#the second i see another lyric or reference to the wonder years

[burningcomputerpersona]

okay im normal again i promise

[hayves1]

I miss you . . . ★ L.HS

synopsis : You wrote a song about your ex, not knowing that he listened to it…

pairing : singer!heeseung x singer!fem reader

warnings : reader is referred to as y/n, slight angst, mentions of break up, fluff at the end i think

wc : 737

You and Heeseung were together for 3 years before you two decided to break things off. You both agreed it’s for the best since you wanted to focus on your careers.

Heeseung moved on since then but for you…you just couldn’t. You tried to convince yourself that this is only for the best but you just missed him so much. You distracted yourself by focusing on your career as a singer but no matter what you did, he wouldn’t get out of your head.

You sat on your bed, you pulled your knees closer to your chest as you laid the notebook in your lap, the one you usually wrote lyrics in. Your hand moved along the paper with the black pen in your right hand as you wrote down some lyrics about…well, your ex.

You hoped this would help you forget about him…

————————————————————————

You ended up releasing the song, kind of in hopes that Heeseung would listen to it.

But you doubted that…

Part of you wished he’d come back to you and part of you just wanted to move on. Like he did.

But the song went viral. Even reaching different audiences. This was unexpected. You didn’t expect a song you wrote in your bedroom at 3am about your ex would gain so much attention. You thought, what if he sees it?

————————————————————————

Slowly the news about your latest single reached Heeseung. He was surprised when he heard it. The lyrics were so similar to everything you two went through. Very similar. Was this perhaps, about him?

He thought about it for days. Wondering if this was just a coincidence or intentional. It sparked something in him…something that said

‘Maybe i’m not over her yet…’

————————————————————————

You were on your way back to your apartment. It was late at night, maybe around 10:30. You waited at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. You were scrolling on your phone but eventually got bored so you put it back into your bag.

Instead, you just stared down at your cold hands and stayed like that for a few seconds before you felt a presence beside you. You didn’t think much about it because it was probably another person waiting for the bus. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was someone else. Maybe someone you knew?

You lifted your head and looked at the guy next to you. Studying his side profile

‘No way…it can’t be…’ You thought.

It was definitely him. It was your ex, Heeseung. You immediately looked away, hoping he didn’t notice you staring at him but he already did.

“I know you’re looking at me.” He said. You gulped. You wanted to say something but your body didn’t allow you.

“I heard your song. It’s nice” he complimented. But still, you stayed quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he suddenly asked, a hint of worry in his voice. “Nothing. I guess this is just a little awkward…” you admitted. I mean it’s true, this was weird. There was a pause. A moment of silence before he spoke up again “Was it about me? About us?”

You were surprised when he asked that. He was too. You stayed silent for a few seconds before answering. “Maybe.” you wanted to say yes. You wanted to tell him how much you still love him and miss him but only one word came out.

“I take it, you haven’t moved on. Right?” he asked softly. “Well, yeah. I guess…” you said simply. “Why?” he asked you. ‘Why haven’t I moved on?’ you thought to yourself. “I don’t know” you said. You really didn’t know why you were still attached to him.

“We broke up 5 years ago, y/n. Why can’t you move on?” He said. “I just can’t. I still love you, so much. I miss you everyday, hoping you’d suddenly come back but I knew that wouldn’t happen. You’ve moved on. I miss you, our moments together. All of it. I miss you, Hee” you admit.

He was surprised when he heard your words. You lifted your head to look at him. Only to see him staring at you already with wide eyes. The shock in his expression slowly faded and instead turned into a more soft one. He realized that he wasn’t really over you yet. He loved you and missed you just as much as you did.

“I missed you too, y/n”

Authors note : i’m sorry this is so boring 🫤 but I hope you still like it 💗

© hayves1 2024

[to-the-stars8]

Reviving Love

Jason Todd x Reader Chapters AO3

Chapter 8

Oh, my life is changing every day, in every possible way…

When Jason approached your door he heard that familiar song that brought back two vivid memories. 

The first memory was the day he was supposed to help the art club paint the background for the school play. When he had walked into the auditorium with a basket of supplies, Bruce had insisted he bring it, and the song had been blaring full blast with a chorus of out-tune voices singing long. Yours’ among them. As he approached the stage, he finally saw you. You were knelt next to a huge wood tree, paintbrush in hand, and singing along to the lyrics. 

And, oh, my dreams, it’s never quite as it seems—Never quite as it seems

He remembered suddenly feeling flush and stumbling to get all the words out of his mouth. All at once, he just found you so incredibly pretty. 

The second time he had heard that song was his first year of high school, the autumn right before he died. It was homecoming and, after some begging since he was technically grounded, Bruce had let him go. Jason made a point not to tell you so it could be a surprise when he showed up. He found you standing off to the side looking heartbroken. When your eyes met it felt like one of those stupid high school romance movies. Where the room stopped and was drowned in a pink light with roses. When you kissed him he remembered how your breath smelled like cinnamon and your eyes sparkling in the lights. 

Now, as he stood at your front door, he felt that same rush of feelings that made everything dizzy. Luckily, when you answered it brought back some of the senses he had lost while reminiscing. As you welcomed him in, the song still played. 

I know I’ve felt like this before, but now I’m feelin’ it even more—Because it came from you...

“I’m sorry,” You said, walking past him to turn off the speaker. “I was a little lost in my tunes.”

“No worries, I like that song,” Jason admitted. 

You turned to him, smiling. “You do?”

“Yup. I…danced with my prom date to that song.” It was a stretch of the truth, but the last thing he wanted was to connect the dots any further.

“Oh! I danced with my homecoming date to that song, too! I guess it’s pretty popular at school functions,” You laughed and motioned him to the kitchen.

That had been the first time you had referred to him, well the younger him anyway. When he entered the kitchen, you were leaning over a pot of some boiling pasta. Next to it was some sauce that he could only assume you had made from scratch with all the spices, herbs, and other things cluttering the counter. 

“Do you mind trying some of this?” You asked, turning to look at him with a spoon in your hand. 

Nodding, he stepped closer and put his lips to the spoon. It was awful, and he found it hard to tell you it sucked—Unfortunately, his face gave away his feelings. You laughed and it was beautiful. 

“I admit, I’m not the greatest of cooks,” You said, putting the spoon down. “Do you cook?”

“I do, so maybe I could give you some pointers?”

You grinned. “Please?”

Everything you did was so sweet, and he was sure you weren’t even doing it on purpose. With every mistake you made or everyone he made, you laughed it off. You made the whole situation of essentially being the worst cook ever into something fun. You were kind enough to open your home to him, the worst person alive.  

You were inching another forkfull of pasta towards his mouth, and, before he even entertained the idea of taking a bite, he said, “You know, if you keep feeding me, I’ll just keep coming back.”

The way you smiled gave away that he had said something good. Bashfully, you responded, “Well, what if I was trying to do that? Have you come back, I mean.”

