#it doesn’t matter the tempo of the song they dance like this to every single song

[stolen-glass-bottle]

Absolutely obsessed with the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale dancing at Anathema and Newt’s wedding and everyone expecting like these super graceful and beautiful dances but Aziraphale just does the Gavotte to every single song while Crowley dances next to him looking like all of his bones have turned to rubber

[tomorrowxtogether]

BEOMGYU: “I want to keep being who I’ve been all along—the real me”

TOMORROW X TOGETHER ‘minisode 2: Thursday’s Child’ comeback interview

2022.05.18

BEOMGYU is not the type to be swept away by brief waves of happiness nor to drown in despair when it inevitably comes. He simply believes in himself. That’s how he keeps himself walking down the long road ahead.

In your previous interview with Weverse Magazine, you talked about grappling with how to love yourself. Are you finding it easier to practice the “love myself” mantra now?

BEOMGYU: Yes, I’m practicing “love myself”! (laughs) I think my sense of self-worth is higher now than it was back then, both physically and mentally.

In what way?

BEOMGYU: I’ve been working out a lot, for starters. And gaming less. At one point I tried giving up gaming completely, but I play in moderation now, just playing one or two rounds with friends and going right to bed.

Isn’t moderation even harder?

BEOMGYU: It is, yes. There’s been so many times I became determined to stick with something, only to lose my resolve every time, and I felt pathetic when I did, but it became a lot better once I became determined to improve myself. I realized I need to keep going, no matter what happens. Making up for my shortcomings has made me a healthier person and proud of myself.

That makes me think of something you said at the Fan Live, MOA X TOGETHER in March: “I’ve been so happy and healthy lately.” What has been your source of happiness these days?

BEOMGYU: Just everyday life. It doesn’t come from problems clearing up or doing anything special—I’m just happy living my everyday life. I didn’t have too many friends other than my members before, but lately I have more and more friends I can talk with and rely on, and that’s been a weight off my shoulders. Most notably, I became really close with HEESEUNG while we were doing the joint performance with ENHYPEN. He’s a funny guy, for one (laughs) and we go to bed at similar times and we’re both into gaming. We grew closer after talking about this and that, and I made more friends one by one, and now we can rely on each other and have fun together.

​You said in your last Weverse Magazine interview that you write songs as a means of expressing how you feel. In what way are your feelings reflected in the way you produced “Thursday’s Child Has Far To Go” from the new album?BEOMGYU: This was around the end of last year or the beginning of this year: I got this sudden urge to write some feel-good music and felt like I had to write it right away. And that’s the track I wrote. I wanted it to be a good song for everyone to dance along to together at concerts, listen to when taking a drive or to take a good mood and make it even better. I kept these positive thoughts in mind while working on it. It’s a little bit different from other music I’ve written and I’m happy that I was lucky enough to have a song included on one of our albums again after “Maze in the Mirror” was two years ago. (laughs) “Thursday’s Child Has Far To Go” is a trendy synth-pop song but it has that specific feeling of that old C’est si bon sentiment that you like.BEOMGYU: Trends come back around, you know? I feel like all the popular songs have catchy, synth-based melodies right now, so I tried to make use of that. I used to always write songs on guitar, but I listened to a lot of newer music while working out lately and decided I wanted to try my hand at making that kind of music. As you said, it could have ended up as a song with a strong retro feel, but I liked the way TAEHYUN gave it a more sophisticated vibe when he wrote the topline melody. It’s new for you, but it also ended up sounding very BEOMGYU-ish. (laughs) Something else I feel must have been new for you is the fast, almost rap-like melody you sing along to in the first part of the lead single, “Good Boy Gone Bad.”BEOMGYU: That was hard. I felt like, There’s no way Choi Beomgyu can follow along at this tempo with his low blood pressure. (laughs) It felt like I was lagging behind the beat no matter how I tried to sing it. It took a long time to record it. But over time, as my blood pressure rose back up, I rescued the recording. (laughs) How did you relate to this song on an emotional level? You had to sing emotional lines like, “I just kill me killin’ me,” and make gestures to match.BEOMGYU: I wanted to look as much like a bad boy as possible. I pictured myself as someone with nothing left to lose—somebody who’s gone crazy. It’s hard to put into words, but I was going for the feeling of someone going to a graveyard alone at night. But at the same time, instead of expressing it the full 100%, I had to express only 50 to 60% of that feeling in order to make it come across as cool, so I held back a bit.

Judging by how intensely you danced to BTS’s “FIRE” in BACKSTAGE: TXT x EN- DOCUMENTARY, you seem to prefer performances where you can fully express and not have to hold yourself back. You really think carefully about the best way to express things.

BEOMGYU: I’ve always wanted to do a good job at expressions including facial ones on stage ever since I was a trainee. I think there are plenty of people who are good at singing and dancing. But I feel like it isn’t easy to put on a performance that goes beyond that and draws people in. I think I’m becoming even more ambitious about it because I’m not fully satisfied with my performance yet.

I heard that you spent a lot of time talking to the label and advocating your specific vision for the video of your cover of “Wonder” by ADOY that was released around your birthday.

BEOMGYU: The reason I chose “Wonder” in the first place is because I had a whole plan about the kind of images I wanted to go along with it. I felt like the cover would be incomplete without a video to capture the right mood, so I was firm when I told the label my ideas. As a result, the video team was very helpful, and I really liked the way the video turned out. It came out while I was in quarantine and I really liked it so I watched it every day. (laughs)

You talked about “Wonder” on the V LIVE you did for your birthday and explained that the video shows “what my personal life looks like, after work,” which you said “may look glamorous, but it isn’t, actually.” Why did you want to show that side of yourself to MOA?

BEOMGYU: Because it’s a side of me they don’t normally see. I thought I could show them that side now. I always told MOA about the difficulties I face, but that was only 70% of it—I wanted to show them the remaining 30% now, too. When you’re famous, people only end up seeing the glamor, but since there’s a bright side, I think there’s a definite dark side, too. So I wanted to show them how worn out I get in my personal life as well. Most of all, I wanted to make the video feel like they were there with me. V posted a video where he covered “Someone Like You” by Adele, and if you watch it, the camera just follows him as he walks down the street, so it feels like you’re walking along with him. I was inspired after I saw the video and explained in detail to the video team all the things I wanted to get across: “It has to be filmed so that it makes MOA feel like they’re taking a walk with me, and it has to show me going home from the studio in a car, and the captions at the bottom need to be yellow and in this font.” Like that.

​You advocated what you wanted to express as an artist to the end, but you tend to go with the flow when you’re with others. Like in the episode of TO DO X TXT where SOOBIN keeps asking you to try shrimp and you finally do, even though you don’t like seafood.BEOMGYU: I’m the only one in our group who doesn’t eat seafood. The others like seafood better than other meats, but they don’t eat it when we eat out because of me. They’re always considerate like that, even though I’m the only one who’s like that. So I thought I better progressively expand my palate. And I figured it was something I better try at least once. (laughs) It isn’t something I would eat alone, so I thought I should try it while I had the chance. Bistro Shigor on JTBC was another opportunity for you to reveal your considerate side and how it contrasts with your image as a high-energy, playful person.BEOMGYU: I think it’s important to go with the flow. Shows like TO DO X TXT or Amazing Saturday, with their clear-cut format, make me more silly than normal, but Bistro Shigor isn’t that kind of show, so the first day was tough. I went into it all ready to be on a variety show, but then saw it’s not the kind of variety show that my naturally silly personality is best suited for, so I got stressed out trying to figure out what I should do to be a good guest. But I met so many great people that my worries cleared up in no time, and I actually had such a good time that I wanted to keep going. Having the chance to work a part-time job for once and talk to all the customers was a great way for me to unwind, too. You never had a part-time job, but you quickly figured out what needed to be done and adapted to the situation, which surprised people. What’s your secret?BEOMGYU: I was just trying to survive. (laughs) It also has to do with the human connection: The others were all so nice, so I really wanted to help those people out and move quickly, so I ran around thinking it would be a little easier for them if I was the one doing the work. I was also really impressed by the way you carefully explained how to eat the bread properly to the one older customer and your approachability.BEOMGYU: When I was a kid and I went to my friends’ houses I would hang out with their moms instead. (laughs) I loved talking with adults. All that experience was helpful. It was sort of awkward at first, but as I adjusted, I had this gut feeling about what kind of person each customer was and how I could approach them.

​It seems you have the power to make the people around you happy. You had a small neck injury in the 2021 MMA behind-the-scenes video so you couldn’t move your head properly, but you still made a small joke to the camera, saying, “I’m not glaring at you. I’m looking at you in a friendly way.”BEOMGYU: I’m a person, too, so it’s hard for me to feel good when I’m stressed and tired and in pain. The reason I said that was for MOA. I knew they would watch it later and I wanted to make sure they wouldn’t worry. You look like you’re in less pain when you joke around, after all. At the rehearsal for MOA X TOGETHER, you were practicing to do ASMR for the show, but when the concert came you danced in a trance without hesitation instead because MOA wanted you to.BEOMGYU: I was drowning in embarrassment after that, actually. I was so embarrassed. (laughs) Yet you started dancing even before the music started. (laughs)BEOMGYU: It always makes things more fun. That’s my philosophy when it comes to entertainment. (laughs) I just thought, I’m crazy! And danced. If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it. Everyone wanted me to dance, but if I chose not to because of feeling embarrassed, it would have killed the mood. I think that’s way worse. I would rather keep things lively, even if I feel embarrassed. I didn’t want this whole scene that everyone was looking forward to to fall apart just because I didn’t want to embarrass myself, so I just had fun with it. What was it like finally having MOA right there in front of you after so long? You didn’t go downstage when you rehearsed your opening remarks, but you went right up to the front of the stage where you could be close to the audience when you did it during the concert itself, and you looked excited.BEOMGYU: I couldn’t contain my excitement. It was so good to see them after waiting nearly two years, so I ran right out. (laughs) It was such a long time since we filled a place with so many MOA, and it was only them and us this time. I was so thankful, and so happy, that the other members and MOA stuck it out for so long.

​You still feel the same, even though for a long time you didn’t have many opportunities to see MOA in person.BEOMGYU: Even though we couldn’t be together, I never thought we were growing farther apart, not even once. It’s more like we grew closer. Of course I missed the roar of the crowd and in-person events, but we shared even more with MOA the whole time we were missing them and they communicated more with us, which I think made us even more like friends than we already were. Since you’re going to have more and more opportunities to see MOA in person, what kind of image do you want to portray to them?BEOMGYU: I just want to see them more. It’s not about having something new to give them just because we’re finally able to see them a lot again; I just want to keep being the same person I’ve been for them all along—the real me. What’s the real BEOMGYU like?BEOMGYU: What is the real me like? Ah, that’s hard. (laughs) I think I’m slowly becoming a stronger person as I learn to accept hardship. Just because I’m happy now, of course, doesn’t mean I’ll only be happy later on. I’m the kind of person who has a new issue each year and spends that year grappling with that one thing, so I’m likely to face more problems, too. Anyway, the past me has always dealt with those problems well. (laughs) I don’t want to worry about things before they happen. I just want to live my life being happy in the moment and experience new things while also being accepting, positive and flexible about everything. As we all know, Thursday’s child has far to go. (laughs)BEOMGYU: Not every path is a good one. I want to forge my own path, dealing with things properly but staying flexible.

[joannasteez]

𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: EZ Reyes x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Mature Themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k

Credits to who made the gif @angelreyesgirl

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered

Let me know if you’d like a tag!!!

✞

Your annoyance was simmering, daring to merge into the depths of some irreversible state of agitation. The engine of the classic Dodge Charger RT in your possession had, with incredibly poor timing, began to knock. The unsavory noise resonating into the thick air of the street, stilled heat of the day pushing back the regular ebb and flow of the Santo Padre streets to make way for the obnoxious sound of your engine. Your head was spinning, dazed by the bitter humidity and a steady brew of fear trembling in your fingers to dance just under the surface of your skin. The classic car was given by your father, who'd gotten it from his father, the mass of glistening matte black metal of significant value. If the engine failed, you'd be reduced to tears, wading in the dread of some existential crisis.

Your grandfather had had this car for twenty years, the imprint of his essence etched into the leather seats, and when he became grey and withered, he relinquished it to your father for another fifteen years, till finally, it was yours.

You pulled over just as the last knock sounded, the tremble in your fingers worsening. Your eyes welled, sure to leave a soft red glassiness. The need for air consumed you, the space to walk freely about, a puff of smoke or two maybe.

The pavement was hard under your feet, slam of the door accented by vexation. You picked behind your ear, that nicely rolled spliff safely kept and waiting to be lit. The lighter in your front pocket an easy grab, the flicker of orange a short friendly blaze as it singed the paper. The pull you took was slow, measured, as if to savor this minuscule moment of stillness that lived among others not so still. Not so peaceful. With release, you blew into the air, dried eyes taking in the vast blue of the sky. The never ending expansion blurring your vision as your mind sifted through slim courses of action. If you could just get the car to your garage, then you could figure the battery out on your own, saving time you didn’t have on a mechanics trips you couldn’t afford. All you needed was a—

"Need a boost?"

"Yes". The answer was so quick, it nearly gave you whiplash. The tension in your bones dissipating as you got rid of the sizzling flame around your spliff.

The stranger spun his car from its position just beside yours, the hood of it now facing yours head on before he turned it off and got out.

"Thanks so much for this".

"No problem. It's a nice ride you got, don't really see too many classics rolling around Santo Padre much", he said, eyeing the shine of the paint job. His fingers skimming the hood before he lifted it. "Where'd you get it?"

You step closer to him, a grin stretching your lips at his admiration. The RT was your pride and joy, the height of your ego bursting through to rise above some invisible ceiling whenever folks gave it compliments and stares of approval. "My dad had it for a while, gave it to me when he couldn't keep up with it anymore".

With a nod, he retrieved the cables from his trunk, the wide stretch of his back shifting just under the white fabric of his t-shirt to reveal the curve and ripple of muscles. They traveled down his arms, the bulge of them mixing with defined veins that ran across thick powerful looking fingers. He stretched one of those hands out toward you.

"Ezekiel Reyes".

You considered his hand for a moment, slipping it into your own as your eyes racked him with all the subtlety you could muster. It mustn't have been enough because that innocent friendly smile he gave you had turned into something more knowing. He knew you were checking him out but he didn't mind much. "Y/N".

His thumb skimmed the back of your hand just before letting go, turning his attention to attaching the cables to both cars properly. You minded his movements with the cables closely, triple checking the order in which he connected them with a hawks eye, a concentrated intensity that your dear old Charger RT deserved. Abruptly then, like the quickness of a blink or some single strike of lightning, a thought came to you. "Wait, not Reyes as in Carniceria Reyes?"

"Yeah it's my pops shop",

"Felipe's a real sweet guy. It's not everyday you can look through a deep book collection while the butcher cuts up your dinner". You paused, giving the beauty of his face another glance. "He should've warned me though, never told me both his sons were so handsome".

"You met Angel", he stated, a low dip in his tone. Was it disappointment?

"A couple of weeks ago. He was passing through when I stopped by to pick up somethings. He's a real charmer your brother, but I wouldn't worry. I don't think he's messed up your chances just yet", you flirted.

The assurance produced from him a toothy grin. "I'm not worried".

Silence took ahold of you then, anticipation of the moment charging the pressure in your chest to fall straight to your gut. ‘Please work' you whispered while swinging the door wide to slide into the warm leather of the drivers seat. With the key in the ignition, you twisted your wrist forward, a huff of relief puffing from your chest when the engine roars to life. You close the door quick, that relief bubbling under your skin, your head sticking out the window.

"Thanks again Reyes".

He stepped to the window, those warm endearing eyes taking in the summer glow of your face. His tongue slipped just over the plump flesh of his bottom lip. It was a rosy color, the curving dip of it enticing. He liked the way you said his last name.

"It's no problem".

You put your RT in reverse, backing away from his broad body. "See you around?"

"Maybe", he called.

You speed off, the rev of the engine blending into the ebb and flow of the town once again. Existence dipping into the horizon.

✞✞✞✞✞

You'd saw him again at some hole in the wall you frequented at. The smooth slow tempo of some classic 70s song strumming through the stereo to seep into your ears richly like fresh honey. The atmosphere was subdued, the short clinks of beer bottles and incomprehensible murmurs of frivolous conversations sating the air. It was the perfect place to think, to allow your mind to wander directionless through the never ending abyss of happenings and circumstances that had presented themselves down through the week. You made idle chitchat with the bartender about a laundry list of things of no particular significance, small smiles and light chuckles ringing from you both every now and then.

The night was going good, till you felt a creeping touch just at the low end of your back.

"Let me buy you a drink". The voice was rusted, withered by too much tobacco.

You held up the beer in your hand. "I've got already, I'm good".

This guy was tipsy, blood red creeping into his eyes, body swaying just the slightest bit. "Don't be like that, let me buy you another".

"I said I'm good", you asserted. The coolness of the bottle creating a tingling sensation in your hand. You'd crack it over his head if he touched you again.

"Sorry I'm late, everything alright?", another voice asked, but this one you knew. That deeply textured tone wrapping sweetly around your senses. You tore your irritated gaze set on the almost-drunk guy, softening it as you took Ezekiel in. He looked slightly different, refreshed it seemed, or maybe it was just his barbered hair. A Mayans kutte rested over him, comfortable like a second layer of skin, the black leather accentuating the swell of his muscles. You'd have to figure out later why your eyes diverted to them so often, they were becoming a hindrance to your thinking.

"Everything's good now", you played. Giving him a light peck to the cheek to sell the story. His arm wrapped around you in what appeared to be some reflexive reaction, all natural like he'd done it countless times before. When he realized Ezekiel wasn't leaving, the guy swayed away in true tipsy fashion. Mumbling incoherent things with a griped attitude. Ezekiel took his chair, the proximity of it in regards to yours making the point of his knee knock and slide the smooth plain of your jeans. You watched him take a glance over the bar before he called for a beer.

"Thanks for that".

"No problem", the corner of his lip turning up. "Seems like you've been needing my help a lot lately".

"Don't flatter yourself Reyes, this is just a coincidence".

"Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

Your face screwed up in a show of confusion, but you could guess quickly the reason for the question. "Any reason why you're at a bar alone?"

He sipped at his beer. "Outside gets loud sometimes y'know, hectic. It's quiet in here. Good place to think".

"Exactly".

"A little unsafe for you though no?" And there it was.

"Everywhere's unsafe for me Ezekiel, I'm a woman. I mean I couldn't guarantee safety in my own home if I wanted to, but that's just how the world works". You paused, mischief rising in your face. "Don't worry though, I've got a little surprise for anyone who wants to test their luck".

"Oh really".

"Yeah, you men are dangerous out here. I gotta be prepared always".

His brows furrowed. "That's a bit of a big generalization to make".

"But if it's true it's true. Name one thing a man doesn't get dangerous about. Doesn't even have to be rejection", you say, turning to fully face him.

He considers the question for a moment, staring into the color of your eyes as if he'd find the answer in them. "Love".

"A man who loves, whose in love, would do any and everything, no matter how mad the shit is. He'd risk lives, his life even. If that's not dangerous then I don't know what is".

A speck of something lit in the hazel of his eyes. As if your words had brought to the present some memory buried deep within the grave of his soul. What you said hit rather close, closer than expected. "Who is she?"

"Doesn't matter, it's in the past".

"Humor me".

His jaw ticked before he spoke. "Her names Emily, but that shits all just history now. Doesn't matter". He turned the focus from himself. "What about you. Whose going all reckless about you".

"Who says he exist"

"You just did, I never specified who in particular".

So much for playing dumb. "His name is Jason".

"Sounds like an asshole".

You snort, the teasing of a headache coming as you thought on the insufferable man that was Jason. "He is. He's got that weird alpha male thing about him. Has to be in control of everything, doesn't know when to leave well enough alone".

The muted energy of the bar rose between the two of you, each taking quiet sips of your beer. You took notice of the way he surveyed the room from where he sat. That golden gaze sifting through the space and over bodies with quick ease. He was assessing, the gears in his head turning, calculating and considering every and all the possibilities of danger. It reminded you of someone.

"How long were you in for?", you ask.

"How'd you know?"

"You've been on the defensive since you sat down, lookin’ everywhere like someone's gonna up and shank you for no reason. My cousin was the same way when he got out, always looking over his shoulder". You shrugged. "Grew out of it eventually.

His eyes were a bit sullen, as if the truth would scare you. "Eight years".

"He was in for fifteen, and that prison shit is unbelievable, I mean the stories he's told me are crazy". You laugh suddenly at a memory, the resonance of it making him smile in admiration of the sound. "He did this thing for a while when he got home where he'd only have one knife, one fork and one spoon in his kitchen and I swear it was the funniest shit".

The smile falters, his body shifting awkwardly in the bar stool, embarrassed. 

"Oh my God Reyes don't tell me you've been doing the same thing".

"In my defense I live alone".

"But what if you have a special guest over, you'd be a sorry ass host", you tease.

"If you wanted to have dinner with me then just say that".

You force away the heat daring to rise in your cheeks. "We have to take a trip to home goods before I even consider a dinner with you”.

You both give hearty laughs, till the vibration in your pocket pulls your focus. With a quick slip of your phone, you realize how fast time had gone on. “Shit I gotta go, but it was real nice seeing you again Ezekiel".

"It was good seeing you too".

You press your hand against his patch, laying a sweet lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Make it home in one piece for me yeah".

"I have to. You might need me again".

"I'm counting on it".

✞✞✞✞✞

You were a joke it seemed, the universe and fate in a gaming mood, as they were using you as a source for their own amusement. Commissioning their faithful associate to do the heavy lifting of masking their scents. The two of you were at the right place, at the right time again, what a damn coincidence. Before the present week, you'd never even seen Ezekiel's face, just learning of his existence a week or so before that, and now you'd seen him twice in a matter of days. This night being the third.

He was surrounded by men who donned the same kutte as him, curious eyes swimming through the sea of bodies as they did in every other setting, till they met yours. He came to you without a second thought, eyeing the tight leather of your pants and how they clung to your thighs. The cropped cut of your vintage top revealing skin he longed to touch. Since the first time he saw you his mind raced with thoughts of your voice, visions of your lips touching his skin again, plaguing his body with the desire to have you.

You stepped away from your group of friends, meeting him half way. "You're just stalking me at this point. Not that I mind".

He clutched the openings of his kutte, that signature grin lighting his face, even with the casting over of the nights darkness. "Something told me I'd see you again. How's your RT?"

"Good, resting in my garage. I've been kinda scary about replacing the battery".

"Why?"

"I'm good with cars don't get me wrong, but something about fucking it up just makes me sick. It's a lot of history behind that car. I don't wanna destroy it".

"Understandable", he nodded. Noting the caution behind your words, the way you spoke with such passion and care about the thing you loved. It was endearing.

The heavy crunch of gravel and sand tore through the beginnings of some silent stare, an undeniable enticement brewing. It was Angel.

"I see you met this asshole already", the older Reyes said.

"I'm not an asshole Angel, just 'cause I turned you down".

He sent a smirk your way. "You didn't turn me down, we made a mutual decision that you couldn't handle me remember?"

"Right. That's exactly how it went".

A call sounded through the dewy air of the night, signifying the start of a race. You started toward a cherry red car.

"That's me", you said. In regards to the call.

Ezekiel was confused, intrigued. "You racing?"

"Yeah, the mustang", you called, strutting over to your 1970's Mustang, adding the slightest dip to your hips. Giving the brothers something to admire, before dropping low into the leather seats.

With a quick twist, the mustang roared to life, the rumble tearing through the air, growling like a fierce rolling thunder through hazy storm clouds. Another car pulled up on your right, the blue electric color of it dazzling, clashing against the fine cherry red of your own to deliver a sweet contrast for the eyes that watched on in excitement. A woman, with a dangled bandana in her hand, set herself between your car and the other, whistles of admiration thrown her way as she gave the summer evening crowd an alluring smile. At the point of her finger you revved your engine, adrenaline pumping through your veins, rushing from your chest to pulse under your skin. The leather feel of the steering wheel was smooth, the grip you held to it steady. With the downward pull of her hands she set both cars to race and you pulled your mustang swift into the night.

The road before you was a muddled darkness, the outward spreading glow of your headlights stabbing it and tearing it apart as your wheels took a glide against the smooth road. At the mark line, you shifted your car into reverse, whipping left, back into drive, soaring back down the road to where the crowd watched and waited. Their rigid bodies of anticipation lit by your headlights, bellowing screams waning under the busting sound of your revving engine. Your mustang tore through the finishing mark, the tingle of victory surging through you.

Pulling back up to the crowd, you rolled your window down, a slim roll of hundreds placed in your hand by the guy who’d set the race up. You showed up to win and now you were done.

Ezekiel and Angel were a little ways away from your car, your voice carrying over to them. "A little party at my place. You and your guys are cool to come".

They both nodded, heading to their bikes when Angel answered after you. "We'll follow you".

Ezekiel swung his leg, resting on the seat of his bike as he buckled the helmet over his head, his fingers gripping the ape hangers, feeling the vibration of the engine as he followed the sleek vibrant red of your car. The afternoon he met you, he'd been turmoiled, plagued with the natural uncertainties that came with being a member of the MC. That new patch stitched into the upper corner of his kutte had bought a sense of pride and belonging he hadn't felt in forever, it gave him drive, fueled his determination, but as the saying goes, all that glitters is not good. Expectation deceived him, the reality of all things made clear. And that reality was shoveling makeshift graves for men whose names he couldn't even remember, but he remembered yours. Committed himself to it like the loving kiss he gave to the jar that held the remnants of his mother every time he stepped a foot into his fathers house.

He found you flustered, out of yourself with anxiety in the dimming light of the afternoon, and then at the bar, body rigid, eyes wired and ready to do your worst to a guy who could barely keep his posture straight, and now he was following behind you, backing his bike toward the sidewalk that laid just in front your home.

