#lost souls playing piano

[sweetlovingfictionals]

I have so many thoughts about different /O’s today. Namely

Octavia

Collin

Deathslinger

Chopper

Monty

Sarabi

And SkekSo hhhhhhh.

I wanna talk about them all but I don’t wanna spam the dash neither LNAO

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

WHO IS THE HOTTEST JANE AUSTEN MAN ? THE FINAL

Propaganda...

Captain Wentworth (1995):

Ciaran Hinds has that perfect ruggedness yet friendliness to his face that makes him the perfect charming Wentworth. And all of the longing that he manages to convey in his eyes is so hot.

Wentworth may be angry/resentful with Anne but in general he is charming and the best friend you could ever have. Ciaran gets the pleasant parts of his character and brings them out, while keeping a guarded coolness (protective camouflage) with Anne.

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I dunno if this counts as propaganda or not, but Ciaran Hinds has a face that looks like it was jackhammered out of a shale cliff.

If a line like 'I am half agony...half hope' comes out of a face like that you know that man has a soul for poetry.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in

F. W.

I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never.  

This is propaganda for the next round because I need my boy to be a finalist! But this letter is all the persuasion I need to know that he is a winner

Ciarán Hinds in this is a whole other level of "a good man" He makes Anne's decision at the end so much more perfect.

LOOK

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HOW

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HE

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YEARNS

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The yearning the yearning - JLM gives a great look but Captain Wentworth is the king of longing stares. He's trying sooo hard to hate her sooo hard to get over her - 8 years and he thinks he's ready to face her and move on but no he has to notice she's exhausted on the walk, that her nephew is being overwhelming, that she should be dancing and not just playing the piano for everyone else. And even though he's jealous later on when Mr Elliott gives her an "admiring look" in lime he's pleased for her because he knows she deserves to be admired and cherished even if he's angry that he wasn't able to be the one she let admire and cherish her. I just this man - he loves Anne so much and it's so so hot.

Propaganda for Captain Wentworth.

I've always loved Persuasion and so I was voting for him in his polls anyway, but I had never seen the 1995 adaptation. So because of this blog I decided to check it out.

Well. Now I'm obsessed. I came into this tournament fully expecting to vote Firth Darcy to victory. Ciaran Hinds suddenly showed up and sparta kicked him to curb. His every look, every gesture is laden with longing. He's so tender with Anne but then the barely restrained rage in his voice when he speaks to Lady Russell. He's rugged and manly yet tender and considerate.

I BURN, I PINE, I PERISH

If you're wondering why you should vote for Wentworth 95 in the @hotjaneaustenmenpoll, it's because he's got something hot for everyone.

Do you think it's hot when a man dresses up fancy? He looks very dapper in his uniform! Or do you find it more sexy when a man is more casual, a little mussed up, maybe even a little grimy? He does that perfectly too!

Do you find men hot when they're being tender and restrained? Or do you find men hot when they're losing control a bit, maybe getting a bit passionate with anger or jealousy?

Do you like a refined man of culture? Or a rugged outdoorsman?

A warm smile? Or something more broody?

Someone who's the life of the party, boisterous, laughing, charming? Or the strong silent type, serious, calm, mysterious?

Hinds's Wentworth does all of these sexy things brilliantly! You cannot lose with him, he's got it all!

II ranked Wentworth as the #1 Austen man in terms of fuckability, and I stand behind that when it comes to Wentworth 95 versus Knightley 09.

Is Wentworth 95 angry sometimes? Yeah. But that's hot, at least coming from Ciaran Hinds' ruggedly handsome face. Have you heard of makeup sex? Tell me Wentworth 95 and Anne don't have the most scorching hot angry makeup sex imaginable 🥵

And yet Wentworth 95 is also super tender! The slow, gentle, worshipful way he kisses Anne at the end?? So beautiful and hot. The longing way he looks at Anne in silence. The way he is so solicitous of Anne's comfort to put her on the carriage with his sister! You can just tell he's gonna take the time to worship his wife in bed.

And let's not forget that he writes the most romantic letter ever written! The depth of passion in this man, my god! 🔥💕🔥

This is not a who is the better man contest, or who is the more faithful to the book, or who would you most want to marry. This is a hotness contest, and Wentworth 95 is so fucking hot.

Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

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Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

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The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

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Fencing? Hot!

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The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

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This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

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Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

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Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

[timbit-robin-art]

I saw your Mio doodle and now I wonder about a Light Music Club X-Men Edition.. Scott can be on drums he'd be so good at keeping time... whatever Ororo is on (because she'd slay at every instrument) she has to ALSO be on vocals because I believe that's just canon..

maybe Logan can be their roadie

Ah, K-On. My one weakness. I went a little overboard when picturing this, so whoops.

I imagine this being in a universe where there’s still mutants, but Xavier isn’t making them use their powers to fight. Instead, the institute is for learning how to control their powers/providing refuge for mutants who have nowhere else to go, and they go to a mutant/normal human mixed private school for normal education.

Here’s some of my ideas for the club members so far:

Ororo is the bass player and lead vocalist. She’s been inspired to be in a band ever since she lived on the streets as a little kid, where she saw a bass player performing live. Freshmen year of high school, she hears someone absolutely going ham on the drums, and finds Scott playing on his own. It took a while, but she finally convinced Scott to join her. She’s the heart and soul of the group, and main character along with Scott. I don’t see her living at the institute, though Xavier keeps the offer open. Instead, she may live with a 19/20 year old Gambit, who’s living off of the Guild’s money and trying to lay low.

Scott is the drum player. After Xavier picked him off of the streets, he got a bit lost in the mansion and discovered a drum set in the music room (I imagine it used to belong to Erik/Magnus). Xavier sees that the boy has natural rhythm, and decides to find him a teacher. Scott forms a middle school band with the O5, but they had a falling out, causing everyone to go their separate ways. However, Scott is still very passionate about the drums, which is why he eventually joins Ororo. He may be more pessimistic, but his passion for the drums is more than enough to keep him going.

Kurt is the pianist. He’s a transfer student from Germany and has always wanted to be a part of a band like Ororo. It was him that suggested the idea of forming an actual club, and he’s the big idealist/optimist of the group. I can see him not knowing too much on how to play piano, minus the basics he learned from his mother (she taught him how to play despite his three fingers), so when he moves into the institute, Xavier teaches him how to play better. Even though there are some people at school who treat him just as bad as the mobs from his home, he’s still willing to get out there and play with the group.

Hank is the guitarist. He used to be a part of the same group as Scott, but after everyone split a part, he stopped playing entirely. I can see him being intrigued by the talk of a “light music club,” but after seeing Scott was there, he wants nothing to do with it. Eventually, he joins a practice session after Ororo gets through to him, and he realizes just how much he misses playing. Scott and him have the friends-turned-hostile-turned-back-into-friends relationship. Unlike the other three O5 members, his love for music trumps any hostile feelings after the falling out, and he’s willing to give it another go.

Ah, but you can’t have a club without a faculty member as your sponsor;

Mr. Logan was the only available candidate for this. After a lot of begging (and promises that they’d wash his motorcycle every weekend), they eventually get him on board. He pretends to hate it, but it slowly becomes obvious that he has a soft spot for the group. He sees the passion they all have, and it reminds him of when he was younger (hmm… what if Logan was the bass player Ororo saw when she was younger…).

Of course, if we follow K-On, we must have a 5th member that joins later on. I have no idea who that could be. I think there’s a lot of fun ideas depending on who.

[earlgreytea68]

I was watching Patrick's piano medley last night and thinking about the person he was during that Soul Punk tour when he met Casey Benjamin, when he was taught that music should be joyful and playing should be fun. I think about the way Patrick ended up on that tour in the first place, the way his band of friends disintegrated, the way fame made them miserable and destroyed them. Patrick talks now of watching his best friend spin away from him, no matter how hard he was trying to defend him from the slings and arrows cast away. Patrick talks now of losing his purpose is an artist when he lost Pete. Patrick stepped into the soul punk tour fresh off his memory of folie, his experience of being rejected all around. Imagine being Patrick stump and being reminded that music is supposed to bring joy, that music shared communally is supposed to be a happy occasion. Imagine how revolutionary it must have felt to be told that, so far away from whatever moments of joy music once brought Patrick stump before the roller coaster started sliding downhill. 

I was watching Patrick's piano medley last night and thinking about the person he is now, how far away he is from the flailing kid Casey Benjamin took aside and gave permission to smile. Patrick, so brave, every night, on every stage, tossing songs into the crowd and smiling. Patrick, so determined not to lose his band again, reaching out for Pete through the pandemic and holding onto him so hard. Patrick, making another album, going out on tour, for the sheer fun of it, and finding the fun through all the flubbed lyrics and false starts (and head colds). 

Patrick's journey is such a hero's journey, from that scared kid in a pete-gifted hat who hid behind him on stage to the fierce and stubborn force that keeps challenging his band forward and refuses to give up. No wonder Pete stares at him in wonder every night. Who wouldn't? That kid he thought would be a star ended up a star and yet never stopped wanting to have fun with his friends most of all. That kid never abandoned him no matter what he did, held on so tight. What a catch. And then last night that kid showed how far he'd come, threw a song into the set because he had too much emotion he needed to let out, and the crowd was there for him, and so was his band, because after the whole mess, twenty years later, Patrick stump smiles on stage, even through his tears. 

(I didn't know Casey Benjamin, obviously, but Patrick clearly loved him, and I send my condolences to everyone whose lives he touched. Which seems like a lot.)

