#how many odd instruments and stuff he pulled in for the job??

[sunkissedliterarylightofchrist]

On a basic human level if you do not like the Rings of Power soundtrack, composed by the excellent Bear McCreary, I do not trust you.

[gnbrules]

Truth in the Afterglow

Suptober21, Day 4: Secrets

Rated M

Words: 1284

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Lee Web

Summary: “And then Lee says three words that nearly end him.” Dean and Lee, sharing stories and secrets. And more. Pre-series Dean/Lee Webb. Mild to moderate sexual scenes (not particularly graphic descriptions). See tags for more details. Created for Suptober21 Challenge, Day 4: Secrets.

They’re a few too many beers in and Dean is feeling good. Loose. Light. Something about hanging out with Lee makes him feel like he can finally be real with someone. In a way that he can’t be with his father. Or his little brother. Or anyone he ever met back in school.

Lee just gets it.

“And then,” Lee continues, in between laughs, “she pops out a whole array of actual medical instruments. Like scalpels and shit. And I thought I was down to play doctor, but not like that!”

Dean’s own laugh rumbles through his chest. He settles back even further against the bench seat of the car, relaxed as could be. “Man, what did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do? I made up some excuse and got the hell out! Don’t I get attacked with sharp objects enough as a hunter? Why should I submit to that in my off-time?”

Dean grins. “S’ppose so. I don’t think I’d be into that uh, medical stuff, either, to be honest.”

Lee glances up from his beer, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “So what about you, Dean? What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve done?”

Dean tenses slightly, but he doesn’t know why. It’s just a question. It’s just two guys shooting the shit. “To be fair, you didn’t tell me about something you did,” argues Dean. “You told me about something you didn’t do.”

Lee shrugs, a casual roll of his shoulders. “Whatever, man. Here I am, baring my soul…”

They both burst into laughter again.

Read on AO3

Dean fiddles with the label of his beer. “Alright, alright. So there was this chick named Rhonda…”

So Dean tells him about what Rhonda Hurley wanted him to wear, and how he went along with it. He doesn’t tell Lee that he kind of liked it. Instead he plays it off as a joke. It is funny, so they laugh and make light of it. It’s a secret Dean has been holding, and even if he only tells half the story, it still feels good to let it go.

Lee’s grin could stop the world. His eyes keep twinkling as he says, “You, in some pink satin panties? Now that, I’d like to see.”

Dean tenses again, his heart beating faster suddenly. Lee’s just talking more shit, of course; he means it would be funny, a real ha-ha moment. It doesn’t mean he’d like to see Dean dressed that way, for real. It’s not like he’s flirting.

And then Lee says three words that nearly end him.

“Could be hot.”

Dean’s breath stalls just slightly. He makes the mistake of catching Lee’s eye.

His friend isn’t laughing anymore. Instead he looks at Dean appraisingly, his eyes flickering down to Dean’s lips and then even further south, over his body. Visibly checking him out.

Dean can’t help it. He does the same. He looks Lee over, feeling a jolt when he notices the slight tenting of jeans. The car feels too warm all of a sudden.

“Got myself kinda worked up,” Lee admits quietly.

Is Dean losing it, or did Lee’s voice just get three times deeper?

Dean tries to play it off, but when he says, “I noticed,” it doesn’t sound anything like a joke.

Lee places a hand on Dean’s thigh.

Dean’s imagination takes off in a flash, thinking of all the ways this could go. He could tell Lee to back off. He could punch him.

But.

He doesn’t want to punch Lee. He likes Lee. He is fun, and kinda sexy, and his hand feels nice where it is.

Could feel even nicer somewhere else, too.

“Dean? Earth to Dean?”

Dean snaps back to his present reality.

Lee is looking less confident now. He pulls his hand away, doesn’t meet Dean’s eye anymore.

“Sorry,” Lee says. “Just thought we could have some fun. This stakeout is kind of a bust, huh?”

Dean could let this go. Their friendship would probably survive. He could give Lee the out.

But.

He doesn’t want to give Lee the out. He wants Lee to touch him again. And more.

“Well, why the hell not?” Dean says finally.

Lee snaps around to look at him, so fast it might be comical. “What?”

Dean tries to make himself sound as nonchalant as possible. “Look, you got us both all hot and bothered talking about that kinky shit. So just for fun, yeah? No strings or anything?”

“Of course,” Lee agrees.

That’s all it really takes to settle the matter for Dean. He wasn’t lying – Lee did get him half-hard with a few words and a simple thigh touch. Dean just needed to know that this doesn’t have to mean anything. Or change anything.

They move in closer to each other. One of Lee’s arms drapes casually over Dean’s shoulders. His other hand goes directly to Dean’s lap, where he begins to palm him through the denim.

The pressure is good. Really good.

And Dean’s not a selfish guy, so he returns the favor, working Lee over properly. Soon enough, zippers are coming down and buttons are popping.

Breathing comes harder, faster. A hand slips under a shirt, searching for more skin.

Then Lee kisses him.

In another time, Dean might worry that it means something. That kissing is too intimate in some weird way that fooling around isn’t. But Lee’s lips are softer than Dean expected, and though he tastes mostly like their cheap beer, Dean can’t bring himself to care.

Especially since the kissing comes with all the rest, the gliding strokes of Lee’s somewhat calloused hand. As Dean touches him in return, Lee hums low in his throat, the sound of warm enjoyment and pleasure. Dean feels an odd sense of gratification that he can pull those sounds from Lee.

It goes pretty quickly after that.

Dean grunts when he finishes. Lee kisses him through the orgasm and comes just after, spilling over Dean’s hand and a little on his own stomach.

For a moment, Dean just looks at the profile of Lee’s face. Sweaty but contented. There’s something truthful in the peace and afterglow.

Then Lee closes his eyes and leans his head back against the seat. “Fuck,” he says. “Been awhile since I’ve come that hard from just a handy.”

Dean turns away. He’s already starting feel weird about this. He finds some free floating take-out napkins in the car and busies himself cleaning up. Lee does the same beside him, wordlessly.

Once they’re back in presentable enough condition, Lee nudges Dean’s shoulders with one of his own. “Hey. Look at me, Dean-o.”

Dean doesn’t want to. In fact he’s downright scared to see him, face to face. But he turns to look anyway.

And there is Lee, staring back at him. “No strings, remember? We had fun. Or at least, I did,” he says with a grin.

It’s the same shit-eating grin as always. Lee is still just Lee. They’re still just them.

Dean smirks back, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Me too. Pass me another beer, will ya?”

Lee reaches into the backseat and grabs a bottle for Dean and another for himself. Soon enough, they’re back to telling jokes and war stories. They laugh at nothing and everything. Things are good.

Later, John Winchester will return to the car, bleeding slightly from the shoulder, but alive and furious. They’ll get chewed out for drinking on the job, for being careless on a hunt.

But he won’t know anything else.

Dean will breathe a sigh of relief. And he won’t help but see the irony: he shared the secret about Rhonda with Lee, only for Lee to become another secret himself.

[letterboxd]

Poker Face.

Tiffany Haddish tells Gemma Gracewood about taking a holiday from comedy in Paul Schrader’s The Card Counter, her hotel comfort viewing, and why Oscar Isaac thinks of her as Jesus.

“When I say yes to a movie, that’s a hundred to two hundred people that get to work and I want them to be happy about working.” —Tiffany Haddish

Comedians taking on dramatic roles is not an innovation in cinema, but it’s which comedian, in which role, that makes a casting choice a talking point. Melissa McCarthy in Can You Ever Forgive Me? Mo’Nique in Precious. Peter Sellers in Being There. Robin Williams in everything.

In The Card Counter, Paul Schrader’s meditative slow-burn on American shame, part of the tension as a viewer lies in what we already appreciate about Tiffany Haddish as a performer. She is an unbridled crack-up, a live wire on screen and off, a former foster kid committed to busting unsustainable Hollywood beauty myths by wearing the same dress throughout an awards season. Her physical comedy is electric, even when it’s a simple raise of an eyebrow.

The wildest thing about La Linda—a gamblers’ agent working the mid-level casino circuit, who spies, in Oscar Isaac’s William (Bill) Tell, a potential new thoroughbred for her stable of card counters—is the way her drinks order changes from hotel bar to hotel bar. “I came in there with my comedy ways and it sucked,” Haddish laughs, disarmingly honest about her leap from the hi-jinks her fans know her for, to her dramatic role in Schrader's new film. “Paul was hard on me at first,” she recalls. “He had to reel me in, make adjustments, strip all this stuff off, all my tools, leave me with these instruments I barely ever use.”

Oscar Isaac and Tiffany Haddish in a scene from ‘The Card Counter’.

There’s an enduring myth that drama is tougher to pull off than comedy, something Haddish’s friend Morris Chestnut corrected her on a few years back. “He’s like, ‘No, what you do, that’s hard work. You are actually overworking yourself, doing these comedies.’ And I’m like, ‘He don’t know what he’s talking about.’ Then I actually did a drama. And I was like, ‘Oh, that was so easy. Oh, that was beautiful.’ It’s way easier. It’s way easier.”

What La Linda doesn’t know, but any casual observer of Schrader’s work will, is that Isaac’s Bill has a past, and that his methodical attempts to keep his guilt in check through a supremely minimal lifestyle, perhaps even to allow himself a spark of pleasure—redemption, even—are about to come unwound.

Before that, though, there’s time for La Linda, Bill and Cirk (Tye Sheridan)—the son of one of Bill’s former, shall we say, colleagues—to become an odd little chosen-family unit as they travel the circuit. Bill and La Linda cook up a nice heat while killing time in cocktail lounges, and her casual business charisma is a charming offset to the deeper themes at play. Writing fresh from a Venice Film Festival viewing, Rahul notes “you keep expecting Haddish to break out of the understated style and that tension works.” Andy agrees: “Her simple outlook on life and lack of existentialism offer a nice contrast to Tell’s brooding sorrow. Plus, La Linda is just a great character name.”

Haddish understood the pull between Bill and La Linda, and La Linda’s desire to probe into his mysterious monotony, in a very specific way: “As a standup comedian, I work with a lot of men that—they’re very talented, they’re doing big things when they’re on stage—but then when they come off the stage you’re like, ‘Who are you? Why are you so dark? Who hurt you? What’s going on?’ I can relate to that in so many ways.”

Still, of all the dramatic writer-directors to work with in America, why Schrader? What was it about his specific brand of lonely-white-man stories that appealed? “Cat People. It’s my jam,” declares Haddish, of Schrader’s 1982 erotic horror reimagining of the 1942 classic (and one of his few films with a female lead, played by Natassja Kinski). “I love that movie. It had some weird, twisted shit in it.” She has been campaigning Schrader to mount a sequel, so that she can have a crack at playing a sexy, predatory jungle cat. “I try to bring it up to him all the time. And he’s like, ‘Tiffany, we’re not doing it. No.’”

Natassja Kinski in Paul Schrader’s 1982 remake of ‘Cat People’.

Haddish imagines that Cat People would certainly be on La Linda’s list of hotel-room comfort watches, along with Shaft and Goodfellas. Haddish, on the other hand, prefers to kick back with series television when she is on the road. “I watch old sitcoms like Martin or, like, The Facts of Life. I love a good cartoon, especially the throwback ones on Boomerang. I really like the old school, like ThunderCats. That’s a good wind down for me.”

Filming days are long, making the minutes can be stressful, and Covid safety protocols add layers of complexity to the job. There are performers who are cast not only for what they bring to their roles, but also for the energy they bring to set. Haddish has an undeniable magnetism, so it is unsurprising to read her co-star Isaac, in The Card Counter’s production notes, describe her as being “like Jesus”, in that people would drop everything and follow her. She enjoys this comparison, revealing that she has always wanted to be an AD, the crew member with, traditionally, the greatest people skills. “I always wanted to be assistant director just so I can be like, ‘All right, picture’s up, guys.’ And just so I can know everybody and be cool with everybody.”

But as a performer with clout, what is her intention when she—Tiffany Haddish, famous actress™—walks onto a soundstage? Haddish’s answer is a generous primer on how to be a good sort on set (or, indeed, in any working environment). “When I say yes to a movie, that’s a hundred to two hundred people that get to work and I want them to be happy about working,” she explains. “I’m going to work with them again in something else, and I want to have a pleasant experience with the crew. The DP, the gaffers, all these people, we all work together as a unit, so I think it’s super important.”

Paul Schrader, Oscar Isaac and crew on the set of ‘The Card Counter’.

Certain crew members, she admits, “are imperative to making me look good”, but more than that, her approach is grounded in her own physical and emotional safety in an often volatile and unpredictable creative environment. “I see how some actors won’t talk to any crew members at all, and I feel like that’s not okay because these people are busting their ass to make you look great, and they are part of telling this story too. They might not be hanging off the side of the building like you are, but they are making sure that the camera’s operating correctly, so you don’t have to shoot it five hundred times.

“These people keep me alive. They keep me going and they can tell when I’m in a bad space. They’re like, ‘Here’s a Snickers.’ If I’m working with an actor who might be treating me not the best, they’re coming over, they’re giving encouraging words, ‘You’re going to be okay.’ We’re a team. I even talk to the editor. They’re like, ‘Picture’s up, sound’s rolling, and speed.’ And I’d be like [staring down the camera lens], ‘What’s up editor? Hey, it’s your girl Tiffany Haddish. Just a little note: I’m thinking about you. Now, if you could just make sure this lazy eye is this way… I know you’re in that room by yourself, but look out for your girl.” Sometimes, Haddish will even throw a bone to the studio executives. “I know they’re watching the dailies,” she laughs.

Her investment in the welfare of her film families is paying off in unexpected turns such as The Card Counter, with more to come. Up next, a trio of unusual comedies: Jerrod Carmichael’s existential buddy farce On the Count of Three, which was picked up by Annapurna out of Sundance this year; Cory Finley’s surrealistic sci-fi romp Landscape with Invisible Hand; and the intriguing Nicolas Cage vehicle, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent.

Related content

A list of favorite gambling movies from Gamblers, a podcast from The Big Picture’s Sean and Amanda

Life Detained: Jack Moulton’s interview with Kevin Macdonald, director of The Mauritanian

Josh’s list of Neo-Noir films

Follow Gemma on Letterboxd

‘The Card Counter’ is in US cinemas now.

[rotzaprachim]

Oh man as an aspie who clung onto the idea of autistic Nicky as soon as I watched the film, I'm super interested in knowing what people think his special interests are- I personally hc that he acquires a new one every century or so and sometimes that dictates where he and Joe travel

ohhhh ok time for my quarantine comfort hobby which is projecting upon fictional side characters in action movies! i think some of the big things for me about special interests is that they can be literally everything, and can also last for years or fade quickly! so some things that come too me off the top of my head, and although i totally think they all have a massive array of skills they’ve picked up over the years, i totally think Nicky is the one who is constantly pulling upexpected hobbies + skills out of his back pocket like ah yes. here is a perfectly executed lariat technique from 1800′s Sonora and here’s how to fix the wiring in a radio and write in mid 20th century secretarial shorthand at some point he picked up an incredibly amount of information about rare tree frogs of nicaragua and suminagashi, neither of which even Joe knew about. 

but anyway. some key Interests vaguely in order of CHronology 

- sailing + ocean stuff (also thanks to @captainshakespear !!! for a lot of the ideas on this one) 

i am a big believer in sailor Nicky! not an expert on medieval Genova or anything, but with my preferred background of him as being from a more modest background (not everyone in history was a royal, y’all) i think it’s quite likely his family earned their trade this way (or by fishing?). (might actually write a fic as sometimes i think it’s uh easier to write out characters thought processes than describe them but anyway) i have a real soft spot for Nico the kiddo who spent hours silently watching the sea either from the shoreline or his father’s fishingboat and who even if he had to be called by his mother three times for dinner and had a hard time focusing on conversations, understood the language of sails and ropes and knots from an early age 

- related to that- tying seaman’s knots 

- not to phrase this strangely but. religion 

there’s actually a lot of complexity to talk about with autistic people and religion/religious observance that i haven’t seen talked about much but! many thoughts on the this i might also expand upon later. Nicky eventually became a priest, even! 

but i do think that in the clamor and chaos of a medieval port city the ritualism and structure of religion would have been deeply comforting. the extremely set structure or a catholic mass, which quickly becomes the only time of the week where he’ll already know almost all of the words, and the feeling of wrapping his fingers around the rosary beads and counting through the decades. his mother’s been doing her best to raise all her children in the Faith, but she sees how fervantly her youngest actually remembers his prayers and sticks to them at the same time ever day on his own and is a little surprised. 

also like, lives of the saints! which are often exceedingly odd and strange, but Nico was like eh they’re Saints right they’re good this is a Normal THing to be Interested in and then lists off all the ways a few of the interesting ones were martyred over dinner. 

(but also in all of this he was definitely. a seven year old constantly questioning if God was real or not or could ever be kind when there were so many bad things in the world.) (we love projection.) and also a seven year old deeply interested in death and what happened afterwards. all things die. 

more to discuss later when i’m not about to fall asleep but! I think these interests lasted into his immortal life and long past the battlefield, especially as he starts to learn more and more about everyone the society and expression of faith in his first life taught him to hate. there definitely needs to be.. subtlety here, and he never intrudes on any closed traditions/is always respectful, but over the centuries he studies many, many holy texts and traditions from around the world, by himself and with Yusuf and also in various kinds of institutions and houses of learning. a LOT of religious text and discussion is surprisingly technical stuff about the practicalities of daily life or finer points of theologic debates as much as it is, like, the Big Picture, and also the finer point and big picture questions can be deeply related. anyway. 

- medicine

for all that there are a lot of autistic characters who are scientists, i rarely see one who’s a doctor/medical researcher and has that connected to their empathy and desire to heal others? but i very very much think Nicky has been a medic/involved in medicine and medical research since shortly after his first death and his centuries in the medieval Islamicate world with Yusuf, and has watched the way medicine has developed over the centuries, and is really fascinated by things like biochemistry and kept really studious logs of it all.  

- music esp guitar + folk music

also pretty fun to think about with so much of the history of stringed instruments linking to cross cultural trade around the mediterranean + Islamicate worlds, love the idea that Nicky has always kind of liked folk songs and music but has learned over time a number of varieties of stringed instruments starting with the oud, with his favorite being the guitarra batente and Hawaiian steel guitar with the slack-key playing style. sometimes he sings but a lot of his appreciation for music and stringed instruments especially is about the emotions that can be expressed without any words at all! 

- miscellanous other things 

the parts of a sniper rifle + shooting techniques, various kinds of sniper rifle scopes, buying + haggling for the best quality kinds of art supplies for yusuf, cooking, he reallllly doesn’t understand digital anything or the internet but he does like the elegance of electrical wiring and circuits, actually reads all the manuals that come with appliances for the interest value and is the one who wires safehouses to be off the grid and is just like. very good at odd household jobs + fixing things (which Joe finds unspeakably hot), he accidentally ended up as a star batter on a minor league baseball team at some point in the 1920′s and has an incredibly knowledge of baseball scores and runnings since even tho it’s literally one of like two sports who’s rules he understands and can focus on for more than five minutes (the other sport is the irish national treasure hurling), aforementioned nicaraguan tree frogs, in the last couple decades has gotten really concerned about biodiversity loss and the importance of protecting genetic diversity of species and crops, the large scale data of public health crises + antibiotic resistance, which he gives copley a long talk on basically the first time he speaks to him at all and which has copley pulling out a red sharpie and scribbling how massively he’s misjudged Nicolo di Genova, over the last few hundred years he’s become super concerned about medical + bioethics and the various technologies involved in that, stained glass window symbolism, angry birds and cooking 

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 24

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is a shorter one but I swear, you’ll love the next chapter. It’s a certain birthday boy’s night out :P so I hope you enjoy this lead up either way!

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Urgh,” You groan loudly, running your hand over your face as you stare at the display of unusual technology. “Why are men always so hard to buy for?” 

“I’d take offence to that but honestly, you’re right.” Jungkook says, humour in his voice as he plays with a little helicopter that actually flies. You’re in one of those stores full of random things that seem to particularly appeal to guys with odd and bizarre technology things and joke stuff. You like it too but these places always seem to attract guys in particular, which is why you’re currently here with Chungha, Soyeon and Jungkook trying to find something for Hoseok’s birthday.

Buying presents for anyone is always a stress for you as you hate the idea that you’ll end up buying something they hate. Half the time, you explicitly ask them to give you a list and just pick off it because quite frankly, you’re not very creative when it comes to presents.

But this time you’d decided to try properly. It was the first birthday either of you had had since beginning your relationship and you wanted to try. So you’d spent time making sure to listen to his conversations, whether they were with you or his parents or his friends, to find things that he wanted.

It didn’t help that his birthday was only a month and a half after Christmas too. One of the reasons you’d held back on his Christmas presents was because his birthday was so darn close afterwards. You’d finally managed to get a new job in January after many, many months of failed interviews, with a salary that wasn’t pitiful and with work that didn’t make you want to face plant the desk, so you had a bit more money to spend on him.

Twenty-nine wasn’t a big birthday or anything, that would be next year obviously, but you still wanted to make it fun for him. So you were determined to buy interesting presents that weren’t boring and useless. 

“I don’t know about Hoseok but I think I want this lamp.” Soyeon says, picking up and turning around a lamp that reminded you of one of those wire games where you had to avoid touching the wire. It was fluorescent pink right now but faded into yellow soon enough and in the shape of a heart. Perfect for Soyeon.

“Go for it. It’d look good in your room I bet.” You murmur, eyeing the stand of various lights and alarm clocks closely. Maybe Hoseok might like some fancy alarm clock given he was always getting up earlier than you? Though that would mean you’d have to put up with it too and you pulled a face at that thought, moving away to the range of mugs.

He got up way earlier than you for work and you could be a bit moody in the morning. The last thing you needed was to buy him something that would inevitably cause you to snap at him in the early hours. You were pretty sure he’d managed to train himself to wake up as quickly as possible to avoid your grumpiness.

Chungha follows you, picking up a heat activated mug with lightsabers on it and humming in curiosity. You look it over too for a moment and consider before instead grasping a box with a Zelda logo on it, licking your lips before nodding to yourself. 

Hoseok loved Zelda and you’d half contemplated buying him a Switch so he could play the one that came out a few years ago along with the other games that had come out recently. It was way out of your budget though so this would just have to do for the moment. He could take it to work for his coffees and stuff.

