#ALSO. having said what i said about her Mozart. i would have LOVED to hear her Fiordligi and Vitellia. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aminiatureworld · 2 years

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Ikemen Vampire Headcanons I

Characters: Napoleon, Mozart, Leonardo ft. gn!reader and the rest of the mansion

Premise: I'm sick so I wrote some random headcanons

Word Count: 1,914

Warnings:Various series spoilers

Napoleon Bonaparte

Monsieur Bonaparte is a closeted Romantic. He has read as a great deal of Percy Shelley, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights, The Sorrow of Young Werther Lord Byron’s works, etc. He’s also a closeted romantic. He definitely read Cyrano, and then locked himself in his room for two days after finishing it. He sees an appreciation for Romantic (and romantic) literature as part of the well-rounded nature of a gentleman. If he were a medievalist he’d be a passionate supporter of Courtly Love.

That being said Napoleon’s attempt at romance novel writing is very much a moot point. The only thing he writes now is entries in his diary and, somewhat endless, letters to you.

In a similar vein, Napoleon is surprisingly well put together in terms of clothing. He sees it once more as the mark of a gentleman. He’s also somewhat still chased by the view of him as an upstart or person of base origin. Fashion is one of the easiest ways to make people see you as ‘respectable’ and Napoleon uses this to the fullest when he goes out into the City.

Napoleon’s one capitulation to his past is a series of portraits he commissioned Leonardo to paint depicting his mother, father, sisters, brothers, wife Josephine, and son Napoleon II. He keeps them in a box in his dresser and only takes them out every once in a while, less so since you entered the mansion. Still, when he’s experiencing a particular pang of nostalgia or regret he likes to take them out and look at them. In particular he’ll sometimes talk to the painting of Pauline – his sister. He wishes that she were still with him so she could listen to her witticisms.

In a different capitulation to his past, Napoleon became a bit obsessed with Great Britain after being revived. He is after all still a military man in some ways, even if he can’t serve in the French army for, somewhat obvious reasons. He wants to know what exactly made Great Britain impossible to defeat, why the French Army had no chance of getting past the Royal Navy’s blockade, and why Trafalgar was such a blow for his army. He’d end up pestering Arthur with a lot of questions about British society, most of which wouldn’t get properly answered.

That being said he’d scoff at the idea of Britain being innately better than any other country or kingdom. I think if you told him France wasn’t as good as Britain he’d get genuinely offended. Might challenge you to a duel depending on the day (he wouldn’t actually kill you or anything but like, he’d probably nick you). He definitely fits the stereotype of the proud French man.

Napoleon’s obsession with empire kind of died with his original self. I don’t think he’d feel comfortable with royalist circles, not just because Napoleon was very much looked down upon by the upper classes and the aristocracy. He’s accepted by now that France is a republic and that’s the end of that. Any attempt to discuss the possibility of a French Empire like in his old life he’d brush off. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He secretly thinks Napoleon III is a buffoon, though out of some sense of familial loyalty he doesn’t let others know about his opinion.

Being a family man as he was and still is, Napoleon would still like children, though it’s something he’d be willing to talk to you about. Not everyone wants kids after all, adopted or not. Even if you didn’t want children Napoleon wouldn’t be too torn up about it. How many brothers does he have now? Too many. (At least he’s not trying to put them all on European thrones that’s right I’m calling you out dumbas-).

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart has a love hate relationship with listening to other composers. He knows on a cognitive level that, having been surrounded by musicians and composers in his past, his style isn’t going to be affected by what he hears. Yet there’s still a part of his mind that worries that other styles, especially newer ones, will somehow rub off on him and contaminate his artistic vision.

So, though Saint-Germain offers often enough, Mozart only goes to concerts occasionally, usually for his birthday and then sometime during the holiday season.

He enjoys going to concerts of his own works and silently critiquing the artistic interpretation of the conductors. Honestly, you’d think these people couldn’t tell staccato from marcato. Plebians.

Though Mozart finds a lot of Romantic Era music too long and bombastic – how does Wagner not see that he disgraced the balance of the orchestra with his string section, how many violins does the bastard need – he enjoys Rossini well enough, as well as Paganini and some of Schubert’s Lieder. That being said, never take this man to a Mahler symphony. He won’t last the first movement.

Do not try making music jokes, it’s a lost cause. One viola joke later and he’s writing on a chalkboard about how the viola is central to orchestral balance, and how a violin and a cello couldn’t replace it, and how dare you assume that a violinist requires better technique to play, have you seen some of the viola parts? Violinists don’t have to read multiple clefs! Honestly the presumption, the ingratitu-

At some point everyone has left the room. Professor Mozart isn’t something anyone can handle.

Like the madman he is, Mozart quite enjoys writing piano trios. He does it to blow off steam, as it’s a challenging enough thing to do. He has composed at least one piano trio for every member of the mansion, two for Dazai and Arthur. He plays them when they’re being particularly annoying, it’s an inside joke for him.

Yet, though Mozart would vehemently deny it, he’s also written a variation on the favorite piece of every member of the mansion, it’s usually one of the first things he does upon meeting a new member. It’s a way for him to get a feel of their character, and also an interesting challenge to see all the different ways music can be composed. Dazai’s was especially interesting, though he also quite enjoyed composing Leonardo’s.

Though some have suggested it, Mozart refuses to go back and finish some of the pieces that were incomplete upon his death. He is a different man now, and cannot recollect the emotions and thoughts that would be required to properly finish up the pieces. He feels understanding when one must move on from compositions is vital to continuing to compose.

