district3sbitch-blog

[urbanfiltered]

i cannot stop talking huh

[01zfan]

halcyon | p. wb

guitarist!wonbin x bassist!reader | 13k words

after an insane…awful…damn near DIABOLICAL wait i present you with the most insane writing i have ever done. why i decided to go so hard for a wonbin fic is beyond me but he just evokes something particularly crazy within me.

Halcyon makes music like the album Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino by Arctic Monkeys. this takes place during the 80’s and mentions several places in the world’s rock scene in regards to this time. some songs that remind me of this couple are cry for me by magdalena bay, dare by gorillaz, heavy by powers, i’ll bet you by the jackson 5, drugs by charli xcx, and had ten dollaz by cherry glazerr.

contains: toxic relationship, physical violence (reader fights a girl, several fights during rock shows), infidelity, semi-public sex, fingering, pain kink drug mention, addictive behaviors, non-linear storytelling, it is referenced that the reader does something to "get rid of" other band members, part of this is in eunseok’s perspective then it switches

rock the house masterlist

Wonbin held after concert rituals very close to his heart. When the post-show adrenaline attempted to crash down on him and steal his serotonin like a thief in the night he had a few things lined up to keep the good feeling going. He would be on stage with the guitar still in his hands and before the last riff tore through the venue and while people’s screams still rang in his ears, Wonbin was already setting his eyes on his next dopamine rush. 

His following activities for the night post-concert goes as follows, in no particular order:

Sex.

Drugs.

Trashing hotel rooms.

Chain smoking an entire pack of American Spirits.

He gritted his teeth as he brought his hands down the neck of his instrument. A chord rang through the venue as he remembered he was on his second strike—after the previous three—of ignoring the groupie ban. As he walked off the stage he remembered that he was completely out of drugs, and when he ran his fingers over his engraved initials on the side of his metal cigarette case he came to the realization it was lighter than usual.

“Fuck.” 

Wonbin cursed under his breath, already knowing what was waiting for him inside. The venue staff and roadies moved around him as he stood completely still, looking down at his very last American Spirit. The sound of people running around and making sure equipment was being put in the right place drowned out completely around Wonbin. It was just him, the lone cigarette, and the wave of depression getting closer and closer to crashing down on him. Stray bits of tobacco slid from the metal casing and fell until it landed between his black heeled boots. He sighed to himself and clamped the case hard with a singular hand. The case almost sprung back open from the force. A cheap gift from a former lover that was already falling apart. He swore he had more Spirits.

“I’m going outside.” Wonbin spoke from the side of his mouth the cigarette didn’t occupy.

He didn’t care to look over his shoulder or wait for a reply. He’s sure Shotaro and Sion yelled at him to be back on the bus in thirty minutes or he’d send Wendy out there to kick his ass. He only waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder before heading to the door, using the side of his body to open it while he lit his cigarette.

Wonbin didn’t like Wendy too much, she insisted on managing the band like they were a professional act instead of a bunch of sleazy assholes who could hold a tune. Wonbin much preferred starting fights at shows and picking up girls to break their hearts the next day. Now that Wendy was around—and the major record label that was producing their next album—Halcyon was trying to be more classy. That meant no more young ladies in the hotel rooms, no more instigating physical confrontations at shows, and no more illicit drugs or illegal substances. Wonbin was barely able to sneak underneath Wendy’s radar. She watched him like a hawk, the only moments of solace he got was when he’d walk around the venue to take a smoke break. He was lucky she didn’t have much of a taste for the smell of nicotine. Wonbin would never be the one to tell her that a cigarette might help loosen the gigantic stick she had shoved up her ass.

He walked past the venue staff into the muggy night. Gainesville Florida, a disgusting rainy mess of a city that made you feel like you were choking on the humidity. The vibrant rock scene didn’t make up for the thick air that made everyone feel like they were swallowing smoke. Traveling the world was alot less fulfilling than he thought it’d be. Not every destination was a vibrant city with exotic nightlife and attractions. Sometimes it was in the armpit of a country, right in the bible belt wedged between two conservative cities. 

But this wasn’t all bad. Despite being a pessimist, Wonbin knew that shows paid the studio bills, it paid everything. The weather also couldn’t have been too muggy, because he still insisted on putting his cigarette to his lips and inhaling the fumes, even if the fog rested over his body like a damp weighted blanket. 

Wonbin breathed in until embers ignited and he felt that sting in the back of his throat. He should make this last American Spirit last—he really should—but the more he realized this was his last vice for God knows how long he couldn’t stop himself from taking prolonged puff after prolonged puff.

He wandered away from the venue while eating his cigarette, heading towards the side of a building right next to a shady alleyway. He was grateful that word travelled he wasn’t kind to stragglers after the show. He was left alone as he leaned against the wet brick of the building, sputtering up phlegm from singing, the cigarette, and the heavy air around him. Despite the pain he continues to smoke his last dwindling source of dopamine, already imagining the unbearable asshole he’s going to be in the tour bus.

“Looking for something?”

Wonbin looked past the brick wall down the alleyway. It was entirely too foggy here too. Between the shadows of the building and the night Wonbin could barely make out who that was calling to him. The fans after a show never gave Wonbin that much space, and his old flings would’ve been in his face in seconds. His mind briefly went to his dealer, his promise to keep him supplied by his jockeys across America. Wendy made sure to scare them away and to let Wonbin know in the most polished way possible.

“The young professionals that supply your musings will no longer be visiting Halcyon on tour. Any reimbursements will be settled upon our arrival back in New York.”

“Who are you?” 

Wonbin spoke to the shadowy figure at the end of the alleyway. If he knew any better he would’ve never came down this unlit path by himself. He was a rockstar in vintage leather Prada, denim Mugler, and custom made snakeskin boots. Despite his affinity for conflict and violence Wonbin was unfortunately all talk, and he was sure his height and slim frame showcased that. He was at risk of being rundown and not a single soul would know; not a single bodyguard, member of his entourage, nothing. 

But Wonbin was more aware of the fact that it was harder to score these days than it was to die, and if he were to die in an alleyway attempting to do a drug deal atleast he’d go out doing what he loved. So he took another step towards the shadowy figure, his heel clicking on the pavement as he tried adjusting his eyesight in the night. He was going to send Taesan (or was his name Dongmin?—that doesn’t matter) a bouquet of roses. Maybe even name a song on the next album about him. If his jockey would just cut to the chase and emerge from the shadows to give him his vice. Wonbin was already reaching in the inner pocket of his jacket for his emergency drug deal money when he took another step forward.

When the shadow stayed leaned against the wall, Wonbin took another step forward. He even cleared his voice to project it further and moved his cigarette to the corner of his mouth in an effort to speak clearly.

“Who are you?” Wonbin repeated. 

Finally the figure kicked off from the wall and walked towards him. Wonbin didn’t care enough to take a step backwards, even when the figure still said nothing. For a moment fear flashed through Wonbin’s mind at the thought of the person really being a murderer—or worse—a cop. He imagined red and blue illuminating the dark alleyway and the figure would emerge with a badge reading him his Miranda Rights. 

As soon as Wonbin imagined all the terrible endings to this situation the fear and panic was gone. Instead of hearing sirens Wonbin heard chatter of people passing by. Instead of seeing a cop he watched a woman emerge from the shadows, heels clicking against the pavement with each step.

He never remembered the jockey’s ever being a girl. 

Wonbin’s even swore his dealer went on a tirade about how unreliable women are when it comes to drug dealing. Something about how pussy is worst and most addictive drug on the planet, how it always complicates things between the buyer and seller, and some other borderline misogynistic rhetoric. 

(Wonbin found himself nodding along with his eyes trained on the drugs in his dealers hand. Maybe it was a Pavlov reaction to get his drugs, maybe he actually agreed with the points he was making. He never claimed to be a feminist. He is a rockstar, first and foremost.) 

Instantly Wonbin tilted his head in amusement. He recognized your face immediately, he had gotten used to seeing you in the crowd of every show. You were what he called a front row regular, singing along to every song and starting the mosh pits. Wonbin watched you start your fair share of fights, pushing someone into the crowd with a smile on your face as you watched the chaos unfold. Despite being burdensome to the security and wellbeing of others, you were never ousted. Wonbin even got the feeling that you were revered in community, not that he ever cared enough to check. He just knew that you were there in the very beginning, when Halcyon didn’t have a name and it was just him Shotaro, and Sion scouring punk bars looking to make a quick buck.

Wonbin didn’t know you were the type to lurk in alleys after a show. For the most part he believed you were one of his few normal fans. As normal as any fan can be that follows the band across state lines just to see the same show over and over again. 

You two had shared eye contact plenty of times. With Wonbin front and center and you in the crowd, it was bound to happen. But each time he gave you that look that said to meet him after the show you were always nowhere to be found. Each time the lights came on you’d disappear like a figment of his imagination, turning into dust until you materialized at his next show. 

Your aversion of meeting him backstage had him peg you for the scared type, but you leaned against the side of the building and titled your head. Wonbin wasn’t sure if you were trying to emulate his calm demeanor or if it was your truth; he was still intrigued all the same. 

“Who are you?” Wonbin asked for a third time, the tone of his voice saccharine as he did a shameless once over of you.

He leaned against the side of the building like you did, his hands let go of the money in his pocket and instead rested inside gently. He let go of the sweaty crumpled money and went to his cigarette, pulling it from his mouth.

When you didn’t speak, Wonbin blew the smoke in your face. A cloud of poisonous smog and you weren’t affected one bit. You let it breeze past you with a smirk before reaching in your back pocket. You revealed the substance like it was the bridge of a song, and held it up in the air in front of Wonbin’s face. You still didn’t say a word and even with the offering in your hand Wonbin’s eyes stayed on you. For the first time in God knows how long, Wonbin felt indifferent to substance. The far off words of his drug dealer played in his mind as he stared into your eyes, so innocent and contradictory of what was in your hand.

“Just a fan is all.” You said.

You jostled the substance in your hand for emphasis, like a human showing a dog its treats. Wonbin’s tail would’ve started wagging if he had one when he realized just how much was in the bag.

“Where’d you get that?” Wonbin asked.

“Some weirdo was just here.” You looked to your hand, feigning confusion. “He said this was for you.” You said.

He was already five minutes past Shotaro’s time warning, pulling you from the shadows ate up a majority of his smoke break. The image of his band running around the venue looking for him was fleeting, but he swore he could hear the sound of Wendy calling out his name. She imagined her scouring the streets looking for a groupie or a junkie asking if they knew of his whereabouts. They had a different state to be in tomorrow but Wonbin didn’t care, his interest was piqued by the baggie and you. You didn’t seem to scare as easily as the other girls. You kept eye contact with him, Wonbin could even see the gleam in your eyes like you were considering taking the substance for yourself.

“Why’d he give it to you?” Wonbin asked, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I may have done something for him.” You said.

Wonbin raised his eyebrows. Less than a year as a rockstar and he already had someone willing to do nefarious things just for him to know their name. Did you dirty your hands for him? Were your stockings already ripped or was that done recently? Was your makeup smudged on purpose and was your unkept hair intentional, or the byproduct of something much more demeaning?

Wonbin put his cigarette out on the brick wall and stuck his hands deeper in the tight leather pockets of his pants. Only then did he fully focus on the baggie. He felt his mouth water at the sight, that tug to do bad things deep in his heart. The adrenaline crash was creeping behind him but you were a massive brick wall he was hurtling straight towards. He reached for the bag and grazed your hand purposefully. 

You didn’t even flinch. He smiled to himself.

“What did you do for him?” He traveled his hand down your arm slowly. His knuckles grazed over the fabric of your denim, tracing the stitching all the way up to your shoulder. When he made it to your neck is when he noticed the blossoming mark, already preparing to be angry in the morning. Wonbin looked from the mark to your face and tilted his head to the side. “Can’t imagine you paid him for this shitty stuff.” He said.

His other hand stuck out in front of him as his hand made it to your cheek. You didn’t chase after his fleeting touch, your lips didn’t part in silent want and your eyes didn’t flutter shut. You were stoic as he touched you, impervious to the move that usually had girls falling to his feet. Wonbin suddenly didn’t feel like just drugs tonight. The adrenaline was building back over his body at the sight of you not scaring easily. You refused to give in, you didn’t even put the baggie in his hand. You opened it yourself, putting the white powder on your long pointed acrylic nail before brining it under Wonbin’s nose. 

He looked down to your nail then up to you. The tension built over his body tenfold, his hands retreated back to his pockets like he was debating on indulging himself. He heard Shotaro yell clearly now, and Wendy’s angry quick steps echoing beyond the alley. 

“I can show you, if you’d like.” 

Eunseok looked away from the alley between the two buildings and pressed his head to the steering wheel. The creases of his forehead are smoothed by the ragged synthetic cover of the wheel from years of use. he continues to rub his forehead against the covering just to feel something. He does it to stop himself from falling asleep, hoping that the repetitive motion can act as the rest he should be getting right now.

Eunseok thinks his job should pay him better. If he made wage proportional to the amount of work he does he wouldn’t have to drive around this disaster on wheels. When he closes his eyes for too long he’s forced to remember that he’s one bad ride away from breaking down on the side of the road—or worse in the middle of traffic. He remembers all the times the engine stalled on him and he had to call his bestfriend to come to his aide. Each time Sungchan gave his car a jump or pushed it to get a running start he commented on the abysmal state of Eunseok’s vehicle. He had heard this thing is barely drivable and you are a danger to yourself a million times. Eunseok couldn’t even deny it, he knew his friend was right. He couldn’t even turn up the music in the car without it coming out fractured through the blown out speakers. everything was muffled and the words were crackling fuzz, like pop rocks were in his sound system.

The music crackling through his speakers pulled him from wallowing in his financial situation. He lifted his head and his hand went to the sound dial on instinct. He focused on changing the volume using the tiniest adjustments on the knob. He always tries for the perfect spot on each song, because of course it’s different for each once. Every three minutes Eunseok’s fingers twist and turn the knob. Ironically it takes have the song to find the middle ground, where it’s not too quiet or entirely too loud. 

When Eunseok finds the spot he sighs to himself, forehead going back to his worn steering wheel. He drums along to the beat this time, trying to get himself up and to clear everything else from his mind. 

Eunseok tries not to think about his nerves, or the way he’s going to weave between two cop cars to get inside of the hotel. He thought it was torture surpassing a line of concertgoers to interview the artists. The exclusivity that gave him a dopamine rush turned into a stomachache when all eyes went on him. Their anger was almost always misplaced, mad at someone who wasn’t even taking up space in the general admission nor who was responsible for them waiting in line. But Eunseok knew it was pointless to argue with fans whose eyes were filled with bloodlust visions of the barricade. He only kept his head down and smiled awkwardly to the security before flashing his press badge. 

Eunseok looks up from his spot in the parking lot to the hotel. Two flashing cop cars, neither of them make a sound but they sit in front of the door to block the entrance. Only people out, no one gets in he hears one of the police officers say. There’s a huddle of them talking to someone, his view of them is blocked by their vests and wide stances. On the other side of Eunseok’s car people are gathered in the public area. They are lined on the sidewalk, standing on their tip toes and leaning their bodies like meerkats. Eunseok recognizes the reporters, they view the front of the hotel through the viewfinder of their cameras, just waiting for the perfect shot. Some people are even craning their necks to look into the fishbowl Eunseok calls a car, he can already hear the whispers and fizzled out excitement when they realize he’s a nobody.

He would take a concert over this any day. He would gladly walk past a line of hecklers than be caught in the middle of this. But the clock in his car that is perpetually an hour behind tells him that he told Wonbin he’d be in his hotel room. The ground forming on the outskirts of the parking lot only gets bigger.

Eunseok reaches across the center console of his car to open the glove compartment. The door to the small storage drops open and he reaches in deep to pull out the pack of cigarettes. He smiles when he finds the last one in the pack and sees he has just enough time and a long enough walk to smoke it down to the butt.

Eunseok rolls down the window of his car using the hand crank because of course it only opens from the outside and of course his window is not automatic. He opens the front door and gets out, closing it behind him with his foot. Both of Eunseok’s hands are preoccupied, one blocks the wind and the other tries to ignite the lighter. it’s annoying, and just like everything else in his life the lighter fails to work. he shakes it, he hits the bottom of it against his thigh, he even tilts it upside down hoping to shake up just enough of the leftover fluid to create a flame. He feels his thumb going raw from working the tiny black gear before he finally admits defeat. 

Eunseok goes through the open window of his car muttering about all his bad luck under his breath. he opens up his loose center console and tosses in the lighter before continuing to dig around. he goes through napkins, loose change, and the spare key that Sungchan swore was in Eunseok’s car. he slips the key into his pocket and reminds himself to hide it inside of the apartment later. 

One after taking everything out of the center console does Eunseok find his box of matches, deep in the bottom corner where it was forgotten for god knows how long. regardless, he is so happy to find the matches he almost kisses the flimsy box. 

He backs out of the car through the open window and opens the matchbox. He sees three perfect matches and nearly cries from happiness. His nicotine addiction induced by stress continues to fight for another day.

Eunseok is sure he looks insane to beyond the parking lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, wearing a business casual outfit to an indie rock bands possible arrest. He tries to salvage what little confidence he has left by leaning on the hood of his car and striking the match. He smiles to himself inwardly when he’s able to successfully light the end on the second try.

Eunseok had always made the deal with himself to let his insecurities run wild until he reaches the end of his cigarette. so as he pulls in the toxic fumes that still burn his throat he lets himself think about how ridiculous he looks. He thinks about his feeble attempt at seeming professional in this scratchy cheap blazer and how uncomfortable his faux suede boots are. They were on the clearance rack in the women’s section, marked down from the already ridiculously cheap price. Eunseok thinks about the people that are looking for their rockstars and instead find a journalist smoking a cigarette in the middle of the night. They must wonder why he gets the privilege to be that close to the hotel, why he has the clearance to go inside. They must know he doesn’t belong here and they must think he don’t deserve a job as cool as the one he has. 

Little do all they know that the pay is shit and Eunseok has had  to spend countless weekends trying to coax answers from half baked artists whose ego is the size of the sun. This job also gave Eunseok the shitty habit of smoking due to the stress, one that he has to cover up with travel sized mouthwash and sticks of gum. He only has the right to be here because he has schmoozed his way to this spot for nearly five years.

when Eunseok finishes his cigarette he removes all negative thoughts from his head. He drops the orange butt to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his cheap—affordable shoe. He goes back into his car and rolls up the window using the crank. Eunseok then clambers over the center console, reaching forward to the passengers seat to grab his messenger bag. He steps on wrappers of of candy and empty bags of fast food to go into the backseat of his shitty—vintage car. 

He gets out through the backdoor and goes to the front. He grabs his press badge that hangs off the rearview mirror. After he makes sure he has everything, he locks all the windows. It’s a whole process to make sure the car is secured, one that Eunseok forces himself to laugh about now.

The first step towards the hotel is the hardest. He has to hold onto the strap of his sling back for comfort and doesn’t look back at the crowd as he wills his feet forward. He can hear behind him people asking who he is, he even sees the shudders of a camera flash in confusion before it ceases immediately. He gets his press badge ready as he heads towards the entrance, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. His chews the two sticks of gum in his mouth vigorously before spitting it onto the pavement. The heeled boots almost sound hollow on the pavement, but it is loud enough to grab the attention of the cops. 

They look at him confused, one of them spreads his arms out to stop Eunseok from walking forward.