[raekensluver]

melodies of love

description: you and your childhood best friend theodore nott have been through thick and thin together, so when he tells you he's leaving, paired with a confession, it changes everything.

pairing: childhood bsf!theodore nott x fem!reader

contains: mentions of parental death, latent fathers, late-night love confessions, theo plays piano!!!!!, musician!theo, modern au!

song rec: symphony by clean bandit ft. zara larsson- “life was stringing me along, then you came and you cut me loose."

w.c: 2.0k

an: i have been waiting so longgggg to use the middle photo of lorenzo.

the room was quiet, the only sound being the occasional rustle of the curtains dancing with the night breeze. the bed beneath you was warm and comforting, the familiar creaks of the old wooden frame a gentle lullaby. you laid there sideways, your legs hanging off the edge, the mattress slightly indented from your weight. the soft glow of the bedside lamp painted the walls with a golden hue, casting a serene scene of shadows and light.

you felt the anticipation build in your chest, your heart beating slightly faster as you thought about the stories theo might share tonight. the late night talks had been your ritual since you both discovered that insomnia was a shared burden. you'd lay in the darkness, whispering your secrets and fears into the night, knowing that the other was always there to listen.

the bond between you and theo was forged in the fires of shared pain. both of you had fathers who were more like shadows than guardians - present but never really there. the cold shoulder from your father had been a harsh reality you learned to navigate early on, while theo had to deal with the tyranny of his own. it was your mothers' gentle spirits that had truly bound you together. lost too soon to the merciless grip of illness and a tragic accident, their memories remained a beacon of warmth in the cold, unforgiving world of your fathers.

you remembered the particularly bad nights, the ones where the darkness outside was only a reflection of the turmoil within. when the house was too quiet, and the sadness was too heavy to bear alone, you would sneak out of your room, tiptoe down the stairs, and out the back door. the cool grass beneath your bare feet was a comforting reminder of the outside world that waited for you beyond the walls of your father's frigid domain. the night air was a balm, carrying the scent of the blooming lilac bushes that lined the fence separating your yards.

you would slip into theo's house, the soft tinkle of the piano in the parlor guiding you like a lighthouse beam through the stillness. his mother had been a pianist before her illness took her, and the piano remained, a silent sentinel of happier days. theo had taught himself to play, and his music was the voice that soothed your soul. the melodies he conjured in those small hours were bittersweet, a testament to the love and loss that haunted your shared past.

his room was always the same, a sanctuary filled with books and knickknacks that reflected his boundless curiosity. the walls were plastered with posters of faraway places and people, a silent declaration of his desire to escape the confines of your small town. the bed was unmade, the bedspread a tapestry of wrinkles from his restlessness, but there was always a spot next to him where you felt safe. you'd slide under the covers, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the chill that had followed you from your own room.

his eyes would light up when he saw you, a smile playing on his lips as he whispered a quiet "hey." theo had the kind of smile that could melt the iciest of hearts, a trait you envied and adored. you would share your day's troubles with him, the mundane and the profound, and he would listen with a rapt attention that no one else ever seemed to have. his eyes never left yours, as if by looking away he might miss something important, something only you could tell him.

his voice was low and soothing, a balm to your soul on those dark nights. you felt as if you could tell him anything, and he would understand. the way his fingers danced over the piano keys, the gentle strokes and crescendos, mirrored the tumultuous symphony of emotions that played within you. as you talked, he would often reach out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, giving it a squeeze that spoke of his silent support.

this night was no different, except for the anticipation that filled the air. the whispers of a secret untold. you had felt it brewing for days, a heaviness in theo's eyes, a sadness that even his smile couldn't quite hide. you waited, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing, for the moment when he would finally confide in you.

you blinked your eyes open, and there he was, leaning over you, his elbows resting on the mattress. the smile on his face was a gentle curve, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection. the lamp's glow painted him in a warm light, making his dark hair seem almost golden. his eyes searched yours, looking for the understanding he so desperately needed.

"i've got something to tell you," he began, his voice low and hesitant. "it's big, and i'm not sure how you're going to take it."

you sat up, scooting towards the headboard, pulling your legs up to your chest. the anticipation grew like a storm cloud in your chest, thick and heavy. "okay," you murmured, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come.

theo took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "i'm leaving," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. the words hung in the air, thick and palpable. your heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing to your ears, drowning out the world outside of your little bubble.

you felt the mattress dip as he sat down beside you, his body warm and solid. "what do you mean?" you asked, your voice trembling. his hand found yours again, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"i've got a scholarship to a school in the city," he explained, his voice gaining strength. "for music. it's a full ride, and it's a chance to get out of here, to make something of myself."

the words hit you like a wave, crashing over the sandcastle of your quiet life. theo, leaving? It was unthinkable. your eyes searched his, looking for a hint of a joke, a twitch of his lip that would give away the punchline. but all you saw was sincerity, and a hint of fear.

"theo, that's… that's amazing," you managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice steady. Inside, you were a whirlwind of emotions - joy for his opportunity, sadness for your impending loss, fear of the unknown. "when did you find out?"

he sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "a few days ago. i've been trying to figure out how to tell you." his eyes searched yours, looking for the acceptance he so desperately needed. "i leave next week."

the news was a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. your mind raced with questions and objections, but all that came out was a soft "next week?" the urgency of the situation was stark, the reality of his departure so close you could almost taste it.

his grip on your hand tightened. "i know it's a lot to ask, but… i want you to come with me." he said, his voice filled with hope and desperation. "i can't do this without you. you're the only one who really gets me."

you felt your world tilt on its axis, the gravity of his words pulling at you. the idea of leaving your home, your father, your life behind was both terrifying and exhilarating. the thought of starting anew, of escaping the shadows of your past, was something you had never dared to dream.

you took a deep breath, trying to organize the chaotic symphony playing in your head. "theo," you began, your voice shaky, "i can't just leave. my dad…"

his expression fell, the hope in his eyes dimming. "i know," he said, his voice soft. "but you can't stay here forever. you're just as trapped as i am."

you felt the weight of his words, the truth of them pressing down on your shoulders. you knew he was right, but the thought of leaving was too much to bear. "i… i don't know if i can do that, theo," you whispered, the lump in your throat growing.

his eyes searched yours, desperation flickering in their depths. "please," he said, his voice cracking. "i don't want to leave you. i need you there with me."

you felt your chest tighten at the raw vulnerability in his voice, a feeling you hadn't heard from him in years. theo was the strong one, the one who held you together when your world fell apart. but now, he was asking for your help, for your company. it was a revelation that shook you to your core.

his hand was still in yours, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of your hand. the warmth of his touch was grounding, a reminder that you weren't alone in this tumultuous sea of emotions. "theo," you whispered, "i don't know if i can."

his eyes searched yours, desperation etched into every line of his face. "please," he begged, the word coming out as a hoarse whisper. "i need you there." the raw emotion in his voice made your heart ache.

you swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "theo," you began, your voice trembling, "i…"

but before you could finish, he leaned in and kissed you. it was soft and gentle, the kind of kiss that held a thousand unspoken words. it was a kiss that spoke of a love that had grown over the years, a bond stronger than friendship, a connection that had always been there but had remained unacknowledged.

you pulled back, your eyes wide with shock. "theo," you whispered, your hand still trembling in his.

his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "i know it's a lot," he said, his voice soft, "but i had to tell you. i love you. i've loved you for so long, and i can't just leave without saying it."

you sat there, frozen, his words echoing in your mind. theo, your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone, was confessing his love for you. the revelation was as surprising as it was overwhelming. your heart was racing, trying to keep up with the thoughts that bombarded your brain.

you looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in their depths. they were filled with a vulnerability that was as stark as it was beautiful. theo had always been the one to wear a mask, to hide his pain behind a smile. but here, in the soft light of the bedside lamp, his defenses were down, and you could see the raw, unfiltered version of the boy you had grown up with.

his confession hung in the air, as potent as the scent of the lilac bushes outside. it was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, the silence a living, breathing entity that wrapped itself around you both. you felt your heart pound in your chest, a symphony of emotions playing out in your mind.

slowly, you reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the stubble that had formed since the last time you had seen him. your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty that you both needed. "theo," you whispered, "i love you too."

his face lit up like the first light of dawn, the sadness and fear fading away. "you do?" he asked, his voice filled with hope.

you nodded, your heart pounding. "yes, i do."

his smile grew, the warmth of it wrapping around you like a blanket. "so, you'll come with me?" he asked, hope dancing in his eyes.

you took a moment to let the reality of his confession sink in. the thought of leaving your father was daunting, but the idea of being without theo was unbearable. "yes," you said finally, "i'll come with you."

his eyes lit up, and he leaned in again, this time the kiss was filled with a mix of relief and joy. it was a kiss that spoke of a future filled with promise and hope. "i'll make it worth it," he whispered against your lips, his hand cupping your cheek. "i'll make sure you never regret this."

you felt a warmth spread through your chest, his words like a balm to your fears. "i know you will."

edited 8.20.24

[xtra7s]

Well, since we know her iconic SNL performance (which was on loop) how would r react. Cause like I'm in love with herrrr. It could be like a live reaction or they are live and fans requested for a reaction vid

(Just a gay thought)

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋: 𝐒𝐍𝐋 ─── 𝘙𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘱𝘱 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Synopsis: Y/N watches Renee preform on SNL.

Content: Renee Rapp x Fem!Reader, literally just Y/N swooning over Renee as she preforms, complete fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

masterlist | first part | second part | third part

a/n: I LOVED WRITING THIS, I added Snow Angel too because I felt like it was too short with just Not My Fault. Hope you enjoy!!

The stage lights bathed Renee Rapp in a warm glow as she took center stage on Saturday Night Live. The hushed anticipation in the studio was palpable, but amidst the cheering crowd, Y/N sat, fidgeting with nervous excitement. It was a secret thrill, knowing that the woman who held her heart was about to captivate the world.

Jacob Elordi was on stage, smiling widely as he introduced Renee. "Ladies and gentlemen, Renee Rapp!"

The stage was set in a soft, ethereal light as Renee Rapp prepared to perform "Snow Angel" on Saturday Night Live. The melancholic notes of the piano filled the studio, creating an atmosphere of haunting beauty. The audience hushed in anticipation as Renee lay on the stage floor, an ethereal figure amidst the gentle glow.

Y/N, seated amidst the crowd, watched with bated breath. As the first lines of the sorrowful ballad left Renee's lips, a wave of emotion washed over the audience. Renee's voice, rich with emotion, painted a poignant picture of heartache and longing. The harmonies join her as she sings, and Y/N finds herself captivated, unable to tear her gaze away from the captivating performance unfolding before her.

Renee's form on the ground seemed to embody the weight of the song's melancholy. The vulnerability in her voice resonated, and Y/N felt a deep connection to the emotions conveyed. The crowd sat in rapt silence, collectively holding their breath, as Renee lay there, pouring her heart into each delicate lyric.

More instruments joined the song, Renee standing up from the floor as the song swelled. The melancholy tones transitioned into a powerful crescendo, and the studio transformed into a sea of emotions. Y/N, now on the edge of her seat, felt a lump forming in her throat. The raw intensity of the performance left her in awe, a silent witness to the soul-baring artistry on display.

As Renee's voice soared through the studio, Y/N couldn't help but feel a deep admiration for the vulnerability and strength intertwined in the performance. It was a heartbreaking and beautiful symphony, and Y/N found herself lost in the haunting melody, her emotions mirroring the raw intensity and flow of the song.