Instead of saying anything, Jason took a bite of the pasta as he wiggled his eyebrows up and down at you. You took the hint and looked away so he wouldn’t see your blush. As you stirred the pasta a few more times, you wondered if he could hear how loud your heart was beating. You felt like an awkward teenager again. 

“Um, we should eat,” You said, not sure what else to do as you moved around Jason to get to the bowls in the cabinet. “Or else I’ll be spending all night forking food into your mouth.”

“I wouldn’t complain—Hold on, let me get those,” He said, reaching above you to grab the bowls on the top shelf. He put one hand on the counter next to you, encasing you in, and pressing right up against your back to reach for the plate. As you sucked in a breath, you could smell him. Jason smelled of cigarette smoke and mint, an odd but welcoming combination. 

As he put the bowls down, Jason stopped as you turned around. He hadn’t realized just how close you were, only mere inches from your lips, and he could have swooped down to seal in his feelings. Yet, he didn’t. You looked up through your lashes, eyes going to his lips, but made no move to kiss him. 

“I should…” You trailed off, hoping he would do something. 

A quick image flashed in Jason’s mind, one with you bent over the counter and him whispering just how pretty you were into your ear. As soon as the image came into his mind, he backed off. Smacking his face lightly when he turned away, he pulled his thoughts from his little head. He couldn’t get over how shallow it was to think of you in such a way, especially when couldn’t take that final step. It was too much, and he was terrified to be a disappointment to you since he had little to no experience.

You didn’t let him get away this time, though. You stepped around him, your fingers gingerly pushing his cheek to look at you, before stepping closer to him. He could feel your body press against his, and he had to think of every disgusting thing he had ever seen to not get hard. He tried focusing on the music he had insisted you turn on. This time, you looked down at his lips and then back up at his eyes, wanting him to know how you felt. 

“I know,” You began, and Jason could smell just how sweet you were. “You want to take things slow, and I respect it—but, please, don’t tease me like this.”

“I…” Jason tried to find some excuse, but he couldn’t. Quickly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

You grinned, leaning up to press a ghost of a kiss to his cheek. “I hope this is okay?”

“Yes,” He breathed. 

You smiled as you pulled away just enough to remember himself. You reached up, eyes not breaking away from his to make sure no lines were being crossed, to fix a bit of his shirt that had become wrinkled. “Do you think I’ll bite?”

“Maybe, can never be too sure in this city.”

You giggled. “I promise you I won’t. Unless you ask.”

Jason smiled and he saw you blush. He could do this, he thought, he could be with you. Maybe, he could figure out how to be good enough for you, too. In the background, he could hear Dreams playing again. 

Then I open up and see the person falling here is me—A different way to be.

[humbledragon669]

S1E4 – Saturday Morning Funtime Write Up P2 - Saturday (The last day of the World) from The Fields of Megiddo to "You're better off without him."

Given the rather abrupt interruption I made to the previous part of the write up for this episode, let’s just get stuck straight in and pick up where I left off. Other than the lovely implication that selfies are the work of the devil, there’s only one thing I want to talk about in relation to this scene, and it’s the music. It’s been a while since I waxed lyrical over David Arnold’s soundtrack, so I’m sure it’s about time I brought it up again. We can hear a piece of incidental music playing throughout the conversation between Hastur and Eric (or Junior Demon if you’re looking at the original script), the character of which perfectly underscores the tone of the conversation. There are three sections to it – one for each iteration of the disposable demon, each growing less playful than the last (represented by the harpsichord in the orchestration). What I especially love about this little piece of music is that if you listen really, really carefully, you can pick out some instances of the motif from the theme music (played by a glockenspiel). It’s a lovely reminder of how much music enriches our experience of film and television without us even realising it.

Without giving a blow-by-blow description of what’s going on in the episode (which I’m sure you’d agree would be tedious both to write and read), I don’t have much to say about the next scene either, other than pointing out Anathema’s pathological desire to feed the kids whenever they appear. It makes me wonder if she’s like that with everyone (in which case Aziraphale would probably adore her) or it’s just children (in which case, creepy). It is interesting to see that Adam’s nature is starting to be corrupted by his powers – where the consequences were previously of a childlike innocent nature, they are now starting to manifest in his attempts to dominate others. We also have confirmation that the change in his nature is now being noticed by others in his vicinity.

Hastur’s next scene, other than providing some lovely moments of perfectly delivered black comedy, forms a mainly narrative purpose, serving nicely to remind us why Aziraphale was so incredulous at the Antichrist being left with an American diplomat’s family in the first place – they’re abhorrent. The Dowlings I mean, not all Americans. Or even all American diplomats. Not that I know any American diplomats to say any different. Anyway. We also see how quick Hastur is to come to the (correct) conclusion that Crowley is to blame for this monumental cock up. Given that Hastur shows his dislike of our demon just prior to the baby switcheroo 11 years earlier (and who knows how long he’s actually felt that way), it’s almost surprising that it’s taken him this long to find something concrete against Crowley.

Alright, Easter egg time! The scene of Crowley in the cinema has a couple. Let’s start with the one glaring at us from the movie theatre screen.

That’s our episode title, right there in front of our eyes! I don’t know whether these creepy little rabbits were always intended to be holding the banners and this is where the episode title came from, whether the episode title came first, or whether it’s somewhere between the two but I love the meta-reference nonetheless. Whilst we’re on the topic of those weird little fuckers, has anybody stopped to wonder why, in the name of all that is and isn’t holy, has Crowley would pick this film to watch? I know we get that deliciously dark sequence of a bunny massacring another bunny as a result, but it’s an odd choice for the demon you have to admit.

Second Easter egg:

The only other audience member in the movie theatre, in case you didn’t already know, is played by a certain Neil Gaiman. Who also happens to provide the voice for the cutesy-wutesy bunny rabbits on the screen. It’s tempting to ask the same question about why on earth an adult man would choose this child’s cartoon to watch, alone, on a Saturday morning but really I’m just chuffed to bits that they found a cameo for Neil.

As a quick side note, I also want to point out that the attention to detail has not been neglected in the cartoon – the frog (toad?) on Hastur’s head can be seen gesticulating in line with his speech. Not to mention you can sporadically hear a “ribbit” in the background. Bloody genius.

Back with Anathema (who, for once, does not offer her guest any food) and Newton, there’s an interesting return to the idea that the same word can be used to convey different meanings dependent on its recipient. Remember back when Adam showed up on her Anathema’s doorstep and she renamed herself to accommodate his preconceived ideas? Well she switches right back to calling herself a witch here, for the exact same reason, but with Newton instead. In fairness, he’s playing the same game in calling himself a computer engineer. And whilst I appreciate the need to remove matches from this particular individual, I wasn’t actually aware that he had any, though we do know he has firelighters.

Side note: there is a note written on a newspaper article pinned on the board in this scene:

It might be nothing at all, but if anybody has any suggestions as to whether there’s an Easter egg to be found here, I’m all ears.

