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red-riding-wood · 3 months

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Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly.

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined.

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room.

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

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Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym

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canisalbus · 4 months

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Is Lauri, if I read that correctly, Vasco's sister? I think she's been mentioned before in the Modern AU Tag Lore (i think it was something like maybe Vasco's sister marries someone Finnish, hence Machete having cute Finnish socks), and I'm curious about her! Is she as bright and sweet as Vasco?

I love your work and characters so greatly, btw <3

Lauri is the Finnish husband actually! The twin sisters are named Benedetta and Giovanna.

Benedetta, the older sister, is a professional orchestral musician. She plays cello, and her husband Lauri (a west siberian laika cross from eastern Finland) plays trombone, they met at a classical music festival. She's creative, sensible, rational and shy, but may seem a bit conceited and pretentious. She and Lauri live somewhere in the southern coast of Finland with their three children.

I haven't decided what Giovanna does for a living. I think she might do or used to do dressage. She's independent, highly competitive, resourceful and very reliable, but her brutal honestly can come across as hurtful and catty. She's a lone wolf compared to her siblings and has never expressed an interest for starting a family. She travels a lot.

The twins of course share a close bond with each other and as a result Vasco was often left as a third wheel or excluded completely when they were younger. They used to pick on him a bit, in a typical older sibling way. Nowadays Benedetta lives abroad and Giovanna is busy with her own pursuits, so Vasco doesn't see them very often, but they get along fine.

Lauri is calm, friendly and down to earth. He doesn't speak Italian and the rest (apart from Benedetta who is making good progress) don't speak Finnish so they mostly communicate in English. He's easy to like, Vasco in particular enjoys having a brother-in-law, after growing up with girls.

Machete is having trouble finding a common wavelength with Giovanna. He doesn't get her sense of humor and finds her needlessly rude, and she seems to enjoy pushing his buttons. But he immediately took a liking to Benedetta, their personalities and interests overlap a lot (that's how he ended up with those socks).

#answered #majima420 #Vaschete lore #modern au #Vasco

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anamelessfool · 2 months

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𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

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“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

My Fic List | My AO3 | More Domestic Fics

Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

#ghost scenes from the void #domestic fic #ghost band fic #young nihil #papa emeritus nihil #oc papa emeritus #oc sibling of sin #ao3 fanfic #ghost band oc #my art

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fresh-and-funky · 3 months

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as someone who was an insufferable band kind I have my own personal headcannons for what the losers club would play in a marching band.

Bill- baritone. They are always the quiet leaders, but get a way with a lot

Ben- bass drum… especially during his working out era they need muscles

Bev- trombone. Whomp whomp

Mike- clarinet. He’d be very well behaved but have all the hot goss

Eddie- trumpet. Hes loud and annoying and a perfectionist. God bless

Richie- Tuba. He steals a baritone in the movie, but he’d play tuba. They are always the most chaotic.

Stan- band manager. He’s just making sure nobody (Eddie and Richie) gets in trouble

Yeah anyway let me know if you agree/disagree. I’m bored and IT is a dying fandom rn :(

#it #it stephen king #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #stanley uris #mike hanlon #beverly marsh #bill denbrough #ben hanscom #it au

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yume-chin · 9 months

Text

First meeting

I know it's a trivial chapter but I wanted to create a starting point for all future rottmnt postings.

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Request: No

Warning: Mention of arguing with parents, mild bullying and bad English

Genre: She/her

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Pov: You and the turtles meet for the first time.

Version: RotTmnt

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Total words: 2466

Leo: 620

Raph: 458

Donnie: 609

Mikey: 619

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Leo

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You walking the streets of New York trying to clear your head and let off some steam. As often happened, even today you had a nasty argument with your parents. Nothing important, they just don't seem to fully understand you.

As you passed in front of a dark alley you hear moans of pain.

Your first instinct was to run away but you quickly stopped and rushed to help the injured person. If that person is sick, you can't leave them in trouble.

Arrived at the point where you had heard the moans coming you expect to see a wounded boy and instead your gaze crosses with that of a creature with greenish skin and a blue shell.

You stand there looking at him for a few seconds until you snap back to reality and rush to his side.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine, I just want to help you" you try to reassure him.

The guy in front of you doesn't seem to have the same ideas as you but he still lets you approach and touch him.

You look at it carefully and after a while you look around. "Can you walk a little longer?" the boy nods and you help him to stand up and stand.