No one else can clean Mozart’s piano, and only Leonardo is allowed to tune. Everyone else must simply admire from afar. Except for you. Mozart will sometimes let you sit on his lap or next to him, gently placing his hands over yours as he guides your fingers in a semi-awkward dance.

If you play an instrument, no matter the instrument, he’d love to play a duet with you. You’ll have to be the one to bring it up though, he won’t do it himself.

Leonardo da Vinci

Leonardo secretly wishes to sketch every single moment of importance in human history. He sees is as a monument to humanity, a tapestry to show how people are capable of great things, whether good or evil.

He also enjoys sketching the every day things. His favorite collection of sketches recently was that of a woman threshing wheat. It was just a very beautiful and intimate moment. The small miracles of humanity, or so he thinks when he allows himself to feel sentimental. In a way, isn’t his art a contribution to those small little moments? He may be a vampire, but there’s no guarantee his art will stand the test of time as he has. As such he sees art as a way to connect with the ethereal nature of humanity. Yes, perhaps his art may not last a hundred years, but it was still worth creating, was it not?

Leonardo was the one who insisted that the mansion have such a large library, in truth he’s already planned a second one in one of the less used wings of the house. What can he say? His love of art is rivaled only by his need for knowledge. He needs to have the capacity to learn about anything at the tips of his hands, and if that requires using most of his money to buy books, so be it.

Non fiction is definitely Leonardo’s area, he’s not a huge fan of the novel. However he enjoys epics and plays and poetry. And who could resist The Divine Comedy or Chaucer?

He also has a shelf in his room dedicated to his notebooks where he writes down anything new he’s studied or learned about. If you want to see crazy tanks or flying machines, that’s where you check.

Leonardo has always had a sort of fascination with anatomy and with the way that bodies move and work. He’d love sketching dancers, athletes, or laborers in general. He also loves seeing the ways that people differ, and the beauty in such differences. The human form is shrouded in divinity, no matter the form. After all, are humans not the divine light of a vampire’s shadow?

Architecture is also something Leonardo enjoys. Throughout his tours of Europe and the rest of the world one of the things that have struck him most is the different architecture of every nation, and how it reflects the people who live in different countries. He also enjoys studying clothing for similar purposes, although he himself does not keep up with the latest fashions, opting instead for worn in jackets and the smock of an artist or artisan – which is what he sees himself as first and foremost.

Saint-Germain and Leonardo have had a romantic relationship at some point in time, and even when they choose not to be lovers they have a bond that is both inexplicable and deeper beyond what anyone can interfere with. They are platonic soulmates, and often romantic too. Leonardo secretly sees himself as the more grounded of the two. He’s correct in his assumption.

Of all the eras that Leonardo has lived through, he still has a soft spot for the 15th century Italian peninsula. What can he say, roots run very deep. There is a fear inside of him that he might someday forget himself, where he came from, how he passed his youth. As such he’s developed a very strong sense of nostalgia for his past, though he also enjoys seeing the way the world has moved and shifted, particularly the ways that technology has changed.

Though it’s in the future, Saint-Germain has told Leonardo a little bit about aeroplanes. The day that the Kitty Hawk flight happens is something that Leonardo is very much excited to see, even if he won’t actually be there.

Leonardo is very very domestic. There’s a reason that he’s the second father of the house after all. The moment he sees a baby or a child he wants to play with them or make them laugh or smile. Indeed Leonardo’s become slightly famous on the outskirts of Paris for bringing children all sorts of strange gifts, from wood carvings to music boxes. It’s something he takes pride in, and he hope that he might have a family someday, either as a father or as a very cool uncle.

#ikemen vampire #ikemen napoleon #ikemen mozart #ikemen leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp mozart #ikevamp leonardo #headcanons #my writing #bern writes

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

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Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle #tw self harm #tw suicude #tw child abuse

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argylemikewheeler · 3 years

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July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

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alby-rei · 3 years

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[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks

a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?

a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.

My entry for @scummy-writes‘s Arthur Week!

Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block

[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)

[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian

[Word count]: ~2300 words

[Rating]: T

[POV]: 2nd Person

“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.

You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.

Well, that is except—

“_____~!”

Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.

You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.

“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”

Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.

“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.

“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,” You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!”

You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.

“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.

“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”

“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.

You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”

“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.

“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”

Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.

As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.

“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.

“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”

And just like that, he scurried off.

After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto.

~*~

You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.

“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”

“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.

Right on time, as you expected.

“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.

Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?

Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.

“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”

“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”

Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.

Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”

He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.

“Do you think it worked?”

“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”

“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.

“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”

“Ah, but who said I was acting?”

He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.

“Wait… what?!”

~*~

Later that evening…

…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.

Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.

Well crap.

“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”

For the love—.

“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”

In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.

“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.

“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time.

You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.

He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.

“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.

You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.

“Arthur, are you… drunk?”

His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”

(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)

The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…

“Is your head okay?”

“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”

Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization.

With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.

“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.

Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.

“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”

You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.

Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.

“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.

This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.

“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.

“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.”

It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.

“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.

“Yes, ____?”

Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment.

“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”

~*~

It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.

“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.

You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.

“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”

“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”

You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.

“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”

“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”

“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”

You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”

“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.

You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.

“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.

“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”

#where does that put their relationship?#no idea!#what I do know is that Arthur is a happy baby #congratulations MC you played yourself #MC's plan backfires #accomplice dazai did his job #note: MC promised to help him build his chicken army in return #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikemen vampire arthur #arthur week #arthur week day 3 #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp mc #alby one-shots #ikevamp fanfic

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

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Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."