“No entry is allowed into the building, sir.” The officer says.

Eunseok is used to careless venue security questioning his credentials. In the presence of an actual badge he feels himself freezing up. He babbles, pulling up the flap of his messenger bag to try and call back whoever called him. He already starts to be herded back towards his car before Wendy turns away from her conversation to the commotion.

“He’s good to go up.” She yells.

Eunseok looks towards Wendy, leaving her conversation with an officer and a girl with a bathrobe and a bloodied face to approach Eunseok. She is halfway between the two conversations, yelling again to get the officers attention. 

He remembers when he first met Wendy. She was a clean cut professional, a titan in her field of managing artists. Before Halcyon she only managed solo pop artists, but with the music worlds preferences changing she went to managing rock bands instead. Wendy had Eunseok’s respect, she had the respect from half of the industry for her bravery when it came to managing the mess that was Halcyon. Sometimes he wondered if she regret her  decision. When she wasn’t wearing her fancy pantsuits or the expensive jewelry she looked tired. Her hair wasn’t managed in the neat bob but instead pulled to a tight ponytail. From here Eunseok could see that she was pulled from her bed the same way he was, he could see she still had her pajama bottoms on. Eunseok had never seen Wendy in sneakers the entire time he’s known her, but she slipped the shoes on and had a jacket thrown over what he assumed to be her night shirt. She looked exhausted. 

She didn’t even have the energy to try and explain what was going on. She only motioned towards the hotel, telling Eunseok that they were waiting for him on the thirty-ninth floor.

Eunseok was shocked when he walked through the lobby and it was completely empty. He had been in his fair share of hotel’s this late into the night, but there was always atleast a concierge behind the front desk. Here it was nothing, only Eunseok walking across the linoleum floors to the elevators. There was a feeling of dread creeping across his body as he waited for the elevator to come back to the lobby. He remembered the bloodied face of the girl outside, how desperate and tired Wendy looked in between talking to the cops and her. Eunseok already knew you had something to do with it. 

Eunseok looks at the elevator that has finally come down to the lobby. He shuffles inside, hitting the top floor and waits for the door to close.

Eunseok has always been forced to wait for Halcyon. When the band experienced overnight success purely from word of mouth and radio play it was hard to reach the group at all. The worst part was that the elusive nature of Halcyon wasn’t by design, it was purely because the group lacked the fundamentals that came with running a band. Back when the band had no manager or record label—even Halcyon wasn’t the official name yet—and they were essentially ghosts occupying the top of charts internationally and domestically. 

Back when Eunseok was struggling even more than he did now he was chasing after the group. He was for some reason more intrigued then by Halcyon. He became an investigative journalist, canvasing the dingy bars the band used to frequent to become a part of the rumor mill. He posed as an interested fan to get background information. Eunseok found out that Halcyon was a two member group, Shotaro Osaki on the drums and Park Wonbin on everything else. The storekeepers were more than happy to retell the stories, all of them claimed that in the back corner or on the small stage was where Halcyon was formed. They were the pride and joy of the rundown punk bars, nothing like the half-baked rock stars that dominated the scene.

Eunseok still remembers the rush of scoring an interview with the band for the first time. That was after Shotaro split for unknown reasons and you became his stand in. Eunseok was brought backstage by Wendy to talk with the two of you before a show. He remembers struggling to keep up with her in his shitty—affordable boots. He remembers swallowing the gum he forgot to spit out and having to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants to dry them. He remembers having to clear his throat constantly and being underneath your scrutinizing twin glares. He had to decipher your questions but still felt the rush when he saw either of your eyes light up from his informed history on the band.

Back then Eunseok was excited to be a part of Halcyon’s world.

Now as the red analog number climbs up to the top floor he feels a pit forming in his stomach. It’s a burning stone, when he takes in a deep breath through his nose he smells drugs burning. He hasn’t even made it to the top floor yet. 

“Front cover.” Eunseok whispered to himself as the number climbed higher. “Front cover, spread, and promotion.” He repeated.

As soon as the elevator opened, Eunseok could smell it. The thick musky smell of weed filled the floor, he swore there was even a haze in the hallway like there was a smoke cloud. He wondered if the person talking to the suits was actually a manager of the building, coming to an agreement or settlement for the damage and disturbance a Halcyon party caused. There was a reason why the band was denied service from multiple hotels, one of them being a lifetime ban from a chain of hotels across the world.

Eunseok grimaced at the strong smell of weed as he passed through one of the open doors. As if a police investigation wasn’t going on downstairs Eunseok looked through the crack in the door to a couple that was engaging in an even stronger substance. There were other people in the room too, some of them doing other drugs and others making a bigger mess of the hotel room. Eunseok saw ripped up sheets and feathers from the pillows, spray painting on the wall. 

Right as Eunseok peered into the room across from it, he saw someone emerge from the room to pound on the door. They paid him no mind, even when he froze in his footsteps. He noticed the ash on the floor underneath the feet of the person banging on the door. His eyes travelled to the burns in the rugs when the door finally opened. Eunseok was only able to get a peak at the trash furniture before the man rushed inside, closing the door so hard it shook the ground underneath Eunseok’s feet.  The deadbolt being turned filled the hallway and Eunseok was finally moved to take another step, despite everything in his mind telling him not to do so.

He could leave right now, take the elevator all the way down to the lobby, get back in his shitty car, and never engage with the band Halcyon ever again. He could just rely on word of mouth, he was also sure whatever happened here today would make its way through the grapevine right back to him. 

Eunseok took another step towards the shut door. At the end of the hallway, just like Wendy described. He remembered the tone of her voice, how it was grave and low like there were unknown horrors behind the door. The only person to make it out of the room was downstairs in a bathrobe with a bloodied face and broken hand. 

Another step.

Was the same fate waiting for him? Why did they think to contact him directly, how were they even able to contact him directly? Eunseok knew that he might’ve been caught snooping around the scene that birthed Halcyon, but he would’ve never thought it’d be paid any mind. 

He makes it to the door entirely too fast. He presses both palms flat to the door as he holds his ear to the wood. He hears nothing, the complete opposite from the other rooms on this floor. He can hear Halcyon’s latest album blast behind the door of one, he can hear screaming behind the other and he prays he’s not hearing what he thinks he hears behind another. He just needs to focus on hearing what goes behind this one.

Just as Eunseok gets an inkling of a sound, the door is ripped open. Eunseok almost falls into the room completely from his sudden loss of something to lean against.

When the door is fully opened he sees the mess you two made. Eunseok has to stand straight to take it all in, his lips part as he’s stun locked in the doors entrance. He heard about your shared tendency to trash hotel rooms, but he never knew it was to this extent. Eunseok looks at the chunks of the drywall ripped straight from the infrastructure of the room to litter the floor in varying chunks. the tiniest pieces are already embedded in the fancy carpeting, pummeled to white dust from the other things that transpired in the room. Every piece of furniture is broken. A chair is leaned on its side and missing all the legs but one. Another chair next to it has the seat cushion smashed in, and the vanity leans the the side completely. 

The queen sized bed in the middle is completely covered by a million things. Torn paper, jostled piles of clothes, balled up sheets. Pieces of drywall rest on the bed and so does one of the chair legs. Eunseok sees the guitar and the bass tossed on top as well. The feathers from the pillow still float around in the air, and only then can Eunseok bring his gaze back up to Wonbin.

Now is reminiscent of the first time he ever saw him. Even underneath the harsh light of the hallway Wonbin’s skin was tan and flawless, complete with beautiful eyes and plump lips. They were bitten and glistening from his tongue that he ran over them as Eunseok took in everything. His hair was newly dyed raven black, the black leftover dye beaded at his wet hairline. His hair still bounced with each turn of his head despite it being weighed down, and it set perfectly the same way it always did. Wonbin stood in front of Eunseok in just his bathrobe, calm and collected despite the scene behind him. He only nodded before flicking his head backwards and leaning in close to Eunseok like he was about to tell him a secret.

“It was her this time, not me.” Wonbin says with a smile on his face.

Only then does Eunseok notice you. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as your arms splay out over the sides. Eunseok can see your ripped leggings and your missing shoe, he sees the forming bruises on your legs and your lack of movement worries him. The same time he draws a breath Wonbin follows his gaze backwards. He’s confused at first but then he scoffs, still leaning against the door frame before turning his head to face you.

“Wake up. Eunseokie is here.” Wonbin said.

Eunseok peered past Wonbin to watch you finally move on the bed. When you got up by your arms propping up on the bed Eunseok could make out the red smudges of blood across your face and knuckles, the almost catatonic look in your eyes. Eunseok could see the matching white powder on your black clothes and Wonbin’s robe. He didn’t care to ask if it was the drywall or something else, he convinced himself it was the former. Eunseok was more intrigued by the obvious look of crashing on whatever high emotions you were coming down from, whatever obviously caused this. You seemed unaffected as your feet kicked over the edge of the mattress, you and Wonbin had twin sinister smiles without even realizing it.

Eunseok should’ve stayed home.

“Why am I here?” Eunseok asked.

“Remember when you first met us?” Wonbin asked.

Wonbin pulled at Eunseok’s arm to pull him into the hotel room. Eunseok stayed planted in place, looking over his shoulder towards the elevator. He could make his great escape right now, he could take the elevator down and then sneak past Wendy and go back to his car. He could drive it home and go to sleep, pretending this night never happened. What waited for him in this room couldn’t have been good. But Eunseok kept getting pulled by Wonbin, and the idea of having this exclusive interview prior to your inevitable arrest pulled at him even more. Eunseok sighed heavily and reluctantly let himself be pulled into the mess of the hotel room.

Your feet that dangled over the edge of the bed started kicking in excitement. You watched Eunseok get pulled in by Wonbin, and watched him close the door behind him. He stayed by the closed door as Wonbin walked away, standing next to the place you sat. You watched Eunseok look from Wonbin to you, then he looked from you to Wonbin. He let out a sigh that you two laughed at, and when he went to scratch his eyebrow you and Wonbin looked at eachother. 

“I remember.” Eunseok adjusted the strap on his messenger bag, settling onto the balls of his feet as he tried to get comfortable. He kicked away the piece of drywall that was wedged underneath his foot. Eunseok looks down and continues to drag his foot across the carpet. You see tiny specks of white flick up from the carpet. “I remember when I first met you guys.” He laments.

“What was the question you asked us then that we didn’t answer?” Wonbin asks.

You stop kicking your feet. You watch Eunseok try to remember what happened all those years ago. Truthfully, you two didn’t answer his questions to begin with. Even before the makeshift media training Wendy tried to give you both, you two had the tendency to avoid questions. That first interview Eunseok gave you backstage was a mess. You two derailed constantly, Wendy interjected twice, and Eunseok was such a nervous wreck he stumbled through half the interview. 

Now Eunseok seemed fed up with the band. If you cared, you would’ve felt embarrassed about the common pattern people had in relation to the band. Whenever anyone would first become involved with Halcyon, it was always the same. They would look at you and Wonbin with stars in their eyes, singing praises about the two of you without being prompted. As time would go on they’d get more and more fed up, until they completely avoided the band altogether. At this point, the only person that was consistently in your circle was Wendy, and that was only because she was getting paid an ungodly amount of money to put up with it. 

You didn’t know when it shifted for Eunseok. Maybe it was on his way here. You imagine the wound of remorse had been festering for awhile, he was practically on your payroll while barely reaping the benefits. He was the only reporter you and Wonbin were even remotely candid with, he was at all of your album releases and the big shows behind the stage. But to your knowledge he still drove that busted ass car you’d see broken down on the shoulders of highways. 

“I asked you guys alot of questions then.” Eunseok says.

He’s irritated. He looks around the room at the mess, his eyes drag across everything. You wonder how long he had to drive to get there. 

When Wonbin doesn’t give any more indication of what he’s talking about you watch him look up to the ceiling. You see his face drop at the slanted ceiling fan that was one pull away from falling completely.

“Was it question about you two being lovers?” Eunseok asks.

You almost tilt your head back and laugh at that. You remembered when Eunseok read back the lyrics to a song about lovers meeting in dark alleys and asked if it was about your relationship with Wonbin. Wonbin answered then, without hesitation, Who said we were lovers? Eunseok was taken aback, anticipating that you two would’ve thrown him a bone for being knowledgable about your music. You were taken aback because Wonbin declared his undying love for you only an hour before the interview took place.

“Who said we were lovers?” You say quickly.

There were plenty of things that indirectly explicitly said you two were lovers, or something akin to that. The fact that you two nearly fucked onstage every show, the only thing separating your lips was the microphone caught between you two. The stage lights caught in your eyes as you leaned closer and closer to him, dancing facing him as he did his solo on the guitar. That’s not even to talk about what would happen off stage. Before that interview Wonbin had your back leaned across the hood of his vintage red Mercedes Benz Convertible in the private parking lot, your legs slung over his shoulders as he kneeled on the yellow line of the parking space. You could still smell yourself on his tongue during the interview, and you were able taste yourself after the show too. Groupies fucked him knowing you two were fucking, people in your circles still whispered to this day about your relationship. But of course, if it’s not said, then it’s not true.

Eunseok looks up from the ground to your even expression. Your throat hurts even when you speak quietly, baring the weight of the screaming you were doing an hour ago. Eunseok smiles at you, you don’t know if he smiles at the irony of this answer or the other objectively hilarious things about this situation.

“Your chemistry is palpable.” Eunseok answes.

When Eunseok does a pulling motion at his hair you tilt your head back to laugh. The infamous part during your performances when you’d pull at the hair on Wonbin’s head. The first time you did it was real, a compulsive reaction in response to the constant mess he put you through. After that it was all for show, to play the part of unfaltering love where you needed him close to you by all means. A messy hand tangled in his sweaty hair as you brought him close until your foreheads touched. The hair pull would be referenced throughout your shared careers, something that you two would only shrug your shoulders at. Now it made Wonbin roll his eyes and sit on the edge of the bed to bring attention back to him.

“Not that.” Wonbin clarified. 

Eunseok sighs and brings his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. You have to bite your lip to hold back the laughter.

“Why’d you two call me here?” Eunseok asks.

Wonbin looks to you. Eunseok looks to the floor and takes in another breath, as if he’s trying to calm himself.

“You did alot of research about Halcyon long before you ever met us.” Eunseok is at the point where he doesn’t care enough to hide it. He simply nods before Wonbin looks over to you and takes in a deep breath. “But there was always the one thing you could never figure out.”

Eunseok scratches the back of his head as he thinks, and when he realizes it his fingers stop in their tracks. Even with his eyes pointed towards the floor you can see them widen before he looks up. 

Eunseok looks between you and Wonbin, hand still in his hair.

“You’re going to tell me how you ended up joining the band?” Eunseok asks.

When you and Wonbin nod together, you can see that Eunseok’s interest has been piqued. He looks behind him briefly and grabs the stool that was tossed on its side, sitting up on it immediately. You watch him try to balance on the missing leg, slinging his messenger bag to his lap so he can open it. Almost immediately that same spiral journal materializes and so does a pen and recorder. Eunseok doesn’t hesitate to press record.

“On the record?” Eunseok asks.

You and Wonbin both nod, sitting up a little straighter. You nod but Eunseok flicks his head towards the recorder in his hand, a silent reminder that he needs to hear you confirm it.

“On the record.” You confirm.

Eunseok leans forward in his seat, and you can see him already imagining all the stories he’s going to sell. This will get him that front cover he’s had his sights on for God knows how long, but you can see him contemplate on why you’re doing all of this. Two selfish rockstars are suddenly willing to reveal something they have kept under wraps for so long. But he doesn’t want to ask the question. Now that Eunseok has you two os willing to spill the secret, he doesn’t want to lose his chance. You’re lucky he doesn’t pry, and he’ll be lucky if you don’t clam up in the middle and recant your statement. You believe that’s why Eunseok acts fast now. He wastes no time to make sure his pen can write, and he opens up his journal to a page that already has questions written on it. A pair of glasses materializes on his face as he reads the page carefully.

“You both said that you met in an alleyway, but that didn’t lead to you getting put in the band.” 

Eunseok looks up from his journal and you shake your head. After Wonbin mounted you in the back of his tour bus while Wendy and and his bandmates looked for him he denied your request to come on tour with them.

“You gotta leave.” Wonbin buttoned his shirt while you were still laid out on your back in his bed. “No groupies are allowed on tour with us.” He said.

That’s when you pulled yourself from the mattress, ignoring the soreness across your body to be eye level with him. 

“I’m not a groupie.” You said matter-of-factly.

Wonbin stopped buttoning his shirt to look back at you with a smirk etched across his face.

“Oh yeah?” He asked.

Despite the obvious taunting in his voice you nodded anyway. You dug your hands deeper into the mattress, ignoring that sinking feeling that was in your gut. 

“I’m a singer. And I play bass.” You said.

Wonbin looked forward with a scoff while continuing to button his shirt.

“The band is full. We already have a singer and someone that plays bass.” He said.

Despite being told explicitly no, you leaned forward on the bed and shook your head.

“I write too. I’m a better at bass than that kid.” You said.

Wonbin only shook his head at you then. He insisted that he couldn’t take that kid out of the band because that was his bestfriend and he was excellent at the bass. He wasn’t wrong, after his time in Halcyon, Sion went on to be a well loved and revered bass player in the industry. He just wasn’t as good at you.

And he was in your way.

You shook your head at Eunseok to tell him that you were not let into the band that night. You saw the inquisitive look in his eye as he continued down the page, eyeing something written in the margins.

“Sion, the previous bassist of Halcyon said that he dropped from the group after he couldn’t complete the tour. He couldn’t give me the specifics then, and he doesn’t accept interviews now—”

“Good for him.” Wonbin interjects.

Eunseok eyes Wonbin carefully. Wonbin has omitted eye contact with both you and Eunseok, now it’s his turn to look around the room. He is focused on the smears of red wine that stain the wall and the broken glass that litters the floor in front of it. 

“I was wondering if you could enlighten me on his departure from the group?” Eunseok asked.

You knew that Eunseok took his research about the band seriously a long time ago. Back when the circle was small and word made it back to you and Wonbin quickly, you were informed that someone was snooping around the scene and asking about Halcyon. Back when the radio play was new and no one knew your names, there was a quiet man snooping around the places the band used to frequent and asking questions. 

You laugh to yourself and shake your head. Then you thought Eunseok was a cop, and you were scared shitless until you found out he was just a newbie reporter trying to impress his bosses.

“What does that have to do with me?” You asked.

“Well. Sion’s departure opened up a spot for you in Halcyon.” Eunseok pointed towards Wonbin, whose gaze had rotated to the wall behind Eunseok. “Don’t you think he left under strange circumstances?” He asked.

Wonbin only shrugged his shoulders. Eunseok went back to his notepad and wrote something you couldn’t see.

“I just heard her voice one night, and I couldn’t let it go.” Wonbin says.

That earns a big laugh. One that has you tilting your head back and laughing directly to the dangling ceiling fan. You laugh even more when you see Eunseok trying to understand, to connect the bits and pieces of stories he’s heard to match your reaction. He knows it’s no use, that he can only begin to assume why Wonbin turns to watch you laugh with a knowing smirk on his face that only grew with your reaction.

“Oh that’s what that was?” You say, wiping away a tear. 

