#and now i must train myself out of the habit of simply liking a song when i want to save it for later! hahahahaha i hate this

[knife-dad]

Spotify didn't just change the like button from a heart symbol to a plus symbol!!! They also made it so it automatically adds that song to whatever playlist you last listened to instead of the liked songs list!!!! You have to manually go and change it to the right list every time!!!! Why!!!!!

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room.  Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that  ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

[sodone-withlife]

it's a sad song

heavily inspired by Hadestown, will feature lyrics from How Long? and Epic III. thanks to @yourlocalheartbreaker for indulging me and my rants about how much i love this musical

the musical's interpretation of Hades and Persephone's story is perfect for Hotch and Haley, so here is the self-indulgent cliche songfic. as usual, i did little to no proofreading so apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors. it's also more choppy than i'd like, but i really wanted to get it out so i can force myself to work on another angsty Hotch fic

warnings: canonical character death, non-canon character death, suicide

word count: 4k words

(And what has become of the heart of that man, now that the man is king? What has become of the heart of that man, now that he has everything?)

In the grand scheme of things, Hotch was lucky. He was further away from the bomb when it went off and only needed a day and a half in the hospital before he was back at the field office, taking the reins in handling the press and brass that was ready to tear Gideon apart.

The inquisition that followed in Virginia was vicious and by the end, Gideon was on indefinite medical leave and the unit was under the brass’s close scrutiny as Hotch took charge of the unit. As much as the word “temporary” was being parroted around in regards to the new chain of command, it was tacit knowledge that it was a permanent arrangement. A fiasco on the scale of Boston was enough to get an agent fired, and it was only Gideon’s seniority and excellent record that kept him with the bureau.

For Hotch, Boston and the months following only reinforced three lessons that were already hardwired into his brain:

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

(Give them a piece and they'll take it all Show them a crack and they'll tear down the wall)

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

(Lend them an ear and the Kingdom will fall The Kingdom will fall for a song)

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

He was the new face of the BAU within the bureau, and even his prosecutorial and investigative record could not help protect the team from scrutiny.

So he straightened his spine and hardened his already severely sharp features, throwing himself into work and restoring the unit’s reputation.

Then Hotch came home one day to Haley’s brilliant smile and delighted excitement, and for a moment, he was reminded of the first time he talked to her nearly twenty years ago, when he told her he was quitting his smoking habit.

He had frozen when she first approached him in his dark corner a few weeks after school had resumed in the fall. She had smiled amusedly, his social ineptitude clear as day as he struggled to find words to greet her, to apologize for seeming like a creep over the summer when he first saw her outside on the sports field coaching younger students through vocal warmups before they started rehearsing the musical that was being put on that year, only to completely blank she plopped herself down next to him with her own school bag and lunch.

By the end of that day, he had convinced himself it was only going to be a one-off thing, that she wasn’t going to come back. If he had been honest with himself, part of him, the part that knew so intimately that his mother’s skin only remained free from bruises after his innocent baby brother was born was because his damned father finally had a son he could look at without being reminded of his self-hatred, wished it was.

But then she came back the next day, the day after that, and the day after that, apparently content to sit beside him in silence only broken by periodic comments about the going-ons in her life and the musical. And she continued going to sit next to him, even as he watched as others tried to warn her away, tried to physically guide her away from the bleachers.

What was stranger, he thought, was that she stayed even in spite of his silence, and in spite of his vices—he could tell she didn’t like his habit, but she didn’t comment. She just kept him company.

It was a few weeks into this arrangement, when he saw his still mostly full pack, that he realized that he hadn’t itched for a smoke during lunch for weeks, not while she was there and talking to him in ways he’d never been talked to before.

Sometime later, as the number of cigarettes in the pack remained unchanging, as the pack itself went untouched in his schoolbag, he finally threw it away.

That was the first time Hotch talked to her, to tell her that he’s giving up the habit. That small, but no less proud or bright, smile that spread across her face, he decided, was something he wanted to see again.

Slowly, he started talking more, and on good days, the two made conversation on topics ranging from classes to their favorite books all the way to whatever shenanigans Sean or Jessica was getting into. On other days, on bad days, the silence was never awkward, and she simply kept him company as he struggled to control the storm in his mind.

Those were the days his fingers itched for a cigarette, and those were the days she introduced to him a new book that he would finish within the day. The next day at school, they would once again be stuck in an in-depth conversation about the characters’ flaws and the absurdities of the antagonists, and the itch would be gone.

And it went on like this, even after he threw all caution and his doubts to the wind and asked her out on the first day of their senior year, even as they faced the townspeople’s questions about why such a good girl like Haley Brooks was dating someone of the likes of Aaron Hotchner, who, despite being so coldly brilliant, was just that.

Cold.

Dangerously unfeeling.

Barely human.

But she had seen behind the facade and she knew that he loved with the fierce burning of a thousand suns. She knew how terrified he was of losing everything, that he would be left alone and floundering in a world that was not kind to the lost.

So she stayed, through college, as she went into teaching and him into law, as the final straw came and went and he registered for the Academy and started training, breaking records along the way before finally being assigned to Seattle and quickly climbed his way up the ranks until he caught David Rossi’s keen eye and transferred back to Virginia for the BAU.

Every night, Hotch came home to his wife, the light of his life, and was reminded of why he was working himself to the bone. That day, when he came home a month after Boston for Haley to press a simple rectangular box into his hands, the stakes were raised once again, and he knew he had to fight twice as hard.

Not only for his team, the people he protected so fiercely under that steel mask, but for his son.

Early mornings and late nights became the norm as he threw himself into more and more work, and slowly, the unit began to recover as Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau joined the expanding unit, as Gideon returned as a senior agent, and as Elle Greenaway was pulled from Seattle just like he was all those years ago.

Then Jack was born, and he used his accrued vacation time to finally take a month off. Never had he been more terrified than in the moment he first held his son in the delivery room, acutely aware of his tiny size and sheer vulnerability to the dangers of the world.

That night, sleeping in the hospital bed with an exhausted Haley and their child in his arms, he swore to do whatever he could to make the world safer for his family.

His world.

So he tried. He tried and he tried, forcing himself to leave when cases that required their presence in the field came in, forcing himself to take on the heaviest burdens of the job so his team might be protected and his family would be safe.

Maybe a part of him was trying to get him to stop in his tracks and look up, to take a moment so he could clearly see that he was being consumed by the chase.

Maybe if he was strong enough, he could have lifted the weight of his world just enough to change the direction he was going.

But he was scared.

Scared that the moment he looked up, the moment he let go, he would lose everything he was defending.

And so he did not stop—not as Elle was shot in one place she had a right to feel safe in, not as Elle resigned and prevented him from making a terrible choice, not at Reid was suffering in a hell that could only be created by the lure of potent drugs, not as the unit was once again put under scrutiny because of her and Gideon’s actions.

Not even as he was forgetting important appointments, as he was struggling to be present for the important events and early milestones in his son’s life.

Not until he was suspended for two weeks because of the vow he made to himself the moment he stepped into the leadership position to protect the team to the best of his ability.

He stopped, looked up, and put in for a transfer.

But it was too late.

(It's true the earth must die But then the earth comes back to life And the sun just goes on rising)

(I’ve had enough)

The divorce did nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders or the utter terror he felt at the prospect of stopping.

As more and more cases started piling on his desk, he kept his back bent and head down for hours as he pushed himself to the brink with a mental image of the smile that had not dimmed for twenty years and of the only proof of his humanity at the forefront of his mind.

Every day, he bent lower and lower, but he never let himself crumble, forcing himself to remain Atlas as Kate fell and Morgan nearly followed in New York, Reid and Prentiss in Colorado—

—as JJ and Will brought their first child into the world and he promised to protect her as best as he could so she would not make the same mistakes he did—

—as he wrangled politicians and major corporations in the aftermath of him fulfilling the promise he made to Megan Kane—

—as he called in favor after favor to get to the Vatican so Prentiss could get justice for her friends—

—as he compartmentalized as best he could when he found out about the anthrax attack at a public park he knew Haley and Jack frequented whenever they visit her parents’ house and when Reid got infected—

Then the Reaper returned after ten years of silence and ten years of being a silent spectator in Hotch’s nightmares to become an active participant in his night terrors for months.

But the night Hotch returned to his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, those dreams that left him nearly paralyzed with fear every night became his reality.

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out from nine stab wounds and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he only felt fear—fear for the team, fear for Haley, fear for his son.

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it, that his hubris finally caught up to him.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Hotch was staring at the dried streak of red on the photo of his whole world and wondering if he had made his way into hell without realizing it.

When Haley and Jack visited him in the hospital, he could barely look at their faces, not wanting the scared and confused expressions they wore to be the last memory he might have of the two people whose lives he sought to protect in throwing himself into work but ended up putting in danger.

Then they were walking away, and he felt his walls slowly building themselves back up to a height and with fortifications that he had not needed since he last wore them in his youth to protect himself against the people in his hometown who had treated him with suspicion and derision.

The months following the day his world was ripped from his weakened grip was its own brand of hell, and more than once he wished he had been less of a coward and let himself look up from his chase.

Soon he was stepping down and ignoring all reason as he threw himself back into work yet again, wearing a facade that his teenage self would have been proud of while desperately trying to fulfill the promise he made Haley, that he would spend the rest of his life making everything up to her.

But of course, life has a funny way of reminding people of the promises they made and the important lessons they have learned at the worst times.

Suddenly, the sound of three gunshots was ripping through his head.

Suddenly, he was forcing himself to look away from Haley’s body, strewn on the floor like a doll with its strings cut, forcing himself to keep it together so he could clear the room.

Suddenly, he was straddling George Foyet and unleashing upon him years of pent-up hurt and anger that he had never allowed himself to feel in favor of remaining strong for the people he loved so fiercely.

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

That day, Hotch was reminded of all three statements that he swore to live by after Boston.

Foyet was witness to his unraveling and poked and prodded at him, so much so that he uncovered the rage he inherited from his father and had vowed long ago to never express.

His hubris, his confidence in assumptions that had been made so many times in the past, his confidence that denying the deal that had been offered to him just over a year ago was the right thing to do, cut the threads of over ten people far too early.

Haley was lost to him.

Forever.

But in the years afterward, as Hotch found himself stuck in his head and mentally removed from the team’s present more and more often, he wondered if that was actually the moment that he lost her.

Perhaps the time he had to fly out to Mexico on his birthday weekend was the start and the stress of his suspension the catalyst.

Was he simply too destructive and too desperate to have a happy ending? Was anyone closely associating with him doomed to fall along with him?

Why else was his mother spared from bruising when she was able to focus on raising Sean, a son whose looks did not remind his father of the sheer hatred he felt for himself?

Why else had his brother, who he was estranged from, done so well in life and remained so carefree?

For what other reason could Haley have been murdered than the fact that she was collateral damage in a psychopathic narcissist’s dream to cause him as much pain as possible?

For a short time, Haley’s murder had given Hotch a chance to look up, to free himself from all the responsibilities he had taken on, but it ultimately only served to increase his fear and paranoia. The team had seen the tail end of his unraveling in that house, and he knew it had shaken them to the core, so the walls remained up. Strangers in the street were unsubs, and he was never far away from a weapon if he could help it, always fearing that he would be too late to be of any help.

Four years to the day he locked himself away, he was seeing Haley smiling radiantly at him and wearing the same dress she was wearing when he proposed as she waved him over to sit next to her in an empty movie theater and he was struggling to articulate her beauty.

The large screen in front of them was playing scenes from his life in the years since she was stolen from this life. While her eyes were glued to the projection of his memories, he was left unable to tear his eyes away from her, the woman who had been such an integral part of his life, whose death he would probably never forgive himself for, whose presence in his world he had so desperately missed.

Then he was looking down from the screen when their moment was interrupted by the man who had become a permanent fixture in his night terrors and surprising himself with just how prepared he was to kill again to protect Haley like he had failed to do years ago. It was only Haley’s repeated assurances that finally got him to look back up at the screen, and in the next moment, he was once again experiencing his nightmares in real-time.

His voice cracked as he tried calling out for help, becoming more and more desperate as it became clear no one was coming, and then—

You’re not meant to.

They were suddenly standing face to face in that dark corner of the school where they first met. Hotch froze, rooted to the spot by the uncharacteristically cold expression on Haley’s face.

Where is he?

It wasn’t right, the hard tone, the way she was looking at him as if he were a stranger—

I don’t see Aaron Hotchner in front of me. Where is he?

Then her face softened, and she walked over to sit against the wall, uncaring of the dirt that was gathering on her dress. She stared at him pointedly until he made his way over to her and joined her on the ground. It was with great surprise that he felt her lean onto him, a long-forgotten and now unfamiliar warmth settling over him.

I want to tell you a story.

She told him the story behind an old song, the story about the queen who brought spring and summer with her every time she walked the earth and the king who ruled the shades and the underworld. And though the king loved his queen so desperately, every time she walked the earth while he remained in the underworld, he doubted that she would come back to him, for what could he offer her except his darkness?

So he worked and he threw himself into building a kingdom of metal and glaring bright lights that might compensate for his darkness, but he could not bring himself to look up for fear that he would lose everything the moment he stopped. In his fear, he kept his head low and his back bending, he locked his love away so it wouldn’t be a distraction.

(But what he didn’t know is that what he is defending was already gone.)

When Hotch found himself on the edge of a roof being held against Peter Lewis, who had a gun at his temple, facing the team’s desperate and fearful faces, he could only think about that story Haley had told him and the questions she had sent towards him right before he woke up in the hospital four years prior.

(Where is the treasure inside of your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose?)

That was the first time he could remember crying in front of Jack—when the two were clinging to each other in the hospital bed after yet another close call—and he resolved it wouldn’t be the last. It hurt to tear down the walls he had so meticulously built around himself over the course of nearly five decades, but to see the smile that his son inherited from Haley…

He could only lament that he hadn’t started earlier.

Slowly, he rebuilt his world, and it was filled with a warmth that hadn’t been since those golden years between first meeting Haley and becoming a prosecutor.

But then Peter Lewis came and turned his mind against him, forcing him to watch his nightmares come to life. And when he found himself at MPD’s gunpoint with Jack watching, his world cracked.

And in that interrogation room, watching the recording of Lewis’s testimony against him, his world cracked again.

And seeing his son’s withdrawn affect, trying to get him to understand that he wasn’t leaving, that he wouldn’t ever abandon him of his own free will—

Then they were called to Arizona and he found his name carved into a victim’s forehead, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the attacks would become more and more personal.

Favors were called in, calls were made, and all the while Hotch tried to keep Jack as ignorant as possible to the way his world was going up in flames around him. For a moment, it felt like the immediate aftermath of Boston, with all of the non-stop workdays and the scrutiny of the brass falling onto him and the struggle to balance his work and Jack—

And then one day, Jack disappeared in the middle of the school day.