When the final note hung in the air, the studio erupted into applause. Y/N joined in, her admiration for Renee's talent mingling with a profound sense of connection. As Renee smiled and the lights dimmed, she spun around and applauded the people playing the instruments to her song. Y/N couldn't shake the lingering impact of the song, grateful to have been present for a performance that transcended the stage and touched the depths of her soul.

After a short break, Jacob Elordi hosting and speaking, Rachel McAdams Walks on stage, smiling at the applause before gesturing her hands up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, once again, Renee Rapp!" She speaks loudly, gesturing her arms to the stage Renee is standing on top of.

The first notes of "Not My Fault" begin to float through the air, and Y/N's gaze is fixed on Renee. The way she was dancing, the raw power in her voice, the way she effortlessly commanded the stage, left Y/N breathless. Each lyric that came from her mouth had Y/N squirming in her seat. The crowd responded with thunderous applause, but for Y/N, it was a personal serenade, an intimate connection she could only share in secret.

"god damn, she looks so good I could die," Y/N murmurs under her breath, sitting up and adjusting in her seat.

As the song continued, Renee's stage presence intensified, her magnetic energy filling the room. Y/N couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion, pride, and an ache in her chest from the sheer brilliance of the performance. It was a potent mix of love and admiration, leaving her utterly flustered in the midst of the electrifying moment.

The entire time Renee has been singing, Y/N's eyes have been drifting down her neck to her stomach, her cheeks covered in a maroon shade as she takes in Renee's outfit. 

she has too much trust in that top.

Renee does a little dance as she sings with the backup dancers, getting to Y/N's favorite part. "Get her number, get her name, get a good thing while you can. Kiss a blonde, kiss a friend, can a gay girl get an amen?"

Y/N was immediately standing as she watched this, yelling out amen after Renee sang that part. Renee notices her in the crowd beyond the blinding lights and sends a wink her way.

The cake begins to spin around as Renee is singing, revealing Megan Thee Stallion as she raps her part of the song. Renee does a little dance in front of Megan as she sings, them both going into sync as they do their choreography. Renee sticks her tongue out while she smiles, making the cheers louder around Y/N.

Renee dances with her hands in the air and does a body roll as Megan sings, pulling her mic back to her face and singing again. It's short-lived as the song is getting to an end, Megan speaking into her mic. "What's up SNL??!" The cheers get louder as she does, Renee joining in. "Give it up for Megan Thee Stallion!!" She yells into the mic, jokingly twerking for a second before jumping back into the end of the song, "It's not my fault you're like in love with me." She sings as she gets closer to Megan, turning her head to smile at her. "You're like in love with me."

When the final notes hung in the air, the applause was deafening. Y/N joined in, clapping enthusiastically, but her eyes never left Renee. The stage seemed to shimmer around her secret girlfriend, a beacon of talent and passion that left Y/N in awe.

As Renee laughed with Megan and then hugged her, waving to the stage before rushing off stage the applause echoed, and Y/N couldn't suppress the giddy smile that spread across her face. She had witnessed something extraordinary, something incredibly sexy and beautiful, and it filled her with a warmth that lingered long after the lights dimmed. In the secrecy of the crowd, Y/N reveled in the magic of being in love with a woman who could command a stage with such brilliance, all while keeping their connection hidden like a precious secret between the notes of a song.

[notthecity]

I have been freaking out on Twitter about the magic 8 ball songs and the medley and tourdust in general but like you don't understand. you don't UNDERSTAND. it's not just the fact we've gotten stuff they haven't ever played. it's not just that they're bringing back deep cuts. it's not just all of that.

it's the fact we're all older. the guys are twenty years older, most people in here have been fob fans for at least a decade. it's the fact that they're not just playing them for the nostalgia factor, they're doing it because this tour is a celebration of two decades worth of this weird little emo band that changed the emo scene forever and became legends to at least two generations of emo kids so far.

it's the fact they've gained the courage to play folie a deux. the album patrick said they would likely never play live again because of the initial reception, the album that got booed whenever they played songs off it live in 2008-2009. it's the fact that headfirst slide went from a very shaky first attempt at a secret show to a setlist regular pat can now sing with a smile every night.

it's the fact that pete wentz, who thought he'd die young, who thought he'd join the 27 club, is now a father in his early 40s playing his bass and having fun with his best friends while they play songs about the time he almost ended it all. it's the fact we've seen him not only heal, but highlight the scars and the beauty in the pain. like kintsugi.

it's the fact andy and joe got exactly what they wanted. joe got a guitar album he loved, he got to focus on himself and take some time off knowing full well the band and the fans had his back, being included in everything from music videos to promotional things, and now he can enjoy his time going on the road again in a better state of mind. it's the fact andy lives for drumming, and he can do what he does best with his favorite song on the album, one that he basically begged to play the entire press run for the album.

it's the fact that the piano medley songs let patrick lay his heart out for everyone to see. it's the fact he's playing golden, what a catch, beautiful songs we haven't heard in so long. it's the fact he's gotten the courage to sing fucking soul punk in front of a crowd that ten years earlier told him they liked him better in fall out boy, to make a new spiritual successor in stardust and sing it too. it's the fact he's lost the fear to do those things, because he's realized there's nothing to fear anymore, people will sing back those songs to him with affection.

it's the fact they're also doing newer stuff. the fact they haven't forgotten about srar, ab/ap, mania. they still affirm those parts of their history, because they are still unashamedly fall out boy.

it's the fact these four guys have all gone through hell and back together, and we're all stronger on the other side. it's the fact we've all grown up together, and now we're all adults in this fucked up world trying to figure ourselves out but we know it will be okay because we made it through all that and we're still standing. it's the fact that they built it, and we came, and we stayed.

it's the fact we're still here.

[katuschka]

Everybody's Got a Secret

Josh Kiszka x f!Reader

3.393 words

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings: This is filth!, mild erotic asphyxiation, unprotected penetrative sex, oral sex (both f and m receiving), light bondage, masturbation, dirty language, sub&bratty&cheeky Joshua, open relationships

Masterlist Taglist

My doors were always open, and no questions asked. Everybody’s got a secret, and in this particular case, in this time and space, his secret had my name.

No strings, no obligations. Both of us had those already somewhere else. Both in long-term relationships with other cocks that just weren’t always available… or able. Hence the arrangements were made and doors were opened…

When my husband was out of town, which happened more often than not, I spent my days in my downtown apartment, because I hated the big and quiet country house when he was not in it, playing his piano or keeping fit in his basement gym. Always a hopeless romantic, an old soul in a mature body, he made sweet love to me in that house. With his kids already raised and gone, he offered me a new chance, away from the abuse and sorrow that was my old life. He gave me an opportunity to pursue my dreams and a new home in that big, silent mansion. Always grateful, I cooked his meals and did the laundry there. 

And we both knew that it was not enough. I would do anything for that angel of a man. He couldn’t do everything for me. But that’s ok. Everybody’s got a secret, and he willingly granted me mine. I wasn’t delusional either, I knew there were other women… 

So, as long as he didn’t know the details, I could do whatever I wanted in my cherished hiding place, the only condition being that I pay my rent. Fair enough. More than fair. It was a place where I reigned, after all. The big house was my home only as long as he wanted me there, but that was it, that was the agreement, too. So I eventually learned to fend for myself in every way. That was our mutual goal. One day, I would be alone again. I was almost sure of that. But thanks to him, I would no longer be lost. 

It was a bit different with Josh. He had almost everything since the day he was born, and he gained even more as the years went by, simply because he was talented and brilliant and surrounded by his equals literally since the days he was still in the womb. He had people. He had love too, and they were almost a perfect match, save for just one tiny little thing. Josh was a shameless slut, always on a hunt for a healthy dose of naughtiness and depravity. Josh loved dirty fucking, he loved to experiment and he needed his fix from time to time.

His man just couldn’t force himself to do it. He only made love to him. He also didn’t have enough holes. Or meaty pillows. Not exactly Josh’s preference, but a welcome bonus when it just clicked. To keep things interesting, he said. That was when I entered the building…figuratively speaking, because I never EVER crossed the threshold of their house. Secrets don’t do such shit.

He knew about my existence, and that was ok, as long as he didn’t know my name or my face. The sentiment was mutual. He didn’t want to meet me, see me, acknowledge me. Ever. Josh made sure he wouldn’t. 

So, my doors were always open and Josh called whenever he needed. This time, my phone rang at 2 a. m..

It was a 45 minute drive from his place to mine, depending on the traffic. At night, it would be less, but still enough time for me to get ready. So, when he rang my doorbell at last, I answered in his favorite vintage slip dress, holding two glasses filled with wine. Like a valley doll. 

“Well, well, well, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?” I teased, watching him grin at me in return. 

“Stupid question, darling,” he answered, while running his finger gently down my bare upper arm. “The reason remains the same. You’re a comfort blanket for my dick, and I need you to do some ungodly things to it tonight.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment. So you need to have your dick comforted?” I snickered and handed him his glass and he nodded in appreciation, taking a sip without breaking eye contact, pursing his lips around the rim with the tip of his tongue sticking out just a tiny bit. He always did that when he wanted to communicate his neediness. “What happened? Trouble in paradise?” I cooed, while making room so he could enter.  

“Don’t ask, and I shall not lie, remember? But since you asked so nicely – no. I have had some trouble with certain lyrics. I need my muse. Will you help me?” He wasted no time, already making a beeline to my bedroom. Pausing at the door, he glanced back at me, fishing for the answer he didn’t need. Of course I would. 

“Always there,” I chirped again and stuck my tongue out at him playfully, following him without haste.

Pausing in the doorway, I leaned against the door frame and took a sip, watching him unzipping his fly already. He was always gorgeous, whether dressed in plain white cotton or embroidered organza. But preferably naked. Lean, but not skinny. Toned, but sweet. Bare like a statue…until he raised his arms up and I fainted. Always. 

“Eager, aren’t you! So no small talk today, I assume?” I was eager too, knowing what was coming. 

Always a tease, he rolled his hips lewdly and, glancing at me through the ridiculously long curtain of his eyelashes, he puckered his lips, inviting me to join him by the bed with a loud and playful smack. “It’s not a day, darling. We’ve no time to waste before the sun comes up and orders us to be elsewhere.” 

A fucking poet, sometimes spitting dreamy verses down at me even in between moans during the actual animalistic process of fucking, like a true artist that he was. I watched how he batted his eyelashes at me again. Ridiculously long, indeed… “Did you put some mascara on, Josh?”

