#I SANG WHEN HE SEES ME IN FRONT OF AN ENTIRE AUDIENCE AND I FUCKING KILLED IT

[gemsiiie]

guys i just fucking slayed SO hard

i’m an actual singer dude like actually

@embrassemoimonamour

brooo

[lemoncrushh]

Wild Horses - Eight

Summary: Amber Crosby didn’t end up with the life she’d expected, but that didn’t keep her from following her dream. A young, up and coming country recording artist, she and her band set out to do just that. Trying to leave her past behind, it wasn’t until meeting Harry Styles that she realized just how her life could take a turn and alter her future forever.

A/N: Please note all portions in italics are meant to be flashbacks :).

Warnings: Another angsty chapter, mentions of physical violence and drinking.

STORY PAGE

Chapter Eight Word Count: 4.7k+

“I will hold you up, I will help you stand, I will comfort you when you need a friend…” - Amanda Marshall; Believe In You

“Here,” Jeff said as he handed Amber the plastic cup of more ice than soda.

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking it from him.

Sneaking a sniff of the Coke, she was only partly disappointed to find that it wasn’t mixed with rum or whiskey. But as she took a large gulp, letting the carbonated beverage fill her throat, she was grateful.

Her manager took the seat next to her, on the side of the stage where Harry introduced the next song. It had taken every ounce of energy she’d had left to follow Jeffrey into the audience to watch Harry’s show. What she’d really wanted was to rush back to her hotel room and drink everything that called her name from the minibar. But after Jeff and Harry had sat her down in Harry’s dressing room, making sure she was at least physically okay, her manager had insisted she stay with him for the duration of the concert.

She hadn’t seen Carter since he’d stormed out after ridiculing her in front of everyone. Her guess was that he’d raved his own minibar, or even went to the hotel bar...not that she cared. He could take a long walk off a short pier as far as she was concerned.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Even after what he’d just said and done, she knew she had always had a soft spot for Carter, and probably always would. They’d been through a lot together, for fuck’s sake. He was the only one who knew everything about her. And he was a damn good drummer; she’d hate to lose him, as both a bandmate and a friend. But now…

“We’re not who we used to be…” she heard Harry sing.

God, if that didn’t hit home. Who they used to be… Who they used to be were two horny teenagers with a love for music and the bottle. Who they used to be were a lost girl with a need to be needed and a young man with a shoulder to cry on and an awaiting bed.

But Amber had grown. She knew she had. She’d known long before their signing with Full Stop Management, before the festival in Nashville where she’d first met Harry, even before her single had hit the airwaves. She’d known for a while that the knots that tied her to Carter needed to be loosened. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it because...well, if she was honest with herself, because she was scared.

“Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat…”

Amber sighed. And then there was Harry. He’d already made her feel things - things she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel. He was a loyal friend and a kind soul, yes, but there was more. He made her feel...like she had a heartbeat again.

Finishing her Coke, Amber settled into her seat to watch the rest of the show. The crowd cheered when Harry’s band started into one of his big hits. With a smile, Amber clapped her hands and sang along. She noticed Jeffrey watching her, a grin on his face as he patted her arm.

Sometime towards the end of the concert, Amber looked up to see a tall figure coming down the aisle. Taking the empty seat next to her, Brendan leaned over to whisper.

“I just talked to Carter,” he said. “He wants to talk to you.”

Amber grimaced. “Too bad. I don’t wanna talk to him.”

“He wants to apologize.”

Leaning forward, Amber glared at him incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me? For what exactly? Because as far as I see, I have a long list of apologies I’m long overdue. And he’s a little late. Tell him he can fuck off.”

“Amber-” Brendan began before Jeff cut him off.

“Hey, pssst,” he interrupted as he leaned over to address them both. “I don’t think this is the time nor the place to discuss this.”

“You’re right,” Amber nodded.

Brendan was silent until the song ended, then whispered in Amber’s ear again.

“Just so you know,” he said, “I’m on your side. He shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I don’t know what his deal was, but that’s not cool.”

Shutting her eyes slowly, Amber inhaled. “Thanks Bren. But just so you know...that wasn’t the first time.”

Lifting her arm, Amber stretched it out flat across the arm rest, revealing the purple bruise. Even in the darkness of the arena, it was visible.

“Shit, Amber. I’m sorry. I had...no idea,” Brendan confessed, shaking his head.

With a mere nod, Amber lowered her arm, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Turning her focus back to the stage, she watched as Harry performed his final song, an emotional number that brought the tears again. She didn’t mind, however. This time it was therapeutic, and she knew there would be more tears to come as she had a very difficult decision to make.

“This is probably my favorite song,” Carter mused, his fingertips lightly grazing across Amber’s shoulder as she laid on top of him.

“Really?” Amber mumbled against his chest, letting the classic George Strait song tickle her ears. “Hmm. Yeah, it’s a good one.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

“Don’t think I have one.”

“What? A singer always has a favorite song,” Carter argued. “You kinda have to, right?”

“Mmm, no, I disagree. I think it’s because I’m a singer that I don’t have a favorite. I love them all...like they’re a part of me. Or my children,” Amber giggled.

His hand roaming down her back, Carter was silent for a moment until a sound rose from his chest. “Hmm, I get that. Never really thought about it before, but it makes sense.”

“I’m glad you get me, Carter,” Amber remarked with a sigh. “Nobody else does.”

Slithering her naked body off of his, she reached for the glass on the nightstand that they’d been sharing and took a swig of the golden liquor.

“Hey. I doubt that’s true,” said Carter. “But I’m glad it makes you glad.”

With a slight smirk, Amber sat back on her knees and handed the glass to Carter. He took it eagerly as his free hand slipped up her stomach and cupped her breast.

“Can I ask you something?” he inquired, setting the glass back down.

“Depends…” Amber shrugged, her long hair falling down and around her shoulders.

“How many guys have you been with?”

“Ummm…” she paused, unsure if she wanted to answer.

Raising his brows, Carter took in her expression. “A lot?”

“How many is a lot?”

Carter chuckled nervously. “I don’t know. More than twenty?”

“God, no!” Amber swatted a hand at his chest.

“Alright, so ballpark.”

With another shrug, Amber grabbed at the sheets, twisting them in her hands. “I don’t think I wanna say.”

“More than ten?”

Amber shook her head. “No.”

She heard him sigh as he threw his arm behind his head. “Okay.”

The silence floated between them as the song changed to a modern country hit.

“How old were you…” Carter asked finally, “your first time?”

Stalling her answer, Amber lingered for a while before she laid down beside him. She smiled when he reached for her, his fingers finding their familiar spot on her lower back.

“Fifteen,” she replied softly.

“Hmm. Me too. Too bad I didn’t know you.”

“Oh?” Amber grinned. “Are you sorry I wasn’t your first?”

“Nuh uh,” Carter shook his head. “Sorry I wasn’t yours.”

Amber could hear the muffled voices as she drifted in and out of sleep. When Harry’s concert had ended, she’d been prepared to return to her room. But after hearing that Carter was wanting to see her, Jeff insisted it was best she stayed with him until he knew what to do about her drummer. Sitting on the sofa in Harry’s dressing room, she’d found herself starting to get sleepy - if not a little bored - so she’d crawled up on it, grabbing one of Harry’s pillows as she inhaled the intoxicating scent of his burning candle.

“I don’t want him anywhere near her,” she heard Harry remark. Though his tone was not a malicious one, his words revealed his level of anger.

“I think that should be her decision to make,” argued Jeff.

“Wha’ are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me, mate?” Harry exclaimed, his accent thickening as his irate words spewed from his lips. “If he lays one more finger on her-”

“I know, H, I agree with you there. But we don’t actually know for sure that he’s touched her.”

“She’s got a fuckin’ bruise on her arm, Jeffrey! I saw it! I know it was him. She wouldn’t tell me the truth; she gave me some bloody excuse about running into the wall. But I know it was him!”

“You can’t prove that, Harry. And even if it’s true, it’s her word against h-”

“Don’t fucking say it, mate!” she heard Harry growl. “Don’t you dare fucking say that!”

At those words, Amber stretched and sat up. “Could you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?”

Both men glared at her then, their expressions of surprise mixed with concern.

“Sorry, Amber,” Harry sighed, his shoulders falling.

“Yeah...sorry,” Jeff muttered. “We thought you were asleep.”

“Well who could sleep with all this racket?”

With a sheepish grin, Harry crossed the room to sit beside her. “How are you feeling?” he asked tenderly, if not apprehensively.

“Exhausted. Worried. A little hungry if I’m being honest.”

“Oh,” Harry sounded, looking up at their manager. “Get her something to eat, Jeffrey.”

Amber watched the two men exchange looks, followed by an unspoken conversation with their eyes, eyebrows and hands that made her giggle.

“Seriously guys, I can find my own food,” she announced, rising from the couch.

“No!” Harry and Jeff yelled in unison. Then her manager spoke alone. “I can...get you something. Anything particular you’re hungry for?”

Amber shrugged. “Honestly, a sandwich is fine.”

“No, you had that earlier,” Harry argued. “You need real food.”

Amber rolled her eyes as Jeffrey declared he’d find something. As soon as he left the dressing room, Amber heard another sigh from Harry. Looking over at him, she took in his stare.

“Okay, you can stop looking at me like I’m a china doll,” she said.

“Sorry. I’m just...worried about you.”

Amber gazed down at her hands, twisting the silver ring on her right pointer.

“I’m worried too,” she admitted. “I think we both know what I have to do.”

Harry nodded. “You know, Jeffrey can find a replacement. I don’t reckon it would be too hard to find another drummer...at least for the rest of the tour.”

“Yeah. That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

As her body began to shake with held back sobs, Harry scooted closer to her on the sofa, his hand running up her back until it reached her shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered softly as Amber let out a tiny cry. “C’mere.”

Amber allowed his arms to pull her against him, his warm embrace comforting her once again as she whimpered.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promised. “Maybe not right away, but it will be. Everything’s gonna work out.”

“What if it doesn’t, Harry?” she cried. “What if...I have to leave?”

“Leave? What do you mean?”

Amber lifted her head to look at him, his calm and questioning eyes causing another tear to fall from hers. He immediately swiped it away with the pad of his thumb, his touch so gentle yet so fleeting, she felt empty inside as soon as it was over.

“Why would you have to leave?” Harry asked again.

“Because…” she gulped. “I’ve caused so much trouble already. Carter’s probably never gonna talk to me again, and Brendan and Johnny are gonna be mad at me-”

“Hey!” Harry interrupted, his brows furrowed. “Amber. None of this is your fault. Don’t ever think that.”

Shaking her head, Amber hiccupped. “It is though. If I hadn’t come on this tour… Jeff’s already having to deal with my shit, and we only just started. I knew how Carter was and his feelings towards me, and I guess I couldn’t stop it-”

“Amber,” Harry interjected again as his hand traveled up her bruised arm. “What has he done to you?”

His eyes pleaded for her honesty, and with a sigh, Amber knew she had to tell the truth.

“You were right,” she admitted. “I lied about running into the wall.”

Sitting back, his chest falling, Harry took her hand. “What happened?”

Sniffling, she recalled the evening, just over twenty-four hours ago, although now it felt like eons.

“He was angry,” she muttered. “We’d just eaten burgers in my room and...he was angry that I was leaving to meet with you.”

Harry’s eyes were locked on her face, his jaw set, and she knew he was waiting for her to continue.

“He grabbed me and twisted my arm. Then he held me down on the bed.”

Amber watched Harry’s stone expression as he exhaled through his nose. “Has he...done that before?”

“No. Well...yeah. He’s pushed me against the wall a couple times. Gotten in my face and called me names. He gets kind of out of control like that when he’s pissed off and drunk. But he’s never hit me.”

His shoulders falling with a sigh, Harry looked like he might cry. “Amber…”

“I know, I’m defending him,” she shrugged, wiping another tear. “It’s just...we’ve been through so much, I know he still cares about me…”

“No!” Harry shouted, making her jump. “No, Amber, he doesn’t! How can you say that?”

“Harry, I probably wouldn’t even have this band if it wasn’t for him!”

Amber took in the incredulous look on Harry’s face just as the door flew open, and Jeff returned.

“Food’s on its way,” he explained. His gaze followed the two faces on the couch, his eyebrows lifting in question. “What’s going on?”

Running a ringed hand through his hair, Harry leaned back. “She told me how she got that bruise.”

“And?”

“I was right.”

Jeffrey looked at Amber, then Harry and back. “You know you can press charges.”

Amber shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Of course not,” Harry rolled his eyes as he dropped his hand on the couch next to him, exasperated.

“Something I should know?” Jeff inquired.

“I think I’ve caused enough trouble here,” muttered Amber as she rose from the couch. “Thanks for the food, Jeff, but I think I’ll just get something sent to my room.”

“Amber,” called Harry as she reached the door.

“What’s going on here?” Jeff asked again.

Tears began to stream down her face rapidly as Amber turned around to face them both.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but it is my fault. You’ve both been so kind to me, but I don’t deserve it. I have way too much baggage for either of you to handle. It was stupid of me to think I could do this. I should go home now.”

“No!” both men exclaimed in unison.

Rising from the sofa, Harry crossed the room. “Amber. I’m sorry I got angry. I just...I don’t understand how you can continue to cling to-”

Ending his thought, he could tell he was letting his emotions affect his words. Reaching his hand for hers, he looked into her eyes. “Please don’t go, love. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get through this. Jeffrey will get you a new drummer. And I’ll be here to help...in any way I can. Because I’m your friend...and because...I care about you.”

Amber stared at his hand that he’d pressed to his chest to seal his promise. Wiping another tear away, she shrugged.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you do, seeing as I keep screwing things up-”

“Shhh,” he sounded as he pulled her into another hug. “Stop with that.”

Amber let him hold her for a few moments, her crying subsiding as she laid her head on his shoulder. Soon, a knock sounded on the door and the two of them stepped back while Jeff answered it. Bringing in two large bags, he placed them on the table and began unloading their contents. Wiping her eyes, Amber felt her stomach rumble.

“Wow that smells amazing,” she commented, walking to the couch.

Displayed before her was an enormous bowl of some kind of chicken pasta, a caesar salad and breadsticks.

“Eat up,” said Jeff with a grin.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Harry quipped.

Giving him an eye roll and a smirk, Jeff pulled out a large container filled with greens and handed it to him.

“I knew you wouldn’t forget me,” Harry chortled as he sat beside Amber.

“So, Amber,” offered Jeffrey as he took a nearby chair, “I know you probably don’t want to make any decisions right now, but under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be anywhere near Carter.”

“I know,” she agreed meekly.

“You’re supposed to be on the road soon to our next destination,” he continued. “I know you said you don’t want to press any charges, but with the time crunch, we do need to decide if we’re getting a replacement.”

Amber stole a glance at Harry before looking back at her manager. “Yes. I think we should.” She felt a hand press softly on her back as she let out a deep breath.

“Good. Then I will now leave you to your dinner, while I go have a little chat and make some phone calls,” Jeff announced. “Call or text me if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” said Amber, the warm breadstick melting in her mouth as Harry’s hand gingerly rubbed up and down her back.

“I’m so proud of you,” she heard him say when the door shut.

Pausing the fork in her hand, she looked up at him. “Thanks.”

Leaning forward, Harry placed a short, soft kiss on the top of her head. The tender touch seemed to flip her entire insides all the way to her toes like the feeling of the descending drop on a roller coaster. Biting her lip, she eyed Harry’s big ass salad and giggled.

“What?” he asked, a cute expression of inquiry on his face.

“You eat like a rabbit.”

Harry chuckled then, the sound ringing through the room. Amber felt her stomach twinge again, like the feeling of a thousand butterflies dancing.

“I’d offer you some of this,” she said, “but you probably don’t eat carbs.”

With a smirk, Harry reached over and swiped a cream-covered noodle, popping it into his mouth.

“Ooh, one noodle,” Amber joked, her eyes wide. “Call the pasta police now!”

Shaking his head, a shit-eating grin on his face, Harry reached for his water bottle.

“Oh. Cheers,” said Amber, opening her own bottle.

Harry raised a brow. “A toast?”

“Why not. But you go.”

“Alright,” Harry cleared his throat and raised his water. “To Amber Crosby. The bravest girl I know.”

Her smile faltering, Amber reluctantly tapped her bottle against Harry’s.

“I don’t know about that,” she remarked.

“I do,” declared Harry. “You keep saying you’ve been through a lot. This is just one more thing, love. You can get through this, too. I know you can. I believe in you.”

Blinking to keep the tears at bay, Amber gave a small smile. “Thank you, Harry. I just wish I could believe in me, too.”

The hotel was peaceful and still when they made their way back at the wee hours of the morning. Jeffrey had called Harry, asking to be put on speaker phone as he explained his settlement. Carter was no longer part of the tour, nor part of the band. Apparently there had been some kind of row, Carter getting angry and overturning a chair and punching a wall when Jeff had given him the news, to which Harry had not been surprised. Security arrived, and Carter had then broken down in tears, begging to speak to Amber. When Jeff had told him he didn’t think that was a good idea, he’d thrown his belongings in his suitcase and announced he was leaving on the next flight.

Jeffrey had security escort them to the hotel and see them to the elevator. Stepping off the lift, Harry looked both ways before heading for Amber’s door, the silence almost overwhelming. Jumping at the sound of another door opening, he exhaled when he saw it was only Clare.

“Hi,” she greeted quietly. “I heard what happened. Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” Harry sighed, stealing a peek at Amber who nodded.

Without a word, Clare gave Amber a sympathetic look before opening her arms. Amber walked right into them, allowing the friendly embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” Clare murmured. “I should have known.”

“How could you have known?” asked Harry.

“Women’s intuition. She gave hints, so I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t pick up on it exactly.”

“It’s okay, Clare,” said Amber. “I didn’t really want anyone to know.”

Looking at her tear-stained face, Clare cupped her cheek. “I understand.”

With one last hug, Clare said goodnight and returned to her room. Harry stood and examined the empty hallway while he waited for Amber to retrieve her key. Jeffrey had asked that he keep an eye on her until she went to bed, and he was determined to do just that. In fact, he would have done it regardless of Jeff’s order.

Pushing her door open, Amber turned to Harry with a bashful grin. “I’d invite you in for a nightcap, but I guess that’s pretty much out of the question now.”

“Yeah,” he blinked, “but I would like to make sure you’re okay. If...that’s okay with you.”

“Of course.”