Wonbin’s confession that he loved your voice was said before he heard you sing. He huffed it into the crook of your neck as his fingers pumped in and out of your heat in the back of the tour bus. After Gainesville, it seemed only right to follow him to Raleigh. You started finding your way to the back of the tour bus before anyone else was there. If Wonbin had half a working braincell or any thought beyond feeling good he should’ve been worried about how you so easily found your way onto the bus. But you found out quickly he only worried about his post-concert rituals, evident in the way he practically crawled to you down the narrow hallway of the bus. 

You waited for him at the very back on his bottom bunk, legs open and propped on the edge of the mattress. The closer he got the slower and lower he went, until he pressed a longing kiss to the area right above your ankle.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked before placing another kiss.

“I didn’t.” You whispered.

That only spurred Wonbin on more. Despite popular opinion, Wonbin was more of the sheltered than he cared to admit. Before becoming a rockstar he grew up in the suburbs of Queens to a working class family. His proximity to the city lead to him seeing crazy on the subways and overhearing it on the bus, but he never met crazy. He never met someone who carelessly exposed herself  in the back of tour busses, or found a way to break into them by stealing the keys. He never met someone who so shamelessly lead his hand underneath the band of her underwear, or would finger herself if Wonbin wasn’t moving fast enough or doing it right. What type of guitarist doesn’t know how to use his hands? You’d always tease him without second thought, looking down to him when he spent his time looking down on everyone else. Wonbin never met someone who would get lost in him so easily, moaning loudly in his ear as he worked another finger in. 

But he had also never met someone who so clearly always had an ulterior motive. When he was getting lost in you and using you to keep the post-concert adrenaline from killing him you’d lean in close, hand wrapped in his hair before sucking harshly on the skin of his neck.

“Let me in the band.” You moaned.

Wonbin was going to say no before you pressed you palm hard against the crotch of his jeans. He felt your warmth and force seep through the thick fabric and his fingers in you stopped there movement. He only regained his composure when you started grinding your hands against his palm.

“Sion.” You pressed harder. Wonbin pushed his dick against your flattened hand. “Bassist.” He mumbled.

“Mhm. I know.” You licked the side of Wonbin’s face and continued talking directly to his ear as you pressed harder. His hand that was behind you suddenly gripped your waist with a bruising strength. “What if I got rid of him?” You asked.

Wonbin couldn’t see the way you were already thinking about how Sion could be dealt with. He was only paying attention to the way your walls clamped around his fingers and how you preened into his touch. He was so consumed by you that he only nodded his head quickly while digging his fingers further into your waist.

You assumed Wonbin took some of the blame for Sion’s abrupt departure from the band. Leaving in the middle of the tour after a brief stint in the hospital, a spot Halcyon suddenly opened up for you. You didn’t question it, neither did Wonbin. Shotaro was the only one that kept a close eye on you, whispering to his bandmate and not saying a word in your presence. You still remembered Shotaro’s reluctancy to even let you in the band, but you were down a bassist and you knew all the music. Just for a couple stops. Shotaro always made sure to make that clear.

Now you were here and he was not.

“Sion and Shotaro leaving is completely unrelated to me.” You say matter-of-factly. “I don’t think they like to be mentioned in articles these days either.” 

Eunseok digresses. He would love to ask how the group dwindled down to just the two of you but he knows he will be here forever, peeling back layer after layer. He’s also convinced he’s running out of time due to the sound of the other people on this floor yelling about pigs and the sound of doors being busted down. It’s only a matter of time before they seize the illegal contraband that’s in the other rooms and seizes you and Wonbin. So he closes his notebook and leans forward in the broken chair, putting all of his weight on the leg in the front.

“Where were you inducted into the band?” He asks.

“Fukushima.” You and Wonbin answer at the same time.

“Okay well.” Eunseok tries getting comfortable in the chair but its missing leg causes it to lean to the side. He has to keep his foot planted where the missing end would be. “What happened in Fukushima?” He repeats.

The same thing that happened in Fukushima happened in New York. And Amsterdam. And Ibiza. Anywhere in the world where you two were left to your own devices it happened.

Before you even landed in Japan, Wonbin was getting on your nerves. You were getting on his. The both of you were getting on the nerves of your entire team, looming over everyone like impeding doom. You both blamed it on the Asian showcase you were forced to go on. You downgraded from the sold out venues in North America to the crowded and stuffy underground clubs of the rock scene across Eastern Asia. 

The first strike happened in Beijing. Halycon’s studio debut record was snuck to the rock scene on cassette tapes from Hong Kong and Taiwan. Everyone in the crowd dressed like Wonbin, they had their hair touching their shoulders and the same leather jacket he donned. There, they liked him more. They sang his lyrics back to him twice as loud, shaking the floor and causing the windows to vibrate. The cramped stage caused you to accidentally step on the amp of Wonbin’s acoustic guitar, causing the music to abruptly stop. You were forced to perform an unplugged version of a song, making you shine but leaving Wonbin looking like an idiot. He was convinced you did it on purpose, seething at you on the private jet that you were jealous you weren’t a star like he was. You seethed back, telling him that he was nothing but a half-baked rockstar who let praise inflate his ego. 

The second strike was in Hongdae. If Wonbin was the favorite in Beijing, you were the favorite there. There all the men fell to your feet, passing you bouquets and crying anytime you looked in their general direction. They worshipped the ground you walked on, they followed you around the city after the show. You could see the anger on Wonbin’s face when you looked towards him in the middle of the show. You smiled at the permanent scowl, you took it a step further to ask the crowd please make some noise for our guitarist as if it was a charity. Wonbin gave a shy smile and bowed, but at the end of the show he held your hand tight, a silent sign that he was upset. You held his hand towards the  crowd, using his silent threat as a testament to your dedication to eachother.

You enjoyed the instances where you could use his narcissistic tendencies against him. He also performed better when he was angry. You liked when he’d look to you before cursing or inciting a fight in the crowd. People like Wonbin were born to be mad, and you believed you were put on this Earth to stoke the fire. 

When he was angry and it’d come to a boiling point when you two were alone it also meant he’d fuck you better. In Beijing you two made a mess of your hotel room, the bedsheets pulled from the bed and the floors cleared from the sounds you were making. 

That night in Hongdae, when you and Wonbin were at a penthouse party of some millionaire you two found a room away from everyone else. He caught you at the base of the stairs getting unbearably close to a man in a suit, and that ensued a screaming match. The drugs and the alcohol made everyone oblivious to your fight, or maybe the anger coursing through your veins made you forget about everyone else entirely. All you knew was that the fight ending with Wonbin chasing you up the stairs, pushing at you while you threw your limbs back in an effort to make him fall. He was poking and prodding at you, while you corralled him into a room with a lockable door.

“I fucking hate you.” You yelled it before the door even shut. 

Wonbin laughed as he turned the lock with his hands shaking from rage. You felt fire from the soles of your feet getting higher and higher, his sudden calmness only making you more upset.

“I fucking hate you back.” Wonbin sneered.

By the time the music changed downstairs to another floor shaking song you had Wonbin pushed against the door. Your face inches away from his, a permanent scowl etched on your face. An article was released the same day that rock-n-roll was dying and rockstars were all narcissists with anger issues. You stared down the man that refused to let you into the band you were singing and writing for so he could be the only star. Wonbin looked at the girl who got rid of his bandmates so she could secure her spot in the group.

When you and Wonbin looked at eachother for too long everything else started to come to the surface. It was hard to pretend to be an unbothered rockstar when someone who was going through the exact same thing was looking at you so intently. It was hard to fake indifference when the overwhelming weight of performing was becoming clearer and clearer. Why were you two doing this? Nothing was binding you to Halcyon or Wonbin. You could’ve booked a flight home and pretended none of this ever happened. He could afford to stop performing then and there with enough money to sustain his lifestyle.

But you two both knew whatever this was, was more complicated than that. Too avoidant and too toxic to quit, and the money and fame wasn’t too bad either. You two didn’t need an understanding relationship. Happy people made ballads and the stupid pop music that was stealing your radio play and the general public. Rockstars were toxic and they were mean, they are terrible because it’s freeing. So instead of bringing you close and telling you that he’s scared for the future of his band, Wonbin reaches forward and clashes his lips against yours. 

His kisses are angry and they make no sense. His teeth clash against yours and he moves you backwards in the general direction of a bed. You pull at him by a hand wrapped in his shirt and you make tiny sounds at each harsh collision. He was never gentle with you, and you liked it that way. Something had to have been fundamentally broken inside of you, something that would’ve made you want a normal life. Or to feel remorse for your actions that led you to this point. It was hard to believe that the way you behaved was wrong, because it made you money and one of the most famous people in the world.

“On the bed.” Wonbin said.

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” You said back immediately.

Wonbin replied by tugging at your chest by your perked nipples that poked through your tee. You gasped in surprise and pain before cupping his dick roughly. The two of you stood next to the bed for a moment, smiling at the pain you were bringing the other. It wasn’t long before the pain turned into pleasure and you both fell to the bed at the same time. 

The next morning you two only woke up because Wendy had called every apartment building in the Hongdae area. As if the night before didn’t happen, like you and Wonbin didn’t relieve the tension through rough touches and markings, you still fought. During the plane ride you two were silent, the start of your mutual meltdowns. Wonbin wouldn’t speak directly to you the whole day, using Wendy and the roadies as an indirect link to conversation. You were just as worse, referring to Wonbin as that guy, stripping him of his name completely. That guy wouldn’t look at you as you did your soundcheck, that guy only sneakily said someone’s flat underneath his breath whenever a note didn’t sound right. 

By the time you made it to your underground Fukushima show you two weren’t speaking to eachother at all. Wendy refused to be involved in your mess and everyone else cleared the room when they saw either of you approaching. You two just let the silence continue, neither of you saying a word until you were about to go onstage. The worked of the club set up the mic stands on the small circular stage you two would be sharing before Wonbin suddenly turned to you.

“Halcyon is just me.”

With your eyes casted forward in shock, Wonbin saw his chance to take the stage. He left you on the other side as he started the concert without you, singing your part as you stood there in silence. You stumbled on stage and through the rest of the concert, hating that he bested you. The smile on Wonbin’s face said it all as he continued playing his guitar and singing your lines. When the show was over and the lights went out, Wonbin was like a ghost. He cleared the stage and the venue quickly, leaving you in the dust and without a place in the band. 

Two bangs on the door interrupted your story. Eunseok nearly fell from his chair at the abrupt sound. The impact shook the ceiling fan and made Wonbin look towards the door. 

You almost looked too, but Eunseok’s hand kept you focused on him. 

“What happened next?” Eunseok said, his voice laced with urgency.

“She came to me and expressed,” Wonbin stayed locked on the door as three more harsh knocks rang throughout the hotel room. “Her desire to be in the band.” He says, motioning to the room.

Eunseok would’ve loved to think that you came by Wonbin’s hotel room in Fukushima with agents and your demo tape, maybe even an audition prepared to show him you could fit into the music for Halcyon. But the way Wonbin smiled slyly and you leaned over and hit his shoulder made Eunseok think different. You two giggled together as you recalled more and more of that night. You only continued to giggle as the police made their presence known on the other side of the door. 

After the Fukushima show Wonbin left you all alone. You paced around in your hotel room as the carelessness in his voice as he denied you being a member of the group once again. You heard from security that Wonbin was down the hall with a girl that stayed behind at the venue. The same part replayed again in your mind. You couldn’t control yourself from leaving your hotel room and storming down the hall. 

You told the same story to Eunseok as the cops continued to beat on the door, the one he heard through the grapevines and the mugshot of you that was lost over the course of time and the lack of coverage of the arrest overseas. You often imagined if the story was relayed the same way back to him, or if the details were muddied by the game of telephone.

Wonbin and his groupie of the night just finished. She was face down on the bed, trying to recollect herself. You know Wonbin was able to go through so many girls and have so many crawling back not just because he’s gorgeous but because he knows how to fuck. Just look at him. Eunseok would’ve had to listen to hours of wishful thinking from girls who would never have a chance before getting to the actual information. You’re sure they left out the fact that you were wearing the same outfit you met Wonbin in, except you had no shoes on your feet. Just running down the expensive hotel lobby barefoot, barely making a sound as you cleared the carpet. 

They would’ve never talked about the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you held your ear up to the door. You could barely hear yourself when you covered the peephole and knocked politely. The groupie was so out of it that she didn’t think twice when someone covered the peephole and said “room service!” in a cheery voice. The girl who was still wobbly-kneed and only wearing a bathrobe called for Wonbin to answer the door. Poor girl must’ve never been to a hotel before. What type of hotel has room service that late in the night? She was nothing fit to be a rockstar. Wonbin thought that he could just replace you by finding another girl at the end of his show, like you weren’t one of a kind. He was too busy running the water for a bath and smoking his post-sex cigarette to be bothered. 

He just said “You can get it,” knowing that crazy bitch was on the other side! 

The retellings of that night never got it right. They never stopped to consider what Wonbin was doing. 

Plenty of people naturally assumed he was naked while this was happening. If he was in the bathroom drawling a bath or simply laying in the bed was always commonly fought about. They didn’t know that Wonbin was sitting on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom wrapped in a robe as he watched the tub fill with water. He was smoking his American Spirit in complete serenity while the fight happened behind him. He had the bathroom door opened, watching the fight with a smile on his face and a canoeing cigarette between his fingers before he turned away completely to deny culpability in case it ended badly. He counted the mustard tiles that lines the bathroom as each punch, scratch, slap, and scream came from the other room. You think afterwards he turned to look at himself in the mirror underneath the warm yellow glow of the light and adjusted his appearance. You imagined he knew he’d be suffering the same fate if he didn’t turn the charm on. 

But you didn’t know what Wonbin was doing exactly. You couldn’t see much besides the girl underneath you. You couldn’t hear anything besides the noises you two were making together. 

When you would entertain the rumors and have them relayed back to you, there were always multiple accounts of the brawl between you and the groupie. What they did get right that one the door was open a crack you kicked it open full force. 

What they got wrong was that the groupie screamed immediately. She did yell when you got on top of her after she fell to the ground, but that was only after the initial shock wore off. Even Wonbin turned away from his cigarette when he heard the impact of the door on the groupies nose. The post-coitus warmth was replaced with something burning when you screamed first.

When the rest of the floor started opening up their doors and seeing what was happening in the room was when the other eye witness accounts started getting messy. Some say the groupie fought back. Some of them said that you kicked the door open so hard it fell off its hinges. The common consensus was that you fucked that poor girl up! then wrote a song about it! 

“Did you listen to the song through your blown out speakers, Eunseokie?” You asked.

Even he was turned towards the door as the police continued to slam into you. You focused on the tape recorder instead, eyes locking onto the two spinning reels as you continued your story.

People didn’t know if the stories inspired the lyrics, or if the stories were spun by people overanalyzing the lyrics. You and Wonbin were the only songwriters on all Halcyon tracks, it was hard for people to not think the music derived from your personal lives. The song couldn’t stop people from thinking you came around that corner into the bathroom with a knife in your hand. The groupie found a way out from underneath you and bolted out of the room screaming for her life with a bloodied face and her tail between her legs. You leaned against the doorframe as Wonbin stared up at you, not even looking at what you had in your hand.

“If you want me to do something for you, you need to use your words.”Wonbin would say. 

Maybe if they listened to the prechorus hard enough they’d know you dropped the knife instantly. But if they listened to the bridge they would’ve thought you waved it around just for show to see if you could scare Wonbin. But by the way he joined you as the backing vocals they’d know he had only looked to your bloody knuckles before taking a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill up the last sacred space in America where you could smoke indoors before offering it to you. He’d still sit on the toilet seat but lean towards the small ceramic sink to show you he wasn’t scared in the slightest. 

You took an even bigger drag than Wonbin did, watching the ember at the end ignite before turning to ash. You’d let out a smoky cloud right into his face, shuddering from the release of tension.

“Was she better than me?” You’d ask after putting out the end on the lip of the sink. 

Black and gray ash smeared against the white surface. You looked from the mess you were making on the sink to see Wonbin wordlessly shaking his head.

“Not even close.” He said without missing a beat.

“I should cut your dick off.” You’d laugh about it, pointing your long nail towards Wonbin’s dick that was twitching against the fabric of his bathrobe.

“Why? So you can keep it for yourself?” He teased.

Once again, this was where things got fuzzy for you. Some secrets are meant to stay between lovers, or whatever this mutually toxic and equally awful thing you and Wonbin had going on. The cops that came through then back in Fukushima were alot more serious than the cops that came through the door here, in Paramus, New Jersey. For Wendy—who followed closely behind the cops here—this would be an easy story to cover up. Another mugshot of yours would be taken and hidden behind lock and key, only getting revealed to people who would spend their hard earnings from work to see it behind dumpsters in alleyways. This night would just be another anecdote in the long line of mysterious lyrics and subject-changing phrases. The only form of proof in a small black and white photo of yourself. Your smiling face covered in scratches, makeup smudged across your eye bags from excessive rubbing, and blood on smeared across your blue and black knuckles that held up the card with your name and which jail held you overnight. You looked down to see that the collar of your black shirt was stretched beyond saving around your neck. 

Even when you looked like that, Wonbin stared at you like you put the sun and the the moon and the stares into the sky. You stared him down, leaving bloodstains on whatever you touched. He stood from his spot on the toilet seat to be eye level with you. 

I hear they fuck like they’re at war. I was sleeping with their bassist and I could hear them from down the hall. 

Wonbin grabbed at your wrist, bring your hand to eye level. You clenched your fist in a last ditch attempt at resisting him, but he’d pull you into his bare chest so fast you’d barely have time to adjust. You settled in embarrassingly fast, giving you the most gentle kiss on your cracked red lips. You couldn’t taste any other girl on him over the smoke. You were burning eachother up, only pulling the other to get closer. At the thought of the other girl in this position you felt the rage bubbling in again, but instead of fighting you only leaned fully into Wonbin, making your shared bodyweight pressed against the tiny sink. 

You and him were reacting in desperation only. His rough hand pulling at your waist underneath your shirt, your hand fisting the material of his clothes. Your shirt was off and your pants were wrapped around only one ankle as you two clambered around the tiny space of the bathroom. She’s one of those new-age feminists, ya know the type that likes to be in charge, even in bed. You pushed him against the wall opposite of the sink, then against the closed door of the bathroom. Anytime he tried to take control your took it back, slipping your tongue into his mouth and tilting his head the way you wanted it to go with your bloody hands. Anytime he tried to do the same you smacked away his hand or pinched his neck. The only thing you allowed Wonbin to do was stuff his hand into your underwear, and the only time you let him guide you was to put your foot on the edge of the tub to open you up more. 

Wonbin is even worse than her though. since he’s so used to getting what he wants. If they were wrong they would’ve guessed he took control back by picking you up and fucking you against the wall or on top of the sink, reeling off the metallic smell of blood while your hands tangled in his inky hair. 

In the end they were only right about the two of you being reckless, just reckless. You two carelessly kicked the knife around, causing the wooden handle to ricochet off the walls on the ground. Even with a spinning blade near your feet you two wouldn’t be deterred. You two wouldn’t separated until a police officer came through the crooked open door with the groupie trailing close behind. 

“That’s her!” She said in a shrill voice as she pointed her finger towards you. 

You only rolled your eyes before pulling away from Wonbin. He put on his robe while you lazily put on your clothes, being pulled away in handcuffs. Even haphazardly clothed on your way to jail you were be unbothered, quickly fixing your mussed hair with blood crusting underneath your fingernails. Only when you heard the whistling of a cop as they guided you out the hotel room would you remember the other reason you came to Wonbin’s hotel. 

