#receiving someone else's love for something and passing it onwards is truly one of the best gifts you can give and receive i think <3

[maggiecheungs]

hi! i just wanted to let you know that following you has rekindled my interest in cinema. i used to be very passionate about it — at one point i even contemplated going to film school after graduating to learn scriptwriting — but somewhere along the way i got discouraged and little by little i even lost interest in watching movies / going to the cinema. since i've been following you, though, i've been reminded of why cinema / movies were so appealing to me in the first place. i love expanding my to-watch list thanks to all the movies you mention / reblog posts about and i really enjoy reading your thoughts and your tags. thank you for that ❤️

there are lots of things i feel like i should say im response to this, but honestly all i’ve got right now is: this is genuinely one of the loveliest things that anyone has ever told me, and thank you for taking the time to let me know ❤️ i’m truly, deeply honoured

[callmehopeless]

Prompt

Idea: "True Love's Kiss Motif". In which a prince is cursed to live an immortal life. He enjoys life at first but grows bored easily. Begins his search to find true love's kiss by courting various women throughout his life. Playboy phase (multiple women)?

Grows old and has never found true love. And he tries to off himself more than once to many failures.

But one day, he somehow awakens right before he's brought back to life at the crossroads between worlds. He meets Death. He decides then and there that the only way to truly die is to obtain a kiss from Death. But while he courts Death and shows him/her/them how to live-- he finds himself falling for him/her/them.

(Can be any characters or pairings? Go wild with funny antics, angsty, Happy Ending or Bittersweet… I love everything you write <3)

Moo loaded a shotgun and pointed it right at my chest.

BETWEEN SPACES

Ominis Gaunt x Male!OC (very nonspecific)

Word Count: 1500ish

This is just incredibly painful angst with very small comfort, PLEASE ENJOY!

Ominis Gaunt met him, in the shadow and the night.

Long after life should have left him - after his bones ought to have been dust, and the world had turned without him. Long after his friends had passed into nothing, and on, and on: onward, until the world had changed irreparably.

Anne had gone first. Lovable, gentle Anne. Anne, who had survived so much: who had courted death and run from him. Anne had gone in quiet slip - somewhere in the middle of her life. Ominis had grieved her, so sudden and quick - and asked death to take him, too.

Death had not.

And so Ominis Gaunt had sought. Bony hands, pale fingers; undressing women with the talents of a gentleman. The efforts of a man of his station: the Prince of Slytherin, and the heir to all of its curses and wants. He had fallen into desperation, almost: feverish, to find meaning and purpose and something to explain it all.

Once, a handful of years ago - a boy had whispered something in his ear.

“Don’t you grow tired of all of this?”

 They had been sixteen, then, and he had not known kisses or love. He had known of stories, and music, and had liked to imagine them as things that were real, and proper, and meaningful as anything.

He could fall in love. He could.

His face had been a mysterious thing - only felt a handful of times, and only in the throes of the moment. He had been alive, in the creases of those cheekbones. When the pad of his thumb had run over those lips.

And then - that boy had vanished, too. And he had forgotten entirely that life could be vast, and music could be good. Stories could have meanings, and not simply morals.

But that was long ago. And the days turned to months, and the months into years.

Sebastian was next. His brother, and his life. War. Muggles have always liked war, and Sebastian had always been fit to raise one. When he received the letter, and his wand traced the paper of it: he had not cried. Not properly.

He had drank, and drank, and tried to forget. He had lain in the grass and tried to picture the colours of the sky. He had wondered what he should feel - whether someone who had lived half as long would feel twice as much. Whether the curse that had been laid at his feet meant, in the end: he would slowly feel himself seeping through the cracks of the pavement, worn away by the bombs dropped from afar.

The Great War came, and ended. Another. Another.

He had fucked his way through it. Women - always women. Always the curves of them against him: and never too much of anything else. Anything else would hurt, too much, too quickly: too many things lost along the way. And he had kissed, and fucked, and touched, and lit matches under himself that burned out. The fifties had come, and he had looked much the same. Not that he had known that, of course - but he had kept himself well, and groomed.

Smoked? He had smoked most in the sixties. He had wondered if it was yellowing his teeth, or making him smell acrid - but he stopped caring by the seventies, and he yearned for the old smoking bars. The comfort of the continual rise of it. The coughs, and the jackets. Christ, but he missed the dinner jackets.

The time passed in a haze. Everyone was gone, by then, and he was frozen. A piece of time, long antiquated. Most of his days spent in vague states of removal from reality. He missed Anne for most of it, and Sebastian for half of it (though that half, he thinks, was an agonising half). He found he missed the gargoyles in the classes, and Professor Binns’ innocuous droning. He missed everything.

Wizarding War. He had a brief, painful realisation of the truth of it. His own flesh and blood. That inclination would have inspired something in him, if his life hadn’t been so bloody long.

But then it was done. And then the eighties. And then the nineties, and he only briefly measured that a boy came to stop what would try to pass.

The millennium came over the Thames, and Ominis Gaunt would sit and listen to the cars, and the water, and the traffic as it moved over Tower Bridge. His heart would barely oscillate - he would go home, some nights, and lay on his bed.

Once, a handful of years ago - a boy had whispered something in his ear. He forgot. He forgets the words.

It is a night in November, and the first frost is skating over London.

He has always preferred the cold. Ominis thinks, like him: it touches everything, and then melts away. Leaves it no better nor worse for the privilege. Entirely the same as it has always been, and that is quite alright. His felt coat wrapped tight, and he walks to the bridge. Breath clouding in the air.

His wand is barely needed, now. But he holds it in his sleeve, as he has for a hundred years. A presence, on the bridge: a man. Tall, and imposing. The rest left to the air and the sky.

“How many years has it been?”

The man asks him, and the voice is strange. The elocution is beautiful; sharp, and from another time entirely. The moment Ominis hears it, something within him balks. Hairs stand on end. The planet, in its wisdom, feels as though it slows.

“I’m sorry–?”

He has missed feeling confused. The world has become full of certainties.

Snow falls, soft and cool. Kisses on skin. The touch of cold fingers.

“You have run for so long. Don’t you grow tired of all of this?”

Oh.

Tired. Dear God, but he is tired.

He used to sleep in the Transfiguration Courtyard. His head on a thigh, and his heart in his throat. Someone was there; someone warm, and loving. Someone who kissed him, quietly. A boy who loved him before he could love himself - and perhaps long after he stopped.

A step forward. Another. A third, and he reaches out with his hand.

A robe meets his fingers, and he tugs on it. Soft, smooth; draped. He has not aged much since he was sixteen, and neither has Ominis Gaunt. Somewhere, in the madness - a curse had fallen on him, and all things had stopped.

Everything has its time.

“Where did you go? I–”

Ominis’ voice cracks. Something in him wrenches. His eyes burn, and it is the first time in so long that it feels like lead.

“--it wasn’t a mercy. It wasn’t. I would’ve gone with you years ago. I loved you–I’ve loved you all my life.”

Through loving Anne, and Sebastian, and Noctua. And the wars, and the moments between them: there has been blood, and sex, and pain, and knowledge, and a sadness that goes on and on.

Death is cold. Death is so terribly cold.

He would have loved Death all his life, if he could have.

He has always loved the cold.

Death reaches out to him, and the hands are not so cold as he remembers. Not really. They feel like Anne, in her soft whispers at the end. Like Sebastian: the steadfast drive of him. The way he would never depart from what he needed. Death came for them both, and loved them just as much.

“I’ve loved you all these years,” Death tells him, with a gentle movement of his voice. The snow is softer, then, and Death reaches out with both hands.

Ominis does not take them.

Instead, he leans forward. His own fingers - cold and dry as they are, and full of youth - reach up, and they touch the boy’s face.

Hard lines, and soft skin. He isn’t cold; he is warm, and kind, and good. Death did not snatch - Death carried. Death held, and Death let everything be where it ought. In its time, in its way: everything to its nature.

To gentleness; Death brought kindness. To fight; Death brought war.

But to love–

A swallow. Ominis’ glassy eyes move about, unseeing, and he traces his thumb over the pad of a lip. Over the curve of the flesh, there, and he wishes for a taste of it. It is all he has wished for. He cannot think of anything else he has wanted more.

The snow falls on the Thames, like smattered, pressed kisses in the dark.

“Kiss me,” Ominis pleads. He pleads, and remembers.

And Death does not hesitate for a moment. Death does not judge him the years; nor spend another second without him. Death does not think on promises that were not made, nor things lost.

Death has waited so long,

And Death has loved him so much.

I'm not crying, fuck you, you're crying.

(Much love, Totomoo! Thank you so much for your support <3)

Feel free to send requests!

[ohnopoe]

Personal Hero | Marcus Moreno

Ship: Marcus Moreno x Reader Summary: When work is getting you down, you don’t need Marcus Moreno, the superhero, you need Marcus Moreno, your personal hero. Word Count: 2.6k+ Warnings: Some self deprecating thoughts (not many, but I’d rather you be safe than sorry) & food mentions Author’s Note: This is incredibly late, but for @meshlamando​​! I’m so sorry it took so damn long, I hope it has at least a little comfort in there for you! One day I'll learn the right compromise between hurt & comfort... I don't think I got there today...

The shrill ringing of your mobile cut through your office, sending thoughts flying in every which way at the sudden sound. Irritation bubbled away steadily as you put the damn thing on silent without so much as a glance at the caller ID.

Reports had been thrown in your direction from the moment you had arrived, a never ending list of time restraints and deadlines that seemed to be constantly encroaching on your mental stability, and, quite simply, you didn’t have the time for anything else that could be added to your to do list.

So, the call was quickly pushed from your mind in favour of, was that an accounting report? How had that become your responsibility?

Any thoughts of having your lunch break were dismissed, a luxury you just didn’t have time for as the pile seemed to grow before your very eyes. A fresh cup of coffee, that was all you had time for, and even that gained judgemental glances from your boss as you rushed back from the small kitchenette. But it was a break, of sorts. A few minutes to remind yourself that there actually was something outside of black ink on white paper and luminescent screens that were determined to give you a migraine.

But, as you made your way back to your chair, your phone began to vibrate in your pocket, demanding your attention once more. A quick glance, you could get away with that, surely.

A soft smile seemed to find its home on your lips in an instant as the name Marcus Moreno popped up with a ridiculous picture you’d taken of him some months earlier. But, as your gaze quickly met the disapproving  glare of your boss, you knew you couldn’t answer, even if it technically was still your lunch break.

Placing the phone down with a sigh, and more than a smidgen of guilt, you watched as it rang out, fading into a notification. Two missed calls, both from Marcus.

Well, if you hadn’t felt bad moments ago, you certainly did now.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on your failings when yet another manilla folder found its way into your inbox; the sticky note on top demanding it be finished before start of day tomorrow.

The hum of vibrations drew your attention from the email you had been writing, dragging over the surprisingly empty office to where your mobile danced across the corner of your desk, each vibration bringing it ever closer to the edge. A quick glance around to confirm you really were alone, another to check the time, realising just why you were so alone, and you were reaching for the device eagerly.

It didn’t matter that you still had hours of work ahead of you, or that your coworkers were all too happy to go home on time and leave you to deal with their messes alone. It didn’t matter that your stomach had been grumbling for hours now, or that your eyes felt so dry that the tears that threatened to break through at the thought of your situation would actually be a welcome relief. It only mattered that, for some miraculous reason, he was calling again, and this time you could finally answer, finally hear his voice and get a few minutes of reprieve from the insanity of your day.

“Hey, sorry I missed your call earlier, works been crazy,” the words came out in a mess, one falling into another as your exhaustion made itself known quite clearly.

“As long as you’re ok,” it would have been impossible to miss the concern in Marcus’ tone, even through your receiver and weary state of being. A small smile played at the corners of your lips, his words a gentle reminder of just how lucky you were, at least, when it came to your personal life.

“I’ll be just fine,” you offered with a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a yawn.

“You should come home,” Marcus offered with a soft chuckle, his voice warm and enticing, relaxing you far more than it ought to do.

A chuckle of your own escaped at the suggestion, shaking your head to yourself in the emptiness of your office. “Not likely to happen any time soon, I’m afraid. I’ve got at least a few more hours of stuff left to do.”

“As your boss, I’m telling you, come home, it’s after six, you need rest. I’ll order pizza, Missy’s at a friends, we can have a lazy evening on the couch…”

Damn that sounded enticing, but as you spun around in your chair, the sight of your to do list practically mocked you, silently reminding you of the deadlines you had been given.

It didn’t matter that Marcus was now the head of the whole damn Heroics organisation, your department head would never let you get away with leaving things unfinished, and she’d already made it quite clear what she thought of your relationship with the boss.

A heavy sigh, filled with exhaustion and wariness was the only answer you could give. You didn’t want to disappoint him, of course not. This was Marcus Moreno, for goodness sake, the man deserved nothing but the best, but there wasn’t much you could do. This was your job, and, as much as you loved him, as much as you wanted to be all the things he deserved, you simply couldn’t be that all the time.

“I’m sorry,” there was a weight to your words that went beyond simply coming home late.

It seemed, no matter what you did, you were disappointing someone of late. You weren’t working hard enough, you weren’t home enough, you hadn’t brought coffees for the entire department (when had that even become a thing?). No matter where you looked, it felt as though you were competing with something, something you couldn’t see, something you never had a chance of surpassing. People’s expectations.

There was a pause on the line, a silence that only solidified your guilt. Marcus was too nice to call you out on your absence of late, too sweet to remind you that you hadn’t had a date night in weeks now, but his silence reminded you all on its own.

It weighed heavily on you, as if it had been sitting in the shadows, slowly growing in the dark recesses of your mind without your knowledge, growing until it became the insurmountable mass that sat on your shoulders now.

Late nights, no time to relax, no time to recover, it all came together, wearing at you in a silent tundra of exhaustion.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” It was said softly, but there was a determination behind his words, a tone you heard so rarely, but one that you knew nonetheless. It was the same voice he’d use to reprimand a heroic who went too far or didn’t listen, the same tone he used when Missy had been caught sneaking out one night to go explore an abandoned skatepark with friends. There was no debating this, no need for a discussion. This was simply a fact, one Marcus was determined you would accept.

But it wasn’t that easy.

Just because Marcus believed something wholeheartedly, it didn’t make it so for you. He believed in the best of people, always tried to see the positive in things, and was, quite simply, one of the best people you had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

So, when he said something with such conviction, it was hard to disagree, hard to say no to, no matter how you felt.

A half hearted ‘hmm’ was all you could offer in response, neither agreeing nor fighting him on the matter, and resulting in an inaudible sigh from the other side of the line.

The silence that sat between you lingered on, acting like a vast gap that seemed to stretch on and on, only further dragging you into that endless aching. It hurt to be apart, to deny what you both wanted for what had to be done, but it hurt to disappoint him even more.

There was a reluctance in his tone as he spoke up once more, softly, uncertainly. “I should let you get back to it then,” the words came across forlorn, as if the certainty he had felt when dispelling your apology had faded into something sadder, something deeper, and it twinged at your heart.

You nodded in silent response, your tired mind only reminding you he couldn’t see you moments too late. “Yeah, I should try and get back to this,” you agreed, even if it sounded anything but enthusiastic. “I’ll see you when I get home,” you began, glancing over at just how ridiculous the pile still was… god only knew when you might actually get out of there. “Don’t wait up.”

Time was inching onwards, drawn out and slow moving, almost taunting you. You wanted to be getting through your work, wanted to at least feel productive, but no matter how long you pushed your way forwards, it felt like no headway was really being made. An hour had passed since you had spoken to Marcus, but it felt so much longer, especially with only one file being completed since then.

Worst of all, you truly were focused. It wasn’t as if your mind had been distracted, even if it had tried very hard to fill your thoughts with reminders of failures at every turn. You were working, and working hard, your attention only given to the work at hand, and it still didn’t seem to be enough.

You were so focused, in fact, that you didn’t even hear the doors opening, or the sounds of footsteps coming ever closer. You didn’t hear the half amused, half exasperated huff of laughter that came from the man who was making his way towards you, you didn’t even notice when his shadow danced over the paperwork before you, pulling figures away from the light as he stared down at you with an unreadable expression on his features.

No, it wasn’t until a large box landed on your notes, causing you to jump with a yelp, that you even noticed you were no longer alone.

Laughter came easier now, richer, softer, and actually noticed by you as you spun around in shock to take in the sight of one Marcus Moreno, long since changed into his casual attire, standing beside your desk, watching you with that fond smile you’d often catch from across the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked as you attempted to calm your racing heart. It wasn’t the question you wanted to ask, no, but somehow it seemed easier, lighter even.

“I just got here,” he spoke with that same gentleness he always seemed to have when it was just you two.

Guilt played at the edges of your thoughts, trying to tempt you forwards into those haunting thoughts and regrets, reminders that he had to come back to work to see you, to spend time with you, when you’d only just moved in with him about a month beforehand. It shouldn’t have been this hard, you shouldn’t have been forced to be so distant, he deserved better.

But as much as the guilt and anguish tried to take over your mind, it had no real chance, not when that dimple was showing, not when you could breathe in his smell. No, Marcus Moreno was like a warden, keeping the negative thoughts at bay, as if they couldn’t bare to even try to cross him, as if they simply didn’t belong in the same room as him.

He was a hero, everyone knew that, hell, he was the leader of the heroics, but it was this, his very own superpower, far more special than his control over metal, that made him a hero to you. He held a power unlike any other, the power to let you breathe.

Even with exhaustion playing at your mind, even with the insurmountable piles of work still ahead of you, he could calm you with just his presence, and you would never cease to be in awe of that.

“Break time?” he raised his brows in question, pointing towards the box which had both given you such a startle, and been entirely ignored since his arrival.

You hadn’t even bothered to really look at it, so used to things being thrown on your desk throughout the day that seeing whatever offending item could have been added to your pile hadn’t even been a consideration. But now, with the embarrassment beginning to ease, and the delicious smells wafting in your direction, you could finally acknowledge the large pizza box that demanded your attention away from your papers.

“Marcus I-”

“No, you’re taking a break,” he shook his head as he interrupted what was no doubt about to be a slew of sad excuses for why you didn’t have time for this. “You’ve been working your butt off all day, it’s dinner time for goodness sake. We’re going to sit down, have some pizza, talk about something that’s not work related, and then, if you really want to finish whatever you have to do, well, we’ll do that together.”

There it was again, that tone that left no room for argument.

You didn’t want to bring this into your personal life, you wanted to shelter him from the crap your work often brought about, but how could you when he was right there, offering to help you through it?

“This is hardly the kind of work the leader of the Heroics should be bothering with,” you tried to laugh it off, gesturing to the reports and receipts that were littering your table with a wonky smile, but even that faded away as those deep eyes stole your attention as they often did.

It wasn’t sympathy or empathy, wasn’t anger nor irritation, in fact, none of the emotions you expected to see swam in that chocolate gaze. No, it was simply acceptance.

Pulling a chair from the next desk over, he plopped down with none of the finesse your colleagues were used to seeing in the news reports. No, this was a side reserved for you and Missy alone. The side that was clumsy and awkward. The side that had brought you flowers he saw on the side of the road when coming to pick you up for a date, not knowing it was actually a weed. The side that had managed to fall off the couch, not once, but twice during movie night early into your relationship.

This wasn’t Marcus Moreno, leader of the heroics. This was Marcus Moreno, your boyfriend, a term you had grown to increasingly love even with the juvenility of it.

This was your personal hero, the man who turned up at your desk when you had to work late to make sure you ate, took a break, and weren’t overworking yourself.

“Babe, I don’t know what you think I do every day, but I’m more than used to dealing with boring reports,” and somehow his words came far easier than yours, pulling the corners of your lips into something akin to an actual smile.

It was far too easy to smile around him, and he took far too much joy in dragging a smile onto your features as often as possible.

“But, that’s an after dinner problem. As is the fact your boss isn’t the one staying back late to deal with her own issues,” he huffed slightly, before shaking his head as if the action would literally shake the thoughts from his mind. “For now, we eat like- Do you think kings would eat pizza?”

And just like that, being stuck at work for the evening didn’t feel quite so bad. Nothing really could, not when you had that ridiculous man staring at you curiously as he shoved far too much pizza into his mouth at once, pondering a question that would make a toddler proud.

No. This wasn’t bad at all.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s R&S - Six out of Seventeen (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (“十七分之六”) will not be released in EN or any server as it’s one of the cancelled R&S which came with the Dream Heart Lake gacha event!🍒

This is a full translation, so you can follow along with the narrator if you want to!

Summary: Victor has been persistent in one thing for seventeen years. The part he lets other people know about is simply six out of seventeen. 

Other cancelled Victor R&S:

> flashback 

> paradise on earth 

> so-called disparity

[ Chapter 1 ]

The first time he recognised his powerlessness was during that failed escape.

The second time was the sense of loss when his mother passed away.

The third time was when he faced the boundless sea of faces, at his wit’s end.

Victor will not say that he searched unceasingly for the girl for seventeen years.

--

It’s akin to how people talk about being secretly in love: Although they might say “I’ve harboured a crush on him/her for so many years”, “I’ve continued following him/her on social media all these years”, ultimately, they will not delay the things they have to do.

To Victor, “finding the girl” had a similar concept.

He will not enumerate how many hours and minutes he spent on this matter of “finding the girl”. One, there was no point in doing so. Two, he was slightly worried - what if he discovered that the problem which had been entrenched in his heart for such a long time was actually very trivial... what would he do then?

However--

It’s akin to how people talk about being secretly in love: Although he had no idea how the other party looked like now, the palpitations from back then, and the blurred face in his dreams always motivated him to press onward. Exactly because he couldn’t set it down, it turned into a permanent, clear moonlight in his heart.

To Victor, “finding the girl” remained the same as always - this matter was on track, even after he established his business. 

After all, Victor was only eleven years old when the incident happened. As a young student, his abilities were limited. At the time, all he could do after school was check in on places the girl would often visit, but his investigations didn’t go smoothly. On one hand, his understanding of the girl was already extremely limited. On other other hand, the inside story of what happened during the orphanage incident was undisclosed. 

He could have received some measure of support from his parents if he asked. But after going through the kidnapping, Victor understood that it would be better if fewer people knew about his superpower. 

He wasn’t afraid his parents wouldn’t believe him. It was just that he was afraid his parents may get “implicated” in his personal secret. What if they ended up like the girl...

This was the reason why teenage Victor chose to delay the matter of “finding the girl” - not give up, but delay it. 

At that age, Victor already understood the importance of preparation. In the years ahead, he was a good student in the eyes of teachers, a good student who looked as though he was perpetually in a bad mood, taciturn, and a bit heavy-hearted. 

Even till he graduated from high school, none of his schoolmates knew about the kidnapping Victor experienced in childhood, and nobody knew that he had been continuously collecting materials related to back then. However, his roommates all knew that a girl’s name would occasionally surface when he talked in his sleep.

It’s thanks to this that nobody ever spread rumours about the girl. At an age where everybody loved to joke at another’s expense, nobody ever used Victor as a joke. 

--

[ Chapter 2 ]

The first year Victor entered university was also the time social networking gained traction. 

The reason why his business could develop at such a rapid pace was to a large extent attributed to social networking, which gave rise to the theory of Six Degrees of Separation.

Unfortunately, the social networking which helped Victor establish his business was unable to provide much assistance in “that matter”.

It wasn’t that Victor didn’t search for posts pertaining to the orphanage incident, but the content was mostly meant to attract attention. 

--

Some who were steeped in fantasy said that the orphanage incident back then was the result of vampires causing trouble, and the orphans discovered in it were actually sustenance reserves for the vampires. Some who were more realistic made an analysis and claimed that it was a relatively large-scale child trafficking situation. Some who were inclined towards sci-fi asserted that it was an attack launched by aliens who had plans to take the children back to their planet to conduct experiments...

While Victor felt disappointed by such results, they were within his expectations. After all, the official materials which were disclosed back then were already limited to begin with, and the other children who were involved were too young, and lacked as clear a memory as he did - after being rescued, they had high fevers and may have even thought everything was simply a dream.

To Victor, all these arguments confirmed his deductions: He couldn’t use layman methods to find her. 

As such, Victor hired a private investigator in the year he graduated from university. 

Contrary to popular belief, private investigators existed among the people in the city.

It’s just that they generally had a different identity, and it was difficult to find them without a recommendation from someone else. Victor managed to locate this private investigator from a recommendation by one of his men. At that point, LFG had already established itself to a certain level. When the detective, whose surname is Bao, heard from the middleman that LFG’s Victor was looking for him, his first reaction was -

“CEO Victor, we have to make something clear. If this has to do with a company-related scheme, I don’t wade in such muddy waters.”

“Teacher Bao.” Addressing him as “teacher” was part of his upbringing and etiquette. However, the sentence which followed after was far from polite. “Do you know about the kidnapping incident which occurred in the orphanage eleven years ago?

He asked the other party to investigate the truth of what happened back then, along with an open reason - as a victim of the incident, he had the right to know. 

“CEO Victor, telling me about this right after we just met... does this count as you having trust in me?”

“CEO Liang recommended you, and I trust him.”

Without saying anything else, Victor and Detective Bao agreed on a quarterly report, and then sent him out politely.

On the night of the conversation, the old detective received a payment much higher than the agreed remuneration. Only then did he believe that the guy he saw in the afternoon was truly what CEO Liang called an “awe-inspiring business elite”.

And he experienced the shrewdness of this “business elite” when he presented his first report three months later. 

--

[ Chapter 3 ]

That day, Old Bao gave a voluminous speech spanning a full hour, thinking Victor would give one or two phrases of praise. Even a nod would have sufficed. However, he didn’t expect that after listening to the report, all Victor did was to move his fingers.

Victor’s slender fingers curled inwards, and he pointed towards a box in the corner.

“CEO Victor, this is?”

Ever since he withdrew from the media, Old Bao had not experienced many great storms. But he would never forget the answer Victor gave him. He said it lightly, but it could cause the listener to vomit three litres of blood.

“You’ve passed the test.”

It turns out that the box contained all the materials Victor collected over the years - some official and some not. 90% of the content was mentioned in Old Bao’s report - and that was what Victor based his “you’ve passed the test” on.

Because most of his clients were introduced by friends, goodwill was a guarantee provided by the middleman, which was why most of the transactions could be settled during the first meeting. But for someone like Victor...

It was the first time Old Bao met such a person.

So, he had been busying himself for nothing over the past three months? This report was basically just a test for him set up by Victor?

There was a particular moment when Old Bao really wanted to walk straight out the door. But for some inexplicable reason, this idea was throttled to death at the cradle.

Perhaps it was curiously. Perhaps it was the gut instinct of a detective--

He wanted to know what exactly Victor wanted to search for - to the extent that he didn’t hesitate to waste three months’ worth of time.

Thus, on such a foundation, their partnership commenced.

If it was because of curiosity at the beginning, a moment of impulse was what prevented Old Bao from rejecting this business. If he were to persevere, he had to find a motivation to tide him through long-term. After all, Old Bao would sometimes ask himself: 

Why did he make the “humiliating” decision to provide his services to Victor? Purely out of curiosity? That was enough to cause him to throw his pride away? Isn’t his time also time?

Fortunately, every time Old Bao questioned his life, remuneration would be funnelled into his bank account, helping him find a new direction in his lost state.

Apart from this, having a new understanding of Victor was also another reason why Old Bai eventually made steady progress. 

If he were to label Victor at the very beginning, it would be “taciturn”, “stern”, “proud and formidable”. After the first report, a few more labels would be added - “shrewd”, “meticulous” and “deserving to be called an elite”. However, as they interacted for a longer time...

Most of these were torn down by Old Bao himself.

After working with him for a year, he deduced that Victor’s patience and temper were actually much better than what he expressed on his face. Even though there was little progress in his investigation most of the time, he didn’t receive the severe criticism he expected, and the agreed-upon remuneration didn’t diminish because of it. 

Faced with one after another of disappointing reports, Victor’s response would just be a few words, in keeping with his style -

Definite and decisive, resolute and persistent. 

--

[ Chapter 4 ]

Sometimes, an inner struggle would surface in Old Bao’s mind: Could Victor have known that the girl was actually no longer on this earth, and his way of searching for a needle in a haystack was a form of coping? If that was the case, he’d just have to cooperate with Victor in acting out this charade, and he’d be able to earn a lot of money.

No, no, you can’t lack a conscience, especially as a detective. Since I’ve already accepted his money, I should carry out his work properly. 

After three years of working with him, Old Bao felt as though he had waded into far muddier and complicated waters than a company-related scheme - clues to finding the girl were cut a few times. But as he dived further into the orphanage incident, a few questions started to be brought to the surface:

If the girl simply died in the accident, why was it that apart from her death certificate, most of her information had gone missing? If the kidnapping at the orphanage was just a simple incident, why did most of the people related to it vanish?

The overly conscious effort to cover up the matter could instead prove a few truths. For instance, there were huge stakes behind the orphanage kidnapping. For instance... that girl could still be alive, just that she had gone incognito and has had a change in identity.

After six years of working together, Old Bao finally fiound a key piece of information. 

At the same time, he also understood the necessity of the test back then. When Victor told Old Bao his true objective, it was essentially entrusting his biggest secret into the hands of a stranger. 

Old Bao examined himself. If he were in Victor’s position, he wouldn’t have been able to do it better than Victor did.

Old Bao suddenly understood why CEO Liang, who had only worked with Victor a few times, was so full of praise for Victor back then.

Since he had found important information, following the clues would be a quick task. Old Bao knew that their employer-employee relationship would not continue for much longer. With regards to this, he had mixed feelings. 

One one hand, he felt as though a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. After being troubled by this issue for so long, there was finally a clue. On the other hand... he was reluctant to let go - after all, it had been a full six years.

