#hes going to mistake it for his vibrato

[jrueships]

Diggs. can allen have One Thing for Himself... EVER??

#is gillette just for the bills now or smthin??? #or is this diggs doing his 'OH BOY I LOVE GOLFING 🥰🥰' thing where he sees allen golfing with his friends #and suddenly diggs is in a skintight golfers uni he express shipped over to his house on amazon #hes going to mistake it for his vibrato #oooh look at the time #i gotta go <3 #now. #diggs and allen put the PARTNER in partnership #ALLEN gets a gillette? DIGGS gets a gillette! #this is probably a strategic swipe on diggs part #he just uses his new deal with gillette to steal joshs #so josh can stop shaving and potatoing himself #and keep his lumberjack who lives in a log cabin aesthetic #diggs: sorry hun but i gotta use ur gillette again <3! maybe ill remember to give it back in another 2 years #josh: please babe give me my gillette there are baby squirrels living in my beard #diggs: name them after the linemen #😊 they deserve some love too

[lesbianwriter]

Hero couldn’t breathe.

The lashing had stopped a bit ago…an hour? Two? Three? She didn’t know, she didn’t care.

She couldn’t breathe.

That was all she knew in that moment—her throat was tightening, her breaths were staggered and throaty, and each one pained gasp felt as if it would be her last.

It had happened again. Supervillain has found her. And here she was, tied down, wheezing for air, and her old scars shredded open by the same cruel hand that had been the cause of them in the first place.

Panting, Hero tugged blindly at the ropes on the wrists, but it only dug deeper into the tender, pink flesh that burned when she struggled.

She sucked in a hitched breath and trembled.

Supervillain would lash her again and again until she remembered his old teachings; and as much as Hero wanted to be the fearless savior that withstood any horror without flinching…she knew that she wasn’t that type of hero. The only thing she’d ever been good at was pretending, for the public. She was a clown. A liar in makeup and a gaudy grin, when deep down she was a shriveled up creature trying to crawl into the dark for safety. When the torture persisted, she was going to crack.

Everybody would see her spill her guts and not only would she be broken, but she’d be shamed for being fragile enough to shatter at all.

Heroes were supposed to be stronger. Braver.

But her lungs constricted at the mere idea of the next horrible day to come.

When the door opened, she flinched and tried to curl into herself as much as she could manage. She hadn’t expected Supervillain to return so quickly…how long had it been? What more could he possibly do in one day?

“Hey,” Villain whispered, stepping behind Hero. Guardedly, she touched a hand to the injured woman’s shoulder. “You don’t look too good.”

Hero’s whole body trembled.

Her replacement. The person who had been plucked from a field of other promising young agents to be Supervillain’s brand new dazzling starlet after Hero had defected so long ago. But…why was she here?

Revenge? Cruelty? Was she here to rub it into Hero’s face that she had made a mistake when she had ran into the arms of the heroes?

Villain cocked her head, her eyes glittering like jewels in the dim, depressing room. “Hey, I’m not here to…torture you or anything like that. I promise.” She said confidingly, and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and some gauze bandages. “Though, it might sting.”

Hero gritted her teeth and tried to suppress a whimper as Villain poured antiseptic on her open wounds.

It burned, a fire blazing on her back.

This was the only time that Hero could almost be thankful that her throat closed up and her breath eluded her—at least she wouldn’t further humiliate herself by screaming in front of her replacement.

Villain then wrapped the gauze around Hero’s wounds, the bandages wrapping around her entire back, and secured them firmly.

“There, at least it won’t get infected.” Villain peered at the trembling form, leaning her head down to try to look at Hero’s face. “Are you still coherent?”

“I—yeah…” Hero rasped.

“Hmm.” Villain leaned closer, until they were practically nose-to-nose. Something about her gaze was as intense and mystifying as foamy waves crashing against sharp rocks. “Tell me, what’s so worth it about being a hero? Seems to me like all heroes do is get hurt.”

“Supervillain is a madman—he was going to destroy the world, and I didn’t want to be a part of that.” Her voice was scratchy and dry, the vibrato of her voice ringing against her throat akin to two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. “Neither should you.”

A tiny snort escaped Villain. “So…you’d rather be the part that gets killed and destroyed rather than the part that survives?”

Hero looked down at the floor.

Of course Supervillain’s new favorite was perfectly okay with being on the side of evil; of course he’d want to make sure that he didn’t repeat his first mistakes by choosing someone he’d have to scar into submission rather than someone that already shared his twisted mind.

Though, she couldn’t argue that she felt stupid when Villain pointed out that heroes side would be the one to eat dirt if—or when—Supervillain succeeded in his plots.

Villain continued to talk. “I’m just curious. Why’d you leave?”

“He…he hurt me.”

“And you don’t get hurt as a hero? There’s thousands of people in the world you can’t save, no matter how hard you try or how much you wish you could, but if you’re a villain then you choose who to hurt and how. At least then, even if you’re still hurting, you still have some degree of power and control.”

Hero panted, glancing warily up at Villain. “Are—are you here to tease me?” She shook her head, sweat rolling down her forehead. “Just…say whatever mean things you wanna say and go.”

Her head hung lower.

Pathetic. That’s what it was.

She should’ve been fighting, but her wrists ached too much to keep trying to break the rope and her back stung too much to keep thrashing. Instead of struggling, she was hoping Villain would strike her with whatever verbal blows she had come here to taunt her with and then leave.

“I’m here because you fascinate me. It took a lot of strength to leave,” Villain stroked the curve of Hero’s shoulder, thoughtfully. “I want to know more about why you did that. What was the push that sent you tumbling into the world of heroism? What made you tick? What inspired you to be a hero, instead of finding a safe house somewhere and staying there, hmm?”

“I…uhm…part of it was a plea deal. I—I didn’t wanna go to prison, so I agreed to serve the community.” Hero looked down at the floor again, watching the beads of sweat that hit the ground.

She shouldn’t even be talking to Villain and she felt ashamed to be lured into responding.

Villain tilted her head. “Do you know how long I’ve been compared to you? I wanted to see how much of that was true, but we’re nothing alike. You’re selfish.”

“And you wouldn’t protect you from Supervillain?” Hero felt Villain’s breath on her face, and her eyes matched the criminal’s with something between awe and fear.

Villain was what she’d wanted to be.

What she still wished she could be, sometimes.

“No, I wouldn’t.” Villain squeezed Hero’s shoulder, her lips brushing Hero’s. “I want to understand you, Hero. I’ll find out everything in the deepest, darkest parts of your psyche. Supervillain has appointed me the honor of retraining you.”

“I can’t…I can’t come back…”

But Hero knew she’d break. Her destiny of being a disgrace was written in the stars and wishing for any other outcome was foolishness.

Villain smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

#my writing #hero x villain #heroes and villains #writing snippet #villain x hero #captured hero #captive whumpee #slight injury whump #villain caretaker #sapphic #wlw

[thenightcallsme]

ATWOW | Neteyam Sully, pt. 3

"All I could wish for is to hold Neteyam like this without the heavy sombre air that threatens to consume me. For a moment of peace, where I can look up at him with a loving smile and see it returned."

Synopsis: You and the Sully siblings have been captured by enemy Avatars while sneaking away to explore the forbidden battle field. Just when all hope seems to fade, rescue comes in the rainy height of eclipse.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Ometikaya OC (Gi'anya, or Gi for short)

Contains: established OC POV, crude language, a little fluff, mentions and descriptions of death and blood, guns, Neteyam being a comforting sweetheart, reader's thoughts getting carried away at the worst time cause yk he's just so sexy, possibly not proofread well enough so sorry for bad grammar or spelling or tense (I keep zoning out and fucking up the tense mb)

Word count: 4,174

find the rest of the chapters in my masterlist here :)

• • • • •

Rain softly pelts overhead leaves, dripping through the stratification of the Pandora forest. Large, fan-like leaves and flower petals bow towards the ground as droplets accumulate on the surface, launching back once the small pools roll off. Bioluminescent life lights up the surrounding forest in response to the eclipse’s darkness. Beside me, Tuk shivers. 

The five of us are being held in a line by the strange Avatars clad in human gear. Kiri and Spider are held by one man, Lo’ak held by the other, and Tuk and I are held by the woman. More stalk through the bush to create an impenetrable perimeter. The Colonel paces behind us, watching his surroundings with a gun drawn.

“Heads up, three minutes,” he murmurs. Radio static buzzes from his earpiece.

My heart sinks. Three minutes. We’re entirely out of luck. Although, a small part of me still hopes. It’s dark, the rain is light but still audible. The climate is practically tailored for the strategies of Na’vi offence. But, then again, three minutes is not long. Not long at all.

“Watch out six,” the Colonel murmurs to Kiri and Spider’s captor. He nods, ushering them to face the opposite direction.

Late birdsong, gentle rainfall, and the buzz of insects seeking shelter from the rain are almost deafening despite the soft melody. My mind is trained on the sounds, distinguishing what is actually an animal and what could be a damn miracle. Rain patter, chirping, buzzing… I listen and listen. I hope. I pray to Eywa that, if anything, the Sully’s will be safe—

My ears suddenly flutter, swivelling in a direction I cannot see. Distant yapping has caught my attention, so faint and high-pitched you would almost mistake it for the calls of the viperwolfs. Only, there’s a vibrato to it that is unmistakable. Tuk secretively glances my way. I raise and lower my brows in confirmation. Lo’ak turns to me. I return his knowing look. Three minutes.

The yip sounds again, this time louder, more piercing. The Avatars are scanning the bushes more intently now, trying to discern whether a creature stalks us, or the Sully’s have come to claim their children. Behind us, Kiri begins to chant beneath her breath, followed by a groan as an Avatar grips her queue harder, hissing for the chants to stop. She does not listen. Her voice grows louder.

The Avatar growls. “Shut. Up.”

They are his last words. I barely turn my head in time to catch a streak of wood and feathers cleaving through the rain. Obsidian lodges deep into his left temple. With a strangled cry, his body goes flailing, falling to the damp grass with a thud.

Orders are shouted between the Avatars as they shove us to the ground before rounding on the arrow's direction with guns drawn. There is no hesitation as they open fire into the night of the eclipse. The short explosions of light bursting from the barrels are enough the illuminate the trunk of a tree, where shards of bark go flying. Beneath gunfire, I hear Lo’ak’s name being called. Neytiri.

Lo’ak reaches for the tactical vest of his captor, ripping the key from a gas grenade. Green clouds burst into the air, and in the state of confusion, Lo’ak brandishes his canines and sinks them into the Avatar’s forearm. I nudge Tuk, who watches the struggle, with my foot, nodding when she looks my way. With a determined nod of her own, she does the same.

“Ah! You little—”

Beneath the cover of Tuk’s distraction, I manoeuvre my bound hands between my thighs and fish for a small, hidden knife, swiftly driving it beneath the hem of a tactical vest. He doubles over—a mistake on his part. I slam my shoulder into his approaching nose as I hook my foot behind his. The Avatar tumbles ungracefully towards the ground. In his attempt to clutch a bleeding stomach and broken nose, I launch myself onto the mass of muscle. It doesn’t take long to drive my blade into his neck, cutting clean through the mechanics of a throat mic. Beneath me lies the dying Avatar who gurgles and drowns in his own blood. I breathe hard, suddenly captivated by the sight in mortified realisation.

I have never killed before despite my adequate training. There has never been a need to. My life has not been void of death and gore, but at my own hands? Driven by the need to survive and protect Tuk, there was no second thought in my brutality. A part of me is satisfied at the wide-eyed look and weak clawing at my arms and legs which I easily brush away. …And then there is another part that is deeply sickened. Crimson blood coats my fingers. Small rubies of it have splattered across my chest and face from the rupture of his jugular.

I barely have time to process any of it before the deafening sounds of conflict come rushing back to me. The connection between my racing brain and reality is ignited as Lo’ak calls my name, pulling insistently at my arm

“Get up, Gi! Go!”

Lo’ak, Tuk and I stumble into the forest, wrists bound and bullets spraying at our feet. I barely catch a glimpse of Kiri and Spider escaping in the opposite direction. The group of Avatars are divided in their attempts to regain their valuable prisoners.

Faint glowing footsteps that fade in the moss are felt in our wake as we fly through outstretched branches and stray plant life. Deep shouts follow us. I hold Tuk’s hand in mine with a vice-like, white-knuckled grip, forcing her to reach a speed she can not achieve on her own. She pants and sobs. Lo’ak is a few steps ahead. Rain obscures my vision as we try to zigzag through the forest, but even though the Avatars are not familiar with this environment, they are not stupid. Losing them is beginning to seem impossible.

Suddenly, a searing hot pain shoots through my thigh. Every command my brain screams to run is left unheard as numbness takes over. Tuk’s hand slips from mine as I come crashing to my knees, the change in velocity driving me to the ground. Pained groans escape my lips as my hand flies to my thigh…which is drenched in blood. A bullet wound. Shit.

Somehow, in my state of agony and vulnerability, there is some luck; the bullet merely grazed my skin, but the wound is still deep and sizable. And it’s bleeding a dizzying amount. 

Tuk has come to a stop, swivelling on her heels to come crouching at her side. I shoo her away with wide, terrified eyes.

“Tuk, no—”

She ignores my attempt to push her away as she grabs my arms, trying to tug me to my feet. “Get up! Please, Gi!”

Lo’ak has turned back, remaining a few feet ahead as he hurridly waves at us to hurry, unaware and unable to see the blood streaming down my leg. “Quick!”

I struggle to my feet while trying to push her along. “Tuk go! For Eywa’s sake, run!”

But it’s too late.

A figure emerges from the foliage. I have my knife drawn in an instant, my hold awkward between two bound hands while simultaneously trying to hide Tuk with my body. The weight on my left leg with every step backward is nauseating—the fresh image of my first kill is no help. I hiss, all bared canines and wide eyes, trying to mask any weakness otherwise given away by my bloodied state.