Moving on into Adam’s rapidly increasing decline into his true nature, the only thing I have to say about the scene with The Them being dragged through the woods is that the speech delivered by the aspiring Antichrist here is incredibly relevant to current day.

Everything’s being killed or used up and no one takes it seriously. Everyone thinks somehow it’ll all get better again.

Makes it rather difficult to argue with him, doesn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t believe global extinction is the way to go about fixing things, but his point is valid. And from a child’s perspective, it might actually seem logical that the way to solve the problem is to just start everything from new.

OK, I need to take a moment here to do a little bit of an outline, because for some reason, my brain really struggles to comprehend the timeline of the Crowley and Aziraphale scenes for the rest of this episode. Which isn’t so unusual, given that we don’t see them all in chronological order, but there’s just something about these scenes that I find hard to make them piece together into a whole story. So, here’s the sequence as I understand it:

Crowley visits the movie theatre, where he discovers that Hell knows he has something to do with the Antichrist mix up.

Crowley goes to Soho to try and convince Aziraphale to run away together.

Aziraphale is confronted on the street by a group of archangels, telling him he has to choose a side (complete with a threatening wall slam).

Aziraphale attempts to talk to God, where he discovers that Heaven intends to have their war, regardless of any external circumstances.

Hastur and Ligur arrive at Crowley’s apartment (probably concurrent with Aziraphale talking to Metatron) to “collect” him.

Aziraphale calls Crowley to tell him he knows where the Antichrist is (and presumably to suggest they do something about it together), approximately 28 minutes after his attack.

Shadwell enters the book shop, triggering the Aziraphale’s discorporation and causing the fire to start.

Crowley leaves his apartment to go and get Aziraphale having heard the voicemail he left. This may or may not be after Aziraphale has already been discorporated.

I think that’s it. Even now I feel confused about it all, and I have no idea why. I probably didn’t need to spell it all out quite so explicitly for anyone other than myself but hey, this is my write up, so my rules.

OK, let’s move on to another horribly painful exchange between Crowley and Aziraphale, shall we? Before we get there though, it would be remiss of me not to talk about the Bentley’s registration plate. I *think* this is the first time we see it properly, as it’s obscured by the front bumper in most of the shots in episode 2.

It’s a pretty poor picture, but the registration is “NIAT RUC”. As in “curtain” backwards. As I understand it, this is a reference to some writing on the wall of a mausoleum in “Monty Python’s Meaning of Life”, paying homage to Terry Gilliam (one of the Monty Python members) who was involved in the first attempt to bring Good Omens to the screen.

Alright, first question about the upcoming scene. Why doesn’t Crowley just park the Bentley in his usual parking spot and go looking for Aziraphale? We can be pretty sure that the only reason he would be driving through that particular street in Soho is going to be something to do with Aziraphale. The space across the book shop is empty when he drives past it, yet he barely slows down to take the corner. Why not just park?

Next question about the exchange that takes place between our hero pair. What exactly is Crowley apologising for? By my reckoning it was Aziraphale that delivered the deciding blow during the breakup in the previous episode, even if his reasons were honourable.

My money on the answer to this question is that Crowley is in full panic mode at this point. He knows that apologising is likely the only way he’s going to be able to spark any sort of conversation with Aziraphale, hopefully taking him so off guard that he simply does as instructed. And it nearly works – you can see the angel’s relief when his shoulders relax.

He’s desperate – why else would he offer such a carte blanche apology for “whatever he said”? The fact that Hell have finally twigged to his involvement has sent him into full flight mode and the only thing he’s stopped to collect on his way out of dodge is the only thing that really matters to him – Aziraphale. He doesn’t believe he has time to talk about it – it has to be now and he’s asking Aziraphale to trust him. As a human resident on Earth, I feel obliged to side with Aziraphale on this one, seeing as he’s still trying to find a way to stop the obliteration of the human race. But that doesn’t make the rejection any less heartbreaking, even though he does seem to give it a micro-second of consideration before he digs his heels in.

And can we just take a pause on Crowley’s choice of words for his plea? “Run away together”, that’s what he says. This is such a clear indication of the true nature of their relationship to me – running away together is generally not the sort of thing people entertain in a platonic way, is it? Noticeably, Aziraphale doesn’t reject the idea of being “together”, which further serves to the idea that they are already familiar with exactly what the connotations of the word, and that it’s something he’s comfortable with. His rejection is actually grounded in the fact that he thinks he can still persuade the powers that be to just call the whole thing off by simply talking some sense into them, so he brushes Crowley’s panic off as “ridiculous” (side note: the music kicking in at this point should tell us that this discussion is on a road to nowhere – we’ve got slushy strings in a minor key again). What he fails to realise is that even if he can by some miracle (no pun intended) actually pull that off, Hell will still be looking to wreak some sort of personal revenge on Crowley for his involvement in the Antichrist mix-up. Crowley hasn’t forgotten that though, you can see the panic written all over his face as the realisation that Aziraphale isn’t on the same page as him.

What Crowley has failed to realise is that he’s not the only one panicking. Aziraphale is on that train too, but he’s taking a very healthy dose of denial with him. He simply cannot contemplate the possibility that the whole situation can’t be fixed. Crowley’s pleading might be painful to hear but I find it harder to watch Aziraphale’s version of the same emotion – you can almost hear him screaming at Crowley, trying to explain how terrified he is and how much he needs him on side.

Let’s not forget that Aziraphale desperately wants to be a company man. He wants to believe that his side is the inherently good side. That everything they do can be justified by sound moral decisions. Asking him to stop believing that would undo everything he is and ever has been. Even if it is completely ridiculous. We shouldn’t forget that because Crowley, in his panic, does.

You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?

That one little line, emotionally vomited as it is, conveys so much about Crowley’s feelings. I’m trying to think of another instance where he reveals an opinion he holds about Aziraphale, particularly one that is complimentary, and I am coming up blank. Admittedly I don’t know the entire script by memory (probably not far off) so I wouldn’t swear by it, but I think those three words about Aziraphale’s intelligence are exceptional as far as Crowley’s talking of the angel is concerned. And then he has to go and spoil it by calling Aziraphale “stupid”. There is little doubt at how affronted he is at that particular term.

We all know what’s coming next. Aziraphale’s very own stick-the-knife in phrase to counter Crowley’s use of the “s” word.

It’s not the first time we have seen Aziraphale express a desire for Crowley to be forgiven, but it is the first time we see him actually offering forgiveness. When I watched this scene through for the first time, I found myself wondering what Aziraphale thinks he’s forgiving Crowley for, but having seen the fleeting looks of panic on his face we’ve seen throughout this conversation, I think it’s for not understanding he needs him to stay, for not hearing the subtext he has been trying to convey. I also happen to think that Aziraphale actually uses this 3-word phrase as a coded way of telling Crowley that the conversation is over, nothing more to discuss, not unless the demon makes a compromise. I will be talking about that a fair bit when I get to its use in the Final 15, but for now let’s just say it has its desired effect – Crowley’s response is one of frustration and the discussion is indeed over.