He didn’t know whether he’d be able to meet someone as remarkable and talented as Victor in the future.

Such an appreciation transcended gender and age. It was a natural inclination humans have towards good things.

At the same time, he also hoped that Victor’s future could be smooth-sailing, and that he wouldn’t need to look for people like him to resolve troublesome matters.

This was a sincere blessing from a member of the older generation to a member of the younger generation.

As Old Bao tackled with this secret inner struggle, it was truly “speaking of the devil”. His phone screen lit up, and he received a new message, the contents containing only eight words:

“Investigate HBS. We will talk in detail tomorrow.”

“This person, he’s really...”

Without even looking at the sender, Old Bao already knew who this message was from. He felt an uncontrollable smile inch up his lips. Old Bao shook his head resignedly, and he didn’t know if he was mocking himself or feeling rueful. He continued.

“Really... very contradictory.”

-

Other cancelled R&S: here

Lucien’s cancelled R&S (by other user): here

[stormra]

Hiya! I was wondering if you could give your headcannons on how the Matsuno brothers would react towards someone finally reciprocating the same feelings/developing a crush on them? Take your time!

❝     𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

— type : headcanons

— characters : the matsuno brothers

Thank you for being my first headcanon request! I know that I’m allowed to post other works without anyone requesting them, but I felt as if it would be more rewarding to wait until someone finally did. Now I’ll let myself write headcanons, especially since I’ve finally caught up on matchups. It also took me a while to figure out how I want to format headcanons. I care too much about what my blog looks like. So, without further ado, let’s get into it! Thank you for being patient!

Osomatsu : Although he’s a huge pervert, your confession will leave him absolutely winded. He has spent his entire life begging for a partner—with you as the target he’s been dreaming of—but with this sudden opportunity placed before him, he doesn’t know what to do... and is he really cut out to date someone as awesome as you? Wishing for a partner is immensely different than actually having one. Rather than immediately accepting the confession, he’ll hesitate before quickly realizing that he shouldn’t think, deciding that acting fast is probably the better option as compared to standing and worrying. He doesn’t want to lose you, after all! He’ll jump at you with open arms as if miraculously brought to life by your smile, nuzzling the living Hell out of your head. Wow, wow! A partner! How awesome! His thoughts won’t be very profound... nor will his speech. He’s pretty puppy-like in disposition. Despite being a bit worried about the future, though, he’s elated—especially because it’s you who likes him, not some rando or Totoko. I headcanon that his “crush” on her is just his version of coping with the fact he has nothing he truly came up with on his own. So, crushing on someone gives him the same sensations related to finally having his own idenity... but that’s a thought for another post. Anyways, your confession leaves him undeniably euphoric, really. He won’t exactly tell you that he feels the same, but it’s kinda obvious in the way he begs to kiss your cheek and tell his brothers about your confession.

I’ll be real with you; he’ll definitely want to show you off and the fact that you confessed first. You best prepare yourself for that. 

Karamatsu : Did you say “lots of blubbering?” “Many futile attempts to hide his obvious tears?” Like Osomatsu, Karamatsu simply cannot believe someone as elegant and as beautiful as you returns his cheesy affections. It’s no secret that he’s a very emotional, guarded man who hides the truth behind painfully obvious facades of cringy confidence and things of that nature. Upon hearing your words, he‘ll stop whatever he’s doing and stare at you as if you single handedly fought off a horde of angry people, lips agape and eyes wider than saucers with tears already forming in the corners. He did not just hear you say that! By the gods! He definitely tries to mask his joy with those obnoxiously cringy phrases he loves, calling you his muse while claiming he knew this would happen—who can resist such a man as he? Yet... when push comes to shove, that persona of his is faltering immediately as soon as you laugh or even smile at his attempt to play it cool. I can tell you that much. As his tears finally fall, overwhelmed by just how euphoric you make him feel, he’ll let you comfort him like the man-baby he is. He’s just so overwhelmed that you, the light of his life, finally feels the same about such a lowly NEET like himself! Although crying like an infant, he’ll try and confess his own feelings in an attempt to win your affection further. What a dork!

Choromatsu : Don’t expect a dramatic reaction from this guy. On the surface, he’ll manage to stifle his joy and surprise well enough to smile at you, timidly (yet effectively) expressing himself in return. Great! Romance! However, on the inside, he’s indefinitely a panicked mess, stressed and worried about what he should say and do from this point onward. Dating? Who is she? He doesn’t know her—especially anything having to do with “wooing” you. Prior to your confession, he hardly flirted with you at all! He’ll definitely crack from time to time during his own confession, stuttering every so often, incapable of looking into your eyes for any extended period of time. If you want to see his composure fall, just kiss him, hug him, or try to hold his hand. Even quicker than Karamatsu’s facade, his unbothered approach will quickly melt into that whimpering mess we’re familiar with. Once he’s true to himself, though, he might even calm down and effectively convey himself without tripping over his words. You can expect to see a very prominent reddish hue on his cheeks. It compliments him greatly!

I’d also like to mention that he’s definitely the most obvious when it comes to his crush on you. I honestly don’t make the rules; I only enforce them!

Ichimatsu : This one is a bit tricky. While it’s easy to assume he wouldn’t have much of a reaction to your confession, it’s more accurate to say that his reaction would be the most negative out of his brethren. No, he won’t shoot you down, but he won’t say yes either. He’ll instead look at you in complete disbelief, confined to silence for a moment, before uttering that he doesn’t believe you and that you’re just trying to make him look like an idiot. If I’m being realistic, you’d probably have to space your confession out over the span of two days in order to reach the best results. You need to give him some time to sit and think through the thought of dating someone. Even though he adores you and your presence a lot—more than anything else—he views himself as garbage; someone unfit for love. He never would have imagined that his tiny crush would lead to this. If you confess to him and give him a day to think, however, you’ll find that Ichimatsu really is just misunderstood and touch-starved, desperate to find the love and support he has been dreaming of. He needs someone in his life who is willing to be patient with him and his struggles. The fact you are willing to wait for his indecisiveness to pass shows just how reliable you can be for him within a relationship. He’ll return to you the next day and wordlessly embrace you, ready to try something outside of his comfort zone. As long as it’s you he’ll be dating, he doesn’t really mind!

Jyushimatsu : Yeah... you can anticipate a lot of smiles and a lot of jumping up and down with flappy arms. He’ll definitely find your confession to be the most exciting thing ever, but it’s important to remember that Jyushimatsu is very, very incapable of keeping still and expressing himself with words (due to a lame vocabulary), so it’s advised to be patient with him and read his behaviors closely. Instead of expressing his own feelings with words, he’ll excitedly lunge at you and wrap you in his strong arms, absolutely ecstatic over the fact that his crush reciprocates his feelings. Internally, his mind is one with his outward demeanor, fueled by the ideas of what the two of you can do together now that he knows you feel the same. Again, while he may not express his love with words, the way in which he actively tries to kiss your cheek is a pretty solid indicator that he feels the same. Honestly, his reaction to being confessed to isn’t too different from his typical way of expressing himself to you. Prior to your confession, he always greeted you with a huge embrace! Now that he knows you feel the same, though, expect a lot of kisses and a lot of super tight hugs. You probably won’t get a confession out of him at all; you’ll have to ask him if he truly wants to start a relationship or not. Communication is always important. Although it may be hard to communicate with someone as exitable as him, it’s very important and he’ll appreciate it immensely! Trust me.

Todomatsu : Honestly, compared to the rest of his brothers, this guy’s reaction ought to be the most casual and, dare I say it, assertive of the bunch. His siblings are all painfully starved from social interaction and proper enactments of adulthood, so it’s no surprise that they’ll react like children when finally given the opportunities they have been dreaming of for years and years. Todomatsu, however, has grown to be a more social man when posed aside his extremely toxic brothers, constantly hanging out with girl after girl and guy after guy in order to climb to the top of his sextuplet home life. It’s no surprise that he’s the most unbothered by your confession of love. Upon hearing your confession, he’ll blush a bit while placing a smirk on his cheeks, dead set on teasing the Hell out of you. Being a tease is his specialty, after all. Even if he’s a bit embarrassed on the outside, he’s ready to assert whatever dominance he can. It’s cute, honestly, but that doesn’t mean he won’t comment on your confession or crush.

“Wow, Y/N-chan has a crush on me? How sweet!”

“Finally coming around, huh? You’re so cute.”

However, deep inside, peering around his two-faced nature and desire to be the best of his brothers, he’s shocked with your confession, feeling like a pampered prince who has just touched the most lavish cushion ever crafted by man. Finally! His efforts have been noted! You can expect to receive a hug or a kiss as he admits to liking you back. While it may not be the most extravagant reaction, your upcoming relationship will make up for it. I promise!

[imnotwolverine]

The Holiday

August Walker x reader one-shot

Disclaimer: Mostly fluffy fluff, with a sniff of smut and mention of injury. 

Author’s note: I received this request from @cherrybloomn​ and how lovely it was to dream away of going on a holiday, especially since my current holiday plans have been postponed indefinitely - and I surely am not the only one who faces that problem right now. Please enjoy a little soft!August on a holiday with his wife, whilst cruising through the beautiful city of Rome. * melts *  

(Link to my Masterlist)

--

“ La vita e bella, la vita e amore / Life is beautiful, life is love “ 

--

The Roman sun kissed the square as hundreds of tourists passed by, their sweaty faces trying to find a spot on the overflowing terraces. Rome was busy this weekend, a parade blocking parts of the city and making the sparse seats on the cobble stoned squares even more lusted after.

You sat back in your chair, a half smile gracing your lips as you watched the people ponder their next moves. Continue walking or wait for a table to free up? Your smile grew as you saw a pair of chubby Americans huff and puff, whilst trying to convince a poor waiter that they had reserved a table.

’No no no..’ The waiter shook his head, pointing to the door of the restaurant. ‘Only in-side.’ His English was so heavily accented, that the husband had to lean in closer to understand him over the loud noises of people laughing and chatting at the closely pressed together tables.

You looked onward, glad you had opted to wear a pair of large sunglasses and a white hat today, your face perfectly hidden from any curious onlookers. Besides.. your little getup matched rather well with your flowing knee-length white dress. Chic.. but simple.

Bringing a cup of scorching hot espresso to your lips you blew on it whistfully, your eyes further examining the happenings on this ancient square. Large white umbrellas were everywhere, keeping people shaded and comfortable as the sand coloured buildings basked in the hot sun. The sky was a crisp blue, no clouds drifting by to offer any relief from the strong August rays.

August. 

Where was he anyways? It wasn’t like him to be late.

You took a pensive sip of the bitter, rich-smelling coffee, savouring the hot liquid kissing your tongue. It wasn’t often you got to drink such good coffee, so you would enjoy every tiny, minuscule sip of it. Sighing softly you licked your lips, placing the small cup back on the table so you could study the menu card. Plasticised and filled with poor English translations, you couldn’t help but grin at the section of “small bits”. Which probably should be small bites, but alas, none would be the wiser.

Movement. Peculiar movement. With half an eye you gazed over your menu card, seeing something that was obviously not an animal, moving with cat-like grace down one of the buildings. A..a man? Looking around without moving your head, your glasses still perfectly hiding your eyes, you checked if anyone else saw. But no, it seemed like people were too occupied with their food, drinks and each other.

Looking back at the man you found him already lost in the crowd. You frowned. Had you just hallucinated this? Did you have a heatstroke or something? Keeping your eyes trained on the spot where you had last seen the man - somewhere just above the first floor of one of the ancient buildings - you missed the fact someone now stood besides you.

‘Is this seat taken?’ A deep baritone made you look up from your studious gaze, your head slowly tipping towards the sky so you could look at him. Blue eyes that matched the cloudless heavens, a tumble of dark curls falling around a neatly trimmed face with moustache. Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t show it, your face a mask as your eyebrows rose carefully above the edge of your dark sunglasses.

‘In..corrigible.’ You sniffled softly, moving to remove your bag from the chair. You could hear him chuckle in turn, an amused grin gracing his cupid bowed lips as he shirked off his sweaty blouse, the same blouse you had spotted on the man that was climbing down that building.

Before taking his seat he leaned over, moving close enough to kiss you, making you wait for him, head still tilted up.. but..he didn’t. You frowned again, then felt his fingers slip around your face, pulling your sunglasses from your face, warm eyes looking into yours.

‘Hello beautiful.’ He smiled.

You chuckled, then smiled in turn. ‘Hello husband.’ You hummed as he finally closed the distance, pressing a sweet kiss on your coffee-tinted lips.

‘I thought you wouldn’t come.’ You said as he took his seat next to you, his blouse discarded on the edge of the table. He shook his head, offering you a bemused glance as he took the menu from your hands, eyebrows raising as he checked out the menu items. ‘I promised I’d be here, though unfortunately a little later as the streets were in complete lockdown.’ He said simply, eyes cruising down the menu, a glimmer of amusement flickering over his lips as he probably noticed the same poor translations of the listed items, the sweat of his parkour-tour still gleaming on the edge of his forehead.

‘Hmmm..’ You hummed, smiling up at the sun, eyes closed, your skin smooth and warm in its rays. ‘So tell me..Why here?’ You asked. 

You heard him grumble as you heard the sound of the card being placed back on the table. You raised an eyebrow, eyes slowly blinking open again, his blues hovering so awfully close next to you once more.

‘Well..’ He reached down his pocket, procuring a golden ring from it and taking your left hand, moving the item back on your ring finger - the place where it belonged. You sniffled and looked at the ring for a moment, the gold sparkling in the sun. Without a word you reached for the necklace around your neck, clicking it open so you could remove the ring that hung from it.

Before you could return the favour, he stopped you, his hand folding over yours, taking the ring and showing you the inscription. An inscription you knew well, but still. ‘Amor?’ You asked, not understanding what he was aiming at.

‘Anagram for..’ He offered. You smiled, sighing. ‘Roma.’

‘Assolutamente mia cara.’ He smiled in fluent Italian, his fangs sparkling in the sun. Your August in the August sun. You giggled and poked him playfully in the arm, to which his smile grew into an equally playful grin. Quickly he pushed the ring in his hand onto his finger, catching your hand so he could pull it towards his face, his lips pressing a most gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Your August.

—

Five years earlier.

This London bar was rowdy, but “hip”. Young professionals with their cool clothes sipping on far too expensive cocktails and half a litre pints, their bodies on the roam, looking for entertainment for the night. You had been sitting at this bar for a good twenty minutes now and you wondered if you had just been stood up, but was unwilling to accept your faith just yet.

Sipping on your red wine you felt an unwelcome hand brush down your back. Which in all fairness could be accidental, since this bar was busy, but.. it wasn’t. It travelled down further, before testingly squeezing the meat of your buttocks, making you frown before you quickly turned on your bar stool. Your eyes met with a man whose hands were already raised up in the air, his whole being acting as if he was all innocent though he clearly was anything but.

‘Fuck off!’ You growled, making him shake with laughter. ‘Oh come on lil’ bird. I dinno do nuthin’!’ He feigned shock, pressing his hands into his chest. ‘Truly! Knights honour!’

‘Just fuck off will you?’ You warned, turning back around, not in the mood for these kind of shenanigans. You were supposed to be having this blind date with a man who, according to your best friend, was like “the perfect match” for you. Smart, suave, handsome. And..as of right now..not here.

Did he forget? Or was he maybe at a different bar, waiting for you too?

Another hand slipped around your waist and the annoying man was back for round two.

‘Hey baby, looks like you could use some cheerin’…’

‘FUCK OFF.’ You bit back, looking at him with seething eyes. He chuckled again, not willing to stand down and heed your more-than-clear warning. ‘Or what..sugar? Hmm.’ He laughed, pulling his whole arm around you and trying to squeeze himself in between the bar stools.

Thankfully, he couldn’t, the man on your right now turning around, picking up on the little kerfuffle.

‘Mate. Time for you to leave.’ He said, standing up and towering a good few inches above the other man. The annoying laugh died right on his lips as he looked up at the man, the man’s height not being the only advantage; he was much broader in build and from the looks of it he could pack a mean punch.

With the blink of an eye the annoying man disappeared into the crowd, the large man sinking back down on his seat, his hand moving back to his drink. A scotch or something equally honey-coloured and strong. You muttered a thanks and quickly looked back at the door as it swung open, another man entering.

‘Waiting for someone?’ The large man asked, fingers now wrapping around the tumblr glass. You stretched your neck to check the new-comer, deciding that wasn’t your date either. You shrugged, annoyance laying thick in your voice as you responded. ‘A date.’

‘Hmm..when should he arrive?’ His brows furrowed in honest curiosity, his deep blue eyes studying you. You quickly looked away, your hand gripping your glass of wine more tightly. A pained smile crossed your lips before you quickly retorted. ‘Pff..that’s not of interest to you, good sir. Thanks for the help though.’ You nodded. ‘Good night.’

You turned away from him a bit, nervous lips taking a sip of the wine. But you could still feel those mysterious eyes of his, burning into the back of your skull. 

What you didn’t see was that he was in fact no longer looking at you, his eyes now roaming around the bar, studying the crowd.

He hummed, his voice so deep and strong you could still hear him loud and clear. ‘Hmm..did he happen to mention that he’d be carrying anything with him?’

You frowned, turning on your seat to look at him with a mild confusion. ‘What?’

The man shrugged. ‘A..rose? By any chance?’ He smiled, then nodded at a man that was clearly trying to hook up with a brunette whose boobs were near falling out of her dress. A dress that was very similar to yours. A dress you had described for him to find. Oh you have got to be kidd...

You gasped, studying the two for another hot second before you turned your angry and clearly shocked gaze at the stranger next to you. You felt quite hurt, having sat here for twenty minutes, only for your date to apparently be hooking up with a girl just a few meters away. Feeling the embarrassment burn on your cheeks, you quickly slipped of your bar stool, taking your wine in your stride and disappearing in the crowd, hoping the dance floor would offer you some relief.

Well. It didn’t. After being pushed and pulled around, your wine near spilling over for at least a dozen times, you quickly emptied your drink and left the bar, a London-esque drizzle making you shiver in your winter coat. 

You had just called a cab and, seeing one stop right in front of the club, made you jump with delight. Your cab! Your…eh…hold on! You gasped as two other guests quickly jumped in your cab, the door already swooshing closed before you could start to protest.

This really wasn’t your night. Growling in quiet frustration you decided to forgo calling a new taxi, your tired feet clicking on the pavement as you started to walk home. And of course, as things seemingly couldn’t get worse..it started to rain. 

The thick cold water dripped heavily into your hair, slipping down your burning hot face. Hot with alcohol, dancing and..well..embarrassment. Your friend would sure get to hear all about this, because hot damn what an awful night it had been.

*SSWLIP*

An umbrella opened above your head. The frown on your face grew as you looked up, your tired brain taking a good moment to realise what was happening. First you saw the big black umbrella that was now shielding you from the rain. Then it was the face of that stranger again, his body now sporting a thick, dark grey wool trench coat and scarf. Quite dandy in combination with his neatly coiffed lob of curls and moustache.

Sighing you shook your head. ‘I really don’t need a..-‘

‘Let’s eat a slice of pizza and wait for the rain to pass then?’ He smiled, nodding at a 24/7 pizzeria just across the street. You frowned again, then felt your stomach growl at the mere thought of eating. Besides, you didn’t REALLY want to get wet.

‘Only pizza.’ You finally agreed, looking at his unfazed smile, his head nodding ever so slightly in agreement.

—

The Roman sun was losing its force as it sank down beneath the rolling hill tops, the scattering of ruins you were walking through being kissed with a golden hue. It was a perfect afternoon, most tourists having moved to see the parades, leaving you and your dear August in a relative quiet as you strolled through town.

You had never been in Rome before, so with true amazement you looked up at the huge pillars and foundations that lay before you, indicating just how huge these buildings had been. You could imagine the life here. How the streets must have bustled with markets and people dressed in rich silks, going about their daily business. What would it have smelled like? Tasted like? Looked like? You knew how colourful it probably had been - you had picked up a thing or two in college and the initial thought of pale white marble statues and buildings had long been debunked. Rome had been colourful. A melting pot of cultures, spices, people.

Just like it was right now, you thought, walking over a small pedestrian bridge with August’s arm wrapped around your waist, his large physique keeping you snug and safe. 

Beneath you a slow river streamed, its sound muffled over the laughter of playing children, running over the bridge, dodging around the few tourists that walked here. You smiled, seeing their happy faces, the remains of a previously devoured ice cream still sticking to their lips and noses.

You could feel his gaze on you, his arm pulling you even tighter towards his chest. You looked up, both your feet halting for a moment as your eyes met, his free arm moving to cup your cheek, tilting your head just so he could look at you better.

You had removed your hat and sunglasses now the sun was no longer burning into your heated skulls, offering him free access to your face whenever he pleased. He smiled, admiring eyes brushing over you.

‘How about..dessert first?’ He asked, a smirk playing at his lips. You raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on his broad chest. ‘To what do I own such pleasure, hmm?’ You jested. He quirked up a playful eyebrow, making the tumble of curls on his forehead shift. ‘Well, it’s our first holiday in..what was it..?’

‘Three whole years.’ You grinned, biting your lip.

‘And you still put up with me.’ He sniggered.

‘And you with me.’ You laughed, poking him, to which he growled, his strong arm pulling you flush against his chest, the hand cupping your cheek now holding you with a certain possessiveness.  Leaning down he brushed his lips over yours, your lips curling up in an amused chuckle, to which he bit down in your lip, his tongue quick to sooth whatever sting he caused. Which.. was exactly what August was. A playful combination of tender dominance, pain and pleasure working together in a heady mixture of love.

He leaned back ever so slightly, a cheshire grin gracing his beautiful lips. You smiled. ‘Mmm..I do know what I want as a real dessert.’ 

He hummed in agreement. ‘Mm-mmm. I can’t wait.’

—

Your apartment was quiet and the curtains were drawn, the bedroom smelling slightly tangy. Of blood, sweat and bitter medicine. Slipping inside you noticed he had not moved since you last checked on him, his body still propped in the pillows, eyes closed, arms folded over the blanket at either side of his body.

Your dear August.

How scared you had been when you learned he had gotten entangled in a cross-fire, your year-long boyfriend now suddenly so fragile and pale under the white sheets. But, you knew this was as much a part of him as you were. You knew who he was, what he did..and this..well this could happen.

With silent steps you moved around the bed, placing the tray with chamomile tea and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on the side table. His favourite cookies. You could hear him breathe in more deeply, his eyes still closed as he sniffled his nose, a grumble rumbling through his large chest. You smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed, moving to cup his cheek in your left hand.

‘Hey.’ You said softly.

‘Hmm..’ He hummed, eyes slowly opening. You smiled a sad smile, studying his face, seeing how tired he still was despite the weeks of rest, his skin still slightly pale and his beard grown out slightly. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter at the idea that he was alive and healing, make you beam with pride and happiness.

‘I missed you.’ He hummed, his voice croaking.

‘I was only in the kitchen.’ You admonished, your lips curling in a smile.

‘Mhm.’ He agreed, the mirth clear in his hazed blues. Slowly he moved his eyes to side glance the new treasures on the side table, his smile growing when he noticed the cookies.

‘Hmm.’ He smiled in satisfaction, his eyes moving back to you, the haze clearing, but instead making place for a darker hue.

Your breath choked as his hand reached down your arm, taking your hand and pulling it over his shoulder, making you topple over him. 

Even when severely wounded, he easily out-weighed you in strength, your other hand having to shoot up to steady yourself before you crashed right on top of his chest.

Suddenly you were hovering so close to him, your lips near inches removed from one another. He smiled, looking up into your eyes, waiting for you to kiss him. In fact he almost seemed to test you, his smile holding a teasing glint.

‘What?’ You smiled in turn, raising a testing eyebrow.

‘You smell of cookies.’ He breathed, deciding he couldn’t wait, a grunt leaving his lips as he pushed himself up, his lips locking with yours. You wished to push him back in the pillows, but he didn’t let you, his lips instead murmuring in sweet delight: ‘And you taste of them too.’

—

After your city stroll you found yourself sitting on some clanky plastic chairs, a large carafe of wine placed on the wobbly table. You weren’t quite sure why August had been so adamant on eating here, of all places, but at least the pizzas on other people’s plates looked good. Besides, it was super busy and that’s usually a good sign when you eat in some back-way street.

A waiter took your order, August taking it upon himself to order for you both, as his Italian was far better than yours. The waiter jotted something down on a little note block and smiled at you and August, his feet quickly moving to help some of his other guests.

‘Now dear wife. I’d like to introduce you to the best pizza in town.’ August smiled, raising his wine glass to his lips. You scrunched your nose, looking around, confusion clear on your face as you looked at the plastic tables that were squeezed together in this little alleyway.

‘Mmkay..So what’d you order?’ You asked suspiciously.

‘Your favourite.’ He said, smiling happily as the confusion on your face grew. ‘I have a favourite?’

—

‘Sorry love, we’re all out of salami.’ The man behind the 24/7 pizza counter shrugged.

You scowled, pressing your lips together in thought as you looked over the other slices behind the counter, the people in the line behind you sighing in impatience. You were really not one for making fast, pressured decisions. Especially not when you were having an off-day.

‘Quite your lucky day.’ His voice sounded behind you before he stepped in, following your gaze to also look at the slices. He leaned his umbrella on the tile floor and pointed at one of the slices.

‘A slice of Bufala please.’ He nodded at the man and with a few swift movements the slice was moved over the glass counter, the man behind the counter now looking back at you, expectantly. The umbrella-wielding stranger smirked and looked over his shoulder, seeing your puzzled face.  

‘Try a bite.’ He said, offering you his slice of pizza.

‘Naa..’ You waved him off, scrunching your face even more. ‘I want…mmm…I want ehh-.’

‘Try it.’ He repeated, more pressingly.

You looked up at him, then at the pizza, your stomach growling at the sight. The smile on his face grew as he raised a challenging eyebrow, noticing you were about to accept his offer. You frowned, but gave in, moving to grab the slice from his hand anyways. ‘Don’t think you’ll get a bit of my slice in turn.’ You warned.

He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Try. It.’

You kept your eyes trained on his mysterious blues, your mouth taking a tiny hesitant bite of his slice of pizza. And hot damn was it a good bite. You hummed, closing your eyes for a moment before you quickly shrugged yourself out of this exposition of utter delight. Opening your eyes again you were met with an amused grin on the strangers face, his hand carefully prying his slice of pizza from your clutches.

‘Fine. I’ll have one of those too.’ You muttered, looking at the man behind the counter who sighed in relief, his arms moving up to aim at the sky, waving them about with a sense of drama. ‘Mamma Mia! We have a converter! One Bufala coming up for the lady.’

You rolled your eyes, then thanked the man after you and the stranger both paid for your slices.

—

A pizza was put on the small, square plastic table, it’s sheer size big enough to nearly fill the whole surface. It was actually quite difficult to squeeze in the carafe of wine and two sets of cutlery, but you and August managed. Chuckling you took a sip of your wine as August started to cut the pizza into slices. 

It sure did look like an amazingly delicious pizza. A thin but sturdy crust, fresh dollops of buffalo mozzarella that had just melted on top of a rich tomato sauce. A few sprinkles of fresh basil and ..that was it. Simple but truly delicious.

Yep. This was your favourite.

‘I see.’ You nodded.

‘You like what you see?’ He smirked. You looked up, meeting his hungry gaze, though this time it wasn’t for pizza. It was for you.

‘Always.’

—

You and the stranger squeezed yourself in on a red leather bench that ran along the wall of the narrow 24/7 shop, the place completely filled with fellow late-night snackers. Finding a good spot, sitting close and shoulder-to-shoulder you dug into your cheesy slices of heavenly goodness, your eyes taking the time to study the small pizzeria.

You were sitting at tables covered in plastic red-white checkered table cloths, bright TL-lights flickering atop your heads and the air permeating with the welcoming smell of the pizza oven in the back. Smokey, cindering hot..cosiness. 

You felt the strangers arm shift next to you, his mouth catching a string of cheese that was trying to escape. You chuckled quietly, but quickly looked away when he noticed your gaze. Instead you looked at the other late night snackers. Fellow Londoners who talked so loudly you barely could hear your own thoughts. Truly..Brits weren’t the most charming of drunk people around. You snickered as one of the girls shrieked when some of the toppings of her pizza dropped down in her décolletage. Which truly..wasn’t a surprise as she was so busty you could probably stuff a few whole pizzas in there.

You looked back at your pizza. Cheesy, tomatoey goodness with quite the perfect crust. Crunchy, but chewy. With another hum you bit into your pizza, your eyes continuing to wander..though this time at the mysterious stranger besides you. A lock of curls flopped over his forehead, and just below his nose that silly moustache that kind of worked for him. And mind you, his smell which was overwhelmingly sexy somehow.

He noticed your gaze again, his tongue flicking over his glimmering lips before he locked his eyes with yours. Your pizza slowly lowered, near forgotten, as your eyes remained locked with his. He swallowed back the last of his bite, his pizza also forgotten as your eyes and his eyes were all there were in that moment.  

‘Hi.’ You blurted out, immediately scolding yourself for being so stupid. What was wrong with you?!

A quick smile washed over his lips before his eyes flicked for the shortest moment to your lips, then back to your eyes. His intention was clear and your breath choked, you eyes blinking as you saw him lean into you in near slow-motion. Closer…closer..closer. His blue eyes drowning out everything around you, until you felt a tickle on your upper lip. His moustache, the whiskers coarse on your tender skin. You shivered, feeling the softness of his warm lips on yours. And then his tongue flicked out, this time to caress your lips, first brushing over your upper lip before begging entrance.