A day later, Rossi and Luke were holding him back, trying to keep him away from the security checkpoint at the entrance of the Academy office buildings that had been taped off as a crime scene. His eyes caught a sudden movement, and all the fight left him when he saw the white sheet being unfolded and lowered over the small body that was on the gurney.

Maybe he was supposed to be more grief-stricken than he felt.

Maybe that’s why the team tip-toed around him in the months afterward—they were waiting for the sand to run out, for the inevitable breakdown that was expected from a man such as him.

And the sand did run out, only it wasn’t where any of them expected.

The cold metal digging into his temple provided him an odd moment of clarity as he thought about the questions he had asked himself—because that wasn’t Haley, she never looked at him with such cruelty, not even when he probably deserved it, it was always that voice in the back of his head, the voice that led him down the road to hell.

That treasure that he kept in his chest—it was buried in the ground with Haley and Jack.

His pleasure, his youth, it was left behind in his past with that first strike he felt from his father.

A smile spread across his face for the first time in months and he closed his eyes, a strange peacefulness settling deep in his bones. He flung himself backward, letting himself become dead weight as he suddenly heard shouts of horror through the sound of the wind rushing around him and Peter Lewis as they fell.

Didn’t you tell me to find the man who was reaching out with nothing to lose?

I found him.

I hope you and Jack waited for me, Haley.

[fromashescomephoenixes]

Beauty and the Beast?

author’s note: Howdy all! This piece is a very late contribution to Reese’s disney writing challenge! This was in celebration of their achievement of 800 followers, due to their amazing fics.  (find the other submissions here) I am so overjoyed I could have a part in this, and I wanted to say a very special congratulations to them! ( @probably-peeves) In the month it took me to write this, they’re only a couple followers off of 1000! So, go check them out and drop a follow! Without further ado, I present my first ever Remus fic!

word count: ~2000

summary: you’ve spent years admiring Remus from a far, but who could ever learn to love a beast? this fic is loosely based around beauty and the beast

warnings: lil bit angsty and a hint of language. also it switches pov’s every so often so I’ve put in the beginning of each section who’s pov it is :)

•••

(your pov)

“He’s so perfect,” I sighed thinking to myself. I would have told a friend, but- well, they all thought I was a bit odd.

I was currently seated in the great hall, glancing up from my thick book. I had just been traveling to the optimistic world of Anne Shirley, when I had been distracted out of the corner of my eye by Remus pouring himself a steaming mug of tea. I took a sip of my own mug and continued to discreetly peer over its rim towards Remus.

He was sat, as usual, beside Peter Pettigrew. Today he looked a little more tired than usual, but I figured that must have been exam season getting to him.

I returned to my book as I realised that the amount of staring I was doing was reaching a nearly creepy amount.

I was never going to tell Remus I liked him. He was perfect. And me?

I was just a beast.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“She’s so perfect,” Remus sighed for the fourth time so far that breakfast.

“Bloody hell mate, do you need me to ask her out for you?” Sirius smirked as he took a particularly suggestive bite of toast. Remus wrinkled his freckled nose.

“You know exactly why I can’t Sirius,” Remus said quietly. “Look at her!” He gazed steadily towards you, at your end of Ravenclaw’s table.

“She’s perfect, and beautiful, and smart, and-“ Remus looked so miserable in that moment that Sirius, James, and Peter were about three seconds from tackling him in a large group hug. His despair faded to resigned dismay, and he finished.

“I’m just a beast,” he shrugged sadly.

•••

(your pov)

The library cooled my heated forehead just enough to hear my own thoughts for a minute. This full moon was going to be a long one. I hated the way standing outside at this time of night made the hair on the back of my neck prickle. Or the way I could smell the scent of Remus’s cologne (which I normally loved) from here- even though he was still in the great hall.

I performed another subtle cooling charm and returned to the detailed essay on the precise wand movements required for jelly leg jinxes.

“Can I take a seat?” A familiar yet unknown voice asked, motioning to a chair. I looked up to see the soft honey gold eyes of Remus gazing into mine. “Your corner of the library is so cool,” he smiled in a tired manner. It was then that I noticed the flushed tone of his cheeks.

“Of course,” I answered softly, incredibly shy around anyone- especially Remus. I swallowed my heart that was trying to escape it’s rightful place, and tried to start conversation. “Long day?” I asked gently. Remus rubbed his temples before responding:

“I guess you could say that,” the small, tired smile was back again. I pulled a small mint leaf out of my tiny container.

“I find mint always calms me down,” I popped a leaf into my own mouth, and handed him one.

I turned back to my work and managed to write another line before I was distracted by a slight rustling noise. Another affect of the full moon... heightened senses. I glanced up to see Remus digging through his satchel bag for something. Triumphant, he pulled out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate.

•••

(Narrator pov)

“Oi, Prongs,” James glanced up as Sirius’s hard elbow hit his side. “He finally got the courage to sit with her!” Sirius had a gleeful grin on his face. James’s face lit up as well and he quickly got  Peter’s attention. Peter let out a soft round of applause and gave a watery smile.

"Well, I ought to go help-" Sirius stood up to go talk to Remus, but James promptly yanked him back by his coller.

"You tosser! You'd make it worse!" James chuckled slightly, and they all resumed their studious work.

•••

(Remus’s pov)

I held up the bar and raised an eyebrow slightly. “Would you like any?” I held the chocolate towards her. As much as I hated sharing my chocolate, it was only kind. Especially after I saw her eyes meet mine again. Anything was worth seeing those eyes again.

She nodded shyly, and I broke off a chunk of the bar and placed it into her palm. She gratefully accepted it, and resumed her rapid writing. Godric, how does anyone write that fast?

About a half hour later, I stood up to take a break. Stretching my back out, I noticed y/n gazing at me. I couldn't tell if she was judging me, or just curious. Her eyes were so focused and clear. The golden yellow eye color suited her so perfectly. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(your pov)

Remus and I had met several more times in the library since then. In the past few weeks his face had brightened up a lot from the tired look I had seen the first time he sat with me.

"Hey Remus!" I nodded as he approached our now usual spot. It was odd how he always happened to be in the library when I was. I suppose we must have similar study habits. My heart began to beat rapidly as it always did when I was nervous. Helga, at this point I should be used to talking with people.

"Good afternoon y/n," He grinned brightly and set his books down. "Any good assignments today?" I bit my lip. Would he really want to hear my raptures on the benefits I had recently discovered of sage? I decided to give it a shot and told him my recent potion experiments.

He held on to every word as I explained. I blushed, realising that for once someone actually wanted to listen to my words instead of calling me a nerd or strange.

"Thanks for letting me talk about that," I let out a small, nervous giggle.

"It's fascinating!" He responded, his eyebrows shot up. He proceeded to ask me multiple questions, and show a bit of his own knowledge by linking it to a specific charm he had read about.

After chatting for a while longer, I focused on my work again. At this point I was simply adding finishing touches to my foot long parchment. Roughly an hour later I noticed Remus's steady gaze trained on me.

"What?" I smiled softly.

"Er-" Remus paused, blushing slightly. "Well, you're-" I smiled a little wider at his stumbling around. Although I couldn't think for the life of me why he couldn't find his words. I noticed his chest rise, as he took a deep breath.

"Would you like to go to a ball with me?" He asked finally. I blushed, and grinned myself this time.

"They're holding a ball?" I hadn't heard any announcement about a ball, but I tended to zone out during meal times anyway.

"Well, you see-" Remus took another deep breath. "It would only be us."

•••

(Remus’s pov)

And that's how, like the fucking idiot I am, I ended up standing outside the room of requirement in a slightly shabby suit. Sirius had kindly advised me that I looked like a slimy salesman, and James had helped me comb my hair before sending me out the portrait hole with a pat on the back.

"You're going to crush it mate, she'll love you." James called. Sirius leaned out after him, and shouted:

"You look hot!" I felt the very tips of my ears turn red, and jogged up to the room of requirement. I glanced behind me as I fleed Sirius's compliments, just to make sure he wasn't following me.

I finally arrieved, slightly out of breath, next to the tapestry. She came around the corner slightly afterwards, and all I could do was smile. She truly was beautiful.

•••

(Your pov)

"Sorry I'm late," I blushed. Remus looked incredibly handsome, and I  I felt like all of my ability to converse had somehow disappeared. Remus kindly took my hand, and smiled. Then, just like that, my power of speech was returned.

"I had to jog here, don't worry." I laughed slightly at his admission. He held out his arm for me to take.

"Shall we?" I accepted his arm and we turned to the golden door together. It spread open right on cue, and we passed through the glowing arch. The warm yellow light reminded me of the sun, a pleasant difference to the harsh light of the moon.

The room had transformed especially for us, into a circular ballroom with high, arching walls. Gold accents and soft, creamy colored walls lit up the space, and the ceiling had tiny slivers of moonlight poking through. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle slightly, and I grasped onto Remus's arm slightly tighter to steady myself. I noticed him pause and stiffen as well, surely because of the way I had just dug my nails into his arm.

The room worked it's magic and closed the gaps in the roof, replacing them with flowery vines. I relaxed, and concentrated on thinking of a nice song to dance to.

The first few notes of a soft piano caught my ear, and I quickly realised the room was playing 'Tale as Old as Time' from Beauty and the Beast. How fitting, I thought. My beautiful Remus is here with me... a beast.

Remus placed one hand upon the small of my back, and took my other palm in his. I rested my free hand on his shoulder and let the music wash over me for a moment.

In sync, we began to glide across the floor to the soft music. I was immediately lost in the flowing and spinning, and the only thing I truly registered was the honey brown of Remus's eyes, steadily trained on my yellow toned- golden eyes. I realised as I stared that his eyes became slightly more yellow as we continued to gaze at each other. I felt my neck hair prickle again, and my cheeks flush as I felt a hint of my moon sickness. It was as if my werewolf tendencies were being amplified by Remus somehow.

My cheeks continued to flush, and we continued to dance in sync. I felt as if I was floating upon a cloud, gliding along in someone else's dream land. I was so close to Remus I could count his constellation of freckles, see the golden flecks in his, see the pinky color of his lips.

"Thank you, Remus," I whispered. I felt frozen in this moment, but I didn't mind at all.

I leaned in slightly and Remus's soft lips caught on to mine. I deepened the kiss before pulling away, the horrible truth causing my brow to furrow.

"Remus, I have to tell you something," I placed my hands on his chest as he held my waist, keeping me close against him.

"What is it my dove?" Remus frowned, and brushed a stray hair from my face.

"You can't love me!" It all became to much, I pulled away and tried to explain it all before the hot tears came streaming down my face. I felt the salty streams dash down my face, and I realised it was too late.

"I'm a werewolf," I sobbed, returning to Remus's arms despite my better judgement.

To my surprise, Remus's warm, husky laughter began to echo off of the arched wall. I weakly hit into his chest, annoyed that he was laughing. He wasn't muggle born, and his father had written a large amount of the anti-werewolf legislation that made my life living hell.

"Me too y/n," He answered, curbing his laughter. I looked into his eyes and felt the slightly woofish sides of my returning again. I hugged him even tighter.

"So we're beast and the beast?" I joked.

"Hm?" Remus's deep voice vibrated against where my forehead was tucked into his chest.

"This whole time I thought that we were Beauty and the Beast," I paused and took a deep breath. "Obviously you were Beauty," I mumbled.

"Perhaps we're both the beauty in our own way?" Remus smiled.

p.s. i’ve got another fic coming in the next few days so keep an eye out!

[aaetherius]

@shymaidxn​

♝ (Diantha sees Lucifer looking at the journals she has for the Xolotl book she's been writing, so she goes over all the stories she's heard throughout the different islands, partially just to excitedly show off.)

Acts of intimacy || Accepting (feel free to turn into threads)!

                                                                 ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

    A thin veil of steam wafts up from the warm cup of coffee settled upon the table in front of him, and warms his skin against the frigid air nipping at the hull of the ship. The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans with a hint of vanilla slipping in fills the kitchen, and he inhales softly against its welcomed heat. Fingers wrap delicately about the smooth porcelain of his cup - handling it with more care than is likely needed, but he has shattered a fair few with somewhat clumsy wings since his revival, and though he is always forgiven, he would prefer not to make too much of a habit of it. The drink is still burning hot when he brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, and nearly singes his throat on the way down, but he’s always been one to drink his coffee as bitter and biting as possible when he makes it for himself - as close to his original creation as he could get. Though, he’s taken a liking to the various blends and styles mortals have come up with since, and occasionally indulges on them as well. Handle balanced upon his index, middle finger, and thumb, he glances around the steam at the small, but neat pile of books and journals sat in front of him. He’s always made a habit of reading whatever he could - even going through Lucilius’s impressive collection of tomes at least half a dozen times over thousands of years ago. But he finds himself thumbing through texts even more often now that he has more time to invest in them, and millennia-worth of information to study up on. From the girl in blue’s journals she often lent him to the flyers handed out from the various islands they’ve visited to research papers dating back centuries to absurd romcoms lent by various members of the crew, and everything between - he could often be found with his eyes trained on the page of a book. 

      Much had changed since he had last interacted with mortals, and if he wished to live amongst them while encouraging the remaining Primarchs to do the same, he wished to have a better grasp of their customs and culture. Yet, despite all of his reading they proved a constant source of surprise for him. In the short time since he had been welcomed into the crew, he had learned more about them than the centuries he had spent brushing up on their legends and beliefs in the hallow, but lonely walls of Canaan. And he was ever eager to learn more. To listen in on the conversations that took place around him and see how the various islands had changed or come to be. Though he largely kept to himself and rarely sought others out so as to not become a burden to them, he knew quite a bit about the more talkative members of the crew or the ones who were most often present simply from overhearing their conversations or reading about their adventures in the colorful journals he had been entrusted with. And he intended to pass today in much the same manner, studying the books he had been lent while enjoying a few cups of coffee in the quiet of the kitchen during the off hours between when the crew normally ate - resisting the urge to slip into the cafe to try to help Sandalphon run it, at least until he has a slightly better grasp on his new body so he doesn’t add to the damage that’s already been done. 

