#imagine doing that. putting that spotlight on the thousands of people who are just barely surviving by relying on living in the shadows

[v-arbellanaris]

so fuckin late i just found out abt the matt healy nonsense and im fuckin disassociating bro x

#decades of work by grassroots organisers just to get the extremists to look away and pay no mind to queer people #so they can just fucking live. when public canings and beatings and jail time STILL HAPPENS for being queer bc it's listed as a crime #imagine doing that shit in a country where the rec 'treatment' for being gay is conversion therapy #imagine doing that. putting that spotlight on the thousands of people who are just barely surviving by relying on living in the shadows #while they chip away at the social constraints impeding progress bit by bit. imagine doing that. saying that. and then fucking off home #and ignoring all the homophobia and transphobia in YOUR country because it doesn't matter presumably bc its Worse when its nasty brown ppl #going BACK to your own homophobic transphobic country. leaving the thousands of people left exposed by that limelight. #im not even going to touch on ''im taking your money'' and the inherently disgusting colonialist bullshit in that #expecting him to donate to local queer charities is too much when he's a piece of shit #but jfc. and all his fucking insane fans going queer malaysians who have to live w the consequences of matt's actions who complain abt that #are suffering from internalised homophobia & i have no sympathy for you #firstly. queer malaysians saying 'stop - this is not advocacy it's actively threatening us' is not internalised homophobia #secondly. explain why you have no sympathy for queer people with internalised homophobia. #like. explain. as if we weren't all questioning and struggling. as if we come out of the womb just lucky enough to Know without a doubt. #as if we dont exist in societies and families that shape us into something we're not until we can't recognise ourselves #like explain why you have no sympathy for your fellow queers and act like they're the enemy. explain why you're siding with some cishet #trash white man actively endangering brown qpoc in the THOUSANDS in a drunken fit on stage. over the qpoc actually affected by this. #explain it. go on. #fucking sickeningggg it's SICKENING #tbd

[kohakuhime]

I was reading your fics about the bikers and had a question. Do you really think Rafael was abused by his relatives?

(I'm going to assume the relatives Raphael ends up with after coming back from the island, because Raphael speaks of his immediate family with nothing but love, care, and respect most of the time. If this isn't the case, let me know.)

Honestly? I wouldn't say it's to the degree of The Bad YGO Dads (looking at the Kaiba/Wheeler/Ishtar patriarchs), but I also don't think for one second that Raphael had a healthy dynamic with his living relatives. Canonically, Raphael even says as much in the subbed episode 156 (the basis for most of this post):

"My relatives stole my father's inheritance and used me for publicity stunts." There's a good deal of disgust conveyed in that one sentence.

"Publicity stunts" could mean anything, but we also know the media doesn't have any sense of boundaries; even back then, if this is set in the eighties and nineties, there's not a lot of boundaries that are enforced. Forced interviews and photoshoots could very well be something Raphael had to deal with, given that he's still a child when he comes back from the island. He's got no real say if his guardians decide he needs to do interviews or make public appearances.

Look at the magazine compared to the actual island Raphael ended up on. That is not the same island. The magazine shows sandy hills. Raphael's island is a mix of rock and sand. That tells me there's a very strong chance Raphael's relatives/the public media did a photoshoot with Raphael in the clothing he's wearing on the island when he got back.

It's not just this one magazine.

There's multiple magazines with multiple interviews, and not one has a picture he's smiling in (although honestly? Who would, given the circumstances?). And it's interesting that "only despair awaited me" is what he says about this, and that the subtitle is placed over these magazines. It pans to the cemetery in the next shot, true, but there's something to be said that this line and this imagery are linked.

Now, let's look at Raphael himself.

(On a completely unrelated note, I find it hilarious that Raphael asks the Pharaoh, "Have you ever lived alone for three years, not talking or dealing with anyone?", knowing full well that the spirit of the Puzzle has been in said Puzzle for three thousand years).

Raphael canonically states that as a child on the island he doesn't talk to anyone, or socialize, unless it's with his cards; he almost goes insane from being so alone, and the only thing that helps him is the cards.

That alone confirms that a younger Raphael is going to require speech therapy, along with grief counseling and therapy to help process the trauma he's lived through. He was a child stranded on an island as the only survivor. He's returning to a world that's moved on without him, to a place he's not been in for three years, having to face something he's not had time or proper preparation to deal with. He's going to need time to process what happened to him, time to heal, therapy to help him adjust and cope. His relatives are now his legal guardians and have a responsibility to protect him.

And they do none of that. Instead, they immediately throw him into the spotlight. Remember that first magazine?

Who do you think agreed to that photo being taken? I can guarantee Raphael certainly didn't.

This next part is conjecture, granted, so take it with a pinch of salt because Raphael never talks about anything that happened to him aside from what's stated in canon. But this is where I get angry on his behalf because I can't help but think about the what-ifs.

Think of the questions that come up in interviews. We know there's talk show hosts who have zero self control or empathy and can ask or put their guests through some truly cruel things (deliberately not naming anyone). Imagine a shell-shocked teenager who's only barely used to speaking to people (and possibly has forgotten how to talk) having to answer those questions. Questions or situations in which he's forced to relive the trauma, where he has to answer questions he genuinely can't and yet is expected to. Having to meet with families who are hoping for closure about their lost loved ones, and yet he can't because he doesn't know. How is he supposed to answer those? How can he tell these families he has nothing to say? That's a hopeless situation that a child has been forced into.

Now, as Raphael gets older, that's going to change because of course he's going to get the help he needs. Sooner or later someone is going to raise the question about his welfare to his relatives, so they have to accommodate for that. They can't physically hurt him as a result. But...

"Raphael, it's just one interview. We feed you and put a roof over your head. After all we've done for you, surely you can do that?"

"We took you in, son. You have to pay us back somehow, right? Well, just appear this time on television and we'll call it even."

"If you don't do this photoshoot, we're kicking you out."

"If you don't like it, then leave. But where are you going to go? Who's going to take you in? We're your only family left."

A family's love, blood or chosen, is supposed to be unconditional. His relatives could have easily turned it conditional. It's no wonder Raphael clings as tightly as he does to his Guardians, and to Alister and Valon to a certain degree - they're people and beings who've shown him that unconditional care that he lost.

Raphael says that he's in despair over the world he's come back to. If this is what waited for him when he got back? I can't blame him for wanting to go back to the island.

TLDR: Raphael never confirms he's been emotionally abused, gaslit, or otherwise harmed by his relatives - but he sure as hell doesn't deny it, either.

#kohaku answers #ygo #raphael #rafael #long post #sorry this got longer than i thought it would #ygo s4 #ygo dm s4 #waking the dragons

[theoreticslut]

Mutually Curious // g.w.

george weasley x reader

requested: for @anxiousblanketqueen’s bday wc

word count: 3.8k

warnings: 18+ themes, mutual masturbation, slight dom/sub roles 

A/N: hey loves! I’ve been wanting to post this one for like a week and I just never got around to it because finals are seriously kicking my ass. I am so stressed and so tired and I just want it all to be over with. But i also really wanted to get this out before Jill’s bday on wednesday (you should totally check out her blog and participate in her bday sleepover 💗) ! Ideally, I wanted to get all the fics out for her bday wc before her bday, but alas that is not happening. Oh well, she’ll just get some late presents 😂💗 Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!! Xx

You truly enjoyed days like this - where you had nowhere to go or nothing to do. You could simply lay around all day and do whatever you pleased without feeling guilty that you were avoiding something else.

What made days like this even better is when they were spent with your best friend, George. You two had been inseparable since second year, ever since you got seated next to each other in Charms class.

Throughout the decade you’ve known each other, your friendship has evolved in some rather beautiful ways. It started with pulling pranks and just having fun in each other’s company. Then you guys started sharing secrets and deep late-night thoughts. Eventually, nothing was off-limits for the two of you to talk about.

You both were just so comfortable with the other that it wasn’t odd to share intimate details that you’d hesitate to tell others. You knew each other inside and out, ranging from the basics of favourite colours and foods, to the more advanced knowledge of deepest fears and wishes, all the way to the ultimate comfort level of knowing each other’s preferences and stories from the bedroom. You just felt completely at ease talking to George no matter what the topic was, and he reciprocated that ease.

You two never run out of things to talk about, though, as you’re always finding out more about yourselves, whether that’s a new kink you want to explore or a new fact you learned.

Today was no different. Without even thinking about it, you’re voicing a rather interesting segway question.

“You know what I’ve kind of always wanted to try?”

“What’s that, darling?” George asks, looking up at you as he’s laid down by your feet.

“Masturbating with someone.”

You can just barely hear him let out a groan before he’s humming out an answer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just wonder what it’d be like, you know, being intimate and vulnerable like that without necessarily touching the other. Not that you couldn’t touch the other, though.”

You watch as he seems to think about your statement for a couple seconds, nodding lightly.

“Yeah, it’d definitely be interesting. I mean, it’s fun to tease your partner that way - you know, not letting them touch themselves while you get yourself off - but I’ve never really thought about both people masturbating.”

“I don’t know what I’d think about it.” You admit.

“I feel like it could be embarrassing, but at the same time it really does sound like fun.”

Frowning in thought, you lean back to look at the ceiling. You can only imagine what it’d be like to masturbate with someone present. All of that attention on you, basically putting you in a spotlight. You’re not so sure about that.

“Why do you think it’d be embarrassing?” George frowns as he props himself up to look at you. He’s known you long enough now to know that you don’t get embarrassed very easily. Why would you find mutual masturbation embarrassing? It’s not like you would be the only one doing it.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m thinking I might feel too exposed?” You sigh.

“Being naked in front of a guy, touching myself, having him watch? Like with sex at least his hands are on me so his attention is a bit divided. I’m not under his full gaze, you know?”

He hums, thinking about your words. He could understand how it could be uncomfortable to have a person’s undivided attention, but at the same time he thinks it sounds pretty great - having your attention solely on him as he strokes himself. And just the idea of getting to watch you pleasure yourself has him excited, his cock twitching happily in his trousers.

“We could always try it?” He offers, not hesitating to share his thought.

“What?” You ask, a bit incredulously, sitting up to look at him, meeting his gaze almost immediately.

“I mean, if you want to. It’s not like we haven’t talked about doing things with each other before, and we’d just be getting ourselves off. We wouldn’t have to touch each other if you didn’t want to.” He explains as he rubs at the back of his neck, clearing his throat as his cock grows at the idea of watching you squirm as you come undone in front of him.

You can’t help the little needy whine that escapes your lips, cheeks growing warm at the idea. You’ve only thought of George in bed with you at least a thousand times by now. There’s no way of stopping the thoughts of his cock and what it’d look and feel like from running through your head.

“And we’re already comfortable with each other, yeah? That could help you not feel so embarrassed.” he offers, hoping you agree. He’s only dreamt of you a thousand times by now, picturing what your body looks like and what your moans and whines sound like. It’s not uncommon for him to pop a boner at the thought of you. 

You nod, understanding his thoughts. Honestly, there’s no one else you could imagine trying this with. While you’re embarrassed at the idea of your best friend seeing you naked and so vulnerable, the idea excites you to no end. You already felt safe with him, so why try this with anyone else?

“What do you say, y/n? You want to try it?”

You nod, a small whimper falling from your lips as you do. You never thought that you’d ever actually do anything with George, but Merlin have you wanted to. That’s one of the only downfalls of being so close with george - you can’t help but get turned on and want to see how true his stories are when he shares them with you.

“Y-yeah. Do you?”

“Godric, yes.” He moans, nearly panting already as he never turns his attention from you. If you thought you got turned on by his stories, you should try paying attention to him more when you tell yours. He’s constantly hiding an erection and trying to not pounce on you and make you his.

“O-okay.” You smile, already blushing as you gently chewing on your bottom lip as you figure out what to do first.

You figure that you should probably both undress first, so you cautiously grab the hem of your shirt, his eyes trained on you as he sits up.

Smiling and gently biting on your bottom lip, you slowly lift up the material to reveal your simple black bra to him, not able to stop the soft giggles from your lips as he groans.

“We’ve barely started and you’re already teasing me?”

“Not teasing you yet, Georgie. I’m just undressing.” You smirk, removing your shirt from your body.

He moans, eyes roaming over your exposed skin. Sure he’s seen your skin before while you wear shorter clothes in the summer, but watching you undress in this context for him is something he just can’t get over. He knows he’s not the first person to see your body, but that doesn’t matter when he’s the one who gets to see it right now.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. You know that, don’t you?”

You smile, a blush on your cheeks as you take in his words. You’ve been told by a number of people that you’re beautiful, but hearing it from George’s lips is otherworldly. It feels so much more sincere and intimate coming from him.

George smiles, watching as you melt at his words. He’s loving how absolutely adorable you currently look with a blush on your cheeks half undressed for him.

“Keep undressing, baby. I want to see you.” He urges, leaning back a little to spread his legs.

“Aren’t you going to?”

“Eventually, I promise. I want you to show me your beautiful body first. Can you do that for me, baby?” He asks, trying his best to contain a groan. Seeing you so vulnerable and pouty is more attractive than he would have thought.

You nod, smiling as you watch his eyelids droop in pleasure, a low moan passing through his lips.

You slowly untie the drawstrings on your sweatpants, smirking as his eyes follow every movement of your hands.

Carefully, you trail your hands over your body on top of your bottoms, enjoying the needy whimper that leaves George’s mouth. You grab at your inner thighs, purposefully avoiding your sex, loving the way that George is squirming in his spot.

Smirking, you slip your hands under the waistband of your pants, finally pulling them off your legs.

“Fuck, darling.” George groans, head lolling backwards.

He can’t help the grunt that leaves his lips at the soft giggles rising from your chest. He’s trying his best to behave, but all he wants is to take control of you.

“Georgie, you’re not watching.” You giggle, teasingly pulling the straps of your bra down off your shoulders.

“You’re being a tease, darling.”

“I would never, Georgie.” You smirk, loving the way his eyes darken at the sight of your bra straps hanging around your arms.

“No one likes a liar, y/n. Behave, angel, or maybe I’ll just leave you to get yourself off in front of me. Won’t let you see me.”

You whine, thighs clenching together at his threat as a pout forms on your puffy lips. George had mentioned he was pretty dominate, but you never expected it to be so hot, nor could you ever truly picture it. 

“No. George, please don’t. I’m being a good girl. I promise.”

Whining at his dark chuckle, you watch as he situates himself a bit on the bed.

“Show me then. Show me how good you’re being.”

You nod, unclipping your bra and tossing it across the room. You grope at your breasts, a moan falling from your lips at the pure pleasure of it.

You hate to admit it, but from the moment george offered to try this, you had gotten extraordinarily aroused. You needed relief and you were finally getting some from your touch against your breasts.

“Such pretty tits, baby.” He praises, eyes glued to your chest and the way you wriggle under your own ministrations.

“Why don’t you take one of your hands, angel, and touch yourself through your panties? I bet your wet already, yeah?”

You whine, trailing your right hand down your body to the waistband of your panties, teasing it gently. You slide your pointer finger just under the band, enough to lift it from your skin and send shivers throughout your body, before you let it softly snap against your body.

“You like teasing yourself, darling?” George asks, restraining from touching you himself.

He just wants to see how wet you are. The idea of a wet spot growing on your panties while you rub yourself has him nearly wild.

You smirk, chewing on your bottom lip as you start to touch yourself, your fingers against your heat feeling amazing.

“Oh, George. Feels so good.” You moan, eyes shutting and head falling back against the pillows.

“I bet it does, darling. I bet you want to finger yourself right now, yeah?”

“Yes. Yes, George. I do.”

“Well wait a minute now, okay? You want to watch me undress, yeah?”

You nod lazily, trying your hardest to prop your head back up through your initial wave of pleasure.

He smiles, loving your blissed out face already as he lifts off his shirt. He smirks as he hears you hum in admiration.

Once off, he tosses it onto the floor and turns his attention back to you. He can’t help but chuckle as he watches your eyes trail over his torso. He knows he’s fit, having played quidditch for years, but having you admire his body has his ego rapidly inflating.

He carefully undoes the button on his jeans, slowly undoing the zipper and watching as you watch his every move.

He groans as he notices you slowly start rubbing your fingers over your pussy through your panties.

“So pretty for me, darling. Touching yourself while I undress. You’re so pretty, but you’re needy, yeah? Can’t even wait ‘til I’m out of my trousers.”

He smirks at the whine that leaves your lips, watching as your fingers slow down and you squeeze your legs together.

“M sorry, Georgie.”

“Don’t apologize, darling. I like how needy you are.” He smiles, watching you with pure adoration.

You blush at his words, unaware that he’s watching you intently as you watch his hands.

You whine as he slowly pulls off his pants, his boxers coming right along with them. You nearly drool as you watch his cock spring free from their constraints, and the groan that leaves George’s lips alongside it is pure heaven.

“Can you take off your panties, baby girl? Please?”

You nod, carefully hooking your fingers under the material on each of your hips, before swiftly sliding them down your legs, leaving you bare in front of your best friend.

“Godric you’re so pretty. Knew you would be, but bloody hell, darling.”

You blush, a whine slipping past your lips as he chuckles, grabbing the base of his cock.

“Fuck, baby. Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

You start at your chest again, softly groping each of your breasts and rolling your nipples between your fingers. You sigh gently at the feeling, registering George’s heavy panting across from you.

You carefully open your eyes to look at him, finding it difficult due to the pleasure coursing through your body.

You watch as he slowly strokes his cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit for a second or so whenever he reaches the top. Moaning softly at the sight, you slowly start trailing your hand down your body towards your sex.

Bucking against your hand as you reach your clit, you listen as George hisses, drawing your attention to him.

You watch as he grips his cock a bit tighter, his eyes closing gently in pleasure, falling backwards.

“You look so handsome, Georgie. Love when you throw your head back.” You giggle, loving the groan that leaves him and the small smile that forms on his face.

“You’ll be the death of me, y/n. The absolute death of me.” He smiles, watching as you blush and close your eyes gently while you play with your clit. This feels so much better than you could have imagined, your pussy already so wet and fluttering for george.

“Oh, George!” You gasp as you slip your middle finger past your folds, not thinking much about your actions anymore. whatever felt good is what you were doing.

“Ohhh, feels so good.” You mumble, starting to finger yourself as George watches intently, throat going dry. He wants nothing more than to take over for you, to finger you himself and to maybe get a taste. It’s taking everything in him to hold back, wanting to watch you pleasure yourself.

He watches as your fingers speed up, drawing you closer and closer to your release, moans and whimpers falling freely from your lips.

Before either of you truly realize it, you’re gasping as you come undone in front of him. You can feel your wetness seeping out of your cunt as the haze of pleasure slowly clears from your mind.

“That was so hot, baby.” George states, mouth softly closing as he watches you come to, his cock throbbing as he’s close to release himself just from watching you. 

“Oh, George. Y-you haven’t cum.” You pout, looking over his face as he scoffs.

“I don’t care, darling. Seeing you come undone was more than enough.”

“But-“

“C-can I touch you? I want to finger you, baby. Please?” He asks, cutting you off from whatever argument you were going to give.

“You want to finger me?” You ask, a little surprised at his bluntness.

George nods enthusiastically, practically drooling at the idea. He can just imagine how warm and soft you must feel.

“C-can I touch you?”

“Merlin, please. Yes, y/n. Please touch me.” He begs, finding it hard to wait for your answer.

“Okay then. Go ahead, Georgie.” You blush, biting on your bottom lip as he practically pounces on you, fingers quickly finding your folds and running through them.

You jolt at the sudden friction, your previous orgasm having left you more sensitive than you realized.

“Hold on, George.” You gasp, grabbing a hold of his wrist to stop his ministrations.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“Didn’t do anything wrong, baby boy, I’m just sensitive. Need you to give me a second.” You explain, trying to catch your breath.

He nods, breath catching in his throat at the pet name. He’s had women be more dominant with him, but none have ever called him that. He never realized just how nice it could sound, but he’s sure it only sounds so nice because you spoke it. Regardless, he wants to hear you say it again.

“Okay, Georgie. Start gentle, please.”

“Like this?” He asks, his fingers barely touching you as he circles your entrance, occasionally dancing up to play with your clit.

“Just like that. Feels so good, baby. You can add a little more pressure if you want.”

You gasp, nodding as he increases the pressure in which he touches you.

“So good, Georgie.” You sigh, slowly reaching out for his cock between the two of you.

“C-can you call me that again?” He asks a bit bashfully, shivering as you faintly circle his tip with your finger.

“Call you what?”

“B-aby boy.” He gasps, your hand grasping around him tighter.

“Oh? You like that name, do you? Like being called baby boy?” You giggle, stroking his cock slowly.

“Yes.” He groans, bucking into your hand.

“Alright, Georgie, baby. You’re doing so good, but you can speed up now if you’d like to baby boy.”

He nods, finally taking control of your pleasure now that he knows you’re okay. He sighs as he can smell, and practically taste you, wanting more than anything to do so.

You quicken your movements on his cock as you feel yourself clench around his fingers. You want, more than anything, to make sure he gets to cum this time around.

“So close, Georgie. I want you to cum with me, baby boy. You think you can do that?”

He nods, bucking once again into your hand as you swipe your thumb over his slit, spreading his pearly precum around.

You can feel him twitch as you smirk, moaning as he leans up to start kissing at your neck.

“George.” You whine, eyes closing at how amazing his lips feel on you.

“Yes, darling?” He smirks.

“Who’s the tease here, now?” You pant, squeezing at his cock as you stroke him, loving as he shivers in pleasure.

“I th-ink it’s still you, baby.” He smirks, nipping at your neck.

“If you’re going to kiss me, can it at least be my lips?” You pout, wanting to kiss him so bad. You’ve always wondered what his lips would feel like against yours.

He chuckles, leaning up a bit further to capture your lips with his, both of you moaning at the sensation.

You can feel him twitch against you as you clench around his fingers, both of you close, but you had a feeling George was closer.

Sighing into the kiss, you squeeze your hand around the base of his cock, gently tracing the outline of his balls as he jolts.

“Fuck!” He groans as he cums, spilling his warm seed onto your thigh as you clench around him again, so close to cumming a second time.

“I’m so close, Georgie. Don’t stop, baby, please.” You beg, still slowly stroking him to milk his release.

With his eyes shut tight, he curls the two fingers inside you, perfectly hitting where you needed him to to send you over the edge.

“Yes, George!” You gasp, coming undone on his fingers.

He groans, eye shooting open although they’re heavy with his own pleasure. There’s no way he’s going to miss watching you cum around his fingers.

“So...pretty. So pretty, angel.” He mumbles, completely blissed out from his own release and then watching yours.

He sighs as he gently removes his fingers from your sex, groaning as he stuffs them into his mouth.

You both lay there for a few minutes, him laying practically on top of you as you both regain your energy and catch your breaths.

He’s the first to look up at you, admiring the post-coital state you’re in - happily playing with his hair and thinking with a soft smile fixed on your lips.

“So? What did you think?” He murmurs, watching you for your reaction.

You smile as you look down at his face, taking in how tired he looks.

“It was amazing, George. Something I’d definitely be willing to do again.”

“Yeah? I’m glad. I’m thinking next time we go all the way? What do you think?”

“All the way?” You ask him, quirking a brow in amusement.

“After you taste me, we get to see how my dick feels inside you.”

“Oh, so you just want to fuck now, yeah?” You laugh, pausing your hand in his hair as he chuckles, burying his face into your neck in slight embarrassment.

“Well, I’d kind of like to take you out on a date and ask you out if that’d be okay?” he smiles, muffled by your neck as he presses hot kisses to the skin.

“Oh yeah?” You tease, smiling just as he nips at your neck, sending a shiver throughout your body.

“Definitely. Best friends is wonderful, but I think we both know we want more, yeah?” He smiles, watching as you chuckle, a small blush taking over your cheeks.

“Just took us messing around to actually admit it.” He adds.

“Admit what now, Georgie?”

“That I want to be with you, as your boyfriend and maybe more someday. That I love you and always have.” He smiles cheekily, leaning up to kiss you as you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“I love you.” You smile, absentmindedly picking up where you left off in playing with his hair.

