#( for once it’s one of their. not. heavy. rock. songs. LMAO )

[akuzeisms]

@pessimistics

[elioslover]

Afterparties on Tour (One Shot- Italrry x reader).

Premise: Love on Tour is over and Harry needs to tell you how he feels.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Other writing

[I'm a little late to the party but here's a little snippet of Love on Tour ending and Harry's vay-cay in Italy. Obviously Italrry! is my favourite, I have a whole fic about it lmao.]

🪐

The moon bounces across the gentle but choppy waves, coming to a crash against the scattered rocks before dissipating and retreating from the shore. It must be loud considering the celebrations behind you, a chorus of cheers and booming base. 

Feet devoid of shoes, toes buried in the cool sand, nursing a drink and gazing out at the ocean, all that dancing has rendered you an unfit kid in gym class. It’s taken longer than you expected to even your exhales, and once it had settled, the feeling of your skin enveloped in the sand has you staying put. At least a moment longer. 

It would help soothe your thoughts about that succubus dressed in only a pair of short-shorts and a loose-fitted button-up, dancing far too close, eyes far too bright, glimmering under the ultraviolet strobes. 

He is so unaware of how unhinged he makes you feel, it seems like he only aims to pull you in further- so unaware, that he couldn’t begin to comprehend the concept of needing space and is already making his way over to your hunched figure. 

You hear him long before you see him, his steps are heavy and uneven, you can just picture the way he fumbles about, a faint and fond smile soothing your frown.

Once he is only a foot away, he announces his presence, 

“Oi! I’ve been lookin’ for ya.” 

He comes to a halt, and as you tilt your head to acknowledge him, your face is levelled with his thigh, bare, unnecessarily thick, and begging to have teeth sunk into its fleshy skin. 

Your brain is buzzing with profanities, ‘Jesus fuck’, ‘fuckin’ unfair.' 'fuck, fuck.' But you hold it together with perseverance, patting the empty spot in the sand beside you an invitation, 

“Hi, Lovie. Have fun?”

He obliges with a loopy, and cheesy grin that obliterates your sense of composure. He is so clueless as he drops to the ground, legs splayed out in front of him, arms stretched out to keep balanced. His finger brushes against your thigh, and you are furious with how easily your skin flares with fireworks. 

Harry takes a deep breath, craning his neck and tilting his face to fix his gaze on your own, his eyes sultry, pupils swollen with celebration. His smile only widens, 

“Much better now.”

He has to know what he’s doing. Surely. You cannot risk looking into his eyes for even a moment, fearful it will end with your lips trailing along his neck, tongue lapping and nipping at the nape. And for obvious reasons, you cannot look at his mouth, instead diverting both your gaze and the topic,

“I like the hat.”

“I’ll give it back, I swear.” He doesn’t want to. 

“Don’t. it looks better on you.” You want him to keep it forever. 

There’s a hopeful look that flashes across not only his green gaze but the crinkles of the corners of his eyes, swelling dimpled cheeks, and dramatically raised brows.  

You don’t like that look; it makes your insides melt into one big ball of overwhelming happiness and hopefulness. He could set you alight with one facial expression, just imagine what would happen if he did even more. 

You cannot will yourself to find out, choosing to commend him instead,

“You’ve been dancing up a storm.” 

“Mm. Wanted you to dance with me.” He nods, eyes lulling shut, his chin tilted to the stars.

“I did. For a good three or four songs.” 

He seems the opposite of satisfied, bushy brows creasing into a furrow and crinkling his forehead,

“Want you to dance with me all night.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You take the risk of brushing your shoulder against his own.

“And you’re beautiful.” He instantly retorts, tainting your skin with blushing berries, thankful that the moon reflects on the ocean instead of your cheeks. 

You’re even more thankful when Harry moves on without your help, inquisitively pointing at the cup still clutched in your palm, 

“Whatcha drinkin’?” 

“I think vodka and cranberry.” You ponder, glancing down and swirling the cup, liquid sloshing against the glass. 

He motions for it, holding his hand out, and you are more than tempted to drop the drink and wrap your palm in his. But he waits with anticipation, and you can only oblige and pass him what he wants, settling for a swift moment of your fingers brushing against his own. 

Tilting back, neck mercilessly on display, Harry takes an unintentionally large sip, swallowing with sudden unnerving panic. His mouth is an explosion of sugar sticking to his gums, sending electric charges straight to his brain, 

“Christ that’s sweet!” He exclaims, eyes scrunching with distaste, his hand blinding stretching out to return the concoction to your custody. 

“Just like me.”

“Just like you.” He mirrors. And he’s looking over at you now, eyelids swelled and intoxicated, lashes wisping, irises flickering in the moonlight. His expression slowly morphs into one of soft sorrow, and he can’t stop himself from speaking the silly truth, "'M gonna miss you, y’know.”

“You’ll still see me.” You attempt reassurance, but you’re almost certain Harry can hear the way your words stay trapped between your teeth, squeaking out with disappointment. You are disappointed if that even begins to cover it. 

“Not every day though.” He whines but before your heart can skip a full beat, he panics and presses on, “You’re the best assistant.” This is partially true- you are the best assistant, but Harry will definitely miss you for much more than that. 

You scoff softly, lacking the courage to take his words as anything other than platonic banter, a culmination of spending a prolonged period together- over two years to be precise. 

In honesty, you hope Harry shares same ache as your already-churning stomach at the thought of spending the unforetold future apart. It's embarrassing, though, knowing you feel far too much for a boy whose only obligation is to be shared with the world. 

“Oh, please. You’re just gonna miss being waited on hand and foot.” 

“That too.” He teases, hardly able to hold any sternness in his words, more focused on proving his feelings of fearing the distance from you. He needs to make sure you know. Before it’s too damn late, “But I'm gonna miss you more.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.” You try to rationalise and lighten the mood for both of your sakes. 

“Hardly! My heart’s been breaking for days.” He flails his arms with a flair of dramaticism, even stomping his foot into the sand with extra emphasis. Dramatic display aside, Harry means every word, just the statement has his chest closing in. 

“I think that’s all the Scotch talking.” You say in an attempt to stop your own chest from aching the same. 

“I’m serious!” He defends, frustrated that you seem to have mastered the art in denseness… or diversion… which is worse?  

It’s obvious to Harry that you’re gonna need a little more convincing, and he is happy to oblige, turning his torso to face you, eyes fixed on your nerve-ridden ones, 

“Gonna miss your clumsiness, and your positivity,” he likes the way your face tilts down with shyness, lips pressing together bashfully, “and your sweet laugh.” He’s heard it once, he wants to hear it on a loop for all of eternity. 

His truthfulness is almost believable, but even if it was, you aren’t sure what to do with the information. He’s just begging for you to smother him in kisses at this point, and the conviction that he is simply unaware of the effect his words have on you is encouraging you not to indulge. Instead, you are rerouting the conversation again, 

“None of that has to do with me being your tour assistant.”

“Still.” 

Contradictory to his tongues distaste, Harry wants to touch your hand again, even for just a second, so he reaches for the glass of reddish liquid, skin sizzling when your hold lingers, taking an extra gulp for good luck, a small droplet of cranberry slipping down the slope of his bottom lip. 

The silence, though comfortable is deafening, and Harry needs to hear your velvety voice again, 

“Say it.”

You turn yourself to accept his authoritative switch, eager to see where he plans on going with this. Ignoring the desperate temptation to rub your thumb across his peachy, puckered lips, absolving him of the merciless sweetness, you take back the drink and finish its contents with one swift, throat-swelling swallow. Eyes crinkling from the candy cruelty, you discard the glass and give him your all,

“Say what?” 

“Say it!” 

He persists, looking at you with the most darling of pouts, a glimmer of mischievous knowing- wanting you to confirm his wishes. And, who would you be to deny him such an obvious confession?

“I’m gonna miss you too, Harry.”

“How much?” 

“You really are ridiculous!” Your eyes roll in sync with the huff that slips from between your teeth. 

“And you’re beautiful.” He says like it's old news, “We’ve been over this, how much are you gonna miss me?” 

Your stomach is in your head, your head is in your heart, and your heart is in Harry’s hands, unsuspectingly holding your entirety between the creases of his palms. 

He cannot know. So, you gesture your thumb and pointer finger together in matrimony but leave the tiniest of spaces in between- the false space in which you hold your sorrows for his soon departure, 

“This much.”

“So little?” He playfully pouts, and unbeknownst to you, his pupils are swelling with desperation for you to miss him as much as he, you.  

“Hmm, maybe this much.” With little leeway, you expand your two fingers as far as they will stretch, allowing your longing to settle in the gap. 

Harry's eyes light up with some sort-of satisfaction, his forehead raising, creases disappearing as his dimples swell from the force of his fiery smirk,

“Just as I suspected.”

“What’s that now?” 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that… I win.” He concludes, boyish grin only growing- if possible- and with as much grace as one could have after two Scotchs, Harry stretches his arms out, swerving to miss you, his muscles spanning like that of a proud swan, “Cause I’m gonna miss you thisss much.”

His body is starting to stiffen and then loses all rigidity, he can’t stop- well, even if he could, he wouldn’t- his arm from wrapping around your shoulder, tugging you down with him as his body starts to tilt back, threatening to sink into the sand. 

“Harry!”

And your bodies are pressed to the trillions of pearly grains, giggles escaping through your parted lips. Your hair is surely sprinkled with sand, as must Harry’s, bodies awkwardly pressed together, his chest criminally close to your own. 

“Y/n.” He mocks, confirming his cheeriness over pulling you into his grasp, your back balancing on his stretched-out arm. 

The party plays on in the distance, the sea is still singing, and you can hear the soft and stable breaths of the prettiest boy on earth, his face tilted towards your own, freckles flickering under the silver sky. Harry is looking at you with an unreadable gaze- one that you have curiously noticed the past couple of months- it may be fondness... But whatever it is, it quickly dissipates into a woeful stare, and he glances away from your wondering gaze in favour of the sky. 

It's quiet for a moment- theoretically only a minute, but it feels like an eternity. Your eyes are tracing the curves of his chiselled jaw, swooping cheekbones, softly kinked nose. He seems miles away, leaving you alone on the beach just as you feared the future would be. 

But he is back on earth, and his eyes are back on yours right before your body threatens to rip itself apart. His brows are furrowed, and his chest hurts so carelessly that he wonders if you might feel it too,

“’M a little sad, y’know?”

“Would be weird if you weren’t.” You reassure, from a practical point, this is true. But from an in-love point, you need to ensure he understands you mirror his melancholy, “I am too.”

“Cause you’re gonna missss me?” Harry coos.

Harry wants to hear you say it in your own words, and the only way he knows how is to sugarcoat his words with a sweet and playful demeanour, scared of what might happen if it turns out that his feelings truly are one-sided. You wish he had said it seriously; you want to tell him that you’re being more than serious, that you will miss him, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life missing him, everything about him, everything he makes you feel, 

“Have you always been this annoying?” 

“I think you’re mistaking annoyance for attraction.” He tries a new tactic. 

“Even so…” You concede. 

“Even so…?”

“You’re both, alright. And you already know it.” Perhaps you’re giving away too much. 

To Harry, not enough. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to happen; did he really think you would confess your devout attraction for him? Did you even feel the same way? You give him the tiniest of hints, always so cautious and thoughtful. He knows this; he feels your fondness, feels the fiery connection… there has to be more, and how much longer can he wait? Threatened by the reality of the two of you going your separate ways, Harry is fighting this obstacle, fearful that this is his only and final opportunity, having to give you something more, some sort-of encouragement,   

“Just like to hear you say it.” 

What are you supposed to say to that? It has to be obvious that you feel so much more for him than mere attraction. Stumbling on words, a blushing mess, tripping over your own toes whenever he expressed his endearment or wonderment. 

It was certainly easier to chalk his affection up to close proximities, homesickness, and maybe even pining over another woman. Theoretically, Harry had more on his mind than spending his time seeking out your affection. 

Your lips are sealed, unwilling to separate and spill your secrets- the only thing stopping you from saying every little thing you love about him.  

But Harry is watching and waiting, carefully checking out the way your forehead furrows, eyes darting with some deep thoughts that he just wishes you would share with him. He’s seen this look before- sometimes showing up during difficult days on tour when you were challenged with a particularly gruelling or complicated task, and on occasion, Harry had noticed this conflict in your eyes during the duet of late-night conversations. 

He knows you’re stumped for words. He knows you don’t plan on speaking up. He needs to know what you’re thinking about, his face leaning forward, trying to close some of the merciless gap preventing him from being able to peck your cheek,

“Tell me a secret.”

“Yeah, right.” You can tell this is a trap. 

You’d be a fool not to know what he was trying; this was his last resort in deciphering your hidden agenda, and the last thing you need is the humiliation of finding out that this little thing going on between you two would remain just that; a thing of the past. 

“Tell me, and I’ll tell you one in return.”

He insists with such sweet innocence that could surely coax you into doing whatever he wanted,

“Okay.” You’ll go with the thing that’s been torturing you for weeks now, “I think you should grow out your moustache.”

“Done.” He answers so quickly, with such authority that your heart is doing somersaults. Before you can overthink his hastiness, he continues, “Tell me another.”

“Hey, that’s not how this goes.” 

“I make the rules. Tell meeee.” He’s a needy little one and he has you trapped, nowhere to go but nowhere you would rather be. 

What’s the point of keeping anything from him when it’s clear his persistence will only be soothed by your obligation? 

Harry is as Harry as ever, so welcoming and understanding before even hearing what you have to say. As far as you’re concerned, he’s been seeking you out for a reason, wanting to make sure that this ending isn’t eating away at you. 

It is eating away at you, though. You both know without verbalising it. If it remains unaddressed it may very well result in severing the ties you so tenderly share, 

“I’m nervous about going home.”

“Had a feeling.” He needs you to know that he knows. “‘M sorry, darling. Promise we’ll see each other, okay?”  

“Pinky swear.” Your eyes are like a puppy dog. 

“I’ll come over, and we can watch Normal People and… pretend we are.” Harry wants that more than anything.

“I’d like that… a lot.” Your eyes lull with the promise of his loving presence, “I’ll make you a warm cuppa.”

“You’ll have hot chocolate.” He notes proudly. 

“And I’ll let you use my fluffy blanket.” You do the same. 

“Ugh. I love you.” 

He whines dramatically, eyes rolling back, deliciously biteable lips parted and glossy. He really does though- love you. You loathe the flippancy with which he uses these words, substituting playfulness for the failure of his reciprocating your feelings, 

“It’s hard not to.”

“That cranberry’s giving you a big head, huh?” He nudges himself against you.

“Don’t be mean.” Also nudging against him in an attempt to reprimand his cheekiness.

“I could never be mean to you.” He pouts cutely, hoping you can tell that he certainly means it.

He’s close- too close- churning your common sense into a spiral of neediness to nearer his face, scatter kisses wherever his skin forfeits. Shuffling back slightly, you miss the way his brows twitch with misunderstanding, and you misdirect the conversation once more,

“Did you see the video I sent you?”

“That puppy was so cute I could have cried.” His features turn to mushy lovability.

“Don’t cry, you’re too pretty.” You tease. 

“Too late.” He tries to add a convincing pout. 

“Such a crybaby.” A cute, fuckable little sulk. Your diversion has certainly worked, but now you long for the back-and-forth of will-they-wont-they, and you cannot resist letting the words come out, “So, what’s your secret?” 

“I already told you.” He says it like it should be apparent. 

“You did?” Had you missed something? 

“Yep.” 

Harry’s certainty is cast-iron, peering over at you with palpable perceptiveness. If his secret was that he planned on growing a moustache, then he had done a marvellous job at fishing you onto the hook. A simmer of frustration bubbles in your belly, shyness and foolishness teasing you for falling into his trap with such ease. Your tone reflects this, retreating to the sanctity of defensiveness,

“Your secret is that you’re a crybaby? We already knew that.”

“Not that.” He rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, well, tell me again.”

“Ask me nicely.” He keeps you baited. 