"I'll take you to my house so I can bandage your wounds" you try to walk but the boy stops. "I can't get in the door, too many people would see me"

You start looking around until you notice the fire escapes.

"We'll go through there then" you indicate. The boy nods and then you help him up to your window.

"One last effort and we'll finally be there" you encourage him and then help him enter.

As soon as inside you make him sit on your bed and then run to the bathroom of your room to get a medical kit. You check on the fly that everything you need is there and run back to him.

"I warn you that I'm not a nurse but I'll try to help you as best I can" the boy nods and you start treating him.

While you were still intent on disinfecting and treating his wounds the boy took courage and spoke “thank you for the help you are giving me”

You are a little surprised but you smile at him "that's okay"

"Aren't you afraid of me?"

"should I? are you going to kill me? I ask because in these conditions I don't think you could do much" you chuckle

The boy fell silent again.

"However can I know your name?"

The young man looked at you for a moment and answered shortly after.

"My name is Leonardo, but everyone calls me Leo"

"Oh so nice to meet you Leo, I'm Y/n" you smile getting a smile back.

"Anyway, I'm done with this, I patched you up as best I could, now try not to get yourself into trouble, Leo" you scold him.

The boy laughed "I'll try, but I'm going now, my family will be worried" he went to the window

"okay, it was nice to meet you, come and see me sometime" you smile at him.

Leo stopped walking out and walked over to you giving you a big hug "I sure will, and thanks for everything for your help, I owe you my life"

"Exaggerated!!" you giggle releasing then the embrace "take care of yourself" you caress his arm.

"I will, see you Y/n" he gives you a last goodbye with a wave of his hand and then goes out the window.

Well, from an evening that you needed to ease tensions you ended up helping a giant humanoid turtle, everyday things if you want-

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Raph

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Today was a tiring day. School, training, studying... The only thing you wanted was some rest but of course you weren't allowed that.

You returned home late and had just stretched out on the bed when suddenly, from your brother's room, located next to yours, a loud and annoying noise does not start coming out. His trombone.

Exactly, your brother joined the school band to play the trombone but he's still a beginner, so the melody he produces is more like a mix of off-key notes.

By now tired and exasperated the only thing that occurred to you to do was to go up on the roof to read a book.

So you leave the house until you reach the top floor where, thanks to a staircase that leads to the roof hatch, you don't go up to the roof with a good book in hand.

You sit down not far from the trapdoor and start reading but shortly after you start hearing a voice coming from not far away.

Being on the roof you found it something very strange and, assailed by curiosity, you decide to go and check.

As you thought, not far from you you notice a large shape. Too big to be a normal human being.

Paying closer attention you notice that the figure in front of you has spikes on its body and a shell.

After a while, the figure you were staring at notices you and lets out a frightened scream.

Taken aback you whirl around to see if there was anyone trying to attack you from behind but not noticing anyone you turn back to the huge figure.

"Why did you scream?! I thought there was some person ready to attack me! Are you crazy?!"

The boy seems to be shocked by your reaction.

"Everything is fine?"

"Aren't you afraid of me?"

You look at him confused "Should I?"

"Well, look at me, I'm a huge mutant turtle, everyone who sees me thinks I'm monstrous!"

"Oh my, monstrous is too heavy a word. Maybe it fits better -particular-. let's say it's not every day you have such an encounter with a giant mutant tortoise" you chuckle "and anyway there is nothing more monstrous than my brother playing the trombone. Seeing is believing!"

"No no thanks, I take you word for it" You both burst out laughing.

"However, nice to meet you, I'm Y/n"

"And I'm Raphael, but you can call me Raph"

"Cool name!"

"Thank you"

Suddenly you hear a voice calling your name.

"Oh! I have to go now, hope to see you again Raph!" you smile at him.

"I'll come back to see you then"

"Good! See you then!" you wave to him before returning to the building.

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Donnie

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It was a Sunday like any other and since you had finished all your homework for the week, you thought about spending an alternative morning.

You're a big science buff and there's no better place for you than to go to the New York City Science Museum.

It wasn't the first time you went to the museum but you can say with certainty that every time you entered there you felt the same emotions as the first time you entered through the main door.

You woke up early in the morning to get ready. You've decided to wear a purple sweatshirt, your favorite sweatshirt. You took the keys and hurried out so you could be among the

first to enter.

As soon as you entered, you didn't waste time visiting the rooms of the museum that you knew by heart by now.