“And if I did?”

I licked my front teeth in silent anticipation. He was needy and ready to play the mouse, which in return made me greedy and instantly wet. Meow! “Joshua! Do you want to cry tonight?”

After he took off the last sock, he flexed his shoulders and straightened, facing me completely; already stark naked and already completely hard, his second weeping head nodding at me, greeting me like an old friend. “I voiced a plea, and I gave you a hint. You’re the director tonight.”

The plan formed in my head the moment he called. Even before that, actually. I’d lie if I said that I didn’t care about what he did for a living and how. Watching videos of him performing was one of my favorite leisure activities when he was away and out of touch. It made the anticipation ever so sweet, because his stage presence was just as sensual as his bed behavior. I knew what he was capable of, while others only imagined. 

“Did you bring your payment with you?” The word payment was a deliberate, whorish choice, completely ok only because I was the one who started using it one day, and the only one allowed to use it. God forbid if I’d ever heard it leave his mouth. He’d have to dry hump the mattress instead, and let me watch his torments. He loved the whore in me, but alas! The only way to get a taste of it was to treat me with respect. Night-time calls meant that he would have to grant me one wish, often in the form of a prop.  At night, I was ALWAYS in charge, giving him what he wanted, but it was always delivered my way. 

This time, I ordered him to bring one of his beaded scarves he wore onstage. Now he pulled it from his man purse and placed it in my waiting hand ceremonially, like a cherished treasure, smiling at me with little sparks dancing behind his pupils. “Am I going to be tied up with this?” 

“Oh no baby, I have my handcuffs for that.” He watched me swirl the scarf around his head and tie it tightly around his neck, leaving one end long enough to tickle his left thigh. Swinging it like a pendulum, I let the heavily beaded end hit his throbbing cock with a faint tinkling sound. 

I reveled in watching his immediate reaction: his eyes widened and lips parted in shock. He quickly tried to hide it by darting his tongue out and curling it against his upper lip, but his heaving chest betrayed him. This was when he was at his cutest, figuratively or literally on his knees, but always too stubborn to give in entirely.

“See, I’m gonna use it as a leash, if necessary,” I explained and took a small step back to admire my work. “Don’t you like the idea?”

He narrowed his eyes at me and those plump lips curled up into that bratty grin again. “Oh I like the idea very much. I’m ready to be…bad.” 

“Bad,” I whispered,and circled him like my prey, which is what he essentially was. Hugging him from behind, I let my hands travel up his chest, grazing his right nipple with my fingernails while the fingers of my left hand closed around his throat. “Bad boys don’t whine,” which was exactly what he did when I applied a little bit more pressure. He tilted his head back and rested it on my shoulder, eyes closed, showing me how much he loved being under my control. 

“You look really lovely like this. Makes me think… You know what we haven’t tried yet?” I was now intentionally rubbing my lace-covered tits against the tense muscles of his back, whispering those words sultrily right into his ear.

“No…” It was but a hoarse whisper already. It was fascinating how much power his voice normally held, but I always managed to gag him with ease. 

“I'm thinking… pegging you from behind, doggy style. With this,” I tugged at the scarf demonstratively. He yelped, his knees buckled for a split second and his whole body shook as if from cold. He was stupendously aroused. I loved it!

“Yeah, exactly. Like a bitch,” I twisted the end of the scarf around my hand and tugged again. The most delicious whimper escaped his lips and I watched him wrap his right hand around his twitching cock, while the left one reached behind and rested on my thigh. He gave himself a few slow strokes, then slid the hand down to cup his balls. “Oh yeah, please, do that, I’m already aching…”

“I’m really glad you like the idea, baby, but not today. Another time.”

“Why not?” He turned around and tried to win me over with those puppy eyes, but I had a very clear vision in my head. It had occupied my mind so much that I already bought some new additions to my bedroom inventory, just for him. I grabbed the scarf again and drew him closer to me so that our lips were almost touching. I tightened my grip, holding the scarf right under the knot below his ear, and twisted my fist slightly. He swallowed with difficulty and his wide eyes glimmered with undiluted lust. I licked his parted lips with the tip of my tongue until his eyes rolled back. Only then I finally released him and he stumbled backwards.

“Because you wanted me to do ungodly things to your dick, not your ass. Now onto bed, chop chop.” I smacked his tiny, perfectly rounded ass and he obliged, climbing on the bed with exaggerated sway like a tomcat, performing just for me. He turned around then, and spread his legs, licking his index finger lewdly while he shook the end of the scarf with his left hand until the beads tinkled again. “M’waitin’,” he breathed out and moaned around the finger. Such a slut!

I took one more sip, stripped too, and joined him on the bed, climbing right in between his thighs, admiring his cleanly shaven treasure. “You have a truly beautiful dick. It absolutely deserves some profane treatment.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it,” he responded, his voice shaking ever so slightly when I pressed my tongue flat to the underside of that gorgeous cock and licked a long stripe all the way up. I laughed. “So humble.”

“Darling, I’ve seen many cocks in my life. I know mine is awfully pretty.” 

“Hmm, how about you balls?” I cupped them gently, while crawling up to kiss him, tickling his chest with my hair.  

“Also exceptional.” He kissed me back, then pushed my head back down. 

“That’s why you keep them on full display all the time?” I bent down to lick around his areola before I sucked the nipple in between my lips, still refusing to go back down and suck on his cock instead, even though he bucked his hips up several times, giving me a clear hint how impatient he already was. 

“Flaunt…aaah…flaunt what you’ve got. God, you’re such a tease.”

His tone was dangerous this time. I looked up to meet his deadly, bratty stare. “You’re in no position to look at me like this.”

“Yes, I am. My thigh is completely wet from how your cunt already weeps for me.” He made another lewd gesture, putting his fingers in a V shape in front of his mouth and sticking his tongue through it at me, flickering it up and down. Yes, very suggestive. I’d love that. Continue and we’re both gonna get it. He usually got a warning first. 

“You’re a hoe, Joshua Michael.” I grabbed the scarf and pulled to the side. He inhaled sharply with a wheeze and looked daggers at me.

“Go on, I love high praises,” he spat. “Especially when they’re coming from your dirty mou…uuughn...” I didn’t let him finish the sentence. He would get what he asked for. Scrambling up as quickly as possible, I landed on my knees on each side of his head and sat on his face, effectively silencing him.  

And it was what he wanted. Grabbing my buttocks to pull me even closer, he instantly buried his tongue between my folds, making me gasp. I had to grab the headboard to keep myself from falling or hurting him as he enveloped my clit with his full lips and started sucking. This position was my Achilles heel and he got me there in no time. Two, maybe three minutes until my thighs started shaking. I looked down at him and he wiggled his eyebrows at me, before he closed his eyes and moaned loudly, as if he was eating the most delicious ice cream. Fucking tease. I inhaled sharply when he flattened his tongue and swirled it gently one more time around my swollen bud. The orgasm swept through me like an electric shock and I had to bite my forearm to muffle my scream. He was cruel, licking me through it and inducing more and more waves and aftershocks until I had to grab him by the hair and pull at it to still him. 

I creeped down his body, smearing my juices all over his skin and peppering his chest with kisses, before I straightened up again, hovering above him. “Tamed?” 

He looked up at me, ready to retort again, and finally saw the big silver hoop that hung from the ceiling right above my head. His eyes widened and sparkled with confused anticipation. “What’s that?”

I let out a satisfied exhale and smiled down at him. “That, my dear, is the surprise I got for you tonight.” I crawled towards the edge of my bed, opened the largest drawer of my bedside table and pulled out a silver chain with leather cuffs on each end. I let it fall on his chest. “Sit.” 

“What?”

“I said sit!” When he did, I pulled the chain through the hoop and told him to put his arms up. He was unnaturally silent all of the sudden, doing as told, and I fastened the cuffs around each wrist. When I was done, he just sat there, legs spread as I knelt between them, chest heaving and arms up, armpits glistening with sweat, just the way I wanted. He looked sinful. I admired this view so many times before, him reaching for those high notes or who knows what else. He would be reaching for pleasure tonight. First things first. I tugged at the scarf and pulled him closer to me, connecting our mouths in a searing kiss. He kept moaning as our tongues danced together. It made me even wetter. 

When I finally broke the kiss, I looked down at his cock, slightly reddened and rock hard, and ran my finger down his length. He squeezed his eyes shut and whimpered. “Do something…please!” 

Finally, the magic word. 

He cried out when I put him in my mouth and swallowed him whole. I could hear the chain rattling but I couldn’t see, lying on my stomach and fully immersed in giving him pleasure. He cried some more, and moaned and groaned and whimpered as I kept bobbing my head up and down, up…swirling my tongue around his leaking head, and down…tickling his balls with the stuck out tip until I gagged. I stopped only when his hips started jerking upwards, telling me he was very close. I wasn’t done yet, not until I felt him in me. 

I sat up again and saw the smeared mascara under his teary eyes. “Oh my baby, so beautiful,” I cooed and caressed his cheek, smearing it even more with my thumb. He looked exhausted and pursed his lips at me. “Please,” he whispered. 

I finally straddled him, positioned myself and slid down. His mouth opened wide but no sound came out. It made me pause for a second, raising my chin in a silent question. “Won’t last long,” he breathed out, so I started slowly, rolling my hips languidly, while I watched him watching me. The room fell silent, only our synchronized breathing permeating the air.

He looked down at the scarf, then back at me again, his eyes full of wicked gleam. I threw it over his shoulder and tugged at it from behind, making his head tilt. His ragged breathing and his barely noticeable, but content smile made me feel high. The intoxicating smell of his heated body made me even more lightheaded.  I hugged him tight and traced my parted lips up his jugular as I quickened my pace. His moans broke the silence again and I followed suit. Running my hands up and down his back, I could feel droplets of his sweat trickling down my biceps. I never believed in heaven, but this was close. Even closer to hell, maybe.

He wanted to take control, but couldn’t. Not without his arms supporting him. He was completely at my mercy and when I leaned back on my arms to get a better traction, the head of his cock hitting my inner pleasure button made me cry out. It didn’t take long and the spasms of my second release made me clench around him. In my high state of mind, I nearly missed his moment. Only his high-pitched scream pulled me back to reality. I had barely enough strength in me to untie him at last. And then we collapsed on the pillows, completely spent and happy. 