“Put the knife down,” the male warns.

I growl.

“You’re not a Sully, but you have connections,” he continues with his gun raised. “You can either be helpful…or disposable.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He shrugs and aims the gun at my head with sharper precision. My entire body goes tense. There is no way to escape this, and with Tuk cowering behind me, all I can think of is to shield her body from the spray. Maybe she can play dead beneath my bullet-riddled corpse and wait out the onslaught while Lo’ak makes an escape. Maybe…

“Disposable it is,” he hisses. “I don’t need you. Just him.”

His finger cradles the trigger. I drop my knife, swivelling my body to take Tuk’s body against my chest, my back brandished and ready for the killing blow. Tuk cries in protest as I whisper for her to play dead. Her nails dig crescent moons into the flesh of my upper arms. Lo’ak begins to yell—

And the bullets never come.

With a bloodcurdling, muffled howl followed by the heavy thud of a dropping gun, the Avatar goes stumbling back. I turn slowly to witness a horrific scene. Wide, faraway eyes stare into the dark beyond as the male clutches at his throat, trying and failing with disappearing strength to dislodge an arrow wedged through his neck. The arrowhead has cleaved clean through, finding rest in the trunk of a tree inches behind. I clutch the back of Tuk’s head, holding her close to my chest between my bound arms. My figure obscures her view of the dying male, but there’s not much use trying to hide her from the brutality—she just watched what I would do for her only minutes ago.

Seconds pass where Tuk, Lo’ak and I are deathly still as the male slumps, suspended from a tree by the neck. Carefully, I rise. Gunfire and shouting sounds in the distance, echoed the whirring approach of human-piloted Samsons. In this small clearing, nobody stirs… until two more figures emerge. My weak hiss dies on my tongue once their faces register. Of course. Lo’ak’s bow was taken—who else would have killed him? I recognise the precise craftsmanship of the arrow’s narrow body and tufted tail instantly.

“Dad!” Tuk cries out, voice breaking as she takes off towards her father. He drops to one knee and takes her in an unbreaking embrace, followed by Lo’ak.

Overcome by relief, fatigue, and raging pain, my knees give out and I sink to the ground with ragged breaths. The adrenaline has worn off now. Nothing eases the searing pain in my thigh anymore.

A figure drops down in front of me. Large hands take hold of my face, forcing me to look at amber eyes wide with worry. Neteyam turns my face from side to side, surveying for any damage in the darkness. Tiny bioluminescent freckles glitter across his skin. All of a sudden, it’s not just pain rushing back from my lack of adrenaline, but an unexpected wave of emotions. Tears prick in the corners of my eyes as I stare back at him in disbelief. I was going to die for Tuk. If not for Neteyam, who has discarded his bow in the wet grass, I would already be dead.

“Neteyam…” My lower lip quivers, my voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. I speak his name as if he’s some sort of God who has graciously descended from the heavens.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, retracting his hands to take mine. He makes quick work of severing the bonds on my wrists. I don’t speak when he reaches forward to brush a stray tear from my cheek. His brow furrows. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Half of it isn’t mine. I…I killed…”

The sentence remains unfinished. My stomach turns as I speak, threatening to reject today’s meals at just the thought of what I did. The dead body only feet from us is no help.

Neteyam’s face softens from the hardened look of worry. “The first time is hard, I know.”

When a soft sob builds in my throat, Neteyam pulls me into a gentle embrace. The second my cheek presses against his chest everything comes spilling from me in an uncontrollable rush. I cry and cry within the comfort of his muscular arms, silently thankful for the calming air that always followed him, even in the midst of chaos. When a hand gently curves against the base of my skull, the floodgates open entirely, and I shamelessly cling to him. Everything is too much. The pain that seers through my thigh and numbs my brain, the slowly subsiding fear of death, the exhaustion of living a life dictated by the sky people. All I could wish for is to hold Neteyam like this without the heavy sombre air that threatens to consume me. For a moment of peace, where I can look up at him with a loving smile and see it returned.

“Thank you,” I blubber. Any coherence is lost. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Bursting through the clearing comes a familiar sight: Neytiri. I barely catch a glimpse of her and the faint sound of Kiri’s voice. Further relief settles in. The rest are safe. Though, when I hear Lo’ak ask where Spider is, my heart sinks. Kiri’s wailed reply is something I wish I didn’t hear. They took him.

Neteyam’s chin rests on top of my head as he lets out a deep sigh. His shoulders slump beneath my hands, only to stiffen once more as his gaze shifts. There’s a moment of stillness before he pushes away with a horrified, downcast look. My leg. Crimson streams trickle down my skin, staining the grass and absorbing into the moist soil. His teeth worry at his lower lip as his fingers test the skin. I wince as he presses on the surrounding flesh. His concerned curiosity is deterred by the muffled noise I make.

“Fuck, Gi,” he murmurs beneath his breath.

“Bullet wound,” I explain. “It’s just a graze.”

“But it’s still bleeding.” With a huffed sigh, he brushes a stray tear from my cheek. Never has his touch felt more like home. “Next time you find yourself in places you should not be, you tell me.”

“What makes you think I’m leaving home ever again,” I mutter. “In my defence, I didn’t know I was going to end up here, anyway.”

Neteyam purses his lips. “I’m going to kill Lo’ak.”

“It’s not his fault, Nete. Nobody knew this would happen.”

“Gi, you…” To my surprise, his voice cracks, and even more unlike him, his words come out in a near-incoherent ramble. “I just watched you shield my little sister. You were going to die for her, Gi, Jesus Christ you had a gun to your head.”

I shake my head slowly. “Lo’ak didn’t know—”

“I don’t care about what he knew,” he interrupts with a feverish wave of his hand. “I’m not even talking about him anymore. Fuck, if I had listened to Dad and stayed behind, I don’t know…”

I am at a loss for words, completely thrown by his inability to speak a sentence in his usual phlegmatic way. His gaze is everywhere and nowhere all at once, fazing between this reality and some nightmarish alternate one. Neteyam, even in the most stressful and demanding moments, somehow knows how to remain calm, and even if his mind is a hysterical mess, his outward appearance, nor his words, betray him. It’s an admirable talent of his, the ability to remain unreadable. But now that talent has disappeared. I am looked at, held, and spoken to like he’s just witnessed my brutal death cradling his younger sister, only to be ripped away and dumped in a timeline where his arrow struck true.

There’s no use questioning his erratic behaviour. I’m not sure he’s even aware of it. All I can do is stare back, overcome by the palpable worry.  Deep down, I’m a little flattered, but I shove away the thought, appalled by the audacity. Really, there is a time and a place, and neither of that is now.

The two of us are interrupted as a large, calloused hand falls on my shoulder, its owner shadowed by two peaking sets of golden eyes. Jake Sully gives me a gentle squeeze and a tight smile.

“You did good, kid,” he says. “You did good.”

He was watching as I threw myself over Tuk, I realise. With a huffed breath nothing short of a thankful sigh, Jake moves his hand to the back of my head, his other on Neteyam as he pulls the two of us into a fatherly embrace. Fatherly. You’d think I could not know what it meant to feel fatherly love, but if someone asked me what it meant, my answer would be simple: Jake. I look up to Jake, I heed his advice, both in life and in the matters of the mind. There was always a safe and welcoming aura to him, loving and caring, and as I find myself engulfed by it now, my lower lip quivers.

You don’t know what you’ve got till it's gone; I’ve always appreciated everything I have, grateful my life has amounted to anything on its rocky foundations. But it’s funny how you never realise how meaningless life would be without it until faced with death. Without Jake and Neytiri, I suppose I’d be lost in this world.

I try my hardest to bite down on the bubbling sobs and hiccups, but of course, the shake of my shoulders defies me. A comforting hand runs over the uninjured stretch of my right thigh. The four-fingered touch is a dead giveaway as to who it is.

“Alright,” Jake claps his son on the back. “Teyam, help her onto your Ikran. She’s losing a lot of blood, so sit her in front of you in case she starts to lose consciousness. Gi, I need you to stay strong just a little longer. Then everything will be alright.”

Wiping away the last of my tears, I nod.

Neteyam is extremely careful as he hauls me from the ground, throwing one of my arms over his shoulder while one hand slinks tightly around my waist. I hiss at the first step I take on my left foot, my knee buckling ever so slightly. Eywa, I feel like I’m going to vomit. I beg that the nausea is just in my head.

“How bad does it hurt?”

I purse my lips as I take another step. “Like hell.”

“Sorry,” he says with a wince. “I’ll try lifting you up just a little…”

I shake my head, but not in protest to the upward pressure he exerts around my waist. “It’s all right. Don’t say sorry like it's your fault.”

It’s his turn to shake his head. “If I was quicker—”

“I don’t want to hear the rest of that sentence.” He opens his mouth as if to defy me, but decides against it. “I owe you my life. That’s all that matters.”

He’s quiet for a moment, possibly considering if my rebuttals are worth the moping. The silence is echoed by each muffled whimper per step I take. Instead, when he finally speaks… “At least let me carry you.”

“Why—”

Too late. Ignoring my question and the protest to come, Neteyam drops his hand from the arm that I sling over his shoulders and bends down swiftly, arm sliding beneath my knees. One second, soft wet grass tickles the bottom of my feet, and the next, I feel nothing. All the pressure on my thigh is relieved. He’s so precise that our stride is barely broken. 

“You’re going to get blood all over you.”

“I’ve had worse,” he counters.

I tsk, replying airily, “If you say so…”

Neteyam keeps his eyes on his father, who leads the way to the Ikran’s resting place, but as I look up at his face, I swear there’s the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Strength to Neteyam is like crops at the height of harvesting season to a farmer; they go hand in hand, a reward of hard work that reaps many benefits, praise sometimes one of them. Humble in nature, Neteyam is not defined by cockiness and vanity like some of his warrior peers, though it’s definitely there if you know where to look. Now, I wonder if he finds some guilty pleasure in the little effort it takes to cradle my body against his broader, muscular stature. 

I myself definitely find a thrill in it. A stupid thrill that could not be coming at a worse time.

“Oh, Mighty Warrior,” I tease. While I intend it sarcastically to lighten the austere air, it somehow comes out…sultry. “How virtuous of you to help this damsel in distress.”

I don’t miss the way his ears flutter, contrasting the accusing stare he gives me. “You want to walk?”

I pat his shoulder. “Here’s fine, thanks for asking.”

He rolls his eyes with a toothy smile. “Charming, aren’t you?”

With great care, Neteyam helps me up onto the bony spine of his Ikran, who looks back to survey me with an inquisitive squawk. I stroke her back once seated. Knowing I’ve found a steady spot, Neteyam follows, straddling the beast so that he settles right behind me. I had expected him to give me some room out of respect. We haven’t flown together since the early days of our endeavours—most of those joined rides were spent on Nala, my beastly Ikran, as he was so fascinated by it. Smaller bodies give more room, and then, we were comfortably seated apart. Now is an entirely different story. Neteyam shimmies his hips forward so that the curve of my spin fits flush against his chest. As he moves around me to link his queue with the creature, I notice with great dismay that I can feel everything. Most of that dismay is in response to the perverse enjoyment I get out of it.  Maybe I should get hurt with no way home more often. 

I blink hard for a few seconds, as if closing my eyes could shoo away the appalling thought like a cobweb in the wind. Eywa, get a grip.

One of his large hands takes a tight grip on the Ikran’s antenna while he slides his free arm around my midriff. Lean muscles flex against my skin as he pulls me impossibly closer. Against my will, the position I’m in sparks up questionable, almost pornographic imagery, so vivid I’m afraid he knows what I’m thinking. Thankfully he can’t see the ashamed flush of my checks.

“I don’t mean to invade your space,” he apologises as if sensing some discomfort. His voice is low and erotically husky, warm breath caressing the inner shells of my ear. Skin to skin, I can feel the way his heart beats against my back. It’s fast. Sangely fast. From the freshness of the fight, I tell myself, not allowing any hope. “But it would be nice if you didn’t fall to your death.”

“I promise I won’t pass out and inconvenience the flight home,” I say. Truthfully, I don’t believe it will happen. My focus is more on the sick feeling that brews in my stomach.

“I don’t know how good of a promise that is. I was just watching you rolling your head around. You look like you fought sleep for a week straight and now it's catching up.”

“I look like that naturally,” I mumble.

“Lies. You usually look more alive.”

The ride home is a foggy haze. All that really registers is the consistent envelopment of Neteyam’s arm around my body, his hand resting lightly on my hip. He tightens his grip and pulls me into his chest any time he thinks I’m leaning too far to the side. None of it is because of fading consciousness. …Well, maybe once or twice I do lose my balance. The onslaught of sickness from the man I slaughtered mixed with the raging pain in my thigh is overwhelming. Too overwhelming. All that keeps my sanity anchored is the feel of my childhood friend cozied up against my back.

If anything, Neteyam overreacts. I could sneeze and he’d think I was having a seizure. Each time I assure him everything is fine, and each time, he makes me swear I’m not putting on a brave face. And each time, I get a shiver as he leans down to remind me to stay awake. Beaded braids fall over my collarbone, his chin ghosting the space between my neck and shoulder. I’m incredibly relieved to escape the cradle of his body, swapping it for an arm around my waist to ease my limp towards the Tsahìk’s tent.

Mo’at tsks at the sight of me, and despite the harshness of her scolding, there is an overarching worry in the deep lines of her face. I’m left alone with her for a little while, the storytelling my job as Jake and Neytiri speak urgently in their tent, their children too curious not to eavesdrop. Kiri and Neteyam return as Mo’at gently wraps the plush of my thigh in soft bandages supplied by the humans. There’s an indescribable look on their faces and their shared glances are strangely unsettling, but I decide to leave the questions unsaid.