You both lay in a comfortable silence for a minute or so, basking in each others love and body heat. You never expected your day to turn out like this, but you were glad it did. 

“Thank you for trying this with me, but I agree, next time we go all the way.” 

George chuckles at your words, a smile on his face as he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in close to him for a short nap.

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#JTR23 #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #hp smut #hp fluff #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut

[mariaiscrafting]

no, you know what, I’m going to stop vague’ing on the dash. my anger is about to get extremely direct and enraged, so fair warning, but I don’t care about anyone’s comfort right now. I’m going to get fucking mad, and you all will fucking deal.

not a single one of us has the right, or should even have the option, to guess about ccs’ sexualities. I’ve kept my mouth shut when it comes to people analyzing george/dream and guessing they’re some kind of queer, but I’m fucking done. I’m going to go into every single reason “truthing” about ccs’ sexualities is just so beyond fucked.

first of all, this is in response specifically to ranboo and tubbo truthing. being a kid and getting thrown into such a massive spotlight, where you will undoubtedly be subject to some fuck shit eventually because the internet is full of thousands upon thousands of people, is already terrifying and anxiety-inducing and damaging enough. but for their own audiencemembers - their own supposed fucking “fans” - to take it one step further and speculate about their sexualities? oh, for the love of god. I can barely believe I even have to explain how fucked that is. it is one thing to be friends with or close to someone in real life and recognize your own queer struggle in them, to approach them with sympathy and support in case they are questioning. it is another thing entirely to speculate about the sexuality of someone you don’t even know, and to then take it a step further and “truth” about your fucking theories. you are not an expert, you are not their friend, and you are not a fucking oracle. you can guess all you want about a cc’s sexuality, you can comment on how their actions or behaviors or words resonate with you when you were questioning or closeted, but to go ahead and take your own speculation as truth is arrogant, presumptous, and damaging as all hell. 

I can just imagine what it would’ve been like if I’d grown an online platform that ripped me of my privacy when I was a teenager and trying to figure out my own sexuality. if I had a section of my audience analyzing my every social media post, the inflection in my voice and the nature of my laughs, my every interaction with my best friend, you know what I would’ve done? retreated so far into the closet that I would probably have tricked myself into thinking I was heterosexual. I would’ve been so fucking terrified and felt so stripped of any privacy or control I had over my own goddamn thoughts; do you understand how fucking vile that is? have none of you ever been terrified of giving away your own sexuality through your mannerisms and facial expressions and words, while you were closeted? have none of you ever experienced that utter fucking terror when you notice someone start to question your sexuality, the immediate urge to retreat and back up and act and believe the complete opposite just to prove them wrong and go back to the safety and security of them believing you were straight? for fuck’s sake, now imagine that feeling amplified a hundred fold, applied not just to one instance or one person in your life, but to thousands. do y’all not understand just how a) morally fucked it is to inflict this same kind of practice onto someone you supposedly care about and support, and b) potentially psychologically damaging this could be to ccs who are closeted, especially the fucking minors? oh my fucking god.

that isn’t even to point out why people do this shit - which is to project and find solace and derive some kind of enjoyment out of cc’s. that’s what cc’s are there for; they are entertainers, first and foremost, which continues outside of streams and bleeds into fandom culture and the kind of enjoyment fans can make out of interacting with other fans and creating their own fan content. the problem with this fact is that fans take it too far, like 85% of the time. cc’s aren’t just there for our own enjoyment. they are fucking people, oh my lord. they are real people that we will never know, and while we may have our fun with our little theories and talking to other fans and making and watching cute compilations and writing fanfiction and making fanart, we are just deriving entertainment from the parts of themselves they choose to show us. that persona they put on for the stream, that is not 100% them. they are real, rounded, 3-d, full people who we only ever get the privilege of witnessing a small sliver of. and we need to fucking remember that, because we can’t just keep running with the ideas of ccs that we have in our heads and treating them like they’re malleable characters for our own entertainment. 

anyways, specifically about truthing (and mind you, this is the point in the rant where a little of my anger starts to seep out because I’m tired and it’s 1:40 AM and I have class tomorrow): there’s so many things that can be said about gaydar. I’m not here to argue whether or not it exists, or the details of the morality of straight versus non-straight people engaging in the practice of truthing. I’m just here to say that, even if you believe gaydar exists and can be accurate when employed by non-straight people, that still only applies to people you fucking know. what you see of a cc is not “getting to know” them. what you are seeing is one face of a multi-faceted jewel, cut in far more ways that you can ever hope to one day perceive. your theories are just those - theories. whatever you might think of the giggles you heard or the pickup lines you saw uttered or the softness you imagine between x and y, human interaction is far too complex and laced with meaning for some rando on the internet who watches youtube videos and twitch streams to fully grasp from two entertainers working from behind a screen. your gaydar is not going to fucking work through a screen, fuck off with that shit.

another thing that’s fucking bothering me so much is this assumption that comes with being at all open about queerness when you yourself are not queer. ik this is just one of the many factors “truthers” use to justify the findings of their totally infallible, prophetic gaydar, but it’s a factor nonetheless, and it bothers the fuck outta me. someone being willing to express support for lgbt people or donate to lgbt chairities or open to conversations with other lgbt people about lgbt endeavors is not evidence of queerness. to say that it is contributes to the harmful belief that cishets still have that they cannot be any of those things - that is, exceedingly open about and to queerness - without being perceived as queer themselves. 

anyways, and now we are at the bottom line, which is that, this entire conversation wouldn’t even have to be had if people just fucking listened to cc boundaries. ranboo and tubbo do not like being shipped. it is that fucking simple. i know that it is tempting to ship two people you think are cute together. i know it is tempting to indulge in a dynamic you find comforting. but idgaf. temptation is not an excuse. find some fictional characters to ship, and kindly fuck off.

#ranboo #mcyt #dream smp #tubbo #look. when it comes to this subject #i am not pulling any punches. i am sorry and ik i was criticized last time for being too harsh w the dream thing #but yk what? im going to be fucking harsh. there are some things i will have civil conversations about no matter how much i disagree #but this is not one of them. this infuriates me beyond belief and im not fucking going to shut up about it #lgbt #lgbtq #/neg #discourse #.txt #100+ #500+

[cultgambles]

The Pro Hero Gala

Summary: Your first major outing as Hawks’ S/O turns steamy when his jealousy gets the best of him. 

Warnings:  n s f w ! , semi-public, not really use of pronouns referring to you, but u got a vag

WC: 2.3k!

Masterlist | Requests? open

“(Y/N),” Hawks whined, “We’re gonna be late! I’m sure you’ll look fine.”

“Alright, alright, I’m coming! I’m just trying to zip up the back of my dress,” you giggled back. 

“The Number Two can help you with that!” he all but burst into the bathroom, taking in your form. You wore a sparkling red evening gown, with a low back, high leg slit, and dainty nude heels. Hawks whistled, pressing cold fingers against your back, slowly zipping the zipper up. “Got a bit stuck there, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, thank you. You’re my hero,” you sighed sweetly, pecking him on the cheek. His suit was a deep black, so different from his usual tan outfit. His tie was red, almost the same shade as his wings.

“You’re gorgeous in that,” he said, taking your hand to lead you out, “but we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry up.”

“I know, I know. Just a little nervous maybe.”

“Don’t be, they’ll love you.” This was your first time at a Pro Hero Event, of course you were filled with butterflies. You definitely didn’t belong, especially just being a normal citizen. Maybe you’d look just as fancy though? “Stop overthinking, chickadee, just be yourself. Stick by me, and it’ll all be okay. We can sneak out later, if you’re really feeling it.”

“While I would definitely love too, I’m not sure your PR team or fellow heroes would commend that.”

Quietly, a jet black limo pulled up in front of your apartment building and the driver opened the door for the both of you. 

“After you,” Hawks smiled, “Ww would just have to find the perfect time.”

“You just wanna look at my ass, huh?”

“You got me.”

The ride to the event was filled with mindless chatter, soft jazz drifting through the air. Hawks reached out to your clammy hand and gave it a squeeze as you both stepped out of the coach. In an instant, camera flashes blinded your vision, tens of reporters shouting your name for comments. 

“Get outta here, guys, you’re making my baby jealous!” Hawks scolded lightly, a wing covering your frame. Inside was as lavish as you could have imagined, rows of chandeliers, butlers floating around, gold accents everywhere, and of course heroes everywhere. Hawks checked in at the booth, gesturing to you as his plus one.  “C’mon, let’s go say hi to Endeavor.”

You shook your head at his enthusiasm, “One day I’m going to lose you to him.”

“Maybe! But not soon. Not tired of ya yet, kid.”

“Maybe!” you exclaimed in fake shock.

“He got a tight little ass,” Hawks shrugged. “Hey-yo! Endeavor, this is my partner I told you about, [Y/N] [L/N].”

You held your hand out to the fiery man, “Nice to meet you!”

“Likewise, I’ve heard a lot about you, Hawks never stops talking.”

“That’s cute,” you coo to your boyfriend.

“I’m gonna get something at the bar real quick. Want anything?”

“I’m okay, thank you. Well, actually, maybe a martini, please?” Hawks nodded and gave you a quick pat on the head. 

Endeavor was already talking with some of his acquaintances and you were left alone for the time being. Soon enough, some Pro who you didn’t recognize made his way to you. 

He was really laying on the sugar, standing oh so close, his hand ghosting over the curve of your hip. You laughed along, as to not be rude. Little did the two of you know, Hawks could hear every sweet word the man whispered, his feathers puffing up slightly. 

“[Y/N], here, I got it just the way you like it,” he glanced at the other hero, “Hey man, haven’t seen you around before.”

“Oh yes! This is my first event since my debut. Half a year, maybe?”

“Congrats! Hummingbird, I heard Miruko just came in. Wanna go say hi? I know you guys got along.”

“Sure, baby,” you smiled, feeling his bitterness seep through his mask. “Nice talking to you!”

“Wai--”

“I leave you alone for less than ten minutes and you’re already cheating on me?!” he huffed, trying to hide a smile.

You sighed dramatically, doing a woe is me pose. “I just can’t keep them at bay!”

“How ya feelin’ for ya first fancy event?”

“Feeling a little better.” After twenty or so minutes more of mingling with everyone, the presenter stands at the podium.

“My Heros, I thank you all for attending this event, hopefully crime will just pause for this evening”--a couple people chuckled softly--“and have a wonderful rest of the evening. Please find your seats! Dinner will be served shortly.”

“Any ideas of what’s for dinner?”

“Not sure, I heard they hired American chefs, though. Where do you wanna sit?”

“Maybe over there?” you asked, pointing to an empty circular table.

“Lead the way, baby,” Hawks replied.

You and Hawks sat next to each other, facing the stage. Rumi across from you, and a couple others you didn’t quite know. As the lights dimmed, a familiar voice rang over your head.

“Mind if I sit here? I can’t believe all the seats were filled by the time I got back from the bathroom.”

“Ah, of course,” you smiled slightly. It was the Pro from before. Hawks huffed under his breath. The bread bowl made its way around the table and you leaned over to Hawks, telling him how much you love sour dough bread. 

“I like sour dough too!” the man next to you loudly said.

“It’s nice, isn’t it,” you agreed. C’mon, just leave me alone. Dinner continued, different groups putting on stage show shorts for entertainment. And with each comment from the stranger, Hawks’ attitude changed a little. His words a little sharper, eyes a little narrower. Of course, this was only noticeable to the trained eye. A spotlight shown on the stage, illuminating a row of women. Their beautiful display of the Thousand Arms Dance almost made you forget about the hand resting on your thigh. 

In two moments, that changed.

Dangerously close to your sex.

Rubbing small circles on the inner side.

“Hawks.”

“[Y/N].”

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the show?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you whisper yelled. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, songbird,” he purred, fingers prodding your sex through your panties softly. 

“Okay. I see how it is.”

“What ever do you mean? Don’t go ignoring Mr. New Pro over there.”

You looked around at the table, everyone enthralled by the dance. Mr. New Pro was cutting his steak into fifty tiny meticulous pieces. Weird. 

“He’s not even talking to me,” you snorted, “for once.”

“But you like the attention, don’t you?” You choked on your water.

“Hey, [Y/N], look at my meat,” the other hero said, gesturing to his plate. 

Hawks’ eyes twitched. “Need to go right now.”

“Show’s not over, it would be rude!”

“Right now,” he hissed, getting up abruptly and dragging you with him. “Dinner was good, but I really want dessert right now.”

The bright lights of the lobby made your eyes take a while to adjust. A supply closet door left unlocked, now your small haven with your boyfriend. “In there,” you pointed.

“You got great ideas, hummingbird,” Hawks praised, pressing you against the wall and kicking the door shut behind him. He gave you a quick kiss before kneeling between your legs. They rested on his shoulders, fingers digging into your supple thighs. “Be quiet, you don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention, do you?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Something about a bunch of Pros seeing you in such a compromising position piqued your interest. 

Hawks attacked your sex, sucking on clit before dragging a tongue along your folds. You threaded a hand through his wild blond hair. Even though you two weren’t dating for a super long amount of time, he was already a master at knowing how to please you. You chalked it up to his keen observation skills. 

His hot mouth brought you so close to your release until he pulled away suddenly. 

“Good girls don’t get to cum until they learn to not flirt with other guys.”

“Barely flirting!” 

“Not what I saw.”

He plunged a finger into your sopping entrance, massaging the spongy patch of flesh that made you throw your head back. 

“What did I say?”

It took you a couple seconds to find the words, to which he pulled his digit out. “No flirting?”

“Close, baby.” Hawks gently placed you on your feet. “Turn around.”

“I wanna see that cute face though,” you pouted. It almost cracked his facade.

“Well, I wanna see your ass pressing against my hips.” You bent slightly, placing your hands on the wall to brace yourself. “That’s it…” you heard his belt buckle come undone, pants dropping to the floor in a heap around his shoes. Hawks’ cold fingers moved your dress to the side, and slowly pulled your silky panties down.

“Glad I wore this dress?”

“You plan it?”

“Didn’t think it would be in the way when we got back home,” you shrugged. “Guess it works for any place, huh?”

Hawks breathed deeply, cock in his hand, running the tip between your ass cheeks. You pushed back, trying to get some friction.

“What are you not supposed to do? Get it right, and I’ll sink into that cute little pussy of yours. Otherwise, we go back to the ballroom, yeah? Dunno if I can handle it though, what, with what’s-his-face all over you.”

“I didn’t catch his name either,” you giggled before clearing your throat, “uhm...you said to not come until you tell me. I’ll be good. I’ll do as you say. Just please--”

“Since you said please,” he hummed, “easy to slide in since you’re so wet for me. Only for me. No one else.”

“Of course!” your walls stretched to accommodate his length. Hawks let out a low groan. “So tight…” 

You let out a high squeak, urging him to go faster. “Birdie, I...I can’t believe we’re doing this here…”

“A certain someone couldn’t wait..”

“I saw you getting pretty antsy too!”

“That little fucker had no business flirting with you right in front of me; and you. You allowed it, egged him on even,” Hawks growled in your ear. 

“Maybe..maybe I wanted a reaction out of you!” your sentence ended with a lit when his tip kissed your cervix.

“Bad move, kid, you know I’m not gonna go easy on ya. When I came back and he was all over you, oooh, I just wanted to kill the bastard. Hero status be damned. When he leaned a little too close at the dinner table, I just wanted to bend you over the table to show him that you’re mine.” Suddenly, Hawks pulled out of you, flipping you around to face him. “Look at me, beautiful.”

You struggled to open your eyes, Hawks’ pinprick eyes trained on your own. They were honestly set ablaze.

He looked beautiful like this: hair more tousled than usual, a bead of sweat on his temple, mouth panting and parted open. “Whatcha lookin’ at baby bird?”

“Just you,” you sighed contentedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a searing kiss.

You heard his wings ruffle, and his hips slammed into yours at a more fervent pace. Mmmffmmm, came out of your mouth. “I’m--close!”

Jealousy forgotten for the moment, Hawks nodded against the nape of your neck. “Hold on a lil longer. Can you do that for me? Wanna countdown?” he cooed.

“Y--yeah, okay,” your legs squeezed his body to yours impossibly tighter. 

“Five,” he moaned. At least he didn’t start at ten, that would have been an eternity.

When four came around, you ran your hands on his feathers close to his back.

Three. Almost there.

Two, and it’s so close to one. You felt like you’re almost going to vomit, but in a good way. A tightening just about to unravel.

“One, look down at me ravaging this pussy. No one else can do it as well as me, don’t cha know?” Hawks snarled. 

You peeked at where the two of you became one, his hand snaking around to rub at your clit.

“Hawks! Coming, I’m coming,” you moaned, his name falling off your tongue like a prayer. You briefly wondered when he would tell you his real name, but quickly coming to this moment when he spoke.

“Sing me my favorite song, songbird. You know I love to hear it!” His hips stuttered, wings flaring out (you loved that part) as he came, hot cum shooting out into your waiting entrance. Your pussy milked the rest out desperately as you both felt the aftermaths of your highs. He rested his forehead against yours. “I just wanna stay here.”

“In this closet?”

“No, dingus, with you,” he rolled his eyes, pulling out of you gently. “Round two back home?”

“Maybe nail me in the sky or something,” you suggested, pulling your panties up and shifting your dress around.

“Don’t tempt me,” he smirked, picking you up bridal style. He managed to fly out without being seen, and the both of you looked upon a sea of shining lights.

“I’m jealous you get this view every day.”

“It’s better with you, though,” he smiled softly.

“Hawks…”

“What is it?

“You’re hard again? Already?”

Hawks let out his beautiful laugh and you snuggled closer into his chest. “Can’t blame me that my baby bird just put that idea in my head!”

👉👈 hi this is my first smut since a lil while so hope you enjoyed it! Maybe tell me what you thought?

#hawks #keigo x you #hawks x reader #keigo takami #lemon #bnha smut #bnha #boku no hero academia #hawks smut #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

[wastelandcth]

Afterglow - cth

summary: you love living in the afterglow of performing, but a fight between you and calum leaves you in a haze. 

author’s notes: this is based off the song afterglow by taylor swift! i hope you enjoy! 

warnings: angst, mentions of cigarettes. 

masterlist || request || more songs for calum

Being a singer-songwriter had always felt like a dream, something you kept hidden in the back of your brain, the ultimate what-if. You had never imagined that one day you'd be on stage singing songs you wrote in your childhood bedroom and listening to the world sing them back. It had happened so quickly you almost forgot how to breathe. One second you were a nobody online sharing short videos of you singing and then the next you were signing a contract with a record label and going around the world. It almost seemed unreal, like you would wake up one day and all of the screams and flashing lights would disappear right under your feet. 

And then there was Calum. 

You first saw him at an award show. When the hectic moments between sets caused you both to be across the hallway from one another and his brown eyes met yours. The soft smiles exchanged between the two of you were more than enough to calm your nerves as you stepped out onto the stage and sang your latest single. You didn't know it then, but when your eyes met, Calum had wanted nothing more than to have your attention all the time. He hadn't even said a word to you, only looked at you in the lowlights of the backstage area and he already wanted to know everything about you. Even as his bandmates tugged him back to their seats in the crowd before your set began, Calum couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever had a chance to talk to you. 

When performing, a lot of things run through your mind; like whether you're on beat with the song or if you're going to run into the piano behind you. It had been something you had needed to get used to quickly, learning how to put on a performance instead of just sitting in front of your phone and singing. While you had learned to love performing in front of crowds and put on a show, you loved nothing more than when the songs were done and the lights went out. You loved how the crowds hurt your ears and when all you could see was a sea of lights and flashes in front of you. You could perform a thousand shows and your favorite part would always be living in the afterglow of the music and cheers. 

The second time you saw Calum had been when you walked out of the crowded arena, the lights barely bright enough for you to see the path that lead out to the car that was waiting to take you back home. You'd played your last show of the tour and all you wanted to do was shower before you would have to be dragged off to some after-party to drink and dance the night away. But when you spotted him off to the side, a cigarette in his hand as the smoke he exhaled floated into the sky and disappeared a few feet above his head, you couldn't help but feel like you needed to say something. 

"You look like you're running away from something," Calum mumbled, another puff of smoke floating up before his head turned to face you, "I was hoping to actually talk this time, instead of just watching from the crowd."

"I didn't think you'd still be here. Label invites don't really usually stick around too after the show is done," you mumbled, watching as he dropped the cigarette and crushed it under the sole of his boot, the crunch and thud of his boot bringing goosebumps to your skin.

"Not just another label invite, am I? Or is that all you think me to be?"

"Guess we'll have to find out, huh?"

It had started off as two people crushed against one another, the loud music deafening out any chance for conversation. Then when the drinks that seemed to be handed out every few minutes were introduced, your hands found their way to his waist, where you made sure he wouldn't leave your side. As the night progressed, the touches did too, and before you knew it morning had come and the sunlight was bouncing off his skin as he let out soft snores. 

That's what dating Calum had always been. A rush of emotions where you two took everything the other had to give and worried about the consequences later on. It was late nights when one of you had flown in for a few hours together and early mornings waking up alone while the other flew off to a new city. Being with Calum was soft words whispered in passing moments and sharing studios because it was one of the only times you two could be in the same city for longer than a night. It was video calls that lasted only minutes but those small eternities were shared between the two of you and that was all worth it.  It was chaotic and crazy but you wouldn't trade it for the world, you wouldn't trade Calum for anything. 

That was until the newspaper article came out. 

You'd woken up alone like you usually did, the phone next to your head buzzing away. The bed was warm, meaning Calum hadn't left too long ago and as you tried your best to drift back off for a few more minutes, the buzzing continued.  Your eyes barely focused, the harsh sunlight coming in from the window next to you was blinding and the only words you could make from the screen in front of you made your throat burn with bile. 

Calum, Single, Public Stunt. 

The article had been sent to you by your family and friends, many of them asking whether it was true and others asking if you needed anything. You didn't answer any of them, your hands were shaking and the anger that seemed to start at your stomach and rise up to the top of your head had made your jaw clench. As you scrolled through the article, laughing at yourself over how blind you had been and how much of an idiot they'd all made you seem, tears rolled down your cheeks. It wasn't until Calum's name popped up on your phone that you let out the shaky breath your tears had been holding in. 

"Ba-"

"So you lied that night. You looked me in the eyes and lied to my face," you muttered, your voice dripping with hurt and anger towards the man on the other line, "You know, people warned me about you and I just brushed them off because I believed in you! I believed you were better than the rumors! I believed you were more than someone looking to stay relevant in the spotlight by fucking me."

"Honey, you don't understand, this isn't what it looks like!" Calum defended, his own voice shaking as he tried to explain himself. 

"So you didn't talk to me because your label wanted to create more publicity for your band? You know they asked me to do the same thing? But I'm a decent human being and told them no, because I thought better of you and what you stood for, I guess I'm the idiot who thought that, huh?" you asked, your jaw clenching as the man you'd come to love stuttered, "Don't ever talk to me again, we're done."

"No, you just-"

"Fuck you, Calum." 

Anger had consumed you for weeks on end. The media barely saw or heard from you ever since the story had come out. Your family hadn't even been around much, you'd blocked everyone out, opting to lock yourself in a studio and write for hours on end. Your phone had been shoved into a bag and hadn't left for weeks, the constant ringing and notifications brought your anger to a new high and it had been better to just ignore everything. 

You hadn't spoken to Calum. His contact had been blocked and you weren't sure you'd ever want to unblock it again. The silence left the whole in your heart from growing, left you numb and staring down at the pages and pages of songs you knew would never be heard. Life felt like you had lost a fistfight and every time you found yourself awake in the early hours of the morning in an empty bed,  you hated the reminders he'd left. 

The letter arrived one morning when your mind was too exhausted to write and where your couch seemed like the comfiest place on Earth. The doorbell had rung and the sound of a letter falling onto the floor rang throughout the silence of your home. Your head had poked up from the couch long enough to see the envelope, yellow and taunting with familiar handwriting. It had laid there for hours that day, staring back at you whenever you walked by and it wasn't until you were laying in bed that night staring at the ceiling that you'd had enough of its taunting. 