We often cuddled afterwards, we always showered together, but he never stayed. The sun was already rising when he left this time. I buried my face in my pillow to inhale his scent that always lingered. Falling asleep to the sweet and heady smell of Chergui was great comfort in twilight hours. Many times, I imagined what it would be like to just rest my head next to his and drift away like that, with his messy curls tickling the tip of my nose. Someone else had this privilege. Someone who loved him, and thus deserved it. 

In the middle of the night, I was sometimes honest with myself, admitting to myself that I loved him too. But that’s ok. Everybody’s got a secret.

@its-interesting-van-kleep @takenbythemadness @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @fleet-of-fiction @lvnterninthenight @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @sanguinebats @thewritingbeforesunrise @wetkleenex-gvf @lyndz2names

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

Platonic Yandere DIO and daughter reader (who was abandoned at his house as a baby)

Hi thank you for the request, this is my first platonic request so I hope it's alright.

Familial Yandere Dio

At first Dio simply wanted to leave the child where they were but something compelled him to take the child. Maybe a small part of him thinks back on his childhood and takes pity. However he has no need for the weak so he uses a fragment of the stand arrow on the baby to prove their worthiness. The child doesn't die so he decides to keep them. They'd serve him well as a stand user in due time.

He has his servants raise her, luckily she had her name embroidered on the blanket she was wrapped in, (Y/n). However she still finds a way to get his attention. At first he simply passes her back off to the servants, agitated that this child will disrupt him. However over time he softened to her, she became less of a tool to him.

Soon he would allow (Y/n) into his bedroom and read to her whatever he was absorbed in at the time. He begrudgingly accepts the child calling him "dada". As soon as she develops proper talking skills he insists on being called father instead.

Around the age of 4 to 5 (Y/n) already quite independent. Already learning stuff more advanced then what her age range would. A model child by all accounts, however despite showing an ability to see stands hers hasn't quite manifested yet. She has been put through strenuous training yet still no results. She's also spoilt, she eats extravagantly, dresses in the nicest clothes a child could wear and is given almost anything she asks for.

As she grew up, she became aware of her lack of a stand. Trying to make up for her failure but Dio assures her it will come in due time and that she does not need to make up for such a thing.

But she also becomes aware of life outside the mansion. Asking at first to accompany servants during errands which he allows but when she asks to play with other children he tells her that she shouldn't bother with such a thing, those children are beneath her. Those children would bow before them when the time came.

Eventually her stand manifests. The moment it's know, a victim is choosen for her to test her stand on. When the victim isn't harmed Dio is let down, but his initial plans of using her as another servant are far gone.

That's when she goes to the piano, something she was still a novice in but now could play it like a professional.

She is able to figure out she has the power to absorb information and skills from others. Not a powerful stand but a useful one nevertheless. A stand dubbed Gates of Babylon, a physical manifestation of her desire of knowledge.

So it becomes a regular occurrence that Dio will let her use her stand on his victims before he drinks them dry. An odd form of father daughter bonding (of course away from (Y/n)).

Still (Y/n) never quite lost interest in the outside world. One day she manages to sneak out by herself. Of course when he discovers this he's mortified, but hides it the best he can from his servants as he tells them to find her.

Of course she's found and brought back. If she has injury, even just a scrape he'll use it as justification. She's only mortal compared to him. All manner of things could happen to her. The moment that it is just the two of them he scolds her. Even goes on about how vulnerable she is and what compelled her to leave with everything she has.

Everything is a lot more tightly run. Constantly monitored, constantly given more and more things to entertain her. He's also taking more time to spend with her directly.

Telling them always that he's the only one that she should trust 100%, that people will try to harm or take advantage of her. God forbid he brings up his childhood as an example, that he actually acknowledge his prior humanity to another soul.

[gyuswhore]

How Seventeen would give you a massage:

masterlist

Seungcheol: pretends he’s playing a piano on your shoulders and forgets to actually press down. gets too lost in his mozart symphony and shushes you when you quip a ‘hey’. do not interrupt his orchestral concert, it’s rude.

Jeonghan: bold of you to assume he’d use his hands. whips out some infomercial massage gadget that leaves you more sore than relaxed.

Joshua: follows a YouTube tutorial but rage quits after going over the same spot 13 times.

Jun: mans will not shut up. he has to give commentary for his every move “okay now I’m gonna use the palms of my hands and push down before pulling up-” “I thought the point of this thing was to relax”

Wonwoo: uses his fingers more than his palms, prolly the gamer in him. Does the same piano key motions but will actually do a good job in relaxing your muscles.

Hoshi: be proud of him he behaved for a whole 5 minutes before he started tickling you.

Woozi: lol you don't need a massage, he does.

Dokyeom: hates using massage oils bc he claims he can never get the greasiness off his hands. DOES, however, use bath and body works strawberry poundcake body lotion all over your body and you both smell like an artificial bakery for a week.

Mingyu: will try to play the role of the hot masseuse. will ask you for if you want refreshments, turns on some moody playlist and maybe even spray your pillow w that sleep spray shit. the mood is instantly ruined the second the speaker starts blaring HOT on shuffle. 

Minghao: will only do it to show you how its supposed to be done. mans is never letting you live down your lack of pressure point education.

Seungkwan: talks so much he doesn’t realise you passed out 20 minutes ago. sulks for a week claiming you never listen to him.

Vernon: he's trying. but maybe go to an actual spa.

Dino: strategic. like is analysing the parts you complain about most and curates a perfect run down for the next 30 minutes. you're getting up from there with a new soul. and maybe a bruise or two, he doesn’t really know his own strength.

[chuuyrr]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ SANTA DOESN'T KNOW YOU LIKE I DO — DAZAI OSAMU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𐙚₊ CW(s): f! reader, exes to lovers, angst to fluff/comfort, christmas/holiday setting, he still calls you pet names like baby, love, and sweetheart

𐙚₊˚⊹ SYNOPSIS: underneath the twinkling christmas lights, you and osamu embrace the promise of a love rekindled

𐙚₊ NOW PLAYING: santa doesn't know you like i do by sabrina carpenter && new years day by taylor swift ᝰ.ᐟ

in the heart of yokohama, where the winter winds whispered secrets and the city adorned itself in festive lights, you find yourself wandering around in a deep sigh, clutching yourself with your coat adorning you.

the city exuded warmth, and the scent of roasted chestnuts, gingerbread, and an open fire from christmas markets and stores mingled with the laughter of children and adults enjoying the holidays.

as you strolled through the festive scene, you couldn't escape the echoes of your shared past with dazai.

you then stop in front of a familiar bar which was decorated with bright christmas lights and wreaths, and at that moment, you find yourself lost in a sea of memories, reminiscing about the shared moments with osamu, before the inevitable drift that led to your breakup.

among those recollections, two particular scenes painted themselves vividly in your mind, haunting yet bittersweet.

one memory that lingered like a gentle melody was the night you and osamu ventured into the same dimly lit bar, saying that you two deserve a treat.

the air hummed with the soulful tunes of saxophones and pianos as you two nestled into a corner booth. the ambient glow cast a warm aura, reflecting in dazai's brown sugar eyes as you and him clinked glasses of your high-ball whiskeys, toasting to the beauty of the night.

your laughter resonated with the rhythm of the music, creating a symphony of shared joy. osamu, with his enigmatic smile, leaned in to whisper secrets that only you could understand amidst the jazz-infused atmosphere.

it was a night where time seemed to suspend, and your connection deepened through the language of music, laughter, and stories which lead to a shared kiss that became your first.

another memory that tugged at the corners of your heart was the night you spent at osamu's apartment. the air was thick with familiarity as you found solace in the haven he had crafted, even if it was quite empty and rather mininalist, considering how he didn't have much.

either way, you and osamu talked about everything and nothing, the conversation weaving effortlessly between trivialities and profound truths—some even about his day at work, how annoying working on reports was. you even find yourself dancing with him around his kitchen in the middle of the night.

as that night unfolded, osamu's clothes became a comforting embrace, wrapping you in the scent of familiarity. wearing his oversized shirt, you found a sense of closeness, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you once shared.

the cityscape outside his window faded into the background as you and him reveled in the simplicity of being together in his futon, you in his warm embrace, head tucked beneath his chin as you lay on his chest, and he hummed a peacefully melody with his fingers running through your hair to lull you.

the quiet hum of his apartment became a sanctuary in those stolen hours, and even he thought it became a place he could call home when it was previously simply a scarcely filled space, and now it felt more than that. that is, until the fall arrived.

it was a night where the barriers between you and him melted away, leaving only the echoes of whispered confessions of "i love yous" and sweet nothings, along with the soft rustle of borrowed clothes.

now, you stand alone with the weight of these memories, you couldn't help but wonder if those moments were fragments of a love that had slipped through your fingers.

the bar and the borrowed clothes became artifacts of a time when you and osamu reveled in the magic of each other's company, a magic that time, circumstances, and perhaps your own choices had dimmed.

and still, you held onto those memories, recognizing them as delicate fragments of a past that was, in its own way, a testament to the beauty of what you two once had.

the air was crisp, and the city bustled with the festive energy of the holiday season, and you were about to turn away from the bar only to walk and bump into a familiar figure.

there, in the midst of the bustling crowd, stood dazai, and time seemed to freeze for an instant as your eyes met his ever same, warm brown sugar eyes, and the weight of unspoken words lingered in the air—a moment suspended in the delicate dance between past and present.

"osamu," you murmur softly, the name escaping your lips almost as a reflex. his gaze, once distant, softened with a recognition that mirrored your own.

a tentative smile played on his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the shared history that bounds you both, "hey, fancy meeting you here," he remarks, his voice carrying the hint of a memory you both couldn't escape.

as the crowd flowed around you and dazai, you find yourself standing in a pocket of stillness, a space where the weight of your past lingered.

"what are you doing out here? looking for presents, dear?" dazai strikes a conversation, but you can tell he seemed to be trying to hold himself back. you can tell he was very much ecstatic to see you again despite before.

"no, i was just going for a walk," you respond, rubbing your arm as you blink softly at him.

"just going for a walk this holiday, huh?" he narrows his eyes, a small chuckle escaping his breath, and his gaze soon draws towards the bar where you two would go for a drink, dine, and date.

like a canvas of unread stories, his eyes then hold, a mix of emotions, "funny how memories have a way of catching up with us," he replies, his gaze tracing the invisible threads that connected your past to this chance encounter.