Other people waited for you in the hallway. Roadies you couldn’t remember the name of, more cops holding things they will try to put you away to jail for, and Wendy with that look of disappointment on her face. Eunseok trailed close behind, Eunseok still holding the tape recorder close to your mouth.

She looked back to him one more time as the police were leading her out. This is seriously what the cops and what the groupie said she said, word for word. She looked back, hair a mess, blood on her hands and scratches on her face but smiling like a fucking crazy idiot. She started whistling with the cop like she knew the mindless tune or something. Before she rounded the corner to leave the room she spoke directly to him. 

He leaned against the broken doorframe of the hotel room with his arms crossed like an upset Mom watching her kid get walked out. When she looked back at him he smiled like he read her fucking mind or something.

“This means i’m in the band, right?”

[little-diable]

The Devil's Son – Cowboy!Tommy Shelby (smut)

I am surrounded by all things cowboy at the moment, so I wanted to pull Tommy into this – I feel like he would have been a good cowboy in the 1800s. The instrumental song „Baptized and Buried“ by Will Harrison set the mood. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is chased by a few men through a canyon, she is close to dying, but then a handsome stranger rips her from death's grasp. A stranger she won't ever part ways with again.

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, mentions killing and being close to dying, quite some fluff, set in the 1800s

Pairing: Cowboy!Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (4.3k words)

picture from Pinterest, credits to the owner

Part 2

Her heart was pounding in her chest, it was whispering to her body, to find the last remaining strength to make it out of this chase alive. She could hear their shouts echoing through the canyon, followed by the sounds of their horses following her along the unsteady path. Her life was about to end, (y/n) could tell that she only had a few more seconds on her hands before a shot would pierce her skin, letting her drop on the cold ground. 

But even though Death was reaching for her with its cold fingers once again, she was determined to keep on running, to take risks she normally wouldn’t even dare think of. She had nothing to lose, if her life was already on the line, she could at least leave this life behind with one last adrenaline rush. 

The wind was blowing through her hair, letting the strands dance in the air while the fabric of her dress grew dirtier by the second. She had lost her shoes a while ago, forced to keep on running with bleeding feet that were about to throw her off her balance. 

(Y/n) risked to look back for a second, to catch the sight of the men who were chasing her, a foolish mistake that distracted her from the man and his horse who were about to reach her, coming at her from her left side. With a scream leaving her, (y/n) was picked up and thrown over the horse, with her body somewhat pressed against the man’s front as well as against the saddle. 

Even though her body begged her to throw herself off the horse, her mind told her to rest, to enjoy the few seconds where she didn’t have to run with her bleeding feet. Her thoughts were silenced the second a shot went off, letting the bullet meet one of the stones close to them. Only now it began to dawn on her that the man wasn’t with the others, he wasn’t part of the group that kept chasing her. 

For a moment, she lifted her head to look at him, to study his sharp features, the piercing blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean she had last seen when she had been a child, and the salt-and-pepper hair partly hidden beneath his dark hat. 

“Hold on.” His gruff voice rang in her ears as she tightened her grip on the saddle while trying to bite down her scream as he suddenly turned the horse left to make it up a hill. Shots kept echoing through the air, followed by screams (y/n) desperately tried to drown out. 

Only as they made it up the hill to get more distance between them and those who were chasing them did the man allow the horse to slow down. She felt his hands on her waist, and without another warning, she got shuffled around once again, to find herself sitting in front of him, with his front pressed against her back. 

“Thank you.” She couldn’t speak another word, not while the horse gained speed once again and the man tightened his grip on the reins. (Y/n) had to fight against the need to press herself closer to him, cosied along by the whispers of her exhaustion. 

“Don’t thank me yet, girl.” Before (y/n) could even form a single word to reply with, she heard the others once again, not giving their chase up just yet. 

……

“Hold on, I’ll carry you to the creek.” It felt as if hours had passed since they had finally managed to shake off the others. And yet they had barely shared any words until he had decided on a spot to spend the night at. 

“What’s your name?” She mumbled the question while he carried her, holding tightly onto (y/n) as the sound of the creek running along filled their silence. He kept quiet as he sat her down on the ground, only to reach for her feet to clean the dirt and blood off her skin. The man touched her carefully, a touch so soft and intimate, (y/n) wondered if she was only imagining things. 

(Y/n) couldn’t stop admiring him, the soft lines gracing his features, the concentration swimming in his piercing pupils. He was handsome, more handsome than all these men she had met back home and even on the journey down here. She had to stop her hands from reaching for him, wanting to touch the skin that looked unusually soft, even though he seemed to spend most of his time out on his horse, guided by the sun. 

“My name’s (y/n).” She tried once again to lure some information out of him, perhaps sharing her own name would encourage him enough to speak. For a second, his eyes met hers, he seemed to study her as if he was trying to figure out if she was lying to him, but he let his eyes flicker down to his hands moments later. Wordlessly, he let go of her now clean feet to rise back to his feet. 

“I’ll walk back up, take your time if you want to take a bath, it’s probably your last chance for a while.” Heat flushed through her at his words, hyperfocusing on the fact that he wouldn’t leave her behind in the middle of nowhere, but would take her with him, wherever he was planning on going. 

A sigh clawed through (y/n) as her fingers began to unbutton her dirty dress. It didn’t take her long to shuffle out of the slightly torn fabric, to let it drop to the ground while she sunk into the creek to wash herself clean. Her body was aching and the water was cold enough to soothe the pain clinging to her muscles, reminding her of the chase she had somehow survived, and the fear that had clung to her all throughout it. 

Whoever the stranger was, at that moment it felt like he was godsent, protecting her from Death’s grasp–allowing her to once again escape it. 

She let her hands rub her limbs clean before climbing back out of the creek. With the afternoon sun burning down on her, (y/n) found herself resting on the grass while drying. Her thoughts raced, thumping through her mind like whispers she couldn’t shake. Even though every part of her mind screamed at her to not trust the man, to keep her distance from a stranger who could easily sell her in the next city, her body was still hooked on the way he had pressed her to him while riding and how he had taken care of her wounds. 

With a sigh clawing through her, (y/n) rose back to her feet to pull her dress and undergarments back on, while trying to ignore the dirt sticking to it. Her feet were still hurting as she walked back to the stranger who had made camp for them with a small fire burning, and for a while, all (y/n) did was look at him, letting them both drown in their thoughts. 

……

“Can you tell me where you will take me?” The morning was still young, the cold breeze teased their limbs as they kept riding. Tommy had woken her a while ago, no words had been shared between them as they had saddled his horse to move once again. The night had been just as quiet, nothing had left his thin lips, not even a single word, but (y/n) had been grateful for his silence–it allowed her to figure out whatever she wanted to do now that she was free again. 

“We will reach town in about three days, there you can decide what you want to do. I have to keep riding north.” A hum managed to break out of (y/n). She had no plan, didn’t know where to go from whichever town he was taking her. 

“Why were these men after you?” The man’s low voice pushed heat through her body, making her skin tingle from the way his breath clashed against her neck. (Y/n) felt awfully comfortable in his presence, more safe than she had in years, protected and appreciated, almost. 

“I,” (y/n) cleared her throat. “I didn’t want to offer my body to them, but they ignored me and tried to take me with them anyway, so I killed two of them and lured them into the canyon. My horse didn’t make it, so I kept running.” 

She felt him tense behind her. Whatever was going through his head forced him to tighten his grip on the loose hanging reins, making her eyes focus on his slender fingers to wonder how it must feel to have him touching her. 

“I should have killed them.” His voice was low, dripping with an unfamiliar kind of anger that left her shuddering. Even though neither knew much about the other, there was something keeping them connected, something that ran deeper than just kindness one would offer a stranger. 

“It’s alright, I’m grateful you found me.” She couldn’t stop herself from finding his hand to squeeze it. The man didn’t react to her touch, at least not for a moment, but then he slowly let go of the reins to interlace his fingers with hers. (Y/n)’s heart skipped a few beats in her chest, it was whispering to her about things she didn’t understand and had never felt before, things that were now cosying her along. 

“My name is Tommy Shelby.” A grin found its way to her lips, and with a soft chuckle leaving her, (y/n) leaned back further to rest against his chest. 

……

“Have you been travelling for long?” She was resting against his saddle, close to the fire that kept warming them. Tommy was sitting next to her, with his arms crossed over his chest and his back also pressed against the saddle. 

(Y/n) couldn’t stop her eyes from drinking him in, every part of his handsome appearance. Not once had she felt this drawn to a man, unable to let her thoughts rest as she imagined the most sinful things. 

“I have, for years. I take on jobs every now and then, but it’s been mainly just me and the horse.” Her hands moved slowly, it seemed as if they had their own will, still hooked onto the memories of how it had felt to hold onto him. Their eyes met as her hand found his, letting their fingertips meet slowly to give him a chance to pull away. 

Something in his eyes shifted, something that whispered to him while he opened his arm to pull her against his side. (Y/n)’s head rested on his chest, she could hear his slightly accelerated heartbeat while his hand ran up and down her side. This was everything she had once been warned of by the nuns who had raised her–handsome strangers who could lure you closer with pretty promises only to chase their luck for a night before disappearing.

But with Tommy it was different, she knew he wouldn’t run, not from the woman he had rescued as if Death itself had called for him, knowing it wasn’t her time to go just yet. 

“It must get lonely.” Slowly, she lifted her head to look back up at him. The fire offered just enough light to illuminate his features, adding even more colour to his bright pupils. He looked godlike, but the darkness simmering inside of him was anything but godlike, he was a godless man, a sinner through and through. 

“You’re never alone out here if you listen carefully enough.” He stroked a few of her strands out of her face, letting them rest behind her ear to offer him a better view of her face. Their eyes held eye contact as he cupped her cheek to run his thumb along her skin, mapping out every inch she allowed him to study. 

The sound of something howling in the distance filled her ears, followed by the sounds of the soft breeze. Nature was everywhere, it followed them like a shadow they couldn’t shake, forever accompanied by the world's greatest wonders. 

“How is it you’re not married? A woman like you must have many suitors.” A soft chuckle left (y/n) as she shuffled even closer. She had her hands resting on his chest, almost pressing him against the saddle while getting lost in his eyes. For Tommy she would give up every plan, every promise she had once made, whatever he’d ask of her, she’d do it. 

“I ain’t one for sitting around at home to raise children while my husband is off to work, I guess no man wants a woman with such an unbending will.” She didn’t see it coming, didn’t expect Tommy to pull her in for a kiss before another breath could be inhaled into her lungs. But the second their lips met, something shot down her spine, something that forced her closer to him to deepen the kiss. 

“Well, I guess one man’s loss is another man’s gain.” Tommy murmured the words against her lips before he kissed her again. Her chuckles rumbled through the both of them, filling the night that wrapped them in their comforting veil. His hands tightened their grip on her frame, he held her close like only a husband would hold his wife. 

“We should get some sleep, we have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.” He parted from her slowly, leaving her dazed and slightly confused. With only a hum breaking out of her, (y/n) found rest on his chest once again, and with one last squeeze of her waist, Tommy kept holding her while sleep called for them. 

……

“Wait, let me help you.” Minutes ago they had rode into the town, finding their way through busy streets until they had reached the house they were now halting in front of. Tommy helped her down from the horse before he reached for his saddle. No words were spoken as they walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. 

She wanted to ask questions, unsure who they were about to meet and what Tommy had in mind, but the second the door was pulled open, any question she had wanted to ask was silenced. (Y/n) could instantly tell that the woman was related to Tommy, let it be from the way she carried herself or how she was staring at him with something his eyes had carried these last days–remorse, guilt, longing for his home. 

“(Y/n), that’s Ada, my sister. Ada, that’s (y/n), a friend of mine.” (Y/n) tried to ignore the ache inside her chest at being called his friend, she also tried to ignore the confused gaze the beautiful woman shot her, before she stepped aside to let them both in. 

“It’s late, Thomas, you should have told me you were coming. People talk in this town, they’ll accuse me of giving the Devil’s Son shelter.” A slight smirk began to widen on Tommy’s lips at his sister’s words. (Y/n) tried not to listen to the conversation as her eyes began to wander, taking in their new surroundings. The furniture seemed expensive, just like the paintings gracing the dark walls, she didn’t fit in, felt overly out of place with her dirty dress, her uncombed hair and the dirt clinging to her cheeks. 

“Do they still call me that?” Tommy reached for (y/n)’s hand to pull her along. Ada muttered something under her breath, words (y/n) couldn’t pick up on as Tommy pulled her into a room, letting the door fall shut behind them. She didn’t get a chance to speak up as Tommy’s lips met hers, instantly silencing any thought she couldn’t shake. 

He pressed her against the door while he let his hands wander, letting them find the buttons of her dress. They didn’t break the kiss once, not as he reached the last button, not as he pushed the dress off her shoulder to let the dress drop to the ground. Goosebumps covered her skin as the cold air teased her limbs, kissing every inch Tommy wanted to explore with his hands and mouth.

“How about a bath? We should take advantage of Ada’s hot water.” The words drew an excited gasp from (y/n). Only now did her eyes find the bathtub, something she hadn’t seen in weeks, perhaps even months. Tommy disappeared from her side to reach for the bucket placed close to the tub, and with one last kiss pressed to her lips he left the room, in search of hot water. 

(Y/n)’s tired legs carried her closer to the window, and with her arm covering her naked chest, she let her eyes take in the dark street lying to her feet. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen now. Could she ask Tommy to take her with him wherever he was going? Would he even want her around?

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you into the bath.” Tommy poured the first two buckets of hot water into the tub. He disappeared from her sight moments later, all while (y/n) shuffled out of her undergarments to sink into the hot water. A sigh left her at the sensation–it felt like a hug, a cosy blanket tossed over her cold body to soothe her pain and those aching muscles. She watched Tommy appear and disappear a few times before she found him shuffling out of his clothes too, finding his way to the tub to pull her against his chest. 

“Thank you, Tommy.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, while his hands wandered down her sides and back up, teasing her trembling body. The back of her head found rest on his chest, she was putty in his hands, allowing the man to guide her through whatever he was about to push through her. 

“Will you let me touch you, sweetheart?” All she could do was nod, wordlessly begging him to give into the longings both had felt ever since their kiss. One of his hands disappeared beneath the water, it stroked along her thighs before finding its way to her aching core, while the other moved up to her chest. He pinched her right nipple as his fingers began to circle her pulsing bundle, drawing a surprised moan from her lips.

It had been months since she had last been touched, and even though she was all too familiar with these sensations, her body reacted as if she had never been touched before. It felt as if her body was on fire, tossed to the flames by the Devil’s Son himself, the man who managed to push her towards the edge within seconds. 

“You make the prettiest sounds.” Tommy rasped his words against her neck as he kissed her skin, adding yet another tingling sensation to the ones she was already held hostage by. Her walls fluttered around nothing, desperate to be filled by the cock that hardened against her back. (Y/n) pressed herself further against Tommy to draw a moan from his parted lips, letting the sounds vibrate through both their bodies. 

“Tommy,” she choked on his name as he pushed a finger into her tightness. Her walls clenched around his digit, a wordless plea to finally fuck her, to cross the last few inches of distance between them. (Y/n) had to arch her back as Tommy added another finger to move them even faster, making her tremble and gasp for him only. 

“Let me fuck you, sweetheart, let me make you mine for this night.” He pulled his fingers from her aching heat to turn her around in his grasp. Their lips met for a desperate kiss, exchanging emotions they couldn’t put into words. With her hands clinging to the edge of the tub, (y/n) raised her hips, letting him push his cock towards her entrance for her to sink down on his length.

Both moaned in unison at the feeling of him sinking further and further into her tightness. Her walls pulsed around him, a desperate try to adjust to his size, to get used to being this stretched before he helped her move. With his hands placed on her behind, Tommy stabilised her trembling frame, he helped her fuck herself on his cock as sinful sounds left them both.

She was too focused on the sensation to pick up on the adoration filling his pupils, was too far gone to realise that he was marvelling at her like no man ever had before. Tommy wasn’t used to feeling this pull, a pull so strong, he feared it’d rip his heart straight out of his chest. He wasn’t one to stick around, wasn’t one to give into emotions guiding him away from his plan, but fuck, she had a special grasp on his soul. 

“Don’t ever stop touching me, Tommy, please. Take me with you, wherever you’re going.” She was too far gone to pick up on the uneasiness tugging on his features. Tommy wasn’t planning on taking her with him, he was planning on leaving the second she fell asleep, for his sake and for hers. His life wasn’t one he could share with a woman like (y/n), a goodhearted woman he would only taint with his dark touch. 

Tommy didn’t reply, all he did was hold onto her neck and waist as he pushed them around to press her against the tub to fuck her towards her high. Neither of them seemed to worry about the splashing water, about the mess they were making, all they were focused on were their highs, set on pulling them into darkness for a moment or two.

(Y/n) was the first to give in, with his name splattering from her lips, with her eyes squeezed shut, and with her fingernails clawed into his shoulders. Tommy kept snapping his hips against hers, chasing his own release until he came with a deep groan. Their hearts were racing, their lungs were aching, but their bodies didn’t part, not when they let go of soft chuckles, not when they looked at one another like only married lovers would. 

He was damned, had been from the day of his birth, but she was the light he had always dreamt of–and now he was burning, and nothing could tame the fire.

……

She woke with a groan. (Y/n)’s hand tried to reach for him, searching for Tommy's warmth she had cherished as he had pressed her to him last night. A smile widened on her lips at the thought of last night, the way he had fucked her in the bath and then on the bed, much slower that time around. 

Her eyes fluttered open, expecting Tommy to rest next to her, but the bed was empty. It took (y/n) a second to sit up, to let her eyes wander through the room. But Tommy was nowhere to be found, his clothes, boots, and saddle were gone. 

Panic flushed through her as (y/n) stumbled out of the bed to hastily pull on the new dress Ada had laid out for her. Tears welled up in her eyes, slowly but surely she began to realise what was going on, a pain so unfamiliar began to fill her, she struggled to keep on breathing. With hasty steps she stumbled down the stairs, urged on by the silent hope that he was waiting downstairs for her. 

The sun was about to rise, drenching the house in a dark orange that cozied her along as her eyes found Ada’s cold ones. For a second, the two held eye contact, until Ada folded her newspaper to reach for a cup filled with what (y/n) assumed to be coffee. 

“He’s gone, left a while ago.” The words drew a sob from (y/n). Her limbs were trembling, aching to hold onto Tommy again just like she had done the past days. How could he leave her like that? How could he leave her behind without a single goodbye? 

It set in like a train clashing against her, set on ripping her off her feet–she would never see him again. The man who had taken her heart right with him. 

(Y/n) fought against the need to drop to her knees, she couldn’t embarrass herself in front of Ada. Her glassy eyes wandered from the sighing woman to the window. It took her eyes a moment to focus on the familiar silhouette, the man sitting on his horse outside of Ada’s house. A choked sob clawed out of (y/n) as she stumbled out of the house, and with her tears dripping from her eyes, her gaze focused on an all too familiar face. 

“I thought you were gone?” Her question filled the cold morning. His eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hat, keeping the pained expression he couldn’t shake from her curious eyes. 

“Well, I left town, but I didn’t get far. It seems like I left my heart with you, and I can’t travel without it.” The choked laugh leaving (y/n) had an addictive effect on Tommy. He kept looking down on her from his horse as if he was waiting for her to make a decision, silently offering her the chance to stay here. 

“You’re an asshole for trying to leave me behind without saying goodbye. But I can’t be without you.” She stepped towards him, reached for his vest and pulled him down for a kiss. 

