#and this line combined with the music and the bird song and the soft murmuring

[ride-a-dromedary]

"Some can thrive here, yes. But it was never meant for everyone. There should be a choice. Nature should be afforded its chance to offer harmony to those who need it."

#BG3 Musing #Halsin Posting #Halsin #this is not a fancy ripped from game files audio clip however i was going through my videos #and this line combined with the music and the bird song and the soft murmuring #something about it but halsin has never sounded so much like a grove teacher than he does right here #there is a patience about how he says it - a wisdom #and if i close my eyes i can imagine halsin maybe fifty years ago in a circle while the druids *listened* to him #because i think people do forget that halsin' whole desire to be a teacher isn't just out of left field - it's what he's been doing #he's the leader of a religious circle - of course he's going to preach that's literally what he DOES

[lesetoilesfous]

if you're still taking prompts, fenders b8 + b2 from the nsfw prompt list pls :3 (preferably anders giving fenris a full-body massage, with lots of fluff that maybe turns into smut?)

Helloooo! Thank you for a lovely prompt, I hope this is something like what you wanted!!

(If you want me to write you a dragon age ficlet, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: established relationship, self-esteem issues, past abuse, justice is here in theory but Anders has put a sock on the door of their combined consciousness, so he doesn’t make an appearance, angst and fluff, ended up being way more angst than I intended, apologies!

“This is ridiculous, mage.” Fenris does not seem capable of keeping the smile from his voice, and he blushes as he says it, dark cheeks tickled red in the candlelight as he lies back on the bed. Anders takes a self-indulgent moment to ogle him, openly, as the muscles of his abdomen flex and he falls with the same perfect control that he brings to everything he does onto his back on the blankets. Fenris’ flush deepens, and he hits him gently with a pillow. “You are ridiculous. No one is as beautiful as you pretend to find me.”

Which brought them to the topic at hand. Anders catches the pillow and gently tugs it out of Fenris’ grip, tossing it onto the ground, careful to avoid the candles he’s set up around the bed. The sweet smell of sandalwood and jasmine is warm in the air around them, and the light is gold and flickering as it paints the wooden walls of their bedroom. Outside, in the forest, the trees sigh like the ocean, shivering in the wind. Anders gets up onto the mattress, kneeling at the end of the bed on the thick, white woven wool blanket, running one hand up the strong, sculpted line of Fenris’ leg. “Still don’t believe me, then?”

Fenris looks away from him, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth that he tries to hide as his hair splays against the pillow behind his head like starlight. He stares up at the rough, dark wooden rafters. “I believe that you find me attractive. I do not believe anyone is as attractive as you say I am. And if such a person did exist, that person would not be me.”

Anders hums, and presses a very soft kiss to a small scar on Fenris’ knee. Tal Vashoth, if he remembered correctly. A stray arrow that would have felled an ordinary warrior. Fenris had fought on anyway. He hadn’t even made a sound when Anders removed the thing. Just squeezed his hand, and thanked him roughly when it was done.

Anders shuffles back down the bed, all but prostrating himself to press a soft kiss to the top of Fenris’ foot and the lines of lyrium there. Fenris’ breath shudders out of him, and Anders moves between his legs, waiting until Fenris lifts himself up onto his elbows to look down at him. 

“I beg to disagree.” Anders kisses Fenris’ left ankle, then, gently stroking his calf before moving to kiss his right. Then he sits up and picks up the small, brown glass bottle of oil he’d left beside their bed. In the eaves, pigeons coo low and soft as they settle for the evening.

“Must you make everything such a production?” Fenris’ fingers trail softly along the lyrium on his chest as he asks the question, and he doesn’t look at Anders, cheeks and chest dark with his blush. 

“I must.” Anders answers, with a grin, rubbing the smoky, spiced oil between his palms until it’s warm. Gently, he  picks up Fenris’ foot, pressing a firm kiss to the heel of it, and the ball, before sucking lightly on each of his toes. Anders bends to kiss Fenris’ ankle again as he begins to gently, firmly massage his foot. Fenris sighs, and Anders grins down at him from where he’s kneeling at the end of the bed.

“You are the most impossibly beautiful person I’ve ever met. And considering that I’m including the Hero of Ferelden, King Theirin, Zevran Arainai, Isabela, Varric Tethras and Marian Hawke in that assessment, you should be very flattered.” 

On his back, painted gold by the candlelight, Fenris laughs and presses his hands against his face. “I am flattered, mage. I am also - ah,” Anders grins, and gently rubs the same circle he’d massaged before on the back of Fenris’ calf. Fenris’ chest heaves, his hands falling from his face to curl into the white cotton sheets further up the bed, squeezing them tightly. After a moment, he finishes, breathless, “Skeptical.”

Anders hums, thoughtfully, and presses a series of kisses to the curve of Fenris calf, ducking to press a long kiss to the soft skin at the back of his knee, before returning to the small silver line of the arrow scar. As he moves to give the same treatment to Fenris other leg, pouring a little more oil onto his hands, he asks conversationally, “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

Fenris frowns, though the expression eases as Anders’ presses a long kiss to his toe. “N-no. I think. You are telling me what I want to hear.”

Anders huffs, and Fenris pulls his foot back for a moment, laughing light and high as a child. Anders’ heart stutters, and he stops, catching Fenris’ foot firmly between his hands. “Wait. Are you ticklish?” Fenris tries to glare at him, but there’s still a smile lingering around the corner of his lips.

“No.”

Anders’ grin widens, and he squeezes Fenris foot gently. “You are. Well. We’ll have to return to that later.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Fenris snorts, grinning as he turns his head away from him and Anders begins to massage his other foot. “Seriously though,” Anders murmurs, kissing up the line of Fenris’ calf, brushing his nose against the thick coarse hair on his leg, “You’re gorgeous. And before you say it, it’s not the lyrium.” He kisses Fenris’ knee, and begins to massage his calf, gently bending his leg. “It’s like….A sculptor couldn’t make you this perfect. Your skin is so,” Anders bends to nuzzle at Fenris’ calf and kiss him again, “so soft, and warm, and you smell like….I don’t have words for it. Like lyrium but also like, dust and sweat and leather.”

“Most of those are not good things.” Fenris murmurs and Anders shakes his head, moving up the bed to kneel between Fenris’ legs. Far off in the woods, a distant wolf howls at the moon. 

“No, but they are when it’s you. And  even if it wasn’t, trust me, I’ve never had a lover who smells this good.” Anders runs his hand up Fenris’ thigh, and presses a firm kiss into the soft give of it. “You’re just. You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect. I feel like I’m dreaming, every time I kiss you.”

Anders sets down the oil and dips to lower himself over Fenris’ hips, kissing along the v of muscle that leads up to his side. Tentatively, Fenris’ hand falls to stroke his hair, and Anders sighs and tilts his head into his touch. “If I shut my eyes and try to imagine the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, all I see is you. You’re like...music.”

“Music.” Fenris repeats, flatly, and Anders’ face burns, but he presses a long kiss to the wide, ragged pink skin of a burn on Fenris’ side before he sits up to meet his eyes.

“Yes, music.” Anders runs his hand up over the planes of Fenris’ belly, splaying his fingers against his chest, and pressing gently into the soft tissue of his breast. His fingertips trail through soft, dark hair, and his thumbs run over Fenris dark, soft nipples. Fenris breath catches, and Anders grins and bends to kiss one nipple, tenderly catching it between his teeth before kissing it again and doing the same to the other. Fenris’ hand tightens and relaxes in his hair as he does it, and Anders moves to press a line of kisses down from Fenris’ sternum to his belly button. Fenris’ legs fall loose and relaxed either side of him against the bed, and the air is rich and faintly hazy with candle-smoke and oil.

Anders sits up, and catches Fenris’ hand when it falls from his head. Gently, he kisses the heel of his palm, and the inside of his wrist, and each of his fingers, before pouring a little more oil into his hand and beginning to massage Fenris’ palm. Fenris sighs, and lets his head fall back against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. Anders speaks softly as his hand slips up Fenris’ arm, gently massaging the muscle of his forearm and bicep. “You’re like music. Every line of you falls into every other. It’s like you’re...a symphony. You’re all balance, and harmony. Every part of you is meant to be what it is, shaped the way that it is. Looking at you feels like listening to the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.” Anders ducks, and presses a kiss to the inside of Fenris’ elbow, feeling the massage oil stick to his lips before he brushes up to the warm, generous curve of Fenris’ bicep. He shuts his eyes, and presses his nose against the firm warmth of Fenris’ arm. “A song so beautiful it makes you want to weep.”