You didn’t even know his name. But heck. The kiss deepened and you felt yourself getting swept away, body melting into his, your breath choking in this sweet, midnight..pizza-bliss.

—

‘Fuck kitten.’ He growled as he pushed the white dress off your shoulders, your lingerie immediately being admired by his roaming hands, his lips not leaving yours as he pulled you through the little hallway of the hotel room. He didn’t even bother to flick on the lights, his and your feet shuffling awkwardly past the furniture until you found the bed, your bodies tumbling on top of the bouncy mattress.

You let out an airy chuckle, feeling his body crawl on top of yours like it had a hundred times. Familiar calloused finger tips caressing your skin, the alcohol buzzing through your veins, your belly filled with a shamefully large amount of good food. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

‘One...’ He pressed a kiss on your belly. ‘..whole..’ His hot breath trailed up, his facial hair scratching and burning up your skin whenever you pushed air in your excited lungs. ‘..month.’ He whispered, pulling the cup of your bra down so he could lather your nipples with equally blazing trails of kisses. You snickered, fingertips brushing through his curls, legs looping around his strong thighs.

‘I missed you so much.’ You muttered, shivering beneath his wanton touches. Gods you missed him. This.

He hummed, then moved up, his dark timbre now suddenly so very close to your ears. You could nearly hear him smile. In fact you just knew he was smiling, his breath brushing over your cheeks.

‘And now ..for dessert…’

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. ‘Mmm…More like..for starters.’

Another Author’s note: Why Rome for me? 

2017. My boyfriend had one simple task..and that was ordering plane tickets for our holiday to Greece. Little did he know he forgot to check the “direct-flights” check box and next thing you know you are spending 12 hours on an airport near Rome. Not wishing to waste our precious holiday we booked train tickets and traveled to the city centre. What followed was a magical few hours running past tourist attractions to eat as much as we possibly could. Yes, my dear readers, that is love.

Tips:

- Best gelato (ice cream) - Gelateria del Viale - try the lemon flavour!! The texture’s so perfectly creamy and the slightly bitter, rich lemon flavour quenches your thirst like nothing else can.

- Best pizza (REALLY THOUGH) - Dar Poeta - the place looks clanky and cheap. But dear gods are their pizzas good. Later at the airport we found someone walking around with one of their pizza boxes; “I’m taking it home to my wife.” So yes; eat their pizza when you’re in town. You won’t regret it. 

--

Tagsquad: @tumblnewby @magdelen69​ 

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter One

Chapter Eight

Arthur struggled through the ever-deepening snowdrifts, hunched over as he braced himself against the wind. The fingers on his right hand were already frozen and stiff, and the metal of his prosthetic was so cold it burned where it met the remaining flesh of his arm. He cursed his stupidity for having gone outside in a blizzard with no coat or hoodie. Even with his vest zipped up and his hands tucked under his armpits, he shivered so hard the mechanic felt he might shake apart at any moment. Arthur wondered just what had prompted him to leave the safety of the van without proper protection from the cold. He’d like to think he had some self-preservation skills, though his recent actions had done little to support that claim, and he was sure Vivi at the very least would outright challenge the statement.

I have to find Mystery, he reminded himself. He couldn’t remember why it was so urgent that he find the kitsune though, only that it was. He’d long ago lost sight of the white shape in front of him, and Arthur had to wonder if he was even going in the right direction anymore. Still, he pushed onwards, compelled to keep moving forwards even if he didn’t understand why.

I have to find Mystery. The phrase had become a mantra he repeated with every step, a reminder of his single-minded purpose. Between the wind shrieking in his ears and the constant chattering of his teeth, he could hardly put together a cohesive thought outside of trying to locate his friend. He knew he should try harder to figure out what was happening and why he was out here, but he was so tired, and the cold was mind-numbing.

I have to find Mystery. Something nagged at the back of his mind that besides being hopelessly lost and half-frozen, something else wasn’t right. Some unnamed threat which loomed in the darkness. He just couldn’t recognize what it was. The temperature outside plummeted even further, and a particularly icy blast of air seemed to freeze him to the very core. Arthur shivered, not just due to the bitter cold, but from memories he’d buried long ago as they began to resurface.

---

It had been a long drive to reach Uncle Lance’s home in Tempo, and the hours spent under the summer sun had caused the temperature inside the car to climb to an almost unbearable degree. His dad had told him that rolling down the windows was just as good as running the air conditioning, but Arthur was unconvinced. He was beginning to suspect that Uncle Lance didn’t call the old station wagon his father drove “lemon” just because of its bright yellow paint. For the first half of their trip, Arthur had done his best to distract himself from the heat by playing with his Game Boy Color, and after its batteries had died, he’d resorted to trying to keep cool by letting the wind blow through his hair, his arm dangling out the open window. At least, up until his father had laughed and said that was a good way to lose a limb. Arthur had promptly yanked his arm back inside the car and, despite the sweltering Texas heat and his dad assuring him he’d only been joking, rolled up the window for good measure. By the end of the journey, they were both covered in sweat and even his dad’s sunny disposition had begun to waver.

As the door to his uncle’s home swung inward, the blast of cool air that washed over him made Arthur shiver in relief. Lance usually accepted his brother’s unannounced visits with practiced ease, welcoming them in with a rough “get in here before you let the cool air out” and strong-armed, back-slapping hugs. They would come by when his dad was between gigs as a roadie sometimes or when the car needed repairs. This particular visit felt different though. There were no bone-breaking, lift-you-off-the-ground hugs between the two brothers, no boisterous laughter as they greeted each other. Instead, Lance had merely met them both with a dark, raised eyebrow, the stout man nearly eyelevel with his scrawny, preteen nephew. Maybe it was because it was so hot out and they were both sweaty, or maybe they’d come at a bad time. Either way, the tense situation made Arthur shift uncomfortably, the added weight of his heavy backpack threatening to throw him off balance. They must be staying for a while this time. Arthur had almost everything he owned crammed into the old bag he lugged around, the zippers threatening to burst under the strain. As usual, his dad hadn’t done any packing of his own, and would probably end up heading out to the car half a dozen times throughout the night to grab various items, Uncle Lance grumbling good-naturedly the whole time.

“Hey, buddy,” his dad said, ruffling his hair, “Me and your uncle are going to go check out the car, take a look under the hood. Why don’t you go get settled in? We can order some pizza for dinner later.” Arthur meekly nodded his head and shuffled past his uncle in the doorway, eager to escape the tense atmosphere that no one was acknowledging. The old mechanic twitched his lips up into a brief smile as Arthur passed, which the young boy nervously returned. His uncle’s serious, gruff nature was intimidating at times. When Arthur had first met the taciturn man, he worried that Uncle Lance didn’t like him. His dad had laughed off his concerns though and told him that’s just how Lance was, and without kids of his own, his uncle would simply need some time to get used to him.

Arthur passed through the familiar hallways of his uncle’s home until he reached the spare room he and his dad usually stayed in. Normally, it served as a kind of office or storage space for Uncle Lance’s business, with instruction manuals, receipts, and spare parts scattered amongst a few personal items. There was an old wrestling belt and a framed picture of Arthur and his father on the wall above the sleeper sofa they used. The bed was already folded out and made up with clean sheets and pillows, and Arthur wondered if their spontaneous visit had truly been unexpected. His dad had announced their trip a couple of days ago, and they’d been on the road driving to their destination ever since. Arthur had gone out to get some ice for their motel room and come back to see his father deep in conversation on the old telephone the room came with. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad so serious. His father had cutoff midsentence once he’d spotted Arthur, looking inexplicably guilty before saying a hurried goodbye to whoever was on the other line. The young boy could only make out the speaker’s agitated tone of voice, distorted by the crummy receiver, before his dad hung up the phone. With his father’s usual smile plastered back on his face, everything seemed to have returned to normal, and Arthur was told to pack his things because they would be leaving first thing in the morning to visit his uncle.

Now that they had arrived, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong, like he was missing something. Some vital clue he should have picked up on that would have helped him to make sense of what was going on around him. He shouldered his backpack off onto the bed, intent on starting to unpack his things. Instead, he only worried at the zippers, his thoughts too troubled to focus on the task at hand. He felt as if there was an answer right in front of him that he just couldn’t see. After several fruitless minutes, Arthur gave up on unpacking his bag and left to find his father and uncle. He wandered through his uncle’s home, searching for the two adults, before being drawn to the garage door by the sounds of an argument. Despite being nervous about being caught eavesdropping, Arthur pressed his ear to the door to listen.

“Just think about what yer doin’ for once, Percy,” Uncle Lance said in a low, dangerous voice.

“It’s just going to be for a little while,” Arthur’s father replied, his usual cheerful tone sounding strained.

“You an’ I both know that’s not true!”

“This latest gig will last a month or two, tops,” his dad said, and then, after the slightest of pauses, so small Arthur could almost convince himself he’d imagined it, “Then I’ll be back.”

“No,” Lance insisted stubbornly, “I know that look in yer eye, I seen it before. Saw it when my baby brother up an’ dropped out of high school, hit the road, an’ didn’t drop his family a line for a full year to even let us know he was alright!” Arthur’s dad sighed heavily.

“Look, Arthur’s starting to grow up, you know? The whole ‘on-the-road’ lifestyle isn’t really doin’ him any favors. He’s smart, but there’s only so much I can teach him. Kid doesn’t really have any friends, either. He could really benefit from going to school, meeting kids his age and getting a real education.”

“If this is really about his best interests, why don’t you stay here with him?” Lance pressed, “Settle down finally. Get a steady job in town. Hell, I’ll hire you.” The only response was silence.

“Yer not leaving Arthur here so he can ‘grow up’,” Lance growled, “Yer stickin’ me with yer kid so you don’t have to!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing! I didn’t plan on becoming a parent!” His father shouted angrily.

“You are one though, an’ yer not gonna figure this one out by runnin’ away from it!”

“I’m trying, okay? If it was just about keeping him fed or entertained or whatever, it’d be fine, but…he’s different. I thought he’d outgrow it, but that last show I worked, you know, with that rock band? He had one of his…fits halfway through the set. He kicked up such a fuss they had to stop the show and everything. The guys on stage were cool about it, but, well… Would do him some good to have someone like you help toughen him up.”

“Percy, I know you’ve got yerself convinced yer doing what’s best for him, but that’s not what it looks like from my perspective, and that certainly ain’t what it’s gonna look like from his. Of all the selfish, irresponsible—”

“I love my son!”

“I’m not the one yer gonna have to try an’ convince if you go through with this.”

The rest of the argument was lost to the ringing in his ears as Arthur quickly backed away from the garage. So there was something wrong. What was worse, it seemed like it had something to do with him. He retraced his steps to the spare room, his breath coming in progressively shorter gasps. He’d had episodes like this before. “Fits”, his dad called them. It happened from time to time at the concerts his father worked, like when the music was too loud or there were too many strangers crowded around him, though those hadn’t been the only incidents. One time had left him feeling so dizzy and lightheaded afterwards, his dad had taken him to an emergency room. The doctor who had given him a checkup had called it a “panic attack”, suggesting they reach out to a specialist to talk. He never got the chance though, their transient lifestyle requiring them to leave town the very next day. His dad tried his best to help, telling him to relax and dismissing his fears as silly, but Arthur just couldn’t do the same.

With his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, Arthur closed the door to the spare room behind him and promptly dumped out the contents of his backpack onto the bed, frantically searching for anything that might help calm him down. His eyes settled on his Game Boy and he snatched it off the bed before sitting down on the floor. With its batteries run down, he wouldn’t be able to distract himself by playing a game, but there was something comforting and familiar about holding the small dandelion-colored console nonetheless. He ran his thumb over the control pad—up, right, down, left—again and again. Gradually his breathing slowed, and the fuzzy edges receded from his vision. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Uncle Lance entered the room, frowning as he did so.

“You alright, kid?” his uncle asked, “Yer lookin’ kinda pale.”

“Y-Yeah, just cool-cool-cool—” Arthur shook his head, trying to dislodge the word he’d gotten stuck on.

“Cooling off,” he finished lamely.

“…Alright. Well, pizza’s on its way. Should be here in about thirty minutes. Yer dad ordered the usual,” Lance said gruffly. Arthur gulped and nodded his head. His stomach felt as if it was twisted up in knots, and the thought of eating anything made him feel vaguely queasy. His uncle paused for a moment, as if to say something else, before giving up with a sigh and walking away.

The pizzas arrived right on time, and long before Arthur was ready. He, his dad, and his uncle all sat around the small kitchen table Lance owned, paper plates loaded up with hot, greasy pizza slices. His dad joked and laughed, smiling the whole time, as if nothing were wrong. Uncle Lance barely said a word, only letting out the occasional grunt, while Arthur nibbled half-heartedly at the pizza in front of him. They’d ordered the Meatzilla and Atomic Aloha, with extra pineapple and jalapeño peppers, Uncle Lance and his father’s favorite pizzas respectively. Normally, Arthur was happy to share with his Uncle Lance, the Atomic Aloha being too spicy for him to enjoy, but now the pizza he did force down sat heavily in his guts. When they’d all finished eating and Lance cleaned the paper plates and used napkins off the table, his dad had asked him to stay behind. His father told him that he had a new gig, but this time, Arthur was going to stay behind with Uncle Lance, just for a couple of months while he was gone. Arthur wanted to tell him not to go, but he simply nodded along, his thoughts muddled and his stomach churning unhappily.

His father left within the hour, assuring him that he would be back soon and that he loved him very much. He ruffled Arthur’s hair as walked out the door, leaving the young boy behind to sit on the couch with his uncle in the living room. Uncle Lance opened his mouth as if to speak several times, but always closed it with an uncertain look in his eye, the silence instead filled by reruns of old wrestling matches playing on the TV quietly. Eventually, Arthur excused himself, saying he was turning in for the night. He entered the spare room and flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to clear away the contents of his backpack he’d haphazardly dumped on top of the sheets. He curled up and cried, tossing and turning miserably as the pizza he’d eaten failed to settle in his stomach. The harder he cried, the worse he felt, and the sick feeling grew until Arthur had no choice but to rush to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He was still kneeling by the toilet, the cool tiles of the floor pressed against his hands and knees, when he felt a hesitant hand, rough and calloused, pat him on the back.

“It’s okay,” Uncle Lance said, “I’ve got you.”

---

Released from the grip of his memories, Arthur found himself kneeling in the snow. The cold seeped even deeper into his bones with his arms and legs sunk way down into the snowbank. The mechanic struggled back to his feet and scanned the horizon for his forgotten destination.

I have to find Mystery, Arthur reminded himself, tucking his arms tight against his body as he resumed his steadfast march. His breath fogged before him, looking like a silver mist that disappeared just as quickly as the memory had. He couldn’t even recall what it was he’d been thinking about despite the tears frozen on his face. Something about when he’d come to live with Uncle Lance. But hadn’t he always lived with his uncle? He just couldn’t remember. He pushed the doubts and confusion from his mind as he continued to trudge numbly through the snow.

I have to find Mystery.

He felt raw and weary, like an exposed nerve. Where were the others? Why had he been left behind? Abandonment had always been an issue for him, though he didn’t understand why. Uncle Lance had always been there for him. Still, whatever had caused that fear to take root was only exasperated after Lewis and Vivi had started dating.

I have to find…

It had been hard seeing them so happy together. It left Arthur with a complex mix of emotions where he was glad for his friends yet jealous at the same time, which gave way to shame for feeling so awful when he should have been excited and supportive. He was just waiting for the day they’d tell him they didn’t want him around or need him anymore. He’d been distancing himself slowly so that when the time came maybe, maybe it wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Instead, it just made him more miserable to see how happy his friends were without him. Then there was the cave.

I have to…

His weakness had let whatever that thing was take control of him. He could still only remember bits and pieces of what happened, even months later. Everything was hazy up to the point he woke up in a hospital bed without his arm, jumping out of his skin if Mystery so much as twitched an ear. Vivi was like a blank slate, and Lewis was missing.

I…I have to find Lewis.

Arthur watched as another thin stream of silver left his mouth, whirling away into the wind. He felt drained, his mind foggy. He must have found a lead to his missing best friend out here, wherever this was. Still, he’d wished he’d brought a coat or something. But if he could find his friend and bring him back, it’d be worth it, whatever it took. Arthur called out for Lewis as loudly as he could, the name broken into pieces by his stutter and chattering teeth. He had to be close by if he’d made the decision to leave Vivi and the van behind. Arthur kept shouting, his voice becoming hoarse as he sucked in deep lungfuls of frigid air, trying to be heard over the howling wind. A desperate sense of urgency fueled him, tinged with a guilt and remorse he couldn’t quite place, which nonetheless helped propel him onwards through the snow.

I have to find Lewis!

[dennou-translations]

Tokushima Shinbun Interview with Yano Shougo

Interviewing Yano Shougo-san, who has starred for the first time in the topical anime “Given” and is originally from Tokushima. “I wanted to be an actor that would make people go, ‘I’m glad I entrusted the role to him’.”

Yano Shougo-san (30), who is from Tokushima and belongs to the troupe Super Eccentric Theater (SET), played a starring role for the first time as a voice actor in the anime “Given”, which aired from July to September on Fuji TV. “Given” is a heartrending story that centers itself around a romance between men from the same rock band. Having received high evaluations for his acting and singing voice, which portrayed with excellence the delicate emotions of the protagonist, Satou Mafuyu, Yano-san has told us about the feelings he put into the role and about his future goals.

Raw || Index || Ko-fi/PayPal ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

——Good job on your first starring. Please tell us again about your impressions from when you were entrusted with the leading role.

Thank you very much. Playing a leading role in an anime series was my goal for 2019, so when my manager contacted me saying that I had passed the audition, I was happy to the point of shedding tears, but at the same time, I was also relieved. I could not sleep a wink the day before the recording of episode one, and at any rate, I was nervous. On the recording day, I was thinking as I headed to the studio, “It’d be great if the recording were tomorrow”, but I got over it a little by the moment that I thought, “If this anxiety would continue until tomorrow, then it’s actually better for it to be today!” and I remember relaxing straight away at it

——Yano-san, your fragile voice was a perfect fit for Mafuyu. What did you keep in mind when performing him? Were there any points that differed greatly in comparison to the roles you have been playing until now?

Mafuyu has an extremely painful past, unable to move a single step from where he was, as he bore a huge wound. Still, he has proper thoughts and feelings of his own, as well as a stubborn side, and though he has a mild and introverted personality, I figured that he was someone who had a strong core.

Other than that, when I saw him playing basketball with his friends, smiling and earnestly absorbing himself completely in music, I had the impression that he was a “high school boy that you can find anywhere”. This was something I always cherished when performing.

I have played uke roles before, but this was the first one where so many of my lines were “...” (laughs).

——What parts of Mafuyu do you think you have in common, Yano-san, and what parts are the total opposite of you?

I think we are just a little bit alike in that we are greedy about the things we like, and we are unable to concentrate on anything else when there is something that we need to do our best in order to achieve. What I feel to be the opposite is that Mafuyu gives off the impression that he is a big shot in some way, even without speaking much, while I am talkative and shy (laughs).

——You were also in charge of singing the insert song and ending theme song.

I knew ever since the audition phase just how essential Mafuyu’s song was for the series, so rather than my being happy about singing, the pressure was much more prominent. As a matter of course, the frequency of my voice training soon increased, and learned the basics and techniques of singing as much as time allowed me to. When I was first told about the composition, I thought, “This song was made for Mafuyu’s sake”. That is exactly why, rather than the technique, I reflected about why and how Mafuyu would be singing those lyrics, as well as the emotions that would be overflowing from him, and I thought I should sing it with care, without sugarcoating it.

——What did you keep in mind when singing as Mafuyu?

The song that Mafuyu sings bears his definite resolve to face his past and live in the present, thus I believed that I had to make it into something like a love confession, so to say - a song that could be sung because Mafuyu was the one doing it. For this, of course, technique was important, but I kept in mind that it would be okay even if it was rough-hewn or even if my voice faltered, as long as I sang in a way that would spit out everything Mafuyu had been shouldering.

——Although Noitamina has produced countless master piece animes, this has been their first Boys Love (BL), a series that depicts romance between males, so was there anything you were particularly conscious of when performing?

There was not. Just as I do when performing roles from other series, I performed while keeping in mind that I was going to live in the world of “Given” as Mafuyu with all my might.

——I believe there was such a huge response to “Given” due to its painful content, but did it get to your ears?

There are many fans of the original work not only in Japan but also overseas, so I became aware once again of the popularity of “Given”. That is just how high the expectations were for the anime adaptation, and I wanted people to like it even more when watching the anime, so I was truly happy when I actually did get evaluations like that on Twitter, etc.

——The airing of the anime “Given” is over, but a movie adaptation was green-lit. Please leave a message for the fans.

The story of “Given” will continue from now on too. I hope everyone can watch over what kind of sounds will come from Mafuyu’s song, Given’s (as in the band that Mafuyu and the others formed in the show) music and their romance from now onward.

——From here on out, Yano-san, I want to ask you about yourself. It seems you wanted to be an announcer at first.

I had the vague desire to move into the television business, and from yet another vague motive of wanting to become an announcer and engage with my favorite variety show, I started thinking in my third year of high school that I wanted to be an announcer.

——Why did you aim for voice actor from there?

After graduating from high school, I took a gap year in order to attend university, and during that time, I watched “Neon Genesis Evangelion” as per a friend’s recommendation, so with this as the trigger, I became interested in anime. I had almost never watched anime until then and was unfamiliar with voice actors, so I was shocked when I read in the end roll that Ogata Megumi-san was the one who played the role of Ikari Shinji, a boy, thus I became interested in them.

——Was there anything you put effort into in order to become a voice actor?

During my gap year, I watched many animes, looked up the voice actors that piqued my curiosity and imitated their acting, and performed lines from anime and manga with as much emotion as I could. I also bought a training book for becoming a voice actor and practiced enunciation while keeping it a secret from my family.

——What are the details of your joining SET?

I was was part of a the theater research association in university, but when I was in my fourth year, I once gave up the way of an actor and went job hunting. Even so, I wanted to have a job that was related to acting, so I took the recruitment test of a major production company hoping to become a manager, but during the individual interview, the person in charge told me, “Are you really all right with giving up on becoming an actor? If you want to be a voice actor, then go study theatre”.

And so, I began wanting to challenge myself one more time, so I stopped job hunting and after looking into audition magazines, I took an audition to become a research student of SET, where I could learn the essentials for musical, action and comedic theatre. I became a research student at 23, and after about a year of lessons and a graduation performance, I became an official member at the age of 24.

——Please tell us about the works and roles you did before your voice actor debut.

During my first year in becoming a troupe member, I played the role of Saburou, the protagonist of the TV anime “Nobunaga Kyousoukyoku”, as a motion actor - the kind of actor who does the gestures that are used as base for the characters’ movements.

I also participated in the troupe’s own public performance. It was a role where I had to drink coffee and say only one phrase, “It’s sweet”. It was a sentence that connected with a funny punchline, so I had been thinking all along about how I should act it out in order to induce laughter, and even during the performance, I did many attempts.

——After that, you debuted as a voice actor in the anime “Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V”.

When I was selected, I was really happy to be able to take the voice acting job that I had once given up on. I was brimming with confidence for some reason, even though I had no experience points. But when I went to the studio, I was no good at all; I would get nervous every week and had to stay overtime a lot, so I honestly hated going to the studio (laughs). Even so, thanks to the director and all the co-stars not throwing away someone like me, who did not know left and right, and instead nurturing me during the three years of “Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V”, I changed my thinking and posture in regards of acting.

——Afterward, you became capable of being entrusted with important roles, such as in “iDOLM@STER SideM” and “Tsurune —Kazemai Koukou Kyuudoubu—“, but were there any parts of them where you could feel your own growth?

In that I started thinking it was fun to perform. Even now, I still get nervous when going on-site, but as I would read the script, think about the role and create a foundation for my acting, I feel like I have become able to perform in front of the mic by responding to the acting of the person playing the other role, without thinking about unnecessary things, little by little. The moment I feel that the air has set to motion and it has turned into a drama is, if nothing else, enjoyable. I started having challenges, aspirations and goals for myself, such as, “I want to perform like this more” or, “I could bring this role into life more if I performed like that”.

——What are the fun and difficult parts of voice acting? Please tell us about your future goals too.

I believe the fun in being a voice actor is that we can perform roles that would be difficult in filming or on a stage.

There are many things that you can only learn in a recording site. When I go to them, I find a whole lot of people who are better at acting than I am, so I have to earn a role for myself. I fail most of my auditions and get depressed each time. Even so, I want to keep showing up in those series and play a role that moves the story. I always strongly think that I want to become an actor who can make people go, “I want to use Yano for this” and, “I’m glad I entrusted this role to Yano”.

——From now on, between actor and voice actor, which one to you plan to put more strength into?

Voice actor. That being said, in order to broaden my ranges as an actor too, I think I have to take on all kinds of jobs that require technique for different facial expressions on-stage. For us voice actors, charming people are mostly those who are also charismatic on the stage, so I think I also want to become a charming actor.

——Are you able to return to Tokushima regularly even now?

I make sure to go back as often as I can during summer vacation and New Years.

——Are there any parts of your life in Tokushima that have been put to good use in your acting jobs?

I seldom have any chance to come in contact with anything related to acting in Tokushima. Even if I had interest in voice actors and acting, wanted to attend a training school or thought about going to watch a play, they were all things that could not come true if I stayed in Tokushima. That is why I created many opportunities to come in contact with acting after moving to Tokyo, such as joining my university’s theatre research association and attending a school where I could study voice acting. I think I could cultivate something like a hungry spirit exactly because I used to live in Tokushima.

——If there is anything or any place in Tokushima that you like, please tell us.

Awa Dance, I guess. I did not like it that much when I was little, but after I became an adult, the group dance I watched from a box seat was stunning, and it made me so emotional that I started crying.

Also, the park that my grandfather often took me to when I was a child, though I don’t know if it still exists. I would put rice balls and pickled horseradish in a big plastic container and go there. I have memories of eating them with cold tea from a polyethylene teapot with my grandfather, after playing badminton. I want to do the same with my children and grandchildren when I become a parent and a grandpa.

——Yano-san, since you have made your dream come true, please leave a message to the young people who are chasing their dreams in Tokushima.

Time passes in a flash. For now, please do what you can with all your might. It can be anything, like classes, club activities, cultural festivals, sports festivals or romance.

If there is anything you can work your hardest in over there, please try facing it with all you have. It will certainly become a sustenance for your life from this point onward. I believe that it is better to do something and regret it than to regret not having done it.

Should there be anyone aiming to become an actor, please take action while constantly thinking about how you can get closer to the future that you have as your goal. I think there are surely many things you can do even if you are in Tokushima.

If you do not know what you should do after doing a research and reflecting on it, have courage and go consult someone who can give advice. Nothing is in vain, but rather than spending time not thinking about anything, I believe that spending time thinking about whatever is more worthwhile.

Please do your best. I will do my best too.

——Please leave a message for the fans who are cheering for you from Tokushima.

Thank you so very much for supporting me. The other day, when I took part in a recital play being held in Tokushima, I was able to show my acting to my family for the first time. They were very pleased.

Most events are held in the Tokyo Metropolitan Area, so I believe that people cannot go watch them even if they want to. My wish for more and more people to experience an event in Tokushima and see me working has become even stronger.

I will be doing my best from now on too in order to be able to take part in more series, play all kinds of roles, get to do an event in Tokushima again someday and have people come talk to me. I will be counting with your continued support from this point onward too.

[mithranqueersmusings]

Before This Dance Is Through XI

Chapter: 11/16

Rating: E (Smut Warning)

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo spent a lot of time late at night scrolling through George's Onlyfans profile over the next few days; he was eager to go back to the club but he didn't want George to know that he was eager, so he made do with the plethora of erotica George had supplied. Each time Ringo loaded up the page his eyes would always focus on the 'Message' button, he'd stare at it for a while and debate whether or not he should do it. How likely it was that George would reply was completely unknown to him, but it was definite that if he didn't even send a message then he'd never get a reply. Ringo's account was entirely plain, with no reference to his actual self in any way, so it wasn't as though George would know it was him. But Ringo was still hesitant, he didn't like that this was the only method of contact available to him nor that he'd be hiding behind an anonymous profile. Yet every time he'd load up the page his thumb would hover over it for a few seconds, his curiosity was beginning to overpower the desire to even speak to George. What would he even say?

John was still busy working on his poetry, how busy he actually was Ringo would never truly know, so there was no chance of dragging him along to The Helter Skelter. Going alone would look too strange, Ringo had decided, he was so afraid that George would catch on to exactly how much Ringo liked him. Messaging him was the only viable option left, because even wanking himself off every night to George's photos was beginning to lose its novelty.

It was late at night and Ringo lay in bed in his boxers, it was far too hot to sleep in anything more at the moment. The light had been switched off and so began the nightly routine, loading up George's photos and asking himself the same question: did he dare message him? Ringo wasn't sure what convinced him that night, whether he was just sleepy enough that his inhibitions had begun to waver or he was really getting that desperate, but something fuelled him on.

        hey

Ringo stared at his own words long enough that his vision began to blur. Was that enough? He had no idea what his aims were with this, he just wanted something. Even if George went on a rant about how he hated weird creeps messaging him late at night, at least it'd be something. A few minutes passed and Ringo just lay there clasping his phone in both hands. Was George even going to reply? He could've been working, or busy doing something or someone else, for all Ringo knew. But he felt like if he stared at the screen it'd somehow make it more likely that George would reply. His eyes began to droop when his phone suddenly vibrated, he worried that it was another of John's late night texts, but it wasn't.

       hi there

Now what? Ringo wasn't exactly sure what the etiquette of this situation was. He'd had his fair share of dirty conversations over text, but is that what this was? Surely it wasn't just somewhere to talk about the weather.

        how are you?

