#melodic playground

[melodic-playground]

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Denny Blair Releases Inspiring New Single “Livin’ Life”

Nichols, NY – Indie singer-songwriter Denny Blair is back with his latest single, Livin’ Life—a heartfelt anthem that blends rock, folk, and blues influences. Known for his soulful storytelling and authentic sound, Denny delivers a song that captures the beauty of embracing every moment. With influences ranging from Tom Petty to Eric Clapton, Livin’ Life resonates with fans who appreciate raw, timeless music.

Now available on all major streaming platforms, Livin’ Life is already gaining traction among indie music lovers. In addition, the song can now be heard daily on Melodic Playground Radio, reaching a growing audience of passionate listeners. This release marks another milestone in Denny’s journey as he continues to craft music that uplifts, inspires, and connects with fans worldwide.

Stream Livin’ Life today, and stay tuned for more from this rising artist. For updates, visit https://dennyblairmusic.weebly.com/

[maraudersilver]

Begin Again (James Potter x teacher!Reader)

James Potter x Fem!Teacher!Reader

wc: 1,3K

cw: main character death (Lily)

Widowed 27 year old James Potter went to fetch Harry from his new primary school after he received an urgent email from the headmaster. Harry got himself on another fight with the same kid.

If he continued like that, James would have no other option but to homeschool him. He sighed, pulling the car on the sidewalk. He knew Harry was not completely at fault. First, he lost his mother not too long ago, which caused his magic to be more uncontrolled than before. That led him to the second problem: Harry had been using magic unconsciously before muggle kids.

James was exhausted. Sirius had proved to be the godfather he had always expected him to be, taking care of little Harry whenever James had to work.

If Lily saw him, she would be disgusted with him. He didn’t need to work. His parents had left him an inheritance so big even their great-great grandkids would be considered millionaires. But the lost of her… Lily had been his sun, his dreams, his whole heart, soul and body. And loosing her had taken a toll on him. The grief had insufferably settled on his chest the moment she abandoned the world of the living, and Sirius and Remus had taken care of both him and Harry for months; James had been incapable of doing anything for himself without Lily.

So he looked for a job at the Ministry to keep his mind occupied. And sent Harry to a muggle primary school so he didn’t have to depend on Sirius and Remus much more. Even Peter, who was not much into kids, had babysat the kid more than once. Especially on those nights James would drink to oblivion.

So when he saw a gorgeous woman grabbing Harry’s hand at the entrance of the school, smiling at the kid with a radiant smile, his heart fluttered on his chest. It was strange. James had thought his heart death since the moment he lost Lily. How curious.

When Harry’s green eyes —identical to Lily’s— focused on him once James stepped a foot on the playground, they glinted with joy.

“Daddy!” Harry dropped the young woman’s hand and ran towards James’ awaiting arms.

“What’s up, buddy!” James grunted, trying to keep his feet steady. Merlin, his baby had grown so much.

“It wasn’t me! I was– He insulted mom! And I got so angry! And suddenly the table felt over him. But I didn’t do it!” Harry babbled incessantly, almost in desperation.

“I believe you, Harry.” James sighed. Another magical performance before muggles. Although, he was proud Harry defended Lily’s honour to the point of throwing tables at kids. “Is that your teacher?” James pointed to the woman who was awkwardly standing at the entrance still. The kid, who had apparently forgotten the presence of the teacher, looked back only to nod a second later. “Yeah. Miss. Bailey.”

“Let’s go talk to her. C’mon, champ.”

James grabbed his son’s hand and walked towards the woman, Harry not implementing any kind of resistance. The closer they got, the more James could see how beautiful the woman was. And how young. Probably around his age, he noted. Her eyes were kind, and she was offering a reassuring smile to Harry, who beamed at her attention.

“You must be mister Potter.” Godric, her voice was melodic, James thought. A velvety sound had reached his ears, so honeyed he wondered if he had encountered a mermaid on earth.

Harry slapped his arm when James took more time to answer than what was considered polite, and the man startled, smiling nervously. “Um yes, it’s me. But call me James. I’m not that old to be considered mister,” he chuckled, and he thought his heart would jump out of his chest when he heard her giggle.

“Nice to meet you, James.” She gave him her name, and James thought it suited her. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. “Let’s go straight to the point. I was not there when the fight happened, but we can’t allowed that kind of physical violence against other students.” James grimaced, and she noticed, because quickly added, “even if it is in defence.”

“I apologise on behalf of my son,” James reluctantly said. Another kid insulted Lily, yet it was Harry who was being punished.

The young teacher sighed, looking at him with sympathetic eyes. James felt like he was going to throw up. “I know– It’s been brought to my attention the situation Harry has gone through as of lately, and it’s normal for kids so young to experiment some… behavioural changes in respond to the trauma.” If it hadn’t been for her kind eyes, James would have already snapped at her for talking so lightly about Harry’s loss. About his loss. “I would have reacted worse than him if someone had spoken about a loved one that way. Although I have to ask you to keep this confession unofficial.”

“But I didn’t do it!” Harry complained, furrowing his brows, green eyes filled with sense of unfairness.

Miss. Bailey looked down at him with compassion. “I believe you, Harry, but your peers have spoken against you, sweetie. And, unfortunately, we have to act according to that.” She crouched to be at his eye level and smiled kindly, caressing his cheek gently. “Let’s do something. You have to be with me for detention during your breaks. If anyone asks, all you’ve been doing is copy some sentences. But we can play some board games, whichever you like. You okay with that, darling?”

Harry, after a moment of consideration, nodded in agreement, and grinned widely at the woman. James could feel his chest filling with warmth for his son. At least someone was advocating for him, even if he had been sentenced to detention for something he couldn’t control.

Miss. Bailey stood up to her height again, now sheepishly smiling at James, who thought she looked adorable. “I’m really sorry for not being able to help Harry more, but unless someone speaks against Hall, I have my hands tied.”

Again, if it wasn’t for the kindness of her voice and the deep tile of her irises, James would have lost his wits against her. However, his blood pressure returned to normal and just nodded. “I take your word on that. Harry is not violent. He took after my wife… late wife the most, and she was an angel on earth.”

Miss. Bailey’s eyes softened. “Harry speaks a lot about her. She sounds like a great woman.”

“She was.”

There was a moment of solemn silence between both adults, only interrupted by Harry’s restlessness.

“Well, um, I have to go back to class.” She awkwardly chew on her lower lip, James being unable to stop the way his eyes followed the motion. “See you tomorrow, Harry. Bring whatever game you want to play, okay?”

“Okay, miss.” Harry said softly, and the teacher cooed at him.

Then, once again turning to James, a faint warmth filled her cheeks. “It was nice to meet you, mister Potter.”

“James,” the man reminded her amusedly.

“James.” She nodded. James’ knees wobbled, how sweet his names fell off her lips.

Harry squeezed his hand again, reminding him of the almost hyperactive child he had come to fetch.

“Right, um, hope to see you around, Miss. Bailey.”

She giggled again, and James felt like being thrown into heaven. She mumbled her name at him. “Only kids call me Miss. Bailey.”

He repeated her name, tasting it on his tongue. Sweet and light.

“I also hope to see you around, James.”

And in the drive back home, with a chatting Harry on the backseat, James thought life could still offer him the kind of joy Lily had brought to his life, the teacher’s smile ingrained in his brain. He was really looking forward to see her again.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

YOU DRINK YOUR COFFEE BLACK AND WE ARE AFRAID OF EACH OTHER ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; shoko makes you a morning cup of coffee; turns out she’s not very good at that, but it’s the thought that counts.

word count; 4.2k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader (but written w a fem!reader in mind), fluff fluff fluff!!, just normal morning shenanigans at the ieiri household, implied stsg (my brand), shoko can be a girlfailure. as a treat, reader is absolutely whipped (and so am i)

a/n; been writing too much gojo n geto lately. neglecting my wife :((((((( let it be known that i am a shoko stan first human second. this one is for my wlws pls eat up!!!!

you wake up to the sound of your girlfriend’s voice.

melodic and soft, low and saccharine; almost like she’s coaxing you out of hiding. a sound so lovely you wish you could drown in it, laced together with a distinctly raspy tilt, one you can only attribute to the copious amounts of cigarettes she smoked back in high school. a leftover residue, bittersweet memories ghosting her lips — one that gets you a little bit weak in the knees.

in the mornings, it’s particularly prominent, a little intoxicating. manifesting itself as a shiver down your spine, a jolt of your heartbeat, a flush on your skin for every word that she speaks. it’s enough to have you slipping from sleep’s embrace, carried back into the cradle of reality.

why you notice her voice first, and not the smell of something burning — or the sound of insistent beeping — is honestly beyond you. 

it doesn’t take long for your sleepy brain to react, however, a pang of anxiety rushing through your slumbering veins. hurriedly stirring you awake. abrupting your dreamlike, drowsy state, tangled up in silken sheets with your neck smudged by lipstick marks; an alluring red, one shoko typically favors when she’s going out for a drink. coming home just a tiny bit tipsy, affectionate and giggly.

and when your eyelids finally flutter open, your mind melting into the motion of the waking world, you shoot up in a sudden bout of panic.

because fuck, you belatedly, groggily realize — that’s the fucking fire alarm.

and shoko is spewing curses, from afar, loud enough that you can hear it even through the fog of fatigue that clouds your brain. a raspy string of words that you don’t quite catch, but they’re enough to have you scrambling out of bed, nearly bumping into the doorframe as you kick the blanket off your legs.

”what happened?” you croak out, chest heaving a little, having stumbled into the smoke-filled kitchen. disgruntled, reeling with the aftermath of your deep slumber, cold air nipping at your bare skin. the balcony door is open, and the smell of rain invades your apartment.

when you look out the window, all you see is a gray sky, blanketed by a thick coating of wool. smothered by clouds, not a single ray of sunlight slipping through the cracks. the world smells dewy and sweet, asphalt and flowers melting into a nostalgic fragrance, one that reminds you a bit of high school smoke breaks — huddling under the slide at the nearest playground, watching a pretty girl wrap her lips around a cigarette, exhaling smoke just for it to melt into the pouring rain.

one that reminds you a bit of the woman right in front of you, balancing on a chair and stretching her goosebump-ridden arms towards the ceiling, wearing nothing but a lacey bra and a pair of unbuttoned jeans. messy hair that cascades down her back, brows furrowed, eyes simmering with irritation — before flitting over to meet your own.

shoko blinks. then sighs. ”you woke up?” she mutters, and you try not to shiver when the tremor of her voice deepens, morning-fatigue seeping into the syllables. “fuck. sorry, i —”

she stumbles a little, shifting her weight from one foot to another, and you take a step forward. on instinct, as if getting ready to cushion her fall. ready to be of service, in any way you can.

”don’t worry,” she fumbles with the fire alarm, clicking her tongue. nails scraping against plastic. “it’s fine, i just need to — there we go.” 

finally, the beeping stops. and your shoulders relax, immediately, the tight little ball inside your chest untangling. with a deep inhale, the fragrance of espresso and smoke fills your nostrils, and a sense of calm washes over you. rooting your feet to the floor. 

shoko settles down, too, seating herself on the wooden chair. a huff slipping from her lips. they’re smudged, a blurry red she still hasn’t found the energy to wipe away. 

bringing a hand up to card through her hair, lithe fingers in between her messy auburn locks, she exhales. a blend between fatigue and relief.

”god. i need a cig.”

a moment passes. she raises her head, and sees the sleepy little pout playing at your lips — her eyes softening. blooming with something fond. giving you a smile, tired, small. but reassuring. 

”i’m just kidding, love,” she chuckles. “relax.”

”don’t joke about that,” you frown, rubbing the sleep from your weary eyes. stifling a tiny yawn. ”.. took me so long to get you to quit.”

(sometimes you can still see the smoke leave her lungs when she exhales.)

shoko keeps smiling, but doesn’t say anything else. the pitter patter of rain against your balcony railing fills the silence of the kitchen, still brimming with a light layer of smoke, slowly dwindling. cold air drawing it out. clad only in one of suguru’s old t-shirts, you shiver, and shoko seems to notice.

“good morning,” she coaxes, opening her arms slightly — and you move forward, a moth to a flame. without thinking. “sorry for waking you.”

she wraps her arms around your waist, attaching her jaw to the curve of your shoulder, and you melt into the embrace. leaning close, to tuck yourself into her neck. she smells like lavender shampoo. “‘s fine,” you mumble, a yawn muffled into her collarbone. “what happened? are you okay?”

when her plump lips press against the sensitive skin of your neck, right next to one of the kiss marks she left there last night, you can’t help but shiver again. she must feel it, because you can hear the smile she’s trying to bite back in her voice when she answers.