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.” 

[librababe99]

Veronica, please stroll with me.

Imagine fem!reader caught Jason humming and then singing a few lines from one of these songs (your choice to pick!): angel baby, die with a smile, i like me better while idly folding clothes, looking so domestic (ughhh, my heart, also idk if it sounds right...english is not my main language) and cozy and war-

Imagine his face! Flustered, yes! Cute, yes! Cheeks looking so squeezeable, 100×yes!

And the ending? You and him sing together while cuddling!

Kat!! Another solid request😍😍 I love all of the song recommendations you gave, but I decided on "Die With A Smile" ---Plus Jason in a domestic setting *swoons*

Title: Die With A Smile

cw: NONE. Fluff. Jason Todd x Fem Reader

Summary: In the Warmth of your shared apartment, you realize how much Jason means to you, cherishing the tender intimacy that exists beyond the chaos of Gotham's streets.

WC: 1.3K

A/N: To enhance the experience I recommend listening to the instrumental version of the song (Here!) while you read along <3

The apartment was quiet when you stepped through the front door, a welcome change from the chaotic rhythm of the city that always seemed to vibrate through Gotham’s streets. You had expected it to be silent—Jason was usually either buried in his work or out on the rooftops, chasing down something far more dangerous than the late autumn chill that clung to the air.

Ooh, Ooh 

You paused, sliding your shoes off with a quiet thud, and closed the door without making too much noise. The melody became clearer now, and it wasn’t hard to place the song. Jason wasn’t exactly the type to blast pop music in his free time, but you’d caught him humming to it more than once when he didn’t think anyone was listening.

I, I just woke up from a dreamWhere you and I had to say goodbyeAnd I don't know what it all meansBut since I survived, I realized

But instead, the soft hum of a familiar tune drifted through the air.

Following the sound, you found him in the kitchen, half-hidden by the doorway, his back to you as he worked on something at the counter. He hadn’t noticed you yet, to absorbed in his task, his humming getting louder as the chorus approached.

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow Nobody’s promised tomorrow So I’ma love you every night likes its The last night Like it’s the last night 

Your breath hitched at the sight. There was something so intimate about this—Jason completely relaxed, not donning his Red Hood mask or the weight of his past trauma. He was just himself—a man in a worn t-shirt, hair tousled from sleep or maybe just laziness, muscles flexing as he absentmindedly stirred something on the stove. His voice, though unpolished, carried a soft warmth that tugged at your heart.

If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on Earth was throughI’d wanna hold you just for a while And die with a smile 

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as you watched him, a small smile curling on your lips. How had you gotten so lucky? Jason wasn’t just the damaged vigilante the world saw. He wasn’t only the hard-edged, brash man he had been shaped into by Gotham’s cruelty. He was this—soft, thoughtful, utterly unguarded in the safety of your home.

If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you

His presence was like gravity, always pulling you back, always reminding you that no matter what he did when the mask was on, he was yours in moments like this.

Jason started to sing under his breath as the song reached its crescendo, his voice uncharacteristically light and free. You could tell he was lost in thought, barely aware of what he was doing. It was such a simple thing, and yet it filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

It wasn’t the moments of adrenaline-fueled action that you cherished, though those had their place. It was this—the quiet, the mundane, the feeling of being a part of his life when the world wasn’t crashing down around you. It was the way his eyes softened when you were alone, how his touch became more tender. He was so much more than the Red Hood. He was your Jason.

Oooh, Ooh

You didn’t want to interrupt the moment, but as if sensing your presence, Jason suddenly paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying that gravelly edge that always seemed to linger even when he was relaxed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though you could see the faint surprise in his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you teased, pushing off the doorway to cross the kitchen toward him. “Didn’t know you were so into pop ballads.”

He chuckled, setting the spoon down before turning fully to face you, leaning casually against the counter. “What can I say? I’ve got layers.”

Oooh, lost, lost in the words that we scream I don’t even wanna do this anymore cause you already know what you mean to me and our love’s the only war worth fighting for 

You raised an eyebrow, resting your hands on his chest as you closed the distance between you. “More than you let on,” you murmured, letting your fingers trace along the worn fabric of his shirt. There was something intoxicating about being this close to him—his warmth, the scent of coffee and whatever he was cooking, the way his hands instinctively found their place at your waist.

Jason’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing lightly against your hip. “You okay?”

Your heart swelled at the concern in his voice. Even after all this time, he always checked in, always made sure you were alright. It was a little thing, but it meant the world to you.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your eyes meeting his, drinking in every detail of him. “Just… appreciating the view.”

Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow Nobody’s promised tomorrow 

He smirked, tilting his head as if to challenge you. “Oh yeah? You like what you see?”

“Always.” The word slipped from your lips without hesitation, filled with quiet sincerity.

So i’ma love you Every night like its  The last night Like it's the last night 

His expression shifted, the teasing edge fading into something softer, more vulnerable. It was moments like this that made you realize how deeply you connected—no words needed, just the shared understanding that you had both found something rare in each other.

Jason pulled you closer, wrapping his arms fully around you now, holding you tight against him as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The world outside your apartment seemed so far away, like it didn’t exist at all.

You stood like that for what felt like hours, just holding each other, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Eventually, Jason pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“You know I don’t deserve you, right?”

You lifted your head to look at him, frowning at the hint of self-doubt in his voice. “You deserve more than you think, Jason.” Your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over the rough stubble. “You deserve this—us. Everything.”

If the world was endingI’d wanna be next to you If the party was over And our time on earth was through 

His eyes searched yours for a moment, the tension slowly melting away as your words sank in. Then he smiled—a real, genuine smile, one you only ever saw in moments like these.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, his voice low and full of affection.

You smiled back, leaning in to kiss him softly. The kiss was slow, unhurried, a quiet promise between you. When you finally pulled apart, Jason rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of your apartment.

I’d wanna hold you just for a while  And die with a smile If the world was ending I’d wanna be next to you 

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle. “Let’s go sit down before I burn dinner.”

You laughed softly, and together you moved to the couch, settling in as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jason pulled you into his arms again, and you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

Right Next to you Next to you 

For a long time, you simply sat there, the soft hum of the city outside the only sound. You could feel the steady rise and fall of Jason’s chest beneath you, his warmth surrounding you like a blanket. It was the kind of moment you wished you could freeze in time, hold onto forever.

And as you closed your eyes, listening to the faint, lingering melody of the song still playing in your mind, you knew one thing for certain—this, with Jason, was everything you had ever wanted.

Right next to you Ooh-ohh

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

The Tortured Poets Department

A/n: This has nothing to do with the plot of the Taylor Swift song, I just listened to it while writing because it was angsty. This is so extremely unedited

Summary: Rooster gets scared of commitment when the sudden realization of what his job actually is

WC: 2.3K

The roar of jets thundered across the tarmac as Bradley Bradshaw soared through the skies, the cockpit an exhilarating mix of adrenaline and focus. The instruments beeped and flickered, each reading demanding his full attention, yet amidst the rush of flight, his thoughts drifted back to Y/N—the woman whose presence had once lit up his life and whose absence now left an aching void.

He could still recall the sound of her laughter, a melody that echoed in his mind, pulling him back to moments that felt like lifetimes ago. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams, the warmth of her hand in his during quiet moments, all felt like a distant dream. Months had passed since their last confrontation, a moment that had unraveled everything they had built together, and now each day felt like a battle against memories that refused to fade.

As he maneuvered through the clouds, the breathtaking views outside the cockpit contrasted sharply with the tumult within him. Every roll and turn of the jet reminded him of the freedom he craved, yet it paled in comparison to the freedom he had felt in Y/N’s presence. He remembered their late-night talks, filled with hopes and secrets, where the world outside ceased to exist.

But the shadows of their last argument loomed large in his mind. The hurtful words exchanged—sharp and stinging—haunted him. The sound of her voice, laced with pain, echoed like a siren call, demanding his attention. It was a confrontation he had been too scared to face, one that had left them both fractured and yearning for what had once been so effortless.

Back in central San Diego, Y/N poured her heart into poetry, using words as both a shield and a weapon. Every stanza dripped with longing and heartbreak, a testament to the turmoil of their last fight. The ink on the pages felt like both an escape and a prison; she had tried to move on, but every line echoed Rooster’s name, a reminder of the boy who had gave her the ring and still pushed her away. The memories of their laughter, the whispered dreams of the future, clashed violently with the sting of their last words—each syllable a dagger that cut deep.

The night of their argument replayed in her mind like a haunting refrain. They had been wrapped in warmth, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights, their laughter mingling with the faint sounds of the world outside. Everything had felt so right until unguarded words turned into barbed accusations. “You think you’re doing us a favour but you’re not!” she had shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re just afraid—afraid of feeling anything real!”

He had retreated, closing himself off, unwilling to confront the truth. “I can’t have you spending the rest of your life wondering if something will happen to me! And I told you, I can’t give you marriage, kids the whole American dream! I can’t bring myself to let down that many people if something ever happens to me up there.” His voice had carried a mix of anger and pain, a plea wrapped in defensiveness.

Now, as Rooster returned to San Diego, he felt the weight of his choices pressing down on him like an anchor. The legacy of his father loomed large, the pressure to be the best pilot consuming him. But beneath it all, the thought of Y/N tugged at his heart—a siren call he couldn’t ignore. Memories of their time together flickered in his mind like old film reels—moments filled with laughter, late-night talks, and the ease of being with someone who understood him so deeply.

When he found her at their park bench, lost in her notebook, the air crackled with unresolved tension. Her eyes widened in disbelief as he approached, a mix of relief and anger swirling in her gaze. “Bradley,” she managed, her voice tight and strained.

“Y/N,” he replied, the name feeling both familiar and foreign on his tongue. “I’ve missed you.”

“Why now?” she shot back, hurt lacing her words. “You left without a word midday. Do you think I’m just waiting for you to swoop in and fix everything just because you’re lonely now?” Each word was a challenge, a shield raised against the vulnerability he once made her feel.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice, the rawness of emotion evident. “But I’m scared—scared of what I feel, of what I might lose.” The admission hung in the air between them, heavy and palpable.

She scoffed, folding her arms defensively, the gesture a fortress against his vulnerability. “You’re scared? Try being the one who’s been left behind, Bradley. You use to tell me you wanted to give me a ring and promised me forever!?” Her voice trembled slightly, betraying the hurt buried beneath her bravado.

Their conversation spiraled into a fierce exchange, raw emotions spilling out like ink on a page. Rooster felt his heart breaking as he watched the woman he loved become a whirlwind of pain and anger, a fierce storm brewing in her eyes. He wanted to reach out, to tell her he still cared, to close the distance between them, but the fear of rejection kept him rooted in place.

Days turned into weeks, and the silence between them grew deafening. Countless of calls, texts and bouquets at her door, all unreciprocated. Y/N poured her grief into her poetry, each word an echo of her shattered heart. She wrote late into the night, capturing the essence of their love and loss, but the act of creating became both a solace and a reminder of everything they had lost. Each poem was a cry for connection, a plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to articulate feelings that felt too big to contain.

She scribbled about flying high and crashing hard, about love that felt both liberating and suffocating. Yet, with each word, she felt the gulf between them widen, as if the chasm of their shared pain was becoming a canyon too vast to bridge. The images of their happy memories were tinged with the bitterness of unresolved conflict, transforming into a collection of what-ifs and missed opportunities.

As Rooster’s deployment loomed closer, he felt a desperate urge to reach out, to mend what had been broken. But every attempt felt like grasping at smoke, a futile effort against the enormity of their pain. The pressure of his responsibilities felt like an anchor, dragging him down even as he yearned to soar. He spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, haunted by the thought that he might have lost her forever.

On the day of his departure, Rooster stood at her door as one last attempt to reconnect, his heart pounding in his chest, the sun dipping low, casting a golden hue over everything. But all he could feel was the impending loss, a palpable ache tightening in his throat.

“I don’t know what you want from us Rooster. There isn’t an “Us” anymore. There hasn’t been for a while.” she said, her voice thick with emotion, each word a bitter reminder of their past.

“I want to write to you, I want to show you I mean it when I say I want you and give you the future you deserve.” he promised, but doubt crept in, shadowing the sincerity of his words. What good were words when the silence had become their shared language? Each letter felt like a hollow gesture, an attempt to bridge a gap that seemed to only widen with distance.

“And what if it’s not enough?” she whispered, tears glistening in her eyes. “What if I don’t want you to.” Her voice cracked, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her chest.

Rooster reached for her, but the distance felt insurmountable. “I’d still do it. You need to know… you’re worth the wait.” The words tumbled out, fueled by an urgency he couldn't contain.

She turned away, unable to meet his gaze, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, a final admission of her exhaustion.

With that, he left for the ship, the roar of his bronco’s engines drowning out the pain in his chest. As his car pulled away from Y/N’s driveway, he caught one last glimpse of Y/N, her silhouette a haunting reminder of everything he had left behind—a figure suspended in time, forever etched in his memory.

Weeks passed in a haze of duty and distance. Rooster’s letters came sporadically, filled with mundane details of life in the Navy, each envelope a lifeline but also a reminder of their widening gulf. The poetry Y/N had once found comfort in now felt like a ghost of their past, a bittersweet echo of a love fractured by fear and misunderstanding.

Each night, she read his letters under the dim light of her desk, tracing the words with trembling fingers. She longed for the warmth of his embrace, the way he could make the world fade away. But with every passing day, the pain of separation grew heavier, a weight that threatened to crush her spirit. She tried to convince herself that she could move on, that she could fill the void with her art, but the emptiness lingered like a shadow, refusing to be dispelled.

Rooster, too, felt the weight of absence pressing down on him, an invisible force that suffocated his spirit. The thrill of flying was nothing compared to the thrill of being with Y/N. He would often find himself daydreaming about their time together—their late-night talks, her laughter, the way she looked at him as if he were the only person in the world. Each memory was a double-edged sword, both comforting and painful, leaving him to wonder if he had made the right choices.

When he finally returned to San Diego, the anticipation was thick with dread. The reunion felt charged, the air heavy with unspoken words that crackled like electricity. “I missed you,” he said, the hesitance in his voice sending a chill through her.

“I missed who we used to be,” she replied, her heart aching with the truth of it. “But I don’t know if we can get back there.” Her words were a cautious acknowledgment of the distance that had grown between them, a chasm filled with hurt and longing.

He took a step closer, desperation etched in his features. “We can try. We have to try,” he insisted, hope battling against the despair that threatened to consume them both.

But every attempt to bridge the distance felt futile, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. They spent hours together, sharing memories and fleeting moments, yet the weight of their unresolved feelings hung like a storm cloud, ready to unleash a deluge at any moment. Y/N found herself pulling away, afraid to expose the fragility of her heart, unwilling to let him see just how deeply he had wounded her.

One night, under a blanket of stars, Y/N pulled out her notebook, her hands trembling as she faced the truth of her feelings. “I wrote something for you,” she said, her voice wavering as she read aloud. Each word was laced with vulnerability, a reflection of the pain they both carried—a mirror of their fractured love.

As she spoke, Rooster felt the walls around his heart begin to crumble. “You captured everything I felt,” he whispered, but sadness lingered in her eyes, a reminder that words alone could not heal their wounds.

“I’m tired of waiting to see if you leave me again. I’m scared to be even vulnerable with you. I can’t be here for your convenience when you feel lonely on deployment or guilty you left.” she abruptly confessed her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it, her mouth running faster than her mind.

Rooster's heart raced as he searched her gaze, wanting to reach her but feeling the distance still between them. “It’s not like that.” he replied, frustration creeping into his tone. “Don’t you get it? I’m so so scared of losing you again. Because I can’t see myself with anyone but you.”

She crossed her arms, a defensive stance that mirrored his own fears. “Again? It feels like you’ve still lost me, Rooster. You can’t keep holding on to what we were. We’re completely different people that want different things. I want a family rooster I really do, and that might just mean it won’t be with you if you don’t want that.”

The truth hung heavy in the air. He stepped closer, vulnerability flooding his chest. “Then help me find a way back with you. I want it all Y/N, I want to marry you, have kids with you. I was scared, scared that building a life with you would mean the risks of hurting you would lengthen but all I’ve manage to do was hurt you even more. Honey I’m sorry but I’m serious when I say I want all of you, you and me forever.”

Her expression softened for a moment, and he saw the flicker of hope in her eyes. “Did you just quote The Notebook”

He took a deep breath, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. “I- yeah I did”

Rooster felt the walls he’d built start to shift, the possibility of a new beginning sparking something deep within him. “I want to own up to my mistakes. I want to show you’re my future.”he said, his determination rising. “Because I need you by my side.”

A small smile broke through her sadness, and for the first time in what felt like forever, they stood on the precipice of something real, a fragile connection that could either heal or shatter them both.

[unforgivenn]

SHACKLED BY ROYALTY

#4: Fractured hope

Previous/ Masterlist/ Next

CW: Mention of abuse, captivity, panic attacks, extreme distress, noah being a sad boi, pet whump, slavery

Noah's senses swam in the murky depths of semi-consciousness, his body hanging limply in the chains that held him suspended. He drifted in and out of awareness, the relentless pain a constant anchor dragging him back to the nightmarish reality. The chamber was silent now, Andrey having left him to marinate in his agony and humiliation.

Somewhere in the haze of his thoughts, Noah registered the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the muffled shuffle of footsteps. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like they were weighted down with lead.

Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through his battered frame, a constant reminder of the horrors he had endured at the hands of his merciless captor.

"He's in bad shape," a soft voice murmured, tinged with professional detachment. "We need to get him down and treat those wounds."

Rough hands grabbed Noah's arms, releasing the shackles that had held him captive. He slumped forward, unable to support his own weight. Two figures caught him before he could collapse to the ground, their grips firm.

Noah slowly blinked through dried eyes as if registering his surroundings. A hazy man came in sight with a needle in hand. The glint of the needle in hand sent a jolt of fear through Noah's mudded mind.

"No, no, no..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, raw from screaming. Panic surged, adrenaline cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He thrashed weakly, trying to free himself from the hands that held him, but his strength was all but gone.

The man came in sight. He was an average sized man with dark brown hair and kind eyes that were filled with.. pity?

The man shushed Noah gently, but Noah wouldn't, couldn't, hear the reassurance, couldn't see anything beyond the needle's sharp point.

Noah's vision blurred as tears filled his eyes, mixing with the grime and blood on his face. Memories of Andrey's cruel smile, the gleaming instruments of pain, the endless hours of torment—everything merged into a single, overwhelming fear.

"He's having a panic attack," another voice said urgently. "We need to calm him down before we can do anything."

"G-Get that away from me!!" Noah stuttered, his voice rising in desperation and panic. "Please ngh! G-Get away!"

The hands on him tightened to prevent him from thrashing around more. Noah felt like a feral animal on a leash living only for the purpose of serving that jackass.

"Shh Shh" The first voice soothed, closer now. A gentle hand touched his face, brushing away the tears. "We're here to help you alright?"

The words struggled to penetrate the thick veil of his terror. Noah choked on a sob forcing his eyes to focus on the figure. Not Andrey. Not right now.

"W-Why...?" He croaked, his voice a raw whisper.

The figures exchanged a glance, then lowered Noah onto the floor. One of them produced a small vial and carefully uncorked it, releasing a pungent aroma that made Noah's stomach churn.

