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literallymitch · 3 years

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𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 || 𝐃.𝐃

requested: no

summary: the first part of the reputation series in which the reader first meets Damiano

pairing: Damiano David x famous!reader

word count: 2k

what kind of content: fluff

warnings: drinking

passages written in cursive are flashbacks

some of the lyrics were changed so they would fit the story

Please don’t steal any of my conten and release it elsewhere. Also all of this is fiction. I don’t know these people in real life nor do I know how they act

a/n I I hope you all enjoy this one, as much as I do. I’m so excited about this series jdhidcuheu. What song do you guys think is next? As always please keep in mind english is not my first language. I’m super happy about feedback!!

With a buzzing head I woke up. I shouldn’t have drank so much yesterday. Feeling the after effects of the alcohol I consumed yesterday, I looked at the sleeping figure next to me. A gorgeous man with brown hair and tattoos that fitted him perfectly. I smiled to myself, knowing he was the reason I probably drank a little too much yesterday. There was no way I would have found the courage to actually talk to him otherwise. He looked like an angel sleeping so peacefully in my queen-sized bed. As I looked at his sleeping figure, an idea popped into my head. I grabbed my notebook and went to my balcony that was connected to my bedroom. Looking at him one last time through the huge window in front of me. I opened my notebook and started writing down some lyrics in memory of last night.

You should take it as a compliment That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk You should think about the consequence Of your magnetic field being a little too strong

“We wanted to start working on our next album soon too.” , the gorgeous man in front of me said with an Italian accent.

After a few drinks I was finally talking to him. I was too busy taking in his beauty that I didn’t really listen to what he just said to me. All of a sudden, I started giggling.

“You know, your accent is so funny, I love it. Like the way you pronounce some words? Hilarious”.

“Thanks, I guess?”

I cringed a little thinking about this specific moment. If he knew the only reason I was making a fool out of myself in front of him was his magnificent appearance, he would take it as a compliment. He probably already knew that was the reason. How could he not know? It’s not like he has never looked in a mirror. Also, there is no way, I am the first person that had to suffer from his magnetic self. By now he should know what his whole existence is doing to people.

And I got a boyfriend, he's older than us He's in the club doing, I don't know what You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much (I hate you so much)

“Shouldn’t your boyfriend be here as well?” the beautiful Italian boy asked.

“My wha- Oh you mean Andre? He isn’t my boyfriend. The media just made that up after we went out once, and I was caught at two of his games. We haven't talked in months. He’s probably at some club right now, annoying some poor girl.”

At that moment I thought I’ve seen a small smile appear on his face. He then just turned to the bar tender, ordering another beer. God, how could he just keep his cool like this the whole night. Usually it was the other way around. People would stand drunk in front of me trying to make a move, while I just stood there unimpressed. He really made me feel like an insecure fourteen-year-old girl again, and I hated him for that

Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine You've ruined my life, by not being mine

“The sunset is really beautiful today” Damiano stated sipping on his glass of Whisky. I nodded in agreement while I ate a grape from the vine that was placed on the bar counter.

The bar were at was on top of a small mountain somewhere outside Rome. From there we had a great view over the whole city of Rome and how the sun met the city's skyline. It really was beautiful, still it was nothing compared to him. I wish he would’ve been mine, so I could’ve rested my head on his shoulder right there and then, but he wasn’t.

You should take it as a compliment That I'm talking to everyone here but you (but you, but you)

“I’m glad we’re finally getting a chance to talk after you talked to, well, everyone else at this bar except me.”, the handsome man called me out while he sat down next to me.”

Feeling a bit caught, I just gave him an awkward smile. I tried to come up with a reasonable excuse, that was less embarrassing than ‘Yeah sorry about that, I was just too scared to talk to you because you look like you’re straight out of my dreams.’

“I’m really sorry about that! It was just that every time I was done talking to someone, the next person already stood behind me wanting to talk.” I lied.

“It’s alright. I guess that's what happens when you’re a world-famous singer.”

And you should think about the consequence Of you touching my hand in the darkened room

It was now 11pm and the sky outside was completely dark. The lights in the bar were also dimmed a bit, creating a cozy atmosphere. Damiano and I were in the middle of our conversation, as he accidentally grabbed my hand, that was resting on the bar counter, instead of his drink. It felt like an electric shock. An electric shock that woke up the butterflies inside my body. My hand started to tingle, and I’m pretty I was full on blushing now.

If you've got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her But if you're single that's honestly worse 'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts

“So do you have a girlfriend?”, at this point I was so drunk I didn’t even care how this question came across anymore.

I was pretty sure he in fact had a girlfriend, I mean how could he not looking like this?

“No I don’t.” Thank god. “It’s kinda hard building up a real relationship with someone when you're always busy, but I guess you can tell me a thing or two about it too.”

Oh, yes, I could. Still I would drop everything I was doing right now, just to be with him.

Chocolate brown eyes looking in mine I feel like I might sink and drown and die

Just as my confidence made a small comeback, I made the mistake to directly look into Damianos beautiful brown eyes. There really wasn’t a single thing about him that wasn’t extremely beautiful. I started to feel a bit dizzy as a wave of heat rushed through my body. What is this man doing to me?

Just thinking about it again made my heart beat three times faster.

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have You are so gorgeous it makes me so mad You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have

For like the million time this evening, he made a laugh. Great, so he wasn’t just incredibly handsome, but also extremely funny. I didn’t realize how happy I was in his presence until I remembered he wasn’t mine. Suddenly I felt kind of sad, thinking about how I maybe would never see him again after tonight. I just wanted to grab his hand and run away with him. Somewhere I could be alone with him. Somewhere he would be only mine.

Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats Alone, unless you wanna come along

I looked at the clock that was hanging on the wall behind the bar tender. I was shocked when I realized it was already midnight. There was no way we’ve been talking for like three hours now. I scanned the room for my friends, I went here with in the first place.

“Looking for someone specific?” Damiano asked, now also looking in the direction I was looking in.

“Just my friends, but it seems like they already went home. I’ll check if they texted me” I picked up my phone, checking if I had a message from my friends.

‘Hi babe, we already went home, we were kinda tired. Have fun talking to handsome stranger. You better tell us everything tomorrow ;)’

“Did they text you?”

“Yes, my friend texted me that they already went home. Guess I’ll have to go home alone then. At least my cats are waiting for me.” I stood up and tried to make my way over to the wardrobe to get my coat. Unfortunately I forgot how drunk I actually and almost tripped as I tried to walk. Alcohol and heels really are not a good combo. Thankfully Damiano grabbed my arm helping me to stabilize myself.

“You’re sure, you’ll make it home alone?”

“Yes, I am a big girl. Unless you wanna come along.” I said with a cheeky grin on my face.

Damiano left out a soft chuckle. He paid for our drinks and then accompanied me on my way back home.

“It’s already pretty late, if you want to, you can stay over.” I told him after he brought me up to my bedroom.

“That would be nice, thanks.”

After I got myself ready for bed, I basically fell into my cozy bed, cuddling myself up in my soft sheet.

“You mind telling me where your guestroom is before falling asleep?” the Italian boy asked with an amused look on his face.

“Mmh, I don’t know. Just sleep here, it's fine.” I answered him, already half asleep.

After that, I probably fell asleep, since I don’t remember anything else that happened.

You're so gorgeous I can't say anything to your face (to your face) 'Cause look at your face

“Good morning.” I heard a raspy voice say.

I looked up from my notebook and came face to face with Damiano gorgeous figure. His hair was messy, and he still looked a bit sleepy. Since he just wore a pair of boxer shorts, I could finally see all the tattoos that covered his upper body. All of a sudden I felt the same way as I did last night when I saw him for the first time. The words were stuck in my throat and I felt the anxiety build up in my body. How does he manage to make me feel this way by just existing?

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” I somehow managed to say.

“Yes I did thank you. What are you doing?” he asked me curiously as he sat down on the garden chair next to me.

“I’m just writing a song. The idea came to mind when I woke up.”

“Not gonna lie, it’s pretty impressive that you’re able to write a song now after you could barely walk yesterday.” a small laugh left his mouth. “Can I see it?”

“No, it’s kinda awful. I’m to hungover to write something good now. I just wanted to write the idea down.” I lied, I actually really liked the stuff I wrote so far, but he would probably think I’m a freak when he found out I wrote a song about after knowing him for a day.

“Can you at least tell me what it is about?”

“So you can steal my brilliant idea? No, thanks.” we both started laughing. “I can offer you breakfast though”

“I’m fine with that too” he said flashing me his beautiful smile

And I'm so furious At you for making me feel this way But what can I say? You're gorgeous

We were now sitting on my roof garden eating breakfast. Damiano told me some things about his life and what interests he had. As he did, so I looked at him in awe. I really started crushing on him as he continued to talked about his last tour with a huge smile on his face. I hated it that I was practically on my knees for him already, but how could I not? He’s perfect.

“I could really get used to this, you know?” he said out of nowhere.

“Me too.” I responded, not really questioning what he meant.

I also didn’t care as long as it involved us spending time together. I would make him mine no matter what.

#damiano david #måneskin #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david fluff #damiano maneskin #maneskin #måneskin imagine #taylor swift #reputation #reputation series

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fuckitup-in-style · 3 years

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ALL TOO WELL (10 MINUTE VERSION) + SHORT FILM

just watched all too well short film and may I just say...

... big fuck you to jake

... give her back the scarf, you shithead

... no show at the birthday despite saying you're going to be there - messed up. i've been there and that's HARD to get over. took me a whole ass year when it happened to me.

FILM NOTES

... when dylan was acting out that scene on the phone and turned around to look at sadie, the look in his eye gripped my fucking heart because it was such an apathetic and dead look compared to the next scene, it gave me whiplash.

... the dinner party scene where dylan shucks off her hand - that HURT.

... that entire scene in the kitchen with sadie and dylan was a masterpiece but like in the worst way possible. it was like line after line of gaslighting and the raw anguish on sadie's face was FELT intimately.

... that scene where sadie is drinking alone at the party and she brings the glass to her lips - my sister was like "apple juice" and I was immediately about to go riot.

LYRIC NOTES

... I had no clue that All Too Well and the Moment I Knew was related until the 10 minute version was released so that was a kick in the balls that I felt intimately.

... it was bit jarring because I knew that there was more lyrics but I still mouthed the words to the one from the original album so it was like - "hol' up" and than I listened and it was like: I was stunned into silence.

... the new lyrics were also like "fuck the patriarchy" and I jolted because its always a foreign feeling to hear taylor swear but than I recovered and got onto the bandwagon of how jake is even more of a pretentious fuck than I originally thought.

"And I was thinking on the drive down, any time now He's gonna say it's love, you never called it what it was."

... just wow. I can literally feel the whole 'waiting to say it' and feeling so excited for it to be said out loud and how numbing it must have been when he still didn't say it like - wow.

"And there we are again when nobody had to know You kept me like a secret, but I kept you like an oath."

... jake, you fuck. getting treated like a dirty fucking secret is such a shitty feeling, in any kind of relationship capacity.

"They say all's well that ends well, but I'm in a new Hell Every time you double-cross my mind."

... I felt that. Like, in the aftermath of that relationship, all you want to do is forget and every time you start to and than remember, it's like the wound opens over and over again and you're back to the start where all you feel is hurt. taylor captured it perfectly.

"You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would have been fine. And that made me want to die."

... what the fuck, jake? jesus fucking christ, he is a shitstain. like her realizing that all of this was something clandestine to him while she was seeing all in red and autumn and passion, all excited and happy and bubbly. to suddenly realize you're this dirty little secret and to try to reach outside of that is pushing on this perfect, trophy-like role in his life is so wretched. she was so much more than a secret, so much more than this pretty little thing perched silently by his side and i am forever proud of how much taylor has grown.

"Some actress asking me what happened, you That's what happened, you."

... when I listened to this after the twentieth time last night, I was screaming all raw throat and raspy. pointing accusingly at the wall and just imagining the face I've always imagined when I've listened to this song or The Moment I Knew.

"But then he watched me watch the front door all night, willing you to come, And he said, "It's supposed to be fun turning twenty-one"

... this hit home with me because my dad was the person there for me when I broke up with my person and he was like, 'it's just puppy love, forget boys, you focus on having fun and getting an education and making a life for yourself, not crying over some dickhead that ditched your party to smoke weed'. if I thought that taylor's music resonated with me before, this song solidified that for me.

"Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it."

... By far my all time favourite lyric from this song, from both the original 2012 version and the newest version, because it perfectly captures the desperate need to recover from this sorrowful, heart-breaking experience and to be the fun, carefree, oblivious person you were before. each break-up is another chip at your innocence, at the carefree, powerful force of nature you were beforehand and the person you are by the end of it is just a bit more jaded than before. And that's fucked up, both when you're 17 and when you're 21.

"And I was never good at telling jokes, but the punch line goes "I'll get older, but your lovers stay my age"

... OH YEAH - JUST A LAST FUCK YOU TO JAKE.

LAST NOTES

The artistic genius was too overwhelming to comprehend but just a huge congratulations to Taylor Swift. Ma'am, I woke up before midday to watch the premier, that is how much of a chokehold you have on me... choke away, queen!

#all too well short film #all too well #red tv #9 years of red #red taylors version #taylor swift #red taylor swift #all too well 10 minutes #all too well taylor's version #all too well (10 minute version)#all too well lyrics #dylan o'brien #sadie sink

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thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness · 3 years

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GIGS No519 Interview Toshiya [Bass]

Despite the hidden gimmick elements in the new single “Oboro”, which brings to the fore “simplicity” and “clearness”, Toshiya’s bass sound has a strong presence. With his words, we are going to start the second half of the solo interviews.

“[Oboro] is a song that holds both DIR EN GREY’s essence and novelty. For me, rather than that uniqueness and novelty, I felt this is going to be the core song of the album.”

Notes before reading: This is Toshiya’s solo interview from GIGS No519 June issue released on April 27th.