“mm,” she hums, a gravelly noise that makes your throat clog up a little. “just burned something, it’s fine. don’t worry.”

tentatively, you take a step back. just to see her. gazing down at her, into her hazel eyes, the fading crescents beneath them. not as dark as they used to be, not as heavy with lost sleep.

shoko is gorgeous. always, every single day, but you think she’s particularly breathtaking like this. when it’s early, and she’s groggy and a little disheveled, eyes weary and lipstick smudged — bra strap close to slipping off her shoulder, black lace against pale skin, moles littering her forearms and chest like star clusters. oversized jeans that expose the curve of her waist, the fat of her hips, and you don’t notice how intently you’re staring until shoko’s raspy voice reaches your burning ears.

“eyes up here, baby.”

you do as you’re told, and she stifles a chuckle. eyes rich with amusement. you try not to blush.

“sorry.” you chew at the inside of your cheek. eyes trailing to the houseplants by the windowsill. “.. you’re just so pretty.”

shoko tilts her head, an exasperated little breath rolling off her tongue. almost a coo. she’s incapable of blushing; but if she wasn’t, you’re sure she'd blush. 

“thanks.” her touch is light, fingertips trailing down the expanse of your arm. “you are, too. red is a good colour on you.”

you blink. shoko’s eyes are crinkled at the edges, soft lines of crows’ feet, and you huff when you realize she’s talking about the marks on your neck. suddenly a little self-conscious, you bring a hand up to rub at the skin — as if hoping to wipe them away. you doubt it works. shoko just breathes out an airy chuckle, getting up from her seat.

she looks tired, still. stretching her limbs out, sleepily, blinking drowsily.

and it’s odd, you think. that she got up this early, that she didn’t cling to you and make you stay with her in bed like she usually does. you don’t know anyone who loves sleeping in more than shoko does. especially after a night out.

so it’s strange. very strange.

“hey, sho.”

“hm?”

you tilt your head. “why are you up this early, anyway?”

she blinks, and then glances at the clock on the wall. ticking idly, counting down. when she looks back at you, she’s got a single eyebrow raised. “it’s not really early.”

“for you it is,” you quip, something resembling a grin tugging at your lips. and she rolls her eyes, smiling, before linking her arm with yours. bringing you to the stove.

“i was, uh —“ a pause. she does a little cough under her breath, clearing her throat. “trying to make coffee.”

silently, you look at the mess in front of you; what used to be your squeaky-clean stovetop, now stained with a muddy, rusty residue. an unassuming coffee pot sits to the side, having seemingly boiled over, smoke still drifting up into the air.

shoko cringes, a little, before a wry smile makes its way to her lips. ”it was…” she clicks her tongue. sighing softly. ”an attempt.”

”… wait.” you turn to look at her, dubiously, and she avoids your gaze. ”that’s what you burned? coffee?” still no answer. a tiny smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help it if your voice comes out sounding a little teasing. ”how is that even possible?”

”look,” shoko exhales, heavy. ”i don’t know, okay? i think it was the coffee grounds, or something. i look away for one second, and it’s just —”

a little giggle slips from your lips, and shoko shoots you a glare. mostly harmless, but she untangles her arm from your own. ”sorry, it’s just —” you apologize, failing to hide your amusement. ”why didn’t you just use the espresso machine, honey?”

she bites her lip, and you think she might be just a little embarrassed. averting her gaze, briefly flitting towards the machine in question. ”… i didn’t know how to use it,” she mutters. ”i’ve seen you do it, obviously, but i never paid attention to the steps.”

a smile graces your lips. “it’s not that complicated once you know how it works,” you nudge her arm with your elbow. ”it just looks that way.”

she hums. a click of her tongue, as she adjusts her bra strap. ”well, anyway. i tried. so.”

”right.” you try to stifle a grin, to no avail. ”so… you burned your coffee.”

”and woke you up.” she grins, herself, just a tiny bit self-deprecating. but pretty, always, hair falling over her eyes when she tilts her head. ”a mess, aren’t i?”

”not at all.”

shoko looks at you, and your eyes meet hers. unflinchingly. tired irises falling into the gentle hue of your own, trickling down to the curve of your lips. there’s an honesty to your voice that she’s never quite been able to deal with. 

(love, she thinks. a kind of love she finds somewhat hard to stomach. a sea of acceptance that she fears she’ll eventually drown in.)

before she can properly fall into a morning spiral, you stretch your neck a bit, idly, and she gets a good look at the red marks littering your skin. the way your pulse beats at the base of your throat. tender, slight, a mantra she’s grown just a little bit addicted to. 

”why, though?” you hum, and shoko blinks. snapped out of her thoughts, and back into reality. back into you, the faux pout on your lips. playful, but a little confused. ”i thought i was the coffee brewer of this relationship…” 

and it’s true. you’ve been making shoko’s morning cups of coffee for a while, now, even before you moved in together. she likes it black, sometimes with a drop of cream, sometimes with a cube of sugar. never both. you think it’s very like her, to tiptoe that line between bitter and sweet — never entirely giving in to one or the other. there’s a balance to shoko, something stable. something for you to hold on to, a bitter tinge or syrupy taste that always leaves you yearning for more.

truthfully, your coffee brewing skills aren’t anything special. but it makes shoko happy, to wake up and stumble into the kitchen, being able to hug your back. being handed a cup of fresh coffee. sipping from it in silence, muttering out a groggy good morning that makes your heart flutter.

(to you, it’s precious. that lilt of her voice, that bittersweet tinge. the dearest thing in the world.)

plump bottom lip trapped between her teeth, shoko furrows her brows. ever so slightly. nails tapping at the edge of the kitchen counter, a series of satisfying clicks against the marble. “… well.” 

she clears her throat, but doesn’t say anything else. a moment passes. you try to find the answer in the curve of her lips, the crease of her brow, in the depths of her eyes — but you don’t succeed.

something discomforting settles in the bottom of your throat. almost uncertain, maybe a bit anxious. sheepish, as your tired mind spins in circles. parting your lips. hesitant.

“do you… not like the way i make it?” there’s a dejected tilt to your voice when it spills out, one that makes you feel a little silly. so you smile, or try to, eyes trailing towards the windows; you note that the rain has grown heavier. “i can change how —“

“what?” shoko cuts you off. “no. no, of course not — your coffee’s perfect. honestly.”

again, your eyes meet. and again, shoko seems to be struggling with finding the right words. or maybe she’s struggling to voice them.

“i just… haah.” she brings a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. you just watch, silent, hungry to hear the thoughts she’s not letting you in on.

a beat. again, the sound of the rain against steel railings, the scent of honeydew and concrete. espresso-flavored smoke, almost entirely faded, leaving only cold air to nip at your thighs. 

and again, as always, inevitably, your eyes are fixed on shoko — a moth to her flame. helpless to the cinders that ghost at your skin whenever she looks at you. a certain contemplation swims inside her eyes, simmering beneath the surface, as she chews gently at the plush of her lips. before turning to face you.

you can only blink. but shoko finally speaks, clearing her throat in a way that strikes you as rather sheepish.

“well — you’re always the one doing all the work. aren’t you?” her voice trickles out into the air, low and saccharine, a blanket pulled over your shoulders. so soft you hold your breath and strain your ears, just to make sure you hear it. “i guess i figured… i don’t know.”

shoko pauses, again, and you can almost delude yourself into thinking there’s a cherry red tint to the tips of her ears. when she parts her lips, that usually carefree voice of hers sounds almost meek. almost, but not quite. more like unsure. embarrassed?

another moment passes, entirely silent. shoko swallows her pride.

“.. satoru always brags about suguru making him those fucked up sugary drinks he likes,“ she mumbles. turning around, to rest her back against the counter, looking out at the downpour. “says it makes him feel so loved. or whatnot. so i just —“ 

she waves her hand, haphazardly. 

“you know.“

a beat. then another. you can physically feel your lips part, a kind of surprise weaving itself into the contours of your face. 

and when you finally speak, your voice comes out a little garbled, scrambling for the right words. not sure if you should feel deeply amused, or just a tiny bit horrified. “wait. you’re saying you…” a moment passes. silent, slow, and all you can do is blink owlishly. in disbelief.

“… got inspired by suguru?”

shoko groans, deep and gravelly, almost comically agonized. covering her face with her pretty hands. “don’t say it,” she pleads, “you’re making it sound as dumb as it is.”

a little giggle slips from your lips. accidental, but she still shoots you a displeased look, huffing under her breath. crossing her arms just to tap at her forearm with her nimble fingers. frowning.

“don’t laugh at me.”

“sorry,” you search for her gaze, but she keeps looking ahead. so stubborn. “i don’t mean to, ‘s just — not very like you, y’know?”

shoko exhales. nearly a huff, but not quite. and you think she must be embarrassed, gnawing at her lip like that, fingers eagerly searching for something to fidget with. it makes you soften, impeccably, the blood inside your veins warming up beneath your skin. stirring you, coaxing you into soothing her. your very own heartbeat seems to be a little enamored with shoko ieiri.

”i appreciate the thought,” you smile. a tender tone, sincere. lingering with amusement. “really. but let’s not base our entire relationship around satoru and suguru of all people, alright?”

and again, she sighs. brittle, a little fatigued. brows scrunching together. ”look, i —”

a pause. she gnaws at her plump bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering like a battered heartbeat. her voice comes out sounding soft, all duvet pillows and fresh lavender, a lilt that anchors you to earth. sweet words. so honest it makes your breath hitch.

”i want to take care of you.”

and this time, you’re the flustered one. burning under her gaze, feeling a heat blossom on your skin. feeling the fervent pitter patter of your heartbeat, as her pretty eyes look into yours. a nice mocha brown. 

but even with the fresh embarrassment trickling through your veins, you find it in you to speak. desperate, maybe, to cross the distance between you — even when it borders on non-existent. desperate to feel your heartbeats synchronize, figuratively or literally. to stitch them together.

“i want to take care of you, too,” you echo, looking down at the floor. and then back at your girlfriend. hesitant, a tad shy. but sincere.

a sincerity so palpable it makes shoko feel a little jealous. 

(sometimes, she finds herself wanting to put a hand inside your chest. dig around your organs, run her fingertips down every single one, until she finds what she's looking for. that miraculous something that makes you stick around, that makes you so frighteningly easy to love. that makes her want to safeguard you so terribly.)

”then let’s take care of each other,” she breathes, a small smile slipping into the curve of her lips. reaching out to brush against your knuckle, weave your fingers together. delicate. 

she clears her throat. “… i guess.” 

and you can’t help but smile. somewhat cheeky, a little teasing. “ah,” your eyes crinkle, and you stifle a coo. “did that embarrass you?”

a sharp little scoff. shoko gives you a lazy grin, paired with a soft roll of her eyes. brushing her thumb across your knuckles, even still. “oh, shut up.”

the world seems to still, ever so slightly, as you look into each other’s eyes. like everything else is just background noise, from the pitter patter of the rain to the fading smell of coffee all around you. shoko looks at you like she’s trying to see inside your brain, see what makes you tick, see you for what you are.

and when she eventually leans in for a kiss, you’re pliant. expectant. her lips against yours, breathing you in, as soft as ever. like she’s afraid of getting too greedy. she tastes like nectar and cosmetics.

“give me some time,” she says, after pulling back. hands on your waist, squeezing softly. “i’ll make you another cup right now.”

”sure you don’t want me to do it?” you ask. “i don’t mind.”

another little scoff. offended. ”look, i’m not incompetent, okay? i’m just not used to it.” she untangles herself from you, warmth slipping away. you will yourself not to chase it. “just stand there and look pretty for me.”

and she smiles, when those words make you giggle, infected by your sleepy joy. something soft and silky blooms inside her ribcage, mirrored by the glimmer in your eyes when you intertwine your hands again. fingertips brushing against each other, delicate, a love that’s handled with care.

”.. i like making you coffee,” you whisper after a beat. smiling. under your breath, like you’re telling her a secret. ”it makes me happy.”

a moment passes. something in shoko’s bones still, for a second, enough for you to notice. and her eyes fill with a kind of hesitance. doubt, maybe. or fear.

when shoko opens up to you, it’s always like this. sleepy, rainy days, or tipsy afternoons. in no more than a whisper, a fragile breath, the ghost of a confession. when you can feel her heartbeat, one finger on her wrist, listening to the rhythm of her pulse. intimate. a little clumsy, but…

”i just don’t want you to spend too much of yourself on me.”

the words are spoken in passing, almost casually, a lighthearted kind of resignation. a hungry ghost. one that follows her, follows you. suguru and satoru, too. there’s a lump in her throat, you can tell, something that makes it a little harder to say what she means. an intimacy that frightens her in a way nothing else can; frightened to hold it in her palms, to keep it close without having it break apart.

(not just her — you all are. all four of you. that’s why you've always been together, you think, why you always will be. four hedgehogs huddling together in the cold of night, too desperate for warmth to stay away from each other's spines.)

carefully, almost cautiously, you bring her hand to your lips. as if you’re handling a flimsy sheet of glass. featherlight, a touch so tender you hope she knows what you’re about to say before the words leave your throat.