"I know you might not believe it. But it's all here, the truth and more. Love Cal x" 

Your shaky hands read through the pages and pages of letters. Some from Calum to you, others were transcripts of emails or text messages. But they all told the truth, that Calum had never agreed to date you as a publicity stunt, that he dated you because he wanted to. You read through the emails he'd sent his label, asking for tickets to the sold-out tour to be able to see you. Suddenly, it had all made sense, why he'd been at the show alone and why he'd been so nervous when you'd caught him smoking outside alone. The pages you'd been holding were crinkled, tears smudging the ink that Calum had written showed his pain and hurt that you'd caused. With shaky breaths, you walked to your office, the piano that had remained untouched Calum had last been there an inviting sight. The seat was cold against your skin and the keys felt like strangers against your fingertips. The night went on, the moon and stars disappearing behind the morning glow and you kept on singing and writing until the alarm on your phone rang throughout the house. 

"I wrote this song for...for the mistakes I made and I hope that those mistakes can be forgiven," you mumbled into the microphone, feeling the radio host's eyes on you as you took a deep breath, "And that the afterglow can be where we meet again." 

The drumbeat was loud in your ears, matching your own heartbeat as your voice followed a few seconds after. You didn't even know if Calum would be listening, you hoped he was but after your fight and how you'd blocked him out for six months, you could only hope. The song played out for the world to hear, the smile on your face only for show as you counted down the time until the interview was over and you could go check your phone. 

"Oh looks like we have a caller for you," the radio host broke you out from your thoughts, "Caller, you have the airwaves!"

"I think that was a beautiful song," a familiar Australian accent rang in your ears, bringing goosebumps to your skin, "I'm sure whoever it's about would be more than willing to meet you in the afterglow."

"I hope he does." 

taglist: @hoodhoran​ @finelliine​ @moonlightcriess​ @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop  @notinthesameguey @hemmo1996-5sosvevo​ @myloverboyash​

#calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #calum hood x reader #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos x reader #5sos #calum hood #5 seconds of summer #gemma writes #song requests

[nmikaelsonimagines]

She Used To Be Mine: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Request from Anon: Can I request a fic based on the song ‘She Used To Be Mine’ by Sara Bareilles please?

Hope this is okay for you lovely, and enjoy x

Want to hear the song? Find a link to it just below:

She Used To Be Mine

It's not simple to say That most days I don't recognize me That these shoes and this apron

It was strange going back to work after the break up.

You barely recognised yourself on a good day, let alone the preppy young waitress that you had to pretend to be. Smile. The customer’s always right. Is there anything else I can get you? Yes, it’s totally fine you didn’t leave a tip. I’m sorry I wasn’t up to your standard.

Ever since the break up, you hadn’t felt up to any standard, whether it was a customer’s or your own. You hated the fact that he had made you feel like that, like you needed to rely on a man to feel whole. You hated the fact that you felt weak, powerless, not knowing who you were anymore. You hated him for making you feel that way.

But you still loved him too.

You hated yourself for saying those words, knowing that you would never be able to take them back. You hated being the one who had initiated it, thinking that it would be the best thing to do in the long run.

You hated it all.

You hated losing him and you hated having him. You hated telling him the truth.

“I think we should break up.”

That place and its patrons Have taken more than I gave them It's not easy to know

Klaus had decided three drinks in that he hated Mystic Falls. He hated the people, hated the way it made him feel small, hated the fact that it was where Y/N lived. 

But that last one was why he loved it too.

Not that it mattered anymore, not since she had broken up with him, ripping his heart out of his chest and stamping all over it. No, Mystic Falls had taken everything from him, even her.

She hadn’t said it, but he knew that if it wasn’t for her friends, they would still be together. He hated them too, hoping for their sake that they wouldn’t walk into the Grill.

He wasn’t sure he would be able to control himself if they did.

Ordering another beer, Klaus surveyed the scene in front of him. Couples at tables, kids too young to understand what real love felt like, too naïve to know heartbreak like him. He had experienced plenty of it in the centuries he had walked the earth, but none of it compared to what he was feeling now.

No-one compared to Y/N Y/L/N, and no-one ever would.

It wasn’t an easy thing to process, knowing that he would never find that sort of love again.

I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true I was never attention's sweet center I still remember that girl

Your lunch break was when the tears hit you. You had taken yourself away from the crowd, not wanting the pity, not wanting the sympathetic looks that had been thrown your way throughout the day.

It had been a stupid thing really, a customer reading his favourite book as they waited for their order. It was then that you had decided you needed some space, going out of the back door and slumping down against the wall, head between your knees.

You hated that he had reduced you to this, hated the way you felt so invisible. You had never been one for the spotlight, never been the centre of attention, but when Klaus looked at you, it was like a thousand stars were shining on you, each one solely focused on glowing for you.

He made you feel special and you had thrown that away. For what? The approval of people who hadn’t even come to check if you were okay.

You remembered the person you had become when you were with Klaus Mikaelson, the person that you still wanted to be. She was just a version of the real you, the person that you could finally be, the person you didn’t have to hide.

And now, now she was hiding again, probably forever.

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself

Another drink. Another glare thrown at someone who dared to look at him. And as the alcohol burned down his throat, more and more memories of Y/N came flooding back to Klaus.

He remembered how she made mistakes, but that was what made her so perfect. He remembered how to begin with, she had lied to her friends about seeing him, trying to protect their feelings, but that was what made her so good. He remembered how she was so hard on herself, but when he took her hands in his and kissed her ever so gently, she smiled.

He remembered everything about her, everything that made him fall in love with her, everything that still allowed him to love her, even though she wasn’t his to love anymore.

One more drink.

And then Klaus Mikaelson pulled out his phone. He scrolled down to her name in his contacts, and his finger hovered over the call button. A million thoughts swam through his head. How she probably wouldn’t answer (she hadn’t answered any of the other calls), how if she did, she would break his heart all over again.

He didn’t care, just needing to hear her voice.

He almost pressed the button. Almost.

She is broken and won't ask for help She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time

You knew that you couldn’t go on like this, knew that the best thing for you to do was to ask for help. But there was only one person you wanted help from and he probably wanted nothing to do with you. You and Klaus were no longer indebted to each other, no longer each other’s problem.

You remembered how much of a mess the break up had been, although you had tried so desperately to be kind. But all the kindness in the world couldn’t stop the words that spilled from both of your mouths afterwards, the insults that neither of you really meant, both too stubborn to take them back and apologise.

You had never felt so lonely.

Which was you pulled out your phone and scrolled down to his name in your contacts. It was why your finger hovered over the call button, just wanting to hear his voice one more time.

It was why you almost hit the call button. Almost.

Locking your phone once again, shaking off the tears and telling yourself it was for the best, you put it back in your pocket before standing up off the floor. You brushed down your uniform, and put on your best smile.

Day one of life without Klaus almost complete. It was for the best.

She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine

Klaus put his phone back in his pocket, pulling out his wallet instead and slamming a few bills onto the bar. He was done for the night, knowing full well that if he had called Y/N it would only have made things worse.

He didn’t want any more pain, any more heartache. He just wanted her, the one thing he couldn’t have.

The beautiful, messy, kind, imperfect girl that he had fallen head over heels in love with the moment he’d met her. The missing piece of his soul, the person he thought he would spend the rest of eternity with. But unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.

She was lost, gone from his arms, no doubt soon to be in those of another. He would never kiss her again, never intertwine his fingers with hers again, never tell her he loved her again.

Stumbling home, Klaus wondered what would happen if he went to the restaurant where she worked, wondered what she would say, what she would do. He could play it off as if he were checking up on her, making sure she was safe from some pretend threat. But he didn’t, knowing what she would say.

“I’m not yours to protect anymore, Klaus.”

Y/N used to be his. But that was ancient history now.

It was time to move on.

Masterlist

#TVD #tvd imagine #tvd imagines #the vampire diaries #the originals #to #the originals imagines #the originals imagine #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson imagines #klaus mikaelson x reader #niklaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson imagines #niklaus mikaelson imagine #niklaus mikaelson x reader #Joseph Morgan

[wonglix]

➺ ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ: ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴇxᴘᴏsᴇᴅ

⤷ fluff, lil‘ angst

*•.¸♡ hongjoong ♡¸.•*

he was incredibly upset and mad, hating the fact that you were just outed like that - his main concern being you and how it would affect you. the main reason you weren't already in a public relationship were the fans that had some sort of entitlement to them; an obsession that made them feel like they deserved to decide what was going on in their lives. the fact that it's precisely those people that caught onto you made him feel sick to his stomach; he'd love to be sincere, and he'd love to think that people would be accepting, but he knows that that really won't be the case - so he tries his best to cover it up until he can't anymore and is forced to come out with the truth. once hongjoong couldn't cover it up anymore, he'd write a letter; expressing how much he loves and cherishes you as well as his wish for them to just let you be. he won't flaunt the relationship around in hopes of everyone just settling down and accepting it one way or another.

*•.¸♡ seonghwa ♡¸.•*

his initial reaction is confusion - there's no way they caught onto you, absolutely no way. imagine the anger that boils in his veins when he realises that someone indeed did out the two of you, compromising pictures being posted along with the accusations; he knew that there was no way he'd ever get out of this - he had to be honest. seonghwa would try his best to be genuine and convey just how much not only he but also the other members loved and treasured you. he's hoping to appeal to sensible fans which hopefully will be able to make the angry fans realise that's it's neither of your faults for falling in love. he'd avoid talking about you much after that, hoping that it'd become just another fact about him rather than a topic of discussion.

*•.¸♡ yunho ♡¸.•*

yunho hates it, he's mad and boiling inside, but my god does the idea of doing little live streams with you or being able to talk about you openly excite him. whether he'd be able to pursue his fantasies is up to you and the company, yunho secretly loving the idea of going public. would he have preferred to be the one to break the news instead of some obsessive, delusional fan doing it? yes, of course. did he still somewhat enjoy the prospect of introducing you to his fans? yes, absolutely. his next actions would 100% depend on your opinion on the matter, as well as the company (since he can't decide something like that without their permission). if you ask him to keep your relationship under wraps, he absolutely would, but if you choose to give in to him and go public, you better make yourself ready for some cutesy lives he's going to (lovingly) force you to take part in.

*•.¸♡ yeosang ♡¸.•*

yeosang was one of the more angry ones, the idea of ill-tempered fans taking their frustrations out on you making a cold shiver run down his spine. he always made sure the two of you were cautious whenever you met, so this was a punch in the guts for him. yeosang contemplated whether an excuse would work in your guys' favour or not; if people would believe it if the company released a statement that denies your alleged relationship. depending on the way the relationship was outed, if there was definitive proof or not, he'd either own up to it (but still keep it lowkey) or would beg the company to cover it up. yeosang didn't want to apologise because he felt like there was nothing he did wrong - he fell in love, and that shouldn't be anyone's business. he would probably end up writing a small apology if the situation does turn out to be against you two, hoping to ease the worked-up fans and ensuring that they won't take it out on you.

*•.¸♡ san ♡¸.•*

as mad as he was at the saesangs that outed your relationship, there still was this small part of him that was somewhat thankful. don't get me wrong; he was still incredibly angry and upset that saesangs took away his choice whether you guys wanted to go public or not - but san didn't like keeping you a secret. he wanted to be able to talk about you openly since you're such a big part of his life; you're the one that keeps him sane when things get stressful again, and he wants his fans to know that. san would probably want to be honest and admit that the rumours were true, though he'd never act without you agreeing - he wanted to be open about your relationship, of course, but not at your expense. should you agree to be in the public eye with him, he'd essentially do summersaults and jump around, the excitement of showing you off getting to him. san would make it a rule not to bring you up unprovoked though, realising that the news of him dating could be painful to some fans.

*•.¸♡ mingi ♡¸.•*

the panic that spread through him made him feel like he was about to explode. his hands were sweaty, he was pacing around the dorm, and none of the other members were able to calm him down. mingi doesn't know what to do; should he just own up to it and put you on the spot for toxic fans to threaten and send hate to or should he just lie in hopes of people eating it up? he always thought that you were careful, that there was no way someone would figure it out - he didn't account for a salty staff member that decided to take out their anger not only on mingi but also on you, though. he could've taken a rumour about him, but now that you were thrown into the mess he didn't know what to do. it makes him so angry that someone would go this far, especially when it's a well-known fact that partners of idols arent particularly liked - he's mad that it had to come that far, but he's also sad because now he's scared. scared because now you didn't only have to accept that he barely has time, that work always will be a priority, but also that there are thousands of people that have an unreasonable hatred towards you for merely loving him. mingi will talk to you about the options you had and would agree to whatever you decide on - desperate to do even better as your boyfriend now that people would hate you for it.

*•.¸♡ wooyoung ♡¸.•*

the news couldn't have been spread at a worse moment; wooyoung was doing a live when the comments all of a sudden were asking him about his relationship, who he was dating, if it was another idol, how he met them. to say he was confused and maybe a little scared would be an understatement. wooyoung would try his best to play it off, joking about it and denouncing the pictures without hesitation. in the end, he might've made the problem a lot worse than it had been to begin with, clips of him trying to desperately come up with a joke being spread along with the initial pictures. at that point the news had spread to you, the other members, the higher-ups at the company - it was too late to release a statement denying the rumours now, the majority of people already having bought into the news. wooyoung would leave it up to you if you'd like to step into the spotlight with him, or if you'd prefer to be the mysterious y/n wooyoung was dating, which no one really knew anything about.

*•.¸♡ jongho ♡¸.•*

this would probably be one of the most stressful events of his life, to be honest. jongho was convinced that the two of you always were thoughtful of when and where you met, not daring to take many risks - which made the fact that someone outed you ever the more surprising to him. he'd try to figure out when you slipped up, or if it may have been something neither of you could've foreseen. as mature as jongho is, and this would definitely catch him off guard; he'd probably depend a lot on you and his members while trying to figure out if this situation was fixable, and if so, how exactly you two could get out of this. if you guys somehow manage to get out of this, you'd probably be quite lowkey for a while; avoiding dates outside and preferably staying inside, spending a lot of time on face time rather than meeting up in person. should all efforts of covering it up go to waste jongho'd try his best to be mature about it, deciding to be the one to take all the heat and hate comments. he'd definitely be taking the time to write a letter as well as doing a live stream to explain the situation. he'd try to keep you out of the spotlight though, not wanting the negative comments to get to you as well.

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez headcanons #ateez au #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #hongjoong fluff #seonghwa fluff #yunho fluff #yeosang fluff #san fluff #mingi fluff #wooyoung fluff #jongho fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez angst

[raleighcarrera]

falling

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

a little while ago i posted about the idea of a soulmate au where the first words raleigh & cadence say to each other are tattooed on them their whole lives, and this... is that. (for @platinumweekend ❤️)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @empressazura; @emomoustache ; @natesewell ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixeljazzy ; @brycemaloliver ; @grigori-girl ; @dulceghernandez ; @bitchloveskcbaseball ; @withbeautyandrage 

~10.5k words | T

i.

the words appear in looping script on his thirteenth birthday, right on time. they curve along the inside of his bicep, innocently punctuated. what’s your name?

“you got lucky,” one of his older cousins tells him, later, when everyone in his family comes by for cake and to ooh and aah over his new tattoo, “you’ll be able to hide that with a shirt or a jacket easily.”

but raleigh sleeps shirtless every night for the next two years, even when it’s cold, so that the words are the last thing he sees with his head pillowed on his arm before he falls asleep, dreaming of the nameless, faceless person who will one day say them, wondering what their voice might sound like when they do.

ii.

she has a more difficult go of it.

being a thirteen year old girl would be miserable enough without the added pressure of the words that practically feel broadcast across her forehead, most of the time. everyone at school teases her constantly and ruthlessly: say something funny, cadence. go on. tell us a joke!

so it’s difficult not to resent the two words scrawled lazily across her collarbone and the person attached to them, especially in the mornings before school when she’s angrily rearranging her neckline and jewelry in the mirror while the bus idles outside.

very funny. she isn’t, really. she’s plenty of things -- determined and passionate and sensitive, definitely, but... no one’s ever found her particularly funny, before.

and no one seems to understand just how much the expectation of having to be funny, one day, is weighing on her, not even her parents, when she finally works up the courage to squeak out, “but how am i supposed to know what i should say?”

her mom laughs indulgently, like she’s already said something funny. her stomach sinks further.

“oh, sweetheart,” she tells her, “don’t worry, it won’t matter. you just will.”

iii.

people ask him about it. a lot.

it gets difficult to keep it a secret as things change around him, but raleigh’s careful to avoid slip-ups and paparazzi photos and he doesn’t say a word about it in interviews, even when he’s asked directly. he’s never seen without short sleeves on, at the very least, and he doesn’t even tell blair and cameron about it.

he sort of wishes he had, though, because as his life turns upside down and he adapts to a new country with a new set of rules and an industry that makes his head spin most of the time it starts to feel more and more confusing, those three words -- what���s your name?

everywhere he goes, thousands of girls blocking the street scream it at him. so how is it possible that whoever’s waiting to meet him doesn’t already know it?

and what does that mean for how the rest of his life is going to turn out? 

what if all of this -- the fame and the money and the notoriety -- is fleeting, and he’s only a few short years from being completely washed up and irrelevant? what if the day he’s meant to meet his person is so far away that he’ll be completely out of the spotlight, by then, with sunset skatepark playing reunion tours and him having spent most of his life alone?

it’s a lot of pressure, for someone who’s already working their way through such a serious adjustment, and most of the time it’s dizzying, thinking about the fact that there’s someone out there who’s supposed to be perfect for him, when everyone he meets seems determined to forget every word they know other than yes, so they can suck up to him as much as possible.

his teenage years fly by in a whirlwind of mistakes and regrets. there’s things he would’ve never dreamed would come his way, like world tours and more money than he can count and so many girls who know everything about him before they even sit down to dinner, but there’s more than that, too.

there’s all the ways the industry weakens his trust until it’s gone, all the people who try to use him for what he can do for them, all the times he stumbles until he finally learns to distance himself by cultivating a persona, by leaning into all the expectations of raleigh carrera and creating something so outlandish it doesn’t hurt as much when disaster follows him around because it’s supposed to.

he watches everything that surrounds him turn fake and plastic and puts his energy only into his music, coasting on the rest. the days are less exciting than when he first joined the band at fifteen; he’s a solo artist, now, and most of the time, he’s just trying to get through.

but chaos continues to follow him and eventually his notoriety is inescapable. his first solo album is self-titled and he somehow manages to get a trademark on the word raleigh, as if the name is now more his than anything that ever belonged to the state of north carolina, and part of him sort of expects the words stamped on his arm to change, once he hits one-hundred million followers on his social channels.

they never do, though, and when he’s alone, and the veneer he’s built up for everyone else fades away, he can’t help but to be fascinated by this person who just wants an answer to the question no one else would ever dare ask him.

iv.

college isn’t exactly the fresh start she was hoping it’d be.

she was a loser in high school and things don’t get much better for her even now that she’s with ‘her people’ at a performing arts university she can barely afford, even with two part-time jobs. 

shane is across the country at a proper state school with parties and a social life and lots of friends who aren’t her, and she’s failing her improv class, proving that she isn’t actually very funny at all. 

boys continue to not notice her and patrons in bars continue to turn away from her one-woman performance, her old acoustic guitar the only constant in a life that feels utterly, unbelievably pointless, most of the time.

it’s like she’s drifting through the days, putting her time in at college in the hopes that it’ll fortify her for what’s next -- her big break, the discovery that’ll get her out of that shitty small town she’s been trying to escape her entire life. she writes hundreds of songs about how lost she feels and hates every single one, dreaming of a time when things might be different and she doesn’t have to second-guess every single one of her decisions.

she doesn’t have much of a love life and tries not to think about that, either.

the person on the other side of those two words stuck on her collarbone is probably looking for someone self-confident, who knows who they are and is comfortable with that. they’re probably expecting to meet someone who has their life together, who, at the very least, has a plan.

they’re probably not expecting a talentless nobody screwup like her, someone who tries as hard as she can yet never seems to make anything work.

things don’t turn around after graduation, either. sure, she manages to find an apartment in a building that’s nice enough and uses the last of her savings on the deposit and trying to furnish it, but it’s only a few weeks of trying and failing to secure a regular paying gig performing before she’s back at smoothie star again, begging for her old job back.

and there’s nothing that makes her feel more like a failure than working the same shifts she had in high school. 

as she hums along to the radio on a random tuesday afternoon when the store is dead and there’s nothing to blend, she wonders what mr.-or-mrs. very funny would think if they walked in and saw her here -- twenty-three years old and flat broke, with a dead-end job and a one-bedroom apartment all she has to show for her very expensive and very useless bachelor’s degree.

that, and a notebook full of half-finished songs about relationships she could only ever dream about and an escape from the miserable small town she lives in that feels farther away with every day that passes.

she can’t imagine they’d be very impressed.

v.

raleigh’s life gets monotonous very quickly. the music takes a backseat to the scandals and for a while there’s a predictable pattern of cause trouble, clean up image, rinse and repeat.

there are girls in between the cycles to help him pass the time. some he likes well enough and some he despises, but for the most part his management gives their recommendations and he agrees and makes awkward conversation for an hour or two over brunch until it’s time to go trash something again.

things get particularly bad after one minor cruise ship hijacking incident. 

but in his defense, no one ever told him that breaking into the harbor and joy riding was a first-degree felony, worsened by the fact that he’d just so happened to crash the boat into the pier while he was trying to dock it. 

at least he’d been sober.

though a monumental fuck up like this felt sort of inevitable; everyone who knew him probably figured it was only a matter of time before he went too far. how could he not when he was always chasing the next high?

still, the image rehab tour that follows is far from what he’d call enjoyable. he has to cut off all his hair and play nice at industry parties and waste time standing around being seen at charity events he winds up just cutting checks for instead of helping out at.

on top of the miserable community service comes the pr bullshit his team so loves -- dozens of tv appearances back-to-back where he’s herded around all day like cattle, in and out of green rooms with crappy coffee and bad catering.

he has no idea that showing up to be a judge on one in a million is going to change his life. hungover and running late, he barely even makes it to the taping of the semi-finals, slinking inside the concert hall in middle-of-nowhere, usa with a headache and some choice words for whoever thought this was the best way to clean up his image.

fortunately, raleigh manages to make his way inside virtually unnoticed. his phone is buzzing angrily in his pocket -- undoubtedly his manager trying to encourage him to hair and makeup or some other absurdity -- but he ignores it in favor of ducking back behind the line near the auditorium doors, only barely catching the last few words of some catty confrontation between two contestants as he goes.

as one of the girls stomps away, he sees the other’s shoulders slump from behind. “guess i’m not making any friends,” she mutters.

it’s clearly said to no one -- not even to herself, really -- yet for some reason, he can’t stop himself from responding. “where i come from, that’s a good thing.”

the girl’s shoulders straighten, but she still doesn’t turn around. “i’m not trying to succeed at the cost of others.”

raleigh smirks, leaning back against the wall beside his guitar case. “you do realize you’re at a competition show, right?”

“of course, but...” her hair ruffles with what sounds like a huff. she’s still not facing him, staring off at where the other girl she’d been talking to had run away. “that doesn’t mean i’m not rooting for everyone here to share their music with the world.”