Fenris is quiet, then. Far off, there’s the high call of some strange Rivaini bird Anders doesn’t recognise. Night has fallen truly now, and the shadows between the candles are long and deep. Anders presses a kiss to Fenris’ shoulder before moving to his other arm. Fenris’ thumb gently strokes his hand and Anders pauses, looking down at his lover. The light of a candle glitters gold against the tears on Fenris’ cheeks. Anders stops, pressing Fenris’ hand between his.

“Love? Are you alright?”

Fenris shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut and heaving a great breath into his chest before letting it go in a noisy rush. Anders moves, brushing his hair out of his eyes and waiting for an answer. Fenris’ hand squeezes his, tightly, and Anders watches in distress as more tears run down Fenris’ cheeks. 

After a moment, Fenris blinks away the tears and looks up at Anders. His eyelashes are damp and dark and long around the summer green of his eyes. “It’s fine, amatus. It is only -” Fenris stops, and swallows, and his hand tightens around Anders’ as he looks away from him. Fenris breathes again, and Anders waits and watches him, anxiously. After a moment he speaks, roughly. “I cannot remember anyone ever saying such a thing to me and meaning it, before.” Fenris frowns, and Anders runs his thumb over the back of his hand. “People have wanted me, certainly. Used me. Spoken in great detail about the ways in which I was ‘made’ to be used.” 

Fenris’ expression twists, and Anders sits back on the bed, giving him space as he sits up. Fenris bends his legs and rests his arms against them, still holding Anders’ hand. Around their house, the wind rushes through the night and runs howling into the trees. Fenris breathes, and sobs, pressing his face into his arm for a moment before he turns to Anders and offers him a small smile, cheeks wet with tears. “But no one has ever said it as if I were a person. As if they loved me. As if they thought I could be loved.” Fenris’ voice breaks.

Anders swallows down his own heartache, and squeezes his lover’s hand, raising their joined hands and his other in a gesture of surrender. “You caught me. Guilty as charged.” Anders stops, then, and feels something heavy and painful pressing up against his lungs with the force of everything he feels when he speaks. “I can’t imagine a world in which you couldn’t be loved, Fenris. I don’t think it exists.”

Fenris starts to smile, then, and it breaks into another sob, and Anders gives in at last to the urge to pull him into his arms and hold him, tightly, cupping the back of his head as he cries. Gently, Anders presses a kiss to the corner of Fenris’ temple, lips tickled by the soft strands of his hair. “I love you, Fenris. Please believe that.” Anders laughs a little, even as he feels his own tears spill over and begin to fall down his cheeks. “I love you so much it hurts. I can’t do anything else.”

Fenris pulls back, then, and presses a kiss to Anders cheek, before giving another to his lips and pressing their foreheads together. “I know, amatus. I love you, too.”

The candles around them flicker in light and shadow against the walls, painting them red and yellow as if the wood is burning. Far off, a distant wolf calls into the night.

After a moment, another answers it.

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #anon #my fic

[scenarihoes]

if you're still doing them, I'd love a scenario for present mic which has a crush on one of the girls that works at the radio station and one day when he arrives she's there alone singing quiet a sexy songs and he notices how great her voice is and how much sexier she makes the song sound

thanks for the request!!!!!!! this is SO cute and i adore present mic hehehe

LET’S GO!

——-

Birds chirp loudly and soar upon the open sky. The sun has yet to even peak over the towering buildings of the city, stars still dancing among the lightening hues of blue and black. If not for the fact that he’d been up all night the previous evening, Hizashi was sure he’d have taken in the early day, sucked in a deep chestful of breath and smiled on the exhale. In his dreariness he can almost appreciate the serenity but with Aizawa’s grumpy tone resonating from the phone tucked between Hizashi’s shoulder and ear, it’s hard to really let loose.

“Remind me why you woke me up?” He grunts, and there’s the sound of shifting blankets.

“Sorry man! I really thought it would go to voicemail,” A loud lions-like yawn escapes him, feet coming to stop at a very familiar radio-station. “You’re usually almost dead around this time.”

“Whatever. What did you want to tell me?”

“I was just gonna leave a simple little message for you to wake up to.”

“Get on with it, then. I’d like to get back to sleep before tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Hizashi tilts his head and secures the phone even tighter as one hand reaches out, catches the door knob and the other shoves the key hastily into the hole. “We’ve got some new systems in the station and I totally forgot to set the damn things up. I went the entire show last night with old goods Shouta!”

“….And?”

“Aaaaaand,” Hizashi stills and shuts his eyes, bracing for impact. “I won’t have time this week to set them up so I’ve gotta get it done before everything else today...” He pauses and shuts his eyes with a cringe. “...I don’t think I can make your coffee run…”

A loud, irritated groan nearly makes him shudder so hard the phone drops. Even though Aizawa can’t see him, the edges of his lips flick upwards in a sheepish smile.

“Come on, man! I can do it tomorrow!”

“I need it today.”

“Wait one more day,” He yowls, shoulders slumping. “I can do it tomorrow, buddy!”

“There’s no point tomorrow when I wanted it today.”

“If it’s so important than why can’t you go get it!”

“Ugh.”

The line falls dead and Hizashi blinks forward at the station door. He doesn’t know if he should be surprised or not- after all, he had told his friend he’d go out and get some of that weird coffee he likes from the store downtown while he was out and about, but to set up the new systems, he knows it’ll throw a pretty hefty wrench in the order of his plans. He’d never make it across town in time with everything else he’s got going on. Three jobs and a week full of errands doesn’t come cheap, after all.

As he shoves the phone into his pockets, a sigh escapes him. Oh well, he’d make up for it some other time. He’d buy double the amount and deliver it to his friends door, practically bust the frame down if there’s no answer. Or maybe he’d just shout Aizawa’s name from outside until the man wanted to knock him out. The usual routine.

The first thing he notices when he pushes the door open is the most obvious: the sound of music. It’s soft but the station is small enough for it to travel fast. The second thing he notices takes a little longer to set in. Compared to the quality of the days prior, the music reaches him so much smoother than it ever had before. Beats rumble in his chest. Languid notes of an American song he recognizes but can’t quite name yet, the gentle thump of vibrations resonating off the tables and walls. The bass is heavy in the medoly and makes him want to dance, but he’s too curious to give in just yet.

From where he stands in the entrance he can already see there sound boards are nearly doubled in size, a dozen more options to play with and another extra few buttons for cheesy special effects.

Which leads to the third thing he notices. Well, realizes, mostly. A mountain of empty boxes stack outside the utulity closet, and his eyes widen.

The systems are already a-go.

Dots connect within his brain, a few words you’d spoken to him earlier in the week.

“Don’t worry about it, Mic,” You’d said with a beaming grin. Cupid must have come around early, since his heart fluttered in his chest like a bird in a glass cage. “You’ve got a lot on your plate. Let me take care of setting up!”

A long grin worms it’s way onto his lips, barring his teeth. In just a few long strides he’s finding the control center, plopping down on the swivel chair and kicking his feet up atop the small desk beside all the sound switches. His fingers interlock, rest on his gut. He could one-hundred percent take his leave, get his things done and even make his best friends day, but…

Then again, when does he ever get some alone time with you?

The bright ‘off air’ sign flashes vibrant red within the hosts cubicle, a ‘hang in there’ poster hastily taped on the wall. You’d gotten it for him with a grin and who was he to break your little heart? He taped it right on and patted it down, beamed down at the cuteness of your smile.

Waiting turns out to be much more boring than he’d anticpated. That combined with the idea that he was going to surprise you was making him restless. You were likely taking time to gather up the wires from the old systems or packing them into storage, completely unawere of his prescense. He’s happy he came by, even if it meant Aizawa wasn’t the happiest camper alive.

Then, a sudden sound of singing urges his broad smile to falter. It takes him back, the lyrics of the song he finally recognized. You’re not humming like you usually are, or murmuring off-beat tunes to whatever songs he was playing at the time. You were singing, belting out note after note like there wasn’t a soul to witness it. Somehow during his time spent around you, one of his most frequent over-night coworkers, he’d never once heard you sing. Surely you’d heard plenty of his voice, but this was something else. Something he never expected.