Ringo almost cringed when he sent the message, if George didn't respond after this he wouldn't have blamed him. It was like paying for a prostitute only to sit them down and ask them if they'd seen any good films lately. At least Ringo knew George wasn't working, he wouldn't have guessed that he'd waste his breaks messaging potential weirdos, but then he again he didn't have a clue.

        just peachy         and yourself?

        better now

A little cliche, not to mention desperate, but overthinking about his responses would've been a sure way to kill the conversation completely.

        arent you sweet?         what you up to?

        just lying in bed

        alone?

        as always         what about you?

        sitting in the bath         want to see?

        yes

Ringo had written 'please' at first, but realised how pathetic that might look. The speed of the replies had been rapidly increasing up until this point, and in this lull Ringo couldn't help getting a little excited knowing that George was taking a photo of himself at this very moment; even if he wasn't in the bath at all and this pause was a result of him scrolling through his photos to try and find one that matched the fictitious scenario, Ringo didn't care, he was going to allow himself to be optimistic. It wasn't too long before a photo appeared in the chat, blurry at first before Ringo selected to enlarge it, which he did without hesitation.

This wasn't the first time Ringo had seen a photo like this, he remembered very well the photos George had posted a while back of him in the bath, but this didn't look like merely a rejected photo from that session, which allowed him to believe it was contemporary, just for him. George's face was barely in the picture, which was a little disappointing to Ringo but he could hardly complain when his own profile picture was the default one. The bath water was a soft pink colour, no doubt from one of those luxurious bath bombs that Ringo loved the smell of but never bought for himself. One of George's slim legs was lifted up out of the water, gleaming and wet, while his bare chest was fully exposed. Only the bottom of his sharp jawline could be seen, but there was no doubt that this was George, Ringo knew his face well enough by now. It was nothing too explicit, his genitalia completely hidden under the water, but that wasn't really what Ringo was interested in; just to see his beautiful body was more than enough.

Ringo wasn't quite sure what to say in response, if this had been one of his boyfriends it would've been a different story, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. He didn't want to jump into anything too extreme too quickly, scaring George off now would've wounded Ringo deeply.

        wow         beautiful

Simple yet effective, Ringo told himself. He wanted to avoid saying too much, which was almost always his problem.

         your turn

Shit. Ringo threw the covers off himself immediately then lay there frozen. If only he'd had some old photos saved, but he had gotten sick of John rifling through his phone with zero warning then giving critiques on his nudes, which was uncomfortable for a variety of reasons. Ringo had never thought he'd been that good at taking them, especially when compared to the standard of George's photos, they were practically art compared to his own. The last thing he wanted was to look like those sleazy, crude photos that John would always receive on Grindr with no context. There was only a short window to do this, if he took too long George would no doubt lose interest, so he quickly rolled over and stretched over to turn the lamp on his bedside table on to provide at least a little bit of lighting. He couldn't show his face, that was a given, which means he'd have to take things to the next level. He was already half-hard, he had George's pictures to thank for that, and it didn't take more than a few pumps to get him the rest of the way there, especially with the thought that he was doing this for George.

It wasn't the most flattering picture he'd ever taken, one hand pulling down the waistband of his boxers and the other awkwardly angling the phone to take the photo, but it wasn't the worst either. As he sent it, he could feel his heart thumping in his chest and he wasn't sure whether it was from all the erratic movement or something a little deeper.

         youre hot          wanna suck your dick

Well that was certainly one way to escalate things. Ringo let out a quiet gasp when he read the message, here he was being so nervous about overstepping any boundaries when George entirely throws them out the window.

         oh yeah?

         yeah          you wanna fuck me?

Ringo had no trouble maintaining an erection from this point onward. As much as he knew this wasn't anything more than meaningless dirty talk, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. Whether George was doing this for money or just to get off, Ringo didn't really care; he slid his hand under the fabric of his boxers and began stroking himself.

        god yes

        how would you fuck me?         i like it rough

        i bet you do         would love to spank that arse while i fuck you

        mmm yes please         bet your big cock would feel so good in my ass         are you touching yourself?

        yes

        good

It wasn't the easiest thing to do: wanking and trying to type with one hand, but Ringo was somehow managing it.

         youre so gorgeous

         speak for yourself          have you ever seen me dance?

         yes

Ringo wasn't sure why he told the truth, his mind was considerably muddy by this point.

         and what did you think?

         so so hot          its so hard not to touch you when you look that good

         touch me then          i want you to

         wish i could          wish i could have you all to myself

         what would you do to me?

That was the real question. What would Ringo do? What he wanted to do was easy, but if George had walked into his bedroom at that very second the only thing he'd really be capable of doing was probably fainting.

         anything and everything          i want you so badly          id do anything to have you right now

         why me?

         do you really have to ask?          youre absolutely stunning          you can turn me on just by looking at me

         lucky me          id like to do a little more than just look at you

         like what

         suck your cock          its so big i dont know if i could take it all          but id try

         god          id love to see that

         then id ride you          nice and slow          let you watch your cock slide in and out of me

Ringo could already feel his orgasm building, he felt a little embarrassed that it had been so easy. He tried to slow his movements but it only made things worse, he couldn't help imaging the tightness of his hand being replaced by George. He wondered if George was touching himself too, if he was enjoying this at all; it was best not to think about it.

         then id flip you over and really fuck you          grabbing your arse while i pound you          is that what you want?

         fuck yes          want you choke me          make me pass out on your cock

This was bordering on unknown territory now; Ringo wasn't exactly vanilla in bed but he definitely wouldn't describe himself as adventurous, kinky even. But the thought of his hand wrapping around George's slender throat, his rings pressing against the skin, made his hand stutter.

         youre dirty arent you?

         only if you want me to be          ill let you do anything you want

         i bet you would

         you can tie me up          gag me if you want          as long as i get your cock

Ringo had no idea what he should expect when he'd sent the first message, but it was certainly wasn't this. It should've been no surprise that George could make him come undone with just his words, and a very enticing photo. He wished they could've kept speaking for hours, but with every message that became more and more unlikely.

         shit          im getting close

         so soon?          i want to cum with you

         i want to cum inside you

         i prefer it on my face          id look so pretty with your cum all over me

         i bet you would

         or i could swallow it          wrap my mouth around your fat cock          taste your hot cum          i wouldnt waste a drop

He cursed himself for getting so close so quickly, especially when things were getting so heated now. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop the images conjuring in his mind: George's sharp face covered with his orgasm, that charismatic grin spreading over his face as he licked as much as he could manage. Some of it falling into his dark hair, over his long eyelashes. It would be an entire new level of beauty, and Ringo needed to see it. He'd begun moaning aloud while he jerked himself, his wrist had begun to ache from holding up the heavy phone for so long.

         im so close

         me too

Whether George was actually touching himself or not, Ringo didn't care. He'd let himself believe that George was lying in the bath, or on his bed in nothing but a loose towel, with his hand wrapped around himself while he thought of Ringo. Even if he didn't know it was him, if all he'd seen was below the neckline, he didn't care; it was all he needed.

         fuck i wish you were here          want to fuck you until i explode          wanna watch my cum dripping out of you

         god yes          please fill me up with your cum          i want it          i need your cum

         im almost there          fuck

         mmm good          give me that cum          please please          cum for me

That was enough for Ringo; he could hear the words in his mind as if George was really saying them to him. It was the most intense orgasm he'd had for a while, and he'd been having a lot of them. He dropped the phone in his exhaustion, falling down onto the bed while he breathed raggedly. Sweat was forming on his forehead, making his hair stick in places. Several seconds passed before he finally picked the phone up again, the clarity was beginning to form which made him question what he'd just done but it was too late to go back now.

         that was amazing

         it sure was          goodnight

Ringo tried not to be hurt by the bluntness of the end, but he supposed George too was having that moment of mental purity which made you want to discard whatever you'd been so obsessed with right up until the moment you finish. He stared at the words for a few moments, exhaustion beginning to take over paired with the realisation that he needed to get up and sort himself out. He would've let the phone drop back onto the bed and got himself suitable for sleep, he would've if that next message hadn't sent. It was only one word, and Ringo had been certain he'd read it wrong or that his eyes were playing some sort of strange trick on him. After realising what he was seeing was in fact real, he couldn't put the phone down but that was about the limit of what he could do; should he send another message? Surely not. Should he delete his account then flee the country? Maybe that a was a little dramatic. In the end he did nothing, just glared at the word as if it would somehow vanish or send him back in time so that he could've never message George in the first place.

A single word, that's all it took to send Ringo into this internal frenzy, his eyes bulging wide and his heart racing. Not just a mere word, a name; his name.

         ringo

Shit. How did he know? Had Ringo been that obvious? The whole reason he'd been comfortable sending any of those messages was because he thought he was safe behind his blank and anonymous profile.

But maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all. If George knew it was him, whether from the start or not, he'd still stayed messaging him throughout the entire thing. He'd called him hot, he'd told him to touch him. Had all that been genuine? This wasn't meant to over-complicate things, it was meant to be a one-off moment of weakness on Ringo's behalf that went no further than desperate dirty talk and a well needed orgasm. Shit.

Maybe it was all a joke. Maybe George knew that Ringo was trying to be sneaky, so decided to mess him about. It wouldn't have been a complete surprise considering how much he seemed to enjoy teasing him at the club. The real issue was that Ringo simply didn't understand George, every time he thought he'd got him pinned down his intentions would seem to flip entirely. Or maybe that was just Ringo's anxiety getting the better of him; after all he had been single for a very long time, perhaps he was beginning to see exactly why that was.

Ringo felt like he couldn't show his face at the club again, not after exposing himself - rather literally - to George like that; since George had been so agonisingly torturous before, he could only imagine how he'd act now he knew that Ringo truly wanted to sleep with him. Most likely Ringo wouldn't be able to survive it, not for a second.

All he could for now though, was sleep. He tried to focus his brain on anything but George, but the more he tried to avoid it the stronger the urges became. Fighting the idea that his brain was trying to form: that George truly liked him back, all this teasing and mystery was his way of showing it. It just couldn't be true, it was actually too good to be true. Ringo couldn't get a guy like George, it didn't take a genius to see that. It was a ridiculous notion, he was only telling himself what he wanted to believe. This whole thing was ridiculous, falling for a stripper, and this embarrassing episode was a clear sign that he had to stop making himself suffer like this. It was never going to happen.

He couldn't go back now, not after this, not ever. He was done.

[fallen029]

Maybe

His apartment felt barren, a lot of the times. Cold. Impersonal. It made sense, seeing he was always gone, off traveling Magnolia, but it felt much too sterile for Mirajane's taste. Nothing like her home, where along with her brother and sister, the house was also prone to frequent visits. From Natsu and Happy to all of Mirajane's many friends and even, on occasion, Evergreen, the tiny house was typically stuffed to the brim, day and night.

Laxus placed the complete opposite.

It lacked a certain coziness that she missed, when she found herself spending time over there with the man. Which, as their relationship wore on, was frequently enough. Were he in town for an extended period of time (and he was more and more, as they grew closer and closer), she found herself more likely to stay the night with him than back home.

This was new territory for the both of them, honestly. Mirajane found herself frequently falling in love, but for this to occur with regularity, that meant also falling back out. And Laxus, well, he just didn't. Fall in love. Ever. It wasn't something he was even so sure he believed in.

But it wasn't love, not exactly, that seemed to bind them together more and more. Maybe it was something else. Something neither could quite figure out, but was there, just beneath the surface, and kept them faithful in their lengthy partings. Mirajane mostly dated mages, honestly, and found that once they were out of sight, well… It was difficult, to care for something so far away. And Laxus was much the same, only, he rarely found himself making such a commitment in the first place. So while Mira would have to break a heart upon return, he never had anyone to return to.

They were both on uncharted waters now, as Mira didn't feel it nearly as strongly, not even over a year out, when the man was away. And Laxus could admit to himself, and even to others, very proudly, that yes, he did have someone very special awaiting his return.

There was a comfort there, that neither had ever longed for before. But now they craved it. In one another. And no matter how long he was away, both found it impossible to be away from one another the second he was back.

Mirajane's own schedule made this difficult, of course, as she did have a very bustling hall to contend with. When he was home, Laxus forced himself at times to brave it, even, the dumb guildhall, just to sit around and watch her work, putting up with all the lowly mages that hung about seemingly only to aggravate him. It fascinated him. For some reason. Her...dedication. To something so….mundane. She took her position as head barmaid as the most important job in the world, and he kind of respected it in a weird way.

The woman could do anything she wanted.

Anything in the world.

And yet she chose to hang around and make sure that Fairy Tail's guildhall didn't fall under. He couldn't do it. He didn't know anyone who could do it, honestly. Put up with her daily grind. From dealing with the paper work their ailing Master skipped out on to running the bar and hall as a whole so expertly, Mirajane appeared to be born to be what she was now.

But she wasn't, was she?

She was born to be a mage. A highly regarded one at that. She had all the power in the world, but chose to sacrifice it, slowly whittle away all her former glory, originally for a far darker reason, but now, with that righted one more, out of a much stronger sense of duty.

Laxus never found bound by anything like that.

Duty. Honor. He felt like he was the antithesis of those things at times.

But he wasn't, of course.

No.

Mirajane knew that Laxus not only had both of those things, but far more as well. More now than he'd ever had. For someone that most everyone would assume was already at their peak, that there was nothing left to capture, Laxus had a lot of work ethic left to give. He trained, constantly when he wasn't out on a job. Long hours. While she was working away at the bar, if he wasn't sitting around drinking and commiserating with the Thunder Legion, then she could imagine him out there with them, bringing them to new heights as well as reaching his own.

And then there were those long trips. Where he was gone for a good month, if not more, taking on the highest of jobs, the lengthiest of requests, not in the quest for fame or jewels; he had those. He could acquire those with far less effort. No. Laxus did it because he believed he should. Maybe he lost it, somewhere in himself, over the years, but she knew it was there.

That drive.

That hope.

He grew up idolizing the top mages in his grandfather's guild for many reasons, but one that was high up on the list was always what they brought back to their community. Pride, respect, stability. To the surrounding areas as well. He venerated the mages who kept the peace and protected what was theirs.

Fairy Tail was his. Laxus'. And he did for it something she no longer felt able to.

If he found himself mystified by her resolve, she couldn't quite say she was so different when it came to him. Even though she no longer felt called to train her body endlessly or accept the requests of those in need, she still considered hem to be upstanding practices.

There was something about it, when he returned from a job bruised and battered and now, in those cases, expecting her to aid in his recovery. She enjoyed his toned body for many reasons (heh), but being able to trace a finger over the many scars and wounds leftover from requests long completed was a good way of keeping track. Memories. As bloody and horrible as they were at the time of receiving them, mementos of a time passed by.

She liked that he was strong.

Not in the way a casual observer might make notice of, but the way he shouldered so many things, from his childhood onward, with very little complaint towards this fact.

Mirajane thought this made him special, but honestly, from where he sat some days, watching her work at a dizzying pace to keep the bar in check, he felt much the same in return.

Maybe they were just getting older. Maybe that's what drew them to this new comfort. Stability. They were drawn to one another for a lot of reasons, a lot of reasons that might have made their relationship fleeting had they gotten together too soon, in their not so distant past, but they needed some reliance now. A relationship formed on more than momentary emotions.

And while they found that attraction and lust in one another, there was something beneath it. That call to faithfulness and reliability. A mutual respect. An admiration. Something they hadn't had in other relationships and only served to strengthen their current one.

In that sterile apartment, cold and devoid of all the cozy comforts Mirajane derived from her own home, with her siblings, there was something that tugged stronger beneath the surface. That kept her there. Whenever the slayer was there. And he welcomed her. Craved her. Every time. He felt weird now, when she wasn't there.

"You should keep some stuff here," he suggested one night as they sat on the couch together, him glancing over the mail he'd received during his time away while she sat beside him, idly flipping pages in a magazine. "Demon. More stuff, I mean. So you're not always having to go back and forth."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe," she challenged then, just softly, as if waiting to be rebuked, "someday, soon, I could just...bring all my stuff."

And there was a pause. As she waited. Uncertain of what the man would truly think of this.

But she didn't have to think long as, when she flipped a page, he only tossed another piece of junk mail to the pile of it he'd created on the floor while remarking simply, "Maybe very soon."

Smiling, she glanced over at him as she agreed, "Maybe."

[empanator]

Portia Appreciation Week Day 2: The Sea

@portia-appreciation-week 

This is some kind of mermaid/soulmate AU. I just went with it for a little fun, but bit off way more than I could chew... I had to cut a lot of content to avoid digging myself too deep lol. 

Summary: A princess casts a bottled message into the sea. It is enchanted not only to locate her most compatible partner, but also with a power that will enable said partner to retrace the message’s path back to her. But what happens when her “true love” turns out to be a mermaid?  Pairing: Portia (Pasha) Devorak x Nadia Satrinava (The Arcana)  Rating: Safe for Work  Length: 1,927 words (4 pages) 

“To whomever may be the deserving recipient of this message, the power of sight has been bestowed upon you. Come find me. May we share in our truest of love.”

She felt a thrum in the atmosphere, a hardly perceptible tug towards an unknown destination. The tips of her fingers wrinkled in the dry air to which her body was unaccustomed. This letter, a tightly rolled sheet of elegant stationery housed in a glass bottle, had drifted into sight no more than a few hours prior.

At first glance, she brushed it off as a passing piece of material waste from land dwellers. As she approached it, intent on its proper disposal, it gained speed in a straight line towards her, enough so that it sailed past her with bubbles rising in its wake. She whirled with a stifled shriek, turning and grasping at the water around her as the bottle seemed to chase itself in circles. Finally, with a dull clink, it found its way into her hand. When she saw what was enclosed behind the tightly sealed cork, her curious nature took hold, eager to see what kind of gossip she could glean from the humans.

But then, sitting in the sand with the sensation that someone is out there in the world, pulling as though their souls are endowed with magnetism… Was… was it really meant for her?

“I shall be waiting each day for you. I trust that my spell has not led me astray.

My warmest regards,

Princess Nadia”

It must be. She knew a bit about magic and spells, and a princess in a royal court would surely make use of only the most reliable mages. She whispered to herself, “But what if—”

“Pasha?” She spun quickly at the sound of her name. It was her brother, Ilya, emerging from the water and beaching himself beside her. “Pasha, you can’t stay out of the water too long! You know I always tell you—”

She crumpled the letter with a gasp, trying to shove it back through the narrow bottleneck before Ilya got any closer, but to no avail.

“Pasha, what is that?” He poked his head left and right to see past her every twist and turn as she shielded the contents of her hands from his view.

“I-it’s nothing!” she stammered, clutching the bottle against her chest. “And quit being so nosy!”

Ilya sighed and backed off with his hands upturned defensively, knowing his sister would be more than willing to tussle (and more than likely to win) if he pestered her any longer. “Okay, okay. Just ah… make sure you don’t dehydrate up here, will you?”

“Speak for yourself,” Pasha smirked just before flicking her tail up from the water to splash her brother in the face.

~~~~~~~ 

It had been a couple of days since Pasha first received the message. She’d spent the first day in complete bewilderment, and the following days were much of the same. At least once per day, Ilya asked passing questions of anything that might be new in his darling sister’s life, trying gently to pry for information. Of course, he was met with sarcasm or blatant changing of the subject every time. She wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about all this yet anyway; why get anyone else involved?

In secret, Pasha’s excitement mingled with uncertainty as she pondered the same question over and over: Was this truly a serendipitous set of circumstances, or a case of mistaken identity? But the slight tug she felt on that first day grew steadily by the hour, it seemed, into unmistakable vibrations like a physical tinnitus she could feel in the water. The “power of sight” crept into other aspects of her daily life. Her dreams became infused with whorls of magic, recurring visions of a woman with smooth, brown skin and fiery eyes. The depictions, vivid as they were, were always of the same scene—the woman, perched on an old, wooden dock, staring out over the sea. She was hopeful. Lonely. Waiting. And with each of these nightly visions, though she began to lose sleep much to her brother’s concern, Pasha’s heart grew fonder. She, too, became hopeful, and decided to follow the pull that the spell had granted her.

Nearly a week after she first received the letter, she awoke at an hour early enough to swim away undetected. Pasha gave one final look around the rock and coral walls that comprised her home, and left.

~~~~~~~ 

It had been hours before she finally spotted a city in the distance, and dusk was fast approaching. Shallower and shallower now, Pasha was approaching a shoreline. She knew she was close, because the vibrations grew stronger so long as she maintained her course in the right direction. Vesuvia. She had heard of this land from some traveling merfolk she knew, but she had never traveled much outside her own sea village. Suddenly, the “sight” that had guided her all this way came to a halt. Not far in front of her, she spotted dark, hard-wood posts rooted into the seabed, supported by columns of stone.

Hidden behind an offshore rock, Pasha took a peek around its side, and her heart skipped as she saw a vision of great familiarity to her: The woman, sitting silently, serenely upon old wood, fixated on the horizon as the sun dipped lower in the sky. But this time, it was not merely a vision. The woman, Princess Nadia, was real. And she was beautiful.

Pasha swam cautiously closer, but remained under the water’s surface. She was afraid to emerge and be confronted by the reality—or possible reality—of the situation. What if the letter was wrong? What if she was holding out hope for a romance like the ones she heard in stories, only to be rejected? All the details of the week’s events fit together and culminated into that very moment, but Pasha could not shake her uncertainty.

She circled back around the rock a few times, and finally hung her head as her worries weighed on her shoulders, her mind, her heart. Defeated, she swam, casting a long, backwards glance at the wooden posts of Vesuvia’s port that grew hazier in her vision the further she swam. Shutting her eyes with a sigh of resignation, she drifted onward—until, with a jolt, she collided with something blocking her path.

She looked up, stunned. “Ilya?!” Confusion overtook her expression as her brother floated before her, arms crossed and a scornful frown on his face. “Ugh…” she scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Of course you followed me.”

“I’ve been worried! You wouldn’t tell me what’s been going on, and I heard you leave right before your catfish Pepi decided to dive-bomb my face.” He gestures wildly, then grows serious. “But… I think you forgot something.” He produced a bottle from under his arm.

“How did you…?”

“The lid to your clamshell was open, and I found this lying right in the middle of the bed. It’s a little wet inside, please ignore that.” His eyes shift down towards the sea floor.

“Ilya… did you read my letter?!”  

“Okay, yes!” He winces. “I only followed you because I thought you might have needed it. You didn’t have to keep this a secret from me; I would have understood and given you space.”

“You would have followed me either way.”

“…Yes.” His embarrassment crept onto his face in the form of an obvious blush. He handed over the bottle, and Pasha accepted it with a sigh.

“Thanks. Just, let me handle my own business from now on, ‘kay?”

“Noted.” A grin spread across Ilya’s face as he waggled an eyebrow. “Now, get back there and woo the woman of your dreams!”

Of course, Ilya had no idea just how right he was about the dreams. Pasha could only punch him playfully in the arm before heading back towards the dock.

~~~~~~~ 

Gathering her composure, Pasha broke the water’s surface to reveal herself, a flash of her tail flicking out as she steadied herself. She looked up at the seated woman and addressed her with a bold greeting. “Are you Princess Nadia?” She held up the bottle. “I believe this was your message.”

Surprise flashed across the princess’ expression, hardly noticeable before being quickly replaced by something more peaceful. “A… mermaid… I see.” She shifted to get a more comfortable view. “Of course I have heard rumors of a sea-dwelling race off our distant shores. I had believed them to be no more than fantasy, yet here you stand—or rather float before me,” she said with an amused smirked.

This might not be a good thing, Pasha thought. “So, I wasn’t who you were expecting to get your message, huh…”

“Well, I had certainly expected my message to travel across the sea. If only I had known you were from the sea I may have dressed more… appropriately to join you down there.” She leaned forward to rest her chin in her palm, never breaking eye contact, grinning as Pasha sunk a little below the waterline to hide her growing blush. A moment of quiet turned to uncomfortable silence as Pasha only shifted her gaze away with a furrowed brow.

“Something appears to be troubling you, my friend.” Nadia’s voice was sweet and backed with genuine concern. “If there is anything amiss, you are free to speak your mind.”

Pasha’s eyes widened and snapped back to meet Nadia’s. She rose from the water just enough to expose her mouth and began to voice her concern. “Well… I mean, how did you know someone would obey your message? I saw you in my dreams every night, in this exact spot, waiting for an answer.” The pace of her words increased as if she had opened a faucet, unable to stop the rush flowing forth. “It’s like, what if you never received an answer? What if this bottle chose the wrong person? How do you know I’m really the one who deserved this message? I can’t help but wonder if I’m really supposed to be here or if it only felt right because the spell made me believe so.” Nadia listened, delight shining subtly in her eyes as her new acquaintance showed no more restraint or hesitation.

Once Pasha was finished expelling her thoughts, Nadia smiled softly. “I have made no such choices for you. Any desire you felt to come find me… that, dear, was purely your own. The power of sight was merely an aid, should the recipient choose to accept it.” She maintained an even tone, warmth and understanding filling her words. “And even so, if my spell found your hand by any mistake in this world,” she offered an outstretched hand towards the water. “How fortunate am I to be met with such a charming and quizzical being such as yourself?”

Pasha’s face flushed once more, but this time, she did not try to hide it. She inspected Nadia’s hand and reached up, droplets of water plinking along the shimmering stillness of the sea below. Their fingertips brushed together, a touch gentle as the land breeze, carrying with it the merging of their two worlds.

Nadia lowered her lips to meet the back of Pasha’s hand, the warmth of her kiss somehow coursing a chill throughout the mermaid’s body.

It didn’t matter whether there was such a thing as fate. But a choice, a bond, a desire—only these things had the power to determined their future. 

~~~~~~~

(Bonus note: Nadia partnered with Asra to draw out her untrained magic with his own and bind the message’s spell to herself. Ilya absolutely did not go home after giving Pasha the bottle. He was cheering her on from a distance.) 

[jgvfhl]

Gwaine Fest 2019

For @candicewright, I hope you enjoy!

‘Twas the Week Before Christmas

It was a week or so before Christmas celebrations in Camelot would truly begin, but already the citadel and lower town were getting crowded as people's families arrived from outer villages and towns to spend the holidays with loved ones. Decorations of evergreen, holly, and ivy were gradually appearing in house windows, along with candles at night. There was snow on the ground, but there hadn't been a huge snowfall yet, although everyone knew it would come. Camelot always got snow for Christmas. The taverns and inns were reaching capacity by this time, and the evenings inside were even more crowded than normal, often with standing room only.

Luckily, Gwaine knew to get there early. Getting to the Rising Sun tavern early meant two things: there was still hot cider left, and you could get a seat. So he had done that tonight, although he was alone. Usually, he could convince someone to come with him, but the knights he had asked had all been busy. Many of them had extra duties in the evenings this time of year due to the influx of people into the city. Gwaine didn't particularly mind. He was a sociable person, and he had found people to talk to at the tavern. But it was getting late, and the tavern was filling up fast, getting louder and more raucous with each new addition. Gwaine finished off his tankard, delivered it to the bar, said goodnight to the owner and his wife, and began the task of finding the door.

When he finally got out, he took a deep breath of the cold night air--and was promptly bumped into by someone else leaving the tavern with a bit more drink in his system.

"Watch it!" the man shouted, and dragged himself onward.

Gwaine arched an eyebrow at him, but ignored it and started his walk back to the castle. The streets were clearing now, as the temperature dropped, but there were still a few souls out walking with him. Familiar faces, for the most part, although he didn't know their names. He continued on, passing the invisible divide between the wooden homes lower down, and those built of stone or plaster ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a shadow slip out of an alley behind him, but he shook his head and chalked it up to tiredness and alcohol.

But then, a pair of hands seized his wrists and yanked them behind his back. Simultaneously, someone's gloved hand covered his mouth, and he felt the distinct chill of a blade against his throat.

"Don't try anything," a gruff voice ordered. "Come with us."

He had no choice. He was shuffled off the street into a black alley and shoved bodily against a stone wall. His sword was taken from its scabbard and leveled at his throat. Finally, he got a look at his assailants--and they were familiar. Again, no names came to mind, but he had definitely seen these men before. Not all in the same place nor at the same time, but he knew them. They were not here for a friendly chat and catch-up.

"Ring any bells, do we?" asked the man who had spoken earlier.

Gwaine eyed them, and the sword aimed at him. "Something like that," he replied cautiously.

The man turned his head to the man holding Gwaine's sword. "Put that away, this is personal." In response, the man backed away, but the others closed in.

Gwaine was ready for the first punch and ducked, hearing the crunch of finger bones. He punched the first man in the stomach and ducked to the side, only to have another man's fist strike his head and send him stumbling back into the wall.

If I can just get a weapon from one of them, he thought desperately as he dodged another punch and received yet another. But there were simply too many of them in such a confined space. He had no place to run or hide or dodge away, and certainly no time to search them for a knife.

Someone kicked the back of his knee, and he dropped. He reached out in retaliation and hit one of them in the groin, allowing himself the small satisfaction that came with the cry of pain. But he didn't have much time for celebration, because a boot was coming right at his face. Instinct made him turn his face away, but it still hit, knocking him back against the wall in a heap, his head striking the stone wall behind him. His vision went spotty. After that, his only hope was to cover his face and head and hope their intention was to leave him alive at the end.

Suddenly, a different voice cut through the chaos. Gwaine recognized that one. In a heartbeat, the dynamic shifted, as he heard someone land several meaty punches before drawing a sword. "Don't move," Percival warned. "You're all under arrest." God, he loved Percival.