As you walked you started looking around. You had the feeling that someone was staring at you.

You tried to ignore the sensation and continued your visit until the sensation got worse.

You turned around again and this time you saw a guy staring at you, and the first thing you noticed was that he was wearing the exact same sweatshirt as yours.

You stood there looking at him for a while and then gave him a slight wave of your hand to greet him smiling at him.

You turned around again, andcome back to look at the wonders on display at the museum. You walked quietly for a few more minutes until a hand touched your shoulder making you jump.

You looked at the one who touched your shoulder and you saw the boy from before.

"I wanted to tell you that you have a nice sweatshirt"

You smile at him "Well, thank you"

“I am Donatello, or Donnie, whichever you prefer”

“Nice to meet you Donnie, I'm Y/n” you extend your hand.

You see that he stays looking at her for a while and then hesitantly grabs her.

It's only at that moment that you notice that it had a particular appearance but you didn't start investigating.

"Am I wrong or do I think I've seen you here before?"

“Probably, I come here often”

"Science buff?"

"Yes and not only" you giggle looking into his eyes

"Really? What else are you interested in?”

“I also love technology and engineering”

“Woo, you are the first person I meet who has the same interests as me”

“Well, I'll consider myself one of a kind then,” you chuckle.

“How about finishing this museum visit together? Always if you want to be clear!! I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to!!”

I burst out laughing at his flustered reaction and it made him relax a bit.

"Of course I like it, you're too nice to say no" You smile at him.

And so you spent a quiet morning in each other's company. You have discovered that you have many other things in common, between passions and personal tastes.

It was a very pleasant morning.

When you get to the exit you have looked at each other.

"Well... we finished the visit huh"

"Already…"

“How about we meet again? Another walk like this, nothing demanding, always if you want!!”

You gently grab the sleeve of him sweatshirt "Donnie, don't worry" you smile at him "I would really like it"

“How about next Sunday at 09 in front of the technology museum”

"Certainly! See you on Sunday then!"

"See you on Sunday"

You say a last goodbye and then part ways and everyone goes back to their homes, with the excitement of the next meeting.

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Mikey

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You left school relatively late, had extracurricular classes and were exhausted.

The only thing you wanted to do was go home and lie down in bed.

At least that's what you wanted to do until you passed the arcade.

You tried with all your might not to fall into temptation and to go straight to go home but in the end you entered with the premise of playing only a few games and nothing more.

You went straight to the coin change machine and put in a $5 bill. You waited a few seconds until the tokens were dispensed.

You grabbed them and headed to your favorite game.

You inserted the coin and started playing attracting some boys curious about your skill.

Game after game you were winning many tickets for prizes but suddenly you got stuck.

You heard a very familiar voice. It was the voice of one of the bullies at your school.

They personally never did anything wrong to you but they were well known for their barbaric ways of relating to people and their squalor in stealing money from smaller boys to spend it in the arcade.

Tired of their attitudes you took your points by putting them in your backpack and leaving the game halfway through and headed towards them.

“Hey you!”

The two bullies turned to you.

"What do you want little girl?"

"Forget that poor boy"

“These are none of your business! We let you go because you're a girl, but if you poke your nose into things that don't concern you, we'll beat you up!"

“Oh? Really?"

"Yes, really! So go ahead, are you still in time!”

"Come on then!"

"You wanted it!"

The two boys threw themselves at you but you easily managed to throw both of them to the ground.

You have practiced karate and self-defense since you were little, that's why you were able to defend yourself with great simplicity.

The two looked at each other panicked and got up quickly trembling.

“Don't think we're going to run over this thing! Next time you won't be so lucky!” and in a very short while they were running away in fear.

You immediately turned around and helped the boy who had been surrounded by the two bullies to get up.

"Are you OK?"

“Yes, thank you very much”

"Don't thank me, the important thing is that you're fine"

“You were amazing to knock them out!”

"Thank you but I really didn't do anything that"

"However, nice to meet you, I'm Michelangelo but you can call me Mikey"

“I am Y/n”

"Sounds cool!"

“Is that wrong or is it a skateboard?”

“No, you're not wrong, it's really a skate”

“Why don't we go to the skate park together sometime?”

“I like it as an idea!”

you suddenly remember the stitches you put inside the backpack.

“Mikey, come with me!”

You take his hand and drag him to the pick-up point.

"Hi, I would like two of those" you indicate two sachets with stickers.