“you’re worth it,” is whispered against her skin, your lips against her knuckles. shoko softens, but you think the sigh that slips from her lips sounds just a little shaky. “always.”

and finally, you know you aren't deluding yourself. it’s there, visible, the cherry red of her ears; a red that matches the lipstick on your skin. a flush that never travels down to her face. but it’s enough.

she clears her throat. voice beginning to change shape, slowly but surely, morning fatigue peeled off with the ticking of the clock. there’s still a raspy residue, leftover smoke that’ll never quite leave her lungs, but it’s silkier now. trickling like honey from her parted lips.

and it’s terribly soft, her tongue twisting around the vowels, a low lilt that drips with tenderness. she wills herself to smile. tired, but fond. “just let me make you one cup, then.”

so you do.

you let her, after briefly pointing out the functions of the far too expensive espresso machine that satoru bought you when you first moved in, and she listens intently. those pretty eyes, the intelligence behind them, her lips pursed in focus. shoko’s a genius, you’ve always thought — so effortlessly good at memorization, at figuring out how things work. what ties everything together. 

you think it’s a little comical that she struggled so much with making coffee, of all things, but you choose to attribute it to her slight hangover.  

because she’s focused, when she begins to fiddle with the machine. attentive. as if she’s dissecting it. a satisfaction in the way she moves, the way everything clicks into place as she works. everything serves a purpose, every single part in the machinery, every tube or pump of caffeine. she compares it to the human body, a glint in her eyes, and you can’t disagree.

all you can do is watch her. silently, entirely mesmerized. sitting on the kitchen counter, bare thighs against the marble, swinging your legs. telling her about the dream you had, while she listens. always.

a fresh, thick aroma of espresso and rainwater begins to waft through the apartment. one you drink in, greedy, steam filling your lungs. as you admire how the tiny droplets bounce off the hyacinths blooming on your balcony.

and when she’s finished, producing one cup of espresso, tailored to your liking, you can’t still the beating of your heart. unsure if you should blame it on the caffeine yet to enter your veins, or the proud smile that lingers on your girlfriend’s lips. maybe the way her fingers curl around the handle, the way a soft here, baby, spills from her smudged lips. all of the above, probably.

she’s gorgeous. breathtaking. sometimes you want to give her everything, more than you could live without. your heart, your lungs, your eyes. anything she asks for.

but she would never. all she’ll ever need is for you to keep sticking around, keep telling her about your silly dreams, keep letting her feel the beat of your pulse at the base of your throat. a mantra she’s fallen a little bit in love with.

and when you put your lips against the ceramic, and a bittersweet scent fills your lungs, you think you can taste it. that care, a love soft enough to mend all the jagged edges of your heart.

shoko smiles. smoothing a stray eyelash from your skin, thumb against your cheekbone. “how is it?”

(you swear it’s the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had.)

[knightshade26]

Our teacher gave us an assignment to write a short story and then present it to the class the day after and ofcourse me being a RadioApple writer, wrote a whole lot—

I was hesitant to share this here but anyway, here ya go~

So here's the piece, Titled “Perfect Pitch”

Alastor's life was the piano. Ever since he was a child, the black and white keys had drawn him into a world of symphony. Alastor pursued those evanescent melodies, the perfection of every note and every sound, every nuance—he assumed what was perfection in music, like a perspicacious conductor.

Alastor's debut as a pianist was undoubtedly a resounding success. His fingers wove the grandeloquence of music, leaving the crowd entranced, enchanted, and hanging on every note. He was the rising star. As often said, many considered him a master class in brevity—his few woven tones were always arranged with the utmost precision. Alastor, The Melodic Reaper, The Virtuoso of Moonlit Serenades—these few titles were piled onto the top of his head like a crown.

But all the glory, all of the applause, became a thing of the past. The melodies, the symphonies, the notes he once created became obscure. Fate seemed to be making fun of him, playing a game that seemed to obfuscate his life, veiling the once-shiny stage he had stepped on.

"Your hearing has been affected. I'm afraid your left ear won't be able to hear anything, and your right ear will only be able to hear at most 50%."

The doctor's words echoed clearly. Even with his impaired hearing, they were so distinct that he could almost forget he had essentially become deaf.

After a ceremonious celebration for winning another trophy, he was on his way home—completely sober, as he had not drunk any alcohol—but everything suddenly turned blindingly white as the glaring honk of a truck blared in his ears. Then came a tremendous impact. He lost consciousness.

He woke up two days later, his head still foggy when his assistant told him his ears would never function as they once did. He was sorrowful. He was angry. He screamed and lashed out. He refused help from others, and his willfulness—as if reverting to a stage of juvenile delinquency—only led him further into despair.

His world, since then, was silenced, like a tenebrous alleyway swallowed by shadows. Even in his subconscious mind, the notes seemed to disappear entirely, and Alastor could only eschew the piano. His once most beloved instrument had turned into the most beautiful curse—one he could only gaze upon. The graceful melody that once danced beneath his fingertips now seemed to mock his current self.

Alastor lowered his eyes, a smile hanging upon his lips. A slender hand held an umbrella with a casual grip. He stood in an empty playground, watching the rain subside in silence. The petrichor wafted from the wet earth—a primal scent that seemed to match his once glorious days.

Alastor took a step, intent on leaving. But then he suddenly stopped, an indistinct sound of a violin reaching his ears. It was familiar—so familiar that he violently swiveled, turning to find the melody he had once longed to entwine with. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brows, and concentrated. Slowly, he walked toward the lugubrious melody. His steps were slow at first, but as the sound became clearer, his pace quickened—gradually turning into a sprint.

He stopped.

Not far away, someone sat on the fountain. Skin morbidly pale, platinum blonde hair swaying with the gentle wind, eyes blindfolded with white cloth—holding a violin, playing a lachrymose melody that echoed in Alastor’s ears. It was so clear, so distinct, that Alastor unconsciously stood frozen, unable to tell how much time had passed.

One dared to play.

The other dared to listen.

Both remained in their places until the night sky was dotted with sparkling stars.

Lucifer.

The peak of classical music. The Devil. Heaven’s woe.

These few sobriquet Alastor could recall could never truly describe Lucifer’s pitch. In Alastor’s ears, he was the most perfect melody, the most harmonious symphony, the most flawless note to ever exist. He was the symphony—the quixotic dream Alastor had once desperately chased. He was Alastor's muse.

The melody gradually faded, and Alastor couldn’t help but step closer, subconsciously chasing the intermittent notes until he stood just a few steps away from Lucifer. Lucifer’s hands stilled upon his violin, his head tilting toward Alastor's direction. His lips quirked into a small smile.

"Aren’t you tired? Standing still like a statue for hours like that is bad for your knees, you know."

Licifer's voice flowed into Alastor’s ears. Alastor's eyes followed the orifice that produced such a gentle voice, interwoven with the susurration of the wind. Lucifer’s voice was clear, distinct—laced with amusement.

Alastor's face burned upon registering what Lucifer had said, his ever-present smile almost slipping.

"A silent type, I see. What’s your name, silent guy?" Lucifer asked.

Alastor subconsciously answered, "Alastor."

"The Master of Symphonies?" Lucifer smiled, clearly recognizing him.

But Alastor wasn’t the least bit pleased to hear the familiar nickname. "No. Just a forgotten whisperer." He shook his head with a wry smile.

Lucifer fell silent, as if not expecting his response. In the end, he made Alastor sit beside him, urging him to describe the stars. Neither spoke about music. They simply admired the empty nuances of life.

The two grew close—closer than they had expected. Every once in a while, they would sit in the same spot. One would describe everything he saw, while the other played a melody.

Until one day, Lucifer asked to hear Alastor to play.

Alastor rejected him outright. He imprisoned himself in his home, and the dark, depressing thoughts he thought he had successfully dispelled came rushing back like an untamed tide.

But before he could drown in sorrow, Lucifer appeared at his door, a slight smile on his lips. He dragged his suitcase, his violin case, and his cane with him.

"The pavement was so uneven I nearly tripped. Good thing I have nice reflexes."

As he spoke, he strolled inside Alastor's house, discarding his cane and suitcase outside the door but still dragging his violin case with him. Alastor stood there—messy-haired, disheveled, completely lacking the air of a fastidious person he once was—dumbstruck and speechless.

In the end, with a helpless smile, he couldn't bear to make Lucifer leave.

And so, the two started living together.

Under Lucifer’s relentless nagging, Alastor finally relented.

He re-opened his piano room.

His fingers trembled unconsciously—both nervous and anticipatory.

When he sat down, he could only stare at the familiar black and white keys in silence. At a loss.

Lucifer then chirped at his side, his eyes still blindfolded with white cloth, holding his violin as he took a stance in preparation to play.

“You remember your notes, right? Let's play a duet,” Lucifer said with a smile.

The apricity of the winter sun spilled through the curtains, casting a warm glow on Lucifer, making him look brighter, almost ethereal.

Alastor stared at him in silence as Lucifer began to play Clair de Lune. His fingers hovered over the piano keys, hesitating. Slowly, he pressed down, his touch tentative, as if afraid to shatter something fragile.

The only thing he could clearly hear was Lucifer's melody. The sound of the piano was almost nonexistent to him, yet his fingers moved instinctively, pressing whatever melody he could hear in Lucifer’s violin. The ennui that had plagued him for so long lifted so easily—just like that.

Alastor's smile turned genuine, as if a sudden epiphany had dawned on him. His fingers gradually danced across the keys, seamlessly blending with the violin’s symphony.

The duet piece was often used by pianists and violinists as a way to confess—a dreamy depiction of a lover’s intense longing and yearning. Yet, the two of them tacitly avoided mentioning it afterward. The piece was obviously an attempt to equivocate, hiding their intentions while revealing them at the same time.

Since that day, Alastor and Lucifer were inseparable. They would always be within at least five meters of each other. Their silent companionship and fleeting, undisguised glances couldn’t conceal the things that were meant to be spoken aloud.

Alastor and Lucifer then decided to sign up for an upcoming duet competition. They were more or less in sync in whatever they did. Their musicality had long fused into one, showcasing absolute harmony in their melodies.

That day, Lucifer was stuck at the stairs, his body trembling as he held his violin in a death grip. The scene of the explosion—the concert hall crumbling into a pile of debris, the crimson hell engraved into his vision before he lost his sight—replayed over and over in his mind. Lucifer attempted to breathe, to calm himself, but the familiarity of the concert hall made him remember. Again and again.

A hand suddenly cupped his cheeks, the warmth from it gradually pulling him back to reality. His confused mind and trembling body stilled, like a peaceful lake settling after a storm. He held the hand—it was slender, with distinct joints—and Lucifer subtly caressed Alastor's fingers, smiling faintly as he said, “Thank you, Al.”

Alastor was silent as he stared at Lucifer, though his hand trembled ever so slightly. “I should’ve bought a heating pad,” he muttered.

Lucifer laughed. “You actually learned how to joke?” His voice was tinged with amusement as all the tension left his body.

“I learned from you,” Alastor whispered. His hand slowly let go, hesitating, as if reluctant to part.

That night, without a doubt, they won. Alastor and Lucifer won, with resounding applause and flowers decorating their steps.

That very same night, they sat by the same fountain. Alastor patiently described the stars—their positions, the constellations he could make out—while Lucifer silently listened. The two trophies sat quietly between them, their golden gleam seeming to replicate the sparkle of the stars, as if representing a prelude of another journey.

“Hey…” Lucifer suddenly spoke, his voice lower than usual.

Alastor stopped speaking and turned to him, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“What do you think of me?” Lucifer asked after much deliberation.

Alastor froze at the question, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His face was tinged with red.

“You’re my perfect pitch,” Alastor whispered, his voice almost blending into the wind. His nervousness was apparent—the way his lips pursed, his brows knitting into a frown—almost looking comical as he tried to fix his expression.

Lucifer smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. His voice was tinged with shyness as he replied, “You better keep it that way.”

Alastor nodded subconsciously but then stared at Lucifer in confusion before gradually realizing what he meant. He brought a hand to cover his lips, unable to suppress the wide smile forming on his face.

They sat there, deep into the night, with nothing but themselves—the echoes of the wind and the twinkling of stars as their only witnesses. No audience bore witness to the veiled confession that Lucifer had, for the first time, ever made.

___________________________

Idk about my score on this one but i guess you guys will be my judges now...🤧

[pinkofatom]

Alicia watches the introduction video

CW: mind control, brainwashing, bimbofication, unaware, femdom, femsub, maledom(indirect)

Alicia settled into the leather seat. Behind her a loud click echoed through the room. She fiddled with her business skirt, fingers numb. Taking a deep breath she tried to calm her beating heart. She just finished an interview for a new job. Everything was fine. Nothing worrisome happened. Quite the opposite, she told herself, they invited her to watch the orientation. That had to be good. The queasy sensation in her stomach was surely her nerves.

Hesitant Alicia put a lock of her long black hair behind her ear. Another deep breath sent shivers through her ample chest, one she tried to hide in a grey business suit. She swallowed a lump of nervousness down, eyes finally settling on the bright screen. They told her this was mandatory. Yet it didn't help to soothe her. Her legs crossed to at least distract her from her nervousness, the smooth pantyhose making them appear a bit thicker than she would like. This would all be over soon. Just get through this stupid video and she would get the job.