"And you're going to arrest us all on your own?" the spokesman jeered. That was a stupid man to challenge Percival.

Running footsteps announced that Percival was no longer alone. Gwaine supposed several guards had come to his aid. He peeked up through his arms to confirm this. They had surrounded the group of men, spears lowered.

The men realized running was a bad idea. The guards rounded them up, including the two Percival had sent sprawling and the man Gwaine had incapacitated, and forced them out of the alley. When they had gone, Percival sheathed his sword and retrieved Gwaine's, then knelt down beside him.

"Hey, you alright?" he asked quietly.

Gwaine blinked slowly, uncurling from his guarded position. "Leave it to you to be my knight in shining armor, eh?" He winced at the pain from his throbbing head. There were still blurry spots in his field of view.

Percival rolled his eyes. "Someone's gotta be, an' I don't see many volunteers. Can you stand?"

Gwaine nodded silently, putting a hand on the other knight's shoulder. Percival was always there for him, by some miracle or other. "How is it you always know I'm in trouble?" he asked as Percival helped him to his feet, steadying him with an arm around his chest.

"Dunno, but you're damn lucky I do."

"I'm damn lucky no matter what, with you around," Gwaine said, somehow managing a cheeky grin despite everything that had just happened.

"You just had your head knocked against a wall," Percival said, slowly walking with Gwaine out of the alley, "an' you're flirting with me?"

After a pause to process the question, Gwaine nodded, carefully. "Yep."

"I think your brain's been addled."

"My brain's always addled." After a pause, he added, "'Cause you're really strong... and nice..."

Percival shook his head. "You're hopeless."

"My head is killing me."

"Yeah, I wonder why that is, Gwaine?" He sighed. "An' you chose the best time to go get bashed up, because Gaius is busy with a load o' sick kids, and Merlin's off with Arthur."

Gwaine looked up at him. "Merlin's off with Arthur? Merlin's off with Arthur?"

"Not like that," Percival frowned at him. "Diplomatic envoy."

"Oh, yeah..." Gwaine vaguely remembered some mention of that trip. "Still... I'd believe the other one. So who's patching me up?"

"Guess I'll have to.

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

They arrived at Gwaine's room a bit later, after receiving more than a few quizzical glances from people passing in the halls. Percival tried to assure them with a friendly smile and a wave, but who knows what that did. Gwaine sat down at the small table in front of his bed with a groan.

"Wait here, I'll be back in a bit," Percival told him.

"Not like I'm going anywhere with this headache," Gwaine replied. Of course, the one night he hadn't left the tavern drunk, he ended up with a headache anyway. Figures. He was cold, too, which only added to his discomfort. Although moving generally hurt, he set about taking off his bracers and belt so he could remove his mail. The metal was all frigid. Luckily he remembered to keep his gloves on this time. He laid his armor out on the table then retrieved his red cloak from where he had tossed it on his bed earlier that evening and wrapped it around himself. That was better.

Gwaine must have dozed off, because next he knew, Percival was shaking him gently awake. "What?" he mumbled. He opened his eyes, but found only one did: the other was too swollen. "Ow."

"Yeah, you'll have on helluva black eye for the next week or so," Percival said. He had pulled up the other chair to face Gwaine.

"'m going back to sleep."

He heard Percival chuckle. "No, you can't, I'm about to say your four favorite words."

Gwaine picked up his head. "Drinks are on me?" he guessed.

Percival raised an eyebrow. "No. Take your shirt off."

After a second of processing, Gwaine nodded and started untying the front of his gambeson. "I do like those words, especially coming out of your mouth."

"Hopeless," Percival muttered, grabbing a bundle of cloth from the table. Gwaine noticed the collection of items that had mysteriously appeared on his table. Clean cloth, a pitcher of water, and some small bottles.

"Where'd all this come from?"

"Oh." Percival almost looked guilty about it. "I... borrowed some things from Gaius's chambers." When he caught Gwaine looking at him, he added, "I left a note."

A crooked smile formed on Gwaine's face. "I'm sure you 'borrowed' it with as much nobility as you could muster." He winced as he slid his shirt over his shoulders. His ribs ached all over.

Percival put the bundle of cloth in his hands. It was cold to the touch. "Hold that on your eye, it'll keep the swelling down."

"Is this snow?" he asked. Then, "Ow! Watch it, Percy," when the other knight's hands found a particularly tender spot on his side.

"Stop whining and be grateful your ribs aren't broken. And be grateful I'm checking."

Gwaine smirked. "I'm grateful for a lotta things right about now," he remarked, knowing it would annoy Percival. It did. Too bad for him, because an annoyed Percival happened to be a very attractive one as well.

Percival changed the subject, leaning back from Gwaine and picking up some cloth and a bottle from the table. "Who were those guys, anyway?"

Gwaine had been expecting this conversation. He sighed, adjusting the pack of snow against his eye. "Oh, just some blokes I ran into before Camelot. Probably been looking for me for years, for whatever reason."

"Don't remember them much?" Percival asked, getting up and walking behind Gwaine's chair.

"Barely at all," he replied. He gave another yelp of surprise and lurched forward, twisting around to glare at Percival. "Hey! What the hell are you doing back there? That hurt."

"Sorry," Percival said, "but in case you didn't notice the blood on the wall when I rescued you, your head's bleeding."

Gwaine huffed a sigh and sat back in place. "Fine, but be careful, will you? Maybe a warning next time, too, huh?" As an afterthought, he added, "And you didn't 'rescue' me."

"Yeah, sure," Percival scoffed.

Normally, Gwaine hated it when anyone messed with his hair, although with Percival, he made some exceptions. But now, he sat still and let him mess with it while he inspected the wound there.

"This is gonna sting," he warned. Gwaine felt him press the piece of cloth to his head, and it did sting, and he gritted his teeth and clenched his fist, but didn't complain. For several moments, there was silence as Percival worked, but eventually, he reappeared from behind Gwaine, setting down on the table the small bottle he had taken and several pieces of cloth, now with blood staining them. "The bleeding's stopped," he said. "Gaius should look at it tomorrow, though."

"Thanks."

Percival sighed as he reorganized the items on the table. "No problem, Gwaine."

Gwaine tilted his head, reading his face. "You've got your worried face on again."

Percival threw his hands up and placed them on the back of his chair. "Yeah, well, how am I not supposed to have my worried face on with you like this?"

"I'm alright now."

"Because I found you," he pointed out. "They would've killed you if I hadn't, and you know it." He bowed his head, his fingers tightening on the back of the chair until the knuckles blanched. "I don't want to lose you."

Gwaine was notably silent as Percival gathered up the things on the table to return to Gaius's chambers. Frankly, he was a little surprised by Percival's declaration. Until now, their relationship had existed on a nonverbal agreement--one that most of the other knights and everyone had picked up on, but still. Hearing it out loud like that was new. After Percival left, Gwaine took the bundle of melting snow off his eye. Most of the snow had melted by now, but it was still cold, and it had helped his eye feel better. Then he reached around and gingerly felt the back of his head, wincing when he struck a nerve. But there was no blood on his fingertips when he withdrew them, so that was good. He put his shirt back on, wrapped his cloak around himself, and sat there to wait for Percival to return.

Like earlier, he fell asleep waiting. Like earlier, he was awoken by Percival's hand on his shoulder. "How's your eye?" he asked, seeing the wet bundle of cloth that had held snow resting on the table.

"Better, a little," Gwaine answered. He noticed Percival had also taken off his armor and cloak, leaving what Gwaine knew were the clothes he slept in. "You sleeping over?" It was a fairly common occurrence, considering their rooms were right next door.

"Like I'm letting you outta my sight after what happened," he replied. He noticed Gwaine wrapped in his cloak. "Are you cold?"

Gwaine slowly got to his feet, squinting a little when a shock of pain struck his head. He walked over to Percival and put his arms around his chest, pressing the less damaged side of his face against him. As expected, Percival wrapped his arms around his shoulders, trying to be careful of any bruises he hadn't found. "Would you look at that," Gwaine mumbled. "I'm not cold anymore."

"Would you look at that," Percival repeated softly. Gwaine smiled as his voice rumbled in his chest.

"Hey, you wanna know something?"

"What?"

"When I heard your voice--tonight, when I knew it was you--you wanna know what the first thing in my head was?"

"What was it?"

Gwaine enjoyed the fact that he could hear Percival's heartbeat accelerate just slightly. "First thing in my head," he said, hugging Percival a little tighter, "was, 'God, I love Percival.'"

He heard Percival's heart speed up again and smiled to himself. "Really?"

"Really, it was the first thing." Percival's arms loosened, and Gwaine leaned back to look up at him. "And I really do love you," he added, watching Percival's ears slowly turn a shade of bright pink. "You're blushing."

"Shove off," Percival said, putting a hand on Gwaine's forehead and pushing him away.

He laughed, of course, then winced and clutched his side. "Ow, dammit."

Percival laughed at that. "Can you not laugh without hurting yourself?"

"Oh shut up! I'm in pain!"

Percival grinned. "Suddenly, this is a little entertaining as well as originally horrible."

Gwaine groaned. "Y'know, I was gonna kiss you, but now I'm rethinking it."

"Just go to bed and sleep," Percival told him.

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest. "No. Make me."

In hindsight, that was a stupid thing to say, but in Gwaine's defense, he had just hit his head very hard. Percival said, "Fine by me," and scooped Gwaine up in his arms to carry him to bed.

After initial protests, Gwaine surrendered and allowed Percival to put him down on the bed. He lay his head on his pillow, then immediately sat up from the pain in the back of his head. "Ow."

"You gonna be alright?" Percival asked, sitting down to take his boots off.

"I feel like my head is gonna split open at any moment." He tugged his own boots off, then climbed under the covers, lying on his front because it hurt less, and he could turn his face away from his black eye.

"You'll be fine." Percival blew out the three candles on the table before joining him. Almost as soon as he lay down, Gwaine pushed himself up on his elbows and kissed his cheek. Percival blinked. "I saved you from getting beat to death, and I patch you up, and that's all I get out of it?"

"You're awfully demanding for someone who didn't get bashed up tonight," Gwaine replied. He caught a glimpse of Percival's smug grin before their mouths met, then it seemed like the world had fallen away into blissful nothingness. Even the throbbing pain in his head faded to background noise. "I hope that was good enough for you," he said in a low voice afterwards, "because it's not getting any better until I can breathe without pain."

Percival smiled. "I'll survive." As Gwaine lay back down, he remarked, "I wonder if anyone's gonna believe you didn't start the fight?"

"The blockheads who did are in the dungeons as we speak, I think I'll be fine."

"That eye is gonna look awful."

Gwaine sighed deeply. "Just what I need."

Percival chuckled. "Sweet dreams."

"Mm. Love you."

[theeverlastingshade]

Favorite Albums of the 2000s

10. In Rainbows- Radiohead

After Radiohead released Hail to the Thief it seemed pretty set in stone that while they may still go on to continue releasing great records, it’s unlikely that they’d ever put out another record that shatters expectations and makes a bid for being among their best work. And then we received In Rainbows, a shocking late-career game changer so assured, dynamic, and brilliant that there are music fans that came of age around its release that still claim it’s the best Radiohead album. It’s not, but it’s exceptional nonetheless; a perfect fusion of the art-rock, electronic rock, and avant-guard impulses that they’d seem to have perfected by the time Kid A dropped, but had never quite navigated so fluidly. It’s a best of both worlds record that’s lean, perfectly paced, and contains some of the strongest songwriting of Thom Yorke’s entire career. It was the first Radiohead record since Kid A to sound like a revelatory statement able to stand on its own, and not simply exist in the shadow of prior records. The pay what you want model that they used to sell the record was a game-changer at the time of its release, but it’s the warm orchestration, frigid beats, and dynamic range that gave this record the staying power that it has. It’s the kind of record that displays an assured effortlessness that belies what exceptional musicians they all are, and reminds you why you fell in love with the band in the first place.

The one-two punch of “15 Step” and “Bodysnatchers” sets the pace for what’s to come; the former a glitchy electronic song that seems to hint at a less claustrophobic approach to Amensiac before the latter, propelled by a motorik rhythm and Yorke’s fractured wail, erupts and shatters that notion. The two of these songs taken together give a fairly apt depiction of the poles that Radiohead where bouncing back and forth from, and the tension arising from that balancing act propels the record forward. Caught between the somber guitar ballad “Nude” and the lumbering, electronic midpoint crescendo “All I Need” is the fidgety, nimble guitar work of “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” which does a wonderful job of offsetting the dreaminess of the previous track and preparing you for the creeping dread of what immediately follows. “Faust Arp” is a welcome, jangly transition from the heaviness of “All I Need” into the album’s most accessible song, “Reckoner”, and through that song’s warm melody and infectious percussion the downtempo march of “House of Cards” sounds like a perfect transition, with its string drones setting the stage for the record’s best song to arrive. There isn’t a moment wasted throughout the entire record, and it’s a marvel to hear the band cover such vast ground and still end up with something so concise.

Being a Radiohead record it should come as no surprise that In Rainbows tackles themes of existential dread, apocalyptic visions, corruption, and alienation throughout. “Nude” grapples with groupthink, the tendency for societies to not operate in the best interests of its people, and the inherent emptiness that defines the human experience “You paint yourself white/And fill up with noise/But there’ll be something missing”. “Bodysnatchers” explores someone faking their way through life and being unable to live the way they truly are “I have no idea what I’m talking about/I’m trapped in this body and can't get out” while “Faust Arp” finds someone crushed under the weight of monotony, recognizing the issue but seemingly lacking the courage or conviction to change his surroundings “Dead from the neck up, I guess I’m stuck, stuck, stuck/We thought you had it in you/But no, no, no”. “Videotape” ends the record on a perfect thematic note with the narrator making a videotape for the love of his life before he kills himself “No matter what happens now/You shouldn’t be afraid/Because I know today has been/The most perfect day I’ve ever seen”, drawing an unsettling through line from the closer on Kid A. The themes of despair throughout the digital age have become increasingly more realized with each subsequent Radiohead album from OK Computer onward, but they hit a notable new peak on In Rainbows. In Rainbows isn’t their most ambitious, or accomplished album, but it perhaps best distills what their essence best, succinctly showcasing just how peerless they were and remain.

Essentials: “Jigsaw Falling Into Place”, “All I Need”, “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi”

9. The Glow, Pt. 2- The Microphones

Before Phil Elverum recorded two devastating records about the loss of his wife, Genevieve, and the process of having to raise his daughter without her by his side under his current Mount Eerie moniker, he spent several years recording lo-fi psychedelic folk songs as The Microphones. He switched gears in 2003 and continued recording music as a solo act, having swapped the name of The Microphones for Mount Eerie (the name of the final record recorded as The Microphones) feeling that he had taken the former project to its natural conclusion. Before making the switch, Elverum recorded four albums as The Microphones that each rank as among the most accomplished and thoroughly engaging albums that he’s recorded to date. While all are exceptional and worth anyone’s time, The Glow Pt. 2 is the best of the bunch, and still stands as Elverum’s magnum opus. An idiosyncratic LP bursting with personality and color while folding in psychedelic folk, noise, lo-fi, ambient, and indie rock The Glow Pt. 2 is a colossal tour de force through Elverum’s tastes, and it hangs together remarkably well. He would continue to explore various facets of styles explored here on subsequent releases, but no single record of his before or after captures the vivid imagination and breadth of his musicianship quite like The Glow Pt. 2.

Opener “I Want Wind to Blow” sets the stage for what’s to come through gentle acoustic strums, repetition, and a generous use of space while growing increasingly grand in scope until it explodes during its last minute with pummeling percussion and thick slabs of distorted noise. “I Want Wind to Blow” is one of the longest songs here, with most ranging from 1 to 2 minutes, just long enough to begin exploring an idea and then smoothly transitioning to something else before wearing its welcome. There are songs like “(Something)” that drift by quickly with little more than droning strings floating eerily throughout the mix, and others like “Map” that are a treasure trove of eclectic instrumentation that seem to be constantly rising and falling in intensity for several minutes without locking into a steady groove for too long. “Headless Horseman” gets a ton of mileage out of a softly strummed ukulele and Elverum’s tender vocals while the menacing “I Want to be Cold” pits a searing cymbal rhythm against smoldering, distorted guitars with Elverum’s voice barely audible above the noise. The individual songs may run the gamut through a myriad of different genres, but the analog warmth, droning motifs, tape hiss, and punctual silence tie everything together as one vast landscape of thematic and sonic coherence. No matter how far ranging some of the songs here develop with respect to everything else around them, the production renders each song with the same unmistakable warmth and richness.

The Glow Pt. 2 is centered around a breakup that Elverum experienced, and he details his thoughts and feelings throughout the ordeal, consistently blurring the lines between fact and fiction while gradually finding solace in nature. “I Want Wind to Blow” opens the record right after the storm has died down as he begs for a change to sweep away the sense of loss that he’s beginning to endure “My clothes off me, sweep me off my feet/Take me up, don’t bring me back/Oh, where I can see days pass by me/I have no head to hold in grief”. This leads directly into the record’s centerpiece and title track where Elverum comes to terms with the fact that his girlfriend and best friend became romantically involved with one another. Elverum recognizes that life will go on whether or not he wants it to in that moment “I could not get through September without a battle/I faced death, I went in with my arms swinging/But I heard my own breath/And I had to face that I’m still living”, and slowly works his way back towards the resolve to go on. Throughout the rest of the record he tries to erase memories of the relationship (“The Moon”), succumbs to pure apathy (“I Want to be Cold”), comes to terms with how insignificant he is within the scope of the universe (“I Felt My Size”), and eventually comes to terms with what remains of his life as he slowly bleeds out in the forest (“My Warm Blood”). The experience that Elverum draws from throughout The Glow Pt. 2 is universal, but it’s rarely been translated into such a rich, transcendent experience.

Essentials: “I Want Wind to Blow”, “The Glow, Pt. 2″, “Map”

8. Since I Left You- The Avalanches

While the last decade saw the release of many brilliant records, there were very few that were as legitimately inventive as Since I Left You. The debut album by The Avalanches is a plunderphonics record that seamlessly blends disco, r&b, jazz, bossa nova, comedy skits, and pop music into a glorious, kaleidoscopic whole that truly sounds like nothing else. SILY wasn’t the first plunderphonics record, but nothing working entirely within those parameters before or since has achieved something so fresh and singular, creating a colorful, fully-lived in new context for the 900 plus samples that make up its whole. The perfectly natural flow that guides the record is part of its inherent charm, and belies just how intricate and complex the creation of the record actual was. SILY was so painstakingly meticulous to construct that it took The Avalanches 16 years to return with a proper follow-up, and while that follow-up, Wildflower, was a great return to form, it doesn’t quite capture the singular beauty of their inimitable debut.

The eclecticism of SILY is one of the most immediate, and impressive draws. There are recurring samples and motifs that occur multiple times throughout the record, but no two songs sound anything alike. The pacing is sublime, with songs bleeding into one another in a manner that approximates a DJ mix with supreme versatility. Samples are constantly shifting, being pitched in different directions, being sped up, slowed down, or swapped out entirely. There’s never a moment where something isn’t in flux, and the fact that they manage to accomplish this while still constantly giving each song such a defined shape and tone is a marvel. Sampled voices appear periodically, but rather than leading the arrangements, in true plunderphonics fashion they're tucked into the fold alongside everything else, treated as percussion or texture depending on the song. No single moment overstays its welcome, and because of how much texture is being employed at all times it’s easy to constantly discover something new each time that you listen to it. The last song on SILY transitions seamlessly into the first song, which only heightens the potency of its DJ mix structure.

With a record as coherent and consistent as SILY it’s difficult and almost beside the point to zero in on highlights since it’s meant to be consumed all at once as an experience. But there are a few astonishing songs that stand above the already strong pack, and rank as among the strongest plunderphonics songs that I’ve ever heard. “Two Hearts in ¾ Time” unloads a swirling concoction of xylophone, flute, and keys atop breezy scat singing, and the carefree exuberance that radiates from the composition is infectious. “Radio” pits a massive bassline against repetitious chants and distorted bursts of guitars and keys while “Summer Crane” pairs down the sonic density (slightly) as a slurring thermin, strings, and sleigh bells dance in tandem while the recurring string motif flickers throughout. “Frontier Psychiatrist” is as ridiculous and absurd as things get here, and is legitimately one of the funniest moments on any electronic album through its use of vocal samples lifted from the Johnny Wayne and Frank Shuster comedy sketch of the same name “The man with the golden eyeball/And tighten your buttocks, pour juice down your chin/I promised my girlfriend I’d play the violin. And the closer “Extra Kings” unravels in a bouncy psychedelic sprawl with the voice from the first song and title track singing “I’ve tried but I just can’t get you/Every since the day I left you” as noise makers and woodwinds swirl around the vocals in rapturous joy.

The one thing that cannot be overstated is just how much fun it is to listen to this record. Through its many songs and moods, joy, pain, sorrow, regret, and unease are conjured at various moments, but throughout it all there’s a palpable sense that the band are thoroughly enjoying themselves. It remains playful and whimsical even at its most crestfallen, and thrills even at its deepest lulls. A sense of discovery and communal spirit animates this record, and The Avalanches achieve a sense of weightlessness that pervades even the record’s densest moments. It’s the rare record that matches its remarkably accessible, party-friendly nature with an equally groundbreaking execution that completely rewrote the cultural relationship to sample-based music. The Avalanches wisely opted to downplay the inherent brilliance of the music, and they made it as easy as possible to simply get lost in the endless spirals of grooves, texture, and pockets upon pockets of melody. There’s no air of pretension in The Avalanches’ universe, just the pure, unmitigated joy of stumbling upon new sounds in unusual contexts again and again and again.

Essentials: “Extra Kings”, “Frontier Psychiatrist”, “Two Hearts in 3/4 Time”

7. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot- Wilco

Wilco was already a great band before they released Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but it’s this record that cemented them as one of the most compelling of their era. When their label, Reprise Records, an imprint of AOL Time Warner, heard the record they assumed that it would essentially amount to career suicide and opted to release them from the label with the rights to the album. In order to not significantly delay the release of their record before touring it as well as controlling the quality of the songs that were already being leaked from it Wilco put the entire record on their site and embarked on their most successful tour up to that point. Both Being There and Summerteeth were massive leaps forward for the band, defined equally by Jeff Tweedy’s increasingly accomplished songwriting and the studio wizardry of multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennet, but on YHF these forces hit a peak. The songs on YHF are intensely felt, and earnestly conveyed by a band that was completely in-tune with one another, and were perpetually firing on all cylinders. The tasteful sonic experimentation, warm rock and baroque arrangements, and Tweedy’s wistful, romantic sentiments coalesce into a superbly realized whole. Mature, earnest, empathetic, and adventurous, YHF is a landmark for indie rock, and one of the most beautiful and compulsively listenable albums of the century so far.

The biggest development that took place on YHF was Tweedy’s songwriting fully blossoming into a sincere, singular voice that propelled to the band to unprecedented heights. On opening song “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart” Tweedy’s depiction of someone wandering around Chicago post-breakup “I am an American aquarium drinker/I assassin down the avenue/I’m hiding out in the big city blinking/What was a I thinking when I let go of you?” sets the tone of the album with wistful, poignant urgency. “Jesus, Etc” depicts the desolation and the simple pleasures clung to within urban, contemporary American life “Voices whine/Skycrapers are scraping together/Your voice is smoking/Last cigarettes, are all you can get/Turning your orbit around” while positing love as a balm for the ills of modern existence “Our love is all we have/Our love/Our love is all of God’s money/Everyone is a burning sun”. On the album’s stunning closer “Reservations” Tweedy’s trying to reassure his love that he’s invested in their future “Oh, I’ve got reservations/About so many things/But not about you” while on the album’s centerpiece, “Radio Cure”, Tweedy laments the difficulty of sustaining a long distance relationship despite advancements in technology making it easier to do than ever before “Oh, distance has no way/Of making love understandable”. Tweedy’s writing is concise and direct, cut with an emotional through line that elevates the sentiments beyond what may scan as initially simplistic.

YHF doesn’t provide any overhauls to their approach to the extent that Wilco’s previous two records did. Rather, it’s a case of tightening up what they already did well and improving considerably on all fronts. Jay Bennett continues to showcase how he was the band’s not-so-secret weapon at this phase of their career with a sly touch that embellishes each song here with surprising amount of dimension. Bennett really began to experiment considerably with Wilco’s sound on Summerteeth, but his most compelling contributions are those throughout YHF. Whether its the ambient swirl of chimes that open “Ashes of American Flags”, the spring-loaded percussion on “Pot Kettle Black”, the melancholic string drones that dominate “Poor Places” or the whirring samples that swirl in perfect harmony alongside the infectious concoction of cymbals, xylophone, and acoustic guitars throughout the build of “Radio Cure”, Bennett’s use of texture was subtle, but supremely effective in fleshing each composition into wonderfully distinct shapes. The songs are certainly strong enough to stand on their own in much simpler, stripped down forms, but Bennett’s tinkering perfectly complemented Tweedy’s songwriting, imbuing his romanticism with a welcome surrealist bent.

The suspected allusions to 9/11 in a few of the songs despite the record having been finished months before 9/11 dominated the narrative of the album upon its release, but that supposed prescience overlooks Tweedy’s astute observation of American despair and generally just glosses over the fact that, regardless of possible foresight, YHF is simply a magnificent record. There’s a universality to the sentiments that are beautifully rendered by Tweedy’s aching tone, and the band finally seemed completely comfortable dropping all pretenses of “alt-country” and leaned unabashedly into their intrinsic weirdness without much concern for what the record might initially scan as. What continues to really impress about YHF is that Wilco simultaneously became more experimental and tuneful, with some of the melodies dominating songs like “Radio Cure”, “Jesus, Etc”, “Pot Kettle Black”, and “I’m the Man Who Loves You” ranking as among their strongest to date. There are few albums that I’ve heard that strike such a fine balance between strong melodies and forward-thinking composition, but YHF manages just that, while offering a compelling insight into initial 21st century American malaise.

Essentials: “Radio Cure”, “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart”, “Jesus, Etc”

6. Madvillainy- Madvillain

MF DOOM and Madlib were already renowned figures in underground hip hop with a couple of great records under each of their belts before they linked up to write and record Madvillainy. But in each other they found the perfect collaborator whose sensibilities ran parallel to their own. In the universe that they built together dense internal rhymes float effortlessly over dusty soul loops and thick clouds of pot smoke. There were obvious precedents for what they accomplished on DOOM’s Operation Doomsday and Madlib’s The Unseen, recorded under his Quasimoto alias, but on Madvillainy they helped one another reach a creative breakthrough with them both redefining the form of their respective crafts. Madlib’s beats are relentlessly eclectic, gorgeously textured, and masterfully mixed, while DOOM’s verses are some of the most varied, superbly rapped, and thought-provoking of his entire career. The ease with which their styles complement one another belies the effort that they put into it, and the end result doesn’t sound fussy or labored over, but it did herald a new era of faded west-coast hip hop built on a throne of comic books, jazz records, and a dizzying array of internal rhyme schemes.

The production on Madvillainy was handled entirely by Madlib, with DOOM co-producing the opening track “The Illest Villains”, and it’s the most cohesive collection of beats that Madlib has ever assembled while still packing a considerable amount of variety within its grooves. “Rhinestone Cowboy” is the longest song, clocking in at 4 minutes exactly, but most of the songs are under 2 minutes and concisely introduce their ideas while DOOM unloads brief, but substantial bars over them. The samples span the likes of The Mothers of Invention, Sun Ra, George Clinton, Bill Evans, Diana Ross, Stevie Wonder, James Brown, Street Fighter II, and so much more sometimes within the same songs without once showing the seams. The atmosphere is soulful and jazzy with a hazy tinge that the samples lend the compositions on the whole juxtaposed superbly against the visceral nature of DOOM’s rapping. The music is rendered within a quantized grid so there’s no mistaking it as anything other than hip hop beats, but these beats are arranged more tastefully than the vast majority of instrumental hip-hop that’s come before or since. Whether it's the guitar/sleigh bell stomp of “Shadows of Tomorrow”, or the sluggish bass crawl and metronome sigh of “Meat Grinder”, or the anthemic brass leads that frame “All Caps”, the beats are simply bursting with texture and personality.

Since reemerging as MF DOOM towards the end of the last century Daniel Dumile has completely owned this specific lane of verbose, off-kilter hip-hop defined by his knotty phrasing, complex internal rhyme schemes, and magnetic personality that draws from all ephemeral of pop culture. Madlib brings out the best in DOOM, and his rapping is by turns loose and tight, dense and reference heavy while delivered with a level of precision that transcends pop culture acumen. “Living off borrowed time, the lock ticks faster/That’d be the hour they knock on the slick blaster” are the first lines on “Accordion” that open the record, and things only get more surreal from there. The rhymes are eloquent and guttural, often open to various interpretation, and packed with colorful imagery while never being anything less than thought-provoking. “Meat Grinder” depicts DOOM’s pimping of a stripper named China “Heat niner, pimping, stripping, soft sweet minor/China was a neat signer, trouble with the script” while “America’s Most Blunted” is an absurdist ode to marijuana “Quas, when he really hit star mode/Never will he boost loose Philies with the bar-code”. “Curls” reveals a glimpse of DOOM’s lost innocence after smoking his first spiff at 7 “Spliff made him swore he saw heaven, he was seven/Yup, you know it, growin’ up too fast/Showin’ up to class with Moet in a flask” while on “All Caps” he’s reveling in pure braggadocio “So nasty that it’s probably somewhat of a travesty/Having me, then he told the people “You can call me your majesty””. The complexity and eclecticism that DOOM imbued his lyrics with hit a new peak for hip hop as a whole on Madvillainy.