What I find interesting is that Aziraphale appears to be confused by the reaction he gets, before the pain of watching Crowley walk away again sets in. It’s almost as if he realises he might have misjudged the situation, failed to understand how frightened Crowley is, and I think we can see real self-doubt there for a second before the demon delivers the final blow as he characteristically runs away from the difficult situation.

I think there is likely a bit more than a literal meaning to Crowley’s statement that he’s going to be “off in the stars”, particularly given what we saw of Lesley demise earlier in the episode. As briefly mentioned, the concept of entities residing within starlight at the end of their mortal lives is something that Neil uses in other works too (and not just in his work – this idea can be found in varying guises across multiple faith systems). Perhaps this is part of the reason Aziraphale is so reluctant to go with him? Either way, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to say that Crowley is clearly bluffing with his departing line, and knows he is.

WON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT YOU GIF

The whole dismissal feels full of holes really, after all, why on earth why would you need to go and get anything at all if you were planning on leaving the planet? Why didn’t he just take the things he wanted when he left his apartment on his way to Soho in the first place? Honestly, I don’t think he thought he’d entertained the idea that the conversation with Aziraphale would have resulted in anything other than them joining forces again, one way or the other, but the fact that he announces to Aziraphale that he’s going home says to me that he has no intention of doing anything other than that. He knows he has to reassess his options now that he doesn’t have what he came for. And how much do we all love that passer-by? He sees their relationship for what it really is, just from a single line of heated argument.

I’ve been there. You’re better off without him.

Importantly, Aziraphale doesn’t try to correct him in his assumption that they are a couple. And the passer-by is wrong of course, we all know that Crowley and Aziraphale are much stronger when they’re together. Better together you might say. Even Aziraphale knows it.

Right, that’s the lot for this part! As usual, comments, questions, discussion, always welcome. See you next time 😊

[hyperpotamianarch]

Well, it appears the time has come for our second class in Song, by John Donne! As you may remember, last week we went over the first stanza. This week, we'll go over the second. It goes:

If thou be'st born to strange sights Things invisible to see Ride ten thousand days and nights Till age snow white hairs on thee Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee And swear Nowhere Lives a woman true, and fair.

So, from here on the spell conditions start actually being complicated. Being born to strange sights, things invisible to see - that's not something you can get by virtue of effort. You are either born with it or you are not. While magic can be taught to some degree to people without much natural talent, people with natural talents are much more preferrable - and for our spell, required.

Royal wizard Pendragon claims that this line can only refer to him or Wizard Sulliman, though. Frankly, I don't see why he thinks the two of them belong to any special club outside of being royal wizards, but he is insistent. When I pressured him, he mumbled about something he claimed I was unable to see - some gap between worlds or something. He is very clearly a self centered man, though, so I think we can discount him. All of us with natural magic talent are born to sights that are strange and invisible - something that really is indescribable by language. You know what I'm talking about if you've seen it, you can't know if you haven't. You either fulfill the requirements or you do not; there's nothing you can do to change it either way.

Now, riding here isn't considered literally riding but existing in this world. this is since 10,000 days and nights amount to... let's do the calculation right here, actually: 10,000/365=27(145) years, approximately. Since 27 years are bound to include 6 leap years, the remains in days is actually 139 - about four and two thirds months. Thus, reaching this particular age is another requirement you have no control over. You can only wait. I myself have a couple of years to get to this age.

The same is true with growing white hairs - simply dyeing it won't be enough, as the lyrics specify your age as the cause of the color. Not eeryone gets while hairs by their 10000th day of riding upon this world, though.

At this point this song starts talking in the first person. There's another person involved here. And this is where we get to the crux of it all.

You see, this is a curse. The person fulfilling the terms is the person who was put under it, and the 10,000 days and nights are the deadline. By this time, the cursed person must go to the person who cursed them and tell them of all wonders that came to them.

A reliable source - the wife of Wizard Suliman, Lettie Sullivan née Hatter - told me that Howl was primed from the beginning for this, because (and I quote): "Howl is a horrible person. Before he married my sister he was dating me, and before that - countless of others. He didn't manage to find a woman true and fair because he himself was never true or fair for a moment in his life. Had Sophie not saved him... I don't think he'd have managed to escape the clause of the curse."

Well. The next stanza concludes the curse and is supposed to entrap the victim. Next week we'll see what is its major flaw and how it could fail - we actually already got a hint for that, you'll see next week.

[mask131]

Alright, after all this time, here is my opinion (kind of review?) of Netflix's The Monkey King, aka The Monkey King 2023 (at least one of the Monkey King movies of this year). I haven't done movie talk in a long time, but here we go. Also, spoiler-free!

Let's begin with the question everybody wants to know about. Is this movie bad? Definitively not. You cannot say in good faith and honesty that it is a bad movie. If you really disliked the movie, the most you can say is that it is "average" and not average as in a "mediocre, okay, decent, basic" kind of way - average as in "the bad elements are balanced by great ones". But if you ask me, the movie is good. Or more precisely it is "Good, but not without its flaws". It does have some little flaws here and there that prevent it from being an excellent or perfect movie, but it is a good/great movie.

Let's talk already of the little flaws first. Many people have already pointed them out before, so I won't expand on them much. I will say that I watched all of the movie in one go, without stopping, without even realizing how time went by, I truly watched the movie with ease and in one go - I originally just wanted to watch the first part and then stop and take it back later, I ended up binging the whole thing, so you know, classic Netflix type of product where you just do it all in one go (which is a good sign!). There was just one moment I cringed a bit, and that forms the weakest segment of the movie for me, and it is the second part of the "fake orchard of immortality" scene. But this is tied to the way the Dragon King and his minions are handled.

The Dragon King is a very cool-looking character based on an excellent idea, but I have to admit that it is one of the most... surprising elements of the movie because while in some scenes he is written as a great character that works, in other scenes he dangerously borders the overdone cliche. Overall he is an enjoyable villain and a good character that fits in the whole created world, but I admit some of his jokes fall a bit dull for me (though the finale made hm even greater than before - in all the senses of the term). It is a bit in the image of his villain song, "Take the world by storm": when I first heard it I cringed at some lyrics and jokes in the beginning and wondered why this song was here, but then I re-listened to it, loved it and it can't get out of my head. It perfectly translates the Dragon King character as a cool concept and great idea that sometimes is pushed a little bit too much when things should have been a bit more subtle or shortened. Another thing that I would call ambiguous is the heavy influence and references to Disney movies, of which the Dragon King participates as he is the most Disney-villain villain a Netflix product ever created. I think all this Disney influence will split people in two - on one hand some people will dislike it because they will see as just copying what has already been done before, and perceive there a lack of true imagination ; on the other hand some people will love it because they will get back the feeling of the Disney renaissance movies and will appreciate the homage and having back traditional Disney villains and characters "as they used to make".