"you know, sometimes, i do wonder if our memories are trying to tell us something," dazai muses, his words resonating with a quiet introspection as you two stood there, grappling with the unspoken question of what these chance encounters meant.

dazai's eyes, once filled with the mischievous sparkle that characterized him, now furrows in a subtle frown as he observed your quiet and somewhat awkward demeanor. the cheerful and festive background chatter of the city around you seemed to fade, leaving only the palpable tension between you and him.

"so," dazai began, a playful lilt in his voice as if attempting to break the uneasy silence, "you've become the epitome of quiet contemplation, i see. is this a new tactic to throw off my deductive skills?" his words were accompanied by a teasing smile, a familiar attempt to coax you into banter.

however, your response remained trapped in the awkwardness that seemed to have enveloped you. reminiscing memories had resurrected emotions that you struggled to articulate, and the weight of unspoken words hung in the air.

his playful demeanor faded slightly, replaced by a genuine concern mirrored in the subtle downturn of his lips. "heh, you're usually more... animated," he mutters, his gaze searching for clues in the quietness that now defined you.

"i guess i've changed, dazai," you mumble, attempting to offer an explanation for the unspoken shift in your dynamic. the words, however, felt inadequate, like leaves carried away by the wind before they could settle.

dazai's eyebrows knit together in a mild frustration, especially when you no longer address him as such, "change, my love, is a curious thing. but this quiet version of you doesn't quite suit the narrative i had in mind," he teases, yet the tease carried an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.

as he continued to speak, the air between you two seemed to thicken with unspoken tension. his attempts at light banter fell against the backdrop of my quiet contemplation, creating a dissonance that neither of you anticipated.

a sigh escapes him, a subtle acknowledgment of the unforeseen awkwardness, "i thought we could maybe reminisce and laugh about old times, but it seems like i've stumbled upon a different scene altogether," his frown deepening.

in that moment, the vulnerability beneath dazai's usual charm became apparent. the frown on his face reflected not just confusion but a genuine longing for the familiarity, the connection that once flowed effortlessly between the two of you.

"hey, since we're already in front of the bar we used to frequent, do you mind sharing a drink with me tonight?" he asked, his tone carrying a mix of nostalgia and vulnerability.

your eyes widen a bit in shock. you know you shouldn't, but it just feels so right to say,

"no, i don't mind at all."

memories of laughter, music, and stolen glances resurfaced, painting a vivid scene against the backdrop of the night in the bar of cozy glow of christmas lights and laughter and merriment, yet the weight of those moments hanging in the air.

dazai's gaze became more introspective, his words chosen with care as the two of you sat together by the bar on the cushioned stools with your usual high-ball whiskeys.

"you know, i've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about us and everything that happened," he starts quietly after taking a sip from his drink, "there are words left unsaid, and i think it's time to address them."

as dazai spoke, a rare sincerity colored his voice, unraveling the layers of complexity that often shrouded his emotions, and the night now became a stage for a conversation that held the potential for healing.

"i suppose so," you say back quietly as you swirl your drink around, holding it by the rim and making the ice cube clink against the glass.

you turn to look at dazai, and you see him a take a deep breath as he places his hands in the pocket of his sandy brown coat.

"i want to say sorry," dazai continues, his eyes searching yours for a reaction, "sorry for the moments i let slip away, for the words i said and didn't say, and for the distance that grew between us, and i never meant for it to end like that.."

the rare vulnerability in his admission hung in the air, a bridge between the past and the present. the ambiance of the bar now stood witness to a moment of genuine confession.

"and i miss you," dazai confesses, his gaze never leaving yours, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice, "i miss the laughter, the shared silences, and the way you understood the chaos within me, and if i can be completely honest, i still love you."

the weight of those words settled in the air, carrying with them the echoes of a love that had weathered storms and yet lingered in the recesses of the past. the quietness between you two even seemed to amplify the significance of the moment, as if the universe itself conspired to create a space for the honesty that had long been overdue.

your heart, a mosaic of emotions, responded to his words, caught between the scars of the past and the possibility of a future rewritten.

you, too, couldn't deny the resonance between you and him, "i guess, christmas has a way of making even the coldest hearts nostalgic," you say in a quiet giggle, your gaze meeting his.

the chilly night seemed to warm however.

"i'm sorry too. i'm sorry for giving up on us," you sigh, taking sip of your drink for liquid courage as the unspoken words became spoken now, "i just, it felt like there was no other way, and that this is for the best for us, osamu."

"you called me osamu again," a smile now tugs on his lips, his eyes lighting up with hope.

"oh, shut up," a smile, too, breaks on your face but you sigh softly once more as you look at him once more, "but i mean every word, osamu."

"i know you do, sweetheart," dazai says with a nod before he raises his glass to you.

"yeah," you hum softly as your raise the glass in return to his, toasting to him.

amidst the snowflakes and the soft glow of christmas lights outside, dazai and you find yourselves in the midst of an unexpected reunion, the chilly air echoed with warm memories, and beneath the twinkling stars.

this festive season really had a peculiar way of unraveling emotions, and as you crossed paths with dazai and it was evident that the connection between you two was more than a mere coincidence.

after a heartfelt conversation of unspoken words between you two with a few drinks at the bar, dazai offered to take you back to your place since it was quite late despite the holidays.

however, in a quiet corner just near your place, away from the laughter and merriment, dazai's eyes met yours as he walked right by your side.

"what is it?" you ask, looking up at him.

a subtle smirk plays on his lips as he pauses his tracks, and so do you, "you know, santa doesn't know you like i do."

it was a statement layered with memories of shared secrets and intimate moments.

as you exchanged glances, the familiarity of your history danced between you two, like a delicate snowfall. you genuinely smile nonetheless at his words, "maybe we've been on the naughty list for too long," you teased, a hint of nostalgia in your voice.

dazai took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, "and santa may not understand us, but perhaps we can rewrite our story," he suggests, his gaze holding a sincerity that transcended the mask of indifference he often wore, "yeah?"

surrounded by the symphony of the season, you can't help but feel a little emotional as a genuine smile tugs on your lips as you nod and whisper, "yeah."

the clock struck midnight, time reaches its crescendo, and the world around you both seemed to pause in reverence to the magic of christmas, and just like that, coincidentally beneath the mistletoe that was hanging on the street light, his arms wrap around you and pulls you to him.

dazai's lips then meets yours in a kiss that spoke in volumes—a reunion of past and present, a bridge between shared memories and the promise of a love rediscovered.

as you two pull away, breathless, the quiet acknowledgment between you two lingered in the cold air of christmas eve. snow falls as he leans in again, and dazai holds you in his embrace like he always does.

"merry christmas, my sweet girl. i love you," dazai softly whispers in your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek this time around.

𐙚₊ A.N.: advanced merry christmas from yours truly my lovelies ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ hope ya'll enjoy this christmas dazai fic i cooked in the kitchen—this is also my first time writing an exes to lovers fic, especially with dazai, so yeah !!

𐙚₊ TAGGING: @anqelically (here's ur food <3), && @dazaiyohane @lovedazai @osaemu (my dazai lover moots too ofc hehe, i think you guys will like this- ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ )

[mooncalf87]

Do you have any Zestial headcanons?

I am going to pull these all straight out of my ass because I have never given much thought on Zestial ✌

Ep 8 spoilers!

Hes pretty close with Alastor. They don't talk on a daily basis or stuff like that, but if either of them ever get in a tough spot, they will be there right away. Zestial is also a fangirl of Alastors radio show

Doesn't use them, but this guy has the biggest swear vocabulary in existence

acts as a father figure to Carmillas girls when they need fatherly advice

He likes the idea that Charlie has for the Hazbin Hotel, even though he isn't involved, he hopes that Charlie can succeed in getting Sinners into heaven

Has tried to play the piano. Sucks at it. Actually so fucking bad.

He spent a few days helping to rebuild the hotel

Was pretty worried about Alastor once he found out that he was missing

Sees Carmilla like a daughter

He has a natural opinion on the Vees, neither likes or dislikes them, but he does see lots of potential in their magic and power if they put it to good use

He loved playing cards with Husk back when he was an overlord, he lost track of him after his fall from power, but once he found out Husk was at the Hotel, he now visits for a game every now and again

There arnt that many Sinners left in hell that are as old as he is (he died in the Stuart era im assuming, due to his speech patterns. That's 16-1700s) but he is pretty friendly with the ones that died around the same time as him

He enjoys 1920-30s Jazz (Alastor introduced him to it)

He isn't a cannibal, but he enjoys to visit Cannibal Town because of how shockingly kind they all are

He doesn't own as many souls as other overlords, and the ones he does own, he treats with commen human decency. He only really gets rough or snippy with him if they try to take advantage of his kindness

Send me HC asks!!!

[whereforarthur]

We'll Never Last

Request: Could you do chrismd with promise by laufey, maybe like singer reader that releases it about him

Pairing: ChrisMD x Singer!Reader

Category: Angst and Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

*****

Chris sat in his dimly lit London flat, the glow of his computer screen illuminating his face. The cursor blinked at him expectantly as he stared at the YouTube video titled "Promise by y/n." His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the artwork—a silhouette of a girl with her hand over her heart. That pose, the lyrics scribbled around her in a heartbreakingly familiar handwriting. He had seen that hand so many times before, felt its gentle touch. His thumb hovered over the play button, a silent debate raging within him. Was he ready to face the music, quite literally?

Finally, with a deep breath, he clicked. The video began, and the opening chords of the piano filled the room. He watched as the camera panned over a deserted street, the neon lights flickering in the rain. The melody grew stronger, and with it, his curiosity. The camera stopped at a phone booth, and there she was, his ex-girlfriend, her voice hauntingly beautiful, her eyes filled with a pain that seemed to mirror his own. The words of the song washed over him, and suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. 'Promise' wasn't just any song; it was their story, laid bare for the world to see.

Chris leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of each lyric, each note pressing down on his chest. He had always known she was talented, but he hadn't anticipated this level of raw emotion. Her voice trembled with every word, painting a vivid picture of their tumultuous relationship. The way she sang about the struggle to move on, the longing for something that could never be—it was all too real. He felt his eyes begin to burn as she hit the chorus, her voice soaring with the pain of love.

The video's imagery grew more intense as the song progressed. The camera zoomed in on her hand, trembling as it held onto the phone receiver, the symbol of their countless late-night calls and tearful confessions. The rain outside the phone booth grew heavier, blurring the lines between her and the world. It mirrored his own heart, which had been in a storm of doubt and regret since they parted ways. He had promised himself he would stop texting, stop calling, stop trying to fix what was broken, but he hadn't been able to keep that promise.