“Y’know what, I don’t even wanna know.” You tilt your nose to the sky, giving him the perfect sight of your neck craned, cheeks like apples, lips pouted and puckered. 

“Yes, you do.” He informs.

“Nope.” Your lips pop at the P. 

“It’s gonna eat away at you.” He sing-songs. He’s right. 

“Glad to see you’re getting off on this.” Grumbling, you avert your gaze. 

“Would rather get off with you.” He torts, muttering, sudden arousal slipping from his lips and settling anxiously in the already-small gap separating your bodies.  

“Filthy boy.” You friskily reprimand.

“And you haven’t seen the half of it.” He promises.

“Is that your secret?” You press on curiously, “Not a surprise. I’ve seen your ‘fuck me’ eyes before.”

“When I was looking at you?” 

Harry knocks the breath out of you, not even out of you- it’s trapped if your throat, body stilling like a statue, tied and bound by the predicament he seemed to so blatantly provide,

“Not me in particular…”

“Apparently I have two secrets then.” He muses. 

“Just tell me!” You are clearly too focused on secret number one to notice that he just revealed secret number two.

“Hmm… Maybe.” Since you seem so clueless, Harry thinks he should drag this on a little longer, becoming more-and-more discouraged by your blatant dismissal of his attempts to express his affection. 

“Harry, I swear-”

“Alright, missy.” He can hold out no longer. “I love you.”

“I know that-”

“Love, love you.” 

“Oh.” You finally let the realisation sink in, and it sinks in slowly whilst Harry patiently watches the way you process both his feelings and your own. 

The fear of rejection humidifies the air around him, but the relief of having you hear him say it aloud is something he had not known he needed. 

Your entirety is like electricity escaping a plug socket, shocking you with such passion that the only thing left to do is give in,

 “Well, I guess I have another secret, too.”

“Tell me.” He need not know because you have said it in your own words. But, how nice would it be to drizzle your ‘I love you’ like honey across his aching heart. 

You will; coat him in so much caramelised molasses that he will have no choice but to understand that you love him... Right after you make him play a round of his own proven-pointless little game,

“Hmm. Maybe.”

—

[kurogxrix]

ATWOW characters in Highschool + music taste HEADCANONS

(neteyam, ao’nung, tsireya, lo’ak, kiri, tuk, rotxo)

[ Modern!au, Tuk is still in elementary school lmao ]

Neteyam

Mr.popular guy at school.

Goes to bother Kiri and embarrass her in front of her friend-group everytime at lunch.

Does after school activities nearly every single day.

My boy is so academically smart.

He doesn’t need tuition, tuition needs him.

Ao’nung defo copies on his homework everyday before class.

He’s the typa guy that prioritizes school before hoes so Neytiri is so shocked (and happy) when he finally brings a girl back home.

All of the teachers love him because he can calm the class down easily.

Not in an annoying teacher’s pet way, in a way that he’s literally homies with everyone so they stfu when he tells them to atp.

He definitely listens to afrobeats you can’t tell me otherwise.

He lives for and PRAISES rema.

His favorite songs are Woman by rema, Last Last by burna boy and No Sleeping by 1da Banton.

He also often listens to old school rap like MF DOOM.

Ao’nung

He’s a player fosho.

Like not the typa player to cheat on his partner but the single typa mf that fucks with many people at a time😭.

He’s definitely into sports like basketball. I think we can all agree w that.

Typa guy to wear a basket ball uni with gold plated chains.

He teases the ‘nerds’ in every single class that he has.

Is a menace like usual.

He smells so strongly of cologne.

Typa guy that would walk around with his varsity jacket if not for him being in his basketball outfit everytime.

Type of guy that has a ‘top 3 most attractive teachers’ list w his friends.

Ao’nung listens to rap theres no other.

Not like playboi carti kinda rap no, bro listens to Lil mosey, YNW melly, blueface and dababy (unironically)

Tsireya

She has GROUPS of girls talking behind her back.

They’re all jealous cuz our girl’s perfect fr.

Has one real friend group and sticks with them.

Nobody has the heart to tell her that girls shit talks her while she’s so nice to them.

Has a stash of pads in her locker incase anyone asks for them cuz she’s a real one‼️🤞🏽.

Walks back home with Lo’ak every single day.

She smells like plumeria 24/7.

She defo listens to pop like pinkpantheress and olivia rodrigo. SZA and doja cat girly.

Lo’ak

He throws wet toilet paper balls at the bathroom walls.

Gets called weekly at the principal’s office and wonders why.

Jake and Neytiri are fed UP.

Walks around with a pair of headphones in the morning because ain’t nobody talking to him while he’s half asleep.

One of his ex friends tried doing that and they ended up w a sore cheek fr. keyword: Ex friend.

Does his homework during lunch and always gets caught by his teachers.

He gives gym rat energy but not the annoying ones (are there even those?)

He’s some teacher’s favorite just like his brother, just cuz he’s the class clown.

Bet y’all the english teacher always laughs a little too suspiciously at his dumb jokes.

As the troublemaker kid, outcast and DEFINITELY his father’s least favorite, it only makes sense that he listens to rock.

Like heavy metal and NU metal.

His favorite band is Aerosmith I can see it.

And his favorite songs are walk this way by Aerosmith and born to raise hell by motörhead (ironic enough).

Defo listens to domination by pantera

He listens to Kendrick lamar and The Weeknd at times too.

Kiri

She’s a vanilla girly.

Like vanilla ice cream, vanilla deodorant, vanilla perfume, vanilla EVERYTHING.

She defo has crystals that she brings with her everywhere she goes.

Once she beat up Lo’ak for touching her crystals but my man was just trina manifest good grades fr.

She never finishes her lunch and Neytiri considers even still giving her food atp.

Cannot live without music.

Her earphones are always dangling out of her pocket because she’s always removing and putting them back in there.

No denying that she listens to Taylor swift.

Girl is a swiftie for LIFE. Other than that she defo listens to those indie bands like surf curse and TV girl.

Her favorite songs are disco by surf curse and Lavender haze by taylor swift.

Tuk

She has the newest generation iPad because papa jake’s income is paying good.

Well she isn’t allowed to bring it to school but she doesn’t anyways.

One day she got caught cuz she was playing some barbie makeover game in class.

Flexes her new glittery bag because she can.

She shares her food with her friends that have none because Neytiri taught her good.

She’s defo the typa kid that goes to school with freshly braided hair and comes back with them baby hairs sticking out and somehow one braid just completely undone.

She doesn’t get bullied or anything she just can’t stay in place at all.

she listens to those cringe TikTok songs i’m so sorry.

She’s still in that era 💔

Rotxo

I just know he’s on the verge of crying every morning trying to do his hair.

He’s so cute like wtf.

He struggles to get a girlfriend lmao so he’s always third wheeling everything.

He’s adorable though like, how???

No cuz like this mf STILL does those weird troom troom food hacks TO THIS DAY.

Like the thing where you put fondant in an empty glue stick roll just because.

Let his inner child have fun ok.

He’s a mixed music taste listener.But he mostly listens to rap.

Got influenced by Ao’nung.

-

I got way too lazy to finish or correct this.

[tokiwarcube]

This is gonna be so random, but can we get dethklok headcanons of how they'd react to their s/o being a ghoul/ghoulette in Ghost, please? 😶

Less random than you'd think, actually! This prompt in particular was actually written with a ghoul/ette reader in mind, although it wasn't explicitly stated. I'm actually a huge Ghost fan, myself! Bonus points to anyone who can ID me in the movie, LMAO

I do encourage reading This one for a bit more instrument/element specifics, but regardless, do enjoy!

Nathan Explosion

Despite his fame, Nathan keeps his personal life a secret from the media — or well, as best as he can as one of the most famous men in the world. So in that sense, he kind of admires the anonymity you maintain. Or at least used to maintain, anyways.

He’s gotten sucked into the metal vs. not metal debate, and before seeing you perform, he absolutely lies on the latter half of the debate. But holy shit, talk about stage presence. He’s very proud of where Dethklok stands in a concert sense — seeing Dethklok is truly, a completely unforgettable experience — but Ghost is just… Brutal.

Performance-wise, he likes Year Zero the most — the first time he saw flames erupting over the stage, bathing you in hues of orange and white absolutely took his breath away. Any song where you get to shine is a favorite of his as well.

His favorite song overall is a toss up between Year Zero and Elizabeth, though. He likes the lyrical imagery of both, and really, what metal performer doesn’t have a soft spot for an song about Elizabeth Bathory?

He gets a bit jealous if you’re a little flirty on stage, especially because he can’t just swoop in to make his place clear, but he works through it.

He’s a little obsessed with the Era V outfits — don’t be too surprised if he gets a bit handsy when the mask comes off. Or before.

He fucking hates Plushia with a passion — he is convinced that its cursed, and will not allow him in the house.

Pickles the Drummer

Pickles LOVES Ghost once you introduce him, and not just because you’re in it. The very fun, in-your-face sexuality that comes with rituals is right up his alley, and the musical niche they fall into with regards to genre is just… Listen, he loves the heavy shit, but rock will always have a place in his heart.

Impera enjoyer till the end of his days. His favorite live song is Watcher in the Sky, both for the vibes and for how crazy you’re allowed to be on stage; however, he’s also rather partial to Mary on a Cross, for obvious reasons. It’s not his favorite musically, but he does think that the bit Papa does live is funny as fuck.

Assuming you’re a ghoul with a bit of movement, he likes to hang out with security so he can hit his vape and shotgun you from below. There are MANY videos of this circulating online, and you’ve gotta admit — it’s pretty hot. Sometimes he’ll indulge the rest of the ghouls if they try to jump on the train — he’s not greedy. Also, its funny.

He likes to suggest silly little bits to incorporate into future shows — whether or not they actually get through review is another thing, but he’s got some good ideas. He doesn’t mind if you get a bit flirty on stage either — hell, he thinks it’s hot as fuck, truth be told.

He always steals mummy bucks out of the cannons before they go off. Puts it in a money clip and everything, the bastard.

He thinks the military outfit is hot as hell, but also. You do look like a bug. And he won’t hesitate to rib you about it every now and then.

Misses Cowbell Ghoul every day of his life.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

He loves how camp Ghost is — all of the bits really make the show fun, and he loves that humor is incorporated so well. After catching enough of your Rituals, he starts bugging Nathan to incorporate some sort of spin off the “go fuck yourself” bit, and let me tell you, he’s CLOSE to getting his way.

He absolutely made fun of you when the Era V outfits got revealed… and never stopped. He loves the Era III and IV outfits so much more all around, and will never let them go. (I’m so sure that he’d like it more if he could see past the mask, but he just can’t. Quit staring at him with them big ole eyes!!!)

He still insists on tightening the bolo for you before you go on stage, though. And he secretly saves all of the gifs and videos of you on stage to watch when he misses you. So… maybe the mask does grow on him a little bit, loathe as he is to admit it.

I don’t know how to tell you this, but he 100% develops this weird, pretty one-sided rivalry with Dew. Is it because of the man beneath the mask? Is it some weird lead guitarist thing? Is it because he gets to work with you on stage, and Skwisgaar doesn’t? He’ll never tell you, but either way, he shoots some vile glares his way whenever you two interact on-stage.

There’s one particular video of Dew flashing the “you suck” sticker at him, and Skwis just glaring up a storm in response.

His favorite songs to hear live are either Mummy Dust or Cirice, and he always tries to coax you over to flirt with him a bit… and he’s usually successful He might be in the crowd at barrier, but he’s managed to cement himself as a staple of every ritual. Go figure.

(People online always complain about the giant at barrier though, please convince him to hang with security under the guise of sneaking kisses or something. People are So Sick of his tall ass, even if he does add to the show.)

Toki Wartooth

Ghost ticks so many boxes for Toki, so needless to say, he is ecstatic that you get to work with such a cool act!

His favorite album is a hard tie between Opus Eponymous and Prequelle, funnily enough. The former reminds him of his early days in metal, but he loves the overall vibes of Prequelle — very hard to choose between the two, for him.

After you introduced him to Ghost through your work, he actually delved a bit deeper, and got obsessed with Repugnant. He 100% prods you into prodding Mr. Toblerone Frog into doing more death metal stuff.

He absolutely makes bracelets to trade with fans — getting a bracelet made by Toki quickly becomes as legendary as getting a ghoul pick. Although there’s always exactly one bracelet per show that he makes with one of your spare picks that he hands out to one special person.

He has your ringtone set to If You Have Ghosts :’) He also very much loves the Ghesties bit, and there’s a nonzero chance that he’s changed your contact to be a gh- prefix of some sweet little petname he has for you.

His favorite song is easily Dance Macabre — both live and off the stage! This only doubles after the events of LA.

He saves mummy dust and confetti from every show that you do, and keeps it in his scrapbook.

He thinks the Era V outfit is really cute. You DO look like a bug… but you’re his bug :)

He has been begging for ghoul plushies since he started dating you; although, he is very happy to own a little Plushia. He thinks he’s cute.

William Murderface

Like Nathan, he has also gotten into online debates about whether or not Ghost is metal — except he takes the opposite position of Nathan. Ghost is metal as fuck to him. Listen, you don’t go on stage in front of that many people, make fun of God and everyone who worships him, and come out not being metal. Like the Satanism bit is whatever, but having the balls to go and make fun of that many people on stage? Metal.

He thought the old outfits were really boring, but he is nothing short of obsessed with Era V — for both you and Papa alike. He desperately wants a replica of Papa’s military jacket.

His favorite album overall is probably Infestissumam, but he’s also partial to Opus Eponymous. He’s been begging you to get talk Trickery Feet into getting Idolatrine on the setlist since you got him into Ghost — hell, if he ever gets the motivation to actually record Planet Piss, he’d love to do a cover of it.

Although his favorite songs to see live are probably either Mummy Dust or — after the LA show — Twenties. Twenties slides in very quick as his number one after the LA show.

He gets into arguments online about your characterization in fandom spaces, I’m sorry. He does indeed read fanfic, and he will be leaving “they would not fucking say that” comments.

He likes to banter back and forth at night about what your role would be in the clergy if you know, the whole bit was real. For someone who doesn’t give a fuck about religion, he actually puts a lot of thought into this.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

hi hello hi

i love ur headcanons, they're the most canon headcanons i've ever read 🫣..

was just wondering if you could write some about what you think the mercs favourite bands/musical artists would be 👁️

What Are The TF2 Mercs Favorite Bands/Music Artists?

————————————————————

Awe tysm! Of course, I can, I love writing about music 😭 I had to delve into the depths of my Spotify to actually see what bands I know, that I should pick for these guys. This totally isn't me projecting btw.

I ended up just giving them a band they like and a singular musical artist.

(I've been forgetting to specify or elaborate on this, most of the time, unless mentioned, these silly's are in present day and not like the 60s lmao.)

————————————————————

SPOILERS FOR THE BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY MOVIE! (Also a little angsty, sorry <3)

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Demo and Hozier oh my god, its insane how much he likes him. I don't know how to elaborate on this further, but like, "Would That I"??? I feel like he loves that song! Also, I feel like all I have to say is "Take Me To Church" and I know some people will understand that immediately. This man just uses music as escapism, of course he likes Hozier.

Will Wood and The Tapeworms is a band that I've already deemed one of Demo favorites because of "The First Step." but this man just genuinely loves all of the songs. "The First Step", "Front Street", "6up 5oh Copout (Pro/Con)" and "Hand Me My Shovel, I'm Going In!" Are his favorites though.

————————————————————

Engie is a hardcore Dolly Parton fan. I know it's played out, I know it's obvious, I know its tropey, but I can't deny that this man loves Dolly Parton. Like this man is head of the fan club and I won't stop saying it. It would be wrong for me to pretend he doesn't heavily relate to "9 to 5."

Also loves the Chordettes oddly enough? He thinks all the way they sing is beautiful. He adores the cover of "Hello! Ma Baby". But is also a sucker for the popular ones, "Mr. Sandman" and "Lollipop". I will say though, it's utterly disturbing to the other mercs when it's like midnight and they get up for something and just here a really softly played "Mr. Sandman". Only one not disturbed is Medic, but like, it's hard to disturb a man who also has been known to play those old eerie songs at odd hours, they bond over this.