“Have you noticed that Soyeon and Jungkook seem to be really hitting it off?” Chungha whispers to you quietly, the both of you glancing over to where they’re both now stood playing around with sword umbrellas. You didn’t know Jungkook too well or anything, well enough to invite him to come help you pick things for Hoseok but you weren’t close.

He was one of Hoseok’s sweeter friends though and shared a lot of interests with you, including being quiet and introverted. Given how beautiful Soyeon was, and her own personality that made her kind, caring and loyal, you weren’t surprised that Jungkook had been instantly caught by her.

And you were kind of glad really. You knew he was a good guy from what Hoseok had told you and Soyeon deserved someone good. Plus, you would openly admit that Jungkook was handsome with the kind of body that game with his sports related degree while still maintaining such an adorable face.

Soyeon’s weakness really.

“Yeah. Don’t say anything though, it’s cute. Let them work things out themselves.” Laughing, you move over to the cashier and give her the mug with a bright smile before also grabbing a LEGO Darth Vader keyring from the range on the counter. This would make him laugh tonight.

“Don’t you feel a little jealous though? I mean, look at them. They look so perfect together.” Chungha sighs, leaning against the counter as you pay and accept the bag from the girl. Narrowing your eyes at your best friend, you lead her out of the store and watch as your remaining friends trail you out, laughing away at whatever conversation they were having.

“Excuse me. Are you saying that Hoseok and I don’t look perfect together? Or you and Dahyun? All lies.” There’s a slight petulant tone to your voice and Chungha immediately backtracks, spluttering almost in her attempts to smoothe over any issues she may have just caused until you laugh at her, pushing her gently.

“I’m joking. You’re right. They do look good. Hey, if they start dating then it’s officially bringing you guys and Hoseok’s friendship circles together!” You pause suddenly, cringing as a thought enters your head. “Though if anything happened with Hoseok and me then that would be very awkward. And heart breaking.”

“Hey, hey. None of that! I don’t want to hear any talk of breaking up or the potential for it when we’re out shopping for your boyfriend’s birthday presents! I’m telling you now, if you two ever break up then romance is dead.” Looking at her, you raise your brow in amusement at the completely serious look on her face.

“Okay. Calm down Nicholas Sparks. We’re fine.” That gets a snort from her as you lead her into a store that sells all kinds of musical instruments and electronic stuff. From your extensive research into trying to find Hoseok the perfect gift, you knew that you should be able to find what you wanted in here.

“Have you even read a Nicholas Sparks book? Or seen one of the films?” She asks incredulously, running her fingers along the strings of a guitar as you both pass by. Shrugging, you stop in front of the vinyl players and eye them with a tongue in your cheek.

“No? I mean, I watched five minutes of The Notebook but it was really boring so I turned it off. Aren’t all his stories meant to be like...depressing and shit?” Leaning forward, you read the little information card on one of the vinyl players and hum to yourself.

Hoseok had been discussing how he wanted to get into collecting vinyl records lately and to do that, he’d need a vinyl player. You’d already discussed it with his parents to make sure they didn’t accidentally get him one as he’d been talking about it to his dad and you’d tried to make sure that you would get a good one for him.

Even if you had zero idea of what constituted a good vinyl player to be honest.

“I mean...yeah, they are pretty depressing. But still. You should watch one, or read it. They’re tragically romantic.” Pausing, you look at her with a carefully blank stare before snorting.

“I don’t like romance films, Chungha you know that. I’m certainly not going to watch one that you’ve described as tragic. How is that even romantic? It’s just fucking sad.” You think you’ll go with the Sony vinyl player that you’d researched. He doesn’t need anything super fancy for a first one and it has Bluetooth, so should be good enough for him?

They’re certainly not cheap and you’re very happy that you’d saved so well to be able to afford this. While you weren’t normally sure about presents, you were pretty sure that this one was going to be a big hit with him.

“I’m just going to point out that not all of his films are sad. Well, I mean...they don’t all end sad. But still. Anyway, it’s not important. I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore and holy fuck, this is almost a thousand dollars!” Her surprise is incredibly audible and you shush her repeatedly, looking around to make sure no one is looking.

“I’m not buying that one. I’m buying this one. It’s not that expensive.” You point towards the one you want, crouching down to grab one of the boxed ones before heading over to the cashier once more. This birthday present shopping was going surprisingly easy compared to other times. Maybe it’s because the presents you’d decided for Hoseok were just so damn expensive that he didn’t have many.

“Boy, I hope he gives you some good oral for that.” She mutters and you look at her mortified, eyes before glancing around to check that no one is nearby. Your hands are full so you can’t make a shushing gesture to her but your scowl is more than enough and she cringes slightly, whispering sorry.

Thankfully though, you don’t think anyone overheard her as the cashier just gives you the usual, bland customer service smile that you’re used to. The one which you give back while internally chanting ‘please don’t question what she just said’ but he simply rings you up, putting the box into a large bag for you.

As you walk away once you’ve paid, you hiss at her in embarrassment. “Chungha! We’re in public! Please!”

Laughing at you, she wraps an arm around your shoulder and hugs you to her before letting you go. She’s always been the more open minded out of you all and has never felt the need to censor her thoughts or words. Though she did usually tone it down in public as you always wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

There was no wonder Hoseok and her got along so well. Both of them just said whatever came to their minds with no filters sometimes and it pained you considering you were a prude in comparison. Well, when it came to sexual things anyway. Anything else just came out of your mouth without a second thought.

“Where have they gone?” You ask suddenly, realising you’re both about to leave the store with only half of your group. Frowning, you look around outside and see that they’re not there so you walk back inside, scanning through until you spot them both sitting at one of the pianos that’s been set up. 

Jungkook is playing and it comes to you that the sweet piano music you’d been hearing for the last ten minutes has actually come from him. His hands, so large compared to Soyeon’s, dance across the keys elegantly and produce the kind of music you could only wish you could do. Chungha pauses next to you to watch the show and you laugh softly, leaning into her as you nod towards Soyeon.

“Oh yeah, they’re definitely gonna get together. She’s got literal heart eyes going on right now.” Chungha snorts in amusement, nodding before walking over to them both and breaking up their little music session. Jungkook appears to be oblivious to your best friend’s sudden infatuation with him and gives Chungha a polite smile as he makes small talk with her but you’re not.

Walking alongside Soyeon, you peer at her for a moment and take in the way her eyes are bright with happiness and the gentle smile on her face. Giggling you push her with your shoulder until she’s looking at you in expectation.

“So...Jungkook.” You keep the words quiet in case Jungkook happens to have better hearing than you’d expected but it still causes her cheeks to blush a sweet, rose gold. Grinning, you turn around and walk backwards as you take the rare chance of being able to tease her about a potential relationship. 

Normally, she’s already in a relationship before you even find out anything given how much she enjoys dating. But for the first time since you were in college, you were getting to see her in the midst of a crush.

“He’s nice. Very nice.” She says softly, the smile on her face matching her tone and you want to coo at her. But you can’t because Jungkook and Chungha have paused for you both to catch up to them. So instead, you leave her with one final comment.

“He is. And he’s very handsome. Hoseok says he’s a good guy so you should go for it.” With that, you stride forward to have a talk with the man in question. Looking up at him, he’s taller and broader than you, you give him a bright smile before holding up the bag with the player in it.

“Think he’ll like it? He’s been saying for a while he wants some vinyl records and I told his parents I’d get him the player. They’re getting him some records for it to start him off.” Jungkook peers into the bag, having a closer look at the vinyl player you’d bought before nodding in approval.

“I think he’ll like it. And that’s perfect because now I can buy him some records too. Any idea what his parents are getting him?” He asks curiously and you hum, frowning as you try to recall what his mom had told you on the phone.

“I think...a bunch of Iron Maiden records and one or two Metallica?” Pausing for a moment, you nod firmly. “Yeah, those two.”

“Sweet. There’s a store that sells records near here, are you okay if we go there and I can get him something as well? I know the perfect record for him.” His eyes are wide with excitement and you can’t help but grin at how sparkly they seem to be. Yeah, he would definitely make a good boyfriend with Soyeon.

“You know, I think I’ve realised a flaw in my present plans.” You muse to yourself, linking arms with Chungha when she sidles up next to you. A questioning noise comes from Jungkook and you look at him with a self-deprecating smile.

“I don’t really like a lot of the music he loves so I’m just making a rod for my own back here, aren’t I?” That gets a laugh from them all and you pout in an overly dramatically manner. For a moment, you consider how easily Jungkook seems to fit into your little friend group and how much you actually enjoy interacting with him.

You’ll openly admit to being a little awkward and stilted with some of Hoseok’s friends still, but you imagined that would change with time. The easy camaraderie between you all makes you miss Hoseok though, even though you knew there was no way he could have come with you.

“Well, you can buy records too. I mean, I know it’s his but if it’s in your place...I think they probably do records for the stuff you like.” Jungkook laughs and you can’t help but snort at the evil look in his eyes. Despite how sweet and innocent he often appeared, you knew from Hoseok that Jungkook, along with Jimin, was quite capable of coming up with some of the best pranks.

Best depending on your point of view obviously.

“Okay, no. I’ll be nice. It’s his player so he can play what he wants. Though he’d probably let me. Did you know I managed to get him to sit through an entire Taylor Swift album the other day? He looked comatose by the end.” Giggling, you remember the memory fondly while Soyeon scoffs on your other side.

“You don’t even like Taylor Swift.”

“Wrong. Well, kinda wrong. I like some of her songs. But on the whole, yeah, not a huge fan. That’s why it was funny because his reaction when he figured out I’d just put it on to make him whine.” Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to laugh loudly, the sound amusing on its own while he wrinkles his nose in pure amusement.

“Oh, you are evil. I love it. I definitely approve of you.” Rolling your eyes at how enthused he sounds about your prank on your boyfriend, you smile at Soyeon as she shakes her head in resigned bemusement. She should get used to this if she wants to try anything with the grad student because it’ll probably be a lot worse for her.

Idly, as you all continued to walk to the store Jungkook wanted to visit and made plans for dinner at a local pizzeria, you wondered if Hoseok would be amenable to your matchmaking skills. He obviously knew Jungkook far better than you so you resolved to ask him about it tonight. Maybe you could rope him into helping you get them both together. 

Though he may just do that thing where he sighs at you fondly and just goes along with whatever you say. You’d suggest it to him and see what happens. Either way, you get the feeling that the group of single guys in Hoseok’s friendship circle would be dropping once more soon enough.

[elldell1204]

I Sing for Love - Jay Halstead x Reader

fofisstilinski: hi, i would like a jay halstead with prompts 3 - “Can you just shut your mouth?”, 60 - “But I want to hear you sing.”, 63 - “I think I love you.”, please, thanks

Thank you for this! ❤️ I didn’t reblog @darkdisrepair ’s prompt list to be getting them, but they kindly let me use them so definitely go and check them out. Their Upstead fics are like no other! They’re genuinely amazing. 😘 Anyways, I really loved writing this one. I did alter some of the prompts slightly to make them work in the sentence, by the way. Also, I’ve been playing The Last of Us II recently, and this fic was partially inspired by the scene of Ellie playing the guitar in the music store. I’ve linked it down below so you can listen to the song I mean, as it’s really beautiful and thought it’d fit nicely here. I hope you like it, even if it is a little long-winded. Enjoy! 😊

Warning: couple swear words, may make you cry :( sorry!

wc - 2,783

Click here for the song

Admiring the pile of untouched boxes in the otherwise empty corner of the living room, you took a moment to finally let it sink in. ‘I’m moving in with Jay.’ It was a seemingly simple event to anyone else, but for you and your best friend, it was a huge step forward in your hopefully long life together. Because you knew this was it. You had shared your heart, your mind, your soul with Jay Halstead, a feat you had never even come close to achieving with any of your other boyfriends, not that there were many.

It was scarily similar how alike you two were, yet at the same time, you were totally different. You were both quick-witted, divergent thinkers, aware of the true horrors of the world but in different lights. He had first discovered that when his father gave him ‘tough love’ as a child, a trait he vowed never to adopt. Next was when he saw the travesty that is war; tragic losses of friends as their lives are ripped from your hands by beings you could swear weren’t human, the methods of finding information that haunted you in the form of your worst nightmares, the survivor’s guilt that plagued your everyday when you came home to the widows of the men you fought so hard to save, but unfortunately it wasn’t hard enough. It was a miracle he was able to pull himself out of that hole, and still, he hasn’t fully. But with your help and Hailey’s, he’s surviving. Knowing him now, you weren’t surprised that Jay went into the police force after his active duty. Some say that Chicago is a warzone in itself, but he knew that he could endure this one. After all, the heart he possesses wouldn’t have allowed him to do something with his life that didn’t help others. One of the many reasons why you loved him. Every day he sees the scum of the world, but when he manages to help someone, it reminds him of why he does it. And he knows when he comes home to you, he’s safe. You both know that. Because you have each other, and you protect one another, physically and mentally.

You weren’t on the front lines like Jay was, but still you saw the suffering and agony the world withstands. You were an ASA, a dream you had since you were a child. From the age of three you were better at arguments than any other child on the playground, something your dad used to tease you lovingly for your whole childhood. He told you to “chase your dreams until they become reality, because you would never forgive yourself if you didn’t”. You had asked him why he seemed so forlorn when he said the last part, sat on your bed one night after he’d read you your story. That was when he told you about his dream of becoming a singer, an almost unachievable dream, but one he worked so damn hard for. You asked what happened, and he relayed how his mother became troubled with drinking and drugs after his father left, and so he, being the eldest child, had to work to provide for the family, and so his dream stayed a dream.

You remember saying “But, Daddy, you can still be a singer. I can be your audience.”, and you can still see the smile that spread across his face at your words, the expression being etched into your memory ever since. That was the night he decided to make you his protégé, teaching you how to play guitar and singing with you. This went on for years, and by the time you were thirteen, you were both playing along together, serenading and smiling without a care in the world.

But it wasn’t long before your world crashed down around you. You were seventeen when you got the call, walking out of school one afternoon, with the biggest of your problems being a boring geography assignment, when your mother told you to get to the hospital instead of going straight home. She wouldn’t – more like couldn’t – tell you why over the phone, and as you rushed to Lakeshore Memorial Hospital, your mind was racing with possibilities.

Your dad had collapsed at work, luckily not severely injured, but after running further tests, it was discovered he had stage four lung cancer, and there was nothing they could do. You barely left the hospital the next few weeks, sitting by your father’s bedside as he drifted in and out of consciousness, coughing one minute and throwing up the next. He managed to stay awake a few hours a day at the start, holding your hand and telling you he loved you, retelling stories from his childhood and yours. But when his lungs got weaker, he asked you to bring in your guitar and sing to him, seeing as he couldn’t do it himself. “Music makes me almost as happy as you do, my darling.”

So you did. You sang until your voice was hoarse, until you fell asleep mid-verse, until your fingers and thumbs were blistered. Your mother sat like a mannequin in the chair on the other side of his bed, holding his hand, treasuring the feeling. The feeling of the man you lost too soon.

“If I ever were to lose you, I’d surely lose myself. Everything that I’ve found here, I’ve not found by myself.” You sang, tears pricking at your eyes. You looked up, gazing over at the weak form of your father. If it wasn’t for the machine hooked up to him that was beeping quietly but steadily, you may have thought he was already gone. He was that debilitated, with his limbs laid straight, outlining his body, his eyes closed and his lips, that seemed paler than ever before, the only landmark in the vast ocean of ghastly white that had replaced the face once full of life and laughter.

You laid your guitar back in its case before moving closer to him, intertwining your fingers with his, scared at how cold they felt already. You looked over at your mother. She was silently crying, her eyes rimmed red and streaks traced down her cheeks, and she nodded her head at you.

You sniffed, letting the tears that stung your eyes fall as you stood, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your father’s forehead.

“It’s okay, Dad.” You whispered. “You can go now. Go be at peace. I love you.”

And after a deep breath, you turned to the doctor that stood at the doorway. “You can take him off life support now.”

You let the tear flow down your cheek for a few seconds before you wiped it away. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the sadness. You had a job to do.

You had officially moved in with Jay a few weeks ago now, but due to your busy lives, the only things you had unpacked were the bare necessities, most of which were already dotted around your shared apartment.

It still sounds weird to refer to Jay’s apartment as your own. You practically lived here before he asked you, anyways, seeing as yours was a lot smaller, in a worse neighbourhood and had a lot of noisy neighbours. It was practically the complete opposite to Jay’s, his being a two-bedroom condo with sweet Mrs Elizabeth Bailey next door who you often helped out by carrying her groceries or fixing a dodgy cupboard door. She was like a great aunt to you both, inviting you round for dinner or baking you some cookies every so often. Many a time had she told you about her late husband, Tommy, and their stories from their lives together. Both you and Jay loved to hear the tales of their adventures, and you were saddened that you never got to meet him. One night, you sat close together on Lizzie’s couch, Jay’s arm wrapped around your waist as you leant into his chest, admiring a photo album she had passed to you as she recalled the memories linked to each image from her armchair. She had surprised you when she suddenly said, “You two remind me of Tommy and I; hopelessly in love.” You looked up and smiled at her, a twinkle in her eye as she remembered her husband, and you felt Jay pull you just that little bit closer.

It was also that night, when you both returned to his apartment, that he asked you to move in with him.

And now you were rummaging through your stuff that was packed into boxes, pretty much half of your life stuffed neatly into them. Looking through each one, you realised how little each of the material items mattered to you now that you knew Jay. Apart from the photos of friends and family, the odd keepsake you’d collected over the years and meaningful gifts from various birthdays and Christmases, it was all just junk. At least you thought so until you spotted your guitar case tucked away into the corner.

You took a deep breath before reaching over and picking it up, getting to your feet as you carried the case over to the couch. You sat down slowly, your heartrate picking up even with your meticulously controlled breaths. You gently laid it down in front of you and opened it, lifting the lid like it would shatter if you went too fast. You hadn’t opened it in years, not since you closed it at the hospital on that horrible day. A droplet landed on the smooth mahogany, one that came from your eyes. It took you a while before you wiped it away, unsure if you were strong enough to touch the instrument without breaking down before it.

‘Pull yourself together, Y/N, it’s been ten years’ you thought. And despite telling yourself that you had mostly moved past your father’s death, trying to see the light from it instead of the darkness, you still had moments where you were majorly overcome with grief. But you knew you could do this. You had to. He would have wanted you to.

So you picked it up. You examined it, not that there would be any new marks or scratches with it being shut off from the world for a decade, and then laid it on your knee like a baby, your hands assuming the positions that were like second nature to you, like another language. And you strummed the strings. They were horribly out of tune, so you let out a sodden laugh at the sound before tuning it to perfection.

Now all you had to do was play. You had time before Jay got home, so that wasn’t stopping you. What was is the thought of playing the guitar your dad bought you, the guitar your dad taught you to play, the guitar that you played to him and with him as you sang together. You knew he wouldn’t want you to stop playing, but you couldn’t bear the thought of playing it without him there to listen.

So you closed your eyes and imagined he was there with you, listening and smiling, as your fingers found the first chord on the neck of the guitar and you played it. Then the next. And the next. And you were doing it. You were playing the song. Now all you had to do was sing. You saw your dad’s smile and you knew you could do it.

“If I ever were to lose you,

I’d surely lose myself.”

Then suddenly there was a loud smash of glass on the floor behind you and you jumped, spinning around violently to see Jay stood in the doorway over some shattered glass.

“What the hell, Jay?! You scared the shit outta me.” You shouted, a hand over your racing heart.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted to hear you sing.” He smiled sympathetically, walking a little further in to lean against the chest of drawers in the corner.

“Shut your mouth. Like hell you did. You just wanted something to make fun of me for.” You huffed, frowning, as you moved to put away your guitar. You could feel the unjustifiable anger bubbling deep inside you at him hearing you, allowing yourself to be so careless as to let him in the first place.

“What? No, of course not. It was really beautiful, and I’ve never really heard you sing before.” He said cautiously as he came to sit beside you on the couch, taking a hold of your hands to stop you putting away the guitar. He could tell you were annoyed, and though he wasn’t sure why, he knew to tread carefully, as he seemingly had hit a nerve.

“Yeah, well, I don’t do it around other people, at least not since I was younger.” You said softly, feeling guilty for shouting at him.

“With your dad?” He asked. He knew all about the story with your father, minus the part where you sang to him before he died. You couldn’t bring yourself to relive that if you didn’t have to. But now you did have to. You couldn’t let Jay be in the dark about it any longer. All he had ever been was supporting and caring to you, and you felt ready to let him in fully.

“Yeah.” You whispered, not trusting your voice. You shuffled in closer to him, and he let go of your left hand to wrap his arm around you, and then you took a deep breath. “I, erm, haven’t played my guitar since the day my dad died. He asked me to play it to him whilst he was in hospital, because he couldn’t do it himself like before he got sick. And on his last day, I played him that song you just heard; it was one of his favourites. Not that he was conscious. He’d been knocked out cold with meds for days by then. After, we said goodbye and took him off life support. And I could never bring myself to play my guitar since.”

Silence followed, allowing him to process and you to recover. He kept rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, showing you support without using his words.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your hair. “But wouldn’t he want you to keep playing? For him?”

“He would, that’s why I’m trying now.” You pulled away slightly and smiled at him. “He’d have liked you, y’know? He really would.”

“I’m sure the feeling would be mutual.” He returned your smile.

Every day he reminded you of the wonderful man he is; caring, funny, kind, smart. But he also showed you he loved you, that he trusted you. And so you did the same.

You sat up, retrieving your guitar and laying it on your lap once more. You glanced over to him and smiled.

“This was also one of his favourites.” You told him, and then you started to play.

 “Talking away,

I don’t know what,

I’m to say I’ll say it anyway,

Todays another day to find you.

Shying away,

I’ll be coming for your love okay.

 Take on me,

Take me on.

I’ll be gone,

In a day or two.

 Needless to say,

I'm odds and ends,

But I'll be stumbling away,

Slowly learning that life is okay.

Say after me,

It's no better to be safe than sorry.

 Take on me,

Take me on,

I'll be gone,

In a day or two,

In a day or two.”

 When you finished, you sighed deeply, a half-sad, half-loving smile spreading across your face as you turned towards Jay. He was sat in an awestruck daze, smiling back at you as you put your guitar away in the case. When you sat back up, he shifted closer to you, gently taking your cheek in his palm as he gazed into your eyes, running his thumb softly over your cheek.

“I think I love you.” He murmurs.

You scoff jokingly and roll your eyes teasingly. “Well, you better bloody love me, Halstead. We’ve moved in together.”