You can buy the magazine at Amazon Japan. Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistakes or any confusing parts. Links or credits to this post when the content is reposted or captured in other SNS is appreciated :) ----------------- *Toshiya’s interview comes after Kaoru’s, Die’s and an analysis of the latest gear, that’s why in the introduction of his interview the “second half” of the solo interviews is mentioned.* Text by Yukinobu Hasegawa Photos by Reishi Eguma. -You were already composing and arranging songs for the new album and from that, “Oboro” was first announced as a single. What kind of mindset did you have when you tried to move on to the next album from the previous one “The Insulated World”,released in 2018? T: At the beginning, I didn’t have any specific image of the album as a whole. -I think you want that (image) to appear naturally while you are doing the creation work. T: That’s right but as I feel like I’m always making songs, whenever I start, I only have the mindset of “let’s make something good”. -The songs you composed (from early stage) have not been released to the world yet but, what kind of songs did you make? T: Surprisingly, simple songs. Not very detailed. But I think it depends on the song. I started writing songs thinking I wanted to make something different from the previous DIR EN GREY, but there were some parts that seemed too different for me. So, I feel like I'm still searching for the direction of them. -Looking back at the various songs that you’ve made in the past, I feel like you tend to prefer an avant-garde* approach. So, I was a little surprised when you told me you were working on a simple song.

* Avant-garde is a tend for music that sounds nothing like the music we're accustomed to, experimental, considered to be at the forefront of innovation. T: Ah, I see. But basically, I think I'm a simple person. I've made songs that feel avant-garde but it’s just that such songs were easy to be accepted/used (by the band). I don't know the specific reason, but I think it's probably because the range of the band will be expanded. However, many of the songs I make myself are very simple. -Even if you say "simple", I think people feel differently about it. For example, Shinya also says his drum playing is “simple" but it's actually very difficult. How does that simplicity that you mentioned feel for you? T: That's right…..I'm wondering how to describe it, but to put it simply, it may not be something very DIR EN GREY-ish. I think many of the simple songs I make are like that. -What do you think that is “DIR EN GREY-ish”? T: Our band is probably "heavy" or "intense"…. Another things that is often said (about the band) is “complexity”, I think that’s the image of the band. With that in mind, the songs I make aren't very DIR EN GREY-ish. Of course, when I write a song, I'm aware of that. -Do you dare to make something that it’s far apart from those ideas? T: It’s the other way round. I’m not trying to do something close to that, but I’m like “I have to take it in the direction of DIR EN GREY a little more". But from that point on, I started thinking, "How about getting too close?”, "It's more interesting to be in a slightly different place." Well, I might just think those things on my own (laughs). -Are the avant-garde songs born from those thoughts? I think musical input and stimulation are also important when you are composing. In 2020, we were in a situation in which you couldn’t do many public activities but, how did you get that input during that time? T: Basically, even with this corona situation, there are some things that haven’t changed much. If I had to say something, I can spend more time on composition and production as there are no tours or live performances. Regarding the input part, it seems to have changed, but I feel like it hasn't changed. Besides, I don’t think it’s something I’m conscious about so, I haven’t changed anything in my music because of Corona. -Last year in August, “Ochita koto no aru Sora” was released in a digital format but, I think this song has a complex pattern in the development of the next step. What was in your mind when you were arranging and recording this song? T: Riffs are also the main melody of the song so I basically listened to the guitar riffs and arranged it so I could put my own play in some parts. In terms of sound making, there isn’t much change. Making in a basic way the feeling of my favourite distortion, it feels like mixing various things there. -For the past few years, you've been actively experimenting with various bass effectors every time you record, but have you tried several of these in the "Ochita koto no aru Sora" recording? T: Basically, I don’t remember which one I used anymore (laughs), but the basic system hasn’t changed, the head is an ampeg cabinet from the 70s, I think it was SWR. In the recording of the previous album "The Insulated World" the bass I used was also a dingwall one. That bass can be used for almighty (pedal). *1.A bass cabinet is the box with the speaker. 2.Ampeg is a manufacturer best known for its bass amplifiers. 3.SWR Sound Corporation is a specialist manufacturer of bass guitar amplifiers, preamps, speaker cabinets, and acoustic guitar amplifiers. 4. Dingwall Designer Guitars is a canadian manufacturer of bass guitars. 5. Almightty is driver pedal for bass.

- “Ochita koto no aru Sora” was a song with a positive message. Did you find a new direction as a band giving shape to this song?

T: There might some different aspects now but at that time, it may not have changed. I don't think we can completely overlook that, so I can't say anything about it. However, “Ochita koto no aru Sora” itself was made completely to be a single. That's why there may be new things, but surprisingly, I have a strong sense of putting out what was inside us in that way. In what way is it the opposite? Does it feel “new”?

-There are various elements, but I feel that each one is like DIR EN GREY-ish. However, it resonates very much that the lyrics leads from a negative perspective to a positive one.

T: I see. Regarding the lyrics, I think it’s a continuation of the taste of other songs we’ve done so far, but I don’t know because I haven’t asked. However, although the flow of the lyrics are not the same in content, I felt like it was written from a close place.

-The song that follow this one is the new single “Oboro”. Kaoru wrote the original melody but, what was your impression when you first listened to it?

T: I don't think it's much different from the finished form in terms of feelings. The intro had this kind of atmosphere from the beginning. I think it's a song that holds both DIR EN GREY’s essence and newness. However, I personally felt that "this is the core song in the album" rather than being unique or new. As a result, “Oboro” became a single, but at first it wasn’t written with that purpose. We suddenly talked abour releasing a single and after that, as we all agreed that it was a good song for that, we decided to choose it as a single.

-From what part of the song did you feel that it was going to be the core of the album?

T: I felt that this ballad-type atmosphere and feeling really stands out in the album. Because of that, we decided to release it as a single, but we haven't released many singles like this, so I think it made a good change.

-The fact that you feel that a ballad with a melody it's going to be the core of the album….does that mean that the other songs are the opposite of it? It seems to be quite an atmosphere where this amazing song was born! (laughs)

T: Well, I can't say anything about that because not all of them have come out yet (laughs). However, it's easier to make a slightly up-tempo songs, so I wonder if there are many songs like that for now. Even if I actually make a song, I don't know if it will be included in the album, so I can't really say anything about the direction of the album or the feeling of the songs. However, "Ochita koto no aru Sora" was made to become a single, so there are a lot of parts of it that hit the target. And as for "Oboro", I felt that it was meant to be release as a single, but also that it was meant to be kept for the album.

-For example, do you change the arrangements and the bass approach if it's an album song or a single song?

T: Yes, it changes. It's completely different for me if is going to be a single or if it is going to be a song for the album. Even if I make the original melody, it’s different on how much time it takes. Singles are harder to do. You can work more relaxed if it is a the song for the album. For singles, I feel that the part I am aiming for as a bassist is very strong at the time of elaborating the arrangement.

“If you think that everyone has slowed down in many ways, I think you can start running again. I think it's better to act than to think. So, I'm looking forward to the future.”

-Did you do a lot of trial and error in your part when you made the bass arrangement for "Oboro"?

T: It’s really a minor part. It feels like the details are boiled down when it seems to be a bass phrase like that in a rough flow. The bass in the demo of the original song had many root-playing (basic) phrases so, how to elaborate them from there? what do to with the cadence? However, “Oboro” has a bass line that snuggles up to the song, I think this phrase has the strongest awareness of song melody.

-While focusing on that sustain-based roots playing components, some bass phrase will come up when you are doing the arrangements but won’t turn out very showy. And when it comes to the ending of the song, it will show fierceness while increasing the distortion of the sound. I felt it was a carefully selected phrasing.

T: I think it’s easier to hear it at the ending of the song, but that distortion is actually there during the whole song. Not only the ending part is distorted but also the beginning. However, when all the instruments came together, I don’t think that distorted feeling could be properly heard. Even if it's distorted that much, surprisingly, it goes well easily. I usually have two patterns at the time of recording. For example, even if you use the same distortion effect, the distortion is applied with a little shallow sound like a hunting sound. So, this time, it was a way of finding what I felt comfortable with when it got mixed with the sound of the band.

-So the reason why you can’t hear that distortion in the first half or the middle of the song is because it got completely blended once the sound of the band got together?

T: That's right. I think there is a perception that if it is distorted, the sound will inevitably be drawn into it. However, if it's distorted that much, it gives a plump low feeling and you can see the phrase. It's simply because we don't stack as many guitars as we used to. Sometimes the sound of each instrument can be heard firmly, so the approach can be focused on what you want to hear. To put it simply, I think it's a big thing that the direction of the band has become simpler. So, in recent years, I think the balance of the band is very good at the time of put together each member’s part. I think that vocals are especially attractive in "Oboro".

-Kyo is very fast adding the lyrics, I’ve heard that he finished recording his part before the instruments (recording) were done.

T: That's right. "Oboro" already had the vocals done at the stage of recording the bass. However, although he recorded it first, in the end this part will be the last one. After all, it seems that there are parts he wants to record again once the other parts (instruments) are added. However, even if it is not the final form of the lyrics, if they are already included, the nuance of the phrase will change. Maybe it’s the same with the other members. I think everyone ends up arranging their parts for the lyrics.

-So, the idea was to keep the bass of "Oboro" as simple as possible?

T: Whether you're playing or listening, it was a simple form that seemed comfortable. I think a phrase that requires a lot of work is also good. If there is a song that suits that idea, I wonder if I should take a laborious approach. In that aspect, I thought the dynamic of “Oboro” feels as pleasant as possible. However, I was allowed to play a bit with it. I think the proportion and the sense of balance are also good.

-Did you choose to record some takes while changing your approach?

T: "Oboro" was decided by the current phrase from the time I did pre-production work at home.So, when I recorded in the the band's pre-production room, I just made a few minor corrections when I made the actual recording. As for the mix, regarding my part, it was a good feeling from the beginning

-Neal Avron has been appointed as a mix engineer this time. Did his mixing work significantly change the nuances of the bass sound?

T: It has changed. But the biggest change depending on the engineer is the sound of the drums. More like, I feel that the personality of the engineer can be understood in this aspect. Personally, I think the vivid and deep sound of the "Oboro" drums is good.

-A remake of your song "T.D.F.F" is recorded as one of the couplings. What kind of mindset did you have approaching this song including the arrangement?

T: As always, I thought about the phrase from the perspective of what it would sound like if it were done by my current self. When we do a remake, I listen to the original version of the song to confirm what I was playing at that time. Sometimes it's interesting to discover that I was playing it live with the wrong idea(laughs).

-The person that you were at that time is brought back as well?

T: There are times that happens when we rethink our approach. It was like this at that time, but I think it's different to do this phrase now, or to do it with a different feeling. Some of the old songs are due to youth, I have a variety of knowledge and experience now. So, there are times when I change to an approach with a completely different interpretation, and there are parts where I want to play faithfully to the original. For example, keep faithful to the main phrase that would change everything if you changed that. At the time of "THE UNRAVELING" (released in April 2013), I had a strong desire to change everything if I wanted to remake it, so I changed it completely, but in recent years I have been thinking about the original carefully and the idea is to put my current sense into that. Because when you're making a song, it's your song, but it's not only yours. In that case, it’s better to capture our thoughts and the memories and the thoughts of the fans together in order to shape that song in a good way. If you want to make a bold change, I think you should use that idea to create a new song with it.

-The other coupling song is a live track from the concert without audience at Meguro Rockmaykan. What do you remember about this?

T: It's one of the first stages I've stood on since I became a member of DIR EN GREY, but the Rockmaykan with no audience felt strange. When the live starts, there is only one thing to do, so it's not much different from usual. But I’m not sure if there is something extra in it. It’s not about the call and response (from the audience), I think that the tension inside me is different depending if there are fans or not. After all it is more interesting to have audience. It can also inspire you. I think that such a form of live is also a possibility in times of Corona, but it doesn’t have to be like this every time. However, I learned a lot from this new experience with this new way of expression. Besides, it was a confirmation that there are various things that can be done in a situation like this.

-After this, there is a concert with audience on May 6th. How are you feeling now?

T: I'm looking forward to it and I'm happy. Above all, I am very grateful to be able to perform in front of the audience. Something that used to be normal is not normal anymore, so I wish I could do it with a new feeling.I think the world has simply changed due to Corona. Until now, everyone was running, and I think there was a huge difference between each person’s position. However, because it's all gone, to put it the other way around, everyone restarted from the same position. How does each person perceive that? Of course, the negative effects of corona are huge, but just thinking negatively does not change anything. So, if you think that everyone has slowed down in many ways, I think you can start running again. I think it's better to act than to think. So, I'm looking forward to the future.

#dir en grey #toshiya #translation #gigs #oboro #toshiyatranslations

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quokkacore · 3 years

Text

everywhere at the end of time | z.cl

summary: in his old age, chenle can’t remember any of it anymore. but you do. you do, and it burns.

pairing: zhong chenle x fem!reader

genre: ANGST, fluff, slice of life, parents au

warnings: dementia, themes of grief, depression, language, suggestive content, period typical sexism, mentions of domestic abuse (not from chenle!), traditional gender roles, body image, kind of implied postpartum depression

word count: 3.8k

a/n: this was inspired by the caretaker’s everywhere at the end of time, a compilation of albums meant to simulate memory loss from dementia when listened to in one sitting. i listened to half of it yesterday, and it was so haunting i needed to write about it. if you decide to listen to it, please be careful. several analyses i’ve seen about it talk about how it can be very emotionally distressing. i personally didn’t feel too upset by it, but be aware.

There was a boy who smiled at you once, from across a dance hall. Long, long ago. His grin, boyish and playful, made your face heat up and your body turn to giggle to your friends. And then, suddenly, he was walking over to you, and reaching out his hand to you. He didn’t seem nervous at all. He looked like he had not a care in the world, as if life were a calm ocean with soft winds and he were a sailboat.

“My name’s Chenle,” He’d said, speaking loudly over the music, “Wanna dance?”

Swing was the thing back then. You barely had time to tell him your name before he pulled you onto the dancefloor and spun you around like there was no tomorrow. You were quite literally swept off of your feet, flying across the hardwood floor as the two of you laughed and danced. When the song was over, you were out of breath. You weren’t quite sure if it was because of how hard you’d danced or because he managed to steal your breath and your heart within a matter of minutes.

Up until then, you were damn sure that love at first sight was impossible. But you were suddenly very sure that love at first dance existed. You’d tell that story for years to come. How you danced a few more songs, how he took you to the side and you spent the next hour or so talking. How your girls tried to tug you away, saying that it was getting late, but you simply didn’t want to leave. You were hooked on him, and he was hooked on you. He begged to see you again, and you very quickly found a napkin and a pen to scratch down your home phone number on.

You said you’d wait for his call, and had left with a lovestruck look on your face. The entire way home, the girls didn’t let you hear the end of it. That he seemed sweet, he was quite the dancer, and my, was he handsome. You probably looked like a fool, mind turning to mush at how gentle his hands were on his waist, how contagious his laugh was, how tentatively he’d listened to you speak.

Once. Long, long ago. It’s all just a burning memory, now.