Stepping into the room, Harry made sure the door was locked behind him before turning around. Amber stood next to the dresser, removing her earrings and bracelets. Despite everything that had happened in the last few hours, she still looked remarkable, her cheeks glowing a peachy-pink that matched the cute little dress she wore, her long hair in curls that cascaded down her back. Harry thought about how resilient she was. He still didn’t know her entire backstory, but he hoped that little by little he could chip away at the stone, and she’d let him in completely.

“I could really use a shower,” she announced as she sat on the bed to remove her boots. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” she promised, shutting the bathroom door.

Harry sat on the bed as he heard the shower begin and scrolled through his phone. He was halfway deciding to tweet a thank you to his fans for coming to the show when a knock sounded on the door. Perplexed, since most everyone was asleep by now, he wondered if it was Jeffrey. Crossing the room, he shoved his phone in his pocket.

“Who is it?” he called firmly, but not too loud.

When no one replied, he heard another knock, this one more emphatic than the one before.

“Harry?” Amber called from the bathroom.

“I’m here!” he assured her.

“Okay. I thought I heard someone knocking.”

Deciding not to inquire who it was again, Harry unlocked the door and opened it just a crack as he remained behind it.

“Amber!” the voice growled. Shit.

Stepping around the door, Harry let himself be known as Carter stared him down.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked Harry.

“I should be asking you that.”

“I need to talk to Amber,” confessed Carter.

“I don’t think you do.”

Just then, the sound of the bathroom door opening startled them both as Amber emerged, a towel wrapped around her body.

“Amber!” Carter bellowed, using his shoulder to try to push the door open.

“What’s he doing here?” she gasped with wide eyes. “Leave me alone!”

“Amber, you have to hear me out, please!”

“I don’t have to do anything!” she yelled. Then she looked at Harry with pleading eyes.

“Time for you to go, mate, she doesn’t want to see you,” Harry explained, nudging the door.

“Don’t tell me what to do you, you son of a bitch! And stop calling me mate! This is all your fault! I got kicked out of the band because of you!”

“I reckon that was all your doing, Carter. Now, please leave.”

Ignoring his plea, Carter tried his best to push the door open as he continued to call out to Amber. Suddenly losing his footing, Harry stumbled back as Carter succeeded, barging into the room. Amber screamed as she backed into the table, clutching her towel.

“Amber, please!” cried Carter. “I won’t hurt you! I just need to talk to you!”

“Like hell you do!” called another voice.

Carter turned to see the stern faces of his now ex-manager and ex-bandmates.

“I believe you were leaving,” said Jeffrey, folding his arms across his chest.

“The fuck is this?” shouted Carter.

“Everything okay here, Mr. Azoff?” asked another voice just as the security guard made his way through the crowd.

“Yes. Please see that this young man gets escorted downstairs. There’s a car waiting to take him to the airport,” replied Jeff.

The security guard gave a quick ‘yes sir’ and reached for Carter, who resisted. With a look of disdain, he glared at Amber, then Harry before reluctantly following the guard out of the room. Momentarily shaken up, Harry noticed Amber in the corner, still clutching her towel as she sobbed. Crossing the room, he took her into his arms where she once again cried against his chest.

“Amber, we’re so sorry!” called Johnny from the hallway.

“Yeah, Amber,” Brendan echoed.

“That’s enough guys, we’ll all discuss it tomorrow,” conveyed Jeff as he reached for the handle and let the door shut, leaving Harry and Amber alone.

“Harry…” Amber whimpered, her body trembling.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Harry cooed as he held her tight. “He’s gone now.”

After several deep breaths, Amber made a sound, making Harry lift his head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m...not dressed,” she blushed. “How embarrassing.”

With a slight twitch of his lips, Harry stepped back, releasing her. “Would you like me to turn away?”

“No, um...I’ll just grab something and go to the bathroom.”

Still wanting to show some courtesy, Harry turned his back as she reached in her bag and made a beeline for the toilet. When she returned, her oversized t-shirt barely grazing the bottoms of her little shorts, he tried his best not to stare as he sat on the bed.

“Thanks…” she said shyly as she stood before him, running a brush through her damp hair, “...for staying. And everything.”

Harry merely nodded, unsure what else to say that he hadn’t already said.

“I’m so ashamed.”

“I promise, I didn’t even take a peek, love,” Harry claimed, holding up his hands.

“No,” Amber blushed again, dropping her brush on the table and taking a seat next to him, “not about that.”

“What for?”

“Because…” she sniffled, “I thought he had to hit me for it to...you know.”

His face falling, Harry nodded slowly. “I know.”

“I just…” Amber bit her lip. “I thought no one would believe me. That it was my fault because I’d told him I didn’t wanna be with him like that anymore. I thought I owed it to him to continue being in a band with him even though we weren’t together. That I’d led him on with the flirting and the drinking and…”

“Shhh, baby,” Harry lifted his finger to silence her, pressing it to her lips. “It’s alright now.”

He stared at her pretty tear-stained face, her blue eyes full of innocence and longing. He was unsure why he’d let the term of endearment fall from his lips, but he didn’t regret it. Sliding his finger away from her mouth, he brushed away another stray tear from her cheek as she continued to stare at him.

“I’m scared, Harry,” she admitted quietly. “Please help me. I don’t know how to do this alone.”

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MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[am-i-on-the-square]

The Hunter’s Blood Moon

Prologue

I gripped the very edge of the stage, unable to wipe the beaming grin off my slightly-sweaty face, my chest heaving as the audience and I belted out the lyrics to ‘Cirice.’ Hearing sensitivity be damned, I would have gladly gone deaf if it meant I got the closest spot to the stage—the closest spot to him—as possible. I looked left to right, still no security guards to be seen, and yet nobody took the opportunity to climb onto the stage and join the performance, especially when he, Papa Emeritus III, was the lead vocalist. My heels bounced up and down with each boom of Pebble’s drums, the heavy shredding of Omega and Alpha on their respective guitars—it was still difficult to tell which Ghoul was which without their instruments—but my eyes stayed completely focused on the main lead himself.

I had no idea what the hell happened, but when Papa Emeritus II disappeared from Ghost and Papa III took over, it was like a switch just flipped on inside me. Seeing Secondo in his full Papa regalia? Awesome, and kind of funny considering his resemblance to a certain canine-named American singer; he’s nicknamed Mr. Worldwide for a reason. But seeing Terzo? With his raven-black hair, his classy black coat, and his white button-down? My heart had never fluttered so fast before, I had never squealed so loudly or flapped my hands so hard whenever photos and videos of him cropped up online or on the news, and even though I had wanted to see Ghost live since ninth grade, as soon as I graduated with my two-year film degree and got my first job at a local bookstore, my motivation cranked up to an eleven as soon as I found out that they—he—would play live in my town.

Terzo had just become my newest celebrity crush.

I didn’t give a single shit about any of the concert recordings I’d seen on YouTube anymore, nothing could have compared to hearing him in person. Whenever he held his microphone and sang, from ‘Year Zero’ to ‘Mummy Dust’—especially ‘Mummy Dust’; fuck, I’ll never get his raw sexual energy during that song out of my head—the sheer amount of confidence radiating from him had me falling head-over-heels, my heart beating so fast I thought I might pass out, my cheeks heating up so much to the point where I probably looked like a tomato or a seedless strawberry. And judging by the comments I’d seen other fans post on the Internet, I wasn’t the only one having a reaction like that.

Some very eager fans shoved past me and squealed right in my ear when Terzo swept past his boyfriend Omega, and the reason why clicked in my head as soon as the music drastically stopped, his voice lowered to a near-whisper, and his gorgeous mismatched eyes scanned the entire front row of the crowd. My eyes widened, and I couldn’t stop the short scream that tore from my throat, my right hand among others reaching past the edge of the stage as the audience either screamed for Papa or belted out the important lines for that part of the song.

A lucky fan was about to get Cirice’d.

My heart practically stopped as soon as Terzo’s gaze landed on the rabid fans around me, his lips curling into a devious smirk, making my cheeks burn and sending the women surrounding me into an absolute frenzy. The anxious lump immediately grew in my chest, my knees trembled, and my shyness kicked in as I slowly drew my hand away from the stage. There were already so many hands reaching for him, I didn’t think he would notice one missing. Terzo glanced at each frothing member of his congregation, strolling up and down; I’m pretty sure some ‘Wet Floor’ signs would be put around the place once the area got cleared out, I’d have to keep my eyes on the ground just to be sure I don’t slip and fall and potentially break my neck.

He started to approach a fan to my left…

And stopped.

Right in front of me.

I felt my pulse begin racing throughout my entire body, the flush on my cheeks reaching down to the back of my neck as the audience members next to me kept their hands towards Terzo. He looked down, directly at my withdrawn hand as I held it against my chest.

No.

No, this wasn’t happening.

He looked back up at me…

…got down on his left knee…

…held out his hand…

…and his smile easily put an angel’s to shame.

Holy fuck.

I’m getting Cirice’d.

I’m getting Cirice’d.

I’M GETTING CIRICE’D!!!

Before I knew it, my fingertips met the soft fabric of Terzo’s gloved palm, and his fingers curled around mine, his thumb brushing the back of my hand as he tugged me closer to him. While my brain short-circuited and the ball of shyness threatened to explode in my chest, my other hand tried and failed to cover up and cool down the blush on my left cheek. My head was on the verge of overheating, but an airiness settled itself along with the heat as I looked up at Terzo. He knelt right in front of me, my hand in his as the Ghouls started playing again, his voice so clear and pretty as he sang the main chorus of the song. The corners of my mouth curled into a timid smile, and I could only look away for a few seconds before my eyes found his again, the anxiety wearing down and changing into a bubbly, giddy sort of shyness with a ton of suppressed excitement just short of bursting. My very first Ghost ritual, and I got to hold hands with Papa Emeritus III.

I couldn’t wait to gush about it to Elijah and Allison.

He pulled me closer, my stomach beginning to press against the edge of the stage, and I was more than certain that he, the Ghouls, and the audience could see the imaginary pink and red cartoon hearts floating around my head and popping like bubbles. Anticipation fluttered in my chest, and just when I thought things couldn’t get any better than they were right now, Terzo set his microphone down next to him, his voice still perfectly clear as day, and I felt a legitimate shiver—an actual honest-to-God shiver—run down my spine as he gently tilted my chin up with his other hand, like something straight out of a romance novel. His thumb brushed against my bottom lip, and I swear the ground almost disappeared beneath my feet, my breathing grew slightly heavier, and the noisy crowd behind me faded away into simple background noise.

Blood thrummed in my ears. Adrenaline rushed through me. My toes curled inside my shoes, the muscles in my shoulders ached the longer I tensed them, but I stayed rooted to my spot.

“…s… im…!”

What…?

“Ki… im…!”

The hell were they saying?

“Kiss him!!”

Oh.

OH.

Okay, I definitely did not hear that right. There was absolutely no way in hell that the entire audience started chanting “Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!” nonstop, their screams loud enough to make the entire arena tremble. I clutched the fabric of my pants, my knuckles no doubt turning white, the muscles in my fingers twitching with how hard I was straining them. Most of my brain yelled at me not to do it, not to risk getting banned from another Ghost concert for life; so I just stood there, willing my body not to pass out from how close Terzo was, how the fabric of his gloved palms fueled the steaming blush on my cheeks and sent shivers down my back, how his fingers brushed against the…

…the hollow of my…

…my throat…

His eyes…

…his mysterious white eye that gleamed under the harsh stage lights…

…the way his furrowed brows enhanced his gaze to create the most beautiful pair of ‘fuck me’ eyes I’d ever seen…

…the only ones I’d ever…

And then it happened.

It finally happened.

A pair of warm paint-covered lips pressed against mine, stray locks of raven hair traced feather-light touches against my temples. My fingers clutched the left collar of Terzo’s coat as my knees threatened to buckle under my weight. The butterflies immediately erupted from my stomach and spread throughout the rest of my body. I couldn’t tell my own thundering heartbeat from the deafening roar of the crowd while the last few minutes of ‘Cirice’ had now become simple background noise. His fingers gently threaded through my hair, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as he tightened his grip on my hand. The steaming rosy blush on my cheeks spread down to my neck, my eyes fluttered to a close, and my heart threatened to leap out of my chest.

It finally happened.

I just had my first kiss.

-

My breaths were deep and slow as my eyes fluttered open, the Christmasy smell of fresh pine flowing through my nose as the gentle hum of the A/C met my ears. The thinnest rays of sunlight were just beginning to stream through my window, casting slanted orange-yellow patterns and shapes on the walls; a strand of hair stuck to my left eye, but at least I didn’t get a flash-bang straight to the face. I turned onto my back and sluggishly raised my left hand up, brushing my fingers against my dry and chapped lips. After making a quick mental note to apply lip balm later—Mom would definitely get on my ass about it—I clenched the blanket and threw my head back against the pillow, glaring at the ceiling like it owed me money and was too lazy to pay me back even a dollar. My cheeks puffed out as I added a childish pout to my little staring contest with the drywall or whatever it was above my head. I didn’t have a doubt that grabbing my pillow and punching it would have woken up my parents and my brother in the next room over, so I just sat there and pulled the blanket over my face, a warm flush coloring my cheeks as I willed the bed to swallow me whole and let me wallow in my own disappointment.

I huffed, crossing my arms. I should have known it was too good to be true. Kissing Terzo immediately after getting Cirice’d? I mean, come on. No way. I would give all the money in my bank account for that—consensually, of course, I’m not a total creep—but the chances of a kiss on the lips during that part of the song are practically zero. He probably has a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or gender-non-confirming date friend or something; if I were his partner—God, I wish—I’d be pretty pissed if he made out with every fan he Cirice’d. Besides, security would have definitely stopped that from happening.

A girl can dream, though.

[canpandaspvp]

What's a moment in life you never have the chance to talk about cause it never fits in normal conversation

do you know how long i've been waiting for someone to ask me this question.

NOW THAT ITS BEEN ASKED IM BLANKING BUT HERES A FEW MOMENTS IN MY LIFE THAT I THINK ABT A LOT BUT NEVER GET TO TALK ABT

- the time i manned a 50 person rescue mission to save a prisoner of war (it was a simulation but it was like. an air force training simulation so it was scary realistic). i literally wrote a speech abt that day bc it was so wild like we were genuinely convinced we were gonna die

- any time i'm in an airport alone. nobody wants to hear abt my airport endeavors 😔 but one time i had a 3 hour layover in ATL and nothing happened until 10 minutes before boarding when tommyinnit dropped The Video and then i only got the chance to see that the aftermath was bad before i had to board my flight and lose connection to the world. there is no feeling comparable to the feeling of being in another state without any adult supervision, knowing that your side of the internet is blowing up because your favorite duo who you'd mained for years had pretty much been nuked, and not being able to talk abt it anywhere to anyone for hours because you don't have service

- every time i've done something that got me a lot of applause (im an attention whore) cause nobody gaf abt that time in 7th grade where we did a history bee and i was up, had a question that NOBODY ELSE KNEW THE ANSWER TO INCLUDING THE HISTORY KIDS, completely blind guessed correctly, and had the entire class do the whole "OHHHHHHH" thing. and everyone clapped

- seriously any summer camp stories. everyone talks abt their summer camp experiences but the second it's my turn the conversation switches 😭

- when i was 10 and i sang shadows by sabrina carpenter (#ogcarpenter) at a talent show and it wasn't even that good but i got a taste of fame that day?? bc everyone was like fangirling over me like ppl were coming up to me asking for photos, autographs, i got fanart??? i had haters???? <- the hater was my camp roommate which was really really funny

- the time i watched a possum give birth and the time i watched a possum divorce

- the time i accidentally sang a song i wrote abt my crush in front of him bc i didnt know he was in the audience

- really any of my songs. i love talking abt my songwriting so much and i don't think im good at much but im super fuckin proud of my songwriting and i wish other ppl would RECOGNIZE THAT SO I COULD GEEK OUT ABT IT TO SOMEONE THATS NOT MY WALL 😭😭😭

there's definitely more but these are the ones i think abt the most that i never get to bring up. that and this fucking fandom but i'm too scared to bring it up anyway 💀

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen 4

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, hand job, loss of virginity

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: Sorry it took so long to get this out. Hopefully I can work on part 5 now that I have this posted.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 4:  With its gallery gods and its garbage-bag trees

💀💀💀

Sam left you in the same daze that fogged the entire day. The night was restless as you tossed and turned, replaying the scene over and over. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the lens staring back at you, imagined yourself on a screen, your hand moving between your legs, your pathetic mewls as you came for this man and who knew how many others. 

Well, he did say it was up to you how big the audience was.

You woke early and only checked in with your nan to fill a mug with coffee and start your day ahead of time. You needed to keep yourself busy after a night bombarded by your own thoughts and yet, you couldn’t focus enough to do more than stare at the blinking cursor.

You put on a Twitch stream to keep your mind from wandering too far but it did little to help your focus. You fidgeted, still without your phone, and again thought of the previous day and what you’d done. You’d never done that in front of anyone. You only ever joked about it online, that persona was everything you weren’t irl.

All your stupid online jokes and exaggerations got you into this. You fucked up because the line between virtual and reality was too blurred in your head. You got carried away and now you just had to deal. Well, you guessed it was a lesson no one learned the easy way.

You didn’t realise how much time passed until your stomach growled loudly and squeezed. You felt like throwing up but only had the slice of toast you scarfed down that morning to coat your stomach. You rubbed your eyes and headed downstairs to sneak some of your nan’s sugarless jelly cookies. She hated your snacking but she rarely finished a box on her own.

As you entered through the kitchen, you came to a sudden halt. You tilted your head and frowned as you heard your nan’s voice and the one that answered had you knocking your hip against a chair as you rushed into the living room.

“Just over there,” she directed as the leg of the couch scraped on the floor, “slide it against the wall.”

Sam stood straight dusted off his hands on his jeans. He stepped back and looked over the old floral sofa. 

“Definitely looks better over here,” he remarked.

“What the hell?” you blurted out.

“There you are!” your grandmother tutted, “I called up to you but you do what you always do and tune me out.”

“I didn’t-- I was working, I--” you cleared your throat and looked at Sam, “what are you doing here?”

“He’s being very helpful,” your nan praised, “how many times did I ask you to help me with this thing?”

“Sorry, I…” you swallowed and glanced between them.

“And smell that,” your nan inhaled deeply, “he’s making us dinner.”

“And I brought sugar-free dessert,” he added, “anything else I can do?”

“You’re so sweet,” she squeezed his thick arm.

“So are you… once you get past the frying pan,” he chuckled.

“I see a man in leather, I’m swinging,” she scowled, “you’re lucky you came bearing gifts.”