He chuckles, and you can feel his warm breath brush over your cheek.

“I do. I love you. And I’ll keep saying it, even when you’re sick of hearing it.”

“I’ll never get sick of hearing it, Jay, because I love you too.” You whispered, smirking as you leaned in to kiss him. He met your lips with his, kissing you lovingly, assuring that you knew you were it for him, as he was it for you.

[gwen-tolios]

Trumpet Wars

There were always rivalries in band. The clarinet section hated the flutes, the saxes the trumpets. Tubas were the cool people that got along with everyone, the rest of the low brass feeding off their coolness just enough to not be ignored while still being shuffled aside. And then it was all the winds versus percussion.

But that was normal school stuff. While the rivalries had been heated and fun during middle school and high school, by the time Ken hit university it was just an inside joke that only showed up in prank Christmas gifts and happy hours. Okay, and maybe the occasional jokes on the blackboard, but that was the professors doing.

But animosity towards a fellow player, trumpet or not, he hadn't felt until his senior year.  The Dungoo Symphony Orchestra announced a search for new members. Ken and others from around the country sent in audition tapes and all those who passed in the tri-state area had been informed to show up at the music department. 

While he would have traveled across three state lines to the audition, Ken was happy he only had to cross three streets and a rather large grassy hill.

Ken was surprised at how many people were there warming up. He thought the process would be more selective and that he wouldn't be going up against more than fifteen other trumpets. Sure, this location was only one of seven in the country for DSO auditions, but really, 60 others? More actually, as he signed in on the 60th line and more came in after him. 

With such a wait time ahead of him, Ken decided to put off warming up. They had been told ten minutes per audition, but he suspected things would fall behind. He grimaced. Hopefully they wouldn’t cut later additions short due to time.

Ken pulled out his trumpet, propped his sheet music up inside the case, and went through fingerings after he finished greasing the values. He got lost in his head, imagining the sounds he’d create. A vibrato on this whole note, double tonguing that run, circular breathing during that ballad-esque passage. It was only when one of the professors came in to announce four names to follow her did Ken figure he should start blowing wind through his trumpet.

As he fitted his mouth piece on, felt a harsh glare on the back of his neck.  He turned around to see a Hispanic man, maybe late 20s, looking at him through narrow eyes.  Something about Ken obviously riled him up, and now that Ken looked back he thought that same thing. His uncombed hair, the stiff color of his shirt, and, oh man that trumpet! Hadn't the other guy heard of polish?

Ken tried to shake of the sudden violent dislike and blew air through his instrument to warm up the metal before settling into a range of scales. Wanting to show the other guy he might as well pack up and go home, Ken made sure to use his best tone and went slightly faster than normal. Ken turned, looking out of the side of his eye at the other guys in a challenge.  

When he paused for breath the Hispanic took over, playing with the complementary minor scale. No, the blues complementary scale with its skipped notes and accidentals.

Ken did two octaves.

The other man did it double tongued.

On the same brainwaves, they each took a deep breath and started playing C, trying to not be the first to let the sound die.  Even with circular breathing, Ken was running out of air, but he held out for one half of a second longer.

He sent a cocky smile to his new found rival.

The other man looked murderous. Carefully, he put down his trumpet, and then stood up looking as if he was going to sock Ken.  

But, as he was standing, the other's face smoothed out, his desire to start a fight fading. In fact, he looked as if he didn't actually know why he wanted to start a fight to begin with.

That grated Ken.

“What, not man enough to do anything?”

The other man flopped a hand at him. “I've got better things to do.”  And with that, he sat in his chair again. But as soon as he touched his trumpet, something strange happened. It was if the metal burned him. He looked up at Ken.

“What?” Ken snarled at him.

Still looking at him, the man took his hand on and off the trumpet. The behavior was so odd Ken's dislike of the other faded to confusion. What was he doing?

Before he could think of an answer, his number was called. Goodness, he was so caught up in competing he hadn't actually played any of his trouble sections. Too late now. It wasn't like he hadn't practiced the piece a billion times.

To his surprise, his new found rival was called too. The professor indicated they were to each stand outside a different door. There was already another trumpeter standing at each one.  Shortly after they took their places, a girl walked out of Ken's assigned room. A voice barked out 'next!'. The already waiting player stepped inside and Ken scooted closer.

Ken spent the time fingering. Glances at the Hispanic man showed him doing the same. Eventually, two more trumpets arrived and stepped into line behind each of them, and then Ken was called into the room.

Deep breath, he told himself. Think of it as an S&E competition, you rocked at those.

The room was one of the small, not much space for more than a stand and the panel of three judges five feet away.  

He said hello and gave a little bow.

“Let's start with scales. Play C minor.”

Half way through the scale, he realized he could hear sounds from the other audition room, and he knew exactly who was playing.

In hindsight, he doesn’t really remember playing for the three DSO representatives. His entire focus was playing better than the other player. He didn't care if he didn't land a job, as long as he was better. He had never felt so passionate about playing his best. He had also never played as good. Tone, breathing, color, technique, he had never gotten this close to perfect playing.

Once dismissed, Ken looked toward the other room. It was still shut, so he walked toward the warm up place. He sat and gave his trumpet a quick polish.

As Ken closed his case, he looked up and watched the other auditioner enter the room. As he passed Ken figured he should be friendly despite everything. He didn't know what sparked the animosity he felt towards the other player, but maybe getting to know him would help.  Ken held out his hand. “Hi, I'm Ken Price.”

The other trumpet sneered at his hand and quickly went to put down the instrument. As soon as he did so, his face relaxed and he turned around to offer his own hand just as Ken was pulling his back. “Conor Caraballo.”

They shook.

“Look man,” Ken began. “I felt extra competitive today. Not sure why, but I just wanted to let you know it wasn't your fault.”

Conor nodded. “No big deal. Hey, try something for me?”

Ken shrugged. “Sure.”

“Look at me without touching your trumpet, and then while you are.”

It was a crazy suggestion, but Ken figured there was a reason for it considering Conor had done just that earlier. He sat on a chair and pulled his case onto his lap. With a snap, he released the catches. With his hands hovering over the trumpet, Ken looked at Conor and thought about what he felt about the guy.

Okay, kinda friendly and maybe a little bipolar, but a pretty darn good trumpet player.

Ken placed his hands on the trumpet.

Conor was a no good show-off who shouldn't be because he had no skills to show off in the first place. He smelled, cheated, manipulated others to gain ranks in groups, he -

Ken took his hands of the trumpet.

Conor zipped his own case closed. “See what I mean?”

“That was...weird.”

“You're telling me.”

“So...our trumpets hate each other?”

“Did you hear yourself? That's crazy.”

“Yeah, but...” Ken trailed off, looking at his instrument before slowly closing the case. “You have any other ideas?”

“No. Just that I'm gonna ignore it and hope I never see you in a situation like this again.  And now, to make up for all that anger I felt towards you I feel like I should buy you a beer.”

“I know just the place.”

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Partying and Poker Faces

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Word Count: ~3350

Warnings: Errbody gettin drunk. Terrible zamboni puns. 

A/N: No, seriously, it’s just random drunk conversations. They are ridiculous. It’s fun. Thanks to @stunudo​, @fookinghelljensensthighs​, @lastactiontricia​ and everybody else in the Slack chat who listened to me ramble and helped with Nutcracker jokes/Winchester band names. Hair clip scene inspired by this post. 

Part 6 of the Rockstar AU! 

-

-

The “Wayward Sons” World Tour: Pre-Tour Kickoff Party

. . .

“Okay, seriously though, my friend found all these pictures of them at Bonnaroo walking around with a girl with blue hair, right? So she did a side-by-side analysis and she swears it’s Harry Styles in a wig. Like, honest to god.” 

“Who’s Harry Styles?” Spencer asks, putting his book down and rubbing his eyes as he comes out of his reading trance.

“Only the love of my life,” Penelope tells him. 

“Penelope,” Emily interrupts. “You are not allowed to ask him if he’s really friends with Harry Styles.” 

Penelope deflates slightly. “But -”

JJ tells her, “You are definitely not allowed to ask if you can have Harry Styles’s phone number.” 

Penelope rolls her eyes. “Apparently there’s a whole group of crazies who think he and Sam are actually dating. There are conspiracy theories and everything.” 

“Let’s just outlaw the subject of Harry Styles altogether,” JJ says hurriedly. “Okay?” 

“Oh my God, I wouldn’t actually ask. Are you ready yet, Em?” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Emily replies, glaring at her reflection. She’s been trying to even out her wings for like half an hour now. “I look like a raccoon.” 

“So… normal then?” Spencer asks, with his cheekiest smile. 

“Uh oh, we’ve got Sassy Spence tonight,” JJ says. She grabs Emily’s arm to tug her away from the mirror. “You’re gorgeous. Let’s go.” 

“Forward, march!” Penelope orders. “To Suite 202!” 

. . . 

“So then Sammy asks if she’s his daughter,” Dean finishes. 

Hotch and Spencer laugh; it makes Hotch look about ten years younger. 

“What did she say?” Spencer asks, tucking his hair behind his ears again. With his legs crossed in his ratty Chucks, he looks too young to be drinking. 

“Just said ‘I’m his wife,’ ice cold, and walked away.”

“You should’ve seen the look on Sam’s face,” Cas adds. He settles down next to Dean, handing him a fresh drink and sitting close. For a moment Dean forgets that they’re allowed to be close, that he’s not in public any more, and then he puts an arm around Cas, smiling to himself. 

“What about you?” Dean asks. 

“I haven’t gotten starstruck since Kurt Cobain,” Hotch answers. “But you should ask Spencer what happened when he met David Byrne.” 

“Spencer, what happened when you met David Byrne?” Cas asks with a smirk. 

“Well… you know how Freud talked about seeing the Acropolis for the first time? The feeling of derealization?” 

“No,” Dean says, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?” 

“What you have to understand is that my mom was playing me the Talking Heads while I was in the womb,” Spencer continues earnestly. “Remain In Light, mostly, because it came out that year, but — anyway. Research shows —“

“David Byrne is his Acropolis,” Hotch translates. “He didn’t speak for almost two hours after they were introduced.” 

“And I get the feeling there aren’t many things that render him speechless,” Cas says dryly. 

. . .

“Hey there, hot stuff,” Penelope says, and she sits in the empty spot next to Derek on the couch. She almost kicks Spencer as she does so; he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hunched over one of the acoustic guitars that everybody’s been passing around. 

“You know there’s another chair, right?” asks Sam, who’s sprawled out in one of the armchairs opposite their couch.   

“Trust me, it’s pointless,” Derek tells him. “He hates chairs.” 

“That’s not true,” Spencer says absent-mindedly, tucking his hair behind his ears. “I like the ones with wheels.” 

“Wait, you play keys, right?” Sam asks, watching Spencer pluck out a quick, dexterous open-tuned thing that Penelope is pretty sure he’s improvising. 

“And synths,” Spencer says, pushing his hair out of his eyes again. “But also… a little bit of everything, I guess.” 

“Guitar, bass, drums, violin, cello, saxophone, clarinet,” Derek rattles off proudly. “What else? There are some weird ones.” 

“Didgeridoo!” Penelope adds. 

“She calls it my didgeri-don’t,” Spencer says, and it’s true; it’s her least favorite instrument, which is unfortunate because it’s one of her favorite words.“And there are a few things I built, I guess, but haven’t really named yet.”

“That’s awesome,” Sam says, looking suitably impressed. 

“You need a goddamn haircut, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, as Spencer tries to get his hair out of his eyes again. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam tells Spencer, running a hand through the shampoo-commercial situation he has on his own head. “And don’t let my brother start in on you, either.” 

Penelope rummages in her purse for a second and pulls out a neon green butterfly clip. She combs some hair back from Spencer’s forehead, twists it, and secures it so that the butterfly is right on the crown of Spencer’s head.

“Thanks, that’s much better,” Spencer says, giving her a quick smile over his shoulder. Sam stifles a laugh. 

“Hey,” Derek says, in an undertone. “Got any more of those?” 

“I love the way your brain works,” Penelope stage-whispers back. She digs around until she has a whole handful of aggressively colorful glittery barrettes (some are shaped like flowers, some have pom-poms) and passes half to Derek. She leans down and starts to braid a little section of hair near Spencer’s temple. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

. . . 

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Hotch asks, as he starts mixing himself a drink. “I don’t think we met at the surprise show.” 

“Jack,” the kid says, with a sweet smile. He’s all fresh-faced and earnest. Hotch has concerns. 

“I’m Aaron, but everybody calls me Hotch,” he says. “What‘s your part in this whole circus?” 

“I’m their guitar tech,” he chirps. “Cas is my uncle, also. He’s the one who got me the job.” 

“Uh-huh. First tour?” 

He nods. “I’m excited! This is going to be great.”

Hotch has a feeling this is going to be trouble. 

Jack has a hand on the whiskey bottle when Hotch notices and asks, “How old are you?” 

“He’s twenty,” Charlie interrupts, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. “Down, boy.” 

Jack shrugs, not seeming particularly bothered, and wanders away with his soda. 

“Good to know,” Hotch says wryly. 

Charlie gives Hotch an apologetic look and says, “I feel like a spoilsport. Like, let the kid have some fun, right?”

“So you followed all the rules when you were his age?” 

“Well, no, not so much, although I wasn’t into drinking so much as… um. Mild felonies.” She wrinkles her nose expressively. “But I have strict orders from Cas. He might look like a teddy bear, but Cas can be scary.” 

“Felonies,” Hotch says, trying to keep a straight face. Charlie nods. 

“Hacking, mostly?” she says tentatively. “There was some… environmentally focused cyber-terrorism, I guess you’d call it.” 

“You should talk to Penelope, she used to do that sort of thing as well.” 

Charlie looks over dubiously at Penelope, who is pulling up the hem of Derek’s shirt and showing off his abs, Vanna White style, for Sam’s benefit. Sam looks shockingly unaffected, so odds are he is straight, in which case, Rossi owes Hotch some money.

“Really. She was actually contacted by the FBI, they wanted to hire her, but.” Hotch smiles at the way Charlie’s mouth falls open. “She has a whole… sordid history. They used to call her the Black Queen.” 

“Are you… what?” Charlie asks incredulously. 

“I know, it’s a ridiculous name, but ���”

“No, that’s — I can’t believe it,” Charlie stutters. “Really?” 

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “Really. Does that mean something to you?” 

Charlie shakes her head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand, she’s a legend. She’s like a frakking rockstar.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“No, like an actual rockstar,” Charlie insists. “Not that you’re not a rockstar, I didn’t mean — holy crap.” 

“Would you like me to introduce you?” Hotch offers. 

Charlie goes pale. “I don’t — um.” 

“I think you’re the first person who has ever been intimidated by Penelope Garcia,” Hotch muses. 

Charlie does a quick shot of whiskey before nodding. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” 

. . . 

“I am so fuckin’ glad I don’t have to deal with this every night,” Bobby says gruffly, with an expansive gesture at everyone in the room and their varied levels of inebriation. “We’re too old for this shit. Don’t know how you still want to go out on the road.” 

“Of all the groups I’ve managed, believe it or not, this one’s the easiest.”

Bobby looks across the room to where JJ is passing around shots and Emily is talking everybody into a game of Truth or Dare, as a “bonding exercise.” Spencer is clinging to Morgan’s back like a gangly white Yoda; Morgan, who’s serenading Sam with “Wonderwall” (Sam is covering his ears and looking pained) doesn’t seem to notice his weight. 

“I don’t believe it, actually,” Bobby tells Rossi, who shrugs. 

“They take care of each other, really. No ego involved, with any of them, which is rare enough in this business.” Rossi pauses as Penelope shrieks; Hotch, who is standing between her and Charlie, looks vaguely alarmed, but nobody seems to be in any real danger. Rossi adds, “They may act like a bunch of assclowns sometimes, but they’re much smarter than they look. I told you, didn’t I?” 

“Fair enough,” Bobby says. He’d called Rossi on a whim, looking for an opener for Dean’s surprise show and hinting about “discretion” and “liberal types,” trying not to give too much away. He’d expected Rossi to put him in touch with a friend of a friend, or something. He didn’t expect this to work out so well.

Bobby’s not used to things working out well. It’s a nice change. 

“Good to see you again, anyway” Rossi says. “You’re coming out to a few more shows, right?” 

“Course. I’ll be around here and there.” 

“Bet you’ll miss them soon enough. I was bored stiff when I was retired,” Rossi says. 

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to get those two through their teenage years,” Bobby grouches. “Just about put me in an early grave.” 

“They seem like good kids,” Rossi says. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since they were… how old?” 

Bobby can’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, they’ve got good heads on their shoulders. They grew up. Just in time, too. I kept tellin’ them, success is going to change things, but I don’t think they believed me. Idjits.” 

Rossi nods knowingly. “Cheers to success, then. And old friends.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

. . . 

“Pastor’s son, in the church,” Emily says. 

“Twins,” Dean replies smugly. 

“Nice.” Emily gives him a fist-bump. “Backstage during a performance of The Nutcracker.” 

“I’ll be very disappointed if there were no nut jokes.” 

Emily smirks. “Well, there were no actual nuts involved, but the fairy did, in fact, taste like sugar plums.” 

“Yeah, okay, not bad,” Dean says. He clinks his beer bottle against hers and they drink. “On top of a zamboni.” 

“You mean zam-bone-y?” 

“Thank you! Sam rolled his eyes so hard I thought they were gonna fall out when I said that.” 

“The Roxy.”  

“Green room? C’mon,” Dean scoffs. “Amateur hour.” 

“Nope,” Emily says triumphantly. “In the crowd, during a Guns N Roses show.” 

“Okay, that’s fuckin’ awesome,” Dean laughs.

“It really was.” 

Dean’s eyes flick across the room, following Cas, who just deadpanned something that’s making Hotch double over with laughter. Dean’s eyes go crinkly at the corners as his smile gets even brighter — a full-on megawatt movie star smile — and his expression is so sweet and soft and utterly adoring that Emily melts a little bit. 

“Gross,” she says, elbowing Dean. He elbows her right back. 

“Shuddup,” he mutters. 

“No more twins for you,” Emily sing-songs. 

“Worth it,” Dean says firmly, and even she can’t think of anything snarky to say to that. 

. . . 

JJ can only understand about one in five of the words Penelope and Charlie are chattering to each other, so she gives up and leaves them to it. She’s slightly concerned they’re plotting to take over the world, or something. They don’t seem to notice her leaving. 

Dean and Emily are side by side on one of the couches, both slouching, with their feet up on the coffee table and beers resting on their stomachs, giggling about something as if they’ve been lifelong friends. The whole tableau is unexpected, but not in a bad way. 

There’s something about Dean that JJ just didn’t like, at first. It’s mostly that he’s too likable. In every interaction they’ve had, he’s been incredibly charismatic, warm, polite, funny… but it’s not him. 

JJ is an expert at getting people to trust her without ever showing her hand. She recognizes a bluff when she sees one. 

She’s been watching Dean, whenever he thinks she’s not paying attention. He lets his guard down, sometimes, when he’s with his brother or Cas, but there’s a well-disguised wall that goes up when he talks to anyone else. It’s defensive fortifications camouflaged as charm. 

Apparently Emily’s shoved through whatever wall Dean usually puts up when he’s around strangers. Emily can do that to a person, though. JJ knows that better than anybody. 

Emily’s clearly teasing him about something. He’s grinning, boyish and bashful and genuine, and JJ likes him a hell of a lot more, suddenly. 

She heads over to join them on their couch, sliding over the armrest to sprawl halfway over Emily’s lap and cuddle in close. 

“Are you two still playing Truth or Dare? This doesn’t look very daring.” 

“Debauchery pissing contest,” Emily informs her. 

Dean is watching her, and his walls are up again: pleasant smile slapped on his face, eyes calculating, playing it close to the chest until he figures her out. 

She raises an eyebrow and prompts him: “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” 

He looks suspicious, but he goes with it. “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?”

“A lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” JJ says primly, and for a second Dean’s actually thinking about taking her seriously. She rolls her eyes. “Kidding. Middle of a Guns N Roses show.” 

He looks confused for a second. Then Emily and JJ high-five, and Dean barks out a laugh. 

“I didn’t know you —” 

He hesitates. 

“Swing that way?” JJ supplies. 

“Yeah, that.”

“Most people don’t, and we’re gonna keep it that way. Understood?”

Dean seems surprised by the sudden sharp edge in her voice. “Gotcha.” 

“I used to think she was crazy for not coming out publicly,” Emily tells Dean, but she’s looking at JJ with a little half-smile on her face. “But now that people are starting to give a shit about us, sometimes I think she might’ve had the right idea.” 

“Don’t lie, you love being an ‘inspiration to the youth,’” JJ says, with mocking finger quotes. “And you’ve been disappointing your mom for years, she’s used to it. Mine would probably have a heart attack.” 

“Yeah, but the number of times I get that fucking ‘Does that mean you’re attracted to pans?’ bullshit, I swear to God…” 

Dean’s looking at JJ again, but this time it’s less calculating and more admiring. He nods slowly like something just started to make sense.  

“Helluva poker face,” he says approvingly.  

JJ grins. “Yours isn’t too bad either.” 

. . . 

“I gotta ask,” Spencer says, slurred and slow. “How’d you choose the band name? The Ceiling Fires?”

Sam shrugs. “It was a recurring dream that Dean and I both used to have.” 

“Weird image.” Spencer makes a face as he undoes one of the tiny braids Penelope left in his hair. “Not that — weird isn’t a bad thing. It’s memorable.”  

“Yeah, I guess so. Dean called it that as a joke, to start with, I think, but...” Sam rambles. He’s right at that point of drunk where words just keep rolling off his tongue. “Feels like a long time ago. I mean, I did not in a million years think we’d end up here.” 

“Linear time,” Spencer comments. 

Sam waits for him to finish the thought, but apparently that’s it. 

“Linear time,” he repeats agreeably. “It’s not just… time, though, you know? It’s the whole deal. Success, I guess. People listening.  Expecting you to look a certain way, or… I don’t fucking know.”

Spencer nods pensively, combing his fingers through his hair again. “We did a magazine photo shoot the other day and they wouldn’t let me wear any of my own clothes. I like my clothes. And people keep asking if I’m dating anybody.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been getting that question too.” Spencer doesn’t know the half of it. Sam laughs to himself, rubbing his forehead, and takes a big gulp of his drink. 

Spencer pulls out another barrette with a grimace. “I mean, why would anyone care if you’re dating… who was it? Harry Styles?” 

Sam chokes and spits whiskey everywhere. 