Alicia took another deep, trembling breath when the video began. A loud annoying, yet memorable, jingle danced through the air. Flickering an office came to life on the screen. The quality seemed rather low to Alicia like something from the 90's. The furniture appeared to have come from the same era as well. At least it felt that way to Alicia who was more accustomed to clean, simple and modern offices.

With her brows slightly knitted together Alicia watched a woman waddling into view of the camera. Alicia's eyes blew wide open at the clothes the woman wore. Her heels had to be around 12 inch, at the very least! A tight red skirt swayed with each step the woman made, drawing the camera's and Alicia's attention towards her behind.

Her behind which jutted out like she was in constant mid-bend. Alicia's jaw dropped when the woman finally sat down, and leaned back, her skirt sliding up her thick thighs. Her breasts looked enormous on top of her slim body. The flimsy blouse hid nothing. If Alicia had to bet, the top buttons would pop at any time, freeing those big tits. Tits, her ass. A shiver ran over Alicia's skin when the image of her in that same outfit popped to mind.

'God no,' she told herself. There was no way she could wear something so skimpy. Yet the idea sent a pulse of molten desire through her core. She pressed her thighs tighter together as if that could hide her body from view.

Alicia's attention returned to the woman on screen when her bright, red lips parted, and a melodic, sensual voice filled Alicia's ears. "Hi," she paused, "and welcome to this very short introductory video to your new job!" The smile grew even more on the woman's red painted lips, "This will give you some basic knowledge of how you will act everyday."

With each passing sentence, a strange and unnerving sensation crawled up from her toes. Alicia writhed in the leather seat. She didn't want to listen to that woman anymore, her voice so seductive, sending unwanted and unusual pulses through her body. With a deep breath — she settled into her seat — ears perked, listening.

"When I first started here-" her voice lowered to a sultry purr, "-the office environment seemed a lot like a prison to me," She laughed a laugh so light and joyful — Alicia found herself giggling.

"But now," the woman continued, "it's different, it is like a playground." Her eyes twinkled with an alluring void. Alicia couldn't help but be drawn in, her mind blanking as the woman's smile grew. "We are at a wonderful company where your growth-" she moaned, cupping her breasts "-will never stop." She arched in her chair, pushing those bountiful globes on display, her head falling back. "We will help you unlock-" a hiss left her throat "-all your potential."

Alicia held her breath. She watched with bated interest as those voluptuous lips opened in a soft gasp.

"We love seeing-" another loud, sensual moan echoed through the room, "-you grow and succeed!" The woman giggled, tilting her head, exposing her slender neck. "You have nothing to fear when you start, our company is very friendly, and I know," she leaned closer to the camera, whispering, "that you'll be-" her eyes closed as another wave of ecstasy ran through her "-absolutely happy and content."

With each moan, each sway of the large chest, each pout of her lips — the video captured the speaker in every glorious moment of lusty pleasure. Alicia squirmed and shifted in her leather chair, the heat in her lower stomach growing, spreading like wildfire throughout her entire being. And yet, Alicia couldn't stop watching. The static danced inside her mind. She felt like her brain had been wired directly into this video.

"Now, let's talk about work-appropriate behavior," the woman chuckled. "When we say 'be the most slutty, erotic and enticing creature imaginable,' we don't just mean dress like a slut. Oh, no. Company policy demands you change everything about yourself. Your personality, your hobbies, your friends. Anything." She smirked, a dangerous look in her bright eyes, one that sent an icy shiver through Alicia. "Your hair will grow long. Your body will reshape. You will be the best slutty version of you possible," she giggled as a soft orgasmic gasp slipped her parted lips. "And you will love it. There are so many possibilities in which your new form might look, but there's no doubt that it's better than what you've been, who you are," her voice dropped into a husky breathy tone. "It's better than the weak shell of the woman you were." The woman grinned widely at the camera.

Alicia's insides quivered at the sight. But not in fear. No. An unexplainable feeling had her clenching her muscles tightly, her insides fluttering. An unfamiliar feeling of hot, seething lust surged within. She felt her nipples stiffen, aching to be touched, stimulated, and suckled. Alicia's eyelids grew heavier, her mind swam in the thick, sticky haze of the eroticism. A thin film of sweat coated her skin, her clothes stuck to her body.

Alicia's attention was dragged to those thick, red lips, and how they curled around a smile. No. Not a smile. A hard long shaft. The woman moaned softly around that long thick thing in her mouth. Her eyes fluttered with joy. Each moan and slurp sounded amplified to Alicia. Every wet squelch of spit. Each grunt of effort. Even the soft sighs and heavy gasp. It all filled Alicia's head. Her own lips formed a ring. Sucking on nothing she squirmed on her seat. Her legs trembled, spread wide.

"That's it. Just let the sensation run over your whole being." The speaker crooned, pulling that huge length out from her wet, hot, welcoming mouth. She stroked the shaft lazily with her manicured fingers. "Feel it push everything out, but the desire to be a slut, a needy whore." She shuddered at her own words. Her face flush in a bright shade of arousal. "Yes. Let that cock slide into you, and take what's yours." She breathed huskily. "Feel how your self melts into that new, perfect form."

The speaker looked directly at the camera. At Alicia. Directly into her hazy mind. Into her lust clouded eyes. Into her dripping heat. The woman grinned, a look full of promises. And the world darkened for Alicia. Her mind felt blank, her head fuzzy. The world around her disappeared as her own breath sounded far away. As if someone pulled the plug, and Alicia was slipping into the void.

Hours later a gentle shove woke Alicia up. Wetness drenched her clothes. Her body was flushed in an all-encompassing pink blush. The air filled with a sweet, intoxicating scent. Her gaze met that of the person next to her. A woman with big, beautiful eyes. A smile of recognition pulled her soft lips wider, her eyes twinkled with a dark knowing. "Hello, darling," she chuckled.

A golden badge sparkled on the woman's large breasts. Electricity shot through Alicia's nerves. With a stretched set of lips she bolted up. Body stiff and at attention she pushed her chest forward, her butt out. "Hello Miss Brighton," she cooed. The words sounding sweet and sultry, so very different from how she remembered speaking.

Miss Brighton smirked. Her gaze slid down the girl's frame. Her tongue ran over her soft, pink lips. A shimmer of appreciation danced in her eyes. "You've made a wonderful, most beautiful, change, Alicia. The company will be proud to have such an alluring slut working for us."

The words alone enticed a moan through Alicia's mouth. A blush spread across her face and she nodded eagerly. She watched with hungry eyes when Miss Brighton leaned over Alicia. Their faces mere inches apart, her hot breath ghosted over Alicia's cheek. The warmth of it was both a caress and a command to pay close attention. "You have completed the basic training, but-" she let it hang for a moment.

Alicia straightened. "Yes, Miss Brighton?" A quiver of desperation tainted her voice. Miss Brighton's hand landed on her shoulder. A finger traced circles on Alicia's bare skin.

"You'll have to follow a strict regime to be truly useful for the company," Miss Brighton drawled, her lips only moments away from touching the other girl. A low whimper of anticipation escaped Alicia's lips. "If you are a good, eager, obedient employee, and you prove yourself, then you may just get a special reward." She pressed her breasts against Alicia's, squishing them together. "Big massive tits. Worthy of a slutty whore." She breathed the words into Alicia's ear. Shudders of arousal danced through the girl, her body trembling with a burning desire, and the promise of pleasures yet to come.

Miss Brighton licked along the edge of Alicia's ear, pulling the lobe with her teeth. "If you behave, you might get to suck some big, hard cocks in front of the board of directors." Miss Brighton's breath brushed against the shell of her ear as she spoke. Her words were quiet, barely a whisper. "Would you like that? To suck on all of them? Their hard shafts pushing deep inside you as your tight cunt is fucked so very, very nicely."

Alicia whimpered in reply, unable to form coherent thoughts, unable to do anything beyond trembling, her whole being consumed. "Yes, Miss Brighton." She managed finally. "I would like that, more than anything else in this whole world." The words came easily, tumbling out without a single hitch in the girl's throat, as if she had spoken the words hundreds, if not thousands of times before. And in truth, they were not only familiar but deeply true.

"Very good. Then follow me. A whore needs to look the part."

With a soft caress of Miss Brighton's lips against hers, they stood up. Alicia swayed to the rhythm of Miss Brighton's footsteps. With her high heels clicking on the marble floors she walked towards a dressing room at the end of the corridor. The walls of the hallways had various paintings of erotic women with bountiful curves and voluptuous assets, in skimpy clothes. Alicia could not believe how she missed such tantalizing decor.

Miss Brighton took Alicia to a room full of clothes, each one more daring, more skimpy and slutty than the previous. Alicia couldn't take her eyes off of the revealing, enticing lingerie, skimpy tops and mini-skirts, and provocative undergarments, the colours of the clothes seemed so bright, and enticing, and tempting, and Alicia's skin was aching with a hunger to wear every piece.

"Don't be shy, dear. Take one. After all, there aren't any inhibitions left inside that head of yours, are there?" Miss Brighton whispered in Alicia's ear as she passed, trailing a teasing line across her collarbone as if painting her flesh.

Alicia trembled with an insatiable, overwhelming, and intoxicating need. It consumed her thoughts completely, the feeling of desire building up until it seemed unbearable. An incoherent noise bubbled from within her chest. Alicia lunged for the nearest article of clothing in a state of near frenzy. She grasped the g-string, the sheer material gliding beneath her fingers. Her heart pounded heavily against her chest. With a quick movement, she slipped it on. Alicia's pussy clenched as the fabric settled over her sensitive and aching slit, and the sensation was electric as her need grew even greater and her clit throbbed hard with a desire to be touched. She reached for a matching lacy, sheer bra next. The tiny piece of fabric cupped her sensitive breasts so perfectly. They fit so neatly into the thin material, and her nipples poked out through the sheer lace, straining to break free.

"Hmmm. Very good, dear. Continue to please." Miss Brighton nodded in approval.

With an excited eagerness that was all but uncontainable, Alicia moved onto the rest of her new wardrobe, sliding on the black stockings with red ribbons that wrapped tightly up to her mid thighs, then shimmying her way into a pencil skirt that hugged and accentuated her curvy behind and was just short enough to leave almost nothing left for anyone's imagination. A top strained to be see-through hugged her bust.

Miss Brighton's smile of approval was enough to spur her onward.

With her high-heeled pumps tapping lightly against the floor, Alicia walked over to Miss Brighton and smiled brightly, her eyes alight with delight. "How do I look, miss?" Alicia's voice dripped with anticipation. A delightful, wicked tingle raced through her whole body as Miss Brighton's eyes hungrily devoured the sight.

"Delicious." Miss Brighton emphasized the last s into a long lustfilled sound. It weaved it's way through Alicia's taught frame. She stood straighter, stiffer in response. A good slut only came on command. But she stirred in hot molten ecstasy. It was enough for Alicia.

"Your office is right at the end of this corridor, whore," Miss Brighton purred. A thin finger traced the valley of Alicia's breast down towards her stomach, ending just before her mound. Alicia clenched her muscles tight to not squirm in delight.

"Yes, Miss Brighton," Alicia mewed, barely a whisper passing between those thick, glossed lips, as her eyes half closed under heavy eyelids. "I will get to it. Immediately." She pushed the word out past the thick veil of arousal that hung on her mind like a heavy wet curtain, obscuring everything.

"And don't forget: be ready all the time, dear," the last word dripped like hot, wet sex down Alicia's body.

Rolling her hips, Alicia sashayed to her new office — her new life and self.

[its-all-or-nothing94]

Racing Hearts - Part 1 // Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc, a beloved and celebrated F1 driver, yearns for a meaningful connection amidst the glitz and glamour of his high-profile job. As the Monaco GP is around the corner, he fatefully crosses paths with Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary girl who captures his heart with her genuine personality and kind spirit.

Masterlist

Warnings: None

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

A/N: Sooo, this is my first F1 Story :) I hope you enjoy it. It's a typical romance for all you romance lovers out there ;) Like, Reblog, tell me what you think :D It's highly appreciated!

Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional, and any character portrayals are just how I wrote them - hence fictional! I don't know them, except my OCs.

Tagging: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @bellewintersroe (I thought, you might enjoy this ;))

The streets of Monaco shimmered under the golden rays of the sun, casting an ethereal glow upon the grand city. You stood at the edge of the bustling harbor, your eyes wide with wonder. You had arrived in this glamorous playground by chance, a spontaneous detour on your adventure across Europe. The winding cobblestone streets, the opulent yachts bobbing in the azure waters, and the hum of wealthy tourists filled the air, creating an atmosphere of indulgence and sophistication.