“Hey, look, we’re not all bad,” he smiled as she sat and he handed her the book from the small table that held the lamp and her ashtray, “I’m not like those guys who threatened your granddaughter.”

“And more honest than her,” she shook her head, “you didn’t tell me you were down at that bar. I warned you-- you really are lucky he was there.”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” you squinted at them, “didn’t you just tell me the other day I should grab any biker by--”

“I’m old, I say things,” she laughed but her eyes had a glimmer of ‘be quiet’.

“Would you like some more tea, Millie?” he asked as he took her empty mug and neared you, stopping in the broad archway that opened up into the living room.

“One more, if you don’t mind,” she smiled sweetly. She never smiled.

You hid a scowl and turned to follow Sam into the kitchen. He moved the kettle onto a burner and turned the knob. He stopped and opened the door of the stove and peeked inside as a blaze of savoury hot air blasted out at him. You felt it just before he let it snap shut and turned to lean on the counter, crossing one foot over the other.

“What are you doing?” you uttered.

“I told you I’d be back,” he shrugged.

“I didn’t think you’d--” you lowered your voice and glanced at the doorway, “what have you been telling her?”

“Everything she wants to hear,” he ran his fingertips along the precise line of hair of his goatee, “and nothing she shouldn’t… but that can change.”

“I did what you wanted. End of punishment,” you put your hands on your hips.

“End? Hmmm, I don’t think I said that,” his forehead wrinkled, “we’re far from finished… and come on, we both know you had as much fun as me.”

Your nostrils flared and you sucked in your cheeks. He was entirely too hard to figure out. He was that sort of man you hated and feared all at once. You just couldn’t predict him.

“I don’t… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t hurt her,” you said quietly.

“Hurt her? Now why would I do that?” he taunted, “I mean, right now I have no reason to do anything like that.”

You squirmed and let out a breath, “please, alright?”

“Settle down, honey, you’ve been good… so far,” he said, “you just gotta keep it up.”

“Yeah,” you grumbled as the kettle began to shake and he turned his back to you, “any chance I can have my phone back?”

He chuckled as he searched the cupboard for the tea and plucked out a bag, “you’re funny… I like that but you gotta stop acting like everything’s a joke. It doesn’t hold up.”

💀

You found it hard not to wear a look of unamused confusion as Sam served dinner at the table and your grandmother sang his praises as he poured her wine she could actually drink. Just one glass but it was enough to loosen her up. You hadn’t eaten in the dining room since you were a kid, more used to eating at the counter, sitting on the wobbly stools or in front of the television.

Sam offered for you to clean up and do the dishes. Your nan was overjoyed at that, almost mocking. When you finished, you found them in the living room, some old Robert DeNiro movie on the television. You sat on the couch, as far from Sam as you as your grandmother yawned into her hand.

“Well,” she stubbed out her cigarette, “I should really be getting to bed. That wine is kicking in.”

“It’s early…” you argued weakly.

“You kids don’t get into too much trouble,” she warned as she stood with a groan and gripped her hip, “these ears still work.”

“Trouble? Me?” Sam kidded, “you don’t have to worry about me. I haven’t been a kid in a very long time.”

She smiled and nodded but for a moment she hesitated. She looked at you and pushed her tongue to her denture.

“Good night, girlie,” she said.

“Night, nan,” you forced out as normally as you could. 

You knew if she sensed your fear, she’d act out. She was always too brave for her own good and while you admired that, you didn’t need to get hurt because you were dumb as a brick.

She left slowly and you heard her television begin to crackle and the voices of the Law and Order actors were muffled behind her door. You hunched your shoulders and rubbed your hands together as you stared at Deniro’s wrinkled forehead and that characteristic squint. 

The lamp went out as Sam pulled the cord and the screen glowed in the dark. You felt the cushion dip as he shifted closer without subtlety. He slung his arm over your shoulder and you smelled his earthy cologne as he turned the TV up a few ticks. He pulled you to him as his hand came up to cradle your cheek.

“Shouldn’t we go… somewhere else?”

“She won’t hear us honey,” he cooed, “you just gotta be good. Be quiet.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Please,” you grabbed his hand as you pleaded.

“You keep arguing and I’ll make sure to wake her up,” he warned, “now,” he twisted so that he had your wrist in his grasp and forced it down to his lap, “put your hand down my pants.”

You gulped loudly and your hand trembled. You read enough fanfic to know what to do but your lack of actual experience had you nervous. Much like many things in your life. All talk, no skill.

You turned awkwardly on the cushion, your body uncomfortably contorted as his legs stayed pressed to yours. You struggled to unhook the button of his fly and the zipper was slow to descend. You felt the bulge as your hands moved against the denim and you hesitated as your fingers pressed to the elastic of his briefs.

“Mmm,” he purred as he hugged you closer, “that’s it, honey.”

Your eyes widened and you were happy the room was dark enough to hide your face. You pulled the elastic back with two fingers and shoved your other hand blindly beneath the fabric. You brushed against his hard dick and angled your hand so that you could grip him, his smooth length felt peculiar against your palm. Was he big? He felt big but didn’t have anyone to compare him to.

“Tighter,” he groaned at the friction as you moved your hand.

You squeezed and his hot breath grazed over your hair and he pushed his head back over the couch. He twitched as you kept a steady motion, trapped in the limbo of mortification and cluelessness. Were you doing it right? What were you even doing?

“Ah, honey, you’re so good,” he said as he rubbed the back of your neck, “goddamn.”

You said nothing as you focused on your hand. He snaked his arm under yours suddenly and pulled you over as he lifted his ass. Your hand was caught in his under as he laid you down beneath him. He reached down and fixed your grip on him as he held hovered atop you, his knees pressed into the cushion between your legs.

His arm crossed under yours as he poked along your jeans and shoved his hand beneath the denim and cotton. His palm was flush to your pelvis as he slid two fingers along your folds, held snug to you by the fabric. He swirled his fingertips over your bud and you gasped as your other hand gripped his arm in surprise.

“Honey, you’re wet already,” he whispered, “you sure you haven’t been waiting for this?”

You moaned as he pushed back along your entrance and dragged his fingers back, spreading your wetness over your clit. You quivered as you struggled to keep your own hand moving. He inhaled and groaned as played with you and pressed his lips to your cheek. He trailed up to your lips and kissed you, forcing his tongue inside as he shuddered.

He drew away with a sloppy noise and withdrew his hand from your pants. He sat up on his knees and pulled your legs to rest against his torso. He gripped the back of your jeans and yanked them down along with your panties. You smothered your cry as you were shocked by the force of it and the air of the room on your bare ass and legs.

He let your jeans dangle from one ankle as he bent over you again. Your leg fell over the edge of the couch as he held himself over you with a hand just above your head, fingers tight on the cushioned arm. He wiggled as he shimmied his jeans and briefs down with his other hand and you pressed on his chest.

“Wait, wait,” you hissed, “you… please, just… slow down… I never--”

“Shh, honey, you’re making too much noise,” he muttered, “it’s okay.”

“No, no, please, can’t we--” your voice caught as he lined his tips up along your cunt and rubbed it along your clit, “I’ll… I’ll use my mouth.”

“Later,” he whispered as his tip slipped down along your entrance, “honey, I need to feel you.”

“Pl--” your voice evaporated as the head of his dick stretched you.

You whimpered as he brought his arm down and nestled it under your head. He pushed further in and you gritted your teeth as you whined at the pressure of his intrusion. With each inch, the strain grew worse as a deep pain flooded your body. He shushed you as he forced past your resistance.

He covered your mouth as you cried out and barely kept your voice under control. He kept your head on his arm as his other hand cupped your lips and smothered out your agony. He forced himself in as deep as he could and your body tensed as your walls squeezed him. Your eyes rolled back as tears welled and spilled over the corners.

“Honey, it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” he coaxed, “just like that.”

He rocked his hips carefully but it still felt terrible. He pulled back and slid back in, each time it felt like he got even deeper than the last. His breath hitched and your own grew laboured as you huffed through your nostrils. 

He growled and sped up, just a little at a time, your cunt slickening his intrusion as his pelvis brushed against your clit and sent tendrils down your thighs. Even so, the pleasure was not enough to mute the pain.

“That’s it,” he uttered, “that’s it.”

He fucked you faster and the couch shook beneath you. His flesh slapped and the noise seemed to be monstrous, so much sure that you were sure your grandmother would come out and catch you. 

You grasped his wrist as you felt your climax rising. You squeezed and arched your foot as you were overcome and crashed down harshly as the pain tore through the ecstasy once more. He turned his hand and framed your chin as he kissed you again, swallowing your murmurs as he thrust into you over and over.

He lifted his head and dipped his thumb into your mouth as he held in his voice. He quaked and his motion stuttered but kept on. You felt his release, hot and wet, inside of you, a strange sensation that made you both sickened and aroused you.

He eased up and stilled at last. He brushed his nose against yours and chuckled under his breath as he wiggled his hips and you swore at the way it made your walls squeeze him. You blinked as your vision cleared of tears and the darkness. His features were blue with the light of the television, sinister and shadowy.

You went limp under him and breathed out slowly. You shook as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and left a line of spit down your jaw.

“We’ll have to get that on tape next time,” he said, “but I doubt you’ll forget that, honey.”

[fullmetal-hearrt]

Shinee fucking ran so that kpop could walk and those are just the facts that everyone should accept.

They debuted when kpop had a very specific style and concept of what young boy groups could do in order to sell but Shinee really knocked on the doors with replay and as soon as they opened, they deadass shot out Lucifer and Ring DD and no body was prepared lmao.

They legitimately redefined kpop and I really don’t think they get enough credit for that? FROM DAY ONE, they had the most intricate and class choreographies in kpop. There’s a reason why shinee are called performance legends. It’s because you can pick any damn shinee choreography and it’s just so amazingly well executed; Not to mention they’re the first kpop idols who started releasing choreography practice videos and dancing without backup dancers which as y’all can see, has become the norm now.

Also, TILL DATE Shinee had the most packed schedule for any kpop rookie group ever. They were out there performing for 8 hours and then going back home just to rehearse for another 8. Their success was so unexpectedly high and they were literally teenagers handling all that fame. Taemin was a literal child with a bowl cut ffs. Also, don’t come for my bowl cut children, they looked PRECIOUS in the replay MV.

Even as early as 2011, Shinee being known as variety show and pilot experts because they’re naturally so funny and have a bond within them that easily puts people at ease and makes for one crazy episode with no chaos or anything “extra” per say. Just shinee being shinee is enough. In an industry where idols don’t even react to other female idols at award shows cause of the knetz, ya bois, Taemin and Minho really went fuck it and did whole collab stages with Sunmi and Yuri. The flex. Not to mention the way Shinee and especially Jonghyun & Taemin said a huge Fuck you to Korea’s oh so precious “masculine aura” and just went on with releasing pretty boy and Taemin saying makeup isn’t something for girls and that makeup is for all genders, a legend.

The way Shinee had fans in countries like Dubai, Russia, India and many many others at a time when kpop really wasn’t a thing? It was just Korean music for Koreans but shinee went ahead and did their thing and it broke language barriers as if they were air. It’s 2020 and Barack Obama talking about shinee still feels like a fever dream to me tbh.

Not even mentioning anything else now BUT just their music and it’s impact man?? The way shinee put out ALBUM after ALBUM with no rest and the fact being that, Every damn song they put out was a WHOLE BANGER.

Like?? SHINEE’S FUCKING DISCOGRAPHY??

JULIETTE, SHERLOCK, RING DD, REPLAY, LUCIFER, STRANGER, GOOD EVENING, VIEW, PICASSO, MARRIED TO THE MUSIC, WHY SO SERIOUS?? BRUH WHAT EVEN?

SHINEE songs that get covered by rookie idols everyday, mentioned by established idols as their inspiration during trainee days, songs that the entire population of Korea would know. Songs that trainees practice on for hours hoping that one day they too, would debut.

Shinee, a boygroup who’s know as the group who “made their own concepts” and everyone else simple followed.

And the craziest part is they are one of the longest standing groups in kpop, been together for 12 whole years and are still as relevant and iconic as ever. The fact that all five members have so much solo potential and even then nothing trivial like fame or money had ever seemed to break shinee up as a group is really a feat.

Taemin is no doubts THE best dancer and one of the most successful soloists in the entire kpop industry. A living legend tbh. His discography is hot, molten GOLD. Jonghyun’s VOCALS are liter-al-ly one of the strongest vocals in the entire industry and every damn shinee song is a proof of his sheer excellence as a main vocalist. Cue to Stranger. Onew deadass sang opera for a loaded audience once and left everyone shook and his 40 sec long note. Also, this man leads the chaos that is shinee, mad respect. Key’s rapping style is honestly so distinctive and HONEY that man can sing like his life depends on it. Not to mention kibum is a FASHION ICON. Also, his ‘born to shine’ solo stage. HE DID THAT. Minho really out there being a multi talented class act, who’s a main rapper but has vocals that could kill. Not only that, man be out here having acted in so many successful dramas.

Imma say this once and I want all you third gen kpop stans to print it out, Shinee did for kpop what no one else did so you might not stan them or listen to their music but the one thing your ass will do, IS RESPECT THEM. Respect shinee and everything that they went through in a time where kpop wasn’t shit and kpop artists were treated so heartlessly as if they were nothing but cash machines. Also they’re from SM so God knows what kinda shit that company has put them through and one can never imagine the sheer amount of pressure on the members to have been so young and so in pain but having no one to trust at the heights of their success; Imagine being loved and cheered on by thousands on a stage only to come back home to nothing but you and your head in the now deafening silence. Imagine waking up one day and finding out that a boy you spent half your lifetime with, shared your best and worst moments with, is suddenly gone? Just like that? AND THEN having the sheer fucking courage to go up in front of thousand teary eyes and questioning glances, leaving a microphone empty on a stage and while using his damn background vocals; singing your heart out to the songs he wrote under an aqua blue moon knowing, for sure, that what began in 2008 will never really end, ever.

THAT IS SHINEE. FIVE LEGENDS. PERIOD POINT BLANK. 

5hinee; OT5 for life, motherfuckers.

[romiantic]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒕𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒙 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌!𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ࿐ྂ

彡 ❛ 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ❜

彡 𝗳𝘁. ryota kise

彡 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff with very little angst

彡 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.3k

彡 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: suggestive theme at the end

彡 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: all characters are 18+. also can we talk about how BOMB this song is 🤧 y’all sleepin on this song fr

·˚ ༘ੈ✩‧₊˚ ╰┈➤ ❛❛ 𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘿𝙊 𝙄𝙏 ❜❜

❝ 𝐘/𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐏! You have two minutes till showtime.” Your manager, AKA, older brother, barged and announced to you like he didn’t update you almost five minutes ago.

You did your usual of sucking your teeth and rolling your teeth every time he barged in and interrupted your call, you replied with annoyance in your tone, “AJ I know! Can you wait a minute? Damn, so impatient for absolutely no reason.”

“I’m sorry who’s the one with hundreds of thousands of fans screaming their name and waiting for their ass outside? Me or you? Oh okay. Anyways, end yo little call with yo boyfr-”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You interrupted, becoming irritated with your brother and simply wanted him to shut the fuck up. A great manager and brother, yet way too uptight for his job.

AJ rolled his eyes and muttered something but you flipped him off and pretended not to hear him until he left your dressing room. You gave your attention back to your phone, giving a cheeky smile to the blonde boy on your screen. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a nervous look growing on you but from what you could tell, he was choosing what shirt to wear to his photoshoot. Leaving him to be seen with a no top on and a pair of denim jeans.

Though it was typical to see your best friend’s exposed upper body, it was a sight you never got used to. His well-toned body, results from years of playing basketball in middle and high school, making your face hot, adding on to the nervousness you were already facing from your upcoming performance. Along with the pearly white smile he flashed at you creating a sick feeling in your stomach, something that you made you clench onto it and try to ignore. Now was not the time to be drooling over your best friend, who interrupted your stare with a laugh and said, “Are you gonna keep staring or are you gonna take a picture?”

Of course, he’d ruin it with some cocky line like that, you rolled your eyes and sucked your teeth. “Boy calm down, ain’t nobody wanna was staring.”

“Your nervous face said otherwise.”

“Akekeke, don’t you have a photoshoot to go to?”

Kise replied with the same energy as yours, “And don’t you have a performance to go to?”

You held up a finger to a screen then crossed your arms, “Aht aht, don’t worry about me now. Worry about yo lil pictures with that famous ass Russian model.” You wanted to roll your eyes just thinking about the brought-up woman but it would make it seem like you’re being jealous for no reason.

Kise let out a small laugh, adoring the irritated look that was starting to creep up on your face. “Somebody sounds jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a scoff, “Oh please, like I would be.” You looked at the time on your watch and noticed it was about one minute until your performance. Your eyes widened at the time and hurried, you quickly ended the call with Kise, “Shit, fuck! I gotta go perform but I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you beautiful when you get back.” The golden-eyed boy winked at you yet you cringed and scrunched your face. “You’re so fucking corny Kise.” You hung up the call, grab any other pieces missing from your outfit, and headed out of your dressing room.

You traveled quickly around backstage, passing by many coworkers and background dancers waiting for you, to head into the small tunnel for artists to come out on stage. You stopped at the exit and gulped as you scanned the stage. An outside arena with hundreds of thousands of fans cheering your name, waiting for your appearance.

Usually, you would be at ease with concerts this large but for some reason this time is different. Unknowing the reason nor cause, you started to feel anxious, your hands mildly shaking and your throat going dry.

There was something in the back of your mind attempting to not make you perform, something telling you to not do it, it won’t be good, people will hate you. A voice there to influence thoughts, hoping that you would fall into the trap and just give up on singing. Though of course, you wouldn’t listen to that voice, that voice always lingered around whenever you were brought to perform, no matter where you were.

The only thing to distract you and keep you safe from that tiny voice is someone who you’ve longed to love. One who just settles your nerves, bringing comfort, and removing all anxious thoughts. One who would deem you as one of the greatest artists he’s ever listened to, maybe it’s opinionated but he loves you too much to disagree.

The now dawdling thought of his soft voice whenever he spoke or his flirtatious nature when you two joked around made a familiar feeling grow greater than before. Something replaced the anxiousness that was growing, a feeling that replaced the nervousness and calmed your shaky hands. Something that was the thought of Ryota Kise, he was like the medicine to all the pain you’ve suffered. A remedy to your anxiety, one of the many causes of the cheeky smile social media often sees you with.