#Natalie Holt #composer #Loki #OST

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chaoticpuff17 · 4 years

Text

Suga, We’re Going Down

Part 1

masterlist

Because, my darlings, I have no impulse control and Yoongi demanded to be written. I’m going to see if I can balance between SW and this, alternate releasing chapters for each story, but we’ll see. The title is a working title. don’t know if I’ll stick with it. I’m open to suggestions. Enjoy, my lovlies! It was a blast to write!-- Chaotic puff

here’s a link to the song the MC plays in this chapter!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q

Yoongi didn’t go to events like this. He was a professional, but even professionals got blocks sometimes, and he was having a block. He couldn’t seem to produce anything new. He had spent hours in his studio trying to come up with something, but the muse had abandoned him. He needed to get out of his head, to get out of the studio for a while.

That was how he ended up sitting through a university showcase watching young, aspiring musicians present their skills. It was a far more classical feel than he used in his music. He was a rap god. He didn’t really use Debussy and Mozart in his work. But there was something amusing about watching all the fresh faced youths taking their showcase so seriously. Most of them would never be serious musicians. They would never play for a national symphony, but the way they all looked it was as if they were playing for some great orchestra or symphony instead of a small college showcase was amusing. It was all so serious, all so insignificant.

He was bored with it. Bored with the overly perfect renditions of the same songs that people had been playing for decades. Where was the feeling? Where was the passion? They were all just clinically passing through the motions for a grade. None of them would make serious musicians, not playing the way they did.

He was about to leave when the first strains of the cello caught his attention. It was the first real emotion he had heard from any of them. His eyes snapped to the stage to see a pair of girls. One was seated at the piano while the other was sat on a solitary chair with a cello before her. Both of them were as perfectly put together as every other student that had gone before them had been, black dresses and not a hair out of place.

He ignored the pianist in the favor of the cellist. Her eyes were closed as she played the rest of her face serene. She was completely at peace even though the song she played showed a deep sorrow. The song was just as recognizable as every other piece that had been played that night. The only difference was the musician.

She was lovely, pale and fragile under the stage lights, but there was also something almost unbearably sad about her, and it showed in her playing. The piece itself was already melancholy, but the way she played it was nearly heartbreaking. Her hair was pulled back in a neat updo that left her face clear for his perusal. Even with her eyes closed her face was filled with emotion. The simple string of pearls around her neck highlighted its curve, its swan like quality. Everything about her was simple, classic, graceful as she played.

He looked through the program he had been given when he’d first arrived searching for the song, searching for a name, her name. There is it was. The Swan composed by Camille Saint-Saens played by Kang Y/N and accompanied by Guem Nina. Kang Y/N. The name rang through his head carried by the melody she played. Beautiful. Beautiful and sad just like the song she played, just like her.

The song passed by too quickly for his liking. Before he knew it she was pulling her bow across the strings for the final time. Both musicians bowed to the audience before disappearing backstage and out of his sight. The spell was broken, but Yoongi still wanted to know more. Who was she? Why was she so sad? Why had she chosen that song? Yoongi wanted to know it all. The thought of her sent inspiration running through him. The fire was lit again telling him to create, to compose, for her.

He wanted to know what she would think of his music. Did she listen to rap? More specifically, did she listen to him? Or did she prefer classical music like the kind she had just played? Did she play any other instruments? Did she sing? How would the cello sound intertwined with his own style of music? He wanted to know the answer to all of these questions and so many more, but first he had to find her. Kang Y/N. His new muse.

So he sent out a bodyguard to find out everything about her that he could. Perhaps he should have felt guilty sending out a man to practically stalk the girl and bring him information on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about the invasion of her privacy. She consumed him, filling his thoughts. He wanted her near him. He wanted to hear her play, wanted to wipe the sadness from her features, and he was determined to do just that. She was meant to be his, and he wouldn’t rest until she was.

Y/N was unaware of the thoughts coursing through his head as she was backstage tucked into a broom closet peeling herself out of her dress and the uncomfortable heels in favor of a pair of ripped jeans and a comfy sweater. She let her hair down from its tight confines and secured it in a loose pony tail. She loved playing, but stepping out on stage was always nerve wracking for her. The dresses and the perfectly put together faces never seemed like her. She wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was just… her. She didn’t even own the cello she had just played. She could never afford such a beautiful instrument. It belonged to the school.

She had had the cello on loan so long as she participated in the university orchestra, but that deal could no longer be upheld on her end. Family and financial obligations would no longer allow it. They were barely making ends meet as it was. She didn’t have the time to spend at rehearsals and practices when she needed to be focusing on her studies and working. Even her studies would have to take a back seat if their fortunes didn’t take a turn for the better soon.

It was just her, her grandmother, and her baby nephew, well no longer quite a baby. He was going to be three before she knew it. Her mother had taken off years ago. She flew in and out of their lives whenever it suited her usually when she wanted someone from them. Her father, bless him, couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. He was a dreamer. He sat at home most days contemplating the great questions of life like some sort of great philosopher. Most times he was drunk when he did this. She thanked god that he wasn’t violent drunk. His head was in the clouds more than else when he was drunk. Her sister, well no one really knew where Ha Jin was. She had taken off after the baby was born. She’d left Eun Jae with her and their grandmother, and she’d disappeared into the wind just like their mother had.

Part of her wanted to blame her little sister, to scream to the high heavens that it wasn’t fair that she was too young to be responsible for a child, but so was Ha Jin. She had been a child when she’d gotten pregnant, just seventeen when the baby was born. She was far too young to be a mother. Y/N couldn’t blame her for not being ready to raise a child, but she could blame her for abandoning Eun Jae.