“Who —” he wheezes, and has to stop to cough. “Fucking — how did you know?” 

“Wait, really?” 

“What?” 

“Penelope said it was just a stupid rumor,” Spencer says. He’s squinting at Sam like he’s seeing double. 

“Shit.” The adrenaline rush is going a long way toward sobering Sam up. He shakes his head and tries to pull himself together. “Shit. I just… shit.” 

“Is that a big deal?” Spencer asks, with a mild sort of confusion. “Penelope made it sound like a joke. She called it a conspiracy theory.” 

Sam stares at him, open-mouthed, before dropping his head into his hands with a groan. “Yeah, let’s just keep calling it a conspiracy theory, okay? I already owe his publicist a fucking… fruit basket, or maybe just a lot of wine.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t actually know who that is,” Spencer offers. Sam laughs weakly. “No, really, I won’t tell anybody. Even Penelope. Especially Penelope.” 

Sam studies him for a second. He looks earnest enough, in a boozy, unfocused way, but Sam’s learned the hard way that most people can’t be trusted. 

Still, worth a try. 

“If you could — yeah. Please? Just… please don’t tell anybody.” 

“Believe me,” Spencer says. “I know how it goes. If you let people see the things that matter…” He trails off, his eyes sliding to a point somewhere over Sam’s shoulder, and his voice gets unexpectedly clear and fierce. “People can be vicious. I wouldn’t give them a weapon like that.” 

Sam’s pretty sure he shouldn’t feel so reassured — Spencer still has a glittery butterfly clip sticking out from behind one ear — but he is, somehow. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly. 

Spencer shrugs, like it’s nothing, and settles the guitar in his lap again. “Anyway, here’s Wonderwall.”

“Oh hell no,” Sam grumbles, and throws a couch cushion at him.  

. . .

“Okay,” Hotch says decisively. “Everybody have their room keys?” 

“Aww! He’s like the world’s cutest drill sergeant,” Charlie says. Hotch scowls at her, but he has a feeling it’s not very intimidating. She just giggles.

“Rossi?” Hotch asks, looking around and doing a quick head count. 

“Went to bed an hour ago to listen to the latest episode of his fucking true crime podcast,” Emily says. 

Hotch frowns. “Without me? Sneaky bastard.” 

“Of all the weird fucking hobbies…” JJ mutters. “Hey, Morgan, is it my turn to be the jetpack?” 

“Fuck no. I am way too buzzed to be carrying any of you home tonight. You can walk.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually,” Spencer says morosely. He looks like a rag doll, sitting on the floor, propped up by the side of the couch. 

“Somebody come get Schroeder,” Dean mumbles, from where he’s curled up on the couch with his head in Cas’s lap. 

“We got this,” Penelope says determinedly. She grabs Spencer by the wrists and hauls him to his feet, and they lean against each other heavily, somehow managing to stay upright. 

Sam opens the door for them, smiling bemusedly as they all start to trail past: Morgan first, uncharacteristically wobbly on his feet; Emily and JJ, with their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets; Spencer and Penelope, staggering dangerously; and finally, Hotch bringing up the rear.

“Thanks,” he tells Sam, and waves at the others. “See you tomorrow.” 

Before the door closes behind him, Hotch hears Dean say, “It’s gonna be a fun tour.” 

.

.

.

[kylosupremeimagines]

The Guys and Quarantine Would Include: (Kylo, Adam, Clyde, and Charlie)

Special thanks to @cas-backwards-tie for giving me ideas for Kylo! 

Kylo:

Seeing as how it’s advised  not to go many places, if anywhere at all, he’d take the opportunity to learn some new recipes to cook. He already does it every day but there are plenty of things that he’s never tried. Maybe he could order a new kitchen gadget or two to broaden what he can cook. For example, if you eat meat, he would want to grind his own meat and test out various combinations to make the perfect burger. Plus, he would take a chance at 

He has an old Calligraphy set that he hasn’t touched in a while, so upon being stuck in the house bored, he would pull it out and try to get back into it. He was rather surprised that he was just as good as when he did it before. Kylo even found some of the old pieces that he did. If you found any that you fell in love with, he’d be willing to hang it up somewhere around your home. He may get a bit self conscious about some of them but he feels better when you assure him that you love all of the work that he’s done. 

As his secret guilty pleasure is all things soft, he got some new pillows and blankets to put in the bed. He may come off as a tough guy to most, but he can never get enough of being able to hold you close to cuddle. He loves being in a bed with a mountain of pillows, relaxed enough to get lost in them for days. He doesn’t have the easiest time getting to sleep so having such a thing would certainly help to get him to sleep more during the quarantine. Even when it’s over, he wouldn’t want to change a thing about the new arrangement. 

Although he was used to working out before the quarantine started, he would try his best to keep up with it all throughout as well. It’s not that he cares too much about the way that he looks but he’d certainly want to keep in shame regardless. He would find at home workouts to do, though he would have a few things at home anyways that he could use while working out. He may try to convince you to join in on a few to see if you would want to continue later in the future. Kylo could never turn down a workout partner!

While he’s working at home, he will have a lot more free time to do as he pleases. It’s honestly odd to him to have so much of it. Kylo would end up exploring some new hobbies, whether he discovered them through suggestions from you or by searching online. One of his favorites had to be when he found an easy instrument to play. He ordered it online and had it shipped to your place, and surprisingly he got the hang of it rather quickly. (I can’t think of any specific instruments to choose for him, so that’s up to you!)

Adam:

Adam wouldn’t be the most patient being cooped up in the apartment. Of course, he realizes the importance of staying safe so he’d try to not make it seem like it’s a big deal to him. He’ll never do anything to increase the risk for either of you but he will try to get out when he can. He won’t try to get out too much, but at least going on a run or a simple walk through the park.

While you’re stuck at home for the quarantine, don’t worry about not getting sex because there’s going to be plenty of that so long as you want that much intimacy. Since you’re with him for a while, you shouldn’t be too surprised that his sex drive would be more than usual since you’re sort of Forced to be around one another more option while not at work. It’s not like he’s going to force you to do anything or push past your limit, but his desire to get intimate would surprisingly increase doing the quarantine. So just be prepared for that! 

He might take all the extra free time to make some improvements around the house or apartment. Who  knows, maybe there’s something that needs a little fixing or a place where he could put something new into. Really, he’d just want to find an excuse to get to building or repairing something to pass the time. Maybe he would try to get some paint and mix up the colors on the wall a bit. Want your living room to be painted another color? Or maybe your bed frame? Adam is your man to get the job done! 

He’d want to make it a thing where you order from one of your favorite restaurants once a week for delivery. Since you’re pretty much doing the same things being stuck at home for so long, you two would dedicate at least one night in a week to doing nothing but enjoying food from your favorite place with some movies to watch.

Since he’d have a lot of more time on his hands than usual, he would take some time to work on his acting. It’s not that he’s doubtful of his abilities as an actor, but why not take the chance to work on things that he wasn’t used to? He would practice with variants of roles that he didn’t normally try. If you’d be willing, he’d love to get a two part script to practice with you. It would mostly be for fun but he’d also love to have the extra help and someone to work beside; he could never turn down an acting partner. 

Clyde:

He may not go crazy with preparing for the quarantine, but he’s going to do what he can to ensure that you’re safe all throughout the quarantine. He won’t want to go out unless completely necessary or if it’s to go hiking in the woods. Plus, without being on your ass about it all the time, he would make sure that you’re staying clean and safe the best that he could. If there’s anything at all that you’d need, Clyde will be there to ensure that you have it.

Considering that the bar would be closed for quite some time with the quarantine, he would try to find a short term job to get some more money in the house since there’s no telling how long it will last. He might even do a few small jobs that aren’t anything too serious. All he worries about is getting money so that you don’t have to worry about getting any of the essentials. Even if he needs to work longer hours than he would at the bar, he’s willing to put in the extra time to make the extra money. 

Maybe this time would be the best opportunity to get an animal with him! He would much rather get a dog above anything else, no matter the breed, since he grew up a dog person. There wouldn’t really be any harm in going out to a local shelter to adopt a dog who was in need of a home. It would be a great addition to the family and you would be able to give a dog a much needed home to be loved. He would even let you pick them out yourself.

Being away from the bar, you could expect him to make a drink quite often. Whether it be for himself or you, he’s going to be making them quite a bit. He was so used to bartending that it almost became a habit of his to make them. Since Duck Tape would be closed for a while, he was able to take some stuff home so he had the ingredients to make some delicious things. If there were any type of alcohol you favored, he would try his best to bring some of that home with him. It isn’t as if anyone would stop him, and since the ingredients for more specific drinks could go bad, there was no reason he couldn’t keep some of it.

This would be the golden opportunity to get Clyde into watching certain movies that you love which he doesn’t usually watch himself. He’s open to doing whatever you want since there’d be a lot of free time to laze about at home with not being able to go out and all. In turn, he would hope that you’d want to go out into the woods with him to hike. He doesn’t do it on the daily but thinks it’s a great opportunity to get out with you during the quarantine. 

Charlie:

You can (hopefully) look forward to more family nights with him and Henry, when the boy is not with his mother. With how bored Henry gets, Charlie would want to do what he could to make things more exciting for him.It would include movie nights, trying out new foods, family board games, and so much more. He hopes that you don’t mind doing it when Henry is around, especially with how much he seems to enjoy having you both there to have fun with. 

As a way to pass his time, he would work on anything that has to do with his plays. He’ll be on the phone a lot with those he’s working with, writing down any inspiration as it hits him, and maybe even will simply sit and think about ideas. It’ll be a bit hard to get things running again as soon as the quarantine dies down, but he’s certain if he focuses enough, he’ll have plenty of material to work with as soon as he can get back to working as he did before the virus hit so hard. 

Still on the topic of music, it isn’t until you’re stuck at your shared place during quarantine that you would hear him singing for the first time. One day, he was singing without realizing that you would hear him while he was cleaning. It wasn’t any song in particular, maybe a random one that he’s hearts around or a tune that he’s just come up with to hum. Regardless, he is a rather decent singer and quite soothing to listen to. 

As a new hobby, he got some painting supplies and took up painting with a canvas and paints - most likely he would start out with acrylics since they’re far easier to get the hang of. He isn’t the best at it, but he’d be interested in abstract most of all because it’s the hardest to mess up. Obviously abstract paintings aren’t always supposed to make sense so he could go all out and work on it until he just felt as if it was done. 

He never considered taking a bath before, partially because he never took the time to just relax in such a manner. Now, he would hope that you’d want to have a relaxing night when it was just the two of you at the apartment and enjoy a nice, warm bath together. He won’t be too cheesy, so no candles or anything of the sort. But perhaps he would get special soap - maybe a bath bomb - to use and have some of the best wine that he knows readily available to drink down while you soak together.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

The Bewitching Hour Part 1 (SITS Smut) Kyohei x MC

I’m thinking of turning this into a series with all the guys in it, so if you enjoy, stay tuned :)!

Warnings: Fingering, Sex

~~~~~~

Work had been trouble lately. Not only was the ghostwriter severely struggling with doing her own job, a lot of the Revance members were on edge because of it. Takashi’s Demon Mode had been making more frequent appearances and many worried for their own safety, few also worrying for the only woman in the house. Not only that, The morning the producer woke up, there was a stranger in their kitchen.

“Who the hell are you and how did ya get in my house?” Kyohei roared at the half naked, rejectfully majestic man that stood at his fridge, peering at the contents like they were going to put themselves together for his breakfast. The man didn’t seem much phased by the shock of one of the inhabitants of the house that wasn’t his, he found it amusing, that showed on the smirky, mysterious grin that appeared on his face when he turned around.

“Hey, man, don’t worry about it, I spent the night.” The admission did nothing to ease Sir Kyo’s suspicion, instead making him more pissed off in the early hour. No one would be a morning person if this is what they had to deal with first thing. 

However, before he could argue, demanding him to explain, a high whine came from the far end of the room. “Mitsu~, I told you not to come down until I was ready.” The strangely provacative yet shy call of the young woman, merely dressed in an overbearing sweater and shorts, hair a mess after the activities she had partaken in the past night, shocked the other resident. 

“But, my dear, you were taking too long. I was getting a different type of hungry.” The man, surely older than her but a gentlemanly youth about him, cooed, a teasing smirk forming on his lips as he remembered what he had been hungry for only a few hours before this conversation. Masami blushed.

“They call it a walk of shame for a reason, Mistu. Get your stuff before anyone else wakes up.” She crossed her arms in defiance, the brunt of her configuration halted by the notebook she held in one hand. Kyohei recognised it as her writing journal. 

“Okay, I guess I can get dressed. Unless you want to keep something for future uses?” The man with fair hair long enough to be pulled back into a long pontail sauntered over to the ghostwriter, leaning over her to steal her lips. Before he could catch them, however, he was blocked by a wad of paper.

“No kissing, Mitsu. It’s in the agreement.” She sighed, almost exhausted with having to remind him all the time. The roll of her innocent eyes didn’t go unnoticed by the slightly distracted producer. 

“Hello. What the hell is going on here?” A little pissed with having such a rude introduction, Kyohei made himself known to the couple. The fact he would soon learn about some of her stress relieving habits brought a blush to Masami’s cheeks, trying to hide them with her hand as Mitsu chuckled to himself beside her. 

“I-I have those lyrics done, Kyohei. Read through them when you’re ready!” The ball of red quickly made her exit after slapping her notebook on the coffee table in the living area. Mitsu couldn’t help but enjoy the sight Kyohei would usually also be happy to see. 

“There’s nothing to fear, sir. Just a trade in professions. You may like the use my services too one day.” With the way Mitsu’s been acting in this extraordinary scenario, Kyohei couldn’t tell what he was suggesting. What was this man’s profession and what did it have to do with Masami?

“If you’d like to see my portfolio, I’d love to comission if you find it desirable.” Only now did Kyohei spot the large art pad held to Mitsu’s body with his arm as he continued to rest his hands in his pockets. 

“You’re an artist?” Kyohei, significantly cooled compared to moments ago, grew slightly curious to the man’s offer. 

“And Miss Mami is my muse, and I her’s. We arranged it years ago.” The nickname rolled off with such ease it showed how close the two must be. Kyohei almost felt jealous just talking to the man. 

“Show me.” He demanded, wanting more to see what had impressed the girl so much to have the obvious relationship they had together. This made that mirthful chuckle reverberate from Mitsu’s chest once again. Despite the clear irritation on the producer’s face, he placed his sketchpad on the kitchen counter and opened it up. Kyohei’s eyes went wide at the images before him.

Pages upon pages of naked women, mostly Masami, framed in comprimising positions, always a lewd look in their eyes. The drawings seemed so realistic, Kyohei almost felt like he was there when it was created, even if they were just sketches- mainly black and white. The one that really caught his eye was the masterpiece on the back page. It was Masami, on her back with her knees pressed to her chest, feet up and vulva on full display. He looked away, an intolerant blush surfacing on his cheeks.

“I’ll say, my most recent piece is my favourite. Masami surely was in her creative flow last night.” A look of pure pride overtook what his usual expression seemed to be as he gazed upon the picture of his business partner. She seemed too innocent most of the time, it was only Mitsu who ever got to see this side of her. 

“Creative flow?” Kyohei was drawn by the odd explanation for such a drawing, his gaze following the man as he ripped the page out with little regard to his other pieces. 

“You don’t know of her Bewitching Hour? And how long has she lived here?” A tone of pity mixed with amusement filtered out of his mouth as he placed the sheet of paper on the counter before closing his book once again.

“Like any woman, Masami is a powerful being. Sometimes her talent gets too much for her and she can’t seem to let it out at all. She gets so pent up sometimes, I’m man enough to admit even I can’t satiate her creativity.” Mitsu laughed on the memory of an irritated Masami climbing off his lap with a heavy sigh of not being able to pleasure herself with his body. He didn’t mind, he had those nights too, it was the joy of their agreement that made him so confident in his abilities.

“But what’s a Bewitching Hour?” Kyohei was beyong interest by now. For months he had wanted to her his hands on the innocent cutie that lived under his roof. This might finally be his chance. 

“It’s just my term for it. She does her best work, in the bedroom and in her songs, at night. The only way she can filter her ideas is in the act, as one would say. On nights I can’t get to her, she’ll desperately play piano. I’ve never heard it myself, but I’m sure its beautiful.” A mesmerised look drifts into Mitsu’s eyes as he imagines all the dirty scenarios he could get into if he could just catch her off guard in one of her musical trances. 

“Remember, if you ever hear music in the dead of night, the Bewitching Hour has begun.”

~~~~~~

Several days after the mysterious and mature artist escaped the Revance home without being spotted by any other members, Kyohei has gotten very little sleep. Mostly from anticipation to hear any type of tune drifting through the halls and some due to the thoughts that clouded his brain. How would he initiate such an occasion? Were her trances even a thing? Would it be right to take advantage of that to experience the feelings he’s been waiting so long to feel? Maybe yes, maybe no. It all depended on her, really. If he showed up, made himself known, and she just happened to jump on him, he wouldn’t stop her. Even if she needed a little coaxing, he would be happy to take the place of her muse if for a night. He just wanted to encounter what he had heard, and seen in still images, was so magical. 

Then, on one fateful night, a jolly tune bounced in the distance and Kyohei shot up in bed. Where or who it was coming from didn’t matter as long as who it was he hoped it would be. He grabbed a shirt just in case this didn’t turn out how he had hoped and stormed out the door. 

In the hallways, following the strangely enticing sound to what must have been from the recording studio, the darkness and tune was a little eery. It was upbeat and fun, but the emptiness of the halls and the hyperawareness that everyone was asleep made a suspicious shiver run up Kyohei’s spine. Please, please don’t let this be Takashi.

Sure enough, through the door that was standing open, was a risquely dressed woman, her fingers jumping along the keys of the keyboard in their in-home recording studio. She was in her pyjamas, a worn tank top that must have been from her teenage years from the cute character on the front and shorts of a different design but just as old. Her hair was up in a rushed bun, sagging to the side when she tilted her head in frustration. Her ideas weren’t flowing the way she wanted them to and Mitsu was in Osaka for an art showing. She had no other outlets. 

Except for the man that now stood directly behind her. She didn’t notice him at first, too wound up in her musical whimsy until she felt a warm pressure on her shoulders. She jumped, the electric instrument groaning with a clatter of keys as her fingers slammed down at the unexpected sensation.

“So tense. You need to relax if you want to get your work done in time not to get punished.” A tone she was all too used to breathed on her ear as Kyohei leaned over head, the feeling of his erection pressing into her back. Not that she could feel it, she was too stunned as to why he was here and too busy trying to bay her urges. No matter who it was, she would go for anyone in this state. Before she had met Mitsu, she would go on the prowl in less that suitable establishments, usually mistaken for a prostitute, even though she was the most dressed person on the whole block. Although, it didn’t matter to her, she usually got what she needed.

“Help me then.” The demanding tone spurred Kyohei on, the stern look making him chuckle. She looked as frustrated as Mitsu had made her sound and that led him to believed that this could happen. That he could get what he want. What they both wanted- for whatever different reasons.

Slowly but directly, Kyohei’s fingers from one hand drifted over her bare skin, along her collarbone and arond her neck, making her look up at him by tugging lightly on it. From some of the sketches in Mitsu’s book, she liked and was a frequent user of positions like these. Masami gulped at the heat that suddenly flooded in her. 

With that slightly startled but so heavily lustful look in her eyes, Kyohei continued, inching his other hand down her chest and under her top. She moaned the second he tweaked her nipple. Both of their hearts raced at this less than innocent act taking place in such a common area of their home. Masami didn’t think about it, too caught up in trying to filter through the words flying around in her head, but Kyohei was metaphorically shitting bricks. If someone came in, would it be his fault? Would she get angry? The sound of a whimper pulled him out of those thoughts though.

“K-Kyohei, ca-can you... Can you finger me?” The forwardness of Masami’s words and the pleading look in her eyes as he held her face up to meet his gaze caused a shot of arousal to fire through Kyohei’s body and he wasted very little time in pulling her up. He quickly looked around for a surface to lay her on, but there was only the couch and the office chair that didn’t have any important equipment on it, so he pushed her onto the ground, laying her legs over his as he leant over to her. His hand was no longer around her neck, instead both were either side of her head, holding himself up over her. 

With her hair sprawled out around her, pale wrists settled close to were his hands were, eyes slightly wide at seeing him in this position and cheeks flushed with desperate but embarrassed need, Kyohei had never been more turned on by any other woman. Masami wasn’t anything special. She didn’t have the ‘perfect’ body or have the greatest make-up skills. She was slow and at times absent-minded, just like right now, she seemed to be concentrating on something else and Kyohei didn’t know that this was what she was usually like in the moment. She was concentrating on her lyrics.

But Kyohei didn’t want that. He wanted all thoughts on him. 

So, sitting back onto his heels, he focused all of his attention to her lower half. Palms falling on her knees, which only now had he realised were slightly bruised and was sure they were from the last time she had done something like this, his hands crept up her legs. The warm sensation on her body, chilled by the cold room and limited clothing, sent an excited shiver through her- dispersing any thoughts of music to the side, just for now, just so something could make sense. There was Kyohei Rikudoh, having her straddle him while she was on her back, making his way to her nether region with a look that seemed a little too excited. 

But, Masami didn’t have time to think that fact over as she felt some sort of pressure on her clit. She gasped out a moan as she looked down to see Kyohei’s thumb disappearing underneath the fabric of her shorts. The motions on her fastened the more she moaned but the second she got a little louder, it was gone. 

But only for a moment. Masami was about to complain before she felt that same digit enter her fully. Although shorter and thinner than some men she’s had, Kyohei’s thumb worked wonders on the nerves that were building up in that area and the nerves that had been in her head for the past few hours. He enjoyed the silent gasping as he pressed in different directions before slipping out and replacing it with his middle finger, once again seeing that short burst of annoyance before her lips parted to take in enough air to remind herself to breath. He wanted so badly to trap those plump things under his, exploring her mouth like it was the Mariana Trench, so, he leaned in.

“No.” A muffled call escaped Masami’s lips as she covered them with her hand, protecting herself from his advances. He stopped his thrusting fingers, wondering if he had hurt her, but she shook her head. 

“N-Not on the lips.” She stuttered, the darkest blush she’s had tonight ligthening her face as she kept her hand there. Kyohei was slightly confused, his brows frowning at the strange demand. She would let him fuck her, but she wouldn’t let him kiss her? Well, he knew she was strange, but he didn’t believe it when she had reprimanded Mitsu. He thought it was just because he was there. 