There was a boy who kissed you, once. It’d been a few months after you’d met. He’d been careful, and you’d bided your time. When he called for the first time, he was very respectful when your father had picked up. The two of you spoke for however long your parents allowed it, talking about anything, everything.

Childhood stories of how he got the scars on his knees. Times you’d gotten into trouble at school. How you were both turning 18, and how adult responsibilities were starting to set in. How Chenle was set to inherit his father’s business and he was terrified of failure. How you desperately wanted to study but your parents wouldn’t let you, because men don’t like it when girls are smarter, and how would you have time to find a husband if you had your nose stuck in books all day long?

Desperately, you both needed a break. Your parents let him take you out because he was a Zhong, and the Zhongs had money, and because he seemed quite taken by you. That was exactly what they wanted.

Chenle was a gentleman first and foremost when he stepped into your home. He spoke with your father about politics while he waited for you to finish getting ready, complimented your mother, and opened the front door for you as you were leaving, promising to have you back by ten o’clock.

One date turned to two, two to three. On the fifth date, when he took you on a walk in the park, he took you to the gazebo to sit on a bench in it. The birds were chirping, and you felt content, despite the dull ache in your feet because of your heels.

Chenle looked down, before meeting your gaze. “I wanted to ask you something,” He murmured. You tilted your head to the side, uncrossing your legs.

“What is it?”

He took your hand in his, leaning closer. “I really like you,” He admitted, “And I wanna be with you. You’re sweet, and fun, and you’re so beautiful. I think about you all damn day, and I think I’d die without you here.”

He smiled fondly, those dimples making an appearance once again. “Be my girl, maybe?”

Your heart did a backflip, and your yes had tumbled from your lips before you could even really think about it.

And then finally, on your seventh date, when he’d taken you to a bookstore and bought you a book about the Amazon rainforest, he kissed you in his car. He tasted like mint and his lips were hard against yours, but not forceful. Like he’d been waiting eons to kiss you and now he simply couldn’t hold himself back anymore. His hands held your face the entire time.

When you pulled away, you no longer saw a boy in front of you. You saw a young man in his place, watching you with reverence and desire.

“I’ve been waiting to do that ever since I first laid eyes on you,” Chenle whispered.

“Well then, don’t just sit there,” You answered, nuzzling your face into his hands, “Kiss me again.”

Kiss you he did. The memory feels like a dream, a sweet one at that. A bit fuzzy but you can recall the softness of his hands if you think about it hard enough.

It’s a memory. Sixty something years later, at least you still have it.

There was a man who teared up at the sight of you in white, once.

He asked you to marry him a year and a half later. Your parents loved him, because he was kind and respectful and rich. His parents tolerated you, because you didn’t talk back too much and your family was respectable enough. Of course you accepted. Who cared about what your parents thought? You adored this man, with his high pitched laugh and his cheeky words. He worshipped the ground you walked on, with your caring attitude and your loving smile.

You were shaking the whole time, trembling like a wet chihuahua on a winter day as your father walked you down the aisle. You watched as his best man, Jisung, whispered something to him, and he nodded, blinking furiously. He looked awestruck, mouth agape and eyes glossy.

When your father left you at the front of the altar with Chenle, your lover squeezed your hand. “I love you so much,” He whispered to you, just before the ceremony could officially begin.

For the first time ever, you saw Zhong Chenle get nervous. His voice was shaking slightly, and you could make out a single drop of sweat on his forehead. You squeezed his hand reassuringly, unable to say anything back as the officiant began the ceremony. He knew what you meant.

Your vows were the traditional cookie cutter vows, the good old fashioned “I do”s. You didn’t care. You knew you’d whisper your own vows to him later tonight. You knew he would do the same.

After that, you danced the night away. Drunk on champagne and love for each other, you could barely remember the party. Jisung gave a lovely speech. You knew that the band played the song you’d first danced to on that one fateful night. Your girls danced with his boys, and he pressed kisses to your cheeks and the top of your head.

You remembered what came after better, after everyone went home. Chenle stole you away to the honeymoon suite to peel your dress off, take off your veil and press kisses onto your hips, and whisper promises of everlasting love against your neck.

That’s all gone now. Even though it’s gone, you’re glad. Because years later, you remember. You look at the faded photographs in the scrapbooks and remember the moment they were taken. They’re all you have now. Because even though Chenle is still in your home, he isn’t Chenle.

There was a man who had taken care of you, once. You’d had your doubts about love, about married life. All of them stemmed from your parents’ marriage. Late night arguments, slamming doors, hands laid on your mother that left her reaching for foundation to hide the bruises during the day. Chenle was there to cast most of them to the side.

Most of them, because no matter how much you love each other, marriage is never a walk in the park. You tried to study. Chenle was paying for your education, much to his parents’ disapproval. Three years into your marriage, and two years into your studies, you got pregnant. Chenle was ecstatic. You, not so much.

It was hard for you. Your body changed, it became hard for you to concentrate. You ended up dropping out because it was simply too much for your mind to handle.

A few months later and you were recovering, trying to adjust to not getting any sleep and having to take care of a tiny human and the house all day while Chenle was off at work. And he doesn’t just want one, he wants two more.

“God, Lele, at least wait until Jiali can sleep on her own,” You huffed, trying not to be too loud. You had finally managed to get your daughter to sleep after a particularly fussy day, and if she woke up now, you were pretty sure you’d start crying too.

“But why not?” He asked, sitting down. “Don’t you want to give Jiali brothers and sisters to grow up with?”

“I do,” You answered, trying to ignore the throbbing in your head. “But I’m too tired to handle another pregnancy right now. It’s way too much, Chenle.”

Chenle sighed, resting his face on his chin. “It can’t be that hard—”

“Are you joking?” You snapped, standing up, “I’m awake in the morning to make you breakfast and feed Jiali. Once you’re off, I have to make the bed, change her diapers, clean the floors and the bathroom. I have to make sure Jiali isn’t getting into trouble and figure out why she’s crying—and she cries so much, Chenle! I haven’t gotten a full night’s sleep since before she was born. I barely have time to take care of myself, much less another baby. I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and tend to the garden, and bathe her when she gets dirty, and—”

“Y/N, I think you should—”

“I can’t handle another baby!” You cried, “I can’t, I won’t!”

A high pitched wail rang from the nursery, and all the fight you had in you drained instantly. You hadn’t realized how loud you were being.

“I’ll be right back,” You murmured, voice breaking. Before you could walk towards the nursery, a gentle hand on your wrist pulled you back. Chenle’s gaze had softened, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen.

“No, I’ll go,” He said quietly. “You go clean yourself up. Take a nap, I’ll make sure she gets back to sleep."

You didn't have it in you to argue.

About an hour later, he stepped into the bedroom, where you were curled up on the bed. You weren't asleep. He sat down on the other side of the bed, caressing your arm.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, bowing his head. "I wasn't thinking straight. I just got so excited at the thought of us finally having a family, I forgot to think about how you were doing. If you don't want anymore kids—"

"Lele," You murmured, "Of course I want to keep building our family. But I need time. I'm always so tired now. Let's wait until Jiali is off to school and then try for another one. I'm begging you."

He leaned over you, and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Whatever works best for you," He answered.

You kept your promise. Once Jiali was off to preschool, you got pregnant a few months later. By the beginning of next year, you had a baby boy—Yanlin.

This time, Chenle was more mindful of your wellbeing. He came home from work earlier, helped out around the house, told you to go out with the girls every now and then.

Over the years, you had one last child, a girl named Mei. The kids were more than a few handfuls, but the two of you managed.

Things were by no means easy. There were nights when Chenle decided to sleep on the couch because of a disagreement that had grown into something bigger. Insecurities about your body that grew into jealousy of his secretary, who was younger, more beautiful. Issues with the in laws as the both of you had problems setting solid boundaries.

But at the end of the day, he was your everything. This life you'd built for yourself made it all worth fighting for. You saw it when he tossed Mei up into the air, catching her as she giggled, "Again, daddy, do it again!"

Or when he talked to Jiali about the family business, how if she wanted, he'd teach her everything. When he helped Yanlin get back to sleep after he'd had a nightmare, singing him to sleep with that soft, gentle voice of his. When he looked at you from across the dinner table, years of domesticity and love growing into all of this.

Chenle was your home, the father of your children, a pillar you leaned on when things got difficult. You were the same to him. No argument could take that away.

The kids grew up and went to college. Much to your father in law's dismay, Yanlin didn't care much about the family business, while Jiali did—he hated how Chenle encouraged them to do what they wanted instead of pushing the status quo.

Times were changing. More and more women went to college, and you wanted for your daughters what you yourself weren't allowed to have: a good education, a professional career.

Since time flies like birds migrating for the winter, soon all of the kids were grown up, and you and Chenle were left in an empty house. By then, the two of you had started to change, too. Gray hairs started sprouting from your heads. Your backs started to hurt with more frequency. Your faces were starting to sag.

And still, you loved each other. You found new things to do with this new freedom. You read more books, spent more time in the garden. Chenle started singing around the house more, something he didn't even realize he was doing.

When you turned fifty, Chenle took you on vacation to Malta, and Chenle decided to officially announce his retirement, handing the business to your oldest. From here on out, the two of you had time to simply do whatever you wished. Chenle had saved a lot of money over the years, allowing the two of you to live comfortably.

Your kids married, and had kids of their own, and the two of you spoiled as much as you could. You'd bake cookies with your grandkids and spend the holidays telling them stories of your youth. Their favorite story was how you met their grandfather, and you fluffed the story up to make them laugh.

"He was the handsomest man I'd ever seen," You told him, "Tall, sweet, funny, the best shincracker I'd ever danced with."

"What's a shincracker?" One of your grandkids asked. You blinked, before letting out a fake sob, raising your head up.

"I'm so old," You wailed, the kids giggling at your theatrics. When you looked down, you smiled. "In my day, that's what you called someone who danced very well."

The four of them ohhh-ed in unison, and someone in the kitchen doorway laughed. "So, I was the best shincracker you'd ever danced with, huh?"

"Honey, I've told you that a million times!"

He walked over to you, patting the heads of your grandkids as he passed them. "Your grandma looked so surprised when I asked her to dance," He said to the children, "But she was the prettiest dame there that night, I couldn't not dance with her."

"What's a dame?"

Chenle stared at you, eyes wide. He lowered his head. "God, we're old!"

Now, most of your grandkids have grown up, and barely have time to visit. But you have the photographs hung up on the wall, of past birthdays, holiday parties, of your wedding.

They work to help you remember. But now, Chenle can't even get out of bed to look at them.

There was an old man who'd broken down in front of you, once. He'd been having trouble remembering where things were, like his keys and his glasses. Initially, it didn't worry you, since you'd been having similar issues. You only started to worry when one night at dinner, you brought up the fact that Mei had called to ask the two of you to dinner next week. He'd looked confused, and stared at you like you were from outer space.

"Who's Mei?"

You scheduled a doctor's appointment the very next day. It took about two months for everything to reach the same conclusion: early dementia. Chenle had gotten very quiet as the doctor handed you some pamphlets on treatments and the different stages. The whole drive home, he said nothing.

It was only once you got home that he sat down on the bed and crumbled to pieces. You walked over to him, and caressed his hair when he pressed his face into your stomach.

"I don't want to forget," He sobbed, "I don't want to."

He tried to fight it. Once the family knew, everyone started visiting more frequently. In the beginning, he could remember your grandchildren's names. Jobs and school were a bit difficult but there were eleven of them—it was hard for you, too.

On the occasion he did forget someone, it frustrated him. He'd have to excuse himself from the table for a few minutes, and the energy in the dining room would change completely. Suddenly everyone was aware of the ticking clock, and your family was starting to crumble.

You wanted desperately to hold it together, to super glue it and force it back into place. But so many things were out of your control, on top of Chenle's diagnosis. Mei was going through a divorce. Your youngest grandson, Lijie, was having behavioral problems and Yanlin looked to you for advice.

Chenle tried to hold on. You watched your husband pore endlessly over the family photos, trying to place names to the faces. He remembered his parents. He started to ask you where they were. You didn't know how to tell them they'd passed over thirty years ago.

He wandered through the house like he was lost, and you knew he was trapped somewhere in his mind, everything disintegrating slowly around him. Sometimes he'd come up to you and give you a kiss.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," He murmured.

Some days were better than others. He would sing old songs from your youth, and try to dance with you in the kitchen. You both still remembered the steps but were too stiff and slow to do them properly.

Eventually, one of your grandkids came to live with you. Daiyu had studied to become a nurse, and now, Chenle needed around the clock care. It was simply too risky for him to be left alone. He'd try to go outside, saying that he was late for a meeting, or that Jeno—who had passed two years before his diagnosis—had invited him to his house to watch the game.

He forgot how to hold a spoon, how to walk properly. After four years, he became bedridden, speaking in slow, short sentences. You'd read to him after lunch, from books you'd acquired over the years. He seemed to enjoy one book the most: a battered old copy of a book about the Amazon rainforest.

You knew your Lele was in there somewhere. You could see it when Jiali and her husband came to visit, and he asked her about the secret handshake the two of them had even though he couldn't remember her name. When you reached for his hand, he would press a kiss to yours, unsure as to why he was doing it. And when you walked past the bedroom, sometimes you could hear him humming to himself—a lively, fast tempo song that a boy had once asked a girl to dance to, lifetimes ago.

There was a man named Zhong Chenle, once. He was good at dancing and a lovely singer, he was a loving father and husband. He's gone now. In his place is someone who has his face, but isn't really him. He can't remember how to speak. When you read to him, his lips move, but no sounds come out. His eyes drift across the room, looking for things he doesn't know the name of. His hands are gnarled and his fingers twitch, itching to do something, anything, but unsure of how to do it.

The last time you spoke to your Chenle had been three years prior.

"Do I know you?" He asked, voice small. You smiled at him, biting back tears. No matter how many times he asks you this question, it hurts every time. You'd learned to play along with it. Telling him the truth would only scare him, confuse him further.

"My name is Y/N," You told him, "I'm an old friend. We used to go out dancing together."

His eyes were void of anything until a second later, recognition pooled into them.

"Y/N," He sounded out slowly, "We should—we should go dance again someday."

"Someday," You agreed, nodding, "But now we have to wait until you're better."

"Until I'm better," He answered with a smile, dimples making your heart crack even further.

All he—and you—could do now was wait for the end. Truthfully, you've made peace with it. You'd be heartbroken to see him go but happy to see him finally rest. He started his decline seven years ago, and the past five have been spent like this. It's sad enough to see him in this way, to watch Daiyu try to feed him when he barely even remembers how to eat anymore. A shell of who he once was, a living ghost.