Upon entry, the knock of the speakers bled a thumping bass that pulsated through the floors. Your home had seemed to expand with every new corner that came into view, the walls pushing back to make room for the swell and scatter of bodies. Sweet smells mixed with more pungent ones, the hazy aroma of weed slipping past him as he walked further into the house. A hand placed itself at his side. It was you.

"Can I get you a drink? A beer or something".

"Yeah a beer is cool".

You intertwined your fingers with his, leading him to the kitchen where the sound settled some. Beer bottles clinked, the air releasing as you opened them, handing one over to him.

He gave a quiet "thanks" before sipping, eyeing the way your lips wrapped around the top of the bottle to taste the liquid. They looked soft, full and alluring. He redirected his gaze before the temptation overtook him to do something impulsive that had the prospect of unnerving you. His eyes flitted to the side of your face, an illustration about two inches or so etched into your skin. He hadn't noticed it till now.

You could feel him staring as you tasted the beer, the heat of it tingling your skin. "It's a dagger".

He reached forward, thumb skimming over the finely crafted design, it was a professionals work. With the simple touch of his thumb, your nerves were riling, heat rushing to pulse under your skin, he could feel it. It drew him closer, lured him in. "Did it hurt?".

"Like hell, but when you've felt more painful shit, tattoos like this don't really compare". You lifted the hem of your top some, bringing his fingers to feel the raised skin there. Four inches or so worth of a healed gash rested under his considerate touch. "Got it when I spent a year and a half inside. Grand theft", you admitted.

The reasoning behind telling him wasn't sound in the slightest bit, but what was reasoning when Ezekiel had awakened such dormant feelings inside you. With those beautiful, sunny colored eyes and the warm hand caressing your side, you were liable to tell everything. Truths you hated and dark secrets that laid deep inside your past. You reached up to lay a kiss to those pouty lips, the feel of them mesmeric, dazing. Fulfillment burdened itself onto you, finally you'd got a taste of that rosy pink bottom lip, and now your body was calling for more. Begging for it with such longing that you licked your way through his mouth, his tongue acting in kind. It was slow and all consuming, his body pressing you into the counter to surround you.

"Come with me", your voice airy. Breathless. You lead him to the back of the house. Your room first on the right. A gasp left you when your feet left the floor, body in his arms as he laid you against the fresh feel of the sheets. You kicked your shoes off with ease but the discarding of other pieces left behind a sinking feeling, a pressure forming in your chest to push down straight into your gut. He was glorious, the plains of his skin bound by rich thick tanned muscles and long veins. The dilation of his pupils darkened the air around him, physique imposing. This is what you’d wanted, Why were you feeling so anxious all of a sudden?

"What's wrong?"

Your body had raced miles ahead of your mind and now you were trying to catch up. "I don't know, I just... I feel..."

"Nervous".

"It's sounds so stupid when you say it out loud".

"But it's not, It's natural, and I'll do whatever you want me to do. Whatever makes you feel comfortable baby".

He sounded so sure of it, it made you believe him. You laid against the pillows, beckoning him with the outstretch of your fingers. "C'mere".

He obeyed, body atop yours, your legs wrapping loosely around his waist as your head tilted up to give those lips another kiss. It was messy this time, fueled by desperation, your tongues slow to lick as they tasted each other's. The remnants of beer still there. He took hold of your lip, sharp teeth pulling before he kissed his way down to the heated flesh of your neck. There he sucked, bombarding your skin with pressure causing your hips to grind against the coarse fabric of his jeans. The thin cotton layer of your underwear leaving you to erupt with a fresh wave of need. He feathered kisses down your body, pushing your legs up and apart to open yourself for him. A shudder drove down your spine, that soft wide tongue of his licking so close to where you needed him. He peeled away your underwear leaving you bare before him.

"Talk to me baby. What do you need".

You could hear the pulse of your heart in your ears. "Take care of me Ezekiel, make me feel good".

He hummed, loving the airiness of your voice. So drenched with need for him you were. He was methodical despite the desire boiling in his blood threatening to burn through his skin, so he'd settled with toying with you for now. Giving that sweet glistening clit teasing licks. They were measured, the constraint of them existing solely to wreck you, to kill your resolve completely till you were reduced to in-apprehensible words filled with air. The wide-ness of his tongue felt so good, your nails running over the faded part of his head as your hips drew tight circles.

The teasing, the game of it all. He didn't know but you loved it so much. "That feels so good baby, so good", you praised.

Your words were disembodied, wandering in another plain of existence as they rolled off your lips. Your senses were bursting at the seems, and then reborn again to erupt on impact when he sucked against your sensitive nub, lapping your slick salaciously. As if he'd been starved for years, only just finding you now. The line of your spine arched, waist swiveling, grinding to meet his wet tongue. A low "fuck" fell in the air as your felt the rise of your impending release. With taut, rough fingers he hooked at the back of your knees, pushing them into the sheets. The action opened you completely to him, no choice but to surrender to his will and the feel of his lips as he drew you closer to the edge.

"Please, I'm so close", you whimpered. Vision splotchy, thump in your ears intensifying.

He sucked at you again, holding his lips still as your body shook. Quivering against the sheets. He reverted back to soft licks, tasting as you rode the high.

He rose when you settled, eyeing the heavy rise and fall of your chest as he did away with his jeans. "You Ok?"

It took you time to register the question but when you did, you threw a pillow at him. "You just sucked the soul out of me, don't ask me that damn question".

He laughed, watching your eyes dim in bliss. You hadn't noticed, but he'd done away with his underwear as well, the weight of him causing the bed to dip as he came up to where you laid. His thick fingers rolled you over, setting your face to rest against the pillows as your hips raised in the air to rest against the hot flesh of his length, the veined skin laying along your slit. You moaned in anticipation, pushing back against him.

He gripped your cheeks, spreading them to see the quivering flesh of your opening, the flushed pink shinning in the dim light of the room. His tongue slipped against his bottom lip again, reveling in the taste of you as he pushed in. He groaned, and you gave a single fleeting "yes" , the thickness of him giving a delicious stretch, rigid length hot as he pushed and pulled in and out of your depths in a slow manner. Wanting to test the waters same as he did moments ago before building you back up again. The squeeze of you made his chest tight, head swimming with delirium.

"You feel so good mama, so tight around me", he groaned.

His thrust were dizzying as they picked up to set a steady pace, your hips rolling and pushing to take him deeper. To reach that place in you that would force your vision to blur and be replaced by disfigured stars. You reach to lay a finger at your overstimulated bundle of nerves, rubbing the soft slick flesh with lazy pleasuring circles that spurred the knot in your gut to grow. A single tear fell to dampen the pillow, your depths tightening at how full you felt, at how unrelenting the stimulation of his strokes were.

The sharp drive of his hips made you go rigid, the vice like grip you formed around him causing him to fall into his own high. Pace going all slow sloppy to ride out the blissful feeling.

He pulled from you, both your body and his collapsing against the bed. His face formed with satisfaction, a beautiful buzz running through him. "You know what this means right?"

"What", you asked.

"We’ll have to see each other around more often now".

[lunaekalenda]

Hi, it’s me again— the one who asked for the aot characters x music :D

I really enjoy your writing, hence why I’m always coming back!!

Anyways, this is also music related, but by any chance are you able to do a fic/hc where Armin meets a pianist/violinist at a concert/orchestra and he kinda like falls in love— how and why? And maybe like some interactions or something??

It’s up to you how you want to write it, I don’t mind! The reader is preferably Fem!reader but that doesn’t matter either. If you don’t have time/you don’t want to write it, don’t feel like you have to!

Thank you so much and keep up the good writing!

hi again sweet! i feel so happy to see that you’re here again! thank you so much for requesting again and for your words, so kind! i hope you like it! <3 i made a little scenario <3

armin x reader

a/n: wrote this listening to reflections by Toshifumi Hinata, Merry-go-round of life by Joe Hisaish and the Dance of the little swans by Tchaikovsky

Armin likes the atmosphere of the place where you are supposed to play. How that lot of people share the same interest: music. He feels in his atmosphere, surrounded by well-dressed people that have instrument bags with them. His own violin is on his back. He likes this. He’s sure the orchestra will be his comfort place. The director talks to him.

“Oh, Arlert, welcome!” Armin smiles sweetly at the director when he enters the stage room. Is empty. “The rehearsal starts in half an hour, we have a piano test now. “ He looks to the stage. The piano is empty now, but some minutes later, you’ll be there, playing, trying to enter the orchestra.

You worked hard for this. For getting this audition. Your hands shake on the backstage and you try to breath deep. You’re going to make it. You’ll enter.

“Oh, I see. Can I stay for the audition?” he was there half an hour early, but he hoped he could see the selection process of new orchestra members. The director nods and asks him to sit. He calls you.

“Y/N, please.”

You enter the stage quietly, looking around you. Just the director and a boy are sitting there, looking at you. The piano has a light bulb pointing at it. You sit, cleaning your hands on your trousers. 

“Wich song are you going to play?” the casting director asks.You clear your throat, taking the sheets our of your bag.

“Hm.. Merry-go-round of life, by Joe Hisaish.” The director nods. Armin raises his brows. That’s definitely an interesting chose. He scans you quietly, from your shyly pose on the piano, to the tenderness your hands caress the tiles, to your little smile when the pedals finds your feet. You look at the casting director. 

“Start, Y/N”

You nod and look at the music sheets again, even when you know this song from memory. The music flows from your fingers to the tiles, touching them with graceful movements. The music fills the theatre, your body moving gracefully with every tempo change. The director is pointing something on his notebook, and Armin has his eyes fixed on you.

He’s hypnotized.

From how your hands treat the piano, with such a carefulness; how your body moves along to the music, as if every single atom of it was feeling the music; how your expression shows how much you’re enjoying playing. The song sounds good, sounds really good. Sounds classy and elegant, even when the violin duet part is missing, along with all the percussion at the end, when the tempo is faster. The sound of the piano makes his skin electrify, all his senses drunk with it. He could hear you forever, playing on your piano. 

He wants to know you better, to listen to you play on his living-room piano, to wake up with the sweet sounds your hands make with the tiles. He wants to feel that tender touch on his skin. Maybe he’s fantasizing too much, but how you treat the instrument gives him almost a secure feeling of how you will treat people. With care. With love. With calm and serenity.

Faster than he wanted, the song ends. He stands up to clap, without even remembering this was a casting. You blush and smile quietly, almost laughing when he realized it was a casting and not a performance. The director looks at him before looking at you, and then, smiling, he says.

“I think our violinist said all. You’re in.” Your body feels weak all if a sudden. Maybe it is because you were nervous all this time, so the reveal made your strength fail and you sat again on the banquet. “Your execution was awesome, it sounds good and you have presence and charisma. Why don’t you try to play that with violin too? Maybe Arlert could help you, and I’m sure it will be amazing.”

He blushed. He wasn’t ready to talk to you yet. The director smiles at him.

“Y-Yeah, of course...” Your smile makes him smile. The director leaves and you take al your things, your legs shaking. Armin stands up and reaches you, helping you to go down the stage. Your hand touches his, and his theory is confirmed: your touch is as tender as it was on the tiles.

“Thanks, hum...” you look at him. You don’t know his name.

“I’m Armin.” he completes. You nod.

“Nice to meet you, Armin. I’m Y/N.” you say. Armin realizes he has been holding your hand since he helped you, so he lets it go. 

“Congratulations for entering, Y/N.” he says. You thank him again.

“Then, will you be interested in playing a duet?” you ask. Armin blushes.

“If you’re okay with it... I will love to.” he answers. 

After the first time playing together, it quickly came another, and another. You counted the days to play with him as much as he did. There was more than a beautiful duet growing whenever you were together, maybe a music sheet that will flow between you quietly, attracting you together. 

Maybe the symphony of your life was made for being a piano and violin duet.

[juminly]

Hellooo 🌸 I was wondering if you can write a few IkemenVampire headcanons related to ballroom dancing? If I would choose characters it would be Comte, Theodorus, and Napoleon?

Hello there! ❤ This ask literally made my day! I absolutely adore ballroom so I’m just gonna let my imagination run and take you on this ride with me! 

PS: A lot of the dance styles that I will be mentioning are a bit more modern so kindly disregard the historical/timeline accuracy. This is just a speculation of what they would enjoy and also portray a certain aspect of their personality (in my humble opinion). Also, I am no expert in ballroom dancing so there might be some inaccuracy. 

For each dance style, a song was chosen. Feel free to play it, close your eyes and imagine yourself dancing with your suitor. Comte de Saint-Germain 

Was there any type of ballroom dance this man couldn’t do? The answer is no. But, for the sake of writing this, I’ll be choosing one… try to.

This man is the incarnation of grace and the sight of him alone is enough to make one whimper. He will have you joined by the hip, his shoulders and back in perfect posture while he holds you up and he anchors you to him. He guides you around the dancefloor and it’s simply effortless. What other than a slow waltz?

It wouldn’t even matter if you fumble on your feet, he guides you across in a seamless trajectory as you danced around the dancefloor as rhythmically as the serene ebb and flow of a river.

He smiles down at you and watches how your hair just floats around you, making you appear like an otherworldly creature, an apparition of something holy and sacred. You were his treasure and he held you in a way that foretold his deep adoration for you.

His loving gaze would linger on your face, watching how your cheeks grow light shades of rose by the second from the movement but also the intimacy of his embrace.  

The slow tempo of the music and the dance gives him all the time to marvel at your beauty and appreciate your presence with him while his feet glide almost thoughtlessly on the ground, seemingly carrying you around.

The moment you would step onto the dancefloor, you were both captivated with another, living in a world where only the two of you existed. He would lean down and whisper softly in your ear, his voice velvety low “Vous êtes absolument ravissante, ma chérie.”

And while he danced with you, he would recite to you the most romantic of words, written by him and by other writers.

He quoted Honore de Balzac to you, his husky voice seeping into your skin and propelling your entire existence into a frenzy of heightened emotions. Anything he said to you in French, he would later on translate it, rendering you even more speechless.

“Tu as tout ce qui me plaît. Tu exhales pour moi, le parfum le plus enivrant qu'une femme puisse avoir, cela seul est un trésor d'amour. Je t'aime avec un fanatisme qui n'exclut pas cette ravissante quiétude d'un amour sans orages possibles. Oui, dis-toi bien que je respire par l'air que tu aspires, que je ne puis jamais avoir d'autre pensée que toi. Tu es la fin de tout pour moi.”

Comte simply made it hard to breathe.

Song choice would be: Earned It (Slowed) by the Weekend.

Another style of ballroom dance that this man would absolutely excel in: the Argentinian Tango.

Rest assured that the moment you slide your body against his, his hands traveling and tracing the curves and lines of your body, your legs twining with one another and he’s got you ensnared and he doesn’t plan on letting you go.

Theodorus Van Gogh

You cannot deny that this man exudes a unique sense of elegance.

Yes, he can be an asshole sometimes, pretty blunt and seems inconsiderate and selfish but he is much more than that. First impressions shouldn’t last for long and they don’t especially when you get to know more about him.

Considering his upbringing and his line of work, this man possesses almost envious poise and frustrating charm (you just can’t resist him even if you want to smack his smug handsome face).

You absolutely wouldn’t expect it from him but this man knows how to have fun and he takes you on an exhilarating ride. Out of all dances, the one he enjoys the most is the quickstep.

What was most surprising was the excitement that oozed from him and the challenge in his eyes.

This was such a different side to him but boy, this man knows how to show a girl some good fun (especially if he is completely smitten with her… and you were the lucky girl).

He is surprisingly quick on his feet and his smile would stretch across his face while he guides you around, one chassé after another, as he twirled around

It’s a wild ride, your heart hammering hard in your chest with the melody booming around the room and your laughter echoing so harmoniously, blessing this man with the most pleasant sound he’s ever heard.

The music is upbeat and his feet meticulously shuffle with exquisite coordination and fluidity as he literally floats on the ground, running across the ballroom like he owned the damn place.

He would definitely tease you and call you a clumsy Knabbeltje when you would trip. However, he’d just hold you even tighter and continue moving like a marionette controlled so skillfully.

He secretly loves the fact that you have to rely on him to guide you and teach you the steps. He wants to be able to share these moments of happiness with you and create more of them too.

He looks liberated and carefree, like the world is his for the taking as long as he has you in his arms. You never thought you would ever see such an expression on this man’s face but there are so many sides to him that the world has yet to see.

Song choice would be: The World Is Mine by Hooverphonic. (and with you, he feels so divine)

On a more sensual note, this man doesn’t give an absolute damn. He wants to claim every single inch of you, your bodies flush against one another and touching you even where his hands cannot reach.

What other than the bachata? If you still weren’t physically intimate with one another, you would definitely know, feel and see how intensely this man craved you. His gaze would be heavy with yearning and his touch and movements beyond tantalizing.

You had absolutely no idea that Theodorus could roll his hips like that. The moment he did, he smirked as you bit your lips, clearly affected by his very obvious ministrations.

It made your heart flutter and your skin grow hotter as your desire and need for him would heighten with every beat of the music.

This melody and vibe of this song absolutely describes the rise of emotions and the slow burn of desire that would eventually consume you: Crazy (Bachata Remix by DJ Karui) covered by Daniela Andrade.

Napoleon

What else would you expect from the former Emperor of France? A dance that is inspired by the military: the Paso Doble.

The movement of your bodies was fierce, a battle of dominance between lovers, the collision of unbridled lust and love fused into one.

Your eyes locked on his, unable to look away. He wouldn’t even allow it, even if you wanted to. His eyes were gleeful and his smile was almost diabolical as you paced around each other, linking your arms together as you pushed yourselves against one another and pulled away.

There was no telling who was the predator and who was the prey and it made it all the more exciting… undeniably exhilarating.

You could feel the adrenaline rushing through your veins while your heart pumped loudly in your chest, almost to the point of aching, your heartbeats ringing loudly in your ears.

The atmosphere around you was dense and the tension was so tangible and almost unbearable. Every moment your bodies would meet, the inexorable need within you was too hard to ignore and it threatened to make you crumble.

The moment one of you backed down, the other would be victorious and you knew that Napoleon was starved for victory, his eyes already feasting on you the way he would when he’d make love to you.

He loved to see you display such strength before a fighter such as himself. You were astonishing as you challenged him head-on and your dances (fights) would always end with a searing kiss.

Song choice would be: Hisoka’s Theme by Yoshihisa Hirano

Feedback and comments are much appreciated ❤ I hope you enjoyed this ^~^ Masterlist

[ve1vetyoongi]

Operation: Love Letters | 03

💌 CHAPTER INDEX 💌

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ chapter word count: 7.5k

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ warnings: none.

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

♡ ⇢ schedule: updated every day at 5pm GMT in the run up to Valentine’s Day 2020!

♡ ⇢ A/N: i’m not saying this chapter is based on something that may or may not have happened to me but...alcohol and i are no longer friends (even if it produces fantastic fic inspo LMAO). thanks for all the support on the series so far loves, hope you like chapter 3!!! <3

"I can't believe you're coming to a party Y/N! We're gonna have so much fun! Just wait until you see how fast I can chug a keg without throwing up—"

"We're not going to this party to have fun Jimin, we're undercover." Your fingers tap nervously against the steering wheel as you pull into a darkened parking lot, rolling your eyes at the high pitched whine that leaves your best friend in the passenger seat. "My secret admirer is probably inside this very party and our goal for tonight is to uncover him once and for all."

"So no alcohol?" Jimin pouts from beneath the beret perched on top of his pristinely styled hair, far too dressy for a scummy frat party.

"No alcohol."

"Okay but that doesn't explain why I'm being dragged along to this stupid thing." Yoongi's gruff voice sounds from the back as he braces himself on the front seats to butt his head into the conversation. "I should've known it was a trick when you told me we were going to get lamb skewers, your treat."

Yoongi's grumpy eyes catch yours in the rear view mirror as he slumps back into his seat with a huff. "Dude, it was the only way to get you to agree to come and we need you here so you can get us inside the party." You place an elbow on the headrest and lean in to face him, lowering your voice to a hush. "You know the password, right?"

Kim Seokjin's party's are renowned on campus for being some of the wildest and, most importantly, most exclusive events in town. Everyone within a 50 mile radius has heard the stories and the rumours about the strippers and the hookups and the alcohol — but only the most popular and elite kids could get in and see the events unfold for themselves. The key? A password, set by Seokjin himself, and right now, the single barrier between you and your potential secret admirer.

Luckily for you, your roomate just so happened to be best friends with the vice-president of Kappa Tau — Kim Taehyung — and he had a fair share of his own party stories, so you figured if anybody would be able to get you inside it had to be Yoongi.

Even beneath the shadows cascading over his face in the backseat, you see Yoongi's eyes light up. "And if I do know the password, why would I tell you?"

"Because I'm the best roommate you've ever had?" You try to blink at him in a cutesy way but being sweet was never your strong point and your features harden when Yoongi raises an eyebrow, amused by the ridiculous way you clasp your hands pleadingly. "Because I'll tell everyone about the time you got drunk and puked all over your Biology notes so you paid Kim Jongin to sit the test for you—"

"Okay, okay fine!" Yoongi grumbles, slipping out of his seatbelt and hopping out of the car with a nervous roll of his eyes. "I'll get you in. But you owe me for this, you hear me?"

A satisfied smile finds your lips as you scurry out into the night after him and Jimin practically skips to your side, linking his arm around your elbow and pulling you excitedly towards the dorm up ahead that appears to pulsate with life, the pumping bass of whatever song is playing vibrating through the soles of your high heels, causing you to sway a little as you adjust to the tempo of it.

Multicoloured lights that glow red, green and blue are strung up between the branches of the trees lining the sidewalk outside and they are the only light source surrounding the grassy lawn that inhabits a group of people dancing and drinking together outside. Despite the early state of the night, the dorm steps are already littered with a few wasted, crying girls and ragged boys lighting cigarettes as they offer them a bed to sleep in.

You shudder. Gross.

Yoongi leads you around to a back door that has been propped open haphazardly with a couple empty liquor bottles. Stood beside it are a pair of buff frat boys, too busy spraying each other with beer to guard the doors from unexpected guests, but they both straighten up and plaster feeble smiles to their faces when Yoongi coughs impatiently behind them. You suppose your roommates reputation of being...less than friendly comes in handy sometimes, huh?

"Uh, hey Yoongi." The taller one says sheepishly. "D-do you got the password—"

"Of course I do, doofus." Yoongi has to stand on his tip toes to reach the guys ear to whisper the password and you snicker, something about seeing a giant frat dude reduced to a puddle of fear when faced with your rough around the edges roommate hilarious.

The guy looks positively terrified when Yoongi leans back smugly, sending a wink in your direction that says I've got this under control and gestures for you and Jimin to enter the party, before an arm shoots out and stops you entirely. "Actually, I can't let you inside."

"What? Why?" You can't hold back your laughter now, Yoongi's face flushing a deep red as the two guys block the doorframe entirely. "I gave you the password!"

"The old password." The other dude corrects. "Sorry, but it's invalid."

"Hey, listen here moron, I'm buddies with the vice-president of Kappa and he's gonna totally kick your asses when he hears about this—"

"Yoongi? Is that you?" The two bouncers are pushed aside by a lean man with blue hair who immediately launches himself at your roommate and tackles him onto the ground in a flurry of red converse. "I never thought I'd see the day where tough guy Min Yoongi turns up to a frat party!"

Yoongi prises himself out of headlock, rubbing the back of his head and holding the blue haired man at arms length. "Nice to see you too, Taehyung." He grumbles as he's pulled to his feet, wiping grass from his black hoodie.

"Ah, so this is Taehyung?" Jimin mumbles into your ear. "You never told me he was this cute!"

"And Yoongi never told me that he had hot friends he's been hiding from me all these years." Blue hair turns and offers you and Jimin his hand, your best friend melting at his touch from behind his thick rimmed glasses. "Taehyung. Nice to meet you. Now what are you guys doing outside without any drinks?"

Bingo! Looks like you just found your ticket inside.

"Yoongi here forgot the password," You shout over the blaring music to Taehyung. "So it looks like we're just gonna have to go home. And my friend here hasn't even had one drink yet..."

You push Jimin forward with all your might, struggling not to laugh when you see how Taehyung's tipsy eyes look him up and down before they soften at the edges and he flashes him an award winning smile that has your best friends panties practically dropping.

"Well I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I just got you guys a couple drinks right? Follow me!"

With that Taehyung grabs Jimin by the elbow and pulls him behind into the dark mouth of the party and you turn to Yoongi with a sly smirk. "Looks like we didn't need you after all, Mr Min Yoongi tough guy."

Yoongi trails behind you with a pout. "Shut up. Let's just get this over with."

Bodies are pressed together like sardines in a can, pushing and gyrating against one another in time with the rhythm of the house music that is headache inducing when you get inside.

"So this is what a frat party is like?" You murmur.

Yoongi goes first, reaching behind to grasp your clammy hand and pull you forwards from the pond into the ocean. You blink, trying to make yourself as small as possible to fit through the small space Yoongi clears before you get swallowed up by the crowd. The air in here is thicker than outside and body heat radiates from the walls and just as you start to feel claustrophobic, the crowd spits you out into a kitchen.

It's only then that you register the state of the house — the kitchen is a mess. The counters are covered in half empty pizza boxes, the contents of which had somehow ended up on the walls, empty cups litter the floor and a bottle, still half full, rolls across the tile past your feet. And to make matters worse, you are pretty sure there's vomit in the sink, the sour stench mixing with the musty aroma of cheap beer.

Yup. The stories were true. Kim Seokjin sure knew how to throw a house party, huh?

Yoongi eyes you curiously. "You say that as if this is your first party." Your expression remains serious and he chokes. "Oh god. Don't tell me this is your first party, Y/N?"

You shrug. "This is my first party."

Yoongi slaps a palm to his forehead. "Fuck. You like throwing yourself in the deep end huh?"

"What do you mean?" You suddenly feel nervous, glancing around at the hoards of drunken twenty-somethings stumbling around the living room singing bad karaoke or the couples in the corner making out or the other girls on the makeshift dance floor who don't stick out like a sore thumb in the same way you do.