Vocal range, high notes and low notes perfectly carried…

“…And I know when that hotline bling, that can only mean one thing…”

You sing the words so softly, no where near upbeat as the original. The way it sounds rolling from your tongue almost feels emotional, if not a tad sensual. In his chair, Hizashi shivers, sits upright and presses his palms to his knees in interest.

Suddenly the utility closet’s door swings open, revealing a flood of dim light and then your figure lingering in the door way. You sway to the beat of the music, eyes half shut in lazy comfort. The tip of your feet meets a box and you nudge it over to clear a path.

“Ever since I left the city you- Got a reptation for yourself now,”

You’ve yet to notice the figure observing you in relative silence. Hizashi’s over the moon and doesn’t even care that he’s likely being creepy just staring.

“Everybody knows and I feel left out,”

He tingles from the tip of his spine all the way down. Never had he thought Hotline Bling of all songs could sound so saucy, especially coming from your lips. It’s almost an opposite to your usually peppy demeaner.

“Girl you got me down, you got me stressed ou- WOAH!”

In that moment he swears he see’s you leap ten feet high. Your clutch yourself and launch backwards, eyes wide, mouth agape, a hot red already painting the tops of your cheeks. Your sudden outburst scares Hizashi as much as his hidden prescense had scared you, and he’s up and moving so quick the swivel chair slams into the sound systems behind him.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He cries. “No need to freak, it’s only me!”

“You scared the absolute hell out of me, Yamada!” Your hands find your chest. “I almost had a heart attack!”

“Aw doll, I didn’t mean to.” Now he feels like kind of a jerk. You’d been so calm just a moment ago…

As you brush your hair back and sigh, regaining composure, you look up at him. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I uh-…” He rubs the back of his head, long blond hair that he kept flattened today spilling between his fingers. “I was gonna set the systems up before friday.”

“I thought I told you I had it under control?”

“You did! I totally forgot, sorry! But we’ve got more pressing matters-“ His hands reach out and grasp your shoulders. “You never told me you could sing!”

Ah, there goes that tomato red all over again. You tense in his grasp. “W-Well, I don’t exactly do it often…”

“Whaaaaat?!” Hizashi let’s you go and spins dramatically, hands to the sky. “You should! You’re amazing, I could really feel it in my soul!”

“You felt Hotline Bling in your… Soul?”

“All beacuse of you! You’re spectacular. Why do you hold your voice hostage from the world?!”

Another wave of flush encases you and he can see the way you advert your eyes, bite your cheek and force a laugh. “Um… I’m kinda shy…”

“All the more reason to put yourself out there,” Once more his hands find your shoulders, but this time, he bends down to your eye level. You struggle to meet his gaze. “In fact, you should join me and some of my good friends for karaoke this saturday.”

“But the show on friday...?”

“Who say’s the part has to stop after the show! Catch some z’s and we’ll go crazy all over again!”

“W-What?!” You gawk, reaching up to wrap your fingers around his wrists. “I-I couldn’t-… Singing along isn’t my thing, sure it’s fun with friends but…”

“You won’t be alone, I’ll sing with you!” Hizashi pulls back and points to himself with two thumbs. “It’ll be a blast! You don’t even really have to sing if you don’t want to, but you should totally come along! It’ll be like some sort of date!”

Upon the dawn of the first second that word leaves his lips, he’s stone. You gape at him.

“I-I mean, it doesn’t have to be a date, m-more like-“ He feels like he’s going to start sweating bullets any minute. “More like a friend date, yknow? Between two friends! Yeah!”

A swift giggle leaves you, and you’re shaking your head. Endearment, he recognizes. It makes him feel cozy on the inside even despite the butterflies beating the hell out of his stomach.

“It’s fine,” You say, but you’re just as shaken as he is. “I-It can be a date. I think it would be fun, even if I don’t sing much.”

“You mean it?!”

“Well, yeah…! It’s kinda hard not to have fun with you.”

“I mean the date! You wanna go on a date with me?”

A giggle escapes you and sounds with the ever playing music in the background. “Of course!”

Hizashi’s world falls right into the place at the exact right moment. Heavens gates split open, angels sing, golden outlines both him and you. His arms, of course, throw over his head in triumphance.

“Yeah!!!!” He cheers. “You gotta sing that song with me, though!”

“Once, and only once.” Cheekily, you glance up at him from your lashes. “… And only if you sing it with me.”

Suddenly you’re pressed flat against his chest, two arms wrapping around you with childlike excitement. You flail but find purchase on holding the back of his shirt, the length of his hair tickling your upper back.

“Alright then,” He sings. “It’s a deal!”

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #imagine #scenario #present mic #yamada hizashi #x reader

[dustedmagazine]

Calexico and Iron and Wine — Years to Burn (Sub Pop)

Photo by Piper Ferguson

It’s been 14 years since the first Calexico/Iron & Wine collaboration, 2005’s In the Reins. In his review then, Dusted’s Daniel Levin Baker astutely recognized that “Iron & Wine and Calexico are not dissimilar enough, as purveyors of sad and elegant country ramblings, to make a provocative combination by juxtaposition alone… it's in the subtleties, the flowers on the wallpaper, that the collaboration bears fruit.” Now, nearly a generation later, the same calculation applies. Both bands tend, at their best, to make subtly excellent Americana songs full of skill and care that doesn’t especially call attention to itself; both have also made records that seemed, to me, overly safe and comfortable.

There is, after all, a fine line between classicism and stasis, and hewing too carefully, for too long, to the elemental essentials can take the fun out of things. Years to Burn comes about as close to this as possible without tipping over; the songs feel pared back and polished and just about exactly right, whether in the gospel-swelling idiom of Iron & Wine’s Sam Beam or in the jazzier, more experimental haunts of Calexico. There’s nothing extra, nothing silly, nothing distracting, these songs are as streamlined as an otter in water, slipping through in cool, frictionless purity.

Beam wrote more than half the songs on this disc, his plainspoken verses set to melodies that pitch and roll and right themselves. His skills in fitting word and melody and rhythm often hides itself, the way a master tailor’s stitches disappear into the cut of the suit, yet they are considerable. Notes the way that “What Heaven’s Left”’s recurring phrase works, the sputtering triplets of “What a wave of a” kicking into the syllable-stretching harmonies of “w-i-i-i-ld hand,” the curve of melody returning “called you into this world?” to where it started. The whole thing knits together so well that it seems like it’s always been there; it lifts the song in an emotional updraft.

Calexico sits in the background on these Beam-written cuts, coaxing a soft acoustic jangle, a plaintive whine of pedal steel, a sudden flare of trumpet in the interval between phrases. On their own tracks, starting with “Midnight Sun” and “Old El Paso,” but really hitting full stride in the Calexico portions of “Bitter Suite,” the band edges further from center. Their “Midnight Sun” has a scrambling, shuffling, desert buoyance to it in the guitars and drums, and a peyote-tinged magic realism in lines like, “Well a woman appeared with a guillotine smile/she handed him a rose then he turned to stone.” (Weeks after the first time through, I continue to ponder the phrase “guillotine smile” and imagine something gleaming, sharp and closing fast.) Calexico is more concerned with rhythm and texture than Iron & Wine, and the layering of electric guitar, acoustic and pedal steel, and piano is particularly fine on this one, suggesting bottomless depths and trap doors out of reality.

The three-part “Bitter Suite” exercises Calexico’s penchant for ghostly Latin laments and jazz-infused reveries. Part 1, “Pajaro,” kicks up a rueful dust with haunted, incandescent Latin guitars and mournful Spanish vocals, sung, I believe by Jacob Valenzuela. Part 2, “Evil Eye,” turns more abstract and improvisatory, with hard bursts of guitar and sudden cries of trumpet. Dreamy floats of vocal sound—think of the soft focus singing in “Woven Birds”—waft through thickets of syncopation. It is satisfyingly strange and lovely. Part 3, “Tennessee Train,” is a Beam song, more grounded in melody and craft, but not dull; Rob Burger takes a turn on vibes, then accordion to fill out its warm wood-smoke-y sound.