Your Y/H/C hair fell softly around your sun-kissed shoulders as your Y/E/C eyes scanned the crowd, searching for your best friend, Sofia. Minutes turned into an impatient eternity until, finally, a familiar figure emerged from the throng. Sofia Santoro, her dark hair cascading down her back, approached with a radiant smile that reached her warm brown eyes. You embraced, reuniting after weeks of exploration and discovery.

"Y/N!" Sofia exclaimed, her voice alive with excitement. "You won't believe the sights I've seen! And the food... Oh, you have to try the pastries here. They're heavenly."

You chuckled, your spirited personality shining through. Sofia lived here for a year now, and finally, you came to visit your best friend. "I can't wait to hear all about it, Sof. Monaco truly is a dream."

As you strolled through the luxurious streets, your laughter mingling with the splash of waves, an unexpected occurrence startled them. You stumbled, your steps faltering as if an invisible force had collided with you.

"What is it?" you asked your best friend, but Sofia just looked at you, confused.

"I didn't say anything... But hey, there is that store I told you about. Be right baaack", she sings as she walked away into the store across from the harbor.

You, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the Monte Carlo harbor, your eyes wide with wonder as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the glistening water. The air was thick with anticipation as if the city itself was holding its breath, awaiting the arrival of someone extraordinary.

You took a deep breath, the salty scent of the sea mingling with the aroma of fresh pastries wafting from a nearby café. Your heart fluttered with excitement as you adjusted the strap of your worn leather backpack, the only constant companion on your solo adventure across Europe.

"A breathtaking view, isn't it?"

You turned your head, Y/E/C eyes meeting the warm gaze of a stranger beside you. Chestnut hair, emerald green eyes, and a smile that could light up the night sky - it was as if destiny had brought you together at this very moment. Your heart skipped a beat as you stumbled back, blushing furiously.

"Uh, yes, it is," you stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The young man chuckled, a sound that was both melodic and infectious. "Apologies if I startled you. I couldn't help but notice your awe as you took in the beauty of Monaco."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, your Y/H/C waves tumbling down to frame your face. "It's just...I've dreamed of visiting this place for so long. And to see it like this, it's...magical."

"I couldn't agree more," he replied, extending a hand. "I'm Charles, by the way."

You couldn't say much as you were captivated by him. "Euh Y/N," you managed to squeak out, a shaky hand reaching out to meet his.

Your fingers intertwined an electric current passing between you. At that moment, the noise of the bustling harbor faded, and it was as if they were the only two people in the world.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N," Charles said, genuine warmth in his voice. "Are you enjoying your time in Monaco?"

You nodded, a shy smile gracing her lips. "I am. I've been traveling across Europe, and this is my last stop. My best friend moved here last year. Her dad is a designer, and she took over the store here. But it feels...right, being here."

Charles's eyes sparkled with interest as he leaned in closer. "And for how long are you staying?"

You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But with Charles, there was a certain comfort, an inexplicable connection that compelled you to share the truth.

"I actually don't have a set schedule. I'm a freelance photographer taking a break, so I... have no obligations."

Charles chuckled, his cute dimples appearing on his cheeks. "That actually sounds quite nice. Not having any obligations, I mean."

You smiled at him as the bell on the store door rang, and Sofia made her way back to you. 

"Okay, I've got everything, we can... go," Sofia said, the last word hesitant, finally noticing Charles. "Uh, hi," she greeted, and Charles nodded in response with a small smile. 

A young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Charles walked out onto the street from behind him. You guessed that this must be his brother. He called out something in French and waved at Charles, eyeing him for a second, before disappearing back into the restaurant. 

"I have to go," Charles said. "But maybe we'll see each other again, Y/N. It was really nice meeting you."

He nodded at Sofia before following his brother into the restaurant. You watched him leave with a content smile. 

"Oh my god! Do you know who that was?!" Sofia exclaimed as soon as Charles was gone. 

You looked at her, confused, while you shrugged. "He said his name is Charles."

"Yeah, Charles fucking Leclerc! The Formula 1 driver? Don't tell me you don't know him?"

Sofia raised her eyebrows at you, making you feel foolish. 

"What?"

Sofia put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. "You just flirted with one of the most famous Formula 1 drivers there is. He's from Monaco, and you, my dear, didn't even recognize him."

"Why would I? I've never watched Formula 1!" you defended yourself. 

Sofia shook her head. "No, you haven't. But he definitely had his eyes on you, girl." Sofia smiled widely and nudged you.

"So? It's not like I'm going to see him again," You shrugged, turning your gaze back to the ocean. 

"Oh, don't be so quick to dismiss it, girlfriend. Monaco is a magical place. And if he wants to find you, he will find you, I promise."

Meanwhile, at the restaurant, the Leclerc family had gathered, rejoicing in the reunion of all the children back in Monaco.

"Who was that? Another tourist fan?" Arthur inquired, settling down beside their mother, Pascale, and their brother Lorenzo.

"No, actually, she wasn't," Charles responded. "I don't think she even knew who I was."

Pascale glanced at her two sons. "What are you talking about, mon chéris?" she asked just as their entrees arrived.

"Charles was talking to a girl outside. I thought she was a fan," Arthur explained, and Pascale turned her attention to Charles.

"A girl?"

Charles seemed slightly irritated by his younger brother. "It's nothing, Maman. We were just discussing Monaco, nothing more."

Pascale studied her son's face. She knew him well enough to sense that there was more to the story than met the eye.

She sighed. "Well, as long as you don't plan on rekindling things with that dreadful Isabella..."

"Maman!" Lorenzo interjected, shaking his head slightly.

"What? They're not together anymore, so I can speak my mind, can't I?" Pascale asked, looking at Charles, who shook his head, annoyed.

Charles loved his mother, but she had a tendency to be outspoken, even when it would be best to hold her tongue. Charles knew his mother had never approved of his ex-girlfriend, Isabella Rossi. They had met at a charity event in Monaco, where Isabella's wealthy businessman father and her career as a model brought them together.

Initially, Isabella was sweet and caring, and Charles had fallen deeply in love with her. However, after four years, his feelings changed. When he confided in his brothers, best friend Pierre, and his athletic trainer Andrea Ferrari, they all agreed that their relationship had become toxic.

Ending things with Isabella hadn't been easy for Charles. The life of a Formula 1 driver could be lonely, constantly jetting around the world. Having someone who cared about him was a comfort. But eventually, Charles accepted the fact that his feelings had faded, and he ended the relationship. Needless to say, Isabella didn't take it well.

That had been a month ago, and ever since, she had made numerous attempts to win him back. As the Monaco Grand Prix was just around the corner, she knew Charles was back home.

"You can, Maman, and you know it. But can we just enjoy dinner and talk about something else?" Charles asked, digging into his pasta.

"She was really pretty," Arthur chimed in, causing Lorenzo and Charles to look at him, perplexed. Arthur couldn't be referring to Isabella. Arthur, noticing his brothers' confusion, rolled his eyes. "The girl outside? She was really pretty. Are you going to see her again?"

Charles glanced at Arthur for a moment. "Why would I?" he asked, although deep down, he wanted to. There was something about Y/N that stirred something inside him as if she were something special.

"Why not? Don't tell me you don't want to see her again. I saw the way you looked at her, Charles."

Charles took a deep breath. "Even if I wanted to, Art, I don't have her number, just her first name. I don't even know where she's from."

Arthur looked at Charles with an exasperated expression. "Are you shitting me?"

"Arthur!" Pascale immediately intervened.

"Sorry, Ma. But seriously, Charles. You know that if you want to find her, you will. We all know that. So get off your ass and go find that girl!"

"Is she really that special?" Lorenzo asked, looking at Charles.

The middle brother hesitated and then nodded. "I don't know why, but I have this feeling that our story isn't finished yet."

Pascale kept a watchful eye on her son. She took a deep breath and spoke up. "Then why don't you look for her, Charles? If she truly is that special."

Charles looked surprised at his mother. Pascale wasn't one to believe in fate, but if even she was advising him to pursue it, then he knew he should.

He set his fork down and gazed at his family, one by one. "Okay, starting tomorrow, we'll begin searching for Y/N."

"We?" Lorenzo immediately questioned, but Arthur simply nodded and grinned.

Basking in the warm Mediterranean sun, you and Sofia lounged beside the pool at Sofia's opulent apartment the next morning, which her father had graciously rented for her. You relaxed, sipping on glasses of wine and sharing laughter as you reminisced about your European escapades. However, Sofia's mischievous grin indicated that she had something up her sleeve.

"Sooo, Y/N," Sofia said, her grin widening, "Oh my gosh! I can't get over what went down yesterday with Charles Leclerc!"

You blushed slightly, attempting to downplay the encounter. "Oh, come on, Sof. It wasn't that big of a deal. We just chatted for a few minutes. It doesn't mean anything."

Sofia playfully raised an eyebrow. "No big deal? I saw the way he looked at you, and trust me, that wasn't ordinary. Charles is a charming guy, but he's not usually so forward with strangers."

You took a sip of her wine, trying to conceal your excitement, and shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, he was simply being friendly, right? I mean, he interacts with fans all the time. I didn't even know who he was until you told me."

Sofia shook her head, her grin refusing to fade. "Are you serious? The way he gazed at you, Y/N. Trust me, he knows you left an impression."

You shook your head at your friend, well aware of Sofia's tendency to read too much into things. "Yeah, right."

"But Y/N, I've seen Charles with fans before. He's usually reserved, quiet. Yet with you, it was like there was something more. He couldn't take his eyes off of you," Sofia stated, sitting up from the sunbed and raising her sunglasses. "I'm serious!"

You looked at your best friend, your cheeks tinged with a hint of red. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. It was just a chance encounter, nothing more."

Sofia's eyes sparkled with excitement as she continued to prod. "Oh, come on, Y/N! You can't deny the connection between you two. It was written all over his face."

You rolled your eyes. "Could you just stop? I'm not even looking for someone at the moment, and you know that. After everything that happened with Oliver..."

Sofia sighed. "I know, I know. He was a jerk, and you've sworn off love. Got it." She slipped her sunglasses back on. "But I'm still rooting for the perfect celebrity love story." She reclined back into her chair.

You glanced over at your best friend, and then you couldn't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation.

You lingered at the pool a little longer, enjoying the warm sun on your skin. Suddenly, Sofia's phone interrupted your peaceful moment. She quickly answered, speaking rapidly in both Spanish and French. After hanging up, she turned to you with an apologetic look. "Please don't be upset with me," she pleaded, and you raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Sofia sighed, explaining, "There's an issue at my dad's store that he insists I handle personally. I'm really sorry, Y/N."

You studied your best friend for a moment before responding, "No worries, Sof. I can handle some alone time."

Sofia observed your determined expression. "Are you sure? I promised I would clear my schedule for you."

You sat up and grasped Sofia's hand. "Hey, don't worry about it. I've been traveling solo through Europe for the past six months, so I think I can handle an afternoon alone."

Sofia chuckled, grateful for her best friend's easygoing nature. That was one of the reasons she loved you so much.

Thirty minutes later, Sofia arrived at her father's store. "Okay, what's the problem?" she asked her employee, Cassandra, who explained the situation. The problem turned out to be more time-consuming than Sofia had anticipated. After three exhausting hours, they finally resolved everything. Annoyed, Sofia walked to the counter and set down her phone, which she had used frequently throughout the afternoon. Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, causing her eyes to widen.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, her gaze fixed on the individual who had just entered the store. With a wide grin, she approached none other than Charles Leclerc, accompanied by his brother Lorenzo. "I knew you would come back."

Charles looked at her, initially confused, before recognition dawned on him. "Wait, I saw you yesterday, didn't I?"

Lorenzo glanced between Sofia and Charles, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yes, you did. At the harbor!" Sofia replied excitedly.

"So, we finally found her?" Lorenzo asked hesitantly, trying to make sense of the situation.

Sofia smiled at Lorenzo. "Yeah, it's not her," Charles clarified, causing Lorenzo's attention to snap back to his brother. "But she's the friend with the designer store."

Sofia maintained her smile, shrugging lightly. "That's me, and I'm thrilled you found me. But on the other hand... How?"

Charles chuckled. "Y/N mentioned that she was visiting a friend here who owns a designer store. So we went from store to store today, searching for a clue. And now we've found you."

"You searched all over for her?" Sofia asked, amazed. Charles nodded. "That's incredibly sweet."

A faint blush tinted Charles' cheeks. "So, can you tell me where she is?"

Sofia's smile persisted as she replied, "No."

Lorenzo's head shot up, confusion etched on his face. "No?"

"No... I mean, yes, but let me explain. She's at my place and, well... Okay, never mind. I have a proposition for you. Y/N and I will be at Jimmy'z tonight, so why don't you surprise her and join us there?" Sofia proposed, locking eyes with Charles before glancing at Lorenzo.

Charles exchanged a brief glance with his brother before turning back to Sofia. "We'll be there!"

Lorenzo looked at his younger brother, still perplexed. "We will?"

Charles met Lorenzo's gaze with a firm expression. "We will," he affirmed.