You wipe your palms on the black sequined crop top adorning your torso. Before you had left, you had looked in the mirror at your reflection and felt confident. Jimin had turned into a child with a Barbie doll when given the task of finding you an outfit, practically ripping everything out of your neatly organised closet and throwing indistinguishable garments at you in a frenzy. You must have tried on at least 12 different outfits before he found the "perfect" thing for you to wear.

You had to admit, the strappy top hugged your figure nicely and the sequins glittered in the light each time you moved, giving you a kind of ethereal glow. You had even spent longer than usual on your makeup, ensuring your eyes were flawlessly smoked out and the dab of deep red lip tint enhanced your lips just enough, making your face look pouty but in a way that was intentional and possibly even alluring if you squinted.

However, now as you stand paralyzed surrounded by drunk twenty somethings in a strangers kitchen your top feels suffocating, your makeup looks splotchy in places and your lips seem excessive. You strain your neck to see your reflection in the microwave, swiping your thumb across your lips to remove some of the pigment, smudging a little onto your chin and leaving you with a single, red fingertip.

"Shit. I really wasn't prepared for this huh?"

“You look fine.” Yoongi says when he notices you hugging your torso. “Nice. You look nice.”

It's only then that you realise Yoongi's hand is still wrapped around your own, as he squeezes it reassuringly and pulls you over to a quiet corner in the kitchen, awkwardly shifting and shoving his sticky hand into his pocket when he sees the funny look you send him.

"Look, Kim Seokjin's party's are not for novices. So we're gonna have to set some ground rules if you're gonna survive the night, okay?" You nod and Yoongi places his hands on your shoulders. "Rule number one, never take a drink from a stranger. Two, if someone asks you to play spin the bottle, run. Three, if the bathroom door is shut don't open it. And four, always stay close to me or Jimin, okay?"

"Jeez, okay dad." You chuckle sheepishly. "I'll be careful. I'm just here to get answers, remember?"

Yoongi eyes you carefully. "Fine. But promise you'll follow the rules—"

"Hey Y/N! I got you a drink!" Jimin bounds over to you like a Labrador puppy, thrusting a red solo cup into your hand with an elated grin. "Come on, drink up! We have a secret admirer to find!"

You see how Yoongi narrows his eyes as you lift the cup to your lips. "What? You said no drinks from strangers." In a few gulps you down the murky liquid in your cup, eyes stinging at the burn in your chest as you wipe the back of your mouth triumphantly when it earns cheers from a crowd nearby. "Let the night begin!"

"So..." Yoongi starts. "Can we leave yet?"

Almost everyone has filtered back onto the dance floor by now, leaving you and Yoongi alone on the far side of the kitchen apart from Jimin, who is busy trying to fit a whole slice of pizza in his mouth.

You lean back against the fridge as you swing your lame solo cup from your hand like it's an expensive crystal wine glass. You've been here for nearly three hours, just waiting for something to happen. Anything. A sign or something, like your secret admirer was just going to emerge from the crowd followed by a heavenly glow and a bouquet and you were going to live happily ever after.

But instead you seem to be the only near enough sober person in the building, inspecting your chipped nails for the nth time that night while Yoongi let's out intermittent bored sighs and questions how much longer until you throw in the towel and give up for good.

"Not yet," You say determinedly, eyes trained to the front door, like you're waiting for it to open. "We still have the whole night left to search."

Yoongi rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something but is quickly interrupted by Jimin who is looking a little green in the face. "Uh guys, I don't feel so good..."

"Woah!" Yoongi staggers up, arm shooting out the catch Jimin before he stumbles over his own feet. "You good, man?"

"I think..." Jimin brings a hand to his mouth, eyes suddenly panicked. "I think I'm gonna puke!"

Yoongi flashes you a concerned look. "Stay right here okay? I'll take him to the bathroom and be right back — come on, kid."

With that Yoongi hauls Jimin over his shoulder and disappears into the dark mouth of the party, Jimin's cries of not on my leather pants! ringing through the house.

You shake your head with a groan. Great. Now not only are you the weird sober girl at the frat party, you are alone.

Fuck it. If you were going to get through the rest of this night you might as well enjoy it right?

You slam your solo cup down on the bench, ripping the cap off a fresh vodka bottle and pour the liquid with shaky hands into your cup until it covers the red lipstick stain your lips have made on the rim. Raising the cup to your lips. you chug the contents in one go, wincing as the foul liquid burns a path through your body.

"Someone's eager!" A chirpy voice sounds from beside you. A hand comes out to grab the vodka bottle from your hand and you quickly recognise it to belong to none other than Kim Seokjin, who fills his own cup half way. "Having a good night, sweetheart?"

You are rendered speechless. A grey, silk, button up shirt hangs from his broad frame, spilling over the edges of his tight black jeans. You've never seen him in person before this moment but you see why he once got approached by a modelling agency on campus last semester — because this guy is next level hot. Like sex on legs hot. And it takes everything inside you to stop the way your knees wobble when his eyes look you up and down and focus on your mission.

Seokjin runs a hand through his bleached hair, pushing the strands upwards and away from his face as he slumps against the wall next to you, crossing his legs and taking a long swig from his cup, grimacing at the taste and earning a sympathetic grin from you.

"Eager to get drunk so I forget I'm here." You reply with a roll of your eyes, copying his movements and sipping on your own drink.

Seokjin eyes you curiously. Like he's intrigued by your less than enthusiastic response to seeing him. I mean, he did look like that after all. Most girls probably dropped their panties as soon as he entered the room. But not you. No. You were here for a reason.

"I haven't seen you around here before."

"Yeah. That's probably because I don't usually come to these things." You lean in closer, like you're letting him in on a secret. "Not usually my scene."

Seokjin nods, suddenly struck by a thought. "Then let's get drunk together!" He grabs your arm, bringing your solo cups together and creating a clink clink sound with his tongue, resulting in some of your drink sloshing over onto your jeans. "I bet I can change your mind about party's once you see how Kim Seokjin does it."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about something first—" You retrieve the note, holding it out to him when his index finger presses against your lips and he lets out a shhh.

"Questions later. For now, you gotta try my famous concoction."

"Concoction?" You raise an eyebrow as Seokjin rips open a cupboard door and starts pouring a mixture of spirits into two cups. Just the sight of it makes your stomach churn but you tell yourself that this might be exactly what Seokjin needs to open up to you about the letter. Perhaps he'd be more loose lipped once tipsy?

Looks like you're about to find out. Seokjin thrusts one of the cups towards you.

"This will change your life. Trust me."

Rule number two. Never accept drinks from a stranger.

But Seokjin wasn't a stranger, technically, right? And besides, Yoongi himself had already broken rule number four by leaving you alone in the kitchen, so what would the harm be if you made things even in the name of Operation Love Letters?

"Sure." You say finally, taking the cup from his grasp and throwing the entire contents down your throat. "In the name of Operation Love Letters"

Soon enough, it is becoming difficult to remember exactly how many drinks you have drank already, but part of you doesn't care because you are finally starting to feel free.

It's clear that Seokjin feels similarly as his earlier giggles have turned into full on chortles, as everything you say seems to be of comedic value to him, able to practically send him rolling on the ground every time you speak.

You find yourself laughing along, cheering when he pours you another round. The bright, flashing disco lights from the lounge creep into the kitchen, bouncing off Seokjin's sharp features and the intensity of them hurts your eyes so you close them for a moment, shutting the party out completely and retreating inside your brain, which is slow and the calmest it has been since you got here. The sound of someone violently throwing up echoes in your ears, though you can't tell if it's coming from the garden or from the living room. It doesn't matter anyway.

Suddenly, you feel a pair of lips against your ear, words tumbling from them too quickly for you to pick them apart in your drunken state the first time, simply hearing a string of mumbles and murmurs. A giggle escapes your throat as you open your eyes, met with Seokjin's face meters from yours, mouthing something.

"I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be back!"

You feel yourself mouthing something back, but you have already forgotten what, lowering your head to rest it on top of your outstretched arm. Your eyes are blurry, barely able to focus on the crumpled beer cans that litter the counter a few inches from your nose. The music and sounds around you began to mould into one overwhelming hum that you can feel vibrating in every nerve ending and then—

A hand lands on your back. You twist under its grip, a woozy smile forming.

"Seokjin, you're back!" The exclamation leaves your mouth before you can see the owner of the hand which is still planted firmly between your shoulder blades, drawing small circles there. "Now...I gotta ask you something, hm? I got this note, and I think you know who sent it to me." Your shaky gaze focuses, realisation slightly delayed because of your drunken state, but you are able to slowly take in the face of someone who was very much not Seokjin standing over you as you hold out the letter.

This person has a head of black hair falling across a pair of steely eyes that burn into you hotly. The hand suddenly feels fiery and wrong against your back and you stumble to your feet in order to shake it off, knocking your metal bar stool to the ground in the process.

Rule number four: never be alone.

"Why're you out here all by yourself beautiful?" The guy slurs, staggering closer to you. His foul breath fans your face as he speaks. "Wanna come with me?" He drops his hands to grip your hips. Your arms are pressed between his chest and your own and you struggle to get them free so you can push him. Hit him. Punch him. Anything. You need to be away right now.

"She doesn't want to come with you, man."

"Hah, shhh bro, she wants to come with me, don't you beautiful?"

Your eyes are shut right but you feel his body get suddenly ripped away from yours, allowing you to fall forward into the space in front of you and let out the shaky breath you didn't know you were holding.

Another arm comes to rest gently around your shoulders, this one comforting and kind. Before you can register it, your body is being pulled forwards, faster than your feet can move and you stumble over own heel, but a hand comes to grip you just below your armpit, steadying you and practically carrying you away from the kitchen.

"What the fuck man?" Sounds from behind you, but you are too overwhelmed to notice.

Suddenly, your weak body collides with the brisk air outside. The feeling is refreshing against your lightly damp skin and you greedily gulp it into your lungs, desperate to get rid of the stale, hot air from inside. Your body is placed into a chair, the arm unwinding from your shoulders and instead opting to tap your hand.

"You okay?" A voice questions. Your eyes open enough to vaguely register a figure on one knee in front of you, a hand patting your arm comfortingly. "Hold on. Stay here." You see a pair of feet walking away. You're not sure how long they were gone for but you recognise the pair of red converse when they reappear.

"Drink this." A red cup is thrust into your line of vision. You begin to shake you head, groaning at the thought of enduring any more alcohol.

"Mmmf'had enough." You just about murmur, limply pushing it away.

"It's water. It'll help you feel better." Something tells you to trust the voice, taking the cup from his hands.

You throw your head back and let the deliciously cold liquid run down your throat, soothing the burn that remained from the liquor. You drain the cup of every last drop and let him set it neatly on the ground next to your feet.

"Do you have a ride home?"

"Can't go home yet. Promised I wouldn't break the rules..." You mumble, as you try to stumble to your feet but your legs feel wobbly and before you can take a step forward you feel your weight topple to the right.

A hand shoots out to grab your body as it falls. You don't remember if your body hits the floor as your eyes fall shut half way down, catching a glimpse of blue hair before everything turns black.

A light radiates from the window behind your head and your tired eyes reluctantly resist the sun invading the shield of your heavy lids with its brightness. Too bright, in fact, for your hungover state.

Your legs are splayed out at an uncomfortable angle, heavy and weak as they dangle over the edge of the bed which you snuggle deeper into, desperate to escape the intense feeling of regret nestling in the pit of your empty stomach.

Lifting your head from the cushion, you try and fail to open your eyes, grogginess clouding your vision, so you opt  instead to marvel at the way the soft, orange glow that infiltrates the room is warm against your skin. You drag a finger down your still bare arm and enjoy the shiver the light feeling leaves behind, a comforting contrast to the thumping hangover that is beginning to grow stronger at your temples. Your tongue is dry and fat in your mouth, rough against the soft skin of your cheek as you attempt to create some moisture to relieve the feeling.

Just as you prepare to turn over, fully intending to fall back into a deep slumber and hopefully sleep off the hangover, a piercing noise sounds a short distance away, causing you to stir.

It is as though the sound pulls your head from a pool of deep water, your ears warming up and becoming alert at the surface as the water drains away. You strain. Did you imagine it?

"La la la..."

No! There it is again, the same shrill sound but clearer this time. It seems to be drawing gradually closer, a vaguely recognisable tune fitting together like a puzzle.

"I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was,"

Singing?

"To catch them is my real test, to train them is my cause,"

You kick your legs childishly, wriggling around on the mattress until you break free from the duvet that smothers your limbs and rip the pillow from beneath your head, bringing it down roughly against your face in an attempt to block out the sound that makes your head throb.

"Jiminnnnn," you groan, extending the last syllable of his name in annoyance. He must have found his way back to your place after the party last night, probably drunk out of his mind. How was he not knocked out on the couch on the opposite side of the room, a mirror image of your current state?

Memories of the night before slowly resurface in bits and pieces. Shaky hands pouring liquid into a red cup. Jimin's laughter. Yoongi's blurry face disappearing into a crowd of people. A pair of hands pressing into your hips, nails creating crescent bruises on your damp skin, the hairs rising on your arms before you're saved by—

"I will travel across the land, searching far and wide,"

"For fucks sake, Jimin, shut the fuck up!" You practically explode, launching the cushion in your arms across the room. You hear it hit the wall, and you cover your head and brace yourself for a blow twice as hard in retaliation

One...two...three...

Nothing. Not even a groan of discomfort.

"Teach Pokémon to understand..."

Your body shoots upright. The beating in your chest quickens when your shaky vision focuses on your unfamiliar surroundings. Dark blue sheets are draped across your torso, definitely not the pink, floral set you laid out on your bed last week and this is definitely not your apartment. Adrenaline courses through your veins at this revelation, cold and unwelcoming like a slap to the wrist.

Where the fuck are you?

The temperature suddenly feels like ice, forbidding and foreign, all forms of comfort disappearing as you take in the shelves of books stacked lazily on top of one another at the foot of the bed. Papers lay in piles on the desk situated against the opposite wall, a laptop closed but still connected to the electric supply neatly placed next to them. An office chair is half heartedly tucked underneath it, a black fraternity t-shirt draped across the back.

SEOKJIN. KAPPA TAU.

You re-read those three words at least a hundred times, you are sure of it. You read them so quickly that the white letters blur together to create one hazy blob.

You are hallucinating, you tell yourself, that or you are still drunk. The shock sends you tumbling out of bed, landing with a smack against the wooden floor in a flurry of blue sheets before you manage to scramble to your feet and rush towards the tall glass cabinet that stands behind you. Your hands press up to the glass, breath creating foggy clouds in front of the rows and rows of shining trophies, medals and plaques that line each shelf of the cabinet. Each is inscribed with the same name over and over again.

KIM SEOKJIN. BEER PONG CHAMPION 2019.

KIM SEOKJIN. BEST FRATERNITY PRESIDENT AWARD.

Fuck.

You feel something vibrate against the small of your back and you attack your back pocket, causing your phone to fall to the floor in the process. It lands upright, spinning for a short while before coming to a halt.

32 missed calls 12 voicemails Yoongi: "WHERE R U?" Yoongi: "DID U GO HOME??." Yoongi: "CALL ME."

You're about to call him back when...

"The power that's inside!"

The song coming from behind the door loudly interrupts your mental crisis.

You move towards the mirror on the wall, taking in your dishevelled appearance. Licking your thumb, you rub at the black eyeliner that had transferred below your eyes and run it through the baby hairs that stick up from your scalp at all angles.

Shakily, your hand reaches for the door handle, twisting until you feel the bolt unclick from the frame. With a deep breath you push the door open a crack, allowing you to squeeze your body out into a kitchen.

"POKÉMON! GOTTA CATCH THEM ALL — holy shit!"

The song comes to an abrupt end as the vocalist squeaks with surprise at the sound of your voice.

"Kim Taehyung?"

Silence is suddenly cast across the small room, a shirtless boy stood in nothing but luminous yellow shorts that contrast his blue hair staring at you wide eyed, one leg propped up on the nearest dining table chair. His left hand grips the handle of a saucepan that now hovers mid air above an empty plate, the other pointing towards the ceiling with a black spatula.

It is clear you have interrupted a serious performance of his repertoire (that you hoped no one else had to endure in their lifetime) and despite your initial reaction being to laugh at the comedic position you find him in, you resist, instead simply mirroring the lifeless blinks he sends your way.

The smell of cooking eggs fills the room, the scent enough to make your stomach feel woozy and emphasise the burn that still lingers there from all the vodka you poured down your neck at Seokjin's party. A few seconds pass before he snaps his mouth closed and proceeds to dish up his egg, shifting to hide the blush that has risen hotly in his cheeks. Taehyung's hair is messy as though he has not long woken himself, the sides flattened where he had laid against the pillow and the top sticking up in places.

"O-oh, sorry, did I wake you?" Taehyung stutters through his teeth, clearly dealing internally with the humiliation of being caught in his tighty whities. "Seokjin didn't tell me he was going to bring anyone back last night."

"Taehyung?" You ask warily, creeping further into the kitchen on the soles of your bare feet. It is cold, provoking your toes to curl. "Seokjin brought me back here?"

"Wait, you're Yoongi's roommate right?" His words are sudden and sharper this time, shoulders relaxing as he flicks his index finger out to point at you, a warm smile spreading across his face as he blows on a spoonful of egg.

"Uh, yeah. That's me." You admit, shrugging your shoulders as he nods his head. "I'm Y/N. You met me and my friend Jimin last night." It feels strange to introduce yourself to someone after you have already slept in their home, walked in on their shirtless one man show and rudely interrupted their Sunday morning breakfast. Taehyung doesn't seem phased though, waving his fork at you and speaking through a mouthful of yolk.

"Ah so that's how you met Seokjin! He didn't tell me that you two were ya know...getting it on." You splutter at his words, rushing forwards to to grip the kitchen counter for support when his eyebrows wiggle up and down as though their movements mean to insinuate something. "I'm his roommate, if you couldn't tell."

"We weren't - we didn't - at least I don't think..."

Your confused rambles are interrupted by a deeper voice that rumbles from behind the bathroom door that opens to reveal a figure in black sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. Seokjin.

A towel covers his head, hands rubbing frantically at the wet hair beneath it. A few stray droplets land on the front of his shirt, turning it a darker shade of grey wherever they touch. He lowers the towel, twisting it so it sits comfortably around his shoulders before he leans over to pick from Taehyung's plate with a roll of his eyes in your direction.

"Taehyung, the last time we gave you vodka you tried to do a hand stand on top of the kitchen table." He gestures towards the table next to you. You notice how the leg is taped tightly back together, making the entire structure look slightly lopsided. "Trust me, Y/N, you don't wanna trust anything this guy says when he is hungover."

"Woah, man, do you have to tell everyone that?" He hisses, cocking his head towards you and drawing an imaginary line across his neck as if to tell him to cut it out. "Congrats, though man!" He adds, dropping his empty plate in the sink and moving to give Seokjin an exaggerated pat on the back. "You got laid again!"

Seokjin's eyes widen with surprise, before he turns to you with a look of panic flashing across his features.

"See? My point exactly. We didn't—"

"Did we-- ?" Your question lingers awkwardly in the air, sounding more frantic than you had intended.

"What?! No!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna leave you two kids to it." Taehyung sucks on his teeth with a clap of his hands. He turns, striding into what is presumably his bedroom, calling "I'll be in my room if you need me!" over his shoulder as he does so.

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. "Ignore him, he's just a massive nerd, really."

Seokjin shifts uncomfortably, and for the first time you see the douchey confident frat boy facade falter when he watches you fall into a dining room chair and let your head fall in your hands, silently hoping to cover the mortification present on your face.

"So you don't remember what happened at all?" Seokjin reaches into the closest kitchen cupboard, retrieving a glass that he fills with water directly from the faucet. He opens a box of pain killers and pops out two capsules.

"Nope. Zilch." You manage a feeble smile when he presses the pills into your palm. "Fill me in?"

"You were pretty fucked up last night so I thought it would be sensible to bring you upstairs," Seokjin hops up onto the counter beside you, so close that you can can almost smell his freshly applied deodorant. His leg bounces nervously. "I slept out here. Just so you know." He gestured towards the crumpled blankets that are strewn across the couch, barely covering the body shaped dent that had formed in the sunken cushions.

Raising your head, you sink lower into the chair and lift your eyes to finally meet his. His gaze is piercing, surprising you a little. He seems to notice, softening his stare. You usually find things like this uncomfortable. You were expecting a scrutinizing look, the type you were used to from guys like Kim Seokjin. But somehow Seokjin's intentions feel kind, perhaps slightly cautious but warm even so.

"Hey. Thank you. For helping last night. You didn't have to bring me here. And for saving me from that guy at the party. I'm seriously grateful. I owe you one."

"Trust me, it's all good. No debts or anything." He smiles at your rushed babble of appreciation, his hand unconsciously scratching a non-existent itch on the back of his neck. "After all, it was kinda my fault. If I'd known you were such a lightweight I wouldn't have given you that drink. Still feel kinda bad." His shoulders shrug jokingly and you can't help but snort at his words. He seems to relax at this, assured that you aren't as vulnerable as your sickly appearance suggests.

You shift in your seat and something crinkles in the back pocket of your jeans. Shit! The love letter!

"Well if you feel that bad about it, then how about you do me a little favour?"

Seokjin rolls his eyes playfully. "What type of favour, sweetheart?"

"This." You unfold the letter and slide it across the kitchen island towards him. "Do you know who could've written this?"

Seokjin's eyes widen as he scans the note, whispering the words beneath his breath as he reads. "Oh shit...this is like legit legit."

"That's what I said!" You nod eagerly. "Now does anything seem familiar to you?"

A finger stabs at the Kappa Tau logo in the corner of the page. "Well this paper definitely came from one of my guys. But it could be any one of them..."

A defeated sigh leaves you. "So you're saying you don't know who it could belong to?"

"I mean, I know it's not mine. But apart from that, it really could be anyone." He neatly folds the note and places it in your palm. "Sorry I couldn't help."

You shake your head. "It's fine. I'll just have to find a new lead..."

"I have an idea. Have you heard about the kissing booth the frat is organising for Valentine's Day?"

You nod. "Sure. What about it?"

"How about if you sign up, and like, set a trap for this guy. He'll think he can totally get away with kissing you. And you can catch him right in the act!"

"Huh. I guess that doesn't sound like such a bad plan..." You muse. "Maybe I could get Jimin to sign up with me..."

"Jimin is signing up for the kissing booth? I-I mean you and Jimin are signing up?" Taehyung's voice suddenly stammers as he bursts in the kitchen, thankfully dressed in far more clothing than before.

"Yeah, Seokjin just came up with this totally awesome plan to catch my secret admirer at the kissing booth—"

"When is it?" Taehyung splutters, face flushing a deep shade of red when he earns two startled looks. "I-I mean just wondering. For science."

"Anyone would think that you're her secret admirer man." Seokjin chuckles, and Taehyung just looks sheepish before he joins in half heartedly.

"Ha...that's funny. About that..." You open your mouth to pry further about why Taehyung is suddenly acting so skittish but the front door suddenly busts open and in walks Yoongi, still in his pajama shorts with a hoodie thrown over top and a hat to hide his bed hair.

He glances around the room before his eyes zero in on you, and before you can say anything he's running towards you and throwing his arms around you in a tight hug that knocks the breath straight from your lungs.

"Yoongi...can't...breathe."

"Where the fuck have you been?" Yoongi breathes amidst a sigh of relief. "I was close to filing a missing person's report. Why did you just disappear like that last night after I told you not to get lost?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" You wrap your arms around his waist and pat his back, as if to prove it. "You don't need to worry, Seokjin took care of me."

Yoongi's eyes narrow in on Seokjin sat at the breakfast bar eating a nutrients bar. "I was supposed to be taking care of you. Why did you leave with him?"

"Well good morning to you too, Yoongi." Seokjin says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't worry. There wasn't any funny business, I slept on the couch."

Yoongi narrows his eyes but let's you free from his grip gently. "You sure you're okay?"

"Completely."

"From now on you're staying at home where you won't get lost, no matter if you have to go on another Operation Passion Penpal mission or whatever."

"Operation Love Letters," You remind him with a punch to the shoulder. "And I promise I won't run off again without telling you first next time."

Despite the reassuring smile you flash him, Yoongi still scans your face for any sign of hesitation, his eyes softening at the edges with relief that you're not hurt. His mouth opens to say something but then he shuts it tightly again, taking a step back from you and scratching his neck with a grumble. "We should really get going. You'll be late to class."

"Shit!" You scramble to check your phone, finding a plethora of further missed calls and texts from a very worried Jimin. "You're right. I really should go..."

"Hey, I can drive you later if you want." Seokjin butts in, but Taehyung quickly shuts him down.

"Dude, chill. Just let him take this one okay?"

The room falls silent, all eyes falling on you. "Am I missing something?"

"Well, guess I'll be going then!" Taehyung avoids the question, turns on his heels and starts into a brisk walk but not before you're reaching for the strap of his backpack.

"Hey! Wait up!"

Before you can stop it, Taehyung's bag is slipping down his shoulders and falling to the ground in a flurry of books and papers that scatter all over the floor of the apartment. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry!"

Taehyung turns and just blinks at the mess, looking positively startled, and you assume it's because you just literally straight up attacked him, but when you bend to your knees and start to help him clear up, you see his eyes flit nervously to a piece of paper poking out from beneath a history textbook.

You recognise it instantly. It's written on the very same type of paper as the note in your back pocket and your heart almost skips a beat.

As if reading your mind, Taehyung's hand shoots out to grab the note at the same time as yours, and much to your dismay there's a loud rip! as the piece of paper tears down the middle, each of you holding an opposing half.

Taehyung avoids your eyes as he shoves everything back into his bag and leaves you kneeling on the kitchen floor, clutching a note littered with a familiar scrawl.

"I'll see you around." He says simply, before his head of blue hair disappears down the staircase.

"Hey wait!" Seokjin calls as you get up to follow Yoongi who is already on his way out to the car. "Let me know how the mission goes. And if you don't find the guy, feel free to crash one of my parties again anytime."