•

And that's all I have in me to write rn, it's so late and I'm stressing about my exams this week and going crazy cause my stupid ex keeps liking my tik tok thirst traps which is NOT ALOUD!! Pray for me pookies 😘😘 now look at this mf hes so fit

#avatar #avatar the way of water #atwow #neteyam #neteyam avatar #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #neteyam x oc #fanfiction

[lemony-snickers]

hi lemony it's been a while 🥰

for the kiss prompt, can i have #15 for kakashi x angry/jealous fem!reader

It had been a long time since you'd felt so annoyed with Kakashi. Sure, he could be brusque at times, especially after a difficult mission, and that could get under your skin. But you knew it was a defense mechanism, a personality trait cultivated from years of harsh reality as a shinobi of the Leaf.

So your annoyance rarely flared so hot, so vivid as it did now, even when he was sullen and petulant as a child.

Because now, you knew Kakashi Hatake was playing dumb deliberately just to get under your skin, and it was really starting to piss you off.

Perhaps Kakashi was just oblivious, but he must have realized the vendor from your brief sojourn to the Festival had been flirting with him, right?

You closed your eyes against the memory of her delicate fingers dancing along the sleeve of his yukata--the yukata you had purchased for him and practically begged him to wear before he agreed not to attend in his jonin uniform.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Kakashi said when you pointed it out to him after. But the mischievous glint in his visible eye told you he had known exactly what you were talking about. It also told you you'd made a mistake in drawing attention to it, because it likely had sparked the events of the rest of the evening.

When you made it to the next booth and the same thing happened. And then at the next, too. Eventually, you paid closer attention to Kakashi than the person manning the stall.

He was flirting with them. All of them. Right in front of you.

If it were anyone else, you'd be enraged, but with Kakashi you knew there was no malice in his actions. It was just a game, one you'd set in motion by showing him the first small glimmer of jealousy when you asked about it the first time.

It had never bothered you before. You'd watched Kakashi flirt with targets on missions, and with servers to get a discount on his bill. It was all innocent, you trusted him. Knew you were the one he was going to come home to, no matter what. Sometimes you even found it sort of amusing, how flustered he could make others. You weren't like that. He couldn't fluster you.

Except for tonight, apparently. Because tonight, for whatever reason, your patience was not long enough. You stewed in your irritation, watching Kakashi flirt with an endless stream of admirers until you finally announced that you were leaving early and would meet him at home.

Of course, Kakashi followed close on your heels, needling you all the while, finding your response apparently endlessly entertaining.

What's wrong, I thought you were enjoying the Festival?

Is something bothering you?

Oh there's that nice woman from earlier, I think I'll just go stop and say goodbye...

"Shut up!" you cried, heart hammering as the two of you finally stepped into your apartment and the door clicked closed. You'd ignored his teasing the whole way home, but now you were officially done. "I don't know what your game is, but I don't find it very amusing."

"Are you insinuating that I am being purposely annoying?" Kakashi asked as he pulled his mask down, revealing the teasing smile you knew already lurked beneath.

You stared at Kakashi, nostrils flaring as you dared him to say another word.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" he asked, enjoying himself far too much.

"No."

He smirked and your rage welled up inside you, making you fearless. Strong.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something you were absolutely certain would be not only asinine, but infuriatingly at your expense, you reached forward, grasped the front of his yukata and yanked him toward you, smashing your mouth against his so you could swallow whatever he'd been trying to say.

The kiss was vicious; teeth, mostly, with only enough tongue to tip the scales toward kiss from bite.

You felt the vibrato of Kakashi's laugh beneath your clenched fist and growled, shoving him back with another forceful jut of your chin. You clamped down on his lower lip, relishing the dark growl it drew from him when you just barely broke the supple skin.

You let your lips curl in a wicked grin as you released his lips and pulled away, your hand still gripping his outfit, twisting it so the pull would remain in the fabric once you let him go.

A reminder of the only person who was allowed so close to him.

Kakashi stared at you with a feral look in his eyes, the corners of his mouth turning slightly upward. He swiped his thumb over his lip, collecting the few drops of blood there and then licked them away. You released his shirt, but rather than taking a step back, Kakashi stepped forward, leering down at you as you regained your breath.

"Now look what you've done," he said a little too quietly, "I've lost my train of thought."

You smirked up at him. "You should have shut up like I asked," you said, unprepared for one of Kakashi's arms to hook around the small of your back and drag you into him with so much force you needed his body to steady you unless you wanted to go sprawling on the floor.

His breath was hot against your ear when he leaned down and kissed the hinge of your jaw and then whispered, "You're going to have to do much better than that if you want to keep me quiet."

Now that was a challenge you were more than happy to take on.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #fem!reader #tw biting #sharingangirl #15 is “kissing to shut them up!” #lemony scribbles #friday flash fic fest #thank you so much for sending this one in i hope you like it! <3

[domreader-headcannon-scenarios]

So how about,

Sebastian had been much too flirtatious, so you finally had enough. Vibrator in his ass, and a clamp (or something I don’t know enough abt wieners) on his dick. He’s not allowed to cum until he gets the room completely clean, and just when he thinks he’s almost done,

“You missed a spot”

(@espresso-dragon)

@espresso-dragon so there’s so many things you could use to crush his cock!!! This is what I’m using for the story, it’s a little different, but I thought it was fitting since you can use it only on the cock if you want!

Also SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND WENT OF SCRIPT I GOT CARRIED AWAY

Sebastian (cb/t, pain play, vibrato/rs,)

A little flirting didn’t bother you, but Sebastian getting handsy infront of a business partner is where you draw the line. You decided to deal with that cocky ness right away. You dragged Sebastian to your room and told him to get on the bed.

Sebastian laughed a bit, but cooperated and watched as you went over to your closet and dug threw a few hoods you’d thrown on the ground to get a small black box, it had no note worthy markings or patterns, Sebastian gave you a quizzical look when you came over with it.

“I bought this toy for you a while back, I was trying to wait till our anniversary to use this toy on you.” You opened the box to reveal the truth about you’d hidden, Sebastian was familiar with the crush toy, but the ones you’ve gotten him previously don’t come with a remote and were also clear.

Sebastian glanced up at you and gave a coy smile. “You were going to use this on our anniversary night? Isn’t that meant for punishments-“ You gently shoved him back, undoing his dress pants.

“I just wanted to remind you of the mistake you made by asking me out.” He flinched when your hands closed the toy around his cock, locking it in place. You adjusted it carefully to ensure it didn’t pinch his cock or balls before turning on the remote.

Sebastian snapped his legs shut, tensing up as it buzzed to life, he glanced up at you shooting you a worried look. “Why is it buzzing? They don’t usually do that-“ Sebastian is cut off when you press the button and the device tightens. “Shit, wait-not so fast-“ He jerks and reaches to stop it before pausing and looking up at you with doe eyes. “Please, n-not so tight? It’s crushing me-“

You cut him off with a quick tap, having the the screws tightened as far as you could. His legs are shaking already, not that your surprised, the painful pressure on suck a delicate area isn’t something that you prepare for. You lean down, teasing the areas you can still touch on his cock, gently rubbing them.

Sebastian gave a low groan and you can’t help but laugh a bit when he squeaks, hips bucking in an attempt to lesson the pressure on his cock or at least let him get friction. Sebastian was starting to get up when you stopped him. “Stay still, one more thing.”

Sebastian watched you carefully as you grab a bottle of lube and a vibrator. You pour a small amount of lube onto the toy, since this is a punishment, why put any effort in prepping him? He’s a ‘strong demon’ he can handle it, right?

Sebastian cries out as you push the vibrator into him, once it’s completely in you continue to adjust it until Sebastian whines and tries to to rock against the toy, then you let go of it making him cry out.

“There,” You smack his thigh and sit back up. “Now, get up.” You get off the bed, motioning for him to come over. Sebastian shook his head when he realized you weren’t going to continue.

“Master, please,” He awkwardly tried to adjust himself, wincing when the toy ends up giving a light tug on his cock. “Please take it off, there are other forms of punishments-“

You approach him, pushing him onto his back and leaning over him, growling out. “And? I’ve chosen to punish you this way, now you’re going to go back to work, and when you’re done, maybe I’ll take it off.” You were surprised he wasn’t whining about the vibrator, though since you haven’t turned it on yet, he might think it’s just a dildo.

Sebastian nods, avoiding meeting your gaze, he waited till you got up back up to get up and put his clothes back on. You grinned seeing the outline of the toy in his pants. He noticed too, face turning red as he risked a glance at you. “Master, surely you can’t expect me to clean the manor like this with other staff, they’ll notice.”

You tilt your head giving him quizzical look. “That’s the only issues you’re having? Just scared of getting caught?” You scoff at him. “Then just hide it, your good at lying I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Sebastian didn’t budge. You rolled your eyes and stood up. “All right, fine. I’ll give the rest of the staff the day off,” You huff out as you walk past him. “But, you will have to do their work before your punishment is over.”

You’re being fair. There’s far worst things you could be doing, and you’re giving him one last chance to tap out.

Sebastian remains silent, you decide it’s not worth waiting to see him get flustered, but you had to go talk to the rest of your staff and tell them you’re going to pay them for the full day if they go home early.

#nsft #black butler sebastian #sebastian x y/n #sub sebastian #sebastian x reader #sebastian michaelis #sub Sebastian Michaelis #sub black butler #black butler x y/n #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler #Sebastian Michaelis #cb/t #cock crushing #dom! reader #dom reader

[eldritch-spouse]

Morell loves his little piglet~ she's become so much more compliment and she even asks to be held. However, some family matters came up and he has to return home for a short while. While Morell loves piglet, there's no way his family would be comfortable with her, especially at a time like this... So who does he give her to? The Brat would mean her no harm, He's cheerful ,hard-working, and could protect her if the time came. But Grimly has no idea how the human diet works so there's a 100% guarantee that Piglet is going to become sick from only eating sweets.

While he doesn't mind the bobbles on a personal level, they tend to fuck up pretty often. Hell, he can barely trust pepper with a knife so there's no way they could take care of piglet without messing something up. He always shudders when he thinks of the time Turnip almost spilled boiling soup all over piglet.

there's no fucking way he's giving his piglet to the fucking clown.

Patches is alright. He's never wronged Morell and he could definitely keep her safe while he's away. But as it is, Patches is swamped with work, trying to create a new line of bobbles. Apparently, Someone ate some pink bobbles and then fled the scene, leaving behind no evidence.

With the only sane choices gone, and everyone else swamped with work, He has no choice but to turn to an old friend with whom he's recently reconnected with. Morell makes it extremely clear that if the Ink cap tries anything, a swift chop of a clever is sure to put him out of commission. Nonetheless, the lanky monster accepts the piglet with grace. Sending the skeptical mushroom away with much reassurance.

You look so adorable! Morell put you in this charming pink sweater with tiny pig embroidery and a skirt to match! Shags just adores you, but his ideas of bonding activities are a little strange... He insists that every night you spend with him must be spent to its fullest.

Every night, he drags you to his bed and makes you sit on his lap while he reads you one of his favorite horror novels. The unique vibrato of his voice shakes you to your core and he narrates the tension-filled scenes, making sure to stroke your neck as an act of useless comfort...

The days arn't much better either. When you tried to wash yourself he insisted that you didn't know how to work the bath. He thought it was so cute when you trembled in the cold water as he scrubbed down your body. Why are you so scared? he even brought out those 'rubbery ducky' things you thought were cute.

When you finally settle into bed Shag doesn't fail to notice how you squeeze together your thighs after the bath. He did promise Morell he would take care of ALL your needs.

As for when Morell comes back...

Adorable scenario. 😳👏👏 Thank you.

That would just be a death sentence however, Shags is crazy, but he's not clueless. You're going to squeal to Morell, one way or another, because you trust him more than the ink cap. Shags may be taller than Morell, but trying to take him in a fight is a horrid mistake.

Putting aside that Morell would probably want to put Piglet in Admin's hands sooner than he'd turn to Shags, as opportunistic as the ink cap is, I don't think he'd chance direct lewd acts.

If Shags wanted to do something gross to you, he'd come to Morell about it first, wording it in a way that would enable Morell's desires and tilt him into agreeing.

#Shags oc #Morell oc #freeflowersofmuseums

[dream-meister-translations]

VELVET CHARACTER CARD #2

━

VELVET : In order to be our guild keeper, you must have a more discerning eye. This journey is a good opportunity for you to learn what true entertainment is all about.

━

VELVET : Here we are. We'll start with this museum. EMMA : What? But I don't even have a ticket. DIRECTOR OF MUSEUM : Oh, my dear Velvet! Please do take your time and enjoy the exhibition to it's fullest! VELVET : Thank you. EMMA : (They recognized him by his face alone!?)

VELVET : The troupe in today's exhibit has a history that dates way back. The performers are top notch even to this day, and they have only ever used the finest instruments. VELVET : Next up, we have the conductor. His performance is always impressive. EMMA : That sounds wonderful! VELVET : ………. And so, for the next few hours, the two of us indulged in "true entertainment." Dissecting each performance throughout history and everything that made it so special. With a rumble of my stomach, I knew it was time for dinner. OPERA SINGER : Oh! Mr. Velvet! I've heard a lot about you! VELVET : Ah, hello. May I just say, your performance the other night was absolutely wonderful. The vibrato was as deep as the sea. I admire your troupe's ability to stay at the forefront of the field even after so much time. EMMA : (This must be a very famous opera singer. It's impressive how many connections someone as young as Velvet has…) OPERA SINGER : By the way, who is this woman? Ah, she's the new guild keeper of Fata Musica? I just wondered because it's so rare to see you bring anyone to one of the exhibitions. Especially a girl. VELVET : …………. EMMA : (Velvet got so quiet…Should I say something…?) EMMA : Ever since I arrived, Velvet has been spending a lot of time with me. VELVET : ……..!? EMMA : I've only been with Fata Musica for a short time, but still, he's been so considerate and constantly teaching me things. That's why he brought me here. In order to repay that kindness, I'm doing the best I can for the guild. VELVET : Indeed. And I am looking forward to her success. OPERA SINGER : I see. I see. Parting ways with the opera singer, Velvet and I continued our journey through the museum. I was astonished by the depth of his knowledge. He knew every detail about the troupe and the production behind their performances.