Sofia's grin widened, and she nodded enthusiastically. "Great! OMG, Y/N will be overjoyed when she sees you. She didn't want to believe me when I told her you would search for her and that you two had a special connection..." Sofia rambled, noticing Charles' amused expression.

"Sorry," Sofia finally said, realizing she had been babbling.

Charles chuckled. "It's okay. See you tonight." He took his brother's arm, and they exited Sofia's store.

A mischievous smile played on Sofia's lips as she watched them leave. Oh, Y/N was going to love this.

Upon returning home, Sofia found you emerging from the shower, clad in towels. As you applied moisturizer, Sofia entered the room with a smile on her face.

"Oh, you're back," you greeted your best friend.

"I am, and I come bearing gifts as an apology for taking so long," Sofia replied, placing a jaw-dropping black dress with golden sequins on your bed.

Curiosity piqued, you examined the beautiful garment. "Sof, no! I can't accept this, and you know it," you protested. You were well aware of Sofia's affluent background and her tendency to shower you  with gifts, but you always declined.

"Come on! It's from my store, and I insist, Y/N. I want you to have it," Sofia insisted, revealing a pair of matching shoes from behind her back.

Your fingertips trembled with anticipation as your gaze shifted from the mesmerizing dress to Sofia and back again. With a gentle, hesitant touch, your fingers delicately brushed against the luxurious fabric. It felt soft and smooth beneath her touch, its fine craftsmanship evident in every thread. The sensation sent a shiver of excitement through you, making you appreciate the dress even more. "No, Sof... I wouldn't even know when to wear it..."

"Oh, I do! How about tonight, at Jimmy'z?" Sofia proposed.

"Jimmy'z?" you questioned. "Oh, no, Sof! You know I despise those types of clubs..."

Sofia draped her arm around you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well, that's a shame, but there's no way you're getting out of this one, my dear. I've already made all the arrangements."

With that, Sofia pranced out of your room, leaving her best friend in stunned silence. However, a smile crept onto your lips as you shook your head in amusement. Once again, you gazed at the dress. It truly was a stunning piece, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of wearing it tonight.

>> Part 2

[lelengerine]

i will always love you

pairing | renjun x reader

synopsis | “i look in your eyes, and it still feels like, like we first met.”

genre | established relationship, renjun uses a nickname for the reader (darling), highly inspired by nct dream’s like we first met! pls pretend it's winter…

wc | 0.4k

notes | decided to write this because im in love with the dreamies’ new album so take this loveable renjun as a little break from all the gamer hyuck drabbles i’ve been writing! i’m also working on a much lengthier fic that’ll hopefully be released soon

m.list

you’re currently walking down a familiar neighborhood hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, on your way to a playground nearby. 

“do you remember what you told me when we were last here?” renjun muses once you meet the entrance of the brightly-colored play area, taking a step closer to your figure to tighten the shawl wrapped around your neck. 

“you’re so cheesy.” you giggle in place, cheeks dusted lightly in pink from the cold air sweeping past your figures. “i said we’d be in love forever without a doubt.”

“right.” he confirms, a grin emphasizing the plumpness of his own cheeks. “i’m here to change that.”

his declaration has you stunned in the middle of the sidewalk, “what do you mean?” a slight tremble in your voice as you anticipate the continuation of his words.

“forever isn’t enough for me.” he continues, a glint in his eyes letting you know he was only teasing to get a reaction out of you. 

“god!” you scoff out the breath you were holding in, hitting his chest with a light fist. “huang renjun, you can’t just say things like that- i was scared for my wits!” 

“sorry, my darling!” he bursts out in melodic laughter, creating puffs of fog in the air. “i can’t help it cause your lips pout when you’re angry.” 

“whatever.” you feign ignorance, tilting your head the other way. “anyways, why did you bring me here?” 

“this place holds a lot of meaning for us, doesn’t it?” he answers vaguely, and you’re not exactly sure where he’s going with it just yet.

“yeah, it’s where we first met all those years ago. has it been nine already?” you try recalling, taking a glance at the sky above you. 

a hand to your jaw brings your gaze back down, now facing your boyfriend who seems to can’t stop smiling like an idiot. “it’s been ten actually.” he corrects.

“that just means you’re getting old junnie.” the remark slips past your cherry lips playfully, another puff of fog coming out from your laugh. 

“you’re pretty old too then!” he tries to argue without much bite in his tone. “but, you know what?”

“what?” you repeat expectantly.

“it still feels like we just met.” he states with a soft smile, gently getting a hold of your hands. “i still bear the same love from when i first saw you despite how much time has fluttered away. i think i’ll just always love you.”

“where are you learning to say things like this?” you joke, letting go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. “but i’ll do as you, and love you the same. i don’t really need anything else, you know?”

“you better!” he buries his face into the crook of your neck, hugging you tight by your waist, the action sending tingles to your skin. “i’ll love you more than you ever could, darling.”

[obsessivecarer]

❝ You belong to me.. You are Mine.. ❞

⤷ A Post By Kiran Grey

Concept — ⋆｡ ˖ ‧ ☁︎

⟢ The air was crisp and cool, snowflakes lazily drifting outside as Kiran wandered aimlessly through the house. A sense of restlessness clung to him like the cold biting at the windows, his mind spiraling into a haze. He couldn’t help but feel lost, his boy Ryker absent from his side. A deep, exasperated grumble slipped from his lips as his gaze drifted toward the clock on the wall—3:06 PM. Still far too early to pick up his little ray of sunshine.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his opalescent white hair, the strands gleaming faintly in the muted winter light. After a pause, his thoughts raced—tugging at his resolve. Muttering a soft curse under his breath, Kiran grabbed his keys and stormed out—determination glinting in his crystal-like eyes.

~ ₊ ˚. ｡ ⋆ ❆ ⋆ ｡. ˚ ₊. ~

The drive through the snow-dusted streets didn’t ease his tension at first—his grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles as pale as the world outside. The snow glistened under the sun’s fading rays, and for a moment, it was almost blinding. But as the familiar outline of Ryker’s school appeared in the distance, a wave of calm washed over him, his shoulders relaxing. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, Kiran exhaled a long, heavy breath—slumping forward against the wheel for a brief moment.

His sharp, stoic features softened as his eyes scanned the playground, searching eagerly for his boy. And then he saw him. Ryker, bundled up in his winter coat, his rosy cheeks glowing as he played in the snow with a few friends. A rare, radiant smile broke across Kiran’s face, lighting it up like the winter sun.

“Daddy!!” Ryker’s delighted squeal pierced through the chilly air as he spotted his father. He ran to the fence that separated the playground from the parking lot, his small hands gripping the metal eagerly.

Kiran quickly knelt, threading his slender fingers through the gaps to gently brush Ryker’s cold cheeks. “Hi, Angel!” he cooed, his voice soft but full of warmth. “Dad missed you so much! Your cheeks are freezing. Where’s your scarf?” His brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing into a concerned pout as he scanned Ryker’s neck for the missing garment.

Ryker giggled, his laughter light and melodic as he grabbed onto Kiran’s fingers. “Dada! It’s inside! Miss Lavender has it!” he explained, pointing toward the school building where a kind woman stood by the door. Miss Lavender waved warmly, holding Ryker’s scarf and bag in her hands, her smile as bright as the snow.

Kiran chuckled, waving back before turning his attention back to Ryker with a mock-serious expression. “Puppy... you can’t play in the cold without it! Go grab it from Miss Lav, okay?” he urged gently, ruffling Ryker’s soft hair.

Ryker let out a small, dramatic sigh but nodded, scampering off toward the school. A moment later, he returned with the scarf snugly wrapped around his neck and a proud grin on his face.

“Miss Lav said I can go home early if I want!” Ryker’s wide, puppy-dog eyes sparkled with hope as he clasped his mitten-covered hands together. “Can we, Dada? Please?”

Kiran couldn’t help but chuckle, his cheeks turning a rosy hue from the cold and Ryker’s endearing plea. “Of course, Angel! Let’s go home and make some hot chocolate, yeah?”

Ryker let out a triumphant cheer as Kiran guided him toward the gate, carefully helping him through. Miss Lavender called out, her warm voice carrying over the snow. “Have a wonderful snow day, you two!”

Kiran smiled back at her, his heart full as he took Ryker’s hand, their fingers snugly intertwined despite the layers of gloves and mittens.

~ ₊ ˚. ｡ ⋆ ❆ ⋆ ｡. ˚ ₊. ~

Concept for my boy.. @puppie-bug

[quohotos]

what's something you would want to see in an animated adaptation of the underland chronicles?

Oh BOY where to begin?

These are going to be in no particular order...

Each trailer should have the prophecy read out in a dramatic voice. The trailer for the first one will go "And eight will be left when we count up the dead" and then a quick montage of some pretty scary shit happening but the cuts are too fast to see what's actually happening. The only exception to this is the marks of secret where the fact that the song is a prophecy is a reveal (however the song plays in full in the trailer, it's just structured different from the others)

The animation should be a little edgy. Give things hard angles, stay away from the bulbous smooth (Modern) Disney look.

Really go nuts with the bat designs. Embrace the warrior cats OC-ness of it. Let all the background bats be just as vibrant and wacky as the main cast.

Everyone's bond should sorta look like them, kinda the way that dogs kinda look like their owners. Solovet's bond should look like a total villain. Euripides should look like Vikus. I mean, Aurora's got that gold thing going on which Luxa also has with the crown. The bonds gotta look like they belong together spiritually.

The nibblers need to have more of a role before the marks of secret. Have them in the background of other shots, have them actually get lines in the jungle, see if they can be more present at the council discussing the plague, write some new scenes for them, etc. I wouldn't even be against them inventing a new nibbler character and putting them on one of the earlier quests. The audience should already know and care about them before we see them being horribly brutalized in a reenactment of a real world genocide.

Ares, and all the other bats for that matter, need to have very expressive eyes. They don't always get a lot of lines so they should still have a way to have visible presence in the scene's that they're in.

Every time the bats do that thing where they detect rats and their ears shoot up it should play a musical sting

All the underland creatures/factions should have their own leitmotif. Ripred's lieitmotif should be this uncanny blending of both the rat's theme but also with hints of the Regalians and Gregor's. After Gregor think's that boots has died in the labyrinth there should be this super dramatic and gutwrenching theme, and then all the music just stops for the rest of the movie until they reunite and then the music can come back. The most you get is like a minimalist drum and base sequence, but nothing properly melodic until we know that boots is safe.

The sequence Gregor escaping with Ares and Pearlpelt from the labyrinth should be all in one take.

Every time Gregor slips into the Rager state it should be accompanied by a recognizable sound effect sting and have it's own sound effect and muscial sting. Something like glass shattering mixed with reverb and pitch shifted down. Rager sequences should be in first person and show just how much he's dissociated from the violence he's doing. The audience just sees that split vision with all the weak points highlighted and one by one they get crossed out.

I hope they cast someone appropriately nasally to play Ripred, I think he should be a little high pitched and scrungly. However, I would make an exception if they somehow got Kieth David to voice him. I would be very unsatisfied if they cast Ryan Reynolds

I hope they cast someone with a deep voice to play Ares. He needs to be big and imposing and scary. He needs to be like the big kid at the playground. The fact that there's a more pained sensitive side to him needs to be a revelation. He needs to be a bit monstrous so you can understand why everyone sees him that way, and why he's dying not to be seen that way but has basically given up and accepted how the world sees him. I would be very Unsatisfied if they cast Ryan Reynolds. It would be fucking hilarious if they cast Chris Pratt... I would hate it but it would probably work and that makes me very mad.

I don't really care how Gregor is cast. Caleb McLaughlin would be a perfect Gregor, but he's all grown up now. He could probably still voice him but it wouldn't be the same. I do not care so long as it's not Ryan Reynolds.

Please don't have anyone call Gregor "Greg"... that just feels wrong. Well maybe Ripred would do it specifically to piss him off.

Henry needs to have a dumb haircut, like... it has to be stupid and ostentatious.

The audience should get to see Ripred from close to Gregor's perspective often. Have the camera right over his shoulder and tilted up to see just how tall this beast is.

Let us see more of the happy times that are alluded to at the start of the marks of secret. Even if it's just a montage, let us see them being normal. Let us see Gregor and Ares play that ball game and see the kids just hanging out. Please 😭

Make Gregor more talkative. There's great moments of internal monologue that could be lost in a screen adaptation, let him talk to Ares or Luxa or even temp about it.

In the code of claw Ares should go with him to the prophecy room to learn that he's going to die. Gregor should tell him about the stone knight and it can be something they share. You can even set it up with them doing the bond handshake there while laying on the floor so that it's a visual callback later (Fuck, I just thought of that and now I'm destroyed again).

I mentioned this in another post, but I think it would be cool to have Gregor get a walkman or other battery powered music player from the museum. They can have a few tunes to bond over, but eventually they have to take the batteries out to put them into flashlights.