Someone who you grew up and spent all your life with, always noticing how protective he was of you or the way he hummed one of your pre-recorded tracks that he was the only one to listen to. Celebrating one of your songs had hit #1 on the Billboard chart and the way he helped out whenever you hit writer’s block.

Every single thing, noticeable or not, made you grown to love the boy, starting from a platonic, playground friendship blooming to many years of trying to figure out if you are romantically in love with him. Growing familiar feelings of butterflies mixed with the thought of just wanting to cup his face and kiss him whenever he was around.

Just the ultimate feeling of wanting to be buried in the blonde boy’s arms and explain the blooming love for him made you want to sing the song you wrote for him. A new single that you never wanted to put out since you wanted only Kise to hear it, including that the song was your way of telling him what you felt all these years.

Though something changed your mind, something in your brain told you to tell everyone around you that you’re singing solo, no backup singers or dancers, only you on that stage. In this performance, you just had to do it yourself, nothing but you, the stage, and the microphone.

Everyone was confused by the last-minute change of plans but went along with it. They rescheduled it to where your first “official” song to start the concert with was right after your solo performance. You gave thanks to your team and took some deep breaths. You made sure your Bluetooth set was on and working properly in your ear, AJ handed you a mic and brushed off any wrinkling from your outfit and any smoothed out your hair. Uptight about his job yet made sure his little sister was looking the greatest for her performances.

You took deep breaths again, shook off any bad nerves, and walked on stage. The already excited crowd enraged and their volume expanded as they saw you stand before them. Everyone waving their signs that said, “I love you y/n!!” or “Y/N is so beautiful!” You waved to the audience and stopped at the middle of the stage, walking closer to the front of the stage as well.

You turned on the mic and tapped it to see if it was working, “Mic check one two, can you guys hear me?” The crowd immediately responded yes, you continued on to talk to them, “Okay good, have been getting technical difficulties with my mic and I really don’t feel like switching mics three times. Anyways, afternoon to all my lovely fans who made it out here or to those that are watching me live. I love you all and thank you for supporting me, I truly am grateful for every single one of y’all.” Everyone screamed out how much they love you and adore you, showing off their merch that they bought and waving the homemade posters.

You smiled at their response and cleared your throat as you introduced the song, “Thank you, I love you too. This first song is one that has been sitting too comfortably in my heart. A piece that came from genuine emotions and feelings I’ve tried to bury yet couldn’t no matter how hard I tried. It’s something that I never planned on dropping but I just felt like the world had to hear what I had to say. Hopefully, you guys enjoy it cause I did when I was writing this song at two in the morning before I snuck into the studio and recorded it. Was it worth it? Definitely. Now I may introduce to you, Not Another Love Song. A contradicting title isn’t it?”

You took a large breath in and out, you took a position as you waited for the beat to drop. As soon as you heard the familiar melody start, you sang, “I don’t wanna mess this up, could it be too much to say I’m in?”

The crowd lowered down and became silent to hear your new single, grasping the beautiful new lyrics you were singing and just vibing along with it.

You yourself were placing emotion as you sang, not noticing how proudly you sang the chorus or how you were smiling at the crowd the entire time. One thing was clouding your mind to even pay attention to those details, the same thing that more than likely pushed you to sing the song.

As you sang, the feelings for your best friend grew stronger, butterflies in your stomach, and the deprivation of his touch grew on you. Not even realizing how much you missed him until you turned initially to smile at AJ and your team yet saw a familiar face appear as well. You questioned it but then turned back to continue singing to the audience, only thinking that mind is playing games with you.

“I'm finna take my time, my mind, my rules. This ain't no crimе makin' love to you, though you ain't say this. But I had a hard time waitin' for you, boy. Like ooh, boy, you, boy. Got me where you want, just gotta say and it's on, it's like, ooh, boy, do you know you got me like where do you go when you're alone?”

As you sang, you noticed the crowd growing silent, their eyes widening, and their jaws dropping. You were utterly confused at was catching their attention, you turned to your team and your brother pointed behind, giving you a goofy smile as well.

You turned around to what was the cause of this silent commotion and right along with everyone else, your jaw drop and your eyes widened. The flirtatious, handsome model that everyone knew of was standing in front of you with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He walked up to you and smiled greatly, closing in the large gap between the both of you.

Seeing him walk closer to you made you want to say forget concert and sing the rest to him. Half of your feeling was already poured out, not even knowing he was listening to all of it. You didn’t think he would even be here since he had a photoshoot, not standing on an outside stage with a bouquet of roses and dressed in casual attire.

He handed you the roses and kissed your forehead, telling you, “Alone with you, away from the world, where else would I be when I’m alone?”

No response came from you, not even a single gasp or a sniffle to signify that you might cry. The way you responded to his presence was something that shocked the arena, everyone watching you on live, your team, and even the two of you yourself. Who would’ve thought you would be bold enough to grab his face and kiss him right then and there? You snaked your arm around his waist and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. He responded back by wrapping his hands around your shoulders and hugging you tightly, holding onto you to make sure you wouldn’t separate from him.

You pulled back from the kiss and smiled, softly combed his blonde hair, and expressed, “I love you, Kise.” Saying his name like it was something you’ve been aching to say, a name that you’ve buried away yet brought out today. A name that sounded so lovely and romantic when you say it.

Kise expressed as well, “I love you too y/n. I’ve always loved you and I will never stop loving you.” He kissed you again, he removed his hand from your shoulders and trailed around to find your hands. He removed your hands from his waist and instead intertwined them with his.

He felt you smile when he held your hand and smiled back. He stated in between kisses, “You know I’m staying on this stage to hear you finish that song right?”

“It’s fine, I need someone to do my next performance on anyways.” He looked at you and you did nothing but wink and mischievously smiled at him. Kise had a small idea of what he could expect but suppressed it to enjoy the soft moment he wanted between the both of you. A moment that he’ll never forget and a concert that will always be remembered for everyone around you.

彡 it’s like 5 am and I’m tired 🦧 the only thing that kept me up was the fact that I don’t have school plus I loveeeeee kise

彡 also the show olivia

彡 I don’t think I ever mentioned to y’all how much I love his ass but now is definitely not the time 😁

彡 I’m convinced if it silent black hair blue eye powerful men weren’t my type, cocky and flirtatious ones would be runner up

彡 anyways hope you guys enjoy + pleaseee listen to the song, I highly recommend plus ella mai is VERY underrated

bye babes, drink your water, stay hydrated, and remember that you are the baddest bitch on the planet 🥰 no matter what ANYONE says

𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝟏𝟖:𝟑𝟎 💗

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟣 𝗄𝗈𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗈. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[flowercrown-bard]

I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 1/ 5

This is a gift for the most amazing @ban-aard <3

pairing: Geraskier

summary: When some bigoted man insists that Geralt can’t feel love, Jaskier blurts out that they are married - which they very much aren’t. So naturally, Geralt and Jaskier have to pretend to be husbands to convince people that Geralt is lovable, though no one doubts that more than Geralt himself.

word count:~3k

content warning: some self-deprication

read on AO3

next

Alright, so it hadn’t been Jaskier’s most brilliant idea. One might even go so far as to say it was one of his worst ones, but in his defence, he had been tired, a teeny tiny bit drunk and majorly pissed off.

All throughout the evening Jaskier had to listen to stupid comments about witchers. No matter how many tales of Geralt’s heroic deeds he sang, Erik, the man who had given Geralt the contract he was currently risking his life on, kept insulting witchers, the fucking hypocrite.

Throughout it all Jaskier was forced to clench his teeth and continue singing. The most he could do was through death glares at the man and hope he choked on his ale. It wouldn’t do to disrupt his performance, not when they still needed the money to rent a room once Geralt came back, even though it made Jaskier’s blood boil to know people still spread lies about his friend. He came far too close to just stopping his performance and call the contractor out on his lies in front of the entire tavern.

As luck would have it, he didn’t need to.

Just as Jaskier’s last song came to a close the doors opened and Geralt came in, heading straight to the bearded man whose eyes grew wide as he took in Geralt’s black eyes and blood-splattered skin.

He must have been too scared to protest or swindle Geralt into giving him less coin.

Jaskier watched on in smug satisfaction, though he couldn’t pretend not to feel a pang when Geralt didn’t even spare him a single glance before leaving the tavern. As the doors fell close behind him Jaskier hurried to follow him, but he stopped dead in his tracks when the hated voice chimed up once again, louder now that Geralt had left the room.

“Thank the gods we’re rid of him now. Gives me the creeps.”

Jaskier whirled around and fixed him with a raging snarl. “Maybe next time, he should just stay out of this town and not help you when your people are dying then?”

The man scoffed. “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t mind his kind, but I don’t want them here for Marijan’s Day. No one does.”

“He just risked his life for you. If anything, you should be throwing a feast in his honour. The least you can do is not be arseholes and let him stay for your festival.”

“Listen, bard, this is a celebration of love. What does someone like him even want there? Everyone knows those mutants don’t –

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” Jaskier’s eyes narrowed and he prayed Geralt was already far enough away to not hear any of what the man was saying.

“It’s true though isn’t it? Witchers don’t feel and no one would love them anyway so what would be the point?”

“Excuse me.” Jaskier’s voice became deadly cold. “Geralt is living proof that that’s a load of bullshit.”

Erik took a swig of his pint and fixed Jaskier with an almost pitying look. “Sorry to tell you, lad, but just because it’s painfully obvious that you adore the mutant like a loyal puppy doesn’t mean he feels anything for you.”

Jaskier could barely stop himself from flinching back. Those words hit too close. They were too true. How many nights has he lied awake wishing it were different? Maybe it would have been easier if it were true and witchers really didn’t feel. Then at least it wouldn’t have been Jaskier’s fault that Geralt couldn’t love him.

The thought hurt and it set his blood on fire and it made him lose all control over what his mouth was saying.

“Are you telling me my husband doesn’t love me? Is that what you’re saying?”

A wheezing sound left the man as he choked on his drink, but the small amount of satisfaction Jaskier got from it was short lived. “Your what?”

“My husband,” Jaskier said, firmer this time, consequences be damned. It’s not like sticking with what he had said would make this mess any worse. “And I will take him with me to your oh so wonderful festival and you can all see just how loving and brilliant and lovable he is!”

As soon as the words had left him, he regretted them. This could only end in disaster.

Convincing Geralt to accompany him to a celebration was hard enough, but with what Jaskier had just said? Geralt would rip his head right off when he found out. But like hell would Jaskier let these people continue slandering Geralt. He would do what he could to make them take back their poisonous words and if it tore his heart out in the process, so be it.

--

Geralt kept his head down as best he could as he entered the tavern. He had heard the whispers as he had approached and he felt his chest tighten as they all came to a suspicious halt once he entered the room. He didn’t need to smell the fear to know he wasn’t wanted here. Bitter guilt rose up in him. Only moments before, Jaskier had put on a performance and captivated the audience and now all eyes were on Geralt, no one caring about Jaskier the way they should.

He hurried to get his money and leave. It took all of his will power not to look at Jaskier. The thought of him waiting for Geralt’s return had gotten him through the fight and coming back to him was the best part of any contract.

And yet, despite all the times Jaskier had seen him dirty, with torn clothes and the toxins pumping through his blood, he couldn’t look him in the eyes now. Not in front of all these people. It was different when it was just the two of them in a room far away from prying eyes, but with everyone looking at Geralt … Jaskier wouldn’t want to be associated with the sight of him like this. It would expose any lies he told about Geralt’s valiant character.

So he left without chancing a glance at him, though he felt Jaskier’s eyes burning into his back.

Leaving the crowded tavern and the disgusted stares behind was freeing, though there was an insistent part of him that told him to go back. He didn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from lingering just outside the door. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would get to hear Jaskier strike up a new song, would hear the excitement in his voice as the rush of a performance overtook him.

What he heard instead made his heart sink like a stone.

“Thank the gods we’re rid of him now. Gives me the creeps.”

Of course. What else could he have expected? Geralt was used to hearing such things, but it didn’t make them sting any less. For years he had been able to just lock those comments away and pretend they didn’t bother them, but ever since travelling with Jaskier this seemed impossible. Because one could only hear so many times that the man they travelled with was a monster before starting to believe it themselves. One day, Jaskier would begin to doubt. He would realise that if so many people agreed on what Geralt was, maybe he was in the wrong saying that Geralt was anything better.

With a bitter taste in his mouth and a painfully tight chest he listened to Jaskier defend him. It eased something inside him, dislodged a strangling heaviness in his lungs that made it hard to breathe.

Until –

“It’s true though isn’t it? Witchers don’t feel and no one would love them anyway so what would be the point?”

Geralt staggered backwards. He couldn’t think, he just left -fled – those words ringing in his ears. He couldn’t stay to listen what Jaskier would say, if there even was something he could say.

For while the first part couldn’t be more untrue – the pangs shooting through Geralt’s heart all the proof needed that witchers could feel – no one, not even Jaskier who stood up for witchers where he could, could argue with the second part. Not when merely a minute ago Geralt had stood before him, his black eyes and unnaturally pale skin an unmistakable reminder of what he was. Not even Jaskier who was so full of love to give every one – everyone but him - would ever be able to love him.

For a sick second Geralt was almost grateful for hearing those words that had been said with such condescension and conviction. He had needed to hear them, needed the reminder. Too close had he gotten to letting himself forget. Too close to letting himself hope that Jaskier could –

He shook the thought off before thinking it fully and entered the inn, storming off into their room and shutting the door much louder than he would have if Jaskier had been there.

The loud bang of the door snapping shut did nothing to disrupt the thoughts still swirling in his mind. Even now with distance and walls between him and the venomous words he couldn’t shake them off.

What would be the point?

He scoffed into the silence of his lonely room. Yes, what was the point of all of it? Of letting Jaskier travel with him, of relishing every laugh shared and every moment spend together as if he could keep Jaskier in his life, when he knew that he didn’t even have him – would never have him. Not in the selfish and impossible way that he wanted.

His mind still hadn’t quieted down when the door opened again and Jaskier peeked into the room. Geralt’s heart skipped a beat at how carefully quiet Jaskier was.

“The potion’s still making everything too loud?” he asked softly.

Geralt grunted in denial.

Jaskier let out a relieved sigh and went over to him, sitting down on the bed. Geralt’s chest grew tight when he saw how much space Jaskier had left between them, how he avoided Geralt’s eyes and how his hands never stayed still. Geralt wanted to reach out and lay a hand on Jaskier’s to calm his fidgeting. Instead he balled his hand into a fist at his side.

All he had hoped for was some peace and quiet. Some rest, with Jaskier talking about his day while Geralt let his voice lull him off into sleep.

Now though it seemed he would get none of it. Jaskier was obviously nervous and uncomfortable with Geralt around. The words of hate and bigotry had finally seeped into Jaskier’s mind now that he hadn’t been able to find any plausible reply to the claim that witchers were unlovable.

“So,” Jaskier said after a long stretch of uncomfortable silence. “there’s a festival in a couple of days.”

Geralt grunted. Of course he knew about that. As if the bustling preparations hadn’t been enough to tip him off, Jaskier’s unceasing rambling about the festival and its renown that had people travel from neighbouring countries just to see the festivities made sure that Geralt knew about it. The knowledge that the festival was threatened by the presence of the monsters Geralt had been told to get rid of had only made him more determined to finish the contrast as fast as possible. There was nothing as motivating as the excited way Jaskier was grinning when he spoke of something he was looking forward to and Geralt hadn’t been able to risk the festival falling through.

“And – as I’m sure you can imagine – I would very much like to go.”

“Then go,” Geralt said, though his heart clenched painfully. “I won’t bother you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I- what? Of course you won’t bother me. You never do. I was just… you see the thing is…” Jaskier’s voice trailed off uncertainly and his eyes flickered over to Geralt for a brief moment. It was enough to see the hints of anxiety in them.

He had never been afraid of him. Not until now apparently.

“You don’t have to explain. It’s all quite clear,” Geralt said and turned his face into the impassive mask that he had hoped he wouldn’t need around Jaskier anymore. “You want to have a good time at the festival and me being there would make that impossible.” When Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, Geralt added, “I heard what that man said. I’m not wanted there. Or in this town at all. So I’ll leave.” I won’t ruin this for you, he didn’t say.

Jaskier’s brows pinched together and he turned to face Geralt completely, suddenly sickly pale. “Geralt….how much exactly did you hear?”

Geralt shrugged, though his throat had gotten tight. Don’t make me say it. Don’t make me say out loud that you can’t love me.

When he didn’t receive a satisfactory reply, Jaskier huffed. “Because I think you missed a crucial part of that conversation. Yes, I want to go to the festival – one might even say I need to – but I can’t go alone.”

Geralt huffed. “Because it’s a ‘celebration of love’? I didn’t think finding a partner would be a problem for you.” The words came out more bitter than he had intended and he risked a look at Jaskier, praying that he hadn’t noticed.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Very funny. If you need to know, there were in fact at least three lovely people in that tavern who I’m sure would love my company for the feast.”

“Go ask them then.” Geralt forced the words out from between his teeth. There went all hope of having a restful sleep that night. How could he sleep when he knew that other people needed to do no more than look at Jaskier to gain his heart?

“I’m afraid I need you specifically to come with me.”

No matter how much his heart ached or how much Geralt fought against it, he couldn’t keep the smirk from tugging at his lips. “Have you somehow managed to piss off someone already? Jaskier, we’ve been here for two days.” The smirk grew wider when offended noises left Jaskier’s lips. “And I told you I’m done playing your bodyguard. That was a one-time thing.”

Jaskier perked up. “Well, then it’s a good thing it’s not me we’d be protecting.”

Something sharp and ugly reared its head inside Geralt. “No,” he said, voice hard. “I am not going to protect one of your dalliances. Who you decide to bed is your business, as is what happens to them.”

Don’t ask this of me. Don’t make me watch you flirt and kiss and be happy with someone else, even if only for this one day.

And yet, even as Geralt said it, he knew he would do it if Jaskier asked again, if he shifted closer and his eyes took on that pleading look that Geralt wasn’t strong enough to withstand. If Jaskier looked like he really needed this of him, he would give it to him like the fool that he was, even as it would tear into his heart like the claws of a beast.

Jaskier let out a frustrated sigh and shut his eyes tightly.

“I need you to be my husband.” The words were rushed and quiet, as if speaking them like this would make Geralt miss them.

Geralt’s thoughts came to a screeching halt and his mouth went dry. He couldn’t have heard correctly. All of those stupid wishes and hopeless dreams must have made him mishear.

“Jaskier?” He couldn’t say more than that. Anything but that one name might show the whirlwind of emotions inside him. He feared the name alone could have been too much already.

“Not really, of course,” Jaskier added hastily and rubbed his fingers together. “I… please don’t be mad at me, Geralt.”

Geralt’s brows knitted together and his heart sank. “What did you do?”

“I – I might have said that we were married.”

“Us married?” Geralt let out a sharp laugh that held no mirth. “Us married. I thought you were a master of words, how can you come up with such an obvious lie?”

The words stung as he spoke them and the dagger they plunged into his chest twisted when Jaskier winced. How else could Jaskier react, having thrown his stupid lie back in his face, probably only just now realising how horrible being married to Geralt truly would be.

“You said you wouldn’t be mad.” Jaskier’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Geralt raked a hand through his hair, frustration eating at him. “I never said that. But I’m not. I just don’t understand why you would do such a thing.”

Jaskier’s eyes blazed. “Because they were being arseholes!” His voice got louder with each word. “No matter what I did, no matter how often I told them about how good you are, they just kept saying things and I – I’m sorry, but I panicked and the words just slipped out.”

Just slipped out. As if the sole idea of them being anything more than friends wasn’t enough to drive Geralt mad. But saying it out loud, letting the words just slip out, as if it wasn’t something earthshattering…

“That won’t change anything,” Geralt said as evenly as he could. “Just because you said that doesn’t mean you’ll have to take me to the festival. I’m sure you’ll come up with some excuse as to why your husband isn’t with you and you can still have your fun.”

“That’s not what –“ Jaskier bit his lip and a hint of red tinted his cheeks. “It’s not about me having fun. It’s about proving to them that you are not what they say you are.”

Geralt was almost tempted to ask him what exactly that was, to hear Jaskier say the words that dug into Geralt’s chest out loud, but Jaskier looked so crestfallen, as if the thought of what people said physically pained him.

And why wouldn’t it? The wonderful idiot had made it his life’s work to improve Geralt’s reputation, and out of all the things that could be said about Jaskier, he was stubborn beyond compare – likely the main reason why he was still suffering Geralt’s company after all these years. Of course Jaskier wouldn’t like hearing people slander the thing he had dedicated his life to. Though those insults and scoffs were aimed at Geralt, they too hit Jaskier, told him he wasn’t good enough at what he was doing.

Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, you don’t need to do something that would make you uncomfortable just to proof something to them. They – it’s not worth it.”

“It is.” Jaskier’s eyes were determined. “Geralt please. Just for the festival. Please pretend you’re in love with me.”

Geralt’s breath hitched. There were reasons why this was a horrible idea. There were consequences that would surely come off this.

But the thought of being allowed to show even just a fraction of what he felt for Jaskier, even if just for one day, overshadowed all rational thought. It would hurt, it would break him, but just for that one day it would be worth it if it meant knowing what it would be like to feel that look that Jaskier gifted everyone else on him.

Afraid of the emotion that he wouldn’t be able to hide if he opened his mouth, Geralt only nodded.

Jaskier beamed at him and Geralt’s stomach clenched uncomfortably. He was not going to make it thought this with his heart in one piece.

But he could do it even if it was torture. It was just one day.

[circuitdc]

Okay, now that I can collect my thoughts, I can now express how my experience of going to see Tears for Fears live was.

I saw them on Friday. It was my first concert that I actually wanted to go to and it was one hell of a show. I went with my dad whomstve got hooked on the new album because he played the CD in his car nonstop the week before. We were listening to it on the ride to the concert.

First, I should mention that I got the VIP pass where you can go see sound check before the actual concert. But it got delayed for some reason so the group we were with were baking in the hot sun until they called us into the amphitheater. In that time, I met some interesting people who followed the band around the country. There were two older women who were diehard fans. Another woman wore a vest that was comprised of little cards portraying the Songs From the Big chair album cover. She was very quirky but in a fun way. I was chatting with a couple of them and they all seemed impressed that I had so much knowledge of their discography, since I was one of the youngest fans there it seemed. From the Hurting, all the way up to The Tipping Point. The herd of people lost their way and ended up going into a small alleyway while the security was wondering what the hell they were doing. Very strange moment. So we go and find a seat and they were already playing. They advertised on the website that they'd play 2 songs but they really played 4. Long Long Long Time, Break the Man and Everybody Wants to Rule the World and to my extreme surprise and delight, Ladybird. A song they hadn't played live since 2004 when Everybody Loves a Happy Ending was a fresh album. Roland only played portions of it, with a different, more acoustic flare to it. It almost brought tears to my eyes. One guy shouted "Call me Mellow." Wrong song buddy. Fake fan alert!

So after that was done we pretty much waited around, bought some merch. I got a long sleeve golden sun shirt and an album cover shirt and a poster that I threw in my album cover tote bag. We ate overly expensive junk food until it was time to see the show where Garbage opened. From what I heard of their music, I wasn't really a fan of them. But after seeing them live and how they performed and how awesome Shirley Manson is, now I really like them. They went so heavy. She kicked ass that night! We also sang Happy Birthday to Curt!

After that about a 20 minutes before TFF came on, they played over the speakers the whole cover album of Songs from The Big chair by BrotherTiger, which if you haven't heard should totally check him out. That was cool until I looked down and realized that my feet and tote bag were soaked with beer from someone behind me. The true concert experience. Then some middle aged guy with long hair took his seat next time mine, complaining my hair was too long. I said right back at ya buddy. He kinda looked like me in 40 years. Hopefully not.

Finally Tears for Fears took to the stage and started playing their set. I sang every goddamn word throughout the entire concert, my throat was on the verge of dying by the end of it. During Everybody, I ended up dancing with that girl with the vest from earlier. Right after that, we'd sung Happy Birthday to "That guy from Tears for Fears." again, but with more feeling! During Break it Down Again, during the salute, Roland yelled to the people in front of me "Get off you're fucking phones!" Then returns hippie man and ends up knocking over my tote bag into the beer puddle, ruining the poster I just bought. Some of the other paper things survived but the smell of beer filled my car on the way home. Fun times overall.

The last thing to note that I'm both laughing at and pissed off about. When it came time for the last song, Shout. There was always a chance that Roland would pass the microphone to the audience to sing the chorus. I was in second row, but he passed the microphone to the people right in goddamn front of me! Like he was RIGHT THERE! I tried to reach over to at least try to get my voice to be heard, but I was just too far away. That would have absolutely made my night to be so perfect. Ughh!!!

So yeah, TLDR absolutely loved loved loved it. I would totally see them again.

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift appears to be waging war over the serial resale of her old master recordings on two fronts. She recently confirmed that she is already underway in the process of re-recording the six albums she made for the Big Machine label, in order to steer her fans (and sync licensing execs) toward the coming alternate versions she’ll control. But now that she’s followed the surprise release of “Folklore” with the very, very surprise release of “Evermore” less than five months later, the thought may occur: If she keeps up this pace, she may have more new albums out on the Republic label than she ever did on Big Machine in a quarter of the time. Flooding the zone to further crowd out the oldies is unlikely to be Swift’s real motivation for giving the world a full-blown “Folklore” sequel this instantaneously: As motivations for prolific activity go, relieving and sublimating quarantine pressure is probably even better than revenge. Anyway, this is not a gift horse to be looked in the mouth. “Evermore,” like its mid-pandemic predecessor, feels like something that’s been labored over — in the best possible way — for years, not something that was written and recorded beginning in August, with the bow said to be put on it only about a week ago. Albums don’t get graded on a curve for how hastily they came together, or shouldn’t be, but this one doesn’t need the handicap. It’d be a jewel even if it’d been in progress forevermore and a day.The closest analog for the relation the new album bears to its predecessor might be one that’d seem ancient to much of Swift’s audience: U2 following “Achtung Baby” with “Zooropa” while still touring behind the previous album. It’s hard to remember now that a whole year and a half separated those two related projects; In that very different era, it seemed like a ridiculously fast follow-up. But the real comparison lies in how U2, having been rewarded for making a pretty gutsy change of pace with “Achtung,” seemed to say: You’re okay with a little experimentation? Let’s see how you like it when we really boil things down to our least commercial impulses, then — while we’ve still got you in the mood.Swift isn’t going avant-garde with “Evermore.” If anything, she’s just stripping things down to even more of an acoustic core, so that the new album often sounds like the folk record that the title of the previous one promised — albeit with nearly subliminal layers of Mellotrons, flutes, French horns and cellos that are so well embedded beneath the profuse finger-picking, you probably won’t notice them till you scour the credits. But it’s taking the risk of “Folklore” one step further by not even offering such an obvious banger (irony intended) as “Cardigan.” Aaron Dessner of the National produced or co-produced about two-thirds of the last record, but he’s on 14 out of 15 tracks here (Jack Antonoff gets the remaining spot), and so the new album is even more all of a piece with his arpeggiated chamber-pop impulses, Warmth amid iciness is a recurring lyrical motif here, and kind of a musical one, too, as Swift’s still increasingly agile vocal acting breathes heat into arrangements that might otherwise seem pretty controlled. At one point Swift sings, “Hey, December, I’m feeling unmoored,” like a woman who might even know she’s going to put her album out a couple of weeks before Christmas. It’s a wintry record — suitable for double-cardigan wearing! — and if you’re among the 99% who have been feeling unmoored, too, then perhaps you are Ready For It. Swift said in announcing the album that she was moving further into fiction songwriting after finding out it was a good fit on much of “Folklore,” a probably inevitable move for someone who’s turning 31 in a few days and appears to have a fairly settled personal life. Which is not to say that there aren’t scores to settle, and a few intriguing tracks whose real-life associations will be speculated upon. But just as the “Betty”/”August” love triangle of mid-year established that modern pop’s most celebrated confessional writer can just make shit up, too, so, here, do we get the narrator of “Dorothea,” a honey in Tupelo who is telling a childhood friend who moved away and became famous that she’s always welcome back in her hometown. (Swift may be doing a bit of empathic wondering in a couple of tracks here how it feels to be at the other end of the telescope.) One time the album takes a turn away from rumination into a pure spirit of fun — while getting dark anyway — is “No Body, No Crime,” a spirited double-murder ballad that may have more than a little inspiration in “Goodbye, Earl.” Since Swift already used the Dixie Chicks for background vocals two albums ago, for this one she brings in two of the sisters from Haim, Danielle and Este, and even uses the latter’s name for one of the characters. Yes, the rock band Haim’s featured appearance is on the only really country-sounding song on the record… there’s one you didn’t see coming, in the 16 hours you had to wonder about it. Yet there are also a handful of songs that clearly represent a Swiftian state of mind. At least, it’s easy to suppose that the love songs that opens the album, “Willow,” is a cousin to the previous record’s “Invisible String” and “Peace,” even if it doesn’t offer quite as many clearly corroborating details about her current relationship as those did. On the sadder side, Swift is apparently determined to run through her entire family tree for heartrending material. On “Lover,” she sang for her stricken mother; on “Folklore,” for her grandfather in wartime. In that tradition the new album offers “Marjorie,” about the beloved grandmother she lost in 2003, when she was 13. (The lyric videos that are being offered online mostly offer static visual loops, but the one for “Marjorie” is an exception, reviving a wealth of stills and home-movie footage of Grandma, who was quite a looker in a miniskirt in her day.) Rue is not something Swift is afraid of here anymore than anywhere else, as she sings, “I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be / Asked you to write it down for me / Should’ve kept every grocery store receipt / ‘Cause every scrap of you would be taken from me,” lines that will leave a dry eye only in houses that have never known death. The piece de resistance in its poignance is Swift actually resurrecting faint audio clips of Marjorie, who was an opera singer back in the day. It’s almost like ELO’s “Rockaria,” played for weeping instead of a laugh. Swift has not given up, thank God, on the medium that brought her to the dance — the breakup song — but most of them here have more to do with dimming memories and the search for forgiveness, however slowly and incompletely achieved, than feist. But doesn’t Swift know that we like her when she’s angry? She does, and so she delves deep into something like venom just once, but it’s a good one. The ire in “Closure,” a pulsating song about an unwelcome “we can still be friends, right?” letter from an ex, seems so fresh and close to the surface that it would be reasonable to speculate that it is not about a romantic relationship at all, but a professional one she has no intention of ever recalling in a sweet light. Or maybe she does harbor that a disdain for an actual former love with that machinelike a level of intensity. What “Evermore” is full of is narratives that, like the music that accompanies them, really come into focus on second or third listen, usually because of a detail or two that turns her sometimes impressionistic modes completely vivid. “Champagne Problems” is a superb example of her abilities as a storyteller who doesn’t always tell all: She’s playing the role of a woman who quickly ruins a relationship by balking at a marriage proposal the guy had assumed was an easy enough yes that he’d tipped off his nearby family. “Sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘ Til someone’s on their knees and asks you / ‘She would’ve made such a lovely bride / What a shame she’s fucked in the head’ / They said / But you’ll find the real thing instead / She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred.” (Swift has doubled the F-bomb quotient this time around, among other expletives, for anyone who may be wondering whether there’s rough wordplay amid Dessner’s delicacy — that would an effing yes.) “‘Tis the Damn Season,” representing a gentler expletive, gives us a character who is willing to settle, or at least share a Christmas-time bed with an ex back in the hometown, till something better comes along. The pleasures here are shared, though not many more fellow artists have broken into her quarantine bubble this time around. Besides Haim’s cameo, Marcus Mumford offers a lovely harmony vocal on “Cowboy Like Me,” which might count as the other country song on the album, and even throws in something Swift never much favored in her Nashville days, a bit of lap steel. Its tale of male and female grifters meeting and maybe — maybe — falling in love is really more determinedly Western than C&W, per se, though. The National itself, as a group, finally gets featured billing on “Coney Island,” with Matt Berninger taking a duet vocal on a track that recalls the previous album’s celebrated Bon Iver collaboration “Exile,” with ex-lovers taking quiet turns deciding who was to blame. (Swift saves the rare laugh line for herself: “We were like the mall before the internet / It was the one place to be.) Don’t worry, legions of new Bon Iver fans: Dessner has not kicked Justin Vernon out of his inner circle just to make room for Berninger. The Bon Iver frontman whose appearance on “Folklore” came as a bit of a shock to some of his fan base actually makes several appearances on this album, and the one that gets him elevated to featured status again, as a duet, the closing “Evermore,” is different from “Exile” in two key ways. Vernon gets to sing in his high register… and he gets the girl. As it turned out, the year 2020 did not involve any such waiting for Swift fans; it’s an embarrassment of stunning albums-ending-in-“ore” that she’s mined out of a locked-down muse.

[shesawriter39049]

|Breakdowns & Bugatti’s| M|

     *****  Headcanon’s for my OT7 AU*****

Genre: Rich Kid AU/ Drama/ Suspense/ Smut/ Angst

AU SUMMARY : The story of 8 heirs, who also happen to be the children of some of the most powerful, and well known political figures in The Big Apple! This is a candid look at all of the sex, lies, drama, scandals, couture and boujee affairs that are caught both on, but more importantly off camera!

OR: Gossip girl meet’s HTGAWM? Essentially if GG was on HBO, darker, and had more depth within it’s plot! Which is no shade, I love me some Gossip Girl, but realistically looking back a lot of the “Drama” wasn’t that...deep lol! But we still loved it all the same!

Note:  The first chapter is called “The Kim’s of New York” So these headcanon’s are solely the Kim boys & the OC! ALSO, I just tried to find the most discrete gif for the Y/N there is NO ethnicity for ANY of my OC’s! Also, it’s set to be a OT7 intertwined plot but the smut with the OC will prob only be 3/4 members deep!

***The sneak peek for part 1 which is Namjoon X Reader will be linked***

~~~~~~~

Name: Namjoon Kim

Age: 21 Birth place: New York, New York

Current Residence: West Village, New York/ Songpa-Gu, Seoul Korea

Profession: Heir, College student, Entrepreneur, Art lover, Smartass, Heartbreaker (Closet fuck boi) 

College: NYU (Incoming Junior)

Degree: Aiming for a Master’s in Journalism & Political communication. Endgame :Political Journalism

Preferred Degree: Opinion, Trade, or Art Journalism, or a Museum Curator   (Namjoon actually anonymously runs a pretty popular art based travel blog)Namjoon also dabbles in that Soundcloud life making beats under an undisclosed name...however that’s just a hobby....so he says...

Business Type:....Co-owner/founder of an exclusive, invite only, dating service....do with that information what you will!

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?: LMAO….sure

Net Worth : 10 Figures

Dating Status : Closet Fuck Boi! Wait, is that not an option? Okay fine. He’s single...ish…Kinda? Well to be fair it depends on the time of day honestly! Is it a Sunday? Are we going to Brunch at Society Café? Or, is it Friday night and he’s going to the “Press Lounge”? More importantly is it election season and and does his father need him to not look like a hoe!? This is all crucial information, I need meticulousdetails honestly! So for the time being I guess I’ll have to pass on the question!

Aesthetic : Tom Ford X Hugo Boss X Valentino X Dior X Tommy Hilfiger = Couture Business Casual! I.E Namjoon always looks like he’s going to some business meeting with Elon Musk, and Jeff Bezos! Even if it’s like...noon on a Saturday and your going on a day trip to Nappa...He’s still in calfskin loafers and a disrespectfully tight button up. Namjoon’s giving like...hot college professor PornHub realness...Yup His whole “Scholar Student” Aesthetic is a whole ass kink and baby boy knows it! 

Political Tie: Father, Joshua Kim, New York Senator

Parents : Father : Joshua Kim, (New York Senator, son of Billionaire tech Tycoon Sang Woo Kim) Mother: Christine Kim : Luxury Event planner

Siblings : Only child

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal Daily : Matte Black Porsche 911/ Satin Red Ferrari 458/ Bugatti Veyron Matte red

Name: Seokjin Kim (Jin Kim)

Age: 23

Birth place: London, England

Current Residence: Upper Eastside, New York/ Chelsea London

Profession: Existing, Retired Editorial Model, Entrepreneur, Occasional influencer (When he feels like it) IE, the influencer that never really asked for the titile...he’s just rich and living his life! I mean let’s be real who isn't curious to see how the -1% lives?!

College: University of Oxford

Degree: Maybe he has a Master’s in Business...maybe he dropped out!

Preferred Degree: Culinary Arts...or honestly...just chillin...maybe eventually open his own modeling firm or something down the line!

Business Type:....Jin casually runs high stakes poker matches...and that’s all you need to know for right now….

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?:...Again...that’s all you need to know right now…

Net Worth : 10 Figures

Dating Status : Single, and not in the mood to entertain….unless you’ll like...walk yourself out after then maybe...Oh also it’s a requirement that you’re aware there’s more luxury brands than Gucci and Louis Vuitton. Show up in anything straight monogram and Jin’s going flaccid on command!

Aesthetic : Chanel  X  Dior X Cavalli X Dolce X Fendi  = On Duty Runway Model! It truly doesn’t matter if he’s going to brunch, the movies, or sitting front row at Galliano! Jin always looks like he should be front row at Galliano! Whilst also effortlessly looking 10x’S pretter than half of the bitches in Manhattan even on his worst day! Androgyny at its finest, well Jin and Judge Parks son are kinda tied in that department!

Political Tie: Father, David Kim, Mayor’s Chief of Staff/ “Ghost” press secretary

Parents : Father : David Kim, (Retired Corporate Attorney, son of Billionaire Oil Tycoon Hyun-Son Kim) Mother: Lisa Kim, Co- owner of Hotel Shailla, daughter of Michael Lee, Millionaire Entrepreneur )

Siblings : Taehyung Kim (20), Hae Jin Kim (29) Deceased...( Allegedly)  

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Honestly, Jin could give less than a damn

Daily : Matte Pink Aston Martin One, White Bugatti Chiron

Name: Taehyung Kim (Tae Kim)

Age: 20

Birth place: Rome, Italy

Current Residence: Cobble Hill, New York/ Pairs, France (When he’s not in school...or just on the weekends)

Profession: College student, Painter, Podcast Host, unwarranted fashion critique/ Stylist! Tae lowkey thinks his IG feed is the reprise of “Fashion  Police” Joan Rivers bless rest her soul..she would’ve loved him!

College: Bernard (Sophomore)

Degree:  Fine Arts (Painting/ Sculpture)

Preferred Degree: Exactly...what he’s doing...he enrolled at NYU for business. Lasted all of like...5 months before he dropped out!

Business Type:....Tae run’s a very...controversial late night Podcast  appropriately titled “Tae unfiltered”! It wasn’t supposed to be a job, lord knows he doesn't need one...However due to the steady increase in his audience the youngest Kim is on track to ending up on Forbes without his inheritance.

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?:...Yup!

Net Worth: 10 Figures

Dating Status : Single, and more than ready to mingle, Tae essentially had the same girlfriend all throughout high school! The pair broke up maybe 7 months ago when she opted to go to college in London. So let’s just say he has a lot of making up to do and he’s very much….open to new experiences…

Aesthetic : Guicci  X  Gucci X Gucci X  Gucci X Gucci = Gucci!? Nah, actually Tae, is fond of anything that doesn't...blend in...so Moschino, GCDS, Vetements, Kenzo, Balmain= If it lowkey looks like it could've been homemade...but it cost like bare minimum 4k! Or he just highkey looks exactly like you’d expect, like a very rich, art student who loves funky. abstract, unethical, clothing! Is he going to Coachella or to the farmers market? We may never know but that’s fine! He’s also young, and well aware that he’s fine as fuck, and that’s a whole ass problem! Tae may not have a ton of experience but he’s far from shy and more than down to learn...

Political Tie: Father, David Kim, Mayor’s Chief of Staff (Ghost press secretary)

Parents : Father : David Kim, (Retired Corporate Attorney, son of Billionaire Oil Tycoon Sang Tae Won Kim) Mother: Lisa Kim, Co- owner of Hotel Shailla, daughter of Michael Lee, Millionaire, Entrepreneur )

Siblings : Seokjin Kim (23), Hae Jin Kim (29) Deceased ( Allegedly)

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal AFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Daily : Lime Green Lamborghini Huracan/ Matte Grey Ferrari F60

Name: Yn/Ln

Age: 21

Birth Place: Paris, France

Current Residence: Upper East Side, New York/ Dubai

Profession:...Taking pictures, of both herself and other people, ugh...looking attractive? Does that count? Oh being well dressed...Self taught photographer, Fashion Blogger, Creative Director,Entrepreneur...

College: N/A ...Possible freshman at NYU or Bernard or, FIT for Photography & or Fashion

Degree: N/A... IF, she went it would be for Fine Arts/ Fashion degree for Creative Direction

Preferred Degree: Honestly, none, she lives and breathes fashion and due to her lifestyle Y/n already has the type of connections that up and coming photographers would die for! BUT...said college degree would shut her father up...so it’s a possibility! However, it’s not like he considers photography or being a fashion influencer a real job anyway...sooo she mideswell just not even bother!

Business Type:....Existing? Her main job is essentially...breathing...and occasionally taking pictures of other people! Oh, and herself as well, she get’s paid to post daily content! She runs a website called “MyJobIsToBeWellDressed” Co-owner of an exclusive invite only dating service!

(Bonus Question ) Licensed Business?: Yes and...(lmao)...for the first part, where her blog and all of that is concerned, yes...she’s 1099 the full nine! The other job however...................mmm... next question?

Net Worth: 10 Figures

Dating Status :YOLO

Aesthetic : 90’s Couture meet’s “House of Yes” @ 3 AM ( Back when luxury brands weren’t afraid to have fun and be a little risque)  Chanel X Versace X Dolce X Prada X Gucci X Galliano = Well kept sugar baby??? Or every time you see her your literally like “Dude where the fuck are you even going!!??” Baby girl is always overdressed, she showed up to go on a doggy date through central park with Yoongi and Holly in 7 inch Louboutin’s sooo..we love that! Owns literally every vintage 90′s runway archive you can think of...If you’ve gagged over it on Pinterest it’s in Y/n’s closet. She’s smooth as all fuck...that’s for damn sure, radiating the perfect blend of BD and WAP energy....she’s a bad bitch and she knows it! Fuck the entire upper Eastside knows it!

Political Tie: Father, Christopher L/N, New York Senator

Parents: Father : Christopher L/N, (New York Senator, son of Billionaire Automotive Tycoon/ Real Estate Mogul Gregory L/N/ ) Mother: Ashley L/N, (luxury) Interior Designer & Daughter of Hotel Mogul Michael L/N

Siblings: Only child...maybe

Political Party: Democratic

Actual Political Party: Liberal

Daily : Matte Black Bugatti Divo / Satin Purple Lamborghini Murcielago/ Any car that any of her friends are driving because...fuck that, ridding shotty all day!

~~~~~~~~

There they are!!

The sneak peek is linked below...part 1 is Namjoon X Reader

However Jin and Tae are briefly introduced...and they will eventually have induvial chapters as well!

SNEAK PEEK

[mcfiddlestan]

WinterFrost Single Dads AU

Hey, ya'll. Told ya I was working on this thing. I've got about six chapters done, but I'm not ready to post it to AO3 just yet. One big reason for that is I don't have a title yet. So I thought I'd post a couple of chapters, let ya'll get a feel for it, then take any suggestions you might have.

Just a small note: I tend to name fics after song titles that inspired the story or somehow fit with the plot.

Anyhoo...here's the first chapter. I *might* post the second tomorrow. We'll see how the response to this goes.

xoxo, La

Pairing: Loki x Bucky Barnes (there are others past and future, but I'm not giving them away just yet)

Rating: M

Word count: 1,775

Summary: Loki is living a great life as a Manhattan lawyer and constantly partying with Tony Stark, his best friend. Loki's life before he came to New York more than a decade ago is a mystery for those close to him. But it's all about to come to light when he gets a call from someone in his past.

Bucky is just trying to catch a break. A few hookups with a fellow soldier led to a quickie marriage and baby -- and two years later, a quick divorce. His daughter is now eight years old and the light of his life. But he can't seem to get his shit together. Struggling to find a job and keep a hold on his sobriety, it's a one-night stand that gives him the kick in the ass he needs to be the man his daughter believes he is.

Warnings: Mature language and situations, some drug use, and talk about addiction.

Chapter 1

The sound of his front door opening and closing pulled Loki from a deep sleep. So deep, it took him a moment to remember where he was and how he knew that was his front door. His eyes opened slowly, once, twice, and then again, to nothing but the darkness of what he was sure was his bedroom. Then he felt the pounding, incessant, pulsing around his entire head. Damn migraines. Loki let out a low groan, thought fuck it, and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Moments later, the door to his bedroom pushed open.

“Rise and shine,” a deep voice sang.

Loki grumbled at the familiar voice, and slowly, he turned his body, rolling onto his back. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning? Oh, for Norn’s sake!” He threw a pillow over his face as the curtains pulled open and let the blinding daylight flood the room. “Close them! I’ve got a damned migraine!”

“Ooh. So sorry, Mr. Friggasson. There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand. Would you like me to get you some water and a couple of ibuprofen?”

Another groan sounded through the room as Loki forced himself to sit up. “Yes, please,” he answered as he rubbed at his face before reaching for the two pillows to prop them up behind him. In his sleepy haze, he remembered to pull the bedsheet over his lap to keep his modesty. Loki reached out for the teacup first, cupping it in his large hand as he took a gentle sip. “Mmm, perfect. Thank you, Fandral. And, for the thousandth time, please stop calling me Mr. Friggasson.” He sipped again, ignoring Fandral’s giggle as he rummaged through Loki’s closet. “What time is it?”

“A quarter to eleven.”

Loki sputtered into his tea. “Quarter to eleven? Why did you let me sleep so late? I have meetings today.” Loki hurriedly set his drink down and started to rise, gathering the sheet to wrap around him. Fandral was suddenly there, nudging Loki back into the bed, “Relax, Loki. You’re fine. Your early meeting was canceled, the board meeting at the Tower was pushed to Thursday, and Mr. Stark canceled your lunch meeting.”

“Cancelled? Why?” Loki settled back in the bed, rubbing at his neck. “He didn’t say. But he left the message for me before three am, and there was a lot of noise in the background. So, take a guess.”

Loki snorted softly. “That’s your boss, Fanny. Don’t judge.”

“You’re my boss. Mr. Stark only signs the checks,” Fandral said through a smile as he laid out a pair of pants and a shirt on a chair in the corner for Loki to wear for the day. “Once the morning meeting was canceled, I thought I’d let you rest a little longer since you didn’t have to rush into the office.”

“Thanks,” Loki muttered from behind his cup.

Fandral gave him a nod and turned to head around the corner towards the master bathroom.

“Any other messages?” Loki called as he set the teacup back on the nightstand. He sat back, his face contorting in pain, willing the migraine to ease up. He made a mental note to see an optometrist already.

“Yes, a few. Natasha called. She got a lead on the security break from a couple of months ago, I guess? She said she’d have a report for you on the improvements she’s already made with F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Fandral stepped out with a small white bottle in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He handed the water to Loki before popping open the bottle and dropping two white tablets in Loki’s open palm. “Also, someone’s been trying to get a hold of you all morning. He’s called four times already. No real message, just ‘need to speak to Loki urgently.’ Someone named Thor.”

Loki went still. He swallowed down the pills and water in his mouth, watching Fandral’s retreating back. A million different questions ran through Loki’s mind, but he couldn’t decide on just one to ask, nor would Fandral be able to answer any of them, judging by what he’d just said. Fandral returned from the bathroom, and Loki hoped he didn’t look as panicked as he felt. “Someone named Thor, you say?”

Fandral, staring at his phone, made a noise of agreement. “Sounded foreign, but I couldn’t place the accent.”

“Norwegian.” Loki shook his head dismissively when Fandral looked at him with a quizzical look. “Did he say how to get a hold of him?”

“Yes. At least, I have the number for you.” Fandral lowered his phone, eyed Loki, who’d gone much paler in the last thirty seconds. “Are you all right?”

Not in the slightest. “Yes. Uh, Fandral, I’m going to take a shower.” Loki rose from the bed, his migraine still there but hardly forgotten. He held the bed sheet tight at his waist and walked around Fandral. “Listen, if he calls again, tell him I will call him back as soon as I’m free. If he doesn’t, when you hear the water stop, give me twenty minutes, then put the call through.”

Fandral frowned at Loki as he followed him with his eyes. “Sure, boss. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Fandral. I’m fine. Will you order some food? Get me a sandwich, please. Something toasted, turkey.” Distracted, Loki didn’t wait for Fandral to confirm. He walked into his bathroom and started the water in the shower, then moved to the sink. He stood before the mirror for a moment, thinking, fretting, irritated. Why would Thor be calling him after all this time? What could he possibly have to say to Loki? After more than ten years of no communication, Loki felt as if they were strangers.

The steam began to fill the room, fogging up the mirror, so Loki dropped the sheet and stepped under the spray. He let the hot water wash over him, easing the ache of his muscles. He took the showerhead in hand, adjusted the setting of the water, and held it over the back of his head to let the hot water pummel the skin of his neck and his scalp, hoping to make the migraine go away. Though with the newly added stress of a phone call with someone from his long-forgotten past, Loki wasn’t sure it would go away now.

Washing his body and hair quickly, after just fifteen minutes, Loki stepped out and went through the motions of grooming then getting dressed. When he stepped out into the living room, Fandral was just taking his food from its delivery packaging.

“Did he call?”

“No. Feel any better?”

Not at all. “Much. Fandral, could you give me some privacy?”

He froze with a wrapped sandwich half out of the bag. Only his eyes moved in Loki’s direction, “Um, sure? Do you want me to come back in, what, an hour?”

Loki shook his head. “No. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Fandral dropped the sandwich on the table and faced Loki fully, crossing his arms. “Don’t look at me like that. Nothing is wrong. I just don’t know how this conversation is going to go, and I’d rather not have an audience if you don’t mind.” He spotted a bag of chips and snatched it up, ripping it open to pop one into his mouth.

Fandral, still frowning, reached into the bag once again to split the napkins between the two of them. He repacked his meal, then lifted the bag from the table. “All right. Your phone is on the counter. I input the phone number since he called the office, not your cell phone. And – I’ll be available, just in case.”

“Thank you. Fandral.” Loki gave his back a quick pat as he paused beside him. “I mean it. Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, I think we both know that’s a mutual feeling.” He reached for Loki’s arm, giving his wrist a quick squeeze. “Call me later? So I know you’re all right?”

Loki nodded and didn’t move until he heard the door close behind Fandral. It was true; he didn’t know how he would function without Fandral. They were classmates in law school, and both started at equally prestigious firms upon graduation. They were good friends but fiercely competitive, too. Loki credited that manic drive to one-up each other for getting him to the top five percent of their graduating class. But after a few years, while Loki had been on the up-and-up, Fandral was drowning, barely keeping his head above water as a tax lawyer. Loki watched one of the first friends he’d made in New York crumble under pressure and struggled to help him find a way to deal. Eventually, Fandral walked away from the six-figure salary, the company car, and all the perks that came with it. Loki was impressed that Fandral

dared to do it. After a few months of getting help and finding a better mental space, Fandral moved off of Loki’s couch into a modest apartment that was a fraction the size of the loft he was in before and looked for a less-hectic job. Loki had snagged a cushy position as Stark Industries’ in-house counsel, thanks to his friendship with its C.E.O., and was still getting settled. Managing New York’s richest son’s money, company, and public image was turning out to be a full-time job. And Loki needed help. He’d already recruited Natasha Romanov, a former N.Y.P.D. Officer, he brought her on for her computer and investigative skills. So he offered Fandral a position as his assistant. Fandral took it and promised to be the best right-hand man. Loki expected he’d be bored within a month just answering phone calls and setting up meetings. But Fandral’s duties, mostly taken on of his own volition, had grown exponentially in the past five years. He acted as assistant, maid, valet, and social buffer for the notoriously introverted Loki.

Loki would be a mess without him.

Because he was starving, Loki wolfed down half his sandwich and chips, grateful that the shower, the food, and the medication had helped relieve the worst of his migraine. Taking a deep breath, Loki picked up his phone from where Fandral left it for him. His thumb hovered over the screen, over the unknown phone number. And with his heart in his throat, Loki tapped it. He listened. He waited. And, finally, after three rings, the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Thor.”

[soulmate-game]

Okay, so here’s the story. Let’s rewind to 2010/2011. (Actually, it might be closer to 2008... you get the point) I’m a seventh grader in middle school, that’s the important part. And up until this point, I was pretty heavily bullied in middle school. My entire science class once yelled profanities and called me names all at the same time, when we had a substitute once. Like, I went through the whole fake friendship narrative, people calling me ugly at every available moment, people trying to frame me, etc etc.

BUT! I was also somehow that one person that everyone knew. Sometimes the rest of the school, no matter what grade level they were in, knew things that happened to me or things that were said to me almost before I did. It seemed like everyone was constantly aware of my whole life, it was kind creepy ngl. People would, on a weekly basis or more, walk down the hallway and say, “hey (my name)” and wave. I almost never knew who those people were, they were usually in a different grade and I hardly ever shared any classes with them. It was really confusing.

Well, by the time seventh grade came I was absolutely boiling for revenge. I was never a physical fighter, especially considering that it seemed the whole school was against me, so I was on the lookout for anything I could do to ruin the day for my emotional abusers. And then it happened.

I was in GT (the gifted and talented class— don’t be fooled, it was basically just theater kids. The majority of the test to get into GT was creativity based) and we were working on some project or another. I think we were in the middle of trying to make functional chairs out of nothing but old cardboard boxes and hot glue. And one of my friends let’s it slip that the golf club she was in was doing a fundraiser, but their sales were low as hell and they were scared they wouldn’t make enough to afford their supplies for the season. Considering the golf club was less than ten people, that was an issue. So I, always willing to help and always the person people oddly enough went to for pseudo-marketing help, I waltzed over and asked for details. The club was apparently selling beanies with the school logo on them (the logo is a hawk in flight) but nobody paid attention to their fliers.

First, I knew that anybody who legit wanted a beanie with the school hawk on it were not gonna be the ones that looked at fliers. All of my fellow beanie lovers were the sort that stared straight at the floor the entire time we walked through the halls. So I got the info for the golf club and got permission from their club supervisor to brainstorm ideas. They almost immediately approved my idea of making a sales jingle, a little song, to help sales. I spent a good hour, just an hour, thinking up the catchiest, corniest, yet professional-sounding thirty second jingle I possibly could. To make things worse (better, way better) I based it off of a KidzBop rendition of a song on purpose. Add that cringe factor, ya know?

And I went straight to the vice principle. This dude would bend the school rules for me, and I have no Fucking idea why. But damn if I wasn’t gonna make use of it for my revenge. I showed him the written lyrics for my jingle, and explained my heart-wrenching story about just wanting to help my friend and her club be able to afford their golf clubs and supplies. I felt so bad that such a small club wasn’t getting any attention or support, etc etc. He ate it all up. He asked me how I planned to share the jingle so that the sales could go up, and this is when I struck: I asked for permission to sing it in my classes first to see how people responded to it. He agreed, and offered for me to use the cafeteria stage if all went well.