━

Returning back to Little Garden, the two of us took a moment to watch one of Fata Musica's rehearsals. It started on stage with a spotlight directed at Heath. EMMA : (His music is so delicate and profound…) And then the acting began… SUZUKA : "Are you truly about to give up on your dreams!?" KENT : "I would never give up on my dreams! No matter what!" EMMA : (Suzuka's script combined with Kent's direction is so captivating!) VELVET : This isn't good enough. Kent, you are only following the lines of the script. You're not putting enough emotion into it. And Suzuka this script isn't quite there yet. KENT : Ugh!

━

SUZUKA : Hey, Velvet, how does the script look now? VELVET : There are mistakes here. Here. Here. The whole second scene needs rewritten. There is too much dialogue. Make it simpler. SUZUKA : Oh, for heaven's sake, here we go again. I'll have it finished by tomorrow. VELVET : Finish it by the end of the evening, please. SUZUKA : What!? You're crazy!! VELVET : The later we finalize the script, the less time we have to practice. SUZUKA : You know, Velvet, even I need time to think. VELVET : Suzuka, you are capable of doing the script, right? SUZUKA : Damn it! Yeah, I can do it. VELVET : Everybody do your best! Bringing true entertainment to the world is the philosophy of Fata Musica! We must not compromise! FATA MUSICA TROUPE MEMBERS : Yes, sir! VELVET : ……… Even though he looks so young…. EMMA : (It's because of you that we were able to put together such an amazing play.) I was left breathless by the dream world woven in front of my eyes on that stage. And finally I was able to understand firsthand why Velvet was considered a savant.

#Otome #Yumekuro #Yumekuro Translations #YMKR translations #YMKR #Dream Meister Translations #Otome Translations #Dream Meister And The Recollected Black Fairy #Dream Meister And The Recollected Black Fairy translations #velvetcards

[ratsoh-writes]

Oh that was going to bug her to no end if she couldn't figure out where she knew them from. That thought running in the back of her mind she chuckled at Pepper "Pepp, I'm pretty sure you'd look good in just about anything." Kei teased "But they do look comfy."

Pepper: ITS NOT ABOUT LOOKING GOOD KEI~ ITS ABOUT KNOCKING THE PANTS OFF OF ANYONE WHO SEES~

You both turn at the small gasp from the skeleton next to you. He’s looking at pepper with a sparkle in his eyelights

(???): I KNOW YOU!! YOU WERE TOP MODEL IN YOUR UNDERGROUND!

Pepper stiffens slightly

(???): I LOVED THE RUST AND MARBLE COLLECTION YOU DID IN THE 90s! THE ONE THAT FELLTRON REVIVED IN HIS HOTLAND TOUR LAST SUMMER!

Ah, not a creep. A genuine fashion fan! Pepper relaxes instantly and begins to flirtatiously talk fashion with the mysterious fan. Meanwhile your jaw has dropped hearing his voice. There’s no mistaking it! This is vibrato! The vibrato! Ebotts latest rising singing sensation!

[vatt-world]

hi

the coup we are dead workshop was success anglina daughter derek kathy

joe meets debra outside im fired dev kathy - house dev in bar daughter trust fund erek meets kathy kathy sings back off derek anglina father fight eva hangs out with friends and dance u will love it its a new musical rock edge we thot we would show it to u i cant believe u would do that we made a terrible mistake derek tom fight 11 years ago we have to b relaistic weneed a title they want a star dev made a curry

lets be bad Karen, can I borrow you for a minute?

Yeah, sure. What do you need?

I could use a hand.

The bridge sequence from Let's be bad isn't working.

Okay, should I…?

Just follow me.

Come on, just relax. What are you afraid of?

I'm not afraid of anything.

Well, we both know that's not true.

Meaning what?

You're afraid of you.

You're terrified of anything below the neck.

You have some problem with follow-through.

And again.

My God, Frank, you poor thing.

What, they can't get you out on another flight?

We have a workshop in 13 days,

and we still don't have a final script.

There are three new scenes that are coming along great.

She just doesn't want to show anyone.

You've read them.

Julia and I share the same brain.

Talking to me is like talking to myself, so I don't count.

13 days, Tom.

I'll tell her.

Hey.

Hello?

Sorry. Are you making a call?

No, it's just, uh, Frank. I keep losing him.

What's up? // I just don't want DiMaggio to come off as a complete tool

where we're not rooting for him

to come back into Marilyn's life.

Well, that's a murky issue, isn't it?

What's murky?

I mean, the guy might not have been husband of the year,

but he was the love of her life.

That's just not necessarily the show I'm writing.

The guy sprung her from the loony bin

and planned her funeral.

If he's not the guy, who is?

It's not just a love story.

I'm trying to explore some bigger themes.

What's bigger than love?

So was that it? Were those all your notes?

I like to think of them more as thoughts.

Am I not allowed to share my thoughts with you anymore?

No, don't worry.

I will take care of Mr. DiMaggio.

He will not be a villain.

That Frank?

No, it's a weird number.

I don't know who it is.

What's he off doing, anyway? //

The vibrato.

I'm sorry?

You're not getting the vibrato on the note

the way Marilyn did.

I thought that's what I just did.

No, you didn't.

Well, it's hard on a belt.

For crying out loud, where's Karen? Karen!

I'm right here.

Show her how to do this.

Do what?

The vibrato on the note.

The vibrato?

Happy Birthday.

Just sing Happy Birthday.

You want me to sing hap…

My God. Is there a problem here?

What, am I not speaking English?

Just stand up and sing Happy Birthday as Marilyn.

I've seen you do it.

♪ Happy Birthday ♪

Did you hear that?

Karen, maybe you can work with Ivy on that.

Set something up with Larry. Let's do it again, please.

/// You're drunk, Ivy.

What are you going on about?

No. No, no, no. I'm not the problem. You are.

You blow so hot and cold,

I don't even know what day it is anymore.

You are so hideous to me in rehearsal…

I'm hardly hideous.

You humiliate me…

When you're not ignoring me!

Half the time, I feel like I don't even exist

for you in there!

No one does.

I am not kidding.

And this isn't some big, romantic statement

about who I am as an artist… It is just a fact.

Don't give me…

Don't give you what… The truth?

Isn't that what you came here for?

Look, I am building something in that rehearsal room,

and with all due respect, it would be a lot easier

if everyone pretended just for five minutes

not to have all those annoying feelings,

because frankly, they get in my way.

Theater is about feelings!

You can have feelings.

They just need to be about Marilyn.

I'm not kidding.

I know you're not.

Are you staying?

Are you asking me to stay?

Come on…

Don't be mad at me.

Come on.

Can I tell you again

how incredible you look in that dress?

Thanks, babe. This our table? //

lets be bad angelinaon phone kathy and derek debra tom lunch date joe and debra - diner kid arrested dev and kathy-outside museum debra and kid debra talks about meeting joe angelina bring book assitant helps login derek is upset with happy birthday debra and tom working on final song kathy and ava working together grown woman derek son with debra in bar kathy and dev derba and joe ava and derek humliate me kathy /dev kathy dev debra amd joe sing

the workshop You giving my actors notes?

I changed a lyric without asking.

Were they any good?

Pretty good.

Okay, so, what's this new lyric?

I'll go get it.

Is it hot in here? It's really hot in here!

I actually just overheard the building manager talking.

He said there's a problem with the boiler.

Okay, I'll go talk to him.

It's ridiculously hot.

We've got investors coming in tomorrow!

////

Derek has some questions about the breakup scene.

Did Ivy get here?

Still hunting her down, but he doesn't want to wait.

They're looking for you both.

Look, I talked with you about this, two hours ago.

I called the plumber as soon as you spoke to me.

And yet we still have a problem with the heat?

What can I say? It's New York.

Those guys… They're on their own schedule.

Perhaps you could call again.

I have an extremely important workshop happening in 24 hours.

I would be happy to do that.

It's just they got contracts on a lot of buildings.

They can't always get the guys over here right away!

//// They want me back at the recording studio,

like, right now. What do I do?

Here.

Linda…

Karen has to take off for an hour or two. /// It's even hotter in here than it was before.

Sweltering.

Daddy, daddy!

Daddy's working.

I'm sorry.

We were in the neighborhood, so… ////

It's why she's been so erratic with the pages.

It's completely out of control. They…

That's enough.

I won't pretend this isn't useful information, /// Who the hell is that in my boiler room?

I called a plumber.

I want him out of here immediately.

Not before the heat is fixed. // Okay, I'm talking to you as your director now.

Get your head in the game. You are great in this.

And you can do it better than anyone,

but I need you to focus.

The show needs you to focus, okay?

Is that all?

Yeah, that's it.

Yeah.

You do not talk to an actor like that

at intermission.

Well, you do if they're off their game. // It didn't help that you told her

she was off her game at intermission.

You said that?

Yeah, I did. I was directing her.

Look, Ivy's terrific,

but she's been in the ensemble for how long?

Look, they turn down the wattage to blend in.

And they can't turn it up again.

Ivy was terrific under impossible circumstances,

and you didn't help. // Okay, do you want to fix the show,

or indulge in paranoid fantasies?

I'm not paranoid. This happens all the time.

Things don't go well,

and instead of figuring out the problem,

everyone picks a scapegoat and then gangs up on them.

That's all this is.

Tom, Tom, Tom. Nobody is scapegoating Ivy. // Now, I was hoping we could get some of these investors

to come onboard on the strength of the material.

But we're gonna need another piece.

It was too hot….

The heat didn't help. // the workshop

she crosses street - kathy kathy meets producer , he is sleeping kathy sings well derek has q about breakup scene angelina there is heat problem and they need to showcase kathy - they want me back ava mother comes

debra crying outside i have to go home kids smoking pot ava and kathy progenis in bar angelina derek on bed looking at his notes heat problem workshop is going to happen today hit out of this building badly maintained replacing ivi with a star i dont think i can do this apologise for delay i need u to focus derek it was incredible i need to rethink some stuff sucking up ava and mother one kind word i have seen people pass u by, u are star - ava mother reviews - confused show is great we need package it ava is treffic sabtoge her real problem is michael there are some problems

chemistry

Absolutely.

Do you want some coffee?

What time is it?

$7 million?

That's not a lot for a musical these days.

Well, if you want to give me $15 million, Ralph,

I won't say no.

Well, you'll need it to get to Broadway.

Well, actually, we're just looking at a workshop

and an out-of-town tryout. //// 22b comes after 18, replace 21 with 19.

No, I have 12 replacing 21.

That was last week. Don't confuse her.

When do they stop changing everything?

Five seconds before the performance.

All right, if we put the fox number here

and then we put the Johnny Hyde scene here

and then… wait… The… the…

Yes, Natasha Lytess scene here,

it will heighten the progression.

My God, this isn't a high-school science project,

it's a bloody musical!

No, it's a workshop!

A first workshop!

And people are coming to see it!

Could we dial this down?

Look, there is no discernible story,

linear or otherwise, between pages 7 and 32.

That's not a gap. That is a black hole.

And if you don't fix it this week,

we're all going to get sucked into its tidal force,

and all we'll be left with is "Marilyn the red dwarf."

Okay, look, there's been a really crazy situation

at home, okay? My husband has been out of town. // Derek is mad because Julia didn't finish a song,

and then Tom and Julia and Derek

got into a huge fight over the script,

and Tom stormed out of rehearsal.

I just thought you might like to know. // Shoot.

Listen, I've been having some problems

with the whole transition to the breakup scene.

We can talk about it tomorrow.

I don't want to take up rehearsal time.

Could I call you tonight,

or maybe even right now we could grab a coffee?

Tomorrow would be best.

// According to the doctor,

her throat is inflamed but not infected.

There are no nodules or polyps.

Did he give her a steroid?

She has some prednisone, yes,

but she's hypersensitive to drugs,

so it's not necessarily her best first option.

So what are her other options?

She's gonna try vocal rest for the night.

Okay, what are our options?

Can we postpone?

Well, that'd be difficult.

How difficult?

Well, a lot of our investors already have it on their schedules.

If we postpone, it sends the wrong message.

Okay, what about our other Marilyn? Can she do it?

Hang on!

Yeah, I'd love to hang on, but I've just found out

I've got to do an entire workshop

about Marilyn Monroe with no Marilyn. // So what did he say?

It's inflamed.

Strained more than anything.

It's stress.

He gave you prednisone, right?

Well, that's good. That stuff is a miracle worker. // Marilyn is back.

She got better that fast?

She's probably on prednisone.

That drug is a miracle,

if you don't mind the mood swings, insomnia,

hair growth, hallucination, and weight gain.

Listen, I just got a last-minute recording gig,

//

Did you take it?

First dose… six pills.

And?

I'm… I'm having cold sweats.

I've had a headache since, like, 4:00 in the morning,

and I-I just feel so panicky.

I'm not in good shape.

Yeah, what about your voice?

Look, Ivy…

I want to protect you in this situation, but, you know,

if you take the day,

I'm gonna have to get the Cartwright girl to fill in… You know that.

I'm fine.

Okay.

Good.

Ladies and gentlemen…

Marilyn is back.

She got better that fast?

She's probably on prednisone. // I just came by to let you know that rehearsals are going great.

Ivy took the prednisone.

She sounds awesome.

Good.

Do you need anything else? // Look, she's just upset, all right?

One of the side effects can be, like, mood changes.

I know. I've taken this drug before.

Lie down. Come on.

There it is.

What did he say?

It's a text that says,

"might need you tomorrow. Please be discreet."

And Tom sent this?

Yes.

Did you call him?

It says "be discreet."

If Ivy finds out, it could make her worse.

What's-your-name… // Our esteemed lyricist has finally finished the verses

for History is made at night.

Since we're six days away from an invited audience,

I'd like to work quickly.

So let's try it with the original staging

and see if it fits the new words.