“I-If that’s gonna be an issue for you...” Masami led off as she sat up, inched herself away the best she could to keep the distance away from their faces and his fingers, which he hadn’t realised where still in her, slipped out. She bit back a moan at that, too embarrassed and scared to have annoyed him to make a noise. 

“No, it’s fine. I’m not going to force you.” Kyohei smirked, wanting this more than he wanted to exercise each of his fantasifull whims. Masami’s shoulders eased at that and her gaze wondered down his body. 

“Oh?” She muttered at the tent she saw pitched in his shorts. They were loose and thin, something like basketball wear, so she could definitely tell most of that height wasn’t material. She was in for a treat tonight.

With the tilt of her head, she reached forward, pulling down his waist band and helping his cock escape before he could say a word. To his surprise, he panicked as she grabbed it with such gentle fingers his hands flew behind him to keep himself upright. As her knees weren’t hooked over his anymore, she could sit on her own legs as Kyohei’s crossed his in front of him.

Masami knew what she was doing, she had a routine. Something she knew worked every other time she had done this act with someone new, so, she leaned forward and kissed the tip of his dick before licking it. 

“You’re rather forward, huh?” Kyohei tried to regain his usual composure as the petite woman before him hardened him so suddenly he worried there’d be no blood left in his skull. She looked up at that incredulous smirk and couldn’t help but blush as she realised what she was doing.

“I want this.” She replied bluntly, not blaming herself for her less than ordinary ways to relieve stress. She licked him one last time before she brought her lips right next to his ear, careful not to let go of his cock. “So, will you fuck me now, Sir Kyo?”

Her questioning tone was almost innocent if not for the words that spilled out of her mouth so easily. Kyohei felt something come over him, an all too familiar feeling of lust, and he pushed her back by her shoulders onto the floor where she had been moments ago. He pulled her shorts and panties off, all in one go, and threw them behind him without much care as to where they ended up.

“You came prepared?” Masami frowned her brows at the condom Kyohei pulled out of his pocket. She wasn’t mad, she was happy he had one, but it did confuse her. She didn’t really know he was aware of her trances. 

“Always am, Miss Mami~.” Kyohei’s teasing tone, mimicking the voice of her usual muse, made the girl blush, covering her frown with the back of her hand as she laid there, waiting patiently. She looked too cute for what he was about to do to her.

“Shut up and help me.” She grumbled, reminding him why they were here in the first place, and Kyohei couldn’t help but chuckle. The two stayed in their separate states until Kyohei sharply entered her. 

Both mind’s turned into a pleasured fog that distracted either side of this couple from the outside world. Not that anything was happening that they would need to look out for, everyone was asleep and Kyohei hade the foresight to close the door. This allowed them, mostly Masami, to moan to their heart’s content. She clutched the top that fluttered over her as Kyohei towered over, holding himself up with one hand and her right thigh with the other. 

“K-Kyohei.” She gasped out, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at him as his hand massaged that part of her leg, waiting for her to be comfortable enough for him to move. He seemed pushy, but he did care, being the secretly thoughtful guy he was. The sound of his name told the producer he could start thrusting. 

“You’re so tight.” He grunted as those movements pulled him out of the short but sweet trance he found himself in as he watched the young woman writhe beneath him distracted him from the tightness of her. How could a woman said to be so risque and ravaging seem so virginal?

“Y-You’re just big.” The comment made her blush and she pouted, momentarily preoccupied from the heavenly sensation slowly grinding into her. 

“Don’t frown like that. I’m sure you’ve dreamt about this, haven’t you?” He drew even closer to her once again, propped on his elbows as he continued to thrust in and out of her, one hand holding her cheek. He was careful not to make it seem like he would try to kiss her. 

The smugness of his tone and sudden hard pound of his hips made Masami’s hands fly down his torso to grip the skin of his behind, hoping it would spur him onto giving her more of that much needed pleasure. “K-Kyohei.” Her ideas were finally organising themselves. She was so close. All she needed was a little encouragement. 

“Go on. Scream my name. I know you want to.” Even though his own breathing started to hasten, his heart racing and his words sometimes tripping over themselves, Kyohei tried to seem as cool as he usually was. But, the clawing feeling on his lower back and arching of her’s, pressing their bodies even closer together was just so erotic, he found his own thoughts becoming jumbled. There was so much he wanted to say, so many dirty things he wanted to whisper in her ear to make her blush harder, to stutter his name more, he couldn’t understand any of the words that threatened to spill out of his mouth. Something about loving something, but the shriek of the woman below him pulled his thoughts away from that strange sensation.

“K-Kyohei!” Arms flying up his body and around his neck, pulling him closer and her up so he could snake an arm around her, holding their bodies flush together, Masami couldn’t hold back anymore.

“More. Please. I need so much more!” She whimpered in his ear and he only just realised his thrusts had slowed while he was thinking. Then, one thought made sense. Flipping them over so he was on his back and Masami was sitting on his lap, his cock buried so deep inside her she was sure she must have been hollowed out by him, Kyohei smirked. 

“Go on, do it yourself. Use me to inspire you.” Sitting, holding each other, his hand clutching the back of her hair so he could whisper in her ear without risk of her pulling back, Kyohei pulled as much out of her as he could. Albeit the ground prohibitted most of his movement. When he loosened his grip, Masami sat up, looking at him with another one of her cutely questioning expressions.

“How do you- Oh!” Masami gasped as he pushed her hips down, mainly to distract her from her question and also to pleasure himself. Her hands once again clenched the fabric on his chest and she subconsciously started bouncing up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin sounding between them. Heavy breathing, moans of each other’s names, and the smell of hot, sweaty sex filled the room. It was lucky they had good ventilation in here.

It didn’t take much longer for either to finish, coincidentally at the same time, and when they both felt each other’s releases, Masami collasped forward, landing on Kyohei’s chest with a soft thud. She was panting, her thighs aching slightly from the exercise, and Kyohei chuckled, his arms sprawled out either side of him. The two finally had a moment of silence...

...Until Masami jumped up, his penis sliding out of her but she didn’t seem to care much, and yanked her journal from the table she had been struggling over before he showed up. As if this hadn’t just happened, as if one of the most sort of bachelors at the moment wasn’t laying half-naked on the floor behind her, Masami started working. She started pouring her heart out onto the pages in front of her, making quick work of the song she had been struggling with for the past day and a half. 

It couldn’t be hidden, Kyohei was a little pissed. He had just had one of the most amazing sex sessions he had ever experiences, and she was still able to make it to the desk chair and write? So, he got up, meaning to turn her around and pound her against that journal that seemed to occupy her thoughts, when she met his stern gaze with a delighted smile. He only now saw the slightly darkened rings under her eyes and, despite that, she still looked adorable. 

“Thanks, Kyohei, you were a big help!” Masami cheered, slapping her book shut and standing up, only to find the two much closer than she had anticipated. Both their lower halves were completely on show, but she couldn’t let herself look down. She was beat but, most of all, she was able to write. She had been able to accompish what she set out to do. 

Kyohei just chuckled at his own stupidity. He should have understood what Mitsu meant when she really did just use his body to satiate her creativity. This was just a trade in professions, a transferable muse and a writer, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Call me if you need anymore help.” He winked, his smug smirk returning to his face as Masami blushed at the offer, turning to find her shorts, throwing them on and running out the door so she could finally get some much needed sleep. What neither of them had realised was the pair of panties, tucked behind a filing cabinet after Kyohei had carelessly thrown them over his shoulder. 

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

1. burning glances, turning heads

He really should know better, Margot thought, to expect that his class would be paying attention on a Friday afternoon before the long weekend.

As Professor Hunt, the surliest yet most accomplished educator to roam the halls of Hollywood University, all but threw Lance Sergio out for being extremely obvious about taking excessively filtered selfies during the lecture, she took the opportunity to lean over to Addison, poking her with the eraser end of her mechanical pencil. The blonde, as if being suddenly woken, started, causing her gel pen to make a squiggle just off the doodle she was mindlessly making on the edge of her paper.

“What?” Addison asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Margot shrugged. “I’m bored.”

“I think we’re all bored,” Addison teased. “But at least some of us are more subtle than others.”

She nodded towards the front, where the professor had turned his attentions to Jenni Whitman, whose open laptop screen displayed one of the trashier celebrity gossip websites. Beside her, Bianca Stone surreptitiously slipped her phone into her pocket and bowed her head over her notebook, as though trying to commit the blank pages to memory, and Shae, another of Bianca’s friends, panicked and stuffed her phone in the front of her shirt, making a strange lump in the fabric.

As Jenni, too, packed up and took her leave at his insistence, Professor Hunt returned to the lectern, his jaw tense.

“While I understand that you are all incapable of delaying gratification long enough to pay attention in my class, I maintain my zero-tolerance policy for distractions. It would do the rest of you well,” he gritted out, “to not force my hand any more than it’s already been.” His eyes slowly took in the remaining pupils sitting in the hall. “Do I make myself clear?”

The lecture continued.

As he began a diatribe on romantic comedies, Margot turned back to Addison and gestured for her to look at her notebook. Addison subtly glanced down as she pretended to stretch, reading the message written on the corner of the page in very, very light pencil lead strokes.

Do you think he’s ever even seen a rom com?

Addison smirked and turned the page on her notebook, scrawling her reply in much more perceptible pink glitter ink.

Not on purpose, if at all.

Margot suppressed a laugh at the thought.

Like, maybe he sat through You’ve Got Mail thinking that it was about the postal service?

Or Mystic Pizza being about a magical pizza.

Or Crazy Rich Asians being a biopic.

Or-

“I thought I made myself clear.”

The two girls jumped in their seats, hearts pounding, expecting to find the frowning professor looming over them. Luckily for them, his attention was on Shae, whose poorly hidden phone in her shirt had become quite the spectacle, as the screen lit up behind the thin fabric and an instrumental snippet of a Top 40s hit blared from behind the buttons.

“Out,” Professor Hunt snapped. When Shae didn’t immediately move, he all but yelled, “Out!”

Dear God, she thought, this lecture is never-ending.

She was one of perhaps sixteen students left in the hall. Many others, including Bianca, had either flown the coop during the mandated fifteen-minute break, or were not-so-nicely asked to leave by the increasingly tense professor. She had flirted with the idea of beginning her long weekend early, too, but she knew she was already on thin ice with Hunt (to be fair, when isn’t she?), and she might as well learn something anyway. She didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to be. Unlike many of her classmates, she wasn’t heading home for the long weekend, and her plans for the next four days were most likely going to be a cycle of sleep, catching up on the show Chris recommended, and getting takeout.

“. . . and that is why we're discussing the decline of the romantic comedy, a genre that relies all too often on an unbelievable formula. Miss Sinclair?”

Addison’s head snapped up. “Yes, Professor?”

“Kindly give us an example of a trope commonly seen in romantic comedies. I am assuming you are familiar with them.”

“Y-yes,” Addison said, twirling her fuzzy-capped gel pen with her fingers. “Um, in, um, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, the two leads often fought and got on each other’s nerves but fell in love with each other anyway.”

Professor Hunt nodded. “Thank you, Miss Sinclair. A topical example of an overused trope. How often have you seen the two lead characters spend most of a movie fighting with each other, only to end up together in the end because of some ill-established passion? Far too often, I’d assume.”

As he droned on, Margot reached over and patted Addison’s arm. “Good job.”

The blonde returned the smile, relieved to have survived the encounter. “Thanks, I was dying inside.”

“Real love is nothing like that,” Hunt said, sneering. “Real love, the kind that exists outside of a cinema screen or five-dollar DVD bin, is not a predictable, clearly laden path with a clear and promised conclusion. Expecting a happily ever after in a relationship is naïve at best.”

“Who hurt him?” Addison mumbled to her.

She poked Addison again with her pencil. “Can you imagine someone loving Hunt? Or even dating him?”

“No! It'd be like dating an angry bear. It’d be a miracle if they lived to tell the tale. I heard he's single, unsurprisingly.” Addison shook her head.

“He probably has crazy high standards. Do you think he has a type?” She bit her lip, assessing her professor from afar. Though his modelling days were far behind him, he still maintained a well-kept, impeccable appearance that often made her wonder what he would look like without the constricting suits he wore like second skins. His features were both manly yet delicate, as if the world had taken its sweet time with perfecting his visage. And his jawline . . . sharp enough to cut glass. He was definitely not lacking in looks, talent, or drive, which was what made his being perpetually single all the more intriguing, though his personality made it understandable.

“Yeah, if perfect is a type. Like, someone with a model hot body, a mind as sharp as a stiletto, and a Hollywood career that's skyrocketing.” Addison giggled.

She tapped her lip with the eraser end of her pencil, thinking. “So, a fictional person.”

Addison leaned into her, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I bet it'd be like getting graded all the time. He'd be judging your outfit, insulting your conversation, critiquing your kissing technique! ‘Too much tongue. You call that a kiss? Kindly remove yourself from my sight.’”

She chuckled. “‘You’ve got to do better than that if you want me to feel anything other than complete and utter monotony.’”

“‘I've seen more believable kisses on The Bachelor.’”

The laugh that bubbled out of her was loud enough to capture the attention of the very man they were emulating. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her quickly trying to clamp her mouth shut.

“Miss Schuyler! Is something amusing? Perhaps you'd like to finish off my lecture on the difficulty of realistically portraying love?” he asked.

She straightened in her seat. “Sorry, Professor.”

“. . . And in conclusion, once a genre full of heart, the majority of romantic comedies have descended into farce bereft of true emotion. Class dismissed.” The professor strode over to his desk and began the necessary routine of shutting off the projection screen. As he did, the rest of the class stood up, stretching, and began packing their things away. Excited voices began eagerly discussing their plans for the weekend.

Thank God, Margot thought. The never-ending lecture was over. Let the weekend-

His eyes met hers, a pointed gaze. “Except for you, Miss Schuyler. Come see me. We need to talk.”

. . . Shit.

Addison touched her arm. “Do you want me to stay back, too?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said, patting her friend’s hand. “You go on ahead. Don’t be late for your bus. I know you’ve been looking forward to seeing your mom.”

Addison grinned. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“The least you can do,” she teased.

Addison’s smile waned. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on campus for the weekend? My mom said it would be no trouble at all for you to visit.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. With almost everyone going away for the long weekend, I’m going to indulge in using up all the hot water. Maybe even sit at the good table in the coffee shop. Wild stuff like that. Thank you, though.”

“Well, then,” Addison said, smile returning full-force, “I’ll be on my way. Good luck! Hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “Don’t worry about little ol’ me. I know how to deal with him.”

Addison nodded and took her leave, one of the last of the classmates to exit the hall. Gathering up the rest of her things, Margot stuffed them into her tote bag and made her way up to the professor’s desk, where he was busy rifling through his own bag and muttering to himself.

“Just one second,” he said, placing a few handfuls of odds and ends from the depths of his bag on the table.

She nodded, more fascinated by the things that he seemingly carried around with him. Of the many things on his desk, she noted a mini Rubik’s cube, a slip of paper with very faded ink that might have been a receipt or a movie ticket once, a cellophane-wrapped green-and-white mint, three expensive-looking pens of various colours and sizes, and a tube of plain blue Nivea lip balm, identical to the one she had in her purse at that very moment. While the label on hers had faded from usage and being flung around inside her bag, his looked brand new.

After brushing those items back into his bag, he placed a stack of papers on the desktop. Among them, a bright slip of paper poked out, much smaller than the rest, and made of a thicker, textured material. Curious, she pulled it out until she could read the tiny lettering.

5th Annual Los Angeles Charity Masquerade. Admit one (1). $250 admission not including fees/taxes.

She’d never been to a masquerade. She imagined they were just like that scene in Labyrinth, with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly spinning around the room, surrounded by people in grotesque masks that partly concealed their identities. Big poufy dresses and suits with coattails. Drapery and curtains and mirrors. But an LA soiree version of one probably meant champagne by the bucketful and crudités carried around by masked waiters. Perhaps live music, performed by musicians forced into formal wear, and maybe they were even masked as well. Was everyone there, guest or not, required to wear one? Were masquerades that strict? Do people who wear glasses have to-

You’re getting distracted, she told herself.

“A masquerade ball, huh? That sounds romantic.” She leaned against the desk, smirking at him. “And here I thought you were completely against the concept of romance.”

“Only someone delusional looks for love at a charity masquerade ball,” he replied scathingly. “It's a charity event and an obligation. I'm expected to attend, but there'll be no one worth talking to. As usual.”

“No date, huh?”

His eyes narrowed. “A date would require me to spend the entire evening there. I can't imagine anything worse. I'll be leaving as soon as I've made my donation to the cause. But I didn't call you up here to discuss my social calendar, Miss Schuyler. I wanted to talk about your behaviour in class. I thought, after seeing nearly all of your classmates get removed from the hall, you’d know better than to provoke me. I want to make it absolutely clear to you that it is unacceptable to disrupt my lecture. Save your chit chat for your own time, understand?”

She swallowed hard, feeling heat on her cheeks from his gaze. “Yes, Professor.”

He nodded once. “Good. You may go.”

As she left the hall, phone in hand, her heart was thumping in her chest from excitement. But not from the weekend finally starting.

She’d never been to a masquerade, after all.

But first, she’d need a dress. And shoes.

Without her stellar roommate and fashionista friend by her side, she felt entirely overwhelmed as she flipped through the overflowing closet Addi had insisted she make use of. Though she hadn’t told her the whole truth – just that she was attending an event that required formal wear – Addi had been thrilled to break up the boring bus ride with some advice.

“Not too much cleavage,” Addison said, her voice tinny through the phone speaker. “And not short, either. Knee-length or longer.”

“Do you think I’ll need gloves?” she asked. “Like Cinderella?”

Addison hummed. “Maybe. Pack a pair of elbow length white gloves in your bag, just in case. Oh my gosh. What bag are you bringing? It cannot clash. You hear me? Cannot.”

“Addi, I don’t even know what dress I’m wearing.” Margot frowned at her phone, balanced atop a stack of textbooks on her vanity. “I’m standing here in my underwear trying to figure this out. I’m pre-bibbidi-bobbidi-boo here.”

Addison’s laughter rang out of the speaker.

“I’m serious, Addi. Maybe I shouldn’t go.” She bit her lip, thinking of the money she’d spent on a ticket, money that might’ve been better spent. She was lucky that there were even tickets available. But that was beside the point. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea? Having a good time? Attending a charity event? Making career-defining connections? Come on.” Addison giggled. “Maybe you’ll even meet the love of your life there.”

“Right.” She flipped through the racks, eager to find something, anything . . . and then she saw it. A strapless, silvery blue ball gown, tight at the top but not overly cleavage-baring, that flared out at the waist to a full, silky skirt that would definitely conceal whatever shoes she would wear. She pulled it out of the closet and unzipped the clear garment bag to admire it. It was a princess dress if she ever saw one. Turning back to the phone, she quickly requested the voice call turn to a video.

Seconds later, Addison’s tired faced filled the screen. “What is it?”

Brandishing the dress out with a flourish, she ignored that she was standing in little more than a bra and panties as she showed the dress for her friend’s approval.

The gasp she heard confirmed her selection.

“You’ll be so stunning! A real-life Cinderella,” Addison said.

“Yeah,” she said absentmindedly, running her hand over the smooth fabric, already envisioning the makeup look she’d pair with the outfit.

“Except-” Addison narrowed her eyes in her best stern Hunt impression. “If you lose one of my shoes, it would be best to leave the country.”

Her taxi finally reached the front of the line, and a footman waiting on the sidewalk opened the door for her. She stepped out in her beautiful ball gown, giving the footman a grateful smile as he closed the door after her. Taking her time ascending the steps in her heels, she met another footman at the door who, after looking at her ticket and corroborating it with the guest list on a tablet, handed her a mask with ribbons.

She stepped into the hallway leading to the ballroom and found a mirror where she could put it on. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was more than pleased by her last-minute glow-up. As Addison had her closet, she had her vanity, stuffed to the brim with makeup products that she used to make herself look as chic as possible. After adjusting the mask to fit her face, she smoothed a layer of lip gloss over her lined lips and smiled to herself.

With this mask, I could be anyone . . . well, anyone smokin' hot, that is, she thought.

The ballroom was packed despite its tremendous size. Decorated Regency-style, it dripped with decadence, glass, and shine. Gold chandeliers tipped with crystals dangled from ceilings with painted murals, and tables spilled over with decadent food and sparkling drinks in crystal flutes. Famous actors and big names in the industry, though shrouded by masks of varying hues and designs, gossiped at the edges of the room, while couples danced and twirled on the floor. As she envisioned, masked waiters masterfully navigated the room, offering bite-sized treats that made her mouth water just looking at them.

After making her way around the room, taking in the splendor, she came to a stop near a pillar and sighed.

“This is incredible,” Margot said aloud.

“Isn’t it?”

She turned her head, surprised to see a man with a dark blue mask eyeing her from where he sat by the nearby bar.

“Come sit with me and let’s talk about it,” he said. The invitation, though innocuous in its wording, made her uncomfortable.

“Um,” she said. Her mind, which was usually buzzing with quips, did not offer her an out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he pressed, voice a little too firm and sharp for her liking. “I won’t bite. Come here.”

She swallowed hard at his leery gaze, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I-”

And then she felt it, a hand circling around her elbow, and she was not alone. She tilted her head up to appraise her saviour, who was looking down at her with a smile. Her saviour, tall and silver-masked, looked and spoke to her as if he knew her.

“There you are.” He led her to the other side of the bar, all the while chattering loudly as though they had come together. “Nearly lost you in this crowd.”

She knew that voice. Knew it quite well, in fact. She’d heard it in lecture halls, offices, in her nightmares and dreams, and in places unexpected.

This was one of the latter now.

He gestured to a pair of empty seats, and she gratefully took one. As soon as she was comfortable, he turned his head to look over at where that man who had been speaking at her sat. Then, he leaned against the bar, standing over the other empty seat, and picked up a half-empty glass, presumably abandoned by him when he came to her rescue.

“You should be careful,” he said sternly.

For a moment, she thought he recognized her, and she prepared for the lecture that would undoubtedly come.

“Even charity events attract the lecherous,” he continued. “You’re very welcome, by the way.” A smirk played on his lips before he took a sip of his drink.

“Thanks,” she said, for she had no clue what else to say.

He nodded once. “Do be careful with yourself. You’re bound to attract some unwanted attention. It would do you well to keep your head clear so that you may avoid future encounters. You can’t expect someone to come to your rescue every single time.”