       So free hand reaches out to grab the first piece upon the pile - a journal whose cover he opens carefully as if it were something precious, though he tilts his head ever so slightly upon being greeted by the neat handwriting and tale contained within. It’s not one of Lyria’s - hers are always filled with colorful drawings, and her penmanship isn’t nearly as refined. Truthfully, he can’t recall who had given him this one, or where he might have picked it up - perhaps it had gotten mixed up with his budding collection by mistake. Brows furrow slightly in thought, but he finds himself drawn in by the contents of the notebook. ‘Ti Icniuhtli Xolotl’ - he has heard that phrase before, centuries ago, though his knowledge of the Primal Beasts that came well after him was limited at best thanks to the time he had spent largely isolated and in complete solitude as he watched over the ever evolving skies. It pushes him to read on until the sound of footsteps upon the wooden floorboards of the ship draws his attention away from the text - the sound of voices mingling, and he can just barely make out the conversation beyond the door - someone searching for a misplaced journal, and ah - a young woman enters the kitchen just as he’s rising to return the book to its rightful owner.  

         “Forgive me, it seems I somehow came into possession of your work, and I must confess that I found myself reading through it. From what I have read, it is a wonderful tale. If it at all possible, I would like to hear more of it.” He draws the cover shut, gingerly running his fingers across the soft leather as he offers it back to her. But, to his surprise she chooses to humor him instead. A soft smile quickly blooms upon his lips as he sets the journal down once more to listen to her with his undivided attention as she flips through the pages and excitedly begins to recount her story to him, and the information she’s been able to gather since. About the loyal canine turned Primal Beast who had felt terribly lonely after his dear friend had rejected him upon his return - the tale making an ache settle in his newly formed core, but it lessens the more she speaks of him and of the island. How they had accepted the Primal as a companion through the use of song, though the meaning of those words and that tradition had been lost with time until fairly recently. His attention never wanes - her excitement is contagious, and he is ever eager to learn. By the time she’s reached a point where she’s able to pause for a breath, his coffee has gone ice cold and been forgotten about entirely, having set it down some time ago without noticing. “It seems I still have much to learn, and I would be more than eager to hear the rest if you wish to continue, but you have my gratitude for sharing what you have with me thus far - it is a truly fascinating story. This is for a book you are working on? If you are ever in need of someone to review what you have, I would be more than willing to continue reading.”        

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 38: Nocturnal

[Am I procrastinating by writing yet another chapter? Yes I am. Pls send help.]

I wake up only a couple hours later to find Arthur is gone. He must have gone back to write in is room. I don something comfortable and pick up my blood soaked clothes from the bathroom floor to wash them. Though Sebastian knows what I did, I don’t want to wake him up in the middle of the night for this. He has done enough already, and I can deal with the stains myself.

I fetch a bucket and a jar of salt from the kitchen and bring it back to my bedroom before filling it with cold water. I then proceed to scrub as much as I can off the clothes inside the shower, using a thick salt paste, and when the water stops running red, I lather them in soap and leave them to soak in the bucket. The stains are fairly fresh, so hopefully they will come out in a day or two.

After drying myself off, I leave to aimlessly roam around the mansion. I need to do something, anything, to keep my mind occupied. I eventually end up in the attic, crawling onto the roof through the dormer window. I am pleased to find Jean is there. I don’t think I could handle being alone with my thoughts.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask, knocking on the window frame. Jean turns to glance at me before shuffling over, making space for me beside him on the edge. “This is becoming a habit, huh?”

“It’s not one I’m opposed to,” he shrugs. I light a cigarillo, and he looks at it disapprovingly. “Unlike that one.”

“Sorry.” Before I can smother the flame on the roof tiles, he holds my hand to stop me.

“I was joking...” he mutters. “I don’t mind if you smoke.”

I... did not think Jean had a sense of humor. His is a lot like Mozart’s, I think, in the sense that it’s hard to tell when they’re kidding. I chuckle and look up at the sky. The sun is still nowhere near the horizon. It must be around 3 in the morning.

After exhaling a cloud of smoke, I glance at Jean to notice him staring at my arm. My sleeves are still rolled up from the laundry, and most of my tattoos are fully exposed.

“Is that some sort of plant?” he shyly asks. I nod.

“A monstera adansonii. I used to work in a flower shop, and this is my favorite plant that we sold,” I explain. Though it is commonly referred to as ‘Swiss cheese plant’, the holes on its leaves have always reminded me of the craters on the moon.

“I own a shop too,” he quietly informs me, catching me by surprise. “I sell weapons.”

“Sounds about right,” I chuckle. His fascination with the objects is evident in his bedroom. “Do you make them yourself?”

“Only some of them. I mostly just make slight alterations.”

“Must be a lot of work, if you also own the place,” I ponder out loud. “No wonder I rarely see you during the day, you must be so busy.”

“Napoleon helps me with the paperwork. I wouldn’t be able to manage without him.” I tilt my head, wondering what he means by that. “I, uh... I can’t read or write,” he explains.

“Oh.” It makes sense, given the time that he lived in. Most people back then were illiterate. I open my mouth when a thought occurs to me, but quickly close it and sink down against the chimney, resigned.

“What is it?”

“I was going to offer to teach you, but I’m not much better off myself,” I chuckle. “I could not spell in French if my life depended on it. I can kind of read it, though. That, I might be able to help you with.”

“... Thank you,” he murmurs after a brief pause, before turning to look at me with his good eye. “I am glad that you are staying here, Anaïs.”

“Yeah, about that...” I mutter. “I think I understand how you felt that night. These baby vampire impulses are... a bit too much to handle. It’s rough.”

Jean nods slowly and looks away from me, as if thinking about something. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer than usual.

“You slipped, didn’t you?” His unexpected question makes me tense beside him. I guess he feels it, because he continues. “I was up here when you came back. I saw you.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I sigh. “It was bad. I mean, it was self defence, but that doesn’t make it any less awful...”

“It does,” he declares. “Do you think that person would have died if they hadn’t attacked you?”

“Not really, but-”

“Then they deserved it and their blood is not on your hands,” he cuts me off. “Not literally, at least.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. The logic in his argument is not exactly airtight, but it’s better than blaming myself for what I did. I helped Jean hate himself a little less, it’s time to let him do the same for me. Satisfied with my new mindset, I bring the cigarillo to my lips and inhale a deep puff.

“... People,” I finally correct him after I blow out the smoke. He looks at me, confusion in his ocean blue eye. “There were two people.”

“And you took them down on your own?” he inquires. I shrug. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. “Impressive. I didn’t think a frail little woman like you could defeat one, even as a vampire.”

“Hey, I’m stronger than I look,” I laugh. I am still not sure whether he was teasing me or not, but I chose to take it that way. He looks at me before shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t believe that.” Yeah, he is definitely messing with me this time.

“I am, I swear!” I play along, gently smacking his muscular arm. “Wanna take this to the training room?”

Instead of replying, he gets up and offers me his hand. I take it, letting him effortlessly pull me to my feet, and follow him back inside.

“You know,” I say on the way there, “I’ve been wanting to learn how to fight properly for a while. Ever since I saw you and Napoleon on my first day here.”

“How about I teach you that, and you teach me how to read?” he suggests. I smile.

“I’ll do my best.”

When we enter the training room, Jean turns the switch on the wall, making the lights turn on with a flicker. I wonder how he feels about all this new technology, so unfamiliar to him. He seems to have gotten somewhat used to electricity and running water, at least. Although I’m pretty sure his brain would implode if he saw the things that are common in my time.

He exchanges his rapier for a wooden version of it he takes from the rack in the corner, and hands me another one, identical to his. It’s heavier than I expected. I hold it between my thighs to tie my hair up as Jean expertly waves his sword around with a flourish, getting accustomed to the different handle in his hand. What did I just get myself into? Whatever it is, it’s going to be fun.

“En garde!” He takes a stance, and I try to mimic it, but my thin right arm is unused to the weight of the weapon, so my left hand instinctually joins to support it. “No, use only one hand,” he instructs. “Like this.”

I am surprised to see I can easily hold it up once I get past the mental barrier of what my human body was capable of. I am stronger and more resilient than I have ever been, though I think I’ll need some time to get used to that.

“Alright, I’m going to attack now. Try to block it,” he warns be before lunging forward and thrusting his sword towards my stomach. The movement is deliberately slow to give me time to deflect it, which I successfully do. 

He slashes at me again, stepping closer. I push his sword to the side with my own, but it comes back in full force. I barely manage to block it this time, reeling backwards.

“Focus,” he orders me. “There is more than one way to avoid being hit.”

I nod, taking the hint. When he attacks again, I am quick to dodge his sword, focusing on agility rather than strength. While I struggled significantly to parry Jean’s hits, I can effortlessly jump and twist out of the way without ever having to lift my own sword. His movements accelerate, and I follow along, resulting in a graceful dance between us. It reminds me of waltz with Mozart, how he had spun me around the ballroom until my vision blurred and I struggled to keep up with his quick footwork.

“Ow!” I cry out in pain when Jean’s sword hits my hand, right on my knuckles.

“Désolé! (Sorry)” he apologizes, lowering his weapon. “Not bad, Anaïs. How come you’re so fast? You’ve never trained before.”

I simply point at my skates across the room, the red suede boots having become part of the training room’s vast collection of equipment over time. I started leaving them here, on the floor near a corner, when I realized I could never use them outside of the mansion.

“When you’re falling from a triple spin in the air, you gotta be quick or you end up breaking your leg, or something,” I chuckle. Jean nods, his eyebrows raised, as if he just considered that possibility for the first time. He probably did, but to be fair, he has been watching me skate for a month now. He should know better.

I slowly flex my fingers over the sword’s handle, but wince in pain when I try to move my pinky. It’s too sore for me to continue training.

“Are you hurt?” Jean asks, concerned. I shake my head.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just my pinky,” I brush it off. “It will be healed in a day or so.”

“We should continue another day, then.”

I want to argue, but he’s right. I can barely hold the sword straight. My pinky might have taken the brunt of it, but the dull ache expands through my entire hand.

“Okay, but I’m gonna skate instead, if you don’t mind,” I finally give in, walking to ‘my’ corner of the room, before kicking my shoes off. “I have way too much energy. I fear I’ll end up eating someone again if I don’t get rid of it somehow.”

As I struggle to tie my laces with a semi-numb hand, I remember something. I look up at Jean and stare at him for a few seconds before voicing my thoughts.

“Do you know any songs?”

“Yes, why?” he asks, confused.

“My headphones are dead.”

“Headphones?” He sits on the floor beside me and tilts his head.

“Yeah, you know those little things I wear in my ears sometimes?” I remind him. “They play music. And, well, it’s kinda weird for me to skate without music, so I was wondering if you could sing something...”

“Did I accidentally hit your head?”

I snort at his genuine question. Of course, he seems even more confused by my explanation. It is then that I remember my phone still works. I turned it off after my first night here to preserve the battery. It must be in my room somewhere, along with my wireless earplugs.

“Wait here,” I tell him, quickly pulling off my skates. “I’m just gonna show you. I’ll be right back.”

That said, I jump up and run barefoot out of the training room. I have no idea how I’m gonna explain this to Jean without him thinking it’s witchcraft, but it might be better if I just let him see it for himself.

[ericsonclan]

A Looming Reality

Summary: Violet and Prisha discuss what their options are once winter is over.

Word Count: Over 1000

Read on AO3:

Notes: This is chapter 22 of the au.

Start from the beginning of au:

“Violet?” Prisha’s head popped out from the edge of the barn loft. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” Violet grunted from behind a massive pile of quilts. She and Prisha had grown sick of trying to find a private corner in the house or braving the cold outdoors in order to have some alone time together. With no preexisting options they’d decided to make their own space and thus Violet found herself returning to the barn. This time however, she was looking forward to being up in the loft.

Prisha made a tsking sound as she leaned forward and reached out her arms. “Don’t be silly. There’s no way you can climb up here with both of your arms full. Hand me a few,”

“I can do it,” Violet insisted, taking a step onto the first rung of the ladder. She tried to wiggle one of her hands free in order to grab onto the ladder, but only succeeded in causing her blanket pile to tip. In her efforts to correct the leaning tower of blankets, she slipped off the rung and fell to the ground, the blankets scattering to and fro across the barn floor.

“Violet!” Prisha’s tone was worried as she hurried down the ladder and pulled away the blanket covering Violet’s face.

Violet looked away with a sheepish frown. “I’m fine. Nothing hurt but my pride,”

“Pride is a foolish thing anyways,” Prisha replied, beginning to pick some of the blankets off the ground.

“Says the girl who won’t leave her bedroom each morning until she’s brushed and braided her hair just right,”

“Now Violet, how would you know that unless you’ve made a habit of waiting outside my door?” Prisha’s smile was almost cat-like as she looked toward Violet.

Violet could feel her cheeks flushing. “The girls talk you know. That’s all,”

“Mhm,” Prisha’s tone was still teasing but Violet knew if she protested any farther, she’d only be digging herself a bigger hole. Prisha turned round to face her once more with an armful of blankets. “I’ll start with these. We can take multiple trips if need be. There’s no rush,”

“Someone might come looking for us if they need us for some chores,”

“Then we’ll simply hide under the hay together,” Prisha quipped, looking down from the ladder with a coy grin.

Violet hid her face behind her blanket pile, too flustered to think of a reply to that.

It took a few trips after all, but eventually they had brought all the blankets up and formed a sort of nest for themselves in the middle of the hay in the loft. Pulling some of the blankets on top of them, Prisha lay back upon the hay with a satisfied sigh. “It will take a few minutes for our body heat to build up enough under the blankets to truly keep us warm, but now we’re set,” She reached out to take Violet’s hand, gently running her thumb along it. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes,” Violet lied. In truth she was petrified. Cuddled up under blankets alone with Prisha… Violet’s mind was in overdrive. She didn’t know how Prisha could lay there so comfortably. It reminded her of the night she took Prisha. Violet had been a fumbling nervous wreck while Prisha seemed cool as a cucumber when she asked to be taken. Then again, Prisha had later confided in Violet how frightening the night had truly been for her so perhaps under the surface Prisha was feeling nervous as well. Hesitantly, she gave Prisha’s hand a soft squeeze. Prisha gently squeezed her hand in return.

“So,” Prisha said, turning on her side to face Violet, “Any plans for Christmas? I figure it must be quite the event with so many siblings,”

Prisha was thinking that far ahead? This past month and a half, Violet hadn’t let herself think beyond tomorrow. “Umm, I dunno. Omar always makes a great Christmas meal and we all stuff ourselves senseless. As for presents, I just try to put together whatever shit I can that I think my brothers will like. A drawing for Tenn, a song for Louis, some sorta weird rock for Willy…”

“You can write music?” Prisha’s eyes sparkled in interest.

“Just some basic stuff. Louis taught me. He wanted someone to duet with and he roped me into it,”

“I’d love to hear you sing sometime. You know, I have some background in music myself. I took voice lessons when I was younger,”

“Really?” Violet’s heart fluttered inside her wondering what Prisha’s singing voice was like.

Prisha nodded eagerly. “I’m an alto. Let me guess – you’re a soprano?”

“Yup,” Violet’s throat felt dry. Prisha was so close, her legs touching Violet’s under the blankets.