Places for the second verse, please.

And if you guys could try it without the pages,

that would be super.

Just do it.

No, no, no. I got it.

Great.

All right, then. // While we're stopped, I have a thought.

Maybe you could give me notes

without publicly humiliating me at the same time.

Great.

And maybe… maybe you could remember that artists

are not football players who can take endless abuse

and still do their jobs!

Okay.

Miss Monroe is having a moment.

Well, maybe a different miss Monroe could do it better.

Miss Cartwright?

Maybe you could take a crack at it.

Let's take a ten.

No, seriously, Derek…

We should have given them more time with the lyrics.

I don't need more time with the lyrics!

You know what I need?

I need to stop sleeping with men

who are complete narcissistic pricks!

And you're not that good-looking!

And you're not that good in bed either!

It's just a side effect from the steroids.

You all right?

Yeah, I will be.

Well, that was quite a bit of unscripted drama today.

I probably shouldn't say anything,

but I rather enjoyed it.

// chemistry voice issue 7 million hard to get practise debra arranging scenes -workshop fight derek credit card bill this low voice issue rehearsalvoice issue dance routine practise cold now on katherine arranging things joe debra tomrowis best other options katherine overhears leading lady vocal flows she takes drugs derek talks to ava katherine prepares i can do this debra thinks of her relationship pancakes debra husband back derek 6 pills cold sweats im fine marlyn is break she takes progonac i have avi gig ..can u sub katherine takes barmitchav angelina on phone joe and debra i want to see u angelina looks high rise apt katherine dresses up for gig debra and tom work on song i kissed mike tells tom he sang to me what about u tom debra hangs out with bartender she takes more tablets -- its going to fine she sings at bar mitvah tom date tom meets ava ..side effects i saw her katheine sings at bar mitivah debra with husband can i see u alone phone call ava hangs out with tom katherine sings debra with husband katherine gets a card of music producer debra meets joe …cant call me voice is fine talks to debra she is under my nerves ava sings a song with joe derek shouts ..because maybe give me notes she walks away u are alright angelina meets producer

[andyjwaldron]

ANDY WROTE ABOUT GOOD ALBUMS FOR HIS JOB

End-of-year list season is a big stinkin' deal over at Rough Trade. Listening back to the previous twelve months' worth of releases not only became a clear delineation of time passing (especially during the pandemic that kept us asking, "Oh, wait, what month is it again?") but it was also great for Andy when he worked there, as staff were asked to write about a few albums that really stuck with them.

Plus, it's always refreshing for a record store employee to provide a solicited opinion, rather than the usual unsolicited comment while ringing you up.

Here are some blurbs Andy wrote for Rough Trade about LPs from SASMI, Bartees Strange, Little Hag, Mitski, and Illuminati Hotties:

SASAMI - Squeeze

In the same way one realizes working retail can seem like you're creating sand mandalas (i.e., organizing LPs in the morning), knowing full well how ephemeral they can be (finding Sheryl Crow in the Metal section at night), the turbulent start to the 2020s has proven that, despite the best efforts to make sense, everything is messy now. I've held onto SASAMI's Squeeze in the same way we grasp for something steady when the boat starts swaying.

In a little over a half hour, hard truths are thrown down (the systematic aggression detailed in "Skin a Rat") and then processed ("I tried to understand," "Don’t wanna agonize, just say it") and met with earned affirmations ("I want you to know you're not alone…you can always call me home"). The guitars that accompany these sentiments shred, strum, and surround the listener – almost swallowing us whole. By the time "Not a Love Song" arrives, the waves of distortion become still enough to see ourselves in the reflection.

Writer Michelle Hyun Kim put it best: In "[bringing] seemingly disparate elements together, finding slippery ways to be both/and, neither/nor, between/outside in all categories," SASAMI meets a messy world with messy creation – gleefully collapsing genre with artists who know a thing or two about frustrating binaries (Patti Harrison, No Home, Rin Kim, Vagabon, Mitski, Andrew Thomas Huang). Squeeze recognizes those who've worked hard on themselves and the world around them and gets drinks with them afterward to celebrate: a beautiful, beautiful sight. (x)

Bartees Strange - Farm to Table

Building on the promise of his first album, Live Forever, our On the Rise artist Bartees Strange carries a fiery ambition throughout his next chapter, Farm to Table. It lights up the dance floor on "Wretched" and "Cosigns" and powers the fanfare of my personal song of the year, "Heavy Heart." It becomes a campfire that warms the quieter second half, carrying the heartbreaking ode to Gianna Floyd ("Hold the Line") to the closing, cyclical singalong, "Hennessy."

It's been exciting watching artists of my generation make work reflective of our fickle upbringing; the way we've watched genre break down, earnestness break through, and connection rise above all other priorities. And while Farm to Table may seem like a 4AD fever dream (from the belt and croon of TV on the Radio's Tunde Adebimpe to the inertia of The National's most anthemic moments), make no mistake: Strange's first LP with the storied label marks a young, bold new moment in capital I capital R Indie Rock™ – one whose flame won't go out anytime soon. (x)

Little Hag - Leash

Take a heaping spoonful of Liz Phair's down-to-earth humor, a touch of Elvis Costello's cutting attitude, and a splash of Jeff Buckley's killer vibrato, and you get Little Hag's Leash, one of the most exciting releases to come from Bar-None Records in recent memory. Avery Mandeville, the NJ-based songwriter behind Little Hag, may be one of the legendary indie label's newest signees, but she's been honing her unique knack for catchy and sardonic tales of her self-described "absurd and profane occurrences of being a woman" for the better part of the past decade. Her lyrics deliver the anthemic quality from other accomplished musicians who have emerged from the Garden State. However, the power that drives them is less "We gotta get outta here!" and more "I'm stuck here… now what?" While their other digital-exclusive releases that came out in the past year (Whatever Happened to Avery Jane? and Breakfast) are worth adding to your playlists, Leash, their first album full of new material for Bar-None, is next level for Little Hag. Stories bearing weighty text messages ("The Whole World," "Cherry," "Red"), dangerous and disappointing men ("My Last Name," "Get Real!"), and self-defense weaponry ("Brass Knuckle Keychain") are conveyed with an urgency matched by a skilled rhythm section that rips. Sure, these eleven tracks are told by a singular voice, but the universality of both the shit that they’ve gone through and how she's powered through all of it makes a vital promise for anyone who listens: crank this up, and you'll feel less lonely. (x)

Mitski - Laurel Hell

The new wave nods of Mitski's Laurel Hell come in spades; not just in its production (where uptempo numbers like "Should've Been Me" navigate the liveliness of ABC and moodier tracks like "Working for the Knife" find kinship with Peter Gabriel's self-titled era) but also the paranoia and devotion beneath the sheen (the album starts with "Let's step carefully into the dark / Once we're in, I'll remember my way around" and nearly ends with "I'm standing in the dark / Looking up into our room / Where you'll be waiting for me").

In meeting acrobatic arrangements with clear lyricism across five records, the 32-year-old songwriter has proven to be one of her generations' strongest craftspeople. The difference now on her sixth is how a wide-eyed weariness emerges in a familiar fashion to the era Mitski references, how the push-and-pull between partners can stand in for the heart and mind… or the artist and the consumer: "I give it up to you / I surrender." (x)

Illuminati Hotties - Let Me Do One More

At times in-your-face like an unexpected conversation from a hilarious stranger at a dive bar, while at other times contemplative, standing beside you and huddling for heat during a smoke break, Let Me Do One More was the perfect buddy to have during a year of bumpy restarts. My favorite albums have historically become teaching moments, usually by artists getting by despite constraints both internal and external, and this album finds the endlessly-talented Sarah Tudzin doing her best in trying relationships with the personal ("Growth") and political ("Threatening Each Other re: Capitalism"). These songs truly helped me find warmth through the uneven sway of 2021. (x)

***

You can go back home by clicking here.

#does.a.lot #rough.trade

[jinniebabyangel]

Im gonna get dragged for this opinion but I really want to express it, I wish seokjin biased fans would recommend the latest Jin centric songs first to vocal coach reactors. And let epiphany and awake for later... the thing is he did strained his voice trying to reach those crazy high notes and vocal coaches judge him based on that and on what stupid army says and dim him as not so talented but ~hey! he's a trooper so good for him~ which is shitty and so they move on wo hearing his latest songs where he absolutely kills it because he worked on those technical details and now he can reach those notes wo problem (My wish is to hear him sing awake and Epiphany now because I know he would make 1000 times better). Was he good from the beginning? YES he was, but the ridiculous high key producers push him and jimin to sing (because the dog thought it sounded better) takes years and years to pull correctly. You can reach it the fast way but in detriment of your vocal cord's health in the long run. Or you can continue working on it and even unlock better sounds and higher keys (hence Jin getting those crazy sounds in ltb) I wished we wouldn't shy away from acknowledging this instead of going - wo knowing really - he's the best singer ever and whatnot. sometimes being blindly doting to everything makes more evil than good (crystal snow's triple high note is definitely iconic but technically if you say this is who Jin is now, is not accurate because he's better now, technically). I love Yours so much because that's who he is now, that's where he is in terms of his craft and his control on his voice, he can travel easily from low to high to whisper to belting the structure of this song is so good!. Another example of how good he was from the beginning as well is autum and I love you... When he was in charge of his own melodies and vocal direction he showed he could pull it off... Pdogg made a lot of damage to Jin jimin and Tae, he might be good for beats but he's awful in vocal arrangements.

I'm so glad he's rid of this guy and so looking forward to his own songs he has the vision and the capacity to make it great.

(I take vocal lessons by the way in case you were wondering and I love Jin's voice because yes he sounds amazing live, he can go low and high wo issues and his vibrato is so rich and pleasant to hear. All this is because he shows he takes care of his instrument. I respect that a lot)

I was about to ask if you were a vc or a trained vocalist..until I reached the last part.

Idk if you know this, I dislike yt reactors, vocal coaches or not, I never watch them, so idk what they react to. Anyway, this advice goes for the sjinnies who do watch them and might use some advices on which videos are better to request a reaction.

Ps I must say that for an untrained ear, it's hard to tell when he strains or makes technical mistakes, since it's never that blatant that anyone would notice, like a voice crack or a flat note. That's why many fans might suggest certain performances (even though they have some mistakes here andthere) bc "we" just can't hear them..

[macleod10raun]

Learning Posted Guitar Tabs

1) Concerning your starting place. Don't put unrealistic goals on yourself for the length of time you can devote to guitar. Just relax and say to yourself - "I'm going to take 'small bites' day-after-day." *Playing and practicing practicing the guitar 20-30 minutes a day is a good, workable plan. Before choosing any guitar lessons, strive get a free trial. This enable for you to judge precisely as well as the tutor. Secondly, if idm serial Key comes with someone giving you a free trial, more likely he is confident of his ability to make you learn to play. Mixing is often a pivotal stage in the movie Guitar Pro. While there are idm crack of standards and techniques you should probably follow while mixing, a associated with the mixing stage is a component of the art. What i mean is you may change the way things sound, how loud an instrument is, as soon as the fade-ins/outs are, applying compression to the instrument, thus. It's a cumbersome and inefficient setup. Do yourself a favor, look for a music store, buy a pin roughly 75 cents, and encourage them put it on with his guitar for your. I suggest, the back of requires at least at the edge, right behind where the neck meets the internal system. I have tried a few different spots, that's my preference. Luckily I was able to keep practicing the guitar and worked tirelessly on semi fast blues playing and a pleasurable wide vibrato similar to Vai previously movie "Crossroads". I could always play fast on one string using ideas largely borrowed from Kirk Hammet of Metallica. Still, anything fast that involved string skipping scared the crap out of me especially around earlier onset arthritis . who would say "Wow that's really fast" while inside I'd be embarrassed because I knew which i had only barely managed to listen to it or sometimes I would make mistakes and hope that no one noticed. Zox pro training system I felt like a fraud! But few individuals can master the guitar without taking courses. The classes taught by a teacher in an exclusive music school is probably the most conventional way to locate out to play this tool. The teachers will teach you initially how to tune guitar. Using idm License key , you could have a wonderfully tuned nylon string guitar. Note that funds key of Mi is necessary for tuning a instrument. Direction of Slide: In addition to sliding to as much as a higher note, can certainly also slide down to a lower observation. This is often in order to as a reverse or backwards move. Another helpful trick is to slide by two direction by using a single stroke of the pick. Try this by way of picking a note, slide up towards the higher note and backtrack to the lower note.

#IDM CRACK

[retvenkos]

decaying | k.b.

Grishaverse - Kaz Brekker & Reader, angst, former relationship

Series: Like Rabbits and Poets (they’re born to be killed)

tw: lies, killing imagery, death imagery, mentions of a noose, mentions of blood, rot imagery word count: 2.7k A/N: i am once again asking you to read the language of thorns - specifically, the soldier prince, asdfghjhgfdfgh. (that story is going to be mentioned a lot in this series; just know that it’s a reimagining of both the nutcracker and the velveteen rabbit. it centers on realness and want.) but seriously, go read it.

Summary: the con begins - and like it always does, it begs for those little lies and those ever changing deceits.

I watch you from across this ocean of despair, and I wonder if we are not all demons, some of us without light.

Some of us decaying; some of us monsters.

Working the way you did - donning a new persona every night, accenting your vibrato differently to match a thousand different stories and a thousand distinct names - you learned the art of the con before you learned the mechanics of crime. Acting, lies, and facades - they were all the same to you - a dagger in your coat. You knew how to use them correctly; most didn't.

It gave you an edge, you supposed. Once upon a time, you had been proud of it.

With a life like yours - dipped in performance and stewed in illusion - you had always carried many wisdoms, and among them was the art of deceit.

Too often, people believed that being someone else meant disappearing - fading into oblivion until there was so much emptiness you could only create something vividly new. Too often, people became nothing before they created a grand something; they were gone before an existence was made. It was tempting, and perhaps it was easy, but it was the most damning mistake of them all.