————————————————————

This man loves Elton John, he loves how he can relate heavily to some of the songs and then just genuinely enjoy other ones with no other meaning. Like he'll listen to "I'm Still Standing", and feel a lot of emotions from it, and then like "Crocodile Rock" will come on and just vibe to it.

Heavy also likes the Beetles. I don't know I just think he likes way the songs are sung, and the meaning he pulls from the lyrics themselves. Reads into music a lot and values being able to do that. Likes songs about love, and the Beetles are great for that. Don't get him started on "I Want To Hold Your Hand", and "Eleanor Rigby".

(Uh did I make this man have kind of old man music taste? Yes. Am I wrong, and will I apologize? No. He is old!) (Affectionate)

————————————————————

MARINA being Medics favorite is a mix of him being a teen girl in my mind, and an actual genuine ability to relate to some of the songs. I will say this until the day I die. This man has never felt good enough. Not even once. He's always working to try and get better, and once he does get better he's moving the goal post of getting better. Has played "Are You Satisfied" more times than you can count. "Oh No" and "Hermit The Frog" are also one's he finds himself both loving and relating to.

Would you guys be mad if I said this man was obsessed with Queen? (I am not projecting here, I swear!) Similarly to Heavy, he's a sucker for a romantic song or two. Loves "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" Also you want to talk about not feeling good enough, loops "Bohemian Rhapsody" Have you guys seen the Bohemian Rhapsody movie? You guys know the scene where Freddie (Rami Malek) is singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" and sings the line "I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all!" and has a slight break because he realizes he just actually said that? Yeah. That's how Medic feels when he first hears the song. But on a lighter note he also likes "Killer Queen" and "I Want To Break Free."

(Went crazy on this one, I really just need to make an entire breakdown on Medic one of these days 😭)

————————————————————

Scout is a Tom Cardy fan. I don't know how to elaborate without just yelling "Mixed Messages" like come on. Also, have you guys heard "H.S" Man he loves that song! Also oops another mini headcanon inside a headcanon, Sniper introduced him to Tom Cardy when he had "Read Between The Lines" playing one day.

Mindless Self Indulgence is a tad self-explanatory but who am I not to explain something in graphic detail? Gives him such confidence and makes him feel so cool. I already headcanon that he loves "Get It Up" so it's only natural that his favorite band made a song he loves. I stand by what others have said. Trans boy swag, well also a mix of that and white boy swag. White trans boy swag makes a Mindless Self Indulgence fan.

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Sniper- Honestly? I racked my brain for this one, and I'm going to get silly with this. I'm going to say he likes George Ezra, purely because "Budapest" reminds me so much of him. I think he'd love that song. Another case of putting his emotions into his music or more like, liking music that conveys his emotions? Ough the song just gives me Sniper angst vibes.

Uh controversial opinion, what the frick??? Oingo Boingo fan. Again something I can't but he loved "Dead Man's Party" It's just a song he's always really liked. "No Spill Blood" and "Controller" are also ones he likes. I feel like "weird" music is his favorite genre of music.

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I hate to say it but Spy is a fan of Olivia Rodrigo. I'm not going to lie, he's the second most teen girl-coded person on the team. Sings "bad idea right?", "Brutal", and "good 4 you". Sings them in the shower, the other mercs are sick of it 😭

Is it too much to say Mother Mother for the fact that I love Spy angst and can see him crying over "Arms Tonite" and relating to "Verbatim" so hard it's insane? Ugh, I live for Spy angst. I want him to be happy too but it's so easy to put angst😭. (Also I can't stress how much "Wrecking Ball"

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Soldier is a sucker for AC/DC. Dad music (I say this with love, I get why people like AC/DC they have good music.)This man is just a criminally insane dad, in my mind anyway. The other mercs have been woken up to "Highway to Hell" once or twice and have let Soldier play "Thunderstruck" as hype music before a battle.

I think he likes Tom Petty, like how are you going to tell me he doesn't love "I Won't Back Down" and "Free Falling" just loves the sound of the music itself (if that makes any sense) more focused on the sounds instead of the actual meaning.

————————————————————

Pyro is a huge fan of Jack Stauber. They adore the music. Enjoys the pop of "There's Something Happening" and loves the slow and sad sounds in "Cupid" Ugh they just love Jack Stauber so much. The only issue they had was when they first listened to "Bumblebees Are Out" it caused a meltdown, poor Pyro was reminded of trauma they forgot. Engie had to calm them down for an hour after. (They're okay, don't worry!)

PYRO IS A JUGGALO 100% I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. They kick their legs while listening to "Imma Kill U". Listen to "My Axe" and replace any mention of an axe with their flamethrower, in their head. I'm just imagining an AMV or just seeing Pyro walking to "Boogie Woogie Wu" and scaring the shit out of anyone and everyone.

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I finally finished it 😭 I had like five asks? All at the same-ish time and I was so hyped but then my brain decided to revoke all my motivation. It's okay though I just pushed through it. I love being able to answer asks!

An ask about about Medic and Junji Ito's Gyo coming tomorrow hopefully!

[voltronisanobsession]

Hey could you write Percy with a fem s/o who’s emo? Like she is seen blasting her headphones with Slipknot and other bands all the time. Also her maybe having split dyed hair too? I think that would be so cool ngl.

Percy with an Emo Reader

Once an emo, always an emo🫡 I really like this, it’s different from the other requests I get😍😍

Hope I did you justice, it’s been a while since I’ve entered emo territory💔 I played my rock playlist just to write this lmao💀💀💀 not proofread

I love this idea SO MUCH

When people see you, they don’t expect you to be dating the one and only Percy jackson

Dressed head to toe in mostly black, wearing a Slipknot band tee while rock and metal music blares out from your headphones is the last thing some people expect to see at camp

So imagine their surprise when they see Percy holding and kissing your hand, sending a cheesy smile your way while you playfully roll your eyes

You guys are just so different from each other that most people wouldn’t guess that you guys are a couple

You’re dressed in dark clothing while Percy has a little more color in his wardrobe. you’re the black cat and he’s the golden retriever in the relationship 😖

But your differences is honestly what makes you both closer!

Percy could honestly care less on what people think of your relationship

He knows that as long as you’re happy doing what you do then he’s definitely happy as well

Though sometimes you might grow a bit self conscious of how you guys look like to others, Percy is quick to get rid of those thoughts with a soft kiss on your cheek

He understands your concerns, understands why you might be a bit more hesitant to be around him while out in public, but he makes sure to not let those fears control your guys relationship

His confidence gives you confidence💔💔

Moving on, when Percy first met you, it was definitely a really cool experience for him

He thought you were the coolest person, and he still thinks so!

You’ve shown him a whole new range of music he never would have thought he would listen to

The loud drums and guitars hurt his ears at first but he soon found himself enjoying the tracks you recommended to him from different bands

Omg you guys totally give each other song recommendations

His personal favorite rock band you’ve shown him so far lowkey might be sleeping with sirens💀🔥🔥

He also likes all the rock band tshirts you have

They’re different from what he would usually wear, so this dude steals some of your shirts

The thing is that he can’t really hide that he steals your shirts so you’ll just randomly see him one day wearing your slipnot shirt, the black a stark contrast against all the orange camp shirts

If you also wear an accessories, just know if something goes missing, Percy is MOST LIKELY wearing it

OMG AND YOUR HAIR

Percy LOVES your hair

Especially if you dye it different colors throughout the year! I feel like dyed hair is automatically more fun to play with, so you know this dude is gonna have fun with your hair

I can imagine him trying to run his fingers through your hair only for it to get stuck a second later, your head pulled back as he keeps trying to get his fingers through it

Since you most likely dye and bleach your hair often, it’s lowkey fried and damaged, so unfortunately running his fingers through your hair might be a little hard💀💀💀💀 and painful💀

Percy might even wanna dye his hair to match with you teehee

You would paint his nails black when you crash in his cabin for a night (he learns to paint his own nails when you’re not around :,D)

Omg you might even draw some heavy eyeliner on him or add black eyeshadow under his eyes because he probably asked you to😭😭

If you have an piercings, whether it be face piercings or body piercings, Percy’s immediately asking if they hurt and to what extent.

“What’s this piercing called? An industrial? Damn, did it hurt?”

“It hurt like a bitch.”

“Oh wow ok, haha not getting that one!😀”

Honestly Percy slowly adds some of your stuff into his life, your band tees becoming a permanent clothing piece in his own closet

And you’re just happy that he’s so interested in your interests, seeing as it’s made such an impact in your life!

A small thought, you would totally get along with Thalia

You both might share some of the same music interests and immediately bond over it

You guys are lowkey besties

Ending this, Percy would totally let you throw him into a mosh pit if you both were to go to a concert together

[maxe-murderer]

so uh, tssm band au i guess

might eventually do the rest of the designs but i doubt im gonna do anything with this au aside from some art and daydreaming

thank you @voltrixz for the continued fueling of my brain rot

ramblings abt the au under the cut

ok so sandmans lead guitar, shocker is rhythm guitar and also electric banjo when the vibe fits and vocals (baritone/tenor range), electro plays bass (can play guitar but mains bass) and vocals (baritone with particularly good low growly notes), vulture gets the keys and can sing but doesn't do much aside from some backup here and there for the whole group (baritone/tenor but like, softer, good falsetto), rhinos drums and vocals (bass), and ock gets the mother fucking theremin he does also swap out for keys tho (but he's mostly a classical piano type)

their style is very all over the place but stick mostly to rock and similar feeling genres. each song tends to feel a bit more like one persons style in particular. they swap around vocals depending on the vibe with the more growly, heavy metal, screaming type vocals going to electro and rhino while shocker and vulture are more traditional ig with their singing. ock does most the composing and vulture majority of the lyric writing. they're in a constant state of breaking up, getting back together, and rearranging members

spider-band! ok so peter of guitar and vocals (tenor, he's the front man), gwen on drums and vocals (mezzo-soprano), and harry plays keys (cause cmon no way he wasn't required to take piano lessons or smth) and will do some backup vocals but like he's not a singer and he knows it. mj joins later on and plays bass, she joins in on the backup vocals (alto) when with the band but does have an insane voice, she does do plenty of solo work tho.

mysterio plays like, everything. but is most known for playing the electric violin cause cmon its a fuckin electric violin that shits cool. high baritone tenor (just like, imagine the phantom ok that was my only thought process with this decision). he did try to go into acting but for as great as he is with everyone on tech he's a little shit to work with if he's onstage and too cheesy for most directors. fucking ate as carlos in a production of legally blonde once tho. he works a lot with chameleon (somehow manages to do great hair, makeup, and costuming) and tinkerers some sorta techie but my tech experience is all theater and i know jack about instruments and shit

black cat imma say is an alto (listen i was an alto for a long while before i became a tenor) and like, i think poppy is a good point of reference for some of the vibes im getting for her. and in general a mix of like, sultry seductive type songs and straight up heavy metal.

ok sandman and rhino were/are obviously a duo, shocker does his own solo stuff and is a part of the enforcers (its straight up country),

literally no fucking clue for kraven. ok i think this is everything i thought of. if you read all of this thank you lmao

ok its 1am and i got shit to do tmrrw love yall talk to me abt this show at any time pls

[hcneygemini]

𝖝. 𝖆. 𝖓. 𝖆. — the sex was good until it wasn't sentence starters.

A collection of sentence starters from the album The Sex Was Good Until It Wasn't. Not including songs previously released as singles ( they are on this meme ) I also have chosen not to include 15, Lavender Daughter, or BODY due to the heavy and deeply personal subject matter. Please do not add to or claim this meme as your own. Feel free to change pronouns, slightly rephrase, combine, or shorten as needed. Some lyrics have been changed to better fit rp purposes. tw: toxic relationships, brief suicidal ideation, religious stuff ( mostly blasphemous lmao ), some violence mentions, & implied cheating.

LIP SERVICE

you can't hurt me any more than you have already.

it's taken everything in me not to be petty.

what once was easy is now feeling pretty heavy.

waiting is romance until [ they ] are never ready.

i get next to you and i still get nervous.

my stomach dropped when you said "i don't deserve this."

i don't deserve this.

"it's just not like you," is what i tell myself, but how could i know that?

i guess it's true love 'cause you always come right back.

a liability is what you lack.

i don't wanna know that.

you talk of timing, like our planets just aren't aligning.

you talk of timing, as if we don't have any say in deciding.

you talk of timing, as if my tongue is the only one i'm biting.

you talk of timing, as if i don't have all your confessions down in writing.

yeah, it's the timing.

i can't let you lie to me.

i don't know who you're trying to be.

i didn't wanna up and leave.

i knew you wouldn't stay with me.

i think about you all the time.

we thought it would, but it never died.

my guilt is who i sleep beside.

i wonder if you're warm tonight.

we tried to control all the damage.

you couldn't let go.

i couldn't handle all the doubt in my mind.

all that's left is the hurt where you're hollow.

i wish you'd have saved yourself, 'cause i now i gotta save me.

now i gotta save me.

is there a world where we can make this better?

will i question your intentions forever?

[ Phoebe ] said that it's for the better.

i do what i can to make it last.

i'm scared of how i feel when you talk like that.

can we talk like that?

can we talk?

i would do it all again.

maybe we can try whenever you are able.

i'm not waiting, i'm just sitting at the table.

THE SEX WAS GOOD !

we're star-crossed lovers, but i wanna puke whenever you say it.

you're a little older now.

that's just the hard truth.

you're rocking with the big boys.

you scream your lungs dry.

i'm a sucker for white noise.

where am i tonight?

i guess you'll never know.

you probably won't sleep right.

now i can't think of you, it ruins my whole mood.

i only painted you red out of kindness.

you blame it on your childhood.

i should have left, but how could i?

i guess the sex was good until it wasn't.

i bet it cuts right to the bone.

you wanted a wife and a kid and a life you could control.

i've got unsaved numbers in my phone.

i've got a god-awful tendency to love being alone.

break all my shit!

incite a riot!

go play the victim, babe, i hope they buy it.

dry your alligator tears.

you can't leave 'em here.

you wanted love songs—beggars can't be choosers, dear.

i'm stone cold.

it's fucking tragic.

i never loved you.

i find myself looking back a bit more than i should.

it wasn't all bad, but it wasn't that good.

SICK JOKE

write it in gold.

the ending gets old.

they say you learn to know when it's time to go.

these days i'm talking to myself.

i know what to say now.

is everything i feel temporary?

i'm learning more about myself and it's scary.

won't you let me live right here in the memory?

love me plenty.

take this gently.

leave me empty.

leave me whole.

call it what it is: it's a sick, sick joke.

nobody's laughing now.

i wanna learn to love you, i just don't know how.

i swear i'm really trying, but i'm all worn out.

all that happened hurt me more than i care to talk about.

nothing ever changes, and i'm sick of this town.

will i find it in me to find a way out?

i think i might feel better once i let you down.

we never touched in that midnight glow.

every part of me you begged to know.

i look into your eyes and i see my own.

it's almost like you always knew me—what a horrifying feeling.

you were horrifying.

i only miss it a little.

i don't wish you very well.

you only loved me in riddles.

you still loved me, i could tell.

now you call it a fever dream.

you're only kidding yourself.

i wanna learn to trust you, i just don't know how.

you're no longer a contact.

i'm good on my own, but you already know that.

you swore to be true.

you failed in the moment.

they say it takes two, but i blame you.

i don't know what it means.

someday i'll find the meaning.

the wound still stings.

i kinda like the bleeding.

where'd you go?

you oughta stay there.

i had to block you on the internet 'cause i still care.

it keeps me up at night like a bad, bad dream.

what if i never find someone who's just like me?

our stars never aligned.

we did a bad thing.

i hold on to the grudges.

i wish you held me.

i have an incessant need for a love so all-consuming that it ruins me.

you promised it was real.

i guess you misspoke.

i wanna be merciful, i just don't know how.

it goes against my nature to believe you're bad.

why'd you have to go and lie to me like that?

there always come a point where you have to have your own back.

now's as good a time as ever to learn that.

i'm thankful that i never gave you all of me.

now i get to walk away with everything.

if i linger in your memory, eradicate me!

i never saw you coming, but i felt you leave.

i did my best.

i hope you never find the guts to make amends.

i'm crying to my friends.

i'm plotting my revenge.

all i really wanna know is why would you pretend?

FERAL

i served my head on a platter.

i wish i were dead by now.

what does it matter?

make your amends.

prepare for the slaughter.

the rumors are true.

you're callous and cruel.

that [ woman ] is feral.

they said, "be careful, that [ woman ] is the devil.

even god herself as never known such evil.

i see [ her ] when the lights go low.

i feel [ her ] when i'm on my own.

i do my best work under pressure.

you fight for your life.

for me, it's just pleasure.

blood on my lips looks so much better.

witness my final ascension.

i command your undivided attention.

i'm teaching a lesson.

god is a woman and she likes other women.

does it keep you up at night?

was there something in the light that looks like me?

was it worse than you thought?

are you praying to a god you don't believe?

there's a shadow in your bed.

[ she ] won't leave.

i kinda wish i killed you sooner.

pray to your great empty heaven.

THE KICKER

it's snowing for the second time this winter.

i'm glad i didn't, but i wish i'd kissed [ her ]

i've been contemplating resolutions.

i blocked the user, but [ she ] made a new one.

i'm at a loss.

maybe i'm sick and need an obsession.

maybe it's love and the timing's up to heaven.

if it's as real as it feels, wouldn't you be here still?

ain't that the kicker.

there's a ghost in these walls.

[ she ] says nothing at all.

there ain't a single day i don't feel [ her ].

you're a lesson learned.

i'm one you get to work through.

how dare you say this ain't easy for you.

you get to fall asleep in bed with a [ girl ] who chose you.

i hate that i still wonder if it's what you wanted.

you said you're all mine.

it left me haunted.

if i go crazy, put your name down on the paper.

cause of death: a fucking serial dater.

maybe i'm mixing up all the signs.

you're really not a bad guy.

you could be the one if i just let this one slide.

baby, you're lucky that i'm such a forgiver.

you chose her too.

don't tell me you love me if you don't mean it like that.

you don't mean it like that.

don't tell me you're coming back, you don't mean it like that.

why'd the lord make me such a forgiver?

EARTH EYES

you're got earth in your eyes.

i can hardly survive how you touch me at night.

will you touch me tonight?

will you touch me?

you're all mine.

you kissed and you cursed me.

i spent 7 years trying to prove i was worthy.

i waited for worship.

i waited for madness.

i sat on your doorstep.

i loved without reason.

you loved me in secret.

now that i'm older, i no longer mind it.

it wasn't one-sided.

you tried to hide it.

you wound pretty lies 'til we crashed and collided.

i finally found you.

ALIBI

i don't love [ her ], but i think about [ her ] all the time.

i wonder what on earth [ she ] tastes like.

i've got a hundred reasons why i need an alibi.

i think it's funny.

i can never get [ her ] all alone.

it's all we know.

i haven't been this close to heaven since they shut me out.

i still had blood on my clothes.

[ she ] washed it out.

i know nothing in this world can save me now.

no, i don't love [ her ]

[ she's ] just somehow all i think about.

ain't it funny?

for you, i think i could have been someone.

i hope you know when it's your time to go, it'd be an honor just to offer up a hand to hold.

if i have to wait until our decaying state to be that close to you, darling, it's all i'll do.

i'll be yours forever, if forever will have me.

i'll be yours forever.

4EVER

it's already been 6 months.

i kinda hate how the time just goes and goes.

it feel strange to think about how i used to be somebody you didn't know.

you're the first i always call.

i share my clothes and fears with you.

we know it's something special.

we know we're gonna miss it when we get a little older.

i'm crying on your shoulder.

i think i fell in love, but it feels a little better.

i could stay right here in this house with you forever.

some things are meant to be.

some things are accidental.

you make me believe the world could be gentle.

every minute here i get more sentimental.

you cry in my arms.

i put on the kettle.

we do what we want.

the [ girls ] are allowed.

i had a panic attack, now we're going out.

god, i love the [ girl ] house!

you can brush your teeth while i'm singing in the shower.

i'll follow you wherever.

you make it all right.

home is where i love you.

they could stick us in a movie.

i'd even go to hell if it meant with you.

how'd we get so lucky?

home is where you love me.

we're all just a little bit in love with [ Amelia ].

i'll meet you on the corner.

i'm down in california.

they say talk is cheap.

JANUARY

it's all so comforting, the part of me that dies without you here.

tell me how i'm supposed to stay away for another year.

i don't wanna kill the parts of me that loved you right.

i can't look them in the eye.

i swear i will hate you for this forever.

i never got to tell you that i loved you.

i was blinded by your tunnel light.

this is my town.

honey, it's your wasteland.

i don't think we'll ever talk again.

we couldn't get that right.

i didn't notice the moment you let go of this.

i was all alone in it for longer than i knew.

i knew.

you made the right choice.

i'm second guessing if i ever really knew your true intentions.

you couldn't hold back.

i couldn't learn my lesson.

i kinda hate the silence.

i know what to do with it.

now it's over.

i feel 10 years older, somehow none the wiser.

i do this every time.

i couldn't get that right.

your skeletons, they don't scare me.

i go back to january—in my mind, you wait there for me.

i feel pathetic, insisting this shit's poetic.

i feel you rolling those damn eyes.

i curse 'em all the time.

no, i don't miss you anymore.

i don't want you back in my life, i couldn't live like that.

i'd say i'm happy.

there's still something so daunting.

i never felt the weight of it all.

you came along and took it off me.

i hope you're happy.

i can't look at any pictures, i'm afraid i'll see you with [ her ].

i heard you got that right.

i can't go back, i can't move forward.

i cried all night.

what's that like, being loved by you?

i still talk to you when i'm sleeping.

i call you name just to feel something.

i never learned to let a good thing go.

no, you won't be seeing my name on a phone screen.

you're hoping it's me who caves—well, it won't be!

i needed the time and the space.

i can't recall why it was needed in the first place.

i ain't a killer.

oh baby, i might be.

you're somehow the one i can't leave behind me.

in my mind, you regret me.

do you regret me?

[petrichoraline]

Petri!!! You saw the SVT Follow concert in theaters?? 😃 how was it? I’m going tomorrow, I’m so excited!! 😁

aaa i did!! we had very limited projections and i caught the last one in the nearest theatre (was running late, got there on time but still missed the beginning cause i went to the toilet lmaoo)

it was very nice!!! (genuinely no pun intended hahah) my impression is that it's made to cater to non-fans at least partially since there not only were crowd shots and funky editing choices (you'll laught at the camera spins over halfway through, im sure) but also the inside jokes weren't that many; a part of it is the encore stage and you know they love to fuck around then. i feel like the actual concert was longer than what the movie shows? then again i might be comparing the things we get during the duration of a song when im used to multiple angles from fancams online, you simply cant catch all the shenanigans that happen at once hahah

lil spoiler, dude kisser moments had solid screentime lmaoo

there was a part where i cried and then was laughing a few minutes later :') it was emotional

as for the cinema experience, there werent many people at all but i had to go and ask two girls to shush after 30 minutes of nonstop talking (during songs and ments alike and when it was all so loud too, idk how they were this easy to hear)

there were also these other kids who came in late and clapped and yelled and i was very happy to listen to them since if we werent all shy i think we all wouldve been doing that lmao

the music will really have you pumped, i started off just tapping my foot but at some points i was lip syncing, bopping my head, doing choreos with my hands and shaking in my seat hahah, i even forgot to look at the screen at times

my little advice is to bring earplugs if ou cant handle loud noises cause in our theatre they did selective boosting of the volume at times and it was overwhelming esp since the songs are so heavy instrumental wise (there are some rock arrangements!! youll love it)

all in all a very fun experience even with quite the empty room, i hope the fellow carats in your theatre are fun and you have an amazing time!!!!!!! you have gottt to let me know how it goes, okay? okay!!

ps yes they all look stunning its insane but if youre anything like me jun and wonwoo will floor you

[chronic-ghost]

Chapter 9 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 11845

chapter summary: if you thought you knew the full story of natalie lorraine, you were myth-taken

chapter warnings/tags: non-consensual touching, implied sexual assault, emotionally abusive parents, drug/alcohol use, underaged drug/alcohol use, women existing in the male gaze, putting too much of myself into characters as per yooshg

a/n: Header comes from the “Circe Offering the Cup to Ulysses” by John William Waterhouse. Song for this chapter is Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac – watch me make a fic playlist after the fact lmao. Bear with me while I wax embarrassingly poetic about my favorite oc blorbo. Remember this does end well!!!

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There are many different types of myth but, essentially, they can be grouped into three: etiological myths, historical myths, psychological myths. Etiological myths can offer explanations for why the world is the way it is. Historical myths retell an event from the past but elevate it with greater meaning than the actual event (if it even happened). [Lastly] psychological myths present one with a journey from the known to the unknown which, according to both Jung and Campbell, represents a psychological need to balance the external world with one's internal consciousness of it. – Mythology, Joshua Mark

“in front of my mother and my sisters, 

i pretend love is cheap and vulgar.

 i act like it’s a sin– 

i pretend that love is for women on a dark path. 

but at night i dream of a love so heavy 

it makes my spine throb–

i dream up a lover who makes love like he is 

separating salt from water.”

— Salma Deera, “salt” 

Natalie Lorraine is a myth.

And like in all the great myths, birth is a painful, violent emergence. 

Slowly, labored across years and many heartbeats, what remains is the inevitable conclusion of being fucked over, of being lazy and careless, of innocence taken too soon. Careless children grow up to be careless mothers, careless fathers. 

The titans of the world leave to make their mark on history and, in doing so, mark their children in a way more powerful, more regretful than any legend could possibly make them out to be. 

Medea is brutalized in legends and in verse for the most heinous a mother can commit.

Odysseys forgets what being a father means.

Oedipus Rex curses his children with an unforgivable sin by way of their mother, their grandmother, and that staggering failure is felt through to Antigone, a generation removed. Antigone dies. Haemon and Eurydice die too. Pain and grief are family heirlooms passed through pale fingers at the stroke of midnight. 

But despite all that. Before all that. 

Myths begin when the heroes are forced to make a choice, choose a direction in the way their lives end up. It might not always be obvious, and the gods might have things in store for them. But there is a choice and the fallen hero always chooses.

But they were all children once. You have to remember that. You have to believe that.

(Aetiologic)

I hate these socks, you think to yourself, they’re itchy and they hurt my toes. Every time you swing your legs over the edge of that leather couch, your legs too short to touch the ground, the toe of your shoe pinches you. You really, really want to take off your shoes, but Mom said you had to keep them on all day, especially in the office. In his office. You think your dress looks like one of your baby dolls and you don’t like it.

So you stop kicking, even though the sound of your heel against the leather made a funny noise. You can move too, and make the leather squeak, and that is pretty fun too. Grinning, you bounce like you aren’t supposed to on your bed back home, the cushions chirping – it sounds like they’re farting – you giggle, rocking back on your hands from left to right, squealing along with the leather as you made it –

“Enough!”

You freeze, tears immediately welling in your eyes, fear almost painful in your chest. 

But he’s not talking to you. Your father is still in his office, with the door barely shut, and he’s talking to someone on the phone. Yelling, actually. He’s been in there since the little hand was on the fifteen and now it’s on the thirty. He told you to wait there while he called your mom. You tried to sit still, but it was boring and all the toys were back in the other room. 

He never yelled at you, your dad, but he did yell at your mom. 

When you talked to the other kids in your preschool class, their mommies and daddies lived in the same house together, slept in the same bed, talked nicely to each other. Yours didn’t. 

“Well, what am I supposed to do with her, LeAnne? I told you I have a meeting at four today and she could be here for three hours. I told you! I can’t have her here! You need to come pick up your daughter!”

Your foot kicks up and down. You didn’t like it when they talked about you like you weren’t there. 

“Hey there.” A woman with blonde hair and big eyes sits down next to you. She was always around your dad, and always handled his papers and briefcase and sometimes his coffee. She is younger than your mom but way older than you are. You think she’s really, really pretty. None of her dresses look like baby doll dresses. “I’m sorry your dad is taking so long. Do you want something to eat, or drink?”

You shake your head. Your mom said not to talk to strangers, so you didn’t open your mouth. 

“Are you bored? Do you wanna watch some TV?”

TVs were everywhere in your dad’s office building. Down near the elevators, and then more when you got out. It always seemed like people were watching a tv and the actors on the tv. Actors were people whose job it was to be on the tv or in the movies, your dad told you. He told you he knew a lot of famous actors, but when you told the kids in your class about it, they said they didn’t know any of those people. 

“You’re just making things up!”

“You’re a liar!”

You really wanted your dad to introduce you to an actor, just to prove them wrong. You thought it was pretty cool how everyone was always watching them. Like they couldn’t look away. 

You nod at the pretty lady. She smiles and picks up the skinny black tv remote on the table in front of the couch. 

The tv in the corner of the room pops on. The size of it doesn’t take up the wall like some of the tvs in the office do, but it’s still bigger than the one you have at home. 

The nice lady taps the button a few times, the channels changing, until she comes to the kids channel. It’s a little old for you – all of the shows at preschool are cartoons and this one has real people in it – but you want this woman to like you. 

“Do you like this one? Friends in the Family? It’s so funny!” 

She turns and leans back against the couch with you. You hear people laughing on the screen, even though you don’t see anyone. There’s a young girl, older than you but younger than this nice lady, and she has a boy with her on her parents’ couch. The boy leans in and kisses her cheek and the invisible people go ‘oooooh’. 

“Ooooh!” You mimic and the nice woman laughs, grinning at you. Something warm and tight goes up your chest, and you pinch your lip with your teeth, toes curling in your stupid shoes. You liked making her laugh.

On the screen, a little girl – maybe the other girl’s sister – pushes through the kitchen door. You gasp in surprise. She looks like she could be in your preschool class. She’s all mad and she crosses her arms, pouting.

“Someone’s gonna get it!” 

The invisible people laugh and the nice lady giggles so hard she leans forward and you’re giggling too, even though you don’t quite get it. That warm feeling reminds you of when you drink soda too fast, but it’s good. 

You frown too, put your hands on your hips, parroting the little girl on tv, “someone’s gonna get it!”

Her pretty mouth opens in surprise, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh my God, that was so good! You sound just like her!” You giggle, your face hot. “Have you ever asked your dad about acting?”

You shake your head. You, an actor? On tv? No way!

“Well, you should! You could be really good!”

You don’t know what to say, you want to keep making the same faces that little girl is, when your dad’s door opens. The young woman next to you lurches forward and shuts off the tv. He comes out and you can’t tell if he’s angry or upset or if that’s just how he looks. You’re not around him enough to know. But he stands in front of you, thinking something.

“Judy, would you get us two juice boxes from the fridge downstairs?”

“Of course, Mr. Milken.”

The young woman leaves and you’re a little afraid. You don’t want him to yell at you for watching that show for older kids. You twist your little fingers. 

“That was your mom on the phone. She’s going to be a little late.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Did you have fun today at my office? Did you like meeting all my friends?”

You nod, this time quicker. “Yes! I would like to meet an actor one day!”

At that, he smiles and you relax. People who are angry don’t smile. 

“While we wait for your mom, do you wanna play paper football?”

“What’s that?”

“C’mon. I’ll show you.”

So the myth begins. All it takes is a single idea. A single want. A single desire. An innately human desire. We build myths and we tell stories and we fill them with the things we want to hear.

You’re turning fourteen next month. It’s circled on your calendar in your bedroom. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal, but at least now you could start the emancipation process. If you wanted to. You laid awake at night, thinking about what you’d call yourself if you ever changed your name. Something vaguely French-sounding. European for sure. But they were just fantasies to get you through the day. 