“Oh, how wonderful! That means there’s a slew of songs we can sing together! To think I didn’t know this about you! There’s still so much for both of us to learn,” Prisha caught Violet looking down at the floor, awkwardly picking straw off her blanket. “Do you not like the idea?”

“What? No, I love it. I just…” Violet’s voice trailed off. Something about Prisha’s mention of Christmas had sent a train of thought going in her mind, one she’d been suppressing for quite some time but now that it had been unleashed she could no longer hold it back. Before she fully realized what was happening, Violet’s lower lip was quivering.

“Violet? Are you alright?” Prisha reached up, cupping her cheek. She felt so warm against the chill of the barn air. Violet leaned into the touch instinctively, feeling a tear roll down her face as she let out a shaky breath.

“It can’t last, can it?”

It only took a moment for Prisha’s eyes to widen in understanding before falling. “Vi…”

“This right here,” Violet said, gripping Prisha’s hand, “Is perfect. But that snow is gonna melt and when it does…” a lump in her throat cut off Violet’s words. She gulped harshly to force it down. “They’re gonna take you away whether you want it or not,”

“I won’t let them,” Prisha declared fiercely. Her grip on Violet’s hand tightened. “I’ll hide, somewhere they can’t find me. I’ll go up to the hunting cabin. That’s miles from here and only your family knows its location. There are supplies up there too and we could build up more to last as long as we need. You can come get me when it’s safe,” Prisha paused, “Or we could stay up there together,”

Violet shook her head. She’d already considered that option. “I couldn’t just leave my family behind like that, not when they’d be at the mercy of the angry citizens of Richmond. Who knows what sort of things they’d threaten to do to Kenny if they couldn’t find you, and Katjaa…” Katjaa had announced her pregnancy to the family the other night. Everyone had been elated for her including Violet, but it did make her even more worried for what would happen when the Richmond families came up to the farm and Katjaa had to face them several months pregnant.

“You can’t risk it,” Prisha said, her tone somber. “I understand. I couldn’t bear if anything happened to your parents and siblings because of me. But I won’t go back either,”

“Prisha-”

“No,��� Prisha’s eyes were hard as steel. “I can’t go back. The girl who you spoke to that winter night, she was dying inside. Every real, true part of me was withering away as I followed the path that had been set before me for a life and a future I wanted no part in. I’d never broken from it because I figured that was my lot in life, I could do no better. And then I met you,” Prisha’s voice warmed at those words. “Meeting you and knowing you wanted me , it gave me hope. So I told you to take me and I’ve never looked back. I won’t return to who I used to be,”

She was so beautiful, speaking with such passion and conviction, her eyes burning with an inner fire. Letting her emotions take hold, Violet leaned forward and captured Prisha’s lips in a kiss, one Prisha immediately deepened, her hand sliding to the back of Violet’s neck. That kiss melted into another kiss and then another, both girls becoming lost in each other and the heat of the moment. Eventually however they pulled apart, just far enough for their foreheads to touch, their eyes closed.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Violet murmured, feeling her throat ache with emotion. “I haven’t fought to keep a lot in life – never had much to lose. All I’ve ever had is my family and now you. I don’t know what I can do to stop them from taking you, but I’m not just going to lay down and take it. I’ll protect you,”

“Violet…” Prisha leaned forward, kissing her again. “I’ll protect you too. We’ll figure something out – a plan that will keep everyone safe. Rather than burying our heads in the sand until the day arrives, we’ll prepare for it. Together,”

Violet nodded. She didn’t have a single idea on how they could prevent the worst from happening on that day, but seeing the light of determination in Prisha’s eyes gave her hope as well. The two smiled at each other only for the moment to stretch into awkward silence all to quickly. “So…” Violet cleared her throat, “Are we planning now, or…?”

Prisha looked round at the blankets and hay and warmth that surrounded them in their cozy little nest. “What you said before, about this moment being perfect, let’s not let that be lost. This still is a perfect moment. We simply have to reclaim it,” Her hand slipped down to intertwine with Violet’s once more. “There’s time for plans tomorrow. For now, let’s enjoy what we built,”

Violet could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Leave it to Prisha to change gears so easily. She was right though. They’d put all this work to get to this moment together – might as well enjoy it. Shifting closer, she let her head rest upon Prisha’s shoulder. “I like that thought,”

“So… would you be willing to sing for me?”

“Now?”

“If you’re willing,”

“My throat’s a little sore,”

“Then we can simply talk. That’s fine too. Or perhaps I can sing for you,”

“R-really?” Violet’s eyes grew large at the offer.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure. Now, what to sing…” Prisha’s face scrunched in thought before brightening with inspiration. “I have just the thing,” Clearing her throat, she began.

Come where my love lies dreaming,

Dreaming the happy hours away,

In visions bright redeeming

The fleeting joys of day.

Prisha’s voice was low and warm as she continued, her tone taking on an almost dreamy quality to match the song.

Soft in her slumber;

Thoughts bright and free

Dance through her dreams

Like gushing melody;

Light is her young heart,

Light may it be;

Come where my love lies dreaming.

Violet felt so warm, so happy, so peaceful listening to Prisha sing. They had found their escape from the world here - even if only for a time – and they were happy. Softly, she began to hum along to the tune. The smile on Prisha’s face grew as she heard Violet’s voice joining hers. They continued to sing together, their voices intermingling in the crisp air of winter. And in that one moment, everything was perfect.

[adrenaline-roulette]

Is this just fantasy? Chapter 2

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Warnings:

Summary: "Want me to bring back some ice-cream, and you can bitch about how horrible you day was?”

The idea of ice-cream had never been more appealing. “I believe Ben and Jerry’s is on sale at the moment, I could really go from some chunky monkey.”

“I never understood why you like that one so much!”

“I try to convince myself that because it’s banana flavoured then it must be healthy.”

“As a dietician in training, it is my duty to tell you, that that is not by any means true.”

“For a dietician in training, you eat an awful lot of instant mac & cheese.”

“Whoa now, there is no such thing as too much mac & cheese!”

Chapter two: Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness

If you haven’t read chapter One yet, check it out here! 

Roger sauntered his way over to the bar, his eyes focused solely on the woman who had entered the pub only minutes earlier. The fact that she was currently face planted into the counter didn’t bother him too much, his standards were relatively low tonight, he would happily take home anyone just to prove Brian wrong! He couldn’t care less if the woman he was quickly approaching was a mental case who was actually licking the counter, rather than just resting her head. Anyone would do, so long as they said yes. As he stepped up besides the woman, he cleared his throat, a coy smirk donning his boyish face. He had expected her to swoon, or perhaps blush, that’s what usually happened when he presented himself to the opposite sex. This reaction, however, was entirely unexpected, and had him fearing he had lost his charm!

                                                          ********

You startle at the noise beside you, not having expected anyone to disturb your self-wallowing. You had found yourself spiralling into a panic attack as the realisation of what was going on around you, really began to sink in. Somehow, you really were in 1970’s London, and for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out how. The last thing you could remember, before falling asleep was talking to Sara about ice-cream flavours, after that, everything seemed to be a bit of a blur. The feeling of falling remained with you after your dream, but surely a dream couldn’t have caused this? The person clears their throat again, and his time you look up at them, your slumped shoulders lifting so you sat gracefully on the stool. Your eyes travelled up the body beside you, trailing from the feet, past the bellbottom jeans, over the masculine chest, and finally resting on the stunningly attractive face, of the one and only, blue eyed beauty, Roger Fucking Taylor.

Your face must have given away just how shocked you were, as Roger visibly stepped back, a flicker of surprise passing his baby blues. The ever so slight sliver of hope that this was all an elaborate prank, that had remained with you vanished in a matter of seconds. Your eyebrows creased together, as your mouth opened and closed in an excellent impression of a fish, as you desperately tried to form words. “You’re Roger Taylor” You breathed out, your voice raising a few octaves as you looked at him.

Roger blinked his eyes three times, before leaning his hip against the counter, grinning down at you. “Ah, you know me then do you? I’m positive that I would remember someone as lovely as you, but just in case I did somehow forget, what’s your name love?” He practically purred, trailing his index finger along your jaw. The logical part of your mind argued that you should keep quiet, there was far too much at stake, and knowing your luck, you would say something that could completely change the course of history entirely! The only problem with that however, was that you had never been a very logical person, and were more inclined to speak first, think later. This meant, the moment those thoughts entered your mind, you found yourself voicing the exact opposite.

   “What? No! You don’t know me at all. You’ve never met me, and I’ve never met you either! But I used to have your posters up in my room when I was growing up. Well not just posters of you, all of Queen! I had my first kiss to sail away sweet sister!” And there it was, the word vomit. By the time you realised what you had said, poor Roger looked utterly terrified. His eyes had grown impossibly wide, and he seemed to be shaking, and you could swear you almost heard his heart hammering away in his chest.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, but I think I’ll leave you be now. Have a lovely night Miss.” He mumbles, taking a half step backwards. The moment he moves, you leap up from your stool, clasping your hands around his biceps, unaware that the two men he had been sitting with just before were making their way towards the two of you.

                                                                                      ****

Brian reaches the two of you first, he had been watching the exchange between his band mate, and the young woman with a great deal of interest. Brian knew what to expect, after having watched Roger use his charm on many a woman before. Though something was different this time, he could tell, from Roger’s expression, that things didn’t appear to be going the way he had been expecting. The poor man looked visibly shaken, and like he was about to go running out of the pub. The moment the woman stood, and grabbed Roger, he knew he had to do something. He pushed his chair away from the table, and leapt to his feet, Tim following his lead soon after. The two men appeared beside Roger in a matter of seconds, the moment they arrived Roger seemed to relax somewhat. “Miss, is everything alright?” He asked gently, as Tim stepped away a few paces with Roger. The poor woman looked terrified, and on the verge of tears, perhaps Roger had picked the wrong woman to chase tonight?

                                                                                    ****

You feel like you’re about to collapse as you look up into the deep brown eyes of the world-famous guitarist before you, he’s so young, yet still so incredibly handsome. His words shake you from your thoughts as you stare up at him. “No of course I’m not bloody alright!” You practically shriek, how could any of this situation possibly make you alright? “You’re Brian May, And you! You’re Tim Staffell!”

Both men look rather surprised at your outburst, as Roger simply nods along. “That’s exactly what she said to me too! Scared the bloody life out of me.” He mutters, just loud enough so your small group could hear him. Your hands hover mid-air from where you had been clinging to Roger, and you find yourself unable to bring them down.

Brian is the first to come to his senses, stepping forwards and in-between you and Roger, he reaches out to, wrapping his long, slender fingers around each of your wrists, carefully lowering them down to your sides. “Ok, lets start slowly. Can you tell us what your name is?” He asks carefully, guiding you over to the table he, Roger and Tim had been seated at minutes before.

You sit gently down on one of the wooden seats, the leather cushion peeling at the edges of the old seat. The three men sit around you in the vacant seats, all looking at you intently. The last time you had had people looking at you like this, you were introducing yourself to your new class at school, the teacher had kept pressuring you to talk about yourself, wanting to know all about your hobbies and interests. You take a deep breath in, releasing it slowly out of your mouth, this was the tricky part. What damage would it do if you introduced yourself? Just by being here alone, you had surely broken just about every law of physics! What if by using your real name, that only caused more damage to the world as you knew it? Your breathing was becoming shallow once again, as you look frantically around at the three men before you, your eyes finally resting on Brian’s. You had never been embarrassed to admit this before, but now sitting here with the curly haired brunette, you found yourself blushing, the knowledge that he had starred in many of your late night ‘quiet’ moments, stirring something deep within you. “I’m, um, Eleanor- Eleanor Ribgy!” Perhaps that wasn’t the best name choice, but for the life of you, you couldn’t remember when the song had come out! Maybe it was yet to be released and you would be in the clear?

“Okay, so we all now that that’s a lie.” Tim smirks at you, and you find yourself wanting to slam your head against the table once again.

“How about we try this again, what’s your name? You know ours, it’s only fair we get to know yours.” Roger grins, as he takes a gulp of beer, before placing the glass back on the table with a loud clunk.

Right, well, that didn’t go the way you had hoped. Maybe you should just tell them your name, besides as Shakespeare once wrote, what’s in a name? “It’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?”

You almost glare at Roger, if only he knew how difficult all of this really was for you, maybe then he would wipe that cocky grin off his face. “You have no idea.” You mutter.

Brian twirls his glass between his large hands, frowning down at the amber liquid that was nearly gone. “Can you explain to us what happened just before?”

“Yeah! What did you mean, you had a poster of me in your bedroom? And who is Queen?” Roger butts in, causing Brian to scowl at him. Brian had been trying to approach this situation carefully, but clearly the blonde drummer had other ideas.

You groan deeply, this time, allowing your head to swing forwards and rest against the table once more. Face planting was becoming a habit of yours in the 1970’s, and you can’t help but think it’s likely not a good thing. “Honestly, I don’t even know what to tell you. It’s all too much, even for me to comprehend!”

“Try us, we’re smarter than we look!” Tim offers with a smile of his own.

Your shoulders slump down, before you pick yourself back up from the table, folding your hands in your lap. “Trust me, I know how smart you all are.” You almost whisper, before shaking your head gently. This was your chance, you could explain this bizarre situation to the men sat before you, perhaps one of them would believe you and help you find your way back? Brian has a doctorate in Astrophysics, surely, he would know what to do? But then again, that is Brian in forty plus years, and not the young man sitting with you now. “This is going to sound insane, I know that.” You begin, the three men leaning in closer to hear you quiet voice. “I woke up in the middle of a fucking field today, no idea where I was or how I got there. And now I find out I’m somehow in the 70’s.”

 Roger scratches his heads, mussing up his already messy locks. “I don’t see the problem? I’ve woken up in a field before, maybe you just had too much to drink last night”

A laugh bursts from your throat, as you shake your head no. “Oh Roger, you don’t understand! The biggest problem with this whole situation isn’t me waking up in a field, it’s the fact that it’s the 70’s!” At this, Roger returns to looking rather confused, just as Brian and Tim do. “When I fell asleep last night, it was 2019. Somehow, I’ve gone back in time forty odd years!” You raise your voice at the end, earning a few confused looks being thrown your way.

“Y/N, look I’m not trying to be rude here, but maybe you’re hungover? I mean, time travel? That isn’t possible!” Brian begins gently, reaching out and placing one of his hands over yours. The gesture sends a jolt of electricity through you, and in any other situation you would swoon, but not right now.

“Brian, I know how crazy this sounds! When I fell asleep last night, I was happily living with my housemate, stressing about work, and looking forward to her bringing me home ice-cream!”