The guy behind the counter hands them to you and you hand one to Mikey

“Here you go, they are skateboard stickers, I hope you like them”

“I-I can't accept them! You won them, they're yours!"

“Yes, you can accept them! Take them as a sign of our new friendship."

The boy looked at you for a moment and then smiled and grabbed them.

"Then thank you"

"You're welcome"

You're gaze falls on the clock.

"Hate! It's very late, I have to go home!"

You quickly grab your backpack.

“Tomorrow night I'm going to the skatepark, hope to meet you there! Bye bye Mikey”

You wave at him and then run out and run back home.

✧˖°.✧˖°.⟡⋆⭒˚｡⋆✧˖°⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊⋆｡˚

I'm too excited to release these one-shorts.

I love RotTmnt too much and I needed to write something for them.

I hope you enjoy them! ʚ✩ɞ

A big hug ♡

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fyreflys · 18 days

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I’ve been talking non stop about it on Twitter & in my discord servers but it hasn’t spewed over here yet which is honestly shocking BUT I watched the Elvis biopic movie like a week ago & now my brain is obsessed with Elvis Presley. This is one of those examples of “you don’t choose the hyperfixation, the hyperfixation chooses you”. Like I can’t stop thinking about Elvis Presley I’ve been listening to his hit songs on repeat for the past week. Like constantly. I’d be shocked if this guy isn’t in my Spotify wrapped at the end of the year. I’ve even started watching the movies he’s in. I just watched King Creole. I’m watching Flaming Star tomorrow. I have a SCHEDULE. GOD HELP ME

But also can we talk about how different his life & career success would have looked like without Colonel Parker- OK ILL STOP ILL STOP

Jk I won’t this is just gonna be my designated Elvis Brainrott Post so I don’t flood my page with Elvis nonsense. I’ll just keep editing & adding to this post instead 🙃

My Elvis playlist: (major [I’m biased on some] hits in order of when they were released - it runs perfectly at an hour long which is too satisfying so now I can’t add or remove songs I’m stuck at this 23 song set up)

That’s All Right \\ Baby, Let’s Play House \\ Blue Suede Shoes \\ Heartbreak Hotel \\ Hound Dog \\ Don’t Be Cruel \\ Love Me Tender \\ All Shook Up \\ Jailhouse Rock \\ Trouble \\ Fever \\ It’s Now or Never \\ I’m Coming Home \\ Can’t Help Falling in Love \\ (You’re The) Devil in Disguise \\ Viva Las Vegas \\ A Little Less Conversation \\ If I Can Dream \\ In the Ghetto \\ Suspicious Minds \\ Always On My Mind \\ Burning Love \\ Unchained Melody

Also a list of my favorite lines/verses in these songs (bc some of the lyrics are so funny &/or very good):

“Drink my liquor from an old-fruit jar” (Blue Suede Shoes)

“I'm itchin' like a man on a fuzzy tree // My friends say I'm actin' wild as a bug”, “Her lips are like a Volcano that’s hot” (All Shook Up)

“Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone // Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone // The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang // The whole rhythm section was a purple gang” , “The warden said, ‘Hey, buddy, don't you be no square //If you can't find a partner, use a wooden chair’” (Jailhouse Rock)

“But if you're gonna start a rumble, don't you try it all alone” (Trouble)

“Thou givest fever when we kisseth // fever with thy flaming youth” , “Cats were born to give chicks fever // Be it Fahrenheit or centigrade” (Fever)

“”(Viva Las Vegas)

TBC

#elvis presley #hyperfixation #how did I get here #I swear I cannot consume media anymore without it becoming a hyperfix

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batter-sempai · 3 months

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Hi, I just wanted to ask for your thoughts on a stupid theory of mine about Papyrus (the mighty, the great, the light of my life).

What if Papyrus is possessed or something similar? Like how Frisk is by Chara in the Genocide route?

Has slits for eyes, more like Chara's eyes than Sans' or even Gaster's more rounded, skeleton eye socket shape.

Has to actively attempt to use an asterisk when talking but has trouble replicating it.

His dream about riding a car includes feeling the wind in his hair, but he has to correct himself because skeletons don't HAVE hair. That's like a human forgetting that they don't have a tail.

I'm sure there's more evidence out there but that's all I've got so far...