You met them in front of the alleyway, and you knew it was them because they were early.

That was your first lesson in Ketterdam - only merchers and tourists came on time. Others liked to push your buttons - dig their claws into you before they ever arrived.

There were five of them - these prospective heirs to the Vickar fortune - but within twelve minutes, all that mattered were two.

The first one called himself Jem - perhaps to allude to a rural life somewhere - but when it slipped off his tongue, it was a lie, and when he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, they snagged.

The other said his name was Nanko, and it was closer to the truth. You scoffed at his misfortune of being named after the worst character to ever appear in a traditional Kerch play. He didn't show the satisfaction on his face when you took his cleverly laid bait, but it showed in the way he leaned forward, and the way he changed his stance - like he was a performer, encouraging applause.

The two boys had a look to them that was not-quite Kaelish, but not the work of a Tailor, either. Their features blended too smoothly together to have been fabricated by illusion; the lines on their faces were drawn to deeply to be fake. They were something more than just Kaelish - something grander than the boat that dropped them off. Shu, perhaps. They both had that silky dark hair, and Jem’s eyes were a brown that might have been gold.

They were about the same build and size - Nanko and Jem - but Nanko had something like steel in his gaze, and Jem carried something like a haunting. 

You smiled, trying to force that morbid kind of joy you’d once been able to find, in the con.

From early on in your life, you knew that being someone else meant adding on to what already was. You couldn't make yourself into something new by killing the past and replacing it. You had to apply another layer, and slowly, the old you would fall away. Almost like it had never been; almost like you had fabricated that, too.

You gave them your real name, and you told them the truth in your lie - how you had dreamed of the University from the moment it was made known to you. How you had yearned for this life, and somehow the fantasy had fallen short of its glory. You were a student, maybe, if they connected the dots you had so carefully aligned. You were one of them, if they never closed their eyes. When you spoke, you pulled Jem closer to the poetry-littered wall. He floundered like he had never been held before, and when his arm linked with yours, his sweater pulled backward, and the tip of a scar peeked out.

Nanko was swift behind you, and later, when you brushed up against him, he neither shifted nor glanced your way.

They both spoke like they had spent a lifetime steeped in old money. They both had mannerisms that they fought to hide. They both wore long sleeves, and Nanko had the habit of touching his wrists - as though making sure they were still there.

“Do you know the story of The Soldier Prince?” you asked. And you were talking to no one and everyone - to these Kaelish boys who were unlucky enough to wash up on Kaz Brekkers shores, to a thief you knew lingered in your shadows, and to the University who could neither pity nor want.

“I've heard it,” Jem said, and his eyes sparkled with a memory.

“I know it,” said Nanko, and it felt like the truth.

“I fancy myself something of a nutcracker soldier” —And you could see their life swimming in the dark wells of their eyes. Vulnerable things, they were. It was a surprise they weren't already dead— “I love the world, and I love nothing. I came to Ketterdam wanting something for myself.”

And it was written in their brows, then - a sorrow drawing in, a yearning they couldn't speak. You loved this game, and you hated it. It had been your savior and every bit your ruin. It was the only life you had ever known.

“That's the only poetry I've ever been able to write.” You shrugged your shoulders and they rippled like oceanic waves. Jem blinked. Nanko checked his sleeves. “Want. And the craving to have nothing at all… It shouldn’t exist, but it does.”

You dipped your head, and in its own way, it was an apology. For all that would come after; for all that already was. “I’ve only met with these poets a few times before, and I only briefly carved. I hope my verse is worthy of the wall.”

And Jem smiled something tragic. “If you write the same way you speak, it will be.”

For being a job assigned by Kaz Brekker, it all seemed surprisingly easy.

It wasn't long before the one you looked for gave himself away - fiddling with a ring that didn't sit on his right middle finger, smoothing lapels he didn't wear. You mentioned Kaelish geography, and he corrected your inaccuracies before he could stop himself. You made a joke about global studies students and their maps of the world, and he sighed more than he laughed.

That evening, with a group of students who were half-drunk, half hazy yet yearning still, you carved more poetry, and when he etched his rhythmic words, his fingers were smooth, and he sculpted like he was excavating diamond. 

Poets died in Ketterdam, and around some of their heads, you could already see a noose.

“They yearn for home - they think they might never go back.”

“I'm not here for sentiment.”

Now, you sat on the banks of the Geldcanal, the lanterns around you turned low. The sliver of pale moon reflected so perfectly against ink-black waters that only the ripples of far-off gondels distinguished between river and midnight sky. Kaz Brekker stood behind you, as he always did, and every word was a silver dagger thrown at your back.

You rolled your shoulders to unstick their sharpened points.

“Then what do you want me to say?” You turned to the evil in your shadows, and his shoulders were stiff, his eyes narrowed. In the recesses of your mind, you could remember a time he looked just the same. You bit your tongue, consuming the poison within. The image faded from view.

Kerch was quiet; you could hear the water lapping at the banks.

“Do you know which one he is?”

“Perhaps.”

His jaw twitched.

You traced the cracks of the cobblestoned street, waiting for Brekker to prompt you again.

Four days ago, Dirtyhands cornered you in an alleyway and had you carve poetry against a wall. You weren't given an explanation, simply instructed to mingle amongst the reject poets who composed there. Slowly, you were fed information on who to look for and what to find. It had been a few days, and certainly, you had an idea of the con you were running and the price it would exact, but you were still only given half the details.

If Brekker wanted to keep you in the dark, then fine, he could turn off the lights. But then, every time he wanted a signal, he'd have to toss you a lighter.

You waited.

He said nothing.

There was a time when you enjoyed his silence.

You cursed your wicked mind. “It's more complicated than you thought. If I were you, I'd forget these Kaelish boys even exist.”

Kaz readjusted his hold on his cane. You had already had this conversation, if not in these words. Your protests were an argument made weary, yet still, you persisted.

And yet still, Brekker wouldn’t change. “No one else would. Not the Dime Lions. Not the Black Tips. None of them.”

“Oh,” you scoffed. And your tone had more ire than the circumstances required, but anger often did when it had been coiled and was striking. “So that's what you're doing? Saving them from people who are worse than you?”

“I'm saving everyone else in the Barrel,” Kaz spat, and when he breathed, his lips curled in a baring of his teeth. “People like you. And that takes kruge. Who are your Kaelish saving?”

“Themselves,” you all but hissed.

And there was nothing to be done about it.

Kaz still carried a gaze that was iron hot, but he pulled back into the shadows and averted their flame. He burned, still, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn away from his ruin.

Once upon a time, you had. You left, and he burned, and whatever had caught fire had smoked in the Ketterdam air. It was still here -  trapped under her smog, and it still sat in your lungs, all this time after. It itched the back of your throat; it wanted to build to a scream.

You spoke with an even tone. “Do you know what symbolic scars mean on the Wandering Isle?”

If he did, he didn't say. You looked into Brekker’s eyes, but his focus was on the water.

You could see the scheme in him, then - the intensity of his silence that tainted these streets. The cogs of his mind were spinning, fashioning something made in blood debt, excavating something that would sparkle like diamond. The con was changing. The game would be different now, and it was all because of a forcible scar that a sweater should have hidden and a secret shame that could never be revealed.

Dirtyhands opened his mouth, but you didn't have to hear his words to know what he was asking.

“They both have one - I’m certain. I don't know which.”

His eyes flashed. Something within you twisted.

You felt sorry for the Kaelish boy and his unlucky friend. It had to be terrible - running - hiding from all that once was. They might have gotten away with it, too, might have gotten somewhere happy, had Kaz Brekker never heard of them. Nothing good would come of them, now.

“I can't help you,” you started. Dirtyhands caught your eye. “I'm from the opera, Brekker; I'm a nightingale singing pretty songs of violent things. You tell me what to sing, and I sing. If you want a spy, then get Inej to do your work.”

You turned your back to him, but you felt his presence still.

“I don't need the Wraith; I need an actor.”

You wanted to throw up your hands in a sigh. “Then tell me who to be.”

The shadows seemed to grow behind you. Maybe he shifted on his feet; maybe he took a step forward. Maybe he did none of those things, or maybe he did both. When he spoke, the rasp of his voice curled around your ear, and he felt closer than you knew he was. Your heart stuttered.

“A lover.”

And despite the way it stuck a dagger in your heart and turned the flesh, the words sounded funny, coming out his mouth - a phrase that didn't belong. All of Kerch in the palm of his hand, but Dirtyhands couldn't touch anything like that. He never could, really. Not while he worked the way he did - not while all the world was a puppet, and him, a grandmaster of it all.

Kaz Brekker couldn't touch something like love - soft and raw, fragile in his iron grasp - and he shouldn't have asked it of you. But he did.

He always did.

You had played a thousand roles and sang a thousand stories for Kaz Brekker. The lover was a card you knew well, and it was a facade endlessly aching. There was always a thorn amongst the roses, a silver dagger held precariously in a shaking grasp. There was something tragic about it all; there was always something weeping. No other story could possibly exist.

You were tired of predictable narratives. 

“Why?”

But you were an actor - a pretty thing that sparkled and didn’t bleed - and your voice didn’t sound as ancient as it felt.

“You know which one’s the Vickar boy.” And Kaz said it as though he knew it to be the fact it was. He asserted the truth, but didn’t ask again for the answer. A small mercy, you supposed. One that would soften the killing blow. “You’ll get close to him. Discover which scar he has. You’ll never let him know your true allegiance - there are too many Kaelish who docked with him, and who knows what scars they have of their own. You’ll learn everything a lover would know, and you'll feed the information to me.”

Learn which scars they have. See how others carved flesh into shame. Learn their weaknesses, because if it’s safe, the Bastard of the Barrel will kill them for the secrets on their tongues. Because if it’s dangerous, he’ll find some other way to finish the job.

You had the urge to turn around but didn't - just swallowed down the thickness in your throat and felt your anger burn you raw. You couldn't hear the sounds of Ketterdam anymore. You could barely hear anything over the rushing of your blood - sorrow screaming in the encasement of your skull.

“They're right, you know. They won't be going back.”

He was gone before you heard his words. And when you placed their meaning, you hated the way they felt - heavy with the knowledge that a boy wreathed in shadow clung onto your every word, still, but only remarked on them when he was already gone, his words weighted in the reality of all you once were and everything you were not.

It had been a dream, once, when your fascination coalesced in the figure of the Bastard of the Barrel. All that was enticing and all that was beautiful seemed to flow from a singular being, and you had allowed it to encircle you and pull you further in.

You had built something holy, then, or so you had thought. You had stitched it together with small kindnesses perceived to be love. You had molded it in the shape of unnecessary walks from the Zelver to the Slat, and quiet admiration whispered by lamplight. You thought you had made something, once. You decided it was real, and so you believed you had made it so. You had held the idea of Kaz Brekker in your hands, and you had breathed life into its inanimate frame.

You had crafted a love, once, and you believed he had helped.

Together, you had let it rot. Most nights, it felt like it was rotting, still.

You hung your head low, deep in the act of mourning, and the only person you were left to lament to was that dark enchantress called night. She held her sliver of moon on the thinnest of strings, and to you, she obscured her stars.

taglist: @starkeysslut​​​​​​, @musicallisto​​​​​​, @catsbooksandmusic​​​​​​, @thefifthweasley​​​​​​, @thegirlwhocriedwerewolf​​​​​​, @amirahiddleston​​​​​​, @mrs-brekker15​​​​​​, @amortensie​​​​​​, @permanentreverie​​​​​​,  @teaand-dreams​​​​​​, @ughgclden​​​​​​, @konepmi​​​​​​, @mystic-writings​​​​​​, @sunny-reys​​​​​​, @brekkers-desigirl​​​​​​, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos​​​​, @cherryflavoredvodka​​​​​​​ // message me if you want to be added!

#grishaverse #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker fic #fic series #series #angst #dark #like rabbits and poets #besties.... i know everyone loves the idea of love as religion but you knOW i'm obsessed with love as creation instead!!!!

[twst-drabbles]

Vil 5

Summary: A memory from childhood plagues your mind. Of a dance with Dad, with your feet on top of his as music from his favorite collection played throughout the room...

This memory was not yours.

(uhhh went on a small break cause my eyes decided to dry up. No eyedrops to be seen, for money is lacking. Anyways, this is a sort of a continuation of the blot toxicity, this time with more side effects featuring memory confusion! Because as the Main Character, we must suffer. Especially with the magic stat being at a permanent 0. Also writing style is different once more because this is heavy subject matter.)

When did your reflection start to be foreign to you? When did your strands of hair begin to register as wrong, as too many shades off, as the wrong texture? One time you almost threw your phone at the mirror in your bedroom because you thought it was a malicious intruder. Someone that wore a face you recognize, but too morphed into too many different shapes. Funny. How can something that you were born with scare you so much?

Another time you woke up but you weren't quite awake. You couldn't move, but you can hear a jazzy tune, with a singer who's voice carried a catchy vibrato to it. You wanted to dance, to spin around the room and be carried by your Dad's feet as you both laughed. And yet you felt as both an intruder and a prisoner. You should belong, said one part of your heart, you shouldn't be here, said a fundamental part of your brain.

You woke up, looked in the mirror, and felt both relief and lament that you still had your face. Your regular face, with regular eyes and nose. A face to blend in with the crowd, a person to be picked on if looked at too closely. There were too many soft spots in you to go unscathed and all you had was your anger and ruthlessness to protect you. You were glad to not be an intimidating beauty. You grieved that you weren't.

It was getting harder and harder to even look at Vil. The resemblance to him and his Dad scratched at your brain in a way that made you angry, sad, scared. You've never met his father, and yet everytime he smiled, whether practiced or real, it washed over you in a sickening wave of homesickness.

You had no photos to remember your family by. No texts, no little shells or dried roses to remind you of them. Disappeared off the face of the Earth, for both you and them. Though, they were never here and all you can do to reassure yourself that they existed was your own reflection. But now you can't even have that.