For me the biggest "flaw" if you can call it a flaw - which isn't really a flaw because it doesn't "hurt" the movie, it would be rather... the biggest "blend" of the movie is the way the new plot is handled. Because the writers of the movie took no real risk, took no chance when devising a new plot to convey the movie. I am not talking about the adapting part - because they did a wonderful job at adaptating in a simple and concise way the entire whole first part of Journey to the West, into a simple, easy to understand, one hour and a half movie mostly aimed at a young audience. And that is definitively one of the good points of this movie, because it isn't an easy feat at all! But as a result, to make sure they reached this state, they went with a plot that is absolutely "classic" in all the senses of the term. Everything was expected, nothing in terms of plot-twist or plot-advancement felt new, I could already guess what could happen and where things were going. Mind you, I am an adult who watched numerous Disney and Pixar movies and who knows Journey to the West and several of its adaptations, so of course I wasn't going to be surprised. Again, this movie clearly is aimed at a young audience - one without an extensive cinematographic knowledge, and one probably unaware of Journey to the West, so I guess for this target audience the "generic-ess" or "bland-ness" of the plot won't be much of a problem. Plus, I am forced to concede that the new plot to convey the events HAD to be as simple and classic as that, because this was the best way to again, simplify the original material to create an easily accessable, reachable and understandable movie for an audience unaware of the source material or not familiar with the culture it came from.

Some people have also pointed out that "the cultural mix sometimes work, sometimes doesn't". I agree with this too. Because one of the specificity of this movie is that it tries to truly be a modern piece (and thus goes with the Percy Jackson, Asterix and co treatment of having more modern elements in Ancient China), and it tries to truly be a Chinese-American movie, by mixing purely Chinese landscapes, material and characters with American references and influences (such as the Disney one). Sometimes it works in funny way (I can't stress ow hilarous it is to have Sun Wukong live in a Disney-like universe), other times it makes you wonder if this was a wise decision.

So anyway, that was the little flaws that prevented the movie from being perfect. As some reviewers said "It is great, fun, fast, hilarious and cool-looking, but a bit odd from time to time."

But what about the GREATNESS of the movie? Oh, the things I saw, the things to say!

If the creators of the movie did not take any risk plot-wise, on the contrary they took all the risks with the visuals. Can I just say first that the animation is absolutely gorgeous and wonderful? And I want to stress something that many cynical or worn-down reviewers tend to forget: today's technology, and today's animation, is something wonderful and majestic and a prowess of technology and technique. I remember when everybody bashed on "Elemental" for the plot or the characters, and nobody took the time to point out how GREAT and FRIGGIN AWESOME the visuals and the animations were. Hopefully I have a bit of an "anchor" here in the form of... my mother. Because my mother stopped watching animated movies around the 80s or so, and only started back looking at some from the late 2000s onward (and mostly because I watched them as a youth), and every time I share with her a new animated piece, she keeps pointing out how amazed and shocked she is at animation style or animation processes that, for me, as a kid who grew up with the wonders of the early 21st century, were just "normal". It really puts into perspective how far we got into the animation world and how exceptional these movies are today - even if the content is bland, the creation, the material and the effort put in them is wonderful.

And Netflix's The Monkey King is definitively one of those movies that benefitted from the recent boom in unusual and daring animation experiences these late years (Elemental, the last Puss in Boots movie, the recent Spiderverse animated pieces, this Disney movie which featured the first openly gay character and that was completely ignored by the press and whose name I forgot about...). They truly played all the cards, with fast-pace action combat, unusual designs, vibrant color palettes, a true work on camera angles, daring to shift animation from 3d to 2D for some sequences, gigantic landscape works, etc etc... Now, I noticed that some people were put-off by some design choices in this movie. It is true that due to their choice of more cartoony designs for the supernatural beings (to contrast them with the human beings), some of the Immortals in particular can come of as better-versions, but still a bit off putting, of some of the 3D animated Addams Family designs. I admit this might not win over everyone - but at least that is a risk and a dare the anmators chose to still go into the unusual and bizarre. Again, the uniqueness and work and daring risks with the visuals truly complete and "excuse" the "genericness" and "expectedness" of the plot.

The other great thing about this movie is the characters. It has been a long time since any children movie characters grew on me, but their handling of the Monkey King was a perfectly simplified and child-suited interpretation of the original Monkey King - not sweetened up, but without playing too much into the horror aspect either, and using perfect metaphors to convey in a simply way what the character is about (the metaphor of the teenager more irresponsible and unwise than an actual child, the concept of the wild child that was never raised or loved by anyone and so got on his own all throughout his life). There is no real subtlety in the characters, just like in the motifs (the HAND! THE HAND IS EVERYWHERE!), but at least they don't try to do overtly subtle or complicated stuff - they know they are doing a simple, down-to-the-point, let's-go-and-have-fun-and-not-think-too-much, type of cast and story, and they do ther best to do something simple but efficient, unbsubtle but fun without being overtly blunt or hitting you too much on the head either. And the character of Lin actually grew onto me a LOT, much more than I would have expected. I actually liked the character - and the fact that she is a child depicted as intelligent, mature and reasonable might be part of this.

People also heavily praised the music, which I agree, the soundtrack is really cool. The movie is very fast-paced - which did bother some reviewers who said they couldn't just pause and breathe - but personally I enjoyed it, because again it works with their simplification and heavy reliance on visuals and characters more than plot, the fastness of the action and the quickness of it all allows you to just take the whole movie whole, without anything dragging on too much. Again, simplicity is key - and for example the whole "end of the fake orchard sequence" felt somehow cringe, precisely because there they slowed down the action and took a bit too much time on something that truly wasn't worth as much.

When I talked about the risks they took with this movie, I shall include one risk that I had doubts about but actually kind of paid off - the stick. It is not a big spoiler, but Sun Wukong's magical staff is here a full character, a sentient being, and acts as the "make some weird noise mechanical companion" to the hero, which has been a character archetype ever since Star Wars, the original Clash of Titans, and other American movies of this era. I had BIG doubts at first, but ultimately it didn't felt very cringe or badly handled, and it worked quite fine. Ultimately, I also have to admire the team for going this route because I do not think this iea had been ever brought up in any adaptation or retelling of Journey to the West - I think this is the first time the magical staff is treated as a character rather than a prop, and this participates in the uniqueness of this movie.

Of course, let's also conclude by the big effort made by this movie to have a majority of Chinese-descending participants for this piece. In fact, I will conclude my review on this final thought: I am quite certain that there are lots of Chinese cultural references I, and others, missed in this movie, due to not being familiar with Chinese culture. Everybody saw the Disney influence ; but I had to dig up and research to find out the influence on this movie of other animated pieces of China. For example, I discovered that this depiction and incarnation of the Dragon King seems to have been heavily influenced by the famous Chinese animated movie of the 70s, "Nezha conquers the Dragon King", a movie I have to shamely admit I had no knowledge of the existence prior to a few days. So I am fairly certain there must be other easter eggs and references to Chinese movies, animated pieces or mythological adaptations out there.