Both Beam and the members of Calexico have reached an age where considerations of mortality infuse even the most ordinary moments with a kind of preciousness. Their songs look back on lives and loves and forward towards the unknown with a lived-in mysticism. Beam’s best verse on life and death comes in “Follow the Water”’s deft metaphor: “Two kids climbed on a roller coaster car/Got rattled on the track/Up and down, around and back/Whoever they were/No matter who they are/No one’s walking off the same.” Joey Burns gets off a simpler epiphany in “Years to Burn,” where he murmurs “Years to burn, years to burn/Breezes that die and rise/Years to burn, years to burn/Our tears hold the light in our eyes,” to a swelling country waltz melody.

The most reductive way to hear this album is to hear Beam for the words and Calexico for the music, but that’s not quite the way it works. Beam is, of course, a superb craftsman, whose ability to shape words to the music (and vice versa) can arrest and stun—but he’s also an accomplished singer and guitar player and arranger. Calexico, by contrast, explores musical genres omnivorously and knowledgeably and its members play the hell out of their respective instruments, but they are also capable of a startling lyrical imagery. The collaboration seems to shake both Beam and Calexico out of their ruts. Here’s to many more years to burn for both outfits.

Jennifer Kelly

#calexico #iron and wine #years to burn #sub pop #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #country #americana #songwriter #latin #jazz

[oddree13]

Those Magic Changes

(Read on AO3)

He blames Ford for this.

Well not just Ford. Ford, combined with his inability to say no to people especially when it comes to fixing things.

It started at the end of sophomore year when Ford was shadowing Lardo to learn the ins and outs of managing the Samwell Men’s Hockey team. She was with the team in the cafeteria one morning when her phone goes off. No one paid it any attention until she was slamming her head on the table.

“Please don’t tell me we broke her already…” Nursey murmured to Chowder as they watched the petite woman look like she was about to break the table with her forehead.

Bitty slid closer to her and patted her back tentatively before she sat up and found everyone staring at her.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that we’re two weeks from opening and it feels like everything is going wrong. We had one main drop due to what he says in laryngitis, but is probably an STI, the first proof of the playbill had the name of the play misspelled, and now I just saw in our chat that a piece of the set broke...again!”

“What broke?” Dex asked out of sheer habit.

“One of the dual sceneries. It has a bunch of rotating pieces so depending on the scene we can just turn something and it’ll be something different.”

“Oh. Well that’s easy enough to fix. I’m sure you have someone who can take care of that no problem,” he shrugs and goes back to eating, not expecting Ford to bound over the table and grab him by his collar.

“Seriously? Our prop manager is the one who got the main sick so no one is talking to him right now. Could you fix it? Please, I’ll owe you,” she smiled, and Dex knew he was stuck.

This is how Dex became the emergency fix-it guy for the Samwell theatre department, because somehow having to be handy on a budget caused him to exceed the skills of the theatre kids. That spring, between practices and class, he was constantly called to the auditorium to handle anything from a loose washer to erecting scaffolding. He should have found it annoying, but honestly it was nice to be fixing something that wasn’t the same house problem for the millionth time. Plus, he enjoyed the confidence boost he got from being ogled at by a bunch of actors and actresses, since hockey equaled hockey butt.

***

It wasn’t until the following year that Dex dug his own grave. He wanted to hate Ford, but, like Bitty, Dex couldn’t be angry at someone who barely hit his shoulder.

Pre-season training wasn’t the only reason Dex had come to Samwell almost two weeks early. Midway through the summer he had gotten a text from one of the stagehands with a picture of a junker they’d found in Boston and had asked Dex if there was a way to make it work for this semester’s play.

The production for the upcoming season was Grease, with, according to the director, a lot of the problematic bits written away. Of course, in doing Grease one needs a car.  He knew he was being too friendly when he agreed, but Dex couldn’t help it. He liked Ford, and a lot of the stagehands who he’d gotten to know. Plus, if he beat Nursey to Samwell he could do more with the room they had to share. His decision didn’t have anything to do with the fact that maybe his mother had played the movie Grease more times than he could count during his childhood and he had a soft spot for it.

Having actually beat Nursey to the Haus by two days, Dex was able to get their room set up and get the car up on cinderblocks in the Haus’ backyard.

Nursey knew none of this. He knew Dex had been helping Ford out last spring, but he had no clue that the help was extending to this year. Thus, he was more than a little surprised when he saw that his roommate and defense partner was shirtlessly removing the engine from a beater in their backyard on the day he came back to school. Clearly the lobster catching had kept Dex’s strength up over the summer.

He was still staring when Bitty came out to the porch with a batch of sweet tea and handed Nursey a glass. “You look thirsty,” he teased as he walked to Dex to hand him his own glass.

Sipping what could only be called diabetes in a cup, he had to agree as he looked at the ginger Adonis before him. Dex eventually saw him standing there and sent a wave his way.

Nursey flushed a bit as he waved back

***

It was while he was installing the car on its makeshift dolly on stage that Dex got to watch one of the initial rehearsals. During a break, Sam, the guy cast as Doody, was playing around with the guitar he had to use during one of the scenes. As he messed around, he overheard the director lamenting that Sam had to at least figure out how to look genuine as he pretended to play as it was obvious that he didn’t know how. Dex’s need to please perked up, and he offered to help Sam learn. After all he could play the guitar and the song was simple enough.

That night Dex got the sheet music from his bag and began to play, humming along to the tune as he went. The part Sam had wasn’t a big one, even if he was one of the main T-birds, but this song was a showstopper if done right. He was just about to start singing it out loud when Nursey opened the door to their room and Dex slammed his hands on the strings to make the music stop.

Hearing the odd twang, Nursey’s eyes were directed to the noise and just took in the scene.

“I didn’t know you played,” he blinked, as he put his bag down on his chair.

“Oh, I had to pick an instrument in junior high,” he explained, a bit embarrassed at being caught.

“Were you playing something?”

“Nah, just tuning it for a friend,” he lied, and fiddled with the tuning pegs.

“What do you know how to play?” Nursey asked, as he walked closer to his roommate.

“Just the dad rock you hate,” he chirped, glad that that, luckily, Nurse let his line of inquiry die.

***

When Dex found time to meet with Sam, he began to show him the basic holds and even showed him how the song looked being played. Singing along to it, Dex imagined standing on the stage, singing about asking someone to come back to him. He imagined the target of his affection to be someone that looked a lot like Nursey. It was always easier for Dex to picture who he should be singing to when he was learning a new song. Dex didn’t look up until he was done, and found both Sam, and the director, Sasha, staring at him from where she was working on the book.

“That was really good, Dex. I didn’t know you could sing!”

“I can’t really, Sasha, trust me,” he blushed, both from the praise and the image he had conjured in his mind.

“Well I just heard you do something. Maybe you ought to consider being Sam’s understudy,” she offered, exchanging excited glances with the actor next to her.

“I can’t. I’ve got school, plus, hockey, and I’m already helping you guys with the set when I can,” he explained, knowing that this wasn’t his thing. He was just doing this for fun and to help out his friends.

“Well you wouldn’t have to attend all the rehearsals. I asked Ford for your schedule so no one asked you to come in when you couldn’t. You don’t have any games on the three nights we’re performing. You just proved that you have a good voice, and if you can move on the ice I’m sure you can move on stage. It’s a small part, and Sam doesn’t have a backup. Just think about it,” she reiterated, and went back to making notes on the script.

***

At the Haus that night, Dex approached Bitty in the kitchen and asked him what he thought.

“Oh, that sounds like such fun! I mean if you can still make practices and classes, I don’t see why not. I mean school comes first, but college is for trying new things after all!” he rambled, as he fed Dex some pie.

“I don’t know. I mean I feel bad since I didn’t audition and, well, I’m not sure it’s something I’d be good at.”

“Honey, I don’t think she would have asked you if she didn’t think you could do it, now would she?” Bitty pointed out.

“I guess. I mean it’s just the understudy, so why not. Just, um, don’t tell the guys. I don’t know what would be worse, being chirped, or having them all show up to watch me,” he laughed.

��Watch you what?” Nursey asked, as he walked into the kitchen following the smell of pie.

“Watch me kick your ass at pong next kegster,” he supplied quickly, frantically changing the subject.

“Well I’ll take that challenge Poindexter,” he chuckled, extending his hand at the bet.

Bitty just shook his head at the two of them. But he planned to keep his promise to Dex about not telling the team so he didn’t say anything.

Well, until Halloween that is.