The family knew, old friends knew. That was all that mattered to you. That there had been a man named Zhong Chenle once, who wasn't scattered in the wind.

Once. Long, long ago. It's all just a burning memory, now.

#nct dream x reader #zhong chenle x reader #kwritersworldnet #nct angst #chenle angst #kpop angst #kpop au #nct au #nct dream angst #chenle x reader #nct scenarios #kpop scenarios #my writing

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thompsonstessa-moved · 3 years

Text

'Teraz Rock' Interview - english translation

A well know polish magazine about rock music 'Teraz Rock' (Now Rock) had an interview with Måneskin, and since one of the polish fans on FB shared pictures of the magazine, I decided to translate the interview, because I loved some of the stuff they said there! :D

As always, the whole thing is under read more. ;)

Maneskin is not only ‘Zitti e buoni’ and their winning performance in Rotterdam during the recent finale of Eurovision Song Contest. Italian band fits perfectly into the trend of rock restorers, and at the same time fights with the mental narrowness, prejudices and homophobia. On August 19th they will play In Park Kolibki In Gdynia.

I: You started by playing on the streets of Rome…

V: Unfortunately, there is not a lot of possibilities to debut in Rome. Rome is lacking the appropriate places, there are almost no rock shows. So we couldn’t find a place where we could show ourselves to the people. So we decided to play on the streets to gain the following, the listeners. We did that for good few months. And we had a lot of fun doing that. We think it really helped us, too. Because when you play on the streets, you don’t play for someone who came to listen to you. You need to attract people’s attention. So it was a great lesson on stage skills, to keep the attention. And we played many hours each day, so we also evolved as musicians, as a band.

I: Is it true that you had issues with police? V, D, T, E: Yes, that’s true!! (laugh)

D: It was all because of this old lady, that lived on the first floor, near the place where we used to play. She snitched on us! And sometimes police came and tried to get us to leave.

I: They didn’t arrest you?

D: No, it wasn’t that bad.

V: We were 16 back then. We just went all ‘We swear we won’t do it again!’ (laugh). We hid somewhere for 10 minutes….

D: Went around the block….

V: And played again (laugh).

I: You admited that at first you were shy. How did it happen that you gained so much self-confidence? Do you think one has to be self-confident if they want to show the world that they have something to say in music, in art?

V: It is important, but its more about feeling good with yourself and having fun doing what you do, rather than confronting the world. I think that if you lack confidence, you can’t fully enjoy creating, because you keep thinking ‘What the other will think about it?’. But everyone has to go through this phase. In my opinion, self-confidence is not something you’re born with. Everyone has the moments of hesitation and doubt. I have them too, still. And I think that’s perfectly normal. But you need to learn to appreciate yourself, accept yourself the way you are, because you can’t run away from yourself. We have whole life with ourselves, until the day we die (laugh).

I: Damiano, in one of the interviews you said ‘What we say, can change someone way of thinking’. Do you want to influence your audience? Artist like Chuck Berry or AC/DC just had fun on stage.

D: We also have fun on stage. But now, when we’re well known, we can get to many people, especially young ones. And there’s a chance, that if we say something positive to them, we could help them with their problems, that they can’t fight on their own. For example – like Vic said – we can help them gain more self-confidence and make them feel safer in the world around them. I’ll say this: if as a musician you have something to share with others, do it. But if you just want to have fun playing, that’s OK too.

T: Exactly.

I: Your behaviour on stage is often the reason for homophobic attacks. What would you say to homophobes here in Poland?

V: Fuck them!!!

T: Fuck them!

E: Fuck them, fuck them! (laughing)

D: Maybe not so vulgar.....

T: Fuck them!

D: For sure they should open up more, get rid of prejudices. Make a step forward. Free themselves from the old way of thinking. Let the others live however they want.

I: You debuted in 2017 with EP ‘Chosen’ with two of your own songs and few covers. Even tho you were so young, you already came off as mature musicians with a set style…

V: Thanks, but I don’t think so (laugh).

D: I don’t think we would agree with that.

E: We wouldn’t agree with that, definitely.

V: My bass playing skills definitely left much to be desired.

D: 'Chosen' definitely has its advantages, but… we were still looking for our sound back then. That EP is so much more different than our other albums. But it is a part of our career, our journey, and we don’t regret anything that has to do with it. We had a lot of fun recording it and… its something we did in the past and we’re happy that people loved it.

V: Still love it!

D: Exactly, still love it. Even tho we changed so much since then.

V: The most important and coolest thing about that EP is that even tho we were really young and our skills weren’t as good, you can still hear that we already had charisma and knew what we wanted. And even tho most of the EP consists of known songs, we changed them, played them in our own way, our own style. And that’s really cool because it shows us as a band with their own personality. Of course, now that we listen to that EP, we have lot to complain about…

D: We would do the songs much better.

V: But we like the attitude we already had back then. Even tho we were so young.

E: Our sound really changed since then, but you need to remember that when we we’re recording it, it was already a huge accomplishment for us.

D: That’s true.

I: On ‘Chosen’ Damiano sung in english. On your first album, ‘Il ballo della vita’ from 2018, you had songs in italian as well. Did your songs get more personal because of that?

D: I wouldn’t say that. We started writing songs in italian out of necessity. If you’re an Italian artist and want to reach Italian audience, you need, you have to sing in italian, because not a lot of people speak english there. Now it’s different, we managed to reach international audience, so we can make more songs in english. But we won’t resign from italian, we like to write in italian as well.

I: While recording ‘Il ballo della vita’ you made documentary ‘This Is Maneskin’…

E: They will never forget it! (laugh)

I: You can see there, that during that time you argued a lot.

D: We were young!

I: Did the conflicts threaten your band’s future?

D: No! We were just starting out...

V: Conflicts were inevitable. We were very young and suddenly tabloids were writing about us. And recording an album required a lot of work. And we never experienced that before, we had issues dealing with work in the studio. Because creating and recording together isn’t easy. You need to make many decisions, everyone has their own opinion. Now we’re more mature, we know how to deal with those situations. We can discuss with each other in a constructive way. We were much more childish back then and yeah, we fought sometimes. But even then nothing happened that could threaten our band.

I: ‘Il ballo della vita’ is a concept album of sorts. You have there Marlena, who, like you said, is personification of the concern a lot of you have – that we’re not able to be yourself…

D: The album was supposed to share a message to our fans. We wanted to tell them how important for us is the freedom to be yourself. The ability to love someone, that was chosen by our heart. Freedom to wear the clothes we like. Et cetera, et cetera… We realized that the album would speak to people more, and will be easier to understand, if we gave that idea a name. Of course it’s an idea that we still share to this day, just maybe a bit differently.

I: Your last album, ‘Teatro D’Ira Vol. 1’, you recorded live in studio. Did the way you worked on it was much different from the way you recorded ‘Il ballo della vita’?

D: Oh yeah! It definitely took us less time!

V: Definitely much faster. It was very exciting. We wanted to keep in studio the energy we have when we play concerts, which meant playing together. Which is of course much more difficult than recording separately. But we told to ourselves: let it be, we should at least try. And we loved the result.

D: You know, at first you work on the material in rehearsal room. And you’re full of energy. But then you come into recording studio, where you divide the song into parts, and you loose that power, that magic. So we realized that we should change the way we work, so we could keep the emotions from rehearsals.

I: ‘Teatro D’Ira Vol. 1’ is another concept album. You said its all about the rage, that plays the role of catharsis sometimes. Can you say something more about it?

V: Anger is mostly seen as something negative. And we think that classifying emotions as positive or negative is stupid. Especially in art. When you’re creating, anger can make you give more from yourself, say more. And that’s what our album is about, talking about the world of theatre. We show that something that’s seen as bad, can – especially in the world of art – become something good. And those songs, that are so full of rage, can bring relief to our listeners, which only confirms what I’m trying to say.

I: In the lyrics to 'In nome del padre’ and ‘Vent’anni’ you’re talking about mistakes you made in the past...

D: They are very different tracks, even if they seem to talk about the same topic. Vent’anni is all about our age, because we think it’s a very special moment in your life: you become an adult, but you’re still too young to be considered as such, and they don’t treat you seriously. We wanted to share that with our fans, because maybe they think the same. And In nome del padre is about the battle we had to fight, the mistakes we had to make, to get where we are today. Of course we’re still young, we still make mistakes. But I’m singing about the mistakes from the past, because they made us the way we are today. And I’m saying: don’t be afraid to make mistakes, because they are a part of your journey, your life. What’s important is how you react to those mistakes.

E: It’s not a mistake to make mistakes.

I: The next album, continuation of ‘Teatro D’Ira Vol. 1’ – is it already recorded?

D: No, no.

V: Indeed, our next album will be continuation of ‘Teatro D’Ira Vol. 1’, but we’re still working on it. We don’t want to record it in a hurry, we want to take our time making it.

D: We have a lot of songs already, but we want to have plenty to choose from. We want the album to have the most representative songs, the best ones.

#maneskin #måneskin #måneskin interview #maneskin interview #damiano david #victoria de aneglis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi #*mine

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leoneslover · 4 years

Text

Rainy days ༄

Bucci gang x reader(gn!)

Synopsis: How do you guys spend rainy days together <3

Warnings: a little bit of angst if you squint during Abbacchio’s and Narancia’s bit.

A/n: I wrote this while it was raining like crazy during a black out, enjoy.

☆彡 BRUNO:

* I feel like he would be the type to actually enjoy rain a lot.

* If it’s raining during the day, then he’d definitely get up to make himself some piping hot tea.

* It doesn’t matter if it’s one of those summer storms where even though it’s raining, it’s still hot as hell.

* He will make himself some tea and slightly burn his tongue when he takes the first sip.

* He’ll make you one too, if you’d like. But be careful with it lol.

* He’d probably either sit by the window and watch the rain fall, or cuddle with you on the couch.

* Or sit with you on his lap by the window while you drink from the same cup.

* He likes to take moments like these to just relax and just be with you for a while.

* Please play with his hair if you’re cuddling, it’s his favorite way to fall asleep 🥺

* He’ll be pretty silent though, but don’t worry about it, he’s just ~breathing and thinking~

* Overall it’s a pretty relaxing experience, definitely helps a lot if you’re too stressed from work or just life in general.

☆彡 LEONE:

* Oh he doesn’t like rain.

* In fact, he hates it.

* It’s reminds him too much of a lot of bad stuff that has happened.

* Specially if it’s a thunderstorm.

* The sound of the thunders makes him anxious.

* So, if you happen to be with him when the water starts to pour, please don’t let him get too lost in his thoughts.

* It’s one of the very few times where he won’t put much of a fight if you just want to take care of him.

* Maybe get in the bed and hold him close to your chest, or let him use you as personal teddy bear.

* PLEASE Stroke his hair and kiss his forehead, it puts him at ease.

* These probably would be the times where he actually decides to open up a little to you, if he feels comfortable enough.

* He won’t go too deep into his past (he’ll probably never tell you much about it), but he will let you know how he’s feeling, or what’s on his mind at least.

* You don’t have to really say anything back, just the fact that you’re listening is enough for him.

* But if you really wanna say something, then just reassure him that he’s doing his best, and that he’s the best boyfriend that you could even ask for <3

* Just help him take his mind out of his bad thoughts please.

☆彡 MISTA:

* He’s pretty indifferent about rain tbh.

* He’ll probably have some weird conspiracy against it though (like his whole anti-4 thing)

* “Did you know that doing certain stuff while it rains can mean that you’ll die soon?”

* He’ll probably whisper that in your ear while you’re cuddling and he hears a thunder in the distance.

* Let him rant about it, the rest of the squad didn’t even pay attention to him while he told them this the first time.

* “Well I guess I won’t be going out when it rains anymore”

* “Exactly, you shouldn’t!”

* Though if you guys ever happen to be outside when it starts to rain, he will insist you to kiss him under the rain.

* He doesn’t mind getting wet, he just wants to see if it’s as romantic as the movies make it seem.

* Will probably end up convincing you one way or another.

* And it’ll be vary awkward and gross.

* The rain picked up while you were in the middle of it and it kept getting into your mouth.

* Not a great experience really, -5/10 not romantic at all.

* He wants to try with an umbrella next time tho.

* You guys end up going to a nearby cafe to wait for the rain to stop while eating some strawberry shortcake so that’s a win ;)

☆彡 NARANCIA:

* He has mixed opinions when it comes to rain.

* In one hand, he kinda likes the whole running under rain or jumping on puddles to get other people wet kinda stuff.

* But on the other hand, it reminds him of the times where he was homeless, having to brace himself in the middle of the night while the wind got colder and colder.

* You might catch him staring out the window while the rain picks up, with an uncharacteristic melancholic look on his face.

* This is the times where you have to distract him, otherwise he might have a little breakdown and we don’t want that do we.

* Offer to make him some snacks, put his favorite movie on while you cuddle on the couch, let him show you and ramble about his current favorite albums.

* Anything to take his mind out of the gutter will be welcomed.

* I feel like he’d also be kinda scared of thunders, or really loud wind or something.

* Just hug him close to your chest and remind him that you’re there for him.

* His favorite thing to distract him from thunderstorms is when you tell him fun stories about your childhood, or just funny and slightly embarrassing stuff that has happened to you before you guys met.

* He find comfort in them, and in you in general <3

☆彡 FUGO:

* He doesn’t really like the technical aspect of rain (he doesn’t like getting wet), but he appreciates summer storms.

* If it’s raining at night, then he’ll probably just hold you closer to him and fall asleep almost immediately.

* (Rain sounds actually lull him to sleep and calms him down but you didn’t hear that from me).

* If you happen to be with him when there’s a black out because of the storm, then he’ll probably try his best to comfort you (in case stuff like this makes you anxious).

* “Hey, how about we keep reading that book you mentioned the other day?”

* He will lay down, making you get in between his legs with your back against his chest, some hot beverage or snacks in your hands while he holds a book that you like in front of you two for him to read.

* It’s cannon that he has the best reading voice out of the entire team (followed by Bruno or Giorno probably), and you can’t tell me otherwise.

* He’ll also tell you stories or just random stuff that he knows when you get bored of it, playing with your hair or hands while he talks.

* These are one of the few moments where he truly feels calm, just spending time with his s/o without any distraction or worries.

* He likes to think of these moments when he gets really angry.

☆彡 GIORNO:

* He likes the sound of rain, but hates thunders.

* They’re so unnecessarily loud.