A huge missed opportunity in the books is how basically every single human in the Underland we see is royalty or part of the military. I think it would be cool to let us see a bit more of how the regular people live. Maybe have one or two characters who aren't royal or soldiers.

Earlier entries should try to cut away from the violence, simply showing the character's reactions to the horrible things happening around them. Later entries should stop hiding it, paralleling the loss of innocence of the characters. By the code of claw Gregor and Ares, or at the very least Ripred, should be allowed to swear. There's no way you're getting that story on screen without at least a PG 13 rating, and these people just witnessed a genocide and are about to kill a bunch of people in a war. Gregor can say "Holy shit" instead of "aww Jeez" at least once. I also just think "What's your plaaaaaaan" is great but "What's your fucking plan?" lands pretty hard as well.

Don't make the underland too visible. Don't add global illumination. Let there be darkness, let there be long shadows, let us only barely see distant things. When Gregor finally gets echolocation then make the distant things visible through a strange shader... but cut out the bit where he can echolocate heat that makes no sense.

Ms. Cormaci needs to sound exactly like how she did in the audiobook, this isn't up for debate.

When the Bane calls Gregor and Ares to battle it needs to be one of the most disturbing, blood chilling things the audience has ever heard. It needs to be loud, and painful, and monstrous. You gotta see that the pup we all loved and coddled has fully lost it and become this fascist ball of hatred and murder and violence. It should cut through the audience's core and silence everything else in the scene. Just have it hold there after he's shouted, showing them locking eyes on each-other and cutting back in between the two. Yes, the Bane has completely been subsumed as a symbol of his side, but so has Gregor. He's in the black armor, he's the figurehead as well. There are parallels, y'all.

Let the Shiners be at least 20% less awful. They're funny, but let them have their hero moment where they're redeemed in the marks of secret rather than saving it for the end of code of claw.

Old Hamnet in the flashbacks to the flooding of the garden should be hot. Flashback Ripred who was there is of course also hot. He remains so in the present as well.

The narrative that Gregor is told in the first book, that the natives just let Sandwitch have the Underland because they weren't really using it... it's heavily implied that's a lie, especially after we learn about the Diggers and how they were genocided and basically expunged from history. I think there should be a direct callback to it, make this implication an explicit part of the story.

Give my girl Aurora some more lines. She goes on all these adventures and never gets to be more than "Luxa's bat".

Oh no I hit character limit for this post... uh... I have a lot of thoughts and I probably will have more in the future 😅. Probably way more than you asked for but you opened the floodgates and this was the result.

Thank you for the ask!

[south-of-heaven]

Alexa Bliss x fem!reader where alexa invites reader to her playground and everyone tells her not to go but she is interested and turns out alexa has feelings for her and asks her to join her?

Alexa's Playground || Alexa Bliss x Reader

Summary: Alexa invites you to her playground. Everyone advices you not to go but you're too curious. In the end you're very happy that you decided to go.

The WWE backstage was buzzing with rumors and hushed warnings. Everyone had something to say about Alexa Bliss's "Playground" segment on RAW, and most of it was cautioning you not to go. They said it was eerie, unsettling, and downright strange. But none of that could deter you; there was something about Alexa that drew you in like a moth to a flame.

You watched from backstage as Alexa made her way to the ring. Her eerie entrance and the haunting melody that followed her sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn't take your eyes off her. She was captivating in a way that defied explanation.

As her segment unfolded, you found yourself drawn deeper into her world. The dark, whimsical playground set, her cryptic words, and the eerie doll she cradled in her arms all added to the surreal atmosphere. Despite the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, you couldn't look away.

After her segment was over, the cameras switched off, and the eerie ambiance dissipated, leaving only the reality of the wrestling arena. Alexa stepped out of the ring and made her way backstage, and you decided to take a chance.

You approached her cautiously, not entirely sure what to expect. She turned to you, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a thrill down your spine. You swallowed nervously.

"Hi," you greeted her, your voice tinged with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness.

"Hello," she replied, her voice soft and melodic, like a siren's call. "You came to my Playground."

You nodded, unable to resist her magnetic presence. "I did. It's... unlike anything I've ever seen."

A small, enigmatic smile played on her lips. "I knew you would appreciate it."

That statement puzzled you. "How did you know?"

Alexa took a step closer, her gaze unwavering. "I've been watching you, studying you. I can see something in you, something special."

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but it wasn't from fear. It was from the undeniable connection you felt with her.

"What do you want from me?" you asked, your curiosity overshadowing your caution.

Alexa's eyes held a mixture of emotions, but one thing was crystal clear—desire.

"I want you to join me on my Playground regularly," she admitted, her voice low and intimate. "I want us to be partners, to explore this world together. And..." She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before locking onto yours again. "I want more than just a partnership, if you're willing."

Your heart raced, and despite the strange circumstances, you felt a pull toward Alexa that you couldn't resist. You took a deep breath and nodded.

"Okay," you said, your voice trembling with uncertainty and anticipation. "I'll join you, Alexa, and... I'm willing to see where this leads."

Her smile widened, and for the first time since you met her, it held a warmth that was both comforting and thrilling.

"Good," she whispered, her fingers brushing against yours. "I promise, you won't regret it."

As you left the arena that night, you couldn't help but wonder what mysteries and adventures awaited you on Alexa's Playground, and whether this enigmatic woman would be the unexpected twist in your life that you had been waiting for.

[venus-xcy]

0 || 𝑯𝑬𝑹

❝Look what you made me do.❞  [Look What You Made Me Do- Taylor Swift] 

.

.

.

Your fists turned your knuckles white and held a tremor that had nothing to do with fear—but with rage. Loathing, even. You watched her, the new girl in your class, being surrounded by a group of girls and boys as she spoke, an innocent smile on her face. You were supposed to be there, in the eye of their attention. Not her. And you wouldn’t allow anyone to take your rightful place. 

You were born for it, weren’t you? 

 ❖

"Above all, I will love you. But, I don't think others will if this happens and they see it." 

Her soft and warm—excluding her rings, which were cold against your delicate child skin—hands cup your cheeks. One couldn't even call what laid before her small feet a corpse, just a grotesque mess of flesh, filth and a few small bright red feathers. 

"What was that, my darling?" Reika asks, the ghost of a revulsed sneer escaping the woman's attempt to contain it, she looks away from the mess, her eyes focusing on yours with attempted calm and kindness. 

"A Robin bird..." you say, your eyes dazed and fixed on the former bird. Your mind was reeling, your heart pumped blood relentlessly—and most importantly—, the arteries on the sides of your forehead throbbed in what felt like a dagger straight through one end of your skull to another.

And then, a black void. 

Your eyes, being blinded even behind their eyelids, open in discomfort. The first thing you see are your hands on the sides of your laying body, covered in a thin blanket provided by the hospital you were now in. 

"Sōzōkami, ____?" A gentle voice that carries the years lived and knowledge calls out your name, and you search for its source. The elderly woman smiles sweetly as she ambles over to your bed, kind eyes looking down at yours. "Honey, how are you feeling? You've got quite a sleep, huh? 6 hours." She chuckles softly as your eyes widen in surprise. Your head now was better, though the trace of that excruciating pain remained lingering, and an uncanny feeling that something had stirred inside you—that something within you had changed—gnawed at your mind. 

"What happened to me, miss?" Your voice was still sleepy, but preserved that sweet edge that always had for others. The woman smiles and explains what your mother—ever the silver-tongued, made up a short and concise story—told her you suddenly fainted and how she suspected it might've been because you hadn't had breakfast that morning, and the old lady ate it up. Soon, it was your mother who walked through the door and replaced the elderly woman's presence, sitting on a cushioned chair beside you. "You didn't tell her about the bird, right?" Upon your consistent silence, she calls out your name to break your daze, finally earning a 'no' for an answer from you. With a satisfied smile, she kisses your head and brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

❖

Before you could even really think of the morale of your actions, you act on instinct when you took your classmates and your own toys, plushes, and any other personal object you could find—courtesy of today’s date; show and tell—and stored them into her cubicle. Quickly, you return to the playground before anyone could even notice you were gone, and to fit with the story you created, she goes to the bathroom. 

The confused cries of your classmates reach your ears, acting as a melodic symphony to your successful plan. The teachers began to look into everyone’s cubicles, finally making into the girl’s and finding the children’s objects. With a satisfied smirk masked behind your hands—playing the role of victim and being comforted by your friends—, you watch her being escorted to the principle’s office. Sitting down back onto the dwarf colorful tables from the equally colorful classroom, show and tell begins, but you pay no mind to whatever they had to talk about as you were transfixed on the window expecting the girl’s shameful return. 

It seemed, though, she had not learnt her lesson as she continued to try and steal your spotlight. Of course, she failed as you were way to far up in your pedestrial for her to even hope to reach the bottom of it, but the continuos attempts annoyed you—infuriated you, even. Again, you kept framing her, building her a reputation that slowly descended her in the social hierarchy pyramid present in your kindergarten, the one you yourself built and the others followed. Your perfectly crafted ‘crimes’varied from simple rumours such as her having lice to her destroying the girl’s bathroom, or losing the class’ pet hamster. 

Soon enough, she was expelled—and you couldn’t be more satisfied and prouder. You had played your cards right, perfectly strategized what to do without being either too exaggerated or too measly to be effective. You now swung calmly on the swings watching as the girl walked past the gate of the playground beside her mother with her head hung low in shame and the woman seething with anger, your lips played into a smirk when your eyes locked—and it told her everything she had to know and no one would believe. 

You did it, you framed her. You won. You were the devil.

:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:••:۞:

[zapreportsblog]

Fuck Being A Pirate, I Just Want To Live

➥ summary: He just wanted to live, was that too much to ask for?

➥ A/n: this is a x male reader story but anyone can read it if they so choose too

➥ chapter 8: Embracing the Depths

The desire to explore the vast expanse of the sea had always burned within the heart of (Y/N). The island they called home felt confining, its shores a mere boundary to their curiosity. And so, driven by an insatiable thirst for adventure, (Y/N) found themselves standing on the beach, gazing longingly at the endless horizon.

As if sensing (Y/N)'s longing, the gentle rhythm of the waves seemed to beckon them, whispering promises of untold wonders that lay beneath the surface. It was in that moment, as the sea called out to (Y/N)'s soul, that a colossal creature emerged from the depths—a Sea King.

The sight of the majestic Sea King always seemed to leave (Y/N) in awe. Its immense size and ethereal presence were both breathtaking and intimidating. But instead of feeling fear like most people would all (Y/N) felt a deep connection with the creature, as if their mutual desire for exploration had brought them together.

Without hesitation, (Y/N) approached the Sea King, their voice filled with a sense of yearning. "I wish I could leave this island and venture into the vastness of the sea," they murmured softly, unaware that the creature could understand their words.

To (Y/N)'s astonishment, the this Sea King creature responded, its melodic voice resonating in their mind. "If you seek to explore the depths of the sea, then come, rest upon my head, and together we shall embark on an unforgettable journey."

Overwhelmed with excitement, (Y/N) climbed onto the head of the Sea King, feeling the smooth scales beneath their feet. As they settled into a comfortable position, a sense of anticipation and exhilaration coursed through their veins.

With a powerful surge, the Sea King propelled itself forward, diving into the depths of the ocean. The world above faded away, replaced by an awe-inspiring underwater realm. (Y/N)'s eyes widened as they took in the vibrant colors, the intricate coral formations, and the mesmerizing creatures that inhabited the sea.

Surrounded by the gentle embrace of the sea, (Y/N) felt a deep sense of peace and belonging. The worries and limitations that had plagued them on the island melted away, replaced by a profound connection to the ocean and its inhabitants.

As they journeyed deeper into the heart of the sea, (Y/N) marveled at the diversity of life that thrived below the surface. They encountered graceful schools of fish, that swam beside the sea kings head. Lowering his body more the sea king allowed (y/n)‘a body to just barely touch the surface of the ocean, he watch their scales shimmering in the sunlight that filtered through the water. Delicate sea anemones danced in the currents, their vibrant hues a testament to the beauty of nature.

The Sea King guided (Y/N) through hidden caves and forgotten shipwrecks that still drifted out at sea, each revealing a fragment of the ocean's history. They swam alongside playful dolphins, their laughter echoing in the vast expanse. (Y/N) was even granted a glimpse of the elusive mermaids, their ethereal beauty a testament to the mysteries that the sea held.

As time passed, (Y/N) and the Sea King forged a bond of trust and friendship. They communicated through a silent understanding, guided by a shared love for exploration and the wonders of the sea. The Sea King revealed secrets of the ocean depths, imparting knowledge that had been concealed from the world above.

Days turned into nights, and nights into days, as (Y/N) and the Sea King ventured deeper into uncharted territories. (Y/N) embraced each moment, cherishing the memories created and the vastness of the sea that had become their playground.

But all journeys must eventually come to an end, and as the time to part ways approached, a bittersweet feeling settled in (Y/N)'s heart. They bid the Sea King farewell thanking them for abiding by their wish and allowing them to leave the island even if only momentarily, grateful for the extraordinary experience they had shared.