[stiaral]

Starbomb and music theory 🦌🎵

CW : Strong Language

After 3 albums of greatness, it seemed like the magic of Starbomb would be a long gone memory, but miraculously in a tweet on the 27th of February 2023 our prayers had been answered ; the kings shall return.

And returned they have, with their new album Starbomb Boom: Rise of Lyrics. At the time I'm writing this post, their music video for Kiss the Elden Ring has recently been released and hopefully we'll still see new content for that 4th album.

If my username on most platforms is Starceptor it's because of Starbomb and Egoraptor (Arin Hanson), who's a member of the band alongside Danny Sexbang (Dan Avidan) and Ninja Brian (Brian Wecht) - listening to their songs on loop for years has significantly helped me become more casual with English (swears included), they introduced me to a whole new side of online and gaming nerd culture while also making me more interested in music-making in general by ensuring a place in my heart as one of my favorite bands of all time. By talking about them, I am somewhat also going back to the roots of my own motivations for making music, so I find it fitting that I refer to them in the context of my personal journey with composing.

I'm usually not a big fan of the kind of humor that Starbomb embraces but, they use it in such an over the top and self-parodic manner in their songs that it loops back to being funny again. As a celebration of their new album I wanted to go back to this awesome band in order to analyze what constitutes their musical identity.

Unfortunately, they already beat me to it :

This is usually the part where I sing the chorus out. But we haven't established what this song is all about. Then I chime in real quick for a just a second as the character delivers a line that reminds us of the joke. And I'll respond with harmonies, isn't that dope ?

This is when the song concept should heighten for effect. If you think we use that formula a lot, you are correct.

Danny said everything there, Starbomb does rely a lot on very similar patterns from one song to another. They are a self-described (in the about section of their website) synthpop/hip-hop band, and these pop influences can definitely be found all throughout this "formula" they "use a lot". Since the late 1970s, synthpop focused mainly on minor key songs, and if we take a look at the first Starbomb album :

I choose you to die / C-Minor

It's dangerous to go alone / A-Minor

Mega-Marital problems / D-Minor

Rap Battle : Ryu vs Ken / F#-Minor

Book of Nook / A#-Minor

Regretroid (my personal favorite) / Bb-Minor

Kirby's adventure in Reamland / G-Minor

The Simple Plot of Final Fantasy VII / A-Minor

8 songs in minor key, but the repetitions do not end here. Without going into much detail, most of the progressions within the first album are very common, almost cliché in pop music and well, there are some other redundant patterns...

To poetically quote this review of the first album ;

"[...] the phrase “What up b*tch?” is used so many times on this album, you begin to wonder whether Jessie Pinkman had a hand in its creation."

Point is, the instrumental at first never was the focus of Starbomb songs, the lyrics and their punchline were. But once you fall for the charm of these dumb jokes that get overextended to the full lenght of a song, you begin to love these same synthetizers you hear almost every time or even appreciate in what ways the instrumental might differ from the usual (shoutout to the chilled out groove of It's dangerous to go alone). The band is very aware of this, in fact, while all of their songs in the 3rd album sound quite unique, the one that ressembles the most the formula of their earlier songs is precisely the parody of their own repetitions : This song sucks. And from the first to their fourth album you see their progression wihen it comes to making the back-up music for their songs thematically coherent (starting at first with songs like Luigi's Ballad that alternate to a different tempo whether Luigi or Mario are singing, to reallly taking full effect with the second album onwards. For example how can't I mention one of their most recent songs Nintendo's Greatest Announcement done entirely in whispered rapping as said "Announcement" supposedly is a secret leak).

Arin is hitting that yoinky spoinkly like a champ.

If it weren't for Starbomb, well first of all I wouldn't have named myself Starceptor and therefore later on Stiaral, but I probably wouldn't have been introduced either to an awesome passion project on the internet that would have influenced me to work on my own stuff using also back-up synths and some chiptune soundfonts I'd end up playing around with on MuseScore.... Oh and fun thing the base for my fursona's hairstyle actually is Starbomb Link's cut.

Best Link design ever /hj - love what they did especially with the eye lashes.

[black-arcana]

DIEGO CAVALLOTTI Says His Exit From LACUNA COIL Is 'Not The Result' Of His 'Dissatisfaction Or Desire To Explore New Opportunities'

Diego Cavallotti has released a statement regarding his departure from LACUNA COIL.

Cavallotti, who joined LACUNA COIL in 2016, initially as a fill-in guitarist following the departure of Marco "Maus" Biazzi, took to his social media earlier today (Wednesday, June 19) to write: "Good morning everyone.

"I want to share with all of you this post regarding my departure from the band.

"Yes, I am no longer part of the LACUNA COIL.

"Although this decision is not the result of my dissatisfaction or desire to explore new opportunities, I have serenely decided to accept it in consideration of these almost 10 wonderful years spent together, playing around the world, and to allow the band to continue its course without me.

"I wish to Maki, Andrea, Cristina and Richard the greatest success and the greatest satisfaction. I thank them for the huge wealth of experience gained over all these years, always side by side.

"I thank all of you, friends, fans and artists who have written to me but above all for the immense support that I'm receiving.

"However, this is not the end of anything, one chapter has just been closed and I am ready to write another one. For me music is, and remains, my only reason for living and I will never stop doing what I love, even if that meant going back to playing in garages or in front of anyone.

"I can't wait to find out what the future has for me, I am ready to evaluate every possible new opportunity and I will continue to carry out my projects with pride and dedication.

"Thank you very much to everyone, see you around."

When LACUNA COIL announced Cavallotti's exit on Monday (June 17),the band wrote in a statement: "As we step into a new cycle, writing and recording our next album, we are parting ways with Diego 'DD' Cavallotti. We thank him for the many unforgettable moments shared over the years and wish him the best of luck in his future endeavours.

"All future live plans remain unchanged and the new songs are taking form, we can't wait to share them with our fans."

Biazzi left LACUNA COIL in January 2016, explaining in a statement: "I felt I couldn't add more in this project any longer so I decided to leave my second family, LACUNA COIL, to take a different path for a new challenge in my life."

LACUNA COIL recently completed the "Ignite The Fire" U.S. tour with support from NEW YEARS DAY and OCEANS OF SLUMBER.

In April, LACUNA COIL released another new single, "In The Mean Time", featuring Ash Costello of NEW YEARS DAY. The song's title is a reference to the mean times the world is living in, as well as a reference to the state the band itself is in, between cycles.

Last July, LACUNA COIL released the official lyric video for a new track called "Never Dawn". For the song, the band partnered with CMON, the renowned board game publisher behind the popular game "Zombicide".

In a recent interview with Brazil's Sonoridades Inc., LACUNA COIL singer Cristina Scabbia spoke about the progress of the writing and recording sessions for the band's follow-up to 2019's "Black Anima" album. She said: "I can't really tell you a lot. I can tell you that we are progressing very fast. We are almost, like, 100… We completed, let's say, the demoing. We still have to record the rest of the songs, but we will soon — probably after the tour, after the [May 2024] North American tour. And if everything goes as projected, before the end of the year [it] will be released. And that's already a big news, because we always say, 'We don't know. Maybe.' … I absolutely love the songs. I'm part of the process. But I'm very pleased."