* He’ll probably be the one to sit by the fireplace (because of course he has a fireplace) with a book and some coffee and just wait for the rain to stop.

* He’ll let you sit on his lap and maybe even read to you if you want.

* He likes the smell of rain too, so expect to find him with all the windows open in the middle of a storm.

* (If the wind starts to throw wet leaves and stuff into the room then he’ll close them, but will probably sit closer to them so he can still get a little scent).

* This is when he discovered his new favorite thing to do (specially with you)

* Which is to sit by the window, watching the rain fall and then suddenly using his stand to turn some water droplets into flowers.

* He still remembers your expression the first time he did this and he treasures it forever.

* It became your n1 activity to do since then.

* He finds it hilarious to do it when there’s people walking around just to see their confused expressions when they get hit in the head by a whole damn rose during a storm.

* Sometimes he makes them fall into his balcony so after the rain stops you can have a space filled with your favorite flowers.

* “I swear to god Giorno if you turn them into water again I’ll cut that stupid braid of yours in your sleep”

* (He did it once to see what’ll happen and he still teases you about it even to this day).

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taetaesbaebaepsae · 4 years

Text

Break My Heart (myg)

Summary: It’s over, and both you and Yoongi think about the past.

A/N: Thanks to @taegularities and @casuallyimagining for betaing this for me!

Warnings: angst, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, some making out and nipple play but this is mostly sad

Rating: Mature

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 5221

You try to push past him, but he throws you over his shoulder and you don’t even fight him, let him take you to the bed. His eyes are wet and his hands are soft on your skin.

“Don’t,” he starts, but you’re not listening. You’ve listened too much over the last year.

“Yoongi.”

He makes a whine in the back of his throat, hides his face in your neck. Your hands come up to rub his back - it’s like a reflex - before you push him off, head toward the door.

He won’t follow you. He never does.

You’re wrong, though. You’re wrong about so many things. He follows you into the hallway, into the elevator, keeps the door open with one foot while you try to shove him back out into the hallway. Finally, you end up fuming at the back of the elevator, arms crossed over your chest, glaring at him.

Yoongi’s trembling, you can see his hand shaking as he holds it out to you. He says your name, his voice hoarse and quiet.

“You wanna break my heart?

Your breath hitches in your chest as you’re catapulted back a year, two years, 5 years. You can see yourself then, your hair shorter and blonder, his hair darker. He was skinnier, then. Hell, so were you.

You were sitting on a curb, half crying and all drunk after a night out, trying to forget a recent breakup, when Yoongi sat down next to you, offered you what at first you thought was a handkerchief, but what ended up being a simple bar napkin.

“Hey,” he said softly, giving you a crooked smile and a tilt of his head. “Don’t cry. You wanna break my heart?”

It started so innocently, you and Yoongi. You were friends first, best friends even. He sat next to you on that curb, rubbed your back until you stopped crying, and you explained the whole situation to him, barely registering that he’d draped his jacket over your shoulders. He didn’t speak, just listened and nodded in the right moments, and when you were done, your cheeks hot from embarrassment of spilling out everything in your mind, he made this little hum in the back of his throat.

“So you need something to get him off your back,” he said thoughtfully.

You looked at him for a moment, stunned. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

Your ex had been relentless in his pursuit to get you to talk to him after he’d cheated on you, and you were well and truly not interested. That night, you’d been sure you’d be free of him because he’d always been the type to go away for spring break, but he’d been there after all, chasing you around the clubs downtown.

Yoongi (you remembered his name, he’d told you as soon as he’d sat down and introduced himself while you were crying), hummed again.

“I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me,” he said, and gave you this open, gummy smile.

You did trust him, somehow, even though you didn’t know why. He leaned in close, whispered his plan in your ear, and even though it sent a shock down your spine, you nodded. Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were just being curious. Either way, it started this thing. Started this slide, like a mudslide down the longest mountain.

You jumped in, with your eyes wide open, trusted him from the jump, and maybe you’d been wrong. Maybe you’d been wrong about a lot of things.

You were 20 when Yoongi had leaned in closer, just below your dangling earring, and planted the softest, most open kiss on your neck. Goosebumps pimpled your flesh, but you didn’t move, in fact, tilted your head to give him better access.

Seconds passed before he swept your hair from your shoulder, his fingertips brushing your skin, and you let out a breath with a little whine. He murmured something when he kissed you there again, this time sucking at your skin, almost roughly.

“Pretty,” you think it was what he said, but as important as that moment was, with all the things it started, that part was fuzzy because your head spun at the softness of his lips on your skin, the sting when he’d marked you there.

“There,” Yoongi said, still half mumbling, and you wondered how much he’d drunk.

His eyes were clear and warm when you looked at him, though, although his cheeks were dusted rose.

“Uh, th-thank you,” you muttered, feeling small and embarrassed now after it was over.

Yoongi gave you that gummy smile again, and you felt better almost instantly.

You didn’t know it then, but Yoongi always had that effect on you...until he didn’t. Until he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. Until you stopped counting the hours he spent away from the bed you shared. Until it was over.

Yoongi stands next to your car, hands on your hood, tears streaming down his face and his eyes pleading with you. But you block it out, look straight ahead, start the car and rev the engine until he moves.

At first, you’re not quite sure he will, but finally he steps back, shoulders slumped, defeated. You manage not to cry, at least not until you’ve pulled over on the interstate, cars whooshing by you as you cover your face.

It isn’t as if you hadn’t tried.

You know how important Yoongi’s music is to him, you know he’s been working on getting an album produced and you’re proud of him, you really are, but...

But: you have barely seen his face in three months. But: you keep sleeping on one side of the bed because it’s cold on his side. But: you fucking miss him.

You want to talk to him about it, but how can you? How can you when you know this is everything to him? Even when you’d been kids in college, he’d dreamed of producing an album and this opportunity hadn’t just dropped in his lap, he’d worked for it. You’re supposed to be supportive, but all you can do is wonder how long it will be before you see his gummy smile again.

But: when he is home, he’s barely there, drinking too much coffee or scotch, depending on the time of day, barely looking at you, barely talking to you, grunting at you in response, mechanically eating the dinner you’d prepare.

One night, you’d push back from the table, frustrated, and it’d hit the counter with a thud.

Yoongi had looked up from his food, blinked at you as if he was waking from a dream.

“Y/n? Are you okay?”

“No,” you’d answered. “I’m not.”

You’d stormed off to the bedroom, and he hadn’t followed you. Hours later, he’d slid into bed next to you, his lips on your neck, the same spot he’d kissed that first night.

“I’m sorry,” he’d mumbled against your skin, words slurred around the edges just like the night you'd met.

You could smell the red wine he liked at dinner on his breath when you turned, and they’d been on the tip of your tongue, the words.

"What's wrong?" you’d wanted to ask. "Is it me?"

That las thought had kept you from speaking, allowed those words to die in your throat as you’d looped your arms around his neck, tasted the red wine on his tongue.

Because: what if it was something big, something you couldn’t fix? Because: what if it was you? What would you’ve done, then?

After the night outside the club, after Yoongi's mouth on your throat, you woke up the next morning and thumbed the mark he'd left while looking in the mirror.

Thinking about it made your face heat and it got worse when you saw him on campus, big gummy smile and looking a lot less hungover than you, his bleached bangs in his face.

"Hey, you," he said in this low voice, and you couldn’t help smiling back.

It went on like that, you and Yoongi, for months, and then a year, and then eighteen months. He walked you to most of your classes, bought you lunch, once or twice made you laugh so hard you'd snorted banana milk out of your nose. Things became easy with him, and it was so much like a friendship that you barely noticed when you began to fall in love with him.

Falling was easy, but gradual. By the time you realized it, he was graduating and you were a junior and you had no fucking idea what to do about it. You stood at the corner of his best friend's apartment, where there was booze and balloons and about 20 people, and sipped some foul smelling punch that someone had handed you, and looked for him.

You wondered how often you'd done this, looked for him in a crowd, felt your heart swell inside your chest when you found him, when he broke into that familiar gummy smile. You wondered how long you'd been in love and not known it, when he suddenly slid up behind you, his fingers light on your hip.

"Hey, you," he murmured, and you tilted your head back to look at him.

You smiled, just a bit, and he took this comical hitched breath.

"Y/n," he said, as if scolding you. "Don't look at me like that. You wanna break my heart?"

To this day, you aren’t sure if it was that he might’ve been leaving the country or that awful hunch punch, but your heart pounded against your chest too hard, and all you could think to do was to kiss him.

Quickly, without much thought, your lips pressed against his. It had been almost chaste, really, but Yoongi made this low, surprised sound in the back of his throat, his arms going around you and cinching at your waist, tightly, in this near possessive gesture that made your stomach tighten.

And that was it, at least for you. He’d kissed you back, and you’d been all but lost.

Yoongi didn’t leave the country, despite his plans. Later you wondered if that’d been your first mistake: not being strong enough to let him go.

It’s raining now, the sound of it thudding on the roof of your car louder than your heartbeat, and you can’t stop crying, gasping in these hitching breaths every few minutes, your stomach clenching from the force of your sobs. You know it’s dangerous here, on the side of the road and you can’t even remember if you’ve turned on your flashers but that doesn’t seem to matter, all that matters is that you can’t breathe, something viscous and rotten in your chest and stomach, something like all the mistakes you’ve made and all the regrets you have, maybe all those words, those questions you should have asked but didn’t. They’re choking you, poisoning you from the inside out and it’s flooding, but you fumble with the door handle, push the door open and swing your legs out, putting your head between your knees.

When you lift your head, finally able to breathe again, wanting to feel the rain on your face, there’s the bright glow of headlights, and then a blissful black fades over your eyes. You’re almost grateful.

Your dreams are almost all memories.

It’s disjointed, at first, but then you know where you are. Yoongi’s loft apartment back in college, and you know you’re dreaming but you can feel his hands on you nevertheless. You remember them being cold, clammy almost, and he was trembling as if he was nervous.

You laughed at him when he fumbled with your bra strap and he made this grumble in the back of his throat that made you laugh harder.

The laughter died in your throat when he pulled your breasts out of your bra impatiently, dragged his thumbs across your nipples. Your skin felt hot, like you were fevered, when he leaned forward and marked that spot below your ear again, harder, his teeth grazing against your skin.

When you were bare and arching your back beneath him, he sat up on his knees, his eyes dark and hungry looking down at you.

“God,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “You are gonna break my heart.”

It’s starts to rain when Yoongi watches you drive away, and he looks down at the pavement and thinks about the first time he saw you, head in your hands, sitting on the curb with your legs crossed like a child.

Something about the way your shoulders had slumped tugged at his heartstrings, drew him to you, and when you looked at him, eyes big and wet, it had been alarming how much it made his heart ache.

He always hated to see you cry.

You weren’t even crying much when he’d pinned you to the bed, hoped he could make it okay with kisses on your throat and chin, make you smile again. Not even when he begged you to stay in the elevator, in the parking lot, banging his hands uselessly on the hood of your car.

“You’re a million miles away, Yoongi,” you’d said, drying your hands after loading the dishwasher, throwing the cloth with more aggression than he’d expected.

“I’m right here,” he’d said easily, and you let out a long breath and he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Knew it was wrong because it was a lie and you fucking knew it. You knew him, better than maybe anyone else in the world.

“You act as if I don’t fucking know you, Yoongi,” you’d said, something vicious in your voice and he stayed seated at the table as you glared at him, stunned that you’d said almost exactly what he’d been thinking.

He doesn’t know why he’d been surprised. You’d always seen right through him, from the first night.

Yoongi remembers the night he’d finally confessed, after two years of watching the line of your neck, wishing he could kiss it again, leave his mark there, after two years of watching other guys flirt with you and pretending it didn’t make his skin heat up, something buzzing under his skin like a beehive.

He remembers, suddenly and painfully, the way you’d tilted your chin up, turned your head to face him at his graduation party, remembers how full his heart had been, how joy had shot through him like lightning when he’d put his arms around you and you didn’t pull away, how just one corner of your mouth turned up.

He remembers wanting to tell you, wanting to tell you just how much he felt, how he felt full to bursting with you, like you’d burrowed under his skin. He remembers wanting to tell you how he planed every day around you, how the things he’d do almost scared him, the things he’d sacrifice, to keep seeing you smile every day.

Yoongi hadn’t known how to explain it so that you’d understand, so instead he’d done his best to press it into you with his hands and his mouth, like you’d somehow be able to feel it through osmosis, and maybe you had, because after that first night, things had caught on like wildfire.

He’d never told you, really, never actually confessed, and maybe that had been his first mistake.

Yoongi knows that you’ve been drifting apart for weeks. Months. He knows that he’s been absent, not you, knows how hard you’ve been trying but he can’t bring himself to talk to you about it.

What would he say? That he has this opportunity, that he has this once in a lifetime thing and he has to move thousands of miles away for it? That he can’t bring you with him, that they’ve made that crystal clear?

Yoongi is still just as afraid as he was all those years ago, about what he’d sacrifice for you, because half of him wants to give it all up, tell them to fuck off, he’ll make music in a den in your little one bedroom apartment just so that he can be with you every day. Nothing has ever meant more to him than music, but you. You.

Yoongi can’t tell you that he has this choice to make, this fucking impossible choice but instead of making it, all he can do is try to push it away, ignore it, put it off another week and keep drinking too much when he’s home because he can’t bear the way your eyes plead with him to be with you, to be present and in the moment like the two of you always had been. He can’t bear to think of what it’d be like to not see your purple coffee mug on the counter in the mornings, to not be able to roll over and kiss that hallowed spot below your ear that he’d first marked all those years ago.

Yoongi hadn’t responded, looked down at the table until you’d slammed your hands down on it, angry, your eyes bright.

“Are you fucking someone else?” you’d asked, your voice eerily calm despite how angry you looked, and it was like a spear through his gut.

He’d scoffed, because that was ridiculous. I It wasn’t even worth a response but you stormed towards the door and his breath caught in his throat like a wriggling fish and he tried to stop you but you were absolutely fuming now, angry in a way he’d rarely seen you.

He braced his back against the door, thought that at least he could stop this, at least he could calm you down but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

Yoongi had ended up here, head spinning with the three glasses of wine he’d had at dinner and chest feeling , like you’d ripped his heart out when you’d gone away.

He stands there as it starts to rain, breathing hard, half dressed, and wonders where you’ll go. To your best friend’s apartment? Your mother’s? They’ve both always hated him, anyway.