He bites his lower lip for a moment, looking directly into your eyes as he thinks over your predicament. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s possible. I of all people would know if time travel was real, I’m studying to be-“

You cut him off before he can finish, “An astrophysicist. I know, and one day, you will be Doctor Brian May.”  

“How do you know what I’m studying?”

At this, you almost wish the ground would open you up and swallow you whole. “Because I’m from the future! I know about all of you Brian, Roger, Tim, even Freddie and Deaky!”

Tim and Roger look between each other with equal looks of curiosity. “Who are Freddie and Deaky?” Roger asks.

Ah right, shit, maybe you shouldn’t have mentioned them just yet. “You’ll know them when you meet them.”

“Wow, that was cryptic.” Tim mutters, causing Roger to chuckle quietly. You shoot them both a glare, neither of them were taking this seriously! At least Brian seemed to be attempting to understand and believe what you were telling them!

“Look, I’ll prove it to you! I know just about everything there is to know about Queen, fuck, I mean Smile. Just, I don’t know, tell me what the exact date is?”

The men look between each other, before Brian shrugs and turns back to you, reciting the date to you. You nod, smiling in thanks as you go back through your mental log of notable Smile era happenings. A spark of recognition flashes behind your eyes, and you leap up from your stool, grinning broadly. “Tim! Today is the day you quit Smile to join Humpy Bong!”

Tim freezes, his hand halfway to bringing his glass to his lips. Brian and Roger and caught between looking at you and Tim. “Tim’s quitting?” Roger mumbles. Oh, okay, so that clearly wasn’t common knowledge yet.

“I- um yeah. They’re going places guys, and we really aren’t, lets be honest.” Tim sighs, drumming his fingers against his glass.

Brian turns to stare at you, a small smile spreading over his lips, you were an absolute scientific anomaly, and he loved it! “Wait, what the fuck are we supposed to do without a singer and bassist?”

You shrug lightly, not sure how much you should give away. But fuck it, you’ve likely already ruined multiple timelines by just being here, you may as well continue. “I believe, this is where Freddie and Deaky come into the picture.”

My Masterlist

[relaxedmouse]

Celeb and Friend Interview (short story, 1290 words)

A celebrity sits down with an interviewer who is both a current friend and an ex-boyfriend.

Note: this interview is completely fictional. This story is not based on any real events or people.

Interviewer: I can't remember the name, but when I was in school, I learned about a certain poet who was very famous in his day. People would travel from afar just to talk to him and be fascinated by what he had to say. His conversation was widely sought-after. And you . . . you're the same. People are always trying to interview you. Many people love you and want to hear what you have to say. Others hate you and they still want to hear you, just so they can enjoy getting angry at you! You're so interesting to everyone.

Celeb: I can't fathom why.

Interviewer: I think you do know why. Your fans adore you. And you adore yourself, so you must be able to relate to them.

Celeb: I knew you were going to say that. You would never miss an opportunity to joke about my supposedly inflated ego.

Interviewer: Hey, sorry for the rapid change in subject, but tell me - what's your greatest accomplishment? What's the best thing you've done in your life so far?

Celeb: Getting married. That's easily the best thing I've done in my life so far, and it always will be.

Interviewer: You see, this is why people find you so intriguing. You are a mass of contradictions. You're known for being arrogant - it's part of your reputation - so that's why it surprises people when you go and say that your marriage is your greatest achievement. You've said this statement more than once, and yet it keeps surprising people, because there's always another person out there who believes you're nothing more than a big-headed moron. These surprises happen in many ways, in fact. You give to charity frequently, and every time you do, people are shocked because they'd heard stories that you're greedy for money. When you get angry, some people are surprised because they'd heard you can stay cool in any situation. Yet somehow, whenever you say something calm and reasonable, some people are still surprised because they'd also heard you have a bad temper. Somehow, you have both reputations at the same time.

Celeb: That's less a comment on me and more of an indictment of the media. Many news sources benefit either directly or indirectly from a lot of online traffic, so there's a trend toward valuing production over accuracy. People generate content just for the sake of having something to post. At times, this means they just make stuff up, but they dodge accusations of inaccuracy by using words like "allegedly" or "it's not confirmed, but rumor has it that . . ." or "an unidentified source said this". They don't even think about the impact their words are making on the real world and the real people who are seeing their hastily churned-out articles.

Interviewer: Well now, I think you're being harsh. A lot of writers in the industry know they're creating something spotty, but they're pressured by their bosses to keep pumping out content, even if it's lame content.

Celeb: I know that. It doesn't change how I feel about them.

Interviewer: There's certainly an interesting discussion we could have about the state of the news media, but for now . . . I'd rather talk about you. Because you see, your reputation doesn't just come from the media. You feed into it, too. At different times, your personality seems to alternate between being warm and cool, spontaneous and calculating, outgoing and closed-off, even shy.

Celeb: I'm not complicated. I'm a normal person. Nobody acts exactly the same way all the time. I only seem strange because people have a bad habit of wanting to see other people as one-dimensional.

Interviewer: There's truth to what you're saying. But I maintain that not just anyone can capture the amount of attention and fame that you have. All the manufactured hype and media training in the world can't make audiences love someone who simply isn't that cool.

Celeb: Thanks, but I think you ought to stop here. What's more boring to people than an already over-hyped person being hyped up even more? I would actually be happier if you talked about yourself. Surely you can pull an interesting story from somewhere within your many years of life.

Interviewer: You make me sound so old! I'm barely thirty, and yet there are times when you treat me like I'm an elderly grandpa.

Celeb: I remember, you once confessed to me that you felt as if you've already lived a very long time, simply because your childhood seemed to last for ages.

Interviewer: Ah, that . . . I alternate, actually. I alternate between feeling like my childhood passed in the blink of an eye, and feeling like it took a ridiculous eternity that nobody should've had to suffer through. It's weird. I guess it's because I remember vividly what it was like to be a kid. When you're a kid, you feel like childhood will last forever. That stage of your life is the only one you've ever known. I certainly remember feeling as if I'd never grow up, as if I'd never be able to escape from my parents' wretched house. But now that my childhood is gone, and I've spent many years in my adult life, I only need to think about my childhood when I want to. And that makes it seem so far away. I can pretend that part of my life only lasted a second, or didn't happen at all, and my mind can almost believe it.

Celeb: There are some things that seem to only exist when they're in front of you. But even if your past is not actively on your mind, it still casts a shadow over the way you behave today.

Interviewer: Uh-oh. This isn't going to turn into a monologue about all my flaws, is it? You certainly did that a lot when we were still together.

Celeb: No, no. I got started on this topic because I honestly wanted to hear what you would say about it. Just as other people seek me for interesting statements, I turn to you. I think if you put yourself into the spotlight more often, you too would become famed for your conversations.

Interviewer: What praise! I feel like you should save big compliments like that for your husband.

Celeb: But I wouldn't say that about him. For him, it wouldn't be true.

Interviewer: What?

Celeb: You and I get together and we talk about grand topics like the passage of time and the fallibility of memory, the state of the news media, corruption, society, life. He and I get together and we talk about how nice the weather is, how tasty lunch is, how catchy this song on the radio is. Sometimes, he and I discuss big subjects, but most of the time, it's small talk. We must look very boring to outside viewers. But I love those little conversations. Those pleasant moments are the memories that I cherish when I'm trying to save myself from despair.

Interviewer: You spend your career working hard to entertain others, but at home, you have a taste for undramatic little moments that wouldn't interest anyone except you and your husband. I actually didn't expect that. I guess you and I didn't stay together long enough for me to witness this side of your personality.

Celeb: Don't go regretting the past now. You know it's too late to change a thing.

Interviewer: No, I . . . I don't regret anything. Really. The past several years have shown us clearly that we're better as friends than we were as lovers. All I need from you is to occasionally sit together and have good conversations like this.

END

[pingnova]

I’ve recently joined an all-trans/nb choir, and it’s so great. for one, is amazingly diverse: we got people from 17 to 70, blind people, wheelchair users, every ethnicity, austistic people, fat people, thin people, etc etc. and of course, they’re all trans and nb. it’s so healing to sing in a choir that’s not gender segregated or any of that crap, and to help people when their voices change with hormones... it’s such a happy moment when someone in the choir squeaks a note because their voice is changing—we all laugh and smile, and their friends give them a big enthusiastic hug, and instead of shying away from using their voice because it’s so imperfect right now, they embrace the transition and keep on singing, just as they are with all their imperfections and everything. it’s so different from the choirs I was in growing up where most of the kids didn’t even want to be there and would stay quiet to hide themselves in the noise. this choir is so joyful to make song with every part of themselves. I could cry!!!!

the pianist has also agreed to teach me piano and voice lessons if I want, so that one’s a win too!

for myself it’s been enlightening so far. singing has always made me feel better, to put it simply. more like myself, more at home in myself, more in control. I used to do it when I was nervous, sing a song quietly to myself to calm down. I hadn’t sung formally in 4+ years, and then started to get out of the habit of any other type of singing. the past year I started up again with Sunday church singing with the congregation, which was nice, but not really what I craved. since choir, I’ve found myself humming at work, singing in the car, and making up random songs just so I can make the noise. I feel cautiously optimistic about it—I’m not really getting that transcendental effect yet, but unlike other things I start and then peter out on, I feel like I can really do this and stick with it until I’m back in shape.

I had forgotten how much singing is physical excercise. you have to train your throat and lungs and vocal chords to their limits and then beyond. and you have to keep at it regularly. I have to re-learn how to position my limbs and head to facilitate the best sound. everything goes into it, because I am the instrument in this case. I’ve always felt singing really keenly in my body because it makes my teeth ring and my nose vibrate and my vocal chords strain. it’s like weight lifting but against yourself. it makes me feel good to do it and practice all the time, it makes me feel bigger and more capable somehow. a lot of stuff, even for things I like, I get to a point where I go ‘it’s too hard, I’m too tired, i can’t do it, I can’t go on.’ my sensei when I was a kid taught me the mantra ‘can’t equals must’—so whenever I think the word can’t to myself, I replace it with must. and it helps, it’s gotten me through a lot, but it rarely has actual conviction behind it like practicing singing does. so it feels good to do something and keep doing it and keep learning and improving.

I don’t normally like anything about myself, but choir has been teaching me to re-evaluate my voice, at least. it’s amazing that my body can make that noise and I can teach it to make more and better noises. it’s amazing we can work together to make a noise made up of all of our little quirks. it’s amazing to feel like I can do something. song has always made me feel, like I said, bigger than myself, transcendental. I think some people feel that way with meditation or other things. I’m putting noise into the universe and it’s alright if nothing even says anything back, it’s self contained and it’s from and for me, but delights others too.

idk, it’s just been making me feel so great lately. hope that keeps up.

[anchored-in-high-tide]

Evermore

Rating: General Audience

Fandom/Pairing: Sherlock (TV)/Johnlock

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2068

Tags: Fluff, Post-Canon, Sherlock x Disney, Beauty and the Beast (2017), Oblivious John, Pining Sherlock, Parentlock, Rosie wants to be a princess, Sherlock sings, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers

Inspired by the song: Evermore from Beauty and the Beast (2017)

He will tell him today, John decides as he carries the groceries back to their flat. Rosie will start school in a couple of weeks. It’s high time she gets her own room, to invite friends, to do homework, to have a place she doesn’t have to share with her father. Sherlock will surely understand that, won’t he? Yes, John will tell him today that he and Rosie will move out.

Maybe Sherlock already figured it out by himself. He has been a little quieter lately, has even declined some of Lestrade’s—according to Sherlock, absolutely boring—cases to spend more time with Rosie. Maybe he already knows and is just waiting for my final verdict.

That this arrangement had even worked for the past five years was a miracle, after all; Working on murder cases with a toddler on one’s arm was—a challenge, to say the least. In all those years following John and Rosie’s rather rash return to 221B Baker Street, neither John nor Sherlock have dared to talk about its implications for the future. They have simply enjoyed each other’s company, watched Rosie grow into a brilliant, funny girl, lived in the moment—because both know that those bits of happiness vanish faster than you can blink. You need to hold on to them as long as you can. The future will arrive soon enough and spoil all your plans.

And things have been fine, great really. Sherlock adores Rosie and the little girl, in return, is obsessed with her “Sher” that lets her ride on his shoulders and teaches her about bees and stars and disembowelment (if John doesn’t watch him very carefully).

John’s lips hurt a little as he smiles melancholically. Yes, they have had five good years. But even good things have to end sooner or later. Probably, Sherlock will even be glad to finally have his flat back, to experiment in the kitchen again and play the violin at all times of the night.

John just has to get it over with. It won’t be that bad. It’s not like they won’t spend time together anymore. He’ll make sure to find a place as close by as possible so that Sherlock can see Rosie whenever he pleases. He can’t separate them, not after everything Sherlock has done for them.

It has taken John longer than he cares to admit adjusting to his life as a widower, to cope with all the traumas and terror he has lived through. He couldn’t have done it without Sherlock—his help with Rosie, his friendship, his companionship. By now, he is factually Rosie’s second parent. John doesn’t want to break their bond. It would devastate all three of them.

But they can’t keep on living in denial about the lack of space for a rapidly growing child. They have to find a new place, to move on. They can make that work. They always have.

As he unlocks the front door and steps into the familiar hall, John can already hear the music floating down the staircase from their flat. He tries to remember the last time it has been quiet when he came home. Will there still be music in their new flat? Will the songs still sound the same without Sherlock?

John shakes his head determinedly, hoping that his painful thoughts would just fall off. He isn’t prone to sentimentality but having to leave Sherlock for a second time is bound to be an emotional train wreck, at least for him. Who knows what’s going on in that funny head of Sherlock’s? He wouldn't care, now, would he?

Following the soaring melody, John climbs up the stairs, trying to identify the tune. It’s either something from Frozen or Beauty and the Beast, probably.

Rosie is in the middle of her princess phase, ever since she has seen her first Disney movie. For the past weeks and months, she has barely talked about anything else than her favourites—Belle, Elsa, Moana, Cinderella, … She insists on watching the same films over and over again whenever John and Sherlock allow her some telly-time. The rest of her days, she spends reenacting her favourite scenes, soundtrack included. John can (more or less proudly) claim to know the lyrics to Let It Go even in his sleep by now.

At first, John was utterly horrified when his daughter for the first time expressed interest for something as far removed from science as possible, especially fearing that Sherlock might make some snarky comments about romantized and outdated gender roles, but, to John’s surprise and amusement, he has supported Rosie in her royal extravaganza with as much enthusiasm and diligence as he usually displays on a crime scene. He even convinced Mycroft to buy her a yellow gown—“Just like Belle’s! Thank you, Uncle Myc”—for her birthday. John has never seen anything funnier than Mycroft Holmes, the personification of the British Government, bowing to her majesty Rosie the First and graciously accepting her invitation to tea.