Although the partnership between MF DOOM and Madlib only resulted in Madvillainy, the influence of that lone masterwork continues to ripple throughout the underground and mainstream alike. Odd Future, Brainfeeder, Black Hippy, Pro Era, Bruiser Brigade and countless other crews, collectives, and labels were informed tremendously by the nerve this record struck. DOOM clones are still rampant, and Madlib’s anything goes crate-digging approach to sample-based composition can be heard in everyone from Kaytranada to JPEGMAFIA. There were very few records that came out this decade that drastically altered the direction for what hip hop can sound like quite like Madvillainy. DOOM and Madlib were such a perfect match for one another that neither of them have made music with anyone else before or since (or solo) that comes close to the brilliance of Madvillainy. Whether or not the two of them ever reunite to create that tantalizing follow-up seems like a coin toss, but truth be told we’re better served with things as they are. The original is still paying enormous dividends 15 years later and it’s only going to continue getting better from here.

Essentials: “All Caps”, “Figaro”, “Curls”

5. Microcastle/Weird Era Cont.- Deerhunter

No other double LP from the last decade delivered so much, or asked so little from the listener, as Deerhunter’s extraordinary Microcastle/Weird Era Cont. Originally just intended as a single LP, Bradford Cox generously recorded all of Weird Era Cont. to reward fans that purchased Microcastle after it leaked months in advance (unfortunately, Weird Era Cont. would be leaked as well). Microcastle finds the band honing their populist impulses with impeccable clarity without completely abandoning their murkier roots, while Weird Era Cont. completely dives into their stranger, more abstract realm of their sound. Each record is exceptional in its own right, but when taken together they form the perfect realization of all the sides of the band, spanning the likes of garage rock, post-punk, shoegaze, ambient, musique concrete, krautrock, and psychedelic pop while managing to make such amalgamations sound like second nature. There’s more range covered on each of these LPs than most bands manage within entire careers. While Cryptograms first showcased the seemingly limitless potential that Deerhunter was capable of, Microcastle/Weird Era Cont. proved that they were one of the defining bands of the century so far.

Microcastle is sequenced in a way that is comparable to Cryptograms, but there are just a few more bright pop moments right out of the gates before the record descends into its shorter ambient middle section. After the obligatory ambient opening interlude, this time in the form of “Cover Me (Slowly)”, Lockett Pundt begins the record proper by taking lead vocals on Cox’s “Agorophobia”. Having Lockett sing the first actual song on the record is a testament to how far their lead guitarist had come as another vocalist (and songwriter, with “Neither of Us, Uncertainly”) in such a short order. With “Agorophobia” Lockett leads one of the gentlest sounding songs that the band had released up to that point, with a disarmingly gorgeous vocal melody superbly juxtaposed against lyrics that describe the sensation of being buried alive for sexual pleasure. The sharp immediacy of “Never Stops” follows suit, and here Cox completely comes into his own a pop frontman, no longer content to wallow innocuously behind the squall of guitar distortion, and he propels the arrangements with a legitimately anthemic melody. Both “Little Kids” and the title track provide two of Cox’s most tender vocal performances up to that point while still making room for Lockett’s spellbinding guitar tones.

“Calvary Scars”, “Activa”, and “Green Jacket” aren’t quite as engaging as any of the ambient songs throughout the stretch from “White Ink” to “Red Ink” on Cryptograms, but they nonetheless draw an effective bridge to the record’s high-point, the colossal “Nothing Ever Happened”. “Nothing Ever Happened” has the band firing on all cylinders and delivering a show stopping performance that blends krautrock, garage rock, and shoegaze for a song far more satisfying and life-affirming than the sum of its parts. After that rollercoaster we’re treated to the bouncy jangle pop of “Saved by Old Times”, and the soothing dream pop of comedowns “Neither of Us, Certainly” and “Twilight at Carbon Lake” before the later erupts into a cacophony of jerky guitar spasms. It’s a welcome ending for a record with such a clear emphasis on melody, and it reinforces the notion that you shouldn’t get too comfortable with any fixed idea of what Deerhunter sound like at any given point in time.

Weird Era Cont. is where things really get interesting. It’s the only album of theirs that includes songs that were recorded and performed by individual members of the band intended for their various solo projects (these being Bradford Cox’s Atlas Sound and Lockett Pundt’s Lotus Plaza). The album as a whole hews closest to the first Atlas Sound LP, Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel, in that both are absolute treasure troves of sonic riches that prioritize pure sound and overall immersion above proper song structure. The fact that Weird Era Cont. is so disparate and yet hangs together so cohesively is as much a testament to Deerhunter’s discipline as it is their sheer intuition with respect to flow and pacing even amongst such inherent disorder. And so here you get the raucous garage rock anthem “Operation” colliding into the noise-pop gem “Dot Gain”, the ambient interlude “Cicada” seeping right into the twisted ethereal waltz “Vox Humana”, and the whirring instrumental collage pop “Moon Witch Cartridge” segueing nicely into the droning noise of “Weird Era”. While Weird Era Cont. is only strengthened when viewed through the lens of it existing as the flip side to Microcastle’s warped pop, it still provides a welcome microcosm of Deerhunter’s incredible range all on its own, and it’s the most adventurous record that Deerhunter ever recorded.

Due to the fact that Microcastle and Weird Era Cont. are both Deerhunter records, the lyrics deal almost entirely with dreams and death. Most of the characters that occupy these songs are trying to escape from their nightmares or literally sacrificing themselves for the sweet ecstasy of oblivion. A version of “Cavalry Scars” appears on both records, the former a brief guitar lullaby and the latter a blistering shoegaze freakout, but the constant thread that ties them together aside from the title is that the narrator is crucifying himself in front of all of his friends. “Saved By Old Times” is more literal, and it depicts the alienation that Cox experienced growing up in his parents house by himself after his parents divorced while trying to cope with his Marfan Syndrome “You are trapped in your basement for a war of 16 years/In a combat for victory/In a combat with ourselves/In combat with these cultural vampires”. Cox’s fixation on death seems to serve as the ultimate salve for his lifelong struggle with simply having to exist, and regardless of whether or not music functions as a temporary solution for his anguish it’s clearly a natural medium for him to exercise his demons. Deerhunter have spent the rest of their career honing in on that release, but Microcastle/Weird Era Cont. is where those fixations first crystallized into something truly singular.

Essentials: “Nothing Ever Happened”, “Never Stops”, “Microcastle”, “Vox Celeste”, “Dot Gain”, “Slow Swords”

4. Strawberry Jam- Animal Collective

Strawberry Jam was the first Animal Collective record to have been released after band member Panda Bear’s exceptional solo breakthrough, Person Pitch, so for the first time in their career there was an obvious precedent in place for where the tight knight crew of David Portner (Avey Tare), Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), Geologist (Brian Weitz), and Josh Dibb (Deakin) might take their sound, but like all their prior records it sounds nothing like anything that came before it. Having completely moved on from the full-band analog approach, SJ is the sound of a band moving fearlessly outside of their comfort zone and harnessing the immense potential of samplers. On the whole, the compositions are more richly textured, melodic, and better paced than the bulk of their past work. The band continued to incorporate field recordings into their music, but given the prevalence of the samples happening at all times it can be difficult to parse who’s doing anything other than percussion and vocals at any given point in time. Avey’s presence dominates SJ to a large degree, with his idiosyncratic approach to melody defining the bulk of the standouts here. But despite Tare’s voice being the focal point on most of the songs on SJ, Panda Bear still holds his own as a songwriter throughout, and his softer melodic tone helped superbly counterbalance Tare’s outbursts. On SJ you can hear the band bending the fabric of pop music to their will in real time, and it remains both a masterclass in warped pop, and a joy to revisit time and time again.

During the tour in support of their incredible 2005 psych-rock LP, Feels, Lennox was mesmerized by the look of a tray of inflight jam, and decided that the production on their next record should sound the way that the jam looked. On SJ the band capture that superbly as they deliver some of their strongest, and sweetest melodies coupled with Avey’s most abrasive, and expressive singing to date. This tug of war between the band’s heightened melodic instincts driving candy-coated, psychedelic arrangements against Tare’s octave leaping shrieks provides an entrancing juxtaposition that loses none of its potency from the frantic opening song “Peacebone”, to the longing closer “Derek”. Songs like “Chores” and the aforementioned “Derek”, both of which are Panda songs, execute sublime, unpredictable transitions midway through that demonstrate both his knack for sample-based composition and the West-African influence on his songwriting that really congealed in earnest on PP. Meanwhile Tare songs, like “Unsolved Mysteries” and “Cuckoo Cuckoo”, still favored conventional chord changes and verse-chorus-verse structures, but they managed to pack the hallmarks of the band’s sound into much more succinct packages that don’t nullify any of the impact. Neo-psychedelic synth textures, tribal drumming, choirboy vocal harmonies, feral shrieks, and a pervasive use of space still reigned supreme throughout SJ, but the band were crafting legitimate pop songs while still in service of their wonderful idiosyncrasies. Nothing on SJ could be mistaken for the work of any other band, but it’s remarkable to hear just how significantly they tightened up their arrangements while still still remaining an island unto themselves.

As soon as opener “Peacebone” kicks into gear with its stomping percussion and dazzling array of arpeggio synth leads setting the foundation for Avey’s full-throttled yelps, it’s clear that this is his record. At the time of its release, “Peacebone” was the most immediate that AC ever sounded, but Tare’s shrieks kept listeners giddily at arm’s length even as they adopt more approachable structures. The midsection breakdown is still thrilling, and a good barometer of whether or not SJ is really your cup of tea or not. “Unsolved Mysteries” follows suit and doubles down on the pervading sense of whimsy from a compositional standpoint, and Tare’s vocals continue to provide a satisfying juxtaposition. The backbone of the album consists of “For Reverend Green” and “Fireworks”, the strongest back to back songs on any of their albums. On “For Reverend Green” Tare provides one of his most thrilling vocal performances to date, gleefully leaping between octaves mid-verse and switching between cathartic wordless croons and feral shrieks on a dime. It’s a stunning display of virtuosity and passion that couldn’t have come from any other musician. “Fireworks” is one of Tare’s most tender vocal performances to date, and it finds him contemplating the cycle of life as well as his place in the world over stuttering percussion, wordless croons, mesmerizing field recordings, and minor key piano. It’s a touching, albeit heavy listen, but the band play with such joy and warmth that it never suffocates under the weight of its ambition, and it’s one of the greatest songs that Tare has ever written.

Despite SJ being an album dominated by Tare’s presence it was still a major showcase for Panda Bear as a songwriter in his own right. “Chores” nails the sort of transitional finesse perfected on PP as it starts from a frantic intro dominated by bass drums and noisemakers before seamlessly shifting into a brief droning mid-section and then ending on a psychedelic, West-African influenced march. The disparate movements sound nothing alike one another, but they’re stitched together in a way that not only flows incredibly well, but sounds completely natural. “#1” is the closest that the band get to one of their signature drone compositions, and although it’s far sparser, and not nearly as developed as most of their prior ones it works on the strength on Panda’s gorgeous vocals alone. The arpeggio synth melody, sleigh bells, and vocal samples provide a refreshing minimal framework on an album otherwise defined by maximalism, and gives Panda’s voice the kind of room necessitated for it to achieve its maximum impact. The finale, “Derek”, also clearly sprang from a PP compositional influence, with an intro full of chirping synths and tranquil organ chords that slowly give way to an explosive, double kick drum wall of sound beneath one of Panda’s most triumphant vocal melodies to date. It’s a massive sound, but his sentiments couldn’t be any more tender “You can count/When you count/Count on me/What do you/See when you/See inside of me”.

On SJ AC grapple with their adulthood, their lives as touring band, and the daily routines they now find themselves entwined in. Panda’s “Chores” is about him getting his chores out of the way so that he can get high in the rain while his closing contribution, “Derek”, finds him pondering the weight of having a living being depend on him for survival. None of Avey’s songs have the the playful energy of “Chores”, and he spends the album delivering a stream of consciousness on the nature of death (“Cucko Cucko), exploring the delusions that we buy into to feel okay about life (“Winter Wonder Land”), and the futility of living in the past (“Peacebone”). In addition to to being compositional standouts, “For Reverend Green” and “Fireworks” also form the emotional backbone of the album. The former explores the jovial existence of childhood against the crippling realities of adulthood “A running child’s bloody with burning knees/A careless child’s money flew in the trees/A camping child’s happy with winter’s freeze/A lucky child don’t know how lucky she is”. It almost plays like a spiritual successor to Tare’s masterful early song “Alvin Row”, and it perfectly exemplifies their ethos as a band. On “Fireworks” Tare contemplates the passage of time, acknowledging how quickly everything moves, and fantasizes about what bliss might look like to him “It’s family beaches that I desire/Sacred night where we watch the fireworks/They frighten the babies and you know/They’ve got two/Flashing eyes and if they’re color blind/They make me feel/That I’m all I see sometimes”. It’s a universal sentiment delivered with their singular charm, and one of their strongest statements to date.

On SJ AC retained their idiosyncratic whims and experimental proclivities, they just learned how to harness these elements into more immediate forms. As with each of their records released throughout the last decade SJ sounds nothing like what preceded it, but it’s too eclectic to be the work of any other band, and despite the shift in sonics it still operates by the dreamy logic that the band imbued it with. Each release following Danse Manatee has found the band creeping closer to full on pop, and although they embraced it unabashedly on SJ it’s still on their own terms entirely. SJ was the latest in a progression of records since Ark that found AC being ahead of the curve of several indie trends, and many of the sample-heavy indie acts throughout the end of the last decade owe their careers to this record. SJ isn’t AC’s most immediate record, nor is it their most challenging, but it is one of the most inspired developments within their progression, and it jump started their sample-based mature phase. MPP remains their most celebrated work, but the crystallization of their sound that took place on that record wouldn’t have been possible without the groundwork laid by SJ. Although SJ was overshadowed by PP the year that they both came out, SJ still stands as the best showcase of the band’s work with samplers, and it remains a landmark of experimental pop music.

Essentials: “For Reverend Green”, “Fireworks”, “Derek”

3. Kid A- Radiohead

Few artists have managed to make such a drastic leap in sound on any of their records the way that Radiohead did with Kid A. Throughout the 90s they developed organically from a run of the mill Brit pop band into one of the most idiosyncratic and forward thinking bands of all time. With their landmark 1998 record Ok Computer they created a blueprint for a form electronic rock equally informed by classical music and the various strains of experimental electronic music that emerged in the 90s courtesy of the likes of Aphex Twin, Boards of Canada, and Autechre. By the time that they were gearing up to record the follow-up to what was then unanimously recognized as their masterpiece they disavowed the form of rock music entirely. On Kid A the guitars are stripped away in favor of icy keyboards and the austere glare of syntheizers, with the stark precision of drum machines deployed to provide the heartbeat for their desolate soundscapes. The risk paid off immensely, resulting in a work that sounds like nothing that’s come before or since. It’s the sound of a band grappling with existentialism, early information overload, and the sweeping saturation of advanced technology and responding with doomsday prophecies that sound more prescient with each passing year. No other record released this century has better set the tone for everything to come quite the way that Kid A has.

As soon as Kid A’s opening song “Everything In It’s Right Place” begins it’s undeniable that a great deal has changed with Radiohead this time around. Despite the chilly exterior that Ok Computer exudes, there are still moments of melodic warmth such as on its opening cut “Airbag”. “Everything In It’s Right Place” presents an uneasy atmosphere at the offset, and things gradually become more foreboding from there. Thom Yorke’s heavily manipulated wail sounds like it’s glitching as it soars over the horizon of digital keys and kick drums. The mix slowly becomes an overwhelming wall of vocals and keys that form a repetitive bludgeoning motif, incorporating their heightened love of krautrock. Along with the classical music and IDM touchstones that informed Ok Computer, krautrock, jazz, and ambient were large influences they drew from as well. The title track follows “Everything In It’s Right Place”, and it’s an ambient lullaby that finds the band prioritizing atmosphere and texture over any semblance of conventional composition. On the following song, “The National Anthem” the band spiral into a propulsive epic that fuses jazz and krautrock into something else entirely. The first three songs sound nothing like one another, and in addition to the late album IDM stomp of “Idioteque”, they set the parameters for the record as a whole.

Despite the variety on display throughout Kid A it still achieves a remarkable cohesiveness through tone and atmosphere. Every song is masterfully paced, and exquisitely produced, and most blow open their sonic parameters further then they’ve ever dared before or since. “Optimistic” is one of the few songs here that hints at the sort of driving guitar compositions they prioritized early on, but when coupled with the forlorn melody and the eerie synth loops it almost sounds like an unsettling throwback that achieves a sense of perpetual weightlessness. “Treefingers” dives headfirst into ambient, and is one of the most gorgeous instrumental compositions that Radiohead have ever written. It also provides a superb bridge from the existential acoustic reverie “How to Disappear Completely” into the moody lurch of “Optimistic”. “Idioteque” is the pounding heart of Kid A’s detached overlook, but despite being the closest the album comes to a single it’s still claustrophobic and uninhabitable. After several songs that aim to instill dread and discomfort at every turn, the album’s last proper song “Motion Picture Soundtrack” ends things with a gorgeous harp arpeggio set against an organ wail as Yorke sings softly about a suicide fantasy. All these years later and Kid A continues to hold together as an astonishing collection of experiments from a band at the height of their powers.

Emerging at the dawn of the current century, Kid A didn’t commit to any pretenses of subtlety whatsoever, particularly with respect to its thematic concerns. On “Everything In It’s Right Place” Yorke lays out his perception of the state of a world laced with depression, anxiety, fear, and disconnection “There are two colours in my head/What was that you tried to say” informed by a breakdown that he experienced while touring Ok Computer. “How to Disappear Completely” takes the form of an out-of-body experience with a narrator thoroughly disillusioned with his life and ready to precede to the next plane of existence “In a little while/I’ll be gone/The moment’s already passed/Yeah, it’s gone”. “In Limbo” traffics in pure abstraction as the narrator wanders aimlessly throughout life unable to escape from his fantasies “I’m lost at sea/Don’t bother me/I’ve lost my way” while “Morning Bell” depicts a lingering spirit that supposedly resided in a house that Yorke used to own “The lights are on but nobody’s home/Nobody wants to be a slave”. The aforementioned “Motion Picture Soundtrack” provides a superb ending to the album rendered in bleak, cutting detail “Red wine and sleeping pills/Help me get back to your arms/Cheap sex and sad films/Help me get where I belong”, and it culmines with the narrator easing into suicide. The songs portray a grim culture of isolation and pacification that we’re much closer to living than we were when the album came out.

A year after Kid A Radiohead returned with their fifth LP, Amnesiac, but it mostly plays like a well-sequenced collection of thoughtfully repurposed leftovers from the Kid A sessions. Several great records followed suit, the latest being their sublime 2016 LP A Moon Shaped Pool, while various members of the band have spun off to focus on solo careers and film scores. Radiohead have never released anything less than a good record, but nothing since Kid A has come close to capturing the consistent brilliance of that record. The paranoia, uncertainty, and disillusionment that was pervasive at the turn of the century is rendered remarkably through their stark arrangements, liberal use of space, and distant temperament. The shift in Radiohead’s trajectory following Kid A was so pronounced that a band releasing their Kid A has become shorthand for the sort of dramatic, swinging for the fences left turn that's all too rare in music these days. While it’s almost certain that Radiohead will never release anything of this magnitude again, Kid A has held up incredibly well, and it continues to loom large as a relic of an already bygone era defined by a sense of wonder slowly being crippled beneath the weight of an encroaching dystopia.

Essentials: “Everything In It’s Right Place”, “The National Anthem”, “Optimistic”

2. Feels- Animal Collective

While Sung Tongs was the true breakout record for Animal Collective, Feels was where the band locked in as a full group to showcase that the remarkable melodic warmth peeking out through their intrinsic weirdness was far from a fluke. Avey Tare, Panda Bear, Geologist, and Deakin had all come together once before for Ark two years prior, but the pop craftsmanship, confidence, consistency, and sheer range displayed on Feels are worlds apart from the unsettling, freak-folk noise collages that define Ark. Psychedelia and drone music are still large facets of their sound, but they hadn’t previously been utilized to reinforce such strong song craft. Having moved beyond their freak-folk and noise roots, Feels was a departure towards presenting themselves as more of a conventional rock band, and it’s still the closest they’ve ever come to releasing any semblance of a traditional “rock” LP, but true to form Feels defies any easy classification. Guitars, drums, piano, and vocals dominate the proceedings to be sure, but so do dense field recordings, and otherworldly drones, particularly on the record’s spellbinding second half. While perhaps not their most adventurous, nor their most unpredictable record, Feels is certainly their most consistent, offering a glimpse of a band still changing dramatically from record to record while offering far more than any of their peers.

Since Feels was only the second album of theirs to feature all four members by that point it’s a far more fleshed out sounding record than the bulk of those that preceded it. Both Avey and Deakin play guitar throughout, and Avey typically played lead while Deakin provided a warm melodic underpinning. Feels was the last record to feature Panda Bear behind the kit until Centipede Hz, and his drumming is some of the best that he’s ever recorded, alternating from frantic tribal percussion on “The Purple Bottle” to serene minimalist rolls on “Loch Raven” and everything in-between. Geologist’s superb use of texture hit a new peak here, particularly throughout the dreamier compositions that made up side B. Tare’s singing is anything but conventional, swinging wildly between octaves mid-measure, and flipping from tender croons to blood-curdling shrieks on a dime. Panda’s vocals continued to play a larger role in their music, and throughout Feels his voice acts most frequently as additional texture that lends their music an ethereal glow. In addition to larger contributions from all of the members besides Tare no other record of theirs features as much from outside collaborators. The piano playing courtesy of Doctress (who was married to Tare at the time) and the violin playing courtesy of Eyvind Kang add quite a bit of unexpected dimension that evens out the record’s more warped leanings. Despite everything that’s going on the instruments all have quite a bit of breathing room thanks to the record’s superb mixing and pacing. No single element ever dominates, and the amount of variation on display is a marvel.

Feels tells you everything that you need to know about its sentiments in the title alone. From the opening track “Did You See the Words” all the way through to the closer “Turn Into Something”, the band chronicle the euphoria of falling in love on the first side, and detail the poignancy of enduring heartbreak on the second side. With the exception of the superb, droning breather “Flesh Canoe”, that bridges the adrenaline burst of “Grass” to the grand, propulsive shuffle of “The Purple Bottle” the first side translates the euphoria of falling in love with infectious giddiness. It’s here where Avey’s delivery is at his most delirious and unpredictable, and he provides two of his greatest vocal performances with “Did You See the Words” and “The Purple Bottle”. “Did You See the Words” establishes the scope of the record as Tare recites the sparks that led to the relationship with keen details “Have you seen them?/The words cut open/Your poor intestines can’t deny/When the inky periods drip from your mailbox and/Blood flies dip and glide reach down inside/There’s something living in these lines” as his voice enthusiastically zig-zags around Panda’s minimalist tribal percussion. “The Purple Bottle” articulates the pure bliss of a relationship in its honeymoon phase, and features what’s quite possibly the most expressive vocal performance of Tare’s to date as he fantasizes about a future with his girlfriend “Well I’d like to spread your perfume around the old apartment/Could we live together and agree on the same wares/A trapeze is a bird cage and even if its empty it definitely fits the room/And we would too”. Naturally, things take a turn for the worse.

Side B is what really elevates Feels to a classic, and it’s the strongest stretch of songs that AC have ever recorded. Even though “Bees” is technically the conclusion of side A, tonally, and especially sonically, it fits far better with the rest of side B. Over chiming autoharp drones and sprinkles of piano, Avey depicts the calm before the storm “They came wide/So wild, the bees/They came crying/They said, “I’d take my time/You take your time/Please take your time”” as Panda’s angelic croon glides across the mix like a mirage. It’s a breathtaking moment of mesmerizing tranquility that emerges just before the clouds begin to take shape. We then transition into “Banshee Beat”, the centerpiece of Feels, and arguably one of the best songs that the band ever recorded. On “Banshee Beat” Avey depicts how his relationship fell apart after he learned that his girlfriend cheated on him, and every second of the sublime, nearly 8-and-a-half-minute song is necessary. “Banshee Beat” opens to wispy trails of droning guitar and brief spurts of piano as Avey solemnly sets the tone “Oh there’ll be time, to get by, to get dry, after the swimming pool/Oh there’ll be time, to just cry, I wonder why, it didn’t work out”. The song then slowly builds up steam as melodic guitar chords cut through the drone set against Panda’s nimble, chugging rhythm. Avey looks back on the memories that he and his ex had together, and despite his sorrow, he comes to the conclusion that he’s far better off without her in his life, and the song reaches a cathartic coda that features wordless harmonies between him and Panda as the song spirals into silence.

After “Banshee Beat” we’re led into “Daffy Duck”, the record’s most surreal, structure-less drone song. The guitar textures that Deakin provides here are some of the most immersive in their discography, and Avey’s at his most abstract “And if I had volcano boots/For swimming in volcanoes/Do you know the origins of laughing ducks?/Oh what’s a matter with those words”. It plays like a dream sequence that emerges right at the tail-end of the glowing resolution from “Banshee Beat” right into “Loch Raven”, one of the record’s other high-points. “Loch Raven” is perhaps the closest that AC have come to writing a straight-up lullaby, and it’s equally haunting and life-affirming thanks to the understated melodic sweep and soft, high-pitched textures that wafts through every corner of the mix. Panda’s honeyed tenor is unbearably tender as he repeatedly sings “I will not give up on you” juxtaposed against Avey referencing lines from Little Red Riding Hood that contextualize his cheating partner as the wolf plotting her deception. It’s truly something that couldn’t have been written by any other band, and it’s the last completely ambient song on the second side before the explosive finale, “Turn Into Something”. “Turn Into Something” is a classic sounding AC song, defined by explosive yelps from Avey alongside droning guitar, sprightly piano, and a bouncy floor-tom beat courtesy of Panda. At the 4-minute mark everything breaks apart and the song transitions into a ambient conclusion with Tare and Bear’s vocals floating through the ether as the droning guitars chime around them. It’s just as effective as a conclusion to Feels as it is an entry point into their work as a whole.

Merriweather Post Pavilion is easily the most successful record that AC have ever released, and most critics will tell you that it’s their best work, but it doesn’t come close to Feels across most conceivable metrics. Feels is the sound of the band firing on all cylinders, having developed exponentially as musicians and songwriters within the span of just five years. It didn’t push their sound forward quite as much as Strawberry Jam, nor did it signal quite as dramatic a leap in song craft as ST, but no other record of theirs succeeds in tackling so much ground with such remarkable consistency across the board. Feels was the last record that AC released before Panda Bear’s landmark solo LP Person Pitch irreversibly changed the entire trajectory of indie music, and influenced them to begin using samplers as the focal point of their compositions over guitars. Like all of their great records from Ark onwards, there are traces of everything that they had done prior on Feels, but listening to this record still leaves the impression that they could truly go anywhere. With almost any other band that’s ever existed, that claim is mostly disingenuous, but up until Centipede Hz the possibilities for AC truly seemed limitless, and that unprecedented unpredictability remains a key component of their appeal to this day. No 2 of their 10 records sound alike, and while they’ll almost certainly never again release anything that comes close to touching the pure bliss of Feels, the magic of this record is still an absolute marvel to revisit every time.

Essentials: “Banshee Beat”, “Loch Raven”, “The Purple Bottle”

1. Person Pitch- Panda Bear

By the time that Panda Bear (aka Noah Lennox) released Person Pitch he had moved from Brooklyn, New York to Lisbon, Portugal, gotten married, and his band Animal Collective were rapidly growing into one of the defining bands of the 21st century, but even knowing all the ground that they covered in such a short span could hardly have prepared anyone for anything as singular as PP. The last solo record that Panda released prior to PP was his gorgeous, yet devastatingly poignant 2004 folk record Young Prayer, a tribute to his late father who passed that same year from brain cancer. On PP the analog instrumentation that defined YP and Panda’s past work with AC was opted out entirely in favor of compositional approach informed by plunderphonics that was spurred by his increasing fondness of producers like Madlib, and his formative musical influences like GAS, The Orb, and Daft Punk. The end result is a remarkably rendered patchwork of disparate sounds that span the scope of recorded music history tied together with Panda’s signature tenor, and his sharp ear for sequencing. While PP isn’t technically a plunderphonics record due to the incorporation of Panda’s vocals recorded fresh for these compositions, it’s still more wide-ranging, and superbly realized than any plunderphonics record released before or since. PP went on to completely shift the trajectory of indie music in the years since its release, and very few artists have managed to release an album that matches the scope of this dazzling breakthrough since.

PP is superbly sequenced into seven songs, two of which broach the 12-minute mark, with well-placed comedowns emerging right after the epics. The songs consist of loops cherry-picked from old records that Panda was exposed to during his time working at the Other Music record store in Brooklyn throughout the early aughts. The music shifts and contorts on a whim, segueing through different motifs with acute finesse while drawing through lines between various eras of music that may have been previously unthinkable, but nonetheless seem to sound like natural evolutions in Panda’s hands. Nothing sounds out of placed or forced because of the careful sequencing, and the precise tweaking of the samples that are being deployed. The opening song “Comfy in Nautica” perfectly sets the tone as a choir of vocals descend upon what sounds like an ascending roller coaster, and samples of racing cars. The construction is simple, but striking, and the tone he achieves is one of pure humility established with his homespun mantras of self-preservation “Coolness is having courage/Courage to do what’s right/Try to remember always/ Just to have a good time”. Whether it’s the dreamlike glide of “I’m Not”, or the cozy, glowing conclusion “Ponytail” the samples that Panda utilizes perfectly achieve the aesthetics of what the songs themselves are striving for. Everything is meticulously placed, and a single shift would disrupt the lean symmetry of the whole.