***

The Haus Halloween Epikegster was a notorious affair on campus for a number of reasons. For Dex, the notoriety came from the mandatory costume policy. Before college, he could get away with being a hockey player or a fisherman, but from his first year on SMH, Ransom and Holster informed him that he had to try harder and he had to attend. This had always left Dex frustrated, but this year that was about to change.

This year he actually had a plan, and it involved begging Beckett, their costume designer, for their help by bribing them with one of Bitty’s pies and a dance at the Epikegster. In the end, Dex was had a T-Birds outfit for the night on the condition that no one vomited on it and that Texas, who was in charge of makeup, could do a test run on him.

The rest of the team was at the Haus already getting the place ready. Nursey, who had taken over tub juice duties once Shitty had graduated, was on the back porch mixing it when Bitty walked out to check on him.

“Going well?” he asked brightly in his Wonder Woman costume, already a bit tipsy from the jello shots Shitty had brought over from Harvard.

“Yeah all good, but have you seen Dex? He left a few hours ago and I thought he’d be back by now.” Nursey asked, concerned for his roommate. It wasn’t because he missed him, not at all.

“Oh he’s just getting his costume finished!”

“Wow I’m stunned.” Nursey said, relaxing back into the porch railing. “I figured he’d make a lame one like last year. He went as a zombie, and that was only because Lardo wanted a volunteer for special effects makeup.”

“No, this year our Dex is coming as T-Bird from Grease. Taking out his costume for a test run,” Bitty giggled, leaning next to Nursey on the railing.

“His costume?” he asked, frowning, unsure of what Bitty meant.

“Yes! He’s the understudy in the upcoming play,” his captain explained. His giggling slowly stopped as he realized what he had said. He smacked himself on his forehead and reached out to grab Nursey’s hand. “But you didn’t hear that from me! No, you heard that from Ford or a little birdy, but not me. Now excuse me, I have to go call my Clark Kent before we get the party really going.”

Bitty left the porch, humming to himself, unaware that he had left the underclassman there stunned. Nursey began to wonder how the hell he'd missed the fact that Dex was rehearsing for a play. He wondered if the guitar had anything to do with it, but his thoughts we interrupted by the first arrivals. Nursey decided there were more pressing matters and went back inside to show off his Black Panther costume.

And if it was to find the T-bird Bitty had talked about, no one could prove it.

***

It was about an hour into the party when Nursey finally saw Dex and his jaw dropped. His fellow D-man was leaning against the wall talking to someone, but what really stunned Derek was his outfit. Dex  was wearing tight, darkwash blue jeans, cuffed at the ankle to show off his boots, and a rather tightly fitted white cotton t-shirt under a black leather jacket. His hair was curled and gelled and he had on light make-up that made his eyes pop.

The superhero must have been staring a bit too long because soon Dex was pushing off the wall to be led to the dance floor by a guy Nursey didn't recognize. He was confused. Dex normally didn't dance, but there he was swaying his hips like a pro, and with a guy no less. He took in the sight for only a moment more before heading to the kitchen for more alcohol.

Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye made Dex look and catch Nursey’s back as he walked into the kitchen. Sighing, he went back to dancing and when the song ended Beckett led them back to the wall.

“You aren't​allowed to use I can’t dance as an excuse anymore, Ginger. I've seen you dance at rehearsal and now here,” Beckett teased, succeeding in making Dex blush.

“Alright, alright. It's just like I told you, the team thinks of me a certain way and it's easier to keep that up, you know?”

“I guess, but you can’t be afraid if they know you're queer,” they pointed out. Dex’s eyes grew wide in fear, causing the costume designer to simply shake their head.

“Yes, I know, and no I won’t say a word. Be around theatre kids long enough and you start to tell whose eyes wander to more than just one gender.” Beckett teased, patting their friend on the arm. “Plus when you danced with me right now your hands were a bit too low on my hips.”

“Sorry, I didn’t…” Dex began to stammer, but was cut off.

“Don’t worry. It was fun, but you aren’t my type.” Beckett smiled, patronizingly. They were enjoying helping the puppy in front of them. “That isn’t the point though. You, Ginger, need to relax and stop compartmentalizing yourself. Now I’m going to go find whomever was dressed as the 10th Doctor earlier and introduce myself.”

They gave Dex a kiss on the cheek and left the hockey player alone with his thoughts. Dex didn’t like him and his thoughts being alone together, so he went in search of tub juice. He walked to the deck only to find Nursey flirting with a guy on the back porch. He quickly turned back into the house, opting for a beer instead of seeing his d-man succeed at pulling for the night.

And if he didn’t want to see his D-man succeed at getting a hookup for the night, well no one could prove it.

***

The morning after the kegster, Dex woke up with a splitting headache. He started to groan, but stopped himself when he remembered seeing Nursey with that guy earlier in the night. He looked down to the bottom bunk to make sure he hadn’t slept through his roommate having drunk sex in his own inebriated state.

Seeing only one body in the bed below him, Dex let himself relax. He slowly made his way down the ladder to find some painkillers and water. He downed a glass in the kitchen, and thought that it was the polite thing to do to bring Nursey a remedy of his own. Walking back to the room, Dex opened the door and placed a glass and pills within reach of the other man, just as he began to stir.

“Morning. I didn’t see much of you last night, but if you drank like I did, you’ll need this,” he laughed, passing him the glass.

Taking it gratefully, Nursey chugged it along with the pills and sat against the wall, his eyes closed to keep out the light

“Yeah, I only caught a glimpse of you last night and you were dancing.”

“Oh yeah.” Dex said, moving to sit at the foot of the bed. “I promised Beckett I’d dance with them at least once. They leant me the costume.”

“Beckett? Is he friends with Foxtrot?”

“They. And yes, they’re friends with Ford.”

“That’s cool. Your costume looked good,” he mumbled, his head beating a tattoo on his temples.

“Yeah, yours did too.” Dex said a bit awkwardly as he tried to compliment Nursey without letting it slip that he thought his roommate was smoking hot. “I mean I only saw a part of it while you were chatting up some soccer bro in the backyard.”

“Ugh don’t remind me…”

“Alright. I’ll leave it at that.”

Blinking his eyes open finally, he stared at Dex. “Really? No comment that I was chatting up a dude.”

“Unless that dude was a lax bro I don’t care, Nurse.”

“Huh…”

“Yes, congrats on realizing I don’t actually care who you put your dick in.” Dex said rather forcefully. He actually did care quite a lot about who Nursey put his dick in, but not in the way Nurse thought.

“Didn’t put my dick in him. Just flirted. My dick only goes in particular places,” he winked, which earned him an eye roll from the red-head.

“Stop there.” Dex said, holding his hands up as he stood. “I’m going downstairs to help with breakfast. Make sure you come downstairs with clothing.” He added once he got to the door.

It was only then that Nursey realized he was nude under the sheets.

“You know you like it!” Nursey yelled at his disappearing roommate as he smirked to himself

***

The week leading up to the show Dex was barely sleeping. Between practice, a roadie, classes, homework, and rehearsal he was exhausted.

He came home late one night and just crashed on the toxic couch. He wasn't sure the exhaustion was worth everything since he was just the replacement.

As Dex laid there contemplating his life, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and just stared at it. It was Sam. If he asked him again for another guitar lesson he was going to throw his phone.

“Yeah?” he answered, his face muffled by the pillow.

“Will? Did I wake you up?” a very frantic Sam asked from the other end of the line.

“No, but I can’t get anywhere right now,” he grumbled, hedging his bets.

“No, I don’t need you right now, but I need you Sunday night. I need to drive out to Boston for a callback,” he squealed through the phone.

“What?” he asked, in disbelief.

“I need you to cover the Sunday night show. Sasha already approved it and you’ve been great in rehearsals. I’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk tomorrow!”

The line was dead.

Staring at his phone Dex began to panic. No, this was a mistake. He was the understudy. They never went on. Pacing first the living room and then the hallway, he eventually caught the attention of Bitty who came over with a worried look.

“Dex, is something the matter?” he started, the panic clear on his face that he hoped it wasn’t something too serious.

“...I’m the understudy, there is no way I can go on Sunday…” the D-man garbled, clearly mid thought.

“Oh honey, that’s great! You’ve been working so hard!” Bitty beamed, patting his back.