Maybe all the time he’d spent away at the studio, those nights you’d come home late, maybe...maybe there was someone else. The thought makes his breath hitch in his chest, makes him stumble backwards as if someone has punched him in the stomach, before he turns to go back inside.

The thought sticks in his brain like a fishhook. You’d ask if he was fucking someone else. Is that because you were? At the very least, maybe you’d met someone. Someone who was attentive, someone who listened to you. Someone who was there.

Yoongi isn’t used to this feeling. He’s never been the possessive type, always had an amount of confidence that kept him from ever feeling too jealous. He remembers clearly the last time he’d felt this way, and of course, it was you. Wasn’t it always?

You’d never dated much, always been focused on your studies. Yoongi never even thought about what would’ve happened when you’d start seeing someone.

He’d been your best friend for six months when you started dating a lacrosse player, a big guy (bigger than Yoongi), and even then, Yoongi shrugged off the slight irritation he felt when you canceled a dinner with him.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on a bench under a tree, studying before an exam, that he saw you with your new beau. You were laughing, piggybacking, your arms braced on his considerable shoulders.

Yoongi’s skin prickled, like he had a chill or a fever. He felt angry, suddenly, and couldn’t put his finger on why. He sat there, fuming, unable to take his eyes off you, until your boyfriend slid you down, turned to lean down and kiss you, and then Yoongi couldn’t look anymore.

The anger roiling in his gut turned to something else, something worse, something that dug in and festered over the next few days. He saw your laughing mouth behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes, the way you were still smiling when your boyfriend kissed you.

He wondered late at night when he couldn’t sleep, if you were being held or, even worse, being fucked. It made something vile rise in his throat, like he’d had too much to drink and needed to purge it. It was another agonizing month before he realized he was in love with you, and another month after that before you and your boyfriend broke up.

He curses himself for drinking so much, wishing he could just get in his car and come after you. He fumbles with his phone, the screen swimming in his vision, and he wipes at his eyes angrily. You don’t answer, and he isn’t surprised, leaves a voicemail in a broken voice that he’d be embarrassed about if he had any dignity left. He hates feeling like this, out of control, as if there’s nothing he can do to quiet the madness in his head and his heart.

Yoongi presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, pressing in until he sees spots dance under his eyelids, breathing in deep to try and control his emotions. His mind is racing, thinking of what happens now, all the possibilities of the coming days and weeks and months and years.

You move out, he supposes. Come and get your things, take away all the pieces of you that have accumulated in the apartment over the years. He wonders if you’ll leave something behind, a piece of clothing, maybe that purple mug you like so much. Something he can keep, look at later and remember you.

What happens to all the pictures of you, online? Would you delete them? Block him on everything so that he can’t see your face even on a screen? Panic rises in his throat when he realizes you were always the one taking the pictures, posting them on social media, and he isn’t sure he has many saved.

Yoongi feels like he’ll surely go crazy if he doesn’t have some part of this relationship, something he can look back on that isn’t just memories, because it’ll feel like he made it up, like it was always one sided, from the moment he’d sat next to you on that curb.

Without something, how does he convince himself it was real, that you’d loved him?

On the other hand, what if you didn’t get your things? What if you left everything behind, kept being active on social media, moved on? Started living your life without him, moving on with a new apartment, a new partner?

Yoongi chokes back a sob, alone in the apartment but still holding back, still hiding, and he hates himself for it. When you don’t answer the second, third, fourth time he calls, he curls up on the couch, hoping that he’ll pass out, stop thinking, because it’s like his brain is vibrating in his skull with all the racing thoughts he has, a headache forming between his eyebrows.

After some time and a few deep breaths, he fights the urge to upturn the second bottle of wine in the cabinet and thinks that there’s a possibility, however slim, that you might be back when he wakes up, tear streaked and soaked from the rain but still his, and the thought comforts him enough that he’s able to fall asleep.

He has these dreams, vivid and disjointed, where he’s reaching out to you and he keeps getting further and further away. Another, where you won’t even look at him, no matter what he says, no matter how much he begs.

When he wakes, it’s cold in the apartment. You are, were, always the one who’d turn on the heat, and he knows you’re still not home the second he opens his eyes.

Yoongi feels antsy all day, full of nervous energy, and he can’t stop himself from calling you every couple of hours, leaving text messages and begging you just to answer once, to let him hear your voice.

The second day is when he starts to panic in earnest, and he’s about to bite the bullet and call your mother when his phone rings.

The oxygen filters out of the air as he listens, and his heart starts pounding in his ears as soon as he hangs up the phone. He’s out the door wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and a tshirt, cursing and returning for his jacket when he realizes it’s still raining.

The hospital hadn’t said much, just that you were there, that he was your emergency contact, and he breaks all manner of traffic laws to get to you, trying not to think of what might have happened, of how it might be his fault.

When he arrives, it’s both better and worse than he’d thought - you’d been found on the highway, unconscious, and god knows how long you’d lain there in the mud before a passerby had stopped and taken you to the hospital.

Pneumonia, they say, telling him that you’ve been in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Yoongi had been your emergency contact. You hadn’t been taking care of yourself, and a night in the rain and in the elements hadn’t helped. Of course he hadn’t noticed. Of course he hadn’t seen how pale you were, how gaunt your cheeks were.

Yoongi stands there, wondering if the doctor can tell that all the blood has drained from his face, his heart thudding hard and useless against his chest plate.

He nods where he’s supposed to and when the doctor leaves the room, Yoongi sits down hard on a nearby chair in the waiting area. He can go in now, they’d said, but how could he? How could he go in there, see you hooked up to IV antibiotics, know that it’s his fault? People die from pneumonia, don’t they? His throat closes up with panic and he has to draw in a long breath through his nostrils to calm himself.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped together. There’s this series of memories rushing through his mind, like snapshots.

Your mouth pressed against his, soft and almost chaste, his arms locked around your waist. He wanted to twirl you around to face him, kiss you hard and dirty in front of all his friends, mark that spot just under your ear again. Not to show them that he possesses you, not to show them that he can kiss such a beautiful woman, but to show everyone how much he loved you, how his every thought was tinged with you.

Instead, he kissed you back just as chastely, stuck to you like glue all night despite it being his party with many trying to come and congratulate them. He had his hands on you all night, at your lower back, sometimes just lightly on your hip, sometimes intertwining his fingers with yours.

And when he walked you back to your dorm, he shuffled his feet at the door, puffed out his cheeks and blown out a breath and looked up at you.

“Yoongi,” you said, and God, he loved how his name sounded on your lips, this lilt like you were always teasing him. “You wanna come in for a drink?”

His cheeks were already flushed from alcohol and he probably shouldn’t have, but you took his hand and he would’ve followed you anywhere, to hell if you’d asked him.

Yoongi had so many plans on how to confess to you before he’d leave the country to go back home, to try and work on music like he’d always planned, most of them some grand romantic gestures, but instead, he stood with his hands shoved in his pockets just inside your door, and called your name.

You turned, standing in the kitchen, and his eyes followed the line of your throat, the curve of your cheek.

“I’m gonna stay,” he blurted out, and he already had a very expensive plane ticket in his wallet but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Yoongi stands up, heads toward your hospital room but he stops at the doorway, hears the beep of the machines and it makes his heart stutter.

He stands outside the door, unable to look inside. More snapshots float through his mind as he leans back against the wall, breathing hard.

“Yoongi,” you breathed, right into the shell of his ear and it made him shiver. He was standing so close to you, one hand on your hip, the other braced on the counter as if he’d fall against you, fall into you.

“Mmm,” he managed, leaning forward, as if you’d beckoned him, and every inch of his skin that touched yours felt heated.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked, and he wanted to laugh but he couldn’t, looking into your wide eyes. You’d been best friends for two years, seen each other at your worst. Now all he could do was think about how much he loved every part of you, good and bad, inside and out.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, and leaned down to kiss you, his hand moving to your lower back seemingly of its own volition, pulling you closer so that your breasts pressed against his chest.

His tongue slid against yours and his heart seemed like it might thud out of his chest.

When he pulled away from you, breathless, you let out a whine from the back of your throat, just like that first night when he’d marked you, and he couldn't stand it, the way it felt, how much he felt.

He wanted to run but something was pulling him toward you instead of away and instead, he kissed you again.

You pulled away this time, trembling in his arms.

“Yoongi,” you said again. “Are we doing this? Are you-”

“Am I in love with you?” he asked, chest heaving, it was as if he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried.

You nodded, slowly, your cheeks flushed.

Instead of speaking, Yoongi nodded back, slowly, and a small smile spread across your lips.

“Yoongi,” you repeated, his name from your lips his favorite sound. “Kiss me again.”

That memory forces Yoongi to enter the room, sit by your bed. You look sick and gray and he wants to take your hand but something stops him.

He thinks now that it’s settled, that he’ll talk to you, that he’ll rework his contract, do anything to make things better. Maybe it won’t work, maybe you’re done, but he can try. He has to try.

Your eyes are closed, lashes fanning across your cheekbones and when Yoongi reaches out to touch your face, he sees that his hands are trembling.

When you do wake, a few moments later, Yoongi wants to crawl under the bed and hide, knows that he’s probably the last person you want to see.

“Yoongi,” you call, and your voice is hoarse and confused but tears stream down Yoongi’s face because it’s still his favorite melody.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and that little smile spreads across your lips again.

“Baby,” you say, and his heart clenches in his chest as you take his hand. “You wanna break my heart?”

#min yoongi x reader #btscreatorscorner #bangtanheadquarters #noonasinnetwork #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

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kyotakumrau · 4 years

Text

2020.12.16 The World You Live In at Zepp Nagoya, 2nd event report

For this one I was sitting in the last row on the 2nd floor😂 but the view was good, especially when watching the live footage.

This time Takabayashi also joined, he sat on the left, and we again got Die and Toshiya, with Fujieda on the right who again acted as the MC.

F again started the talk with the topic of the show without audience and Ochita. He asked band members about the flow of working on the songs, which to choose, how they decided to go with a song like that for a single. D replied that they make many songs for albums, when they work on the singles they want them to connect somehow, and he thinks they were able to do that.

T: what he said.

(true mastery of short answers aka no answers😂)

Next F again brought the merch items, saying he was wearing Die's mask, he liked it black.

D: it's a mask you can wear easily.

F: (struggling) ne...si...cessity.

D: again.

F: necessity.

(just leave him alone😂)

D: some people might find girls wearing black masks scary, so I added a bright element (to make it easier to wear).

(...but one of them says HURT???😂)

D: Ta(kabayashi), can you say 'necessity'?

Ta: not gonna play this game.

Then they laughed a bit about 'ビッグピックキーホルダー・biggu pikku・big pick'

T: which colour is the rare one?

F: I think they're all same.

T: how can you use it?

F: attach it to your bag etc I guess? You should know as a producer!

T: I guess I will use it as my pick at our next show.

F also brought items produced by other members, handing Shinya's bottle to T.

F: S also posted video promoting it on his instagram. It's really tiny.

T: how many of those I can drink in one day? (?)

D: but it is a perfect size for a bag.

Then F handed the pouch produced by Kaoru to D.

D: I guess masks can fit in, pick keychains can fit in, bottle can fit in, anything can fit in. 😂

F: there are 5 different merch items,please get them all.

After this it was time for the questions submitted by fans again.

D: ok, got one, from Kumi-san...

F: Tommy-san?

D: what? Why would you bring the boss up? It's from Kumi-san from Kagawa. 'please tell us your memory from Kagawa'.

F: we went there on tour last September.

D: Takamatsu, right? I remember I was watching TV at the hotel, not going for dinner... ah no, I got a take out, chicken, a big one, I was eating it alone.

F: what about you, T?

T: hmmm, I guess udon?

F: you eat udon a lot.

T: I eat everything. It was good then.

F told a story about playing around when waiting for band members to get ready to leave (Kaoru), he imitated Shinya playing drums. He said it was very embarrassing so he remembers it very clearly. Did S upload a video of that on his Channel?

T: 'please tell us your good and bad points of Fujieda'. He can eat anything, everything tastes good for him? As for bad points, everything tasted good for him?

(everyone laughed)

D joked that instead of getting 'good point' (like a grade at school) he has more 'passable points'.

D: 'can you tell us about your outfits today? I noticed that Toshiya's socks are very cute!'

T got surprised people noticed something like that, his red socks. F said that most likely a fan who attended the 1st slot noticed and sent that question.

T: I received them, they are just red checkered socks.

Ta: 'what kind of bath salts do you use?'

D: recently I don't use any (then he joked about the smell of old guys at the gym?)

T: I don't really use it.

They teased F for playing with the foam in the bath.

Then D talked about some gel type bath Kaoru recommended him, at Fukuoka during the tour in the past (?)

Ta commented that when hot the water in Tokyo smells. Water in the countryside like Nagano is better quality.

F: 'what song did you listen to the most during pandemic? It can be an artist.'

D: Kimetsu one?

F: 'Kousui' is also played everywhere.

they also said they listen to dir songs. D said he listens to the setlists from the audiostreams and T and he joked a lot about not remembering some of the older songs, like 'we made this??'😂 they also talked about the flow of songs.

T: 'how did you decide the members for each venue?'

Ta: I thought about many factors before deciding.

F: basically Ta decided it.

Ta: I thought about who should go where, who to pair together, about who went to which event in the past.

D: I remember we had some event at a department store in Nagoya.

T: at Parco, there was a signing event at Tower Records. At the same time there was an event I liked? ...no one knows it? Sorry, I guess you're all too young, there's a generation gap here.

😂

T: 'do you have any plans for shows next year?'

They explained that the situation is not looking good and shows have big chance being postponed.

F: but we are thinking about the things we can do. But those two people definitely want to play a concert.

T: this many people are waiting so we have to.

D talked about getting out of Tokyo and ??

Ta: 'it suddenly got really cold. Could you tell us any stories about snow or cold weather?' (he added joking) Nagano stories?

T: you think you're funny.

F: but I love oyaki (it's famous in Nagano stuffed dumpling, grilled).

T: I saw a cockroach for the first time only when I went to Tokyo and then Kyoto. Nagano is too cold for them.

F: Hakkaido too.

(Toshiya, I really feel ya, I've only encountered roaches after I came to Japan💀)

they talked about fighting with them, D used something to immobilize them (???)

T: they are so big. When we filmed Clever Sleazoid video I just stepped on one.

F (laughing): went 'kyaaaa' and stepped on it!

T also talked about the old story when they just started a band and they came to Nagano to meet T, there was a lot of snow then and all band members got super excited because of it, starting to play in snow. T's mother took a photo of them, that photo is still at T's home at Nagano.