"I—okay!" You squeak, face burning hot as you rush down the stairs away from Seokjin's amused chuckle. "Thanks again!"

You grab your phone and dial up your best friends number when you're out of earshot from Seokjin. He sounds relieved to hear you're okay, quickly quieting down when you tell him that you think you have a new lead in the form of a certain blue-haired-roommate's-best-friend.

"Meet me at my place, I'll tell you everything, I promise. I've got big news about Operation Love Letters!"

[zhonglishrine]

God is Good and never Evil

Pairing: Reader x Fyodor Dostoevsky  Word Counts: 5k  Note: There’s a lot of heavy context in this with religion and too much unnecessarily  philosophy talk of Good and Evil. Originally from my fanfic that I have unpublished and now were revised as stand alone one-shot instead. Credits to my friends Negin, Mel and @soukokuwu​ for helping me proofread this one and everyone else who helped me with the definition of Good and Evil!

He always thought that he was complicated and no one could understand him. It might be difficult, yes, but not impossible, if you could catch up to the level of his intelligence. But that might also prove to be challenging, as no one actually knows what goes in that genius head but Fyodor himself. He appeared hard to predict and read, and trying to figure him out will only wear you out in futile attempts as he is always three steps ahead of everything, and that’s how he believed himself to be: superior and above everyone else.

Where was he?

Just as you were running out of places to look, you figured out where he might be. If he wasn’t in his private library reading his massive collection of books, then he would be inside his music room, spending time alone with his mind while playing his dear cello. He always spends his time thinking about various things; about the world he wants to cleanse and simple things that he came across in his martyr. You know your dear Fedya, he is an excessively meticulous man- perfection is what he always strives for and no mistakes are permitted. Sometimes when in doubt he would go back just to make sure everything went according to plan. Despite his overbearing confidence, he bites his thumb until it bleeds, and the gnawing exhaustion shown on his face when he is deprived of sleep after staying awake for several days straight, lets you know how fragile he still is. 

After all, no matter how grandiose his claims are to you and how ridiculous they might sound, he is still a mortal being. No God would bleed and no God would need rest like he does, because isn’t God supposed to be all perfect? He still has his limits, though you always want to remind him not to push his frail body too much. How little he would bite off his loaf of bread, simply adequate to satiate his hunger and no more, his body emaciated day by day with the little care he put. However, Fyodor doesn't like it when he is reminded of those petty things, and so most of the time he prefers to be left alone. No words are spoken on the topic, but you know; he doesn’t need to explain every single basic detail for you to know. He knows what he is doing and needs no mothering from you or anyone else. He can actually be a bit childish and immature sometimes, and that's a trait he didn’t even realize he had; flaws that he didn’t want to admit but you noticed.

He is still a young man, too young to shoulder all the rest of the world’s sin, but he took the matter into his own hands and let it be soaked and tainted in blood of his sacrifices and fallen victims within his act of mercy. 

Entering his room, a tray in your hands with a glass and ferrous sulfate tablets for him to take, you carefully tread your steps forward, not making any audible noise to disturb his moment of quietude. 

The tranquil and calm tune overflows like an external heartbeat with each rhythm, and the volume crescendo in sweet vibrations octave to your hearing ears. His nimble and deft movements on the instrument play ever so gracefully, creating the heavenly sounds that soothe your quivering heart. 

There are no words present, but every dance of his slender fingers on each string manifest their own poetry, and it guides you to an ode to his own universe. He changes his pace and tone, sometimes quick and sometimes it becoming slow, his eyes shut closed as his delicate hand moves the bow, scraping the hair against the string as he angles it differently. His raven tresses draped around his pale complexion follow his movements as he tilts his head with the tempo, his legs spread and toes curling the more he gets into it. He was in his own world and he is sending you an auditory message through your mind, telling you the unspoken journey he has gone through in his pilgrimage, inviting you to join him sail over the oceans of tunes that filled the grandeur ambiance in rapt silence, like he was the captain of his ship and you were his crew.

When it is faint and low – he is feeling sorrow and sadness.

When it is heavy and strong – he is feeling regret and remorse. 

When it is high-pitched and piercing – he is feeling angry and furious.

When it is gentle and soft – he is feeling bliss and a sense of gratefulness.

There are so many emotions he conveys through the cello that rests against his frame on his left shoulder, as if he was lamenting alone from the exuberant song that he orchestrates. Akin to how waves would crash through the shore and saturate every breach lying within the grains of sand, it rushes to fill your hollow soul. This tide continues to flourish, seeping into your veins and healing you like a divine medicine with the superfluous melody as you continue to watch and listen in great trance, almost as though you were spellbound by it. There's just something about how Fyodor can make it sing and scream so beautifully it’s so painful to hear.

Just what is this...?

Why...why have you started to cry...?

Your hand clutches at your chest, clenching down. Why does it hammer so painfully inside your ribcage? It was as if the music was the exact voice that you have long since lost. Your throat burns in quietness and your vision becomes blurry with a dot of crystal pearl, until it drops and becomes a small rivulet staining your cheek. In the equilibrium of each note he plays, it tells a different story. A story that you felt as if you were a part of it. From the beginning of birth, soft and calm, it portrays the innocence of a newborn baby that you are. Then, it starts to pace up slightly, the progress of your life. As you grow, you face struggle and hardship in life, and it starts to go faster. A lot of details then take place, you experience a variety of emotions like a crashing wave, you make a decision and you sin through your voyage. And at the end, it becomes slow again, life becomes slower and the flame that ignites you starts to dim until it eventually extinguishes as you take your last breath.

Just like the music that grows ever so faint, it eventually fades by the end of the bow that caresses against the string before it departs.

Fyodor opens his eyelids, revealing a pool of his violet orbs with a crescent shaped illumination within, soon after a stillness encompassing the air with serenity. He flutters his lashes, his gaze landing on you as you still stand with a tray in your hand before him. Your glossy eyes sparkle like rubies before the dull brightness of the candlelight, and you simply keep on staring at him with never-ending tears. At this, Fyodor curves the corner of his lips to form a thin smile, then speaking to break the silence, "Tell me... what do you think of Good and Evil?"

Fumbling with your thoughts, you thrive to answer the sudden inquiry with your muddled mind. Fyodor plays another classical piece of music to fill the gap in the meanwhile. Perhaps it was from Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff or from someone else entirely. You weren’t sure which one, since he knew many different famous composers, but that is not important to guess right now. 

"Good is..." You begin, ransacking your brain to formulate your thought and remember what the definition of the concept is. There are many standards for good and evil around the world as noted by philosophers throughout history, and it differs with each religion that exists, but for the basic definition of it, then they are almost about the same. It is akin to two notes in the same symphony. Each thing in nature changes according to the opposites; like hard ice melts into water which is then soft, the combination resulting in a harmonious whole. Just like how it is in music, harmony results from the combination of low and high notes, while in our universe harmony flows from the combination of the opposites that are good and evil. 

"Having the moral and compassion to do the right thing. And evil is the opposite, it is wicked and in all immoral sense.” 

Fyodor raises his brow slightly, hearing rather a short reply from you. "But if I do evil deeds for the greater goods of mankind, what does that make me? Do you think evil is not necessary after all?" He counters your statement, and you know exactly what he means by it, as he planned to wipe away all ability users from this world. Regardless of races, genders, and ages. There could be an innocent child that never did any bad deed, there could be an old man waiting for his last breath, there could be a woman who never knows they have the ability. Regardless of the sacrifices he shall make; he will still make his goal come true without any sparing mercy and treat them all equally. Like plucking the weeds before they grow wild in his garden or trim the one that has wilt.  

“I am not sure about that. But isn't evil supposed to only bring harm?”

Fyodor subtly chuckled, and you were unsure whether he agreed or not.

“Then I will have to ask you something. Do you like scorpions and snakes?”

Again, when he is in the mood to indulge himself with these sorts of discussions and questions, he always asks the strangest thing and you always have to dissect the meaning behind it, whether he was thinking about it or it is just something random that crossed his mind. 

“Well, I don’t really dislike them. But they are poisonous and dangerous if not handled carefully.”

“True, that is the most logical thing to think. However, that wasn’t it at all.” 

“May I know what you mean by that?” 

Pressing the topic further, he scrapes his bow in a deep thought, a few seconds elapsed in his silence.

“Scorpions and serpents are poisonous indeed. But are they really good or evil, for they are existing beings? Yes, a scorpion is evil in relation to man; as is a serpent; but in relation to themselves they are not evil, for their poison is their weapon, and by their sting they defend themselves."

Fyodor remembers that he has read the quote somewhere when he did his research before. He had a deep fascination to learn through different religions there in this world. What makes it interesting for him is how every single religion has its own God and belief but none of them can prove their God exists. At the very least for him, that’s the conclusion he came to. That is why at one point, he thought that if there is no God then he would become one himself. His God complex didn’t just develop in one night, it took him many, many days and nights searching for his answer and he found none after seeing the world at its demise and the despair it has.

Interesting thing about what he just said is that, Good and Evil is the embodiment of how his ability is. Still, it was a mystery to you, but you have seen how it works when Fyodor touches someone and they drop dead and fall to his feet, just by the tip of his fingers. Crime and Punishment that is neither good or evil. In the eyes of someone he might have seen as someone dangerous with that ability, a demon clocked in angel disguise, but neither can they judge which one is his true nature.

And if all people aren’t good or evil and they're just people that sometimes do cruel things because they have to, you wonder what that makes him if that was the case.

The evil one?

A demon?

Or... a Savior?

"So your intentions...define itself with what good and evil is as long as you know."

He hums, "Care to elaborate it?"

"I... l think it depends on our belief, the interpretation of our choice. Good and Evil is a paradoxical concept that is inherent in human nature, but man has to be rational with them. People are inherently “evil” while society's perspective of good comes from sustained effort. It is a very humane construct because it has to do with morals, and pretty much because no other animal has this compass. There are several concepts of good and evil, first is the collective good or evil, in which society dictates what is what. This however, differs for each individual, depending on their own moral compasses so they may agree or disagree with society. It helps maintain societal structure, but at the same time, good and evil can be viewed as pretty nonexistent simply because it is a social construct.” 

He listens to your explanation as his hand never stops from playing the instrument. Again, you continue.

“But such trivial concepts are just definitions pun on abstract concepts. There is no line between good and evil. It's only the perspective that defines how something is seen, close to how war is portrayed by the winner in a way and by the loser in another way. That's why in some cases, murder can be good. Because in the eyes of a murderer, it's always good. Even the people that do charity sometimes do it to feel good themselves and beliefs say that itself is a sin therefore a bad thing. Since everything came and was given birth by God itself. He is the one that creates everything, all things that are good. But good things alone can be evil if one indulges too much in it and evil things can be good as long as we stay away from it... but purely based on intention is not all right either, for mere intention cannot make a bad act good. But a bad act performed in good faith can be excused but it cannot be classified as a good act either."

Based on your answer, he took his time to assess and ask you the next inquiry that piqued his interest.

"So, you do believe in God's existence too?"

"I..." You ponder for a moment before answering, your tongue somehow feels somewhat dry with the said inquiry. "I am not sure... there can be one, and there can be none. It depends on the reality we see, and the faith we held or the religion we have. I'm sorry if my answer is vague..."

"Hmm. It's fine, I don't blame you. I understand." He assures you and arches his head upward, exposing the bulb of his Adam's apple that was visible on his exposed neck. In this moment, he relished the time when someone was engaging in his long spiel.

"The good want power, but to weep barren tears. The powerful goodness want: worse need for them. The wise want love; and those who love want wisdom."

Fyodor says in soft oration, quoting a line from Percy Bysshe Shelley. "In the Garden of Eden, God creates an apple and forbids Adam and Eve to eat it. He is who all-knowing, know that one of them would eat it, but yet he still created man in immature form, created man that will end up resorting to eating it, created the talking snakes knowing it would coerce man into eating it, even already predicting it and going as far as to plan on what state would come after they did. Now which decision was good and evil? Was it a good thing to eat the apple if a man knows that was good for them? Or was it evil to go against the God that created them because they were tempted by the very snake He created?" 

Although it seems as if he is asking you, the question was more so directed to himself, so you do not speak to answer him. He continues again with a solemn voice, Fyodor shifting his head again and now staring at the floor, "Sadly, since the beginning, humans are already reigned by sinful nature. They know the consequences of their actions, yet they still can not resist and repel the radiance from the fruit itself; to taste the knowledge of Good and Evil. They then bring chaos to this world, staining the land with corruption from their deadly vices and tyranny. You have seen how foolish humans can be, haven't you? The futile war that you fought, the countless meaningless bloodshed that you witnessed, all because the stupidity that was bred from humanity itself as they keep repeating the same history."

Casting your gaze down into your reflection on the surface of water, there are faint memories flashing by from when you were a soldier. Though not very vivid, the vague image is still there, flickering at the back of your mind in a blaze; the image of mangled bodies, blown apart children, blood running into gutters, rain of missiles dropping like flies on the ground and explosions everywhere blowing up like fireworks. You were there in the front lines, fighting for your own people, for their peace and nation, ready to sacrifice your life. But that was all a fleeting memory of your past; you do not need it anymore. Albeit, there is this simmering feeling that stirs within the deepest recess of your heart, a raging feeling of being betrayed and being cast aside and locked down for years. All because of fear. A fear that came from the fruit of knowledge itself that you were a dangerous ability user. With the said knowledge also comes power, with power comes corruption, and with corruption comes evil; where power becomes absolute, so does evil. War is like a disease festered inside man's heart, and it spreads like a plague and wildfire. Yet sometimes, it’s a necessary one, when the conflict could not be resolved in a peaceful way and war was unavoidable. Then, was it a good thing if it involves mass sacrifice? In a world where the hierarchy of power and different classes of society exist, could man settle the conflict without getting into argument, without evil influence their judgment and without discrimination between their different views and opinions?

Even up until today, there's no ending for human suffering and pain. Left and right you can hear the screaming silent voice cry out for Justice, with a voice pregnant with tears, broken hearts and despair, and the blood of innocents that was spilled when the world's leader moved their piece on the world map like playing a game of simple chess against their opponent. From the first World's War, the Holocaust, systemic genocide, gulags, famine, earthquakes, disease and so forth. All were rooted from the cause of Evil. And Evil first entered the world because Adam and Eve ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which God had forbidden them.

"But... if God did not create the apple in the first place... then would Good and Evil cease to exist?" 

Fyodor scrapes one long tune, he closed one eye from your question with another thin smile.

"A predictable nuance that one would think of if we were to avoid all the root of origin. If we put the blame to God itself by essentially placing all blame on Him, then it will prevent the problem of humanity blaming each other. But the problem of evil is the problem of accounting for evil in a world created by an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God. It seems that if the creator has these attributes, there would be no evil in the world. But there is evil in the world. Thus, there is reason to believe that an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good creator does not exist." He says with a scoffing voice, "It is therefore natural to think of God's commandment forbidding Man to eat of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge as ironic since God Himself had planted this very same tree in the garden. If God hadn't placed the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden in the first place, Adam and Eve wouldn't have sinned and the world's problems would be moot." He changes his bow pace to create a different tune, "If God exists then, he is testing the virtue and the faith of man by placing the tree in the garden. Then, a man by their own free will may choose their decision to choose between Good and Evil. Back to my question earlier, man could choose to obey the commandment and choose to do Good, or man could choose to disobey the commandment and choose to do Evil. However, if both choices ceased from existence, then humans will truly be free from their sins. But that would mean that people would have no choice to do evil, since evil is completely being erased. And without the choice of doing good, people will be happy not because they are happy, but because there is no longer the choice to be sad. They will only experience positive emotions, because the concept of suffering and pain has been removed and taken away from them. But would that really be a bad thing if one wishes to continue feeling happy without all the negative emotions? And would that be a bad thing if one will not make any evil deeds anymore? The line between good and wrong is distinctly thin after all as you said, as human is stupid to differentiate between what is Good and Evil for them." Fyodor gives the answer then counter it back with his question.

"However, wouldn't that be a blissful world if there was no Good and Evil? Ivan is the perfect example for that concept of being robbed from his negative emotion to be in a state of eternal bliss without any suffering had the apple never been created in the first place, and he would do all Evil simply because he does not see it as Evil since Evil does no longer exist in him." And he, as though acting as God, praised his own creation in delight and fervor that it reflects in his eyes. "You said it yourself that the Good and Evil interpretation is based on what we believe. That isn't exactly wrong now, is it?"

You remain silent to think about it for a moment. Then, with or without it, the world is still fated to be doomed. Evil is still created through man's misuse of his own power to act. He gets into evil of his own. Man misuses his discretion to act under pressure of his desires and satisfaction of his sentiments. That is why man is a sinful creature. With their own carnal desire, they will end up destroying each other even knowing the outcome and aware that they were being controlled by their own avarice. Simply, a foolish human being as he always stated. 

Fyodor finishes playing the cello and the music fades from your ears. You instantly feel like you miss hearing it once he has done. 

"Ah, pardon me for making you listen to my long ramble, you can put that on the table, I will get to it later." He gestured to the tray you held since the start that has few tablets and glass of translucent water. However, you knew better than anyone else that he might get engrossed into his work later on and forgot to take it so you have to be stricter. 

"It's fine... but Ivan would be mad at me if he knows you haven't taken your pills..." You reply back with an even tone, but your hand was quivering from the intense feeling whirling like a torrent inside your heart from listening to his soliloquy, unsure how to feel. You love listening to his voice, and you were trying to digest every word he says. Each time you listen to his long speeches, it's like he is telling you a bedtime story, but with heavy context related to his ideologies. It always left you to think with your own reasoning. Fyodor took notice of that, and he rested the cello on its stand. He gestures to you to come closer to him and your feet move on their own as if he has a magnetic force to command you so. 

"Make me," He said with a small smirk adorned his visage.

You creased your eyebrow in confusion at first, "Sorry...?"

"Make me so I can take those pills." He repeated again, now with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"How do I make you?" Your question was anything but innocent. However, for him, that just gives him a chance to tease. A moment he would rarely display.

"Here, I'll make it easy for you." He took the pill from your hand. "Now..." And he guides it to put it on his tongue as he parts his mouth. "Make me swallow it."

Faint blush erupted across your cheeks, and your usual straight expression slightly flustered. Seeing you that way, he merely chuckled. "Hmm? What are you waiting for? Didn't you say Ivan would be mad if I didn't take my pills yet?"

"Ah, yes... that is true." Gulping and with your shaky hand, you place the tray at the nearest desk, taking the glass to sip an amount of water hesitantly. Your eyes dart everywhere as you don’t know how to proceed and avoid eye contact with him as you close your eyes, leaning closer to his face inch by each with your heart beating loudly. You can smell his lavender scent; you didn't know whether it was from his shampoo or his perfume, but nevertheless it invites and guides  you. You then open your eyes again, seeing he was looking at you with such an amused expression when you felt his warm lips collide as he drank the water from your mouth, your whole face beginning to heat up again and how you wish you could disintegrate by embarrassment right now. Fyodor tucks the strands of your hair behind, and the lump from his throat swallowed both the pill and the water you transferred to him directly. His tongue sweeps across your moisten lips and he tugges it teasingly in between, nibbling it softly. You relish it as much as you can, desperately craving the affection he gives you for some more. 

He broke the kiss, gazing at your flushed face as he lifts your chin to prevent you from looking elsewhere with a small chuckle, "Now, that isn't so hard, isn't it?" 

How you hate it that he could pull this confidently without getting flustered as you are. All the more reason when he is enjoying it. But you can never resist him, can you? Not after he has taken so much space inside your heart.

"F... Fyodor..." Your lips tremble calling after his name, there was desperation laced in your voice, a need in your eyes. He looks into you with an adoring unadulterated gaze. 

"Hmm?"

"May I...?"

"What? Oh? You mean that..." Understanding what you want from him, Fyodor spread his arms widely. "Alright, you may as you wish." 

Enveloped by his frame dearly with his consent, your hands hug his warm body and you rest your head against his solid chest, hearing the rhythmic beat of his heart. Although he plays such beautiful music with his cello, there's no music that ever sounds better than this. You feel his warmth spread on you, and when he returns and gives you a hug back, placing his hand at the back of your spine and he begins to stroke it, your heart swells with happiness. His touch is like a remedy to your starved soul, and it wasn't frequent that you get the chance to be with him this way since he was rarely present at the base. 

Fyodor is indeed a strange man, and his mind is always complicated to understand. You never know or could tell what he was thinking. He is no God like Prometheus, not son of Lapetus and Themis. Not the champion of mankind known for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and the gods and gave it to mortals. He is just he, a human named Fyodor Dostoevsky. A man who is acting in the place of God to carry the Good and Evil in this world. To bring salvation and destruction that humanity needs. He took the burden and huge responsibility on his own. That is something that you do admire him greatly. Albeit feeling a bit sad that you could do nothing but can only watch his back.

When he talks, you love to listen and take every detail in. You take a breath in and take in his scent again, calming you, feeling safe to be with him despite the reputation he has. Fyodor is not a man that is a fan of great affection; skin contact with another human being is a foreign concept to him. His ability could be activated at any moment if he so desires it, and then you would die in his arm in serenity. He would cleanse you off from your sin without any pain that torments you further. But he let you savor and indulge the solace he could provide you for now, as he did not dislike the company you have provided him as well. Strange as it may sound to him, he now secretly craves for the attention you give to him, as if he is the only center in your life and you are the only one for him, his dorogaya. How you wish you could stay like this with him forever.

However, you know, forever is a grand wish to have, as there is never a good thing that will last forever as it is with evil in this world.  Until the end, he will stand alone, just like God he aspired to be.

[morghulis]

@dcschain: 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙳𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾? / a man with no name.

Every highway motel has the same blurriness to them no matter the state, Arya’s found. Like peering at them through a glazed window, colors and shapes blending and melting. This is just another waxen image of little homes stacked side by side, both paradoxically perpetual and transient at the same time. Maybe she’d stopped here once before. Maybe it’d been a different motel back then, bought and stripped down and renovated, not even the studs of the originals remaining. Bad bones, replaced by worse ones. It wouldn’t matter. They’d still be the same place somehow.

This one’s extra quiet, and the sticky late evening heat of the summer air settles on their skin like cling wrap as they wade to their room. The square bit of wood the room key dangles from is too big for her to wrap her fingers around, engraved with the numbers 127 in tidy block print, painted cream and an ugly shade of maroon.

The giant shadow at her back passes into the room when she opens the door, floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Arya grabs the beaded light cord of the single bedside lamp and yanks.

Where Roland Deschain sticks out like a sore thumb in nearly every place she’s seen him he fits in like a glove somehow here. That liquid state of transience and permanence flows from him like a river. The thought reminds her of her mother, which reminds her of her father. But she finds that’s not uncommon when you spend your days travelling with a walking skein of blood and grief, a reflection blown too large, a broken mirror you don’t want to look into but can’t seem to turn away from.

“I’m gonna grab us dinner,” she mutters, slipping back outside without looking at him. Her eyes shut and she presses her boney shoulders back against the door and she tries not to think about wading into the river for her mother’s body.

It takes her a little less than twenty minutes to scrounge together a couple of microwave burritos, some soda and a few of her favorite kinds of candy. The nostalgic clank of her change in the machines is still in her ears when she opens the door again. She ignores the easy, graceful way he drops his hand from his irons.

They eat in companionable silence, Arya smiling crookedly at Roland’s expression when she pours a packet of hot sauce she’d gotten from her truck on his half finished burrito. She watches with greater amusement as he sorts through the different candies she’d brought back: a Snickers bar, sour Skittles, strawberry Twizzlers.

After dessert, they go outside to their usual haunt. Arya’s legs dangle from the tailgate, while Roland’s boot tips lightly brush the gravel. They tip their heads back and watch the stars spin overhead while the radio in the cab plays some gentle oldies.

“There’s not so many stars where I normally stay,” she observes lightly. Roland remains as quiet and contemplative as ever. So she lays back in the bed and talks for a while, tracing the outlines of constellations, both real and made up, the stories she’d learned and the stories she’d built for herself. When the clouds scud past she names them too, and gives them stories to go with their names. She’s not sure how long she talks, only that by the time her voice has grown hoarse he’s laid back too, scarred hands folded over his chest, blue eyes intently watching the mythos she’d laid out above them. For a long time they lay like that, soothed by the thrum of cicadas and passing trucks and the fuzzy music spilling from the radio. The clouds thicken, the scent of summer rain growing.

“I’m gonna head inside before I fall asleep here,” Arya whispers. Roland gets up with her, pauses after his boots crunch into the gravel.

“Would you like to dance before you go?”

It’s the most he’s said in hours, and the first question he’s asked in days. Arya chews her bottom lip for a moment before leaning into the open cab and turning the dial up. She doesn’t know the song, but it’s not too fast and not too slow.

“I’m not as good as my sister was,” she warns with a crooked smile, taking his outstretched hand. When his remaining fingers close over hers, her hand nearly disappears. He smiles, a pitiful thing but a smile nonetheless, and takes her other hand too.

He’s lighter on his feet than she would have ever imagined, and the pain she’d noticed in his hip seems almost to disappear but for the slightest stiffness on that side. Still, he moves with startling grace, with startling life. Life! She laughs when they stumble, once, then twice, a choking barking sound full of joy and grief. The tempo of the song picks up briefly and so too do their steps, the pair of them spinning wildly beneath the spitting night sky. When the song drops back down again she nearly falls over from dizziness, but he catches her gently. They sway the rest of the song away, Arya’s ear pressed against his chest, and she knows deep in her marrow that the same as she’s thinking of her father he’s thinking of his son.

They dance until it starts to rain in earnest, and Arya drifts to sleep in her bed to the scent of wet earth and Roland’s pipe smoke while he sits watch in the blurry space between morning and night.

[404fmdtaejin]

famed idol life / career meme

notes: once again, a big mega post because i didn’t want to flood dash with answers. thanks to everyone that sent in!! 

1. what is your favorite single you’ve released?