“No, no, this is not great. People are going to see me dance, and sing, and I need to find Ford before she tells the team,” Dex’s mind was in a million places as he process what was happening. He was about to run out the door when Bitty dragged him into the kitchen and sat him down, placing a pie and cocoa from out of nowhere in front of him.

“You can text Ford,” Bitty said as he cut a slice of pie for himself. “There is nothing wrong with the team knowing that their friend is going to be acting in a play that he’s been working hard for.”

“First, there are a lot of things wrong with it.” Dex said nervously, stabbing his fork into his pie for emphasis. “Second, the lead playing Danny, Tristan, he hates you all. Seriously wanted to murder Sasha after the incident during South Pacific last year. Third, I can’t sing knowing you all are in the audience.”

“And why not?” Bitty asked, clearly offended.

“It has nothing to do with you. It’s just, I’m singing a love song of sorts and well, it’s really easy to act like I’m wooing someone on stage when I imagine it happening…” Dex sighed, placing his head on the counter.

“Well, aside from the fact that Jack owes me fifty dollars,” Bitty smiled, putting his hand on his friend’s arm to stop him from murdering the pie slice. “I think you’ll be fine. I can make sure the team, especially a particular boy, sit far back enough that you can’t see him.”

Blushing brightly, Dex looked at Bitty, resigned. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, but I happen to know what pining after a teammate looks like,” Bitty giggled. 

“I’m not pining,” he mumbled under his breath, pushing the pie around on the plate some more.

“You’re pining. Now eat.”

***

It was Sunday.

Dex had spent the whole weekend working on the set making sure things worked, going through dress rehearsal, and watching the way Sam did his performance.

He hadn’t been told if the team was coming or not, having left the decision to Bitty.

Before going onstage, Dex got one last pep talk from Sasha before seeing Ford backstage. Walking towards him, she gave him a hug and adjusted his jacket a bit.

“You’re going to do great,” she reassured him, patting him on the back. “Besides, Sam can’t play the guitar at all. I saw you in rehearsal actually playing it and it sounded great. Break a leg.”

***

Bitty and Ford had coordinated all week over the ideal spot for the team to sit. Far enough away that Dex couldn’t spot them from the stage, but close enough that they could still easily see their friend. Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster had even come down for the event, much to everyone’s regrets. Holster was quick to gripe about the no showtunes rule from last year, and wondered why he hadn’t thought about auditioning before.

Once the lights dimmed and the show started, the team was impressed. It was clear that despite being the understudy, Dex had made every effort to actually learn to act. Ford had warned everyone to not yell and scream during the show this time - fearing a repeat of the last musical they had attended - but wondered if her warning would hold for Dex’s solo.

On stage Dex was pretending to fumble through simple guitar chords, producing an awful twanging sound. The team looked a little worried, wondering if Dex was going to pull through after all, but as soon as the lights dimmed on the stage and the music picked up, his off key singing turned into something else.

***

Dex hated the scene change. He knew that the entire crowd would watch him and think that he couldn’t sing. But then he stood up, and the stage went dark leaving just a spotlight on him. A mic was placed in front of him as he awkwardly waved to the girl who placed it for him, as then another came and put a scarf around his neck.

It was supposed to be a dream sequence - Doody imagining what it would be like to be a good singer as the girls from the chorus fawned around him. It wasn’t a hard song, but it always made him feel something. He could picture nights like this at kegsters when the perfect song was playing and Nursey would be chatting to him in his ear above the music. He would be so close, but Dex never made a move.

“Those magic changes

my heart arranges

a melody that’s never the same

a melody that’s calling your name

and begs you, please

come back to me

please return to me

don’t go away again

oh, make them play again

the music i wanna hear

as once again you

whisper in my ear

oh my darlin’ uh-huh”

During the second part of the song, Dex handed his guitar to one of his “fans,” and began to move about more, gesturing along with the song and swaying his hips. It was hard to do, knowing hundreds of people were watching him, but he just had to imagine serenading Derek, and Derek alone, and he calmed down a bit. It was fun having the girls look at him adoringly, but he gripped the microphone and crooned into the crowd, pointing out to the audience.

“C C C how much I want

A A A a millions ways

F F F effortlessly love you

G G G I’m in a hurry”

The last note of the song was the hardest for Dex, considering how this was so not what he was trained in, but as soon as the song finished he caught his breath and was surprised by the sound of the applause.

***

Ford was right, there was no way she was controlling the team once Dex finished. She was now next to a row of hockey players all standing and cheering, whooping far too loudly for a theatre. Looking down the row, she saw that Nursey wasn’t standing. Instead he looked dumbstruck and was gaping at the stage.

***

Nursey knew he should be cheering and clapping, but all he could think about was the way Dex looked so earnest caressing the mic and singing. He has clearly putting a lot of emotion into the performance, but it almost felt like he was singing to someone. Maybe Dex was just that secretly good of an actor, or maybe he was just reading too much into it. Either way, Derek knew he needed to figure out how to get a private solo in their bedroom as soon as possible.

***

After the show ended Dex was backstage packing up, hoping to escape the chaos that was the post-show. He was in the middle of leaving when he was informed that he had no choice, but to go to the cast party at the theatre house. He was in a good enough mood that he said yes without too much hesitation, but he still insisted that he needed to drop his stuff off at the Haus beforehand.

Walking out of the auditorium side door, Dex was hoping for a quick escape. This was thwarted when he was met with the sight of all of his friends, including three former captains, Shitty, and Lardo. Dumbstruck, Dex just stood there staring until Holster broke the group formation and hugged him, praising his performance and how had he known they could have totally done karaoke nights at the Haus.

“I was just the understudy guys,” Dex insisted. “None of you had to come to this.” Holster pulled back, and was met with various statements of protest that none of them would have missed this.

“Bitty told us last week and we cleared our schedules,” Lardo explained looking pleased. “As if we’d miss our friend performing. You were stunning,” Shitty agreed, and began to discuss how proud he was that Dex was breaking the chains of masculinity that had bound him.

“Thank you everyone, really. It does mean a lot that you came,” Dex blushed and made to run a hand through his hair, forgetting that it was gelled. “I actually have to run to the Haus to put stuff down before the cast party...if any of you want to come?” He offered, not expecting anything. Instead, Chowder, Tango, Whiskey, and Nursey decided to join him, while the graduates, plus Bitty, lamented having to adhere to normal schedules.

After a round or two of goodbyes, Dex walked with the frogs and tadpoles back to the Haus so he could change. Once in his room, he began to strip out of his costume, needing to return it tomorrow, when Nursey walked in.

“Not keeping it on for the party?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“No,” Dex frowned, confused by his roommate’s tone. “I mean I want to be comfortable and the costume is a bit tight.”

“Well yeah that’s what makes it look good,” Nursey pointed out shrugging.

“You think I look good?” Dex asked, surprised. He tried not to let himself get hopeful, no matter what his heart was saying.

“Yeah, I mean so do a lot of people.” Nursey said, eyes all smolder. “I heard many girls cooing over you when you performed.”

Blushing, Dex tried to hide his face. “They just like a performance, not me,” he tried to explain away.

“But what about people who knew you before the performance? Does that mean they like you?” Nursey replied, taking a step closer to Dex.

“I guess...but no one thinks of me like that. I mean even if they did, and it was one of these girls, I’m not interested in them...like that” he rambled, trying to come up with another excuse, but turned around to find himself face to face with Derek.

“I wasn’t talking about the girls.” the brunet said, taking another step closer to his roommate. “I was talking about who you thought of as you sang the song.”

“Oh he doesn’t like me like that,” Dex breathed, watching a slow smirk spread across Nursey’s face.

“How do you know that?” Nursey asked, taking the final step forward into the ginger’s space. “You never asked him. But if you did, I think you’d be pleased.”

Dex leaned forward, deciding to play Nursey’s game. “I mean I could, or I could ask him if he wanted to kiss me with or without the jacket on.”

In reply Nursey handed Dex the jacket back and pinned him to the wall as soon as it was on.

***

Thirty minutes later the two of them were walking down the stairs, changed, but mussed, to head to the after party.

#nurseydex #nursey/dex #derek nurse #william poindexter #omgcheckplease #check please fic #myfics #myposts #those magic changes

[regardstosoulandromance]

The Struggle of Being Pure at Heart

When professors, colleagues, and sometimes-lovers Hannibal Lector and Bedelia Du Maurier learn that they share a protegee in Alana Bloom, their next step is obvious to both- seduce her. 