Let me back up: in my middle school, there was an iron clad rule. Before the bell for the first classes rang, everyone in sixth grade and everyone eating breakfast HAD to stay in the cafeteria. No exceptions. If you were in seventh or eighth grade, you could go to the library or the back courtyard to wait for the bell to ring, or the computer lab, but that was it. So every single day, there was at least 800 captive kids in the cafeteria who either couldn’t leave because they were sixth graders, or because they were busy eating. My school had 2000+ kids, so this was a good number for me. On a good day, I might even have half of the school quite literally trapped in the cafeteria as my captive audience.

So I sang the jingle in my science class first. Yes, the same class that just a few weeks earlier had all yelled profanities at me as one horrible, toxic group. They laughed and teased me as much as they could get away with in front of our awesome teacher, but this time I felt no shame and I was not at all discouraged. They didn’t even suspect the fact that singing it to them first was just a warning; a taste of the Hell to come. Several people commented (away from the teacher’s hearing) that I sucked at singing and shouldn’t do it again. Honestly, that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I just smiled fake-apologetically and said I would try better next time.

But my science teacher loved it, she was completely supportive of me and said that the sales jingle was a great idea to sell beanies. She loved how supportive I was of our school’s smallest club, etc etc. which was honestly all I needed; that day, I went straight to the vice principle with the good news. My teachers loved the song and thought it was a great idea to help the fundraiser. Later, back in GT, I told my friend the good news and asked her to print me as many of her sales fliers as she could. I would hand them out when I launched my big plan the next day. She was excited and thanked me profusely, and we got the all-clear from our GT teachers to spend the rest of the class printing and cutting out a good 200-ish fliers so that everyone knew what colors the beanies came in, where to buy, and how much they were.

The next day, the vice principle gave me full access to the cafeteria stage before the first bell rang, and a fully functional microphone. You better fucking bet I got the attention of every last one of the 800+ captives there, and sang my jingle at full belt for everyone. At first, people shrugged it off and laughed and playfully covered their ears.

But then they noticed I was there again the very next morning. And I sang the jingle again, over the microphone. Everyone was noticeably a little less entertained by this point. But I didn’t stop there— oh hell no. Every morning for the rest of that week, I got up on the stage and horribly sang my sales jingle to all of the captive kids. Some of them started yelling for me to please not sing again by the third day, to which I ignored gleefully. People started trying to bribe me in the hallways to please, please not sing again the next morning.

I had never felt so powerful before in my life. It was amazing.

On the last day of the fundraiser, the vice principle asked me and two of my friends to sing the jingle again— over the intercom during morning announcements, when literally nobody in the whole school could avoid hearing it. I was absolutely ecstatic because I hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. So we were able to end my reign of terror with one last song when everyone thought they were safe, but literally couldn’t escape it. It was even better because my friends and I hadn’t rehearsed for even a second, so we were all out of pace and not in tune and it was gloriously bad.

My friend ran up to me later that day with the biggest smile ever on her face, and told me that someone had literally donated $200 to the club, not even wanting a beanie, just asking that we stop singing the damn song. By then, she had caught on to my plan and kept thanking me for purposely annoying the hell out of people so that they donated. I think they ended up making somewhere around a $1,000 in sales along with a few smaller “stop singing” donations.

For the rest of that year and even the year after, all I had to do to get people to leave me the fuck alone was start singing the jingle. Anyone who had attended the school in time to hear it immediately covered their ears and ran away, or shut up immediately. I got random ass people I never met calling me by name in the hallways complaining about how my song was still stuck in their head literal weeks later, and they couldn’t even intimidate or properly threaten me because I just started singing the song and they were gone faster than I could say “what are you gonna do about it?”

this is revenge. And I have never been more proud of myself.

[null-whump]

A Few Hits

Writing a story where the characters don't even have names yet is hard, and maybe it would have been easier to just give them all names but I didn't do that and here we are. Anyway I hope you guys like this because I do!! If enough people enjoy then I'll actually name the characters and write some more for this <3

Warnings: arena fighting, blood and injury, broken bones, (implied) slavery

Word Count: 1,918

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They stood at the arena entrance, just inside the archway, separated from the circular pit of sand by an iron gate. Directly across from them, they could make out the shape of their opponent, blocked by an identical gate. He was tall, that much they could tell, and much larger than they were. They were light on their feet, fast and nimble, which was what gave them an edge over most of those that they faced in the arena. For someone of this size, the best strategy would be to focus on defense; avoid attacks, land a few when they could, prolong the fight to tire him out – that would make the crowd happy, too – then take him down quickly.

A hand settled on their shoulder, and the presence behind them leaned closer, so that they felt his breath by the tip of their pointed ear.

“Let him land a few hits on you,” the man said, just loud enough to be heard over the rumble of the crowd outside. “Then break his leg.”

They jerked their head around to look at their master, their long tail lashing in indignation. “A few hits?” They hissed, forgetting a respectful tone in their shock. “He’ll kill me!”

The hand on their shoulder tightened, and they felt the tips of claws begin to dig into their skin. “A few hits,” he repeated. “Do well and there may be something in it for you later.” He leaned even closer, and they felt his lips curve up against their ear as he smirked. “Do badly, and…well, you know what will happen.”

Then his hand was gone from their shoulder, and he stepped back, and they knew that if they turned, he would already have disappeared into the shadows.

They took a deep breath. A few hits. How many was a few? Too many, and they wouldn’t be able to win the fight. Hell, they weren’t even sure they could take one from an opponent of that size. But too few, and…well. He wouldn’t be pleased.

The gate in front of them began to creak and groan and slowly raise with a rhythmic clanking of machinery, and they swallowed past their nerves. The gate shuddered to a stop, and they stepped forward, their boots sinking slightly into the sand, which was clean and fresh; it had been changed out after the last fight. It had been a messy one. With luck, this one would be cleaner. Ha. Cleaner. That was a relative term.

They came to a halt a few paces into the ring, barely registering the thud of the gate closing behind them. Their opponent had stepped out as well, and they were able to properly size him up. Tall – check. Strong – check. Claws and fangs – not entirely expected, yet not entirely surprising – check.

They spread their feet and lowered themselves into a defensive stance, preparing to dodge an attack. Their opponent tilted his head at them, a calculating look in his eye, then lunged forward.

As it turned out, they would have taken a hit no matter what, because fuck he was fast. They jumped and twisted out of the way, but even with their reflexes they weren’t fast enough, and the blow that glanced off their side was enough to send them tumbling across the sand.

They rolled once, tucking their limbs in and ducking their head to avoid further injury, but the breath was knocked out of them as they hit the ground.

Get up, get up, get up, their inner voice sang, and they staggered to their feet, barely in time to see the man they were facing preparing for a second attack, raising his clawed hand to swipe down.

In a split-second decision, they ran toward him – well, it was more of a stumbling half-run – but it seemed to take him off guard, and they were able to duck under his outstretched arm, executing a proper roll this time, and coming up standing behind him.

Usually, they would have followed that up with a kick to the back of his legs or lower back, but they were still recovering from the first hit, and besides – they had only been hit once. Not enough.

A few hits. Bullshit.

He was turning and preparing to charge again, and they braced themselves for the attack, calculating and preparing to dodge. They would have to time it just right, in order to not take the brunt of the blow, but still get hit. A low growl from the man warned them of his approach, and they shifted their weight – wait…wait…he was getting closer, his arm outstretched, claws extended – now.

They jumped to the side, spinning on their heel, and felt the claws catch the edge of their shoulder as they spun around. Sounds from the crowd flew over their head, and they could tell that they were not happy. They wanted them to stop jumping around and dodging and attack. Their reputation was well known, enough that if they were on the defensive for too long, people would begin to realize they were throwing the fight on purpose, and they couldn’t have that.

A deep breath, a swish of their tail, and they rocked forward onto the balls of their feet, preparing to strike. Not too hard, not enough to take down his opponent, just enough to throw him off balance. He had turned to attack again, and they were reminded of a bull in a ring, with the way he moved. Fast, strong, deadly, but not very agile. That would work in their favor.

They both charged at once, and they ducked under his arm and landed a swift jab to his ribs, at the same time that he threw his leg out, sweeping their feet out from under them. They landed on their back, gasping as all the air left their body. They hadn’t been expecting a move like that – their fault entirely – they had moved in too close, hoping to only suffer another glancing blow from his fists or claws. But now he was looming over them, his foot raised and coming down with deadly strength.

They rolled quickly to the right and felt the force of his foot slamming into the ground where they had just been. They weren’t able to pull themselves to their feet before their opponent’s foot slammed into their chest, and their body skidded across the sand, stopping when they hit the curved stone wall of the pit with a jarring thump.

‘That’s a few hits, right?’ They thought, their head swimming and their vision blurring. ‘Maybe a few too many.’

They reached their hand up to grasp at the wall, and the pain in their ribs spiked as they clambered to their feet. They tasted blood in their mouth, and for a moment they wondered if they would even be able to win this fight.

The next attack was coming, and they barely had time to dodge it, and a fist slammed into the wall mere inches from their head. Acting as quickly as they could with the damage they had received, they grabbed hold of the man’s arm before he could pull it back, then used it as leverage as they brought their foot up and slammed it into his gut.

He doubled over, and they finished their attack by bringing their other knee up to meet his face with a crack. He let out a muffled cry of pain, but they knew he wouldn’t stay down, which meant they had to act quickly. Pushing their own pain out of their mind, they grabbed his arm and twisted, taking advantage of his disorientation to pull his arm around behind his back, then delivered a savage kick to the back of his knees.

He went down, but he reacted better than they had hoped, and reached back with his free hand to grab hold of their injured arm and sank his claws into the wound again.

They choked back a cry of pain, and their vision swam as his claws dug deeper, but they refused to let go of his arm. They had the advantage as long as they could stay on top.

Break his leg. That was their goal.

‘Why couldn’t it have been an arm?’ They lamented. ‘Arms are so much easier.’

Their opponent was on his knees, simultaneously clinging to their injured arm and trying to wrest their other arm out of their grasp, and they were going to succeed if this went on much longer.

In one motion, they released their grip on his arm and brought their foot up to land solidly in the middle of his back, leaning forward to use their weight to drive him into the ground. The action caused his claws, still firmly attached to their arm, to tear viciously out, and they couldn’t hold back their cry of pain.

‘But hey, the audience is loving this. And what am I,’ they thought bitterly, as they raised their foot over his leg for the final blow, ‘if not a brilliant entertainer?’

Their foot came down and the snap of his leg seemed to echo in the ring, followed immediately by his howl of pain, and the crowd roared louder. They stepped, nearly tripped, stumbled back, breathing heavily as the adrenalin left their system. They felt dizzy, and the agony from their wounds could no longer be ignored. Blood flowed from their torn shoulder, down their arm, and dripping into the sand at their feet.

There was a blur of movement around them, hands grasping their arms, pulling and pushing and guiding them away, out of the arena and into dark corridors. They weren’t sure if they fully passed out or not, but they came to awareness sitting on a hard cot, half propped up, their arm wrapped tightly in bandages.

“Good job.”

They blinked, turning their head to see him standing a few paces from the cot, his arms crossed, a slight smile on his pale face.

“Though,” he continued, stepping up to the edge of the cot, “for a moment there it looked like you might lose.”

They glared at him, the pain radiating throughout their body making it easier to get angry. “A few hits?” They hissed. “Really?”

“I knew you would handle it,” the man said easily. “It seems I was right.”

“Barely,” they muttered.

His hand came to rest on their injured shoulder, and they flinched ever so slightly.

“And if you hadn’t?” he asked, his voice dropping, a warning in his tone.

They swallowed hard, avoiding his eyes. “You would make me regret it,” they forced out past clenched teeth.

The hand on their shoulder tightened, and the man’s lips stretched into a smile. “Aren’t you glad that won’t be necessary?” He asked, sounding far too cheerful for their liking.

They nodded stiffly. His changes in mood came far too quickly and easily, and even though they were accustomed to them after so long, they were still disconcerting.

“We’ll be going now,” he said, turning away from the cot. “Come along.”

They bit back a snide remark that was on the tip of their tongue, deciding that they were in too much pain to risk upsetting him right now. Instead, they swung their legs off the cot and hopped off the edge, their tail swaying to balance them as they stumbled, dizzy from the sudden movement. After a moment to steady themselves, they followed their master out the door.

[abluescarfonwaston]

Did someone ask for a quick and angsty immortal jaskier prompt? "It was supposed to be the music," he whispered, voice breaking. Heart breaking. "The songs. I wanted my songs to be remembered forever. I never wanted this."

Why would you do this to me anon. i’m already crying over the fact dandelion outlives everyone he loves. Major Character Death Warning. Obviously. Literally everyone dies. Uuuh also this kinda turns into Lambert/Jaskier at the end but like. They’re both Centuries old so nothing Happens.

When the wasting sickness swept through Lettenhove it killed his Mother and his Father and his Sisters and left him untouched. 

He was ten and the world was over. Except he kept waking up in the morning.

At thirteen a girl at Oxenfurt, Essi Daven, played her Lute in the commons and sang and had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes. And for the first time in years he sang a duet with her and suddenly he was a bard and he had a little sister again. 

Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it finally restart.

At seventeen he met a man with white hair and seemly as many scars on his body as his heart and fell in love. Because Bards fell in love easily and he was impossibly easy to love.

The witcher plead for his life. Plead for them to let the bard go.

“No. Both of us or neither.” He was done outliving those he loved. At seventeen he was already done with that. “You kill him and let me go and i’ll destroy your mountain. Kill every last one of you in revenge.”

He’d leave behind a song. The one he’d written as a child and had swept the town more devastating than even the scarlet fever had been. It would live on past him. He would be remembered. The people he loved would be too. Toss a coin to your Witcher. The people he loved immortalized in song.

It wasn’t supposed to make him immortal.

“Give it a rest Jaskier.” Danity snapped. “It’s not you that has to be afraid of anything. No one ever touches a troubadour. For unfathomable reasons you’re inviolable.”

He’d still feared then. Chappelle could have had him killed. He was pretty sure he could die. Mostly he feared the pain. Or dying alone.

“When an old woman gets tired of life she walks into the woods without a weapon. The results are guaranteed.” He’d told Geralt when he’d moaned about how the world was changing and -more importantly- that he had no work.

Remember how I don’t even carry a knife when I follow you out on an adventure? No weapons at all. Ever. Just me and my lute.

He’d brushed death. A thousand times he’d almost met her. He followed Geralt- who was prophesied to always have death follow after him. You’d think at some point they’d meet.

Essi and Geralt fell in love on the coast. He wrote a ballad for them. About how their love was so powerful not even death could come between them.

He never played it. Not to anyone. He didn’t think it was actually about Essi and Geralt.

When rash appeared on Essi’s face in Vizima during the quarantine his hands shook.

“Not her.” He’d screamed at the gods. They didn’t exist of course. If they had then they’d abandoned them all long ago. “Not her.”

“Jaskier?” She shivered violently. “I don’t want to be burned.”

“You won’t be. You’re going to be fine.” He promised. Clutching her hand. “Promise Poppet. You’re going to be fine.”

The cremation fires blazed outside.

“I want to be buried in the woods. With my lute and-” She hurled mostly into the bucket. “My necklace. Please Jaskier.”

“Course Poppet. When you’re old and grey I will bury you out in the forest.”

“Thank you.” She clutched the little pearl. “For giving me him. I love him.”

“I never saw him happier than when he was with you Poppet.”

“What about when he was with you?”

“Oh come now.” He shifted her in his arms and moved the bucket a little further away. “You know me. I’m insufferable.”

“I love you Jaskier.” She cried as she shivered with less and less energy.

“I love you too Poppet.”

He carried her from the city. Into the forest. Her heart stopped beating before they arrived. He dug her grave and buried her with her lute and her pearl necklace.

With the pearl he’d given to her as a birthday gift. From him and Geralt.

When Regis passed it felt absurd. Humans weren’t supposed to outlive goddamn vampires in their fifth fucking century.

And then there was Geralt. Died in Yennefer’s arms along with her.

“It was supposed to be me.” He told no one as Ciri led their bodies out to the lake. “I was supposed to die with him.” Love so great not even death can part us.

But the story was never really about him was it?

Nenneke had a garden full of plants that grew under a crystal skylight. They didn’t grow anywhere else in the world anymore.

He’d asked Geralt about it. She’d said something about the sun and how it was changing. Apparently Geralt had asked why they all didn’t live under crystal skylights then, if it was so deadly.

“It’s already too late for us.” She’d said.

She talked liked the world was ending but the world ended all the time. And he still woke up in the morning.

Zoltan’s beard turned grey. He supposed he should have been thankful that Zoltan got to turn grey. It was better than most of the people he’d loved.

“How’s your fucking hair still Gold. You’re supposed to be getting old too!”

“I dye it.” He lied with a roll of the eyes. He’d stopped dying it years ago.

That winter he buried Zoltan too.

Golden eyes stared at him in confusion. “You look just like.” He started. His thin hair was grey. His wolf medallion gleamed in the sunlight that streaked into the bar.

“You’re one of the last Witchers i think.” He told him as the waves crashed outside. “Might even be the last.”

“Fucking hope so.” He sat down across from him and stole his beer. “Shitty job and a shitty life.” He squinted at him- which Jaskier knew was entirely unnecessary. He just forgotten to adjust his eyes. “What’s your name bard?”

“Dandelion.” He answered. It had been for the last century. “Yours?”

“Lambert.” He downed the drink. “You really think i’m the last? That worth a song? One of my brothers had a lot of songs.”

“Yes I suppose he did.” He waved for another drink. “And look what it got him.”

“Died surrounded by people who loved him.”

“Are you sure you know what a pogrom is?”

That got him a sharp toothy grin.

“I could write you a song but-” He was tired of burying people he loved.

“But?”

“I’m cursed you see.” It was definitely a curse these days. “I’ll live until the last of my songs is forgotten. I really don’t need anymore material.”

Lambert leaned forward curiously. “Doesn’t sound like a curse.”

“You don’t think it sounds like a curse?” He sneered. Lambert’s face faltered. “To outlive everyone you love?”

Lambert paused. Thinking. “Write me a song then. Play it just for me. So if my song’s the last we’ll go together.”

“And what’s my payment for this song?”

“Company.” Lambert’s grey eyes glittered. “You look like you need it.”

“Not as much as you. I bet you talk to your horse.”