This place was a poison to you. A world determined to slowly drown you in the very air you breathe in, punishing you for taking and never giving. It wants you to hate yourself as much as it hates you. To be so aware of all your pathetic little flaws that you would reject everything, even yourself.

You often wondered why this memory, this music was in your head at all. Why do you have to believe you were that little cheerful boy filled with dreams and determination, why do you have to miss a Dad that doesn't know of your existence, why do you have the urge to dance with a body too old to replicate that childish finesse?

Because it was a tainted memory. The boy had slipped, rolled his ankle so badly he missed an audition that cost him a role he wanted. The boy had hope, his bright eyes still shining, knowing he can still find another role, another audition. It was a single mistake, one that wasn't supposed to be replicated. But it was nothing more than a start to a slow descent. A waltz the younger self performed, to the scorn of the older.

This memory was not yours. You need to get it out, scratch it out like you did to the blot that leaked and stained your scars.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst-drabbles #drabble #twst-drabbles exclusive #vil schoenheit #Vil #pomefiore #reader insert

[hobidreams]

october 1865.

you never thought you would smile like this again, but here you are. and here he is, by your side.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluffy fluff words: 5k 😳 contains: historical au, chuseok date!, eunuch kim!, so much cuteness, guest appearances hehe

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 13. start from the beginning?

“How do I look, mom?”

Standing before the mirror, you nervously smooth the delicate sash of the pink hanbok for the hundredth time, careful not to lean down too much and dislocate the floral ornament carefully pinned in your hair. There have been doves fluttering in your stomach the entire afternoon; you don’t know if you tied this correctly or if your hair is braided right, and you can’t ask any of your nearby neighbours for fear of discovery that your plans are different than theirs tonight. Mother would know exactly what to do and what to say to make you feel at ease. But want you want most is for her to see you all grown up like this. Finally able to properly wear the outfit you coveted for so long, and hold your head high in it too. You think she’d be proud.

You manage a smile as you run your fingertips along the edge of the ornament, a gift from mother on your twelfth birthday. It’s almost been a year since her passing, and you still miss her more than anything. But you also know now that the best way to honor her is to be happy, and to carry on her work, her legacy. So far, you’ve begrudgingly won a few scraps of respect from the male physicians, and it’s a start.

“I hope you’re doing well up there,” you say, letting your gaze drift out the window to the beaming Chuseok moon, hoping the wind might take your words and your love all the way to her.

“Hey. Are you ready?”

You are grateful that the door is closed because the way you snap to attention is frankly embarrassing.

"Yes, just a moment, seja-jeonha!" you say in a nervous half-whisper, half-exclamation as you allow yourself one last glimpse at the mirror. This is going to be fine. You're going to be relaxed and have a good time, even if you are sneaking out of the palace with arguably the second most important person in the country.

Putting on a smile that hopefully looks effortless, you pull open the door and practically gasp out loud at the sight of him.

It's perhaps the first time you've seen the prince out of the traditional royal robes. It's an excellent disguise -- the clothes of a young yangban lord, done in a deep-dyed scarlet that contrasts his usual navy. A cinched belt fastens the coat deftly, juxtaposed against the dragging, silky sleeves beside it, making him seem somehow more elegant in the way he holds himself. Completing the look is the gat that sits atop his head, its wide-brim tilted low so it covers enough of his face that he wouldn't be recognized, at least not to anyone who spared him a passing glance (not that they would know his face to begin with). The gat strap hangs low in front of his chest, the intricate beading betraying just how truly expensive this hat is. He is, in short, unfairly, unfathomably handsome.

You are forever grateful that you chose to dress up; if nothing else, at least you will look suitable standing next to him, at least for a night.

If Yoongi thinks anything of your outfit, he covers it with a slight cough, his cheeks faintly reddened from the cold. “Good. Come on. We have to be quick.”

You nod, following him out into the night air.

With swift steps and strategic maneuvering, it doesn't take you long to reach one side of the imposing wall that separates palace from town. There, you find a familiar face waiting for you.

"Good evening," Eunuch Kim says with a bow. He’s wearing a different, muted set of green robes and donned a gat as well. “As you instructed, the select guards have been informed to keep quiet, and all else has been taken care of. Let us go."

He likely insisted on coming, as one of the caveats for your illicit excursion. You don't mind, since this isn't the first time he's had to do such a thing, always so worried about his rebellious, stubborn charge. You watch as he lets Yoongi go past first, then gestures for you.

“You look lovely tonight, uinyeo-nim,” Eunuch Kim says, and you share a small, furtive smile that feels like he’s cheering you on. Then you step past the official gates, feeling so acutely the pattering of your pulse because this is truly happening.

For the first handful of minutes, you remain both terrified and anticipatory that you'll be snatched back by the royal guard and accused of kidnapping the prince or something equally ridiculous as being on an actual outing with him. Beside you, Yoongi doesn't seem to have these worries as he walks by your side (though still a respectful, proper distance apart), letting his arms slightly swing while he kicks up dust with his slippers.

Just as you're wondering if you're being an awful companion and not making conversation, he says, "haven't been outside the palace in ages."

“Me too. It's… a little strange, having all this freedom to roam and do what I want. Even if it’s just for a night.”

“I'll say.” Yoongi makes an exasperated noise. “There are too many rules in that place. Can't do anything without being watched.” He gives a minor tilt of his head towards your chaperone, though it's more a tease rather than actually spiteful. Eunuch Kim, for his own sake, pretends not to see or hear the jab.

You smile. “It's for your safety, seja-jeonha.”

“So they say. But they'll regret it when I die of boredom first.”

He rolls his eyes and you laugh, and the palpitations in your stomach ease just like that.

As you draw ever closer to the town, the harmony of string and wind instruments crescendo and build with the jubilant chatter of the townspeople. It's getting to you in the best of ways; you're becoming so elated at the prospect of the festivities that you start to speed up, soon practically rushing towards the town square at a pace that forces Yoongi and Eunuch Kim to run to follow.

"…Wow!"

At the base of the square, your entire face brightens with the wondrous sight unfolding before you. There are people everywhere. Some down celebratory alcohol, others munch on sweet treats, and more still singing along to the traditional folk tunes with robust vibrato, regardless of whether they’re on key or not. You can’t find a single frown amidst all this mirth, and that’s just the way you like it. It’s overwhelming: the sights, the sounds, and the mouthwatering smell of something delicious and fried.

Yoongi eventually jogs up to you, forced to inhale a few quick breaths to refill his lungs. “Are you that hungry?” He asks, the corner of his lips curling up.

Oh god, you just made the prince run.

"No...! Not at all! I’m deeply sorry, seja-jeonha. I got too excited, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. Shall we get something to eat first then?”

You avert your eyes, though you really haven’t had dinner tonight. “No, please. Let us do what you would like.”

Yoongi grins as if it is of no consequence. “What I want? Well, then, I want to go this way.”

As is his habit, he begins to walk in the direction he chooses without notice, though this time he has to weave through the people that crowd the area. His disguise is working well; he is largely ignored as he passes, leading your little group all the way to an open alleyway where stalls line each side, lit up with lamps and vividly colored banners.

A twinge of sadness squeezes your heart as you look at the spread. You faintly remember a decade ago that there used to be a full row of assorted delicacies and sweets for purchase; now it’s mostly merchants with tables of books and hairpins, food becoming too scarce for most to sell with the grain shortage, even if they need the funds. Still, everyone seems to be doing their best with what they’ve got.

Sudden shouts ring out right beside you, nearly blowing your ears out with how loud they are.

“Jeon! Freshly fried shrimp and fish jeon for sale!”

“Hot, hot, hot nokdujeon over here!”

“Gaah!” you exclaim, eyes wide. You wouldn’t be surprised if the monks up the mountain heard about this jeon! When you turn to see who the hell is making all this commotion, you’re met with the scowling faces of two men, glaring furiously at each other in-between tending to their sizzling pans in adjacent stalls. The bearded one looks about seconds away from giving the other younger man a good smack with the fishing rod leaning on the wall behind him.

Said younger man gives a snicker. “No wonder my sales are beating yours. Why would anyone want your shrimp when they could have my delicious mung beans?”

“Say that again, if you dare.”

“Why would anyone want your gross shrimp when—”

“Yah, you can take your beans and shove them right up your nasty sokgot—”

“Excuse me,” Yoongi cuts in between them with a smirk. “I’ll take two orders of each. Preferably not ones shoved anywhere.” He drops coins on both counters, more than enough to cover the food.

“Ahem.” They levy two very similar glares at each other before beginning to package the orders for consumption, switching to polite honorifics in the process. “Yes, sir!”

“Right away, sir!”

They work deftly, obviously very practiced in the art. Neither of them drop so much as a crumb, even though they seem to be racing.

"My lord, here is your order," Fish Jeon says, only to be roughly shoved aside by Mung Bean in a rush to hand over the goods first.

"Please enjoy, sir!"

Yoongi takes the round and crispy nokdujeon, all wrapped in parchment paper. His amused chuckling makes you feel a little warmer, a bit fonder than you should. Especially when he then promptly passes the package to you.

"Seja--" You cut yourself off before you make the mistake. "Um. My lord, this is for me?" You ask, even though you're practically drooling at the scent.

"Did I give it to someone else? Eat."

He turns, hands off one of the assorted jeon plates to Eunuch Kim behind him, who accepts gratefully with a bow.

You, and your stomach, don’t need to be told twice. After blowing on the golden batter, you take a generous bite, accidentally smearing a bit of it on your cheek in the process but god, it tastes incredible. Mung Bean may be loud, but he clearly doesn’t tell lies. You have to hold yourself back from inhaling the pancake whole, instead savoring each nibble on your tongue.

“Come on. Keep going before the crowd grows,” Yoongi says, urging you forward with a jerk of his chin before biting into his own pancake. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile this much before, and it’s with slight regret that you tear your eyes away to look where you’re going.

From behind you as you start to walk, you hear, "Jungkook, you brat, shouldn't you be more respectful to your elders?!"

"Whatever, hyungnim. Nokdujeon! Better-than-his-fish nokdujeon!"

There is a very distinctive thwap as you move into the merchant area.

The first booth you come to belongs to a woman that you recognize, selling the latest romance novel by a rising author, Taehyun. She recognizes you too, waving you over with enthusiasm. “Oh, hello! We just received this last week. A tale of forbidden love between a yangban lady and a fisherman! Full of tension and…” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “more than a few kisses!”

“Do people actually read things like this?” Yoongi mutters, staring at the covers.

“Huh? No! Well, hah, I certainly don’t!” You hope your face looks plausibly innocent. “But thank you,” you turn to say to the woman before hurriedly walking on before she can expose your ruse. The prince doesn’t need to know about the precious books you keep in a secret stash in your room. A lady can’t only study all day, right?

(You make a mental note to come back to town and pick up a copy later.)

Down the row you go, reluctantly finishing off the pancake on the way. Yoongi hands you the entire second plate of jeon not long after. “I don’t want it,” he says, watching you brighten at the prospect of more food. He does end up stealing a piece of shrimp from within your grasp later, throwing it casually into his mouth before you can even react.

The next display to really catch your attention is one laden with delicately handcrafted ornaments, pins, bracelets, and perfumes. “Wow!” You gush, leaning over the table as you try to calculate how much money you brought with you because you want it all, even though you rarely have the occasion to dress up. Still, you want at least something as a keepsake, to hold your memories of this precious day. Yoongi stops and waits for you; you forget it should be the other way around.

“Oh my, Eun-a-ssi? Is that you?”

What? You look up, breath hitched.

“Oh, my apologies.” The woman behind the booth is elderly, her hair grey, eyes wrinkling warmly as she smiles. “My mistake. My eyesight isn’t what it was. You… look a lot like a woman I know. I haven’t seen her in a long time now.”

“Eun-a… Eun-a was my mother,” you murmur. “She passed away last year.”

The woman’s eyes widen as she clutches her hands to her chest. “She did? Oh… Oh no… I’m so sorry, child. Then you must be—” She thinks for a moment, then says your name. You nod, and a small smile slips back on her lips, though now tinged with sadness. You know the feeling. “My name is Hong Sook-ja. I used to live right here in town with Eun-a-ssi, until all those years ago when she moved into the palace and I moved to the countryside. Your mother used to bring you into town for Chuseok and we got to know each other then. These days, I just come back every once in a while to see my granddaughter and great-grandson, so I must have missed the news.”

“It’s alright, Sook-ja-ssi. Mom lived well,” you say, ignoring the twinge in your chest. Any glimpse into mother’s life before she had you fills you with a certain homesickness, alongside the joy. “She was happy. And I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you are living well too.”

“Good. Good. She deserved happiness.” Sook-ja sighs, letting the information sink in. Only after one last kind smile does she finally seem to notice Yoongi standing beside you, trying his best not to intrude. “Now, is this handsome lord your companion? Perhaps your betrothed?”

“N-No!” You immediately cry, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand, to think that his rank could be dragged so low as to match yours. Sook-ja should know that these class lines, even between yangban and cheonmin, are not so easily crossed. But the mischief in her gaze seems to suggest she doesn’t care much about that. “No, we’re just out. Together.”

“Yes. Out. Together,” Yoongi echoes, just as the door behind Sook-ja starts to open with a noisy creak.

A young woman dressed in a pretty hanbok steps out of the house with a smile. “Grandma, are you interrogating the customers again… Oh, hey! Kim-nim!”

All three of you turn your heads to look at Eunuch Kim, who couldn’t look more surprised at the woman’s appearance if Yoongi started growing a tail. He flusters, stepping back as if that could protect him. “Ahh, Chun-ja-ssi…! You’re, um, here! And you look, wow—” He almost drops the last piece of jeon altogether. “I was not expecting you to be here— I mean, not that I was thinking of you being elsewhere— Uh, not that I think about you that often—”

“This is my granddaughter,” Sook-ja explains, saving the poor man. “Chun-ja. She and her son, Han-jae, are the best parts of my life. She’s so clever, she can even read and write, you know!”