“solo wise? i’ve only released one solo portal song, which was a self-written song called that’s okay. well, bc forced that one on me when they took pages from my diary — still, my only one solo release, and that’s the favorite since i’m left with no other option. in regards to group? everyone knows, amigo or not — my favorite will always be view. something special about that time, i tell you.”

2. what are your favorite b-sides/non-title tracks you’ve released?

“since i haven’t released any songs by myself other than the one mentioned before, i’d have to go through decipher’s discography. lovesick, odd eye, prism, honesty, stranger, better off — there’s a lot to sift through in the past few years. unfortunately, there’s a point where my interest had started weaning off idol-dom, and you can observe that when i stopped paying attention and interest into what decipher did conceptually after 2016. at least the enjoyment was fun while it lasted.”

3. what is your least favorite song (title track or b-side) you’ve released?

”that’s an easy one. you take any b-side we’ve released in the past few years, and that probably makes the list. the comeback with the b-side shot was awful. that’s probably the worst, in my head. never was a fan of that comeback, now that i think of it — i call it the dark blip of decipher’s early career. perhaps it’s just ambivalence at this point that i have no real strong feelings towards bsides nowadays.”

4. if you could do a duet with anyone in the industry, who would you choose? what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“i’d want to do a duet with duri — we’ll have a tale of the oldies. the two 1990 liners inside bc’s walls doing a ballad song. though, duri would have to take the high notes on that one seeing as how he’s a power vocalist. there’s rarely times where i’m able to keep in touch or have people around my age, and for that — i’m always grateful when i come across that. we’d manage something interesting given the same age, and the ballad concept.”

5. what do you think of your/your group’s concept?

“decipher doesn’t really stick to a concept, and i suppose our concept has always been to branch into new avenues. there’s good things and bad things about it, obviously. we’re given new things to try, new stylings, and what not. however, we’re also subjected to that risk in case it doesn’t turn out how bc envisioned. to put it short — it’s either a hit or miss.”

6. what is one thing (a concept, a genre, an outfit, etc.) you would least like your company make you do?

“decipher’s novelty in the industry is that we’ve been here so long that we’ve managed a lot of different concepts. from the house pop to retro vibes, even spring ballads in soft tunes — we’ve done it all. the least? i’d say another electronic heavy music where we’re dancing like madmen. i wouldn’t mind a powerful choreography to show i can still ‘hang’, but to the sounds of techno-ish music? i don’t think so. at least, not with my age.”

7. what one thing (concepts, genres, styling, frequency of comebacks, etc.) would you like to change about your current career as an idol?

“i don’t want to comeback so frequently — it seems we’re coming back more frequently than other rookies. it would be nicer to stay back and relax while we let the hoobaes have their time to shine. genres and concepts aren’t really on the top of my list to complain about, though i would enjoy an old throw-back to decipher’s glory days where we’re given something newer. perhaps, that’d be enough to rejuvenate my attitude towards the industry.”

8. if you could be in any idol group, which one would you choose?

“with my age, i don’t think i’d fit any group. perhaps, i could assimilate myself to knight, but the bad boy niche doesn’t really match mine. say, i was a few years younger — then, you’d have me inside charm. i think i’d do a pretty good left and right if you ask me.”

9. if you could say one thing to your ceo, what would it be?

“i respect the business model you form. however, i’m still trying to understand it when applied to me. thirteen years, and i have yet to sit down and have a conversation with you. it’d be nice to have one someday.”

10. if you were auditioning for your company today, what would you perform for your audition, or what would you change from your original audition?

“my audition was so long ago. fourteen, fifteen years now, and that’s nearly half of my life. i wish i could remember parts — but there’s only the snippet of a ballad i sang, probably kim bum soo. all alongside some awkward dancing that bc shaped me up for. i’d probably pick a sung sikyung song instead.”

11. if you could do any special stage, what would it be and who would it be with?

”call it a weird match, but i’d have a set with duri, andy, joohwan, my maknae and jiah. well, those would be the people i’d know well enough to collaborate with, though the outcome might not be as promising as i initially thought. case closed, never make me do a special stage.”

12. what career opportunities would you like to pursue that you’ve yet to, or what achievements would you like to obtain that you’ve yet to?

“maybe a bit of variety? i’m completely happy where i am with acting, though it’d be better if decipher’s comebacks were rarer. however, i’m taking what i can get and variety might be a chance to show the side that doesn’t get shown when i’m playing a role on tv. i’ve heard from some people that i can be funny at times.”

13. if you could become a model or ambassador for any brand, what would you choose?

“as much as i like high fashion, i haven’t done any modeling in regards to brand deals with high fashion. a luxury brand would be nice — i hear prada has changed with the entrance of raf simons. i’ve been into the streetwear look lately after itaewon class, so that would be a current go-to. otherwise, i think i’m happy promoting good feel and credit cards.”

14. if you could be on any variety show, which one (or which type of one) would you want to be on?

“i live alone would be my first pick. only because i’ve decorated my house nicely recently, and haven’t had a chance to show it off to many people as i’m not home as often these days. however, that’d require an off day and i don’t have many of those lately. i think people would be shocked to see what i do when i’m around my house, lounging and rarely moving around.”

15. if you were offered the chance to become a ceo of an entertainment company, new or existing, would you take it? why or why not?

“as much as i’m leader of decipher, i don’t think i could handle leading a company. i wouldn’t want to become a ceo. it distracts from my own schedule, and i’d be too focused on my company rather than the hobbies and interests that appeal to me. sure, i’d make more money — but what’s more money on top of the money i already have? it’s counterproductive and i’d rather do what i like doing.”

16. what changes would you implement if you were the ceo of your company?

“each company runs on a specific pattern of events, and there’s a reason for that. a reason why routine shapes each group, so i wouldn’t necessarily change much. my trainee year was difficult, but it also fostered friendships within the group that i consider irreplaceable. the only change i can think of? maybe getting to know my artists rather than staying far off.”

17. what do you do to relieve the stress of idol life?

“i work out. i run a lot, and go to the gym as cliche as it sounds. but each role requires me to be in top shape, and after all that i’ve found a love for working out each morning. other than that, i like to shop and cook, even walk my dog. normal things any other person does on their day off. by the end of the day? finishing it off with a cold beer becomes my saving peace.”

18. what tips would you give to a trainee about to debut?

”push through it because it’s only a matter of time till debut happens. the trainee years are taken for granted, and you need to learn to treasure those moments. once debut happens, there’s no looking back and you’re constantly on the move — so, you’re better off enjoying now. also, don’t be afraid to approach sunbaes. we’re all in the same boat, been there and done that, so let us help where we can.”

19. what was the hardest part of being a trainee?

“singing while running around the room? i remember running too many laps, out of breath belting a high note. looking back, it was probably the time i thought i was going to end my trainee career right there and run to my parents. other than that? learning to live with others? i’ve lived a blessed life, and i’ve never had to share a room with anyone. that felt like a culture shock.”

20. did you enjoy the lifestyle of a trainee or of a debuted idol more?

“call me weird, but i’d say the trainee life. there was something special about those days, and now i’m so many years in my career and i miss the days crammed in the dorms. i don’t think there’s anything like it. the structure of it, the tears of joy and sadness all into one — every emotion all there. it’s rare moments like those i’ll never get back.”

21. what one song or album by another group or soloist would you have liked to release yourself?

“i’ve heard a lot of songs, but i heard a song recently by a charm member. one of the solo projects of dai, and his song let’s love was something that made me want to release music as well. maybe, it’s just inspiration just at that moment, but the song was something i enjoyed listening to. knight’s tempo was also something that i wish decipher was given, just because there’s a certain spark when it comes to the song.”

22. describe your dream sub-unit (members and concept).

“my dream sub-unit? does that relate to in-group or out of group? for the sake of this question, i’ll keep it in-group to simplify things. i’d like to keep our main vocal, myself and our lead rapper only because the maknae already has his thing in champion — though conceptually, i’m not sure what we’d be able to do. something non-dance related, i’d hope. perhaps, a power house vocal because i know our lead rapper can belt a few notes better than most main vocals of other groups.”

23. out of the following six options, would you rather be allowed to play a major hand in the lyrics, production, choreography, styling, music videos, or concepts you release?

“no lyrics, production or choreography. i’ve never been talented in that market, and maybe that’s why i don’t take part in any of these things. instead, i’d keep to the styling, and music videos — though, i don’t have an artistic eye. perhaps, i’d keep to styling as it lies most with my interests. my members might get bored of wearing the same dress shirts and slacks for each comeback.”

24. which of the two other companies (out of bc, dimensions, and gold star) you are not currently signed under would you rather be an artist in?

“none of the other two. i’ve said it time and time again that i’m loyal to bc — i might complain about it, sure. but in hindsight, i don’t see myself being in any other music company. now, if you had asked me in terms of acting? then, we’d have a different story between namoo, artist and vast.”

25. what is your least favorite part of being an idol?

“there’s no breaks, not for age. there’s little opportunity to cease the past, and continue on a new future. instead, i’m always tethered to the role of an idol, and despite how much i try — they still reel me back in each time for another comeback. on top of that, some songs don’t age well with time — decipher has a few of those. yet, because they’re fan favorites, i have no choice but to dance and sing along as if it’s 2009 again.”

26. what is your favorite part of being an idol?

“ironic, but there’s a lot of opportunities to try new things. i wouldn’t have thought of cf modeling or acting, if it weren’t for the opportunities presented to me. as a result, i’ve found a new enjoyment in an acting career due to the idol life. plus, along the way i meet different people to give me new insight — suppose it keeps me young again.”

27. would you rather be incredibly famous with a terrible reputation and hated by most or be fairly unknown with a good reputation and adored by those who know of you? why?

“i don’t know how to answer this one because being incredibly famous with a terrible reputation is just a cheapened output of your career you’ve built thus far. that would simply become a life unenjoyable, so by default i suppose i’d rather have the latter. fairy unknown with a good reputation because that way, you have a basis to build yourself up.”

28. what moment in your career are you proudest of so far?

“i’d either attribute it to parasite, which did win a lot of accolades not only in the country but out or i’d give it to the recent baeksang nomination for the dramas i was in. i don’t think i’d ever predict the success of stories i had a pleasure of working on. in retrospect, it was nice that so many people were able to relate and get along with the characters i was given the honor of portraying.”

29. what have you learned about yourself and/or society since becoming a celebrity?

“i’m no longer an extrovert. in fact, i’m more of an introvert. i used to think i was an extrovert, and one time i was when i was busy running around getting assimilated to those new faces. however, over the years, my circle’s only run short and i’ve been given little things here and there that make me want to preserve my small circle of people i’ve gotten to know along the way. i don’t like going out and partying, and much rather have a night in with dubu in peace.”

30. what would you like to change about how society views or treats idols?

“it’d be nice to be given more freedom — but isn’t that what everyone wants? i’m talking about stepping into something without facing backlash, or how we’re seen as approachable because we’re public figures. it’d be nice to sit down and have a meal without the thought of dispatch finding who i’m with, or scrutinizing any of my friendships. there should be some level of normalcy given, and i think that’s the least anyone could ask for.”

[jadekitty777]

Dreams to Dance

People said I couldn’t make an AU out of this prompt... you better believe I made an AU out of this prompt.

Oh but am I EVER excited to get here. This one is my top favorite of my seven entries. I really hope y’all like it too!!

Day 6: Atlas Ball

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 3.5k

Ao3 Link: Dreams to Dance

Summary: Season 7 of Step to the Beat is in full swing and dancing contestants Qrow Branwen and Clover Ebi have successfully made it to the fifth round. But with Ironwood judging their every move and a theme choice that was particularly unfavorable to them, the couple knew their elimination might be on the horizon. If they were going to stay in this competition, they needed something big, something that would blow everyone else away. 

And Qrow just happened to have an idea.

(AKA: The Dancing AU no one asked for)

~

Qrow swore if his grip got any tighter, his phone was going to shatter.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to those commenting how last night’s choice of theme was particularly unfavorable for the only same-sex dancing pair?” The interviewer, Glynda, asked.

He liked her. She was all business and no nonsense when it came to her questions. She wasn’t shy to ask the difficult ones but never wasted her breath on anything that didn’t at least provoke some thought. And he was pretty sure she was rooting for his team.

It was the man she was directing the question to that he didn’t like.

“I believe those claims are unfounded.” James Ironwood replied, fixing his stupid cufflinks. “While yes, the theme of an ‘Atlas Ball’ brings upon these fairytale notions of a princess being swept up by her prince similar to Cinderella or Beauty and the Beast, it’s merely that. A notion. The theme is merely meant to be a springboard our pairs can use to express their creativity and my scores are issued on the merit of how well they executed that expression. Their gender does not matter.”

“Tch, fuck off.” Qrow grumbled.

Ever since the first episode of Step to the Beat, Ironwood had quickly been singled out as the biggest hard-ass of all the other judges. He seemed to find flaw in everything, docking points for even the smallest half-step out of line or every smile missed, only getting tougher as the seasons went on. He’d been gunning for his and Clover’s elimination since their very first audition where he claimed their foxtrot had been ‘slow’ and ‘uninspired’.

Clover kept telling him he was imagining things but after last night, when they survived yet another round only to have Ironwood announce the theme that was so geared towards the rest of their competition, even his normally optimistic fiancé didn’t have any reassurances to give.

They knew this was probably their end game.

“They say too much bad TV rots the brain you know.”

He looked up from the screen. Clover crossed over the practice mats, hopping up onto the edge of the stage next to him. Qrow huffed in annoyance as his phone was taken away and a water bottle placed in it instead, but ultimately didn’t protest as the video was paused and set, face down, behind them.

He uncapped the bottle, taking a hearty drink, before saying, “Doesn’t it piss you off though?”

“Sure. All the more reason to show everyone we’re more than just the token gay couple.” He replied with the same level of confidence Qrow had always trusted to lead him, whether it be out on the dancefloor or in the ups and downs of life. “So, let’s get started.”

Clover pulled out his little pocketbook, flipping a few pages in where he had written down the eight dance styles allowed for this round.

Since starting in the competition, Qrow and Clover kept themselves on a strict schedule for each new week. The first day was dedicated to choosing their style and song. The next two, they worked on choreography and practice. The day after those was deciding costume, lights and makeup – a portion Qrow, personally, excelled at since he had the eye for color coordination and fashion. Their last two days were spent putting it all together until they had it down to memory. It was exhausting work, and some days they didn’t leave the practice room until after midnight, only to come back a few hours later. But, it was also why he appreciated his fiancé’s knack for organization, because otherwise Qrow was sure they’d be nothing more than a confused wreck like the many other couples who possibly used this very same room.

Before being selected, Qrow hadn’t been all too worried about any of the horror stories they’d witnessed over the years. But, after week after grueling week having the pressure constantly on their shoulders or finishing one round, succeeding at it, only to be thrown into the next with no rest or break, even he and Clover had had their moments. It quickly became apparent to him how things grew so out of hand for the other pair-ups. But a snap of annoyance here or a need for an hour of alone time there was nothing compared to the former contestants who changed their performances halfway through the week or even the very night before going on, only to predictably fumble on stage. Arguments that broke out over trivial details like not having the right trinkets or lipstick. People trying out experimental moves to stand out that more often than not resulted in injury.

Then there was that one event during season three, when the stress of the competition became too much and resulted in a wife and husband filing for divorce.

The very idea a competition could ruin his relationship with Clover seemed ridiculous – if anything, despite the trials and tribulations, he’d never felt closer to his future husband.

He leaned on his arm, scanning over the list. As they weren’t allowed to perform with a dance they’d done before, audition included, a few were already crossed out. Like their uninspired foxtrot. Or the paso doble which had given them a second-place score during the third week. It had been an excellent choice, highlighting their skills like Clover’s strength and Qrow’s flexibility. There was only one dance they did better.

It was on Clover’s mind too. “You think it’s time to break out our rumba?”

It was tempting. They’d been keeping it in their back pocket, as a little ace up their sleeve; but secretly, they’d both hoped they’d get to show it off in the finals. Now not even knowing if they’d make it that far, it was hard not to pull it now. The complex, often speedy movements, the power, and the agile form the rumba called for were all things the two of them exemplified best at. For Qrow especially it framed him well, as it was a very hip-oriented dance and he knew how to use his.

It would almost definitely earn them a high spot for the round, making up for their lacking score last night. But, then what? They’d still have four weeks to survive through, and with their best dance behind them, he couldn’t see them getting that far, as everything else would pale in comparison.

Qrow rolled his head up, meeting the other’s gaze. “Do you think we can make it to the next round?”

Clover hummed, rolling it around in his head. “If we’re careful about it, there’s a chance. But this list is pretty limiting for us. We could do a tango. Maybe with an Addams Family angle?”

“Too predictable.” He waved off, scanning over their options once more. If only they were allowed to switch lead and follow, the jive would have been perfect. So, he skipped over it, only to linger on the very last one.

It was risky.

Probably stupid.

But as an idea formed in his head, he found himself pointing to it and saying, “How about we do this one?”

Clover’s eyebrows furrowed. “The waltz? Are you sure? All of our performances have been high-tempo. They’re not going to be expecting a slow dance from us.”

“Exactly. There’s more than one way to surprise our audience you know. Besides,” Qrow added as he hopped down to the floor. “You’re really going to like what I have planned.”

~

The minutes before their performance were the most nerve-wrecking Qrow had ever had to endure. Stuck backstage as the floor for the act before theirs was cleaned up and their own was readied, a short reel played for the audience – sneak peeks the camera crew had caught of Clover and Qrow’s work as they planned out their moves or answers to the various interviewers who stopped by to inquire about whatever drama was popular that week. Watching himself sink down a bit whenever the camera was on him and hearing his own gravely voice come out over the speakers did nothing to ease his jitters. In fact, it usually left him wanting to be swallowed up by the floor.

“Thirty seconds you two, and then it’s showtime!” One of the crew members called.

A hand slipped into his, squeezing gently.

“We got this.” Clover assured.

He inhaled shakily and let it out slow. Squeezed back. “Yeah, we do.”

Another member made a hand motion and they took it as their cue to walk into the darkness of the stage and get into position as their announcement boomed across the auditorium. “Introducing Clover Ebi and Qrow Branwen, dancing a traditional waltz!”

As the first trills of the violin started up, the lights came on, revealing them facing one another. Clover was down on one knee, holding Qrow’s hand in his.

The production allowed for any sort of props to be used to tell their stories or just liven up the set as a complement to the main attraction. Over the years, he’d seen all sorts of things be brought in – cars, cages, couches. For this dance, they’d only asked for one thing. Set behind Qrow was a small, plastic toy castle that he could imagine his nieces would have played with when they were younger. They needed nothing more, for the real prop was Qrow himself, dressed in an eye-catching scarlet red ball gown befitting of a real princess.

He could already hear the exclamations of the audience around him.

Clover lent forward and, like the true prince charming he was dressed as, brushed his lips to the back of Qrow’s hand before rising. His movements were grand as he swept Qrow down the ramp to the main stage, the two of them turning together so they didn’t waste a single footstep. All the while the soft, dulcet tones of Cathy Cavadini accompanied them as they moved.

“Dreams to dream,

In the dark of the night.

When the world goes wrong,

I can still make it right.”

As they came off the ramp, they started off slow, moving into a whisk that presented them fully to their audience, before Clover brought him back in, whirling him along to the edges of the stage. As they reached the far corner on the right, Qrow was pulled out into a turn. He felt the skirt of the dress rise with him and it felt wonderful to hear a few happy shouts from the onlookers just like they gave the women in similar clothing.

“I can see so far in my dreams,

I’ll follow my dreams,

Until they come true.”

They turned their way to the other corner of the stage, preforming another outward turn that resulted in another set of calls before heading back to the center as the last trills of the first stanza grew to an end, preparing for the first big move. They’d practiced it over and over, knowing it was a difficult maneuver that had to go right on stage no matter what.

Clover guided him into a parallel walk. It was similar to the whisk, all about showing themselves off, except instead of both of them facing the same way, they were back to front, moving in a circular two-step around each other. What no one saw, but Qrow felt, was the slide of Clover’s hand between a hidden slit in the dress, undoing the little metal hooks keeping it closed.

As the music hit a short, bright rise and Cavadini’s voice did likewise on the first verse, Clover brought him back in, his right-hand grabbing onto a fistful of the satin fabric. With the guide of his partner’s left hand, Qrow moved seamlessly into the two inside turns.

“Come with me,

You will see what I mean.

There’s a world, inside,

No one else ever sees.”

He knew he got it just right as the roar of the audience climbed around them while the dress fell away, revealing Qrow’s outfit underneath. It was another prince’s outfit, with greys and blacks and deep greens, that complemented the other’s sharp whites, golds and reds.  He made a show of pulling from Clover’s hold, feigning embarrassment and shame.

Not for long though as Clover tossed the dress towards backstage and made a show of asking for his hand again.

Upon taking it, they renewed the dance, more vigor in their steps than before.

As if learning who Qrow truly was only made their love stronger.

“You will go so far

In my dreams, somewhere in my dreams

Your dreams will come true.

There is a star, waiting to guide us,

Shining inside us, when we close our eyes.”

Rather than down the edges like before, they stayed in the center, moving gracefully around one another in a square pattern, grinning at each other like lovestruck teenagers. At the last corner turn, they came close again for more sweeps and turns. With his legs now freer, he used them to his advantage, kicking them up or popping them behind him for a little extra pizazz on certain moves.

They knew they were approaching the big crescendo as the tempo started to pick up and the singer started to hold notes longer.

As it reached the peak, Clover turned him around so they faced away from one another. He gripped him strong and secure just underneath his armpits as Qrow held out his arms and fell back, almost down to the other’s waistline. With admirable strength, his fiancé kept him lifted up while they made two sweeping turns, Qrow’s legs never touching the ground as he held his legs in a leaping position similar to a ballerina’s grand jeté.

The resounding cheers were deafening.

“Don’t let go,

If you stay close to me!

In my dreams tonight,

You will see what I see.”

Ironically, at the apex of the last turn, Clover had to let him go. Qrow slid along the waxed floor, using his own momentum to swing around so he was facing the other when he stopping moving. Just as before, their separation was brief, Clover coming to lift him.

“Dreams to dream,

As near as can be,

Inside, you and me,

They always come true.”

They took another, tighter, swing around the stage, ultimately coming back to the center. The song winded down on the final verse and in turn, they kept their movements closer, more intimate. When the last words played, Clover dipped him and brought him back up slowly.

As the instruments also began to soften, Clover ended it as they began, taking a step back and falling to one knee. The only difference this time around was he now held Qrow’s hand in both of his, a perfect mimic of the day he’d proposed to him seven months ago.

The crowd went wild around them and the spotlight that had been following them was traded in for full lighting. Clover stood, gathering him up in an ecstatic hug that had Qrow laughing along with him. It had been a perfect performance.

“And that was Qrow and Clover with the last dance!” The host, Roman Torchwick, called as he joined them on stage. “Truly a marvelous way to end the night gentlemen. But, let’s see what the judges have to say about it, shall we?”

“Well, it was quite a display.” Ozpin was the first to speak as he leaned towards his mic. His grin gave away his feelings even before he spoke. “The story you two managed to tell with just a few short actions was masterfully done. You’re the one who crafted it, Qrow?”

Roman held the mic his way so he could answer. “Yeah. Fairytales are so often about overcoming life’s trials and finding true love at the end. I think a lot of us admire that ideal – and that’s what I wanted to capture with tonight’s dance.”

“Well, I’d say you did excellently. Not only was it heartwarming it also provides a poignant message to those watching that the right partner can lift you up.” Oz praised. “It absolutely is your best performance for storytelling thus far, and I’m happy to appoint it a 9.”

Qrow felt the squeeze where Clover’s arm rested on his shoulders and had to fight his blush as he heard his whispered ‘I’m so proud of you!’ that was thankfully not picked up by the mic.

“Oo-hoo! A top score.” Their host flattered. “Let’s see if you can keep it up. So, Port, your thoughts on their song choice and costuming?”

The aging man turned one end of his whitening mustache as he replied, “Dreams to Dream was a very nice choice indeed and truly sells the slow romance of the waltz.  I can see from here those suits of yours are near perfect matches. The dress is where I see flaws. It holds a great level of ingenuity, but it was hard not to laugh outright when the lights first came on, which didn’t match the tone. I also hope you two know those turns at the end of the stage gave away you weren’t exactly wearing glass slippers under that frock, among other things, did you?”

“Hehe, we were admittedly a little zealous with the dress.” Clover admitted. “We knew we should have gone with something less flowy, but it’s hard to deny how aesthetically pleasing it is to see a woman’s dress twirl with her. We wanted to have that too, even if it revealed a bit too much.”

“Zeal can be a great attribute when handled in the right way, but in this case I’d say part of it fell flat – as is, I’m giving you boys a 7.”

Still a good score. Qrow started to breathe a little easier. As long as James wasn’t a total ass and gave them more than a 3, they were moving on to next week

James straightened up, clearing his throat. “It’s really a shame-”

Oh, here we go.

“-That this is the first time you two have given us such a marvelous show all across the board.”

…Eh?

His eyes widened, certain he’d misheard.

But James cold-as-steel Ironwood was smiling. “Your footwork was impeccable and your rhythm to the music was like watching artwork in motion. This performance tonight shows just what you two are really capable of and that you’re truly a force to be reckoned with in this competition.”

Qrow couldn’t get his vocal cords to work. Luckily Clover found it for both of them, “Thank you, sir.”

“I hope you both keep it up. For now, take home another 9 with pride.”

He shared a look with the man beside him, both going from slack-jawed to grinning in seconds. A nine! A nine!!! For the second time, Qrow was tugged into his partner’s solid embrace, this time being twirled around on stage while Roman declared them as tonight’s winning team and the audience hollered and applauded.

Even after they were ushered off stage so the pair that had come in last could give a final goodbye and the announcement of the next round’s stipulations could be broadcast, neither of them couldn’t stop smiling, still buzzing with so much post-performance adrenalin and joy. The smiles stayed on their faces the entire time Glynda asked her questions. Throughout every call from family and friends giving congratulations. The whole drive back to the hotel.