As he is half-way up the stairs, the music ebbs away and he hears Rosie’s high, demanding voice: “Now sing your song, Sher!” Her talent for bossing people around would do a real princess honour.

“As you wish, your majesty,” responds Sherlock’s silky baritone. He has never been one for strict parenting, John thinks as another melody begins. He would spoil Rosie rotten if John didn’t interfere, his heart being simply unable to deny her anything.

The lump in his throat grows with every step, the grocery bag weighing him down as if it were filled with lead instead of apples, toast, and beans. He will miss all of this. But what other choice is there really?

In the sitting room, only a few meters away now, Sherlock’s voice begins to sing a song John recognizes from Beauty and the Beast, the live-action version which Rosie has been only allowed to watch a couple of nights ago. She was a little scared of the howling wolves but the Beast won a special place in her heart right away. John must admit that he, too, enjoyed that particular film. Well, they can still have movie nights at their new place.

He mounts the last few steps, stopping on the landing to listen to Sherlock, the words now easily distinguishable:

“I was the one who had it all, I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.”

The fervency he lays into the lyrics makes John’s insides tingle. He has heard Sherlock sing to Rosie before but nothing has come close to this level of… honesty? The words drip from his tongue as fresh and true as spring water and make John hold his breath almost devoutly, a clandestine listener to a secret symphony.

With utmost caution as to not disturb them, John opens the door to the sitting room and peaks inside. The scene before his eyes is one to thaw even the coldest of hearts: Rosie, a head full of golden locks and mischief, is standing on the couch, her light blue dress playing around her bare feet as she bounces up and down in excitement. Sherlock’s slender figure is towering over her, the blanket the three of them cuddle under on cold nights draped around his shoulders as a makeshift cape. With melodramatic gestures and skillful vibrato in his honey-like voice, he entertains the little girl:

“I'll never shake away the pain. I close my eyes but he's still there. I let him steal into my melancholy heart; It's more than I can bear.”

John stops short in the doorway. He? Him? That can’t be right. As far as he remembers, the Beast sings this song about Belle. Why would he use male pronouns? Or has he misheard?

He eyes Sherlock carefully but the singing detective doesn’t show any signs of flustering, nor does Rosie correct him. Surely, John has misheard then. When it comes to reciting Disney songs, Rosie is more than unforgiving when someone makes a mistake. Unfortunately, she has picked up Sherlock’s habit to correct everyone on everything, although not with the same air of smugness as her godfather.

“Now I know he'll never leave me. Even as he runs away. He will still torment me, Calm me, hurt me, Move me, come what may.”

There it is again. He! John is sure he has heard it right this time. The syllable rings in his ears, echoes in his chest, lets every sinew in his body vibrate with alarming anticipation. He can’t move. Glued to the spot, he just keeps watching the two most important people in his life, both completely immersed in their little show. Rosie giggles satisfied as Sherlock kneels down in front of the sofa in an overly dramatic fashion, clutching his heart with one hand.

“Wasting in my lonely tower, Waiting by an open door, I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in And be with me for evermore.”

The deep note makes goosebumps spread all over John’s body. Deep inside his bones, something is shifting, falling into place, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. Why does this performance move him so much? It is heartwarming to watch, sure, but there’s something more, something significant going on. His breathing speeds up a notch without him being able to do anything about it. His whole body has become oddly rigid, no longer accepting orders from his mind. The bag full of groceries slips from his hand and lands on the floor with a thunk that makes Sherlock, at last, aware of his existence.

For a split second, their eyes meet and the hint of a coy smile tugs at Sherlock’s mouth but it vanishes so quickly that John is not quite sure if he has seen it at all. Rosie wins back his attention at once. Sherlock rises and swoops her off the sofa in one smooth movement, whirling her around in a pirouette that makes her squeal with laughter.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light. Though he's already flown so far beyond my reach he's never out of sight.”

Rosie wraps her legs and arms around his body like a little spider monkey, Sherlock securing her with strong arms as he keeps spinning them around. He lets his head fall back and sings at full volume as they twirl on the worn-out carpet, his voice saturating the air with its enchanting timbre. Every single word hits John like a wrecking ball.

“Now I know he'll never leave me, Even as he fades from view. He will still inspire me, Be a part of everything I do. Wasting in my lonely tower Waiting by an open door—”

Sherlock’s eager eyes fix on John and a hint of sadness and something apologetic flit across his face as he halts in the middle of the sitting room, the few steps between them, the safe distance they had kept all these years, this unsurmountable abyss finally being bridged by a delicate construct of wavering words.

John burns up under his gaze and is yet unable to divert his own eyes from the face of the man he shares his life with. Why would he ever give this up? Why would he ever let anything as mundane as a missing bedroom rip Sherlock from his side again? He can’t leave him, he doesn’t want to, he has never wanted to, since the first day they met. The realization crushes him like an avalanche, breaking bones and convictions like brittle twigs.

“I'll fool myself, he'll walk right in. And as the long, long nights begin, I'll think of all that might have been—”

Sherlock knows. How could he not? Sherlock knows how John feels about him. And if the pleading look he gives John and the confession he has woven into the song are any indicators, he feels the same. It couldn’t be clearer. John lets out a disbelieving puff of air—half laughter, half sigh. Why has it taken him so long to see it?

“Waiting here for evermore.”

The last note of the song hangs unfinished under the ceiling of their home as John crosses the sitting room with three swift steps, takes Sherlock’s face in his hands, and shuts him up with a long overdue kiss.

@itsalwaysyou-jw @drunk-rambles @barbsiebabe @blueeyesbitch @bugzy-boiz

[heonyhobi]

Gorgeous

Shownu x Reader

Fluff, Light Smut

Sohn Hyunwoo. What a jerk. He seemed to get under my skin every time I saw that stupid sparkling smile. It made me huff in frustration and caused my hands to shake from nervousness. It was terrible; he was terrible. But it had nothing to do with how terrible he was; it instead had everything to do with how frustratingly perfect he was. From his honeyed skin that glowed with every simple smile, to his ridiculously built body that looked as if it was chiseled from marble, and his beautifully charming personality, he seemed perfect from the inside out. He was the type of guy that held the door for me every morning, helped me with heavy boxes whenever stock arrived, brought me my favorite coffee and snacks when we were particularly busy, and even drove me home when my car was in the shop. He was an amazingly generous friend, and I have no right to desire more, but how much more of a generous lover would he be? I laid my forehead on the breakroom desk and groaned loudly. Of course, I had to be head over heels for a coworker.

Hyunwoo and I had been working in together in the same shopping mall for the last 4 months. He worked at a Nike outlet, and I at the American Eagle outlet directly across. We first met when on break in the cafeteria, and in those short 30 minutes, I simultaneously gained a best friend and the biggest crush I’ve had since high school. He could never know though, I wouldn’t want to mess up the relaxing relationship we have now. And besides, he has customers and coworkers alike fawning over his masculine features all day, who he gently lets down, on more than one occasion. I’m not overly excited  to join that (long) list of names. Even though he was so-

My alarm went off, signaling for me to clock back in. I headed back and prepped myself for the onslaught of frazzled, angry customers this evening. It was the holiday season, and that meant lots of people in my store. Too many. I wish they would just go home. Hyunwoo and I frequently ranted after these frustrating shifts. Hurling the insults and comments we couldn’t say to customer’s faces towards each other a little too loudly in the deserted parking lot. White puffs of air and phone flashlights illuminating the dark throughout our destressing.

I glanced up in between customers, eyes skimming through the huddles of bodies walking down the halls, until I met Hyunwoo’s. His customer was pointing and waving her arms frantically, she was angry about something. He reached up and ruffled his short hair before tapping the shell of his ear twice. I smiled at the sign of our secret language. One we devised after too many training hours on register. I could expect a fun vent session with my friend later. 

After my next customer left, with what must have been 15 bags on her arms, our eyes met again, and I scratched my head before applying chaptstick. Oh yeah, the heavens could expect an earful tonight.

About 20 minutes before the end of my shift, after the store closed, I entered the back to double check before I closed shop. My eyes lit up with excitement as I noticed the overabundance of cardboard boxes with WINTER 2 printed across the side. The January clothes were in, and I would be damned if I didn’t test any of the new styles out. Shutting the lights could wait 15 more minutes. 

Giggling, I rooted through the folded articles, finding the fits I wanted to try on the most, and headed to the changing rooms. I locked the door behind me out of habit and slipped on the first piece: a super soft oversized sweater.

I went through a few more shirts, about 6 pairs of pants, and 3 sets of the Aerie lingerie before I was satisfied. The last thing I had slipped on was a short, silky soft pink nightdress. It was lowcut v, with white lace brimming the top and covering the cutouts on the sides. Starting from the bottom and running all the way to the seam, snowy lace left little to the imagination. It was the cutest thing ever; I had to have it. I rummaged around the clothes strewn across the seat, searching for my phone to ask my manager about preordering, but my fingers grazed nothing but cloth. I remembered I had left it in the breakroom and turned to scamper through the empty store to retrieve it, but the stall door wouldn’t budge.

No, no, no. This was not happening. I jiggled the handle around a little, as if that would help, but the stupid door wasn’t moving. And it just so happened that this outlet had been fitted with decent doors that were flush against the floor, only space provided was at the top. I contemplated the thought of climbing over the top when a familiar voice echoed outside.

“(Y/N)? Where are you? I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes. You better not be working late again.”

It was Hyunwoo. Thank God. “Hey! I’m over here!” I yelled through the door.

His footsteps padded dully across the floor, until they stopped right next to my dressing room. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I, uh,” I started, embarrassment rising up my cheeks and ears, “I’m stuck.”

Hyunwoo chuckled. “Are you really?”

“Yes! Can you please get me out?” I huffed, growing impatient.

“Yeah, just uh, do me a favor and step away from the door.”

I did as he asked. “Ok, I’m out of the way.”

He wasted no time, the door whipped open violently as the now broken lock bounced against the full-length mirror on the wall and onto the floor.

“Well that’s one way to do it.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a thank-you hug. I nearly squealed as his warm hands held my back against him, his big arms made me feel so safe. I had been held by them countless times now, but they never failed to send my heart racing. “Thank you so much Hyunwoo.”

“You’re welcome.” He let go and gazed at me quizzically, and I thought I noticed a light dusting of pink on his round cheeks. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh, well I saw the WINTER 2 stock and wanted to try some pieces on. What do you think?” I asked, a sing-song quality lifting my voice subtly. I spun for him, feeling his eyes roam across the pastel, lacy silk, it raised up slightly, showing more of my thighs, if that was possible from how short the dress was on its own.

He gulped almost nervously, the dusting across his face deepening into a thick blanket of red. “You’re beautiful.”

I looked up at him, confusion pulling my eyebrows together, surprise widening my eyes.

It was his turn then for his eyes to grow at the realization of what he just commented. Whites doubling in size for a split second. “It is. It’s beautiful.”

I studied him intently. Did I hear him right? He just called me beautiful, didn’t he? The space between us grew awkwardly heavy, soft huffs of shallow breaths the only sound decorating the empty store. Should I address the elephant in the room?

“Y-you think I’m beautiful?” I stutter out, hope igniting in my chest.

Hyunwoo shifted his eyes from their spot on the floor to mine. He was reading my concerned expression, his features twisting into its own bewilderment, like he was wondering how I didn’t get it yet. His fingers rubbed the outside of my exposed arm. Starting at the edge of my shoulder, running all the way down to the jut of my elbow and back up again in comforting ovals. “Baby, you’re gorgeous.”

Bright warmth swept over me, spreading across my cheeks, ears, neck and shoulders. Oh shit.

His hand returns it upward ascent, this time going past my shoulder, floating across my collarbone, until his deft fingertips tilted my jaw upwards. He brought his face closer, lips ghosting teasingly over mine, short, anticipating breaths fanning my face softly. I waited for him to close the space between us, before I realized that he was waiting for me to do the same, waiting for my permission.

I lifted myself onto my tip toes, and kissed him sweetly, gently, softly, almost like I was afraid to do so. But as soon as I began to pull away, he entangled his fingers in my hair, gripping it with suppressed desperation. His kiss was rougher, needier, like he had been wanting to do this for a long time now. His opposite hand tugged my waist firmly, pulling me entirely into himself as he deepened the kiss, tongue dipping gently into the warmth of my mouth. A light moan escaped my throat as he pulled away slowly, and his rosy, wet lips formed into a smirk at my reaction.

“Wow.” Was all I could say. No other thoughts came up clear amidst the dizziness in my head, the tingling on my lips, and the fluttering of my heartbeat.

His smirk grew into a prideful smile, bottom lip catching between teeth. “You liked that?”

I simply nodded, too dazed to focus.

“I’ve actually been wanting to do that for a while now.” He admitted, arms keeping me held tight against his toned body. His wandering eyes drifted downwards, followed by a plump pair of lips attached to my neck. “And this.” 

 He gently sucked my sensitive skin, teeth grazing lightly, causing me to whimper into his ear. He growled lowly in response.

“Me too.” I managed to breathe out.

“Then do you want to continue this at my place?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be wearing this?” He questioned, tugging playfully at the lowest part of the v, exposing my chest to his leisure.

“I have to buy it first, Hyunwoo.” I reminded him, wiggling out of his embrace. I reached for my clothes underneath the messy pile on the seat.

“So, you’ll be wearing nothing then?” He asked with a cocky tone.

“I suppose so.” I smiled, changing out of the night dress teasingly.

He bit his lip again, burning gaze following my every movement. “Then let’s hurry.”

“So impatient.” I teased.

I put my uniform back on and returned the new stock to their respectful boxes. 

Hitting the lights on my way out we walked, or rather ran, back to his car, giggling throughout the mall halls like foolish teenagers. We could hardly keep our hands and mouths off of each other the entire way back, stumbling carelessly into his apartment, I don’t even think we made it to the bedroom before items of clothing dropped to the floor, one by one.

[kulric-stoneheart]

First Taste

It must have been midday when Harald shook me awake. I was lucky enough to have collapsed into my cot, even if I had my riding attire on. I opened my bleary eyes and let Harald’s rough face come into focus. His thick brows were furrowed and his bald head shone like the water’s edge. It took a few seconds to realize he was speaking to me. “...got some work to do before we go.”

Then he walked out and let me get ready on my own. I sat up and ran a thick hand down my red beard and equally red head of hair. With a sigh I rose, stretched, and got ready for a long day.

After some time I rejoined my escort in the main room of the tavern. The barkeep was tending orders while the cooks tossed out brunch and lunch orders. “Can I get a nice sweet mead, sir?” 

He looked at me quite peculiarly. “You know it’s still midday, right?”