“Nor do I expect rescue at all,” she replied. “I am no damsel in distress. Though, I guess, I kind of was for a second there, huh.”

He laughed. It wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. A genuine laugh that made him tilt his head back ever so slightly. She’d never heard him laugh like that before, but now that she had a taste, she wanted to hear it again and again. It was so unlike him, the caustic and cold professor she knew. It made him even more attractive.

“At least you’re honest.” He tilted his head at her. “I prefer to be honest.”

“I like that.” Sitting up a little straighter, Margot added, “Honesty's refreshing. One thing I've learned since I've been here, in Hollywood I mean, is that too many people are willing to lie to your face or cheat to get ahead.”

He glanced at his watch. “Is that so?” He killed his drink and then levelled his gaze with hers. “And you’re not one of them?”

“No,” she said, then thought better of it. “Not yet, at least. Not if I can help it.”

“So, you want to get ahead.” He finally lowered himself into the seat beside hers.

He gestured to the bartender for a refill, and she took the opportunity to order herself a drink. The bartender nodded at them and turned away.

“I want to be a household name. A famous actress.”

He leaned forward, close to her. “Here's some more truth for you . . . everyone here wants to be something. But not everyone here is going to succeed.”

Stubbornly, she said, “I will.”

“You're brash, naive, and overly confident. I used to be that way, before. . .” His smirk waned, then disappeared altogether. It was clear he was not mentally in this room anymore.

She wondered what he was thinking about.

The bartender slid his scotch refill to him, then delicately placed her drink on a coaster in front of her. He picked up his glass and took a rather large gulp.

“. . . Ahem. Excuse me. I'm Thomas. And you are?”

Honesty’s refreshing, she had said just moments earlier. Too many people are willing to lie to get ahead.

She truly didn’t want to lie to him, not now. But she also sensed that revealing herself now would mean that she wouldn’t get to keep talking to him like this or hear that laugh.

And, honestly, what good would come out of angering him after he’d been so kind to her?

“Someone who doesn't like to reveal all her secrets.” She smiled coyly, taking a sip from the paper straw in her drink. “It's a masquerade ball, after all.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You don't have to be so coy. I don't need a name to figure out who you are. Or anyone in this room, for that matter.” Turning so that he could assess the crowd around them, he nodded towards different masked guests. “Timothee Chalamet; his hair is distinctive, as is his stature. Charlize Theron; note the regal way she carries herself, much like several of her most notable characters. Adam Driver; tall, kind of awkward gait, a low voice that carries over the crowd.”

“Very impressive, Thomas,” she said, trying out his name on her tongue. It was sort of strange to refer to him so casually, but she’d have to adapt if she wanted to keep this going on.

He took another sip, clearly pleased to be right. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Though she enjoyed the game they were playing, she decided to really test him. “Here’s a harder challenge: do you know who I am?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I've been wondering that the moment you arrived. Something about you is familiar, almost loathsome, yet at the same time, forgive me, attractive.” He tilted his head. “You’re not going to tell me who you are, are you?”

Though her heart was pounding, she kept it cool. “Maybe at the end of the night. Unless you're planning on leaving early. Are you?”

“No.” He broke eye contact with her long enough to get the bartender’s attention, and he gestured for another refill. “No, I’m not.”

At some point, in the midst of their conversation, the music had noticeably gone softer and slower. He finished his drink and sighed, placing the glass onto the countertop, but just as he was about to request another refill, she captured his attention with a hand on his arm.

“We should dance,” Margot said, springing out of her seat. “Care to join me?”

He hesitated, and her glossed lips pouted.

Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. He straightened his tie and gave her a smirk.

“Do try to keep up,” he teased, buttoning his suit jacket before offering her his arm. They slipped through the crowd, the guests not dancing parting for them as easily as water. As soon as they reached the dance floor, he took the lead, taking her in his arms and guiding her. She was slow, cautious. He watched her fight her instinct to look at their feet.

“If you're nervous, this dance will be over before it even begins,” he warned, though his grip on her tightened.

She pulled him closer, emboldened by the drink in her system and the fact that he didn’t know who she was, and smiled up at him.

“Do I seem nervous, Thomas?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not at all. I’m surprised. You’re not completely horrible at this.”

She batted her eyelashes. “You say such charming things.”

They both laughed as he whirled her around the room.

She didn’t know how long they’d been dancing for, but she knew they were being watched. The crowd of dancers had thinned considerably since they had first arrived on the dance floor, and now many spectators lined the floor, watching with increasing interest as she and her partner weaved around the other dancers, doing increasingly interesting moves at his lead.

Her heart was pounding, the music was building to a crescendo, and he spun her around the dance floor faster and faster.

Don’t puke, she told herself. Do not do it. Your reputation will not recover. Not with whoever’s in attendance, and certainly not with Thomas.

His voice came from somewhere to her right. “Keep to my tempo, or you'll fall behind.”

He spun her out and away from him.

The world beyond the dance floor seemed as if was moving in slow motion, while she was stuck on fast-forward. She felt like she was one of the fairy toys that spun around and around in the air, aimless and free, before meeting a wall or piece of furniture and clattering to the floor. She braced herself for impact.

But then her hands connected with his again, and the crowd that had gathered to watch the dancers applauded as he pulled her back into his embrace.

“You learn quickly. I wish you were one of my students,” he whispered in her ear.

Her stomach, which had felt so light just moments before, now felt heavy and twisted.

“You’re a teacher,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “I teach at a local university.”

“How . . . nice.” It was the best she could come up with at the moment.

After she had become too dizzy from the spinning, he escorted her off the dance floor with an amused smile. He led her through the ballroom and out onto a private balcony cordoned off by a thick dark velvet curtain. Taking her hand, they stepped closer to the railing, into the cool evening air.

After giving her a long look, he let go of her hand and slowly removed his mask. The silver-lined blue barrier fell away to reveal him. He looked even more handsome up close, with a shy smile on his lips and the bright light from a single lantern hanging above them illuminating his debonair features.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, stunned by seeing him so unguarded, and even more handsome up close. “Not at all.”

The ocean waves below were muted by her heartbeat. Above them, she noted the sun setting, the sky becoming an ombre canvas of oranges, reds, and pinks. It was truly a stunning sight, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Still smiling, he reached out and took her hands in his.

His voice was husky, low. “You are definitely the best part of the night. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. I can sense something about you, a connection . . . I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I just met, but I can't seem to stop myself.”

She felt as though she was not breathing. As if she might never breathe again.

Moving even closer, he circled his arms around her waist, tilted her head up, and leaned in, eyes closing just before they made contact.

She was surprised by how sweetly he kissed her, how delicately he held her, as though she would slip away in the faintest breeze. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him until they were nearly inseparable. She thought she could hear fireworks somewhere, and wondered if she was only imagining them, but when they finally pulled back from the kiss, she saw flashes of colour illuminating his face in vibrant hues.

“Thomas,” she said breathlessly.

And then his mouth was on hers again, pulling her closer still, until his back was against the wall, and her hand was on the back of his neck, holding him to her. She felt his fingers on her back, just above the silk of the strapless dress, and she shivered and pressed herself tighter to him.

“Please,” he whispered raggedly once they separated again. “I have to know who you are.”

Margot stilled.

He reached around her and began tugging on the ribbons of her mask. She watched him closely, letting him untie the knots, savouring what very well may be the last moment she would have with him like this. 

The mask fell away from her face, and she watched him recognize her, watched his eyes widen and face twist in betrayal and anger before he stepped back and pressed a hand against his mouth in horror. Her blood ran cold as his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened to one of complete disdain.

“Margot? How - how dare you?” he gasped. “You – you – I cannot believe this! You lied to me! You deceived me! You seduced me! How could you?”

His rejection, though expected, pained her in ways she couldn’t even describe. As though his words were branding irons, burning his hatred into her flesh.

“You’re the last person I wanted to see behind that mask,” he spat. “You, of all the people in the world.”

He kept hurting her, hurting her, like he didn’t care. And perhaps he didn’t, now that he knew the truth.

“I can’t believe I - Dear God, I kissed a student.” He leaned back against the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths to keep himself steady.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she watched him denounce her in every way possible. Even though he’d bragged about being able to identify anyone, he didn’t expect her, didn’t even cross his mind to guess her, and for some reason it hurt her more than anything else.

“Some part of you might’ve known it was me,” she said indignantly. “You were bragging that you-”

He let out a caustic laugh at that. “Why would I want you to be someone I despise? Someone I don’t respect? I’m disgusted with you and myself.”

And that was all she needed to hear.

Pushing past him, she covered her face – and the tears streaking down them – as she rushed out of the gala and into the night.

The taxi ride back to the dorms was awkward, mostly because she spent the entire ride sniffling, trying to hold back her tears, and using up the Kleenex the driver kept a box of by the rear windshield. After tipping him, she sprung out of the taxi and didn’t stop running until she was safely back in her room.

It was there that Margot allowed herself to fully break down. In that beautiful princess dress, she flopped onto her bed and sobbed, hugging herself tightly, letting out all the anger and frustration and pain that she felt at being so heavily and heartlessly rejected by him. She cried for the way he looked at her. Sobbed at the beautiful moments they shared that were now tainted by the conclusion of the night. She ached for what could have been and wept for her naivete.

A part of her knew that there was no way anything could’ve come from it. But she’d let herself fall into the fairy tale, accepting him as her stand-in prince for the evening, and felt charmed by their conversing, their somewhat playful banter, and the compatibility in their dancing skills. And the kisses they shared . . .

Though her chest and throat ached from crying, if she closed her eyes tight enough, she could still feel his mouth against hers, languid and sweet in its kiss.

There was something there. She knew it.

It hurt her to know that, even if he sensed something too, he would never acknowledge it.

Twenty minutes away from the Hollywood U dorms, Thomas Hunt sat on his bed, still in his suit from the masquerade, drinking scotch straight from the bottle. Two pairs of masks lay beside him, one slightly more rumpled than the other from its owner stepping on it as she ran from the private balcony.

Setting the bottle down on the bedside table, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back to the beginning of it all, pushing past the haze the alcohol left in his head.

He’d spotted her the moment she walked in and had kept an eye on her since she began making her way around the ballroom. And, from the sounds of the men sitting close by him, he was not the only one who had noticed her.

The dress she wore made her ethereal, like she’d stepped out of a dream. The shiny silk that hugged her frame before flowing to the floor, coupled with her demure yet entrancing makeup and the awed look in her eyes from behind her mask, set her apart from the rest.

He took a large gulp of his drink and loosened his tie.

She got closer, and one of the wolves made their move.

As if by an unknown force pulling him forward, he found himself walking up to her, his mind struggling to catch up with his actions as he offered her a way out of the clearly unwanted interaction.

“There you are.” He led her to the seat he had previously occupied and was pleased to find that one of the men had taken flight upon seeing them interact. She sat down and looked up at him curiously, as if wondering why he had saved her from being potentially preyed upon.

“You should be careful,” he said. “Even charity events attract the lecherous. You’re very welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

He knew that voice. The sincerity of the gratitude, tinged with sarcasm at having to reply at all.

She seemed not to have recognized him. He wondered how long it would be before she did. Though the mask concealed some of her features, with his close proximity he was quick to identify her by other things that gave her away, like her high cheekbones and dark tresses she’d pulled into a half-up hairdo and, now, her distinctive voice.

He felt tempted to call her out on it and send her on her way home, but at the same time, he wanted to know where this would go. Revealing what he knew would mean that he wouldn’t get to keep talking to her like this.

And it was a masquerade ball, after all.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Brownie Points || Evelyn and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Perfect Pint PARTIES: @thronesofshadows​ and @chasseurdeloup​ SUMMARY: Evelyn and Kaden have an unexpected guest at the bar.

It had been entirely too long since Kaden had seen Evelyn. They kept making plans but White Crest had a way of delaying those. Whether it was due to weirdness or death or goddamn mimes, it didn’t matter. Either way, it was a welcome relief to walk into the Perfect Pint and see a football game on (a real football game) and a friend waiting for him at a table. “Hey, good to see you,” he said with a small smile. “I see you already have a drink. I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” Kaden had gotten much better at being punctual since dating Regan but he still wasn’t fantastic. He sure fucking tried though. “And here I was going to ask you what you wanted. How’ve you been?”

She found Kaden’s company enjoyable. Despite the fact that he might have not been the sort of person who she would have first gravitated toward back in England, she was a new person, now - had been the last four years, she supposed. So when the two of them had finally found a time to see one another, she’d jumped at the chance. Certainly, the Perfect Pint has nothing on the Artesian but it was miles better than some other bars in town, and had a certain feeling of home. Or at least of her time at Cambridge, going out to pubs with friends. Evelyn had arrived early and grabbed one of the free tables, ordering a drink for herself. After a few moments she looked up and spotted Kaden entering the bar. Her face lit up and she motioned for him to come to her table. “Well, you know, one must consistently survey one’s competition.” With a small smirk, she shrugged. “You can get the next round, how does that sound? I have been well. I have to say, I would have thought a beachfront property would be entirely ideal - however, the ocean - for whatever reason - keeps causing quite a few difficulties.” She made a face. “How about you though? How have you been?”

“Oh, of course. Though I think you might attract a bit of a different clientele,” he said with a small smile. Kaden settled into the seat across from her and put in an order of beer with the waitress. “I think I can handle that, though. Assuming you’re letting me pay for something for once.” He wasn’t exactly rolling in money or anything but he always felt guilty whenever Evelyn just paid for things or gave him stuff or gave him money to help with shit. He couldn’t pay for anything like that for her but he could get a round of drinks or two. Hell, this was the most money he’d had at one time if he was being honest. He’d never had a steady job a day in his life aside from hunting. And hunting didn’t exactly pay on its own. As shitty as White Crest could be, this was the most comfortably he’d lived since possibly when his parents were alive. “Good to hear. Still can’t believe the ocean went fucking black. Only in White Crest.” Kaden went to pick up his drink, only to find it wasn’t on the side he’d left it. It was in his right hand last time, right? But now it was on his left. Odd. He just reached over and took a sip. “I’ve been alright. You know all those eyeballs everywhere back a bit ago? All human. Missing persons. A lot of work for the WCPD and the morgue to identify as many as we could. One of them was the last animal control officer. Which, uh, that was great.” Maybe this wasn’t the best topic of conversation for what was meant to be an easy evening with friends. Too late. Putain.

“I do indeed.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though I do remain surprised that prior to my opening my bar, something like this did not exist.” Evelyn shrugged, “though I suppose that a small town in Maine should not be expected to be quite as high class as London.” She crossed her legs, “yes, I will permit you to pay for something. I think I would be able to manage that.” She took a careful sip of her drink as she listened to what Kaden was saying. “So it would seem. You know, I would have thought a beachfront house in Maine would have been ideal but given everything that this town has gone through in the past few months, I am starting to wonder if I had made a terrible mistake. Not that I plan to move, I have put far too much work into my home, but I would prefer to have things on my beach remain a bit calmer. Though perhaps that is too much to ask.” She placed her drink down and nodded for a moment before her eyes grew wide. “Human?” She shook her head. “That sounds like a ton of work and - oh. Oh no.” She reached out for a moment, placing her hand on Kaden’s arm before pulling back again. Ready to take another sip of her drink, except that somehow it was closer to where Kaden was sitting now. “Apologies, I must have moved it and forgotten.” She grabbed it and brought it back over to where she was sitting. “I hope that other than that, things have been going well?”

“Well this is what you get for owning property in White Crest. But it could be worse, I guess. It’s not like your house flooded or anything right?” Kaden couldn’t even imagine owning property so the whole concept was still a little foreign to him. Renting a place all by himself without desperate need for a roommate or begging one of his hunter connections for help was a big step up for him. “Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he said, trying to bring the mood back up. He hadn’t meant to tank it so soon. “I’m alright, really. I’m just glad Regan isn’t trying to work twenty-four seven on the whole thing now that it’s calmed down. I mean, she still would probably work that much if she could regardless but it’s nice that she doesn’t have to.” Not that she could due to the whole necklace time limit thing. There was a clang to their left and Kaden looked down at the silverware sprawled on the floor. Huh, it must be his. Did his elbow knock it over? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t matter too much. He reached down to pick them up and placed them on the side of the table. “Guess I’ll just have to ask the waitress for--” When he looked back at her, he had to stifle a laugh. “Uh, you want to tell me why there’s a napkin on your head? Latest fashion trend?” he joked. “It doesn’t seem like it’s quite your style.”

“It did flood, once, actually.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “And although it was a bit abnormal in what actually happened, I suppose flooding can happen if one lives in close proximity to the ocean or another body of water.” She shook her head. “Listen, we are here for conversation. I spent many of my years growing up listening to people lie through their teeth about how perfect everything was. I hardly need all conversation to be peppy.” Evelyn grinned. “However, we can move beyond the conversation. I am not one to force anyone on anything.” She nodded as Kaden continued to talk. “I am glad for that as well. I ought to reach out to her again sometime. I find her company enjoyable and I would like her to know that,” especially despite everything confusing that happened with Alain. She followed Kaden’s gaze to the floor before he looked back up at her and began almost laughing. Before she could frown and inform him that it was not polite to laugh at friends, she felt something on her head just as he was asking her and she pulled it off quickly. “Not my style, nor is it a fashion trend. Save for the occasional headband or hair tie, I do not tend to do much with my hair. Least of all napkins.” She threw it on the floor and for an extra step of good measure, ground the heel of her shoe into it. “I like to be effective whenever possible.” She grinned. “Though I might ask you, what exactly is a spoon doing behind your ear? I thought that was most often a place for pens or other writing instruments.” Just then, a glass shattered on the table next to them and Evelyn made herself jump just slightly. “Perhaps my tolerance is no longer what it used to be, what with everything I feel like I am seeing. This drink is hardly anything strong.”

So many fucked up things had happened in this town that Kaden almost forgot the red sky, the flooding, and the fish rain. Almost. “Right. Yeah. I guess I’m not used to people really wanting to hear much that isn’t surface level.” Then again, he spent a lot of time avoiding anything deep or meaningful with people. It was easier to up and move if he didn’t care about anyone and if no one cared about him. “I’m sure she’d enjoy that. She thinks she doesn’t have a lot of friends. Which isn’t really true but hey, I guess I say the same.” And yet here he was with a friend, sitting at a bar, talking to a friend, and laughing at her dramatics with the napkin. “I pr-- I didn’t put it there, I can assure you. Wait, what?” His brow furrowed as he reached back to feel the metal utensil resting behind his ear. “Putain de merde, how in the hell?” He was about to start looking around for something, anything that could have caused this, when his head snapped towards the direction of the clatter of glass shattering. “Yeah, I barely had any of mine. I don’t think this is inebriation.” Then he saw it, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Sure looked like a monster to him. Not that he could make out the details. As soon as it noticed that Kaden had caught a glance, it gasped and turned invisible. “It’s either a brownie or..” he mumbled to himself, forgetting he was in company. “Uh, I mean a brownie sounds like a great idea right now. To eat. If they have one. You think they have one? Hey, where’s that server,” he asked, frantically glancing around for their waiter. And checking for the fucking borwnie at the same time.

“Do not worry, it is new for me as well. Back home? So much surface level knowledge. I can tell you all the designers that people wore to parties and probably list multiple accomplishments, but not many actually deep pieces of information. In case you have not noticed, I do not always share so very much.” It admittedly felt odd to even admit that much, but Kaden was someone who Evelyn did consider to be a friend, and so perhaps it was okay. “I think you are both delightful people and likely have more people who you might consider a friend than either of you think.” She shrugged. “I mean, I did not think you had, though -” she scrunched her nose up, before Kaden’s gaze shifted and she had to look towards where he was looking. “No, it has to be something -” something in the corner of the bar moved and then it was gone. Well, that wasn’t normal. “What? I am not sure if a bar will serve that sort of thing but it never hurts to ask.” She let Kaden wave the waiter over as she scanned the room. Something was amiss, and the only question was to try and figure it out without Kaden wondering what was going on - she didn’t know everything about the supernatural by any means, but she did know that bizarre and unexplained things in this town could frequently have that sort of explanation. The waiter arrived and Evelyn flashed them a smile. “My friend and I were wondering if you offer any sort of desserts here. Brownies? Admittedly, I do not love sweets,” or any human food, really, “but he mentioned it and now I can’t get it out of my mind.” She flashed them a smile as she moved her body to look behind them, spotting a flash of something on the bartop, just as another glass fell off and onto the floor.

Funny, Kaden hadn’t expected Evelyn to talk about shallow friendships or what not. Maybe it was just because he assumed most normal people formed connections easier than he did. Without the whole hunter bullshit, it almost seemed easy. Or something. Then again, when she pointed it out, he realized there was a fair amount about her he was unaware of. “Guess that’s true. But neither do I. I like what I know so far, though,” he said with a shrug. Of course she’de noticed something was off, too. He hoped he could sneak away, excuse himself to the restroom or something and deal with the brownie on his own. But now the waiter was coming. “Brownies, yup. Just had a, uh, hankering?” Was that the right word? He didn’t know. It sounded painfully american. “Hankering, yes,” the waiter replied in an Irish accent. It sounded just as stupid on his tounge as Kaden’s. “Sorry, sir, I don’t think we have any brow--” Just as the waiter was talking, Kaden saw the monster grabbing for glasses behind the bar, likely to throw or smash. And it looked like the thing was going to throw it at the waiter. “Doesn’t matter! Duck!” he shouted and pulled the waiter away. “I changed my mind. Don’t need that brownie. It’s fine.” He had to figure out how to deal with this monster while she was here. Putain.

“Better to have a select few things you like than a multitude of low quality accessories.” Evelyn gave another shrug. “Perhaps we will have to get to know one another more, sometime.” About everything save for the whole not-being-human thing. “I like what I know about you so far too.”  Except that now the waiter was coming over and Kaden was all of a sudden actually talking about brownies and the waiter was looking at the two of them and responding and Evelyn offered him an apologetic smile before Kaden was yelling at him to duck and she moved too, the glass just missing the waiter. “Yes, too much sugar.” She gave a shrug as the waiter quickly moved away, muttering something about messy bar patrons when Evelyn bit her lip. Something was up and she wasn’t sure what to do about it. She didn’t know exactly what was up in the first place, and she wasn’t about to out herself as having more knowledge than a socialite from London was supposed to have. “I feel like I owe you. Every time I end up in a bar with you things go awry. I don’t see any mimes this time though.” She glanced around the bar again, trying to track wherever whatever the being was, was. “Which I do not mean as a joke, I am relieved for that at least.”