Chun-ja flushes under the praise. “My grandmother likes to exaggerate. But it’s very nice to meet you both,” she says, bowing in greeting as Sook-ja excuses herself, exiting through the same door.

Yoongi is once again smirking. “So, how do you know Kim-nim?”

“Mm, it was about two years ago? I was helping one of the merchants bring grain into the palace. Kim-nim saw me struggling with a particularly heavy pot, and so he helped me carry it. Since then, we chat for a bit every time he’s in town on an errand, and exchange the occasional letter! When he remembers to write me back, that is. Though his letters are often so lovely that I don’t mind the wait.” Chun-ja offers Eunuch Kim a grin that he can’t quite return with ease.

Yoongi has to work hard to keep his face relatively straight as he says, “hmm. So that is why he’s always disappearing from the palace with those weak excuses? And using all that ink? He always said it was for something important.”

“Seja— My lord! Please!” Spare me, Eunuch Kim’s wilted expression pleads. You have to hide your amusement behind a hand, lest you burst out with inappropriate laughter.

Once again, Sook-ja comes to the rescue as she shuffles out of the house, holding two familiar objects that make your eyes light up. “You’re both in luck. I knew we had a few extra this year, even after that rascal great-grandson of mine ruined a few with his roughhousing. He’d still be causing trouble if he weren’t off with his friends right now.” Sook-ja sighs. “I wish my grandson were still around to scold him. But anyway, I’d be happy if you’d take them!”

“Wish lanterns!” You exclaim, taking the lightly orange cloth contraption with glee. “Oh, I haven’t seen these up close in years.” The palace celebrations don’t usually include them, leaving you to try and catch the sight of the tiny, almost imperceptible lights floating into the sky from so far away. You’ve always loved the thought of the lamps surging towards that boundless sky, endlessly drifting, free to follow the wind.

“Do you know how to start it?” Chun-ja asks. You shake your head. “Let me show you.”

As Chun-ja explains the mechanisms behind the lantern to you, Yoongi reaches for his coin pouch. “We must give you something in exchange.” Yoongi produces several mun coins that are at least five times the lanterns’ actual worth, and tries to give them to her.

Sook-ja pushes his hand away. “No, no, it’s a present!”

“I insist.” Yoongi tries again, only to be rejected, again. He wonders if she would be so obstinate if she knew who he really was. (Probably yes.) “Alright… What if I take another item from the table to make it a fair trade?”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Sook-ja bursts into laughter, her belly shaking beneath her skirt. “Fine. Take your pick!”

Yoongi barely scans the accessories; he snatches up the bracelet you were looking at before and tucks it into his jeogori with a secret smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sook-ja says warmly, before her smile dips down conspiratorially. “It’ll look good on her. Anyway, have fun! Enjoy the night.”

“I’m sure we will.” Yoongi shifts his attention to you. “All done? Then let’s keep going.”

“Yes, my lord,” you say, happily clutching the lanterns. “Thank you so much, Sook-ja-ssi. Chun-ja-ssi.”

Chun-ja beams. “Our pleasure. I hope we see each other in town again soon. And Kim-nim, don’t forget your letters!”

“Yes, of course, I will. I mean, I won’t. Forget, that is. Uh, I’ll write. G-Goodbye.” Eunuch Kim bows twice in quick succession before hurrying after you two, trying his best not to look back for one last glimpse of what he’s left behind.

You continue your wandering through the rest of the festival, marveling at the sheer strength of the wrestlers and then the elegance of the dancers. Absently, you wish this atmosphere could stay in place forever, and that everything else could just vanish into the smoke and ash of the burning campfires, but you know too well that life is a balance. And right now, with the prince’s silky sleeve pressed almost right against yours as you walk past a chorus of singers, the scales have temporarily tipped in your favor.

Eventually, all your wandering takes you to almost the outskirts of town, to an area you visited before with your mother. It takes some squinting but you eventually recognize the obscure path among the bushes, and immediately gesture towards it. The prince has shown you so much tonight; you want to return the favor, especially since his steps are beginning to slow. “This way! Please come with me.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Eunuch Kim calls. “We cannot let anything happen to our lord!”

You start down the road. “Completely!”

It’s been so long since you last took these steps, but it all comes back to you effortlessly as you take the lead. It takes a few minutes, just a few, to reach the clearing you seek. And it is exactly as you remember it — the nature growing with a wild, greedy virility, the oddly shaped rocks studded in the dirt, and the reflecting pond, its water rippling from the drag of the autumn wind across its surface. There is no one here, which is exactly how you expected it to be.

“Here it is, seja-jeonha.”

“It’s quiet,” he marvels, and steps further in. He stops at the edge of the pond, staring not down but out, at the reflection of the full moon in its depths.

“I thought that you could use a change of environment. You look a little tired.” At this point, you know him well enough to tell that the neutrality of his expression shows subtle signs of weariness.

“The noise. It can be overwhelming at times. I’m not used to so much of it, usually. But I like the songs.”

You nod. “I understand perfectly! That’s why mom took me here in the first place. It used to be her secret spot when she was growing up.”

His arms shift, sleeves brushing the sides of his jacket. “She was a kind woman.”

“Very much so.”

You feel the breeze swiftly pick up, weaving through the strands of hair that have come loose from your up-do. The curling leaves around you rustle with welcome relief, bathing in the atmosphere, the rare tranquility of such a beautiful evening.

“Shall we float the lanterns?” You suggest after a spell.

“Sure.” Yoongi indicates for Eunuch Kim to bring the lanterns over. “Matches?”

Eunuch Kim fumbles in his robes for a few seconds before he realizes with a start that they’re just not there. “My apologies!” He bows. “I must have left the matches back at the booth!”

Yoongi sighs. “Too distracted by Chun-ja-ssi, hm?” Eunuch Kim flushes. “Go get them then.”

“But to leave you alone—”

“I’m not alone.”

Eunuch Kim looks between the prince and you a few times in rapid succession, his thoughts evidently as wavering as his eyes. He finally lands back on the prince.

“…Understood. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

You both watch him go, the quick pace of his steps no doubt brought on by anticipation.

“I can’t believe he’s been involved with a woman without any of us knowing,” Yoongi says, his tone betraying his real fondness.

“It’s sweet.” You smile, wondering if Eunuch Kim will ever manage to stop the stuttering long enough to actually tell Chun-ja how much he appears to like her. He is a mature man with most aspects, but apparently you’ve happened upon his one sole weakness. “But… He’ll probably be gone for a while. We won’t be able to light the lanterns.”

“I thought as much when I told him to go.”

“Well, it’s nice to take a break.” You don’t mention that you’d probably go anywhere and do anything, even if it’s just sitting around waiting, if it was with him. Instead, you look down at the pond, the water stilling enough for there to be a slightly blurry reflection of yourself awaiting below. “Hm. The water’s gotten a bit murkier these years. It used to be clear enough to see perfectly in. But it’s not so bad! Come look!”

Yoongi does. His pale face, all dark eyes and that rough, obvious scar, appears beside yours.

You fully intended on saying something else but that thought falls clear out of your mind when you realize just how undone your hair has become in all the bustle of the celebrations. I look like a mess, you think in a panic, hurriedly feeling for the strands to tuck them back. You’ve only managed to get one side fixed when a rock comes flying out of nowhere, plunging into the water with a noisy thunk! It disturbs both your reflections and wrecks the temporary mirror as cold droplets splash back.

“Hey!” You cry, leaping back from the pond to Yoongi’s grin. “What was that for?”

He has the audacity to look innocent. “Nothing. Haven’t you ever skipped rocks?”

“That was more a throw than a skip,” you grumble, checking your skirt as you hope it didn’t take too much damage. Thankfully, only a few drops actually landed on the precious fabric. “But yes, I love skipping rocks. Properly.”

“Here then.” You open your palm at Yoongi’s behest and he drops a stone into it. “Show me how to do it properly.”

You accept the challenge and plant one foot behind you, staring down a point in the middle of the pond, angling your arm as you position the stone in your hand. You most definitely look the part of an expert as you let the thing go. It shoots towards the water at a rapid speed, whooshing right through the air like a tiny bullet as it hits the surface at the angle and then proceeds to instantly sink to the bottom like, well, a rock.

Yoongi’s raucous laugh is no less than a roar, his entire body wracked with the exertion as he practically doubles over. He only gets louder when he sees the embarrassment on your face, the absolute mortification.

“I never said I was good at it…” You mutter, deciding to try a second time. This rock plummets right down to the watery floor too, refusing to save you even a little bit of face.

Yoongi’s settled into an infuriatingly smug look. “So, you can’t actually skip a stone. But you still love doing it?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” He effortlessly makes a single skip before his pebble capsizes.

“I have a theory.” His curiosity piques at that; a turn of his head. “That it’s not up to us if the rock skips or not. Even if we have all the technique in the world,” you pick up another stone, “if the wind just happens to blow a bit harder, or if a fish from beneath disturbs the rhythm, or even if the tides themselves decide to surge up… It’ll fail. Or only skip the once. But—” You clutch the rock tightly in your hand and feel the weight, the cold, steady shape. “But if we wish hard enough. If we just keep trying every time we have the opportunity again and again…” This time, your rock is truly flying as it smacks the rippling water and skips a miraculous four times before finally dropping into the deep. “The universe might just make it happen.”

“…Or you need more practice.”

You shrug. “I’d rather believe that there are some things in the world simply out of our control. But that we can still hope for those things to shift, to change for the better if we never give up.”

Yoongi falls silent, staring at the ground through his downcast, delicate eyelashes. Maybe you said too much, you think. You didn’t mean to ramble. It’s just something you’ve thought about often. For these past months, it’s been the only thing keeping you going on the hardest, loneliest days. But you’ve made it. You’re still here. And by some miracle, he’s right here with you.

(You think maybe this is happiness.)

“I like that.” His eyes flick up to meet yours with an intensity that says he’s listening. He’s contemplating your thoughts and taking you seriously. He rubs the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible mark. “It’s a good theory. I… I understand it.”

There’s a weight to those words that you feel in the pit of your heart. A pull that draws you to him like the reckless tides towards his moon – a gravitational longing to know what truth vibrates beneath. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Seja-jeonha, I’ve returned!”

Eunuch Kim comes rushing back into the clearing, wielding the packet of matches. You both turn to him, letting the moment be whisked away with the wind whipping past the emerald robes, though you keep it safe in your memories. The eunuch has brought ink and brushes too, for you to write your wishes on the fabric itself. Increases the chance of their coming true, or so the legend goes.

After a few swishes of the brush, it doesn’t take long to light the fires. Your darkly inked characters are lit up by the flame, flickering staunchly beneath the opening as you each clutch a lantern in your hands and look at each other.

“What are you wishing for?” Yoongi asks.

“For more jeon,” is your reply, followed by an easy laugh that he echoes.

Then you let the lantern go as he does — two firebirds soaring side by side into the twinkling night.

a/n: *cue Can You Feel the Love Tonight playing softly in the background even though it hasn’t been invented yet*. hope you’re all enjoying sweet Yoon 🥺

#ficswithluv #bts fluff #bts imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi fluff #min yoongi #historical au #rain writes #moonlit throne #... this is still a drabble series i swear haha #can you spot the members? 🤭

[a-splash-of-realitea]

lets just say for the sake of argument that i have been writing a Pathologic musical… just hypothetically…. just in theory…. and say that i have eight songs for it with piano and vocals fully recorded, albeit with my shitty headphone microphone and some mistakes in the piano and also like five or six more written but unrecorded… just theoretically speaking… like just in theory u know. and say that theoretically this was one of the songs, specifically the one introducing the Bachelor. and that the lyrics and stage directions were under the cut so that the post isn’t too long. wouldn’t that be crazy and wild? eh??? *edit: i made a blog for the musical

[A train whistle sounds in the distance, and Dankovsky, holding a suitcase in one hand and a letter in the other, wearing his good old snakeskin coat and platform shoes, steps onto the stage out of a small cloud of steam, indicating steam train]

BACHELOR:

They say there is a man who never dies, here.

They say there is a man who can’t be killed.

If this is true,

and if I can see him,

then finally my purpose is fulfilled!

They tell me that he lives here in the tundra,

they tell me that he lives here in the steppe.

I will prevail,

I will win his secrets-

a victory the Powers must accept!

For a thanatologist,

the ending is the start!

The answers I seek

are in the lifeblood that leaks

from your heart!

For a thanatologist,

nothing cannot be overcome.

I will spit in Deaths face,

though the odds may be

thousands to one!

It will be done!

The people staring, hungry, from the shadows,

are a fitting welcome for a man like me.

Still, they don’t know – ha!

They don’t know a thing

about the visions only I can see.

For the world is dark and cruel,

and all of us are cowards and fools.

But as long as I’m alive,

I will go on, I will thrive!

I will win this fight…

when I meet this deathless man tonight!

For a thanatologist,

failure’s just the premise of the game.

But at last I’m so close

to the goal I’d give my life

to attain!

In Thanatica’s name!

[As he sings the last word, Dankovsky knocks on the door to the Crucible, which is opened by a black-clad Grigory. String instruments hold a single note, vibrato, very quiet, such that the song doesn’t quite end.]

BACHELOR (spoken): Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky. I’m here to see Simon Kain.

GRIGORY KAIN (spoken): He’s dead.

[As soon as Grigory speaks, the music goes absolutely silent.]

[Dankovsky drops the suitcase and letter in shock, the case making a heavy thud. After a moment or so of silence, a church bell tolls eight times, then gives way to silence.]

so um yes that is the song and idk should i? post the other songs i've recorded for this??? idk idk im sorry the quality is abysmal but i've been working on this quietly on and off for like a year oops???? is anyone interested in this other than me like maybe someone who can sing better than i can um yes anyway! yes. hello

#pathologic #pathologic musical #teacup