#Mary Grace Café

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k Tags/warnings: Pining intensifies, religious despair intensifies, minor injuries, treatment of wounds, crying, enthusiastic kissing, König gets a few boners. 18+ for eventual smut in this story.

A/N: Don't tell me you wouldn't get horny scared too if you saw this tall guy suddenly emerging from the shadows in his full war gear :) There's a cute date night and a lot of angst in this chapter too, I tried to summon an actual plot here... As always, I need to explain why they’re bonking! But smut is coming, next and last chapter will be full of fluff and steamy first times (Reader is virgin!)

Part 2

You have a feeling that this is the last day you’ll see him.

The stranger from the Austrian Alps, the kindest mercenary you’ve ever met – the only mercenary you’ve ever met – the giant soldier who now carries a piece of your heart with him. You wonder if he even knows he owns it.

The morning prayers and mass are a chore and bring you no comfort, and the usual dawn bliss is gone. You find no delight in singing with your sisters, and withdrawing to your cell for solitary prayer feels like stepping back inside your own personal purgatory. 

You’ve been in heaven and in hell for days now. Maybe since the moment you met him...

But at the same time, you know it must’ve been the Lord who brought you together. There must be a reason for God to make you two meet, you refuse to think it’s only because He wishes to tempt you. There must be a bigger plan; the connection, as sinful and carnal as it is, has to serve some higher purpose.

And you wonder if you’re going mad, because your most sinful thought is that you actually see God in him. It’s just your lower instincts speaking, a demon of some sort that tries to misguide you because no man is like Lord Jesus. 

And yet, don’t they always preach that you meet Him in every person you meet? And that through you, other people meet God too…? 

This reasoning feels much better. It solidifies the mercy you’ve longed for during the brief weeks you’ve known this man who brashly calls himself König. You want to believe that he carries a spark of the Divine in him, and that you hold a grain of the Virgin Mary’s compassion and love in you. 

You decide to hold on to this thought: that you were meant to meet so that you could come to know God through each other. For in König, you see a suffering God, a crucified Christ who rises against evil by offering himself to the cruelty of men. Somehow, the image of him as a mortal man starts to twist into a divine, dark trooper, someone who battles the forces of the evil in this world.

And this reasoning leads you to think that it is only natural that you, a Sister of the Faith, have helped him find some rest and relief in the middle of his work. It’s pretty clear that König has found some solace in your company, and even if things have ventured into a forbidden area of low, simple lust, it’s not dark enough to taint the beauty and grace you've felt together. As long as you hold on to this purity, nothing can go wrong.

While praying for both of you that morning, you find yourself replaying the smiles and touches König has given you these past weeks. You know you will drown yourself in memories after he's gone because they are all you’ll ever have of him.

And they're more than enough.

Or at least they should be…

You feel a tiny dagger of guilt push into your heart, the place reserved for Christ, when you’re assigned to do some spiritual reading instead of helping out in the kitchen or organizing the small library. The appointed texts are about falling into temptation and sin, reminding you about the consequences of such actions. You read the passings with a heavy heart and then slip out to meet König, possibly for the last time.

You wear your everyday clothes to the café, and König says nothing about your sudden moral choice, only gives you another longing, enamored once-over. You keep him at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally, and the effects of this unexpected cold shower are immediate. The man doesn’t even try to disguise the sad, puppy-eyed stares he shoots your way. 

You hate it that the bright, playful air of your meetings is gone, and your heart is tearing itself apart in your chest because the only thing you wanted was to spread joy into his world. Even the Lord seems disappointed in you being so cold-hearted, and you can’t bear to see His sadness and suffering in König’s eyes.

You get offered not one, but two coffees today, and a large piece of dark chocolate cake that tastes of pure sin. He talks about how he would love to write to you, but you tell him you can’t be in correspondence with a man who isn’t your brother or father. König isn’t even married, so it would only raise questions – you would find yourself reading spiritual texts about lust and sin until it drives you crazy.

“I’m leaving early tomorrow,” he finally reveals with a voice thick with sorrow. “Can I see you before I go...? One last time?”

“I’d love to, but… I’m sort of being watched,” you say, slowly coming out of your shell to make it clear that you’d want to spend the rest of your life with him, but you simply just can’t.

Your weak, apologetic look is like a dose of confidence shot through his veins because the face opposite of you brightens immediately. König’s whole posture gets a hopeful uplift.

“Just for a little walk...? To see what the city looks like in the evening?”

“I don’t know if I can make it… I have to work until six... And attend the evening prayer at seven. And then silence starts at eight…” 

You’re wringing your hands under the table while you explain, hoping König will come up with a solution to this dilemma.

“We can go for a walk after silence, then,” he shrugs.

“I–I can’t just escape from the window.”

“...Why not?”

You look at König; he looks straight back.

The man’s serious about you sneaking out your window at night; he’s actually serious, even if there’s a dark, playful smile rising on his lips. 

“I can help,” he grins.

Your heart cracks open, it shoots full of light only more and more with that smile. König doesn’t need to ram a door down and shoot his way through your chest; all he has to do is sneak inside your heart and take the place that belongs to God. You don’t even feel the difference as he makes himself at home. 

Well, actually, you do... It’s like your Christ’s love and mercy have finally come to flesh and blood before you. They're materialized in the man sitting opposite of you, bouncing his knee excitedly and grinning like the most innocent little devil on Earth.

You find yourself whispering “Ok”, and the whole world shifts. 

You take a step towards something forbidden but great, your whole heart starts to sing along with life. You haven’t even done the actual thing yet but you’re already filled with bubbling laughter and excitement. If only your friend could see you now, about to do things she probably did when she was fifteen...

But everything feels so right that it can’t be a sin – if it is, it just so happens to be the most natural, most divine thing to do too.

If this is the last day you’ll ever see him, you can surely steal a tiny moment for yourself and forget about rights and wrongs for a moment. Just forget about the rules, and live in the actual world for a few hours, breathe the worldly air, see what normal people do and pretend you’re one of them, for just one night. 

…

You feel like Cinderella when picking clothes for the evening.

You rummage through the only closet in your room – during the time that should be spent in silent prayer before bed – and notice you still have your old jeans.

They’re light blue and still fit; actually, they fit more than well... You know that König’s eyes will be glued to your butt when you’re not looking.

You have completely forgotten how nice you look in jeans, and it’s the Devil talking, making you admire yourself in tight denim like this. You never cared about how you look before; you certainly never gave much thought to how men see you or if they’re checking out your butt or breasts. Now you’re grooming yourself like never before, trying to decide what to do with your hair as if your life depended on it.

You choose a simple, black t-shirt to pair with the jeans and not make it too obvious that you’re trying to flaunt yourself. It hugs your form but is otherwise plain, and for some people, your choice of clothing is probably their regular work outfit. To you, it feels like you’re about to go out to seduce everyone.

Everything’s so tight and earthly; everything’s so… there. Visible... Touchable.

Lord, have mercy on me. I know I’m weak. But please let me have this, just this once…

And König has seen you without makeup all this time, so what on earth has possessed you to lament the fact that you don’t own a single case of lipstick? You’d kill for a few sweeps of mascara, too, just to bat your lashes at a silly man.

It’s not a date, you remind yourself.

It’s not a date... It’s not a date. You’re just going to have a short walk with him.

And you fear that accepting König’s “help” was a mistake. If you get caught with a man on the convent perimeter, you’ll get your ass thoroughly whooped…

Can a man of his size even keep quiet?

He probably suggested it so that you wouldn’t chicken out of this. If König is at your window by 8 and there’s no sign of you, he’ll probably just come in, throw you on his shoulder and jump out. He knows where your window is located now, and surely has some questionable skills due to his profession, skills you know nothing about, but you’re still about to have a panic attack from pure excitement when the clock strikes 8. 

You push the window ajar and settle on the sill to keep watch, gasping when you hear his familiar accent down below as soon as the window is open.

“Kätzchen...”

“König…?”

You peek down and meet his stupid, grinning face – God, he’s so happy to see you kept your promise. His eyes are shining, his fingers interlock to help you have something to place your foot on. 

“Here, kitty, kitty…”

You could easily jump out the window without hurting yourself, but of course he wants to help you since you were so kind to tell him where he could come and "pick you up".

But to see that playful smile and hear him trying to coax you out like you’re some skittish little kitten…

Could a grown man get any more silly?

You wiggle yourself out the window, trying to ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your butt, still grinning like crazy while you do it. 

SupportING your entire weight like it’s no trouble at all, he helps you down. You’ve never been this close to him since you bumped into him: you have to take support from his shoulders as you search for a footing, and he scoops you in his arms the minute both your feet are safely on the ground.

“I knew you’d come,” he purrs with joy, and you place your hands on his chest – not to keep him at bay, but to touch him in a way that is as appropriate as possible when a man is hugging you like this.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you whisper, still unsure if this is the best or the worst decision of your entire life.

“Kitty… Live a little, hmm?”

You have to crane your neck to look up at him – you’re not sure if you’re in the embrace of Jesus or Lucifer because the warmth of those eyes compare to the love of God, but they also make you weak and helpless. Whenever you’re with your sisters, the feeling is pure, pristine love, not a surge of complex emotions and thrill like it is with König.

“You’re a bad influence,” you breathe – König only laughs, and the grip around you tightens. 

“My lady. You’re the one who climbed out the window.”

“Because someone would’ve probably thrown small rocks on it if I hadn’t…!”

“Natürlich. And if that didn’t work… A serenade or two. Do you like love songs?” 

You look down at his chest, smiling, heart fluttering at the thought of a silly Austrian man serenading under your window. You have no trouble imagining him singing something syrupy in German, waking everyone up with his racket.

“You’re crazy, did you know that...?” 

“Sure. They tell me that all the time at work. Aber du… Du bist süss.” 

“...What’s that?” 

His smile only widens as he takes in your lips, your neck, the tight shirt that finally gives him something more to look at.

“You’re cute.”

…

The whole evening is heavenly. 

It’s everything you’ve ever wanted from a date and more.

He doesn’t take you for a short walk, oh no. He takes you out to eat, at some lively restaurant where they serve delicious, artisan, wood-fired pizzas. You have créme brûlée for dessert, and König gives you his strawberries when he notices you eat them first, but only on one condition: you have to let him feed them to you one by one. 

He buys you a rose: a big, red, plump one. No man has ever bought you flowers before, and even if you love lush, abundant bouquets, the fact that he chose you a single red rose after you’ve spoken about the beauty of simplicity, doesn't escape you.

König hasn’t only listened to you these past few weeks: he gets you. And how symbolic is it that he chose a rose that’s also tied to all the mysteries of God?

You walk the streets with a flower in one hand and his palm in the other. It's a holy trinity of him and you and the Great Mystery, it’s passion and it’s thorns, it’s blood and beauty and pain, and you feel like he just gets you; he knows you through and through. 

You pass by an outdoor bar with live music, and the place is so crowded that people are dancing on the streets. No cars honk as they slowly pass by the scene, the music and the laughing, dancing pairs make even the grumpiest passersby smile.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that König pulls you to him before you get to escape the scene. You’re drawn flush against his chest, hips colliding with his, hands finding each other in a slow sway that has never even seen the steps of Latin dances.

“Nuns are allowed to dance, no?” 

He smiles dreamily, enveloped in the same sweet haze as you.

“Not with a man,” you correct, but don’t even bother to push him away. Instead, you let König guide his hand down your waist and draw you closer. If this isn't a date, you don't know what is...