F: who was driving then?

T: Aki-san, from the previous company.

D: I didn't know it gets all snowy like that.

Then they talked about old simple phones without cameras and cameras they used, heavy bricks.

T: sorry, generation gap again.

F: what happened to the 'cold' topic? Why roaches???

Ta: we can do 2 more questions.

T: F, why did you ???

F told us a story about almost being in a traffic accident on a highway driving from Nagoya when suddenly their tyre got a hole, but thanks to his super special technique he could stop the car.

D: how long was this whole situation?

F: one minute. Thanks to my special technique.

they also talked about Shinya driving😂

Next, T: 'why did F use a name Rei with ShibireBajiru (band where F's played drums)? Question from Toshiya from Tokyo'

😂

But F's explanation was about the image names have and that Rei has a strong image. About which T and D teased him a lot.

As the last question they talked about alarm clocks, 'can you wake up without alarm clock?'

D: recently I can.

T: I can wake up when I can wake up.

F: ...so when you can't you can't?

T: ...(be quiet you)

D: so what time do you wake up?

T: 4 or 5, then I work.

D wakes up around 6~7

Extra question, F: 'what's your fav nabe (hot pot)?'

D: nabe?

F: for me it's motsunabe (offal hot pot). That place in Fukuoka.

T: you prefer miso type? Or soy sauce?

F: in the past Shinya gave me a very firm 'I don't need any of the miso one', he was so angry about food😂

F talked about the additional event online again and the announced video with virtual characters the previous day. Filming was done a bit earlier.

T: it was unexpectedly fun.

F: let's spend New Year Eve together.

Last comments.

Die: thanks for comming to the event, especially in such a cold weather. This was a safe way, the situation is not good, we can't hold shows at the moment, we want to make songs and work on the next album.

Toshiya: thank you for coming on a cold day. I'd like to say what I want, but it's hard because of this situation. The band is searching for the things we can do. Please wait for us. Next year, I want to stand on the stage in front of you (at a concert).

D asked T for the red version of the pick to take photo with it. He took it to his spot at kamite area, adding 'next year I will use it'.

(Die mobile members probably will get to enjoy that photo?)

#dir en grey #the world you live in #die #toshiya #zepp nagoya #fujieda #takabayashi

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

Text

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

#elizabeth debicki #elizabeth debicki x reader #elizabeth debicki imagine #jed roper #jed night manager #elizabeth debicki tom hiddleston #liz debicki #elizabeth debicki fic #elizabeth debicki smut #elizabeth debicki fluff #elizabeth debicki angst #wlw fluff #Spotify

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oyubaat-tapcaf · 4 years

Text

Another Job Is Done //Mandalorian x Reader

Here is my first ever Mandalorian Fic, written for @propertyofdindjarin

(small remark, I used ur name so this is kind of Mando x reader but also not)

I am a huge star wars nerd so im happy you preferred a mando fic

Have fun reading!

summary: Din had a bad experience while hunting down a quarry, leaving him with his feelings clear.

wordcount: 2985

warnings: canon typical violence, kind of a near death experience, a little bit of angst but lots of fluff

The ramp of the Razor Crest made a loud hissing noise when the hydraulics started to work on opening it. As the end of it reached the floor, the Mandalorian entered his ship. He seemed exhausted. He did not strut, as usual, his body language showed, this fight hadn’t been easy. He seemed like he even got hurt, more than usual.

Mando grunted when he pulled the unconscious quarry up into his ship. He was in pain. This womprat he’d been hunting down was hard to catch and also a very good fighter. Well, not good enough. Din closed the ramp and hurled the quarry up into his carbonite chamber then he pressed the button to freeze him. Another job is done. Finally.

He groaned quietly under his beskar helmet and let himself fall back against the wall. He wasn’t hurt badly but he was sore. He had been awake and going for a few days now, he needed food, water, and sleep. And maybe someone to hold onto. He was gone for a couple of long days and he was on edge. He liked being alone, but since he had the kid he realized how nice a little bit of company can be. He changed since he got the child that’s why this job was a little different. The job was a well-paying one. That was because the quarry was on a planet that was hard to get to. It was behind a big dangerous nebula. There were only a few people who were able to get to the other end alive and he was lucky that one of those people was willing to help him. His piloting was good but not good enough for the turbulence he might face in the nebula. Well for 50 percent of the bounty. That was a good deal. Even half of the money was enough for Din to buy food for him and his little friend, also to buy new fuel and new bullets for his pulse rifle since he was out of them.

The Mandalorian was too proud to admit it, he liked the pilot that was with him. She was a nice and beautiful young lady. She knew what she wanted and she got what she wanted. He remembers discussing the deal with her. She knew how to make a good deal, and she wasn’t intimidated by Din's appearance. Usually, people were acting different around him, some even being afraid of him. They heard the stories of Mandalore and its population. They heard of the strong beskar armor and Mandalorian combat skills. So Din usually gets what he wants. But that pilot...she wasn’t having it.

“Look, I know you are an amazing hunter, but I’m just as good of a pilot, so that means we will split the bounty in half, no discussion needed,” she said while sipping away on her spotchka. Her eyes were challenging him, daring him to disagree with her.

“You will fly on my ship. And I will hunt down the quarry,” Din leaned forward looking straight into her eyes. “I don’t think 50/50 will work for me.”

She scoffed and shook her head. “My way or no way, Mando. You don’t know frag about that nebula. If you want to fly through it alone, do it. But lemme tell you even your beautiful beskar can’t save you. “

Din was a little angry at first but she then smiled at him, kind of mocking him but he was so lost in her beautiful face that he just sighed and jerked back as he caught himself staring. This helmet on his head was making his life easier.

The Mandalorian nodded and they shook hands. She wanted to invite him for a drink but he declined, as he always did.

Din sighed, back to his current situation. He and Rae had traveled a long time together, they got in some trouble with a few pirates and they had to shoot themselves out of it. They crashed on Teth and had to repair the Crest together, spending some nights sitting together and listening to the sounds coming from the jungle that was near, sharing some stories from their past. The child was always with them and the pilot got along with Din’s little friend.

Even if this whole mission was kind of more than the Mandalorian signed up for, he enjoyed the company of the young pilot. When they finally arrived at the nebula Din realized why she wanted 50 percent of the money. She knew what she was doing, maneuvering the crest through the turbulences and clouds of gas. Maker, Din was lost, he had so many strong feelings about her and they all came crashing down on him while he was hunting down the quarry. He had tried to suppress his feelings for her. He didn’t even know what was going on. Stars, he never fell in love before, he was a loner. The youngling made him discover his soft side. At least under all that armor.

The quarry wasn’t easy to catch and Din nearly got into some bad trouble. His opponent nearly gained the upper hand at some point, leaving Din with an experience he can save into his album of “situations to avoid”. He had lost all his weapons except for his flame thrower and before he could even think of a way to get himself out of this situation, a strong cord had wrapped around his body leaving him unable to move his hands. He heard laugher, now knowing if it just was ringing in his ears from being hit so hard before, or if someone was laughing at him. The Mandalorian heard a vibroblade buzzing to life, he had opened his eyes to see his opponent, a nautolan, grinning, standing right in front of him.

“I’ve always wanted to kill a Mandalorian before.”

He stepped forward. Din tried to move but he realized, somehow the nautolan had wrapped up his whole body with cord, he couldn’t move his legs either, leaving him sitting on the floor and watching the nautolan stepping yet another step closer to him.

“I can even keep that amazing beskar to myself,” he murmured. He reached out with his hand, the blade touched the Mandalorians helmet with a metallic noise, ringing in Din’s ears. He was tense, still needed to collect himself, trying to seek his way out. He was a Mandalorian, he was raised his whole life with the knowledge that he will eventually die. It was nothing new to him, his whole life was living from day to day, not knowing how many of them are left for him. But right now he couldn’t accept that. There was this mission bigger than him and bigger than this quarry. The child. He needed the Mandalorians' help. He was his foundling, Din needed to come back to him. But there was even more. He had suddenly felt so lonely, kneeling on the floor, a vibroblade whirring right beside his head. The Beskar clad man was in love and nobody knew about it. He never had someone to kiss, to love. The pilot didn’t even know that Din was thinking about her, every damn minute, every day he woke up, hoping he would have the courage to tell her about his feelings for her. And he never did.

The Mandalorian had snarled, this was not the end, he was not going to die like this. The adrenaline had shot up, into his system and Din had pushed his feet against the ground, falling forward with such force that he fell into his opponent. The nautolan had lost his balance and fell forward, the blade slipping out of his hand. Din caught it and cut himself loose, then he whirled around, jumped to his feet. He had kicked the green man right into his face with his boot, the nautolan had lost his consciousness immediately.

That’s how he got the quarry back to his ship. Din was still trembling a little, after this experience, he was so happy to be back inside the Crest, back with his foundling and back with her. He groaned again and slipped down the wall, hitting the floor. His legs sprawled out, away from him he sat on the ground as a youngling would.

“Ni'm haryc”, he murmured to himself immediately feeling the exhaustion in his tired bones.

***

You sat in the cockpit of the Crest, fiddling with your gloves and watching the child who was soundly asleep. You were nervous about the Mandalorian's return. He was acting differently around you since a few days ago and you were afraid that he was annoyed by you. His body language was always showing that he was nervous as if your company was something he was not used to and doesn't want to get used to.

You sighed quietly and laid your beat-up gloves down. You really hoped that Mando was safe out there. You liked him more than you wanted to admit and him getting hurt on his daily adventures had you restless at night. Especially the last two days were hard. He was hunting down the quarry and you just had to wait for him. But hunting the quarry also meant flying back home and parting ways. You didn't want that to happen. You knew it was going to happen nevertheless but you felt the urge to kick something when you thought about leaving the Razor Crest and its amazing team.

The Youngling was so cute and surprisingly good at keeping you company. You realized that you could even learn from him, in a way.

And Mando, let's say it, you were into him. He was kind and polite, always trying to make your stay on the Crest comfortable. But you also liked his darker side that shot pirates and threw them off of his ship while it was in the air. He protected his family like he would protect his eyeball.

You were ripped from your thoughts as you heard the hydraulic ramp slid down. Probably Mando, he was the only one besides you who had access to the Crests controls. Hopefully, it was him. You waited a few seconds. You heard steps and something hitting the wall. Then you heard the Carbonite chamber go off. Yep, it was Mando. He was back.

"Kriff, finally," you whispered and got up from the pilot seat. The child was still asleep so you left him in his little pod.

You slowly made your way down the ladder down to the cargo hold, as you reached the floor you saw the Mandalorian sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out like a child would seeming weak, exhausted, hurt. You were shocked at how weak he looked, you never saw him that way before. You looked at his muddy boots and his dirty armor, his cape was ripped apart and soaked in mud too.

Mando looked like an injured Crayt Dragon, majestic but hurt, weak. Full of rage and fire but not able to use it anymore. He was panting his helmet leaned back against the wall, hands left weak beside his legs, his gloves also muddy. You started to panic. Is he okay?

“Are you okay, Mando?” you asked and made a step forward. Careful.

He turned his head a little so his visor was facing you.

“...No.” he pressed out. Even under that mud, his beskar was gleaming in the dim light of the Crests cargo hold. You were always kind of hypnotised by the way his armor reflected the lights. You knew that he knew it, he had caught you staring various times. But he had never mentioned it or called you out on it. It even seemed like he enjoyed it. You remember one time, as you were repairing his ship he caught you staring as he was welding some parts together and you were mesmerized at how beautiful the lightning bow was reflected by his beskar plates. He had turned around, looking at you stopping everything he was doing.

You stared back right into his visor not being able to look away. He had tilted his head a little bit, so slowly as if he was grinning at you. You could only imagine but you knew he had a smug smirk going on under that damn helmet. You could just smirk back at him shrugging.

He had chuckled, so softy, his shoulders shaking, just a little. Then he had turned back around and started welding again.

“Kriff, Mando, what’s wrong, do you need help?” now really panicking as you got pulled back into reality.

“No,” he answered, again.

Now you were just confused. What was wrong with him. He was acting weird and you didn’t know what to do.

“What are you talking about…? I-”

“Shhh.” he shushed you. “Don’t panic. I’m not hurt.”

You relaxed a little, you weren’t very good at playing doctor and you knew that if Mando would get hurt bad, you wouldn’t be able to help him properly. Your shoulders dropped in relief.

“Maker, you were really scaring me. Don’t do that again Mando.”

The Mandalorian chuckled. Him chuckling was very rare so you knew something was up. The last time you heard him chuckle was when he caught you staring.

“I am okay. I’m sorry for scaring you. I am kriffing sore.” he huffed, looking at his dirty boots and at the trail of mud he left on the floor. “I...I had a hard time. I- ...yeah.” he was stuttering.

You looked at him questioningly. He still acted strangely.

You closed the small gap between the two of you and sat down in front of him with your legs crossed. His visor followed your movements.

“You don’t seem okay to me, Mando.” you whispered looking at him,

You saw his shoulders rising, just a few millimeters, but far enough for you to know that you hit a nerve.

“I…” he paused again, slowly taking off his dirty gloves revealing his skin. You never saw him take anything off, this was the first time him showing you his skin. Oh boy, somethings coming.

He laid his gloves down between his legs, looking at them for a little too long as if he was still thinking, forming sentences in his head.

“Look, I had a hard time today. I nearly got into some...bad trouble and- “ he stopped and cleared his throat.

Your heart rate picked up on speed as he raised his head to look at you again. Your hands trembled a little but you realized he was too. He was nervous.

“I just realized that if I died, I would die alone. Like, I mean I know the child would miss me but...I never had someone...special.” his helmet tiled down at his trembling hands again.

“Someone special?” your mouth was dry like kriffing Tattooine. Your heart was beating, you could even hear it, stars, Mando could probably hear it too.

“Yeah. I never thought about that stuff. I always liked being alone. But since….” he stopped again taking a deep breath. His voice was rough as he continued.

“...since I met...you, I realized how lonely I am.”

You didn’t know what to answer to that. You knew what he was trying to tell you but didn’t dare to help him out and say what you wanted to say. You were too nervous. You both sat in awkward silence for a few seconds which seemed endless.

“Look, I….you...you are special to me.” he gulped and looked up again. His voice was muffled, his vocoder having a hard time picking it up. But you heard him still.

“Mando...stars.” you felt your cheeks heat up. Hearing these words out of his mouth felt so strange. The Mandalorian, who was always short on words, telling you he had a crush on you. You didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I’m sorry.” he sighed and his gaze dropped again. “I shouldn’t have said that.” his shoulders dropped and he suddenly looked so small.