Kaden was relieved that no one was hurt at the flying glass, but he still wanted to know what the fuck was going on. It was highly unfortunate that this shit always seemed to happen to him in bars that weren’t the Bullet. Was he cursed or some shit? “Nah, don’t worry about it. I think this is me, not you.” He shook his head and took another sip of his beer. I wonder if Morgan would eat this. His brows furrowed and looked at her. “Would she eat, what? A brownie?” Did zombies eat brownies? “Wait, you know Morgan, too?” As soon as he asked, a creature, about the height of a toddler, with green leathery looking skin and long floppy ears, just appeared on the table. And took it’s long clawed finger and touched it to Evelyn’s nose before growling and laughing. Kaden sat there blinking, jaw dropped, unable to move. He should have grabbed a knife, grabbed it, anything, but it just disappeared as soon as it came. And she’d seen it. No doubt. Moment of truth, right? “Uh, so, you, uh…” He couldn’t figure out what to say. His code said to keep the supernatural from humans as much as possible. It was a good policy, ignorance was bliss. But was she ignorant to the supernatural? Putain. “That, uh, you saw--”

Evelyn made a small face. “No, I think…” What exactly did she think? Something unnatural was going on here, but she couldn’t exactly say that to Kaden. “It is not you. I think that the misbehavior that occurs in this town is quite a bit more extreme than I have seen in other places. Or, well, at least when compared with London.” Just take Felix’s hand. It’ll make you feel better. “Whose hand? You know I am dating Alain, right?” She blinked. “What did you say - yes. I do know Morgan. We talk about literature a great deal. She might eat a brownie.” All of a sudden some thing jumped up in front of Evelyn and she made a face of utter disgust. Which perhaps was cruel of her, but then again, she was startled in the moment. As much as she could be. Surprised, more than anything else. Then it was gone almost as quickly as it had come about and Kaden was staring at her. “I - I think?” She turned her head to the side, pursing her lips. “Something weird, but I have been sleeping funny lately. Did you see something?” Knife. “Did you need a knife for something? Were you asking about that?” She brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “For the brownies?”

“Sure is a weird town, alright. Nothing like Ly--” His hometown was a supernatural hot spot of its own right, it’s why his parents had made it their home base. “Well, alright it’s perhaps a bit like Lyon but the weird was never so consistent there,” Kaden said. His brow furrowed at her question. “Of course I know you’re dating Alain, I lost that bet if you recall.” He huffed out a small laugh remembering that night. Putain, he’d been so stupid not to see that Regan was a banshee then in hindsight, the cracked glass. So many small pieces of the puzzle kept filling even now. The sheer amount of willful ignorance he clung to then. He couldn't say shit about Regan’s resistance to the truth, not after that. “That’s, uh, that’s good you know Morgan. She’s--” He still didn't know how he felt about Morgan. “She’s an interesting person.” If zombies were people. Jury was still out on that. At Evelyn’s reaction to the creature, or lack thereof more accurately, Kaden’s face pulled into a thin line instead of the smile he was trying for. Not going to talk about it. Great. He could deal with denial. Putain, he was dating denial. “Yeah, weird, very-- Huh?!” His eyes went wide at the mention of a knife. Was she reading his mind? Is that why there were odd gabs and leaps in their conversation? Shit. Don’t think about being a hunter. No, not a hunter. Never once had he hunted a werewolf or killed a brownie just like the one right there a minute ago. Stop, oh god, why couldn’t he stop thinking about every hunting trip he’d ever taken in his entire life just then? “Yeah. Knife for the brownies. That’s--” Kaden panicked and looked down at his watch. Wait. That was on his other hand. He looked at his watch. “Oh is that, the time? I have to… Go. Fee Abel. Soon.” He stood up from the booth. “I’m sorry, maybe we’ll do this some other time.” He pulled out his wallet and put down some cash that looked like it ought to cover their drinks and a tip and an apology for all the bullshit damage that had happened that wasn’t even his fault. “We could try a cafe next time. Might have more luck.”

“London was never quite so weird either.” Evelyn gave a small shrug. “I know you know that - I thought you said something else. I am still sorry about you losing that bet but you were right. Even if we hadn’t started dating when you first started asking me about it.” She gave a small shrug at his comment about Morgan. “She is interesting, yes. We met on purpose but apparently she knew who I was because of the whole former model thing. Which is not a connection I expected to make here in America, but there you have it.” She bit her lip for a moment at his confusion. He was human - the whatever-it-was must’ve startled him. “...how you cut them?” She turned her head to the side. “Of course.” She stood up too - perhaps a bit too suddenly. “We can do this any other time you want. I’d agree with a café. Or just come by my place. We’ve had luck there.” She fought away the urge to throw down a couple hundred dollars - she had told Kaden she would let him pay, hadn’t she? “I think we should give bars a pass for now, though I swear, mine’s been fine barring that one incident that we shall not speak of.”

[buttered-ghost-toast]

Listen, if you don't fill out all of those numbers and tell me everything about your MC I'm going to feel robbed

Oh geez, fam! ...aight. That took me a minute. But below you will find out more about my girl, Niri! 

1.      What is their favourite food?—

Cheeseburgers and carrots. 

2.       Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal? –

Not a fan of snakes, lizards, frogs, sharks.

3.       What do they wear to bed? –

Shorts and a t-shirt. Sometimes nothing at all!! That had to stop when she moved into the HoL though. Brothers poppin’ in at all hours gettin’ an eyeful. Lucifer was upset. 

4.       Do they like cuddling?—

1000000000%. Niri’s a big ol’ cuddle bug. Asmo’s all about it. So is Beel. 

5.       Do they have a secret handshake with anyone? -- With Astaroth. It’s quite elaborate and they only ever do it when they decide to get up to trouble.

 6.       What do they look like? – 

She cute if I may say so myselffff (don’t judge me, she’s a self insert hah!) Mid to slightly above average height for a human female, fairly toned. Brown eyes, mid-back length hair that’s brown at the root, fades to a teal and purple under layers. Sometimes her hair will fade to a light yellowy-green. She has the hookup for dye from Barbatos who likes to procure things for her from the human realm. She also has quite a few tattoos.

 7.       Do they like chocolate? –

Only dark. She’s allergic to additives in certain milk chocolates so she doesn’t eat it much. 

 8.      What are their good and bad traits?

Good: Helpful, kind, encouraging, quite a hard worker in any task given her.

Bad: Easily swept up into trouble by others, will prioritize naps over other stuff sometimes, awfully flirtatious which gets her in hot water with Lucifer because apparently lesser demons keep poppin’ by the house with gifts also HUMAN, DID YOU REALLY JUST SAY THAT TO LORD DIAVOLO?! Oopsssssss~ Also, you know how Luci’s always doing the “MAAAAMMMOOOONNNNN…”…yeah, that’s almost always followed by “NIIIIIRIIIIIIIIII….”

 9.      Do they have any artistic talent?

Yes. She’s a musician so there’s that…and she likes to paint.

10.  What is their favourite room to be in, in the house they live in?

She likes the music room since the boys tend to spend quite a bit of time in there together, but she’s usually found in the kitchen making loads of food and baked goods…also, that’s where you’re more likely to find Beel, and she reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally likes Beel.

11.  Do they believe in luck?

To an extent. She believes that luck exists, but she thinks relying on it is a bit naïve.

12.  Can they do magic?

Like pull a rabbit out of a hat type thing? Yes. She picked up a few little tricks here and there from a friend who loves show magic. Def not the real stuff though.

13.  Do they believe in dragons?

She didn’t until she went to the Devildom. Not that they just have dragons hangin’ out all willy-nilly, but she’s heard stories from the brothers and others about dragons.

 14.  What is a pet peeve of theirs?

Rudeness and liars who don’t give up even after they’ve been caught in the lie. Also people who demand things of others as if they’re property and not living beings with feelings …this isn’t about Belphegor at all. Nope. She doesn’t have issues with him still.

15.  What was the last thing they cried about?

She was able to talk to all her bandmates at once for her weekly call home. They all just really miss each other, ok? It sucks that she has to lie to them about where she is because she knows they’re worried about her, but it was just nice to hear their voices.

16.  What is their sexuality?

Pan.

17.  Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend?

We’ll narrow this down to the Devildom. Niri gets along with everyone and literally loves all the beings she’s met and knows she could count on them for most anything, but there’s definitely a more solid feeling to her connection with Beelzebub. They sort of just get to be vulnerable and entirely open with one another and there is never judgement or ill will, even when Beel eats her secret snack stash…again.

 She’s kind of getting to that point with Astaroth as well, but she can sense he’s still a little guarded in certain aspects, and she’s not going to push.

18.  Have they ever been in a romantic relationship?

Yes, quite a few. It’s not her favorite thing to talk about since she’s been quite unlucky in that aspect, but hey, the past is the past.

19.  What does their relationship with their family look like? Are they close? Distant? Ect.

Her actual family family (with the exception of her brother) are not close in the least. They’re sort of barely on speaking terms. Her chosen family (comprised of her band and some of the closest staff) is extremely close.

20.  Do they have a pet?

No. She loves animals and had a dog up until recently, but they passed. It’s okay though, they had a good long life and it wasn’t painful for them when it happened.

21.  Do they have a familiar?

Nope. Non-magical.

22.  Are they a supernatural being?

Nope! “Boring” human, but she does seem to always find herself in weird situations that are sorta paranormal.

23.  How do they usually wear their hair?

It really just depends on the day. If she had time to work on it, it’s down and straight. If it’s a rush in the morning (read: fight for the bathroom because Beel won’t MOVE) she’ll toss it in a bun or ponytail depending on how hot it is outside. There are the odd days when she’ll just let it vibe in its natural wavy/curly state, but she kind of got fed up with the brothers calling her a sheep because it’s so fluffy.

24.  Can they play an instrument? If so, what instrument and what can they play?

Yes! She learned guitar and bass at a young age and was tinkering with drums before she was whisked away to the Devildom.

25.  What type a high schooler are/were they?

She was the quiet weird kid that didn’t quite fit in with the weird weird crowd, but also wasn’t popular. Plenty of people knew her or of her, but she mainly stuck with her group of friends and was nice to everyone.

26.  Have they ever been in a physical fight before? If so, with who? Who won?

Yes. Just small bits of violence. No one of import, tbh. But there was that one time they all went out to party at the fall and Mammon and Levi started teasing her and in her drunken state, Niri went to punch Mammon who managed to duck so she hit Levi square in the nose. He was fiiiiiiine.

27.  What is their favourite holiday?

Halloween because it’s fun, Christmas because of the togetherness, and EASTER BECAUSE MARSHMALLOW PEEPS!

 28.  If they could have one wish, what would they wish for?

A pass to go from the Devildom to the Human realm and back whenever she wants forever.

 29.  Do they wants kids? If they already have kids, do they want more?

No. Never.

 30.  Do they have a job?

Yes? Being a singer in a band is a job, right? It doesn’t always feel like a job because it’s awesome, but it’s a job.

 31.  Do they know how to drive?

Yes. She has convinced Mammon to let her drive his car on a few occasions and every time they get back he swears NEVER AGAIN. She a little speed demon.

 32.  Do they get stressed out easily?

Funny story, actually…YES. But she is pretty good at not letting it show. So on the outside she’s like la-la-la~ but inside it’s all AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~~~

 33.  Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it?

Absolutely lol. Niri has gone through a few colors in her life, but her favorite is and always will be the teal. (Fun fact: the purple came from a happy accident a few years back when she dyed over a pink shade and a layer turned out purple. She liked it so now she does it that way on purpose.)

 34.  Have they ever broken the law?

Never anything egregious, but she’s gotten tickets for stuff in the human world. Disturbing the peace, speeding, she was fined once (along with her bandmates) for a surprise free show they did in front of a train station which got a lot more attention than they were expecting and wound up shutting down a couple city blocks. Oooooooooopsss~

 35.  Do they own a plant?

She’s really bad with plants. REALLY bad. She was gifted a plant by Simeon a couple weeks into the exchange program and it took an embarrassingly long time for her to notice it was a fake plant…since he knows she sucks at keeping things alive.

 36.  Have they ever rode a horse before?

Once, and it was a terrifying experience so she just keeps her distance now.

 37.  What is their favorite gif?

anything featuring Titus Andromedon.

 38.  Do they get along with others easily?

 She tries to. It’s not always possible, but she tries, dammit!

 39.  Do they have any tattoos?

Several, yes. One arm sleeve done, starting the other arm, both thighs have massive pieces on them and both ribs done as well. There are also a few small things on her fingers and back.

 40.  If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

Lotta hair. Looooooottttta hair. And heavily winged eyeliner. Big lashes.

 41.  What is their favourite breed of dog?

Huskies. They’re just so cute and sassy! And perfectly sized!! Great cuddle buddies and fun to run with!

 42.  Do they live with anyone? If so, who?

Not in the human world, but she’s got 7 kinda irritating roomies in the Devildom!

 43.  Where is their dream vacation?

She’s traveled extensively, so there isn’t anywhere she dreams of going that she hasn’t already seen. Her favorite place is anywhere mountainous and lush.

 44.  Do they know more than one language?

Yep. Niri’s a language nerd. Because she likes to speak to fans and stuff, she has set it on herself to learn as many languages as she can. She’s not perfectly fluent in all of them, but it’s a good handful that she can hold a full conversation in. She and Satan like to practice with one another around the house, despite complaints from the others.

 45.  Are they a quick learner?

Depends. Most things, yes…..math and processes requiring math, NO.

 46.  Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win?

No, she’s not really the luck having type.

 47.  If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with?

Probably hugging Beel. They hug often. They’re kinda always together. It’s gross according to Leviathan and Belphegor.

 48.  What does their room look like?

She didn’t change much in the room she was given at the HoL. Just added her fake plant from Simeon and a few human things…she actually got the “Hang in There” kitty poster just for kicks. Lucifer hates it.

 49.  If they could have an extinct animal for a pet, what would they have?

A dodo bird. Because they’re weird and cool.

 50.  If they got called out by someone, what would they do?

Laugh and argue probably. Depends what they’re calling her out on.

51.  Have they ever shot a gun before?

Yep. Actually enjoys shooting, it’s a fun stress reliever. She makes a point to drop by shooting ranges every once in a while back home.

 52.  Have they ever been axe throwing?

Once at a renaissance festival on an odd week of downtime. She didn’t do so well. The throwing was fine, but she never hit the target. Just be glad she didn’t hit a person either!

 53.  What is something that they want but can’t have?

At the moment, all the people she loves in one place.

 54.  Do they know how to fish?

Nope! She’s a mess with that kind of thing. Also, she doesn’t like the idea of fishing for anything herself. It makes her cry to think of the fish on the hook :<.

 55.  What is something they always wanted to do but too scared?

Hmm…Niri tries to live her life in a way that she won’t have regrets, so even if something is scary, she’ll pluck up the courage to do it. But…she still hasn’t jumped out of a plane.

 56.  Do they own their own baby pictures?

Absolutely not. She cringes thinking of the outfits her parents used to put her in, so she did her best to keep those kinds of things buried and acts like they never existed. Nope. Was never a baby. Nope.

 57.  What makes them standout among others?

Niri is a pro at pretending she’s confident, so she tends to draw attention when she walks in a room like she owns the place. Also her hair is kinda bright.

 58.  Do they like to show off?

Not really. She’s flamboyant in a sense, but she doesn’t go out of her way to call attention or to be center stage…heh.

 59.  What is their favourite song?

She can never pick, honestly. There are so many songs that are so amazing!

 60.  What would be their dream vehicle?

That’s a very good question. Probably something sitting in her garage back home. Probably being driven by one of her bandmates. Because hey, what are friends for?

 61.  What is their favourite book?

Not that she isn’t a big reader, but she doesn’t really get the time to enjoy books. There’s always something that needs attention or someplace to be and she’s required to engage, so focusing on a book or story is hard, but she’s a fan of classic novels, poetry, and Greek tragedies are always good!

 62.  Who, in their opinion, makes the best food?

She likes everything Barbatos makes and thinks Luke’s desserts are fantastic, but there’s something about a human recipe that just warms her heart, so…..herself. Lol.

 63.  Are they approachable?

Absolutely! If you can get past her intimidating resting face.

 64.  Did they ever change their appearance?

Not drastically, but she has gone through a few different phases until settling on a good one.

65.  What makes them smile?

The silliness of those around her. Thinking of good memories with family/friends. Puppies.

 66.  Do they like glowsticks?

Yes. She has a stockpile of glowsticks that the brothers keep adding to.

 67.  What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile?

Watching the brothers bicker, even if it’s getting out of hand. It reminds her of her friends and how they always pick on one another.

 68.  Are they a day or night person?

Night, usually. Not that she dislikes the daytime, but day usually has so much stuff to be done whereas night is the fun stuff that doesn’t need a schedule.

 69.  Are they allergic to anything?

Some milk chocolate, bell peppers, and certain devildom plants.

 70.  What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

She’s a spunky little thing who loves to have fun and make others smile above all else.

 71.  Who is their ride or die?

In the Devildom, Beelzebub and Astaroth.

Beel for most things, and Asta for the stuff Beel won’t do.

 72.  Do they currently have a significant other? If not, are they going to get one later one?

Erm…eh…look, it’s never been officially labeled or anything, ok? Like yeah they’re kind always together and have pet names for each other and like always touch and cuddle and like snuggle up in bed together and stuffffffffffff but like, idk? Is Beel her dude? Like….do we wanna even get into that?????? I mean, maybe someday? Like…what? What was the question??

 73.  What attracts them to another person?

A genuine heart, a killer smile, and a rockin’ bod. Yeah okay look everyone can be a little shallow sometimes okay get off her case >__<.  

 74.  Who is one person that can always make them laugh?

She’s a damn fool and will laugh at ANYTHING, so it’s not hard. Everyone makes her laugh. The girl will 9 times out of 10 laugh at herself for the dumbest moments.

 75.  Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home?

Oh yes many times. Many many times.  One of the first few times she hung out (went on a date) one-on-one with Beel they had a drinking contest and as it turns out, he can really hold his devil liquor.

 76.  Who would be their cuddle buddy?

She’ll cuddle up to Beel 99.9% of the time because he’s big and warm and always happy to hold, but she also really enjoys cuddling with Asmodeus. He’s such a sweetie and he smells so nice and they just snuggle and talk and laugh and it’s a nice escape. (Loads of times there are Asmo x Niri x Asta sandwiches in Asmo’s room.)

 77.  Who would cheer them up after a long day?

She tends to go to one of the brothers depending on what kind of day it’s been. Most of the time it’s gonna be Beel because again, big/warm/happy to hold her, but there are occasions where she’ll drag Beel to one of the others’ rooms and they’ll just hang out.

 78.  If they had a nightmare, who would they run to?

I mean…Beel. Lol. He’s right there.

 79.  What object to the care for the most?

She has a picture of her friends from back home that sits on her desk. She treasures that above all while she’s down in the Devildom.

 80.  Do they like other people’s children?

Sure. Kids are fine as long as they go back to their parents after a bit.

 81.  How would they react if someone broke into their home?

Seeing as there’s always someone coming into her room regardless if she’s there or not, she probably would just shrug it off. If someone decided to have a bad lapse in judgement and break into the HoL? She wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

 82.  Does anyone make them have butterflies in their stomach?

I mean….Beel. Lol. He so big and cute! Also Diavolo because he also big and cute.

 83.  What is something that they are good at?

Crying to get out of trouble. She’s a little shit. Lol.

 84.  What is their neutral expression?

Niri kinda always looks pissed off or uninterested?  Until she smiles and you realize oh, she’s just a big ol’ faker.

 85.  Do they like to cook?

Yes. It’s one of her very favorite things to do!

 86.  What is something they can’t leave home without?

Her phone! (and Beel) but like, there’s just so much a phone can do!

 87.  Who is someone that they rely on?

Have I mentioned ever that Simeon is (or was at one time) Niri’s guardian angel? He seems to always be there and ready to help in any way, so she’s pretty reliant on him and hopes he feels the same toward her. (He does. Cue uwu’s)

 88.  Do they liked to be tickled?

Absolutely not. She’s extremely ticklish and hates being tickled. She flails and cries.

 89.  Have they ever been a sword fight before?

No. No she has not lol. Unless empty wrapping paper tubes count? She’s done that.  

 90.  What is a joke that they would find funny?

All the bad ones. All of them. Ugly laugh here we go!

 91.  Do they have a place that can go and turn off their brain?

The gardens at RAD. It’s peaceful and there’s a great  view of the sky.

 92.  What was their childhood like?

Not bad, but not memorable. There was a lot of pressure put on her to be a perfect kid, and she didn’t get to have a whole ton of fun.

 93.  What are they like as an adult?

Responsible, but definitely fun-loving. Like I mentioned before, she likes to live in a way that she won’t ever regret not having done something she wanted to do, or regret any actions she took, so she’s always got an open mind and welcomes new experiences. She’s a big ol’ kid.

 94.  Do they take criticism well?

Yes. She welcomes criticism in any form as she is always looking to be the best person she can be.

 95.  Have they ever jumped out of a plane?

No. Not yet!

 96.  Who do they like to make jokes with?

Literally anyone. A total joker. Big big clown.

 97.  Have you ever drawn them before? If you are comfortable with it, would you post a picture?

Yes! I draw Niri every once in a while. I actually need to draw her again soon! I miss that girl.

[warsofasoiaf]

Hi again, just a friendly reminder for you about Disco Elysium. I played it myself 2 weeks ago and I thought it was a wonderful game, looking forward to hear your opinion.

Here’s the weekend reminder about disco elysium: at some point I’d like to hear your thoughts about Kim and the deserter, but I’m sure you have a lot of first thoughts about the game’s narrative and styles at large and the overall themes ?

Yep, I’ve got many thoughts on Disco Elysium. Overall, I found it an incredibly enjoyable throwback to the classic role-playing games of the old Infinity Engine in a good way. It’s dialogue-driven in the way Planescape: Torment was, but was confident enough to avoid the pitfalls of combat that punctuated the D&D games in favor of a mechanical challenge of skill checks. All conflict is done through dialogue, either through picking a dialogue choice or engaging in a skill check. The game also helpfully gives you feedback, not only in your skill totals, but in how your actions influence the choices you’ve made. Did you take the corrupt union boss’s check? He has you over a bit of a barrel so it’s harder to resist him. Did you impress Cuno with your marksmanship by shooting down the body? You have a bonus to impress him since you’ve already done it before. This sort of openness with the mechanics of the game helps smooth over understanding of the functions, as well as reinforce the themes. Since everything you do is in the dialogue trees, and all of these choices occur in dialogue, it stresses careful reading of the dialogue box as opposed to something you just blow through to get quest markers or goodies.