Hello anon. ^^ I'm not sure if you're the same anon who sent me the other Papyrus ask but if so, hello again. :D

Hmmm...interesting theory, I like the idea, though I do wonder what he would be possessed by? He does have unusual eyes and lacks an asterisks, but I think it could just be unusual traits he has.

As for the thing about him having hair and skull, I think both the skeleton brothers just do some very human things, likely as a sight gag, but I've seen theories years ago about them being former human. Sans also does stuff like comb his skull. Both of them can also play a trombone, with Sans doing it in the game, and there's a picture of Papyrus playing a trombone in the artbook.

I'm still not sure what to think of this theory, so I'd like to hear more from you anon if you have any other ideas. ^^

Thanks for the ask! :D

#undertale #undertale papyrus #papyrus #papyrus undertale #ut #papyrus conspiracy #undertale theory #papyrus theory

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spaceagebachelormann · 3 months

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omg hcs for christine as your gf in a highschool au!!

christine as your gf in a highschool!au

✧ warnings: homophobia

✧ authors note: jas ml ty for requesting this even if u don’t know shit abt phantom of the opera <3 yk i love christine ! also reader is fem cause i said so

✧ m.list — nav.

writing this cause i finished my exam early 😈😈

her favourite classes are the ones she has with u

even if she absolutely sucks at it it’s okay cause she gets to spend it with her favourite girl!!!

or if its a class she likes but ur bad at she’ll tutor u in a heartbeat

typa gf to give u a kiss everytime u get something right

ngl she’d prob be in theatre 😭 so she’d tell u every little detail abt her auditions and what roles she wants

she once got cast as brenda in hairspray when she wanted penny and started genuinely tweaking

she’d get so so happy if u came to her shows

she’s broken character before just to wave at u !!

yes she got in trouble no she didn’t care

also ur probably also friends with raoul cause theyre still friends cause i said so

he’s not a theatre kid but he IS a band kid

he plays trombone btw 💀

christine would prob want u to try out clubs so obv those are ur go to’s cause ur friends are there

she understands if u don’t wanna join a club but she does encourage it

also!! u barely see her during exams cause girlie gets stressed (same)

like to the point she has to sleep during lunch because she barely slept the night before

so like u have to force her to fix her sleep schedule after exams are over

raoul gets so annoyed if y’all start flirting during lunch 😭😭 he’s almost moved tables before

“ew stop nobody wants to see that”

and then he’s ur first defender if someone starts being a bitch

the amount of people he’s gotten suspended, fired, expelled for harassing u guys is actually crazy

no shit gets past him the second he hears abt it they’re cooked

we love a supportive third wheel

also!! she’d get her license as soon as she can so she can pick u up and drive u home <33 literally no other reason

she’d wanna work at the same place as u when y’all get jobs (prob at the food court in the mall) but she refuses certain places

like she’ll work at subway but refuses taco bell?? (raoul would work at taco bell)

and he gets even more annoyed when she comes and visits u at ur job (taco bell 💀)

average white rich man when he has to work at taco bell and his two main friends are dating so he’s a constant third wheel

also every teacher loves christine and will let y’all sit in their classrooms for lunch it u don’t wanna be in the cafeteria

she’d love to buy u things for lunch and if she doesn’t have money that day she just makes u some herself

and let me say her cooking just might be the most amazing thing u ever taste

if u let her know how much u love her cooking she just starts bringing it for u everyday

she gets so offended if u don’t come to school when ur not sick and just cause u felt like it

if ur sick she’ll come by and take care of u (cause u only eat her soup) but not coming just cause u didn’t wanna??? 😒

she won’t rlly do much abt it she’ll just be petty for the rest of the day and then forget abt it the next day

also she loves walking u to ur classes! even if it’s across the school from hers

it’s okay she can run and she’s pretty decent about it cause she doesn’t rlly mind gym

she’ll walk to u class even if a teacher she dislikes is there

and coming to her house after school is the best

she has an insane cd/vinyl collection with every genre ever so she lets u pick some and plays them in the background

makes u play mario kart because she’s weirdly good at it

it’s like a superpower for her

she could start in the back and she’d still be in 1st place throughout the whole game

usually a toadette main but will match with u sometimes (yoshi and birdo, peach and daisy/rosalina, etc)

#jas ⭐️#mars silly little mutuals <3 #phantom (marlees version 🎻)#mars writing 🧈#phantom of the opera headcanons #phantom #phantom of the opera #poto #christine daaé #christine daae headcanons #christine daae x reader #phantom of the opera x reader