“I can take the blame,” he says. “You can tell everybody it was me.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” you laugh. 

“Why not?” 

His eyes are glued to yours, making you warm all over, so much so that you feel like you’re burning from the neck up. You guide your stare down to his chest, then over to the quick heartbeat on his neck.

He's nervous, too... Your cruel soldier is nervous, and kind, and shy because he's pressed against you.

You rest your head there on his chest, watching the golden sunset far away, painting the rooftops with a genial glow. Your heart is made of molten gold, too, as you allow yourself find a home in his embrace.

“I can take your sins,” he promises above you. “Jesus did that too, right?”

“You’re not Jesus,” you smile against his shirt – black, always black...

“Are you sure? I would go to hell for you.”

Your dance comes to a halt as you swallow and lift your gaze. The smiles are gone now, both yours and his. He’s so close now he could touch your lips with his if he wanted to.

And he does want to.

You don’t shy away as he leans down to kiss you. It’s chaste at first, a slow exploration, but then he opens your mouth with his, demanding, hot, intoxicating. You melt in his arms, and he somehow supports you through it all, turning the dance into an embrace and the decent little kiss into a full French one.

It’s hot and wet and slow, so, so passionate that your knees are about to give in. You devour him back, feel how he grows hard against your stomach – the swelling erection makes you dizzy before you come to your senses, but only barely.

You break away an inch, panting into his mouth while he’s panting into yours. What a blessing that you don’t own any lipstick; both of your lips are red without it…

“This is–”

“Inappropriate?”

His voice is husky, and sends a flood of wetness down between your legs. Your heart is racing, but you can’t even note how terribly alive you are before he attacks your lips again.

The kiss is even more desperate than the first one, and the slow urgency is gone. His mouth leaves you without air, and then – he wraps his arms around you and picks you up from the ground like you weigh nothing. Your hands get squished somewhere between you, naturally coming to cup his face as you kiss him back. 

It’s eager, pure lust, so powerful and needy that it scorches through your chest and ties your heartstrings into tight little knots, makes your brows knit together, too.

He grunts into your mouth, sensing you’re more than up for this after all. You let him see the full depth of your hunger and your lust, just waiting to be released and taken – made love to until you’re both sore and messy and limp.

God… This is better than God…

You hear whistles and whoos in the distance, some men yelling, “Let’s go!” and “Get a room” while they pass by. Realizing you’ve fallen into a dream trap of strong arms and needy lips about to depart tomorrow, you know it's something you could have had years ago, perhaps, but not anymore. You'll lose everything if you break your vows tonight: basically, you’ve already broken them, but no permanent damage has been done.

You can still turn back if you turn back now…

You push yourself away, push him away, heart clenching when you see his adoring, love-drunk, half-lidded stare.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, fighting back tears as you come down from your high. “I just–I can’t…”

He breathes labouriously, still clutching you against him, holding you in the air like you’re the thing he has searched for his entire life and now, finally discovered… Only to be told that he now has to put it back where he found it. 

You’re crying by the time he sets you down, and you have no heart or will to pull away. Instead, you bury your face in his chest and cry your fill in his shirt. It’s soon damp from your tears as König hugs and supports you through his own stoic heartbreak.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…”

You repeat it until you can’t repeat it anymore, bawling in his chest while the world around you continues to spin despite your heaven and hell, despite your vows, despite your stupid devotion. The world revolves like it always has, as you choose a crucified man over the one who’s flesh and blood and holds you through your pain.

“Kätzchen, don’t cry,” he pets your hair while you sniffle and tremble in his embrace. You know this is not the last time you will cry your heart out over him, but knowing it doesn't help you when he offers you his last, bittersweet comfort.

“It was a good dream while it lasted...”

…

The rose withers in your cell.

You turn it upside down and tie it to the curtain rod to prevent it from dropping its petals. It dries beautifully and keeps its bloodred colour, now reminding you of both Jesus and him. 

There hasn’t been a word from König in months, and of course there hasn’t. You denied his wish to write you, and the dried rose is the only thing left of your time with him. 

In the first weeks, it’s hard to keep up a charade. You show up to prayer, work and mass with red eyes, revealing to everyone that you’re going through a loss of some sort. Somewhere during the first week, the abbess summons you to meet her and you brace yourself for a scolding.

God knows you don’t need the rebuke, and when you close the door and turn to face the symbolic mother of the convent, you end up breaking into tears right in front of her.

“Whatever you were up to, my child, I am glad that it is over now,” she says with all the gentleness of the world. 

“Me too,” your voice breaks, and when the abbess extends her hands, you go to her, fall to your knees, and have another heartwrenching cry with your face in her lap.

You’ve denied yourself love and mercy for days, expecting to be expelled or shamed or ridiculed, but mercy is what you’re offered now, even after you’ve sinned.

The abbess caresses your hair just as softly as König did just days ago, and the fact that her kind gesture reminds you of some silly, infatuated soldier, only makes the breakdown worse. You bawl like a little child who’s deprived of candy, and you don’t even have the strength to berate yourself for it.

“I hope you haven’t done anything irredeemable...?” 

“No... Nothing happened,” you sob and look out of the rose window, desperate for sun while your head rests on a gentle but distant lap. 

Nothing happened except the most sinful, beautiful, lustful kiss of your life... Nothing happened except that you saw this man every time you could, held hands with him, swam in his smiles and affection, and went to bed with thoughts inappropriate for any human being. 

“The world tests us in many ways... But Lord never tests us. He only loves us.”

Something in that sentence finally quenches the neverending flow of tears. Your muscles start to relax, and you remember that this is the eternal truth: to surrender, over and over again, to a power far greater than you. 

The abbess never asks for details about what you have done. She never tells you you have sinned; you don’t need to be told that. The punishment has been dealt already: whoever ties herself to this world and its temptations will suffer exactly like this when the passion and excitement ends. The key to escaping its grip is to simply let go first, once and for all, surrender to the love of God, and trust that everything fill fall into place eventually.

“You must offer your mind and body to work now,” the motherly voice speaks above you. “Work, time and prayer will ease your pain.”

…

Work, time and prayer do ease the pain. 

They ease all pains, but it takes almost six months to stop thinking about him every hour of every day.

You’re proud of yourself when you find out one day that you haven’t thought about him at all. He just now crossed your mind when you remember how he used to smell: of salty seabreeze mixed with intoxicating musk, the scent of excitement and safety all in one. 

You could almost swear you catch a whiff of that particular scent in the yard when you go and water the flowers one evening, but it can’t be: he’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you even want to do about it because you already made your choice. This path leads you to greater peace of mind in the long run, and you know you made the right decision even if it hurt you and König.

Sunsets still remind you of him, the colour of rose and gold mixed with endings, but the memories are now laced with bittersweet love rather than blunt despair and pain. The times you spent with him are a collection of brief, blissful moments, and you treasure every single one of them in your heart. You still pray for him, not every day, but nearly every day. You touch the rose when the hurt reaches its peak, but the last time you did that was almost a week ago.

And you thought you had forgotten his scent, but apparently, you have not. In fact, it seems to drift to your nose again, which is odd because you’re outside, after all…

“Kätzchen.” 

A whisper is hissed from the shadows just as you’re about to straighten and investigate, because either you’re going crazy or then there’s someone here who smells exactly like him.

You startle and almost drop the watering can, staring straight into the shadows under your window. The tallest man you’ve ever seen steps out from the dark in full combat gear, and while you can’t see his face because it’s covered with a draping black hood, you recognize it’s him simply from the way he moves. 

“Don’t be afraid. It’s me,” he rasps and tries to straighten from the slightly hunched position he’s in, but immediately falls back, then slants to lean on the wall. His gear is dirty, and he holds the side of his stomach with one hand, the lively blue eyes either drunk or very very tired.

“Dear God… What happened to you?”

You abandon the watering can and rush to him; it’s useless to ask if he’s injured when, clearly, he’s trying to prevent himself from slumping to the ground. 

He’s enormous and intimidating even when wounded, a soldier loaded with ammo and weapons and protective paddings and guards, wearing a hood and a helmet and a radio of some sort, his tactical gloves bloody and eyes droopy. The weapon by his side is almost half as tall as you, and God – is that a grenade strapped to his vest?

“I got compromised,” König looks down at the wound but doesn’t remove his hand. He looks so different, like another man entirely when he’s not dressed in his customary olive green pants and a casual black t-shirt. He seems even buffier now, even taller, so terrifying that you wonder if you ever even knew this man.

You must look like a frightened deer because König mistakes your horrified look as sweet, simple concern.

“Don’t worry... They have it much worse, I assure you,” he says with his usual grin – you can hear it from the way he says it that he’s smiling. But it’s so weary now, so exhausted and frail compared to his confident, playful laughs and that husky voice with which he spoke to you after your kiss.

“I came to ask for help,” he continues under his breath, wobbling even when leaning against a wall. “You’re the only one I can… trust.”

“Of course, anything. I will do anything I can.”

His eyes smile down at you from behind the executioner’s veil. It’s that same devoted stare you’ve been trying to dispel for months now. You give yourself a quick mental shake, then tell him to wait here while you go in and call for an ambulance. 

König bounces off the wall and seizes your hand, telling you he can’t go to a hospital and that, if anything, he must avoid any kind of public places. You don’t ask any further questions, even if you know you’re in a pickle now, and not only because those glacial eyes are making your knees weak again. There’s nothing much you can do: he’s wounded and still in danger, saying he can’t trust anyone else. Of course you have to help him in any way you can. If he says it’s not safe, then you must help him get somewhere where it is safe. 

And besides, aren’t you a nun? You’re supposed to help those in need. 

So when he asks you if there are any motels or a bed & breakfast nearby, you say you know just the place. 

It makes your heart bleed that König takes support from you while you slowly make your way down the street. A man of his size, a body trained to withstand whatever his job throws at him, seeking support from a frail little nun… It’s a joke, indeed, and a horrid one. 

When you get to the small place run by a humble old man, you don’t know who to feel more sorry for: the elder behind the counter or König, desperately trying to stay on his feet.

“I mean no trouble,” he says while pushing an unnerving amount of money across the table. “I just need a place to rest.”

The receptionist’s eyes dart to you, then back to König, who still has what you suppose is a loaded rifle dangling by his waist. The safety is on, probably, but there are also knives and grenades strapped to his person, and with that hood, he mainly looks like a terrorist of some sort.

“She’s here to help. See...? Bride of Christ. Even less trouble than I am.” 

You try to smile reassuringly as the man risks a better look at you now instead of being fixated on König or his weapons.

You must make an odd pair, a soldier and a nun... The old man probably has a ton of questions in his head right now.

“No shooting,” he says to you, but his words are directed at König.

“No shooting,” he promises. “No mess if no one knows we’re here. Ok...? You’ve never even seen us.”

The receptionist nods. Then he extends a trembling hand and takes the money, and hands out a key without taking any check-in information.

You go to König and help him up the small stairs and into his room paid with bloody money and a menacing appearance. The fitted carpet is old, and floral patterned, the room small and adorable and meant for visitors far more petite than König. The bedspread is old-fashioned and floral too and has never even seen blood, of that you are sure when König lays himself down with a grunt. 

You spend the next minutes – or hours, you can’t tell – in a tunnel-visioned fog as you do exactly as he says.

You help him out of his gear and weapons and lay them aside quickly but gently, you cut his shirt with an ugly-looking knife, then get a watered towel for him to press against the wound. You rush back to his tactical vest and search for a first aid kit and some medicine, and start to treat his wounds per his advice.