“Well i know you do pretty boy. Heard you in the stable.”

He leaned back on the bench. “So what’s a Witcher do in a world without monsters?”

He shrugged. “Fish mostly.”

“I can do that. Once almost snagged a catfish the size of you. Got a djinn instead. Very bad deal honestly.”

“You expect me to believe that? I know about Bards and Ballads and how you’re all rotten liars.”

“Don’t forget about fisherman and their tales.”

The boat leaked worse than an old drunkard but it was small enough and the lake calm enough that it didn’t make him sick.

“I could just kill you. Curse probably can’t fix decapitation.” Lambert offered with his stick in the water. He claimed were bombs they could use instead if they got desperate. Or bored.

He smiled and shook his head. “Give it a try.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow but pulled a silver blade from it’s sheath.

His pole reeled and the boat tilted to the side, plunging him and the sword into the water.

He laughed as the attempted to drag the monstrous fish to the boat. Lambert cursed and climbed in. Yanking at the rod until the line snapped and they fell back into the boat in a painful pile. Laughing.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

“Sing me a song bard.” Lambert would request from under his floppy sun brimmed hat. “No else up here but me.”

“There’s an entire stone keep on the hill.”

“No ones lived there in centuries. No one can hear you up here but me.”

He frowned at the ruins on the hill. Lambert kicked him.

He grinned and for the first time in decades - sang.

Maybe. Maybe the world hadn’t ended. Maybe it had finally restart.

“What was this place called?” He asked as they wandered through the crumbled ruin, covered in moss and ivy.

“Kaer Morhen.” He said like the words hurt him.

They hurt him too. He laughed.

He laughed some more.

He couldn’t stop laughing until Lambert smacked him hard enough to see stars.

“I never got to come here. Geralt.” He caught the flinch but moved past it. “Never trusted me enough to even let me know which country it was in.”

“So you were his bard.”

He nodded as Lambert kicked a stone apart. “He was right not to tell me of course. But.” It still hurt that his best friend hadn’t trusted him with his home. He’d taken Yennefer here. But not him. Never him.

He didn’t deserve Geralt’s trust. A thief, a liar, a spy, a bard. It still hurt.

“Well a wolf finally took you here. Is it everything you fucking dreamed?”

He took it in. “Nah. It’s rubbish.”

Lambert smirked. “Yeah. At least that hasn’t changed.”

“You’re hairs getting grey bard.”

“What?” He nearly leaped into the water in his haste to look.

Grey strands streaked his beard.

“Thank you.” He cried. “Thank you.”

“Still owe me that song Dandy.”

He wrote Lambert a lot of songs. Performed for an audience of one.

“Are you really okay with the fact no one will ever hear them? I mean what’s the point in being immortalized in song if-”

“Yeah. Didn’t give a shit about the songs.”

“Hey!” He protested. Kicking him where he lounged in front of the fire. “They’re good songs!”

He grunted in fake pain. Wiggled out of range. “Did Geralt ever tell you why he liked having you around?”

“My charming personality I assume.”

Lambert snorted.

He sat down on the floor and poke him. “Don’t fall asleep. Tell me why you think he did.”

“No one tells Witchers bedtime stories.”

“Oh.” Lambert was halfway to sleep already. “Would you like one?”

“Yeah.”

“What you think happens after?” They were huddled together. Old and grey as a storm raged outside. “We die.”

“I gave up on gods when i was a child.”

“So did i.”

“Then.” He paused. Listened to the howl. “Whatever’s next at least neither of us is going alone.”

Lambert squeezed his bony hand. “What’s the chance we see them again?”

“Hm.” He pretended to consider. “Well we’re definitely going to hell so-”

“Like anyone we gave a shit about wouldn’t be.”

“Point.”

He closed his golden eyes. “Hey Dandy.”

“Yeah?”

“Sing me out.”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

And quite singing filled the drafty cabin until the song stopped.

The world ended.

And at long last no one woke up in the morning.

[passable-talent]

what about,,, modern au,,, punk mucisian au,,,, anakin with tattoos pLEASE

may I introduce u to my new favorite gif...

also. plot twist! what if,, and hear me out,, you’re the musician, and he’s the fan?

i made an entire setlist for this fuckn au of my taste in punk-ish rock-ish music to base certain lines, moods, and lighting off of. it exists. i’ll hand it over if you ask.

stumbled over this headcanon as i wrote but,,,, modern au anakin absolutely grew up in nevada. desert. middle of nowhere. close to vegas and the racing. automobile industry. thank u for ur time  

This whole ‘music’ thing was actually working out. Imagine that. 

You were gaining fame slowly- your record company still didn’t get you big gigs, but you got something. 

Something like this, in fact. A small, dingy laser tag place, but it was perfect nonetheless. Perfect for you. You felt right at home- it was too hot, and the audience was still loud, since the music hadn’t started. The stage was small, but the lights were bright, and you were standing behind the curtains that had been hung barely a foot from the wall. 

“Ready?” you heard Padme ask- Padme, the lead guitarist, your best friend. She was on stage, currently, hidden from the crowd by a blanket of black. On the other side of the stage, you knew, was Ahsoka, the drummer, a little tiny teenager you’d picked up last summer when your original drummer quit, and beside her was undoubtedly Aayla, your bassist. You were lucky- you were surrounded by such great friends that you could pull your weight without having to play the guitar. Which was good for everyone- you were an awful guitar player. 

“Anytime, loves,” you said, a smile lighting your lips. You’d almost overdosed on the anti-anxiety pills this morning- the feeling of playing a gig still unfamiliar and nerve wracking. 

But you heard the music start, and started to sing. 

Only when this particular song really kicked into gear did you toss open the curtain, and the cheer went up, almost drowning out the music. You were certainly the fan favorite of the band, only because you were the most expressive. You didn’t have an instrument, so you got to run around on stage, and kneel down to reach out, brushing your fingers to the crowd’s as you sang, like God to Adam. 

It really wasn’t a looks thing- for some, it might be, but not to most. Hey, if there was anyone that should really get the attention, it was Padme. She was unfairly beautiful. 

The great thing about being a punk artist was that most of your fans were, too. They came with their tattoos and snuck in their weed, their ripped jeans always leaving with a few more holes than they arrived with. A band like yours, so dominated by women, had really caught on with a female crowd, but there were always guys here, too. You never really cared to know if it was their dicks or their ears that brought them.

There was a little bit of a problem, though. You were well known for trying to make connections with as many fans as you could- not for your sake, but for theirs. You loved taking selfies, touching their fingers, winking at them during a particularly suggestive lyric, guys and girls alike. Which lead to a little problem, one that Ahsoka loved to refer to as your ‘wattpad fantasy’. 

Growing up when you had, you’d all been all over the internet, into each of its corners. You knew the common trope that teenaged fans had with their favorite artists- that they’d catch the eye of the main singer, and get dragged backstage after the show.

You had the opposite fantasy. Too many times did one or another audience member catch your eye, and yeah, sometimes you did consider catching them before they left after the show. It never worked- either you lost track of them, or you didn’t have the guts to go through with it. 

When you laid eyes on him, though, you wanted so desperately to go through with it tonight. 

You tried not to be obvious, you really did try to be subtle- but whenever the multicolored lights caught his hair, your gaze was pulled back to him, no matter how much you wanted to give equal attention to every audience member brave enough to wrestle their way to the front row. 

But you also wanted to make sure he knew. That you’d noticed him.

With one or two lyrics, lines like “tell me that you love me, even if it’s only for tonight”, you let your eyes catch his, hoping to whatever powers there might’ve been that he’d be looking back at you. 

The halftime break, the intermission, came faster than expected, and you dropped into the one room the laser tag place set aside for you, and tried to clean as much sweat from your scalp and hair as you could. 

“Alright, what is it?” Padme asked from behind you.

“What to you mean?” you asked, glancing at her through the mirror you were using to try to artfully smudge your eyeliner. 

“You’re favoring the left side of the audience. What, find a wattpad boy?”

“Another one?” Ahsoka called from the other side of the room, rubbing sore callouses on her palms.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved them off with a laugh, “let me dream.” 

Act II came around, and back to the stage you went, trying to be even more subtle this time around. Still, you kept track of him- he hadn’t moved far. Maybe, if you watched him carefully enough, you’d get to meet him before he left. 

It was hard to do, and you hadn’t yet been successful. You really weren’t supposed to offer fans any ‘free’ attention, or at least, that was the way your manager had put it. If you let everybody take a picture with you, then no one will buy backstage passes. 

A sentiment that your anarchist side absolutely resented. Fuck capitalism, you wanted to chill with your fans. 

But hey, back on topic! It was amazing how you could totally tune out during a song, and tune back in, still strutting around the state, still singing perfectly. Luckily, you’d brought yourself back to reality, right when the second to last song was about to end. 

When it faded away, you stepped to the center of the stage, readjusting your mic quickly and letting a real smile come over your face. 

And this- this was it. No matter how fantastic any show was, it would never top this. You always went out with the same song, way back from your first album, one of the first you’d ever written. You heard Padme start to strum.

“And with that, we’re coming to the end,” you said over the guitar, speaking to the audience like you knew every person there. “So I want you to all sing along with this one. Every damn word. Because tonight- this is a night none of us are going to forget.” You’d said it a hundred times, and yet, you meant it every time. When you stopped speaking, you started singing, abandoning your strutting and stomping for just standing at the front of the stage, looking at them all. 

“It was a fall night, late night-” There was a reason you always ended with this song. It was so beautiful, and so sensual. It was a promise, between you, and your band, and your fans, a promise that it was all for them, not for whatever rode in their wallets. A promise that you would keep looking out for them. 

And when you began the chorus, you dropped to your knees, getting that much closer to them, your smile so genuine, because you could hear them, every single one of them, like they were performing for you. It was their night as much as yours, it was their music more than it was yours. 

A hundred voices welling up around yours was always what kept you awake at night, kept you coming back, pushing through the looks that people gave you when you said you were trying to make it in the music industry, pushing through the late nights where you couldn’t make it through that lyric. This song, right here, this was what brought you back, kept reminding you what mattered. 

You stopped singing, and they continued without you. They always did- they would see how you just looked at them all, with the realest smile they’d ever seen, and they sang for you. 

You couldn’t help it. You watched him- and he was singing, too. 

This time, you knew for sure. You knew he was watching you, too, and when your eyes locked, the voices around you all swelled to a crescendo, like a soundtrack to the scene you were living through. 

You had to snap yourself back into the world to pick up the second verse. It stayed just as intimate, just as amazing, all the way to the end of the song, when you sang the final note, and just stood there, basking in it, in a world made just for you. 

The stage lights flickered out, and you disappeared into the dark. 

Over your earpiece, one of the roadies informed you that your mics were off, and that’s exactly the way you liked them. You dropped onto the stage, hanging your legs over the front of it. You were still a few feet from the closest little fence, but it was closer than you’d been to them yet. 

“Hey, guys,” you hissed toward anyone within earshot. That alone, in the dim light, gathered a crowd of twenty or so who had noticed you. You always did this at the end of the show- just to let them hear their name on your tongue. 

And maybe, today, to find him. 

You looked to a girl who had her hand outstretched to you, and you took it briefly.

“Hey, what’s your name?” you asked, and she shouted back “Oran!”

“Oran, almost like the color, huh?” You were so much more at ease now than you were, before the show. “I bet you hear that all the time.” You turned to someone else, always trying to make it through as many people as possible. 

How many could you touch base with before turning to him, so that it wouldn’t be suspicious? Was three enough, or should you do one more?

No, when you caught his eyes, there was no turning back. 

“Hey, what’s up,” you said, fighting to keep your heartbeat under control. 

“Anakin,” he said, then pulling a bright yellow card out of his jacket. That, you’d recognize anywhere- that was a backstage pass. 

Like the universe was aligning for you. 

“Well, Anakin, if you’ve got a pass, I’ll see you later, yeah?” As you usually did from a person who had a pass, you moved on quickly, giving this time to others who wouldn’t get more. You heard six or seven more names before Ahsoka was tugging on your shoulder. 

“Alright, alright,” you groaned, throwing your legs over the stage again and standing up, but not before blowing one last kiss toward the small crowd you’d gathered. 

As soon as you made it back, into where the speakers cluttered up all of the space, you collapsed against Ahsoka, laughing as she struggled to hold you up.

“What, thinking about your wattpad boy?” she said, throwing you to your feet.

“Oh, not again,”  Aayla whined, “he’ll be no different than every other one that you dream of finding at next week’s show, and then never see again.”

“No, no, this one’s different!” you insisted, grabbing onto Padme’s shirt. She brushed you off with a laugh.

“Oh yeah? How?” 

“His name is Anakin,” you said, rubbing your lower lip between your teeth. “And he’s got a backstage pass.” 

“What??” Came the collective cry, and you shushed them all before your manager appeared. 

It was showtime, baby. 

There were two or three of them, in total. The passes tended not to sell too well, and there were only a few available, anyway. The band just wasn’t quite big enough to pull that kind of fandom, save for a few die-hards who would one day get to pull out a photo and say ‘see? I was there at the beginning.’ 

Anakin was the last of the bunch. 

“Great to meet you,” you said, shaking his hand for real this time. His eyes were damn intense- no wonder you’d been mesmerized by them. 

“You too,” he said, and introductions went just as seamlessly with the others. Padme hugged him, and Ahsoka, little firecracker, gave him a playful punch for telling her that she looked taller when she was on stage. 

Now- there’s a reason Padme’s your best friend in the world. 

“Hey, it’s getting late,” she informed you, as though she were telling you to wrap it up. But she was smarter than that, and had set up the perfect trap.

“Oh,” Anakin said, looking slightly guilty and quite disappointed. “Well, I-” 

“Nah,” you cut him off, smacking the back of your hand against his chest, “You paid for fifteen minutes, you’ll get them. We’ve just got to start packing up. You can chill with us, if you want.” No matter the fame difference between the five of you, he was just another guy in his early 20′s, the same as the rest of you, save for eighteen year old Ahsoka. He meshed well with the lot of you, and even helped load ‘Soka’s drums into the truck. 

And, hey- he knew what he was getting into when he climbed into the back of the van with the four of you.

And what he was getting into was a bumpy-ass ride to one of the shittiest hotels the area could offer. It wasn’t even midnight, and you didn’t feel like climbing into bed just yet, so you let him follow the four of you upstairs so you could grab your phone and room key before leaving them to entertain themselves for the evening. 

“Come home alive!” Aayla called as a farewell, and Ahsoka snorted from where she was laying on her bed. 

“Come home capable of walking,” she said, and Padme saved you by slamming the door shut. 

“So what’s there to do around here?” you asked him, shoving your hands into your pockets. You walked close to him, shoulders almost brushing with each step, and his smile was just for you.

“Are you kidding? Absolutely nothing. You’re lucky you found the laser tag place.” You looked toward him with a laugh, the ugly carpeting of the hotel hallway stretching on forever in front of you.

“Seriously? How could you survive?”

“Hey, not every town is downtown LA.” 

“I’m flattered you think I’m famous enough to live in LA.” You stopped at the elevator, punching the down button. He nudged your shoulder playfully, those piercing blue eyes flicking over your face. 

“You’re gonna be. You guys are really good.”

“Good to know I have your blessing for my career.” 

“I’m serious!” he said with a laugh, and when the elevator door opened, he let you inside first. 

“Yeah, yeah. So if there’s nothing to do around here...” You tilted your head at him, watching as he rested his shoulders back against the buffed metal wall. “What do you do?”

“Find a friend’s basement to smoke in,” he said with a laugh, and you couldn’t help but join him. “Mostly we go see movies, or sneak onto a roof, if we’re lucky.” You narrowed your eyes, letting your gaze slide to the elevator buttons. 

“A roof, you say?” 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble-”

“Anakin, answer me this-” You pulled out your phone to check the time. “Do you think the lobby security agent of this Comfort Inn is going to be dedicated enough to check the roof at 12:23 AM?” The world outside this elevator didn’t exist as his lips turned up into a smirk.

“No, I don’t think they will.”

“In that case-” You slipped your second knuckle against the highest number on the wall- 6. Not very impressive, but it would do.

Once the elevator went down to the lobby, and back up again, you stumbled your way to the stairwell and up, finding the door that said ‘roof access- do not enter’. Since when do you ever listen?

If you listened to some red sign on a door, you wouldn’t have your head on Anakin’s shoulder, looking up at more stars than you’d ever seen in your entire life. 

You’d grown up in California, too close to some of the largest cities in the country to ever see the night sky like this. He’d grown up here, where there were warehouses for shipping to Reno, or Vegas, or Salt Lake City, but none of those cities were close enough to steal the sky.

“See those two, right on top of each other?” He asked, pointing to an area a few degrees up from the horizon.

“Yeah, I think,” you said, and he lifted his left arm, where he had a constellation pattern tattooed between his elbow and wrist. 

“It’s this one. The phoenix. The first constellation I actually saw in the sky.” You reached out, taking hold of his elbow, and positioning his arm, from your perspective, just next to the constellation. “My mom took me out to a field and showed me the stars,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the fondness in his voice. “For a long time, I wanted to be an astronaut.”

“Me too,” you said with a laugh, “but I wasn’t good enough in math.” 

“My mom’s friend Watto says I’m too good with cars to fly a ship.”

“Wouldn’t that make you better?” You asked, readjusting so that your shoulder pressed to his. It was a little cold.

“You’d think so, right?” You were such a loud person, that all too often you fought against silence- not tonight. You let it envelope you, bringing with it peace. You could hear Anakin breathing, and it was so calming, your eyes slipped closed.

“You’re going to fall asleep up here,” he said, a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“Shut up,” you groaned, “I had a long day, and you’re warm.” 

“You should go back to the room, then.” You rolled over onto your stomach, then, taking a good look at him. 

“But that would mean that this night has to end.” He lifted his chest up by planting his elbows down, bringing himself closer to you. 

“You said it yourself,” he said, voice smooth and quiet, “this is a night we’re not going to forget.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want it to end,” you breathed, unable to look away from him. You barely noticed it when he begun to lean forward, but then his lips were on yours, and that you certainly took notice of. 

Your eyes fluttered closed, thanks to the shock and the welcome nature of it, and you leaned into it. He brought his furthest hand up and let it slide to the back of your neck, as though he could keep you from pulling away. You wouldn’t.

Your lips were still parted when he pulled away, your mind struggling to catch up. He’d- he’d just-

Calloused fingers brushed your hair back, and you opened your eyes to their touch, being drawn right back to his gaze. 

“Then it doesn’t have to.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 2