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slocumjoe · 1 year

Text

usually when people apologize for something being long its like...two paragraphs, but i admire that you actually come through on that

I personally lay hexes on people who post very long text blocks without a readmore, so I did have to go through and just copy+paste so I could put a readmore. Also, I italicized quotations/parentheses and italicized+bolded+colored the names, as I usually do, just because it’s easier for me to read. sorry for like, hijacking your stuff

anyway, @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis’s band au

Sole: is the director of the band. It’s more of a community band that they formed up after being medically discharged from the marines. Always wanted to be in a concert band/have their own band, and was in college for music education before enlisting due to financial disparities. Allows anyone and everyone who has a passion for music to join, and is a very open and free director, does their best to be friends with everyone in the band so the members don’t just see them as a director. Has even reached out to many people (some of the companions) to join. Though they’re fun, they take the band very seriously. If someone doesn’t take the band seriously with their commitment/dedication they very firmly ask them to consider their involvement. Does their best to help out anyone in need (practice, transportation, etc). Does their best to put together community concerts to raise funds for charities or funds for the band so they can travel/have music or instruments. Will put together specific pieces to show allow people to show off their skills.

Cait: I think she would be a trombone player. She used to be a trumpet player throughout grade school, as it was one of the only escapes from her abusive home life. After school practices, concert nights/trips, spending time in the practice rooms after school to avoid going home. Though it was originally a tool to escape home, she grew to love playing in a band, the support of her director and the friends in her section/bandin general. Though, when she was in high school her parents stole her instrument (which was loaned to her by the school since she couldn’t afford one of her own) in order to buy drugs. This made Cait very understandably upset, and it caused her a lot of trouble since the trumpet belonged to the school, so she wasn’t allowed to play anymore despite it not being her fault. She never forgave her parents for that, and without the support of the band, and her lack of stability at home caused her to fall off, much like her parents. Drugs, fights, etc. It took several years of her life, but after one-too-many arrests, she was forced to join NA (narcotic anonymous), and saw a flier for Sole’s community band. She wanted to pick up trumpet again, but too many fights ruined the dexterity of her hands, but Sole helped her pick up trombone, since it doesn’t require finger movements, and since she had past experience with a brass instrument, she didn’t have to learn an entirely new embouchure, just adjusted it to the new instrument. Being in the band has helped her stave off any relapses, as she knows Sole relies on her to be the principal trombone player, and she’s also grateful of all the help they offered her when she was at one of her lowest points.

Curie: I think she would primarily play violin, but her eagerness and desire to learn has caused her to attempt to pick up just about every other string instrument. Though, her primary job as a pharmacist already makes it difficult to dedicate a ton of time to the band, which has caused her much grief and has even caused a minor break-down, because she wants to dedicate herself to your band, and wants to learn so many new instruments. Sole, doing their best to be a good friend and director, allows her to learn on the donated instruments they’ve gotten, or the few they've bought and restored themselves. This allows Curie to try a new instrument every few concerts, which involves months of learning while they practice the new pieces. So far, Curie has picked up viola, and cello. Though, Curie is more than happy to play the violin if Sole really needs her for a specific piece or two.

Danse: Is also a veteran, in fact, it was through the service that he met Sole. They were under his command for the first few years of their service before being transferred to put their skill elsewhere. He was medically discharged after a mission went wrong. Danse entirely blames himself, because he believes it was his decision making that led to the deaths of his entire team, sans himself for being in power armor, despite the fact that his mission was doomed from the start. He completely lost his self-confidence and his purpose in life after his injuries made it impossible for him to rejoin the service. He reconnected with Sole at a veteran association, where they told him of their band. Sole offered Danse to join, as there were a few other veterans from the community in. He refused at first, since he didn’t know how to play a single instrument, but reluctantly accepted their offer to be taught one. I had a bit of a hard time choosing which instrument he would play, since I think he would be either a french horn or euphonium player. Sole let him try out both, and since I’m more partial to him playing french horn, that’s what I’m gonna go with him choosing. Being in Sole’s band has helped him regain his self confidence, and has given him a purpose. He is a dedicated and quick learner, which has made learning the instrument very easy for him, though he has a tendency to over-play when practicing. He was also a little hard to get along with at first, since he treated his section like a unit of soldiers, barking orders and sharing his not-so-nice opinions towards players who weren’t as dedicated as he thought they should be. Though,after a meeting with Sole, he became more mindful of his behavior. Speaking of Sole, he is extremely proud of them, growing into a leader/director/teacher, as he remembered how they were when they were first under his command years ago.