Eun Jae didn’t know his mother. As far as he was concerned Y/N was his mother. She and Halmeoni were his whole world, his whole family. Her father couldn’t be counted as any sort of parental figure. He couldn’t be counted as one for his own daughters much less for his grandson. She’d heard her grandmother curse on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless son. Y/N had cursed on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless father. But they had to work with what they were given, and this was the hand that fate had played them.

She had been eight when she’d figured out that both of her parents were useless. She’d been sixteen when she’d gotten her first part time job to help support the family. She’d been nineteen when she’d had to become a mother for her nephew. It was a shitty life, but it was hers.

Despite all the chaos Eun Jae had brought into the world, she wouldn’t trade him for anything. She loved that little boy more than life. He was her little angel, her light, the reason she was willing to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice everything. She may not have birthed him, but he was her son. He was the reason that she was sitting in a chicken place late in the evening a few days after the showcase with Nina. The pair of them were huddled over a phone making a profile on an app called sugarbebe.

“Are you sure about this?” Nina asked as they finalized her profile. “Maybe you could get another job.”

“I’m already working two jobs, along with school and practice, and Eun Jae. I can’t take on anything else.” She shook her head tiredly, glaring down at her phone in distaste. “We need the money.”

“What are you going to tell Halmeoni?” Nina questioned brows furrowed worriedly.

“I’m not going to tell Halmeoni anything. She thinks I’m looking for another job to take the place of orchestra.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

“No.” She laughed recalling the look on her grandmother’s face when she had told her that she was quitting orchestra. “She’s pissed at me. Says I’m wasting my God given talent, and that I’ll end up like my mom and my father and my sister if I’m not careful.”

“Harsh.” The other girl cringed knowing full well just how scary Y/N’s grandmother could be. “I still can’t believe it was your last concert.”

“It was only a showcase. Forget orchestra. Halmeoni said all that, and I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of giving up school to help with the bills.”

Nina’s eyes widened almost comically. “She’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah. I know.” She shuddered thinking of what her grandmother would do to her if she did quit school to help. It would not be a pretty picture. “I think she’d beat me black and blue with her favorite soup ladle.”

“Then let’s hope she doesn’t find out, and let’s hope you find yourself a rich sugar daddy.” Nina raised her glass in a mock toast, and Y/N raised hers as well.

“Here’s hoping.”

They pressed the button submitting her profile on the app. It was too late to back out now. If she was lucky whoever chose her wouldn’t be too old or perverted. With any luck he wouldn’t be ugly either, but that was asking a lot and she didn’t hold that much hope. She’d be lucky if the guy wasn’t too much of a creep.

They both stared down at the phone in shock as it chimed, the banner announcing that she had a match on sugarbebe. Neither of them had expected anything quite that soon.

“Well, open it! What does it say? Who did you match with?” Nina asked excitedly eyes taking up almost the whole of her face with how wide they were.

She tapped on her phone opening the profile. MYG. No picture. Age twenty-seven. A producer. There wasn’t much information, but there was a message from the man asking to meet in person.

Nina looked over her shoulder frowning as she examined the profile as well. “He doesn’t have much information does he?”

“He wants to meet.”

“When?”

“Friday.” She gulped suddenly filled with nerves. It was all becoming so real. “He’s wants to meet on Friday at D-2.”

They both knew D-2. Every young person in the city knew it. It was the hottest club in Seoul at the moment, made even hotter by the fact it was owned by the king of rap himself, Agust D. To get into D-2 you either had to be rich, famous, or willing to wait in atrociously long lines and tipping the bouncer an outrageous amount of money wouldn’t hurt your chances either.

“D-2?” Nina gasped practically ripping the phone out of her hand to read the message herself. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

It was a good question. She really didn’t have anything that could be considered worthy of a place like D-2. Nothing she owned was really sexy. It was mostly comfy sweaters, jeans, and cute skirts. Things she could wear to school and work and were comfortable enough to chase a toddler around in. None of those would be appropriate for the club. Neither would any of the dresses she used for concerts. And the look on her face clearly conveyed that to Nina.

“You can borrow something of mine.” She assured gently patting her friend’s arm. “Maybe he won’t be so bad?”

“Maybe.” She agreed nervously.

“You can borrow that purple dress of mine. I can lend you some earrings too.” Nina offered sending her a reassuring smile. “At least you know if he’s meeting you at D-2 he’s gotta be rich.”

Y/N smiled back nervously. “I’m just hoping he’s not too much of a creep. Eun Jae is supposed to be with me at the apartment on Friday. Do you think you could babysit? If I ask Halmeoni to keep him at the restaurant she’ll ask questions.”

She had a small apartment close to campus that she stayed at normally. Eun Jae would bounce between the apartment and the family home with Halmeoni. It was good for him to be out of the house and away from her father sometimes, and it allowed her to keep Eun Jae close. She saw him often enough as she worked at Halmeoni’s restaurant, but on the weekends he would stay with her at the apartment. She’d take him back to Halmeoni’s on Sunday evening, and they’d both stay the night. Halmeoni would watch him during the week while she had classes, practice, and work, and Halmeoni lived closer to the preschool they were sending him to. She hated being away from him so much, but it was the best they could do for the moment.

“Of course I’ll watch Jae-ah.” Nina smiled. “You know I love the little guy. I’m his favorite auntie.”

“You’re his only auntie.”

“Technically, you’re his aunt.”

“Well unless Ha Jin suddenly shows up with a maternal instinct, I’m all he’s got in the mom department.”

“Poor kid.” Nina cringed teasingly.

“Hey.” Y/N shoved her shoulder playfully. “I’m a great mom.”

“You’re okay at it.” The other girl dodged another hit. “I mean, he does have a sugar baby for a mom.”

“First of all, rude. Second, it’s only until we get our heads above water again, and then never again. This will all be a bad memory.”

Nina squeezed her arm sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll actually have a good time.”

“I really don’t think so, but how bad could it be?” It wasn’t going to be forever, and she could put up with anything to help her family, for Eun Jae.

part 2

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts yoongi #bts suga #min yoongi #suga #yandere yoongi #yandere suga #rapper yoongi #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #yandere #fanfic #bts fanfic

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fa-by · 3 years

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Hi, Faby I'm finally free of homework. I loved your theory on all these years. I laughed at the memes. many CS say we have a version of Camila with all these years, but we don't have a similar version of Lauren but at the time that Camila and Lauren weren't together (after Camila left the group) Lauren kept thinking about Camila because she kept writing songs based on her relationship with Camila like all night. Can you make a song analysis of all night?

Hello to you, dear @camilalauren0327 👋🏼😄 I'm glad you're free from your homework 💪🏼 I'm also glad that you loved my interpretation and that you laughed at the GIFs.

So. About All Night, I can tell you it's track n° 11 of Steve Aoki's Neon Future IIIalbum. Both Laur and Steve loved the time spent together in the studio, and Steve totally loved working with her: “She’s got so many ideas and the problem is, they’re all good. She’s very meticulous. The attention to detail Lauren has is something I don’t find in many people. She’s very attentive to the detail. She’s got those ears, she’s got the sensibility and the vision, and I’m just totally inspired to be in the studio with her”.

As for the lyrics, were already there, but Laur rewrote them and wrote the bridge from scratch. Vocally speaking, she did all the backgrounds and vocally self-produced. So the vocal production? It's hers. It was her. Yeah. She's thattalented, and people still sleep on her. But anyway. Let's move on to my interpretation now, shall we?

Verse 1:

“My heart beats a little faster

When our eyes meet, in the middle of a crowded room”

Typical reaction of when we meet someone we like. You know? Heart beating fast as Laur says, along with butterflies in the stomach, cheeks blushing, palms sweating, adrenaline, dry mouth, palpitations, hot flashes, etc., etc.

“In knee deep, testing waters”

What does ‘in knee deep’ make us understand? That it wasn't an ordinary person that she just liked, but that it was a person that she really liked very much. *cough Mila*

“I've got a feeling, and I don't know what to do”

Why? Because she knew it was different and contrary to the past, she didn't know how to act.

Chorus:

“You got me paralyzed, and I think I like it”

As I think you know, ‘paralyzed’ in this case is intended as being blocked by a strong emotion (such as amazement). Mila got her paralyzed. Their situation and feelings were so strong, so deep/in knee-deep, that Laur was petrified by it. But despite this, as I said before, this was different. Unlike anything she'd ever felt before. And she liked it.

“Caught me by surprise, I'm not usually like this, no”

It caught her by surprise because she didn't expect it. And we know why she wasn't usually like that. Because she'd been in denial all her life. Because she'd always fought against these feelings.

“Got me paralyzed, don't think I can help it”

She couldn't. Even if she tried, she couldn't. She couldn't help herself.

“Why's it feel so right?”

Why did what she was taught to be wrong made her feel so good/right? Because it was. It was in general, but it was even more so with her. With Mila.

Post-Chorus:

“Let's keep this going all night

Going all night

Going all night”

Freedom. Without thinking of tomorrow. Tomorrow's tomorrow.

Verse 2:

“The crowd fades, tunnel vision

In a daze, and the only thing I feel is you”

Because she was the only important thing. The only thing that mattered. All the rest? They were just surroundings.

“In perfect, syncopation”

Syncopation can be a rhythm, a passage, or a dance step. Syncopation in music occurs when a rhythm is unexpected and is played off-beat. It's like, an oscillation in a soft and not stiff way. It's an imbalance and prolongation of a note in the middle that creates an effect of, precisely, oscillation. Flamenco is the simplest first example that comes to mind for both musical rhythm and danced rhythm, but syncopation is used in many music styles. From the classical music of Mozart and Beethoven, to the ragtime ancestor of jazz, jazz itself, rock, metal, reggae, hip-hop, pop, house, salsa, etc.

To give you a practical example to help you understand better, count 5, 6, 7, 8 out loud three times in a row. From the fourth time, keep counting out loud and, at the same time, use the palm of your hand or the clenched fist on a surface to hear the rhythm yourself and understand how stable it is. Do this three times or even more until it’s natural for you to keep up the pace without having to keep counting 5, 6, 7, 8 out loud. Once you've done that, keep counting mentally and hit/tap 5 a little bit harder with a little pause, and then just 7, 8. It would be like: 5, no hit/tap, 7, 8.

FIIIVE, seven, eight - FIIIVE, seven, eight - FIIIVE, seven, eight.

You can slow down or speed up as you like, and this, dear @camilalauren0327 and babies, is an example of syncopation. If you guys want, to listen and understand better, I also found this for you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-H6oXpF-tw.

But anyway. What's my point? Why explain all this to you? Because for many composers and producers, syncopation is a vital element because it helps them tie the rhythm and the melody of a song together. The use of syncopation in music in general, but more precisely in a song, makes the track different and even unique at times.

And now that you know this, Lauren did or didn't use a beautiful metaphor with a simple one-word to describe her and Mila? *she was so phenomenal and romantic 😍*

“Face to face, tell me do you feel it too?”

Sounds weird that Laur was wondering, right? Well, it actually isn't because this song is about the moment in the timeline they were in the Like Friends Dosituation. Laur was still in denial and therefore they didn't speak. She didn't know if Mila still wanted her or not, and most likely, it was just before Mila started her relationship with the mystery girl because it coincides with Lauren finally accepting herself and her feelings for her.