"We're under orders.. slave." The other explained, their tone a matter of fact. Adding the last word only made Noah's chest ache more. "His highness wants you alive. For now."

H-Huh? Noah's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Andrey, a fresh wave of fear washing over him like a tidal wave. But he pushed the fear aside, focusing instead on the fleeting sense of relief that washed over him at the thought of being out of Andrey's clutches, even if only temporarily.

"We're going to help you, okay? You'll feel better once we treat you." The kind voice spoke again, and now that Noah's vision had cleared, he saw that it belonged to a stout man, probably in his mid-twenties, with neatly brushed hair and a physician's cloak over him.

Another man approached the first, murmuring under his breath. "You’re asking for trouble if you get attached to this one. You do remember what happened last time?" The physician sighed. He knew the other was right.

The man took the sigh as a sign to start. They worked efficiently, cleaning the blood from his back and applying a salve that stung fiercely at first before a cooling numbness spread through his wounds. Noah's breath hitched as the pain receded to a dull throb, his mind slowly clawing its way back from the brink of unconsciousness.

"Rest now," The kind physician mumbled so that the others wouldn't hear nevertheless, his voice soothing. "You're safe for the moment."

Safe. The word seemed almost foreign in the context of his current reality, but Noah clung to it like a lifeline. As he drifted into a fitful sleep, his mind continued to wrestle with the fear and uncertainty that had become his constant companions.

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

When he awoke, the room was still dim, the only light coming from a small lamp on a nearby table. His body ached, but the pain was more manageable now, dulled by the salve and the rest he had been afforded.

Noah tried to sitting up, but the effort made his head swim. He lay back down, staring at the ceiling trying to block out his memories of the chamber. Never, Never had he in his life ever experienced such pain. His breath quickened, the beginnings of a panic attack clawing at his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, focusing on the rhythm of his inhales and exhales.

He had no idea how much time had passed when the door creaked open again. Footsteps approached, and Noah braced himself for another round of torment. But instead, a familiar voice reached his ears, cold and commanding.

"Awake already, pet?"

Noah's heart lurched as Andrey stepped into view, his piercing green eyes gleaming with a predatory light. The prince's presence filled the room, suffocating in its intensity.

"Y-yes, sir," Noah managed to croak out, remembering the rules that had been beaten into him. His body tensed, anticipating another wave of pain.

To his surprise, Andrey simply smirked and knelt beside the cot, his gaze sweeping over Noah's bandaged form. "Good. You've learned your place."

Noah's breath came in shallow gasps, his pulse quickening as he struggled to maintain his composure. Andrey reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of one of the bandages, his touch both gentle and menacing. Noah gathered up the courage to speak, his effort at sounding confident gone in vain.

"Y-You wanted me alive..?"

"Damian did a good job at bandaging you up.," Andrey said, his voice a low purr. "You see, breaking you is no fun if you're already broken beyond repair."

Noah swallowed hard, the weight of Andrey's words pressing down on him like a vise. Damian. The physician's name was Dmain. He fought to keep his expression neutral, knowing that any sign of defiance would only invite more punishment which he had learnt the hard way.

Andrey's hand moved to Noah's chin, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. "You will serve me and my family. You should understand that you have no other choice but to leave your old life behind. Wether its the hard or the easy way."

Tears prickled at the corners of Noah's eyes, but he blinked them back and bit his lip slightly, refusing to give Andrey the satisfaction of seeing him break down. "Yes, sir," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Andrey's smile widened, a chilling expression that sent shivers down Noah's spine. "Good. Remember that, and perhaps your time here won't be as unbearable as it could be."

Before Andrey could leave, he turned back looking at Noah, his presence itself dominating. "Oh and I have yet to make you meet my parents huh? Rest up. I'll be back in a few. And don't you even dare show any defiance or bullshit in front of my parents or I swear I will make you see lord jesus."

With that, Andrey stood and turned to leave, his presence a lingering shadow that seemed to drain the light from the room. As the door closed behind him, Noah's resolve wavered, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

For now, he could only bide his time, gathering his strength for the battles that lay ahead wishing Andrey's family wasn't as cruel as him though it only seemed like a childish goal just out of hand now.

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpsss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter (let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[anne-chloe]

Underground | XIII |

The Goblin King/Jareth x Reader

Summary : The Goblin King is constantly there. He offers a gift, a crystal ball, so you can see clearly what your beloved fiancé is up to. And it seems as though Harry is back to his normal ways.

The spotlight shone brightly in your eyes as you advanced towards centre stage with your castmates. The theatre roared in excitement as an instrumental version of the opening song was playing; the cast directed their own applause to the directors, the band, the costume and set designers, and finally to the audience themselves.

Adrenaline filled your body as the applause rang true in your ears. You couldn't help but smile gleefully at the appraisal, bathing in its glow alongside your friends. The way everyone had worked extremely hard for the past 6 months was unreal—every ounce of energy went into this very performance.

You were saddened that this would be the final one, the closing night of the performance. While you mourned the ending, you were joyous that it had happened to begin with.

You exited the stage after the curtains finally fell, and immediately your shoulders dropped. Arms embraced you from all angles, pulling you into one of those joyous group hugs that you loved to savour every second of. You laughed happily in the arms of your friends, listening and participating in words and whispers of encouragement and exclamation of the performance that had taken place.

And out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar face.

Jareth.

He lingered in the wings, slightly obscured and hidden by shadows. He looked the exact same as you had last seen him; his mismatched eyes glued to your form. You tensed up at the intensity of his stare, feeling shivers roll down your spine. And in his hand was a crystal ball, which he played nonchalantly with, twirling it in his gloved fingers.

You blinked.

He was gone.

The embrace broke and you followed your castmates to the changing rooms, where makeup and hair care accessories were scattered across every surface. Random articles of clothing strung haphazardly over chairs and the floor, shoes messily piles and sticking out.

"I'm just going to be sobbing for the next year," Penelope joked as she slumped into her chair, focusing her attention onto the mirror that displayed a red lipstick mark of her name in the bottom corner. You slid into the chair next to her and started removing your character's accessories; earrings, necklaces, bracelets...

"Me too," you said in agreement. You blinked at your own reflection, half expecting it to start moving by itself. You scrutinised is closely, watching for any indication that it wasn't truly yours. But it followed your every movement closely, and you tried not to roll your eyes at your own paranoia. "I'll be waking up at 3am singing-crying."

Penelope let out jovial laugh.

You stripped out of your costume and lovingly hung it onto the rack, feeling the material one final time between your fingers before finally letting it go. You always became too attached to your character when playing them; it was part of the job. You felt like a piece of the character always stayed with you. Well, you were going to take a piece of the character's jewellery home with you and maybe a prop from the set, just as a cute reminder of the character you got to be. It would be stored away safely in the box that contained other trinkets from previous performances that you'd done, since you were a child up until now.

"Oooh," Penelope called teasingly from behind as you stepped away from the rack. She held up a small white gift bag, a pink ribbon attached at the top with a small hand written note. She dangled it in front of you to take; you gently pinched it from her fingers and skimmed your eyes over the message. "[Name] has an admirer!"

' Your beauty knows no bounds. Your talent is to be admired. Call for me and I will be there. '

It was a note written in cursive. Harry didn't have the neatest hand writing ever, so you knew that this couldn't have come from him. Inside the gift bag was a beautiful rose and a crystal ball.

It was from Jareth.

"So, who's it from?" Penelope asked tauntingly, sliding into your personal space and taking a peek at the written note. You shrugged her off and held the gifts close to your chest, whether to hide them or protect them you weren't entirely sure.

"It doesn't say," you said quickly, and a familiar heat started to burn at your cheeks. But you didn't need Jareth to write that it was from him, and he knew that.

Penelope scoffed and stepped back, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder and jutting out her hip. "Well, that's a bit silly," she mumbled, "how are you supposed to call them if a name or number wasn't given?"

Because Jareth wanted you to wish yourself away to him. Again. You knew that was the only way to find him, and he knew that too. His magic was stronger in the Underground, inside his own realm; it was possibly very scarce in the human world.

"Magic, I suppose," you replied, hoping that your tone came across in a joking manner. It sounded dry and sarcastic, and luckily Penelope found a hint of humour enough to laugh along with you.

You finished changing into something else after the conversation was dropped. Your castmates were going out to celebrate the closing performance, but Harry was expecting you at home. He didn't come to the closing show because he was busy with work (and because you didn't want him making love-eyes at Casey again, if she happened to be there). You didn't mind his lack of presence; you were strangely more comfortable without him watching you constantly. You felt at ease knowing that he couldn't tarnish your favourite space with his betrayals.

"Just come out for a little!" Penelope begged, her arm locked with yours and tugging you in the direction of the nearest pub. She wiggled her brows and it made you chuckle, but you continued to decline and unwrap yourself from the group.

"I'd love to, but I promised Harry I'd come straight home," you explained, now stepping back.

Penelope rolled her eyes. "I don't know if you guys had an argument or something, but in the last two months something has changed! Is he being kind to you?"

Yes. No.

You couldn't answer that.

Harry wasn't horrible to you. He was actually very doting on your personal needs. He became suddenly too attentive, and it was like he knew your emotions before you ever did. But in a way, his behaviour was somewhat hostile—not violent and abusive, but to the point where you felt like tip toeing around him. You couldn't deny that it was nice not having to deal with particular things at home, but you felt smothered and overwhelmed at times, as though Harry was constantly breathing down your neck and waiting for you to make a mistake.

You convinced yourself that he was scared to lose you again. You had been so close to giving yourself away to the Goblin King, and that must have frightened him. To have lost you so easily. It's what you wanted him to feel; you wanted him to mourn losing you, as a punishment so he'd never dare to cheat again. But that changed when Harry had confronted Jareth and saved you both. You'd given him a second chance.

"Nothing happened," you said with the best of smiles you could muster. "I'll text you all later!"

And so the final goodbyes were said, and you parted ways. You found a taxi to take you home, and you arrived back at your shared apartment within 15 minutes. Traffic wasn't too bad at that late hour, but you'd asked the driver to take his time and to prolong the journey by driving down back roads instead.

You paid and left and entered the shared space, inhaling deeply into the quietness of your apartment. You shrugged off your jacket and hung it up alongside your bag, then entered the lounge where Harry was sitting and browsing the TV. His laptop was perched on the coffee table, displaying a document with thousands of words written. You joined his side and snuggled up, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as a greeting.

"Good show?" Harry asked without looking at you. He seemed focused on the TV.

"Very," you answered curtly, sitting back and resting into the cushions. You felt the ache ease from the heels of your feet, and you stifled a satisfied moan at finally being able to relax. "Pen and the others were heading out to celebrate."

Harry grunted, but he didn't look at you.

You placed your hands into your lap. Your gaze roamed the laptop in front of you, sneaking words from his paper. None of the content made much sense, and you were sure if you'd read it from the beginning then you still wouldn't understand. You'd tried to once, but his company was very intricate and complicated.

"Good day at work?" You asked after a brief pause. You watched in your peripheral as Harry's shoulders tensed. But still, he didn't look at you.

"Yes."

Odd. Normally he had more to say. Whether it was about a meeting he was dissatisfied with, or a moan about a colleague messing up—he always had more to say.

You furrowed your brows at his behaviour. "Did Marcus upset you again?"

Harry shook his head, and he continued to scroll through the channels on the TV. Then, he flicked on the Netflix app, where he continued to browse the selection there. But he wasn't looking for anything in particular; he was just keeping himself distracted. And that made you suspicious.

"No. Marcus was off sick."

"Oh," you breathed, feeling your chest tighten as the tension in the room started to grow. You didn't dare to pry any further. There was a question you wanted to ask, but you knew that it would spark an argument if you weren't careful. Harry was clearly not in the mood to be reasonable with his responses, and you were particularly drained from todays events.

"I'm going for a shower," you told him when he didn't show any indication that he wanted to continue speaking. Harry waved you off and you immediately left.

Once inside the safety of the bathroom, you stripped your clothes and turned on the shower. You splashed your face with water from the sink and began wiping away the makeup that made you appear preciously doll-like. Then, you stepped into the shower and started to wash your troubles away.

Your mind continued to focus on Harry and his strange behaviour. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Something bad must have happened at work, or else he wouldn't behaving this way. Harry couldn't lie to save his own life, nor could he keep a secret very well; he wore his emotions on his sleeves, and that's why you matched well with him in the first place.

You stepped out the shower and wrapped a towel around your hair and body, then moved into the bedroom you shared. It wasn't how you had left it at all—the bed was made, and the sheets were fresh from the cupboard. You dried off and shimmied into your shorts and shirt. You towel dried your hair and plaited it over your shoulder.

You blinked at your reflection.

It blinked back, delayed by a second.

You immediately backed away and pointed accusingly at the mirror. "It's you again," you whispered harshly, watching as the reflection displayed a devious grin, completely the opposite of your irritated expression.

"Yes, yes," she hummed, waving you off with her hand. "Magic is a fickle thing. You chose Harry over our King."

She was direct and straight to the point. You frowned and slid back into the chair. "He was using me—"

"No he wasn't," she corrected fast, shaking her head in disapproval. "Our King did everything you asked of him. And you left. And you still haven't called for him. Why haven't you called for him? You know you want to."

Why hadn't you called for him? Harry told you he was using you for entertainment. You were just another pawn in his sick game of taking advantage of vulnerable wishes. You bit your tongue every time you thought about calling for the goblins to take you away; it was always so tempting to leave this world behind.

"I won't be tricked again," you explained firmly. You drummed your fingers into the surface of your vanity. "I don't belong there, do I? Harry told me—"

"Harry is a liar and a cheat," she hissed, her hands pressing against the mirror. It was almost like she was trying to claw her way out. You were thankful that this wasn't a scene out of a horror film, or else you'd have been screaming in fear. "Don't you think he's been acting strange today?"

"He's probably tired," you defended.

"From?"

"From..." you couldn't find the words to back up your argument. Harry's job wasn't laborious in the slightest. It was an office job that required him to sit, drink coffee, talk to other people via email and meetings, scroll through his phone, type a few words on a document then go home. Sure it could be mentally draining, staring at the same four walls for 8 hours a day, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be tired. Right?

Then, the reflection lifted her finger and pointed at something behind you. You blinked, confused, then spotted the gift bag you had left out in the entrance of the apartment. You whirled around to confirm it was there, and it was. You stood and picked it up, and instinct told you to pull out the crystal ball from the bag.

"He's awfully suspicious," she taunted from the mirror, her eyes glistening something dangerous and knowing. "Take a look."

"That's spying," you muttered, your thumb rubbing over the smooth glass.

"It's checking," she whispered.

A white mist rolled from the centre of the ball, then revealed Harry sitting in the lounge with the laptop perched on his lap. He seemed completely normal, typing away with the TV playing a random film as background noise. But then his phone buzzed, and he immediately discarded his laptop and unlocked the texting app, revealing Casey's contact and an entire history of messages.

You sank down on to the bed as Harry smiled dearly at the messages. He glanced around to check you weren't there, and he texted back. They were flirting—sending kisses and making jokes about their most recent meeting, about how wonderful it was to be in one another's arms again, to explore one another so personally and deeply.

You felt something shatter.

Tears rolled down your cheeks. You zoomed across the room and flung open the drawers, threw on outside clothes and began stuffing random articles of clothing into a duffel bag. You ignored the sly smirk from your reflection, not noticing the way she faded completely.

The bedroom door opened, revealing Harry's mop of messy hair. He peered in, confused, then gaped at the sight of you packing your things. "What are you doing? What's going on?" He exclaimed in panic, rushing to your side to grab your arms and stop you from moving.

You pushed him away, expression darkening at the mere sight of him. "I'm leaving," you spat, bitterly and venomous. "For good. Have fun with Casey. I'm sure you'll both be perfect for each other."

Harry visibly paled, and the clogs inside his mind whirled as the connection was made. "I don't—how did—" He lunged forwards and secured your arms around your body, and you struggled to move against him.

"Let go," you demanded, whipping your shoulders back and forth to try and throw him off. His grip remained firm and secure, his nails digging into your skin.

"No." He huffed, "I want to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about!" You hissed. You tried pinching his arms, but he merely groaned and held you tighter. It was becoming harder to breathe at this point, and a brief fear that he might accidentally suffocate you crossed your mind.

"[Name], please just listen to me," Harry begged, his voice an annoying sound in your ear. Like a fly buzzing around something sweet.

"So you can lie to me again? I trusted you! I believed you when you said you wouldn't see her again! And you're texting her! I bet you didn't want to come to my shows because you were seeing her instead!" You cried accusingly.

You'd caught Harry again. Well, sort of. You weren't going to admit that Jareth had given you the means to discover his betrayal, because that would only add further fuel to the argument. You didn't need him finding out your methods of discovery, it was practically irrelevant.

"She messaged me first," Harry argued, as if that very fact would make anything better.

"Why didn't you block her?"

"She got a new number!"

"Then block that too!" You shouted. It was like he found a thrill in cheating on you; sneaking around behind your back and romancing another woman. He must have found an enjoyment in being involved with Casey, then romancing you as if he hadn't just done something wrong. You felt icky and disgusted, especially now that he'd wrapped you into his arms so you couldn't escape.

"I'll do better," Harry quickly said, his attitude changing from defensive to pleading. He spun you around so you were forced to look up at him. His eyes were glossed over, and his face was rather red. "I won't do it again. I'll phone her now and tell her that I'm finished with her. I'll do it."

His ramblings made you want to be sick.

You needed to get away from him. There was no way you could trust him again, not after he'd cheated with the same girl twice. You felt stupid for ever believing that he'd change. You thought he was afraid of losing you to the Goblin King, that nearly remaining in the Underground would have surely broken his heart—but it was clear to you now that he didn't have a heart.

"Phone her then," you decided coldly. "Phone her. Now."

Harry let go and he bolted for the door.

You crumbled to your knees and began scraping together the shattered crystal ball. You desperately tried to piece them back together, but it was useless.

Your head tilted forwards and a harsh sob left your throat. How could you have been so incredibly stupid? You'd always said that a cheater was forever a cheat, and that if your significant other ever cheated then you'd never forgive them. Why didn't you take your own advice? You wanted to believe that your relationship could remain as it had, but you were so stupidly wrong.

"Goblin King..." you huffed under your breath, tears dripping into tiny puddles on the bedroom floor. You sniffled and rubbed your eyes. "I... I wish..."

The words were stuck in your mouth. You were extremely conflicted. Did you really want to leave like this? You could go back into the city and find your friends and maybe crash at theirs for a few days. They would remain out partying until the sun would surely rise—it was their typical fashion.

Harry returned to the bedroom with his phone fumbling around in his hands. You could hear the tone dial beeping, signalling that he was calling somebody.

"Hello? No. Its over. I don't want to see you anymore," Harry said into the phone, his eyes directly trained on you. You tensed up, feeling like his words were directed to you rather than Casey. "I can't keep sneaking around. It's exhausting. I'm not in love with you anymore."

He's not in love with you anymore.

Your lips parted in disbelief. This is the push that you needed. You suddenly felt empowered. You felt... free.

"I wish the goblins would take me away."

Harry's expression turned into shock as the words left your mouth. He lowered his phone and moved towards you, his hand shooting out to cover your mouth, to muffle the words about to be spoken.

But you were too fast.

"Right now."

[sunderingstars]

what were your thoughts on take a slice and god ish? Any reason why it's specifically will stetsons's cover? And also just your thoughts in general while making the nsfw playlist lol

ʚ 💌 ɞ hi anon, thanks for the ask !! here’s my thoughts on all three:

take a slice by glass animals

⟢ i’m not sure entirely how to describe it, but i love the sound of this song! the way the beat goes up and down makes it feel almost like walking, in that sort of slow and assured way emphasized by the strategic placement of drawn-out notes. this is one of those songs i feel “sounds” like sampo to me — especially the confidence of the enunciation.

⟢ the lyrics also have some great phrases i associate with him, like “i don’t ever wanna pick a slice / one is pretty but the other lies” (tying into his penchant for half-truths, as well as his multiple identities as brughel poisson), “shitty old pistola / shot a bullet through my wallet” (mirroring how he refers to himself as “old” in-game and generally adopts a very money-centric lifestyle), and “sitting pretty in the prime of life / i’m so tasty and the price is right” (once again with the money — he may not be in what most would consider his “prime,” but i certainly think he would be confident enough to still make business deals of the more risqué variety).

⟢ of course, the twangy instrumentals near the end steal the show for me every time. similarly to songs like le monde, the fast, jumpy chords remind me of elation, specifically the “high” of adrenaline. this could tap into sampo’s hidden side; the potential “infectious enthusiasm” he carries with him on a daily basis. just because he isn’t as overtly chaotic as sparkle doesn’t mean he lacks the “high” of elation entirely!

god-ish by will stetson

⟢ interestingly enough, the original god-ish by pinocchiop comes across as more of a sparkle song to me! however, the english translation of will stetson’s version changes just enough of the lyrics for me to feel like it fits more with sampo (plus the male vocals work as a connection to sampo’s voice).

⟢ for example, the original song in japanese repeats the phrase “i’m so jealous” in part of the chorus, while stetson’s version changes it to “it’s got me going mad.” in my opinion, “jealousy” fits more with sparkle’s unhinged and unstable sense of self, while “it’s got me going mad” feels more grounded as a potential wearing away of sampo’s tolerance of elation.

⟢ additionally, the original has lines like “that hair, those eyes, that mouth / that perfume, those clothes, that makeup” that put the song in a bit more feminine light (which could still work for poisson, but my mind just personally goes to sparkle) while stetson’s “with your ugly hair dye, and your eyes, and overflowing lies / and your scent, and your clothes, and all the blush you buy” feels a little more androgynous to me!

⟢ my favorite lines of stetson’s for sure are “with your quoting, and how you boast, and your reviews / how you’re good with people, how you joke, all of your views / that’s god-ish, baby, face the facts / like that, like that / it’s got me going mad.” i just really like how that description fits sampo to a t (his confidence, his sense of humor, his smooth talking, etc.)! comparing it to godhood fits especially well with emanator!sampo theories too.

⟢ overall, i like how chaotic the song is, talking about godhood as a state of being that reaches so far above others yet is also a place of chaotic insanity. it feels very elation-coded to me, as being intertwined with a path so fluid and chaotic would likely put “higher power” in direct connection with “higher insanity.” the middle of the song especially reads as multiple parts of sampo pushing against each other, with existential angst (“it’s really hard while doing nothing to keep growing old”) and bored elation (“i don’t know what crap you’re saying, but it’s putting me to sleep”) swirling around in the same space.

⟢ it’s especially interesting how, after these parts go back and forth, “disgust” enters the picture to shut everything down and vault the song into pure egoism (“so alone ‘cause you’re smarter than the rest / the best, the best”). it works as a quick, contained way to show how the psychology of someone like sampo might work when taking into account the chaotic nature of elation — over time, he likely developed coping mechanisms to shut down the warring sides of his brain when they get too exhausting. i don’t know if that coping mechanism has anything to do with egoism necessarily, but it’s a fun thought experiment!

⟢ quick shout-out to the end for being a banger too: “love ends in breaking up, or there something like / your life ends in dying out, or something like / man, it sure was interesting to peek from behind / i liked it more when i’d dance and not ask why / that’s life.” lots of interesting connections here, like the purgatorial existence of “something like” trying to quantify what the equivalent of mortal frameworks would be for a god, as well as longing for a past time of blissful ignorance. 10/10!

sampocore (sexy ver.) playlist

⟢ honestly, this was more of an exercise in battling my repression than anything else — i thought it would be interesting to see if i could find explicit songs that i thought matched sampo’s vibe, and so i did!

⟢ my personal favorites are taste of the divine by shaker, azee, & cobra (emanator!sampo goes crazy with this for sure — it carries across the specific vibe of eye-opening, almost religious sex that i think would be par for the course with an higher being like emanator!sampo), prada & versace by chris grey (a refined take on sampo’s con-man nature — he’s older and more mature, after all, and he’s nothing if not one to chase after expensive things), and sex money feelings die by lyyke li (something more introspective to balance out the adrenaline, a better look into how sampo might see sex as similar to money — a method of coping with his own existence).

⟢ overall, i see his “vibe” matching a lot of chase atlantic and chris grey songs with a sprinkling of doja cat mixed in for good measure. i tend to favor the refined side of things when it comes to sampo, leaning on more of the older, experienced con-man than the outward sleaze most characters probably see!

⟢ also, chase atlantic recently came out with “doubt it,” which i can interpret as being how sampo’s earlier elation days might’ve gone, especially if he found himself in a position of power as an emanator, etc.! (what can i say, “put your money where your mouth is” just speaks for itself LOL)

🪐 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ asks are still open for anyone who wants to request songs :))

[smaller-comfort]

Etudes: Glass Harp, for the WIP Ask Game? :D

:D

The Etudes series takes place within the parting is all we know of heaven universe. They're meant to be more like vignettes than anything else; just small moments between B'st and Resh'an over the centuries. (I say this so I can get away with not writing beginnings or endings to them. It's intentionally stylistic!)

I'll be honest, it's all supposed to be porn. There's not a whole lot of sex, but it's definitely still a lot of porn. I'm just going to take those themes I set up in ALEiS and run them into the ground.

A glass harp is an instrument made of different sizes of crystal glasses, filled with water. You play it by running your finger around the rims of the glasses. (If you scroll all the way back to the beginning of my musical theorems tag, there's an example of it.) You can probably see where this is going- Resh'an gets an idea, and it ends up being extremely effective.

Here's a few of my favorite lines:

--

B'st's wordless hum expanded into a song; sometimes he thought he could make out words, but B'st was singing in a language Resh'an could never hope to comprehend. He grasped the meaning, all the same; B'st was always so effortlessly generous with his affections.

Resh'an had let his body's physical responses to emotion atrophy over the course of immortality, along with the rest of its biological processes. But B'st's voice was extraordinarily effective at reminding him what those things were supposed to feel like.

An anxious flutter in his diaphragm; a pins-and-needles tingle that raced across his skin; the memory of adrenaline- butterflies. Ridiculous. What little was left of his face hurt from trying to smile. “Let me try again- I have another idea.”

[lackablazeical]

Okay, so I went hunting for some music that reminds me of the addams au, and I would like to offer to the masses:

For some angrier Usagi songs/songs if Usagi snapped, I offer you Burning House by Nico Collins, Sarcasm by Get Scared, The Fox by North Bloom, How It Feels To Be Lost by Sleeping With Sirens, The Darker The Weather // The Better The Man by MISSIO, and Gasoline by Halsey (I know this last one's not perfect lyrics-wise, but the energy feels like it fits Usagi to me).

For some sadder Usagi, I offer lovely by Billie Eilish, Neurosis by Oliver Riot, Silence by Marshmallo & Khalid, Lost Control by Alan Walker & Sorana, Can I Exist by MISSIO, and My Heart's Grave by Faouzia.

For some songs that fit if Usagi ever escaped, I offer Requiem from Dear Evan Hansen, Lost by ILLENIUM & Emilie Brandt, and Paranoia by Neoni.

Church by Fall Out Boy is very fitting for Leo's perception of his relationship with Usagi, methinks.

And for a more accurate take on the Leosagi relationship, so to speak, I offer Rituals by Jiovanni Daniel and Kitchen Fork by Jack Conte.

And lastly, for some Mikey I offer you Kamikazee by MISSIO, CEMETARY by AViVA, Monster by Willyecho, Play with Fire by Sam Tinnesz & Yacht Money, and Hell's Comin' with Me by Poor Man's Poison.

I'm sure you've heard plenty of these already lol, but I thought I'd share in case any of these catch your attention. :]

Jupiter, I owe you my LIFE

Who would've known Nico Collins really just FITS Leosagi???? Like all the songs so far have matched really well?? And I love how The Fox just has that really angry just SCREAMING in it, it's so raw and just. It gives me the happy. And how do I EVEN TALK ABT Darker the weather//better the man w/o just copy pasting the entire song????? Hm?????

Usagi and Mikey both match Gasoline so well but like. On opposite ends of the spectrum and just. Kicking my feet and skipping down the street ong

I'm convinced Billie and Khalid just wrote Lovely FOR Usagi. Convinced of it, absolutely.

And Neurosis???? Just the paranoid energy and just. ALL OF IT! YES! Yes please??? I love how it's almost blaming himself for Leo, like that he was something Usagi 'did wrong' sorry, pardon my heart eyes rn 😍

And The Silence song??? God how it talks about how Usagi always gave but never Got AND THE FUCKING 'I FOUND PEACE IN YOUR VIOLENCE' I AM DONE PRETENDING TO BE NORMAL!!!!!! IM DONE!!!!!/pos

I don't even know how to TALK about 'my hearts grave' other then just feral screams/pos

I swear these Dear Even Hansen songs always stab me in the heart but I love them SO MUCH <33333 I REALLY REALLY DO!!!! Usagi gets a hopeful song. I'll let him have this

And I love how The 'Lost' song has the 'its back to basics now' because TRUE!!! And just the rhythm and the energy and AAAAA 💕💕💕💕

Also what is it about songs about paranoia that hit so HARD???? WHAT IS IT???? BUT NEONI OVER HERE CAN TAKE ALL MY MONEY AND PROPERTY NOW. RIGHT NOW

And I would've never thought of falloutboy for Leo, but NOW ITS ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT/POS

And I think Rituals by Jiovanni Daniel is like???? A new fave song???? Both just overall and in Leosagi terms???? I love the little 'fear on your skin, let the ritual begin' whisper, it's so. Idk how to describe it but I promise I love it

Kamikaze is actually already in Mikeys playlist!!!!! Because it's fucking SPOT ON!!!!! SERIOUSLY!!! And Monster???? By willyecho???? How do yall find such good songs???? I could see Mikey singing and jamming to this, I love the guitar (I think, I'm not a instrument person) in the background. Whatever it is

Play with fire gives me so much art inspo I wanna draw Mikey SO BAD he's one of those mfers who likes the smell of gasoline and how he's an adrenaline junkie and just. Please I'm not eloquent enough to explain my love of all these SONGS

And hells coming with me??? Mikey is definitely one for revenge... and he DEFINITELY thinks he's a god... please Mikey would kill me if he knew a country song was on his playlist but it fits too well to NOT ADD

I'm sorry some of these are really vague, but I'm/gen when I say I listened to all the songs and enjoyed them greatly. Thank you so much :]

[hulijingemperor2]

A-Qing: *lost in thoughts* Where's team dimple. I hope they didn't tell rich gege!

Xue yang better keep his mouth shut.

Rusong: *sneaking behind her* tell rich gege what?

A-Qing: rich gege! Nothing rich gege.

Why would team dimple tell you anything. Hehe.

Rusong: hmm they may, since I'm their mini boss.

A-Qing: anyways Rusong! Why are you here?!

Rusong: I live here.

A-Qing: *raises brow*

Rusong: *opens fan* I came to take you on a caravan ride.

A-Qing: awww. I would love to, rich gege.

Rusong: lovely. *stretches out his hand*

A-Qing: *hugs his arm instead* let's go rich gege!

Rusong: after the ride, we'll stop and relax somewhere near a garden.

A-qing: ah how fancy.

Rusong: *laughing* whats so fancy about that.

A-Qing: you make everything fancy. That's why you're rich gege.

Rusong: I see.

A-Qing: rich gege, you look like Jiggy with that hat on.

Rusong: oh thank you. Today I just felt like wearing a hat. Since I'm out.

A-Qing: that's really cute.

~~

After the caravan ride, they stopped at a private garden.

Rusong: *helping her out of the caravan* be careful.

A-qing: thank you, rich gege.

This is a beautiful place.

Rusong: mhm. Very serene.

A-qing: how come we didn't go to a public garden instead?

Rusong: because people tend to go crazy over my dimples.

A-qing: makes sense.

And you're mine.

Rusong: I'm yours?

A-qing: I mean you're my friend. Hehe.

Rusong: ohh I see. *laughing*

A-qing: what do you rich people do for fun?

Rusong: take walks, enjoy nature, paint, have tea and chat, read, archery, play music, ride horseback, etc. Just like everyone else.

A-qing: ah.

Rusong: take me to Yi city some day.

A-qing: huh, you can't last a day in Yi city.

Rusong: why?! I can.

A-qing: because you're  spoilt.

Rusong: excuse me?!

A-Qing: you have a pampered lifestyle. I don't think you'll do well in Yi city.

Rusong: I may surprise you.

A-Qing: aww, well we will see.

Rusong: *sits and makes guqin appear*

A-qing: woww! How can you do that?

Rusong: A-Die, uncle Su and Shizun had taught me.

A-qing: that's cool. So do you do music cultivation?

Rusong: yup.

A-Qing: I love it. Wait here. Lemme get something.

Rusong: alright. *playing the guqin*

A-qing: *popping out behind him, with some flowers* Rich gege! These are for you!

Rusong: *smile* awwww Xiao Qing! They're beautiful.

A-qing: ooo, you're playing the Qin.

Can you teach me?

Rusong: of course. Sit here.

A-qing: *accidentally sits on his fox tail.

Rusong: ouch!

A-qing: omg! I'm so so so so sorry!!!

Let me! *blows the tip of his tail*

(Touching the hulijings tail is more of an intimate thing. Or otherwise a formal gesture.)

Rusong: it's fine, Xiao Qing. It's fine.

I'll make it disappear.

A-qing: no! *touches* your floof is so soft. Do you groom it? Well obviously you have a whole staff to groom it. But....

Rusong: yea! Enjoy it a lot.

A-qing: can I warm my hands with them?

Rusong: yup. Whenever you like.

A-qing: aww.

Rusong: may I? *puts out his hands*

A-qing: what?

Rusong: I want to help you play the guqin.

A-qing: *puts her hand in his* mn.

*scoots closer to him*

Rusong: *smiling*

A-qing: so you just pluck it like that?

What if I burst your guqin string?

Rusong: you have to be gentle.

And don't worry. When I was learning, I used to burst guqin strings a lot.

A-qing: ohh.

Rich gege. What other instruments can you play?

Rusong: the Dizi, the Xiao flute. And the yueqin.

A-qing: you're so talented. Can you teach me?!

Ruosng: of course.

A-qing: *hurts her finger on the qin's string* ouch!

Rusong: Xiao Qing. *blows her fingers, to ease the pain* be careful.

*blows*

~~

Jing Manor 📍.

Huan hall 📍.

Mo xuanyu and xue yang: *in Xichen's bathtub (shirtless)* 

Xue yang: ahhh this bath water is hitting the spot. But I rather boiling water.

Mo xuanyu: xue yang. Do you want to cook yourself?

Xue yang: yup. I like the sting. It makes me feel like I'm being skinned alive.

It's all about the adrenaline.

Su she: lol.

I rather lukewarm. Cold water reminds me of Lan zhan's icy face.

And that isn't cute.

Xue yang: I feel ya.

Shanshan, what would you do if you got stuck or lost somewhere with Lan lips.

Su she: I just won't talk to him. But if I'm starving, I'll cook him.

Xue yang:  *cracking up

Mo xuanyu: guys, can you believe that Huaisang said that we're entitled? Like we're not entitled.

Su she: walking into Qinghe and other places like we own isn't entitlement. And they're more entitled than us, trying to barge into my Huangdi's place in Jinlintai.

Xue yang: right.

Mo xuanyu: I once told dage that I'll complain to Yao gege if he does anything stupid.

Su she: must be said.

Xue yang: where is that entitlement?  

Mo xuanyu: speaking of Yao gege, do you think he'll be upset if he sees us in Xichen's bathtub?

Xue yang: nah. Jiggy is cool.

Su she: not like we're making out with Lan lips.

Xichen: *entering, just to take a bath*

Su she: *sitting and reading*

Mxy and xy: *screaming while holding each other*

Xichen: *screams and covers himself* TEAM DIMPLE!!!

Xue yang: do you like what you see, lipsy.

Mo xuanyu: what are you doing here, Lan lips?!

Xichen: xuanyu, this is my bathtub.

Mo xuanyu: so. What if we want to take a bath.

Su she: *looks up from his book* I don't bathe in Lan water.

Xichen: can you bathe in your own baths.

Xue yang: but that won't be fun.

Xichen: do you three bathe together?

Su she: ew.

Xue yang: hell no. But we do go in the pool with Jiggy.

Mo xuanyu: I'm saving my body for Yao gege! Lan lips!

Xichen: why are you three here.

Xue yang: just felt like pranking you.

I like to provoke people.

Mo xuanyu: I like the adventure.

Afterwards.....

Xichen: are you three done? I hope you enjoyed the bath.

Xue yang: a little more hot next time, lipsy.

Mo xuanyu: it was relaxing.

Su she: do you want to drink with us, since you're here

Xichen: Minshan?! You broke away!

Su she: years ago. And you did to.

Mo xuanyu: come on Xichen. Let's drink some liquor.

Maybe we can toast to Yao gege.

Xichen: *sighs* ok then. Once again, for A-Yao.

Xue yang: *chugging down a bottle of liquor* lipsy, is this emperor's smile?

Mo xuanyu: *gasps* that's from gusu, isn't it?

Su she: I didn't know my A-Yao was a drink. Will it make me melty like when I see my emperor smile?

Mo xuanyu: wah! Shanshan has a way with words.

Xue yang: poetic genius.

Su she: thank you, thank you. But let's don't forget that this shameless Lan xichen is smuggling alcohol.

Xichen: it's for A-Yao, whenever he comes here and wishes for wine from Gusu.

Mo xuanyu: why would he want wine from Gusu.

Xichen: because he loves me.

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege is mine, Lan lips.

Su she: you have to share Huangdi with  us.

Xue yang: guys. *burp* let's start the party, and talk some shit with Xichen.

Lan lips, would you kiss Huaisang?

Xichen: no. I don't like huaisang in that way.

Su she: in what way do you like him?

Mo xuanyu: *cries* Lan lips, how dare you cheat on Yao gege!

Xichen: I like huaisang as a brother.

Xue yang: really, Xichen?

Xichen: what about you guys, team d.

Mo xuanyu: never!!

Xue yang: I rather kiss a rat.

Su she: disgusting.

Xichen: ahaha,

Xue yang: we love Jiggy.

Su she: a.k.a Huangdi.

Mo xuanyu: does lianfang zun ring a bell.

Mo xuanyu: what a nie disaster. *rolls eyes*

Xichen: why do you three hate huaisang.

Mo xuanyu: hate is such a strong word.

Xue yang: we just dislike him.

Su she: I hate him because he's always trying to hurt my emperor. Sometimes I feel like beating him with a stick and then fling him in jail.

Xichen: oh my.

Yi (A-Yao's eunuch): *from outside* huangdi is here!! Make way!

Xichen: A-Yao.

Su she: my Huangdi. *blushes*

Xue yang: soneone get the door, before I make out with him in the doorway.

Mo xuanyu: COMING YAO GEGE!!! JUST A SEC!

Yao: *from outside* is that A-Yu?

*sighs* team dimple.

Fuying: what mischief are they doing now.

Xiying: they sure do love to harass Lan gui fei.

Yao: I love their antics a lot. Haha.

But I shouldn't leave A-Huan alone with team dimple.

Fuying: lol, always some chaos.

Should we enter, Huangdi?

Yao: no. let's wait to see who'll come at the door.

Yes Huangdi.

Su she: *tying up Lan xichen with some cloth*

Xue yang: you got to look presentable for Jiggybuns. That's the rules, Lan lips.

Mo xuanyu: ah your hair is a mess. But it's fine.

Xichen: that's how my hair always look.

Mo xuanyu: yea, and it's a mess.

Xichen: *shakes head* team dimple you're crazy, you know that.

Xue yang: are you jealous?

I can drive you crazy if you like.

Team dimple: *running towards the door* JIGGY!!!

Su she: greetings Huangdi. Anything you like. I'll get it for you.

Xue yang: jiggy. You look so hot as always.

Mo xuanyu: Yao gege, I missed you! I'm allergic to xichen.

Su she: same.

Yao: hey guys. I don't need anything. But may I ask, what are you three doing in A-Huan's room.

Xue yang: drinking wine with the lan. Cuz he broke loose.

Su she: no harm, Huangdi. *bows*

Mo xuanyu: we didn't even break his bathtub!

Yao: *shocked* his bathtub???

Xue yang: what bathtub, Jiggy!

Come in. Come in. Hang with us.

Su she: Lans tend to break things, Huangdi. Bathtubs, the rules, and people's aspirations. But I'm fine. *sniffles*

Yao: oh poor Shanshan. *kisses* do you feel better?

Su she: thanks for the love boost, Huangdi.

Yao: no prob. Also remember you're mine, and you're extraordinary.

Su she: *blush*

*entering*

Yao: Huanhuan.

Xichen: A-Yao *kneels*

Yao: *laughing* Huan.

Xichen: *stood up and kisses him*

Su she: *preparing tea*

Yao: so what's up, Huan?

Xichen: nothing much. Team dimple came to pay me a visit. Mo xuanyu and xue yang were bathing in my bathtub, but it's fine.

Yao: what?! *laughing*

Xue yang: hygiene is very important Jiggy.

Mo xuanyu: yea.

Su she: I curse the day when I have to share the same bath water as a lan

Yao: gosh that's hilarious.

When are you three not random.

Mo xuanyu: when we're sleeping.

Yao: hmmm.

*takes a seat*

What were you simps talking about?

Xichen: something about Huaisang, lol.

Mo xuanyu: we were hoping that the divine immortals give him the inspiration to use a comb.

Yao: haha!

Su she: your tea, Huangdi.

Yao: how lovely. Thank you darling.

Xue yang: but don't worry, Jiggy. Lan lips will not cheat on you with him.

Su she: we made sure.

Yao: *laughing* thank you very much team dimple.

I suggest you give Huaisang a makeover.

Mo xuanyu: that's a lot of work.

Su she: Huangdi, would it help if he wears a mask.

Xue yang: a makeover. Ahahahahaha!!!! 

Jiggybun, he wishes.

Yao: *cracking up* Er ge, would you kiss Zixuan behind my back?

Xichen: of course not, my love. I only love you.

Xue yang: Jiggy is part of a supermodel family. Only guangshit had gone wrong.

Mo xuanyu: yea.

Xue yang: huh, so you're not like Jiang cheng. He's favored by those two hot diva emperors.

Su she: *laughing* so you're telling me that Jiang cheng has more game than you!

Xichen: *caresses A-Yao's face and looked into his eyes* I only need one emperor.

Yao: aww, A-Huan.

Xichen: *kisses his nose*

Su she: yes, give him love.

Mo xuanyu: treat him right. But he's still mine.

Yao: A-Huan. Will you kiss anyone in team dimple, except me?

Xichen: no.

Team dimple: *gasps*

Su she: at least that's a good sign.

Xue yang: he's faithful to Jiggybun.

Yao: but team dimple is hot. Look at them.

Xichen: A-Yao, I only love you.

Yao: awww.

[heniareth]

Hihihi can you please do 10 and 12 from the romanticism asks for Astala and Ilanlas? :D have a good one!

Hihihihihi to you!!! I apologize for the wait, 'tis the season. But!! Let's talk about moody poetry and theme songs for Astala and Ilanlas!! (I hope you're doing well and I hope you're having fun and resting these days. And, if not, that you'll get to do so very soon). Let's go!! (Under the cut, because it's a bit long; I couldn't choose just a few verses from that one poem)

10. What piece of moody poetry or novel quote best encompasses your character?

Astala

For Astala, we have this poem here:

Don't tell me that you understand,

Don't tell me that you know.

Don't tell me that I will survive,

How I will surely grow.

Don't tell me this is just a test,

That I am truly blessed,

That I am chosen for this task

Apart from all the rest.

Don't come at me with answers

That can only come from me,

Don't tell me how my grief will pass...

That I shall soon be free.

Don't stand in pious judgement

Of the bonds I must untie.

Don't tell me how to suffer,

And don't tell me how to cry.

My life is filled with selfishness,

My pain is all I see,

But I need you, and I need your love...

Unconditionally.

Accept me in my ups and downs,

I need someone to share,

Just hold my hand and let me cry,

And say, "My friend, I care."

It's listed as a poem by J. Hendel on TheSilverPen.com. Basically, I relate it to the part of Astala that rebels against her lot in life, is angry that she didn't get to marry and stay home and instead has to go out and save the world by herself. This feeling, I think, is prominent in the first days traveling with Duncan. Later it gets sort of shoved aside by the urgency of saving Ferelden from the Blight, until the Deep Roads. There she gets to see exactly what awaits her and every other Grey Warden at the end of their life, and the feeling resurfaces, tinged and nurtured by a deep-seated horror about what she's seen in the Deep Roads.

Ilanlas

For Ilanlas, I have found this quote:

"Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light."

It's attributed to Oscar Wilde, and it just... It fits. The fire imagery. The idea of flight. I relate them very much to Ilanlas, who, at his best, is someone who would love a good dive down the cliff and unfurling his wings at the last possible moment to not smash into the ground below. For Ilanlas, risk and the thrill of doing something dangerous is part of life. He is a liiiiiiiiittle bit of an adrenaline junkie and doesn't like to be made to sit still while everybody discusses their new course of action. He prefers to just do it. And, for a chance to be the person closest to the sun, he'd take the fall.

12. What is their character theme song and why? If it has lyrics, which line best fits them?

For Astala, I'm giving you this song:

It's an instrumental piece, and it just reminds me very much of her time as a dockhand in the Denerim harbor. It's nice and calm, like it's a very slow morning at work and she's found a moment to just sit in the sun, close her eyes and listen to what's going on around her. There probably was some sort of merrymaking in the Alienage the night before and she's tired from that, but happy. It's warm, she's had some food and life isn't so bad.

For Ilanlas I have Hymn for the Missing by Red. It's a terribly sad song. He's got others, of course, some angry, some just about everyday life, but this one really hammers home just how much Tamlen meant to him and how heavy that loss weighs on him. He's determined to search for him and find out what's happened, but he's not going to like the answer. That art of his story is a tragedy from the get-go, and the song just puts me right in that mood. Ilanlas really feels incomplete without Tamlen. It's not like they were always together, but Tamlen was someone constant in his life the way very few people have been; always had his back, always came back around whenever they fought, always managed to cheer him up. Things were easier with Tamlen around; now he's just... gone.

And on this sad note I'll leave you. I'm looking forward to getting to the part where Ilanlas finds Tamlen again. It's gonna be an angst fest >:)

Thank you so much for the ask!!! This was very fun to write XD XD XD XD I hope you have a very lovely day, stay warm and have fun ^^

[dingus-on-stardust]

Oh dang it’s been a cool month for music 👀

And y’all know what I do whenever cool music comes out and/or I discover/rediscover cool music? ITS MUSIC RANT TIME

Like, holy shit, Fall Out Boy comes out of the woodworks with Love From The Other Side?! Apologies, even though I am a huge fan of their work, I haven’t been following them too closely recently. Mainly because of of the second entry on this list, so this was a welcome but unexpected surprise. Anyways, this song is a goddamn BOP! It feels like the opening to a banger show or anime, like come ON, you cannot tell me when you hear “Sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse”, you don’t imagine a kickass anime about zombies or something. At least I do. Enough me gushing about it, please listen if you haven’t already!

“Sending my love from the other side of the apocalypse!”

The second entry I have to gush about is literally the entirety of the newest Måneskin album, “RUSH!”. Literally every single song is a certified bop. “BLA BLA BLA” is honestly really fun to karaoke to, “GASOLINE” is such an adrenaline rush, and “GOSSIP” is wayyy too catchy for its own good. But, if I had to pick one song out of the entire album to be my favorite, it would probably be “MARK CHAPMAN”. I love the fast tempo combined with the darker instrumental, it really gets your heart pounding. Please take a listen to the album!

“Si muove a piede libero, Vestito come un incubo, Vuole tu sia in pericolo…”

The final entry I have for this midnight Music Rant is “Flowers” by Miley Cyrus. A bit unexpected, but welcome nonetheless. I love how it’s a reprise of sorts of “When I Was Your Man” by Bruno Mars. Though, I think the reason why I cling onto this song so much is because of personal reasons pertaining to a recent incident. I won’t go into detail, but what I’m trying to say is this song feels very refreshing, very liberating. It feels like it came out at the right time for me. The song helps to remind me that it’s alright to be on my own, that I made the right decision, that “I can buy myself flowers, take myself dancing, hold my own hand, and love me better”. Eh, this might be getting too sentimental. In a nutshell, it’s a really nice song that came out at the perfect time. You might not get the same feelings I do, but take a listen anyway!

“I can buy myself flowers, write my name in the sand, talk to myself for hours…”

Thanks for reading! Have a good night!

[dicmondskies]

☆ & * .   ♡   I N T R O D U C T I O N  …

[          ◟  KAY. ◝           ]     ⸻    have  you  ever  heard  that’s no fun by steve lacey ,  well  it  is MARSHALL ‘MARS’ LEONE to  a  tee  .  the twenty  nine  year  old music producer has  been  spotted  wandering  down  portobello  road  markets  just  last  sunday  ,  do  you  know  them  ?  would  you  say  they  are  more  melancholy or more  poetic ?  anyway  ,  they  remind  me  of ten pre-rolled joints perfectly lined up for the day  ;  long studio hours and sleepless nights  ;  the sad boy in the back of a party hiding from perception  ;  maybe  you'll  catch  them  around  yeah  ?    ⸻     [          ◟  LAKEITH STANFIELD. ◝           ]    

trigger warning: drugs, guns, violence, robbery, death, home invasion

mars leone grew up in the bronx, new york city, new york. his grandmother raised him and his brothers and his younger sister. their mom was addicted to drugs and had abandoned them when they were all under the age of ten. sometimes she’d come around and sometimes she’d be gone for years. as for their father, no one even knew what his name was, and one times mars was slapped across the face by his mother for even asking about him. mars learned at an early age not rely on a soul. that he could only trust himself. the four of them shared a tiny apartment in one of the most unsafe neighborhoods on the block. with nothing but time on his hands, mars found his way into trouble. he would go outside to play with the neighborhood kids but the violence, gangs, and drugs around them in the neighborhood could only be shielded from them for so long.

mars spent his whole upbringing feeling like an outcast, and wanted nothing more than to belong to something bigger than him. his grandmother was always working overnight, so by the time he’d get off the bus from school, she was already gone for the night. him and his siblings barely had any supervision at all. they were left to their own devices, it wasn’t by choice, their grandmother would have stayed home to give them the love and attention they so desperately needed but then they would have no money to eat or have new school clothes. it was real state of survival and lack that he lived through and was constantly afraid of never having enough. he didn’t realize it, but this environment gave him bad anxiety. with no supervision and no guidance whatsoever, mars started running the streets with older boys in the neighborhood who had no business putting him into the situations they did.

at first it started off with small things, stealing out of the bodega just so they could have something to eat for lunch, but then things started to be less about survival and more about what they could get away with. the lines got blurry and suddenly mars was lost in the wind, swept up in the adrenaline of it all. it took his best friend dying in his arms from a home invasion gone wrong to straighten him up, there wasn’t supposed to be anyone home, they were supposed to just go in, get what they could pawn, and make it back out. they weren’t supposed to come home and catch them in the act. mars’ best friend pointed a gun at the family and before they knew what was happening, the father pulled out a rifle from the coat closet and fired two rounds. mars had to leave his dying friend alone in order to escape and make it out without being identified or caught.

this was so traumatic for mars and he finally saw how dangerous and how far he’d gone down this path. he vowed by his best friend that he’d clean his act up, that he’d make legit money, go after his music dreams and never look back. mars went into isolation and stayed to himself, no one knew the secret he was carrying on his heart. people had their suspicions, but they didn’t know for sure what happened that fatal day of the robbery.

mars started to do more with producing music, he makes beats from scratch, plays the instruments himself and mixes everything with his own equipment. he’s produced songs for some of the biggest rap names in america and as soon as he had the status and money to do so, he picked the most lowkey and far away place he could think of where no one would know his past but somewhere he could continue his future, he ended up in nottinghill still producing for big music names around the world using the name he’d already created for himself in the new york music scene.

[existentialmagazine]

Review: proFESSional debut with gritty new alternative-rock single ‘Pizza For Breakfast’, a harsh and furious concoction of volume, energy and bold hooks

The five-piece known as proFESSional are quite the dominant musical experience, reminding you of Buzzcocks, Swell Maps and Spizz with their blends of indie-rock and punk into something loud, rocky, and always in your face. If there was one thing they’re guaranteed to deliver, it’s that you’ll get all the attitude, all the punky power, and all the charisma of a band that know exactly the sound they want and the audience that’ll love it most.

With their debut single ‘Pizza For Breakfast’ now hitting the airwaves and setting them apart from the rest, this quartet are once again ready to take their new listeners on a journey unlike anything you’ve ever heard before, and frankly you’ll never hear again. With loud crashing drums and fuzzy electric guitar strums that feel stripped straight out of a gnarly 90s recording, the introduction alone is already a behemoth experience that’ll knock you off your feet and transport you straight to a gloomy garage venue filled with sweaty fans rocking their hearts out. The verse settles slightly from this forceful protrusion of sound with steady drum beats, a loose guitar riff and their vocalist’s charismatic performance to lead it all, a spoken-sung performance with drawn-out words, witty emphasis and a unique twang that you can’t help but love the quirkiness of. As things keep building with newfound guitar strums and instrumental additions, this eccentric palette of noise just keeps giving, knowing how to build just the right way for a multi-faceted journey of sound.

Blaring into the chorus with an explosion of harsh electric guitar strums, thunderous drums, half-shouted and half-sung vocal lines and a shredded guitar riff, everything feels completely thrust your way with not a care in the world. The rawness of the sound makes it just as gripping, with every instrument down-to-the-bone and industrial in the sense you’re caught in a live performance with zero perfections and pure, pumping adrenaline.

If you’re thinking this oddity of a song already stands out for its obscurities, then you’ll have a field day with their narrative that’s quite some over-the-top storytelling. Penned as an elaborate tale, proFESSional weave through the sound a story of meeting a perfectionist and control freak on the tube - except they just happen to also be a serial killer. From the first introductions, things seem rather normal and within the ordinary, singing of this man’s perfectionist tastes and overtly organised home: ‘his wardrobes are numbered, he likes to know where things go.’ The chorus is where we get our first snippet that things might not be as they seem though, banging on your eardrums with the admission that ‘he’s eating pizza for breakfast, feels like he’s losing control, he’s never been so reckless’, a mass of feelings that couldn’t possibly just be for the strangeness of eating pizza for breakfast. The second verse feels like uncharted territory, coming clean that ‘he said his days are numbered, and so are mine’, something that at first feels like an innocent statement about the unavoidable nature of death — but we know it to be much more than that. When it’s finally yelled in the bridge’s climax ‘then he opened up to me, he says he's a killer on a spree’ everything about the distorted and unfiltered sound begins to feel uneasy, completely shifting your perspective about all you’d heard before.

If the wonderfully obscure narrative of ‘Pizza For Breakfast’ is your cup of tea, or perhaps the loud, booming sound has resonated with you, you can keep listening here!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Phannarat Sukkarnka

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[mysteriouslylovingcandy]

Marjorie Pepito

Unforgettable Moments in High School Life: A Journey of Laughter, Lessons, and Lifelong Friendships

High school is often described as a transformative period, a chapter of life filled with pivotal moments that shape our identities and futures. Reflecting on my high school journey, I am reminded of a tapestry of unforgettable moments that are etched into my memory, each contributing to the person I am today. These moments encompass a spectrum of experiences, from the joyous and exhilarating to the challenging and formative, all woven together by the threads of laughter, lessons, and lifelong friendships.

One of the most exhilarating moments in high school was the annual talent show. As a freshman, I was hesitant to participate, doubting my abilities and fearing the judgment of my peers. However, with encouragement from friends and teachers, I decided to showcase my passion for dance. The night of the talent show was electric. The auditorium buzzed with energy as students, parents, and teachers filled the seats. As I stepped onto the stage, the spotlight blinding but empowering, I felt a rush of adrenaline. Performing in front of a supportive audience was an indescribable high, and the thunderous applause at the end was a testament to the power of stepping out of my comfort zone. That night, I learned the importance of embracing opportunities and the confidence that comes from taking risks.

Another unforgettable high school moment was the senior prom. This event, often romanticized in movies, lived up to its expectations in every way. The anticipation and excitement began months in advance, from choosing the perfect dress to coordinating with friends. Prom night itself was magical. The venue was transformed into a glamorous wonderland, and the atmosphere was filled with a sense of celebration and camaraderie. Dancing the night away with friends, capturing countless photos, and sharing heartfelt conversations made it a night to remember. Prom was more than just a dance; it was a celebration of our journey together, a final hurrah before we embarked on new paths.

However, not all unforgettable moments were joyous. The challenge of preparing for college entrance exams was a significant part of my high school experience. The stress and pressure were immense, with countless hours spent studying, attending prep classes, and balancing extracurricular activities. Despite the difficulties, this period taught me resilience and time management. The camaraderie among classmates, as we supported each other through late-night study sessions and shared resources, was invaluable. When the acceptance letters finally arrived, the sense of accomplishment and relief was overwhelming. This experience underscored the value of hard work and perseverance.

High school was also marked by moments of deep personal growth. One such moment was when I joined the debate team. Initially, the idea of public speaking terrified me, but I was determined to overcome this fear. Through countless debates, both victories and losses, I developed critical thinking skills and the ability to articulate my thoughts confidently. The mentorship of our debate coach and the friendships formed with teammates were instrumental in this journey. These experiences not only honed my public speaking skills but also fostered a sense of community and belonging.

Among the myriad of high school memories, the bonds formed with friends stand out as the most precious. From the spontaneous road trips and late-night study marathons to the shared laughter and tears, these friendships were the cornerstone of my high school experience. One particularly memorable moment was a camping trip we organized during our junior year. Surrounded by nature, free from the distractions of technology, we spent the weekend hiking, stargazing, and sharing stories around the campfire. This trip strengthened our friendships and created memories that we continue to cherish.