“I’ll tell you what my father told me.” I paused, “Son, the position of the sun has no effect on my drinking habits.” Finishing off with a curt nod.

He shrugged, “Whatever you say, as long as you pay. That’s my motto.”

I slid him some silver from my pockets and made short strides over to Harald, who was at a table speaking with a young woman. As I got closer I understood the gravity of the conversation. “He comes into town and steals valuables for people, then offers to sell them back at extreme prices. He’s a thief! He should hang!”

Harald nodded, “He’s done this often, then?”

The irate woman nodded and gestured furiously, “The night before he comes into town he breaks into at least one of our homes. We never know when he’s coming, but when he’s selling his wares the next day, we all know he’s selling at least one thing that belongs to a villager. Even now he’s out there selling my mother’s silver ring!”

I retrieved my mead and sauntered back over to the table. Harald looked at me, then at my drink. “Dwarves.” He stated before looking back at the woman. “We can deal with him. You’ll get your ring back and we’ll try to make sure he doesn’t make another appearance.” He got up and motioned for me to follow.

I gulped down a rich and sweet mead, one that I wish I could have savored more. As I walked out I set the mug on a nearby table. The blinding sun hit me like a truck. My short legs struggled to keep up with the confident and long strides of the paladin. It didn’t take long to find out man. He set up a stall beside his wagon, a grey tarp covering him and his wares from the hot sun. 

As we got closer I noticed that the tips of his ears were elongated, as well as his face. He had fine and fair features, almost naturally beautiful. I had not seen many elves in the mountain, but this must have been one. “Greetings, friends, how are you two today?” 

His voice was like butter, smooth and sweet, nearly sing-song. Harald, on the other hand, was not as elegant. He looked over the wares without saying anything to the man at first. “How much of this is stolen?”

“Sir! I’m insulted. I would never acquire my inventory with such despicable methods!” He paused, looking over Harald. “You’re not from around here, are you? Ah, it were the villagers, wasn’t it? Filling your head with outlandish claims. It is because I carry quality products at prices they simply cannot afford. The only reason I stop here on my circuit is for the odd traveler like yourself. These natives are insufferable.”

His table consisted of mostly jewelry, with some knick-knacks on one side of the display. In the center of the table was a dagger that seemed to be made of bone, inlaid with gemstones, with a golden hilt. It was quite the centerpiece. The paladin seemed to be looking over everything as well. “This amulet is definitely fine dwarven craft, and these earrings are elvish, no doubt. The dagger, if I’m not mistaken, is of dragonborn craft. Crude and brutal, yet decorative as well. You have a wide array of commodities for a traveling merchant.”

“All comes with bartering. People get tired of one thing and trade it in for another. We both win. Now, are you looking for anything specific?”

Villagers began milling about the cart. Harald picked up a rather dingy ring. It seemed to be an engagement ring, but from someone who probably couldn’t afford much. “How much for this, then? Answer me truthfully.” He said with a wave of his hand.

The dealer scoffed, “You don’t want that. A man of your stature? Such is beneath you! I have many other--”

“I said, how much?” 

“Not for sale at the moment. Not to you.” The elf was becoming indignant. 

“Looking for the right buyer? Perhaps a villager here who just lost a very similar ring?” More people began to stare. 

The elf hissed, “Of course! She’ll pay most of her savings to have it back.”

His face suddenly fell, mouth dropped open. He put a hand to his throat, as if it had betrayed him. Muttering grew around them, as most of the villagers stopped to watch. Harald leaned in, grabbed the dealer by his collar and dragged him over his table, scattering knick-knacks on the ground. The squirming merchant collapsed when Harald let him free. Slowly, Harald picked up the villager’s ring, and was face to face with the crooked elf. “I travel this way a good amount, mostly visiting the towns in the area. Now when I come back down this way, and when I run into you again, your stock is going to be cleared out, given to the people it belongs to, correct?”

“No!” the elf exclaimed as he nodded his head. His eyes grew wide again in disbelief. 

The paladin stood and reached to the scabbard on his back. He drew out a large claymore and stuck the point onto the elf’s jerkin. “Perhaps I should delay my journey to do it myself. Get rid of the middle man. I give you one more chance, cretin.”

The elf finally nodded and spat out, “Yes, yes I’ll do it. Next time you’ll see me, I’ll be an honest man. An honest merchant with good wares!”

The knight seemed pleased with his answer. “Start here. Give these villagers back whatever you took from them. Both merchant and buyer will have the truth of it. Quickly now.” He sheathed his claymore. 

The grovelling elf gathered up the spilled wares and took up residence back behind his cart as villages filed up one by one, saying what he had of theirs. I looked up at Harald. “How do you know either side is telling the truth of what they own?”

He smiled a knowing smile. “They’re forced to, thanks to my training. You’ll learn something similar if you follow the path you’re set on. Pack your things. Once he’s done here, we’re heading to Laelith.”

[fromashescomephoenixes]

Forever Isn’t Long Enough

A/n: This fic was requested by @crescentnightwood Thank you so much for the lovely request! It was so fun to write :)

word count: 1.4k

summary: Sirius x reader dance together at Jily’s wedding

warnings: none!

••••

“Oh Lily,” I rushed to my friend and reached out to take her hands. “That ceremony was splendid,” We spun together in a quick circle of delight before sitting down together at the small circular table.

It was quite a small wedding with- well, everything that was happening, it simply wasn’t safe to have a large one. And so me, the maid of honour and Sirius Black, the best man, were the only members of the wedding party.

The friends and family were all ecstatic, and you doubted there was a more loved couple in the whole world. Not to mention how much they loved each other.

Finally, after the ceremony and pictures, you had arrived at the reception. Dumbledore had agreed to let James and Lily use the room of requirement for it, which spoke a great deal to just how much everyone was rooting for them as a couple.

Whenever I looked at James and Lily, I knew my biggest wish was to have a love like that.

Of course, I had many people I loved in my life. Lily, who was like a sister to me. Aunt Minnie, who raised me after my parents were killed by Voldemort. James, my (friendly) rival in quidditch and transfiguration.

And then, there was Sirius. I loved him. So much that it made me want to laugh and cry all at once. He was my best friend. Truly, that’s as far as my love went. At least as far as I’d told him..

••••

The Room of Requirement had really put done itself this time. It was a stunning large room, which you could only describe as an especially opulent greenhouse. The room was made entirely out of glass, and let thin beams of golden sunlight (Godric knows how on earth it did that) into the room. There were vines and flowers and small fruit trees which covered every wall, and performed the room beautifully.

And the tables! The were a worn white wood, and set with rose gold silverware and lilies at each spot. I knew the only reason those were there is because James had instantly conjured them out of thin air, and sent them to each seat.

Soft music played, starting with trendy muggle music such as ‘The Beetles’ and moving on to wizarding songs such as ‘Alohomora my Heart’ I thought all of the songs were absolute bops.

As we all sat down to dinner, I realised that this small circular table consisted of only you, Sirius, James, and Lily.

“Oh this is so perfect,” I told them. “We all needed a celebration like this,”

“I feel like a wedding has even more symbolism right now,” Lily nodded. “It reminds people that there is still love in the world.”

“I love the fact that we’re celebrating your love for me, my darling.” James winked at Lily. Godric, their love made me want to swoon. “But in all seriousness, I agree. Not even Voldemort (I heard an audible gasp from the old, unknown lady sitting a couple feet away) is more powerful than love and people need to see that,”

“In all siriusness did you say?” Sirius grinned. “You are all right though. Plus now is definitely the time to say if you love someone,” Sirius’s eyes flicked over to you.

We all continued to idly chat and catch up. Somehow, I always could chat with these three as if I hadn’t seen them in years, and yet at the same time feel like I’d known them everyday of my life. It was so comfortable, and I felt love simply pouring out of you towards them.

“It’s time for your first dance,” Sirius announced. A slow, wizarding song began to play. It was as if it was made for them. It sang about the meadow of flowers, and all of the wild life (including Deers) It was a simple waltz, but they were so graceful and in love that the beauty was never ending. All I wanted was for someone to hold me like James was holding Lily. His Lily and her James. The song came to a close, but another which everyone could dance to came on. This time, an upbeat Beetles song began to play.

“Wanna dance y/n?” Sirius appeared with his hands in the pocket of his black jeans. He was so hot... Of course, I mean he’s hot as in everyone here is hot. The room of requirement must be missing a thermostat.

“Ah yes, I’ve been practicing my dancing so I could show off here,” I exclaimed with a grin. We went on to the dance floor and I began to preform various dance moves such as ‘the sprinkler’ or ‘the popcorn’

“Really y/n,” Sirius teased me “those dance moves are anything but acceptable for a wedding!” His laughter echoed as the song ended and faded out.

“Oh, and how would be suitable to dance?” I said in the sassiest way possible. Here, the music began into another slow song. To be specific 1000 Times by Sara Bareilles, one of my favorite songs.

“Well, I suppose really I’ll have to teach you,” Sirius smiles softly, but with just as much passion as his broad grins usually possessed. “Can’t you siriusly embarrassing yourself, can we?”

“Oh no,” I exclaimed dramatically. “That would be awful,” With a giggle I added “I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime!”

“Would you be referring to that whole green hair incident by chance?” Now Sirius really smirked at the memory of one of our most epic prank battles. He took my hand in his large, but smooth one.

“No. That was purely a fashion statement and nothing else,” I deadpanned while rolling my eyes. “Now, teach me how to dance!”

“You’re hopeless so far y/n!” I threw my head back into a laugh. “I love it when you laugh,” he gazed into my eyes. Holding the stare steady for a moment.

“I love it when you make me laugh,” I tried to compliment him, but I was a little shaken by the more serious turn. “I love a lot about you,” I began. It felt like the right time to take a leap of faith.

“What’s not to love?” He joked. Now we were simply spinning in small, slow circles. His hand was placed on the small of my back, which was bare due to the style of dress Lily chose for me. His hand felt so protective there, and I melted a little further into his chest.

“Well, you do have that habit of eating your boogers,” I purposefully spoke loudly enough for a few neighbouring couples to hear. Not to be out done, Sirius spoke slightly louder again,

“Oh well don’t get me started on how you bite your toenails!” We laughed together, silently deciding that was fair teasing and revenge for this instance.

“I want to keep this moment with me forever,” I sighed, resting my head on his leather shoulder. He had worn a suit to the ceremony, but the second that ended he changed into his usual jeans and leather jacket. Knowing Sirius I wouldn’t have expected anything else.

“I don’t know if forever would be long enough my love,” Sirius whispered.

“Am I?” I glanced up.

“Are you what?”

“Your love?”

“No.” And just like that everything came crashing down. For a horrible second, my whole body felt stiff as my mind replayed all of the beautiful moments I had spent with Sirius. Though it felt like an eternity, I was lifted by hearing his voice again. In my stuff few seconds, I hadn’t moved my head, so I could still hear his heartbeat.

“What I mean,” Sirius brushed a kiss on my hair, “Is that you are not only my love, but you are my life. You saved me with your kindness that day at the train station. You saved me with your smarts in every single situation we got into. You loved me in any and every way I needed, even when I didn’t believe anyone would. You are my love, my life, and my light. And hell, in this mad world I’m not keeping that from you one moment longer.”

We continued to gently sway to the music and I pressed myself into him as close as I could.

“I’m so happy,” And that statement could not be more true. “Forever may not be long enough, but not a moment of it will feel wasted if I’m with you.“

[changingchances]

Crossing Senses-  Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor  Part 2

A/N: 2001 words. Hi again! So, I’m having a fantastic time writing this! Again, it’s a bit slow- it will be a little bit until the drama picks up, but I want this to be kind of a slow burn thing so that the tension can build, I suppose. Please let me know what you think! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Just some swearing.

********

“I expected I’d have a lot more convincing to do,” Freddie stands in the doorway of the lab, shoes dangerously close to the threshold. His hands are on his hips, his head cocked to the side. Roe shoos him a few steps back and gives a light laugh.

“Of course not, Freddie. I love live music. And I haven’t had the privilege of seeing you perform since before you went off to America!” She emphasizes the word privilege with a dramatic flourish of her hand before turning her attention back to gathering up odds and ends from the various boxes shoved into the laboratory. While she pulls out loose papers, small metal boxes, and an array of odd wiry contraptions, she adds, “Besides, you may be right. It could be helpful for my thesis.” She waves around a beat-up journal for good measure, smiling brightly when she turns back to her old neighbor.

“At the very least, it will be a break for you, if nothing else.” Freddie gives her a pointed look, arching a brow and making to step into the lab. Roe is suddenly in front of him, blocking the doorway, her arms full of equipment and scraps of paper.

“You know you aren’t allowed in here, Fred.” She isn’t smiling now, rather mirroring his expression with her own raised brow. “And anyways, there are no breaks in graduate school. There’s only getting to the end of it. With my degree.”

Freddie rolls his eyes. “So secretive. And arrogant, too, if I might add. When did you become so cocky about your smarts, darling?”

Roe sneers playfully, moving so the heavy door to her lab slams shut behind her before making her way to an empty classroom. Freddie matches her stride easily.

“At least let me carry something!” He holds his arms out in offering.

“You can’t touch my equipment or read my data, Mercury.” Roe quips back, stopping in front of the classroom and blowing a few stray curls from her hanging in her eyes.

“Then at least let me get the door for-“ Freddie cuts himself off as Roe lifts her leg and expertly wings her foot, catching the door handle and pushing the door open with a delicate flick of her ankle- toes pointed and all. She practically prances into the room, Freddie left to stand in the doorway with his lips pursed, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t look at me like you’ve never seen such grace before!” Roe laughs again, setting everything down on the table in front of her and rummaging through papers. Freddie merely chuckles.

“Same old Roe. Will you never let me help you?” He walks in and drags over a rolling chair, sitting in it backwards so he can rest his arms on the back of the seat. He puts his chin on top of his folded hands and watches his friend continue her search through the piles and piles of notes. At his comment, though, she practically snorts.

“Fred, what could I possibly be incapable of handling on my own at this point? I’m doing research that’s entirely out there- practically no one has even heard of the things I’m looking into, but I’m handling it. I live on my own, feed myself, pay for school, etcetera, etcetera. I can carry my things and open a door. What are you on about?” She chuckles again, but suddenly her smile fades completely and her hand is resting just atop her collar bone.

Freddie raises his brow again, but this time it isn’t cocky or smug.

“Is it him again?” He asks gently. Roe nods, her lips twisting into what could only be described as a sad smirk. Freddie knows how conflicted the whole soulmate situation makes Roe feel. She, at this point in her life, is practically married to her work, her research, her barely budding dance career. She works so hard to make ends meet, to further her education, to continue pursuing her artistry despite it all, that the idea of someone stumbling into her life and interrupting that is terrifying to her. But everyone grows up dreaming of meeting their soulmate, and Roe is no exception. She’s just terribly anxious that whoever he is, his timing will be poor.