It’s early in the morning. You haven’t heard anything from Mom’s room in a while so you figure it’s just the two of you in the house again. You totter out of your room, blinking sleep from your eyes – it was a very late night on set last night and probably would be again, given how the production of this made-for-tv movie was going and especially with the extra homework you’ve been doing to make up for the time off you’ve taken – as you wander across the small, sun-streaked living room, and around the corner to the kitchen. You hear something from the fridge and just as you are about to ask your mom if she’s cooking (which is never a good idea), a man stands up. He’s older than you but younger than your mom and he has the last piece of your sourdough bread in his mouth. He smirks and you unconsciously tug down the hem of your sleep shorts.

This has been happening more and more lately. The way men, older men, look at you, it’s different now. Has been for a while, but now there’s more of them, their gazes sit on your bare skin longer, the light in their eyes changing, the lines around their mouths tightening. You don’t really know what it is they want, but it’s baffling to you that they think looking at you like that will convince you to give anything to them. 

It's the way your mom’s new boyfriend is looking at you. Your cheeks heat up without your consent and you hate it. 

He’s hungry and he’s scrounging around in the fridge and now he’s looking at you. Still hungry.

“Hey, you must be LeAnne’s daughter,” he says, taking the bread slice out of his mouth and propping his hairy arm on the top of the refrigerator door, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe as if deciding whether or not to make a sandwich out of you. Who likes this kind of shit? Oh, that’s right. Your mom. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yeah. That’s me. Is she here?”

His eyes follow the backs of your thighs as you walk over to the coffee pot and take out week-old coffee grounds. They’ve turned blue, started to mold, but you dump them out into the trash with three good smacks.

“Uh, she’s still in bed. She said you could get to school on your own.” 

Behind you, the fridge door slams shut and you curl your toes, begging yourself not to flinch. There’s something inside of you demanding you to not show weakness. Steadying your own hand, you dig into the jar holding the coffee grounds. It’s halfway empty, you make a note to pick up some later, the thought pressed up against the swell of panic that’s growing at the edge of your awareness. 

“I’m Alan.” He leans up against the counter out of the corner of your eye. “I know we just met, but I could take you, to school . . . if you want.” 

His thick middle has nothing to do with age, only poor health. Evident further by his off-yellow teeth and bad breath. 

“I’m o-okay. Thank you.” 

There’s three minutes left on the coffee timer. His gaze is like open palms on your skin. You hate it. He sidles up closer and your nails dig half-moon crescents into your skin. The lovely smell of coffee brewing is overwhelmed by his cheap cologne. He’s big. Bigger than you. Bigger than any of the boys in your class, or any of the men on set. You’ve never really noticed the men on set, they’ve never been this close before, but you’re sure he’s bigger than all of them.

You’ve never felt quite so small. 

“You were in that movie, right? ‘Those ain’t your average space-invaders’, that was you right?” You nod, the back of your throat drying out. He chuckles. “You were good. Really good. You were so pretty.” 

“I was ten.” 

He shrugs. “Yeah. Ten outta ten.”

Your stomach clenches and it’s like he can tell. Alan reaches the two inches across the linoleum and gently strokes your forearm. A light, smelly panic sweat breaks out over your forehead, under your armpits. 

You want him away from you, want him gone, to run back to your room, but where would that get you? 

Roll over, play dead, show your under belly. You don’t know what else to do to make him go away.

“Well, if you see my mom,” you ease around him, your forearm sliding from his grasp just as his fingers tighten, making sure you don’t seem offended, “tell her I’ve got a ride to–,”

“Hey, wait, where ya going?” 

You all but run back to your room, the coffee pot beeping behind you. You throw open your bedroom door and leap inside, locking it behind you. You don’t realize you’re panting until you feel light-headed, dizzy – you feel sticky all of a sudden and rush into your bathroom. Steam pours from the scalding hot water, the red handle all the way to the right, as you stand over it, watching it rush down the drain. With your lips pinched between your teeth, you run your hands under it and muffle a scream. It hurts. It burns but it’s like his touch is evaporating off your skin and there’s relief in that. It’s the first time you realize that the pain you give yourself is different from the pain that they give you. 

Not all of them are like that. 

Some of them are actually kind of okay. 

You’re fifteen and dressed as a pumpkin for the Halloween party hosted by the studio, the suit baggy and oversized, and for once, your mom’s friends don’t stare at you. No one really has all night and it’s nice. You feel like you can ease into the wall and no one would notice. There’s a long black couch on the other side of a plant with glowing lights in the shape of ghosts wrapped around its trunk. You stepside around a few directors, one of your other actors, and head straight for the couch. 

You don’t realize Jim, your mom’s current boyfriend is already there until you sit down and groan. He laughs from the opposite end and you jump. 

He’s more her age, thankfully, and doesn’t really seem to notice if you’re at home or not. In fact, you can’t really remember another conversation with him that lasted longer than a few minutes.

“You liking the party?” He asks.

You shrug – never show your actual feelings. “It’s kinda late. I’ve got classes on Monday, so I’m hoping to make it an early night.”

He nods, slowly, distracted. There’s something about his eyes that isn’t right. Not in the way that he looks at you, but at everything, like he’s trying to look through a dense fog.

Your mother is nowhere to be found, which isn’t entirely out of the ordinary for this sort of thing. She’d either show up and be the life of the party or show up so trashed she had to be escorted out of the building. 

But it is odd for her to just leave one of her toys lying around. 

“Do you know where my mom is?” You ask Jim and he shakes his head, as though it takes a considerable amount of effort just to hold himself upright. There’s definitely something wrong with him.

And then you see the smoke coming from his fingers and you finally realize that skunky smell is coming from him. 

He sees your gaze fall. “You want a hit?” He asks, either not remembering your question or not wanting to answer.

You’d never tried it before, not really having time between shooting schedules and school and your mom wanting to take you out to meet new casting directors and writers. You sit there, staring and realize Jim is probably one of the only consistent people you see in your life, everyone else a revolving door of names and faces and elbows to rub. A tiredness breaks over you like the push of a wave and you sway, wanting nothing more than to be at home under the covers. You wish you’d brought your walkman, so you could have hid out on the soundstage until the party was over.

You’d grown skinny over the past year. Rewarded and praised for it by producers and studio execs, you saw that people listened to you more, looked you in the eye when you were beautiful, made more beautiful by the thinness of your cheeks, your narrow thighs. Your mother was convinced you were taking pills, but couldn’t find anything in the house. And yet, the real reason behind it all was sometimes you were just too tired to eat. Too tired to move. Happy to curl up wherever you found yourself and sleep until the next person needed something from you.

But this is what you wanted, after all. You asked for a life of movies and revolving doors and fake people and men staring at your ass. You are reminded of this all the time. 

You nod at Jim, curiosity getting the better of you and wondering if other girls did this sort of thing in basements or with their friends or boyfriends. You portray a teenage girl on television, but sometimes you don’t feel like one at all. 

He reaches out to you and you take it. You’d smoke a cigarette once, with a few of the kids from that one time you guest-starred on that sitcom, so you think this’ll be the same.

“What’s it going to feel like?” You ask, the white paper inches from your lips. Jim looked at you and his eyes sort of crinkled. 

“It’s good. Real good. Like there’s a cloud between you and the rest of the world.”

That did sound nice.

You put your lips and inhale – it burns in a way you weren’t expecting – and you cough. Jim laughs in a way that makes you feel like you’ve done something wrong, that you’re silly.

“You’ll get it,” he says, “you’ll get it.”

You try again and remember that he held his breath before exhaling. You do the same, but the scratch makes your eyes water, your chest tighten, but you hold on, until you feel smoke cauterizing the back of your throat close and you cough again, less this time.

Jim laughs again and takes back the skunky cigarette. “Hey, look at that, your first joint and you handled it like a champ.” 

He smokes more, losing interest in you, so he turns and watches the party. Your heart beats roughly in your chest, but that might be more of the nerves than anything else. You fidget on the couch, waiting for something to happen, but it never does.

“I think I need another h-hit. I don’t feel anything.”

Jim frowns at you, shaking his head. “Hell no. You took two giant puffs on your first go. I’m not babysitting you when you’re puking in the toilet with the spins.”

“The spins?”

“When you drink while you’re high. Can be a real bad mix.” 

You blush, wondering if he saw you take sips from the flask in your purse or he just assumes you’re always drinking because you’re LeAnne’s daughter. 

“Just sit back, relax, you’ll feel it. In a bit.”

So you try his approach, nonchalantly watching people dressed in devil costumes, in white vampire fangs and cloaks, little skimpy bunny outfits, as the party rages on. You watch, and slowly, the whole thing feels distant. Like you’re in the far back of a theater and everything in front of you is some sort of stage.

You find you like it in the back row, in the quiet and the darkness. It’s warm, sort of like you’re dizzy but you sway with the movement and you don’t get sick. You find that you are rolling your head back and forth and you giggle.

Jim smirks at you, that joint almost gone. “Yeah, there it is.”

You’d never been high like this before. Buzzed a little bit from the beer in your flask, but this was new. This was . . .

“It’s nice,” you smile widely to the ceiling. “Does it always feel this way?”

“Like I said, you can mix with alcohol and get really fucked up.” Jim shrugs. “And different strains do different things. This is gonna relax your brain, but there’s others that’ll give you a body high.”

Body, this thing you’re in that doesn’t feel like it belongs to you.

“But a mental high from weed and a mental high from glue are like two totally different things.”

Your bones feel like they weigh a thousand pounds and you could just melt into the leather. But you turn your head, dropping it against the back of the couch.

“You can get high from glue?”

“You can get high from just about anything.”

“Oh.”

The needle-like feeling that pricks your heart every time you come to one of these parties is gone. The sloshy oozy feeling in your stomach when you go into public with your mother is gone. There is nothing left inside of you except weight and heat and air that comes in through your nose and out through your mouth. 

You giggle again. What if this is how a pumpkin feels all the time?

“Will it always feel like this?”

He doesn’t understand your question, doesn’t care enough to think about it, so he answers the only way he can. “Nah, should only last for a few hours. Then you’re good. No hangover, which is a plus.” 

“But I always want it to feel this way.”

He grins again and pulls out a small plastic baggy with some fuzzy brussel-sprout-looking vegetable inside. 

“Got twenty bucks on you?” 

You’re sixteen and you’ve just started in your first major motion picture. Offers are rolling in, you no longer have to seek them out. The brand new telephone for your brand new house is constantly ringing. You have to unplug it to sleep at night. But that usually makes your mother yell at you. 

She wants to answer every call that comes through. As if this house was hers.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, grinding up the weed you bought off a sound-stage guy earlier today in your silver grinder, your headphones in to drown out the noises coming from the other side of the house as well as the ones in your head.

This boyfriend was not so nice and in a drunken stupor grabbed your ass in front of LeAnne. She raged and yelled and blamed you. 

Get out, she told you. Leave. Get out. We don’t want you here. Leave. 

This is my house, you old bitch.

Licking the paper gently, you finish rolling the joint and press pause on your walkman. Stevie Nicks pauses in her crooning, and is it over now, do you know how? pick up the pieces and go home, and you remind yourself to find a purply drape at the next flee market. Reaching to the end of the bed, you plug in your headphones to the hot pink tv and flip to the right station.

Henry had sent in a new tv for your birthday, and you had that promptly thrown out. You bought this with your first check from residuals. 

It’s almost eleven. It’s about to start. 

You light the joint, inhaling smoothly, as the credits for Twenty-Three and Fun start up. 

The joint quivers at the end of your knee, your toes curling. It wasn’t produced by your father’s company, but it was all anyone talked about at school, in the gossip mags. You thought about buying Tiger Beat just for the pictures . . . of one specific cast member.

You bite your nail as the theme song plays and the credits roll through all the gorgeous, young actors smiling as they go about their perfectly average lives in the big city. 

And then his name shows up and you inhale smoke quickly to stifle the thing expanding in your chest.

Dieter Bravo. 

His smooth soft hair, dark sweet eyes. God, he is so cute. 

Your hand clenches the sheets. You’ve never had a boyfriend, only been kissed once while at dance in between shooting schedules that you’d begged your mom to let you attend. It was bad, it tasted bad, his lips were rubbery and wet, and you didn’t feel anything. 

Not like when you imagine what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Twenty-Three and Fun is out of your demographic, but maybe you could convince someone to let you try out for the part of someone’s little sister who comes in for the weekend. You’d just love the chance to meet him. He makes you feel like nothing you’ve ever felt before, nothing you know what to do with, but you tingle all over with it.

You’re at the tail end of sixteen when the spiral starts. 

When you don’t know where to put this loneliness that’s been dragging you down. 

Men stare at you but not in the way you want. Girls your own age won’t look at you, and women glare at you while their husbands stare. And boys, God, boys your own age –

You wipe the tears from your eyes, the wind snarling through your hair, the heat of the summer night sinking into your skin like wet clay. You know you’re driving too fast, but you don’t care.

Every day you go to work and put on someone else’s skin. Their clothes. Their face. For a while, it’s been freeing, to pretend to have normal problems, a normal family, a normal life. Because you knew even if you had never chosen to go into your father’s industry – which was now just as much yours – you knew your life wasn’t ever going to be normal. Not in the way it mattered anyway. 

But there is something there when you step in front of a camera. A feeling that doesn’t come from a dark place, from feelings of abandonment and loneliness – it comes from a place inside of you that still feels like you own, still is yours to hold and keep safe, despite everyone taking things from you without asking. Instead of taking, it gives. It builds. It grows, despite the salted earth of your soul. 

You like becoming someone else for a while, thinking as they do. Dancing, laughing, eating, playing as someone other than yourself. You like to create. You crave it. You create life for someone else that doesn’t exist and you love it. It feels right, imagining something if not for you, for someone else. Someone who looks like you but isn’t you. It feels good to dream. 

But lately. 

Lately, this job is no longer an act of creation. It’s fake smiles and ad campaigns and commercials and it feels rotten. Hollow. Like you’re under the eyes of a thousand leering men instead of just one. It feels cheap. You feel cheap, for wanting it to be something more. This desire for life itself dies in your hands, choked out, aborted before it had the chance to breathe.

Your body, yourself, is being twisted, molded into something you don’t want it to become and the only time, the only time you feel as though you have even some slight control is when you have none at all. When you detach from your corporeal form, so high or drunk you can’t feel your fingers. 

It began with the beer your mom’s boyfriends left in the fridge, then the pills in her medicine cabinet. Then the mini bottles of Crown Royal and Jim Beam in the mini-fridges at your dad’s office. No one ever seemed to care when you swiped the whole row into your backpack. Maybe others had done the exact same thing. 

You didn’t know how or why these things made you feel better but they did. You didn’t care about the tears on your face, the hot flood of anger beating in your chest, and you didn’t care about the speed limit, not even when you saw the flashing red and blue lights.

But you started to care when they put you in lock up and then you definitely did when your father’s lawyer bailed you out. 

You went home and threw up for six hours. No one came to check on you, no one came to find you when you yanked the phone cord out of the wall. You clutched the porcelain basin of the toilet for what felt like days. Years. You aged decades that night.

When you woke up, you showered, ate, and called back your father’s lawyer.

You had decided on a name, a new name to put on the emancipation papers. 

You told the lawyer very clearly and seriously over the phone: “I want my name to be Natalie Lorraine.”

It was the emancipation that finally did it. The final chop from the parental vine. The day she kicked you out, you came home from school, in between shoots for a new film with Gerard Butler and in talks for something with Helen Miram, and you find your mother curled up on the kitchen table. At first, you legitimately thought she was dead; the top half of her body was crumpled against the wood, her feet tangled with the rungs of the chair. She faced away from you, her right hand curled around an empty crystal tumbler and a three-fourths empty bottle of Belvedere inches from her fingertips. 

You stare, dumb-founded, your heart so slow you could hear it pound like a drum in your ears. And then she twitches. 

And then she wails.

“How could you? How could you do this to me? I’m your mother. You owe me. You owe me you owe me you owe me.”

She heaves boneless to the floor, the glass and bottle slipping out of her hand and shattering like droplets of rain. You can’t move, transfixed, as your mother, hands split open, knees carving bloody trails across the tile, drags herself towards your feet, like a freshly dug-up corpse. 