Y/n's eyes searched the screen, pleading for an answer to a question that only he could provide. "Why can't I let go of this?" she sang, and he knew she was referring to him. It was a question that haunted his dreams, a question he'd whispered to his reflection in the mirror a thousand times. Her voice cracked with the strain of holding back tears, and he felt his own threaten to spill over. The pain in her eyes was a mirror to his own soul, and he realized that she had been just as lost as he was.

The rain grew heavier in the video, each drop echoing the beat of his racing heart. She leaned against the phone booth, her hand pressed to the glass as if trying to reach through the screen and touch him. He could almost feel the coldness of the rain, the desperation in her fingertips. Her voice grew stronger with each line, the chorus a declaration of the love that had once burned so fiercely between them. It was a love that had consumed them both, leaving a trail of ashes in its wake.

Chris felt the sting of the lyrics, "It hurts to be something." He had been something to her—her confidant, her muse, her love. But now, as he sat alone in his flat, the silence deafening, he realized he was nothing to her but a memory, a ghost of what once was. The realization hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He had lost her, not just as a lover but as a friend, a piece of himself that could never be replaced.

The phrase "It's worse to be nothing with you" resonated in his core. He remembered the countless times he had picked up the phone, only to put it down again, the screen taunting him with her name. He had been afraid of being the one to break the silence, afraid of what it would mean to truly sever the last thread connecting them. But now, as he listened to her soul-wrenching ballad, he understood that he had already been nothing to her for a while. The song was a declaration of her own pain, her own inability to let go. It was a stark reminder that their love had become a prison, a cycle of hurt and regret that neither of them could escape.

As the video reached its crescendo, the rain on the screen turned to a downpour, and she disappeared into the storm. Her voice grew fainter, the melody a mere echo of what it once was. Chris felt a lump form in his throat as he realized that this was her way of saying goodbye, a farewell letter set to a haunting melody. The music video ended, leaving him in the cold embrace of silence. He stared at the dark screen, the final chords of 'Promise' still ringing in his ears. It was a testament to the power of their love, a love that had shaped-shifted into something unrecognizable and painful.

Chris had always been the one person she couldn't quite let go of. Their relationship had been a rollercoaster of passion and heartache, a whirlwind that had left them both reeling. Her words in the song spoke of a yearning so profound, it resonated within him like a tuning fork. Despite the pain, she had tried to keep her promise to move on, but like a moth to a flame, she had been drawn back to the warmth of their shared past. The sight of a boy that looked like him on Melrose Avenue, a mere shadow of the man she had loved, had shattered her resolve.

Her thoughts were a tumultuous sea, crashing against the shores of doubt and hope. She had promised herself she'd stop looking for him in every stranger's smile, every shared glance. But as she sang those words, she knew deep down that she'd never truly keep that promise. Every beat of the song was a step closer to admitting that she was lost without him. The melody that had been playing in her heart since the day they met was now a lament, a sad tune that filled her with a bittersweet nostalgia.

The video ended, but the echo of her voice remained, lingering in the air of the empty recording studio. Y/n took a deep breath, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. She had laid it all out there, her soul bare for the world to hear. The lyrics had been a catharsis, a way to articulate the pain that had been festering inside her for months. As she stepped out into the cool London evening, the rain had stopped, leaving a fresh scent in the air. It was as if the universe had heard her song and decided to offer a moment of peace.

*****

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out with trembling hands. It was a message from Chris. She hadn't expected him to reach out so soon, but there it was—his name lighting up her screen. "Heard 'Promise'… It's beautiful, but it hurts." The simplicity of his words was a stark contrast to the complexity of the emotions she felt. She read the message over and over, her thumb hovering over the reply button. Should she tell him the truth, that the song was her way of finally letting go? Or should she keep her thoughts to herself, allowing him to interpret the lyrics as he saw fit?

In the end, she decided to respond with a simple, "Thank you." It was all she could manage without her walls crumbling down. The silence that followed was deafening. She knew he was waiting for more, expecting an explanation, but she couldn't give him one without admitting that the song was a goodbye. A final, painful release of the love that had once been theirs. She put her phone away and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her heart was racing, her thoughts a tornado of doubt and fear.

Chris read the message, his own heart sinking. "Thank you" was not what he was expecting. He had hoped for a sign, something that would tell him she felt the same, that there was still a chance for them. But all he got was a polite acknowledgment, a band-aid over a gaping wound. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of her words like a lead balloon in his stomach. The silence between them was now a vast chasm, one that no amount of promises could bridge.

He thought back to the days when they were inseparable, when the world had made sense with her by his side. They had been so young, so in love, so sure of themselves. But as time passed, the cracks had appeared. Misunderstandings had turned into fights, and the love that had once been their beacon had started to fade. She had done the math, had seen the patterns, knew that no matter how much they tried to patch things up, they would never be able to outrun the inevitable. They would never last.

Chris knew deep down that she was right. Every time they had gotten back together, it was like trying to solve an equation that had no solution. They'd rearrange the variables, hoping for a different outcome, but the result was always the same. The love was there, but it wasn't enough to hold them together. It was a harsh reality, but one that he couldn't ignore anymore. The pain in her voice was a reflection of the truth they had both been avoiding.

He picked up his phone, the screen still glowing with her message. "Thank you." Two simple words that held a world of meaning. He stared at the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. What more could he say? He didn't want to be the one to close the door on their relationship for good, but he knew that if he didn't, they'd both end up hurt again. He took a deep breath and typed, "I'm sorry I couldn't keep mine either." He hit send and waited, his heart pounding in his chest.

Minutes ticked by with no response. The tension in the room grew thick, each second stretching into an eternity. Outside, the rain had started again, matching the turmoil he felt within. He knew he had to face the music, to accept that their love had run its course. The silence from her end was deafening, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between them. He sighed and stood up, walking over to the window to watch the raindrops race down the pane.

Y/n's thoughts were a tumultuous storm. She had poured her heart out into 'Promise,' hoping it would be the closure she needed. But hearing from Chris now, she felt the same old pull, the same temptation to hold onto what they had. She knew she couldn't keep playing this game of cat and mouse, but every time she tried to walk away, she found herself drawn back in. The line "No matter how long I resist temptation I will always lose" played in her mind on repeat. It was a battle she had been fighting for so long, and she was weary.

The phone in her hand grew heavier with each passing moment. Finally, she decided to read his message again, searching for any hint of what he was truly feeling. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep mine either." It was a mirror to her own regret, a reflection of the promises they had both made and broken. She took a deep breath and typed back, "Maybe we both need to stop making promises we can't keep." Her heart raced as she hit send, unsure of what his response would be.

Chris's eyes widened as he read her words. It was a truth they both knew deep down, but it was the first time she had acknowledged it so openly. He felt a pang of hope, but it was quickly overshadowed by the reality of their situation. He knew she was right; they had been trying to force something that had naturally run its course. He responded, "You're right. Maybe it's time we just… move on."

Y/n's heart sank as she read his message. The finality in his words was like a door slamming shut, leaving her feeling cold and alone. She knew he was right, but it didn't make it any easier. She took a deep breath and typed back, "Yeah. It's for the best." With a trembling finger, she hit send, releasing the last bit of hope she had been clinging to.

The two of them sat in their separate worlds, the glow of their phones the only source of light in the quiet darkness. The conversation felt final, the silence that followed heavier than any goodbye they had ever shared. They had danced around the truth for so long, afraid of the pain that accepting it would bring. But now, with 'Promise' out in the world, they had no choice but to face it.

It hurts to be something It's worse to be nothing with you

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[kingdomhate]

Seeing You Play an Instrument Scenarios!

Anakin Skywalker: Anakin had just gotten home from a long, problematic day at the Temple. All he found himself thinking of while being lectured by Obi-Wan for the upteenth time was you. The way you smelled, your smile and that little chortle of a laugh you have... he could go on for hours. He was infatuated with the sight of you. "Anakin, are you listening?" Obi-Wan asks with a raised eyebrow. That snapped Anakin out of his daydream of losing himself in your skin. "Yes, Master." Obi-Wan looks at him for a good couple of tense seconds before sighing. "Go home, Anakin. Clear your head and come back."

Anakin dashed out of the Temple, jumping into his cruiser before speeding home. He jumped into your palace of a house, outstretching his arms in a confident gesture, a smirk on his face. But... he doesn't see you. But the soft hum of music melts his mind; he can't help but follow it. It leads him to your guys' shared bedroom, the smell of your favorite vanilla and tangerine candle pleases his nose as he's met with the sight of your back as you strummed the strings of a guitar.

Oh, what a sight for sore eyes. Anakin sits on a chair, his eyes closed, feeling the hum of reverberation from the strings go straight to his soul. Paired with the soft, quiet singing of yours as you wrote lyrics and matched them with the emotion of the soft strum. He did not say a single word, as he knew you wouldn't play so soulfully if you knew of his presence. So, he remained quiet, his eyes still closed, his head leaned back. What a relaxing wind-down from the troublesome day. The intimacy of seeing into your emotions and listening them pour into your lovely music was overwhelming but Anakin embraced it deeply.

He wanted to get lost into your soul and the pools of deep to shallow emotions if it meant that he could hear this sweet melody again.

Luke Skywalker: You agreed to play your violin for him, as he wished to hear it and wanted to learn. How could you say no to those big, blue atlantic eyes of his? So, here you were. Stood in his room, repeatedly moving your bow to the strings of your bow as you concentrated on the tone of your music, and the amount of soul you poured into it.

As you did, you felt the memories of past experiences hit you like bricks, and a certain, new rush of emotions, varying in feel, poured into your bow as you stroked it over the chestnut violin. Luke sat on the bed, his eyes wide with amazement, his eyebrows set high and his body moving in a soft, but increasingly intense rhythm as the music hit it's nirvana and winded down. He hummed softly and sung soft, sweet lyrics that became more and more prominent with each crescendo of yours, this was beautiful to him. His eyes fluttered closed and then open, to observe your beautiful face, furrowed eyebrows and the glistening of sweat as you focused.

It truly was a rare and poetic sight of you. Focused, sweaty but so full of emotion that it overflowed and linked Luke closer to you. His blue eyes shined with a feeling of pride and happiness at the sight of his lover doing what she loved and sharing such a sacred moment with you as you both wrote music together in your free time.