“What’s he singing this time, dear?” Freddie stands and approaches Roe, taking her hand and uncovering the lyrics scribbling themselves straight across her clavicle. Freddie smiles at what he sees.

I am forever searching high and low

But why does everybody tell me no?

“Lily of the Valley,” Freddie murmurs, amused at the coincidence of it being one of his band’s songs. Roe scoffs in disbelief.

“Of course, it is.” When Freddie looks at her, she’s grinning and shaking her head. “I’ve been listening to that song for hours on end all week, Fred. I’m trying to choreograph to it, but it’s proving difficult.” She takes her hand back and continues going through her papers.

“Hard to dance to?” Freddie inquires, returning to his seat. He decides he’ll press her for more details on the soulmate issue momentarily. Roe shakes her head.

“Quite the opposite, actually. It’s perfect. It’s so easy to move to. But it’s your song, Fred, and I want the dance to be perfect. I feel like I’m not quite doing it justice.” She shakes her head again and glances up at him, a fond look in her eye. “I’m not throwing a pity party. It’s just a challenge. I’ll get it right sometime.”

“Of course, you will, love,” Fred smiles at her. There’s a long pause, where Freddie sits there thinking while Roe continues sifting through her notes. She’s the one who breaks the silence.

“Here it is!” She’s holding up a crumpled scrap of note paper, covered in ink smudges and chicken-scratch scribbles. “I can’t show you much about my proposal, but here. This is what it’s all based off!” She hands over the scrap to Freddie who is now grinning like a madman.

“Finally, an ounce of truth!” He declares. “The question, love, is will I be able to understand whatever mumbo jumbo psychological witchcraft you’ve scribbled on here?”

“Probably not,” Roe deadpans. “But that’s why I’m here to explain.”

Freddie attempts to read through the notes, but Roe’s handwriting is horrendous, and a lot of the words don’t even appear to be in English.

“Okay, dear, what the hell is… syn… synith…?”

“Synesthesia!” Roe practically squeals. “It refers to the crossing of senses, Fred! It’s similar to what happens when individuals take certain hallucinogenic drugs!”

Freddie stares at the woman in front of him for a long moment, trying to piece together what the hell she’s on about.

“So,” he begins carefully, trying to follow her train of thought (an impossible task if he does say so himself). “This thing-“

“Synesthesia.” She nods aggressively.

“This synesthesia is a drug induced… trip?”

“No!” Roe snatches the paper back and holds it up to her face, eyes scanning for something. “Here!” She hands it back, pointing to a barely readable line. “It’s a condition, one that can occur without drugs. I think it could be neurological, maybe even genetic. I’m not certain. But, Fred, the people who may have this condition, they can associate an experience with two or more senses!”

Freddie stares at her blankly. “I’m not sure I’m following, Roe. I’ve never heard of such a thing”

She visibly deflates at that, sinking down into a chair and laying her forehead down on the desk. “It’s… it’s a long shot, Fred, but I know it’s a real thing. There was research done in the 19th century, but… it’s not a lot to go off. But I think it’s why I can see the colors in words, and, you know.” She hasn’t moved, other than to turn her head and press her cheek against the table. She sighs audibly.

Freddie stares for a few more moments. Roe had mentioned a handful of times before about seeing numbers and letters in color and all this other dippy trippy stuff he’d never heard of before. She didn’t talk too much about it to anyone else because, well, it honestly did sound a little crazy. But Freddie, of all people, was not going to judge her for simply seeing things, differently. One may say she just sees the world artistically.

“Or… creatively…” Freddie mumbles to himself, recalling Deaky’s comment to Roger earlier. Suddenly, he’s out of his seat and grabbing Roe by her shoulders.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Roe slaps his hands away and looks at him as though he’s gone mad.

“You MUST come to our concert!” He almost screams it in her face.

“I ALREADY TOLD YOU I WAS COMING, YOU TWAT!!!” She snapped back, clutching at her heart. “WHAT IS WRONG, ARE YOU TRYING TO GIVE ME A HEART ATTACK?!”

“YOU!!” Fred turns around and throws his hands in the air. “YOU COULD HELP ROGER FIGURE THIS SOULMATE SHIT OUT!”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” Roe is still clutching her chest. Roger Taylor? As in the band’s drummer? Everyone on the planet knows the kid has a way with the women. Thinking about it now, Roe wouldn’t really be surprised if Roger is among the individuals who don’t have a soulmate. It would explain his habit of taking a different woman home every night. Is that what Freddie means?

“Are you asking me to psychoanalyze your drummer?” She asks, her face twisting into what could only be described as a what the fuck expression.

“No!” Freddie gestures wildly to the equipment and papers still scattered across the table. “His soulmate lyrics don’t appear as lyrics! They appear as colors!” Roe’s eyes widen at that. She’d never heard of such a thing happening.

Freddie grabs Roe’s hand. “You could help us interpret them, right? Since you know so much about this stuff, since you have some form of this thing yourself, you could tell us what it all means!”

Roe feels a drop in her stomach and quickly shakes her head. “I don’t see music, Freddie, I wouldn’t know.”

“But you have data, articles, resources! There must be something!”

“It doesn’t work that way, Fred. Synesthetes don’t follow a strict system of rules. It differs for everyone. Some don’t even have associations with color. There are endless numbers of sense crossing combinations in the first place, but one person with sound and color associations won’t experience it the same way as another synesthete. It’s all based on perception.”

Freddie shoulders drop a little at that, and he releases Roe’s hand.

“Dammit,” he mutters, taking a seat on the table. It’s quiet again for a moment before Freddie speaks. “He’s really frustrated by the whole thing. He doesn’t know anybody else who’s ever had anything but song lyrics. It’s really putting him off…”

Roe sighs. Freddie is rarely one to guilt anyone into anything, so she knows he is truly worried about the drummer. She looks down at her notes again and bites her lip, thinking.

“Let me see what I can do,” she says softly. Freddie glances at her with a hopeful look. She shakes her head at him. “I can’t promise anything, Fred. Whatever is up with your drummer boy may have absolutely nothing to do with synesthesia. However, if it does, then that’s a clue for him and his soulmate quest and information for me and my research.” It’s not untrue. If Roe find some supporting evidence that synesthesia affects soulmate indications, then she’d have more evidence that the condition is legitimately neurological. That would get her proposal accepted for sure.

Freddie smiles at her. “You’re a bloody genius, Roe. Dare I say, smarter than Brian.”

Roe scoffs. “Must you even question such a thing?” They both laugh together a moment. Freddie watches her as she tenses a little and glances down at her wrist.

“What song this time?” He asks softly. She smiles a little.

“Still Lily of the Valley.”

[heaven-delight]

[INTERVIEW] TRANS : Red Velvet Seulgi GQ October Edition

We especially requested you to be interviewed out of Red Velvet. Why do you think we chose you? I don’t know. Maybe it was because I’m popular among women but it’s GQ...

Maybe it was because of your coolness. You don’t look fussy, anxious nor easily swept away by things.  I value doing my end of the work as well as I can a lot. I think there are people who notice that I think a lot about what my role is, what I’m good at and what I’m trying to express the most out of this job. 

If that were true, we’d simply say you were hard-working. People might have found some charms that I haven’t discovered about myself. But I personally look up to people who do their part of the job the best they can. And that’s the kind of person I think of when other people tell me that I’m cool.

Who’s the coolest person to you out of all the people in the world? Mom and dad. When I said that I wanted to be a singer when I was young, they supported me with everything they could. They even signed up for auditions in my place. On top of that, they even packed lunch boxes and fed them to me whenever I finished practicing and went back home. I spent my seven years as a trainee like that.

It looks like they took care of you like a sports star. Yeah, at first I thought my parents were being too extra, because I thought I was all grown up. I even worried that I might not be able to survive on my own if they kept doing things like that to me. But, even these days, when I tell them that I’m stressed over my singing, they talk to me like a vocal coach. Nowadays, they trust me and leave me alone. They just say that they hope I come back to them whenever I feel down.

What has changed the most about you while being a part of Red Velvet? I really think I’m changing constantly. I can feel that I change depending on what kind of mindset I have at that moment. A lot of things cross my mind because of that. These days, I don’t know what kind of person I am. But then again, I’m sure everybody’s like this. Sometimes, I’m confident to do something, but other times, even if the littlest thing goes wrong, I lose confidence and look timid. Then I figure out what’s wrong with me and get better. Stuff like these just all exist inside of me.

The fact that your job requires you to present every aspect of yourself to the public is what makes it harder, isn’t it? Yeah. But that’s also how I get energized.

During your trainee years, did you learn how to get interviewed? No. Before, I took a look at the questions ahead of time and wrote all of my answers below it, in fear that I might forget them. But these days, I think I’m able to speak without going through all of that because I think about these things casually. If, when I first debuted, I censored myself to say typical things in case it could cause controversy, nowadays, I find out what I’ve been thinking about these days while getting interviewed. I like interviews like these because they’re like short logs of my life. Before, I did hide myself a lot. I mean, I still have some sides of me that I haven’t revealed. I think that I’ll look pretty doing this, but then again, I realize, I don’t look pretty when I smile. Things like that. I know I have things that I’m still hiding right now, but I’m planning onto not put too much effort in covering them up. I’m learning how to show those things naturally.

You look comfortable being interviewed. Is there anything that people don’t know about you well despite your efforts to not cover yourself up?  Um... If I were to list one thing, I’m not as hard-working as people think I am. I’m the kind of person who gets things done, even if it means I have to rush through it. But, the thing is that it takes me a long time to summon the energy to motivate myself to get that done... Really, I’m not the kind of person who plans everything out in advance.

But I heard that you make sure to do everything the best you can, whether it’s a variety show or a special stage. I try to do whatever it takes to make that happen. Even if that means I have to stay up all night. But that doesn’t mean that I’m hard-working.

Maybe it’s because you’re known for being a trainee for a long time. Lots of people take pity on me by saying things like, “Oh, how did you go through all that,” “That must have been rough,” but I wish they wouldn’t. I, myself, don’t think it was that much of a hard time. Of course, there were some rough patches, but it’s like how someone who’s been a trainee for three years has their own three years of hardship and trouble. Let’s say someone who’s been a trainee for three years debuts with me. Then that means that that person has to get used to working with me, a person who has trained for seven years. That, in other words, means that that person had to condense what I had to go through seven years and get it done in three years. Everybody has their own pace and time. If I had really debuted after just three years of practice, I would have been more lost than I am now.

You once said that you were having a hard time keeping up with the busy schedules. How do you manage to keep calm and get things done when you have tons of things to do? I just say to myself that this is my job. Actually, that’s something that I always have in mind. I push through by thinking that I can’t let go of this for the people around me, like my fans and the staff. And it feels really good when people notice what I’ve worked on. I became a singer for people to notice my hard work and also because I enjoy getting my hard work being noticed. 

Is there a habit you have kept without fail ever since you’ve debuted? Hmm... Ah! I tried to make the people who know me like me! My personality is like that. Even when I was young, I had a good relationship with my classmates too. People who don’t know me could not like me. But I’ve always told myself to try to leave a good impression of myself in the people who do know me. I don’t like being on bad terms with people. I’m more of a people person. If there’s someone who’s talking bad about me, I want to listen to what that person has to say too, and ask, “Why don’t you like me?” (Giggles)

Do you have anything that you’ve learned to let go after debuting? My looks? Of course, I think that everybody has their own characteristics and charms. But you know the generic kind of beauty that people have, right? I’m trying to not think too much about that. I’m trying not to focus too much on pretty things.

Wait, what? I’m getting more and more surprised because the more I look at you, the more you resemble the actress Lee Young-Ae. My looks are constantly exposed to the public because of my job, so if I didn’t have that kind of mindset, I’m sure I would have been really stressed. But, it’s the era of individuality now. If there’s one thing that I’m confident in my looks, it’s the locations of my ears, eyes, mouth, and nose! When I debuted, I got lots of hate comments and got called out for my looks, which made my self-esteem plummet. But I’ve let go of all of that. In the “Laws of the Jungle,” I was just like, ‘Here goes nothing,’ and revealed my no-makeup face in front of the camera. I find people who are honest about themselves cool and pretty. And they look much more charming when they’re like that. It’s way cooler to see people not blindly follow other people. 

If there’s one ability that you really need right now, what would it be? Being able to say what I want right away. 

You can’t? No. I wish I could just say what’s in my head well. From a long time ago, I thought I was a bit boring. I like chatting quietly like this, but I think that makes me look shabby compared to the other bright people in the music industry. I also feel like I ruin everything because I’m not good at telling stories well. It got to the point where I was convinced that I had a talent for making everything awkward. So, I want to say what I want right away, without hesitation. I’m wondering about whether drinking will help me get over this problem, because when I’m drinking with other people, that bright and relaxed atmosphere helps me be more honest.

If you could steal someone’s abilities, whose would you steal? Beyonce’s. Wow, I wonder what she feels like being able to dance and sing like that. She must feel really happy being the best at everything...

In a past interview, you said that you wanted to learn how to play the guitar. Have you made any progress on that? This proves why I’m not hard-working. (Giggles) You see, if I make a plan, it becomes a long-term plan no matter what, because there isn’t a date that I have to accomplish it by. 

It might be risky for you to make any plans without setting an urgent deadline.  Yeah, I think so. Then again, even when I was young, I always crammed for my exams, but I have a reason for that. I only had one week to study for my exams while being a trainee. Instead of going to the company for that week, I’d get tutored and study till dawn. I’ve gotten too used to that now, so, if I have something that I need to do, I set a deadline and make sure it gets done by then.

Then what are some of the extra long-term goals you have as being a part of Red Velvet? Red Velvet is a group that tries out a variety of concepts, right? I mean, it’s gotten to the point where I can’t figure out what to wear when I have to perform ‘Peek-A-Boo’ and ‘Power Up’ in one performance. But concentrating on every moment of that is really fun. When else would I be able to dance intimidatingly and make those kinds of facial expressions if it wasn’t for ‘Bad Boy?’ I think Red Velvet is a group where unique people have come together to sing unique songs and express uniqueness. I don’t like cliche things, so I like the direction that the company is leading Red Velvet to. Although now I’m only able to pitch in a few opinions while performing at concerts, I hope that in the future I’ll be able to participate more in building the direction that Red Velvet will take, since we’ve been in the industry for quite some time and we’re starting to understand what our color is like.

Could you share a super short-term goal that you’ve achieved recently? I think I’m just winding down by eating yummy things these days. Before, I didn’t have the luxury of being able to try yummy things or food. But now it’s different. I have to eat want I immediately. So I ate gopchang yesterday.