After a warm shower and a hearty dinner, Qrow eventually found himself pillowed against the headboard and tucked against Clover’s side, sleepily watching reruns of the performances. Usually, they ran commentary over them, picking out the flaws and successes of each dance, particularly their own, to try and improve for the next round.

But as he drank in the applause once more as theirs came to an end, he found he didn’t have much to say. The TV was turned off, washing them in silence. He laid his head onto Clover’s chest, feeling fingers thread through his hair.

“You were magnificent out there.” Clover said.

He craned his neck some, enough so his fiancé could see his tiny smirk. “Weren’t half bad yourself, charmer. I’d say you swept me right off my feet.”

He chuckled heartily. “How could I not?” He dropped a kiss on his lips. “You are my fairytale.”

“And you’re mine.” Qrow vowed, cupping Clover’s chin and met him for another kiss.

More than the winning scores or a fancy trophy potentially on the horizon, he’d attest that it was only in moments like these that he attained true victory.

---

A/N: Got a lot of dedications to list for this one:

-The song is as Port says “Dreams to Dream” – specifically Tanya’s version from Fievel Goes West. Cathy Cavadini is her voice actor. I recommend giving it a listen to get an idea of the pacing and where their moves happen.

I took the inspiration for Qrow and Clover’s dance from various Dancing with the Stars performances and recommend watching them as well. I’ll list them out here:

-From both Heather Morris & Maks Chmerkovskiy and James Hinchcliffe & Jenna Johnson’s performances I took the inspiration of circling the stage and some of the up kicks Qrow mentions he does after the dress comes off. You can also see a lot of the ‘whisk’ moves they do in the center of the stage (presenting themselves to the audience). The dip and slow return that James and Jenna do at the end is similar to the one Qrow and Clover do. 

-Von Miller & Witney Carson – from this one, the way Von takes Witney’s hand in the beginning is how I envision Clover asking for it the second time during the dance. The square pattern they do midway through is also the one Qrow and Clover do.

-Marla Maples & Tony Dovolani – This is the big one. This is the lift Qrow and Clover do at the end. It’s really cool looking, so I recommend giving it a watch.

-However, Qrow having his clothes removed mid-performance was inspired by Elizaveta Tuktamysheva’s 2018 ice skating performance.

[grimelords]

My November playlist is complete from Aretha Franklin to Blood Incatation, and I guarantee there’s at least something in here you’ll love. Thanks for listening!

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Don't Start Now - Dua Lipa: Dua Lipa said disco lives. I absolutely love this song, it’s rock solid disco without being throwback or ironic about it. The way this song starts with the first line of the chorus and then launches into the verse and only gives you the full chorus later feels like that thing movie trailers do now where they give you a little trailer before the trailer for some reason. It’s also something I’ve never heard before, and it gives the song a very fun structure in the intro where it has two different levels of elevation it can drop down to before the bass properly drops in. I think Dua Lipa understands something fundamental about being a pop singer: literally the only thing you have to do is make bangers. She has basically zero personality and was criticised massively around New Rules for having zero stage presence (which she's definitely gotten better at since) but I kind of like it like that - she's just an unknowable blank canvas that's not particularly interested in any kind of narrative, she just makes bangers.

Mirage (Don't Stop) - Jessie Ware: Jessie Ware has been putting out some extremely good singles since her last album and this song is another. It’s the kind of smooth neo-soul that Jungle is pioneering but the way this song is structured is really beautiful; it gives the ‘don’t stop moving’ part a lot of space early on before it really gets to take hold and take over the second half of the song - it gives the whole song this feeling of disco evolution and the song going on and on and changing rather than static pop.

What A Fool Believes - Aretha Franklin: I can’t believe I’ve never heard Aretha’s version of What A Fool Believes before. It’s amazing. It’s the best kind of cover where you just basically do the song exactly the same but better in every single way. Push the tempo slightly, put big brass in it, make the bass hot as hell, sing the hell out of it, add a sax solo obviously. She takes such liberty with the rhythm of the vocals and it gives this whole song this great swooping and diving energy that just uplifts in such a beautiful way.

Walking Into Sunshine (Larry Levan 12” Mix) - Central Line: Something I love about this song is the crowd noise that breaks in with a ‘woo’ near the beginning. It’s such a strange little detail that instantly injects so much life and love into the track. It positions it at a party rather than a studio from the outset and somehow that mindset carries through the whole rest of the song even though the crowd noise only lasts a couple of seconds until they reconvene right at the very end.

Freedom - Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five: There was a time in the history of rap music where some kind of government mandate demanded that every song go for at least 7 minutes, so you ended up with great songs like this where they spend a good couple minutes in the middle killing time by going through everyone’s star sign and then asking the crowd their star sign too. Also they appear to have recorded their own kazoos on the track over the kazoos in the sample, which is a lesson in good production everyone take.

Freedom Funk It Up Freedom - Freedom: I was looking up where the sample on that Grandmaster Flash song Freedom was from and it turns out it’s from this band called Freedom. Easy enough. This isn’t the song Freedom samples though, this is Freedom’s other song Freedom Funk It Up Freedom. It’s fucking hot and contains maybe the livest crowd I’ve ever heard, they are just going absolutely nuts the whole time and it only helps the energy of the song which is already off the charts.

Set Guitars To Kill (Live) - And So I Watch You From Afar: For the 10th anniversary of their debut album, And So I Watch You From Afar just played the whole thing front ot back and put it out as a live album, and it’s amazing. They’re an instrumental band that’s always emphasised the rock part of post-rock, in the same space as bands like 65daysofstatic and Russian Circles but not so self-serious about it, just big honking rock and roll tunes with a surprising depth and complexity to them that never get bogged down in ambient buildups or the other space-making trappings of post-rock. Their debut album has always been my favourite of theirs because it felt the most ‘live’ and wasn’t as cleanly produced as their subsequent releases (which are still very good), and so this live version feels sort of like a definitive version for me, like this is how it was always meant to sound but they didn’t have enough fans to do the ‘woo!’ part properly yet, which is one of the most purely joyful moments in music.

Bullet The Blue Sky (Live) - U2: I saw U2 this week for the second time in my life and guess what: they’re still great. Even though they’re old as fuck and Bono is getting stranger and stranger they’ve still got it. They have a very good bit of stage design going with this current tour where for a big chunk of it they’re out on a little platform in the middle of everyone with no screens or fancy lights and it’s one of the most effective ways I’ve seen of making an arena show feel like an actual intimate experience. I was a million miles away and Bono looked like an ant more than usual but the energy still came across. Then, when they do the Joshua Tree Start To Finish part of the show they have big visuals for every song but it’s still pretty light on actual cameras on the band, which I think works really well - a sort of best of both worlds where you get the arena show but the actual band performance. This song was a highlight for me, and they’ve somehow managed to make it even more ferocious now than ever before. It got extremely noisy, far noisier than you’d ever expect from U2 at least and really amped up the swirling energy that I’ve always loved about this song. People accuse U2's politics of being too wide ranging, and it's well founded they're the prototypical 'heal the world' rock stars - even in this song and the way they've repurposed its messages to fit various political causes over the years they've tried to dilute it, but this feels to me like a song that you can't wash the meaning out of no matter how hard you try. It's one of the best and most direct criticisms of American evil put to song, and it's an arena song that doesn't particularly have an arena melody to it. Especially in the Joshua Tree/Rattle And Hum era, U2 have always been captivated by the American mythos but have never been able to completely ingratiate themselves as an American Rock Band because they're not and I think that point of difference in identity has them uniquely positioned to criticise the American mythos as well. They can have it both ways because they can't fully have it, so in this song the circle of American violence is complete in the women and children who run from the American fighter planes into the arms of America as refugees. Bono's actually mad, which is a nice change of pace from love healing the world.

Gingerly - Enemies: I love this Enemies album so much. A sweet spot between post-rock and midwest emo math guitar, and listening to it now this song really stood out in a way it hasn’t before. It turns up at a good spot in the album just as you might be getting tired of the twinkly clean guitars that characterise the rest of it and burns a hole in the speaker with that distorted bass and siren guitar sound.

You Look Certain (I’m Not So Sure) - WXAXRXP Session - Mount Kimbie: I think every band should get the chance to re-record their album a year or two after they’ve put it out, once they’ve had a chance to really sit with the songs for a while and figure out exactly how they work because this version is just so much better than the album version (which was already great!). The guitar sound is so much bigger, properly leaning into the post-punk idea they were only exploring on the album, and the vocals are so much stronger and more up front which makes it feel so much more like a full song than an experiment. This whole Warp Session EP is fantastic and I’ve been listening to it on repeat, it’s so great that they’ve morphed from this insular electronic duo into a proper band over the years and I'm excited to see where they'll take it next.

Peace To All Freaks - of Montreal: The new of Montreal single is great. Embracing an 80s dance vibe and immediately turning his back on it in the opening lines and not going out because he needs to educate himself instead. I love this song, an unironic and non-cheesy rallying against negativity which is a lot harder to do with earnesty than they make it sound here.

Taipei - Social Climbers: Thankyou to my friend and yours agrifuture for this recommendation. Social Climbers played an odd and paranoid version of art rock in the early 80s that on this song at least sounds more like modern opera trying to fit itself to a rock band than anything else. I can also say with confidence this is the only song I’ve ever heard where someone sends a quiche back in the middle of it.

Mad Eyed Screamer - The Creatures: I’ve never gotten much into Siouxie And The Bashees, they're probably somewhere on my list of bands to have a deep three week long obsession with somewhere in the future, but for now my biggest exposure to them is the time The Weeknd sampled them. I am, however, deeply interested in this drums and vocals only side project that Siouxie Sioux formed with her then-partner Budgie. I’m a big fan of any kind of restricted composition like this and I love this song. It’s so busy and the amount of reverb and extra percussion going on makes for this extremely chaotic, noisy vision of what is essentially a folk song in its lyric and melody.

Black Magic - Jarvis Cocker: I found out that the main guitar part in this song is sampled from Crimson & Clover by Tommy James and The Shondells. Which is something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before, a rock song like this built around a sample. Not exactly sampling in order to recontextualise across genres or approaches but sampling to recontextualise in a lateral, parallel approach. I love this song because his delivery is so feverish and impassioned it really does feel like he’s seen beyond the veil and come back without the language or capacity to explain what he saw, only the passion.

Year In Pictures - Dick Diver: Every year since this album came out it's shown up somewhere in my Spotify most listened list at the end of the year. It's surprising because I don't think of it as one of my all time favourites when it definitely is, it's such an easy listen that it just comes and goes pleasantly. This song is kind of about that feeling I guess, of things just happening and time just passing pleasantly enough year on year, everthing in its own time while the past disappears and doesn't matter anymore. "Whatever happens, I think everything will"

Heart - Bertie Blackman: I love the percussion in this song, the same propulsive clapping-centred beat that makes Single Ladies so good with the dark grinding bass underneath it that just pulses malevolently until the gearshift of the chorus where it morphs immediately into this 60s soul version of itself, with the ooh la la backing vocals and everthing, and that disonnance between the two styles drives the song for me. Where the verse lays out the evil plainly and the music matches, the chorus accentuates it in wide eyed irony "I know there's something sick with what I've been sold" sung with a smile and showgirl backing vocals.

Love Lockdown - Kanye West: Something I think we’re all learning as Kanye loses his mind completely on the world stage is that Kanye has always been insane. He has always had an unnervingly powerful self-belief and unwavering vision that has up until recently been what made him such a unique and era-defining artist. After the radical directions of MBDTF and Yeezus it’s sort of hard to remember just how radical 808s And Heartbreaks was at the time because unlike the self aware harshness and strangeness of the other two it was also so pop adjacent, because of its 80s synthpop influence but also because of the way it (and T-Pain) impacted all other pop music of the time. The instrumentation on this song is still so staggering, even just the pitched kick at the centre I could listen to on loop forever I think.

It Might Be Time - Tame Impala: Absolutely cannot wait for the new Tame Impala if this and Patience are any indication. The absolutely huge blown out drums on this are so good and remind me of something I’ve been trying to place for weeks and can’t. Maybe a Chemical Brothers song or some kind of big beat era thing. I think of Kevin Parker and Adam Granduciel from The War On Drugs as the same kind of guys, absolute craftsmen studio nerds that are completely obsessed with sound but unlike most other guys of that genre are actually great songwriters as well. Long haired studio hermits that emerge every few years to bless us all.

Never Again - Kelly Clarkson: I’ve been trying to decide whether this or Since U Been Gone is a better song and I’ve settled on this having the superior verses and Since U Been Gone the better chorus. The absolute venom in the lyrics is incredible. “I hope the ring you gave to her turns her finger green.  I hope when you’re in bed with her you think of me” is like.. the most metal opening I’ve ever heard. She literally sings “You’ll die together, but alone” in the second verse, jesus christ.

Giant Swan - The Blood Brothers: I found out recently from reading the wiki article on screamo (which like almost all wiki articles about music genres is about 60% artists claiming that genres are fake and critics coining new genre names half in jest) that The Blood Brothers were apparently part of a screamo subgenre called Sass, which is a term I have never heard before in my life and certainly never heard in the heyday of the style. You learn something every day I suppose. “It originated as an opposing style of hardcore punk to the machismo in heavy hardcore scenes. It takes influence from genres such as post-punk, new wave, disco, electronic, dance-punk, emoviolence, grindcore, metalcore and heavy hardcore. The genre is characterized by often incorporating overtly flamboyant mannerisms, erotic lyrics featuring sexual tension, and a lisping vocal style. The genre is also noted for its "spastic edge", blast beats, chaotic guitars, danceable beats and the use of synthesizers.” My understanding is that when emo went mainstream and the split between ‘emo’ as a music and ‘scene’ as a fashion occurred, this is the music that emerged from the middle ground. Turning against the masculinity of their screamo forebears and toward the queer aesthetics of scene, the resulting style was still furious and violent but furious with a light cabaret (but like, if cabaret was good and not just a guy in a top hat emoting, a different style of emo that Panic! At The Disco famously pioneered) and violent in a psychedelic, surreal way that set it apart from the depressed and black aesthetics of the rest of emo. I love The Blood Brothers and have never found another band like them in terms of lyrical inventiveness and sheer vocal insanity, the characteristic shrill falsetto that sporadically turns to screams is an amazing choice that’s incredible it works at all. This song especially stands out as unique even amongst the chaos of their discography. The loping lounge feel in the first half, coupled with the properly surreal description of the giant swan in the lyrics establishes such an strange and dark cabaret mood that makes this song so oddly singular to me.

The Ripper - The Used: I really appreciate the production on this whole album, it is so overdone and hyperactive that it creates this irrepressible momentum because something is always happening. The songs themselves are incredibly compressed in structure and extremely hook heavy, and it feels like to counteract and complement that approach they‘ve been gone over bar by bar finding every possible spot to add interest. Dynamics shifting, drums filtering and then revealing themselves, choirs appearing from this air for two lines. Guitar squeals fly in and out in the background and the bass suddenly becomes extremely chunky in parts. The whole mix gets sucked down a black hole and then a little glockenspiel outlines the vocal melody in the background for a second leading back into a huge chorus. Everything happen in this short song. It’s an interesting approach that can be overwhelming, but it has undeniable results.

Ilana - Mdou Moctar: Mdou Moctar rocks because he takes a big power chord riff like the one at the start of this song that could just as easily start a Thin Lizzy song and then immediately discards it and twists a melting solo that crosses time and space for the rest of the song instead.

Ancestral Recall (feat. Saul Williams) - Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah: The press release for this album says: “In its inception, Ancestral Recall was built as a map to de-colonialize sound; to challenge previously held misconceptions about some cultures of music; to codify a new folkloric tradition and begin the work of creating a national set of rhythms; rhythms rooted in the synergy between West African, First Nation, African Diaspora/Caribbean rhythms and their marriage to rhythmic templates found in trap music, alt-rock, and other modern forms. It is time we created a sound that dispels singular narratives of entire peoples and looks to finally represent the wealth of narratives found throughout the American experience. One that shows that all forms of expression in sound are valid, as all people are." All that and a bit of spoken word at the start that sounds like Hannibal Buress’ Morpheus Walruses rap and I’m sold. I’m such a fan of jazz like this that purposefully opens itself up to the influence of the modern world and modern tradition, and the percussion work across this album in particular is so unique and really does what he set out to do in my opinion, bringing the rhythms of tradition into a modern context seamlessly.

Spider Hole - Billy Woods & Kenny Segal: I only found out about Billy Woods this month and I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him before because he feels like the middle of the venn diagram between Earl Sweatshirt, Aesop Rock and Death Grips. This flat out sounds like a Death Grips song played at half speed. The justified paranoia and anger that runs through this whole album is palpable and jumbled, centring around a feeling of lashing out in a moment of hopelessness because you don’t know what else you can do. "4 million USD hovering over some mud huts, it's nuts, it's not the heat it's the dust" is one of the most evocative lines of the year for me.

El Toro Combo Meal (feat. Mavi) - Earl Sweatshirt: When this new earl EP came out I listened to it 4 times in a row because it is just so compulsively brilliant. He’s refining his style more and more with every release and he’s honed it to this fine point now where every song is so super dense in its lyrical content and production that a full length release would almost be too much. There’s just so much to absorb here. Mavi’s verse is incredible too. I’ve never heard of him before but I’m a big supporter now. The beats too, through this whole EP are the kind that sound like a radio stuck between stations - looping snatches of vocals and drums drowned out in tape hiss where the beat is only a suggestion that Mavi and Earl both glide over on some sort of metric modulation and only land every now and then just to take off again.

Drug Dealer - Slowthai: Slowthai is so full of fire on this song it's scary. Facing a dead end future down and screaming that something's gotta change, and that he's the one to do it.

Lighthouse (feat. Rico Nasty, Slowthai and ICECOLDBISHOP) - Take A Daytrip: I have never heard of Take A Daytrip before this song but doing some research it turns out I have heard them, because they produced Panini by Lil Nas X. I have also never heard of ICECOLDBISHOP before but the way he brings an absolutely deranged verse on this song has made me an instant fan. I love this trio of features: three out there, huge personality voices at the outer limits of mainstream rap that in their oddness complement each other perfectly.

Rich Girl - Michie One & Louchie Lou: Something I learned this month was that Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani isn't a direct rip of If I Were A Rich Man from Fiddler On The Roof, it actually samples this song which acts as a sort of bridge between the two, and I think there's something interesting in the transfer of intention between the three songs, lyrically and musically. In the original his conception of a rich man is someone who can afford to have lots of ducks and geese, eat well and have enough time to pray because he doesn't have to work, then in the Michie One & Louchie Lou version rich is being able to feed your family and start a school (as well as play the horses and never lose), and in the Gwen Stefani version rich is having a house in Hollywood and London, clearing out designer stores, and buying four Harajuku girls and naming them Love, Angel, Music and Baby. It spirals up mercilessly from geese to, I guess, human trafficking. Musically there's a transformation as well, where the jewishness of the 'daidle daidle deedle daidle dumb' in the orginal is changed to a 'na na na na na' in this version and only a part of the original melodic lilt remains, a part that is completely ironed out in the Gwen Stefani version's 'na na na na na's. The downsides of wealth morph too, in the original it's simply not a part of God's plan, in this version it can't buy love, is the root of all evil (is a  worldwide thing / rich is getting richer while the poor are getting stink) and only leads to more trouble (you reap but you never did sow / rich today you could be poor tomorrow / mind your back and watch your enemies grow) but in the Gwen Stefani version being rich is amazing on its own and the only thing that can top it is your love.

Santa Teresa - EOB: Tricked into enjoying ambient side projects once again. Ed O'Brien from Radiohead's new side project came up on my Discover Weekly without me realising it was him and I absolutely loved it. It’s expansive and cinematic and nice in a way that feels rare in ambient experimental stuff like this, to not be morose or depressing and gloomy for its own sake. It’s sharp and angular, or as sharp and angular as a song as slow moving as this can be and reminds me in part of HEALTH’s Max Payne 3 soundtrack, and Emma Ruth Rundle’s Electric Guitar One which are both masterpieces on their own.

Rough Sleeper - Burial: Reading Mark Fisher’s Ghosts Of My Life I was pleasantly surprised to see his Burial interview in there that I remember reading years and years ago before I knew who Mark Fisher was. I’ve thought of parts of that article here and there ever since and finally placing it in the wider context of Mark’s work was very satisfying, it’s funny how people come back to you in different forms over your lifetime. I don’t listen to Burial much now, or at least not as much as I used to at the height of my depression a few years ago where he was on near constant repeat and as a result his music became completely waterlogged with the feeling of that time and I couldn’t listen to him at all for a while without the memories completely marring any appreciation. But time passes as it does and it’s a nice feeling to finally be able to listen to Untrue again and not have it be so permanently soaked with memories of the worst time of my life, and now with a different mindset and viewpoint I can really see different sides of his music. Where before all I could hear was the bleak and empty future haunted by the ghosts of the past, now new colours appear - a warmth of hazy, pleasant memory and imagination. Reds and oranges creep into the black and grey and this song can feel like staying under covers while it storms outside instead of standing in the rain.

Night MXCMPV1 P74 - Venetian Snares & Daniel Lanois: I really don’t think I’ll ever hear another album like this in my life. The push and pull of the humanity of Lanois’ pedal steel and the digital nightmare of Venetian Snares percussion is just so engaging, and the moments where they overlap and move together in harmony contrast so beautifully with the times they feel like they’re playing two different songs altogether. Then they overlap, the effects overpower the steel guitar and it moves into a leaping angular digital realm and the percussion coalesces into an altogether human rush, or as human as Venetian Snares can be.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Marisa Anderson: I can't find the quote but somewhere when she was doing interviews about this album Traditional And Public Domain songs, Marisa Anderson said part of the reason she likes traditional songs so much is because when she was coming up and playing in cafes around town she mistakenly thought she'd have to pay royalties if she did covers of popular songs, so she only did public domain songs instead.

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord - Johnny Cash: Another side of Were You There When They Crucified My Lord, one that expands magically into an amazing many-layered harmony led by June’s high and lonesome howl.

See That My Grave's Kept Clean - Blind Lemon Jefferson: Jefferson was buried at Wortham Negro Cemetery in 1929. His grave was unmarked until 1967, when a Texas historical marker was erected in the general area of his plot; however, the precise location of the grave is still unknown. By 1996, the cemetery and marker were in poor condition, and a new granite headstone was erected in 1997. The inscription reads: "Lord, it's one kind favour I'll ask of you, see that my grave is kept clean." In 2007, the cemetery's name was changed to Blind Lemon Memorial Cemetery, and his gravesite is kept clean by a cemetery committee in Wortham.

The Giza Power Plant - Blood Incantation: What I find so appealing about Blood Incantation is how dedicated they are. Zealots to the cult of being long haired death metal guys who wholeheartedly and sincerely believe in interdimensional aliens and the pyramids being the remnants of an ancient advanced technology. The dedication extends to them being maybe some of the best players in the genre I’ve ever heard, and them recording this whole album analog live in studio is such a feat of performance that adds another layer of intensity to this already extremely intense music.

listen here

[sariasprincy-writes]

Hollow Point 34

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four (here) 

Chapter Thirty-Four The Last Hour

The soft tinkle of a piano filled the room. It reached every corner, softening the harsh silence and giving life to the otherwise still night. The clock on the wall displayed the early morning hour, but Sakura didn’t pay it any mind as her fingers tumbled across the keys.

Kakashi hadn’t answered any of her phone calls since their argument the previous night. It seemed sleep was no longer her friend either for it seemed disinterested in keeping her company as well. Instead, Sakura occupied herself with the familiar instrument, the music in her head distracting from the thoughts that chased sleep away to begin with.

The notes under her fingers seemed to stretch on for hours. She lost track of time, nearly lost track of the day, and perhaps would have sat there for years had the floorboards behind her not creaked.

Itachi closed the distance between them and her eyes fluttered shut when he swept her hair away from her neck and pressed his face to the place where her shoulder met her neck. He inhaled softly before placing the barest of kisses to her skin. Her breath faltered but her fingers did not.

“Come to bed,” he murmured against her skin.

“I can’t sleep.”

She felt him chuckle faintly. “Perhaps because you are not in bed.”

A smile crossed her face, but her fingers never lost their tempo even as he pressed more lingering kisses to the column of her neck.

Eventually Itachi pulled away with a sigh. Without a word, he lowered himself onto the bench beside her until his leg was pressed against hers, his hand resting against her lower back. “Where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

“I meant in your head.” When Sakura pursed her lips, Itachi reached up to brush her hair over her shoulder. “Is this about Hashirama? I heard he was assassinated.”

She kept her expression neutral as she glanced at him, briefly taking in the sweats and white wife beater he had slipped on. She liked the way it emphasized the muscles of his chest.

“No,” she said. “I may have known Hashirama most of my life but he was nothing but a mobster. In the end, he got what he deserved.”

If her cool tone surprised Itachi, he said nothing. He simply watched her fingers skim across the keys as she tried not to recall the moment she had pulled the trigger and embedded a round of metal between Hashirama’s eyes. The taint of smoke and blood lingered in her nose.

“Then where are you?” Itachi murmured again. 

Sakura blinked. She played another few measures of her song before finally saying, “Newark.”

“Newark?” he repeated curiously. “What’s there?”

“Madara. He’s regained traction.”

Itachi’s brows furrowed. “But Kisame said the shipment was going to Brooklyn.”

Sakura shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps it was, but word somehow got out that I took control of that warehouse so they’ve had to relocate.”

“You don’t think…” Itachi began slowly. “Kisame wouldn’t have said anything.”

The flat look she shot him said she believed otherwise. “Kisame is loyal to you, Itachi, and you alone.” Then her expression cleared. “It doesn’t matter now anyway. It is what it is.”

Itachi still didn’t look happy about her distrust of Kisame, but he said nothing as he thought, his fingers unconsciously caressing the small of her back through the thin material of her shirt.  Or rather it was his shirt, wasn’t it. She had pulled it on after showering, leaving the rest of her clothes forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor.