Alright, let’s talk about the plot. Since there will be spoilers and it’s a relatively recent game, I’m going to throw a cut in here.

One of the chief themes of the game is sadness and loss, it’s written all across the setting. Heck, it’s even written into the name. Disco is the archetypical music genre that is dead, despite its followers wishing that it could come back. Elysium, the afterlife of Greek mythology. It was a failed communist revolution followed by a failed monarchist rebellion followed by a capitalist invasion, and now exists as a pit of corruption, crime, and plenty of people within Martinase look back to the lost days by cleaving to the old political systems as a source of comfort. Communists and monarchists look back to the old communes that were established, capitalists look to the successful Coalition and the ability of capital to absorb its naysayers and failures into itself for success, and the moralists look at the other three and say “you extremists are absolutely insane!” and hold to their own centrist platform and the path of incremental caution. This is hardly unusual in our own history, with far too many historical examples to list here. There’s a longing there for something that is lost, the people you meet in the game are lost, even what seems to be simple comedic beats have their own secret wishes, like Cuno who ends up helping you in the final act if you lose Kim, and can even become a junior police officer once out of the thumb of Cunoeese. Harry can sing the saddest song about the littlest church, and it’s a perfect expression of his regret, as his reptile brain lets him know. The deserter is lost in regret, albeit an incredibly negative sort. He curses those who are not ‘committed’ like him, who aren’t willing to murder like him. He looks at the Rene, the old monarchist with his boule, and wishes only to pull the trigger and silence him. 

The main character you inhabit is a great twist on the blank slate character that dominates the ‘western RPG.’ The main character starts the game passed out in his own drug-fueled excess. Where most RPG’s either expect reading a large lore dump (this was the case with the Forgotten Realms Infinity Engine games, which expected people to know who Cyric or Auril was) or largely wave it off with bland exposition, this was a game that made what happened an integral part of your character. What drives such a man to try and destroy himself so completely? Going through the game reveals the answer: it’s Dora, your ex-wife. Before, your obsession with your job (your case load, as noted by Kim, is exceptionally high), seemed to be at odds with your character’s penchant for substance abuse and overall instability, but exploring the failed relationship with Dora sheds new light on Harry DuBois. Dora was a wealthy woman, and your character was clearly a member of the lower classes given his demeanor and salary. Your character tried to immerse themselves in the work perhaps to earn more money, or simply to earn prestige to help alleviate the mismatch. It didn’t work, Dora left six years ago, and the detective has been alone ever since. By calculating the ‘cop tracks’ that the character can be on, the game can populate dialogue with references to the behavior, allowing the character to fill out aspects of themselves in a character-driven way. Tyranny did this with its campaign character generation, and Disco Elysium does it here. Such things are always going to be niche in RPG’s, the driving trend these days is instead make a completely blank character and have them be built out from actions taking place in the game world, but this typically leads to characters who rationalize performing optimal paths and who do everything the game offers in the world, which translates either into a lot of time doing repetitive content (in order to built up other character builds to the same level of mastery to the original build) or leads to ludo-narrative dissonance at the ease of which the character plows through the content, like becoming the Arch-Mage in Skyrim without being able to cast a single adept-level spell.

However, that isn’t to say that Harry is alone. Instead, the detective is quite a crowd is his own head, with the 24 various skills that he has developed largely advising, suggesting, yelling, and talking over each other. This was almost certainly part of the reason the original name of the game was “No Truce with the Furies.” The Furies, in Greek mythology were embodiment of vengeance, primal feelings that sought out their goals. These 24 skills in your head almost cannot be compromised with, only accepted or rejected. They’ll yell inside your own head to listen to them. Electrochemistry wants its next fix, Volition is certain that Klaasje is trying to manipulate you and wants you to slap cuffs on her right now, Physical Instrument wants you to show everyone who’s boss with fists while Authority wants the same with words. This was almost overwhelming at first, 24 characters to figure out in addition to my own character as well as Kim, Cuno, Joyce, Everett, and the Hanged Man made me wonder what exactly I was going to do. What was the difference between Volition and Composure, or Shivers and Inland Empire? It helps on a replay once you figure out what the skills actually mean and can help shape your character into your preferred vehicle for exploring Revanchol West. Dealing with these characters can be fun, insightful, and incredibly heartwarming, as the player can understand when they finally find out that Reptile Brain and Limbic System are simply trying to help Harry out with the loss of his ex-wife by trying to get rid of the sad feelings as best they can. 

What helps with this though, is that failing skill checks is not a death sentence. One of the most annoying things in games comes when you depend upon success after success that is out of your control, it encourages save-scumming behavior. This isn’t to say that failure isn’t a valuable learning experience or that difficulty is something to be avoided; the enduring popularity of the Soulsborne genre suggests that difficulty is not itself a bad thing. But failure typically has to be fair. If instead a game drops you in a room with 25 gorgons, forcing you to roll 25 checks against petrification or die immediately, that’s not challenge, that’s just padding the length of the game by forcing repeat content. Disco Elysium instead makes failure, particularly of red skill checks, either entertaining or allowing alternate paths. I laughed with absolute glee when my character took off from Garte yelling at him about the trashed hotel room which ended up becoming a full sprint while flipping him the bird, causing me instead to run over the nice wheelchair-bound old lady, in true black comedy fashion, or that you can get into a nodding war with Kim that’s so intense that you actually break your neck. That the game offers so many different methods to the same path helps elevate the role-playing elements.

Similarly, one of the best moments of game design was when you looked at the billboard to find out where Ruby could have gone. It’s a difficult Shivers check, which might force people into an insurmountable wall if they haven’t upgraded their Shivers skill. However, doing stuff in the fishing village, from going on a date with the harpoon girl to tracking down what went on with the body on the boardwalk, gives you bonuses to the check, encouraging the character to perform the side quests and explore the bonus content. 

The game’s side content really does reward some more of the Dirk Gently type of character that sees connectivity in anything. The old lady reading outside the bookstore doesn’t have a missing husband only to later be the wife of the man who died on the boardwalk, or that a grounded character won’t walk out into the water to speak with the apparition of Dora as the mythical Dolores Dei (another great reference to what was lost, the lost wife seen as the lost mythic Moralist conqueror and crusader) means that the more grounded character does have the more grounded, less intense story. But the short length encourages replayability, and the idea that a grounded character has a more grounded story is in it’s own way a commitment to the game’s overall vision, even if it means you miss out on a key insight the first time around.

I’m incredibly impressed at how the developers stuck to their visions and the finished product that they developed. My hat is off to them.

Thanks for the question, Khef, the multiple Anon’s who reminded me, TBH, and everyone else who was looking forward to this essay.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[juno-but-not-steel]

Cabaret

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Ship: Lonelyeyes

Word count: 2377

Description: Elias is a singer at a cabaret and Peter comes to see him.

Elias’ POV:

Elias sighed, and took a long drag of his cigarette, breathing out slowly. He closed his eyes, trying to take advantage of this small moment of peace before he was called out on stage. A loud knock came at the door, signaling five minutes before the show began. He opened his eyes and reluctantly stood up, stopping to admire himself in the full length mirror before he made his way to the stage. Elias shrugged on his suit jacket, and undid another button on his white dress shirt. He enjoyed the way that it bared the creamy skin of his chest to the open air, and his patrons, even if it was a bit too cold. He smirked at how his tight dress pants wonderfully expressed his… assets. He was sure he’d do well tonight. He finally looked at his face. His dark brown eyes stared back at him, unsatisfied as he ran a slender hand through his honey blond hair, trying to coax it into some semblance of neatness.

He sighed and gave up, opening his door and stepping out into the backstage of the Cabaret Theater where he sang. He tread lightly as he positioned himself behind the curtain, just in time.

“... and now our signature act, the man you are all here to see tonight, the magnificent Elias Bouchard!”

Peter’s POV:

“... Elias Bouchard!”

Peter shifted in his seat in anticipation, trying his best to look nonchalant. He quickly pulled the sleeves of his shirt up passed his elbows, ran a hand through his long salt and pepper hair, and grabbed his scotch, swirling it as uninterestedly as he could manage. He had heard time and time again, from his good friend Simon Fairchild, that this was the best entertainment in the whole city. He’d made some suggestive comments about how easy the singer was, too. Peter chuckled at that, not believing anyone would be so desperate as to sleep with that old man. Peter had, however, took his suggestion into account. So here he was, a few weeks later, in the front row of L’œil Fermé, awaiting to see the performance of the infamous Elias Bouchard.

He didn’t have to wait long, it seemed, as when he thought that the curtain rose, and revealed a striking young man, who had expertly positioned himself on full display.

Peter’s breath caught involuntarily.

The young man, who must have been Elias, strutted over to the microphone in the center of the stage as music began playing from the pit orchestra. He licked his lips, closed his eyes, and started to sing.

“Raven hair, and ruby lips,

Sparks fly from her fingertips.

Echoed voices in the night,

She’s a restless spirit on and endless flight.”

He began strutting across the stage as he reached the chorus. The blond man was so close that Peter could see the goosebumps that covered his exposed chest, and he shivered in sympathy. Elias seemed to have spotted Peter, and his deep brown eyes locked with Peter’s steely grey ones. Elias winked at Peter, and he felt heat flush all over his body.

When Elias went over to the other side of the stage to teese the other patrons, Peter felt an odd pang of loss, but he quickly dismissed it out of hand. One patron held a twenty dollar bill up to the stage, and Elias dropped to get it, spreading his legs and maintaining eye contact with said patron the whole time. At that, Peter growled in frustration, fumbling to take out his wallet.

Elias bit his lip and winked as he walked back to the side of the stage that Peter was sat on.

“I know you want a lover,

But let me tell you brother,

She’s been sleeping in the Devil’s bed.”

Peter thrust up a hundred dollar bill in front of Elias. The man on the stage’s eyes gleamed with hunger as he saw the amount being offered up.

“And there’s a rumor going round,

Somewhere underground,

I can rock you in the night until your skin turns red.”

As he sang these words, Elias descended slowly, keeping his eyes on Peter’s the entire time. When he finished the line, he allowed for an instrumental break. He took the money in his mouth, teeth grazing Peter’s fingers as he did, and slowly stood back up, watching Peter for a reaction.

Peter shuddered involuntarily, and the rest of the theatre erupted into cheers and wolf whistles, but Peter couldn’t hear any of it. The rest of the song was a blur, and he only came back to his senses when the theater erupted into cheers again and Elias took a bow.

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Elias said into the microphone, placing it back on the stand and turning on a mic pack connected to the back of his pants. “I’m Elias Bouchard, and welcome to L’œil Fermé!” The crowd cheered, and Elias smiled. “That was Witchy Woman by the Eagles! I hope you all enjoyed it! Next up, I’ve got something from Broadway for you all! This show was based on an American movie made in the 80’s, staring Winona Ryder!” Elias paused to let his audience figure out the show he was talking about. “I will be singing Dead Girl Walking from the musical Heathers!”

As the crowd cheered and the music started, Elias shirked his jacket and draped it over the piano on the right side of the stage.

“The demon queen of high school has decreed it,

She says Monday 8am I’ll be deleted!

They’ll hunt me down in study hall,

Stuff and mount me on the wall,

Thirty hours to live, how shall I spend them?”

His tenor voice sang softly. If possible, he moved even more suggestively in this song. Peter shifted in his seat.

Elias got to his knees as he finished the first chorus.

“I’m a dead girl walking...”

He smirked and slowly crawled across the stage towards Peter, singing the whole time.

“Sorry, but I really had to wake you.

See, I’ve decided I must ride you till I break you.

Cause Heather says I gots to go,

You’re my last meal on death row,

So shut your mouth, and lose them tighty whiteys!”

Elias sat on the on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling off. His face was only a foot away from Peter’s.

“Tonight I’m yours, I’m your dead girl walking!”

He stared into Peter’s eyes, bright and intense. But there was something under the overt lust; that now appeared to Peter to be almost... forced? He couldn’t place it, and frowned.

The wrong thing to do, as Elias took that as a signal he wasn’t putting enough effort into his job. He got off the stage and walked swiftly over to Peter, and straddled his lap. Peter was to shocked to do anything but sit there, as the handsome young man came quite close to kissing him, but then quickly drew back. Elias mounted the stage again, and returned to his planned act, which was quite the show. By the end, the young man was panting, face red and hair disheveled.

The audience cheered again as he stood up, smiling. He walked over to the piano, and took a seat.

“I hope you all enjoyed that! I have one more song for you all tonight. You guys probably know this one, it’s by Fleetwood Mac.”

Elias closed his eyes, and started playing the intro to “Landslide”. The music was beautiful, the best that Peter had ever heard. He stared, slightly agape, as Elias began singing the soft, soulful song.

“I took my love, and I took it down.

Climbed a mountain, and I turned around

And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hill,

‘Till the landslide brought me down.

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?”

Peter thought he saw a tear trace it’s way down his cheek as he sang, and was astounded. This man was so different from the one that had been crawling around the stage just moments before. It was obvious from how Elias moved his body and fingers over the keys that this is what he really wanted to be doing. Peter felt a pang of sadness for this man, and decided he would help him if he could. He called over a waiter, and gave him a hundred dollar bill to run and get a bouquet of roses, specifications on a napkin, and put them in Elias’s dressing room. He looked around at the other patrons, only to see that they were having side conversations, or checking their phones. That sent a bolt of rage through Peter, though he couldn’t tell why. He turned his focus back to the young musician lighting up the stage.

“And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills,

Well, the landslide will bring it down.”

He was definitely crying now.

“Oh, the landslide will bring it... down...”

As the last chords of the song rang out, Elias discreetly whipped the tears from his face, and beamed at the audience’s scattered applause, Peter being the loudest.

Elias picked up his coat and retreated backstage, the curtain closing behind him.

Peter finished his scotch, and filled out with the rest of the patrons, intent on having a smoke.

Elias’s POV:

As soon as he was curtain that no one could hear him, Elias collapsed into sobs. He should have known better than to play that stupid song, of course no one had wanted to hear it. People cane to L’œil Fermé to watch him shamelessly strut across the stage with one hand above the table, not to listen to him sing his heart out. He bit down hard on his lip, hoping the pain would stop his pathetic sobs. It did. He straightened up, put on his mask, and walked into his dressing room to get ready to go home.

A bouquet of roses sat on his desk. That wasn’t surprising, many patrons sent him flowers as an attempt to get into his pants. Sometimes he let them, as that would mean they would usually come back and give him more money. He sighed, and figured that the man who had sat in the front row, and no doubt had sent these flowers, was handsome enough. Maybe Elias would actually enjoy himself for once.

As he put on just a tough of makeup, prettying himself up for the encounter he was sure was to come, he noticed something odd about the flowers. Instead of the usual deep red roses that he got, commonly thought to signify passion and desire, this bunch was a mix of soft pink, champagne, and lavenders. All these colours signified admiration and love at first sight. He frowned, confused. What part of his act had evoked this reaction? He finished his makeup, grabbed the flowers, and headed out of his room, determined to find who had bought him these flowers. The sentiment evoked an emotion that he didn’t quite like, one he wasn’t prepared for.

Elias stepped out of the theatre and into the cool night air. He looked to his left, and there was the man from the front row. He leaned against the brick wall, eyes closed, drawing on an old fashioned pipe. He stood almost a foot taller then Elias, salt and pepper hair reaching his shoulders, matching his beard. He wore a navy blue pea coat over his white dress shirt and black slacks. It wasn’t that obvious through the bulky fabric of his clothing, but Elias could tell that the man was well muscled. He had big, rough hands, one curled around his pipe and the other shoved in his pocket.

Elias shook his head to stop his staring, and cleared his throat. The man’s eyes opened and turned to meet Elias’s. They were the same, steely grey that had captured his attention in the theatre. He raised an eyebrow at Elias.

“Why did you send me these?” Elias was clutching the flowers close to his chest, trying to keep out the chill. In his rush to find the person who’d given him the flowers, he had forgotten to close up his shirt.

The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver through Elias.

“I liked your act,” he said in a deep baritone.

“Usually people who like my act send me red roses, symbolizing they want to get me in bed. Do you know what these flowers mean?”

The man chuckled again and nodded.

“What part of me eyefucking you and the rest of the people in there gave you the feeling of ‘admiration’ and ‘love at first sight’?”

“Nothing,” the man said. “Your ‘Landslide’ did that for me.”

Elias’s breath caught. “You liked my piano playing?” He failed to hide the smile and hopefulness in his voice.

The man looked down at Elias and smiled. “If I’m being honest, it was the most beautiful music I’d heard in a while.”

Elias’s breath caught as he blushed. “What’s your name?”

“Peter Lukas,” the man smiled.

“So you really don’t want to sleep with me?”

Peter laughed, throwing his head back. “Don’t get me wrong, you are very handsome Elias Bouchard. No one in their right mind would pass up a chance to love you. But I want to get to know the man I saw at the piano, not just the one who jumped off the stage to sit in my lap.”

“Well, Mr. Lukas,” Elias managed, “would you like to go to diner with me?”

Peter chuckled. “I think it’s a bit late for that tonight, Mr. Bouchard.”

Elias blushed, looked away, and cursed himself for his blunder, although he wasn’t so sure why.

“But I’d love to go with you tomorrow night.”

Elias looked up. “Really?” His face stretched wide in a grin that he couldn’t conceal.

Peter nodded. “I’ll pick you up here, 8 o’clock?”

Elias nodded, to shocked to say anything.

“Good,” Peter said. “See you then.”

And then he turned and walked away, leaving Elias clutching the flowers outside his theatre. He smiled giddily as he went back in to pack up his things, thinking only of the following evening.

[thefilmfatale]

Parasite (2019)

Bong Joon-Ho’s latest offering, Parasite, is a comedy of manners for a new generation. The film explores the symbiotic relationship between the unwashed masses and the opulent, played out in darkly comic fashion through the story of the dirt poor but scrappy Kim family and the wealthy Park clan. Bong, no stranger to the allegorization of social inequality (as seen in his 2013 dystopian film Snowpiercer), deftly guides the audience through a twisted tale of a modern-day caste system, where rich and poor coexist because they need each other, both cogs in the wheel of a society that depends on this tension to sustain itself. 

We follow the Kim family as they scrounge for scraps in their home in the slums of South Korea, where a perpetual drunkard routinely pees outside their kitchen window. The family patriarch Ki-taek (played by Song Kang-ho), while jovial and generally resourceful, clings to a philosophy and work ethic centered on having no plans. According to his logic, if you don’t make plans, then there’s no way that anything could go awry. So with that, Ki-taek, his wife, and two kids fly daily by the seat of their pants, working odd jobs like folding pizza boxes (poorly, mind you). Ki-Woo (Choi Woo-sik), Ki-taek’s son, stumbles on an opportunity presented by a well-to-do friend: tutor a wealthy girl, Park Da-hye, and get handsomely paid. Thus begins a tangled web of machinations involving Ki-Woo plotting to slowly entrench his family into the Park home.

A major reason for Parasite’s magic is Song Kang-Ho, who is such a gifted actor. It’s not easy to cycle through several shades of emotional intensity but he does so masterfully. Really, performances from everyone in the film were superb—Sang Hye-Jin (in the role of matriarch to the Kim family) is a notable mention too—but it’s the richness of the world that Bong paints that makes Parasite so exciting and such a treat to watch. Visually, it was compelling. You felt that this world was lived-in and authentic to its characters, despite how outlandish some of the situations were that they found themselves in. Just as in Snowpiercer, where Bong used very deliberate set design to show how each train car represented different classes, he employed the same specificity and detail in Parasite. The ramshackle shanty that the Kims lived in stood in stark contrast to the perfectly manicured Park mansion. It was interesting to see how, despite their status, the Kims’ home was filled with a bunch of random stuff, whereas the Park house was deliberately sparse with its minimalist design. It plays with the very real idea of wealth being a state of mind and how, ironically, the people who can afford to adopt minimalist aesthetics tend to be upper class. 

Bong isn’t exactly subtle—from the use of basements and the Kims’ home being flooded by sewage water—all were intentional in conveying everyone’s place and status in this story.  Cinematography aside, the film tackled interesting themes like learned helplessness, poked fun at the rich’s obsession with referring only the best to each other, and took what seemed like a typical MacGuffin (in the prosperity rock that Ki-woo’s friend Min gifts to the Kim family to wish them good fortune), turning it into the instrumental device that accompanies one of the pivotal moments in the film. What makes this comedy of manners so fresh and interesting is that while it followed a traditional satirization of propriety, the added element of horror gave it a unique intensity. Most comedies of manners stop short at making fun of the many contortions people make to fit into society. With Parasite, Bong opts to make the class tensions viscerally felt and near palpable to the audience with an ending that jars you out of your seat. 

It’s rare for a film to balance the quirky and humorous with the disturbing, and even rarer for there to be thought-provoking commentary woven into the plot. Bong effortlessly juggles all of these elements, thanks to a tight script that contained just enough exposition to set the stage for all of the characters to develop, while continuing to advance the narrative in a wildly imaginative way. The film takes twists and turns that are surprising and irreverent, but they aren’t there for shock value. There’s a method to Bong’s madness, and he knows just how far to go and when to pull back. It was also fun to see Bong play with the idea of “putting on airs” literally and figuratively, by having Ki-taek’s downward spiral be centered around how the Parks were sensing an odd smell around the house, as if to say that you can put on a crisp shirt and alter your manner of speaking to be more proper, but there’s something tangible that will always give you away and follow you around like a black mark. In Ki-taek’s case, the Parks kept reminding him over and over that he would never be one of them, no matter how much he tried to fit in. With Parasite, Bong pulls a Talented Mr. Ripley, but takes it to another level with a meatier commentary on class. 

At the end of the day, Parasite isn’t just about a family of hustlers who hatch a wildly entertaining scheme to siphon as much money from a gullible, wealthy family. It’s a question about how long class tensions can be sustained before the pot boils over. Rich and poor are pieces in the same puzzle because their status is entirely dependent on the other to exist. But it’s also Bong’s deeply personal therapy session about impostor syndrome that he turned into a horror comedy. Hilarious and provocative, it’s a movie that fans of Yorgos Lanthimos will surely appreciate. 

The best laid plans are no plans, Ki-taek says in the film, because then there’s no way for them to go awry. In Parasite, things go horribly awry all right, but in the most masterful ways possible.