“what a sweet sentiment,” raleigh drawls sarcastically, almost feeling a little bad for her and her naivety. this poor girl is going to be eaten alive. “it won’t last.”

her body tenses, her shoulders tightening again. he can almost see smoke start to pour from her ears before she spins suddenly on her heel to face him. 

whatever sharp retort had been on the tip of her tongue gets swallowed with a blink as soon as their eyes meet. something like electricity crackles in the space between them, strengthening the invisible pull he’d felt when he first stopped behind her. instead, she only asks, “what’s your name?”

vi.

the man in front of her snorts. “very funny.”

a smile tugs at her lips. “very funny, that’s a weird name.” this is unlike her -- the quick comeback, the flirting. usually being face-to-face with a guy as good looking as the one talking to her now made her want to wither away and die, but something about the stranger standing before her sets her instantly at ease. “so, are you gonna tell me, or not?”

now it’s his turn to blink at her. a hand lifts to rub at his jaw. “huh. you really don’t know who i am, do you?”

cadence’s eyes narrow as she assess him. there is something vaguely familiar about that crooked grin, she’s sure of it. 

at the very least, it’s an excuse to stare at him, and she does, moving her eyes slowly over the tattoos poking out over his jacket collar, the line of stubble on his sharp jaw, the glint of mischief in his eyes.

her helpless gaping is interrupted by a sudden shrill scream. “oh. my. god! is that raleigh carrera?!”

everything clicks at once. as a wild group of girls corner him, she realizes where she’s seen that smile before -- on just about every tabloid cover known to man, plastered all over convenience stores and the internet with headlines about his latest bender. in fact, she’s pretty sure he was just in the news for something similar -- crashing a yacht or something else ridiculous like that, something that only someone as rich as raleigh carrera could have accomplished. 

then she realizes what he’d said to her, as soon as she’d turned to look him in the eyes. very funny. 

her heart stops. all she can do is stare wide-eyed at him as he dispels the girls clamoring for a selfie, snapping back to the present when he waves one large hand in front of her face. 

“sorry -- what?”

“i said, what’s your name? it only seems fair, now that you know mine, and all.”

“cadence,” she answers numbly, “i’m -- um, i’m used to your hair being longer.”

“cadence,” raleigh repeats, smiling at her, “so you do know who i am.”

“what do the magazines call you again? r&b’s time bomb? puerto rico’s hottest export? you’re kind of notorious.” she blinks at him, then admits, “i’ve heard your songs.”

“seen the tabloid covers too, eh?” the expression on his face suggests he’s almost proud of them.

this is surreal.

“didn’t you crash a yacht or something?” she asks, brain whirring into overdrive as she tries to process what’s happening. he doesn’t seem to have realized it yet, which gives her a moment to gather her thoughts, something that feels impossible when she can’t push the way he’d scoffed very funny out of her mind. 

“or something. insurance paid out a couple million in property damage, but...” raleigh trails off, brow suddenly furrowing. he stares at her silently for a beat too long, then slowly turns a dull red. “hey, what’d you say earlier, again?”

cadence wets her dry lips, trying not to panic. stay calm, she silently coaches herself. raleigh carrera is not your long-awaited soulmate and you are not doing this in line to audition for one in a million. “i said -- what’s your name? and then you said...”

oh god, this is happening. her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fidgets with the neckline of her top, tugging it to the side so raleigh can see the two words on her collarbone. 

“very funny,” he mutters, “oh, jesus fucking christ. you can’t be serious.”

“me?” she demands, “you’re the one who --”

“next up,” calls a voice suddenly, cutting sharply through their argument, “contestant #9,276.”

her blood runs cold as she realizes that’s the number she’s wearing pinned to her shirt. she can feel herself start to sweat; how the fuck is she supposed to perform like this? she wants to throw up. why did this have to happen to her now? this was her shot -- her one fucking chance --

“hey, easy.” there’s suddenly two strong hands on either side of her shoulders, and she startles as raleigh stares at her from up close, closer than he was just a moment ago. “relax, okay? you’re gonna be fine. you’ve got this.”

“but --” she starts, then realizes her mind is racing too quickly to even articulate what she wants to say. she settles for shaking her head, eyes wide and panicked. “i can’t just -- oh my god, i’m going to throw up.”

“here,” raleigh directs, “take my guitar. prince gave it to me as a birthday present.”

prince?! she mouths hysterically to herself, as he flips the latch on his case open and pulls out the instrument. “how is this supposed to help me?”

“just trust me,” he says, giving her a gentle nudge towards the auditorium, “now go.”

she does, stumbling forward with the most expensive piece of equipment she’s ever held in her hands in her life alongside her, drawing in a deep breath as she makes her way onto the stage.

she can do this.

everything else will have to come after.

vii.

the thing is -- she’s talented. exceptionally so. 

he can tell she’s a little nervous, but maybe that’s just because he’s used to looking out for that sort of thing; he could probably recognize it more easily than the average person would. it probably has nothing to do with who they are, how he notices the nuances in her body language...

her belt is impressive. her voice is stunning, clear and uniquely melodic. his guitar looks spectacular in her hands, and cadence plays it like she’s been practicing on it her entire life. 

he tries his best to look nonchalant, feet kicked up onto the seat in front of him, but when she locks eyes with him from the stage he knows he hasn’t succeeded. raleigh’s breath catches, and he stares back at her, transfixed by the way her dainty hands cradle the neck of the guitar and strum the strings, how her lips purse around the long, emotional high note at the end of the song’s chorus.

she’s really very pretty. 

he’d probably be lying to himself if he said it doesn’t make him a little bit jealous and uncomfortable, watching how she and avery fawn over each other when she’s finished. he’s probably a much better suited match for her, clean cut and pristine as he is. 

he wonders if she’s disappointed that it’s him -- that it’s now, when she’s clearly on the cusp of something great all on her own.

it’s a lot to think about, and so he dips out of the auditorium before she finishes up, rushing outside with his heart pounding. it’s not until he’s halfway through the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket that raleigh starts to relax even an iota, and of course that’s when the stage door he’d left propped swings open wide and cadence’s sneakers hit the asphalt beside his boots.

“uh, you can’t just leave me with this thing,” she says, apropos of nothing, and as he stares at her he realizes she’s talking about his guitar, which she’s holding in one hand like it’s a dead fish. “this costs more than everything in my apartment combined, i’m sure.”

he shakes his head at her, laughing as his fingers flick ash from the cigarette he’s holding. “no way -- you should keep it. you two looked perfect together.”

she hesitates, looking down at the instrument again. he can see in her eyes that she’s torn; it’s obvious she knows the right thing to do is to refuse a generous gift from a stranger, but she wants to keep it, and already his mind is racing as he considers what else he could give her that would excite her like that -- a private flight, a tour of his penthouse, a million dollars. 

“are you sure?” cadence asks, without looking at him, and the hesitancy in her voice makes him realize how unsure she really is. she’s the one who’s wondering if he’s disappointed in her.

he licks his suddenly dry lips and drops what’s left of his cigarette to the ground, finding he doesn’t actually need the rest of it, anymore. “positive.”

viii.

they don’t actually get to spend a lot of time together, while she’s filming. she has to focus and it seems like she’s always busy, somehow -- not that she sees raleigh very often in the first place.

the days are spent rehearsing with avery and cramming in as much mentoring as possible, and when she can pull herself away from fiona’s lessons on image to get home at a reasonable hour she collapses into bed pretty much immediately, out like a light from the whirlwind of the day and hardly even aware enough to dream.

but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about him. she does, especially on the rare occasions she manages to catch a glimpse of raleigh walking around in the studio, or on one memorable evening she stays late in the auditorium to bang on the piano keys of the beautiful, enviable baby grand on set and startles to find him leaning in the doorway, watching her play.

it’s all a blur and wildly difficult to process; just when she thinks she has a grip on things she remembers the private moments she’s had with raleigh and her emotions tumble to pieces again as she lets the weight of the implications of what’s going on between them crush her completely.

one moment sticks out on her as being particularly worrisome, insofar as how it bodes for the rest of her life. 

it feels like something significant from the moment raleigh offers to help her warm up; they’ve hardly had a moment alone together in days and she still has absolutely no idea how she’s supposed to talk to him or what she should say, but for some reason the conversation flows easily and she hardly has to think about the (no doubt incredibly stupid-sounding) words coming out of her mouth.

“you’re going to kill it,” raleigh says finally, once they’ve worked through all the exercises in his arsenal, “you really don’t need my help.”

never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine someone like him would say something like that to her. “you think?”

“i know it,” he answers confidently, shrugging his shoulders like it’s that simple. “and you should, too.”

there’s a moment of silence where they just stand there staring at each other, ignoring the restless murmuring of the crowd outside that’s waiting for him to slip into his seat at the judge’s table. she’s effortlessly lost in raleigh’s eyes, so fixated on the intensity of his gaze that she doesn’t realize he’s leaning in closer until it’s too late.

“insurance policy,” he mutters, before he kisses her, hands cupping her face gently. 

for a split second, she stands frozen, shocked totally still. then, her brain reboots enough to propel her into motion, and cadence gets with the program enough to wind her arms around raleigh’s waist and pull him closer and kiss him back, until her heart’s lurched up into the throat she’d just been warming up, pounding relentlessly.

they make out until the roar of the crowd is deafening -- until it’s impossible not to acknowledge it any longer. 

of course raleigh’s a life-ruiningly good kisser. why wouldn’t he be? why should any of this be easy?

it’s only a few simple touches, but raleigh’s mouth leaves her dizzy and lightheaded when she’s supposed to be concentrating on performing, and, independently of the way she’s blinking at him in stupid shock, cadence already knows she’ll never be able to kiss anyone else ever again without thinking about him.

“i have to get out there,” she gasps between desperate presses of their lips against each other, grasping ineffectively at his clothes while his fingers tug her hair out of shape.

“be late,” he suggests, “it always works for me.” 

but she’s not him. she’s not like him -- they have nothing in common. they come from different worlds; they’re two completely opposite people.

and yet every minute with raleigh is like coming up for air after being underwater for years, like the knots of guilt and shame and awkward embarrassment she’s carried around for her entire life without understanding why she has them are slowly starting to undo themselves, unlaced by his careful fingers.

they make it out there. eventually.

before she knows it, confetti’s raining down from the ceiling and falling all over her, and she locks eyes with raleigh from across the room to find his lips pulled into a genuinely affectionate grin -- lips that she’d just kissed for the first time a fucking hour ago and, seriously, what is her life now -- his eyes bright and excited. 

things just keep getting weirder and weirder, but the way they’re beaming at each other like idiots in a room full of thousands, broadcast on national television, too, makes her think things might be pretty great, too.

ix.

it sort of takes them a long time to getting around to talking about it -- the soulmate thing.

it’s not that he doesn’t try. he does, but she’s got a lot going on, these days: a big move and a new record deal and days filled with songwriting and nights out being seen. he’s still on his image cleanup tour, while she’s at it, so his fake smile stays fixed on his face throughout another boring week of restaurant openings and charity events and talkshow appearances before he finally gets the chance to spend some time with her again.

they text here and there, but nothing pans out until the stars align and they manage to slip out of the back door of a nightclub unnoticed together after a night of dancing too close for the comfort of her publicist while avery and the others cause a commotion at the front entrance to distract the press.

she goes back to his penthouse with him. he can’t remember the last time he brought a girl back to his apartment just to talk, and especially not one who spent the better part of the evening in a sparkly minidress grinding against him. 

but here they are.

“so -- how’s the city treating you?” raleigh asks, pouring them both a drink he doesn’t want from the bar cart in the corner of the room for something to do with his hands.

cadence shrugs from where she’s perched on the edge of his sofa, tugging at the hem of her dress. “good, i guess. it’s honestly all kind of overwhelming.”

“yeah,” he nods, passing her one of the glasses in his hands and taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her, close enough to see her face in perfect clarity but still maintaining a distance that he hopes is respectful. “i know what you mean. when i first came here after joining sunset skatepark everything felt so... huge.”

“totally,” cadence answers quickly, nodding in a way that’s almost aggressive. “i mean, there’s so much pressure to deliver an album right away, but i want it to be perfect, and the studio is so different from, like, writing songs in my room at home, and i... i guess i feel kind of homesick, but -- not for my hometown. i hated that place.” there’s hesitancy in her gaze when she asks, “do you know what i mean?”

“yeah,” raleigh says again stupidly, because the truth is -- he knows exactly what she means. cadence has just articulated something he could never quite put into words better than he’d even thought the sentiments to himself. “it’s like... nostalgia for something you don’t even want.”

“exactly,” she breathes emphatically, and then they’re kissing again, and she’s in his lap on the ottoman and he definitely brought her here to talk, for sure, but is it really so terrible if they get a little sidetracked on the way to their destination?

well -- they wind up making out for hours. so, there’s that.

it’s not part of the plan but it’s a hell of a side quest, memorizing the shape and feel of her with his hands while her lips pull every last bit of breath from his lungs, until he’s lightheaded and dizzy in a way no other girl has ever made him, before. it’s to the point where when he finally finds it within himself to push her away, he’s uncharacteristically nervous -- something that’s never happened to him before, not even on the night he lost his virginity.

“i really did ask you over to talk,” he says, voice hoarse.

cadence licks her lips and then beams at him, eyes sparkling. “i know.” she shuffles delicately back onto the couch, lingering in his lap for only a moment before pulling away entirely. he stuffs his hands under his thighs to stop himself from reaching out for her again. “sorry i haven’t been around more.”

“you don’t have to apologize.” raleigh shakes his head. “i should be apologizing to you, i feel like... i should be the one who’s around, to help you with all of this. or at least -- i want to be. i don’t know if i’ll be any good at it.” 

he blinks, surprised by his own honesty. he hadn’t meant to say all of that, but the words came up before he was cognizant of them and now they’re out there, and there’s no taking them back -- especially with the way she’s looking at him, all soft and sweet and happy.

“well, you don’t have to be good at it,” cadence murmurs, reaching out for his wrists and tugging his hands free so she can interlock their fingers effortlessly. they fit together like puzzle pieces. “you just have to be you.”

x.

her budding relationship with one of the biggest names in r&b doesn’t have much time to bud at all before it’s rudely plucked from the plant and stepped on.

she finds herself blinking at fiona in confusion as the words take some time to process. “you want me to do what?”

xi.

raleigh balks at his manager, shaking his head emphatically. “no,” he spits out, “absolutely not.”

xii.

“cadence, it’s not a big deal,” fiona tells her, very nearly rolling her eyes. “everyone does it. you go on a few dates, play up the relationship for some photos, social media eats it up -- boom, you’re a star.”

“i don’t know,” she answers hesitantly, mind drifting back to the photographers that have already been following her around, screaming about avery when she ducks into the car with him. things with raleigh are... new, and complicated, and do they really need to add public scrutiny into the mix as well? “i just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“it’s a great idea,” fiona sighs, shaking her head. “all our focus groups agree. the label thinks it’s best, what with your single taking so long to put out.” she opens her mouth to protest -- it’s not like she’s dragging her feet on purpose -- but barely has a second to get a word out before fiona continues, “besides, raleigh does this all the time.”

her teeth bite at her bottom lip uncertainly. “he does?”

“of course. chantal clearwater? she was a pictagram model when they met, and now she’s opening shows at paris fashion week. it’s just business.”

it’s not, though. it could never be just anything, for reasons no one else knows about except the two of them, for reasons she’ll never tell. “well... what did raleigh say about it?”

xiii.

“i said no, frank.” he’s annoyed, now, and his manager knows it, raleigh’s arms folded across his chest and his eyes set into a glare. “n. o. no.”

“and i hear you, but is it really the end of the world? she’s exactly what we’re going for, and i know you already get along --”

“which is exactly why i don’t want to do this. so pick someone else. anyone else.” he’s not going to let his label turn her into one of the girls he has to be seen with for fake photos and mutually beneficial positive press. 

for so many years, he’s watched people fake feelings and use each other -- willingly participated in the using himself, too, more times than he can count. he never cared about any of it before.

but being with cadence doesn’t feel fake, and he doesn’t ever want it to. and he knows that if he agrees to this, everything he enjoys about spending time with her will disappear in favor of the ugly, plastic decay that’s eaten away at so many of his personal and professional relationships before. organic, genuine time with her will become strolls near celebrity hotspots, angling just right to help the cameras get the perfect shot. he’ll show up to support her at shows because her publicist called him, and their time together will become some manufactured narrative meant to push their labels’ agenda, until six months down the line they don’t even recognize themselves or what might’ve been if they’d done things a different way.

“look, there isn’t anyone else. her team’s already agreed to it, and i’ve got brunch set up for sunday. all you have to do is play nice for two fucking months, raleigh. is that so impossible for you?”

yes. already he feels a deep-seated desire to go somewhere and break something, to tear through the flower beds in central park with his motorcycle and wink at the cameras when they catch up to him.

instead, he storms out of the office he’s in, and into the sunlight, tugging the hood on his jacket up and melting into the crowd on the corner so he can be as anonymous as possible when he picks up his phone and calls cadence.

“hey raleigh,” she chirps as soon as she picks up, sounding far too cheerful for someone who’s likely had an equally as miserable early morning meeting on a friday. “guessing you heard the news?”

“can’t i just call you to say hi?” he grumbles, ducking his head as he strolls through the intersection with the mob of people crowded along fifth ave, turning down the next side street so he’s alone again, with no one following, just like that. 

“well, you can,” she teases, and some of the anger he’s carrying around with him fades, dissipating into nothing and evaporating like smoke. “but you’re not.”

“no, i’m not,” he agrees with a sigh, shaking his head. “you sound surprisingly cool with it, though.”

“should i not be?” cadence laughs, but he can detect a thread of nervousness in her tone. “i already want to hang out with you. we have the same friends and work in the same industry. we’re... probably going to go on dates anyway, so... how hard can this be?”

god. she has absolutely no idea. part of him thinks it’d be cruel to burst her bubble, but he should warn her, shouldn’t he? 

she sounds so optimistic about it, though. it’s hard to feel anything but hopeful when her voice turns up like that at the end. in the back of his mind, there’s a voice that’s not his suggesting maybe this time, things will be different. 

surely he knows better than to think something as ridiculous as that, though, right? 

“well, i guess it’ll be interesting, at least,” he muses, slowing his steps by the entrance to the subway. 

he’s going to lose his signal just as soon as he heads underground, and he’s not quite ready for that, yet.

xiv.

time with raleigh flies by. 

it doesn’t feel like they’re fake-dating -- they do everything she hopes he’d want to do with her anyway, like go out to eat at fancy restaurants and take walks through the park and bounce melodies for songs off of each other, facetiming late at night from their apartments or on the days he visits her and micah in the studio. 

he’s by her side for the release of her first single, and her first music video, and through it all, raleigh plays the role of the doting partner perfectly, holding her purse on the red carpet and feeding her paella at a strategically-placed outdoor table and fetching her coffee order when she’s too busy to stop writing for even just five minutes.

in the blink of an eye, it’s time to put out her album -- just like that. 

raleigh’s perfectly charming through that process, too. he shows up on time, says all the right things, and keeps a drink in her hand all evening long, so that when she’s finally done making the rounds and can enjoy herself after the entertainment and the networking and the schmoozing she’s giggly and touchy, doing her best to steal him away from the crowd.

“what were your other relationships like?” she asks, half expecting him to brush her off, though he’s always indulged her before. they’ve never really gotten this personal. “fake or... otherwise.”

“they’ve all been fake,” he shrugs, “and i can say with confidence that you’re the best one i’ve ever had.”

“really?” cadence smiles, chin propped up on her hand as she leans over the bar. “be honest. what did you really think, when you realized it was me?”

“what?” he asks, pushing the empty rocks glass in his hands around on the bar top, “you mean this thing?” he gestures at his arm, covered in expensive, custom tom ford, and the tattoo laying innocently beneath it.

“uh huh,” she confirms, “‘cause i was totally like oh shit.”

raleigh laughs, loud and wild, the sound swallowed up by the noise of the party around them. no one nearby is paying them even an ounce of attention, and it’s fun, to be anonymous at her own party, invisible to everyone in the room except for him. “i can imagine. i wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

cadence shakes her head -- that’s not what she’d meant. but before she can protest, he rolls his glass between his palms and thoughtfully continues, “i guess i was a little surprised. it felt like i’d been waiting forever to meet you, so part of me was like, fuck, we’re doing this now? and i never thought it’d be someone so...”

“boring?” she suggests, eyebrows arching when raleigh’s expression immediately twists into one of disagreement, his nose scrunching up with distaste.

“no,” he huffs, “so... good, i guess.” she stares at him as he reaches for one of the waiting tequila shots on the bar, pulling it away from the line he’d set up for the crowd he’d been with before she’d tugged him to the side to talk, leaving the drinks untouched. raleigh knocks the shot back -- no salt, no lime. he’s had twice as many drinks as she has, and she’s definitely feeling them -- she has no idea how he’s even still upright, no worse for wear other than a few slurred words here and there. “but you just are. it’s like every song i’ve ever written was about you, and i just didn’t know it yet.”

the noise of the party fades in favor of the pounding of her heart, loud like a kick drum in her ears. she bites her lip and stares at him, watching as raleigh shakes his head at himself, dazed. “you okay?” she asks quietly, leaning in a little across the bar. 

raleigh’s quiet for so long she has to wonder whether or not he actually heard her. just as she clears her throat and opens her mouth to repeat herself even louder, he nods, reaching across the bar and squeezing her hand before dragging her back over to the line of tequila shots waiting for them to enjoy.

the night is a blur after that, and there’s patches of the evening that are fuzzy in her memory the next morning, but she knows she’ll never forget the gentle kiss goodnight raleigh gives her when he helps her stumble into the car back to her apartment at dawn.

xv. 

things go really well, until they don’t. 

they have a blissful six months together with more fun than he’s ever had with anyone. slowly, he learns every single thing about cadence and returns her openness with honesty of his own -- honesty that feels strange and unfamiliar but weirdly thrilling, in a way, made easier every time one of his stories pulls a laugh or smile from her. 

it seems unnatural, having a honeymoon period that goes on for so long. in the entire time they’re dating, he doesn’t destroy a single thing -- doesn’t even want to, which is the weirdest part of it all. 

there are some moments that catch him completely off guard. more than a few times, he hardly even recognizes himself, she turns him into such a different person. 

he doesn’t hate it, though -- just the opposite, in fact. raleigh realizes he’s really starting to like the carefree, far from jaded person he is when he’s with her, though it only hits him for real when he’s watching her storm away from him on liberty island, eyes fixed on the angry sway of her hips.

he stews on it on the long ride back to his penthouse; the game had, admittedly, been starting to wear on him. but he’d gone along with it because it was supposed to benefit her -- he’d agreed to the stupid public breakup and following the rules and not seeing cadence in public for the foreseeable future because it was what she wanted, and -- frankly, it felt like a stupid fucking decision.

not that it lasts long. he starts texting her just as soon as he’s done washing electralite out of his hair and doesn’t make it more than twenty minutes when they first see each other again at the moda gala before he’s sneaking off with her, ducking under the velvet rope that demarcates the planetarium as ‘off limits’ with her hand tucked neatly in his.

“maybe this is better,” cadence muses between sips of her drink, her eyes on one of the stupid glass exhibits he couldn’t possibly care less about. “now we can just be together -- no pressure. our relationship is ours again.”

their relationship. is that what this is? they’ve spent a lot of time talking about who they are and what they like and don’t like, kissing and touching and holding hands. throughout it all, he’s done his best not to buy into the ‘soulmate’ bullshit too heavily, but over the last few months it’s been hard to deny that there’s a reason he was meant to meet her, that she’s been changing him from the inside out.

“what’s on your mind?” she asks, turning towards him with an open look of genuine curiosity on her face, like she really wants to know. 

“it’s nothing,” raleigh answers at first, reflexively, like he has so many times before. no one has ever really wanted to know. but cadence’s eyebrows arch, and she waits, patiently silent, and then the words tumble out of him. “it’s just that -- my whole life, i’ve watched other people use each other. so many people are just interested in the concept of celebrity status. so i played the game. never trusting anyone.” 

he shrugs. a hand lifts to rub his jaw, and he looks back to meet her gaze just in time to see the little smile playing at her lips, like she already knows what he’s about to say. “but it’s different, with you. you make me not want to be that person anymore. when i’m with you, it’s the only time i feel anything real.”

“raleigh,” she murmurs, her expression flickering before her face does something that cracks his chest wide open. her eyes go all shiny and sparkly and her cheeks crease with a grin, and the way she laughs is so ridiculously joyful the hand he has stuffed in his pocket curls into a fist to stop him from doing something stupid. “i feel the same way. i just... this whole thing, i know it doesn’t always -- work out, but... with you i really want it to. i’ve never felt this way before about anyone, and i think...” 

there’s a pause as her lips purse thoughtfully, and then she says the words that make it impossible for him to do anything but close the distance between them and kiss her over and over again: “i think even without this tattoo it’d be you, anytime, anywhere.”

xvi.

being raleigh carrera’s (real, confirmed, 100%-authentic) girlfriend feels almost too good to be true.

raleigh is... everything she never knew she wanted in a boyfriend, wrapped up into one tall, dark and handsome package, with a loud, goofy laugh and a deep, sexy voice that sends a shiver down her spine whenever his mouth so much as lingers near her ear for too long. 

it turns out that, despite their differing status in the industry and her initial assumptions that they came from two completely different worlds, they’re actually on the same page about pretty much everything. she finds that the pressure of the word she’d held in such high regard for so long -- soulmate -- disappears entirely where he’s concerned because being with raleigh is just fun. 

there’s motorcycle rides and boat trips and hours up late talking about everything and nothing; facetime calls with his mom and shopping trips where the stores are kept open late for them so they can shop alone, in an empty boutique, like every teen movie she’d ever watched growing up.

there’s late nights in the studio and either of their apartments where they both noodle around on their guitars and improvise half-hearted duets, content to just work in the same orbit as each other for as long as possible.

raleigh’s texting one night on the couch in her living room when she plucks out the melody to who i’ll be on her old acoustic, sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

he looks up before the first verse is over. “what’s that one? it sounds good.”

“oh -- just a song i wrote in college,” cadence hums, already downplaying it as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “i got stuck, never finished it. ellis made me sell the progress for some other writer to finish.”

he frowns, pushing up onto his elbow. his phone is tossed carelessly somewhere among the couch cushions. “why?”

“because i was taking too long with the odyssey,” she sighs. “it was kind of my only option. it’s weird, though -- thinking about someone singing something that was so personal to me.”

“play me what you had so far,” he says, and so she does, hesitating for only a second before strumming the chords, singing the lines she had slowly. 

when she’s done, she looks up to find that raleigh’s slid to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees as he leans in as close as he can get with the coffee table in his way. “okay -- that was beautiful. you should finish it.”

she shakes her head, setting her guitar down. “i can’t. they already sold it. and even if i wanted to... i don’t know how it ends.”

raleigh’s legs spread in invitation and she stands to walk around to the couch, slipping into his lap and leaning back against his chest. his hands are tender as he rubs them across her shoulders, sliding up her back before one lifts to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear, his pointer finger pushing her glasses up her nose affectionately. “maybe one day you can write something else with the same theme,” he suggests, and she tries her best to smile even though it feels like a dream lost, somehow -- a ridiculous thought, given that she pretty much has everything she ever wanted, but the way she feels all the same.

“maybe,” she sighs, the kiss he drops to her forehead a bandaid on a wound that’s been doing its best to heal for what feels like her entire life.

xvii.

he’s never brought a date to the vinyls before. 

there’s been plenty of after parties he’s stumbled out of with a girl on his arm, sure, but cadence is the first person to sit by his side during the ceremony, and he’s surprised by how much he likes having her next to him.

then again, he’s self aware enough to realize he’d like being pretty much anywhere, with her.

still -- the awards are a lot less boring with her around to kiss and stroke his hair and make snide commentary about the rest of the attendees with, and when she squeezes his hand goodbye to rush backstage and get ready for her performance he misses her instantly.

what happens next makes him endlessly regretful of the fact that he’s not backstage with her.

he rushes around just as soon as he can, pushing his way through security and frantically scrambling technical assistants to find her exactly where he thought he might, between ellis knight and fiona, looking lost with her head in her hands.

she seems equal parts broken and pissed in a way that tugs at his heartstrings and makes him a little bit proud. raleigh shoves through the crowd to get to her and slips an arm around her waist. he’s only caught the tail end of the conversation they’re all having, but he knows enough to know that “you can’t bench her. that’s bull.”

ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter how much they stomp their feet. she’s under contract, their hands are tied, and he walks away seething at the unfairness of it all, this shitty industry that’s turned on her when all she ever wanted to do was make music.

she cries in the car back to her apartment to pack her things. there’s no way he’s letting her go home to iowa or idaho or indiana without him, and he barks at his team over the phone until they agree to move his appearances around so he can make that happen, his free hand clasped tightly in hers until he physically has to let her go so she can unlock her front door with trembling fingers.

cadence tosses clothes haphazardly onto the bed and he silently and precisely moves to folds each piece for her, until she gives up and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, defeated. 

wide eyes filled with tears lock onto his, and he watches her bottom lip wobble before she says, “you really don’t have to do this. come with me, i mean. i know i messed up, and -- you have so much else going on. i don’t expect you to --”

“i’m coming,” he states firmly, setting the sweatpants in his hand down and stepping closer to her, sitting beside cadence on her bed. “what happened tonight was fucked up, cadence -- it shouldn’t have happened at all. i’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

“but --”

“but nothing,” he says, and before the words have even left his mouth she’s falling into his arms with a soft sound of gratitude, mashing her face into his chest as she sniffles.

“thank you,” cadence mumbles, sounding so unsure of herself it makes him wonder if she’s ever had anyone show up for her when it mattered most before, or if that’s yet another thing they unfortunately have in common. 

xviii.

raleigh tries his best to cheer her up, but it’s still hard, feeling like she’s let the entire world down. her fans. herself.

there’s something embarrassing about showing raleigh her apartment back home and the person she was before she met him -- all the places she felt most uncertain and where she experienced some her worst self-doubt, the room that still has the smoothie star apron hung up in the closet.

but there’s also something exciting, about being totally off the grid with him. no one knows they’re here and there’s no paparazzi waiting to snap photos of them -- especially given the fact that they don’t leave her building for the first three days she spends moping around while raleigh orders all the takeout he can get his hands on.

it sort of reminds her of when they first met, and there was nothing to do but learn about each other, though now there’s a familiarity to him she relies on, a unique raleigh-ness that feels more like home than this shitty apartment ever did.

still, she struggles, and the weight of the world doesn’t let up until zadie shows up with her fanmail and avery does his best to make her smile with a beach trip and some fancy new toys and a day in the sun with a drink in her hand.

eventually it’s just her and raleigh again, out by the fire after everyone else has gone to bed. her stomach is full of s’mores and her cheeks hurt from smiling for the first time in weeks, and it’s a shock when she realizes she feels content, even after everything that’s happened -- almost as though things will all work out for the better no matter what happens next.

“oh my god,” she gasps suddenly, cutting off what raleigh had been saying as her eyes light up and she hastens to stand. “i’ve gotta -- i need to -- oh my god.”

just like that, she knows how her song ends.

recording it is a process, but raleigh calls in some favors and gets them studio time and agrees to be featured on the song even though she knows he’s still working through a sound change that he feels unsure about.

but it means a lot to her, having him crammed in the booth at her side, singing into the same mic. they sound almost unbelievably good together, too, raleigh’s harmonies on the words that finally resolve that lost feeling she’s been harboring her entire life making something deep within her wriggle up happily, wagging its proverbial tail.

the fact that raleigh remains by her side throughout the entire fight with her label, the long nights of despair agonizing over what her next move is going to be and even the moment where they decide to break into indio, of all places, means more to her than she can ever say. she feels markedly less nervous about the entire thing every time she turns her head to the side and sees him, right there next to her -- right where he’s been this entire time -- smiling encouragingly and squeezing her hand hard in his.

though it’s not until they’re up at the top of the ferris wheel that she realizes how precious what she has really is. it’s not until he looks her dead in the eye and says, with that same soft earnestness he’s awarded her since they first met at the one in a million auditions that feel quite literally like a hundred years ago, “cadence, everything you want is on the other side of fear. and i want you to have everything you want,” that she truly understands that’s what between them is special and rare.

not because of any tattoos, or any preconceived destiny. not because of who they are and their status and the fact that people take pictures of them when they’re out in public together.

but because of this -- all these real moments of genuine connection they’ve been fortunate enough to share since fate threw them into each other’s paths.

“raleigh, i love you.” the words are said easily, not a moment’s hesitation behind them. 

just before she crosses over in the cart to kiss him until they’re both breathless, raleigh gifts her the brightest smile he has and says, “i love you, too.”

xix.

the night is a blur from the moment he first takes the stage with his old bandmates to when he finally finds himself alone with cadence in a rundown old motel a few miles out from the festival in the desert.

he can’t recall ever being so happy, so of course he doesn’t remember every agonizing detail of the evening, though he does know he doesn’t feel the need to have a single beer with cadence around, twirling barefoot in the grass and giggling when she leads him up to the room they’ve borrowed.

afterwards, when they’re sitting on the roof together in the blanket they dragged off the bed, he reflects on the wild year they’ve had with her in his arms, fingertips tracing the delicate very funny scrawled across cadence’s collarbone.

he feels... free. completely liberated. like there’s absolutely nothing and no one that can get to him, now, like he’s untouchable, like he doesn’t care about a single thing that happens after today and how perfect things have been. 

“i think i’m actually freer than i’ve ever been,” he muses, where his lips are pressed into her hair, “i can take my sound in any direction i want.”

“i’m so happy for you, raleigh,” cadence returns genuinely, tilting her head back so he can see her upside-down smile. 

his arms tighten around her. “i’m so excited for what you’re gonna be doing, too. i’m excited for us.”

“yeah,” she sighs, “who knows what’s next, right? now that ellis let me out of my deal...”

he can hear the thread of worry undercutting the words. he shakes his head, hands rubbing up and down her arms. “you can worry about that tomorrow. for tonight, just enjoy the comeback. what you did out there was amazing.”

“what we did,” she corrects, and he blinks up the stars as he realizes she’s right -- they’re a we now. he’s part of a we again, after being on his own for so long.

the phrases bounce around in his head, unfamiliar and foreign. me and my girlfriend, he thinks to himself, cadence and i. we’re going to be late. we’ll be away that weekend. we just started watching that show. we, we, we. 

“what we did was amazing,” raleigh amends, the words slow to come out but feeling right all the same. “whatever we do next will be amazing.”

“absolutely,” cadence confirms, with conviction, like it’s something she believes wholeheartedly.

and though he has no idea what to expect or what it might be, a large part of him is inclined to agree with her -- she’s been right about everything else so far.

xx.

one year later, she’s finishing a set in berlin, the last stop on a sprawling european tour that had taken she, avery, micah and raleigh across the continent for dozens of performances to sold-out crowds of thousands screaming her lyrics back to her. 

if her contract with overknight had been a dream come true, signing to wilshere records is heaven incarnate. cadence’s trip through the u.k. with her new label is proof enough, and the chance to meet new fans with new stories to share that she could connect with is one she’s taken to with enthusiasm, the experience made all the sweeter by the fact that her favorite people get to be by her side throughout it all.

berlin’s crowd is one of the best, and she fully expects to end the tour on a high note, head banging to the last few notes of ‘knockout’ before raleigh’s planned entrance for the last song of the night, so they can sing the duet that’s closed out every show they’ve had on the tour together. 

when he struts out with his guitar, waving and grinning at the crowd, she can’t stop herself from smiling stupidly at him, just like she does every time she sees him join her on stage, every time she realizes that this is their life, that this is something they do every night, now.

though her grin falters when raleigh pauses in front of his microphone and asks, “berlin, do you mind if i talk a little bit before i start the song? no? cool, because i’ve got an important question to ask.”

her eyes widen. cadence’s mouth drops open and doesn’t close throughout the entire speech raleigh gives her, even though thousands of people in the crowd are filming every moment of her gaping like an idiot, snapping close-ups of her shocked face.

the arena practically vibrates with screams when he drops to his knee, popping the box in his hand open so she can see the giant diamond ring nestled inside of it. 

“so?” raleigh asks, and cadence can just barely hear him in her in-ears with the way her heart is beating frantically up into her throat, as wild as the crowd’s raging around them and then some. “whaddya say, babe? will you marry me?”

as if the answer could ever be anything but yes. she nods, laughing as she launches herself into his arm for a kiss that’s too grand to be given on stage, though that’s hardly going to stop her -- not tonight, at least. tonight, she’s okay with the whole world watching their every move, just one more time.

“oh, i don’t know if it’s going to fit,” raleigh jokes as the ring slides easily onto her left hand, amping up the theatrics for the fans still watching them avidly, even up in the cheap seats.

cadence rolls her eyes playfully at him. “very funny,” she praises, and the grin he offers her in return is so loving -- so knowing, with the secret that only the two of them share and every weird piece of their history included in it -- that it takes everything she has to shove him away so they can perform instead of dragging him down to the floor to kiss him over and over again.

clumsily, she flubs a few notes of love who i’ll be on her guitar. from across the stage, between the bridge and the chorus, raleigh jeers, “someone hasn’t learned to play with the extra weight on their left hand, yet, i see,” and when she flips him off while belting out the last lines of the verse, his raucous laughter is all the harmony the final few bars of the song needs. 

#platinumweekend #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #cadence dorian #raleigh x mc #raleigh x cadence #myfic #long post #well. this sure took me a long time DFJGHDFJHGDFJKGH so i hope you guys like it !! it was kind of a new style for me 😳

[whitesparrows97]

A Thousand Springs – Part 23

Pairing: BTS x Reader/OT7 x Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, fluff, smut, fantasy

Summary: Life is short. Eternity is long. Why you in particular are approached by a super attractive man in a club, you did not understand. You understood even less why he wanted to kill you. Fortunately, seven young, also incredibly handsome men show up to help you with this little problem. Purely by coincidence, of course. Or do you really believe in fate?

Warnings: Explicit sexual content including fingering in public, risk of discovery, voyeurism, dirty talk, multiple partners, inappropriate dancing lol

Word Count: 5.2K

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(picture credit: photograph by Mok Jung Wook for TIME Magazine)

Every further meter you passed by car, your nervousness increased. Your hands were sweaty and you suppressed the need to wipe them on your expensive dress, so you just nervously clasped them together. A side glance at the other men showed you that they seemed to feel the other way around. Their excited conversations filled the car and, contrary to your thoughts, they didn’t say a word about the upcoming ball; and anything that might go wrong. You didn’t want to ruin your evening with negative thoughts – because who knew when you would get the next opportunity to go to such a big, boisterous event?

Still, the queasy feeling remained that something had to go wrong. 

However, it wasn’t just David you were thinking about and who had shown you each time that he would show up exactly when it was most inconvenient. No, part of your nervousness was also that you had to engage in small talk with countless strangers in a few minutes. Apart from Jung-hee and Chin Ho and a few other somewhat familiar faces you had met in the corridor during your few visits to the company, you knew no one. For a brief moment you were reminded of situations from a few years ago when you were at a party where you only knew the host. And to be honest, you were also a bit worried if some of the guests would give you strange looks if they saw you with seven men. This thought hurt, and you pushed it back where it could gather dust in peace. 

All further thoughts were interrupted by the view when you turned a corner with the car and headed straight for the building. Big spotlights shone on the huge building and immediately caught your attention. A long driveway led to the entrance of the building, which could be reached by a wide, long staircase. Hoseok slowed the car down and greeted a security guard standing at the secured gate to greet the guests. The interaction was brief, so a moment later you moved closer to the building. You looked out the window past Taehyung and your jaw almost dropped as you saw security standing every few feet, dressed in unobtrusive yet elegant black. It would be almost impossible to enter the compound without authorization.

Taehyung seemed to notice the change in your mood, and you saw from the corner of your eye how he gave you his typical boxy grin. Your hand found his, and he squeezed it once, as if to confirm that you had been worried for nothing. For a moment you lost yourself in the shadow plays that took place on his profile as his face was illuminated by the countless fairy lights and lamps that were installed in the trees that enclosed the driveway. 

Hoseok stopped right in front of the grand staircase, and he hadn’t even turned off the engine when already an employee was standing next to the driver’s side with a friendly smile on his face, ready to take the keys and park the car. Jungkook and Taehyung both helped you out of the car and you were more than happy with the two arms you could hold on to. It had been months since you had worn high heels, so you had to get used to the extra centimeters of height and the unsteady walk. The men from the other car also gathered around you and immediately you became a little calmer. For a brief suspicious moment, your eyes fell on Yoongi. But he looked at the building in front of you and let his gaze glide over the few people who also made their way to the entrance. Music came towards you as you started to climb the stairs, as well as laughter and countless voices that were talking loudly. Apparently the people here were already having a good time, even though the ball had just started. 

You felt someone looking at you and turned your head to the side, where your gaze directly met Namjoon’s. With a dimpled smile, he reached out his hand to you, which you accepted with thanks. The warmth he radiated and his large, pleasantly rough hands immediately filled you with a sense of comfort. You knew that you would survive this evening with the seven men at your side. And maybe, just maybe, you would even have some fun. 

As you entered the building through the wide entrance, the volume nearly doubled and immediately the uneasy feeling came back. What would the other guests think about you? Were some disappointed when they saw you because they had imagined someone better? With these thoughts, you subconsciously hid behind Namjoon’s broad stature. Confused, he looked down at you over his shoulder. He let go of your hand only to wrap his around your hips and press you firmly to his side. 

“Don’t go away, baby,” he said and pressed a kiss on your temple. As his full lips touched your skin, you pressed yourself a little further into his body. “You don’t have to hide. Not at all.”

You nodded as you continued to lean your head slightly against his shoulder, absorbing the surroundings around you. The building was relatively old; thick sandstone columns stood at the edge of the huge main room and supported the ceiling. Various lights hung from the meter-high ceilings, which illuminated the room in a pleasant, warm and soft light. On both sides there were different possibilities to sit and stand and you watched waiters and waitresses as they whizzed through the crowds of people offering trays of drinks and small appetizers. The center of the room was used as a dance floor and already countless people were dancing to the live music played by a DJ on a small elevated stage at the end of the dance floor. 

“Wow,” you whispered and Namjoon’s chest bounced slightly as he laughed softly. 

“You like it?”

You could only nod and let your gaze wander over the other guests, who were dressed just as fancy as you were, and were chatting animatedly in small groups. You had to look twice to be able to distinguish the security guards from the guests – only the inconspicuous and almost unnoticeable in-ear headphones, over which they were probably coordinating with the others, gave them away. Your gaze met that of the security guard, whom you had probably been watching for a second too long, and he nodded slightly at you. So slightly that when you looked away you wondered if he had really nodded at you. As you searched the room further, you discovered more and more of them. You didn’t count, but in every corner, on every side, as well as in the middle of the room… actually every few meters there was a security guard who did not let you out of their sight. Even from a distance, you could see how they moved their lips slightly and communicated with each other when they saw that you had arrived.

But your attention was suddenly captured by a small petite woman who appeared before you. A smile spread across your face as you recognized Jung-hee. 

“Ahh, Y/N!” She greeted you with a radiant smile. She spread out her arms and pulled you into her embrace, just like at your last encounter. Again you were surprised how much strength she had, especially at her age, when her arms were pressing strongly against your back. When she let go of you, she looked down at you once. “Well, if you’re not an eye-catcher,” she remarked with a wink before she greeted the men with a small bow. 

“Everything quiet so far?” Namjoon asked, who had detached himself from you. Jung-hee nodded before the two stepped out of your field of hearing. But immediately, a new arm had wrapped around your waist.

“Do you want something to drink?” Jin asked and barely waited for your answer when he had already taken two glasses from the tray of a waiter who had just passed you. He held out one of the glasses with the clear, presumably alcoholic, drink to you. That probably wasn’t such a bad idea – you would be lying if you said that you didn’t feel any looks on you. When you put the glass to your lips and the drink burned down your throat with a careful sip, you caught the occasional guest of the ball who quickly turned their gaze away from you as soon as your eyes met. 

Suddenly you felt a hand on your other side as well. Yoongi let his thumb move in circles on your hip without turning his gaze towards you “Everything okay?” he asked, and at his question, Jin turned his head towards you.

“The looks make me a little nervous,” you honestly admitted, and when you put the glass to your lips, you realized that your drink was already empty. 

“They only look at you because you look stunning,” Yoongi explained and took the empty glass from you.

“Still, they should hold back a bit with their glances,” said Jin, and you heard for the first time how his voice no longer sounded joyful and exuberant but almost chilly. “They should know that Y/N is here with us.”

The corners of your mouth twitched slightly upwards. “Is someone jealous?” you teased him and let your hand slide over his side. 

He looked down at you, a sparkle in his eyes, as he answered you without batting an eyelid: “I don’t need to be jealous. I know that you belong to us and we belong to you.”

“Or maybe just because you have a little too much self-confidence,” Yoongi returned dryly. “By the way, some people also call that arrogance. Maybe you should look it up in the dictionary.”

“Yoongi-ah,” Jin whined over your head towards the younger one. “Don’t undermine my authority.”

“What authority?” you gave back and Yoongi snickered next to you.

“That’s my girl,” he said and pressed you closer to his side. 

You watched as the other men had already spread out and made casual small talk with various small groups of people. You didn’t know how many employees knew about David – and the problems he was causing – but tonight nobody seemed to bother. Jin and Yoongi also left you after a while when you endured the first, somewhat awkward conversations. As nervous as you had been at first, you were relieved now. So far, everyone had welcomed you with a certain curiosity, almost nervousness, but never with resentment. That Yoongi had been standing next to you was probably more a tactic than a coincidence. But you were grateful for his emotional support. 

Jungkook was the only one who still stood next to you and let his gaze glide over the guests incessantly. You wondered if he was looking for someone or was securing the situation. Sometimes you wondered if the seven ever really came to rest or were always on call. 

“Hey,” you said softly and grabbed his hand to get his attention. Immediately his head rushed to you and he gave you a smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, a little too quickly and a little too enthusiastically. So you raised one eyebrow and he dropped his smile with a sigh. “I’m just not a fan of large gatherings,” he told you, and now you raised both eyebrows in surprise. 

“Why not? They’re all your employees, you don’t have to be nervous.”

He shrugged his shoulders and you felt his grip around your hand tighten a little. “Many people in one place make me nervous. I quickly loose track and I don’t like that.”

You bridged the last distance between you and threw him a hopefully encouraging smile. “I’m here with you, so there’s no need to be nervous.”

He returned your smile and this time you could see that it was real when you saw the little wrinkles around his eyes. He put his free hand on your hip and pulled you towards him. “Thank you,” he murmured into your hair and pressed a kiss on your head. His voice was almost drowned out by the music and the other guests. 

“Hey you two,” you suddenly heard a voice next to you and you and Jungkook flinched. You broke away from each other and you looked to the side, only to see Chin Ho, who looked at you apologetically. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” he apologized for his interruption. “I just wanted to check if Y/N was okay.”

“Oh,” Jungkook said quietly, and your gaze fell on his lower lip, which he bit as if holding back the rest of the sentence. Without paying any further attention to Chin Ho, he turned his gaze back to the crowd.

You looked at Jungkook a moment longer before smiling gratefully at Chin Ho. His eyes flitted nervously back and forth between the two of you and he seemed to realize that now was not the perfect time to ask you about your well-being. “I am fine, Chin Ho. Thanks for asking.”

He dismissed your thanks with a wave of his hand. “I think you’re forgetting that this is my job,” he laughed and as he shook his head, smiling, a few strands of dark hair came loose from his bun. When he looked up again, his eyes glowed. “But it’s good to see that you’re handling it so well. That was some pretty rough stuff that David pulled at the mall.”

Not a minute, hell, not even a second went by that you weren’t reminded of the man. As if he was lurking in the shadows, waiting for you to take a step too far away from the light, only to pull you towards him in the darkness. You tried not to hold it against Chin Ho. As he had rightly said, that was his job. Probably he too was constantly thinking of David and how he could guarantee your safety. But you just wanted a relaxed evening without thinking about David. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

“Well,” Chin Ho said after a brief uncomfortable silence when you didn’t answer, “I just wanted to ask how you were doing. But I am reassured. Then have a nice evening, maybe we’ll run into each other again,” he said goodbye with a short wave and went to the next group of people with whom he immediately had an animated conversation. You were a bit jealous that it was so easy for him to have conversations with other people. On the other hand, he worked with these people and probably saw them daily. Not like you, for whom all those people were strangers.

You heard Jungkook laughing next to you and when you turned your head towards him, you saw how he shook his head with a grin. 

“What?” you asked with a little smile on your lips.

“I guess it’s already time,” he just said and nodded his chin in one direction. You followed his gaze and almost had to laugh out loud as you saw none other than Hoseok, Jin and Taehyung on the dance floor, throwing their arms in the air. A circle had formed around them with people watching the three and laughing as well. Your highlight was definitely Jin, who apparently didn’t care a bit about what others thought of him as he circled his hips.

Still with a smile on your lips, your eyes fell on Hoseok and looked directly into his eyes. Even from a distance, you saw a diabolical grin spread on his lips before he said something to Taehyung. A moment later, he came up to you and Jungkook. You knew what he was going to do even before he started walking and you tried to pull Jungkook with you, as long as it was away from Hoseok. But Jungkook laughed and he seemed like a block of immobile cement – he didn’t move an inch.

“Sorry, Y/N, but there is no escape,” he said, clasping your hand tighter as you tried to get away from him. 

“I need alcohol to do this,” you mumbled as you realized that there would be no way out of the situation and kept a lookout for a waiter. You briefly raised your hand when you saw one a few meters away from you and he immediately rushed to you. “Thanks,” you said without really looking at him and reached for a full glass. 

“Oh dear,” Jungkook murmured next to you as the waiter had disappeared and you looked at him angrily.

“You have nothing to say here, Jeon Jungkook. You won’t let me go, you’re lucky I don’t drag you along.”

Jungkook smiled at you as you said that. “Who said I’m staying here?” Then he pulled you forward and walked towards Hoseok who was still striding towards you. Hoseok grabbed your free arm and pulled you onto the dance floor. His grip made it difficult to take a sip of the drink, but you almost sighed as you felt the soothing burning in your throat and the light haze spreading in your head. 

Jin and Taehyung cheered loudly when they saw you, and when your eyes fell on Taehyung, you were reminded of the night you two first met. There, too, you had preferred to wait at the bar instead of going dancing with Alison and giving David the opportunity to…

Okay – stop. 

You paused when you noticed in which direction your thoughts were going. You would have fun today no matter what happened. If something bad would happen in the next few hours, at least you would use the time now to let go of the stress and tension of the last weeks and months. And you would do all this right now, in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by hundreds of guests. 

You poured the measly remaining content of your drink down your throat and pressed the empty glass into Jungkook’s hand. He looked at you amused and Taehyung whispered something in his ear, which made the younger one smile. Before you could ask what was so funny, Hoseok took your hand and raised your intertwined fingers in the air. You had to laugh as you turned around yourself when he asked you to, and you heard him join in your laughter over the loud music.

He put both hands on your hips and with a short jerk pulled you tightly to his chest. You pressed your palms against his hard chest and when you looked up at him, your cheeks were burning. Whether it was the sudden proximity to Hoseok or the alcohol that had finally entered your bloodstream, you didn’t know. Hoseok guided you into a slow rhythm with his hands, rocking you gently from side to side. As you turned your head to the side, you saw how Jungkook and Jin were no longer standing next to you, but had disappeared into the crowd. As you turned to the other side to look at Taehyung, you suddenly felt another pair of hands on your hips.

“Are you looking for me?” Taehyung whispered and his hot breath on your ear made you shiver. You felt his soft lips curl into a knowing grin before he nibbled on your earlobe a second later. Surprised, you sucked in the air and buried your hands in Hoseoks hair. You didn’t notice his gasp, all your attention was on Taehyung’s teeth and lips. “Still as sensitive as I remembered. It’s been far too long since the last time.”

You dropped your head backwards on his shoulder, closed your eyes and nodded. How right he was. The intense kisses from Namjoon just before you left for the ball had left you hot and ready. Before you knew it, a soft moan had fallen over your lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” you heard Hoseok say, who seemed to be just inches away from you with his face. “We haven’t even started yet.” You heard the grin in his voice and when you opened your eyes again to glare at him, the next song began. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the crowd rush onto the dance floor and devour you three in anonymity. The slightly dimmed light and the many people around you made you both braver and more nervous. You blurred in the crowd, but at the same time there was a chance that more pairs of eyes were on you. 

The two men didn’t seem to mind, though. 

Hoseok’s grip around your hips tightened and he pulled you even closer against his chest, so that your faces almost met. The desire in your abdomen grew from second to second and you didn’t waste a second more pressing your lips against his. Taehyung murmured something incomprehensible behind you and pressed himself harder against your back. You gasped as you felt his erection on your ass and Hoseok took the opportunity to let his tongue slide into your open mouth which he explored extensively. 

Meanwhile, Taehyung embraced the middle of your body and locked you tightly between his and Hoseok’s bodies. You felt a leg pushing between your feet and interrupted the intense kiss with Hoseok to look between your two bodies. Hoseok reached under your chin with one finger and focused your attention on him again. 

“Wanna have some fun?” he asked and you were only able to understand him over the loud music because he was not even five inches away from you. His grin spoke volumes about what he meant by fun and excitement spread between your legs as your thoughts drifted to various scenarios.

You nodded and the two men immediately understood. Hoseok led you with his firm grip into a steady rhythm to the music and pushed you down slightly. Your core slid over his thigh in a slow, intense movement and you bit your lower lip painfully to suppress the moan. You were sure that at least those around you would have heard you moaning. You felt Taehyung’s fingers loosen from the middle of your body as he let one hand slide down your side instead. For a brief moment you paused in your movement as you felt his long fingers against your naked skin on your thigh, at the point where the slit in your dress began.

“Does it turn you on that people can watch us do this?” Taehyung whispered into your ear from behind you and let his fingers slide under your dress before he grabbed your thigh. His fingertips stroked the inside of your thigh and you felt like you were going to pass out at any moment, so quickly the blood shot into your abdomen. Your clit was almost throbbing, as were your inner walls, which contracted around nothing. Hoseok helped you get back into your rhythm and this time you couldn’t suppress the broken, soft moans when you felt Hoseok’s muscular leg against your core. You pulled him closer, wrapped your arms around his neck again and put your head on his shoulder. You had the feeling you needed that support, otherwise your legs would give way under you any moment, that’s how shaky you felt. Besides, this way the view of you would be somewhat obscured by Hoseok’s body.

“Good girl,” Hoseok whispered in your ear. You buried your face in his shoulder, which muffled your sounds as he moved your hips back and forth over and over again across his thigh. 

“Is that appropriate for a ball like this?” you asked, your voice already rough from arousal.

But Hoseok laughed. “What should they do? Fire us?” With this statement, Hoseok stopped moving even though his grip did not loosen. Instead, you felt Taehyung’s fingers, which had not moved any further before and had only gripped your thigh tightly. Now, however, he started to let his hand slowly move further up. The slit of the dress was high, almost a bit too obtrusive, so Taehyung didn’t need much before he arrived at your thong. The thong that uncomfortably stuck to you because you were so wet. 

“Shall we give Namjoon a little show?” Taehyung asked and confused, you turned your head to the side. Your blood almost froze in your veins as your gaze fell directly on the young man leaning relaxed against the bar counter. But even from a distance, you saw that this was just a masquerade. His fingers almost clawed into the glass, so tightly he had enclosed it. The look with which he looked back at you almost pierced through you, and you could see from here how he pressed his jaws tightly together. He almost looked angry.

“Is this a good idea?” you therefore asked. You didn’t want to upset Namjoon. What if he cared about your reputation? Most people here you met for the first time and you were not sure if it would be a good first impression if they saw you like this. And also all the people you knew… Jung-hee, Chin Ho – what if they saw you? Would they say anything? Or would they just look away quickly? Your stream of thoughts was interrupted by Hoseok, who stroked your side with his thumb. 

“Trust me, baby, Namjoon is enjoying the show. Even though he doesn’t look like it.”

“So he’s not mad because someone might be watching us?” you asked, and your voice sounded muffled as you buried your head in Hoseok’s shoulder again because you couldn’t stand Namjoon’s gaze any longer. 

It was Taehyung this time who laughed softly behind you and gave you a kiss on the back of the head. “Mad? He probably has to pull himself together not to come here and do it himself. He probably wants to show everyone that you are ours and show them things, do things with you, that they can never do with you.”

“Oh God,” you mumbled and wanted to squeeze your legs together to get some friction on your clit. But Hoseok’s leg was still between yours and Taehyung also clicked his tongue and pushed your legs further apart. 

“Suddenly you can’t wait anymore, can you?” Taehyung asked, bringing his fingers into direct contact with your clothed opening. You gripped Hoseok’s shoulders tighter while a soft whimpering came over your lips. “What was that, Jagi?”

His slender fingers pushed your thong to the side and glided over your labia as they spread your moisture. Your eyes fell on Namjoon. You wanted to know if he was watching you and if Hoseok and Taehyung were right. When you saw how his gaze was firmly focused on the middle of your body, eyes slightly narrowed, you knew that they might have even underestimated him. And this thought, this certainty, unleashed something in you that you had never experienced before. At least not with this intensity.

You waited until he lifted his gaze, before you smiled at him from a distance. It was a light, almost shy smile while you still had your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. Then you released one arm and let it fall down and Namjoon followed the movement with a blank face. Then you also reached through the slit under your dress and grabbed Taehyung’s wrist. He wanted to pull his hand back, misinterpreted your grip at first, but you pressed it tighter between your legs. Taehyung moaned softly as he pressed a finger closer to your opening. You were sure that Namjoon saw at least something. Two hands under your dress made the slit reveal even more than it already did, and the dancing people around you showed him a glimpse of you every now and then. 

“You’re enjoying this a little more than I thought, baby,” Hoseok noticed and let his fingertips slide across your back. You shivered, and at the same time Taehyung let his finger slip into you. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth opened in a choked moan, while all your concentration lay on Taehyung’s long finger that pushed deeper and deeper into you. As you felt his knuckles between your legs, he began to curl his finger inside you and pressed it against the slightly rough part of you. 

“Tae,” a surprised moan slipped away from you and Taehyung took this as an incentive to let his finger slip out of you again. You managed to open your eyes again to look at Namjoon. He had placed his glass behind him on the counter while his gaze was still firmly fixed on you. When he made sure that you were looking at him, he briefly palmed himself. The movement was short and quick, so probably no one but you had noticed it. Outsiders might think he only had to adjust himself. 

But you knew better. You saw the short grin that appeared on his lips before your eyes fell close again as Taehyung penetrated you with his finger again. 

“If we had known that this would turn you on so much when someone was watching you, Jimin would certainly not have sent us away last time,” Hoseok said.

“That’s good to know, isn’t it, Hyung?” Taehyung’s voice sounded strained as he moved his finger in you faster. His palm pressed gently on your clit and you felt Taehyung pushing your arousal out of you with every thrust of his fingers. Just the thought of your moisture dripping down his fingers caused your inner walls to contract. Immediately, you felt Taehyung’s fingers even more intensely rubbing you from within. 

“Please let me come, Tae,” you asked and pressed him harder into you with a strong grip around his wrist.

“I think Namjoon will get angry if he isn’t the one,” Hoseok remarked, and you were already complaining when you suddenly felt a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes sprang open and Namjoon stood in front of you. Taehyung’s finger inside you stopped moving and you let go of his wrist. Now that he was standing right in front of you, you could see his pupils dilated and the few drops of sweat that had formed on his forehead. 

“You’re absolutely right,” he said and his voice sounded even deeper than usual. Taehyung’s finger slipped out of you and you whimpered softly as you suddenly felt empty. Namjoon grabbed your hand which was just hanging lifelessly next to you and Hoseok and Taehyung took this as a signal to let you go. 

“Should we let Jin know?” Hoseok asked and Namjoon nodded. Immediately, another wave of nervousness and excitement came over you.

“Send him to the back in half an hour. Not earlier.” And with these words, he grabbed your hand and pulled you off the dance floor. 

Written 2019-2021. Do not copy, translate or repost without permission.

I’m really sorry to end this chapter at this point! But the chapter is already quite long (it would have been over 10k if I wouldn’t have split it here). But I promise to post the next chapter sooner as this one, so you won’t have to wait as long! 

As always, every comment, reblog or ask means a lot to me! I’m actually kind of sad seeing that every new chapter of this story decreases in notes. I mean, I get it – it’s a long story and everything, but still... it makes me questioning whether I should use the little time I have for writing for other projects. But on the other hand I’m pretty sure there are only around ten chapters more to come. Ah, I don’t know what to do. Anyway, I hope you’re having a great week and are staying healthy! See you soon! 💜

Tag list:

@oddly-drawn-muse @yoongiismytruelove @btsmysteriestolove @unicorntrooper @crazy-fangirl-10 @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @lyricstae @aretha170 @yoongisdumplingcheeks @bangtxnbxunch @brokencrownqueen @dont-hyuck @xanny91 @peaches-422 @kimmie113080 @madisonred88 @peachy-bhun @y-0-u-n-g-b-l-0-0-d @squeakermarie @lauren2408 @kalkeegan @unatempesta-dipensieri @dapppphhhhh @just-a-little-teapot13 @rosexbangtan @fawnzilla @pieislife @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven​ @kookiebbyxx 

#bts x reader #bts smut #bts x you #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts imagine #poly!bts x reader #bts fic

[supersonic-womanofyou]

My first attempt at an interview fic! Read this on Ao3, or under the cut. 

Spotlight on Eric Bittle

 Interview by Elizabeth Chu

Photographs by Jack Zimmermann

  The internet personality, author, and baker talks about his childhood, his relationship with Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann, being a LGBTQ role model, why he struggled with his overnight success, and his upcoming cookbook.

 I meet Eric Bittle in person for the first time on a Saturday afternoon, in a trendy coffee shop in downtown Providence. Even though I’ve heard of it in passing, I’ve never been inside. Eric obviously has, since when I approach the table where he’s chosen to sit, Eric is already chatting familiarly with one of the waitresses. 

 But after a couple minutes talking to Eric, I mentally revisit that assumption. Eric Bittle has a way of putting people at ease, of making even the most distant strangers feel like long-lost friends-- through his warm personality, but also through his seemingly-never ending supply of homemade baked goods. By the time I sit down across from him, I’m already in possession of a whole pie and two jars of jam. 

 Most of the celebrities I’ve met have on screen personalities that are vastly different in person, but the Eric Bittle I meet that Saturday could have been pulled directly out of his Netflix series or one of the episodes from his vastly popular vlog. He’s perennially bright and cheery, with a Southern drawl that’s been blunted by years in New England, but is still very present. When I mention it, Eric laughs. “I used to hate my accent, but I think it’s become as part of my brand as pies are. I’d probably lose all of my followers if I started talking like a Yankee,” he jokes.

 The source of Bittle’s accent is his hometown-- Madison, Georgia, a town of barely four thousand people. When I ask what drove him to move up north, he gestures to himself as a whole. “Not too many opportunities for a baking, skating, Beyonce-loving gay boy in Morgan County.” He turns more serious, though, when he continues: “I was bullied a lot as a child. When I think back to my childhood, to living in Georgia-- for people who looked or acted different, it could be suffocating. I remember feeling like my future was just so starkly outlined for me-- going to a state school, settling down with a nice girl, spending the rest of my life just pretending. It sounds like overdramatic teenage angst now, I know, but I always knew if I wanted to live honestly, I needed to get out.” 

 And so Eric applied-- and was accepted to--Samwell University in Massachusetts, which touts itself as one of the most LGBTQ friendly schools in America, under the motto “one in four, maybe more.” According to Eric, it’s where he began to come to terms with himself and his identity, where he finally said the words “I’m gay” out loud, where he continued to bake and vlog and began to think seriously about a career in both, and where, perhaps most famously, he met his now-husband, Providence Falconers captain Jack Zimmermann. 

 “We both played on the hockey team, but we weren’t exactly friends at first,” Bittle says about his relationship with Zimmermann.

 So, of course, I have to ask him-- what is it like, being a baker married to a hockey player? Eric and his husband seem like almost comical counterpoints in every aspect of their careers and personalities. Eric makes his living through baking and cooking, Jack plays in the notoriously-macho NHL. Eric has built a brand and a food empire off of cheeriness and Southern hospitality, Jack has a reputation of being a “hockey robot,” with his cold, generally disagreeable demeanor during interviews.

 “Well, with it all laid out like that, it really does sound like we’re night and day,” Eric laughs. “But honestly? We just work. We both love skating-- that’s what we bonded over in college, actually. We also both technically majored in history, even though we have very different specialities and did so for pretty different reasons. But even our differences are compatible. Like, I love talking, he doesn’t, so we’re never talking over each other or silent. Also, pro hockey players have to eat an insane number of calories, so Jack’s always there to eat my cooking, and that’s really all I can ask for.”

 Eric and Jack, who played on a line together briefly at Samwell, took the sports world by storm seven years ago when they kissed on the ice after the Falconers won the Stanley Cup, making Jack the first openly LGBTQ player in the NHL. The pair broke yet another barrier for LGBTQ people in hockey soon after, when Eric became the first openly gay NCAA Division I hockey captain. 

 When I ask Eric if he ever thought about following in his partner’s footsteps and pursuing a career in professional hockey, he just laughs. “Oh, definitely not. I love being on the ice, but I don’t think I would have made it very far in the NHL or AHL.”

 His fame may have started out in the (relatively niche) world of professional hockey, but since graduating from Samwell, Eric has found incredible success beyond the legacy of that historic kiss. His first book, published five years ago, spent several weeks on the New York Times Food and Diet bestseller list, and was applauded as a fresh, vibrant take on Southern cuisine and desserts.  Check, Please  reads as seventy percent cookbook, thirty percent memoir, with every page infused with Bittle’s indomitable, ubiquitous personality. His vlog, which he started in high school and has updated continuously ever since, has millions of subscribers, who tune in every week to hear Bittle talk about everything from pies and cookies to relationships and family. Finally, and perhaps most famously, Bittle hosted his own Netflix series last year, applauded as a combination of Marie Kondo and Queer Eye, in which he taught baking with his usual brand of positivity and universal appeal, interspersed with feel-good moments and life lessons.

 It strikes me that while Bittle’s career may have been jump-started by his relationship with Jack Zimmermann, he’s certainly managed to make a name for himself in the years since. To the hockey world, he may still be an afterthought to Jack Zimmermann, but to the baking world (and a good portion of Netflix’s viewership), the name Jack Zimmermann is an afterthought to that of Eric Bittle. 

 “Jack definitely gets a kick out of it when we’re in public together and I get recognized, and he doesn’t,” Eric says. “It’s kind of crazy, actually-- I definitely couldn’t have imagined all this ten years ago, back in college or in high school.”

 And what did Eric imagine himself doing? “To be honest, I don’t think I had any idea. When I decided to go to Samwell, I didn’t even have a major in mind or anything. I just wanted to get out of Georgia. And at Samwell-- I mean, I majored in American History, of all things. Talk about a useless degree! I literally just chose the major that let me take the most baking or baking-adjacent classes.” He pauses, and laughs. “It drives Jack crazy, actually-- I never have a plan for anything, really, big or small. I’m the kind of person who just crosses my fingers and hope it all shakes out for the best.”

 His husband’s opinion aside, this tactic seems to have worked out pretty well for Eric. His next, eagerly anticipated cookbook, which follows much in the vein of his Netflix show, is due to come out in two months this August. “It’s going to be focused on easy, cheap cooking and baking that’s still healthy and fulfilling. I think there’s a mindset that to make tasty, healthy food you need to have expensive ingredients and tools, or a lot of time on your hands, or have a lot of experience. But like-- I made food for an entire hockey team in a frat house on a college student’s allowance for four years, so I know something about cooking healthy on a budget,” he jokes. “I really just want to make good, healthy food accessible for everyone.”

 Well, he’s managed to do that, and more. Eric Bittle’s career so far has certainly been a whirlwind. He’s gone from publishing his first cookbook to hosting his own show in what’s only been a matter of years.

 “I do have to pinch myself sometimes, “ Eric says about his dizzyingly quick ascent to fame. “Like, Carrie Underwood tagged me in a tweet about hockey husbands the other day. Carrie Underwood!” The disbelief is clear in his voice. “I mean, Jack’s always been the bigger fan of country music, but the Georgia boy in me had to lie down for a moment when I saw the notification. So I think-- I still can’t really believe all of it, you know? It feels like yesterday I was still about to graduate college, with barely any plan and procrastinating on my thesis. And I guess sometimes-- sometimes I do feel a bit guilty, you know? Like-- there’s so many people fighting for this, fighting for what I’ve got-- getting books published, getting a show, everything else. I definitely had a leg up in name recognition because of Jack and hockey, and even when Jack and weren’t married yet, I never had to worry about having a roof over my head if the vlog wasn’t bringing in enough money or the cookbook wasn’t selling well enough.” He pauses, pensive, and it’s not the first time in this conversation that I mentally reassess my first assumptions about Eric Bittle. Behind the nationally famous smile and welcoming accent is a thoughtful young man still grappling with becoming a public figure and a role model, with a sprinkling of imposter syndrome, who doesn’t understand exactly what millions of people across the country see in him. 

 But perhaps that as well is an unfair assessment. It’s clear that Eric has a refreshing genuiness that few public figures possess, and that this is part of what has managed to speak to so many people from all backgrounds. That on some level, his modesty about his own fame is part of what constitutes his appeal. 

 When I mention this, Eric flushes a bright shade of pink. “Oh, aren’t you a flatterer. Well, I suppose so.”

 So after this cookbook, what’s next? Is fatherhood on the horizon? 

 “I did mention that I never have a plan, didn’t I?” he quips. But he does confide that he and Jack have been talking about having a family. “We’ve always wanted kids, but there’s always been something going on. Jack’s job and being on roadies all the time, me trying to get my career started. We don’t want our kids to be raised by babysitters and nannies, you know? We want to be there for them, so while it’s definitely something we’re considering, we’re trying to balance timing. But it has been a couple years, so.” He blushes. “We’re revisiting the idea.”

 “But other than that-- I have been approached about the possibility of some other projects and shows in the future, but I probably can’t talk about those,” he says. “And though it’s always been a dream of mine to own a bakery, that would be a pretty huge commitment. So I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m not really sure exactly what comes next.” Nevertheless, he grins, as if to say,  and isn’t that exciting ?

 Fatherhood or his own bakery-- I’m sure that no matter what comes next for Eric Bittle, he’ll forge ahead with his characteristic positivity and Southern grace, with plenty of baked goods along the way. *

#omgcp #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #interview #multimedia fic #art #magazine #fic #omgcp fic #zimbits #pov outsider #omgcheckplease

[nanoland]

new chapter (lucifer fic)

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 6 

Mazikeen/Eve/Michael  

(Whole thing can be read on AO3.) 

0  

Fuck the next bounty.

After thinking about it for ten seconds, Mazikeen turned them around and started driving straight for Los Angeles.

Eve can talk to him. Not me. He needs to talk to someone, and Eve will do.

Barely half a mile later, Amenadiel dropped out of the sky and landed in the middle of the road, just far enough away for her to bring the car to a screeching halt before it would otherwise have slammed into him like wet clay into a steel wall.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said, looking exhausted.

She snorted and pointed skyward. “Yeah. This? Not gonna lie, I was expecting something like this. But I thought it would take, like, at least a month.”

Wincing, Amenadiel said, “No, that’s… that’s a different problem and Chloe’s promised to discuss it with him. Maze, we need you back at Lux. Now.”

“Hi, Amenadiel!” Eve called, waving.

He succeeded in smiling at her without even glancing at Michael, despite his younger brother sitting right at her side, glaring fixedly.

“Why?” demanded Mazikeen, tensely drumming her fingers on the wheel. (Inner voice hissing, Shouldn’t have left him alone, you dumb bitch, you’ve been doing this for centuries and you know what he’s like when you leave him alone for more than five minutes.) “Seriously – what could he possibly need me for? He’s God.”

Sighing, Amenadiel put his wings away. “Mazikeen, we’re all well aware that Lucy often… has difficulty focusing. To put it mildly. There’s a lot more for him to focus on now than ever before. He’s trying to undo climate change. To that end, he started refreezing all the melted ice in the Arctic. But he did it too quickly and, resultantly, there are several hundred trapped ships we need to save and several thousand dead penguins to resurrect and, to be honest, he hasn’t really got the hang of resurrection yet – you remember what Dan looked like for the first few hours after Lucifer brought him back to life…”

“Eurgh. Yeah. Yuck. Totes not the kinda shit you’d wanna see in Happy Feet.”

Michael was snickering.

“Right. And then there are all the changes he’s been making locally,” Amenadiel went on. “The expansion of Lux, the overnight disappearance of all Los Angeles’ firearms, his deciding that the city’s white supremacist population should grow a third ear so they can be easily identified, and, well, it turns out that a lot of Chloe’s colleagues at the police station-…”

“I get it, I get it. Chaos everywhere. As usual. What, exactly, is the problem he wants me to fix?”

Amenadiel exhaled heavily. “The demons. The ones you brought from Hell to help us defeat Michael.”

“Oh, so you do remember I exist,” Michael muttered.

Stonily ignoring him, Amenadiel said, “They’re still on Earth and they’re causing trouble. The one called Dromos, in particular. He’s gathered followers and they’ve surrounded Lux.”

Her brother’s face – his real face, not the human puppet he wore – flashed through her mind’s eye; a memory from when they were unruly children and had raced through Hell together, using the stone pillars that they’d not yet known were cells as an obstacle course. She’d been faster; he, more athletic. Together with a few cousins, they’d made a fearsome team, and not even their meanest older siblings had bullied them.

She folded her arms and looked away. “They’re demons. Lucifer can deal with them. Snap his fingers and turn them into rats or whatever. Make them explode.”

“Mazikeen,” Eve murmured, soft and low, touching her shoulder. “You don’t want that. They’re your family.”

Amenadiel blinked, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Er… yes, there’s that. There’s also the fact that Lucifer doesn’t want all of humanity to see him as the type of God who casually annihilates his enemies; a harsh, vindictive God. He wants to be liked. To be loved.”

“Fine. So why don’t you and the other angels sort it out?”

“Come now, Maze. A bunch of angels and a bunch of demons waging war in the midst of a bustling city? Humans will die. But you’re the Queen of Hell now and, by extension, the Queen of Demons. If you command Dromos to stand down, he will. This can all be resolved peacefully.”

Eve’s fingertips were cool against her skin.

Mazikeen looked back at the sky. The cloud letters were starting to dissolve. “What does he want?”

“Who?”

“Dromos. He doesn’t act on instinct. He’s a planner. He wants something.”

Shrugging, Amenadiel said, “He shouted at me about demanding an audience with the king. I didn’t ask for details. I don’t really care. Dromos isn’t someone I’m inclined to listen to at the best of times. The last time the wretch showed his face on Earth, he kidnapped my son.”

“Mmm. Kinda like your sister was gonna do. Kinda like you were gonna do, now that I think about it.”

“Maze!” he gasped, sounding shocked and hurt. “You can’t compared poor Remiel’s misguided actions to-…”

“I’ll do it,” she interrupted. “Take me to Lux. Now.”

“Excuse me? What about us?” snapped Michael.

Mazikeen met Eve’s gentle gaze. “You don’t need to be involved in this. My family drama, it – it’s not pretty.”

“My son killed my son,” said Eve, taking her hand. “My husband loved another woman. I’m used to drama.”

Swallowing, Mazikeen glanced at Michael. “And you, wimp?”

Feigning disinterest – feigning it badly – he said, “You showed up to my last domestic dispute. Guess this’ll make us square.”

“I’ve only got two arms. I can’t carry all of you,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Mazikeen rubbed her chin. “No… but you can carry the car, right?”

0

He didn’t have time for this. There was so much to do.

“World hunger,” he recited as he bounced from one laptop to the next, all twenty-three of them displaying a different article or video by a leading scientific or sociological mind, “wealth inequality, pollution, cancer, droughts, racism, elderly abuse, housing shortages, cruelty to animals…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda patiently, sitting on his best couch with her legs crossed, a cup of coffee and a laptop of her own beside her. “You said you wanted my advice as to how you should manage this whole ‘being God’ business.”

“I do, doctor! Very much. Your input is invaluable. Blast, where did I put that map of Alaska? I’m thinking of making it bigger; slotting it in alongside the Arctic to help stabilise all that new ice.”

“Right. Thanks. So here – here is what I’m suggesting now; slow down. Seriously. Take a breath, step back, and think your next move through.”

He scoffed. “‘Slow down’? Doctor, I need to work at least three times faster if I’m to keep up with everything. There are people suffering everywhere, millions of them! There are sinners in need of punishment! I’m seriously considering asking Chloe to be my Deputy God. I never imagined omnipotence would entail so much paperwork and she’s always been better at that than me.”

Outside the penthouse, many stories below, the chanting grew louder. None of the human police officers, journalists, and gawkers who’d gathered to watch could understand it; it was in Lilim.

Cursing, Lucifer strode to the balcony and shouted down, “For the last time, would you all kindly piss off? I’m trying to fix an entire planet here!”

He heard the elevator open and moaned. “Detective, not now. Please. I’m very sorry I haven’t returned your calls – I swear I’m not avoiding you – it’s just that I’ve got a lot on my plate today and we did already agree to meet for supper at-…”

“Lucifer,” said Linda, sounding terrified.

“Lucifer,” said someone else, sounding irritable.

Now that he was God, rage didn’t turn his eyes red anymore. It turned them gold and blindingly bright, like spotlights. Fists clenched, he turned to see Dromos step into the penthouse, once again clad in the flesh of the late Father Kinley and wearing a leather jacket.

“Nice trick, making all the doors disappear. Finally decided to climb up the side of the building with a sledgehammer and burrow my way through into the elevator shaft,” said the demon, hands in his pockets and concrete dust coating his beard and his bald head. “I want to talk to you, sire.”

Storming across the room while Linda remained frozen, white-faced, on the couch, Lucifer snarled, “You! You have the nerve to come here, to stand before me, after what you did to my nephew?”

He took Dromos by the neck and lifted him off the ground, his wings opening in fury (he had six of them now).

Stoical even as he choked, Dromos said, “I need. To talk. I will leave immediately afterwards.”

“Oh, you’ll leave, alright! You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you into an active volcano, you accursed traitor!”

Dromos’ stolen skin began to sizzle beneath his fingers. He waited until the demon’s face was wrinkled with pain before throwing him to the floor hard enough to crack the wood and make a crater.

“I will leave,” Dromos gasped, coughing up blood, “when I have spoken.”

“What could you possibly have to say for yourself? Kidnapper. Child-thief.”

Still on the couch, Linda said tremulously, “Lucifer, you’re… you’re hurting him. Stop it. Please.”

“Let us stay!” shouted Dromos, and coughed again before dragging himself up onto his knees. “On Earth. That’s what I came to say. Let your erstwhile subjects stay on Earth if they choose – at least, those who served you in the battle against Michael. Don’t force them to return to Hell. Let them, let us choose where we live, going forward. That’s my request, your Majesty. My only request.”

Lucifer boggled at him. “Is that a joke? Demons? On Earth, indefinitely, unsupervised? Are you out of your tiny mind, Dromos?”

Baring teeth, Dromos said, “Why not? What does it matter to you now? You’ve got everything you could possibly want. Everything anyone could possibly want! All we’re asking is the freedom to come and go as we please.”

“No.”

He spoke the word bluntly, and then he stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. Regaining his composure. “Never. You’re dangerous and untrustworthy. This world is for humans, not you. Good grief, haven’t I got enough to preoccupy my mind, without the added stress of demons rampaging around town?”

“We won’t rampage. We just-…”

“Why are you even coming to me with this? Mazikeen’s the new Queen of Hell. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Dromos wiped blood from his lips. “I don’t know if my sister and I are on speaking terms right now. And she may be Queen, but you’re God; I assumed you would be tasked with such decisions. After all, there’s never been a demon in charge of Hell before. We were told – we were always told – that only angels could rule us. I don’t doubt Mazikeen’s competence, but I…”

He seemed to run out of steam, spreading his hands and finishing weakly, “Lucifer, you’re the king. You’ve been the king for millions of years. For my entire life. Look, if you really don’t want us leaving Hell, then can you at least use your newfound power to improve it? Let us have the things mortals enjoy? Pianos, dogs, blankets, weekends, all that stuff?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “That would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Hell is supposed to be a place of punishment. The ultimate consequence awaiting sinners. I need a carrot and a stick, Dromos. How else am I supposed to convince people to behave if I don’t? Imagine a rapist arriving in Hell and being confronted with demons playing pianos and walking their dogs. Wouldn’t have quite the desired effect, would it?”

Dromos was quiet for a moment, then said without inflection, “Perhaps you could find somewhere else to put rapists. Somewhere other than our home.”

Throwing up his arms, Lucifer said, “More demands! Don’t you see how selfish you’re being? Here I am, doing my best to end all suffering, and you’re complaining about babysitting a few evil-doers – which, might I remind you, is your job. Nay, your very reason for existence. Always has been. Why’re you getting stroppy about it now?”

“I think,” Linda began, taking a tentative step forward before stopping and clearing her throat. “Excuse me. May I interrupt? Um. Okay, so I think that maybe Dromos has a point here, Lucifer.”

“Doctor! This is the creature that stole your baby!”

“Yes, I know. And I’m not saying I forgive him for that, but…”

“I wasn’t going to eat the brat,” Dromos grumbled. “I was going to make him a king.”

“You took him away from his mother!” Lucifer shouted.

“Gentlemen!” said Linda, sharply. “Please! Let’s try to talk this through like adults.”

Overcome with frustration, and only vaguely aware that he’d not been sleeping well lately, Lucifer kicked the nearest chair. “I can’t believe you’re siding with him, doctor.”

“I’m not siding with anyone. I-…”

“You don’t know these people like I do. You didn’t spend millions of years in Hell alongside them. The only demon you’ve ever gotten acquainted with is Maze, and she’s not like the others; even without a soul, she’s learned how to behave like a more-or-less civilised adult, barring the occasional tantrum. But your average, baseline demon has nothing to them besides wrath and cruelty. Lilith made them to be weapons and that’s all they really are. I mean – just imagine, for a moment, how hard it was for me. To go from the Silver City, the most beautiful place ever created, to a lightless nightmare realm full of these bloodthirsty animals. To be surrounded by them, for endless eons, while they nattered mindlessly on and on about how much they love torture and pain and…”  

He trailed off. Linda and Dromos were both looking past him.

To the elevator. Where – oh – Mazikeen was standing.

Where Mazikeen was crying.

No sobs, not like when Dan had died. No expression at all, really. Just open eyes, motionless muscles, and steady tears.

Before Lucifer could say a word, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors.

“Wait!” he yelped, sprinting over to stop them.

He needn’t have bothered. Now that he was God, objects did whatever he told them to do. The doors stilled, half-open.

“That sounded wrong,” he acknowledged, clasping her shoulders in apology. “You completely missed the context. What I was trying to say was-…”

“Don’t touch me.”

It was a phrase he’d heard many times before from mortal lovers to whom he had accidentally revealed his Devil Face. Some of them said it in horror. Some of them, the religious ones, said it in anger.

Mazikeen looked neither horrified nor angry. She looked sick. As though the very sight of him turned her stomach.

Lumbering over, Dromos stepped into the elevator alongside her and pointedly pressed the button again. With no idea what to do or say, Lucifer allowed the machinery to work.

The elevator closed.

“What have I done?” he asked Linda.

0

Nothing I didn’t know.

“Maze?” called Eve, waiting by the car with the others as Mazikeen stepped out of Lux’s front door and into the sunlight.

The door hadn’t been there when they’d arrived. She’d been forced to use Dromos’ route. Lucifer must have decided to put it back. He could do that now. Just decide things. Didn’t need servants, nor followers, nor anyone. Sure didn’t need a ‘more-or-less civilised adult’ whose kin were animals.

“Maze! Wait!”

Mazikeen didn’t know where she was going, only that she was walking very quickly and felt that she’d die if she stopped. She heard Eve’s heels patter on the pavement and heard her say her name a third time, quiet and worried, and that was what stilled her feet.

“What happened?” murmured Eve, cupping her face.

The fifty or so demons who’d been standing around outside Lux when Amenadiel had set the car and its passengers down were still there. Instead of chanting to get their king’s attention, they were now looking at her.

Michael and Amenadiel stood among them, the latter having been trying to convince them to stop blocking traffic.

Which was what she should have been doing. It was what he’d brought her here to do. But she’d been gripped by a sudden, violent need to see Lucifer, to check on him, just quickly, before tending to her siblings. Once a bodyguard, always a bodyguard.

Except that wasn’t what I was. Not to him. To him, I was a Rottweiler on a leash.

“Are you alright?” asked Amenadiel, his eyes overflowing with concern.

That was what cracked her.

To him. Not to everyone. Not to Eve, or Amenadiel, or Linda. It’s not that I’m incapable of earning love and respect.

I’m just incapable of earning his.

Her legs gave out. She crumpled against Lux’s outside wall and started to weep properly, loud and bitter.

Eve immediately dropped down beside her, holding her tight. Michael shuffled closer, rubbing his shoulder while his mouth opened and shut, testing out sentences that were never spoken.

Then Dromos was there, kneeling, his face sad and tired.

“We did what we were told,” she said to him in Lilim, through sniffles. “We obeyed. We were loyal. We… we…”

“We are alone, sister,” he replied. “But I think we always were.”

“We obeyed!”

“We obeyed Lilith and she left. We obeyed Lucifer and he left. No one wants us, Mazikeen. It’s just the truth.”

She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “No. I want us.”

Seizing his jacket’s shoulder, she hauled herself to her feet and addressed the crowd, her voice raw: “I want you! You’re my family and I want you! And I swear I will be the queen you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me!”

Her human skin fell away, the left side of her face turning cold, bony, and brittle.

Stepping back to join their siblings, Dromos asked hesitantly, “What would you have us do, then, my queen? What are your orders?”

Hurriedly drying her eyes, she studied them one by one. “Whoever wants to can stay here. But I’m going home. Hell is going to be ours, Dromos. No more damned souls. No more angels. It’s ours now and we’re going to make it into something we can love.”

She turned to face Eve and Michael, her heart pounding. “You’ll come with me, yeah? You’ll stand with me?”

“Always,” said Eve, closing in to kiss her.

“Whatever,” Michael muttered, clearly just relieved that the crying part was over.

Amenadiel sighed, shaking his head gravely. “Mazikeen, are you sure this is what you want? You won’t be able to leave Hell on your own – you’ll need to contact me.”

“Yeah. At least until this one grows his feathers back,” she said, gesturing at Michael. “That’s okay. You’ll always come when I call, right?”

“Of course. You’re my friend, Maze. I’m sorry if I haven’t said that often enough.”

Fuck it. Cringing on the inside, Mazikeen drew Amenadiel into a quick, gruff hug. “You too, idiot.”

#lucifer #mazikeen #lucifer morningstar #eve #amenadiel #michael #michael demiurgos #dromos #fanfic #my fic

[chauhee]

Playful (Royal AU) - K. Sunwoo

[Requested by @prinxessouo] Hello! 🥰❤ Just came across your blog and was wondering if I can request a royal au scenario? Something like you're a princess and he's a prince and you meet at a ball and it's love at first sight or smth ♡ I seriously can't choose between Hyunjae, Juyeon and Sunwoo so could you just choose the one you think suits the best, please? 🥺❤ Thanks in advance and have a lovely day! ♡

Summary - it’s your first ball as the princess of your country. Thousands of people came from around the world to see you. You were also to meet the prince you were to marry in the future. Little did you know that you would meet a mysterious handsome man named Sunwoo in the process...

Warnings - None, I think.

Genre - Fluff 

A/N: Hello! I also had a hard time choosing, because they’re all so perfect for this scenario. I chose Sunwoo because he seemed like a bit of a challenge to be put in a position of a prince (idk if that makes sense lol, just a feeling). Please request more! This was very fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Powder and perfume overwhelmed your senses as you stood at the mirror, staring at your own reflection. Your eyes traced your perfect hair, not one strand out of place. Still, you searched for a flaw. Your dress was also perfect. It was chosen by you, made by the most talented tailors from around the world. Your shoes were slightly uncomfortable. That was all you could complain about. 

They had kept you secluded from society for so long. The country knew you existed, but they hadn’t gotten the privilege of really seeing you, not after the incident with your older brother. He had lost the respect of the country, and was therefore banished when you were very young. You were never meant to have this high position, but here you were. The future queen. 

Thousands of people flocked to see you tonight. If you only glanced outside your window you would become much too overwhelmed to handle the amount of attention awaiting you. You were nervous, understandably. You had never seen more than ten people at once, and now you have thousands begging to have, if only, a moment with you.

This was also the night you were to meet the prince you had been promised to. You knew you were to be married off for political reasons your entire life, and you trusted your parents to choose well, so you were not bothered by it. You had never seen his face, though. 

You didn’t want to be shallow, but some part of you hoped he would be handsome. You cannot count the amount of times you had tried to imagine his face. You hoped he would smell good, that he would have soft skin, and that he would have a kind smile. Those were the three things you always considered when you thought of him. 

“Honey?” Your mother walked into the room, also dressed to perfection. “It’s time to go down.”

She walked up behind you as you continued to observe yourself in the mirror. She could see that you were nervous, so she held your hand tightly. 

“You will be doing this more often from now on,” She said softly beside your ear. “It will get easier.”

Usually advice does not help nerves too much. Sometimes it can actually make it worse. However, knowing all that your mother has gone through, it comforted you greatly. You smiled at her in the reflection. 

“You look beautiful,” You told her. “I think I like your dress better.”

“Oh, stop. That color is perfect on you. Let’s go before we’re late.”

You followed your mother out of your room, through the wide corridor, and down the steps. Guards were at every corner, guaranteeing your safety. It made you feel simultaneously safe and uneasy. The fact that you even needed guards always made you feel strange. You wondered if they were there only to protect you or to make sure you don’t do anything... reckless. Like your brother.

The two of you reached the doors leading to the ballroom. Loud chattering and music filtered through the cracks in the door. It was exciting and overwhelming. The guards at the door awaited the signal to open the doors. Of course, you had to be introduced. 

“...Princess (Y/N) and Queen (Y/M/N)!” You heard as the doors were pulled open with force. 

The ballroom was full of all different kinds of people. Your curiosity left you a step behind your mother, who had to pull you forward slightly. You scanned all the faces of the people there. You could tell that for many of them, this was also their first ball. You smiled at the children who looked up at you in awe. 

As you got closer to the front of the room where your father, the king, and your siblings stood, someone caught your eye. He was quite tall, at least, he was significantly taller than you. He had dark hair and the most handsome face you had ever seen before. Well, it wasn’t like you had seen very many faces at all. He stood out from the crowd as if there was a spotlight placed on him. He looked at you with an expression you could only describe as awe. When he saw you looking at him as well, he smiled. 

You thought you could collapse from the intense feeling in your stomach and chest. You were nervous and excited at the same time. The feelings confused you, but you enjoyed it, anyway. You smiled back. It was a small smile, a flirtatious smile you had seen your cousins flash the boys who lived and worked in the castle before. You internally thanked your parents for forcing you to hang out with them, despite your distaste for your cousins in general. 

You quickly looked forward, at your family. You stood up next to them and turned towards the crowd, just like you had been taught. Your father said a few words to the people, but you weren’t listening. Your mind was on that boy in the crowd. The one you avoided looking at in order to feign confidence for a few moments. 

Once your father had finished speaking, the ball roared back to life. Hundreds of people moved in time with the music, causing a wave of incredible movement to occur right in the middle of the large room. Women went back to their conversations with glasses of alcohol in their hands. Servants continued to pass around food platters, slipping in and out of the room quietly. Children ran around, avoiding the watchful eyes of their parents. Men fell over themselves to get a glimpse of your father. You searched the room secretly for the man from before, but he seemed to have escaped your gaze. He must have slipped away while you were trying to be cool. 

Great, now I lost him. You groaned internally. 

It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re promised to another. You straightened your posture and directed your attention back to the organized chaos surrounding you. You were waiting for someone to ask you to dance. 

“Y/N!” A voice called from the crowd. You searched for the owner of the familiar voice that had called your name. “Y/N?” 

There she was, right in front of you. Your childhood best friend. You had not seen her since the doors of the castle had been closed. You could barely contain your happiness to see her. 

“Y/F/N!” You said, you swore you felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You restrained yourself from giving her a giant hug in front of everyone. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“I know, right!” She looked at you with fond eyes, taking in the fact that you had grown so much. She had as well. “You look so beautiful!”

“So do you!” You laughed. 

“Care to dance?” She bowed, playfully. You looked over at your parents, asking for permission silently. They both nodded. It had been a long time since they had seen you so happy, so they allowed you to have a bit of fun. 

You took her hand and she walked you to the middle of the room where people were dancing energetically. Your friend twirled you dramatically, occasionally bumping into the older couples around you. No one was bothered, though. They enjoyed the youthful energy the two of you possessed. 

After a few minutes, the music slowed down. Your friend pulled you into a slow dance to talk a bit. You two have a lot of catching up to do.

“So, how have you been?” You asked her. 

“Not bad. I’ve missed you terribly, though,” She looked up at you with sad eyes. “I can’t believe I missed growing up with you.”

“I know...” The pang in your chest would not let up. It hurt you so much to be separated from your best friend. She was more your sister than any of your real sisters. You were inconsolable when you were told you would never see her again. 

Thankfully, it was untrue, though. “But at least we can see each other now. We never have to be separated ever again. If anything ever happens, I’ll make you live here with me,” You said to her. 

She lightened up a bit, laughing through her tears threatening to spill over her powdered cheeks. “Hey, don’t look but there’s an insanely handsome guy coming over to us.”

You tensed up a bit and despite your better judgement, you looked. 

You caught him just as he reached the two of you. He smiled a bit awkwardly at the two of you. “Uh, Princess Y/N, can I have the next dance?” He asked. 

You stared up at his handsome features, almost entranced by them. Your friend quickly answered for you, “She would be honored.”

Your friend let go of your hands, walking towards your siblings to speak to them while you danced with the (basically) perfect man. 

He put his hand out for you to take it as the music changed. You were unaware of the fact that everyone in the room who was not dancing had turned to watch you two. Even your parents watched as he guided you further into the center of the room, placing one of his hands on your waist, the other holding your hand. You placed your free hand on his shoulder. 

He’s strong. You thought to yourself. You felt him guide you through the dance moves. You had done them hundreds of times before in your dance classes, but they had been with your younger brothers or your cousins. This was entirely different. You could barely allow yourself to look up at his face, so you kept your eyes trained above his shoulder, staring into the distance. 

“You look beautiful,” He said softly beside your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Thank you,” Your cheeks heated up. You glanced at him, seeing that he had been looking at your face this whole time. “You look very handsome.”

He chuckled, looking around the room for a second before returning his attention to you. “I’ve waited to meet you for a long time.”

“Really?” You turned back to look outside the grand windows. “I get that a lot, you know... as the princess.” You were only teasing.

“Ah, yes, of course, your highness,” he laughed again. You felt his breath on your skin. “I’m sure I’m a bit different from everyone, right?”

“What makes you say that?” You look into his deep brown eyes. 

“I don’t know...” He turns the two of you quickly, causing a giggle to escape from you as you held onto him tighter. “Just a feeling?” He flashed a wide smile at you.

“What’s your name?” You asked him through laughs. 

“Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo.”

It sounded familiar, but you ignored the feeling quickly. “Nice to meet you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“Nice to meet you, too Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No one calls me that,” You laughed at him.

“Can I?” 

“You can call me whatever you like,” Your gaze softened on his face, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his lips. 

“Excuse me, Princess,” A man approached from your left. “May I have the next dance?”