Asked if "Never Dawn" will be on the upcoming album, Cristina said: "I think it will be. I think it will be, 'cause it will make sense. And it also fits with the other songs — it really fits with the other songs. Many heavy songs."

LACUNA COIL has spent some of the last couple of years promoting "Comalies XX", the "deconstructed" and "transported" version of the band's third album, "Comalies".

"Comalies XX" was made available on October 14, 2022 via Century Media Records.

LACUNA COIL celebrated the 20th anniversary of "Comalies", by performing it in its entirety at a one-night-only concert on October 15, 2022 at Fabrique in Milano.

"Comalies" was originally released on October 29, 2002 through Century Media Records. The LP, which featured the band's breakthrough single "Heaven's A Lie", has reportedly gone on to sell over 300,000 copies in the United States alone.

[hoje--aqui]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

MY MOMENT

I really loved it. I love music and I love talking about music.

But as a deeply eclectic person, it's humanly impossible to choose 5 songs that I like, and I don't have 5 favourites either. So I'm going to take the opportunity to share with you 5 current Brazilian songs by incredible and current alive artists, just true poems that I believe with all my heart that everyone deserves to hear and tif you decide to translate them, you won't be disappointed.

Not because I only listen to Brazilian music, but because I'm very proud of Brazilian artists and believe that they deserve to be recognised all over the world.

However, if you decide to listen to one of them, feel free to visit the rest of they discography

1 . CAJU | by Liniker

Liniker is perfect! She's a trans woman, black and has been awarded the title of Immortal by the Brazilian Academy of Letters, which is an indescribable honour for an artist, even more so in life. My favourite album by her is Indigo Borboleta Anil, but Caju is her latest and a close second.

2 . O Piano | by Coruja Bc1, Jonathan Ferr and Margareth Menezes

This one in particular is a song from a collective album with various artists, where each of the lyrics has its own musicality and proposals, but I had to mention this one in particular because it brought tears to my eyes more than once. It tells a very beautiful and very sad story (which even deserves to be drawn, so here's a possibility for a future WIP). The album itself, Brasil Futurista, is a great nomination and all the artists involved deserve to be here.

3 . A Ordem Natural das Coisas | Emicida (feat. MC Tha)

I could name so many songs by Emicida. From the most famous to the least played. 'AmarElo' is incredible and I seriously thought about putting it here (that's nomination 3.1). 'A Ordem Natural das Coisa' doesn't even remotely show the complexity of the artist's work, but it has a delicacy that can't be ignored. Think about how much life happens before the sun rises and the poetry he sees in life. It's just too beautiful.

4 . Torto Arado | Rubel, Liniker and Luedji Luna

This is perfect, because it refers to a book of the same name, which won the Jabuti Prize in 2019 (Jabuti is the highest national literary prize awarded by the Brazilian Academy of Letters). It's good to put her here, because I'd like to recommend another wonderful artist who sings pure poetry in every song she sings: Luedji Luna, another woman for the list and a wonderful one without any flaws.

aaaaaaaa there's only one more

okay

5. Ainda Aqui Sonhando | Leo Cavalcanti

I didn't want to put this one here. I was thinking of a more upbeat beat so that the list wouldn't be so quiet, and this was the opposite. But I think it's actually the most on topic and I couldn't decide which one to put last. Spotify's metrics show that I listened to this song for over 52 hours in March this year. This particular lyric touched me on a very personal level, so I don't have any great recommendations for the artist, but anyway, if you want to listen, Leo Cavalcanti.

Thanks for tagging me, and I hope you enjoy the nominations, I know I love making this list.

[billgavemeextrachips]

Friend: I would love to hear the story behind Time It Has No Day. Any particular inspirations? Any particular head-canon projects you were pursuing? Did you make a mood board? Did you make a playlist? Basically you should imagine what question you wish people would ask you about your story, and pretend I have asked it here!

AAAAAAH! THANK YOU for giving me the opportunity to geek out about my playlist!

My inspo playlist on Spotify is here. I will walk you through it under the Read More. I'm SO psyched to do this, you have no idea! Thank you, friend! :)

1. "Eyes of A Child !" (The Moody Blues): This is where the phrase "Time It Has No Day" comes from. Very early on in the project, the fic was titled "Ponds by the Sea" instead. But then I picked a slightly more inland vacation spot for River and her parents, and decided to let my musical fangirling run free, hence the new title.

Tracks 2-3 helped me work up the Feels to write about River missing her parents. Honorary mention to "Chasing the Sun," another Sara Bareilles song from the same album as "Manhattan." With its mention of "a cemetery in the center of Queens" and the line "you said 'remember that life is not meant to be wasted," it always makes me think of Amy deciding to go back in time with her husband.

Tracks 4-6 are all played by Twelve on his guitar in the patio scene of chapter 6. "For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her," isn't mentioned by name. But it's what I hear when the Doctor "strikes up a repeating arpeggio," then suggests the name Emily for their baby.

7. "Kooks" (David Bowie): This was one of those songs I picked out super early and wrote towards. First of all, it's David Bowie, one of PCap's faves. And second, the pre-parental cuteness omg. I'm surprised this song's not referenced in more babyfics, tbh.

8. "Mean Old Man" (James Taylor): It has a kind of gentle humor that reminds me of Twelve and River's relationship in general. It's also loosely associated in my head with the scene where they're getting dressed for Ramon and Nardole's wedding.

9. "Overjoyed" (Stevie Wonder): Obviously I wanted Twelve to request a Stevie Wonder song for him and River to dance to. I considered "Isn't She Lovely?", but the words would be directed more at the baby than River. Also, I find that one a little too cheesy, even for me. I'm not thrilled with the lyrics of "Overjoyed," but I think that musically, it's one of Stevie's prettiest love songs. (Granted, I really only know his big hits.)

10. "Pink Moon" (Nick Drake): Pure self-indulgence, but can you blame me? Imagine Peter Capaldi singing and playing this song on a lazy summer evening, and tell me you don't melt.

11. "Lay, Lady, Lay" (Bob Dylan): I was a little bummed when I saw that Abbey Road was released 5 months too late for Anthony to bring home to his parents after spring break. Dylan worked out well, though, since 1) he was at the Isle of Wight (foreshadowing to chapter 16!) and 2) "Lay Lady Lay" has this kind of languid, laid-back romance to it that I think goes well with The Vibe(tm) of the whole fic.

12. "In the Still of the Night" (Ella Fitzgerald): Not my usual genre, but I can absolutely see River being an Ella Fitzgerald fan. I heard this song years ago and thought it was lovely. It was one of the first songs I added to the playlist, so I was "writing towards" it for a looong time.