The sun sets in the window, and you patch up your injured soldier with care, trusting his word when he says it’s only a flesh wound and that it looks far worse than it is.

“I should get shot more often,” he purrs when you’re cleaning the rest of the blood off his skin.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scold, trying to focus on your task and not the vast plates that make his chest. Or the thick abs, right there under your fingertips… Or the fact that he has incredibly narrow hips, and a luscious breath of dark hair leading from his navel down and underneath the waistband of his pants. 

You suppose this is what your friend calls a happy trail...

And it does make you very happy.

You don’t dare to look beyond that because the pants he usually wears aren’t as tight as these, and you fear he’ll catch you checking out his junk in an attempt to see if your friend was correct about his size. 

To your blessing – or your curse – you don’t even have to look straight at it to see he’s having an erection. You can actually see from the corner of your eye how König grows hard while you’re treating him – it’s right there, a robust tent that rises beside you while you concentrate on wiping off the blood. 

“Pay no mind to that,” he says thickly and completely without shame. “It just happens… Can’t control it.”

He breathes a bit too heavy for someone who’s lying down, and you fear it’s because of the blood loss. But then you start to suspect it’s probably because all the remaining blood has gone between his legs… He doesn’t even try to tone down the heated, obsessive stares he shoots your way, and you suppose he’s either missed you very much, or then there’s a fever rising after all. You’re not sure if you’re glad or disappointed that the bullet didn’t scrape his leg instead.

“I missed you,” he says like he just read your thoughts. He whispers the sentence slowly and with purpose, saying it like a long-withheld secret.

“I missed you too,” you whisper back. 

Gosh… Here you are, a silly little nun who’s tried to get over a crush for six months, crying after him at night and caressing his rose during the day. You’ve been petting a withering flower some mercenary gave you in hopes of getting into your pants, you’ve fawned over memories of a few smiles and a kiss, all the while the said mercenary has killed people for money and now got shot. He came here to work again, but never sent a message, he only came to see you when he was injured… 

...And you’re glad he did. If a bullet was needed to bring him back to you, then you’re grateful for it, no matter how horrible it is.

“Did you ever… find someone?” You ask while keeping your gaze fixed on his navel instead of the raging bulge in his pants.

“Someone, who?”

“Someone to hold hands with.”

He gives a strained laugh. “Ah. No. No time for that.”

You swallow, and slowly guide your eyes to his.

“Are you still happy with your crucified man?”

Ouch.

“I… I don’t know.”

His brows knit together; you can see it even in the dim light of the table lamp, you can see it even if there’s some godforsaken black war paint all over his face under that hood.

There’s a distant hurt in his eyes before he blinks softly, slowly.

“I wrote to you, Braut Christi... Many times. Never sent the letters… They’re still in my room, at the base.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

He hasn’t had “time” for women, yet has written you letters all these months. He’s written letters while you’ve caressed a rose…. 

You wonder if hearts can find each other, even through a distance, and if you’ve felt the urge to go to the flower he gave you at the same time König has gotten the desire to write another letter to you. It’s bittersweet, like this whole thing between you two, the mystery that both brings you together and rips you apart. 

“I wish I hadn’t… I wish I...” you start, but can’t bring yourself to finish.

“Liebling. I should’ve sent them anyway.”

You go get rid of the bloodied paper towels before you start to cry in front of him.

God… You’re not only in a pickle, you’re neck-deep in trouble, and you only notice you forgot to wash your hands when you return to him.

He reaches for your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Peace settles in, even if there’s blood on your hands and the man you adore is lying next to you, patched up with the help of a first aid kit when he should be lying in a hospital, receiving treatment and care.

There’s a knife and a pistol tucked under the bedspread, next to his hand, and the fact that he’s still prepared to fight anyone who tries to come through that door underlines the fact that you two come from very different worlds. König is more than just a rose buying, coffee offering gentleman, he's more than just a silly guy who threatens to sing serenades under your window if you don’t come out to play with him.

You’re not sure if you’re more enamoured or scared.

“You’re an angel,” he rasps from the bed as you try to swallow the tears that refuse to go down.

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

A teardrop falls on the innocent floral bedspread as you wish you were in this room as a married couple instead of an injured, horny soldier and a childish nun in love. Spending your honeymoon or something, getting some rest after an eventful day in town, choosing this absurd old Bed & Breakfast as your place to stay for the night.

You wish you were doing anything else than treating his wounds, lethal or not.

“Are you crying?”

His voice is gentler than you even remembered. Six months of despair have turned him into a dark, alluring trickster when he’s really just a man, a big, amazing, tender man who’s multifaceted, multitalented, and always kind.

He's about to fall asleep, and it’s no wonder. The events of the evening have left you drained, too. You kneel beside his bed, too tired to even sit on a chair, wondering if he’ll die from his wounds tonight or get hunted down by the people who still want him dead. 

“I wish you would stop killing people... I wish you would stop getting killed.” 

You must look silly, kneeling beside a giant soldier’s bed, crying and holding his hand between yours as if praying. But his eyes smile at you, and while you’d want nothing more than to see his face again, you realise you kind of like König this way. Masked and menacing and mean to his enemies, but stripped down to his soul when he’s with you.

“I wish you would stop praying... And start living,” he mutters gently.

“Praying helps sometimes,” you whisper.

In truth, you wish you’d start living, too. You always thought you were brave when you said ‘no’ to the world. Perhaps you were only running away from it…

The hand is warm but not feverish. His breaths start to even, and his lids get heavier; his thumb gives you a small caress before he drifts off to sleep.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m still here, Kätzchen.”

[ilikecrowns]

Rainy days

Grace Clinton x f!Reader

After a hard training session, there’s nothing more that Grace wants to do than have a coffee date with her best friend. After an unexpected spell of rain, the two friends realise something slightly more than platonic may be between them

based on this request here

warnings- fluff fluff fluff!!

1.2k words

this is my first fic on here so please be nice 😁

　　*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“Ewwwww Grace get off me!” I yell, jokingly shoving off my best friend after she wrapped her strong arms around my shoulders.

“What, you don’t like the smell of success?” Her lips formed a cheeky smirk, as she kept her arms wide open, ready for my ‘loving embrace’.

Instead of succumbing to her whim, I rolled my eyes and starting packing up my stuff. Watching her train was always enjoyable, especially because she was so unbelievably competitive on the pitch. That probably explains her unnecessarily overprotective actions she floods me with when we are out in public.

I catch the sight of Alessia Russo, her England teammate and close friend, and give her a warm smile and soft wave.

I knew Grace so well that I could practically write her whole life and every action before it even happened, and therefore her little scoff and pout was too easy to see coming. “Don’t worry Grace, you can take your best friend for coffee now, I won’t keep you long. Plus Tooney and I are going out tonight so I’ve got to rush off.” She giggled at her younger friend’s reaction, and then picked up her stuff to leave.

“You know you’re my number one, Gracie girl.” I tried my best to make up for my ‘behaviour’, as Grace would say. However, I think I was just being nice!

Taking her arm in mine (after Grace cleaned herself up and changed), we made our way to our favourite café. It was only a five minute walk away from Grace’s apartment, which made it all the more easy to attend at least once a week after her training.

We sat down at our usual table, we both enjoyed sitting outside and watching the world go by. I ordered a frappuccino and muffin, whilst she ordered a plain coffee and croissant.

“So, star girl, how’s camp going so far?” I know she’s confident and cocky, but I can also tell when Grace is struggling. She tends to not show it on the outside, as she doesn’t want anyone to think of her as weak. I know the truth though, and seeing my best friend in pain is the worst type of feeling.

I could see her visibly tense up at the mention of camp, but her strong front didn’t stay for long. She knew she could trust me.

“Honestly, not great. I cant believe i’m here, playing with the best of the best. Like, Mary Earps is our goalkeeper, for gods sake! And did you see that trick Chloe did in training today? And, and, how on earth can Niamh and Hempo run that fast? I have no idea how I managed to get here!’ After softly nodding my head and taking Grace’s hand in mine, I take a deep breath.

“Love, you’re the best footballer i’ve ever seen. At least, to me you are. Do you know why? You’re so young, and yet you have so much talent! Your pace is incredible and your finishes are out of this world. I promise you one day, Gracie, you’ll see what I and the rest of England sees too. You’re here for a reason.”

I can tell my words meant something to her, as the once creased brow softened into her adorable puppy dog face, and her eyes dropped to where our hands were intertwined on the metal table.

As soon as she opened her mouth to share words of gratitude, the rain started.

It’s gentle pitter patter eventually grew to a heavy crash, and before either of us could have time to properly think of the next course of action, Grace stood up and grabbed my arm, propping her hood up.

I was now shivering as the cold rain trickled down my spine, my thin jumper not doing much to keep me warm or covered.

After running a few paces to a tree for a little breath of air, Grace noticed my lack of cover. Without notice, she tore her own coat off, draping it gently across my shoulders, focusing on covering every part of my shivering torso.

I gratefully smile, and stare into her deep blue eyes, enjoying this moment of joy and serenity, despite the harsh weather conditions.

This time I am the one to initiate movement, and I do so by hastily grabbing her now soaking wet hand and placing it in mine, and then start the fast run to Grace’s apartment. We didn’t have to tell eachother where we wanted to go, as it was fairly obvious.

Once we’d reached the entrance to her home, my shivering hands unlocked the white door. I had a key, of course.

“I hope my croissant doesn’t get too lonely and wet out there,” Grace jokes, making sure to rip off her top layer- an england jumper- from her body as soon as she step foot into her clean, warm home.

I laugh, making sure to take off her coat and place it onto a drying rack in the bathroom.

“If only you ran that fast during practice, Grace, you might just beat me in a race!” I joke, knowing she wouldn’t take it to heart. It was a common known fact that I couldn’t run to save my life, and therefore the wide grin on my face was wiped off as she wrapped her arms around me, and lifted me into the air.

“Oh yeah, what was that? Beat me in a race? Not in your dreams, love,” my grin was then matched by the taller girl with her strong arms clutching my waist, still keeping me in the air with ease. I made it slightly easier for her, by wrapping my legs around her hips, ensuring I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Bold of you to assume you’re in my dreams, Gracie girl.” I giggled, before tucking a stray bit of wet her behind her ear.

Sure, we’d had plenty of close moments like that, but this has felt different. Her eyes seemed almost darker, hee smile lighting the room up more than ever. The arms holding me now felt different too, and I knew I never wanted them to leave me.

We stared at eachother for a few moments silence, waiting for the other to be bold enough to speak.

Instead of words, however, I settled on something far more fitting for the situation.

I leaned my head down, holding her neck and back of her head with my hands. Flicking my eyes from her lips back up to her beautiful eyes to ensure this was what we both wanted, I closed the far-too-large-for-my-liking gap between us.

Her lips were gentle and soft, just like how she was around me. I’ve never been happier to be able to know the true side to my best friend. And now, I can see another side to her I’d never thought I would.

Breaking away once the butterflies in my stomach got too much, I let my eyes remain closed, basking in the pure joy of the moment.

“You may not be able to run, but sure can you kiss,” Grace’s composure appeared to return almost as soon as it left, her usual smirk gracing her lips again.

I gave her a roll of my eyes and peck back on the lips again, showing her how much I enjoyed it too.

“So, how about Netflix and Chill?”

[kiachiako]

before your eyes | j.jh

pairing | jaehyun x female!reader

synopsis | being the new muse to a mysterious artist was never on your winter agenda, but chance encounters might be your new favorite thing.

content | artist!jaehyun, au, fluff

wc | 1.7k

song | pink + white — frank ocean

a/n | first post :)) v self indulgent

…

— December 20.

Art makes people feel things.

You stand stoic in front of a glaring canvas, your hand swirling a blood-red wine as your mouth twitches from its bitter taste.

There are few things that truly make you feel.

You stare at the painting in front of you with an expressionless mien, eyes trained on the intricate scene unveiled before you as you raises your glass once more.

In reality, the piece makes you unsettled in a way that you've never experienced before. Your surroundings become too crisp, too saturated, too lonely. The low chatter of the exhibition opening grows abnormally piercing, and you can feel the heartbeat in your ears and the organs within your ribcage. It's as if you're discovering a new emotion for the first time, your mind withering under the pointed gazes of acrylic figures.

Your wine tremors in its vessel.

Before you can turn away — you feel as if you'll be physically drained of your consciousness if you stand before such a gut-wrenching piece any longer — a figure steps up quietly beside you. You glance at him, eyes lingering on the side of his face a bit longer than intended as his view stays trained on the art before them.

"It's quite captivating, isn't it," he starts, startling you for a moment before nodding to the painting. He still doesn't look at you.

You give a small hum in agreement, hesitant about how to reply to this stranger. It isn't everyday that another decides to approach you so unprompted, let alone one with a gaze that seems to pull people in with unwavering confidence.

"What do you think the artist is trying to express?" he whispers, tilting his head towards you as if keeping a horrid secret from the rest of the gallery viewers. You hesitate slightly before replying.

"I think... I think they're trying to convey the tragedy of life itself," you say hesitantly, the man next to raising his eyebrows slightly at your word choice. "Or rather, the tragedy that is one's inner child. It's like the artist is trying to show a person's true form, especially through the painting's illusions and how they're employed. The mirror on the side? It's like," you gulp as you glance across the painting's aesthetic order once again, "the reflection represents the feeling of being emotionally and physically unattached, especially because the viewer can see images portrayed outside the figures' view in the mirror."

The man remains silent.

It's a long, awkward silence, although the smalltalk and stifled hum of classical music trapses on in the background. You watch with intrigue as he pulls a thin sticky note and gold-plated pen out of his suit jacket's pocket. Using his palm as a flat surface, he slowly spells out a short message on the paper before handing it to you.

Your eyes scan over its contents:

Stranger —

I've been looking for a "muse," per se.

I find you interesting. I have a feeling that we could help each other.

Up for it?

Café Fledermaus, 1048 5th Avenue. DEC 23rd, 3pm.

— J.

You mull over its words, head clouded in confusion.

Muse? For what? Isn't it dangerous to meet with strangers?

But every friend starts as a stranger. Maybe just this once...

As you stand frozen, the man next to you observes the small description plaque next to the painting in front of him; a small smile graces his face as he scans over his own name.

You look up to question him, but there's no man beside you anymore.

Just like that, he's gone.

— December 23.

Curiosity is an awful thing.

It's 2:42 pm on a misty, dark Sunday afternoon, and you hover in the foyer of your apartment with your shoes dangling precariously between your fingers; the shining Mary Janes define the line between said curiosity and the growing urge to run back to bed and binge old Wes Anderson films.

Your studio roommate urges you to go with a push, pointed to the front door with frustration.

"Trust me. I haven't seen you talk to a single new person in like, what, 3 months?" the exasperated girl asks, waving her hands around in emphasis. "I know you don't like the process of getting to know people — it took two years for you to even tell me where your hometown is — but meeting a stranger in a crowded café can't be that bad. Just go for it, you've literally got nothing to lose."

With hesitancy in your every movement, you takes your roommate's words to heart and offer a shaky smile, reaching for the doorknob before a change of mind occurs.

Just do it. He wants you as a muse? Do it.

Before the devil on your shoulder can stop you, you force yourself outside. The harsh breeze nips at your skin and swirls around your purse, picking up your hair in the wade. You tighten your scarf with the chill as you walk away from your brownstone.

At exactly five past three, you're hit with the strong aroma of French espresso and golden warmth as you step inside the timely café. Your eyes scan the gold sprinkled room in search of a not-so-familiar face.

You catch sight of him a minute later, his gaze trained out the third floor window into bustling 5th Avenue. He looks as if he were a wax figure encapsulating the 1900s in modern form, complete with tussled hair and a tweed suit jacket thrown over his shoulders. His lips are stained crimson, the culprit being a cherry lollipop situated between his pointer and middle finger.

You make your way past busy waiters and parting guests, fur coats and newspaper boy hats joining you in their flurrying journey across the shop.

The man who's called you here glances up as you slide into the seat across from him, swirling his lollipop in black coffee until the candied stick is drenched in caffeine.

"So," he starts, leaning forward in his seat and taking a sip of the inky liquid, "you came."

You nod slowly.

Noting your silence, the man continues.

"I'm just going to get straight to the point. I'm an artist — type not relevant — and my creative fund has been spent to its demise. I need inspiration in the form of my favorite subject: human nature." He grins, pointing his lollipop at you. "And you, dear, are the perfect candidate."

You stare at him.

"I can see that you're not much of a talker either, but we can work around that," he offers, clapping his hands together. "I want an acquaintanceship in which we don't have to tell each other anything. Hell, you can even lie to me about yourself if you really want to."

You perk up at that sentence.

"Nothing personal?" You speak up for the first time to him.

"Nothing personal," he confirms. "I'll do it too."

"So I just... no name? Or do I lie about that as well? I'm a bit confused."

He smiles before looking down.

"It's better for us to be dishonest with each other," the man replies. "I don't like attachment."

Ouch...

...wait.

Isn't that a good thing?

You scold yourself mentally as you looks out of the window. This is the most ideal "friendship" that could exist for your personality, yet something in you hesitates to agree to his proposition face to face. Sure, you could be the inspiration for an artist — and that in itself is utterly fascinating — and you could utilize these interactions for your own good, but in the long term, wouldn't this be detrimental to your own mentality?

After a few seconds of pure silence, you decide that you're willing to take that risk and find out.

"I'll do it," you say finally, looking back at him.

The man across from you lets a brilliant grin overtake his face, holding out his hand for you to shake. You return it with a smile of your own, your figures leaning over the coffee table in tandem.

It's only as the two of you stand outside the café and brave the cold, a cigarette clamped tightly between his almost-blue fingers, does he ask for your name. He turns to you again as you stare out into the cracked cement streets of the city, your clutch held tensely in front of you.

"You don't have to tell me the truth," he starts, blowing out a ring of smoke, "but what should I call you?"

You realize only then that you've never properly addressed each other in your two times of meeting. Contemplating whether to tell him your real name or not, you decide on the former. After all, if you're going to lie a hell of a lot from here on, at least there will be one truth in your relationship.

"Y/N," you say softly. "You can call me Y/N."

"Well, Y/N. You," the man replies, "you can call me Jae."

— March 22.

"I told you already. I'm the daughter of a gallery curator," you laugh out, recognizing that the man next to you always nods incredulously at what you says - even if it's the cold, hard truth. You've somehow found a way to forge a deeper connection than what both of you intended. Both of your eyes shine differently now when you tell a fib to each other, a glimmer that you've been taught to recognize through shared, magical stories and fantastical adventures; they all lead to one laying on the ground in laughter and stitches or a playful shove to the arm ("Pirates? Now you're just pushing it, Jae! I'll let you go just this once," you said when the two of you had found yourselves on a small cargo ship headed away from the coast, accidentally of course).

So now, as the two of you sit on a blanket overlooking the sunset from a hidden hiking trail, you can only find joy in each other's company without the stress of other things in your lives weighing you down. You can get out of your head for a bit, picking daisies from the grass as Jae paints on your left arm with gleaming white paint. There's no baggage weighing you down, not when you have each other to tell your problems to without the consequence of consequences.

Whatever this man had seen in you in the gallery was a strange twist of nature; it could have gone terribly wrong or stunningly right like all little chances in life.

But of course, no one will know unless they try, right?

...

xoxo

2022 © kiachiako | all rights reserved.

[desertdollranch]

Happy birthday, Cécile Rey!

Today, May 28th, Cécile turns ten years old.

This birthday is special, because her beloved brother Armand has returned from studying in France. The Rey family's cook, Mathilde, has a table full of Armand and Cécile's favorite festive foods.

There's an elegant croquembouche, fruit tarts, chocolate truffles, little decorated chocolate cakes, and fried beignets dusted with powdered sugar!

I made all of these based on the banquet table set from Cécile and Marie-Grace's retired collection.

The croquembouche (French for "crunch in mouth") is a tower of cream puffs.

Over here are the tiny pastries. The square cakes on the left are topped with real red rhinestones. The fruit tarts have colorful beads representing the berries.

I made the beignets a few years ago when Cécile and Marie-Grace were new to my collection. They're a classic New Orleans food that is still around today, most famously served by Café du Monde.

While these are based on the doll's collections, I didn't make the tiered cake and petit fours this time, but I probably will for a future occasion!

[sweetdreamsjeff]

‘An Emotional Lightning Rod’: Jeff Buckley’s ‘Grace’ at 25

Jim Shahen

POSTED ON AUGUST 22, 2019

Grace is 25 years old. Jeff Buckley’s debut is gorgeous and heartbreaking, ambitious, daring and eclectic, and, as the sole studio album released during his short life, the only fully realized vision of the artistic brilliance he possessed.

With the expectation that his first LP was the starting point of an iconic recording career, Columbia Records released Grace on Aug. 23, 1994. Entertainment Weekly deemed it “stunningly original” and “too good to be true.” Greg Kot of the Chicago Tribune heralded Buckley’s voice as having “a soulful intensity that sends chills.” Peers and legends such as Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, Paul McCartney, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, and Chris Cornell were effusive in their praise of the album and of Buckley’s tremendous gifts as a singer, guitarist, and composer.

Others were not so kind. Rolling Stone lauded his ambition, but gave Grace a three-star review that featured the one of the poorest-aging opinions in the magazine’s history: “The young Buckley’s vocals don’t always stand up: He doesn’t sound battered or desperate enough to carry off Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah.’” And Robert Christgau, the “Dean of American Rock Critics,” gave it a C rating and lampooned the hoopla surrounding Buckley by writing, “Let us pray the force of hype blows him all the way to Uranus.”

But those less-than-stellar reviews engaged with Grace on the same terms as the glowing ones — that this was the starting point for an artist with sky-high expectations, talent, and potential. Buckley’s horrific drowning death at age 30 in the Wolf River, an offshoot of the Mississippi, in 1997 ensured it was also his end point. But between his own passing and the passage of time, Grace has only grown in stature.

In 2014, the Library of Congress added Buckley’s “Hallelujah” to the National Recording Registry. Rolling Stone, walking back its prior opinion, ranked the track 259th in its 500 best songs of all time in 2003 and put Grace at 303 in its top 500 albums list the same year. Over the past decade, essentially every music publication of note has included Grace on its list of both top releases of the 1990s and overall albums.

A Vessel

The son of prodigiously talented folk-jazz singer/cult icon Tim Buckley and Mary Guibert, Jeff arrived at music without the guidance of the father he met only once before Tim’s death in 1975 from a drug overdose. While a cornerstone of his legacy is his gorgeous, multi-octave voice, Buckley’s first passion and pursuit in music was the guitar, where he was drawn to the sounds of Led Zeppelin and jazz fusion.

After spending the latter half of the 1980s kicking around as a guitarist in various jazz, metal, punk, funk, reggae, and R&B bands, Buckley began to pursue his own songs. In 1991 he attracted industry attention when, accompanied by guitarist Gary Lucas, he made his public singing debut at a tribute show for his father.

Photo by Merri Cyr / Sony Music

From there, Buckley’s career trajectory changed. After collaborating with Lucas for a year, he went out on his own and became part of the New York City café scene. These shows, later documented on Live at Sin-é, became part of his legend, featuring both his original tunes and an eclectic mix of fare made popular by Nina Simone, Billie Holiday, Judy Garland, and Bad Brains.

These café shows regularly attracted record executives and power players, and in October 1992 Buckley signed a three-album deal with Columbia Records. The label had high hopes that Buckley’s brilliance would quickly reveal itself to a wider range of fans. The thinking was that he’d succeed labelmates Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen as someone who would flourish into the finest singer-songwriter of his generation and compile a legendary body of work.

For the band that helped record Grace and toured with him in support, that brilliance was apparent from the beginning.

“This might sound stupid, but I don’t give a shit,” his former drummer Matt Johnson says. “But one time when we were playing, something about his voice went through my body. It was an entirely metaphysical moment where something supernatural happened.

“The man was one of the most extraordinary musicians to ever live,” he adds. “Jeff was this lightning rod of the tone and tenor of all the human emotion in a room. He had this ability to act as an emotional lightning rod, and I always thought he’d hopefully become a vessel for that.”

Saving ‘Grace’

Johnson first met Buckley in summer 1993 and within a couple of months was recruited to be the drummer for the Grace recording sessions. Though the then-23-year-old had had some session and recording experience, Johnson had never worked on a project of this scale before. As he looks back on the experience, Johnson thinks his youth and relative inexperience played a large part in why Buckley wanted him in the band.

“Jeff seemed to be confident he could get what he needed from this ensemble,” he says. “We were young and, in my case, had a lot of insecurities. I think he wanted that — he didn’t want session musicians, he wanted the transformation younger players would bring and create a snapshot of that.”

Photo by Merri Cyr / Sony Music

While Johnson recalls that “the stakes felt high” and there was a “sense of importance of Jeff” to Columbia, he doesn’t remember the process of creating Grace as particularly laborious or fraught. Part of this can be attributed to the calming nature of producer Andy Wallace, who had previously worked on Nirvana’s Nevermind, Run-DMC’s Raising Hell, and multiple albums by Slayer, and his ability to nurture the creative process.

Johnson also attributes a large part of that to Buckley’s multi-instrumental capabilities, uncanny ear, instincts, and efficiency. Because of that, it only took about a day per song to lay down the non-vocal elements.

“I thought he was a very good collaborator, bandleader, and mentor,” Johnson says. “Jeff understood how to both be an individual musician, while also still keenly aware of how to be part of an ensemble.

“His listening was a very powerful thing to be present for,” Johnson continues, comparing Buckley’s auditory capacity to that of composer Johann Sebastian Bach. “It could be textures, entry points, Jeff just knew how stuff should be held together. He could get a pairing of two basic opposites and it’d sound idiosyncratic and perfect.”

While Johnson was there for the entirety of the recording process, Michael Tighe came into Buckley’s band at the tail end of the sessions. The guitarist had met Buckley through a mutual friend in high school and the two had jammed on and off. As Buckley closed in on completing Grace and was putting together his touring band, he reached out to his friend.

Much like Johnson, Tighe was impressed by Buckley’s ability to absorb so many influences and styles, then translate it into his own work.

“He would ruminate on the music a lot and when it came time for recording, he’d really focus,” Tighe says. “He’d usually come in very quickly or he’d obsess on it and get into a perfectionist mindset. But he wouldn’t release something until it was perfect.

Photo by Merri Cyr / Sony Music

“He was really taken with a lot of music,” Tighe says. “He could cast this spell and create a space that was quite meditative. We would sit or stand in a circle and drone on something. We all had very good chemistry; it’s why he put the band together.”

That natural chemistry Buckley had with Tighe and the rest of the group came in handy and allowed Tighe to come in with a late contribution that changed the complexion of Grace.

“One day I played him the chords to ‘So Real.’ It was something I played him in my room (back in high school),” he recalls. “This was after, like, most of the album was done. During rehearsals he said, ‘Hey, remember that song you played in your room?’”

Thus, “So Real” came to be. To make room for it on Grace, Buckley bumped “Forget Her” off the album. This move came much to the chagrin of Columbia Records, which had planned to issue “Forget Her” as the lead single. Neither Johnson nor Tighe can recall quite why Buckley held such disdain for “Forget Her,” a tune of his own composition, but both vividly remember his adamance in replacing it.

“‘So Real’ saved the record for him,” Johnson says. “And it points toward the sound he was going for, it’s the sound of a door opening to the future.”

A Cult Hero

When Grace was finally released, grunge rock, hip-hop, and The Lion King soundtrack dominated the charts. There weren’t many acts out there simultaneously channeling Nina Simone, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, the Smiths, and Led Zeppelin. As such, it took a long time for the record to take hold and capture the imagination of listeners: It peaked at 149 on the Billboard Top 200 albums chart that year and didn’t reaching platinum-selling status until 2006.

Photo by Merri Cyr / Sony Music

Even without immediate success, the participants knew they had made something special.

“You can go back now and think about the production and the mix from that time period, but I think it’s perfect in its own way,” Tighe notes. “I think Jeff was very aware of how good the album was, but I think it bothered him slightly the album wasn’t more successful. But he was already a cult hero. We all thought it’d be a longer career and that would change.

“The zeitgeist was so different back then. There weren’t bands like Coldplay, Radiohead had just started,” Tighe says. “When I play it now for people, I love watching the glaze that comes over their eyes. Ultimately, it’s his voice, people just have an immediate emotional reaction to his voice.”

Johnson’s feelings on Grace are tied strongly to the recording sessions, that moment in time they captured and what it all meant personally. The fact that it connected with people well after the fact is an added bonus.

“When it comes to Grace, I feel very, very lucky. I’m never in a position to look at it like anything but a fuckin’ penny from heaven,” he says. “There isn’t one song I don’t like. When I hear it, it’s like I made this amazing best image of me that could be captured in any scenario.

“I can’t find fault with it and it’s not like I haven’t heard criticism,” Johnson continues. “But the feeling I got recording it was absolutely spine-chilling. I did not ever more feel what the drive of my life was, and it could not have borne better fruits. To have Rolling Stone or whoever now praise it is icing on the fucking cake. I don’t ever feel like, ‘What the fuck took you so long?’”

Musical Echoes

It took a few years for Buckley’s influence on fellow artists to be heard. By Tighe’s estimation, it was around the early 2000s that he started hearing Buckley-esque melodies on the radio, including from bands such as Coldplay and Radiohead, who drew inspiration from Buckley’s chord progressions and structures.

“Now you just hear it all the time,” he says. “There was that moment a while back someone did ‘Hallelujah’ on one of those shows like American Idol. The zeitgeist has changed a lot.”

Of course, Buckley’s legacy is more than just the alt-rock waves of decades past and singing competitions designed to highlight vocal chops. There’s a new breed of singer-songwriters that have used Grace as a starting point for their endeavors.

Madison Cunningham (photo by Claire Marie Vogel)

Madison Cunningham is a 22-year-old musician who just released the LP Who Are You Now and cites Buckley as one of her heroes. On songs like “Something to Believe In” and “Last Boat to Freedom,” you can hear her use that admiration to create her own artistic statement.

She was gifted a copy of Grace from a friend as a teenager and at first she didn’t dig it. But once she revisited it a few months later, it was a revelation.

“I didn’t get it and I really wanted to get it, but it was a big palette stretch for me,” Cunningham recalls. “But once I did, it was like, ‘Whoa, I get it! This is like the song that’s inside my head!’

“Always his voice stands out. Still to this day I haven’t heard a voice like that,” she continues. “There was such a depth to his work, you’ve got to sit a minute to think about it all.”

While Buckley’s vocal range and power moved and inspired her, what’s seeped into Cunningham’s work was the way he played guitar and arranged his material to incorporate all the different sounds that moved him.

“He changed how I played guitar,” she says. “He was so bold with his chord progressions. There’s certain chords he played that are just very unique to him. Even now when I play something, I’m like, ‘Oh, those are Buckley chords.’

“There’s just something special to him,” Cunningham adds. “He had his own genre and sound and was very unashamedly himself. That’s very hard to find.”

Cunningham identifies why, 25 years later, Grace and Jeff Buckley are still relevant parts of the cultural landscape. It’s why there’s interest in the various bootlegs, live takes, demos, and the recent biographical graphic novel his estate has released in the past two decades.

The latest batch of such releases, timed for the anniversary, includes four concert albums as well as expanded digital versions of Grace (including “Forget Her”), Mystery White Boy (a full-length live album), and Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk, an album of material Buckley recorded in 1996 and 1997 and was first released a year after his death. All will be available digitally on Aug. 23.

In the years since Buckley’s tragic demise, both Tighe and Johnson have gone on to work on other major projects. Tighe’s written for and worked with Adele, Mark Ronson, and Liam Gallagher. Johnson has played with Rufus Wainwright and Jade Bird and had a five-year stint with St. Vincent.

Both men are active, talented, and in-demand career musicians. Neither needs to relive their time with Buckley as a way to boost themselves. But both are enthusiastic in discussing their friend and his gifts, and are doing their part to ensure people remember him.

“As a special talent, he was pretty ineffable,” Tighe says. “He was attracted to music with spirituality and he could embody that. It wasn’t something he learned, it was just given. He was incredible.”

“With Jeff, because he died in such an unforeseen way, I try to make the time to talk about him,” Johnson says. “Jeff had a certain intelligence and this explosion of emotion that was a soaring, insightful, penetrating whole vision of a man. I’ll always do what I can to honor that.”

To commemorate the 25th anniversary of Grace, Columbia/Legacy has shared a previously unreleased live video of “Lover, You Should Have Come Over,” filmed during a concert in Cambridge, Massachusetts, on Feb. 19, 1994.

[foodescapades]

Mary Grace Café

[glasshcvse]

⸻⸻   ﹕ HALLOWEEN  SPECIAL ⠀ › ⠀ THE  GLASS  CAFÉ. 

when  the  month  of  october  rolled  around,  GLASSHOUSE  released  a  statement  they  will  have  their  annual  halloween  special  merged  with  KALEIDA  and  its  own  artists  this  year;  the  glass  café,  intended  for  the  fans  to  take  a  closer  look  at  both  companies’  artists  and  have  a  chance  to  get  served  by  them!  the  café  looked  like  any  other  café  –  inspired  by  japanese  host  cafés,  where  you  could  meet  your  favourite  artist  and  have  a  talk  with  them,  while  also  grab  a  bite  to  eat!  it  was  adorned  with  creepy  dolls  and  skeletons,  and  drinks  were  named  after  the  artists’  favourite  horror  movies. after  six  o’clock,  the  café  would  partly  close  and  move  to  the  building  next  door,  where  their  escape  horror  house  would  officially  begin!  the  company’s  artists  and  professional  teams  would  scare  the  guests  and  perform  interesting  acts  for  others.  glasshouse  inc.  released  an  intriguing  video  two  weeks  before  halloween  explaining  how  to  be  the  one  to  win  a  ticket  to  their  café!  you  would  pre-order  a  ticket  like  it’s  a  regular  horror  house,  but  the  winners  would  be  randomised  so  that  everyone  would  get  a  chance  to  win!  the  customers  would  come  in  groups  of  fifteen  to  twenty  people  and  stay  there  for  approximately  an  hour.  you  would  choose  whether  you  want  to  be  there  during  the  day  or  at  night.  the  people  who  didn’t  win  a  ticket  would  then  be  sent  an  album  of  their  choice  from  one  of  the  company’s  artists  instead.  a  long  video  was  released  on  their  youtube  page  so  that  even  international  fans  would  enjoy  halloween  with  their  idols!

⸻⸻   ﹕ ARTIST  ONE ⠀ › ⠀ STUPID  CUPID.

CHESKA  as  EMILY  THE  CORPSE  BRIDE 

AIMEE  as  BLACK  SWAN 

JEANNE  as  SAOTOME  MEARI 

TOMIE  as  KAWAKAMI  TOMIE 

VIVA  as  SUGAR  (  matching  with  @sourcnvdy​‘s  GRAY  )

⸻⸻   ﹕ ARTIST  TWO ⠀ › ⠀ PRDX.

YOHAN  as  JEAN  KIRSTEIN 

LIGHT  as  DEATH  THE  KID 

ADRIEN  as  LEGOLAS  THRANDUILION 

DASHI  as  LOKI  LAUFEYSON 

MIKEY  as  EDWARD  SCRISSORHANDS 

CHASE  as  BENNETT 

KOI  as  DEADPOOL 

⸻⸻   ﹕ ARTIST  THREE ⠀ › ⠀ RAEVIL.

MARIE  as  PRINCESS  AHMANET 

MILA  as  GRACE  LE  DOMAS 

JUNKO  as  MILEENA 

FRENI  as  DRACULAURA 

DEE  as  RUBY  LANE 

YAOYAO  as  LING  XIAOYU 

SOONYI  as  YAMAMURA  SADAKO 

⸻⸻   ﹕ ARTIST  FOUR ⠀ › ⠀ JADED. 

MAY  as  CHRISTINA  AGUILERA 

CLEM  as  SAIKI  KUSUO 

YUKYUNG  as  MARCELINE  ABADEER 

LILAC  as  PRINCESS  BUBBLEGUM 

SAGE  as  MARIE  ANTOINETTE 

RUOMEI  as  VIOLET  BEAUREGARDE 

⸻⸻   ﹕ ARTIST  FIVE ⠀ › ⠀ SOLOISTS.

MEW  as  HARLEY  QUINN 

JUPITER’S  COMEDY  as  NANAMI  KENTO 

SOUR  GRAPES  as  YUBARI  GOGO 

HERO  as  SUZUYA  JŪZŌ 

ROSARIO  as  WONDER  WOMAN 

⸻⸻   ﹕ EXTRA  INFO ⠀ › ⠀ COLLABORATION. 

GLASSHOUSE  and  KALEIDA  came  together  to  celebrate  halloween  by  mixing  their  artists  and  preparing  a  huge  party  after  closing  the  glass  café  at  eleven  o’clock.  the  artists  of  the  both  companies  mingled  together,  exchanging  contacts  and  simply  having  the  best  time  of  their  lives.  the  partying  continued  late  in  the  night,  and  didn’t  stop  until  every  person  was  too  tired  to  stay  up  and  socialize.  fans  got  a  lot  of  content  from  every  single  artist  that  was  at  the  party,  accompanied  with  random  instagram  and  vlive  videos!  multiple  idols  have  made  headlines  for  their  stunning  costumes  and  for  being  able  to  enjoy  the  halloween  party  with  their newly  made  friends  and  labelmates! 

i  want  to  thank  my  loves  ;  bella,  lia,  jasmine  &  maki  for  letting  me  feature  their  lovely  ocs  in  glasshouse’s  halloween  post!  it  was  really  fun  exchanging  ideas  and  connecting  every  single  ocs  together!  love  you  lots,  xoxo  !  mew  can  be  found  at  :  @mimcw​  ! 

[dolls-and-cats]

Here's my last post exploring the world of some of the real people from the time and place that Cécile and Marie-Grace's stories are meant to represent.

1st couple of pics - Marie-Grace and Cécile enjoying beignets at Café du Monde, which has been there since 1862. Someone else recently posted about them at Café du Monde as young women and I forgot who said it - please feel free to identify yourself!

Pistachio-colored house - built by Jamaican immigrant and free person of color Louis Nelson Fouché in the early 19th century https://nolatours.com/free-people-of-color-architecture-2/

Yellow house - built by Jean-Louis Dolliole, the same person whose home I showed yesterday, in 1819 https://www.frenchquarter.com/freepeople/

I love the way that the fictional stories drew me into learning more about the real history in this area.

[lesenbyan]

'Ight, Jayden's Complete List of Books taken from my Libby app. All of these were listened to as audiobooks and thus are available as such.

Feel free to ask about them! I'll give summaries trigger warnings (that I remember) rate it and maybe tell you a fun fact I love or a favorite character

* is for a series that continues further than I read

+ is for an ongoing/incomplete series

[Explicit] is for detailed sex scenes; assume all books here swear

The Unwanteds - Lisa McMann *

Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells (x3) +

All Systems Red

Artificial Condition

Rogue Protocol

Exit Strategy

Fugitive Telemetry

Network Effect

Wayward Children - Seanan McGuire +

Every Heart a Doorway

Down Among the Sticks and Bones

Beneath the Sugar Sky

In an Absent Dream

Come Tumbling Down

Across the Green Grass Fields

Where the Drowned Girls Go

The Mercy Thompson Series - Parricia Briggs * +

Moon Called

Blood Bound

Iron Kissed

Bone Crossed

Silver Borne

River Marked

Frost Burned

The Anita Blake Series - Laurel K Hamilton * + [Explicit]

Guilty Pleasures

The Laughing Corpse

Circus of the Damned

The Lunatic Café

Bloody Bones

The Killing Dance

Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman

The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman

Norse Mythology - Neil Gaiman

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo - Taylor Jenkins Reid

Fractured Fables - Alix E Harrow

A Spindle Splintered

A Mirror Mended

Broken Earth Trilogy - N K Jemisin

Under the Whispering Door - TJ Klune

The House in the Cerulean Sea - TJ Klune

Fifth Season

Obelisk Gate

The Stone Sky

Less - Andrew Sean Greer

One Last Stop - Casey McQuiston

Detransition, Baby - Torrey Peters

Sofi and the Bone Song - Adrienne Tooley

So This is Ever After - F. T. Lukens

Gideon the Ninth - Tasmyn Muir *

How to be Perfect - Micheal Schur

The Watchmaker's Daughter - C J Archer *

Cackle - Rachel Harrison

The Burning Girls - C J Tudor

Plain Bad Heroines - Emily M Danforth

Nettle and Bone - T Kingfisher

The Hollow Places - T Kingfisher

The Book of Tea - Judy I Lin

A Magic Steeped in Poison

A Venom Dark and Sweet

Only A Monster - Vanessa Len +

What Moves The Dead - T Kingfisher

Malice Duology - Heather Walter

Malice

Misrule

This Vicious Grace - Emily Thiede +

Once Upon a Broken Heart Series - Stephanie Garber +

Once Upon a Broken Heart

The Ballad of Never After

The Art of Memoir - Mary Karr

The Storyteller - Dave Grohl

When Breath Becomes Air - Paul Kalanithi

The Princess Saves Herself in This One - Amanda Lovelace

The Witch Doesn't Burn in This One - Amanda Lovelace

The Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins

Hunger Games

Catching Fire

Mockingjay

[dashreads]

2023 Reading List

January:

What Lies Beyond the Veil- Harper L Woods & Adailade Forrest **

What Hunts inside the Shadows- Harper L Woods & Adailade Forrest **

Rhuger's Pearl- Carlotta Hughes ****

_________________________________

February: X

_________________________________

March:

4. Silent Lucidity- Tiffany Roberts **

_________________________________

April:

5. Yearning for Her- Tiffany Roberts ****

_________________________________

May: X

_________________________________

June:

6. That Time I got Drunk and Saved a Human- Kimberly Lemming ***

7. How To Marry A Marble Marquis- C.M. Nascosta ****

_________________________________

July:

8. To Tame a Dragon- Tiffany Roberts *

9. To Love a Dragon- Tiffany Roberts *

_________________________________

August:

10. Taken by the Aline Next Door- Tiffany Roberts ***

_________________________________

September:

11. Blood Moon- Jillian Graves **

12. The Sea Witch- Rebecca F. Kenney ****

_________________________________

October:

13. Rhuger's Cridhe- Carlotta Hughes ****

_________________________________

November:

14. A Duel with the Vampire Lord- Elise Kova ****

15. A Fellowship of Bakers & Magic- J. Penner ****

16. His Darkest Desire- Tiffany Roberts ****

17. Scream for Us- Molly Doyle **

18. Bloodshed- Molly Doyle ***

19. Melt for Us- Molly Doyle **

_________________________________

December:

20. All I wanted was sushi but I got abducted by aliens instead- Petra Palerno ***

21. All I wanted was to become a Scientist but now I've got an Alien Boyfriend- Petra Palerno ***

22. All I wanted was a glass of Vine but an Alien Duke kidnapped me instead- Petra Palerno ***

23. A Court of Sugar & Spice- Rebecca F. Kenney ****

_________________________________

Reading Goals:

Read 45 books (I'm ok if I read at least 20 due to life changes)

Read 10 comics/webcomics/manga

_________________________________

Rook- Jillian Graves (Delayed)

Welcome to Azathé- CM Nascosta (Delayed)

Welcome to Fae Café- Jennifer Kropf

Enchantment- Orson Scott Card *2

My Side of the Mountain- Jean Craighead George *2

The Goddess of Yesterday- Caroline B. Cooney *2

A Little Princess- Frances Hodgson Burnett *3

Journey to the Center of the Earth- Jules Verne *3

Ascendant- Michael R Miller *1

Throne of Glass- Sarah J Maas

Crown of Midnight- Sarah J Maas

Heir of Fire- Sarah J Maas

Queen of Shadows- Sarah J Maas

Empire of Storms- Sarah J Maas

Tower of Dawn- Sarah J Maas

Kingdom of Ash- Sarah J Maas

Dragon Keeper- Carole Wilkinson *1

A Natural History of Dragons- Marie Brennan *1

Dragon's Flight- Anne McCaffery *1

Dragon Keeper- Robin Hobb *1

Phoenix Unbound- Grace Draven

Dragon Unleashed- Grace Draven

Raven Unveiled- Grace Draven

Undying King- Grace Draven

Entreat Me- Grace Draven

House of Earth & Blood- Sarah J Maas

House of Sky & Breath- Sarah J Maas

Jurassic Park- Michael Crichton

A Rake of His Own- AJ Lancaster (Reading)

Parties- C.M. Nascosta

Contact- Carl Sagan

Spinning Silver- Naomi Novik

Iron Widow- Xiran Jay Zhao

Uprooted- Naomi Novik

The Name of the Wind- Patrick Rothfuss

What Sleeps Within the Cove- Harper L Woods & Adailade Forrest (10/17/2023)

Get off the Unicorn- Anne McCaffrey

Cursed Cocktails: A Cozy Fantasy- S.L. Rowland

Run, Run Rabbit- CM Nascosta

Stolen Midsummer Bride- Tara Grayce

Uncommon Verdant- Daria Vernon

Bow before the Elf Queen- JM Kearl

The Crystal Shard- R. A. Salvatore

Streams of Silver- R. A. Salvatore

The Halfling's Gem- R. A. Salvatore

The Legacy- R. A. Salvatore

Starless Night- R. A. Salvatore

What Lurks Between the Fates- Harper L Woods & Adailade Forrest

Shadow Wizard- Jeffe Kennedy

Rogue Familiar- Jeffe Kennedy

_________________________________

Witch Hat Atelier

My Father is a Unicorn

Otherworldly Izakaya Nobu

Restaurant to Another World

The Savior's Book Café Story in Another

Campfire cooking in another world with my absurd skill

The Way of the Househusband

Delicious in Dungeon

Housekeeping Mage from Another World

Kakuriyo: Bed & Breakfast for Spirits

_________________________________

Reading Challenges:

Read 5 Dragon related books (listed)

Read 3 books I read in school (listed)

Read 2 classics (listed)

Read at least 5-7of the Legend of Drizzt books (listed)

Read 5 books recommended to me

Read at least 5 books by Grace Draven (listed)

_________________________________

Total Reading Goal: 50

Just to be kind to my future self when she looks at this at the end of the year: remember that we were pregnant, had a baby, had to look for a new job, and had to move. We just didn't have time. Maybe we will next year.

Also I will admit I've been binge reading some of Tiffany Roberts' work here and there.

_________________________________

Ok this year's reading challenge was completely and utterly slashed. I got overly enthusiastic and just went all over the place. I enjoyed reading when I could, especially after having a baby. February through May was difficult for me as I was in a lot of pain and just wanted to sleep on the last few months of pregnancy. I cried a lot. After I gave birth, reading helped me slowly heal my new found scattered and tired mom brain. I started off slow and after August when I started working again, I came back with a vengeance.

_________________________________

Favorites:

* it was good

** loved it

*** would read again and again

**** Can't stop thinking about it, won't stop thinking about it

Not a fan: X

_________________________________

Top Reads of 2023:

_________________________________

2023 Guilty Pleasure Books:

_________________________________

2023 Favorite Authors:

Tiffany Roberts

Rebecca F. Kenney

Petra Palerno

Kimberly Lemming

Carlotta Hughes

J. Penner

_________________________________

Favorite Series:

Bubble Babes

Orc Matched

Order of the Unseen

_________________________________

Re-reads:

The Martian

Project Hail Mary

Ice Planet Barbarian

_________________________________

2022 Reading List and Reviews- 36

[haitilegends]

Sylvie Desgroseilliers 🇭🇹 🇨🇦

La Voix

La Québécoise Sylvie D. héritière de Guy Durosier, son père....

HAITI CONNEXION CULTURE - http://bit.ly/1n6zlSl

"Tout d’abord, sa prestation durant un été à Montréal m’avait fasciné. Sa puissance vocale me rappelle toujours celle de son père en 1970 au Capitole à Port-au-Prince. De plus, elle a publié au début de février, en regard du « Mois de l’Histoire des Noirs », un texte autobiographique : « J’aime ma couleur café….au lait ». Surprenante et sincère, elle n’a laissé personne indifférente. Dans ce court portrait, elle parle de son père, Guy Durosier découvert sur le tard, de sa mère québécoise, de sa vie, de sa famille, de son mari d’origine haïtienne….et surtout de l’appel du chant auquel elle a toujours répondu. Découvrant son talent, sa mère lui parlait toujours de cette grande vedette, qu’est son père. Elle en raffolait et rêva toujours de rencontrer cet Elvis Noir. Finalement, la cloche a résonné avant le départ de Guy pour l’au-delà. Ce fut une deuxième naissance pour la Belle Sylvie" READ MORE: http://bit.ly/1n6zlSl

Sylvie Desgroseilliers - http://www.sylviedesgroseilliers.com/

Live Interview:

C.E.U.M D3P TV -Sylvie Desgroseilliers la voix- http://bit.ly/1OnueWH

On n'est pas pressé, Sylvie Desgroseillers - TVRL-H1504 - YouTube http://bit.ly/1OnutAT

Québec Info Musique | Sylvie Desgroseilliers http://bit.ly/1OnrMPG

Sylvie Desgroseilliers - Ensemble CD Album http://bit.ly/1OnrHeR

Sylvie Desgroseilliers - Amazing Grace - YouTube http://bit.ly/1OntcK6

SUMMERTIME Bob Walsh Sylvie Desgroseilliers Guy Bélanger - YouTube http://bit.ly/1OntC32

Sylvie DesGroseilliers

Sylvie Desgroseilliers Femmes de soul Trucs & cie - YouTube http://bit.ly/1Onu2GJ

HAÏTI⭐LEGENDS

#GuyDurosier

#SylvieDesgroseilliers

#WomeninMusic

#Haitilegends

#womeninmusicsingersmusiciansbands

[aplacetosharemyfics]

Mary Poppins: When the Storm has Passed

It was raining. Both outside and inside. That was the problem.

As rain pounded on the sidewalk, Grace lowered her head and ignored how the wind wrapped her wet hair around her head. For a second, she paused outside the seamstress’s shop. It was closed for that day. She continued. The cold grabbed at her with its icy hands making her feet stumble over the cobblestones. If she continued this route, she would end up at the river. The wind howled. She wiped at her face – to brush away the raindrops that clung there, not to remove the traces of tears – when her shoulder collided with someone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

The stranger had an umbrella, the rain transformed into a merry tune as it bounced on the stretched fabric. As Grace tried to move out of the way, a hand touched her shoulder. She looked up.

“Mary Poppins!”

She quickly brushed her hair back out of her eyes, the damp slicking the strands into thick locks, and glanced around. They were the only people visible.

Mary Poppins also glanced up the street, her bright eyes calculating. With a sniff, she decided that whatever business had brought her out into the pouring rain could wait. Her hand was still on Grace’s shoulder. Now it travelled down to grip her upper arm, guiding her down a small side street into a quiet café.

Stepping inside Grace was suddenly met with a blast of warm air which felt like it was drying her inside and out. It wasn’t. She quickly shed her coat, blinking at the puddle that had already formed beneath. Should she see if they had a mop? Under her coat, her dress was just as damp. Mary Poppins handed her a towel. It did little for the quantity of water she’d absorbed, but it was soft and warm as she wrapped it around her shoulders.

She had never noticed the little shop before. It was small and warm, barely wide enough to accommodate the tables, the walls lined with shelves that displayed various types of teas in beautiful tea caddies. A table was waiting for them with drinks already prepared. Mary Poppins had already sat down, delicately sipping at her tea, watching Grace. There didn’t appear to be any employees, nor other customers to disturb, so Grace stopped worrying about the puddle and sat down. She could warn anyone who came in. The cup was wonderfully round and fitted nicely in her hands. Inside was a warm brown liquid which tasted just like the hot cocoa her mother used to make on special occasions. Mary Poppins waited until she was adequately warmed up before speaking.

“Tell me about it.”

Grace put down the cup, licking her lips to catch every last drip. The happy feeling which had slowly filled her as she entered the shop was deflating as she remembered why she was out in the rain in the first place.

“I’m going to lose my mother’s house.”

She launched into an explanation of how she’d acquired the house and the history she’d learnt after trawling through the various documents and photographs left behind. Mary Poppins listened politely, prompting her occasionally.

“But then the rain started coming in,” Grace groaned.

It had started as a couple of drips coming through the ceiling which Grace had mitigated with a bucket and the promise to fix it once the rain stopped. But the downpour continued, and the drips became larger. Until this morning a loud crash in the attic announced the breaking of one of the roof’s support beam and a collection of tiles that fell through the resulting hole. She’d managed to patch it with a metal tray from the kitchen, but that wouldn’t last long.

“And they want so much money!”

She could never fix the hole herself so had tried calling, and then heading around to the local roofers. But they weren’t operating while the rain continued to pour, and their prices, which were displayed in their window, were out of her league anyway.

“The bank couldn’t help.”

After all, there was no way she could repay a loan with her pittance of a salary. They had offered to buy the building off her, for a lower price given its decrepit state.

“Either I have to watch my mother’s house fall into ruin around me, or hand it over to the bank and become homeless again.”

Truthfully, she’d been living a dream. Yes, she could buy enough food to last the week, but any other costs would swamp her income. It was not sustainable.

“I do believe it’s time to have a look in the basement.”

Grace blinked and looked up. Mary Poppins smiled at her, eyes twinkling.

“Now, I must be going.”

She gathered her belongings together and exited, raising the umbrella with a snap against the rain and stepping out onto the street. Grace closed her mouth. Mary Poppins was all-knowing, but how could she know that she hadn’t dared to venture into the basement? And what was down there?

----------------

With dry clothes and a lit candle, Grace nervously descended the stairs towards the basement. For all the months she’d lived there, she never had a reason to open the creepy door. An alternative was always found when the possibility had arisen. The stairs were old and creaked terribly when she stood on them. At the bottom, the large door was made of thick wood and had a large keyhole next to the doorknob. Grace could have sworn she saw an eye watching her through the hole.

Swallowing her fear, she pushed the door open. Behind it was a small room. The walls were made of stone with shelves of timber. In the dust that had settled, she could see the shadows of cans and boxes that had previously sat on the shelves. At the back of the room, a collection of cardboard boxes were stacked against the wall. A lamp near the door, when lit, filled the room with warm light. Suddenly, it didn’t seem quite as scary. Grace let out a sigh of relief.

Each box was stuffed with papers. Receipts, legal documents, handwritten notes, pages of doodles. Grace sorted through the boxes, peering at the text in the candlelight, collecting all documents which appeared vaguely important. One box was set aside for these papers, and she had almost filled it when she started on the last box. Shoved down the side of this box, as if someone had stuck it in there when their hands were full, was a leather folder. This was also added to the pile.

The resulting collection was surprisingly heavy, and Grace struggled to climb the stairs with the added weight in her arms. But she eventually made it to the living room where more sources of light made the large room as bright as daylight. There she sat on the floor and started to read the documents she’d found. One by one, she read through the documents, painstakingly sorting them into little piles around the room. Near the fireplace was a collection of receipts from fixes to the house. On the couch was a small pile of newspaper clippings featuring the house or its occupants. Shoved into her pocket to read later was a letter her grandfather had written to his wife while away on business. Eventually, all that was left was the leather folder. She’d mostly kept a hold of it with the intention of using it for her designs. But what she found inside was far more valuable than an amateur seamstress’s designs. Multiple pieces of expensive paper each printed with the same design: Certificate of Shares.

Prev - Chapter List - Next

[inheirit]

it is without much ceremony or grace that olga marie approaches the one who she considers her closest friend. after being informed of crucial missing information from the one who always had rin doused in a gentle pink whenever they exchanged glances, she left in a hurry from the cafe. gone for only a handful of minutes, she had returned with a large shopping bag in hand, waiting until the mage was alone. after all, this was only for her and nobody else.

" Here." is all that is said as olga marie hands over the bag to the other. inside, rin would find a good sized mahogany box, engraved with carvings of flowers and vines along the edge. upon opening the box, she would find the velvet lined container filled with numerous jewels. all of the highest quality olga could find, ranging in size but still being small enough to carry on one's person, their colors vibrant against the muted tones of the box. " I remembered that you use jewels for your magecraft and given the limitations you still face, I decided to take matters into my own hands." they were just jewels, nothing truly special about them beyond being the finest within the city, and maybe it wasn't the greatest of gifts for one to receive on their birthday, but olga didn't mind too much. she was still learning, still growing, and still remembering and although birthdays themselves aren't something she has experienced….it was no excuse not to do anything for the ones she cared for.

"If you ever need more, don't hesitate to ask." here, she pauses, falling into something of an unsure silence. if rin looked closely, she might find a slight dusting of pink on her cheeks as she fidgets like she used to. " And….happy birthday."

⠀⠀⠀WHEN ⠀she first received the box, she spent a few moments just admiring the outside. Truthfully, the delicate carvings sort of reminded her of her old furniture back in Fuyuki; it was an unexpected dose of nostalgia on a day she generally kept as un-noteworthy as possible. Nothing at all could've prepared Rin for what she'd find when she actually opened it.

⠀⠀⠀At first, she just stared blankly. In the precious seconds it took to process what she was seeing, watching them glitter in the ambient café lighting as she gently tilted the box back and forth, she was subconsciously making some sputtering noises that weren't exactly flattering. Jewels — that word alone almost didn't feel appropriate. These were... indisputably, utterly perfect for gem magecraft. Compact enough to fit in any number of pockets or conceal in her palm; of high enough quality to pour plenty of her mana into, and build it up over a whole lifetime if she wanted ( though she doubted this island would give her the luxury before needing to use it ); some of them weren't even cut all that extensively, either, which was a further testament to their close proximity to the earth. Each one was easily worth more than her house. The competitive woman in her is flabbergasted, and a little irked, that Olga managed to procure all of these on such notice without scrounging or hunting for a merchant's error in pricing. A larger part of her was in dismay, knowing she could never pay Olga back for a gift like this; her gratitude alone was far too priceless.

⠀⠀⠀As she searches for something to say, anything to say, she notices something profound. To anyone else, it probably wouldn't be that notable beyond its cuteness. But to her, who subconsciously finds herself looking for a glimpse of something that isn't always easy to find... That small fidget, that gentle flushed complexion, is almost worth more than the box in her hand. Her reservations melt away in an instant, and contentment mingles with triumph in her own smile instead.

⠀⠀⠀❛ ⠀Thank you, Olga... from the bottom of my heart — I really mean that. You've thrown a pretty massive gauntlet at my feet, you know. Don't expect me to hold back the next time you have something to celebrate.⠀ ❜ ⠀

[tedstunes]

upcoming releases

there is not really a comprehensive calendar of music release dates, so i'm going to try to compile upcoming release dates here. most albums especially from major labels are dropped on fridays fyi.

to navigate, here is the format album/ep - artist [genre] (release date) {other notes}

january 2024

Hot Air Balloon - Pile [alt rock] (january 5)

Letter to Self - SPRINTS [alt rock] (january 5)

Born to Be - Itzy [kpop] (january 8)

Four-Calendar Café - Cocteau Twins [dreampop/shoegaze] (january 12) {remaster/rerelease}

Milk & Kisses - Cocteau Twins [dreampop/shoegaze] (january 12) {remaster/rerelease}

Orquídeas - Kali Uchis [r&b/neosoul/hiphop] (january 12)

Hudson River Wind Meditations - Lou Reed [ambient rock] (january 12) {remaster/rerelease; lou reed's final album}

Big Sigh - Marika Hackman [alt] (january 12)

Lovegaze - Nailah Hunter [alt folk/ambient/fantasy/harp] (january 12)

Pick-Up Full of Pink Carnations - The Vaccines [indie rock] (january 12)

Saviors - Green Day [pop punk/alt] (january 19)

Little Rope - Sleater-Kinney [indie rock/riot grrrl] (january 19)

Is Survived By (Revived) - Touché Amoré [post-hardcore/screamo] (january 19)

Peaky Blinders: Season 5 (Original Score) - Anna Calvi [soundtrack] (january 26)

Peaky Blinders: Season 6 (Original Score) - Anna Calvi and Nick Launay [soundtrack] (january 26)

Everybody Can't Go - Benny the Butcher [rap] (january 26)

Junk - Brion Gysin [avant funk] (january 26) {reissue}

People Who Aren't There Anymore - Future Islands [indie rock] (january 26)

Sadness Sets Me Free - Gruff Rhys [alt/folk rock] (january 26)

Blue Rasberry - Kat Kirby [indie rock/post-folk] (january 26)

Philip Glass Solo - Philip Glass [contemporary classical] (january 26)

Wall of Eyes - The Smile [art rock] (january 26)

What an Enormous Room - Torres [alt rock] (january 26)

Three Bells - Ty Segall [alt rock/glam] (january 26)

february 2024

What Now - Brittany Howard [rock] (february 2)

What Do We Do Now - J Mascis [alt rock] (february 2)

King Perry - Lee "Scratch" Perry [reggae] (february 2) {posthumous}

Chupetones - Meth Math [experimental] (february 2)

Band on the Run (Underdubbed Mixes) - Paul McCartney and Wings [rock] (february 2)

Compassion - Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh, and Tyshawn Sorey [jazz] (february 2)

She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She - Chelsea Wolfe (february 9)

What Happened to the Beach? - Declan McKenna (february 9)

Phasor - Helado Negro (february 9)

Rave:N, the Remixes - Kelela (february 9)

Weird Faith - Madi Diaz (february 9)

Forgot About Me - Pouty (february 9)

Magnet Factory - Pylon Reenactment Society (february 9)

Walls Have Ears - Sonic Youth (february 9)

Coming Home - Usher (february 11)

Adult Contemporary - Chromeo (february 16)

Blu Wav - Grandaddy (february 16)

Tangk - Idles (february 16)

This Is Me... Now - Jennifer Lopez (february 16)

Hole in My Head - Laura Jane Grace (february 16)

Grip - Seprentwithfeet (february 16)

The Past Is Still Alive - Hurray for the Riff Raff (february 23)

Rooting for Love - Laetitia Sadier (february 23)

Untame the Tiger - Mary Timony (february 23)

Loss of Life - MGMT (february 23)

Daniel - Real Estate (february 23)

march 2024

YHWH Is Love - Jahari Massamba Unit, Madlib and Karriem Riggins (march 1)

I Got Heaven - Mannequin Pussy (march 1)

Playing Favorites - Sheer Mag (march 1)

Where's My Utopia - Yard Act (march 1)

Apocalypse - Thundercat (march 1)

Tyla - Tyla (march 1)

Electric Blue Light - Lenny Kravitz (march 1)

Bleachers - Bleachers (march 8)

Letter to Yu - Bolis Pupul (march 8)

Glasgow Eyes - The Jesus and Mary Chain (march 8)

All Quiet on the Eastern Esplanade - The Libertines (march 8)

Invincible Shielf - Judas Priest (march 8)

A Forsaken Lover's Plea - Chuck Strangers (march 15)

Real Power - Gossip (march 22)

Live Laugh Love - Chastity Belt (march 29)

Evolution - Sheryl Crow (march 29)

Heaven :x: Hell - Sum 41 (march 29)

sources:

pitchfork

bandcamp

[hope-and-roll]

Tom Ruewen

"The measure of intelligence is the ability to change." _ Albert Einstein 

- Tom Terry Oliver Ruewen - Né le 10 mars 2032 - Next-Gen - Anglais, avec des origines américaines et françaises - Sang-Pur - Hétérosexuel  - Serdaigle, Poudlard - Histomage  - Né-Animagus renard des neiges, possède le Don d'Envoûtement mais n'en aura jamais conscience, ce qui limitera son charmspeak à l'influence innée  - Dylan Sprayberry. ~ Fils d'Oliver Ruewen et d'Aurélie Becker ~ Frère aîné d'Aislinn Ruewen ~ Petit-fils d'Arthur et Grace Ruewen (née Underwood) et de Tom Skyberry et Anna Becker ~ Arrière-petit-fils d'Emmett et Jane Ruewen (née Baker), Allison Underwood, Joshua et Scarlett Skyberry (née Merigold) et de Liam et Amalia Becker (née Stevenson) ~ Père de Jack et Calypso Ruewen * Meilleur ami de Jonathan Ames, Ariane Smith, Clem Amsel-McAnner et Evan Richards (formaient un groupe à Poudlard) * Ex de Dalia Scamander, avec qui il est sorti de ses 14 à ses 17 ans * Ami d'Ariane Hollister à Poudlard, sera son petit-ami (et mari) de ses 22 à 33 ans  * Ami proche de Rhéane Petrova-Woodley depuis Poudlard, a eu des sentiments pour elle plusieurs fois au cours de sa vie, sera son mari de ses 37 ans à sa mort Trivia :  - Patronus : renard - Epouvantard : l'eau - Meilleur élève de sa promotion, très ambitieux et perfectionniste, bourreau du travail  - Jaloux de sa petite soeur Aislinn, qui a une mémoire photographique  - A commencé à dessiner à l'âge de 6 ans, dans une tentative d'être meilleur qu'Aislinn dans un domaine  - Se compare toujours aux autres - Ne suit que les règles qu'il trouve légitime, en héritage de sa mère  - Adore les archives de la bibliothèque, a trouvé un moyen de s'y glisser sans demander d'autorisation au bibliothécaire  - A l'âge de 8 ans, alors que la famille Ruewen était en vacances à la mer, il a énervé sa soeur pour une bêtise. Aislinn a alors involontairement utilisé son charmspeak sur lui en lui intimant d'"aller se noyer". Tom ne put pas résister à sa voix, et nagea au loin. Il fut sauvé par ses parents, mais souffrit d'un stress post-traumatique qui dura plusieurs années. Depuis, il a rationalisé et s'est dit que c'était juste la manifestation des pouvoirs de sorcière de sa soeur. Cet épisode les a éloignés.  - Phobie de l'eau, ne sait pas nager  - Déteste les surnoms, même si tout le monde l'appelle Tommy  - A appris l'Occlumancie à l'âge de 18 ans  - Ne saura jamais qu'il possède le pouvoir du charmspeak  - Très romantique et fleur-bleue  - A souffert d'une longue dépression après sa relation toxique avec Dalia Scamander - Addict au café et au chocolat - Déteste les mensonges et manipulations, est lui-même très honnête  - Déteste les jeux vidéo, contrairement à Aislinn  - Adore la science moldue  - Végétarien depuis l'âge de 14 ans - Se parle souvent à lui-même, et même dans son sommeil  - Dort très mal, a toujours un rythme de sommeil très décalé  - Parle espagnol (14 ans), italien, français (20 ans) et grec (26 ans) + notions de latin (dès 12 ans, passionné par cette langue)  - Peut se révéler très cynique, juge beaucoup les autres - Tient à sa routine  - Passionné d'histoire antique 

Playlist :  Tom à environ 23 ans, après sa dépression : Achilles come down - Gang of youths Cross you out - Charli XCX & Sky Ferreira

Théane (Tom Ruewen x Rhéane Petrova-Woodley)  Do I wanna know - Arctic Monkeys Tom à Rhéane :  I wanna be yours - Arctic Monkeys  Ariam (Ariane Smith x Tom Ruewen) :  Do me a favour - Arctic Monkeys  Tom à Ariane :  Find my way back - Eric Arjes It won't work - Gracie Adams Ariane à Tom :  Lost on you - LP Tom à Dalia : 

Alrighty Aphrodite - Peach pit  Cherry Wine - Hozier  Fight or flight - Conan Gray  Cellophane - fka twigs

[nitrojenzone]

Mary Grace Café

Robinson's Place La Union