“Are you able to intercept Madara?” Itachi asked.

She opened her mouth only to close it once more. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she watched her fingers dance lightly over the keys, the notes filling the silence.

Her silence confused him. “What is it?” he asked.

But Itachi was smart. And it quickly dawned on him.

“You need the CIA to hit the port in Newark.”

“I don’t have the manpower to do it myself,” Sakura said, her tone coming out a little sharper than she intended.

It was a fact she had known for a while now, but it still left her feeling vulnerable. This was the one variable in her plan. She had everything else planned to a ‘T’. The risks, the consequences, the possible outcomes. All except this. She needed the CIA’s help. And that all weighed on Itachi’s next decision.

Sakura glanced at him, but he was no longer looking at her. His eyes were downcast, staring without seeing at her hands, though they had paused upon the black and white keys. His own fingers had fallen still against her back. She could see the thoughts running through his head, could see him weighing the options. He had made the offer before, but she knew it was still difficult for him. She would need to sway him a little more.

“Kisame said the shipment will be here tomorrow night,” Sakura murmured, carefully breaking the silence. “It’s Akatsuki’s largest one ever. Madara will be there. He has to be. It might be the CIA’s last opportunity to capture him before he takes control of the Underground.”

The lie burned her tongue as it came out of her mouth. Like acid, making her feel hot and cold as her heart shriveled up in her chest until it was nothing but dirty ash. She was fully aware how she was a terrible person, but this was on a new level entirely. Pushing Itachi to take down Akatsuki, knowing full well that Madara was long out of the country.

She sat with bated breath until Itachi finally nodded, “I’ll do what I can.” Then his eyes found hers, searching. “But that means you can’t be there.”

“I know,” Sakura said, releasing her tight breath. She relaxed further under his touch as his fingers resumed their gentle caress. “I’m going to try and draw Izuna to Brooklyn, in the meantime. It’ll be easier to bring Akatsuki down if we separate them.”

Itachi’s face pinched with a frown. “Izuna will try to kill you.”

Sakura simply shrugged. “Which is exactly what he’s been trying to do for months. It’s time he and I finished our little game.”

The fingers on her back suddenly dug into her skin. “This is not a game, Sakura.”

The intensity behind his voice gave her pause. She was quiet as she scanned the wall above the piano where a single picture hung. It was the first time she had ever noticed it, she realized. It was an old, weathered sheet of music. Though the song was one she didn’t recognize.

“No, it’s not a game,” Sakura repeated. “But it needs to end nevertheless.”

Itachi held his frown for a moment longer before he let it go with a sigh. Silently, he faced forward, his shoulder pressing into hers. With her own hands resting on her bare thighs, his fingers ghosted over the keys of the piano. Gingerly, he played a few notes. They were off-tempo and the pressure not quite right, but Sakura would recognize them anywhere. It was her song.

Her entire being down to her very soul froze. Her gaze dropped to his hands as she stared intensely, as if expecting him to play more. However, he wasn’t a musician and his hand fell away. Her eyes sought his face sharply, only Itachi wasn’t looking at her. He was frowning at the keys. As if frustrated he didn’t know more.

That look of surprise was still on her face when he finally picked his head up and met her gaze. It was then that she realized it had been no accident. He had learned part of her song.

She wondered how long he had sat here in the living room behind his piano and tried to recreate the music. Tried to recall from mere memory the notes he had heard her play time and time again.

Something swelled within her. Powerful and all-encompassing until she thought her chest might explode. Sakura’s body moved before her mind did.

In one second, she was sitting there, staring wide-eyed at Itachi and in the next, she was in his lap, her mouth pressed tightly against his. With their position, she towered over him and she raked her hands through his hair, forcing his head back as she angled his mouth to hers.

She kissed him hungrily. Kissed him like she was dying. Because in that moment, that’s what it felt like. There was so much emotion in her chest, she felt full, bursting. Like she was coming apart at the seams. And she didn’t know what to do with all of it, so she channeled it into that single kiss. Saying without words everything she didn’t know how to voice.

Itachi hesitated for one split second. Then he was kissing her too.

His fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt and dug into her bare hips. He pulled her flush against him, her bare sex rubbing against the thin material of his sweats where she could already feel his member stirring. White hot arousal shot straight into her core and Sakura was grateful she had been too lazy to find her panties earlier.

Her hands fell to his shoulders as he tangled one hand into her hair and urged her head back. A low moan escaped her as Itachi pressed a row of kisses from her jaw, down her throat until he reached the collar of her stolen shirt, her voice echoing towards the ceiling. He pulled the neckline away, licking and sucking at the skin there too until he grew tired of the offending material.

Pulling back, Itachi grabbed the hem of her shirt before he jerked it over her head, leaving her deliciously naked in his lap. His mouth descended upon her breasts, drawing little sounds of pleasure from her as he suckled a nipple into a tight bud before nipping it lightly with his teeth.

Wetness was already pooling between her legs, dampening his sweats and tainting the air between them with sex. Her hands fell to his stomach, feeling the muscle flex there as he ground his hips up against hers. She tilted her head back further, a breathy moan leaving her as he switched to her other breast.

But it wasn’t enough. That emotion was consuming her, spreading through her veins like fire until she could barely think.

Grabbing the hem of his white beater, Sakura ripped his shirt over his head before she grabbed the back of his neck and jerked his mouth back to hers. Her hands raked through his hair, glad that he had left it down. She liked it more like this. She liked the way the silky strands carded through her fingers, liked how it framed his face. Liked how much easier it was to grip. She forced his head to the side to suck the underside of his jaw as she ground herself down into his lap.

“Slow down,” Itachi whispered hotly in her ear.

She didn’t. “I can’t.”

Itachi’s arms slipped away from their encircling embrace so his hands could grasp her wrists. He pulled her hands away before he leaned back to look at her. Really look at her. She wasn’t sure she liked how thoroughly he searched her face.

“Sakura-”

“I need you,” she said before he could finish.

As if he understood she meant more than physically, Itachi’s mouth froze, whatever he was about to say falling forgotten. His expression softened before he released his grip on her wrists. One arm snaked around her waist, his easy strength pulling her bare chest flush against his before he cupped her face and kissed her again, this time gently.

Sakura melted into his embrace, allowing them one moment of nothing but emotion. Their heartbeats fell into sync, their lungs inhaling and exhaling as one as he kissed her thoroughly, his lips so, so soft against hers.

Then Itachi was moving again. Sakura couldn’t contain her cry even if she tried when his fingers finally slipped between her legs. He spread the wetness there, most of it likely his own essence from their earlier round, before he teased her with gentle fingertips. When his fingers finally slipped inside, Sakura couldn’t help her throaty moan as she ground herself against his palm. And he let her.

“Come on, Sakura,” Itachi murmured, his voice thick with lust. “That’s a good girl.”

She sucked in a heavy breath, only for her lungs to dispel it again. She could feel her orgasm building, but it was just beyond her reach. She needed something bigger, something thicker to calm the raging fire of her arousal.

“Please, Itachi.”

She didn’t wait for him to give it to her. Pushing herself onto her knees, Sakura pulled the string of his sweatpants and yanked the material down until his manhood sprung free. She pumped him a few times before she forced his hand away and lined the head of his member with her center. Then she slid down until he was buried fully inside her.

They moaned simultaneously, enjoying the feel of the other, before Sakura began to move. She raised her hips slowly before she sank back down. With the narrow bench beneath them, it took her a minute to find her rhythm, but then she was moving.

The room filled with the sound of lust. The slap of skin-on-skin, the groan of the wooden bench below them, the panting of her breath and the low moans that escaped Itachi’s throat. He wrapped a secure arm around her waist as she leaned back, her hand finding purchase on the piano behind her. It let out a horrible mash of notes as her hand fell on the keys, but she gave it no notice. All that mattered was the man beneath and inside her.

Itachi found rhythm with her and he helped her take her pleasure until she tightened around him, crying his name. The arm around her middle kept her from falling back and he let her rest against him for a minute before he picked her up and set her against the plush rug in the middle of the room.

There Itachi’s pace was hard and deep, but there was a tenderness in which he held and kissed her. That emotion swelled within Sakura again and she arched under him as his pelvic bone ground against her sensitive bundle of nerves until she was coming apart again.

Itachi finished soon after before he laid beside her. Only once their heartbeats had slowed again did he wrap his arm around her waist and curl into her back. “Now will you come to bed?” he asked against her shoulder blade.

When she finally rolled onto her back, he braced himself up on one elbow. A smile played on her lips. “Are we going to be sleeping or doing something else?”

“You want another round?” he asked incredulously.

She laughed at the expression on his face, but wasn’t given the chance to answer when her phone suddenly rang on the counter across the room. They both glanced in its direction and waited for it to fall silent before their gazes found one another again.

Sakura opened her mouth, ready to answer his question when her phone went off for a second time. A frown crossed her lips. “I should probably get that.”

Itachi said nothing, but the arm around her waist fell away as she pushed herself to her feet. Quickly Sakura crossed the living room to catch the call before it went to voicemail.

“What is it?” she nearly demanded.

On the other end, Ino’s voice was grim. “We have a problem.”

Sakura listened intently, the furrow between her brows becoming deeper and deeper until she finally hung up. It took her a long moment to turn around, but when she did, she found Itachi standing on the other side of the kitchen watching her. He had pulled his sweatpants back on and gathered the rest of their clothes.

He read her expression immediately. “What happened?”

When she spoke, her voice was grim. “The ship that’s carrying Akatsuki’s cargo just entered the Lower Bay. It’ll be in port within the next few hours.”

As soon as those words were out of her mouth, Sakura was in motion. She turned and hurried upstairs where she picked her clothes off the floor. She slipped her underwear over her hips before she pulled her sports bra on. Itachi entered the room as she stepped into her jeans.

“Sakura, wait.”

“I can’t,” she said without pausing. “The shipment is here. We have to move. Now.”

He tossed the shirt – his shirt – the one she had worn onto the unmade bed as she found her own shirt and jerked it down over her head. She made to grab her keys and her wallet from the nightstand when Itachi grabbed her by the elbow and stopped her.

“Sakura.”

But that was all he said. Everything else was clearly written on his face. The tension in her form fell away. She gave him a small, sad smile. “Our time is up, Itachi.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

I don’t want to lose you.

He didn’t say the words, but she heard them clear enough. Because neither of them knew what the future held. They were both headed to battle. Casualties were not only possible, but expected. There were no guarantees that either of them would survive.

But Sakura had been in this war long enough that she had to see it through to the end. She just hoped she wouldn’t drag Itachi down with her.

“I’ll be okay,” she said with a smile she didn’t feel. “And you will be too. We can do this.”

Itachi’s response was a slight frown before he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. Automatically her hands came to rest on his chest, her palms smoothing over his collarbone until her fingers curled over his shoulders.

Then she pulled away, her eyes searching his.

Itachi met her gaze evenly. “I’ll will make the call,” he promised her.

She nodded, willing the sliver of guilt in her chest to subside before she grabbed her things and made her way out of the room. As she grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, she couldn’t resist glancing at the piano one last time, her memory repeating over and over those shaky, uneven notes he had played for her. In that instant, she knew she would never get that sound out of her head.

Then Sakura forced herself to turn away. She had a battle to prepare for.

xx

Less than twenty minutes later, Sakura was back in her apartment. In the back of her closet, she pulled up a floorboard. Inside, there were half a dozen different guns with over three hundred rounds of ammunition. Quickly, she went through the process of loading her weapons and double checking that they were functioning properly.

Tossing them on her bed, she retrieved a fresh change of clothes from her dresser. She pulled on a black tank top and a new pair of jeans, ones that had a waistline big enough for her to tuck her guns into. She holstered a gun on either side of her hips and a third at the small of her back before she strapped a backup onto both ankles and jammed her feet into her boots.

After piling her hair into a high ponytail, she slipped on her leather jacket and peeked in the mirror. She gave herself a quick onceover, ensuring her weapons were within easy reach but well-hidden. Her reflection smiled proudly. A warrior disguised as a queen.

Turning away, Sakura grabbed her phone from her bed before she left her apartment and headed downstairs to her car. In the elevator, she texted Ino, asking for Kisame’s whereabouts and the status of everyone else. She needed to know where Tenten and Tobirama were. They only had so much time before the Akatsuki members would be summoned to the warehouse. Sakura needed them all taken out. Now.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Sakura stepped out. Only to still when she rounded the corner.

Kakashi was leaning against the trunk of her car, his arms and ankles crossed. He was dressed as usual in dark jeans and a black leather jacket. She resisted the urge to laugh at their similar attire, the memory of their last conversation still so fresh and raw.

The only reason she felt comfortable approaching him now was because the mask he occasionally wore over his mouth and nose was pulled down around his neck. If he was looking for another fight, he would have left his face covered. It made him so much harder to read.

Taking a deep breath, Sakura forced herself forward. He looked up upon the sounds of her footsteps but didn’t speak. She stopped a good five feet away from him. Kakashi noticed.

She swallowed thickly. “What’re you doing here?”

He shot her a look like she had just asked the dumbest question in the world. “What do you think I’m doing here?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said with a small shrug. She tried to sound nonchalant, but the bitterness and hurt crept into her voice.

It was enough to make Kakashi’s expression soften and he lowered his crossed arms. “Did you really think I would abandon you just like that?”

Sakura opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Because the answer was yes, she did think she had been abandoned. And she was ashamed she had thought so low of Kakashi. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was here now. After everything, why he still held such loyalties to her. And she asked.

“Why are you still here?” she murmured, unable to keep the waiver out of her voice. “After everything I’ve done, why do you keep coming back?”

There was a flicker of a smile across his lips. “I told you I always have your back, Sakura.”

“But why?”

He seemed to consider her for a moment, as if he suddenly understood she really didn’t know the answer. He let out a soft sigh.

“Do you remember when we were in Syria? How you saved me and tried to save my men?” he asked.

Sakura’s brows furrowed as her mind filtered through her memory. It had been after their initial meeting, after she had freed him from Gaara’s captivity and after he had found her the night she had put two bullets through Gaara’s head. Sakura had thought she and Kakashi had gone their separate ways. Only to unintentionally reunite in Syria.

That part of the world had been in the midst of a war with the United States. There was so much gunfire and so many bombs. Civilians and soldiers alike were dying left and right. The land was horribly scarred and the people that survived were even more so.

Sakura had been there buying arms from both sides. It wasn’t her war and she didn’t care where the weapons came from as long as she refilled her stores. At least until she had accidentally run into Kakashi. Literally.

She’d had two automatic weapons strapped to her back when she had taken shelter in an abandoned building as gunfire rained down on the city. Inside, Kakashi and his team had been doing the same and they would have shot her head off had Kakashi not ordered them to stand down.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” they had asked each other at the very same time.

Kakashi had been mum on the word, but Sakura had heard the rumors about a group of terrorists on the United States’ watchlist nearby. Only they were just that. A rumor. To lure American soldiers in.

Sakura had weighed her decision carefully to help Kakashi and his team. She had already helped him once and he had her. They didn’t owe each other anything. But there was nothing to gain from a group of dead soldiers. And the United States military weren’t answering their calls for help.

It was all a blur. Only Sakura and Kakashi had made it out alive without being gunned down. Sakura herself was amazed she had gotten away unscathed. Kakashi had been less fortunate with a bullet to the stomach. She had dropped him at the closest hospital, fully expecting him to die. She never expected to see the American Marine again. Nevertheless for him to show up on her door less than a year later.

Sakura hadn’t been entirely sure why he had sought her out. She figured it was something to do with her saving his life and he would leave as soon as he saw what it was she really did. Only he had stuck around. Time and time again.

Kakashi never spoke of the teammates he had lost that day and she didn’t ask. She knew it had fucked him up. It surprised her now that he had even brought it up. Though if she were being honest, she could see the parallels of then and what lay before them now.

“I didn’t think I was going to survive that day,” Kakashi continued quietly. “My own country abandoned my team and left us to die in that desert. Did leave them to die in the desert. They thought we were a lost cause. But not you. I should be dead. I would be dead if it wasn’t for you. So even if I do die, if it means I help or save you, I would do it. No questions asked.”

Even after everything she had been through, his sincerity touched her to her core. Her chin tremble and tears pooled in her eyes faster than she could blink them back. She could count on one hand and have fingers left over the number of times they had hugged, but neither of them held back now as Sakura stepped into the circle of his embrace.

Kakashi held her tightly against his chest, his arms wrapping tighter each time her shoulders trembled. He was all strength and support and unwavering loyalty. Exactly what she needed at that moment. She made a mental note to remember this moment forever.

Then Sakura wiped at her face and stepped away.

“I’m going after Kisame,” she told him. Because she knew that Kakashi deserved her full honesty. He deserved to know she was going after a federal agent.

Unperturbed, Kakashi nodded once. “Are you going to kill him?”

“That depends,” she said darkly.

“On?”

“If he’s betrayed Itachi or not.”

Kakashi didn’t immediately replied. His gaze looked her over, as if he was seeing every way Itachi had ever touched her. Physical and otherwise.

To her surprise, Kakashi didn’t question her. He simply patted the side of his jacket where she was sure he had a full-loaded weapon hidden. “And I am going with you. If you’re going after a Mossad Operative, you’ll need to scrub the room. You can’t leave a trace behind.”

It amazed her at how much she needed to hear those words. To know that she wouldn’t be going in alone against Kisame. The man was like a shark. He had been circling her for some time, just waiting to go in for the kill.

Sakura released a silent breath before she gave him a small smile.

Kakashi returned it before he straightened his spine. The soldier in him coming out full force.

“Now put your game face on. We’re going to war.”

tbc…

[theswiftarmy]

#30 - The 13th Song On The Playlist

William didn’t say a word, he just walked along with a small smile on his face.  Billie shared a glance with William and then watched as William and Justin caught eyes.  Billie found herself also smiling, unable to stop it.  Then Justin smiled too, it spread contagiously.  Everyone smirked and then stifled a laugh.  They felt giddy out of the blue while they walked. The giddy feeling ran through them like a potent potion.  The potion taking hold with each step they took down the street.  While they walked Billie Eilish sang Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  This odd feeling overtook them.  They all felt strangely fine.  A little too fine.

“Billie.  We need to go back for Billie!”  Justin suddenly screamed out breaking the song.

“Justin, let her go.  She’s been Swifted.”  Billie said with a smile.  It sounded like she was joking but, on second consideration, she seemed disassociated from her Billie serious self, like she was talking about herself as another person.  Or as though thoughts were traveling through her brain from elsewhere.  They all momentarily felt like conduits for thoughts that weren’t their own.

“No!  I had to leave my cat on the roof of Big Machine, I’m not leaving Billie.  If I hadn’t left my cat, Taylor never would have catnapped Sushi and we’d still have Taylor’s master recordings, and none of this would have happened.  We wouldn’t be in this situation.  Billie wouldn’t be—”

“I’m right here.  Justin, I’m right here.”

“Oh.  That was weird.  I really thought you were still in there.  In that place, with the sound walls.”

“Nah.  I’m right here.”  She said with a small smile.

“Yeah, we’re out of the ‘Tunnel of Lover’ and we’ve entered some sort of new land of folklore.”  Kymmie joked with a laugh.  “And what comes next is anyone’s guess…  Right dad?”

Carl Lyle Lawyer looked down at her.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if leprechauns come out of some giant shamrock holding us hostage.”

‘Watch out for Shamrock Holdings.’ Kymmie Lawyer jotted down in her journal as a note.

They began walking towards the helicopter.  Right now there was no real plan, just get back to the helicopter, return back to Oak Felder’s studio, The Spaceship, figure out what to do next.  Get some sleep.  With no other means of transportation, no taxi, no Uber, not a single other soul in sight, they set on foot back to the downtown LA bank where the helicopter hopefully sat parked waiting on its helipad on the rooftop of the building.

“Hey dad.” Kymmie asked after a minute of walking in silence.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the song that mom likes, the one about having a fast car.”            “You mean Fast Car?”

“Yeah!  Fast Car… you got a fast car…”            “Yeah that’s her favorite song.”

“Who sings it?”

“Why?”  He questioned.

“Because I’m going to put it on my playlist.”

“Tracey Chapman.  One of the greatest songwriters of all time.”  Carl reminisced.  “You know I met her once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Before you were born.”

“Oh, so in the olden days.”

Carl laughed and shook his head.  “Yes, the olden days.”

Billie Eilish and Justin Bieber laughed, but then stopped when Carl turned a lawyerly stare in their direction.

“You know, you laugh, but it’s only a matter of time my friend, you too will get old.”  He said.

“We’re not gonna get old.”  They said back, “We’re too cool to get old.”

“Uh, it doesn’t work like that.”  Scott retorted back to them.  “Unless you’ve got some magic trick the rest of us don’t know about.”

“Maybe that is what is going on, maybe Taylor figured out a way to change time so she wouldn’t age!  Like, change the tempo of the world to slow down time.”  Billie thought out loud. “Or MAYBE she just wants more time for a specific reason?”  Billie replied to her own question.

“We all want more time.”  Justin replied.

“Yeah.  I guess.  Or to go back in time.”  Billie said back.

“Why would YOU want to go back in time?  You’re on top of the world right now!” Justin asked Billie.

She shrugged.  “I have my reasons.”

Kymmie wrote ‘Fast Car’ by Tracey Chapman in her playlist as she listened to Justin and Billie’s conversation while the group walked towards the helipad where the helicopter was hopefully still waiting.  She wrote down her entry in the number one spot on the playlist.  Although, she was pretty sure she had already filled the number one spot, but now she wasn’t so positive, “Why is the first spot blank?” she thought “Was the first spot blank?”, maybe she started on number two and not number one.  She wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.  It was a bit like that scene in the movie Labyrinth, the one with the two doors, someone keeps changing the arrows around, but for Kymmie, someone changed the songs around, she was sure of it.  But, pen and paper doesn’t move, it’s not like a computer screen, it’s not like a phone, or a tablet.  PEN WRITTEN ON PAPER CAN’T JUST CHANGE ALL ON ITS OWN!  That’s just not possible, she told herself.  It’s not possible, right?  Then she thought for a moment and forgetting she was walking down the street with a group, said to herself out loud.  “Oohhh, I’m going to put a Post Malone song after that song.”

“What?!  You can’t put a Post Malone song after a Tracey Chapman song.”  Carl shook his head.

“It’s my playlist, I can do whatever I want!”  Kymmie beamed back.

“Well, alright.”  Her dad let her have the win.  He wasn’t about to argue her on her own playlist.  If it were his playlist, he’d have it differently.  Start it off with a little bit of Stevie Wonder, nothing like singing along to Superstition.  That song never gets old!

Who was going to question Kymmie’s playlist, it’s her playlist now, she found the notebook, finder’s keepers.  She smiled at the journal in her hands, she inspected the front cover, worn brown leather, zodiac symbols in a circle around a young woman, long flowing hair, as though the young woman’s hair were being blown by a gust with the wind.  As she shifted the journal in the light, it looked as though it moved, the leaf shapes around the woman seemed to move past her.  She flipped it over to inspect the back of it.  Then she inspected the inside front and back cover.  She noticed at the very bottom of the last page “ME”.   ME?  Why is the E backwards?  Kymmie thought.  Then she flipped it upside down.  EW?  Hmmm… Weird.  Maybe they’re someone’s initials… EW.  Hmmm… EW….  Well, ME with a backwards E or, she flipped the diary around again, EW, or ME-EW, whoever you are, this journal is mine now.  If you come looking for it, you can have it back, but for now, it’s mine.  She pulled out her pen holding it just above the paper.

1) Fast Car

2) Wow.  

“I would probably say wow to having a fast car, if I had a fast car.”  She said aloud as she wrote on her playlist, she continued talking,  “And then Billie and Justin go after that, so let’s see Billie and Justin and everyone else are driving in the fast car saying wow.”

Will B walked beside Kymmie as she wrote in the journal and talked.  No words, just a grin.  He took one big giant step for every two of her tiny steps.  His legs shooting out far in front of him.  His tall lanky body nearly twice the height of Kymmie.

“Hmmm and then I’ll put a Pedro The Lion song after that.  What do you think Will?”

Will smiled as she showed him the book.

1) Fast Car

2) Wow.

3) Billie + Justin + Everyone else

4) Pedro the Lion

“Wait, timeout, you know who Pedro The Lion is, but you didn’t know who The Beatles are?”  Billie asked.

“Well, there’s this boy I like in one of my classes, and he really likes Pedro The Lion, and I really like the boy, so I like his music.”

“You shouldn’t like music that people like just because you like them.”  Someone said, but Kymmie wasn’t sure who said it.  Maybe she said it to herself.  Or maybe it was Billie.  It was like hearing your own voice in a recording.

“I don’t know, I mean, it’s a good way to get introduced to new music.  Plus, you always have the music.  You may not always have that person.  But you’ll always have the music.”  Justin said to Kymmie, like he was replying to her.  Maybe she did say that.  Maybe she was trying to convince herself not to like the boy in her class.  Or maybe it was the music she liked, and not the boy.  How do you know you really like someone or something… or is it that you just like something about that someone or that you like something about SOME thing?  Did you fall in love with the person in the moment, or did you just fall in love with that moment you spent with that person?  What’s the phrase my ex once said to me, ‘You were just in love with being in love.’  Perhaps.  I had no witty response to her, what else could I say, she started the phone call with ‘I’m hanging up if the next words out of your mouth are anything but goodbye.’  All I could do was listen to what she had to say or say goodbye, so I listened.

“Let’s see, so then after Fast Car, then Wow. with Post Malone, then there’s a lion!  Maybe his name is Pedro.  I don’t know.”

“Are you making a story out of your playlist?”  Billie asked Kymmie.

“Maybe.  That’s just how I make my playlists, I connect the songs together from one to the next by thinking out loud.  Oooo, I like that song too, I’ll put Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran on my playlist.  So, let’s see, there’s a lion, then I have to think out loud about the lion.  And someone yells ‘There’s a lion!’  Why is there a lion?  And everyone is like, WHY IS THERE A LION? And it’s just like, I don’t know, there just is.  Because that’s what song is currently on.  Just shut up and dance with me.  Ooooo, I like that song too, but I don’t know if I want it on this playlist.”