She’s muttering, spitting, snarling – she’s a starved, beaten beast, ready to make its last stand. 

You were a mistake

You ruined me

You ruined your father for me

Her sentences are blurred, notched together, overlapping, and intertwining. The only thing you remember is the vitriol and hatred more palpable than her own breath. 

Someone older, someone more separated from their pink, flushed girlhood would have the callouses to ease the burn, dull the cut. But at sixteen, you didn’t. At sixteen, with a burgeoning substance abuse problem and at the mercy of the first of many instances where adulthood begins to rob you of the small pleasures of life, you watch your mother crumble and it scares you.

In that moment you want nothing more than to be taken care of, in a way that doesn’t feel like it’s asking too much but it clearly is. You want to be safe in a way that is primal, the animal fear of the dark and unknown. You’ve seen your mother drunk before but not this drunk, never heard the sounds she’s making — the wailing, the disappointment, the sorrow and rage. It scares you so badly you want to cry.

The gap between girlhood and womanhood is closed when you understand your mother is only human. Nothing less. And nothing more. 

She’s still muttering hateful, horrible things as you take her to her feet and ease her onto the couch. 

She’s silent when you throw a blanket over her. 

She’s pale, shaking, green. 

Go away. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you around me. Leave me alone.

Leave me.

Leave me.

Leave me. 

Go away. 

You leave her, not knowing if it's serious enough to call 911, if you can actually die from drinking too much, but that fear, that vice-grip around your chest, it’s squeezing your lungs so tightly, tears leak out of the corner of your eyes. But then it sinks. Sinks into your bones, your blood, your muscles. Watching your mother folded up like a broken doll, you experience fear like you’ve never felt before. 

Blink and you’re in your room.

Blink and you’re under your bed, curled up, knees to your chin, and you’re crying. You can’t stop crying. It’s the only thing that seems to appease the fear, the sense that nothing is real and everything is going to turn out badly and it makes your stomach twist. You gag on your own spit and you shake and you tremble and you experience your first panic attack without anyone to tell you what’s going on. How to survive something like that. You grow up thinking this is how everyone lives and you’re just too pathetic to take it. You let that shame and embarrassment fester and grow because it has no way of stopping. 

Your father is also served with the papers. 

Two weeks later, the production for your upcoming movie was suddenly put on hold. The role with Helen Miriam went to someone else.

He never helped you get ahead in the industry, but he absolutely blocked you from it. He never called you again.

Someone, someone else, might have been hurt by the fact that your father cut you off without so much as a goodbye. But it’s not like you could miss what you never had.

You take the hint and enroll in UC Santa Barbara under your new name.

The myth of your maidenhood ended in much of the same way it began: at the behest of someone else and exiled as an afterthought.

You tried the whole sleep-around-to-fill-a-need thing for the freshmen year of college. It didn’t take. You liked sex but you liked the chase more. You liked the hunt, the thrill, the unconscious desire to touch, when the desire to do something first emerges in their heads. You like to watch the basic urge emerge in their darkened eyes before the other shoe drops. Drops and splatters coherent and rational thought like a bug on a windshield. 

You liked sex, even if more often you had to get yourself off while your partner had fallen asleep, their needs met. But you liked being wanted more. The drugs helped bridge the gap and given that you had no idea how to make friends because you'd never had one your own age before, the puddles of bodies that dripped onto couches and floors at parties seemed to be as good a social circle as any. They all started to recognize you at parties, in lecture halls, at bars. They nodded, you nodded back, and you sat down. 

No longer alone.

But not entirely wanted either. 

It was enough though. 

By your third year, you were known more for your party provisions (with your old contacts from the industry) than your ex-boyfriends. 

You meet Heidi Morgan through one of your production management professors. 

You’d gone in to speak with your professor, a man notorious for sleeping with his students, and believed you to be next in line (men were so much better at doing what you asked when they thought you’d sleep with them), so you were hoping that you could convince him that it was actually your lab partner who stole the paper from you, not the other way around, when you see him with someone else. 

Blonde, small, feisty. 

Heidi Morgan takes one look at the grotesque ogling in his eyes and promptly introduces herself. 

In her own fire and take-no-shit attitude, you find kindred spirits. 

She later asks you out for drinks, you think it’s been too long since you went down on a girl, and you completely misread the situation. 

She clears things up and then asks you to read for a part. The whiplash makes your head spin, but given that she’s not calling you a giant slut, it’s probably good news.

She knows who you are. Suspected because you looked familiar and because she has friends in some truly weird places, she confirms her suspicions by the end of the day. So she gives you a call, you show up, flirt too much, and maybe end up with a job. 

She gives you the script. It’s good.

Really good.

Why me? You ask her. You graduate in two weeks. You’re turning twenty-two in a few days. There’s nothing you’ve done in recent years to make her have this kind of faith in you. All digital memories of you reflect a knobby-kneed, round-cheeked little girl then that same little girl with tits and a smirk well beyond her years. 

She didn’t think she might find her lead in a dingy auditorium, she says, but crazier things have happened. It’s not a guarantee, or a promise, just an offer. Try out, see what happens. 

Crazier things have happened.

The rest is less myth and more old history.

(Historic)

The day you meet him is not unlike any other. Except in the little things. Your bra strap breaks when you go to put it on. Your belt loop gets caught in a door handle and nearly shucks your pants to the floor. You somehow get lost on the way to the studio even though you have your phone mapping the route. It takes you around and around and around until you get out and ask a very confused gas station attendant where the fuck the sound stage is. 

It’s not momentous. Annoying, perhaps, so annoying that all these little things pester your brain like flies gorging on rotten fruit. You’re distracted, one eye always glancing over your shoulder. Trouble, trouble, trouble, your problems seem to whisper, you’re in trouble.

A PA comes to find you, saying Heidi specifically asked for your presence but she’s gone missing. He thinks he knows where to find her, if you’d come with him. You eye him up from the black leather couch you’re draped across, irritated at the day and at him for his shameless staring. You nod, and immediately he starts running his mouth about his own Hollywood dreams. He’s a writer, you know, maybe you’ve heard of some of his smaller indie work, it’s not very much, but folks who know say it's good so maybe he’ll be able to sell it if –

The door to the back of the lot opens and it’s like god snapped his fingers in your ear. It’s not momentous, or earth-shattering, but holy shit does it fuck you up.

He’s broad. Tall. Forearms, thick and veiny, stocky thumbs and tense fingers. His hair is just on the edge of being long, but combed back in some attempt to tame it, to fold it into submission. His right earlobe is puckered, pierced, but no earring. His beard and mustache are trimmed, clean shaven elsewhere. Despite how he’s built out adult male muscle from his days on Twenty-Three and Fun, he still has those boyish eyes, a dimple that would drive anyone up a wall, and eyelashes you’d pay a thousand dollars for. You knew this was coming but it still feels like a kick in the chest. 

That kick burns when you realize something.

He’s fucking pissed. He’s beautiful, carved from your very dreams of what the most gorgeous man on earth would look like, but he’s fucking pissed.

Surprisingly, at you. 

Well, that’s disappointing. 

He comes at you with his claws drawn and you’ve never, ever been one to back down. You swipe back and hope you draw blood.

You discover other things about Dieter Bravo, the boy who you used to have a heart-stopping crush on when you didn’t know anything better. Fantasy will always be better than reality, and this isn’t exactly how you’d thought your first meeting would go.

And yet, you discover something else, something very, very curious. Something soft and impressionable, bruised purple and green. Something you want to lean on with your entire weight until he chokes. It’s ugly, but it’s amusing. Maybe this is how you hoped your first meeting would go, albeit with some tricky obstacles and a ticking clock. 

You want to press and see what spills out. 

Dieter Bravo cannot and does not look away from you. 

The day you meet Dieter Bravo is also the day you meet The Sixers, the day you meet Marie. She’s small, mousy, but apparently a fucking rock star on the drums. You like the irony; quiet and unassuming until she bangs through your head with percussion. Where the rest of her bandmates are wide-eyed and eager and come with more drugs than a pharmacy, there’s something about Marie that you find so tenderly earnest you kind of wish you didn’t come dressed like you were going out to eat the fleshly hearts of men everywhere. You want to approach her on her level. You don’t want to scare her away. There’s something redemptive about a kind, sweet girl like Marie striking up a friendship with you. 

If you could ever figure out how to start one. 

“Excited for the filming to start?” You ask her after nearly everyone’s picked up their things and left after the reading. She glances at you, then over her shoulder, as if you were talking to someone else. You instantly feel insanely protective of her. 

She blinks a few times before distractedly shaking her head. “No. I’m actually terrified.” 

“About being in a movie?”

She cringes, as if it’s the most shameful thing in the world. 

“Yeah. I love playing in front of crowds, but something about being on camera scares me.” 

You make a note to find out the next time they’re playing live.

“It’s honestly not that bad. It feels a little weird, like some unblinking eye staring at you, but then it just kind of fades away.” 

She bites her lip, tucking that short brown hair over her ear. “Have you done this before?”

You’re not exactly hiding your childhood movie star past, but you don’t really want it broadcasted.

“Here and there.” 

The rest of her bandmates are chatting amongst themselves, perhaps not yet aware you’re trying to befriend one of them. You’re not quite sure how it’s going.

“If you ever want, we could talk and I could give you some pointers.”

Fuck, why did that sound like a line? It shouldn’t. You didn’t want it to. Where was the line between asking someone to be your friend and asking someone for a fuck?

If she notices your embarrassment, she doesn't show it. She grins brightly, unashamed. “Yes! Oh my god, yes, please. I’d love that!”

Normally, when giving someone your number, you’d grab their hand and write it in Sharpie, giving them a good wink. Now you tear off a corner of the call sheet and write down your number in shaking hands. It’s a small piece of paper, easily lost. That’s okay, if she does lose it. No need to freak out.

She’s grinning, smile expanding across that round face of hers as she takes your number when someone calls her name.

Roxie, the one with bright-red flaming hair and gorgeously thick eyebrows, takes a glance at the piece of paper in Marie’s fingers. One eyebrow arches, and she says nothing.

Roxie looks at you like she wants to devour you whole. You think you’ll let her. 

You decide to ignore him.

Whatever his problem with you is, it doesn’t have to be dealt with immediately. Maybe he’ll come around and if not, no skin off your nose. It’s none of your business what happens off camera, what he thinks about you as a person. All that matters is giving a good performance and you know you can do that. 

You just sort of wish you had known more about the role before Heidi offered it. You really sort of wish you had known Dieter was going to be your co-star. That night, after approaching him in the parking lot, you had two glasses of wine to settle your trembling nerves, and you flipped through the script.

He was so calm and collected at the table read today. Cool, relaxed, at ease with himself and the world. Everyone knew him, everyone talked about him, either directly to you or in snatches of conversation.

Dieter Bravo – you could not ask for a better scene partner!

Dieter Bravo – he’s so, so nice. He always stops for fans!

Dieter Bravo – this shoot is going to be so much fun with him!

You’d never been particularly star-struck, but for the first time in your life, the idea of working with your co-star was daunting. When you were up against Gerard Butler, you’d been in the game for a while, knew the industry, showed up in the trades. Now, you felt like any other Santa Barbara graduate stumbling out in front of the camera for the first time. Where was that all-knowing smirk you had perfected at fifteen? God, had you always been so transparent?

You felt like you had to prove yourself at that table read. You know you were going a bit overboard, but they watched you, transfixed, and it empowered you. Mark Bronson, Marie, the rest of The Sixers, they watched you like Taylor had possessed your body and you instantly became a rockstar. 

Only, he didn’t. He watched you and didn’t look away, but he looked so uninterested in your performance, the tears that filled your eyes were partially real.

And then he touched you and in that moment, you knew he was mocking you. Laughing at you, you fucking child. He was the legendary star here, not you, and to think you ever had a chance was laughable. The heat of disgust in his eyes hurt, more than you wanted to admit. 

It was day one and he hated you.

Things escalate. 

He caught you high on set and it felt like you were being scolded by your older brother. He didn’t get it. He never did. All that shit about how he knows what it’s like – bullshit. All fucking bullshit. He was somehow always in the corner of your eye, watching you, begging you to fuck up so he could expose you like the fraud you are. 

And a pathetic fraud you are at that. He touches you and it’s like algae, hot and dense, spreading across your skin. You fight the feeling that strokes your cunt and you grit your teeth. Stop touching me, go away, stay back – please. 

You’re twenty-two and still harboring that fucking crush you had when you were sixteen. It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. It’s so, so, so wrong.

You try to ignore him. Try to exorcize him from your every waking thought. It doesn’t take. You get drunk at the pool party and you want his eyes, anyone’s eyes, on you. 

Marie is shy, you try to sober up around her, but you’re too far gone and you don’t want her to see you like this.

So you find Roxie. And Samuel. They give you something that makes your pupils dilate to the size of quarters and you feel like you’re made of cosmic dust. When they touch you, beauty and awe and the atoms of the universe bloom across your skin. You like kissing them, you decide. The water dripping off you from the pool feels like bad lovers and broken kingdoms up for sale.

You end up at his door. You don’t mean to. You genuinely forgot what room you were in. 

Consciously, you know he’s married. Consciously, you know he hates you. But that doesn’t stop you from asking anyway. 

“You could join us, you know.” 

You want so badly to be his theatrical equal that it hurts, it burns hotter for a moment than your desire for him, and he just stares at you. Consciousness somewhere in a nearby galaxy, you can’t read the look on his face. And then it blurs, he closes the door, and the entire hallway grows thick, heavy leaves.

Disappointment is a physical object and it burrows into your chest. You think you can feel your ribs moving to make room.

Sam and Roxie fuck on your bed while you’re curled up on the futon. You don’t even change out of your suit. You kick them out as soon as they are done, not wanting their hungry gazes to turn to you. 

This is always the worst part. When the emotions and memories that you’ve managed to pry off you as you coat yourself in a protective layer of LSD, finally come back. They wrap around you like a vice and you can feel the beginnings of a panic attack start in the tremble of your fingers. You stay there in the armchair, damp and cold and shivering and trying not to choke on your own throat, until the early hours of the morning. You think you could die like this but you don’t. You never actually do.

He doesn’t bring it up and neither do you. You sort of wish he would, just for a chance to . . . no, that’s fucked up and, if not legally, morally wrong. You can’t wish for anything when it comes to him.

It’s easier to hate him. To pretend like he was some over-involved, self-obsessed diva who stepped on your lines on purpose and flat-out refused to run scenes with you. It was easier as a whole for a while.

Marie started talking to you on her own now and that made you forget Dieter for a bit. The rest of the group was hesitant in their welcome, despite what had almost happened between you, Sam, and Roxie. But they all came around when you gave them the cleanest Molly they’d had in years.

It was like college all over again, but the faces were consistent this time. Five of them. You smoked in their van, fuzzy orange carpet fibers tickling your ear as you looked up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the roof. 

“Why are you called The Sixers if there are five of you?” You ask suddenly. 

There’s a pause and then a collective chuckle. You watch it like lightning spark between them.

Nick finally speaks up: “Because it sounds like the sex-ers.”

“Sixty-nine n’ feeling fine.”

You laugh with them this time and you feel your breath mix with theirs. 

While meeting him wasn’t a particularly momentous occasion, the drive up to his AirBnB was. Maybe it was the lack of air this high up, but around every turn, your chest got a little tighter. The Sixers had shown you The Labyrinth with David Bowie last weekend (“how have you never seen that movie? Did you grow up under a rock?”) and you can’t help but think of the Goblin King coming to whisk you away. At the very least, the amount of rings they wore were the same. 

You try desperately to not look at his white-knuckles around the steering wheel and fail tremendously.

The thing is, you don’t really want to fight with him. You don’t want to have to interact with him through this hazy, distant, drugged out wall, but that seems like the only way he’ll talk to you. He’s always scowling at you, like you’d done something wrong, and you hadn’t. Sure, you thought about it and fucked yourself on the biggest dildo you had about it, but you hadn’t actually done anything. You hadn’t even made a move on him, not even bat an eyelash. But it seems like you just breathe in his direction and that sets him off. 

You still don’t understand why his past drug problem is now your problem too. In your absence from Hollywood, you’d somehow missed his ups-and-downs as he transitioned out of a teenage heartthrob into a fully adult hot mess. You’d certainly missed his marriage announcement until you googled it in the bathroom after lunch one day to see if what you’d heard the two techs talk about was true.

She’s so fucking hot.

Yeah, she was a model, right? Dude fucking scored big.

Fuck, she was a model. Even if she wasn’t, she certainly looked it, from all the red-carpet photos of the two of them. He looked at her with complete and total adoration.

Hollywood party boy settles down with recent marriage to cubist painter’s daughter

The headline was wordy but got the point across. He was off-limits. 

You didn’t know how to make someone like you if you couldn’t offer them sex or drugs. What the fuck were you supposed to do with the sober and married Dieter Bravo?

And yet, there were times. Moments. Fragments. Bursts of light in a mirror, where you thought he looked too long. How his eyes flickered black when you talked about your bra, or your tits, or your ass. But that’s all they were – fleeting instances of your own insanity bleeding into reality. He would never look at you like that. He hated you. 

It scared you, the way he expected you to act when you couldn’t hide behind being high, when you couldn’t flirt your way out of a particularly tense situation. He wanted you raw, exposed, your face revealed to the light you had spent years hiding from.

And then he did the darndest thing.

He was nice about it. In the kitchen, and then on the patio, he asked you questions about your start in the industry, what you’d like to do with your life, how you saw your career going. He cooked for you and made you laugh. He invoked the holy saint Sister Heidi as a bargaining chip and it was all the excuse you needed to drop the boxing gloves. You didn’t want to fight with him. You wanted to be his friend. You wanted him to like you.

Scratch that.

You wanted him to fuck you within an inch of your life and, sure, it was stupid to finger-fuck yourself to him, on the same couch as him, but maybe you wanted to get a little caught. Okay, a lot caught because then he’d tell you to fuck off and he’d draw the line in the goddamn sand and, sure, it’d be embarrassing and, sure, it’d hurt like hell but you’d get over it. You’d nurse your heart but you’d get back on that fucking bike because you really, really wanted this movie to work – but –

He fucking doesn’t. 

He doesn’t kiss you but he wants to. He looks at you like he wants to suck the marrow from your bones, drink the blood from your heart through your cunt.

Dieter Bravo wants to kiss you desperately, but because he is a good man, he doesn’t. And because you’re a shit person, you make it hard on him. You make it hurt because it hurts you and just for once, for a second, you want someone to understand how you feel. How you hurt. How you ache. 

That house in New Mexico changed everything. For you. For him.

Friends didn’t make time with each other because they were trying to plug up the moans in their head. Friends didn’t keep busy to keep their hands off each other. You weren’t friends with him, but you did get along. You learned a lot about him. You’d never had a real friend before but you sure this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel. 

Instead of a myth, your relationship is built in handprints. Red blotches on cave walls, their original meaning lost to time, a dead language no one speaks any more. Sometimes the prints overlap, sometimes they don’t. There are no words spoken, but the feeling is there all the same.

You think, if you could just take your aching heart out of your body, you could actually be Dieter Bravo’s friend. He fills in holes you didn’t realize were empty. Chasms for art, for acting, for food that didn’t come in a can or delivered on your front door. He knows about wine, and whiskey, and needs help dressing himself. He never made you feel like your asks were too much, your need to connect too great. He took your hand and told you what you wanted was normal. He’s funny, patient, and loves Shirley MaClaine movies. He did her entire monologue from The Apartment one night after hours of begging and it brought you to tears. You had a scene partner in Dieter Bravo, you had someone to challenge you, to rethink scenes and pull back deeper and deeper character layers. He’d taken a course online about psychology to have a new perspective on analyzing characters and you thought it was fucking genius. 

Marie filled certain relationship needs – a girl to talk about drama with, a fellow fan of live music, someone to make you look up to – but Dieter fulfilled more, if not all of them. Despite working in an artistic industry for years, you’d never once talked trade with someone and certainly not someone who knew it so well. You were awestruck by him. 

Call it infatuation, call it being horny, but there is a connection, a red through line that connects you both. And for a while, that’s enough. 

Until it isn’t. 

The mark of his blotchy handprints on your heart stop when you fuck some guy you barely know because Dieter hurt you. 

When he won’t look at you while he’s pretending to fuck you, you feel self-conscious again, like he’s going to think you’re some inexperienced little nepo baby. But he does his duty and you do yours and you’ve never felt so empty. 

Your handprint stays, while his blurs away. 

(Psychologic)

After production ends, you exist in the margins. No more mythologizing. No more cave drawings. 

And then Marie shows up.

She takes you to get your nails done like it's the most normal thing in the world. What is wrong with her? Doesn’t she know what you are?

You get smoothies and see some live music and she keeps you from spiraling. There is no possible way she knew about the lines of coke upstairs in your bedroom, but she takes you out into the light all the same. 

You go out to shows with The Sixers. They love having a groupie who’s a Hollywood star. Marie seems embarrassed when they show-case you, but you find you don’t mind waving a bit on stage and introducing the band. You think you see a pair of deep brown eyes in the crowd occasionally but you know it’s not. You have to accept your fate. He might not like you and he doesn’t hate you, but he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with you.

Not friends, not lovers, but something else. Something almost.

You and the Sixers swim in the ocean off the Santa Barbara coast. You go to parties and you play the bongo drums in a treehouse in South Los Angeles. You bring the good drugs and everyone loves you. 

You don’t want to go to the wrap party, but Marie insists. You think she likes being famous just for all the opportunities to get dressed up and do your make up. She told you once that you are the prettiest girl she’d ever seen without any motive behind it. She wasn’t trying to fuck you or fuck with your head. It was just the truth in her eyes and it made you nauseous.

You go to the wrap party because it’s something better to do than get high on shrooms for the fourth time this week and as a reward, Cooper shares his blunt with you in the car. You laugh easily and often and loudly and Cooper keeps you steady with a hand on your waist. You’re nervous, you want to drink more, but you already feel like you’re carrying too many cups and plates and the noise it’s going to make when you drop them all is going to be deafening. 

He’s here. He’s here with his fucking gorgeous wife and you stand behind Cooper so you have something blocking your line of sight.

Just as you are about to order your first vodka soda of the night, Dieter rushes back into the house. The weed and coke in you switch the plugs in your brain and suddenly you are very, very angry. 

But the Dieter you find is fragile, beaten down, vulnerable. He talks to you like he did in New Mexico and it dulls the edges around the hole in your chest. He looks at you like you’re his saving grace, his last hope. 

Myths lie. They blur the truth to make a better story. They build up a man larger than life, they make goddesses out of women, and they sanctify, canonize love. They make you ache with the wanting of the fantasy of it, and that’s on purpose. Myths are the human experience on fire.

Kissing him, you feel on fucking fire.

Meeting him didn’t feel momentous. But fucking him certainly was. 

The settlement of your mythology burns to the ground, flames licking the sky. He has crystalized in your veins and, in an instant, you’re hopelessly addicted.

With Dieter Bravo, you come to like sex. You come to love it actually. It’s an itch, a fluttering, warm feeling that makes you twitch and tense when his hands aren’t on you. There’s some part of you that knows the inherent danger of giving one man, much less this man, that much power over you, but fuck, you can’t help it. 

You’re too young, too inexperienced in the world to know the difference between when a man wants you for sex and when a man loves you. In your mind, the two are the same and cannot be separated. You know what it feels like to be wanted to be fucked, but in your nativity you assume that’s how a man looks at you when he wants to love you — and this time you’d welcome it. 

There isn’t much to say about New Orleans, except for three things:

One, you’ve successfully confused yourself into thinking this is what being in a relationship with him would be like.

Two, you’ve never felt safer and more wanted and more complete than you ever have when you take drugs with Dieter. (that primal animal fear is gone for the first time in what feels like years)

And three, you’re so fucking in love with him you’re sick with it.

In the sickness, you grow weak. You burn with fever. Your bones ache and your mind races. His touch is simultaneously a balm and a contagion. 

You love him. You love him. You love him.

You love him unlike anything or anyone. 

Marie is actually the only one who ventures a guess. Who catches you, wings pinned to the corkboard, and asks you point-blank, “are you fucking Dieter Bravo?” 

Maybe she’s braver because it’s over text, permanent traces of your infidelity, but you stare at her message for hours. You think about it in the hotel shower after the plane lands in Los Angeles. You haven’t seen her in weeks and you’ve stopped returning her phone calls. 

Your high falters at the idea that you might have (and probably did) lose a friend over him. But what did that matter, in the grand scheme of things, your sickness asks you, now that you have him?

Now that he’s the only thing that matters. Now that he is everything. 

He goes back to his wife. 

After everything. After what you did for him. After what you gave up. How you prostrated yourself for his love, for a moment of his time. He can’t see it, it’s eating you up. You think cancer has kinder teeth than his. 

The foundations of the core of your being are rocked. It doesn’t feel real because he’s still in this hotel with you, the same hotel where you fucked in the bathroom, where you flirted with him for the cameras to sell the movie, where he begged you to stay with him, you’re gonna stay, right? you’re gonna be with me, after this? And maybe it isn’t real because he only lasts being apart from you for twelve, maybe fourteen hours. Maybe he’s sick too. Maybe he’s fucked just as much as you are. 

In your dark, deep wretched heart, you hope he is. You hope he’d die without you. But you don’t know. You don’t know because he never says it. 

This time, it’s real, he promises. This time, he’s never going back. This time he’s going to say he loves you, his kisses pledge to you. 

This time he’s not going to leave you.

In the mornings after Chloe leaves and you kiss him E-tablets with your tongue and he fucks you in every way he knows how, he curls up next to you and you tell him. It doesn’t matter he doesn’t seem to hear you.

You tell him you love him, have always loved him. Dieter Bravo turned from an imaginary companion, to a friend you didn’t want, and now to a lover who makes you think you’re special. Something valuable, precious. Something that is worth keeping. 

Until you’re not.

Myths serve to answer questions about our place in the natural order of things. To ease tension. To provide guidance. 

Why does it rain?

Where do the seasons come from?

What is the sun, and why does it leave and return?

What is heartbreak?

What is grief? What is sorrow? How do we carry them with us?

How do we go on when the world is determined to break us?

When you’ve always had nothing, and now you still have nothing and no one – he doesn’t love you and he’s going back to his pregnant wife – you ask, what’s the fucking point?

Not even the myths can answer that one.

Later, when you wake up under the bright lights of a hospital room, your memory is cracked, broken into terracotta pieces on the ground. There are things missing from you.

You don’t remember calling Oliver, only that he was there and he was high out of his mind and he gave you whatever he had in his pockets. You don’t remember what you took, or if Oliver was kind to you when he watched you swallow pill after pill.

You don’t remember the shower, the ambulance ride, or being admitted.

You aren’t sure exactly what you’ve lost. But you feel the missing edges.

Dieter is missing from you.

If you close your eyes, still the movement of your body, block out the noises of the machines and the hospital around you, you think you remember hearing him say it.

You think he might have said it when he kissed your forehead, but it feels older than that. Like his words and his actions stem from two different memories but you’re so fucked up they blur together. You want to hold onto that new memory, as fabricated as it might be, for as long as you can.

But then sleep over takes you again and it flushes everything out. The next time you wake up, you don’t remember that he ever said, I love you. 

When you wake up, you know he’s gone. You don’t know how you know, or why, but it feels like a piece of you has been torn away in a bloody chunk. Like someone had taken pliers to your fingernails and tore them off until blood splattered onto the floor.

Like someone put a knee to your shoulder and wrenched white teeth out of your mouth. 

Until you are gummy and dripping.

You open your eyes not to Dieter, not Heidi, but Marie. Mousy, intelligent, thoughtful Marie curled up asleep in the chair next to you. 

The sound of your crying wakes her up. Wordless, judgement-less, she crawls into bed with you, takes you into her arms, and lets you sob like the heart-broken mess you’ve become. 

God, can you die from pain like this?

She strokes your forehead and tells you, no, you can’t. You might want to, but you can’t. 

For the first time in your life, you’re not a myth. 

You’re not a story of a little girl whose parents didn’t love her enough. 

You are not the story of an actress whose star burned too bright and hot and the cosmos punished her for her hubris. 

You’re not the story of a woman who fell in love too hard and too fast with drugs and a man much older than her and got shattered on the rocks. 

The book has closed, the final chapter has come. There are no more stories to tell, nothing left to make fantastic. 

You are a broken human body. 

Natalie Lorraine is a myth.

You were a child once. You have to remember that. 

[frostcorpsclub]

I’ve been thinking on Suzy and Virginia’s “call me maybe”-esque makeover scenes and songs! Inspired by @cornerofhell

Virginia

This would be the day of her and Santa’s wedding. Nothing was as set in stone as it would be in this moment and Virginia didn’t really have a choice of what she would wear, she got some input but the E.S.O took care of most of it. The song of choice is-

Song 2 by Blur-

you all may know it as the “WOO HOO!” song, lmao. It was written as satire on pop music of the day and many of the lyrics, I feel, relate to the feeling of drugs and addiction that comes with fame. For Virginia, the grandiosity of it is also a symbol of the new power she’s coming in to despite the lack of control.

She stands in front of the mirror in her own clothes for the last time that day and takes a bump off of her coke nail, the first few strums of the guitar play and has the powder goes up her nose we break out in to-

“I got my head checked

By a jumbo jet

It wasn't easy

But nothing is

No”

The rock guitar and drums kick back in, the elven satanic order enter the room and begin to dress her in her norse costume. The camera is cut quickly and everything happens at double speed. Only through it all, her face is still and facing forward, unchanging through it all.

“When I feel heavy metal

(Woo-hoo) And I'm pins and I'm needles

(Woo-hoo) Well, I lie and I'm easy

All of the time but I'm never sure why I need you

Pleased to meet you.”

As things come to a close and she’s finally all cleaned up and new they leave her alone once more, the-

“Yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah

Yeah, yeah

Oh, yeah”

-of the ending hyping her up to go out there and bind her body, soul, and being to a man she loves but is certain she’s scared of in front of a million demons.

Suzy

The song is Suzy Snowflake by Rosemary Clooney, was there ever any doubt???

Now, this is after the kidnapping, transformation, her first human meal, all of it. Jack has gotten her all of her old clothes from her room, her makeup and jewelry too. She just got done putting on a fashion show for him which the audience would only see the beginning of as it very quickly descends in to…the opposite of a fashion show if you get what I mean. It’s the least she can do to thank him for making sure she can have a little bit more of her familiar life style.

The scene takes place a little later once they’ve finished and Suzy is about to sit down in front of the mirror when Jack stops her, telling her he has another special gift for her.

“I want to see you in it when I’m back doll, since your little show got cut short.”

He says he has to run so he leaves her with this big white box. She gets down on her knees and slowly begins to open it, cue music.

“Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Dressed in a snow-white gown

Tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane

To tell you she's in town”

She opens the box and inside is a long white sweater dress, white furry heeled boots, and an expensive fur coat.

“Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Soon you will hear her say

Come out ev'ryone and play with me

I haven't long to stay”

With an almost uncharacteristic jubilation she gets up and begins to put it all on until for the first time she’s in the full “Suzy Snowflake” get up. She loves the way the fur feels on her skin, she’s missed the feeling of high heels, the coat flows out like an extravagant cape as she spins around in it.

“If you want to make a snowman

I'll help you make one, one, two, three

If you want to take a sleigh ride-“

Suzy looks at herself in the mirror, for the first time since she was turned she really takes a look at her new face. Everything feels…right. Suzy studies her hands, clawed and covered in thick frostbite. She smiles wide, her jaw unhinging and ripping her cheeks, but she does not feel pain. It’s like her body was always meant to do it. She feels more beautiful than ever.

“-Whee! The rides on me!”

She closes her eyes and begins to imagine what she can do now that she’s truly free. We flash between images of her being splashed with blood, in an almost cinematic sense like it’s being thrown on her with a bucket, images of her cutting away at something small and beneath her, images of her beginning to pull up viscera and stuffing her face with it. The song starts to repeat its I guess chorus?

“Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Look at her tumblin' down

Bringing joy to ev'ry girl and boy

Suzy's come to town.

Here comes Suzy Snowflake

Dressed in a snow-white gown

Tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane

To tell you she's in town.”

It’s clear that some time has passed in her state of euphoria and as the song begins to fade out Jack returns. She can sense that he’s returned with her budding cryoscience and runs out to greet him. As the song slowly fades out with an instrumental peak she grabs his hand and says something to him the music drowns out, leading him out of the door.

It’s safe to assume she likes his gift and wants to take it for a spin.

[fantasticalleigh]

LEIGH'S RIDICULOUSLY BIG TBR/TBW LISTS

like i mentioned before i am too busy/hesitant to actually consume a lot of new media (or at least be able to focus on it) so i'm critically behind on so much stuff. don't judge me pls :S lmao

anything in bold is something that i've begun but not finished :P tagging @snow-in-the-desert bc you expressed interest in seeing the lists!

TO READ:

The Love Hypothesis - Ali Hazelwood

The Hurricane Wars - Thea Guanzon

Winter's Promise - Christelle Dabos

The Stand - Stephen King

North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell

The Nightingale - Kristin Hannah

Little Women - Louisa May Alcott

Work - Louisa May Alcott

Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes

Dr. Sleep - Stephen King

The Secret History - Donna Tartt

The Last Duel - Erik Jager

Portrait of a Lady - Henry James

The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller

The Age of Innocence - Edith Wharton

The Great Mortality - John Kelly

Dead by Sunset - Ann Rule

Dracula - Bram Stoker

It's Lonely at the Center of the Earth - Zoe Thorogood

The Great Influenza - John M. Barry

The Monster of Florence - Douglas Preston

The Lottery and other stories - Shirley Jackson

Helter Skelter - Vincent Bugliosi with Curt Gentry

White Noise - Don DeLilo

Icebreaker - Hannah Grace

She Is a Haunting - Trang Thanh Tran

This Thing Between Us: A Novel - Gus Moreno

Parable of the Sower - Octavia E. Butler

^^ This is an incomplete list--I know there are others but these are the books I've bought over the past couple years and have not yet finished/ready. They are stacked on my desk and around my room, silently accusing me of neglect. I wither in shame. The rest of the list escapes me currently. This also doesn't include the tbrs currently on my e-reader since I can't remember where it is to see what's on there.

MOVIES/MEDIA TO WATCH:

Any Adam Driver movie that isn't on Netflix (House of Gucci, Annette, Paterson etc.) I have seen the Last Duel, Blackkklansman, This is where I leave you, Marriage Story, White Noise, Frances Ha and a few others). I know Ferarri is in theaters right now but I've kind of developed a phobia of theaters since 2020 :S

a ridiculous number of documentaries/video essays on youtube that I do not have the energy to go look for right now

Fall of the House of Usher (I love Mike Flanagan's work but I'm still hooked on Midnight Mass and Daddy Father Prewitt)

The Haunting of Bly Manor (I know everyone was obsessed with this and I meant to watch it but I was reading the Turn of the Screw when it came out and didn't want to get spoiled for it so I avoided it like the plague and finished the book but never got to watching the show)

Blue Eye Samurai

The Beguiled

Ugly Betty (I'm actually on season 2 and it's charming and funny but holy shit the amount of body shaming/slut shaming/ homophobia in this show. definitely a product of its time.)

Anne with an E

Fleabag (never finished it but thought it was amazing)

What we do in the shadows (have seen all but the most current season)

Reservation dogs

The Batman (2023)

Black Swan

The Crown

Band of Brothers

Demon Slayer

Whiplash

Wolf of Wall Street

Birds of Prey

Downton Abbey

Peaky Blinders

Nimona

Drag me to Hell

Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Queen Charlotte (halfway through but haven't finished. i hate things that make me cry when i watch them so i have to be in a very specific mood to watch emotional heavy things)

Lady Bird

The Banshees of Inisherin

BARBIE (*ducks thrown rocks* I'll get to it, i SWEAR) (but i'm amazing at avoiding spoilers at this point i still know very little about the movie)

Men

Pearl

The Invisible Man

The Turning

Succession

Suspiria

Promising Young Woman

Shiva Baby

Luca

The Green Knight

Licorice Pizza

Bullet Train

The Menu

Women Talking

Knives Out + Glass Onion (*ducks more thrown rocks*)

Paddington 2!!!!

SHadow and Bone (honestly I lost almost all interest in reading/watching this once I heard the hot villain dies. BOOOO)

Carol

That one newish show with Adam Scott that looks super liminal and sci fi i can't remember the name

The Killing of a Sacred Deer

Oppenheimer

Killers of the Flower Moon

Guardians of the Galaxy 3

M3gan

Turning Red

Everything Everywhere All At once

Nope

Barbarian

Just like the book list, I'm sure there's many other titles I'm forgetting to put here. I actually have branched out and watched a fair amount of new movies this year so i'm going to keep it going! and here's one more list just because this is fun

Stuff I watched or read in 2023 that I loved/recommend (with the caveat that not all of this came out in 2023): (and i'm not including obvious stuff like Spider man across the spiderverse)

White Noise

Don't Look Up

Living in the Time of Dying (documentary on Youtube. It is HEAVY on existentialism and the science/data on the current state of climate change. This WILL ruin your day so I'm warning you now. Definitely don't watch it today. This really affected me and I cried for a long time after watching this but it is incredibly important to keep in mind.)

Blackkklansman (i had to watch this with the volume on the lowest setting bc of all the n words being dropped so frequently lmao but goddamn this was so good and funnier than i expected.)

DIMENSION 20: Burrow's End!!!!! As well as The Unsleeping City season 1. Neverafter and A Crown of Candy are probably at the lower end of the list but I still love them. (thank you to @rogueimperator for cluing me onto how amazing D20 and Dropout are. <3 this is a whole new world lol)

Midnight Sun :)

7. Christine and the Queens - Redcar les adorables étoiles Full show on Youtube. I was supposed to see him live in October but he got injured and had to cancel the rest of his tour :( but this album and the video are incredible! Slight warning for semi nudity.

8. Game Changer on Dropout. he's been here the whole time!

9. The 1975 live at Madison Square Garden. I was lucky enough to see them twice this tour with my twin sister and we had an absolutely amazing time. They always put on amazing shows and this particular tour/their latest album meant so much to us. Even our younger brother has come with us for some of these shows so it's something we all share. (Last time they came to Chicago in 2022 the venue was too small so they didn't have the House set with them so we didn't get to see it in action until this year) Sex and The Sound will always be the perfect closers for their shows and I get so emotional every time I hear them. Core memories for sure.

10. Puss in Boots: the last wish. this seems like another obvious answer that i probably could have left off but this gets an honorary mention because our family cat was diagnosed with advanced bone cancer in August, and we had to put him down very soon after that diagnosis. We spent an agonizing week tending to him and cherishing every last second we could get with him. I've been fortunate enough to never experience the death of a pet until this year, and i almost wish we didn't have any pets at all because I've never felt such excruciating grief. He was a fat, grumpy orange boy with beautiful yellow stripes and a little yellow mustache. I was trying to distract myself and found this movie on Netflix and watched it, then recommended it to my sister (who is actually Thomas's owner but we all shared him) though I warned her the movie did deal with themes on mortality. We all watched it together the night before his final vet visit and Tommy was there with us on a comfy pillow. I hope he approved of the movie, because now any time I think of Puss in Boots i think of him. <3

I could add more to this but my eyes are tired and I'm wired up from coffee. I know this is long as hell so sorry but I had fun making it! I'll probably keep coming back to this post in the future to cross out what I've watched.

[ohsc]

you probably did reply to my thing about the ts song but I can't find it :( does she have any like more fast heavy songs if that makes sense? idk how to word it

hi lovely!! she def does omg i might go off on one here HAHA

her “heaviest” album i guess would be reputation, it visually has the darkest themes, and sound wise it’s kinda heavy synth pop i guess? i recommend the whole album but specifically id recommend …ready for it?, i did something bad, don’t blame me, getaway car, and dancing with our hands tied.

though she also has songs that dip into a more rock sound!! on speak now taylor’s version there’s better than revenge, electric touch (ft. fall out boy), and i can see you

and on red taylor’s version there’s state of grace, red, and (not technically included on the original album but it’s on streaming) eyes open!!

and finally on the tortured poets department there’s florida!!! (ft. florence + the machine)

lmk if you listen to any!!! sorry i know that was a lot of recommendations at once LMAO <3

[moonchild-in-blue]

darya can you give me some soft song suggestions?? 👀

Boy, can I??

Okay, SO! This is a bit of a mix of genres/vibes I suppose, to give it a bit of variety. Also it's highly biased list since these are quite literally some of my all time favourites ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (blue for my mostest beloveds!)

(cut here because i don't wanna spam people's dash. It's so longggg omgiapologiseoop-)

Indie / Pop vibes (aka more on the mainstream artists spectrum):

Cigarettes After Sex - Sweet ; K

Billie Eilish - i love you ; everything i wanted

Rex Orange County - Untitled ; Happiness

Bon Iver - Flume ; Holocene ; Wash (he's one of my top 3 artists of all time omg i love him so much everything he does is perfect 💙 also a certain someone has cited him as an influence... :::) )

Ry X - Sweat ; Only

Cuco - Hydrocodone ; Amor de Siempre (my beloved chicano 💙 - lofi pop vibes)

Joji - Glimpse of Us ; Ew ; Like You Do (i would give up my kidneys for him)

Frank Ocean - Pink + White (maybe not super singing-friendly but I had to include him) ; Bad Religion (not exactly soft per-se but it's beautifully heartbreaking)

Bright Eyes - Lime Tree ; Lua

Jake Bugg - Love, Hope and Misery

Owl City - Vanilla Twilight

Rock / Metal / Alt vibes (i'm leaving a million bands out because otherwise this would just be my depression list... I listen to a lot of sad/angsty stuff lol)

All Time Low - Therapy ; Somewhere in Neverland (there's an acoustic version of it!)

Being As An Ocean - Dissolve

Bring Me The Horizon - Deathbeads ; Follow You

Crown The Empire - Millennia ; Lead Me Out Of The Dark ; For Days

Dayshell - A Waste Of Space

Linkin Park - Iridescent ; The Messenger (just typing this already broke my heart)

Of Mice & Men - Space Enough To Grow

Our Last Night - Falling Away

Panic! At The Disco - Northern Downpour ; She Had The World ; The End Of All Things (i am a panic girlie what can i say)

Parachute - Kiss Me Slowly (the cutest love song ever omg)

Plain White Ts - 1, 2, 3, 4 ; Hey There Delilah (sure it's mainstream but whatever it's beautiful)

Pierce The Veil - I'm Low On Gas (...) ; She Makes Dirty Words Sound Pretty

Queen - Love Of My Life (this one is a must ugh the cutesttt)

Real Friends - I've Given Up On You (my heartbreak song lmaoo) ; Sixteen

Red - Nothing and Everything ; Of These Chains (these are sad and emotionally heavy btw. one of my all time favourite bands everyone should listen to them more)

Seahaven - Honey Bee ; Silhouette

Sleeping With Sirens - Don't Fall Asleep At The Helm ; 2 Chord

Eepie Voucher - Drag Me Under ; Telomeres ; Give ; Shelter (i know it's unnecessary but!!! Oh well)

The Story So Far - Navy Blue ; Phantom

Twenty One Pilots - The Hype (specifically the Locations - Berlin version) ; Truce

Vinyl Theatre - Thank You For The Good Times ; Speak My Mind (it has soft vibes, you'll get it if you listen. They are crazy good and criminally underrated)

Random Songs that I just remembered lmao:

The Beatles - Yesterday

Maroon 5 - She Will Be Loved

Goo Goo Dolls - Iris (SWS covered it and I love that version so so much)

Joe Brooks - Superman

Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird, American Mouth

Elliott Smith - Between The Bars

Terrenoire - Jusqu'à Mon Dernier Souffle (my fav frenchies)

Over The Garden Wall - Send Me A Peach (i sing this song at least once a day 🥺)

Kermit The Frog - Rainbow Connection (lmao i knowwww but this is one of my all time favourite songs hahaha it makes me so happy and soft and yeah 🥺🌈)

Baby I'm so sorry for the never ending list. I literally just scrolled through my music player curating songs. And I know I'm forgetting a million other songs but OH WELL 🥺💙💚

[dctrfate]

Middle school… I thought I was really edgy in middle school (spoiler alert I wasn’t) so here’s a pick from that era:

Immortals - Fall Out Boy

(yes it was in Big Hero 6. I’ll let you make the judgements on that)

my dad is a really big movie buff and so when i was younger the best way to spend time with each other was going to the movies at least once a month and big hero six was ofc one of the movies we watched so to me fall out boy is associated with that movie instead of like. their actual music that is extremely culturally significant. i just never rly listened to “edgy” music despite being friends with all the emo kids lmao.

however i now love all types of rock up to and including the edgy type so here’s STITCH ME UP by point north. literally the only song i like from them because im not the biggest fan of their vocalist but i love the transitions from softer instrumentals to the the heavy drums here….

[heeyimash]

What MODERN music artists would the seraph of the end vampires listen to (Headcanons) PART 1

Hello again! On today's post I‘ll try to unite modern music and seraph of the end vampires, If you’ve spoken with me at least once you will know that I love music and ons, so I thought I'd make this post and, in this way, you can discover new music.

In this post you will find the name of the artist that will be linked to a vampire AND the link to my favourite song from that artist. Have fun and I hope you like it!

Ferid Bathory

Lana del rey - Yes to heaven (unreleased)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxtAV9qDdz4

I think that he would enjoy music with a soft voice, maybe the newest music is too much to him and he prefers more “natural” and soft voices, so I think that he would enjoy Lana’s music, but you CAN’T tell me that he wouldn’t like Lady Gaga, sassy but classy. ( @alchimistaliane​ do we agree? )

Lady gaga - Judas 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFMuOi2GiBo

Crowley Eusford

The Weeknd - In the night

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CbQl98JEbE

Crowley was a bit difficult, I don’t see him listening to sad slow songs but I also don’t see him listening to really fast and heavy songs such as electronic or rock/metal, so the weeknd was my final choice, it has a good rhythm and it has this ¿sexy? aura that he gives off lol

Krul tepes

Melanie Martinez - Tag, you’re it

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RLYlMq6MU2s

I think that Melanie Martinez is a good choice since her songs reflects an adult being a child at the same time, all of this because she didn’t have a good childhood so she wants to “recreate” it with her songs, and that’s something that really fits Krul, she’s chronologically really old girl, but she was still a child when she got transformed (hope yall understand, I’m really bad at explaining things lmao).

Mikaela Hyuakuya

Conan Gray -  The exit

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K_sSq6-Qvlw

Conan and Mika, no further explanation needed, the song “Heather” was made for him and Yuu.

Lacus Welt

Chase atlantic - Heaven and back

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIS6H-JxOXE

Don’t know why but I always think of him when I listen to chase atlantic, he just gives off the same vibes as chase atlantic’s music. Love this group, they’re amazing!

René Simm

My chemical romance - Helena

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_1tA0bpDQs

No explanation needed x2. Emo. (love him)

Chess Belle

Ariana Grande - Into you

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GB2aPHTDaqU

Im SO sorry but I think that she would be so basic when it comes to music, probably listens to the Top 100 worldwide on spotify and knows every trending song and artist of the moment.

Horn Skuld

Rihanna - S&M

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ce2_k0LaE7E

WOMEN EMPOWERMENT. Would also be pretty basic when it comes to music, maybe that’s chess’ fault? They probably listen to the top charts together...

Aaand that’s it! I will probably make a part two with other vamps, not really sure bc I wouldn’t know what to put on Urd’s or Rigr’s part... we’ll see.

Thanks for reading!