Deacon: Deacon is adaptive, and loves to move around, which is why I think he would be in percussion. He is a sort of jack of all trades, knows how to play most instruments that involve mallets, drum sticks, chimes, etc. If it involves a stick and something to hit, he’s on it. This may involve him having to move around to different instruments throughout a concert or even in a single piece, but he’s got it under control. He moves so fluidly and quietly you sometimes don’t even see him transfer instruments. He is just suddenly playing when he comes in. He can even play piano in a pinch, though he isn’t a fan of being that close to the edge of the stage, so far in the front of the band, which is why he is particularly fond of percussion, because they’re in the back. He is sort of hidden back there, that’s something he very much vib(raphone)es with. He will also lightly make fun of Sole for the faces they pull while directing after practice/concerts. He has even made faces back in the middle of practices, which has caused Sole to get distracted more than once, to which they will lightly scold him afterwards.

Hancock: Saxophone. When I think of Hancock, I think of smooth, really mellow and slow jazz. He is an amazing player, but prefers slower songs, songs that don’t require much technicality or any strong concentration/practice. He is a very lax person, not much of a fan of hard and rigid genres of music. He much prefers jazz, pieces that have interpretive solos/duets up to the players. I think at first he didn’t take the band seriously, would occasionally not show up for practice and a few concerts, because he either didn’t care or got too high (more than just weed with this guy, he does harder drugs usually). After Sole had a talk with him though, he initially quit. He originally joined the band because he liked how fun and free Sole was, and how loosely they managed the band. When Sole had that talk with him about needing more dedication from him to be in the band, he initially was upset, believing that went completely against the “freeness” of the band. But, he very much missed playing for Sole’s band, and worked out an agreement with them. He helped Sole form a full jazz band, which was much more lowkey, and comprised a smaller section of the band, purely for those that wanted to play full on jazz pieces. The smaller band had less practices and would usually play 1 or 2 pieces at the end of a normal concert. Out of respect to Sole’s dedication to the band (and to Cait’s triggers) he no longer shows up high, and doesn’t not mention his drug use/habits during meetings.

MacCready: I see Mac as a violinist as well. He played throughout most of grade school, but had to drop out of school when he accidentally got his girlfriend pregnant. He had to drop out of school and drop the cello in favor of working to support himself and his son. His girlfriend’s parents thankfully watched Duncan while Mac went to work, but that stopped after his girlfriend died. They blamed it on him, and in a way, he blamed himself too. She had been on her way back to her parents when she was in a car accident, which she unfortunately passed away from. This resulted in Mac almost falling apart. It was a really tough time for him, and became even harder when Duncan became seriously ill. This is how he met Sole, through one of their charity events. Sole’s charity raised a ton of money for the families of sick kids, helping them afford treatment. Once Duncan got better, Mac felt like he had to thank Sole personally. This is where they offered him to join the band. He was hesitant at first, since he had very little time as it is, and thought he needed to find extra childcare for Duncan, but Sole encouraged him to bring Duncan to practices, and has even helped him with childcare, offering to watch Duncan for free while Mac was at work, and Sole even started teaching him how to play piano. It was very difficult for Mac to make friends as a single father, especially since his girlfriend died, but joining the band has given him a chance for friends, even some around his age with kids of their own.

Nick: When he was younger, Nick was a very good trumpet player. Though he hadn’t picked it up in many many years by the time he met Sole. As a retired detective that suddenly had a ton of time on his hands, he looked for ways to occupy himself. He heard about Sole’s band through the paper, and when he read that it was an open community band that required a little more than light commitment, he pulled his old trumpet out of storage and showed up to practice. Though it took some time to get used to it again, and after a few cleanings and tune ups, he was back to the star trumpet player he had been back when he was younger. Though he makes jokes about how difficult it is to keep up with the younger members, he is constantly impressing everyone with his range and speed. Nick has taken a very strong liking to Sole, due to their kindness and dedication to the band and the members of it. He tries to take them under his wing, helping them manage the band and concerts and charities and everything else. He worries Sole will overwork themselves, much like he had during his job, so he offers his help where he can, and reminds them to take breaks, both physically and mentally.