These moments were what gave him strength to go on everyday, and made him cradle you close at night tighter than usual.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: It was unexpected, to hear you playing an instrument. But it was early morning, and Obi-Wan found himself to be awoken by passion as you called his name. He could see you in the living room, in the piano he bought for you a few years ago.

He got up, walking over to the door frame as he watched. You played the keys beautifully, reading off the sheet in front of you as you occasionally fumbled from your own eagerness. But, it was intense, passionate and brought a feeling of warmth to spread throughout his chest. The moment he saw your head leaned back, as your hands moved fluently over the vast space of the white and black keys, searching for something to resonate a electric-like sound that sent shivers through his spine and made his ears crave more.

You didn't sing, vocalize or hum, you simply let your fingers create such a sound. Obi-Wan let out a sigh as he loosened up, your music sent him on a roller coaster of emotions: Happy, anxious, content and yearning. But he always wanted more.

He could swear that your music could end a war. It always ended the war of his mind and heart on how much you meant to him and how much he truly loved you.

.

.

.

A\N: Been a while since I actually posted. Expect more content as I kick my writers block in the ass.

[asacredthebread]

Sounds Of Serenity •☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

Sam Kiszka x Reader "𝚆𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚊𝚖'𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍. 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎." Warnings/Themes: Piano Sam, Sweet Dog Dad Sam WC; 1185

You woke suddenly, the darkness surrounding you thick and heavy. The room was shrouded in a blanket of stillness, and as you blinked against the shadows, disorientation settled in. You turned over in bed, expecting to find Sam beside you. The absence of his warmth startled you; the sheets were cool where he should have been.

For a moment, you lay there, silence deepening your confusion. You could feel the subtle weight of your heart quickening as you scanned the room, looking for any sign of him. The familiar sounds of the night—the soft rustling of Rose moving in her sleep and the distant hum of the city outside—seemed muted, almost as if the world had paused.

Then, you heard it. A melody floated through the thick air, soft yet insistent, a tune you recognized immediately as something Sam would play. It wrapped around you, tugging at the edges of your consciousness, beckoning you to uncover its source.

Pushing the covers aside, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the coolness of the floor beneath your feet. You didn’t want to disturb the tranquil rhythm of the night, but the music stirred something in you, a mixture of concern and curiosity. Why was he up playing the piano in the middle of the night?

With deliberate steps, you ventured down the shadowy hallway, each footfall a soft whisper against the floorboards. The melody grew stronger with every step, cascading through the air like a gentle wave. It was both comforting and haunting, a sound that filled the home you shared with him.

As you approached the living room, you caught sight of Rose curled up near the piano. Her ears perked up at the sound, her body as still as a statue as she watched Sam with adoring eyes. He sat at the instrument, his long brown hair cascading forward, obscuring part of his face as he lost himself to the music.

You paused at the doorway, captivated by the sight of him—his brow furrowed in concentration, fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. The way he moved was mesmerizing, each note spilling forth as he conjured emotions from the depths of his soul. There was something magical about watching him lose himself in that moment, as if he were casting spells with the notes he played.

A warmth spread in your chest, a mixture of love and longing, as you realized how much you adored this side of him, his vulnerability laid bare through his music. It felt both intimate and profound, as if you were witnessing a part of him that very few had the chance to see.

“Sammy?” you called softly, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He turned his head, the movement causing a tendril of hair to fall away from his face, revealing those deep brown eyes that always seemed to pierce into the depths of your being. A gentle smile broke across his lips, transforming his expression, as he interrupted the sonorous flow of music.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he replied, his voice low and melodic, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

Feeling a mix of relief and curiosity, you stepped closer to him, drawn to the sound and the man behind it. “I didn’t find you in bed... I thought—”

He chuckled softly, casting a glance back at the piano before meeting your gaze once more. “I couldn’t sleep. I needed to play.”

Nodding, you settled onto the couch, resting your elbows on your knees as you watched him intently. The atmosphere in the room shifted, filled with a blend of anticipation and serenity. Sam returned to the piano, his fingers gliding over the keys once more as he resumed the gentle melody. It enveloped you, wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace.

As he played, you took in the scene around you—the way the dim light illuminated the contours of his face, the soft rise and fall of his shoulders as he leaned into the music. Each note resonated deep within you, awakening emotions you didn’t know were lying dormant. The music felt like a conversation, a bridge connecting your hearts in the stillness of the night.

Rose shifted, her head rising as she let out a soft sigh, moving closer to Sam. The dog’s affection was palpable, a reflection of the bond that tied you all together. Sam reached down to scratch behind her ears, and that simple gesture seemed to deepen the warmth in the room. You smiled at the sight—this was the essence of your little family, a trio woven together by love.

“What are you playing?” you inquired, genuinely curious.

He paused, looking up at you with that same soft smile. “Something new. Just feeling it out.”

Your heart swelled. Sam had a gift for transforming the feelings hidden deep within into beautiful, moving melodies. It was one of the things you admired most about him, that his music somehow captured the experiences and emotions of both of you, threading them together in an intimate tapestry.

“Can you play something for me?” you asked, a playful lilt in your voice. “Maybe something we can dance to?”

His smile widened, and you watched as a twinkle sparked in his eyes. “How about this?” He began playing again, this time shifting into a more upbeat tune, fingers flying across the keys with a flourish. Laughter bubbled up inside you, filling the room with a new energy, as you couldn’t help but sway, letting the music carry you.

You got up from the couch and moved closer, your body instinctively responding to the rhythm he created. Sam grinned, the spark in his eyes igniting as he watched you dance. It was a simple moment—two people caught up in the music, a dog watching with sleepy affection—but it felt monumental in its beauty.

Time seemed to stretch, the outside world fading away as you and Sam lost yourselves in the moment. His laughter mingled with the piano’s lively notes, filling the space around you with joy. You could feel the connection between you strengthen, each note binding your souls closer together.

Eventually, the music tapered off, leaving behind a gentle hum in the air. Sam looked at you, breathless and gleaming with joy. “You were amazing,” he said, his voice deep and sincere.

You beamed back at him. “You were the one playing,” you replied playfully, before your heart shifted once again into something softer, more intimate. “I wasn’t sure why you left the bed... but I’m glad I followed you.”

He reached out, taking your hand into his, fingers interlacing effortlessly. “Sometimes, I just need to escape into the music for a bit. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

In that moment, everything fell perfectly into place. Wrapped up in the glow of the piano’s soft light and the lingering notes of your shared laughter, you were reminded of the deep love anchoring you to each other, echoed in the rhythm of the night. The world outside could wait for dawn; for now, it was just you, Sam, and the music.

[elriel-fireheart]

I see the Light

Morrigan stumbles upon the Truth between Azriel and Elain.

This is Elriel coded. Please be kind.

The Townhouse was filled with a beautiful melody. Elain is sitting in the family room playing the piano, singing what her heart yearns for her to say. The sun is shining down on her, bathing her in a golden glow. Shining like the purest star. Azriel's shadows pick up on her. He's flying high over the city in an attempt to find some peace after his long and drawn out mission. They play the melody in his ear, ignoring his direct orders of refusing to spy on her, and he can't resist the pull of it. The music and her voice together creating a sirens call. He ends up in the doorway, struck by the sheer beauty before him.

He hadn't seen her in weeks. Months. Not since he tried to explain about the events of last Solstice, and was feebly and utterly broken by the sadness on her face. Rhysand's retaliation for revealing the truth was to send him on a long and tedious mission far away on the continent. The Wraith Twins eventually informed him that Elain moved out of the River House that night. Said her anger towards Rhysand was a midnight fury. Only Feyre's pleading got her to stay in the Townhouse. To not sever family bonds and heal her heart in the privacy of her own home. A gift, Feyre said, for the poor actions of her territorial, meddling mate.

A forethought sends his shadows scouring across the city and to the estate looking for the rest of the inner circle, but all is silent. Empty, save for Elain and her song. Unable to resist, Azriel slowly makes his way to her. Hearing the shadowsinger's soft footsteps, she turns and gives him a shy smile. Nods to the seat beside her. The thought of sharing the bench with her, of sharing a moment alone together, breaks any lingering resolve of turning around and leaving her be. Rhysand's command snuffed out by his sheer need to be with her. So Azriel sits. Gently places his scarred hands on the keys and starts playing, adding to her melody.

Elain looks at Azriel with a smile she reserves only for these stolen moments and urges him to continue. The light in her eyes warms him to the core. He looks at her and seems to struggle for words, but he finally released a breath. And so, Azriel sings. His midnight voice, low and velvety. He looks at Elain with an openness in his eyes she rarely sees. The windows to his soul thrown wide open. The green and gold in his eyes glowing vibrant as spring. Together, they sing. Together, they fall into rhythm and let go. The shadows of the setting sun begin swaying and dancing between the golden rays. Elain and Azriel get lost in their song. Completely oblivious to an awestruck Mor hiding behind the door.

Morrigan just arrived from the Summer Court moments ago. She came to the Townhouse only to give Elain some rare flower seeds she had requested. But in Azriel's distraction, the front door was left slightly ajar. In all her years, Mor had never once heard Azriel sing. Curiosity's grip on her was fierce and she couldn't resist taking a peak. Glamour and shields up to hide her scent, for fear of ruining such a virtuous moment, watching and listening to the song of Death and his lovely Fawn. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection...a band of golden light shining brighter than all the rest. The faint glow connects them, blending with the last rays of the setting sun. The rest of Azriel's shadows are twirling all around the room. Bewitched. Entranced. Whispering in an ancient long forgotten language...mates, mates, mates.

Their song reaches its end. Azriel leans down slowly, one hand gently reaching up to cup Elain's face. Her eyes flutter close and their lips are a hairsbreadth away from each other... just as Mor decides its time take her leave. Mor saw the Truth that day. Confirmed every suspicion. She vowed to keep it secret. Protect this delicate pair, and let them find happiness in these small merciful moments with one another. She prayed to the Mother that night. Prayed that fate would intervene and show the world that the hearts of the Shadowsinger and Seer belong to one another. Prayed that the cauldron was wrong indeed.

I have this small headcanon that Elain can sing and learnt how to play piano growing up. I have a small inkling that Mor will be a part of this next book in the narrative of Elain and Azriel's story. There's alot to unpack between her and Az. There's alot to unpack between Elriel and the IC. Amidst the drama, I'd like to think that Mor would back up Azriel in his claim that the Cauldron was indeed wrong in matching Elain with Lucien. There is many instances where it seems like she notices something between Elriel. Nesta as well. Only time will tell.

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed my one little dabble in fanfiction that I wrote long ago.