“No, no wait, Mando. I...you can’t imagine how...how. Oh well.” you never were good at feelings. “I am feeling the same...about you. It feels like you are my missing piece.”

As he looked up at you this time you could tell he gained his confidence back.

“You know,” he started. “ You know, you were on my mind all the time as I was hunting down this womp rat.” he gestured to the frozen nautolan. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up even more. You must look like an idiot as you were smiling at him. All those times you were thinking about him you didn’t know he was thinking about you too.

He suddenly held out his hand. His bare hand. No dirty Mando-Gloves with holes that had been stitched up poorly. His bare skin.

“Please take my hand, cyare.” he murmured.

You were surprised by his nickname for you, probably mando’a. You slowly reached out and gently took his hand. His skin was warm and soft just like you imagined it. As your fingers intertwined with yours he slowly and gently pulled you closer to him. You followed his movements until you were sitting awkwardly between his sprawled-out legs, very very close to him. He smelled like gunpowder.

He cradled both of your cold hands in his warm ones, his hands were so big next to yours.

“My name is Din.” he breathed and even if his eyes were covered you knew he was looking deep into yours. You were surprised that he had told you his name, since it’s sacred, and hidden, like his face.

“That’s a beautiful name.” You smiled.

He chuckled and cradled your face with one hand while pulling your other hand down to his cold breastplate.

“Thank you, senaar.”

#pedros12daysofchristmas #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #star wars

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the-melting-world · 3 years

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The Empress | Side A: “Promise”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener is granted an audience with her patron Arcana…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel

Track Origins: “Promise” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: mentions of death, monsters, slight horror, drowning themes, manhandling, some blood

~ 2.6k words

Kipling has made it to The Empress’ realm. Ozy hangs back in Vesuvia with Nadia, Muriel, and Asra. He opens a smaller Door that allows them to watch Kipling’s progress with her patron Arcana...

Asra and Nadia’s body language easily gave away their excitement. They crowded on either side of Ozy as he stretched open the portal to get a clear view on what was going on with Kipling and The Empress.

Abaco and Taro were excited as well. They both perched themselves on Ozy’s shoulders. Nadia withdrew to avoid getting a face full of the lemur’s bushy tail.

“Taro,” she said with a tight smile, “I’m afraid you’ll have to find a different spot. I cannot see past your charming purple coat.”

Ozy chuckled and pulled a contrite-looking Taro into his lap. Muriel, who hadn’t moved from where he was on the other side of the table, shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Nadia, Asra… you’re both okay with this?”

Asra turned his fluffy head and arched a white brow. “Why wouldn’t we be, Muri? Now we get to keep an eye on Kip and make sure she’s doing okay.”

Faust nodded enthusiastically.

Watching is fun! Kipling is fun!

Muriel didn’t look convinced. “Ozy, this doesn’t feel like spying to you?”

Ozy shook his head, keeping his eyes on adjusting the portal.

“Nope! This is for educational purposes. If I’m going to continue to teach Kipling about grey magic, I need to know how this goes. Feel free to leave if it’s making you too uncomfortable.”

Muriel took a long look at his friends and their familiars craning their necks to get a full view of what was happening in The Empress’ realm.

“I’ll stay, but I won’t watch,” Muriel decided. As an afterthought, he mumbled to himself, “I’ll just listen.”

***

Kipling did not feel so uncomfortable around her patron Arcana after she had taken a seat in the grass down by her feet and started scratching out a poem on a slip of paper. The gardener did, however, find it difficult to concentrate with so many animals occupying the same space. They made lots of interesting, but distracting noises. Not to mention there were saber tooth tigers and hyenas walking around with baby ducklings and turtles trapped between their maws – and the latter were very much still alive.

Kip glanced nervously up at the Empress. “Um. Aren’t you going to stop your children from eating… your other children?”

The Empress tilted her antlered head. “Oh, them? They’re merely practicing at being predators and prey. They can’t kill anything yet.” She plucked one of the berries from her antlers and flicked it to the back of her throat. “The killing and the dying will come much later. When they are grown.”

Kipling suppressed the shudder that threatened to climb up her back and returned to her poem. She channelled those unsettling feelings as best as she could onto the paper.

The Empress drummed her fingers on the leafy armrest of her throne. “Do you know why you’re here, umbra?”

Kipling didn’t answer her right away. She held off until she wrapped up the last line of her poem. Then she put down her pen, folded the slip of paper and looked up at her patron. “Well, I’ve already opened my third eye, so I’m guessing you’re going to show me how to do something else that will help strengthen my magic?”

The Empress snorted. “Magic? Think again.” With a heavy breath, she hoisted herself out of the throne.

Kipling stood up too and tucked the slip of paper between the flowering vines in the backrest of the throne. Then she followed the Arcana on her leisurely stroll through the garden.

“Did you know that every human cannot function without three things? Any guess what those things might be? I’ll give you a hint. You and your friends embody each of the three.”

The hint didn’t do anything except confuse Kipling. She shook her head.

The Empress’ nostrils flared in amusement. “No? Every human needs... a heart. A body. A mind. Which one do you think you are?”

Kipling took a moment to consider. “Am I… the heart?”

The Empress nodded. “You are. Perhaps I am biased, but I do believe the heart serves the most essential function.” She didn’t wait to see whether or not Kip agreed before elaborating. “It’s up to the heart to communicate what the body can’t. What the mind won’t…. Tell me, do you remember your reading with Small Hermit? Can you recall why you pulled me in the reversed position?

Kip shrugged. “I guess I’m just… too smothering.” She sighed. “And it’s causing me to neglect other things that are important to me.”

The Arcana lifted her chin. “Yes. When you are under pressure, especially one that calls upon your emotions for another, you tend to cling. Your friend, Khleo… they shut down. And as for Oz’mandias–”

“He detaches,” Kip said softly.

The Empress hummed her approval. “Humans. You all have weaknesses. Don’t look so ashamed, umbra. How you overcome these flaws is what makes your kind interesting and worthwhile.”

Kipling rolled her eyes. “What are you trying to say? That I should be less clingy? That I should just let Khleo go?”

“Interesting that you mentioned letting go. Let’s unpack that. Tell me, umbra, how do you expect anything to bloom, if you never give it a chance to grow? Imagine the relief that would bring. Once you’ve cleared all of the detritus from your heart, you can give new seeds room to germinate.”

Kip let herself say to The Empress what she wouldn’t with Ozy. “But I don’t want to let Khleo go.”

The Empress gave another one of her derisive snorts. “Letting go. You don’t even know what that means.”

Suddenly, Kipling and The Empress were no longer standing in a garden. Now they were on a rock that looked out at the ocean. Kipling recognized this rock and the sea that turned its waves below and far into the horizon. She bit back the urge to ask The Empress why she had transported them to a replica of the Melting World.

“Look, umbra. See yourself there.”

Kipling turned in the direction that the Arcana was pointing. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as she registered what was happening on the edge of the rock. She saw herself and Ozy arguing. They were so young. She was fifteen. He was seventeen.

Kipling tore her eyes away from the bickering teenagers and searched for…

“Let’s practice letting go, umbra,” The Empress said just as Kip’s eyes fell on a young Khleo, who was standing before an enormous Door. “See if you can figure out the meaning on your own.”

The Door yawned and tugged roughly on Khleo’s body.

Kipling took off. She barely stopped to think before casting herself into the portal after them.

“Khleo–”

The gardener reached and grasped at nothing at first. Then something slammed into her, leaving her breathless. It took a moment before she realized that she had been caught up in a wave. She knew this feeling too well. All her nightmares in the past had been like this.

Kip’s cheek was pressed to the rock. Her whole body hugged the rough limestone. It scraped her skin as she shifted to look around for Khleo. She found them. Standing before the Door again. Just like they were moments ago. She could hear the younger version of herself bickering with Ozy in the background.

The Empress’ voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

“Let go.”

Kipling fixed her gaze on Khleo and stood up. “No.”

She took off again, not caring that the wave from before had snatched off her shoes and now the limestone was cutting into her heels. She knew that if she just pushed harder, ran faster, she could get to Khleo in time.

WHAM.

Another wave crashed into her, followed by another sickening bout of disorientation. But Kipling had been there before. This was nothing new to her.

She saw Khleo. Heard the arguing in the background. She ignored it, choosing instead to chase after Khleo.

She ate seawater. Her sinuses burned in brine. She didn’t care.

She had to save Khleo.

The gardener lost track of how many times the Door reset.

How many times was The Empress going to force her to watch Khleo get taken away? When would she understand that Kipling could not – would not let go?

After a particularly violent wave, Kipling let the Arcana have her way.

“Fine!” She wheezed, cheek pressed to the rock, eyes shut against the painful images that kept replaying without her consent. “You win!”

When she coughed, it felt like torture because of how many times she had been caught up in the waves. It hurt to breathe.

Water fought its way out of Kipling’s nose. She writhed in an effort to sneeze and instead swallowed a wet, salty lump. It made her sick. She wanted this to be over so she could go back to her plants and be happy.

“I get it now. I should just be grateful for what I have.” She would love Asra and Muriel and Nadia. She would show Ozy the love he deserved. She would let Khleo go. “I want too much! I always have.”

She opened her eyes, thinking she would see The Empress. Bending low to place a crown of flowers upon Kipling’s head. Murmuring something about graduating to the next realm of understanding and healing.

Instead, she saw the cascade of a monstrous wave.

“N-No!”

WHAM.

And so it went on. Kipling took the beating of the hurricane and the sea.

“What do you think it means now, umbra?”

Dying, Kipling wanted to say. It means to die.

“Do you think letting go means closing your eyes and waiting for it to be over? Do you think it means forgetting about that person? Do you think it means pretending like they never existed in the first place? It’s none of those things!”

When Kipling could speak again – and it was a long time before she could – with the back of her hand, she wiped away the salty drool mixed with blood from all the times she hit the rocks and said, “You’re killing me.”

The Empress bleated in laughter, her thin lips curling back over blunted teeth.

“You cannot expect a strong body to rely on a weak heart. What’s more, Kipling, my sweet, a weak heart could never support a powerful mind! They need you just as much as you need them. So you must know – you will learn – when to hold on…”

The Empress snatched Kip’s head off the rock and pried open her eyes. She watched Khleo’s mouth open in an empty cry as they were taken by the portal again.

“And when to let go!”

The gardener screamed and jerked out of her patron’s grasp. She tumbled down the rock until she landed roughly before the great Door. There was no wave this time, but her senses still burned from the sound of her younger self and Ozy screaming just off to the side.

Look around.

Kipling didn’t want to look. Not at those two. Not at herself.

Think about what you’re letting go of.

“No. I can’t,” Kipling wheezed as she propped herself up on her elbows. “I don’t know that person.”

You can. Because you’re almost there.

It was Kipling’s own words that she was hearing. Not The Empress’, she realized.

She turned and looked at her teenage self. Kipling stood up.

“I never forgave her.” She said finally. “I said I was sorry to Ozy. I accepted his forgiveness. I even let go of the guilt, but I never forgave who I was then for all the damage I had caused.”

She knew The Empress could hear her. Those dark ruminant features entered her periphery. This time her antlers were covered in seashells and barnacles.

Plucking an oyster from one of the branches and cracking it open, The Empress said, “As a child, you were one who insisted on keeping everything to herself, letting nothing out, letting no one inside. Imagine if you had held onto her. Imagine who you would be now and the people you would not be able to keep in your company. You let her go a long a time ago.” She removed a fat pearl from the oyster and wedged it inside of one of her hollow eye sockets.

“But forgiveness is a different type of letting go,” Kip said, feeling as though she was talking to herself rather than a Major Arcana. “I forgive her. She was young. I mean, I was young. I know better now.”

Kip didn’t look, but she sensed a smile from The Empress.

“Watch out, umbra. Another wave comes.”

Kipling was ready. Her gauntlets hummed to life. She saw several waves stretching high overhead, intent on crushing her against the bedrock. She saw the glyphs in the framework that intersected the fabric of everything, felt the ones that lit up just for her.

“Taro.”

A tiny Door spiraled open by Kipling’s elbow. Taro chittered and glowed as she floated into view and whizzed around the umbra’s shoulders. Just like Kipling felt the Doors, she felt the tethers to her familiar – in all ten fingers. And Taro, who had always been able to pick up on the things Kip wanted quicker than she felt them at times, knew exactly where to go.

“Hmm.” The Empress mused. “You spin silk. Like my spiders.”

Kipling directed Taro, who passed her tethers onto the glyphs, where they knotted and secured Kip’s connection to them. She never had to leave the motherboard as she tugged with one hand and engaged the dials with another.

Doors opened under her feet, dragging down the weight of the crashing waves. Kip closed her eyes, relaxing until the locks on all of the Doors clicked smoothly into place. The water rushed violently past her head, but only her freckled cheeks were kissed by the ocean spray.

When the sea had emptied itself, the umbra sealed off the Doors and called Taro back to her. The light dimmed from the lemur’s eyes and markings as she took her seat on Kip’s shoulders.

The gardener was in the middle of rewarding Taro with scritches when someone came up behind her.

“If I go through that Door...”

Kipling turned to see Khleo towering over her.

“Will I die?”

Kip swallowed. The Empress was nowhere in sight. She took in Khleo’s features. Their height, the slightness of their bones and thin arms. Her eyes smarted at the sight of their ghost lock chasing the salty breeze.

Their face. It was the only thing that would stay the same. Everything else about them was going to change.

“Will I die?” Khleo repeated, their dark brown eyes flicking over Kip’s head at the great Door that yawned in their direction.

Kipling glanced over at where the old Kip was arguing with the old Ozy.

“It might feel like you’re dying at times,” she said honestly. Then she took Khleo by the hand. “But I promise, that’s just you becoming strong.”

Khleo blinked and looked curiously at Kipling. “Strong like you?”

Kip laughed a little. “No, Khleo.” She wiped her eyes at the memory of seeing them in Strength’s realm.

“Strong like you’re meant to be.”

And it was then that Kipling knew what she had to do. She gently pulled Khleo towards the Door.

“I’m scared,” Khleo said, their voice breaking as it often did in those days.

Kip nodded sagely. “Growing up is scary sometimes.”

Khleo bit their lip. “Oh.”

They didn’t look as worried as they did before when Kipling guided them to the threshold. Khleo didn’t say anything else. They did, however, offer her a small smile and squeeze her hand. Kipling smiled too before she let them go.

Then she took a step back and watched Khleo walk through the Door.

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