           “You’re so weird.”  Billie said to Kymmie.

           “I mean, we’re all a little weird.”  She replied.

Billie smiled, “Okay let me see your playlist so far.”

           She held up the notebook. “How come we can’t each get our own line?  If this were an actual playlist on a streaming device we wouldn’t all just be one song.”

           “What’s wrong with a song with a whole bunch of people in it?”  Carl asked.  .  “One of the best songs of all time had LOTS of people in it!”  He reminisced to the day that song was released.  “We are the world…. We are the children…” He began to sing.  “We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let's start giving.”

“Father, are you singing another song from the olden days?”

“Yes, daughter.  And it’s a good song too!”

She rolled her eyes, “Fine, I’ll put everyone on their own line.”  She added everyone to their own line on the playlist.

Billie thought of something as she looked at the list.  “Kymmie, can you add Finneas beside my name?  I just, don’t know where he is, and…  It would just feel better if you could add him.”

           Sure, Kymmie shrugged.  “I don’t see why not!”

1) Tracey Chapman - Fast Car

2) Post Malone - Wow.

5) Justin Bieber +friends (“+friends” is crossed out so it’s just Justin Bieber)

6) Billie Eilish

7) Oak Felder

8) Scott Borchetta

9) Kanye West

10) Lizzo

11) Will Way

3) Pedro the Lion – Yellow Bike

4) Ed Sheeran - Thinking Outloud

12) Lady Gaga - Paparazzi

6B) Finneas

“So, there’s a fast car, then everyone is like WOW!  Then we’re all in the fast car and then there’s a lion on a yellow bike and we’re all like, let’s think about this, and we think outloud and then, the paparazzi show up.”

Billie and Justin laughed.  William Way’s grin grew larger and he let out a good sized chuckle.  A full belly laugh.  His tall and lanky frame shaking from the belly outward.

“Sounds like a good story.”  Carl said to his daughter.

“They’re kind of out of order, but I’ll just make a new list later on a fresh page once I get the playlist right.  Paper is so weird.  You know, like I have to make a WHOLE NEW LIST on ANOTHER PAGE, I can’t just drag and drop and reorder.”  Her dad laughed.

“It’s a tough life you have to live.”  Carl smiled.  “You should try being a lawyer.”

“What?  Why?  Isn’t everything like, online, or whatever?”  She replied to her dad.

“How many times have you been in my office and seen stacks of paper?”  Carl quizzed her.

“Ummmm… I don’t know, I always thought you just did that to impress mom.”

“Yes, that was the key to your mother’s heart.  All my boxes of legal paperwork.  She married me because she’s attracted to guys who file lots of paperwork.”

Kymmie rolled her eyes again then thumbed through the pages some more and found a doodle of a cardigan.  “That’s weird.”

“Well, like you said… We’re all a little weird.”

“No, dad, not what you’re talking about.  This.”

“What?”  Billie asked.

“That’s the same…”  She started to tell Billie about the cardigan wearing cat in the smoke shape tree from the Regina Spektor echo chamber.  “Nevermind.”   No one else had seen it.  She was sure she was the only one who had seen the cat in the tree wearing a cardigan, then she noticed the peacock.  The same one from the echo rooms.

“You okay?”  Billie looked at her with a concerned look.

“Yeah, just, this… book… or journal, or whatever, is weird.  I wonder who it belonged to?”  She turned the page and two cardigans were drawn in the margin, no, make that three, or four?  She turned the page again; the whole page was full of them.  She held the book up to the light again, lots of cardigans showed, faded, but they were there.  If you look at it from an arm’s length you can only see just one, but as you look closer, there’s more, then a whole bunch of them… It’s like they were multiplying, out of nowhere, more and more cardigans… cardigans taking over everything!

She looked back at her playlist.  A thirteenth song had appeared.

13) Jack Leopards & The Dolphin Club – Look What You Made Me Do

“What?  I didn’t add that.”  Kymmie whispered to herself.  “This playlist is adding songs on its own, that’s not fair, this is supposed to be my playlist.”  She tried to scratch out song number 13 on her playlist with her pen but the markings quickly faded away.  “WHAT!  This isn’t fair!!!  This playlist is changing on its own—”

“Ummm… guys there are some people following us.”  Lizzo announced to the group.  Kymmie looked up from her journal.  Everyone looked back.

Instinctively the women pulled out their car keys and held them between their fingers.  Kymmie held her dad’s pen, ready to poke an eyeball out.  The guys did nothing different.

They turned around to see a small group had appeared in the distance on the same street behind them.  The group had one oddly specific commonality:  They were all wearing cardigans.  The women lowered their makeshift weapons, feeling that their lives were not in immediate danger.

“Who ARE they?”  Kymmie held up her journal book and spoke to it as she matched up the cardigans on the pages with the cardigans in the street, “Who ARE you?”  She asked the book… a small heart appeared on the page—a tiny hand drawn outline of a heart appeared in the middle of the page surrounded by hand drawn cardigans.

@taylorswift

[elbiotipo]

Questions and answers for my Biopunk OCs! (see here)

Favorite song?

Marcos: Cuando Seas Grande - Miguel Mateos Florencia: Strawberry Fields Forever - The Beatles Ariel: Costumbres Argentinas - Los Abuelos de la Nada Melanie: The Internationale Raros Peinados Nuevos - Charly García Marina: Tempos Modernos - Lulu Santos Pancho: The ethereal songs of the southern whales in their migration routes. Also, Safety Dance - Men Without Hats

Hot or cold weather?

Marcos: Prefers hot, but doesn’t make any difference. Florencia: Hot. Was raised in Chaco and laughs at weak porteños who can’t stand hot weather. Ariel: Doesn’t matter, wears the same clothes all year. But cold. Melanie: COLD and nothing else. Marina: “WHY DIDN’T ANYBODY TOLD ME BUENOS AIRES WAS SO COLD IN WINTER.” (Hot) Pancho: Water temperature at an ideal 23°C, please.

Religion?

Marcos: Catholic, wishes Gregor Mendel was a saint. Florencia: Raised evangelical, nowadays into nature worship. Ariel: Jewish, practising. Melanie: Atheist, sometimes agnostic. Marina: Catholic, hasn’t gone to church in a while. Pancho: “Religion is hard to define. Do we dolphins experience religion as humans do? In a way yes. Does that mean that is there a religious impulse that every living creature feels? Some could say that. At the same time, we could not confirm it without a lingering doub-”

D&D class?

Marcos: Paladin. Florencia: Druid. Ariel: Whatever does the most damage the easiest (Barbarian if he had to choose) Melanie: Communist Bard Marina: Some sort of complicated homebrew class that is basically a wizard anyways Pancho: Sorcerer.

Why are you single?

Marcos: “I don’t know. Is it the motorbike? I thought girls liked motorbikes... I mean it isn’t the only reason I have it, but... Do you think I look silly whe-” Florencia: “Single? I’LL LET YOU KNOW I LOVE PALOMA VERY MUCH, THANK YOU.” Ariel: “Probably for the good of everyone. Your interest has been noted, though.” Melanie: “No man has yet been up to my ideological standards OR has watched my anime recommendations.” Marina: “Once I told a guy I liked “you have very much eyes” and then I never spoke to him again.” Pancho: You don’t want to know about dolphin romantic lives.

What do you want in your future?

Marcos: “TO BE AN ASTRONAUT.” Florencia: “Working in a national park sounds nice, but I’d better have a good internet connection.” Ariel: “Que me rompan las pelotas lo menos posible. Also for Boca to win everything.” Melanie: “The establishment of a Socialist World Republic, and hopefully a better gaming PC.” Marina: “Uhhhhhhhhhh...” Pancho: “What is today, if not yesterday’s tomorrow? We live in the future of our actions. However, we cannot tell which of those actions ca-”

Favorite smell?

Marcos: “Wet earth.” Florencia: “Orange blossoms, but you’re very mean for making me choose.” Ariel: “The smell of tin soldering when I finally finish the stupid order of that piece of boludo clien-” Melanie: “Grandma’s noodle guiso with lots of pepper, what else?” Marina: “Old books. Listen, I’m not a hipster, I just think that electronic books just fail in giving that unique expe-” Pancho: “I don’t know. What’s your favorite sonic shape.”

Favorite animal?

Marcos: “A yaguareté. But dogs come close.” Florencia: “If you had to make me choose, a poison dart frog. Don’t make me choose the color, though.” Ariel: “Velociraptors. Not the fake cloned ones, the real ones. Too bad they went extinct. I’ll have to settle with cats.” Melanie: “Dogs. Yeah, I know.” Marina: “Chickens!“ Pancho: “Is this some kind of trick question? Because I LOVE trick questions. In past times, one could say we were all animals, and in a way, it would be certainly be accurate. Nowadays, in the era of awakening conscio-” (cats)

Are you introverted or extroverted?

Marcos: “I am an extrovert cursed with social awkwardness.” Florencia: “Dunno. Just like to get along with anyone.” Ariel: “I get along with anyone who interests me. Can’t guarantee much more than that.” Melanie: “The fact I’m a revolutionary needs me to be an extrovert. I’d rather stay inside, though. Marina: “Every online quiz I took says introvert...” Pancho: “Introvert. What, you thought I was going to make a philosophical comment? Because I will. You see, it is human nature to fea-”

[myuntoldstory]

Harry Potter | Burning Room

AO3 | FF.net

Wow, it's been more than a year since I posted. I'm sorry about that. Once again: life. Also the past few months, as everyone can agree, has been one of the most terrifying times in human history. I hope every one of you lovely people are staying safe and healthy. Now is the time to care extra care of yourselves and make sure you are with us when we get through the other side of this whole thing.

Now, on to the thing!

Enjoy.

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Sirius Black/Mary Macdonald

Warning: Emotional Pain

Word Count: 1, 502

Burning Room

Sirius’ eyes flutter.

At first, his vision is blurry. Light and shapes have merged into one, incomprehensible mess. It gradually clears as sleepiness fades from his body, along with the echoes of last night’s battle. With laboured breath, he looks around. From the way he feels right at home this bedroom must be familiar. It takes a minute for him to realise that this was his home… sort of. For a time. That’s the very door her father walked through when he suspected Sirius’ presence. To the right is the window he flew through during the many nights he missed her.

Because, of course, in lonely times he always went straight here. To her.

With difficulty, he sits up. His whole body aches; bandages cover parts of his body. For the first time, he notices the assortment of healing potions and salves on the bedside table. He’s also quite nude. His clothes—mended, washed, and dried—sit on the foot of the bed. A sliver of golden sunlight streams through half-drawn curtains.

It hurts to move, but Sirius manages to sit up. He looks at himself as the blanket falls away. More bandages… but at least it doesn’t look as bad as it feels. Gritting his teeth, he reaches for his clothes and puts them on; then he shuffles his way out of the room.

As soon as he steps out he hears music. His heart follows the rhythm of the booming snare, relaxing him. Within the slow tempo and guitar is overwhelming nostalgia. It changes the way he perceives the house. Somehow, he feels like his younger self. It’s sultry and intimate… the kind that somehow reminds him of happier times.

Since he knows his way around, it doesn’t take him long to find her. In the living room, she stands with her back to him, staring out the window. She's crossed her arms. Stopping a fair distance away, Sirius studies her.

She looks different. He remembers a girl at eighteen; her sapphire eyes sparkled and she had a smile that lit up an entire room. Back then she had been so full of hope, the beacon he always looked to when his own optimism waned. Before him now is a woman—exhausted, and hopeless. There’s darkness in her eyes and she looks like she hasn't smiled in a while. She's also awfully thin.

They’re no longer together. The right to act so familiar is no longer his, but… every part of him screams for her. The sight of her reminds him of how broken his heart is, how empty his soul feels without her presence to fill it. Calling her name should have sufficed, but he can’t help approaching her and taking her hand. She gasps in surprise, but it doesn't deter him. He pulls her to him, enveloping her in an embrace as tight as his injured body can allow.

“What,” she breathes, “the bloody hell are you doing up?”

The scent of apples surrounds him, putting him at ease.

“Come, Macdonald,” he murmurs. “Remember I’m the restless sort."

"I remember," she mutters. "I keep wishing that part of you changes."

With a sigh, she finally returns his embrace.

"I'm glad you're okay," she continues, her voice quieter. "When I saw you last night I..."

She trails off. He doesn’t answer. All too soon she leans away from him, but he’s not ready to let her go. He locks his arms and, just as she begins to protest, gently sways them in beat with the music. He remembers the times he’d coaxed her into dancing with him. It’s always spontaneous because they’re never the type to plan romantic gestures. She always protests or expresses disbelief, but… always she relents into him. Dancing is his excuse to hold her close and she always grants his wish.

He hopes, after all this time, she still wants the same thing he does.

“You’re hurt,” she reasons. “You should be resting.”

“I’ve no time to rest—I have to go back to the Order soon.”

“Exactly why you should be—”

“Macdonald—”

“Don’t,” she warned. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

She’s right. They shouldn’t. It’s making their sacrifices irrelevant.

But… he misses her. Is that so bad?

Sirius doesn’t say anything else and, eventually, she does relent. For a good while, they dance in silence. The heavy, sultry tones of the melody bounce along the walls and they sway rhythmically to it. He can almost delude himself into thinking the war doesn't exist. That he's not hurt. That he doesn’t have to leave her again...

That forever and always he chooses her.

But he can’t.

He had made his decision. So did she.

“It’s been a while,” he murmurs.

“Has it?” she replies.

“Four months.”

“Not that long—”

“Felt like an eternity.”

She doesn't say anything. It's awkward, this silence between them. It didn't use to be this way. Banter flowed between them before. Talking to her was easy—fun. Because of that, he could never get enough of conversing with her. Each time they spoke it's as if pieces of him fitted with her. Yet... yet now, they're all different shapes that are no longer compatible.

“Where have you been?” Sirius finally asks.

“Seemingly everywhere nowadays.”

He frowns at her answer.

“Why don’t we see you anymore?” he tries again.

She tenses. To his surprise she wound her arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. She presses her forehead against his shoulder; her breath is warm through his shirt. This is an echo of what they used to be: quiet, unassuming, but real. He moulds her against him, stalling the inevitable, wanting to be with her—to be just them for a few minutes longer.

"People are dying," she says. "I don't fight in the field... but I fight to keep your casualties alive. I'm sorry I haven't been showing up, but every day the hospital's overrun..."

A cold feeling settles in Sirius at her words. That's something he rarely considers. For him it's always the conflict, the battle—the priority is to defeat the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Of course, he cares about the injured, the broken, the dead... but worrying over every single soul who dies? It's not a priority. Everyone dies; it is inevitable people will die in this war. The best way to keep them all alive is to go straight to the source of the problem and destroy it.

But... that's not Mary Macdonald's way.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. “You’re right.”

Mary doesn't say anything more. They continue to dance. The silence between them is uncomfortable. It's heavy, filled with things they want to say to each other, but can't. Oh, the things he wants to say to her. When they were together they used to tell each other everything. It took effort sometimes, but they always ended up being honest with each other. Now that they're separated it's as though there's an invisible wall preventing them from speaking to each other.

“You used to be chatty,” he remarks. “You used to tell me everything.”

Mary sighs.

“We’re no longer together. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“So… what, you’ll keep secrets from me now?”

“Speak for yourself, Sirius Black, you have a trove of them.”

A pang strikes Sirius' heart. They speak in soft, gentle tones, but the frustration and yearning are loud and clear. She's not accusing him of keeping secrets from her; in fact, her tone is even playful, but still... he can't help feeling guilty because it's the truth.

“I have to now,” he says defensively, “I’m an Order member.”

She chuckles, “That you are… but you’ve always had secrets.”

The guilt intensifies at that.

Had he always kept secrets from her?

It's a question he doesn't want to answer.

"Will you tell me one?" he says.

It's desperate, but somehow he wants to reconnect that thread they've both severed. He wants one thing to lead back to her, no matter what happens between them from now on.

“One?”

“A secret.”

They stop as the song fades in the air. Though they don't let go they lean back to look at one another. Unable to help himself, he cups her cheek. Though her eyes are dimmer the colour remains that intense, sapphire blue. He misses seeing them. It's difficult waking up every morning and not seeing her looking at him... seeing himself reflected in her eyes.

“I can’t,” Mary says.

“Why not?”

With a sigh, she steps away.

“If I do,” she says. “I’ll cry.”

Another song comes on. With a stricken expression, Sirius watches her walk into the kitchen. Every inch of him feels the loss of her. He wants nothing more than to return to her and hold her again. Promise her that this time he'll choose her. That they'll be together. However, as he watches her go on he can't help feeling that they're beyond... whatever saving grace there is for them.

At that moment... he's lost.

[mandos-little-friend]

A Party, a Promise, and Spotchka

The Mandalorian Fan Fiction

Rating: General

Characters: Din Djarin, Omera, Winta

Relationship: DinxOmera

Summary: After ten years the immediate threat is gone, and Din and the child have settled on Sorgan as a home base, but are still frequently traveling in the search for the child’s people or those that could train him.  Some people are not okay with this arrangement. Includes some Mandalorian headcanon of my own making.

Notes: Just posting this here first, I may put it over on AO3 later. There may be more, but I wanted to get this main idea out of my head primarily.

Feedback always welcome.

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

On a cool summer evening on a small, backwater planet, a tiny fishing village celebrated. A band of three played rustic instruments with gusto while many of those gathered clasped hands and stomped feet and laughed. Torches had been set up all around the center of the village adding light to the moons’ illumination and allowing the party to continue long into the night. Poles had been erected on which strands of flowered garland streamed overhead, and tables of homemade food and never-ending pitchers of spotchka were set up at frequent intervals.

In the center of the merriment was the couple of honor, bride and groom dancing together while laughing and waving at their family and friends, like multitudes of newlyweds that came before them. However in this instant the bride was carrying a child unlike the humans of the village – small, green, large-eared. The child laughed and raised his hands in the air in celebration.

Din Djarin stood off from the crowd smiling contentedly as his child was bounced gleefully in Winta’s arms. The girl – no, woman now – was as radiant as any bride should be. She wore a gauzy dress of a rich plum color, which Din had himself purchased for her as a wedding gift. A wreath of flowers in pinks and purples and blues circled her flowing dark hair. The smile hadn’t left her face since the simple hand-fastening ceremony had completed and her bridegroom had swept her up into an ecstatic embrace. They had eaten and danced and drank what seemed to be a krill pond’s worth of spotchka, and all the while Din stood back and watched, only offering nods to the few villagers that felt comfortable enough to approach him. After all, he had no official place in the festivities, while the mother of the bride, equally as radiant, mingled and accepted all manner of congratulations, occasionally giving him a smile and a wave.

Once the latest song of a particularly hectic tempo fell to an end, the musicians took an opportunity to catch their breath and partake of the refreshments. Din watched as Winta gave his boy a squeeze and set him down, the child then running with carefree abandon into a group of adults who immediately began showering him with attention.  Winta grabbed a mug off a table and downed it quickly before turning and catching sight of Din. He nodded to her and she stared at him for a moment, the previous smile fading. Finally, after wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she marched towards him, grabbed his wrist and kept walking without waiting to see if he would follow.

Perplexed, he allowed himself to be led past several huts, until they were between the village and the forest far enough away that the sounds of the reception were barely echos. Too far away from the torches, the only light was the weak silvery glow from the moons, however the filters in his helmet amplified the light enough to see that Winta was clearly upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked trying to reach for her hand, but she pulled away from him. She swayed a moment from what Din suspected was the alcohol.

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” she asked sharply.

Din sighed, the datachip in his pocket weighing heavily. “Yes, we are.”

“Momma knows?”

“Of course. We agreed to wait until after your wedding.”

She looked down at her hands that were now clasped together tightly. “She cries, you know.”

Din blinked. “What…? I don’t understand.”

Her head flew up, eyes blazing. “When you leave!” she hissed. “Every time, for two or three nights. She thinks I don’t know, but I do. I’d hate you for it, but then you’d come back and everything would be good again. Until the next time…”

“Winta -”

“She’s had marriage proposals too. At least three. Turned them all down.” He tried to open his mouth but she cut him off. “I’m not going to be there anymore! She’s going to be alone, completely alone, and it’s not fair!”

“It’s not like you’re moving off-planet,” he observed quietly.

Her eyes widened in anger and one clenched fist came up and rapped on his beskar-covered chest. “That’s not the point! She deserves more. She deserves a commitment from you!”

Din gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Winta, I can only make a marriage vow to another Mandalorian. Either she would have to swear the Creed, or I would have to break mine,” he finished softly. She looked up at him and he could see the tracks of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“We’re not important enough for you?”

“That’s...that’s not...you both are of extreme importance to me. But so is my boy. I need to find his people, and I need to protect him. I’ve sworn it. The best way I can do that is as a Mandalorian.” He swallowed. “Do you remember me explaining dar’manda?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“My Creed is my core, it is who I am. To be stripped of it, to lose my soul…even in service of my heart, it’s unthinkable, profane.” He sighed. This wasn’t a conversation he’d planned to have tonight.

“What if you never find them?” she asked, previous rage gone, now sounding like the girl he’d first met ten years prior.

“I honestly don’t know. I can’t stop looking just because it’s inconvenient for me.” He pulled back and crossed his arms. “When I finally got the nerve to come back here, when I’d felt it was safe enough, I did question if it was the right thing. It seemed selfish to invade your lives after so many years. Your mother and I spoke for a long time about expectations, about what I could offer...and what I couldn’t.”

Winta was looking at the ground again. He reached out and lifted her chin with a finger. “I know your heart is in the right place, but maybe trust that your mother is strong enough to make her needs well known?”

She sobbed and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that!”

He wrapped his arms around her tenderly. “Never apologize for fighting for those you love, cyar'ika,” he whispered to her.

They stayed like that for several moments, until light footfalls and a small cough caught their attention. They both turned to see Omera approach, clutching a shawl around her shoulders against the cool evening air. Flowers of the same color as Winta’s crown were woven through her hair and she was radiant in the moonlight. “There you are,” she said with a smile. “What are you two doing out here?”

“I was just giving Winta a proper Mandalorian blessing for a bright, prosperous future,” Din said and Winta hastily wiped tears from her cheeks.

Omera beamed at both of them. “Well, your new husband is getting worried sick that you’ve changed your mind already.”

“Oh no,” Winta gasped, then giggled.

“Go find him and make sure he knows you’ll never let him go.”

Winta threw her arms around Omera. “I love you, Momma,” Din heard her whisper, then she was running back towards the party with the energy of youth and love.

“So, are you going to tell me what this was really about?”

Din sighed. “She’s concerned about you being alone.”

“Hmm.”

“She says you cry. When I leave.”

“Ah. Can’t hide anything from that kid.”

“So it’s true?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s a...void, at night right after you go, getting used to sleeping alone all over again. But it passes. Nothing wrong with a good cry once in a while.” She smiled up at him in that way that made his stomach feel like melted beskar.

He was silent for a moment, then, “She also said you’d turned down a few proposals of marriage?”

“Oh, she did!” Omera exclaimed. “Well yes, I’ve been turning those down for years. Any single person of child-bearing age is considered fair game around here. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head firmly. “Nothing.” She moved closer and put her arm around his waist. “Trust me, if I had only wanted to be married again, I would have done so years before I met you.”

He pulled her in tight, gently placing his helmet against the top of her head.  He had a sudden need to feel the silky hair beneath his lips and smell the flowers that were nestled in the tresses. “Omera,” he said softly. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, eventually, but I suppose now is as good time as any.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “What?”

“You know my Creed is based on the Six Actions?” he asked.

She nodded, hesitantly. “The Resol…”

“Resol’nare. Yes. The Actions include protecting one’s family and clan, and rallying to the call of the Mandalore, the leader, in times of battle.”

Omera nodded, but her face had gone tense. “Are you saying you’ve been called to fight?”

“No, no,” he said quickly. “But the Resol’nare demands I be ready and able to go to battle if it should come to that.” He swallowed. “For most Mandalorians a life spent following the Ways of the Mandalore end...abruptly and early.” She frowned at him. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder and continued. “But many do survive a life of battle, past the time they are able to safely contribute.”

He pulled away from her and turned slightly, to gather his words carefully. “A Mandalorian may be deemed unable to fight effectively due to age, or infirmity, or serious injury. They become a liability in battle.”

“And then what?” she asked softly from his shoulder. “Are they rejected?”

“No! Not at all. They are revered for having both the discipline and the fortitude to survive. But there is an opportunity at that time. To be relieved of the duty to serve the Mandalore, if they so choose. They are given full funeral rites, their name is remembered and honored along with those who fell in battle.”

“Wait, you’re not saying they...die?” she said.

Din turned back to her. “Only symbolically. They remove their armor and are released from the Creed. They are not dar’manda but they must leave the tribe, forever. While the physical body still remains, it is as if the soul has already gone to Manda.”

“And does this happen a lot?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Most Mandalorians would rather die than be separated from their loved ones, their tribe, their home. Many, choose to...go out on their own terms rather than become a burden.”

“Oh.”

“But,” he stressed, “most do not have a life outside the tribe. They have no where to go. No one to go to,” he finished, placing a hand along the side of her head.

“Oh!” she whispered and smiled brightly.

He smiled back, and realized just how much he wanted her to see that. Instead he said, “I can’t promise this is something that will happen soon. But I’m nearly fifty. My joints ache most mornings. My back…” He chuckled. He’d lost count of just how many times he’d fallen or been thrown down violently. “But my son still needs me.”

“I know,” she said firmly, taking his hand in both of hers. “I know.”

“And I need you,” he whispered hoarsely. She pressed into him, laying her cheek against his chest. “Some day,” he promised and stroked the back of her hair. Flower petals rained down to the ground. “I can’t say when, but the day will come. Will that be enough?”

“Yes. More than enough.”

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

Mando’a translations:

Resol’nare - Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life dar'manda -  a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditional-minded Mando'ade cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart