LOTS OF FLUFF PLEASE. Sorry if this is long😞😞💛💛 love you! @whydontweprincess

A/N: I’m so sorry this took so long! It’s been an adventure, writing this... I posted it on accident when it was like, halfway done... But here it is! I hope you like it!

Word count: 2278

In a moment of weakness, you signed up for a music competition. Accompanied by your friends’ encouragement, you wrote my name down under the “Singers” category. Your name, neatly written, seemed to lack the dramatic flair that most of the other singers’ names tended to have. For a second, you felt like Gabriella writing her name down next to Sharpay’s.

“Finally!” cheered your best friend, pumping her fist in the air. “I can’t believe you waited three years to do this! You would have won the first show it you signed up then.”

As much as you wanted to believe that, you knew it to be false. As a sophomore, you lacked the refinement needed to do well in the competition. But now… now you might actually have a chance.

This would be the third year of the competition, and it was a strange one, too. Starting your Sophomore year of high school, the music department put on a show: they selected the top 10 singers and top 10 instrument players from auditions and partnered them up randomly. There were four performances, with two couples being eliminated at each one, until the final fifth round, where the best partnership was determined. Though the prizes were always lame, you loved seeing the dramatically different styles coming together.

Sometimes there were teams that obviously couldn’t work well together; maybe one was too stubborn to sacrifice something for the good of the team, or perhaps one was too arrogant. Even more rare that those were the ones that obviously had their own styles, but when they worked together, magic happened. In those pairings, you could see how happy each of the individuals were as they performed something so incredibly beautiful.

That was the pairing you wanted to be in.

Another friend nodded. “Yeah, Y/N, you have the voice of an angel.”

“I’m not that good,” you dismissed, dropping the pen to hang by the clip board. You doubted your own abilities most of the time, but you were in your senior year of high school. There wouldn’t be another chance to sign up, so it couldn’t hurt, right?

….

Across campus, Keith sat in the back of his math classroom, ignoring his two friends on either side of him. He avoided looking at his best friend (how they became friends, he’ll never know), Lance, who was copying his homework. Keith kept a wary eye on their teacher, making sure that he didn’t look their way and find Lance obviously cheating. On the other side of Keith was Hunk. Hunk was being ignored simply because he didn’t try to stop Lance from copying. Well, that and…

“Keith, you’ve been playing the piano since you were four years old,” Hunk whispered to keep from attracting the teacher’s attention. “We all know you aren’t going to be playing as an adult, so… why not do one more big thing with it?”

Keith rolled his dark eyes and leaned forward onto his desk. He wished his phone wasn’t dead so he could listen to music instead. Telling his friends he played the piano was one of his biggest regrets, and even than that he regretted showing them that he could.

Suddenly Lance’s head shot up. He slid Keith’s homework over, watching their teacher, who was getting closer to the trio, out of the corner of his eye. “You trying to get him to sign up for the music show?” Lance questioned. Hunk nodded. “You know, I heard Y/N finally signed up this year.”

Everyone had, at some point of another, heard your angelic voice. You were almost always singing, and one of your friends had secretly posted a video of you singing a dumb made-up song while doing your homework. It spread across the school, and despite how many compliments you’d received, you always shrugged them off with a bashful smile. Even so, you weren’t ashamed to sing in front of others, and that was a quality Keith so admired. Maybe it’s why he developed a crush on you. You weren’t afraid to be yourself, and… he was. Well, that and your beautiful smile.

“Hey,” Lance continued, noticing his friend’s reaction to your name, “maybe if you make it, you’ll get partnered up with them.” He stretched his arms up over his head and brought them back down to rest behind his nick. He crossed his legs in front of him. After kicking the backpack of the person in front of him, they turned around and he smiled apologetically. When they turned back to face the front, he continued. “Maybe you’ll finally get to ask them out.”

As giddy as the thought of going on a date with you made him, the thought of showing off his piano skills in front of the whole school terrified him. Plus, what if he actually did make it and he actually was partnered with you? That meant you’d have to go to his house. That wasn’t ideal at all. He didn’t want you knowing he lived in a shack out in the dessert, a mile out of town.

He didn’t want anybody knowing that.

….

Two weeks later, keith was called out of class. It was hardly a surprise. keith got in trouble about once a week for fighting. What surprised him was that the person escorting him wasn’t taking him to the front office, but the auditorium. When he entered, the choir director, Mrs. Flandoff (who was also his old piano teacher as a child) greeted him warmly.

“I was shocked to death when I saw your name on the sign up sheet,” she gushed as she guided him to the stage. “You always told me you were going to quit playing.”

“I did,” Keith grumbled. “And I didn’t sign up.”

“Nonsense. That’s just your nerves.” She pulled him to stand in front of a piano and pushed him down to sit on the bench. “Now play that song you used to play for recitals.”

Keith couldn’t remember the name of the song, but he remembered the starting keys. He hoped his fingers would remember the rest. He shrugged his jacket off and placed it next to him, brushed his dark hair out of his face, placed his fingers on the correct keys, and began. Just as it did when he was younger, the music just flowed out of him. Anxiety melted away. So, he thought halfway through the song, this is where I can be myself.

A sniffle broke his concentration. His hands flew away from the piano, leaving beautiful notes hanging in the air, longing to be finished. “You are most definitely going to be in this year’s show!” she cried. “Now go. Go back to class. But don’t tell a soul.”

Keith nodded, and as he left the stage, he ran into you. Literally.

“You’re really good,” you complimented, flashing the wide smile that always made his knees weak. Keith nodded, very embarrassed, and not knowing that you had just fallen for him as well.

Mrs. Flandoff called your name, and you walked onto the stage, heart pounding violently. You looked at the piano, imagining him playing as you sang. He looked so peaceful and gentle in the time he played, and so handsome with his hard hair concealing his eyes. How had you not noticed him before? What color were his eyes? It’d been too dark to tell before. And what was his name? It was probably something elegant, like… Peter, or something.

Throughout your song, your mind flashed back to him. The fantasy was so clear: the two of you sat in a clean living room, bright white light surrounding the two of you. You both wore loose white shirts and black skinny jeans, though his was much looser and lower cut than yours so he reminded you a bit of a pirate. He played the piano and you sang, and all was peaceful.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You’re in, Y/N,” Mrs. Flandoff announced, pulling you out of your fantasy.

“Thank you so much! I have one request, Mrs. Flandoff… that-that boy who was playing the piano, could I-can I be partnered with him?”

“Keith Kogane?” Mrs. Flandoff paused, made a few notes on her clipboard, and nodded. “Yes you may. However, like I told Keith, don’t tell anyone. Not until the list goes up.”

Keith… the name sounded so harsh and tough: so unlike the gentle should you had just witnessed.

For the next week, Keith was consumed by anxiety. He wondered who he would be partnered up with. If he was with someone obnoxious, he was going to back out for sure.

When Lance texted him a picture of the cast/partner list, Keith felt like he could have exploded. He wasn’t sure what emotion he was feeling: excited, anxious, or dread? Who knows. He was certainly nervous to approach you, or even look at you, after seeing he was partnered with you.

You, however, didn’t waste any time in searching him out. Feeling like a stalker, you’d found out that the two of you had your history classes at the same time and waited for him the day after the list came out. He hadn’t noticed you standing by the door, being too busy listening to music on his headphones and staring at the ground. Grabbing onto his arm, you yanked him out of the stream of teenagers.

“Hey!” he yelped, yanking his arm out of your grip. He glared at you, but when he realized who you were, his eyes widened and he visibly gulped.

“I’m Y/N, your partner,” you introduced, thrusting your hand out for him to shake. The determined look in your eye made him shiver. “I’m so excited to work with you! Your piano skills are beautiful.”

“Uh... yeah, thanks,” Keith said as he awkwardly shook your hand. He had no idea what to do in this situation, but he figured he wasn’t supposed to handle it like this.

His awkwardness put you off a little, but you tried not to show it. “We should probably get together soon. I don’t know what you wanted to do...” You laughed, drawing your hand back (because he hadn’t taken it yet) and bringing it up to run through your hair. “I’m not really sure what to do. But there’s a meeting at lunch. And I just wanted to make sure you were going.”

Seeing how awkward you were helped Ketih feel more at ease. He smiled a little. “Yeah, I’m going. I guess.” He wasn’t planning on it originally. If anyone else had asked, he would claim he had to be somewhere more important during lunch and then just leave campus to get some lunch for himself. He could get any information from his partner when he saw them next. However, you were his partner, and he couldn’t say no to you.

“Great!” you cheered and flashed him a smile. “I’m sorry for attacking you. I’m not usually so aggressive, but I’m just so excited! And between you and me… I uh, I asked Mrs. Flandoff to make us partners. Because you look so peaceful when you play the piano, you’re obviously passionate about it and I thought with your skills and my singing, we could totally win! Not that I’m, like, just concerned about winning, I just… thought it would be a bonus…” You grimaced and grabbed the straps of your backpack. “I hope that’s not weird. Gosh, it’s weird, isn’t it?”

“It’s not weird,” Keith assured. He was glad you’d done that.

The late bell rang, the two said goodbye, and after agreeing to meet in that exact spot afterward, went to class.

Keith entered his class and sat down, all the while thinking about how you definitely weren’t what he expected. He wasn’t expecting you to be as friendly as you were (even though he always knew you were really nice). The teacher took roll and began his lecture, and try as he might, Keith couldn’t stop thinking about you. Halfway through the lecture he stopped taking notes and just stared out the window instead.

The end of class couldn’t come quicker. As soon as the bell rang, Keith leapt out of his seat and practically sprinted across the room to meet you, only to find you already at your meeting spot. You teased him, calling him a “slowpoke” and together you and him walked to the meeting-a meeting which turned out to be the most boring thing either of you had ever experienced.

Then, when Keith said he didn’t care what songs they did, you decided within five minutes all of the songs the two of you should play.

“We can practice here at school,” you said, “or at your place. I don’t even live in town, technically. I live 20 miles away, in the mountains.”

Keith, somewhat impressed, nodded. “I live further away too, but… we can practice there.” He may not have wanted you to see that he lived in a shabby little place just outside of town, but it was better than practicing at school.

“Okay. I might need a ride back to the bus station afterwards, though.”

Keith could do that.

So after a few days of practicing each of your parts, you got together to put it all together.

The second Keith heard your voice, he knew for sure he was a goner, and you fell further in love with him when you glanced at his peaceful face as he played.

Both of you knew you had this competition in the bag. There was no way anyone was as good as the two of you.

[pellicano-sanguino]

Random thoughts while watching...  OSK Revue?

I finally saw my first OSK Revue show (Dracula, 2017), so thought I'd write about it. This is not a proper review, just a bunch of random thoughts. I will be making a lot of comparisons to Takarazuka in this, and please understand that I do not mean to imply that OSK is just a zuka copycat, I simply wanted to compare the two and see what they have in common and what not (also, all opinions are about this production and these actresses only, I'd need to see more shows to form a proper, better educated opinion on OSK's style as a whole.).

First impression was a surprise at how small the production is. I knew OSK isn't as big as zuka, but still, the theater's stage was very small and there were only about ten actresses, many of them pulling several roles, I think. I felt like I was watching a Bow Hall show cut in half both by stage length and actress numbers. Having a small number of actresses causes there to be some slower, quieter scenes, where a character monologues for a while so that everyone else has time to do the costume change.

Even so, it still felt very similar to zuka. Despite the small stage, they do dance, including a post-show minirevue that includes the main otokoyakus dancing in pretty, sparkly tailcoats and a duet dance with the main leads. The makeup is similar but there's some small differences that I'm not expert enough to point out (don't know anything about makeup). There are some stylistic differences in zuka makeup too, so it felt like I was watching a sixth zuka troupe and this was their troupe's personal style.

Minirevue dancing (and look, some parade feathers. Small feathers but feathers none the less.)

Otokoyaku still sing like otokoyaku and musumeyakus sound just like zuka musumes. I liked the leading otokoyaku's voice, it was pleasant to listen. Though she has to do a lot of angry angsting throughtout the musical, which is occasionally bad for her voice, making it sound like she has a bit of a sore throat. The songs were ok, nothing particularly memorable or catchy. A lot of the music is rather simple, like piano music and such.

I admit, when I was putting the disk in the DVD player, I was chanting in my head ”Please follow the book at least barely, please don't be weird and rewrite the story wildly.” Well, no such luck, this isn't a book faithful adaptation. Which unfortunately leads to me not having a clue what the hell is going on most of Act 1. But I am happy that it's not a comedy or a super weird adaptation.

I have to say that seeing a completely serious take on a vampire musical is a breath of fresh air and something I wish zuka could do. Don't get me wrong, I love the lighthearted vampire shows like Seal of Roses (which maybe didn't aim for lighthearted but kinda accidentally became one). Zuka always makes the vampire stories, well...  kinda weird (I've already ranted about the randomness, plot holes and inconsistent vampire lore in my Random Thoughts While Watching Zuka #4). I appreciate them thinking outside the box and surprising me instead of recycling the most generic vampire story plots and tropes, but as a vampire lover I would die for vampire show that actually takes itself seriously. I suppose the Poe Family show is a serious take on the subject (no comedic parts or weird story elements), but that is probably thanks to the source material. Zuka can do cool&dark, they've done Elisabeth, so if they wanted they could make truly awesome vampire shows.

While I said that this is a serious take on a vampire story, there's still a short comedic song number in the beginning of Act 1, where a bunch of reporters try to interview Dracula after his arrival at London, only to have him scream NO COMMENTS at them.

This show uses sound and screen effects a lot. Most of the time they make sense (like hearing the sound of a train in the station) but there are moments where I hear a random noise or see strange images projected on the screens and go ”What the hell was that?”

There are only three big roles in this show: Dracula, Mina and Jonathan Harker. There's also this one lady in black who I suspect to be the spirit of Dracula's dead wife, who he grieves and longs for all the time. So yeah, the beginning of Act 2 reveals to us that this show has taken inspiration from Coppola's Dracula and lifts the vampire's origin from the movie. He was a warlord in medieval times (which means he's dressed in armor and has a sword YES me likey) and somehow a false letter was brought to his wife claiming that he had fallen in battle, which led to her committing suicide. When human Drac got home to discover his wife dead, he was devastated and broken, that is, until he hears that the church refuses to bury his wife because suiciders are sinners who go to hell. There's a literal DUN DUN DUUUUN sound effect as the count builds up rage, then curses God and allows the forces of evil to corrupt his body in order to revenge. He then proceeds to kill all of the priests/monks/whatever the church folks were supposed to be.

This slaughter of innocent unarmed humans would be brutal and super dramatic, but the fight choreography leaves...  much to improve. Yeah, zuka battle choreos can look like they're from the 60's Batman too, with punches that miss by a mile, but here...  the stabs are so lazy it looks like the poor victims are literally walking into his sword.

If Heaven won't accept

my suicided wife

I'll follow her to Hell!

(...and lick her knife.)

Not gonna lie, this is something I haven't seen zuka do. Sure, they've implied licking things, but it's always done quite swiftly and * elegantly * and not, well, like this. Tongue out and all, literally licking the knife prop.

I was curious to see if the kisses are still fake or not, since OSK is free to have their own traditions and don't have to follow rules set by Hankyu. Also, I keep hearing rumors that OSK is supposedly more daring than zuka when it comes to love scenes. Not in this show, at least. The romantic scenes are very chaste and more cute than sexy (also, the blood drinking scene, while definitely romanticized and very nice&dramatic, not any hotter than the blood drinking scenes in zuka). And the kisses are very much fake. Oh well, the actresses are spared of messing up their lipstick.

Speaking of messing up lipstick, I know that stain is supposed to be blood but it looks like a group of amorous ladies gave the count several sloppy kisses.

So, my guess for the plot is that Dracula comes to London in search for the woman who is the reincarnation of his wife. To lure women for him to see, he puts up...   a fashion show or something? Dresses are on display, including dead wife's wedding dress. Which Mina gets to wear, and Dracula is immediately convinced she's the incarnation and for the rest of the musical never calls Mina by her real name, just by the wife's name. Which is...  Elisabeth. I don't remember what the wife's name was in Coppola's movie, but still, the dramatic way Dracula pronounces this name does make it sound like it was lifted from another musical.

In Act 2 Jonathan, on his way to rescue his girlfriend from the vampire's castle, meets an annoying little kid. And yeah, just like in zuka, there are no child actors in OSK, children are played by adult women using cutesy kiddie voice and being super genki. But then the kid finds the knife that Elisabeth used to suicide herself and turns to face the audience while holding it, and I was like ”Great. The annoying kid has turned into a creepy kid.” If the child had turned out to be a vampire and in team Drac all along, that would have been an awesome plot twist. But instead he's actually an angel or something like that, providing Jonathan with the weapon that can kill the vampire.

Dracula has a bunch of vampiric minions at his castle, not just the three brides. I have to ask, what is it with vampire shows having one main vampire who behaves normally and then having a bunch of background vampires/minions who speak/sing like they're high as a kite and lumber around dancing artsy inteeeerpretive dances? It's...   weird. Why are some vampires normal and some complete fruitbats?

This Dracula must be the angstiest version of the character I've ever seen. There's occasionally great moments where he's charismatic, seductive or in rage mode, but the majority of time he is either silently depressed or actively whining (even many of his angry scenes come out as more whiny than aggressive). It's a very dialogue heavy show and because of the language barrier and free adapting of the story, I have no idea what his angsty dialogues are about. But whatever he says, he actually manages to win Mina's sympathy and they dance together. Even if they kiss, I still think Mina's feelings are more pity and less sincere romantic interest. Also, I should point out that I have nothing against depressed, angsty, reluctant vampires in general, it's just that I don't usually associate that kind of behavior with Dracula (depression and angst is more sir Francis Varney's thing.). Dracula is cold, ruthless, cunning and irredeemably evil, not some emotional lovelorn wreck.

I have said this before and will say again: Dracula does not aishiteiru.

Jonathan makes an attempt to save Mina but doesn't get to kill the count. Which is good because while the Jonathan of the book would definitely want and be able to fight the count, this musical portrayed the character as a cute and awkward softie nerd (I approve, not all male heroes need to be tough guys) and avoiding getting his hands wet with blood was a good move. Poor guy would be traumatized for life, even if it would be to save his girlfriend, he's just not a killer. Instead, Dracula decides to let the lovers go free and suicides himself, like he usually does in adaptations where they make him have a romance with Mina.

You know how in zuka there's the tradition that in the end the dead characters make an appearance dressed in white, to sing and prance around in an afterlife epilogue. Well, not in this show, but there is something kinda similar. In the ending scene the spirit of Elisabeth appears behind the dying count and poses dramatically with him, spreading her cape like white bat wings, taking him with her to afterlife. I think it looks cool.

To end this, let's talk about the blood drinking scene. In all vampire stories, these are the most important scenes, in my opinion. Blood drinking is what vampires do, it's their trademark thing, and if you chicken out of showing it or handle it lazily, then why the hell are you making a vampire story in the first place. You don't make Phantom of the Opera adaptation and fail to have the unmasking scene be the most dramatic and memorable scene, and similarly, you don't make a vampire story and fail to deliver the blood drinking scenes properly. Yes, I have weirdly strong opinions about this, deal with it.

Very early in Act 1 we see Dracula suffer from malnutrition, his hair turning gray and his knees failing, making him slump to the ground, very visibly suffering. For emergency he empties a small vial of blood that doesn't seem to make him get any better. And it is this moment when Jonathan decides to visit him for the first time for work-related reasons (no idea what his profession is in this story. In the fashion industry?). So, we have a thirsty vampire and a nice, cute bloodbag in the same room all alone.

Me: Drink him!

Dracula: Nope. I'd rather suffer. :)

What the hell? In the book he totally noms Jonathan. Is this because he's a male? This Dracula afraid to drink from someone who has icky boy blood? Oh well, he gets better later anyway, so I assume he gets some blood off-stage. But still, it was very confusing to see a starving vampire not take advantage of an opportunity of some easy blood.

Well, later Dracula is introduced to Mina and immediately decides ”This is the One.” And I cheer him on.

Me: Drink her!

Dracula: No. Now is not a good time. :)

Me: Damnit! DRINK SOMEBODY!!!

We have to wait all the way to the end of Act 1, but finally, we get a genuine on-screen blood drinking scene. Just as important as the moment of blood drinking itself is what leads up to it. In this musical it's Jonathan piecing together all the clues and finally getting Dracula's real identity (in a rather nerdy monologue of stuff like ”...Dracul means Dragon, and the A at the end makes it Son of the Dragon...   wasn't there a warlord named like that in Romania hundreds of years ago...”).

Nerdsplaining time!

Terrified with his discovery he tries to save Mina, who Dracula has just kidnapped, spilling the beans for her as well. The revelation of Dracula's vampiric nature scares the two humans and there's plenty of dialogue that goes over my horizon, but I do get that the thing that makes Dracula snap is when Mina confesses to loving Jonathan.

The jealous vampire then starts to torture Jonathan by...   some kind of Darth Vader mind-choking magic. Well, I suppose it's choking, because Jonathan holds his hands around his throat as if struggling against invisible fingers, but the sound effect doesn't suggest choking at all. It actually sounds much more gruesome and painful, a nasty ripping sound, as if the count is telekineticly tearing the poor man limb from limb and simultaneously flaying him alive. Eww, it's a gross sound effect.

Mina obviously can't idly just watch as her boyfriend is painfully tortured to death while she has the power to put an end to it. To save Jonathan, she loudly exclaims that she doesn't love him. And the count, being a little bit of an idiot here, buys it. Strangely, Jonathan seems to buy it too, crying Mina's name in disbelief. The torture ends (thank goodness), and to make sure no harm comes to Jonathan, Mina tells Dracula that if you're really a vampire and if it's blood you want, you can have mine!

Just let me gather this bothersome veil...

...and Behold! Vampire bait.

She dramaticly pulls the veil of the wedding dress on one shoulder and reveals her neck. I love this. And so does Dracula. This is the one moment where his eyes actually light up with passion and while he attempts to stay cool, you can see his chest rise as his breathing gets faster with excitement. Darn right, count. Blood offered by free will is the best stuff there is. And it was about time you finally drank someone.

It's always interesting when humans offer their blood to the vampire out of free will, because there's usually good and complex reasons behind it, and this is no exception. Mina doesn't offer her blood out of sympathy or under the influence of vampiric hypnosis or even being seduced by the pretty blood drinker. It's offered by free will but it's very much not concensual. The offer of blood is the only way she can distract the vampire long enough to let Jonathan escape and get help. By playing along with the count's delusions about Mina being the reincarnation of his wife, she is cleverly buying time, manipulating him. Only, unfortunate for these two, there is no van Helsing or any other member of the book's league of merry vampirehunting men in this show for Jonathan to run to, so all he can do is to follow them to the castle and attempt a lone rescue mission (which fails).

Frankly, the one who eventually defeats Dracula (kinda) is Mina, who manages to win the count's sympathy (making him learn the good old ”if you really love someone, you'll want what's best for them and let them go instead of selfishly trying to force them to stay with you”). And this blood drinking scene is the first time we see that she is aware of the power she has over the vampire. Maybe in the end she didn't exactly intend to make him commit suicide, just trying to make him let them go, but old Drac was living a horribly depressed and angsty unlife anyway, so it doesn't surprise me that he decided to end it. That's why the (kinda). Mina has great influence over Dracula but I do think his decision to die a final death seems to be not a result of manipulation but a genuine decision. Though he still technically makes her do it, by forcibly placing the knife in her hands and then grabbing her wrists, stabbing himself, making her involuntarily deal the killing blow. Kinda dick move (Mina is quite horrified of this, understandably), but at least I'm happy Mina doesn't kill herself too in this one (yes, I'm still angry at that ending in 2011 Wao Youka's Dracula. The count kills himself so Mina can go back to being human and back to Jonathan. And then the dumb woman makes the count's sacrifice completely pointless by throwing away the life he attempted to save.) Dracula ends his unlife but Mina and Jonathan return to the world of the living, where they belong.

Final random thought: Knightly warlord Dracula looks a bit like Lancelot’s long lost, dangerously unhinged brother. (it’s the wig and the silver armor with blue details. The actresses are very different.)