WC: 3097 Rating: NC-17 Pairing: Alana/Bedelia/Hannibal Read here on ao3, or below

The second week of September brought as many students to the halls of St. Augustine University as the season brought leaves to the ground. The university was a little world unto itself, brick buildings and cobblestone paths lined with trees that only stopped at the blue sky.

A sky, Dr. Hannibal Lecter mused, the same color of the eyes of one Alana Bloom. Miss Bloom's second year of psychology classes has just begun, and Hannibal had put a word in with the dean, requesting that she be placed in his tutelage. He could be her advisory and she, his protegee. It would be perfect.

There was a knock on his door, three sharp strikes that could only belong to one person. Hannibal smiled, closing his eyes as he called for the knocker to enter. Spinning the chair to face forward, he inhaled the familiar scent of musky rose. It was the scent that clung to his sheets.

“Dr. Lecter,” she said, “I've come to discuss Alana Bloom.”

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring into the same shade of blue, but this time, he was looking into the eyes of Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier.

“We have yet to decide what to do about her,” Bedelia pointed out, hours later.

Hannibal trailed a finger tip along her bare shoulder, tracing from the curve of her collar bone down to her wrist. Bedelia watched him in their post coital haze.

“We could,” he suggested, “Let her decide.”

“She may choose incorrectly,” this was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath as Hannibal's fingertips followed the dip of her waist then moved up her spine.

“You mean she may choose me,” Hannibal said and Bedelia stretched out, arms under the pillow as she sprawled in his bed.

“Hmph,” was the reply he received.

Then, a moment later, “Although, I may have to turn her over to you. Such a pretty thing, but she seems to become occasionally distracted by that Will Graham. It may turn into an issue.”

“That's easily taken care of,” Hannibal said, “We could ask her to join us. You said yourself that she is attractive, and it would definitely add an interesting twist to our dalliance,as it were. ”

“You're not serious,” Bedelia lifted her head to regard him, one eyebrow raised. On her, it was the equivalent of a double take.

“I'm as serious as I always am,”

“You realize if she finds offense in the offer it could jeopardize both of our careers.”

“Yet it would be our word against hers.”

“Indeed.”

Alana Bloom shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, the crispness of the air causing her to walk faster. Behind her was the coffee shop where she'd met fellow student Will Graham. It wasn't a date, or maybe it was, she wasn't sure.

“Would you like to meet for coffee?” Will had asked, and she hadn't asked for clarification.

Alana liked Will well enough, he was almost as nice to talk to as he was to look at, but she often felt like a shiny piece of glass when she was with him. He saw her, but not quite.

In front of her was T. Harris Hall, and Alana dispelled all thoughts of Will as she climbed the steps. Dr. Lecter had said he wanted to speak with her. Dr. Lecter, Alana mused, did not look at her like Will did. No, under his gaze she felt like the apple someone left on his desk.

“Miss Bloom,” Dr. Lecter said as she approached his office. He was unlocking the door.

“You wanted to see me?” Alana asked smiling and unconsciously smoothing her skirt.

“Yes,” he pulled an envelope from his jacket, “I'd like to cordially invite you to dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? I'm not sure...” Alana trailed off, leaving her worries of the invitation's appropriateness hanging in the air.

“That is, of course, unless you already have plans,” he added.

“No, no I'm free,” she frowned.

“You needn't worry,” a husky voice said from her other side, “I will be in attendance as well.”

“I don't know, she might worry about that,” Dr. Lecter said to Dr. Du Maurier, “You can be quite fearsome on occasion.”

Dr. Du Maurier waved him off, “Nonsense, I'm always on my best behavior.”

“Is that what you call it? I think the Maitre d' of Les Apotres de Pigalle would disagree.”

Watching the exchange, Alana now understood why her roommate Freddie often speculated if the two psychology professors were having an affair.

“Yes,” her smile returned as she opened the invitation, hand written in fancy parchment, “I'd love to join you both for dinner.”

“Marvelous,” Dr. Lecter said with a grin.

“Is there anything I can bring?” Alana asked.

“Just your appetite,” said Dr. Du Maurier smiling as well as she brushed close to Alana, returning to her office.

Outside again, the smell of roses and parchment lingered as Alana walked. Or that her smile also lingered.

“What do you think, a Merlot? Or a Cabernet Sauvignon with dinner?” Hannibal called from the kitchen, as Bedelia placed plates on his dining room table. Her lips twitched at the question. Pairing wine with a meal could completely change the course of it, for better or worse.

And Bedelia knew that they would need the perfect selection for the seduction of Alana Bloom.

“A Cabernet Sauvignon would go nicely,” she replied, “Don't you have a bottle of Chateau Lafite?”

“I believe I do,” he said as the door bell rang, “I'll get the door if you'll fetch the wine.”

The slight chill of Hannibal's wine storage room only served to add to the excitement pulsing through Bedelia's veins. She could hear the murmur Hannibal's and Alana's voices through the walls.

Although she had had only a the occasional opportunity to observe Alana Bloom alone, the young woman's papers and opinions in class had lead her to one conclusion; she was pure of heart. Not purity of a religious sense or that of naiveté, but the kind of girl who'd nurse a wounded bird back to heath.

Bedelia would rather put small injured things out of their misery- but that was a discussion for another time.

“Miss Bloom,” she smiled a little half smile as she reentered the dinning room with the bottle of wine, “It's a pleasure that you could join us.”

“I'm happy to be here, and please Dr. Du Maurier, call me Alana,” Alana replied.

Hannibal pulled out a chair, and the dark haired woman sat.

“Then please call me Bedelia,” she said, leaning close to set the bottle on the table. For one lingering moment, they locked eyes, and Bedelia could see a slight flush rise in Alana's cheeks.

Oh yes, seducing this one would be most enjoyable.

“We actually had a hidden motive to inviting you tonight,” Hannibal told Alana once they had started eating.

“Oh?”

“As you're aware, soon students will be assigned their advisers,” said Bedelia.

Alana nodded and Hannibal continued, “It came as a surprise to Bedelia and I when we were informed by Dean Chilton that we had both requested to be your adviser.”

“I'm flattered,” Alana said.

“It seems that we both want you,” Hannibal replied, eyes briefly flicking to Bedelia before settling yet again on Alana.

“Indeed,” Bedelia agreed, taking a sip of wine, “The decision is, of course, up to you, and do take some time to weight your options.”

“I don't know what to say,” admitted Alana.

“Then don't say anything at all,” Hannibal said, “Let us simply enjoy the meal.”

“That sounds like a very good plan Dr. Lecter- I mean, Hannibal,” Alana corrected herself, and the three took to their meal, keeping the conversation light, clever, and easy.

“This is a lovely piano,” Alana said, tracing the edge, “Do you play?”

Dinner had been concluded, and new wine was being poured. When Hannibal had suggested that they adjoin to the sitting room, Bedelia had taken Alana's arm, leading her away.

“That I do,” Hannibal replied, refilling Bedelia's glass before moving to join Alana by the piano.

“Do you play Alana?” asked Bedelia.

“Oh no, but I wanted to learn when I was a kid.”

Hannibal lifted the piano's fallboard, sitting, “I can show you, if you'd like.”

“I would!” Alana grinned as she sat down next to him on the bench, “And I already know you're an excellent teacher.”

Bedelia hovered close, but not too close, watching as Hannibal carefully arranged Alana's hands, guiding her to sit up straight. They leaned into each other as Hannibal instructed Alana how to play a simple few notes. Then, he began to play a slow, romantic melody.

Alana joined in on the few notes she knew before glancing up. Her eyes met Bedelia's unwavering gaze and Bedelia gave a slight, approving nod, enjoying the sight of Alana's growing flush.

But soon, Alana was lost to the music, transfixed by Hannibal. Bedelia moved away from the piano, taking a seat on the settee, watching the scene play out. As the song came to a close, Hannibal leaned closer to Alana. For a moment, the room was still, then Alana pulled away, standing.

“Thank you for teaching me,” Alana faltered, “Hannibal.”

“Would you play us lovely?” Bedelia asked, locking eyes with her lover, “Come sit with me Alana.”

Hannibal inclined his head to Bedelia's request, and began to play. Alana sat at the opposite end of the settee. Bedelia moved closer, touching Alana's forearm then forehead as concern creased her brow.