Nothing on PP underwhelms, but the high points are among the most remarkable achievements throughout the history of sample-based composition. “Take Pills” starts with what sounds like a lumbering stroll along a cobblestone road with percussion cribbed from Scott Walker’s “Always Coming Back to You” as Panda’s sighs guide the caravan forward unassumingly, but after several minutes the song transitions smoothly into jaunty surf rock propelled by a sample courtesy of “The Popeye Twist” by The Tornadoes. The shift is immense, but nothing about it scans as gimmicky or unnatural, and the ease with which the song transitions belies the ingenuity on display. “Bros”, almost certainly the most celebrated song of Panda Bear’s solo career, is a masterful 12 and a half minute tour de force that cycles through various eras of pop music’s history with the sharp precision of DJ set. Beginning with another sample from The Tornadoes (this time in the form of “Red Roses and a Sky of Blue”), “Bros” establishes a merry-go-round framework that never manages to sound stale within the course of its 12 and a half minutes. The acoustic guitar thrust sampled off of Cat Steven’s “I’ve Found a Love” alongside Panda’s harmonies that forever recall those of Brian Wilson propel the second act of “Bros” up until its life-affirming third act that gets a great deal of mileage out of a sampled vocal loop from The Equal’s “Rub a dub dub”. PP’s other epic, “Good Girl / Carrots”, spends its first 3 minutes spiraling through a dub freakout that eventually folds neatly into a rousing, spring-loaded midsection featuring some of the finest melodies that Panda has ever sung. As the song transitions into its carnival-esque, music box final act with a sample from Kraftwerk’s “Ananas Symphonie” Panda caps things off with a rejection of the sort of music nerd hive fandom that helped propel him to such heights in the first place as noisemakers soar along the periphery of the mix. The peaks of “Bros” and “Good Girl / Carrots” are astonishing, and those two songs alone cemented Panda Bear’s status at the vanguard of sample-based composition.

The lyrics throughout PP are heartfelt admissions from someone whose life had undergone massive shifts within the few years leading up to it. The release of AC’s landmark LP Sung Tongs in 2004 allowed him and the rest of AC to begin sustaining a career in music, and that very same year his father died, he decided to move from New York to Portugal after falling in love with a woman while on vacation from tour, and he soon after married her. The warmth seeping out of the music on PP reflects the atmosphere that Panda suddenly found himself immersed in much in the same way that AC’s superb 2003 record Ark was informed by the chaos of their lives in Brooklyn. “Take Pills” grapples with the history of Panda’s family’s reliance on anti-depressants “Take one day at a time/Everything else you can leave behind/Only one thing at a time/Anything more really hurts your mind”. “Bros” is a plea to his brother Matt for space to live his own life in the wake of their father’s passing “I’m not trying to forget you/I just like to be alone/Come and give me the space I need/And you may you may you may you may/You may find that we’re alright” while on “Good Girl / Carrots” Panda’s taking taste makers to task for trying to instill a false sense of superiority over those who aren’t as informed on underground music “Get your head out from those mags and websites who try to shape your style/Take a risk yourself and wade into the deep end of the ocean”. On the album’s closer, “Ponytail”, Panda offers up little more than “When my soul starts knowing/I am as I’d want to be/And I know I never will stop caring”, but it’s a perfectly fitting conclusion to the record, and as sincere a sentiment as anything I’ve heard on any album. The overwhelming sincerity of the music is tempered by a beyond-his-years wisdom that’s well-earned and deeply empathetic.

Panda Bear released three solo LPs following PP, and the approach on this record has gone on to inform all of the AC records that have followed in its wake. The influence of this record simply cannot be overstated. As easy as it is to roll your eyes at chillwave and the “vibe” generation, everyone from Tame Impala to Travis Scott owes an enormous debt to Panda Bear. As the bulk of their peers began to stick to their respective lanes Panda and the rest of AC continued to swing wildly between trends and genres throughout the last decade, leaving their stamp on various forms before pivoting wildly to where their muses led them next. Thankfully, Panda has continued to push his sound forward throughout his solo career as well, and even when returning to sample-based composition for his stellar 2015 fifth solo record, Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper, it marked a clear shift towards the influence of hip-hop and house, and away from the minimal techno meets psychedelic guitar pop that PP favored in abundance. No musical artist throughout the 21st century has covered as much ground as consistently or as impressively as Panda Bear, and PP still stands as one of the few truly idiosyncratic statements from any artist throughout the last decade. It’s aged tremendously well in the years since its release, and it still presents a disarmingly well-realized euphoria that couldn’t sound more radical in the moody, deconstructed landscape of music that has defined this current decade.

Essentials: “Bros”, “Good Girl / Carrots”, “Take Pills”

[httplovecraft1890]

A commissioned preview image for an ongoing Yan Sim fic project of mine, All Things Truly Wicked. Also included: a prequel to everything.

“Long ago, there dwelt a spirit. He was old; not as old as the vast ocean, but he could recall when the Three Holy Mountains were sculpted and when it filled with the vast greenery that he called his home, for he was a yosei, a child of the forest. He did not have a name for a long time. None of his brothers or sisters did but they could communicate without issue among themselves. It was not until he traveled north, where the winters were long and biting, that the people who had made it their home, almost as old himself, had piqued his interest in humans with their strange rituals. As he’d hid watching the humans perform their dances and chants he had done so hidden underneath the brush - or so he thought. But he had not been as careful as he would’ve liked and had been spotted by children. On that day, the yosei was given a name. Nikurukur. He Who Hides Behind Trees. He had adored it and from that moment onward he played with them, doing small magic tricks like turning into a bird, and playing games with them for what seemed to be endless afternoons. It was there that Nikurukur, once free from all responsibility, learned of something terrible: time. What felt like mere days for him were years for his friends; rowdy boys became strapping men and bright-eyed girls became shapely women. They told him with sad eyes that even though they couldn’t come to him and play, they would tell their own children about him, so that he would never truly be alone. But he had cried that it wasn’t the same, that it wasn’t fair. So Nikurukur stole away in the night from the northern island south taking nothing with him but his name. He wandered all along the islands again with the new knowledge that everything around him was not permanent and could never stay the same. Every detail that had once been so comforting was now dark and dreary. The world ceased to be filled with wonder for Nikurukur and even though his siblings begged him to come out from his home, he couldn’t. Seasons passed, the earth spun, but nothing helped Nikurukur leave the beautiful sakura tree that he had nested himself in. But one day, Nikurukur found once again that life could surprise him. It had started at dusk, when he had awoken from a long nap to the sound of a human woman weeping just outside. It was strange; in all the time he’d spent by himself he had forgotten how someone else’s sorrow sounded. As he laid eyes on her, he was immediately entranced. He had never felt what he did in that moment for another being before, yet he knew what the warm feeling that flooded him was: love. It had never been explained to him but its truth had found its way inside of him, mending the strands of his broken heart back into place. The woman who sat by the little shrine that had been built in the time he had not ventured into the outside world was a sight to behold. Her frame was slender, eyes round and wide, her painted skin pale as the moon that was soon to be high above them both, and she was bedecked in the finest threads of gold and scarlet he had ever seen, but most of all Nikurukur understood the language she spoke. Her breath was short and haggard as she wept, tears streaming down her face and onto the cloth of her kimono. Her wailing hurt, as if each cry could somehow shatter him into a hundred pieces. Slowly and cautiously Nikurukur slid down the branches of the tree to her side and spoke gently. “It is not an unwelcome surprise that I find you here, madam, but night will fall soon and I would be remiss not to tell you it would be unwise to stay. What brings you here?” “O spirit!” the woman sobbed, her mournful display stopping for a moment as shock registered on her delicate features. “Be that as it may, I would face all the yokai who would do me harm if only the gods would listen!” Something in him stirred and he looked away, his very being whispered he was unworthy to gaze upon her dark hair and round face. “The gods are not deaf...?” “Minoru.“ “They are not deaf, nor dumb, Minoru. But sometimes they are indeed hard of hearing.” “You do not understand. I have prayed for many days and many more nights besides, but they will not-” Her voice seemed to pause, and Nikurukur could taste the sour lump of her depression far in the back of her throat. “-they will not speak with me.” “Why would you think they would miss an opportunity to speak with someone of your stature?” The blush inadvertently found its way onto his skeletal thin features, pink illuminating the unearthly shade of white that were his cheeks. It was then he noticed the bundle near her prostrated knees in front of her, wrapped in what appeared to be an assortment of fabrics. “I was with child when my husband left to go to war. Now he is to return home soon and I will have nothing to show him. He wanted a son, but I could only offer him a daughter…” Short as Nikurukur was, they were almost of equal height with her crouching alongside him, and the gaze she met him with never wavered. “…He is a man I would rather not disappoint twice.” A shiver was all he received in response to the question that never passed from Nikurukur’s lips as to what it is that he was capable of. “So I have prayed to the gods for mercy, to return her to a life that was cut far too short. But they do not care for my misery. What have I ever done to betray their trust?” Nikurukur looked down at what he understood then to be an outfit fit for cremation. His mind drifted back ages to his old playmates in the forest, of the laughs they shared, and all the memories that had been made. The babe would never make them with anyone and in that moment the noblewoman’s agony was crystalline. “Perhaps… perhaps it was something from a past life that caught up with you?” “Then I should have been punished, not her!” The fury in her voice was cold like the surface of the knives that Nikurukur could remember that the hunters of the tribe had used around the campfire and involuntarily he flinched. “All she had done was come into the world. What time was there to bring misery into it to warrant this kind of suffering?” He had no good answer for her questions. They sat in silence for some time, Nikurukur feeling her sorrow just as deeply as he’d experienced his own before he spoke again. “Perhaps it is not so hopeless after all. Surely, if the gods oversee all, and I know they do, then our meeting was ordained.” Her frown had been evident as the words left his lips. “What ever do you mean?” “There is something I can do that I have never tried. But…” Nikurukur’s voice stopped, its normally gentle tone beset by worry. “…I do not know if I should.” Excitedly, the woman leaned forward, her lips finally going from the frown he had become familiar with since the start of their meeting to a smile so radiant it seemed as if there were two suns present. “Go on…” “I am a spirit of the forest; I know what must be done to maintain life here,” Nikurukur said, spreading his spindly arms wide. “When the gods made me, they gave me a spark. For a time it was all I was and I know how to cultivate it. If her soul cannot return… perhaps I can do as best a facsimile as I am able.” His companion was quiet for a moment, face fallen and as still as the small stone shrine that sat near the base of the tree. He could tell it weighed on her heavily. She had already been marked to experience this tragedy and who was he to undo such a lesson? But he could not stand to see the hurt he had in her features again. “I would not miss anything, would I?” her voice was soft, like a gently moving stream. “Perhaps… not. I cannot say for certain, but she was so young that it might be negligible.” “You would not get into trouble because of it?” “No. Why else would this power be mine?”

Nikurukur didn’t know, but something in the back of his mind told him it was a false promise. “If… if you would, I would be eternally in your debt, spirit.” “Nikurukur,” he informed her. “Nikurukur, give my baby back to me.” Nikurukur did - and Kimiko Aishi lived.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Idle Chat with Victor

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a feature which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

The CN server was recently graced with a new feature called 随便聊聊 (“Idle Chat”), where you can select a mood and talk to the love interests about work, life, and studies :>

Idle Chat with: Gavin / Kiro / Lucien / Shaw

[ WORK - Topic 1: Overtime ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: Overtime is finally over!! I’m going home to lie down~ I miss my bed and pillow so much

Victor: You’re working overtime again?

Victor: The timing for tomorrow's report will be changed to the afternoon

Victor: You can get more sleep in the morning.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: I’m completely not in the mood to work today, and think I’ll have to work overtime again. I wonder if I’ll be able to finish by 10pm... I’m a little tired, and really miss my bed.

Victor: Instead of letting your mind wander, why not complete the work on hand quickly. 

Victor: You were in the mood to play on your phone and send messages in the afternoon though.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: I have to work overtime today! I feel as though I’m basically living in the office recently! I wonder when such days will come to an end...

Victor: Do you want me to award you with a “Most Hardworking Employee” certificate?

Victor: There’s no need for unnecessary overtime

Victor: Tonight, go home and have a good rest.

-

[ WORK - Topic 2: Income ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: It’s the happy day of payday! Even though I have to pay for various expenses, I’ll live in the moment. So tonight, I’ve decided to have a big feast in Souvenir

Victor: Souvenir isn’t open tonight.

Victor: But if you want to come, I can make an exception.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: In just the blink of an eye, payday is arriving. Come to think of it, the term “income” doesn’t seem to be related to you at all. Doesn’t this mean you’re short of one form of happiness?

Victor: Your definition of “happiness” is overly simplistic. 

Victor: I don’t need to consider such things.

Victor: Also, when do you intend to submit the financial statements from the previous quarter?

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: Why is there never enough income? I didn’t do much this month, but ended up spending so much. I’m troubled.

Victor: Are you hinting that I should increase your pay?

Victor: It isn’t an impossibility.

Victor: As long as you give me a convincing reason.

-

[ WORK - Topic 3: Program Progress ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: That collaboration I mentioned the last time was successful! Phew - it’s really been full of twists and turns, and I almost thought it’d fail. It’s a good thing we didn’t give up!

Victor: Since it’s successful, bring the proposal over along with your report next week.

Victor: I’ve asked Goldman to schedule a meeting.

Victor: Also, you did well this time.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: I really have no idea what to do for the new program. I’ve thought of a few perspectives, but everyone thinks they aren’t that great. It feels like all my inspiration has dried up...

Victor: In that case, work on something else to divert your train of thought.

Victor: There are many methods, and you can pick one yourself.

Victor: If you can’t think of anything, come to Souvenir after work.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: The new proposal hasn’t been going smoothly... I was full of vigour at first, but I feel slightly discouraged now. Sigh, I’m starting to doubt life.

Victor: Didn’t you boast shamelessly before that you’d definitely do it?

Victor: Why don’t you take out that vigour you showed me?

Victor: I can spare some time later to help you take a look.

-

[ WORK - Topic 4: Program Results ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I didn’t expect the program to be approved so smoothly. I even thought it’d get stuck for a long time like the previous case. Looks like praying to you before the meeting was effective!

Victor: Dummy. Praying to me isn’t effective.

Victor: The proposal you did this time wasn’t bad

Victor: Continue making persistent efforts.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: The program on hand is stuck mid-way again. Recently, it feels as though everything isn’t going smoothly. Do you have time to take a look at my proposal?

Victor: Come to my house this weekend

Victor: I can spare two hours.

Victor: If you’re asking for my guidance, have you thought about how to pay the tutoring fee?

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: The collaborative program with Loveland TV didn’t get approved again!! I’ve already made five amendments!! Life is really difficult!

Victor: While burying your head in amendments, did you find the reason why it wasn’t approved?

Victor: If you didn’t, let Goldman help.

Victor: As for the rest, I believe you can handle them.

🌹

[ LIFE - Topic 1: Losing Weight ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: When I measured myself today, I realised that I’ve actually lost weight! Truly, “shut your mouth, move your legs”. 

Victor: Since you have the determination to persevere

Victor: Looks like the pudding you wanted as a reward can be called off.

[Note] 管住嘴迈开腿 (“Shut your mouth, move your legs”) is a motto for losing weight in Chinese.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: It’s strange... Why isn’t there the slightest change in my weight even after exercising persistently for several days?! This has greatly swayed my determination to continue exercising.

Victor: Is this another one of your reasons to be lazy?

Victor: Continue with your morning run tomorrow.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: During the company’s physical examination, I received a bit of a blow. I actually put on so much weight!! From tomorrow onwards, I’m going to lose weight!

Victor: You do have to control yourself and have fewer suppers and snacks.

Victor: Instead of tormenting yourself alone

Victor: From tomorrow onwards, you’ll join me in my morning run.

-

[ LIFE - Topic 2: Meals ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I followed a recipe and whipped up coffee chicken perfectly! Even though it looks slightly flawed, the taste deserves 80 marks. Want to give it a try?

Victor: I’m suspicious of what you call “perfect”.

Victor: I’m not at home now. Come to LFG to look for me.

Victor: I hope your skills won’t disappoint me.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: How can I control the thickness of congee? I accidentally poured too much water, and now it has become a pot of rice soup. I even wanted to show you once I succeeded...

Victor: Looks like everything related to “appropriateness” is difficult for you to comprehend.

Victor: What congee are you trying to cook?

Victor: I’ll get someone to prepare the ingredients. Come over and I’ll teach you personally.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: I tried following the recipe you gave me, but failed... I’m not asking for it to be delicious and perfect, but it ended up looking like dark cuisine. I followed every single thing you wrote though!

Victor: This has nothing to do with the recipe.

Victor: As long as you are half as serious about cooking as you are eating it

Victor: It wouldn’t become like this.

-

[ LIFE - Topic 3: Reading ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I’ve finally finished reading that book you recommended. It’s very interesting!

Victor: What else did you plan to understand?

Victor: I don’t often read such books.

Victor: But after reading it, I realised that there are some merits.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: Today, I purchased a few books on management but didn’t have time to read them. Come to think of it, I haven’t finished reading the books I bought the last time either. But the internet says that buying books but not reading them is also a form of charity~

Victor: So the reason why you buy books is for “charity” reasons?

Victor: Next time, don’t just buy any book you see

Victor: If you don’t know what to buy, ask me.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: I just finished reading a very long book... In the end, everyone died aside from the protagonist! Why is there such a tragic ending!

Victor: So do you want to change the ending? 

Victor: Have a night’s rest, and you’ll forget about it tomorrow.

Victor: Don’t complain about dark eye circles the next time.

-

[ LIFE - Topic 4: Games ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I’m at home since it’s a vacation today, and successfully finished all stages of a game! I said that I have a natural talent when it comes to games, didn’t I? The next time we play together, I won’t be in a flurry like the last time. 

Victor: When did I agree to play games with you again?

Victor: If the new program you proposed can rank first in the ratings

Victor: I wouldn’t mind seeing the results of your practice.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: I’ve entered a game wasteland. Even though I usually don’t spend much time playing games... But when I want to play, there’s nothing worth playing, and I end up feeling very bored.

Victor: Apart from playing games, don’t you have other things to do?

Victor: If you really feel bored

Victor: There’s a dinner party tonight. You can come with me.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: When I was discussing a collaborative project today, I tried playing two rounds of Texas hold ’em. It ended in a tragic defeat... These games which require skill and thinking are not suitable for me.

Victor: Actually, it’s rules are very simple.

Victor: Playing such games requires sufficient patience and ambition.

Victor: I’ll teach you next time.

🌹

[ SCHOOL - Topic 1: Progress ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I’ve read through all the materials beforehand. I initially thought these were hieroglyphics, but now I realise they aren’t that difficult~

Victor: Since you could persevere, it looks like it wasn’t just a flash in the pan.

Victor: If you pass the exam, I’ll consider giving you a reward.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: It has been two hours since I started studying, and my progress is 10%. Ahhh I have to make full use of my time!! Why does time disappear the moment my mind wanders...

Victor: If you want to make full use of your time, you should be keeping your phone.

Victor: Next time, lock your phone away before you start studying

Victor: It can prevent 80% of your loss of focus.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: I understand every word, but I can’t comprehend the sentence. I doubt I can finish learning all the materials before the examination. It’s really difficult!

Victor: You chose the hardest difficulty for yourself, so it’s too late to give up.

Victor: But the fact that you could persevere till now

Victor: It already makes one see you in a different light.

-

[ SCHOOL - Topic 2: Homework ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I just did two sets of examination questions, and the options I picked were all correct! I’m truly an ordinary small genius~ My confidence has shot up!

Victor: Before the final results, blind confidence isn’t much help.

Victor: But I’m looking forward to the final examination script you submit.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: It just dawned on me... why do I still have homework?! I thought the word “homework” was long gone. I didn’t expect that I wouldn’t be able to escape from its shadow.

Victor: If your procrastination didn't show up, all these could have been completed very quickly.

Victor: Aside from homework, don’t forget the report for this quarter.

Victor: I don’t accept unexplained delays.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: I plan to apply for leave from the meeting tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, I’m going to spend the entire night completing the heap of homework... I don’t believe I can’t finish them!!

Victor: With such vigor, why didn’t you complete some earlier?

Victor: Your goal is simply to pass the exam, so you can do some selection

Victor: There’s no need to foolishly set unnecessary requirements for yourself.

-

[ SCHOOL - Topic 3: Pre-exam Revision ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: I’m done with revision, and have a feeling that I’ll pass successfully this time! If I manage to pass, I’ll invite you out to celebrate. I’ve already thought of the location!

Victor: I accompanied you in studying for such a long time. If you can’t pass, I’ll be skeptical of your brain.

Victor: Right now, the most important thing is to conserve your strength and energy. 

Victor: Switch off your phone, and go to sleep.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: Although I’m all prepared, my heart still feels very nervous... If I had known earlier, I would have prayed for a “Pass Every Exam” sign!!

Victor: Since you’re all prepared, why are you still nervous?

Victor: Forget it, I shouldn’t have had expectations for your psychological state...

Victor: Give me a call before you sleep.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: Why do people need to go through exams... Why do people need to do revision... Why do people need to live...

Victor: Weren’t you brimming with confidence when you signed up?

Victor: There’s still time

Victor: I can accompany you in looking through the questions one more time.

-

[ SCHOOL - Topic 4: Post-exam celebration ]

1. Mood: Happy

MC: The exam is over! I plan to celebrate with a feast! I feel as though the gigantic stone in my heart has finally been lifted. I’m back to being a brave heroine~

Victor: The results aren’t out and you’re already so confident?

Victor: Forget it, I won’t deal any blows

Victor: What do you want to eat? Let me know once you’ve decided.

-

2. Mood: Upset

MC: I wonder when the examination results would be released... Not being able to see the marks always makes my heart feel uneasy. Although I said I was going to celebrate, I don’t have much of a mood now.

Victor: Your mentality has room for improvement.

Victor: No matter how much you think about it, you can’t change the marks.

Victor: Come to Souvenir tonight - treat it as a celebration for completing your exam.

-

3. Mood: Angry

MC: The results of today’s exam are out! I obtained 30 marks more than the passing mark! I originally wanted to celebrate, but I heard a grievous piece of news - It turns out that the written examination only constitutes 60% of the marks! The rest are constituted by attendance!

Victor: This score is much higher than your previous test

Victor: As for the remaining marks, I recall that your attendance should be sufficient

Victor: There’s no need to worry.

[evanpeaters]

the nuptials ☽ pt 2.

TIME FRAME: 20th, September ‘19. LOCATIONS: Las Vegas, Nevada. DESCRIPTION: As a late birthday gift, Evan takes Billie to her favorite place for a day full of spontaneity...and drastic consequences.

Mentions: @goodlourd @emberts @sophiet-x @hqlawrence @hqgemma @joekcery

Evan: Evan couldn't remember the last time he'd had a night like this. Whole day, even. He'd spent the past year working himself to the bone until home seemed like the only feasible option afterward. He'd shut himself out from the world, and had become pretty closed off. What was worse, was how alone he had felt throughout - it was an awful time to get your ass dumped, but honestly, he couldn't blame Emma for being attracted to the light that someone else was offering her, and he needed to focus on himself before focusing on any sort of relationship. This vacation had been well needed. Not only was it Billie's birthday gift, but in a way, it felt like a gift to himself. Now he was well ready to head back to the hotel and pass the fuck out. "You want a piggy back, back to Caesars?" Evan offered, his own feet aching, so he dread to think about how hers were faring.

Billie: Billie thought for a moment, although she wasn’t really thinking at all, before agreeing with a quick nod and slipping off her shoes to put them into her bag so that they wouldn’t fall off in the process. She was pretty sure that any outsider looking in would think of them as a couple, and part of her didn’t mind the fact. It was fun to play pretend for one night before reality came knocking at the door and slammed them back into their own existential crises – the realities of breakups and loneliness and whatever the fuck else awaited them in LA. Hopping onto Evan’s back carefully, she wrapped her legs around him for security and just for a moment pressed her head against his, a silent little thank you for the piggy back and every thing else. This wasn’t the sort of thing she could make good with a thank you card, after all, it was so much more. “Onward! Mush!”

Evan: Her wordless appreciation was received, and if Evan wasn't...well, himself, he would've gone into some whole spiel about how he had wanted to treat her to something like this for a long time. For being unapologetically herself, despite everything, and one of the only people in his life he could truly depend on to get him out of any funk. She deserved it all, and maybe one day, he'd let her know he felt that way. Still riding on a glorious alcohol induced wave, Evan half jogged/half trotted his way down the street, arms wound tightly around her legs so she wouldn't slip. His eyes were still taking in all of the sights as they went, and it wasn't until at least ten minutes later he realized he must've taken a wrong turn somewhere - they were no longer on the main strip, and he didn't recognize any of his surroundings. "Excuse me, GPS" he gave her a little shake, "are you asleep or just defective?"

Billie: She was pretty much half asleep and hadn’t noticed that Evan had wandered off the main street of Vegas, eyes slamming open to look around and figure out where they were. It was certainly not the classiest part of the area, with multiple strip clubs and low priced hotels for backpackers and then a littering of Little White Chapel-type establishments. In fact, there was a Little White Chapel right there, and a couple leaving it in hand and hand donning a cheap suit and a probably cheaper white dress – not that Billie was the type to judge. She smiled at them all the same from her position propped up on Evan’s back, called out a “congratulations!” that may have been a little bit slurred. Whatever, it was Las Vegas, chances are the couple themselves were absolutely wasted. Maybe they were the modern Ross and Rachel.

Evan: Deciding to take a moments rest to gather their surroundings, Evan set Billie back down on the floor, but not before the newlyweds had time to make assumptions and were yelling "we'll come watch yours!" back at them from across the street. Was that what they looked like they were doing here? Shooting Billie a highly amused face, Evan laughed it off, unable to shake his head anymore if he tried. "Dude no, we're not here for that. We're just lost. Congratulations, though. Enjoy your...consummating and stuff..." he trailed off, figuring he was fighting a losing battle with how progressively awkward he was getting. He'd forgotten all about this part of Vegas. A draw almost as big as the gambling, lay still so unexplored, and his curiosity had peaked. "Shit, we should definitely come check out some weddings tomorrow. I wanna throw rice at people and see if Elvis impersonators really play as big of a role in the ceremonies as movies have had me believe".

Billie: “You can’t throw rice at weddings,” Billie said, and it was with an authority of a twenty-something who had been to more weddings than she cared to admit to. “Birds eat it and their stomachs explode.” She looked at the neon signs advertising TIE THE KNOT NOW and WEDDINGS HERE and then spotted one that said 24/7. Because of course. Because Vegas. Because… why not now? She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, looking around at the incredibly tacky lobby. A receptionist gave them a once-over, smacking her gum. “Next session’s in fifteen minutes. Regular. If you want Elvis, it’ll be thirty. And,” she pulled down her glasses, looking them up and down properly this time. God, the things she must have seen in her years as a receptionist at a shitty wedding chapel in the seedier parts of Las Vegas. “It cost fifty extra.”

Evan: Narrowing his eyes at the unloading of information, Evan tried hard to work out the validity of her statement - was that true? Well, if there was anyone he'd trust about animal welfare facts, it would be Billie, so consider him told. Then, his hand was being tugged, and his legs carried himself into the chapel with far too much ease and not enough protest. Curiosity and excitement steamrolled into one left no room for any apprehension, and with how forthcoming the receptionist and her services were, there was no time to think. He wanted to see inside. Wanted to be able to laugh with his friend about what the fuck they were doing, so without another thought, he was announcing "of course we want Elvis!" while sliding over the cash, "and no rice!"

Billie: It all happened too quickly for Billie to even understand exactly what was happening, but then the woman was shoving a pile of papers and a pamphlet of rings they could choose from across the desk and gesturing to the seats just to the side of them. Her heart was hammering in her chest and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was, you know, the fact her arguable best friend had just agreed to marry her in Vegas. She’d learned from Friends pretty well that as ridiculous as these ceremonies were, they were legally binding. And not all that easy to annul. Jesus, they were meant to be Chandler and Phoebe - singing each other Endless Love - not Ross and Rachel. And yet, somehow, she didn’t care, grabbing a pen and starting on the papers as they sat down before she noticed the ring catalogue. It was no Tiffany and Co. “Are we insane, Ev?”

Evan: Taking a seat as nonchalantly as he would've in a dentists waiting room, it wasn't until the papers were in his lap that Evan began to realize what they had just paid for. His hand admittedly trembled a little as he scrawled out the relevant information, but he focused on getting it done, preferring to take one thing at a time than to think about what would happen when they walked out of the chapel. Billie's voice drew him from his thoughts while he was copying the info from his drivers licence, and a smile answered her question. "We already knew that, didn't we?" Going back to writing for the briefest of moments before realizing her question might have been a call for reassurance, Evan turned his head to face her, tone more serious now. "Honestly, I've tried this wedding shit twice before already with a girl who didn't even know herself what the hell it was she wanted from me. I know what I'm getting with you, we know what we're getting with each other. Marrying one of my best friends instead of chasing some illusion is probably the most sane thing I'll ever do".

Billie: He raised a good point. They were both completely, possibly clinically, crazy, it seemed pretty in character for them to get married in Vegas with Elvis at the helm. As a matter of fact, it seemed like something her mother would have done which turned Billie’s stomach for just a second as she thought about it. She set the pen down when Evan started talking, a faint but genuine smile crossing her features. They were both absolutely wasted and who the hell knew what they’d make of this in the sobriety of the morning, but she was pretty happy with his reasoning. “I never thought I’d get married,” she said, leaning across to kiss his cheek and realizing that despite their pending nuptials and occasional flirtations, they’d never done more than that. “I thought... I think I might be cursed. But maybe we can be cursed together.”