Chorus:

“You got me paralyzed, and I think I like it

Caught me by surprise, I'm not usually like this, no

Got me paralyzed, don't think I can fight this

Why's it feel so right?”

The difference between the first chorus and this, is the ‘don't think I can fight this’ here. As I said before and as we know, Laur had been in denial all her life and she’d always fought against these feelings, but this time it was different. Thiswas different because Camila was different. Hell, Lauren herself was different. The environment she was in was different. Different especially from home and from what she was used to there. Her feelings were different. More powerful. Nothing like the crushes she'd had on other girls in the past, and she knew, because she knew, that she was going to lose this fight. Here, or rather at the time at that moment, she was simply admitting it to herself.

Bridge:

“But maybe I should wait

Let it fall into place

'Cause I keep going over

The things that could come from me feeling this way (Way)”

She was having second thoughts here. Her fear took over. Fear is the most powerful tool in the world. It makes you do unimaginable things and it makes you not do what you really want.

“And I don't wanna play (I don't wanna play)

This emotional game (This emotional game)

But when you pull me closer

I cannot deny that I want you to stay”

BUT, she finally gave in. She overcame her fear by finally admitting to herself that she wanted her, and not just physically. The ‘stay’ is tricky because if it's read just like that, it only means a physical action, but for Camren? It means so much more. An example that comes to mind now is the ‘It's almost 2AM and I can't ask you to stay’ that we find in Feel It Twice. For them, the ‘stay’ is not just a physical action. It's deeper. It means staying with each other. It means staying/being together.

After the bridge, we have the post-bridge and then the chorus again (in which that raspy, mature high-note occurs on the “I cannot deny this love”, which honestly leaves me dead every time) which I've already explained, so that's it, dear @camilalauren0327. All Night is a song about Laur's acceptance of her feelings for Mila.

I hope you liked it, and, I don't know where you live, but I hope you're having a wonderful summer or a beginning of winter. Sending you a hug 🤗

For you guys, on the other hand, I hope you too are having a wonderful summer or a beginning of winter wherever you live 😊 I'll try to keep answering your asks whenever possible until I get home in September (damn places with no connection and only one wi-fi).

Always remember to be kind, to others and to yourselves. Be a good example. Be patient. Be safe and take care of yourselves. Don't let our ship sink. Keep shipping them, but please respectfully 🙏🏼 Sending you virtual love and hugs 🤗🤗🤗 I love you, babies. Always with love, F ❤️

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

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Imagine if the suitors went to the beach for a whole day in the modern world...what crazy crap do you think will happen

Here are a handful of crazy and/or cute headcanons that came to mind! :D

-Mozart swatting away seagulls because HE IS TRYING TO EAT IN PEACE

-Jeanne watching him, MC offering him two water guns with a silent nod (sunglasses on, we’re going full meme)

-Jeanne then proceeds to shoot at them (no gulls were harmed in making of this promotional video) and his aim is impeccable it would be disturbing if the thwarted squawking wasn’t so funny

-Little kids start swarming around Jeanne asking how he’s so amazing and wanting to play team battles, inviting him to join

-Napoleon encourages him, and even Mozart joins in despite not liking getting wet very much (he wants Jeanne to have some positive fun times bc he BIIIIIIIG depressy)

-In the end they both admit to having fun, and one of the kids even teaches Jeanne a special ten step handshake (Jeanne has no idea what that was but the kiddo was smiling so he figured he’d go with it)

-HE AND MOZART STILL SECRETLY USE THE HANDSHAKE FOR FUNSIES BUT TELL NO ONE BECAUSE THEY DON’T LIKE F U N DON’T LOOK AT THEM

-Dazai, alternatively, gathers the fallen gull army and becomes their god with a singular cylinder of Pringles. No I will not elaborate--THE SEA GULLS GOT HER!!!!!!!!

-Spends most of the beach day wetting his feet in the tide pools and talking very earnestly to the gulls about this new thing he learned about called tax evasion while people pass by this fucker in full kimono at the beach and are convinced he’s lost it

-Dazai is very much not sane but we knew this already, offers sea shells to little kids that ask him what he’s doing and tells them to listen to the secrets bird friends can tell them

-If Dazai sounds like an Animal Crossing Villager, that was entirely by accident but remains no less true

-Surprising absolutely no one, Arthur suggests volley ball after watching people play and invites some pretty ladies to join him

-Arthur ends up needing two more people to play, so he invites Vincent and Theo (Vincent is so excited about trying something new that Theo can’t say no despite wanting to make a volleyball-shaped crater in Arthur’s face)

-The funniest part about the volleyball game is that not only is Arthur a shit player (CANON WEAK ARMS FOOL) Theo destroys with his spikes, and Vincent’s reach is insane--the two brothers end up becoming the talk of the beach

-I just laugh imagining Vincent sincerely complimenting people around him and the ladies swooning because he’s just so nice and pretty is he even real

-Men aren’t happy about that^TM but at the sight of Theo’s defensive glower they keep their malicious traps shut--which turn on whichever girls weren’t interested in Vincent jahkslgjh

-**Kaguyasama narrator voice** Today on Arthur Shenanigans: Arthur loses

-Poor Isaac is hiding under the umbrella clutching sunscreen bc HE IS A PASTY BOY HELP HIM

-MC brought a few of the newest Maths/Physics books in her time for him to read, and while he doesn’t enjoy the intensity of the sun--not like vamp weakness, it’s just the strain on his body (too many stimuli too many people too much noise) that makes him tired and ultimately thirsty bc aberrant. But the change of scenery's not so bad.......

-MC laughs when she gets out of the water and the salt dries visibly on her skin, Isaac’s eyes bug out and he asks if it hurts (startles when Leo flicks sea water at him and asks how on earth they got in the water when it’s so cold!!!)

-Leo chats with him and he likes being able to draw theorems and the like in the sand, it’s like one big chalkboard (until a kid tramples across them in the middle of writing, POPPYCOCK!). Isaac ultimately has fun but prefers to stay inside poor bub

-Leonardo, surprising no one, falls asleep in the sand the second he gets there HE IS HOME (Italian beaches, amirite)

-MC decides to, after a point, bury him fully in the sand for shits

-Comte notices and aids in her shenanigans from his beach chair, snickering the whole time

-When the two are satisfied they go for a swim together, trusting Leo to look after Isaac if need be (even if he’s a mummy rn)

-Comte is relieved to hear that she knows how to swim, but also watches carefully and doesn’t let her drift out too far by keeping closer to the shore himself (riptides!!!! can be!!!!!!! dangerous!!!!!!!!!!) if he had his way (he would never impose but he worries ;-;) she’d be wearing floaties SAFETY FIRST

-They splash at each other like maniacs and chat amiably until they start swimming away as fast as possible when Leo wakes up, laughing

-How do we know that Leo woke up?

-Because he sat up ramrod straight and a tower of sand fell. He then proceeded to jump up and sprint to the water despite Isaac’s startled cries about being careful, and swam after them like a shark to get his revenge (it was like something out of an anime s2g)

-Mostly just tugs on MC’s leg, picks her up in the water, and yeets her across in retaliation; really harmless, she’s cackling the whole time

-Dunks Comte’s head in the water while he’s being scolded, and MC has to de-escalate their increasingly dangerous shenanigans before the life guard comes after them LMFAO

-They concede only bc MC looks sad/worried abt being kicked out, and agree to keep things fun FIGHT TO THE DEATH LATER TONIGHT

-Napoleon goes for a nice long walk along the shoreline and climbs the rocks if he finds any til he gets to the top (he does not go to his happy place HE GOES TO HIS HIGH LONESOME PLACE) wishes that Jupiter could be here to enjoy the brine

-Our boy Napoleon is simply just vibin he loves the beach. A little further off the sound of people is p muted, it’s just the crashing waves and crisp smell of salt, the light breeze ruffling his hair

-Sebas is absolutely watching through binoculars and writing down how majestic Napoleon is while making sure no one gets lost/wrecked as he takes notes

Bonus: since volleyball games can often happen back to back on a sizable beach, the boys^TM were playing and Arthur called out “Theo duck!!!!” and just as Theo was saying “Are you fucking kidding me did you really think I’d--T H W A C K” Theo gets nailed in the back of the head (Arthur later died after being put in a headlock)

Shakespeare didn’t feel like playing volley ball and didn’t have much else to do (can’t swim and has no interest), so he just sat back and tried to throw Theo off his game as much as possible

Por ejemplo: Theo misses a serve and Shakespeare just “For never was there a story of more woe; O bard Alexa, verily, play us Despacito” “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

Jeanne also gets hit by a stray volley ball, but when Vincent said “Oh no, Jeanne, duck!” he has one of either two reactions: 1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams plays obnoxiously loud as he dodges inhumanly fast 2. he quacks, gets nailed, and doesn’t react because he doesn’t have any brain cells to damage

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yukina-otome · 3 years

Text

Ikevamp pregnancy and family headcanon pt.3

I am back ! This time with Isaac and jean ! I hope you enjoy ! Please encourage me and let me know what you think !

@ginshoujo @bierunderdbeeren @fun-ghoul-neela @loverofmanyrandomthings

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

-Isaac: A daughter

-He spent most of his life alone so the idea of one day being a father was foreign and impossible for him. -When you came into his room one day being all nervous and refusing to look him in the eyes he thought you were there to dump him. -The last thing he expected you to say was that you were pregnant. -Isaac was so shocked he kept silent as you started rambling in nervousness. -After few minutes of Isaac staying silent and you rambling on how you want to keep the baby because it is the product of your love, Isaac finally spoke: -"P-Pregnant....as in....B-Baby? Mine ? Wait....no that's no what i should be saying in this situation...ah wait a minute.....So there is a baby made of my sperm and your ovule in your uterus ??" -"Yes Isaac that's exactly what pregnant mean....are you not happy ?" -"NO ! I am very happy ! It's just that i never had a father, and I'm so awkward and clumsy I don't know if i can be a good father to our child" -The word "Our child" felt so foreign to him yet the second he said his heart felt so full. -After that you spent long hours reassuring him before you both fell asleep dreaming of your future together with your baby. -Few days later both of you guys decided to announce it to the whole mansion during dinner and as soon as the word "I am pregnant" left your mouth the whole dinner room fell silent. -The silence was broken by Arthur who said "Congratulation Newt you old chap, I can already suggest a pretty good name for your child! What about Apple if its a girl ! And if its a boy Applo !" -Isaac started arguing with Arthur and Dazai who also suggested naming your child Ringo. The rest of the resident all congratulated you and Sebastian banned you from doing house chores. -Your pregnancy was very peaceful. You would visit Isaac at the university almost every day and all his students treated you as if you were made of glass. The dean would always ask you about how you were doing and when you were in your 8th month, all the students and the dean gave you presents for the baby. -You were in university attending one of Isaac's class when your water broke. You started groaning and screaming in pain and the whole classroom started panicking. -Isaac was at your side by the second and quickly carrying you out of the class and toward the hospital (the students followed you) -And so you were in the delivery room while Isaac, 80 university students and the mansion's resident were waiting outside. -Napoleon was by Isaac's side trying to calm him down while Arthur Theo Dazai leo and le compte were making bets about the baby's gender. -After what felt like hours, the doctor came out of the delivery room and looked at the huge crowd in amazement before saying "Who is the father ?" -Isaac raised his hand and the doctor invited him in the delivery room. -You gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with light brown hair and pink eyes. -After much consideration you named her Cherry (As in cherry blossom) -Cherry was a very innocent and shy child. -She was also a huge crybaby. -One time when she was around 5 Arthur teased her and the second her eyes filled with tears and she started sniffing the whole mansion looked at arthur like he had just committed murder. From that day on she started avoiding him (it broke his hearth) -From when she was very young Isaac often took her to his classes where his student would gush over her and one day when she was 8 she corrected the student who was sitting next to her as he made a mistake in his formula. -That's how you knew she was a genius, her IQ was extremely high. But you guys never forced anything on her as she was more interested in cultures and languages than math's and physics. -By the age of 12 she was fluent in all the languages that were spoke in the mansion, English, French, Japanese and Dutch and of course Latin (her father taught her). -She would spend long hours having a debate about history with Sebastian. -You guys would go on stroll in the city and Isaac would smile as you and cherry would start nerding about some monument and the history behind it. He would thank all the stars and it would not be enough because he knew that he would never feel lonely ever again.