Piper: Played the flute and also picked up the piccolo throughout grade school, though it was more of a hobby and hadn’t played either since high school until she joined Sole’s band. She found the band while reporting on it during one of the charity events Sole put on, and liked what she heard so much she decided to pick up her hobby again. Her being a journalist for the local paper has its benefits, because she will write articles about the band, upcoming concerts, etc (she may or may not include how beautifully the flute section played, and write about how one unknown flutist in particular played so beautifully, it moved the crowd to tears). Her contacts and connections through her job have elicited larger donations for the band and the charities it supports, but has also gotten them very prestigious concert opportunities. Piper herself is a wonderful flute player, and since her job requires a lot of typing, technical pieces where her fingers are flying over the keys are her specialty.

Preston: Clarinet and assistant band director. Also a veteran, and was in an army band before his enlistment contract ended. He enjoys marches the most, but is also a fan of jazz pieces, which has allowed him to explore his confidence a bit more with all the interpretive pieces. Joined Sole’s community band for his love of playing clarinet. He offhandedly mentioned wanting to learn how to direct to one of his section-mates, to which Sole had heard and taken seriously. He was extremely unconfident throughout his life, especially in leader roles, but has slowly grown much more confident under Sole’s direction. They will switch out during concerts, with Sole picking up their own instrument and joining the band while he gets to direct. Sole has involved him in deciding the theme of the concert, picking out songs based on what strengths the band had/things they wanted to improve. Sole even handed the reins entirely over to Preston so he could coordinate his own concert and direct it entirely on his own. Preston has excelled with directing, but has unfortunately fallen victim to Deacon’s light bullying over his “director faces”.

Strong: Strong is a huge man, in every way. There aren’t many big-person friendly instruments besides the tuba, though he still manages to make the tuba look small. Strong had a somewhat rough upbringing, and very rarely had kindness in his life. So when he meets Sole, someone who is genuinely kind and does their best to offer help, not only to the members of their band, but their entire community, Strong is immediately transfixed. He has not known kindness like Soles’s someone who just gives it out, whether or not the person deserves it. And according to himself, he was not worthy of kindness for the things he’s done. As an ex-con, he struggled greatly to find places that would accept him, which is only strengthened by the way he looks. Big, intimidating, mean. But Strong is also kind at heart, and only wants to learn how to be able to give his kindness instead of the cruelty given to him and expected of him. When he heard of Sole’s band, he really wanted to join, but didn’t even know how to play a single instrument, though that has never mattered to Sole. They offered to teach him some instruments, starting with the tuba since it was the easiest for him to play, size wise. But then someone donated a harp to Sole, hoping they could put good use to it. Strong was mesmerized by the beautiful and large instrument, and was the first to volunteer learning it for the band. He fell in love with it instantly, to the point where Sole gave him an extra key to the practice room so he can come in and practice when he pleases. Sole does their best to find pieces that include harp, but Strong still plays tuba when needed.

X6-88: Growing up, his guardians brought him up playing piano. He was forced to play the instrument for the majority of his life. Practices almost every day, concerts, school band, church band, etc. His guardians were very strict, and didn’t let him quit or have any of his other hobbies. They told him he was made for piano, he had a gift. He was naturally quite good at it, and through the rigorous routine and harsh punishments of his guardians, he excelled at it. A prodigy, if you will, winning competitions, playing in state, etc. He even got a scholarship for a prestigious music school for it, and he went through with it because that was what was expected of him. That is where he met Sole. The college was near their community, and they were looking for students wanting to play in concerts, as many college music students were constantly on the lookout for opportunities like that. He took Sole up on their offer, because he knew it would be expected of him were his parents there. He did his role perfectly, playing piano, but Sole was able to pick up that it wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do. And it was through Sole X6 was finally able to explore different hobbies, different interests. Sole also helped him gain the confidence to stand up to his parents, accept that he was his own person, an adult at that, and that he could choose his own hobbies and interests. He changed his major in college and has decided to pursue an entirely different degree, but he still plays in Sole’s band as their pianist. Now that he was able to pursue his own interests, he found that he did like piano, and was now playing as a choice instead of an expectation.

#do i tag this as a normal react #???#it isnt /mine/ so it feels weird to. get notes for it #anyway #fuckin LOVE piano as abuse thats so real #those piano parents are DEMONS #i also like that danse and sole were like.#(quit your therapy. join my band) (i. i dont play any instruments well) (fantastic you already fit in perfectly)#fo4 #fallout 4 #ill tag those two tagging anything else feels weird

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