“Are you alright, Alana? You look a bit flush,” she said.

“I'm fine, thank you,” Alana pulled Bedelia's hand from her forehead, and held it in her lap, “It's just the wine I suppose.”

Bedelia laced her fingers together with Alana's, leaning back with the appearance of relaxation and enjoyment of the music but, in reality, she was hyper aware of every movement the other women made. Bedelia gently stoked Alana's thumb with her own.

The soft serenade floated through the room. In combination with the wine and late hour, Alana felt herself lulled, settling into the couch beside her professor. Bedelia's hands were warm, and Alana found it easy to move closer.

Shifting ever so slightly, Bedelia reached up with her free hand, tucking a piece of dark hair behind Alana's ear. Alana turned to look at her and Bedelia took her chance.

Close the gap between them, Bedelia kissed Alana's wine-stained lips. Surprised, Alana froze. But as Bedelia pulled away, Alana leaned in, kissing her anew.

Bedelia wasted no time deepening the kiss, hands in Alana's hair. She moved her mouth along Alana's jawline, greedy kisses smearing lipstick on her skin. They were so caught up in each other, that Alana didn't hear the song stop, or the footsteps towards the settee.

Her hair was brushed aside and large, warm hands spanned Alana's waist as Hannibal joined them. Bedelia kissed Alana's mouth yet again as Hannibal nuzzled the curve of her neck, inhaling.

“Wha-?” Alana gasped.

“Hannibal wasn't only speaking academically when he said we both want you,” Bedelia breathed.

“We hoped,” Hannibal added, “That you'd like to join our little dalliance.”

Alana turned her head to look at him, chest heaving. She didn't speak, but didn't pull away as Hannibal leaned in to kiss her. Bedelia kissed Alana's exposed throat.

“Do you want to come up stairs Alana?” Bedelia said.

“Yes.”

Heart racing, Alana allowed herself to be lead up the dark staircase, through the hall, and into Hannibal's bedroom. She'd never considered doing anything like this before, not with two.

As Hannibal turned on the light to his bedroom, Bedelia dropped Alana's hand, kicking off her heels. Then, inches shorter, she turned her attention back to Alana. They locked eyes, and Alana felt- like she often did during lectures- that Bedelia could see straight into her soul.

Bedelia untied the tie at Alana's hip, opening her dress. She ran her hands across Alana's side, fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear and nylons. Hannibal pulled the dress from Alana's shoulders, discarding it to the side, and Bedelia tugged her undergarments down. Shoes, bra, and what was left tangled at her ankles went next.

“This doesn't feel fair,” Alana half laughed, “You're both over dressed.”

Bedelia was kissing Alana's throat, Hannibal caressing her skin. His hands tracked from teasing her breasts, to cupping her ass, but Alana's knees nearly buckled when his fingers traveled between her legs.

“Perhaps it's time you moved to the bed,” Bedelia chuckled.

“Maybe you should be the next person to lose your underthings Dr. Du Maurier,” Hannibal said as Alana sat on the edge of his bed, drawing her knees up to hug to her chest.

“No, no, lay back,” Bedelia instructed Alana, ignoring Hannibal aside from a raised eyebrow in his direction.

Once she laid back on the bed, Bedelia took one of Alana's hands guiding her to use two fingers to spread her own slick folds. Alana's breath hitched.

Kissing her cheek, Bedelia said, “Stay like that now.”

Exposed and flushed, Alana tilted her head to one side, watching Hannibal and Bedelia. He towered over her, cradling her face in both hands as he kissed her before unzipping her dress. The black velvet hit the floor with a whisper, pooling at her feet.

Bedelia undid Hannibal's tie as he tossed his jacket aside. Between the two of them, then made quick work of his shoes, shirt, trousers. Alana watched as Bedelia's hands trailed down Hannibal's bare chest, fingernails scraping as he caught her waist, pulling her small body flush against his.

After a lingering kiss, they parted to quickly discard the rest of their clothes. Alana bit her lip, trying to regulate her breathing as the professors joined her on the bed.

“Hello,” Alana breathed.

Hannibal smiled, “Hello,” he then took Alana's hand a sucked her fingers clean.

“Comfortable?” Bedelia asked, curling against Alana's side.

Bedelia's touch was feather-light as she traced intricate patterns on Alana's stomach. Slowly she moved up, fingertips circling her nipples, watching them become firm in the low light.

“Y-yeah,” Alana's breath hitched as she felt Hannibal's hand travel low across her body.

His fingers ran along the sharp jut of her hip bone, lower, lower, lower, between her already spread legs. Bedelia nuzzled Alana's neck. Hannibal slowly outlined Alana's clit gathering moisture.

“She's so wet for us my dear,” Hannibal said to Bedelia, who hummed against Alana's neck, her own hands moving across Alana's body.

Leaning over to kiss Alana, Hannibal slid a singer finger inside her. She gasped into his mouth. Breaking the kiss, he began to stroke her inner walls, adding a second digit as Bedelia began to circle Alana's most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Alana's hands twisted in the sheets. Her body arched as heat pooled in her stomach, orgasm building. It felt as if Bedelia and Hannibal's hands, mouths, bodies were everywhere, all at once. Her breath grew shallow, then, body tensing with a cry of pleasure, Alana climaxed.

As she slumped back onto the bed, Alana felt Hannibal press a kiss to her temple, then he asked, “How was that?”

“Mmmm,” Alana signed, feeling sated.

After a moment, she opened her eyes, “But what about you two?”

“Roll over onto your stomach,” Bedelia instructed, “And rise to your hands and knees, please.”

The bed shifted, moving as it's three occupants moved. Alana onto her hands and knees, Bedelia sat in front of her on the pillows, and Hannibal behind them. It was obvious to Alana that they had a plan, and she shivered in anticipation.

Alana leaned forward on slightly shaky arms, gently kissing the place where Bedelia's neck met shoulder. Bedelia sighed, running her hands through Alana's hair. Slowly, Bedelia guided Alana lower, between her legs. Alana kissed her breasts, her navel, the curve of her hip, before kissing her hot center.

There was the sound of a tearing condom wrapper and a dip in the bed behind Alana. Warm hands encompassed her waist, tugging her ass higher in the air as Hannibal positioned himself. With a single, slow thrust, he filled her.

Alana moaned. She ran her tongue from Bedelia's entrance to clit, where she began to use her mouth to suck and lap. Bedelia's head tilted back with pleasure.

Smiling at the sight of them, Hannibal found a steady pace, filling Alana with each thrust. Already aroused from earlier, Alana came much faster this time, limbs shaking as she orgasmed for the second time.

Bedelia's breathe came in short gasps, giving way to moans as Alana's mouth made quick work. Tugging at the brunette's hair, she urged her on, feeling herself grow closer to the edge. Then suddenly, she trembled, the world flashing white behind her eyes as Bedelia reached the peak of her pleasure.

Hannibal grunted, reaching his climax at nearly the same time his college did. With a sigh, he collapsed onto the bed beside the women.

Alana shut her eyes, exhausted. There was rustling on either side of her, and a kiss pressed to her temple, and then she fell asleep.

The morning sun felt warm across her brow, as did the arm wrapped around her waist. Opening her eyes, Alana tried to place her unfamiliar surroundings for a moment before remembering- Drs Lecter and Du Maurier, Hannibal and Bedelia- the night came rushing back to her.

But on one side the bed was empty. Raising up slightly and turning to look, Alana saw the soft fan of blonde hair on the pillow beside her. That's when the door opened.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said quietly, entering with a tray.

He handed her a cup of coffee, “Sleep well?”

“Yeah- yes,” Alana smiled softly, pulling the sheet up to her chest.

Hannibal made his way to the over side of the bed, stooping to carefully kiss Bedelia's temple after setting another cup of coffee by the bedside.

“She must like you,” He told Alana, “She's not usually this snugly.”

“And good morning to you too,” Bedelia yawned, as Hannibal took his place on the other side. She glanced at him, “Would you like to ask her or shall I?”

“I can,” Hannibal replied, “Alana, Dr. Du Maurier and I spoke after you fell asleep, and we'd like to extend an invitation for you to join us on a more regular basis.”

“We both enjoyed your involvement last night, but it is, of course, your decision,” Bedelia added.

Alana glanced from one to the other, heartbeat quickening, “I think I'd like that.”

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