-Jean : A daughter and a son

-Jean didn't want children at all. -He was a monster. He was dirty. what kind of child would come from his genes. -But then he met you and slowly but surely he started loving himself a bit more. -You were his everything. For him you were the most beautiful and pure person. -Nevertheless you two never spoke of having a family. But you dreamed of having a big family. -So one day as you were resting in jean's embrace you decide to try and see what he thinks about it. -"Jean have you ever thought of having a family ?" -Jean thought for few minutes before saying "I never thought i deserved to have a family....but if its with you...." -You started crying and squeezed him in your arms. -And so from that point on the two of you started trying. -Few months later after a visit to your doctor you came in the mansion looking for jean only to find him sparing with napoleon in the training room. -Both of them stopped sparing to look at you as you screamed "I'm pregnant". Jean dropped his rapier and picked you up in a hug. -Both you and napoleon heard a laugh that sounded like it came straight out of an angel's mouth. Jean was laughing. -After that jean became your personal bodyguard. When he was busy he made napoleon keep an eye on you of all time. -Not that you needed any more protection as the whole mansion babied you. -"Guys i am not ill. I'm pregnant" -"But then why did you vomit this morning?" Mozart said -"It's just morning sickness !" you answered back -"Sickness....that mean you're ill. I'm taking you to the doctor right now" jean said as he carried you in his arms. -Anyways days passed and when you were in your 9th month jean had to take a job as a bodyguard with napoleon. Mozart had a concert to prepare for, Isaac was busy with his job as a professor, Sebastian was too busy, Leo Vincent and Theo were away on business, and no way he would leave you to Dazai or Arthur. -Which led him to ask the one and only person who was not busy that day.....Le compte. Truthfully he didn't want to owe him anything but he would throw away his pride for your safety any day. -That day you spend time with le compte drinking Tea and eating cake when your water broke. -Le compte took care of everything and took you to the hospital. He also sent a messenger for jean. -When jean got the message he was few hours away from the city. Napoleon assured him he would take care of the rest and jean took off as fast as he could. -When he arrived you had already given birth and you were sleeping. As he came into the room he saw you with your eyes closed and panicked. He checked your breathing and pulse and relaxed when he saw you were just sleeping. Then he heard the tiniest sound. -He looked toward the direction the sound came from and he saw a crib. He peaked inside the crib and saw the most beautiful dark blue eyes. His baby girl looked at him in curiosity before giving him a smile that reminded him so much of yours. -Now he had one more person who loved him, one more person to protect. -His daughter Louise was shy and timid. She didn't speak much. -She loved her uncle Napoleon the most and admired her uncle Mozart. -She would always listen to Mozart as he played the piano. At first he was awkward with her because he didn't know how to behave with kids but one day when she was 3 he found her sitting on the floor outside his piano room and asked "what are you doing?" -She looked at him with her big eyes and said "music" -From that day on she always came to listen to him playing. She would sit on the sofa in the piano room (it wasn't there before, he bought it just for her) and listen for hours. -When Louise was 6 you got pregnant again. This time Jean refused to leave you for even a second. He wanted to be with you when you gave birth. -"Jean its only the 5th month...I'm not going to give birth any time soon." "I don't care I'm not leaving you". -You would be chilling in Jean's room (that was redecorated to look more homey and less like a prison cell) and both Louise and Jean would have their ears on your tummy trying to hear what was happening inside. -After few hours of listening Louis said "It's a boy". "How can you be so sure darling ?" "I just know. He told me just now." -And she was right. Few months later you gave birth (with jean by your side this time) to a boy who looked like a mini jean. -His name was Orlean. -From his cold deadpan expression, to his androgynous features, to his dark sense of humor he was a copy of jean. -He was so mature for his age and often took care of his bigger sister. -Orlean and Jean looked liked they were awkward when they were together because none of them would say much, but in fact the silence between them was always comfortable. They would understand each other with a single look. -Jean taught Orlean how to use a sword but Orlean preferred reading. He always spent time in the Library with his uncle Leo who would teach him all kind of subjects. -You, Louise and Orlean would come watch jean spare with napoleon and would cheer for him like crazy. -Jean never thought he would have anyone who loved him let alone a family. He would always be thankful to you who showed him love and gave him happiness. You, Louise and Orlean were his treasures.

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