As (Y/N) returned to the island, forever changed by their encounter with this Sea King, a newfound appreciation for the beauty and majesty of the sea filled their being. Exploring the ocean, once a distant dream, had become a part of their essence, etching its memories deep within their soul.

From that day forward, (Y/N) carried the spirit of the sea within them, their heart forever intertwined with the ebb and flow of the tides. And although they returned to the island, their thirst for adventure and exploration remained, fueled by the enduring memories of their time with the Sea King and the boundless wonders that awaited them beyond the shores.

[vibing-with-meladee]

Just added #California #Indie #Artist Erike Knear and two of his new songs to Melodic Playground Radio check out his spotify

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 3)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

---

CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

---

Days 40 & 47

-

The day after Calypso gifted him the bow, he spent the day walking around the island with her, just as promised. She had been remarkably chipper, telling him all of the names she had given to the various features of the island. The spring that poured out the clearest water Odysseus had ever seen was nicknamed “Little Sky”, and the rocky cliffside of the far northeast was “Giant's Playground”. Every name conjured up a story of how she had decided on it, which then provoked her to stare at him expectantly until he mustered a smile or some other sort of verbal encouragement. She'd then babble on, wrapped up in the world she had created in her mind.

It wasn't that the day was terribly painful aside from its end. It merely felt like a demonstrable waste of time. He wasn't able to train, or build, or do anything other than entertain the goddess.

But just as promised, his quiver was filled with sturdy, handsome arrows decorated with feathers and painted gold.

Out of principle, he reserved them. He continued hunting with traps, and by the end of the week, he had only used one of them. The sole arrow was lodged into the bow and shot at a distant tree, puncturing the center of its flesh.

He hadn't lost his skill in that regard.

He reasoned that at the very most, he would only have to spend one more day with her in order to fill the quiver. He'd do it immediately before his escape- once he had figured out precisely how he'd do it.

That aspect of his plan was foiled when he found the quiver empty the next day. All of the arrows had entirely disappeared.

She had laughed when he questioned her. “We made a deal,” she’d said. “Once a week.”

And so he'd found himself wasting yet another day on the shore beside her. The assigned task was looking for seashells that she would turn into jewelry and decorations. It was evidently a favorite pastime of her’s, as the palace was embellished with hundreds of the specimens.

Odysseus was up to his calves in the water, half heartedly participating in the sport, when Calypso spoke.

“Who's Hector?” she called out, intercepting the silence that lingered between him. She turned towards him, soaking in his look of confusion. A carnation blossom laid in the dark braids in her hair, and her eyes shone in the embrace of the sun. “...You talk in your sleep, haven't I told you?”

Odysseus frowned. Was the goddess truly so isolated? She'd told him before that she was unable to come or go, but somehow he hadn't been able to fathom that an immortal was truly so unaware. She must've been the only creature alive that didn't know about the war. “...He was the Prince of Troy,” he replied, crouching to take a spindle-shaped golden shell from the water.

“Was?”

“He was killed in the war,” Odysseus added. He still remembered the day Achilles drove the spear into his throat. He could still see it, if he closed his eyes.

“...Were you in that war?” Calypso followed, her voice curious and light.

Odysseus jostled his hand in the water, shaking off the little grains of sand that were nuzzled in the shell's crevices. “Yes,” he confirmed.

“Were you important?” she continued, sinking up to her knees in the tides.

Her question almost made him laugh. “Yes,” he replied, bemused. There in the sun, he felt almost light.

“How?”

“I'm the King of Ithaca,” he said. The words felt heavy, almost inaccurate. He was a king without a throne, a sword, or a crown. He looked to the horizon. How far away was his kingdom?

She seemed deterred by the comment, quieting for a moment. “...Why did you join the war?” she asked instead.

“It’s complicated.”

“Well, we have all day, don't we?” she replied, her voice pleading and melodic. The breeze caught her hair, and Odysseus watched as it flew behind her face. He looked back down at the shell, holding it up to better examine.

“...When I was a young man, I was one of Helen of Sparta’s suitors,” he explained. It wasn't a topic he was particularly fond of, but he could feel the pestering that would result if he didn't speak. “She married another man- King Menelaus- but she was later kidnapped by a prince from Troy, called Paris. It started a war. It was my obligation to go and help rescue her.”

He could feel the heavy weight of her gaze. “Did you love her?” she asked. Her tone sounded casual, but he could feel the weight behind it. A hidden avalanche.

“No.”

“At all?”

“Not at all. I've only ever loved one woman,” he said. He looked again to the sea. She was there, somewhere. He felt his chest grow heavy. He felt his lip twitch. He had to believe she was waiting for him.

He looked back to Calypso, when a new silence took hold of the air. She hadn't responded- and when he looked at her, he could see why. The slightest glimmer of hope had captured her face. Her dark eyes were wide and gleeful- and a timid smile overtook her lips.

“My wife,” he clarified firmly. A wicked sense of pleasure overcame him as he watched her ill found hope shatter, and her smile melt. He couldn't help but smirk. A malicious, embittered smirk.

“...Resist though you might, Odysseus, you will love me, just as I love you,” she said slowly, hurt and anger consuming her previously gentle tone. “We're soulmates- and we'll be together until the end of time. You will never leave this island.”

A glow entered her eyes. She had uttered similar sentiments before, but this felt too sincere, viciously promised. She moved towards him quickly, like a serpent, unencumbered by the water. He backed up towards the island, made it as far as the water’s edge before she took his chin in her hand and moved to connect their lips.

His upper body was suddenly frozen, paralyzed by a spell. He couldn't pull back. He was helpless before her, a pathetic doll- but he found his legs malleable, and he took his chance, kicking her knees with as much force as he could muster.

The goddess hadn't expected it. She let out a cry of pain, and falling back on the plush sand beach, she looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and offense. The two sentiments melted quickly, brewing into an expression of pure rage.

In the altercation, her spell broke. He turned away quickly, anticipating her quick response. He began to run- towards the heart of the island, away from her, but it was of no use. It never was. Sand erupted up from the beach, wrapped around his ankles, and solidified into rock. His momentum threw him forward, his ankles unmoving-

A thick, wet pop forced his breath into a scream. Blinding, burning pain shot from his ankles up through his body. His legs spasmed involuntarily, fighting against the agony that had developed in a fraction of a second. He trembled on the ground, trying to find a reprieve that didn't come. He felt his vision blur as he grit his teeth, repressing any other cries from leaving his mouth.

“You might have been a brilliant soldier in Troy, Odysseus,” came the bellow of Calypso, still laying in the sand. “But I wouldn't recommend you try and fight me. I don't know why you insist on making this harder than it has to be!”

-----

The first present was a wardrobe made of sparkling ivory. Inside, various articles of clothing suited to his body. Wool chiftons of various colors, chamlays embroidered with various designs, sandals and belts. It was more clothing than he recalled owning even in Ithaca. Next came a dagger lined with rubies and sapphires. That one had been particularly aggravating, considering the amount of time it had taken him to make a knife months before. Then a comb, and perfumed oils, and wine. Lavish gifts that took up space in the prison cell of a bedroom he was brought to every night.

She'd started giving them every morning after the altercation on the beach. She didn't offer an explanation, and she didn't demand thanksgiving. Rather, it provided a few moments of awkward tension before he set off for the day’s tasks.

He didn't care for any of it, but the wine gave him an idea.

It was entirely stupid at face value. The sort of thing one would find in a children’s story. Even so, once he thought of it, he became increasingly determined to act on it.

The only problem was that he lacked all of the necessary supplies. He also had no way of acquiring them, except for the goddess who plagued him. He loathed the idea of asking for her assistance- loathed what it might cost him. But he contemplated what had already been taken, what would be anyways, and decided he didn't have anything more to lose. Not his mind, not his body, not his dignity.

“...Can I ask something of you?” He asked her one evening, his eyes fixated on the leaping fire before him.

Calypso faltered, surprise enveloping her gentle features. A smile quickly replaced the initial reaction. “Of course! What is it?” she replied, taking the opportunity to step closer to him.

His first request of the goddess that wasn't merely to leave. “...Could you give me papyrus, ink, and a stylus?” He requested cautiously, finding the courage to look back into her eyes.

She tilted her head slightly, considering the request for just a moment. “Of course!” She replied. Her eyes began to glow a vivid gold, and the requested items materialized before them.

He waited, watching her. He was almost certain it would be met with a demand for an explanation- or worse, a requested payment. Something that would add to the burdensome guilt that already ensnared him. “...Thank you,” he said eventually, when no follow up came. “I appreciate it.”

Calypso beamed, her smile glittering and hopeful. “You're welcome!” She replied. “Let me know if you think of anything else. I want this island to feel as… homely as possible for you, my love.”

He hated how genuine she sounded. Still, he mustered a smile.

-

His hands trembled as he wrote the letter in the late hours of the night. He was halfway convinced the papyrus was enchanted, that she'd be able to read it somehow. He couldn't risk upsetting her and ensuring his plan was foiled. He would say only what needed to be said.

When finished, he folded the note carefully. On the very front, he wrote: “To Queen Penelope of Ithaca”. The stylus caressed the letters slowly, carefully, adoringly. His Penelope. It was a hopeless attempt, but he was running out of ideas. He had to dream that it would reach her.

He tucked his note into one of the empty gifted bottles of wine. He pushed the cork into it, willing it to stay shut, to stay dry. He touched the glass to his lips like a madman, whispered to it, asked it to journey far. Further than he could.

He tied the bottle to his thigh and dressed himself. The following morning he went to the shore, heart beating. He submerged himself until he was up to his waist in the water, still dressed. In his hand was his fishing spear, a guise for his true intent. Underneath the protection of the water he slid the bottle into his hand. He glanced back, finding the goddess watching him from the beach. She smiled at him. He looked back at the water and dropped the bottle.

There was no reason to believe it would ever reach her. It was a work of spontaneous lunacy. But he had tried everything he could think of, and he was running out of options. Even if there was a fraction of a possibility, he had to try. She had to know he was here. That he was alive.

The words of the letter rested on his lips. He repeated them like a prayer. He whispered them to the sun, to the tide, and his family, hidden somewhere behind the horizon.

“I am King Odysseus of Ithaca, I live, and I will return home.”

-

Link to other chapters

[melodic-playground]

sneak peak into the 2025 Winter Issue of Melodic Playground Magazine Sebastian Azul

[dustedmagazine]

PJ Harvey — I Inside the Old Year Dying (Partisan)

Photo by Steve Gullick

I Inside the Old Year Dying by PJ Harvey

PJ Harvey’s tenth album, I Inside the Old Year Dying, is death-haunted. Not in the sense of being fearful of mortality, but of stoically recognizing that life and death are two sides of the same coin. Or, as Harvey puts it on opening song “Prayer at the Gate,” “life a-knocking at death’s door… life and death all innertwined.” The words are delivered over an eerie descending chord progression, a ghostly octave reverb shimmering at the edges. Right from the start, this record is a sober, humbling listen, but one that’s deeply moving if you’re receptive to its patient unfurling.

Each song is superficially simple, a musical conglomeration of a handful of carefully selected elements: a spare, loping rhythm; piano or guitar tracing out a melodic and harmonic skeleton; perhaps some atmospheric effects or field recordings; then Harvey’s remarkable voice weaving its way through the scene, at times betraying her heritage with its lovely West Country burr. The instrumental parts patiently map out their terrain, Harvey intones her vivid poetry, often backed by long-time collaborator John Parish’s affecting voice, then the song will stand aside. It’s only on repeat listens and by drawing threads between the individual songs that the beauty of the whole begins to take form. 

Children make multiple appearances throughout the album. On “Autumn Term,” there are snatches of what sounds like playground clamor as Harvey reminisces about the horrors of commencing the school year: “I ascend three steps to hell / The school bus heaves up the hill.” “The Nether-edge” features “chalky children on the steep / buckets full of shadows.” There’s “A Child’s Question, July” and single “A Child’s Question, August.” And the stunning “I Inside the Old I Dying” is haunted by the refrain “the chalky children of evermore.” Another repeating theme is the Elvis Presley song, “Love Me Tender,” which makes an appearance on “Lwonesome Tonight,” “A Child’s Question, August,” and “August.” 

Musically, there’s a definite affinity with the kinds of textures Nick Cave and Warren Ellis summoned on Skeleton Tree. “The Nether-edge” has a spectral, heavily effected backing, Harvey’s voice pulsing with modulation. The fractured opening soundscape of “All Souls” could almost be a backing track on Frank Ocean’s Blonde. The guitars on “August” sound like they’ve been recorded on tape that’s been chewed beyond redemption. Then there’s closing track “Noiseless Noise,” which has snarling guitars that hark back to Harvey’s earlier records. At its conclusion Harvey sings, “Go home now love, leave your wandering,” over guitar arpeggios reminiscent of Slint’s “Washer.” The album ends with the sound of birds and bees, singing and buzzing. Life goes on. 

Tim Clarke