Evan: The alcohol proved to be little help with curing his bitterness over the whole failed engagements situation, and now that he thought about it, he wanted to go through with the wedding even more. Not like he'd ever admit it, but he was desperate to have that whole idea of marriage - having someone to come home to, and a ring on your finger that served as a reminder of the stability you'd have if you had someone in your life with whom you'd taken vows with. It seemed she had her own underlying reasoning for wanting to go through with it, and as she kissed his cheek, he slung his arm around Billie's shoulder, holding her close to him. "To hell with curses, we're writing our own destiny." Unsure of when exactly he'd started sounding like a fortune cookie, Evan continued to chat excitedly about what a good idea this was as they settled the details with the receptionist, completely sold on it now, himself, until the doors to the main part of the chapel swung open and filled the room with cheap recorded organ music as two more newlyweds marched out, wound up in each other. The smiles on their faces mirrored his own, and Evan leapt up from where he was sitting, turning to offer a hand for Billie to join him. "Let's get ourselves hitched, future Mrs Peters".

Billie: Billie kind of liked the idea of writing her own destiny, of being more than the sum of her parents’ fuck ups, and she relaxed into his embrace as they chose their rings and ultimately settled on one that he already owned. For her, it was a minimalistic white gold band but one that seemed practical for every day use unlike the ridiculously bling-y jewelry that she wore for most events. Time flew by as they speculated on whether their Elvis would have a beer gut and whether he’d actually be able to sing, and then they were being called into the chapel for their turn. Taking Evan’s hand again, Billie got to her feet and thought to herself that if she were even the tiniest bit sober it would probably scare the hell out of her to be called Mrs anything. And yet. “Really, I think you should be Mr Lourd,” she mused before they headed into a slew of bad Elvis references, trying to keep straight faces.

Evan: Since receiving the mood ring from Billie, Evan admittedly hadn't taken it off. He wasn't much of a ring wearer himself, but he'd always liked how they looked when they were a part of Tate's costume, so getting that back was a welcome change to his wardrobe. Now, it would signify a whole lot more. Once they were inside, their 'Elvis' approached the pair, ready to take Billie off Evan's hands, and the elderly gentleman at the head of the altar beckoned Evan over. He went willingly, not needing to be told where to stand or what to do. He'd imagined this moment many times over in his head, and got so far with the planning, only now when he turned around it was going to be someone who he'd never have expected joining him at his side. They were both prepped a little, and somehow, that short time apart managed to build up enough tension to feel as if it had been a whole night spent apart, ready for some big ceremony at the end of it. Judging by his heart rate, this was just as substantial as any 'big' celebration. It was just the four of them in the room, and Evan had had absolutely no time at all to sweat over the reality of any of it, yet he still managed to jump out of his skin as the organ music started back up in the traditional bridal chorus. It was absolutely terrifying. If he were playing it cool before, that facade had quickly diminished into a lump in his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to look anywhere but directly at a single button on the priests shirt, every chord seeming louder and louder as Billie and Elvis ascended on him.

Billie: Pulled aside by Elvis, a sentence Billie never thought she’d find herself pondering, she was asked a series of questions such as whether or not she wanted to use the pun infused vows that the chapel supplied or her own. Instinctively, she said her own and wondered if Evan would do the same. She wouldn’t judge him either way. Despite the utterly inebriated state she found herself in, the sound of the bridal music playing as she reentered the room was enough to make her stomach drop, just a little, and she could see Evan at the end of the aisle feeling the same way. By the time she reached him, all she knew to do was take his hands in hers once more and offer what she hoped was a reassuring smile as the officiant and the Elvis took turns with their spiels before they reached the vows. She squeezed his hands and inhaled. “So this is… kind of ridiculous, let’s be honest,” Billie said with a breath of a laugh, looking between the three men before she focused on Evan’s eyes. She was pretty sure that this sort of wedding was meant to be light on the vows and heavy on the terrible Elvis references, but she didn’t really give a damn. This might be the only time she ever got the opportunity to do this, and she wanted to speak her mind, if only for a moment. “But it also feels kind of right? The past few years have been… a terrible blur, but you’ve always been someone that I can see with perfect clarity. Even with the jokes and the insults and the endless taunting of your rating on WikiFeet, you’ve been one of my best friends, my confidant, and someone I know… gets it… even when nobody can possibly possibly get it. I don’t know what comes next, or what any of this even really fucking means, but I’m… really glad that you’ll be a part of it, Ev, whatever it is. You’ll always have a part of me and I love you, I really do.”

Evan: As soon as Billie reached his side and took his hands, Evan felt a fraction of relief. She smiled that smile that somehow always managed to go higher in one corner, he was sure without her realizing it, and he couldn't help but smile back in all the familiarity of her. Then, it all seemed to get easier until she got to her vows, and as much as he would've like to tease her endlessly over them, she started saying things that couldn't possibly fill him with anything but adoration. His emotions were all over the place, considering how much alcohol he'd consumed, and how sweet her tone was as she opened up, especially considering he'd never thought he'd be standing at an altar with anyone anymore, he'd given up on that dream, yet here they were, and he had to beg himself not to tear up. ( She would never let him live that down ).Once she'd finished, the priest opened his mouth to deliver what Evan assumed was going to be the puns that he'd chosen, because...hello, they were getting married in Vegas. Elvis puns would've been hilarious. But he'd had a change of heart, and the actor filled the void with his own words instead. "Honestly, Billie. Something as ridiculous as this seems right on key for us. The fact that we even find ourselves here, in this situation, from an honest birthday gift, is exactly the reason why being married to you sounds like a great idea. Among other things, you're one of the only people I can truly be myself around. I knew that from the moment I met you. We didn't talk much directly this night, you were actually...there with your boyfriend at the time" was it bad form to bring exes into your wedding vows? Whatever. He hadn't had time to read the chapel rule book. ""It was that night at Universal Studios, the horror night, and I came along with your cast. You wanted to look the part and wear those little devil horns, so you scoped out a stand selling them and came back with enough for pretty much all of us, though not everyone chose to wear them. I still have mine. Then, all I can remember from that whole evening is...laughing, so much, at some of the shit you were pulling. And when I look back on all my times with you, that's the main ingredient in all of them. I've always said marriage should be full of laughter...and love. And I do, I love you too, Billie. We may not be together and mean that in any conventional way, but what does it matter? You've ticked the most important boxes for me, and I have absolutely no idea either, what this means for us or where we go from here. But I promise I will always try and be that light for you. I’ll even, fucking…you’ve weathered enough fucking storms for one lifetime already, but if you ever find yourself in another one, keep looking forward, and I vow to be there up in some cool-ass lighthouse, guiding you through it”. His attempt at getting deep and using some wedding appropriate metaphor managed to get a sheepish laugh out of himself, especially considering how many curse words were used, and he suddenly remembered this was supposed to be a lighthearted thing. Some fun between two friends. So quickly, he added. “Also, I feel like we should have sex later. Amen”.

Billie: Billie remembered that night, because of course she did – even if she’d probably been drunken too – and her face lit up even brighter for the fact that it was etched in his memory, too. Sometimes she wondered if she was at all memorable beyond the moment, if she really left impressions on people, and Evan’s words made her quietly confident that she did. And that very fact made her heart surge, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she begged herself to not be emotional, to remember this was meant to be good, drunken fun (with ramifications that could last forever, but whatever – this was a night of whatevers.) The officiant started to say it was time to exchange the rings (poor Elvis’ involvement had been seriously set aside) but before Billie could stop herself, before she could wait two fucking minutes, she was dropping her hands out of Evan’s and lifting them to rest at either side of his face so that she could pull him into a deep kiss, a silent but very sincere thank you for his words, for being her lighthouse amidst the terror of the storms that were sure to come, and what happened to somehow after all these years still be their very first kiss – random and unconventional and so very them.

Evan: No matter how many weird, impromptu weddings these staff members had possibly seen, they'd probably not often had to deal with two people as headstrong as Billie and Evan, who would keep straying from the way things were done and taking matters into their own hands - like the first kiss. Up until now, Evan had completely forgot that was something that would 'need' to be done, so he was twice as shocked to find that Billie didn't need to wait to be asked. His eyes remained open, widened a little in surprise as she pressed her lips against his. His hands must've been frozen awkwardly outward, unmoving from the position they had been holding them in. But thankfully, Billie was holding the kiss long enough for him to get his shit together. As he felt her begin to pull away, he made up for his slow motor skills by leaning back into it, hands going to her hips, head dipping down to reach lips that he'd never imagined he'd be kissing. But, as weird and terrifying and slightly awkward as it felt, he was enjoying it.

Billie: It was reassuring when Evan’s hands landed on her hips, inching her a little closer to him as they continued the kiss, but before long there was the intrusive sound of the two people who were meant to be marrying them clearing their throats, and the not-so-gentle reminder that they were paying per fifteen minutes. Not that either Billie or Evan actually fucking cared, they were collective millionaires, but it was a less than subtle sign that they needed to move on. Again, whatever. The night of the whatevers. Billie pulled back but kept one hand in Evan’s as she slid the ring onto his finger, a ring he’d been wearing all the time but never on his ring finger, only shaking slightly as she did. She couldn’t even remember what she was saying to him as she was saying it, something about the shape of the ring being a symbol of their eternal devotion to one another, something about… it didn't matter, it was a mood ring, for fuck’s sake, she bit her lip not to laugh and then held out her hand for Evan’s turn.

Evan: It was something about knowing that he'd probably never kiss her again that had Evan all the more reluctant to break it off, though they weren't given much of a choice, and as he straightened up he honestly found it hard to look at Billie, afraid that she'd be doing that thing where she psychoanalysed his facial expressions. He was soon able to go back to their regularly scheduled programming though as the mood ring was placed appropriately. The idea of it suddenly turning another color had him nervously laughing, despite not believing in their actual purpose. Then, Elvis was presenting him with Billie's chosen one, and he slid it onto her finger, the action really feeling like it had finalized things. Wasn't it now that the kissing was supposed to commence? He could tell the priest was wondering or not whether to go back down that road again considering it might add another fifteen minutes onto his shift, but instead, he announced "I now pronounce you, husband and wife" and Evan pulled his friend into a tight embrace.

Billie: The hug felt right. They could be kissing, of course, and there had been the mention of sex later (with a really, really blasphemous “amen”) but when it came down it to it, at the end of the day, at the end of all of this, they were best friends and that counted for everything. Whether this relationship would last – did any relationship last in 2019? – was to be foreseen, but the friendship would surely last no matter how they felt come the morning. And so Billie got on her tip toes to hug him close, fingers threading through his hair as some music she couldn’t put a name to played and they were soon being ushered out after a handful of pictures were taken, promised to be developed by morning.

Evan: Once all was said and done, Evan had requested their photos get sent to their room at Caesars in the morning, coughing up a little extra to get that arranged, and then they were back on the street. Married. Husband and wife. They should head out celebrating, but hadn't they already done enough of that beforehand? Wasn't that to thank for getting them in this situation in the first place? Plus, there was only one place that he wanted to go right now, and that was back to the hotel room. He led the charge back there - the strip seeming a lot emptier now that they were way into the early hours of the morning. It was true, the city never slept, and there would always be stragglers still having a go at it, but Evan was happy to call it a night there and then, the aircon of the hotel and comfort of their room welcoming them back with open arms. What a fucking day.

Billie: The ring on her finger kept glistening in the mixture of the lamp and the moonlight, and there were a few times that Billie got caught fixated on it before finding her senses again as Evan dragged her along. They were married. Legally. Husband and wife. If some insane accident happened, he would be the first person they called. And god, she’d have to tell her dad. But she couldn’t find the strength to care about any of that right now, just letting herself be led up to their room which it felt like they’d been days since they stepped foot into. She shucked off her purse and cardigan and flopped down on the bed, sliding off her sandals and looking up at the ceiling. The feelings surging through her were tough to put into words: happiness, confusion, a wondering whether she’d just done the exact thing her fucked up mom would do, but mostly just drunkenness and a whole lot of it. She reached out for Evan to pull him to lay beside her, curling against his side and subconsciously playing with the hem of his shirt. “You have a wife,” she teased sleepily.

Evan: It only occurred to Evan that his priorities needed a little organizing as he'd tapped out a few messages on his phone - not to his parents, or siblings, or the people that he probably should've told. But to Joe, to Sophie, to Jen and Gemma. The people he assumed would lap up his nuptials as much as his drunken ass did. But, his messages would have to cut off abruptly as there were more important matters at hand, like the one tugging at him to get him to lay down with her. He went willingly, kicking off his Converse and relaxing into the mattress. "I have a fucking wife" He repeated back to her in disbelief, eyes surveying the pattern on the ceiling and how it was swirling around in his head slightly until his head fell towards Billie instead. "And she's not half bad, either. I don't know how I managed it. You've well and truly done it now, Lourd. You're stuck with me".

Billie: Really, there were a dozen texts that Billie ought to send, too, but she figured her ability to type was severely compromised and right now the bed was so warm and soft and inviting and her phone was… well, it was about three feet away, but it was far enough away that she couldn’t be bothered. She let out a breathy little laugh at Evan’s comments, biting back a comment on how he could do so much better because, at the end of the day, he was with her and she had a ring on her finger and that counted for more than any of his previous relationships. Or… the very significant previous relationship that she wasn’t going to dare think about until there wasn’t half as much tequila coursing through her veins. “I’ve done it, huh? Like this wasn’t your plan all along, Ev,” she teased, then, hand sliding just a little up his shirt, along the flat of his abdomen. The fact of the matter was that she wouldn’t have married someone who she thought had this in mind right along, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t wind him up a little, even as they winded down.

Evan: "You caught me," Evan attempted to continue on with their conversation, despite the fact he was hyper aware that Billie's hand was...well, in territory it hadn't been before. It really wasn't a big deal. It had probably just fallen there. But that didn't mean that he wasn't tuned in to any small move her thumb might make, even if by accident. "It was a pretty long winded plan, even down to the detail of getting lost on that street, and yet...you fell for it. So I think I deserve this marriage anyway". Once he'd ran out of things to say, there was no pushing the thoughts out of his mind. He could joke about it endlessly, but that didn't mean the thought of actually...trying to do anything with Billie didn't terrify him. Was the hand on his abdomen a sign from her or was he thinking way too into it? As far as he knew, there was only really one way to find out for certain, and so after a moment, he broke the silence. "Can I kiss you again?"

Billie: It wasn’t like Billie was being intentionally seductive, it was just that she was calm and comfortable and with Evan it was always so easy. Sometimes she found herself wondering why they hadn’t had sex yet, hadn’t even kissed yet, but they always seemed to land in the friend zone and/or found themselves with other people whenever any opportunity for anything would arise. Right now, though, they were alone and married and if she could have continued that kiss in the chapel forever she would have. So she nodded at his question, smile tugging at her mouth for the fact that he even thought to ask given that most men didn’t do her such a favor, and lifted her head for the sake of access.

Evan: The nod of her head was all he needed to squash his curiosity, and he seized his chance, lifting off the mattress so he could twist his body and hover over Billie slightly, his free hand going into her hair as his lips descended back down on hers. This time, he didn't need to keep it PG for the sake of anyone else in the room. And it wasn't under the pretence of something you do at a wedding ceremony. It was more of a conscious decision, and his brain was on overdrive as he got more and more into it, barely breaking contact as a drunken confession fell from his lips. "I think I've wanted to do this for a long time".

Billie: Kissing was Billie’s main focus for a few long moments until Evan spoke and her heart seemed to beat even a little faster than it had for the entire night. She could never really put her thoughts for him into one easy, sensical place, instead spending most of her time joking about seducing him but never going further than that because, well, there was always someone else and maybe she didn’t think that she fit into whatever it was that he wanted in that else. But he was kissing her, now, her hands lifting up to rest on his shoulders just for a moment as he spoke and she responded in earnest: “Me too,” punctuated with another kiss before maybe ruining it with a joke: “Just had to make it official first like the good, chaste woman I am.”

Evan: He wished he were one of those people who could mask their emotions a little easier under the influence, but that remained the only time Evan couldn't quite master it, and that much was obvious as he smiled down at her, the air feeling a little clearer now they'd both had somewhat of a confession. "Let's see just how chaste you feel in a couple of hours time". Hands reaching blindly for Billie's legs Evan hooked one of them over himself and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him suddenly as he did so. The image of her towering above him was one he'd never thought he'd see unless Ryan decided to give them romantically involved roles, but this was better than anything he could've got on set anyway. This...she was hopefully into just as much as him, and he decided to find out by letting two of his fingers work their way up her thigh, delicately brushing them against the outer fabric of her underwear. God, he was so drunk, and yet, he still felt like he wanted to seek confirmation with everything he did. You could never be too careful when you were pushing the boundaries of such a solid friendship. "Do you want me to?"

Billie: Even in the haze of drunkenness and the adrenalin of just having married her best friend, Billie was more than capable of knowing the weight of what they were doing and were about to do and the impact it might have on their relationship. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin what they had, ruin what they’d worked hard for in spite of their own personal demons over the past few years, but as she pressed her head against his forehead and nodded, she didn’t feel like she was ruining anything. Something deep within her told her that whatever the outcome of this trip, whether their marriage lasted a day or a decade, they were meant to be together in one way or another – platonic or otherwise. So she nodded again, soft at first but then more firmly, and shifted herself so that he was closer to touching her. Not for the first time that night, she found herself saying: “I do.”

Evan: There was something about the risk factor being way higher here than during any other ‘hook up’ that had Evan all the more desperate for it. He could feel himself growing harder by the moment, and once she'd given him confirmation, his fingers tentatively pushed aside her underwear, beneath the dress. His eyes never left her own as he stroked a finger up her middle, almost immediately capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She was already wet, hopefully experiencing even half as much desire as he was right now. But he was going to take it slow, make the most of it, so he started off touching her impossibly gently, peppering soft kisses to her neck and jawline.

Billie: “Oh, fuck.” It wasn’t as if it had been an age since Billie got laid, but there was something about Evan’s touch that threw her entirely into another realm of desire. Maybe it was because she’d thought about it before more than she cared to admit to, maybe it was because their meaning in one another’s lives had just changed forever and always – no matter what the morning had in store for them. She pushed her hips towards his touch and let her eyes flutter shut as her hands searched for him, to touch him, torn between wanting more of his fingers and just wanting more, period. She had always been an indecisive girl, after all.

Evan: Sliding two of his fingers inside of Billie, Evan watched her expression change with his bottom lip between his teeth, enjoying every moment of getting to see her in this whole new way. Though her eyes were shut, his were fixated on his friend, the sight turning him on to no end. He began to wonder if he could please her as well as he'd usually be able to in a better state, or even if she'd be doing this at all if the two of them were in their right minds. His fingers slowly pumped, as his mind quickly raced, but he was determined not to let his doubts show and ruin it for himself, so he quickly stole another kiss from her parted lips, attempting to shove all of those thoughts to the back of his mind.

Billie: Her eyes flickered open as Evan hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Billie released a breath of a moan that barely expressed the pleasure and emotion she was feeling in the moment as he kissed her. It was strange how this felt inevitable even when just a few hours ago the most they did was kiss each other on the cheek, when even leaning into one another atop the Paris felt like toeing the line too closely to romantic, but it did. Inevitable, she decided, that would be her word for him. For this. And she thought about that as she reached for him through his trousers, feeling for his hardness as her eyes latched onto his gaze. Maybe marriage wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she wasn't cursed. "Have you wanted this for a long time, too?"

Evan: The sound of her gentle moan lit a fire in Evan that he knew could only be put out one way, and the more he got into it, the more his brain started screaming at the dangerous territory they were entering. He needed that to stop. If he were really going to let himself enjoy it like he wanted to, then he needed to stop thinking. He was touching her, and she was touching him, that line had already been crossed, but he figured in the morning all they would be talking about was the fact that they had got married, not felt each other up. So why not? Why did his hand go to take her own wrist? Pausing any movement that he so badly wanted her to do? "I swear, if I'm being honest with myself, I've thought about this....a lot. And now it's actually happening and I...I just need five minutes, okay? I'm just gonna.." lifting her off him a little, Evan abruptly pulled himself off the bed, wishing she couldn't see just how excited he already was through his trousers. So much for seeming cool and unfazed. "I'll be right back". With that, he dipped into the bathroom, immediately going over to the mirror to take a long hard look at himself. Apart from some reddened lips and mussed up hair, he didn't look any different. He didn't look like a guy who had been chased over Vegas by security and married his best friend in one day. But he was. He was also the guy that had consumed a hell of a lot of alcohol and might have been having a little performance anxiety, knowing that so much rided on this one thing. Maybe if he'd just splash a little water on his face, ground himself, then he could go back out there and give her the experience that he really wanted to.

Billie: His hand on her wrist, pulling her off of him, felt like being stung. It all happened so quickly, though, and all Billie could manage was a quick nod as he jumped off the bed and made for the bathroom, leaving her feeling ridiculously exposed and stupid and... it didn’t matter, they were both off their faces with alcohol and the adrenaline of everything, it seemed like an inevitability that things would spiral into a shatter. Inevitable – there was that word again. But she had to try not to take it personally, pushing her underwear back into place and then sliding her dress over her head before she curled back up on the bed, eyes flickering over to the door as she resisted the urge to call out and see if he was okay, to ask what she’d done wrong. Her eyes travelled then to the ring on her finger and she shifted it so that it was reflecting the light from the city below, and then all she remembered was blackness as sleep overcame her.

Evan: Evan hadn't thought about how his sudden departure could be misconstrued as him not wanting to continue. It was quite the opposite, and after quickly wetting his face and brushing his teeth, the actor made his way back into the bedroom to find Billie asleep. Or, was she just resting her eyes? "Billie?" He called out softly, not wanting to wake her if she really had passed out, but hoping that he'd see her eyes open, and her inviting him back in. She didn't budge. "Fuck." He let out in frustration, wondering if he'd ruined anything. A part of him suspected they would never talk about this again, and he'd just lost his one chance, but there was no way he would disturb her to try again, so he pulled the comforter over her body and undressed to his boxers instead. Slowly climbing in next to his friend, Evan couldn't resist making the most of their one lost night together by cuddling in to her, an arm draped over her body as he too, fell asleep.

Billie: Ultimately, it was the morning sun shining through the impossibly wide windows that woke Billie up, although her pounding head was a close second. It was tempting to just snuggle closer to the arms around her but then... wait, the arms around her? She pulled back suddenly to inspect the sleeping figure next to her, not sure if she was grateful it was a familiar Evan instead of some random she’d met the night before. Because the fact it was Evan, well, that complicated things. And she really didn’t want things to be complicated between them, but she also didn’t want to play pretend and so she shook him awake by his bare shoulder, asking him: “Hey, how much did we drink last night?”

Evan: Once Evan had fallen into an alcohol induced sleep, there was usually no stirring him. He could sleep through a hurricane. And yet, the sound of Billie's voice set off alarm bells, which shot his eyes open, the lids blinking desperately in order to adjust to the harsh sunlight that was streaming through the windows. His arms were still wrapped around her, which he quickly corrected as he shuffled back under the covers, putting more distance between them. "Jesus Lourd," he grumbled, failing to put two and two together while still in an overtired state. "I've barely woken up and you want me to list off how many alcoholic beverages we had last night? Too fucking many, there's your answer". Reaching out for a pillow, the male shoved it over his face, desperate to block out the blinding light without needing to get up to close the curtains. Honestly, he still felt a little drunk, but it was nothing compared to the night prior. He was actually back in his right mind now. Until at least...he remembered...then he'd lose it again.

Billie: Because she was a fucking troll, Billie grabbed the blankets from the end of the bed and stripped them off, piling them up on the floor so that there was nothing for Evan to hide with. Except for his stupid pillow, which she was about to wrestle from his arms when there was a loud knock on the door. “What the hell? Is it check out time already?” She glanced at her phone to see she had a million missed calls and text messages but the knocking on the door got more persistent, and she didn’t even get a chance to see why she was suddenly more popular than when her mother died. She looked at her bra and panties and sighed, grabbing a sheet from the bed to wrap herself in before she crossed the room and answered it. Standing there was a concierge holding a giant box and an overly jubilant for this hour look on his face, handing it over and wishing the happy couple a wonderful day. Ugh, why did people keep assuming that she and Evan were together just because they were sharing a room? She grabbed the box, brought it into the bar area where she ripped it open and screamed.

Evan: Letting out another highly irritated groan as Billie shed him of all that was good in the world, Evan clutched onto the pillow tighter, unwilling to sacrifice it to even attempt to get any of the covers back. He could hear her talking, moving around the room, and even the knocks on the door, but his lazy hungover ass wasn't budging for anything. Or so he thought. That was, until, her scream echoed off the marble flooring straight from the other room, and Evan literally fell straight off the bed in his scramble to get to her. "Billie?!" he called out, though he was pretty much already by her side and could see she wasn't in any immediate danger. Instantly, his gaze followed her own, and he peered into the box where mugs and keychains and calendars stared back at him - all featuring their glassy eyed, overexcitable faces standing proudly at an altar. His stomach dropped immediately, eyes widening as he forcibly tore them away from the prints to look at his...wife. Words, at this point, were inexistent.

Billie: “What the fuck did you do?” Billie demanded, looking at Evan like he’d just sprouted devil horns because of course this had to be his fault. She wouldn’t just… marry a friend, no matter how drunk she got, would she? No, absolutely not. This was an Evan Peters move. This was something entirely out of her hands, this was – oh, she had to sit down. And the floor was as good a place as any, even if she was pretty sure it was the second saddest visual of her in her life. She was wearing nothing but lingerie with her legs folded and her head in her hands, trying to remember how to breathe and then suddenly remembering the messages on her phone. And the missed calls. And… how many people knew about this? “It’s fake,” she declared, suddenly, because that had to be the answer. It was some weird character theater that they’d engaged – no pun intended – in and something had gotten lost in translation and that had to be it. Or it would be it, if she didn’t notice a folder on the bar that she hadn’t seen before and peeled it open, revealing a very real Nevada Marriage Certificate. “I’m gonna pass the fuck out.”

Evan: "What the fuck did I do?! What the fuck did we do?" He corrected, finally finding his voice and perhaps finding it a little too loudly. All he knew how to do in these situations - not like he'd ever found himself in one quite so panic inducing before - was pace. Which was exactly what he started doing. The image of themselves in their underwear slowly beginning to lose the plot was sure to be amusing, if it wasn't an image of themselves. "It's not fake". He immediately concluded himself, just as Billie found the envelope. He remembered being in the chapel. Remembered the musty smell of the carpet - the result of allowing smoking inside for too long. Remembered the sound of the receptionist chewing on her gum. Something about a lighthouse. But...that was about it. Why had his brain decided to provide him with the most useless information it possibly could? Why the hell had they got married? What the fuck should they do about it now? Better yet...who knew about it? Racing back into the bedroom, Evan grabbed for his phone, hoping there would be photos or things to shed some more light on their predicament and after a few moments, sheepish feet carried him back to where Billie sat. "It's as bad as we thought." Lifting his phone to shield himself, Evan pulled a regretful face, preparing for something to get thrown in his direction as he recited the first text notification off his screen. "Never thought you'd find anyone willing to put up with you, man...congratulations...on your...new wife".

Billie: It was admittedly a low blow to blame him for what they’d done, but Billie couldn’t find a single memory in her mind of last night that helped her make sense of all of this, of the messages on her phone, of the certificate, of the really bad photos that she hoped no one would ever see (but if this were happening to anyone else, she’d have found really fucking funny). She watched him pace as she ignored her phone and just looked at the photos over and over, thinking of how she’d picked that dress out and thought it would be cute for Instagram photos, thinking of how they’d spam her stories each and every day of the trip to the point she was sure she’d conjure a cease and desist from the internet at large. She lifted her hand to cover her eyes when he read out the message, thinking it was kind of a dick move to imply that someone wouldn’t put up with him, but then she was distracted by the feeling of silver on skin. No, some other metal, and on an unfamiliar finger. “Oh,” she said, opening her eyes to look at it, before she grabbed his hand where the mood ring lived. “Oh my god, I’m your wife.”

Evan: That was enough text reading for now. That one alone had sent his head into a frenzy, and although there were many more red bubbles indicating unread messages, Evan tossed his phone onto the bar top, moving back to stand face to face with Billie, examining her own ring as she caught sight of the new home of his one. Once she'd given him his hands back, he wiped his sweaty palms against the fabric of his boxers and cleared his throat. "Okay, this is...not good, for either of us, if this gets out. I don't even want to face my phone right now, but as far as we know...it's only our friends that know, right? Just some of them, maybe." The truth was, he didn't know that at all. But he was choosing to believe what he wanted to believe, and so, he raised his hand again, pinky outstretched. "We tell them it was a prank, and try and keep this as quiet as possible, agreed?".

Billie: She could already imagine the call with her agent, and then the inevitable call with her dad. It made her feel sick to her stomach and not just because she’d drank approximately a third of all the available liquor in Vegas overnight and still had most of it coursing through her. He was right, of course, this wasn’t good for them if it got out, and she’d been fighting the superlative of Most Likely To End Up On A Tabloid her entire life. This was definitely tabloid-worthy, and she just had to hope that their friends weren’t dicks and wouldn’t be those awful ‘a source close to the couple’ that she was always reading about in the dentist’s waiting room when it was that or playing Candy Crush. She hooked her finger through his and swallowed hard. “Agreed,” she said, fighting back a million questions about what the hell had gone on that she'd forgotten entirely, fighting back her true feelings on the matter because, as always, it was easier.