He had the look of someone who was about to bore you to death with talks of politics. You couldn’t reasonably refuse, however, so you had to say goodbye to Sunwoo. He bowed and kissed your hand, holding onto it for a bit longer than what may be considered normal. 

As you danced with a few other men, you couldn’t muster the strength to really listen to what they were saying. Your mind was on Sunwoo. You couldn’t get his eyes, or his hands, or the feeling of his breath on you out of your head. You were thankful when the music stopped and you were able to return to your family. 

When your mother saw you approaching them, she smiled widely at you. She pulled you close to her while holding both of your hands. Your best friend also neared the two of you, clearly ecstatic about something you were not privy to. 

“Are you ready?” Your mother asks you, smoothing out bits of your hair and dress that had fallen out of place as you were dancing.

“Ready?” You questioned.

“To meet him! The prince!” Your friend said from beside your mother.

You had entirely forgot about that, especially while dancing with Sunwoo. Well, it was fun while it lasted. “Oh, yes. I think so.”

Your mother guided you to the left corner of the room, where a group of men and women had gathered around your father and a young man who was hidden by the heads between you two. You took a deep breath. I guess Sunwoo was practice for the real thing. Maybe I should be thankful-

Your internal monologue was cut off when you saw exactly who was having such an interesting conversation with your father. 

“Sunwoo!” Your mother called out. “It’s so wonderful to finally see you again after all these years. How you’ve grown into such a handsome gentleman!”

“It’s nice to see you too,” He looked over at you with a teasing smile. 

“Well, this is Y/N,” Your mother pushed you forward, right in front of Sunwoo. “You two should start getting to know each other.”

“Hi again,” He chuckled at you. 

“You knew this whole time?”

“I thought you were playing, too!” He said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deceive you.”

You sighed. “So...”

“Would you like to go outside?” He asks, putting his hand out for you to hold once more. “It’ll be easier to speak to you without so much noise,” he leans closer to you, whispering in your ear: “and without so many watchful eyes.”

You glanced over your shoulder, finally noticing the fact that everyone in the room had turned to watch the two of you. You turned back to Sunwoo. “I’d love to.” 

He held your hand as you two walked off to be alone. The confused onlookers watched as he guided you outside, to the garden. You didn’t pay them mind, though. All you felt was his strong hand holding yours. The broad night sky welcoming you two under it’s protection. It was a night you would certainly remember forever. 

#the boyz #sunwoo #this was a bit inspired by frozen if you can't tell #WOW I pumped this one out fast #I hope it's good #thank you for requesting again #my writing #requested

[tiesandtea]

SUEDE: Style & Substances

Alternative Press, May 1997 (no. 106). Mag cover. Written by Dave Thompson. Archived here.

Suede Give Us A Glimmer...

Bleeding through the debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. Dave Thompson travels to London to discover why Suede are one of the few bands that matter in an age of stars who are "just like you."

Brett Anderson leans against an amplifier, hands in pocket, shoulders hunched. To his left, the rest of Suede are playing Fleetwood Mac's "Albatross"; to his right, a television crew is fiddling with camera angles. He wants a cigarette, but he never smokes this close to showtime. Instead, he swings a keychain and glowers into the monitors. It's rehearsal time in Studio Four, a theater-sized room as the BBC, and the only person who's enjoying himself is an increasingly rotund-looking Jools Holland. He's the host of this evening's show, and he's away in another room entirely. 

Later...With Jools Holland is a British TV institution. Less than three years old, it has nevertheless sewn up a comfortable niche somewhere between the chart-conscious grooviness of Top of the Pops and the more indulgent pastures of MTV Unplugged. It's a showcase for bands to run through a handful of new songs, play a favorite or two and give a taste of their live prowess without boring the unconverted senseless. Boring themselves senseless, of course, is another matter entirely, and as Suede are counted into the third rehearsal of their opening song "Trash," you can almost sense the desperation in Anderson's face. Then the action starts, and he's utterly transformed. Though he's barely moving and scarcely singing, he's conveying an intensity that explodes from his very presence, drawing the most disinterested eyes in his direction. Even the soundmen look up from their meters, and the camera crew compete for his undying attention. If Anderson weren't a rock star, he'd make a great lunatic. But because he is a rock star...well, he's probably a lunatic anyway. You would be, too, in his shoes. If the 1990s have given us anything, it's the demystification of the rock star. From the boy-next-door Weezers to the angst-ridden whiners, the message is the same: I'm no different from you; I'm no better than you; and, of course, I'm just as screwed up as you. Enter, or more properly, re-enter Suede, with their third album, Coming Up (Columbia). And all that hard work reducing idols to idiots counts for nothing. Because Suede couldn't be "just like you" even if they wanted to. Bleeding through the "is he?/isn't he?" debate about vocalist Brett Anderson's sexuality and the "does he?/doesn't he?" of his rumored drug intake, the overall glamour with which society equates a fucked-up lifestyle drapes Suede like a second skin. The scent of teen spirit clings to them, the doomed romanticism of consumptive youth which peaked on their last album, 1994's Dog Man Star, and peeks through the stunning Coming Up. Suede deal in emotional extremes, from the A Clockwork Orange apocalypse of their "We Are The Pigs" video in which armed hooligans howl through a burning industrial landscape while Suede gaze down from giant video screens, to the incandescent loneliness of the current "Saturday Night" video, in which a London subway station is transformed into a rave to which the band have not been invited. The band's junkie chic is as apparent in the stoned immaculate presentation of their latest wasted-youth album-cover artwork, as it is in the gorgeously gaunt frame which Anderson angles for the television cameras. Add a live show that oozes subversive glamour; couple that with the fearless decadence of Anderson's greatest lyrics, and whether it's all an act or not, Suede are a walking advertisement for the joyful sins of sleaze. Backstage in the bowels of the BBC, Anderson sighs. He's heard all this before. "Yeah, you can look at it like that, but that's other people's interpretation of it, and that's their problem. You can't look at yourself through other people's eyes, then worry about what you say through their ears; you've got to have some self-belief in what you are." Which is, right now, the biggest thing on 10 legs. Across Europe and the Far East, Coming Up charted at No.1 and has already outsold both its predecessors. Three singles have kept the pot boiling ever since, and the current Suede line-up (their fifth on record since their 1990 "Be My God" 7-inch single debut) is their strongest yet. Like Brian Eno's departure from Roxy Music, founding guitarist Bernard Butler's exit did not so much rid the band of one creative spark, as open the door for the flowering of another. Anderson's unequivocal grasping of the reins, only partly aided by the recruitment of guitarist Richard Oakes, may have diluted Suede's overall sound, but it has sharpened their vision to a razor's edge. The further addition of keyboardist Neil Codling fills the gaps that teen maestro Oakes couldn't plug; the Simon Gilbert/Mat Osman rhythm section is a thunderous roar that never lets up; and Coming Up is unmistakably the sound of the same great band that recorded Dog Man Star. The difference is, Anderson affirms, they've stopped pissing around. "After Dog Man Star, everyone thought we were going to do an operetta or something like that. But you get things out of your system. We wanted to refocus the band, the fact that we were virtually starting again; we wanted to readjust the basics." And did it work? "You can't completely divorce yourself from your past. I haven't got the memory of a goldfish; I was aware that I'd made two albums before it. But it felt fresh, and it felt as though we were making the record away from a lot of the crap you have to deal with, away from the spotlight, which was great. Plus...", and here he gestures to new arrivals Codling and Oakes, "... there's less of an obsession with self-importance, which was definitely a change in the band. The last two albums were quite precious and self-important, and that can be good and that can be bad." Ah, preciousness. Plough through five years of Suede press and the buzzwords leap out: "superficial", "fake", "David Bowie" - three hollow sides to the same soulless coin. But most of the people who call Suede "pretentious" are the same ones who fancy the Spice Girls. And the closest those cynics get to class is the corridor outside the school room. "It does bother us a bit," says Anderson. "People always want to polarize bands into camps, and what I always find objectionable, even with journalists who are pro-Suede, is, they always want to write about us as an alternative to this good, honest musicianship going on elsewhere, which kind of implies that there isn't any good, honest musicianship going on within Suede." Anderson resents that implication, just as he resents the accusations of vanity that are flung at him with equal frequency - the two go hand in hand, after all. "People ask, 'Are you vain?' Hang on, let me turn the question around. If you were going to appear on television in front of five million people, you'd probably look in a mirror to see what you look like. You'll brush your hair and put a bit of make-up on because you don't want to look like a pig. Does that mean you're vain? I don't think it does. "Ninety-nine percent of my career thought is dedicated to thinking about music; a very tiny percentage is spent on image. I may go shopping once a month; but while I don't think we're the honest blokes down the pub, we're not kooky weirdos either. We're just what we are." A decent image, though, is still worth a thousand songs (ask Marilyn Manson), and if it's not their Englishness that holds Suede back in the U.S., then it has to be their appearance. They look weird. Catch the "Beautiful Ones" video: Codling apes the same abstracted pose of diffidence and boredom that once made a star of Sparks' Ron Mael; and Osman and Oakes look like they're trying to extinguish a particularly persistent cigarette end. Their singer is fey. Imagine Bryan Ferry if a stick insect stole his trousers. Their music is arty. And they come on like they're somehow special, so special that America poses little interest or challenge to Suede. Other bands make no secret of their desire to crack the country, nor do they hide their disgust when they fail. Suede, though, never seemed bothered. Past U.S. tours (three so far) have been languid affairs, barely publicized flirtations which almost gratefully acknowledge that as far as most people are concerned, Suede might as well be a lesbian performing artist. Anderson dictates the band's Stateside manifesto: "I don't give a shit." "Don't get me wrong: please don't portray us as some sort of anti-American thing, because we're not. But as far as America is concerned, you can talk about airplay and videos, but all it really boils down to is the fact that America doesn't like Suede. And I'm not going to knock it, if they don't like it, they don't like it." And what don't they like? Kurt Cobain had a tummy ache, and a nation felt his pain. Trent Reznor's dog died, and a nation held his hand. Brett Anderson wrote songs about holes in your arm ("The Living Dead") and pantomime horses ("Pantomime Horse"); he equates love with flyaway litter ("Trash"), and he's never been in rehab. "I hate that rehab shit! That's one place where America get really suckered, with those rehab rock bands. Let me explain what going into rehab means. It means you're cool because you used to do drugs, but now you're a good lad, and you're really '90s, so you want to give them up. But it's a complete excuse, and anybody who says it or does it is a complete careerist. I don't think the public shoulg go out and buy records by people whose record companies have told them to say they're going into rehab. You want to talk about fakes and falseness in the music business; I think this rehab rock thing is such a lot of dog shit." So you don't just say no? "I can't sit here and honestly say that drugs are bad for you, because I don't believe that, and I don't think anybody with a brain believes that." He elaborates: "Smoking a bit of pot and taking a bit of LSD can open a few barriers in your mind, although I certainly don't think taking smack, taking coke or taking crack does anything. I know I've taken drugs before and looked back on it and said, 'That's fucking crap; you should have got your act together and stopped taking them.' They just numb you and turn you into a wrong-thinking fucking idiot. "But that's the whole problem with drugs, isn't it? You can't say 'drugs' because there's so many different factes to it. 'It's an aid to creativity.' Well, some of it is, and some of it isn't. You can't paint everything with one brush." As for the veneer of glamour which Suede's own observations convey, the danger that, to quote the new album's "The Chemistry Between Us," "we are young and easily led," Anderson remains equally adamant. "There's no point in trying to filter things like 'Don't talk about this, don't talk about that.' Lots of times when I'm talking about drugs, I'm talking in a pedestrian context. I'm not trying to make it into a big deal; I talk about it like I'd talk about anything else that's in this room." And though he agrees there is a moral question, he also believes it's impossible to do much about it. "The only way you can set yourself up as something moral is in the broader sense, by not treating music as this completely throwaway, meaningless thing, and not treating the sentiments expressed in the music as completely throwaway, meaningless things. "That's where I see my position morally, someone who can write a love song and actually bring a degree of warmth to someone else. You can't act as censor in your words; you just have to be positive about what you're doing and see that making records that people love, that people cling to, and that help people through sticky patches in their lives is, at the end of the day, a positive thing to do. There's very few things I think that are positive in the world, but music is one of them." And that is that. In an age when a star is only as big as his last three videos, and most stars are as interesting as a line at the post office, Suede are three albums into a career that means more to more people than any of the bickering of Suede's petty, wormwood competitors; and certainly far more than the bitter, twisted harping of their detractors. Stars shine, shit stinks, and the lowest common denominator is nothing to be proud of. No one really wants to watch Hootie feed his blowfish, but Brett Anderson spends "Saturday Night" moping around on a subway train, and it's the best thing on MTV this year. Who cares what else he gets up to? Turning as he heads for the soundstage, Anderson won't be drawn. "My drugs of choice are ginseng and chamomile tea, but don't worry. I'm going into rehab soon."

#brett anderson #mat osman #simon gilbert #richard oakes #neil codling #suede #coming up month #coming up era

[arch-archivars]

aesthetics for the entities, part i + ii.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiting for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstorous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.    a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons.  blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knifeblock on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.   sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in.  maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallusinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed.  doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it.  red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unrealiability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny lengs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

+  the extinction.   the end of an era.  apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

TAGGED BY:  @radioways   mwah  !!

TAGGING:  @stfreds  /  @meinliied  (  martin or rikar ?  )  /  @lorefound  (  barnabas  )  /  @mistiqued  (  maxwell  )  /  @vulpesse  /  @killedfirst​  /  @ghrisha​

#〉〉swallowing mud / swallowing glass / the scent of blood —— » inspiration . cecil #/ #not me annoying my non - tma mutuals #with tma memes #indulge me <3

[hungover-and-broke-student]

esthetics for the entities, part i.   bold what applies to your muse, italics what applies situationally or only in certain verses. rest of the fears here.  this is based on a horror podcast;  potentially triggering and / or upsetting content ahead!

i.  the buried.   weighed blankets.  drowning.  the comfort of a loved one’s weight.  soil and sand piling on top of you.  hugging so hard it hurts a little.  cramped hiding spots.  letting out air underwater to sink to the bottom of the pool.  walls pressing in on you.  not moving from a position even though you’re cramping a little.  dragging the last second before you have to inhale.  lonely subways.  feeling like one with the earth.  a layer of dirt on you.  looking for something below.  cardboard boxes and tiny pillow forts.  hands calloused from digging.  knowing that your purpose is just below the surface.  entering your final resting place before it kills you.  a storm drowning you out.  dust and sand speaking to you.

ii.  the corruption.   insects.  a close imitation of the natural course of life.  an illness in a community.  a rag that dirties more than it cleans.  an untreated wound.  containment.  breaching containment.  unbreathable air.  fungi.  one with that you love.  one with what loves you.  a corpse unfit for a glass case.  hearing a song in the sound of tiny wings and legs.  honeycomb patterns.  an ecosystem within a person.  a curse passed on.  the hubris of a scientist.  an ugly death where a glorious one is owed.  blood on a handkerchief.  parasites.  something pushing up the sewer.  a mask to keep something out.  trypophobia.  knowing you belong.  death weeks after impact.  fever.  food that’s gone off.  pandora’s box.  death behind a glass.

iii.  the dark.   shadows.  lights that turn off by themselves.  the feel of cold marble.  a beaked creature in the night.  the difference between seeing darkness and seeing nothing.  touch of something you can’t see.  hiding under a blanket.  white, clouded eyes.  months without going outside during sunlight.  pouring dark.  unscrewing lightbulbs.  black matter.  light sensitivity.  a starless night.  time before light was created.  a shadow on the wall without a body to attach to.  withering plants.  a world without a sun.  footfalls in an empty house in the night.  a light that doesn’t reach as far as it should.  desperate reach for a flashlight.  clothes that hide your shape.  staying unperceivable.  winter months in the north.  an empty church.

iv.  the desolation.   senseless pain.  warmth of faith.  wax where skin should be.  a blazing fire.  heat without a source.  the third or fourth tragedy in the family.  losing everything you’ve ever held dear.  so much to live for, gone so soon.  the smell of gasoline.  touch that scars.  coffee cup that never goes cold.  scorch marks on wood.  inescapably warm air.  a child born in fire.  death of a loved one.  a candle without a flame.  an altar in the middle of the woods.  animals with burnt fur.  plastic explosives.  burning hot metal.  sweating in an interrogation room.  never touching a loved one.  disfigurement.  a kiss that ruins you.  the scent of burning fat.  a tattoo that terrifies its viewer.  the agony of hellfire displayed as art.  auburn hair.  little clothing in cold weather.  a ripple in the air.  trying to cool down in vain.

v.  the flesh.   body horror.  factories.  a hunger for something more filling.  never quite happy with how you look.  the terror of an animal waiitng for slaughter.  a very good meal.  the liquid of a perfect steak.  fighting your worst survival instincts.  a twisted bone.  long nights working out.  more than one heart.  appearance that shapes like clay.  a bag of bones.  bone broth in a pot.  knowing to fear pigs.  the butcher’s shop.  plastic surgery.  something alien inside your body.  a hunger in the gaze laid upon you.  unwitting cannibalism.  forgetting what you used to look like.  being admired for your appearance and appearance only.  teeth marks on skin.  scars from wounds that should’ve killed you.  cooking in scarcity.  fenced in with one way to go.

vi.  the end.   the last page of a book.  nightmares that don’t feel like nightmares.  a skeletal hand.  the grip of the grim reaper around your throat.  existential pain.  ivory dice.  flatlining in a hospital.  gambiling with death.  as old as the universe.  soul and spirit tied to an object.  a dream where you die.  closing your eyes for the last time.  the plead of a dying one.  knowing the fate of someone you know and being unable to prevent it.  a thousand cords tugging you towards your end.  skin that’s freezing to the touch.  an act of desperation.  someone’s life for yours.  an eternity spent alive.  the cost of your selfishness.  watching your own burial.  causing your own burial.  the smell of death.  numbness to fear.  words from someone gone.  meaninglessness of the actions or lives of single people in the universe.  multiple near-death experiences you refuse to die from.

vii.  the eye.   googling something you shouldn’t have.  eureka moments.  the unforgiving lens of a camera.  witness reports.  hidden libraries.  eyes of different colours.  feeling of being watched.  a death recorded in tape.  a tragedy you can’t watch away from.  endangering yourself for knowledge.  truth.  analog records.  a symbol of an eye.  a watch tower.  compulsion to document.  turning on recording devices without thinking about it.  saving the evidence before the person.  extracting information.  truth or dare, without the dare.  a thirst for knowledge.  books that speak to you.  coordinated shelves.  cataloguing systems.  voyerism.  police report you can’t put down.  reasoning your way out.  smell of old papers.  books that read you back.

viii.  the hunt.   sharp canines.  sore calves after a run.  the scent of blood.  an adventure for the journey’s sake.  the adrenaline right before the kill.   a whistle’s echo.  the woods.  the doe eyes of a prey animal.  your own breath in the air.  sharpened claws.  being tracked.  fear of someone knowing your every movement.  hunting down monsters.  hide and seek.  running away only to end up where you started.  staying alive purely because the enemy enjoys seeing you run.  a set of footsteps behind you.  blood dripping from bare hands.  barks and growls.  focused eyes.  a victim going limp under your hands.  a mouth full of fresh blood.  catching the scent of something monstorous.  perfecting your craft.  peering into the dark and running after it.

ix.  the lonely.   an apartment too small for a double bed.  completely vacant streets.  waking up to see everyone gone.  fog.  point nemo.  a house too big to hear your family members in.  alone in a faceless crowd.  a mask with nothing behind it.  separated cubicles.  a deafening silence where joy should be.  a blinding spotlight.  the least missed in your friend group.  streets without lights in the windows.  isolation.  not truly knowing your friends.  your friends not truly knowing you.  need for silence.  fear of crowds.  staring into space knowing nothing is looking back at you.  a ship alone at sea.  depression.  knowing your friends are better off without you.  talking to someone only to realise they’re gone.  a family too large to notice you there.  safety in being alone.

x.  the slaughter.    a game of tag.   senseless violence.  a true crime hobby.  improvised weapons.  blinding rage.  intent to kill.  a horrific day in a quiet community.  a medal of bravery.  holding on to what validates your anger.  history books that spare no details.  an injury you want revenge for.  war.  counting kills.  songs of soldiers.  a knifeblock on the counter.  a pool of blood.  shellshock.  unspeakable horrors.  anger pushing you forward.  unimaginable pain.  not seeing who will hurt you but knowing the pain is coming.  a fully human monster.  an authority sending its lessers to their deaths.  kill or be killed.  unedited wartime memoirs.  a weapons collection.  not knowing the names of who you kill.  too many to remember.  loss of hope.  there’s no heroes in war.

xi.  the spiral.   sleep deprivation.  corridors you can get lost in.  maze puzzles that loop back on themselves.  losing possessions.  losing people.  losing your sanity.  corkscew curls.  rows of funhouse mirrors.  optical illusions.  a separate reality.  walking through the wrong door.  delusions.  not knowing what your hands are doing.  blank spaces in documents.  hallucinations.  wrong proportions.  a nameless thing.  a place that has never existed.  doubting your own mind.  blind faith.  losing track of names, labels, categories.  distorted sound.  an imperfection in a glass that twists the view.  loss of time.  a garish colour.  doors that open to nowhere.  lies.  an unnatural laugh.  jokes and tricks.  illusions.  a doorway.  a sculptor with a wild imagination.  limbs in impossible angles.  doing what’s fun, not what’s sensible.  fractals you can get lost in.

xii.  the stranger.   wax figures.  a close approximation of a human face.  a borrowed appearance.  a strange smell.  glass eyes.  furs and pelts.  a dance.  a song of a choir.  the uncanny valley.  stitching yourself together.  the colours of a circus.  a puppet with no strings.  mannequins.  glitter and sequin.  a stranger you’ve always known.  someone strange in the place of someone you knew.  stolen identities.  stolen skins.  a machine imitating humanity.  the anonymity of a service worker.  hiding in plain sight.  uncomfortable to look at.  a faked accent.  concealing.  forgetting who you are.  forgetting who others are.  a replacement no one notices.  images that look posed.  the only one seeing the false face of someone.

xiii.  the vast.   open spaces.  carnival rides going up and down.  fear of heights.  endless infinity around you.  your insignificance in an universe.  stomach turning at a drop.  fear of not the crash down but the moment you slip.  the sway of a cable car.  an adventure holiday.  losing track of where the surface is.  miles and miles of nothing around you.  staring at the sky and feeling like you may fall into it.  loss of control.  a fall that doesn’t end in death.  glass floor to the view below.  terminal velocity.  the sound of wind in your ears.  a reach over the railing.  a jump from the top of the building.  falling into nothing.  feeling your feet let go of the ground.  a leap of faith.  motion sickness.

xiv.  the web.   undecipherable code.  a puppeteer holding the strings.  power over the weak-willed.  strings of fate.  manipulation.  an arranged accident.  a hundred minions doing your bidding.  cobwebs.  spiders.  a laid trap.  never voicing discomfort.  outwitting a cheater.  doing things without realising it.  red string across a corkboard.  finding something lost where you were sure you checked.  power over the unrealiability of chance.  watching others dance for you.  an entangled death.  a thousand tiny lengs and fangs.  shady forum threads.  something important gone missing.  suspiciously disregarded case.  a missing witness.  connections.  the world wide web.  power of victimhood.  gullibility.  no control over your own decisions.  an invisible leash.  mass psychology.  a horror film in the making.  scapegoat.  never remembering to ask for a name.

+  the extinction.   the end of an era.  apocalypse movies.  the alarms of warning systems.  a desolate landscape.  end of the world cults.  nihilism.  the last written history.  a changed world.  no survivours.  old prophecies.  a thousand predicted ends.  a new chapter.  an end with no escape.  catastrophes.  a calendar counting down.  breaking point.  overindulgence.

TAGGED BY:  @brokentoys

TAGGING: steal it! @monomaniiametus @tricksterreformed-a @acriminallawyer

#ooc #tag meme #this was fun thanks for tagging me <3 #long post