13. "The Only Living Boy in New York" (Simon & Garfunkel): Runs through Amy's head when she imagines seeing her Raggedy Doctor again. Although I'm considering dropping the direct reference in Chapter 10, since it's highly improbable that readers will guess the correct song from the kinda-sorta-lyrics given. It'll always stay on my inspo list, though. :)

14. "Tuesday Afternoon" (The Moody Blues): Of course I had River and her parents meet up on a Tuesday Afternoon.

Tracks 15-16: Just some atmosphere for the cottage holiday chapters.

Tracks 17-18: These songs really were performed at the 1969 Isle of Wight festival. I had to go hunting through various performers' IOW 1969 setlists for something to give Jack his 'haunted moment.' I listened to some awesome new-to-me music in the process, before settling on "Ramblin' Boy."

19. "Gypsy" (The Moody Blues): This song was performed at the 1970 Isle of Wight festival. It wasn't released until November of '69. Having it appear in the band's August '69 set list is a leeetle stretch, but not impossible; it just would have been a "preview" from their upcoming album. (As Justin Hayward explains in the fic, lol.) I feel the stretch is justified by just how perfectly this song encapsulates Ten in Last of the Timelords Angst Mode(tm).

Tracks 20-25 are all directly referenced in the last few chapters of the fic.

22. "Fly Me to the Moon" (Frank Sinatra): When Peter received a BAFTA last year, Simon Blackwell talked about how Peter would sing "Fly Me to the Moon" for vocal warm-ups while filming In the Loop. (Can you imagine hearing that???) I just had to use that one, even if Twelve singing it to River during her labor would've been a much softer, gentler performance than vocal warm-ups.

23. "Time in a Bottle" (Jim Croce): Croce wrote this song when his wife told him she was pregnant. The reason River complains it's "too sad" is because it was released shortly after Croce was killed in a plane crash 3 years later.

Oof. Sorry to end on a bit of a downer there. I really appreciated this ask! The music I associate with this project is very special to me.

I think all fanfic should be self-indulgent, but I specifically let myself get as self-indulgent as I wanted with the music referenced in Time It Has No Day. I picked songs that resonated with me, or I thought would resonate with the characters, without paring down to what would be most recognizable or make the most sense.

Making Rory Williams a millennial Moody Blues fan? Why not? I know they exist because I am one, and I remember what it was like to be teased for it. (Although my peers have given me less flak as we've all grown up.) Making Twelve think the Moodies are boring? Well, I had to go for the Malcolm Tucker reference. Besides, it's good to poke a little fun at your own faves every once in awhile.

[fernsam]

Ice Spice: The quick rise to fame

Ice Spice has exploded in popularity this past year, going from the “munch” girl to one of the most popular new female rappers of this year. She has even collaborated with other successful female artists such as Nikki Minaj, Taylor Swift, and PinkPantheress. So how exactly did she rise to fame so quickly? She stuck to her feminine aesthetic and promoted being for the girls while also being a “baddie”. 

I remember first hearing about Ice Spice through her first popular song: Munch. This song was released a year ago and not going to lie, it was horrible. It was even released on a random YouTube channel called WORLDSTARHIPHOP. Everyone was flaming her for how generic and terrible it sounded. 

Outside of the comments, the word “munch” became a meme and her song lyrics were sung as a joke. According to an interview, she explained that Munch meant a desperate man. But, besides her creative term “munch”, there was little uniqueness about her lyrics and rap style. Especially in her music video, where she was basically just shaking her ass. She was the definition of a typical rapper just shaking her ass and delivering ass lyrics. 

After seeing how much hate she got for this song, I thought she would just be another one-hit wonder. But she did something I haven’t seen in a while in the music industry: she used her haters to her advantage. 

Her next song, Bikini Bottom, didn’t really change the people's opinion. The beat was still really goofy and she delivered her signature dance moves. I’ll admit the lyrics in this one were a tiny bit better but what’s interesting is she still gained fame from this; the video got 23 million views! That’s pretty impressive for someone who got so much hate for her first video. More people came in on the joke and although the video wasn’t as successful as Munch (53 million), Ice Spice continued to slowly rise in success. 

Her second song was the moment when Ice Spice started to build a brand that just felt different. Although it was generic she kept on going. It’s like she is aware that it’s not that great but she’s still releasing. And more and more people started listening to her music, whether it was for good intentions or not. 

Things took a turn with her next song: In Ha Mood. This was released on her own YouTube channel and blew up with 43 million views. Unlike her other two songs, this song even blew up on TikTok with 638.9K posts. There wasn’t even a trend to use this song, it's just that her music was the perfect kind of “in your feelings” and “baddie” music that just went with videos in the background (example). Her vibe on this song is a lot calmer than her previous ones but she stuck to her “baddie” aesthetic through her simple lyrics. Her music video further proved this point. She had a Y2K style and just looked like she was having fun. This song was the point where it was established that she wasn’t just a joke, she was just having fun and making music for the girls. 

Comparing these comments to the comments on the two previous videos, these are a lot more positive. I don’t want to assume, but these sound a lot more like women commenting unlike before, which were mainly men. Ice Spice used her aesthetic to create a feminine drill song, which is quite unique and shifts the cultural perspective regarding her. Before she had an audience of main men hating on how she was a “typical and horrible female rapper”, but, she stuck to her guns and got recognized by more women (and men) who adore her. It makes sense: her style is so refreshing to listen to and she portrays herself so well.  Although there have been many successful female rappers in the past,  Ice Spice contributed to the feminine culture of Gen Z and showed that you can be both feminine and calm while also maintaining the “bad bitch” aesthetic.   

Speaking of femininity, her next song was a collab with PinkPanthress called Boy’s a liar Pt. 2. For reference, PinkPanthress is famous (especially on TikTok) for her soft voice and chill vibes. Her first song was popular with 5.9 million views, but her second song featuring Ice Spice got 171 million views. It was interesting because Ice Spice brought her typical drill style in a calming voice but combined with PinkPantntheress’ soft and calm voice, it worked well. Even in the music video it looks like they are two friends hanging out and it was meant to be. On TikTok, this song blew up with 1.8 million posts under the song. Again there’s no specific trend but the song is just such a bop and it goes well with many TikTok videos. People started looking up to Ice Spice as she was something refreshing. She had a fresh view of feminism: you can give any vibe you want and still be a woman. 

Her next two songs were a collab with the female rapper icon: Nikki Minaj. On Princess Diana, Ice Spice used her regular charisma to create a flow with Nikki Minaj. Similar to PinkPanthress, they seem so great together and the vibes they create are immaculate. What’s so amazing is Nikki Minaj, one of the best female rappers ever (that’s not a debate sorry) is collabing with a girl who basically just started making music a year ago. Ice Spice was able to use her femininity and mannerisms to gain fame and respect in the Gen Z community. Nikki Minaj even called her the “princess of rap”. 

The second collab she did with Nikki was Barbie World. This song was played in the iconic movie Barbie, which according to NPR,  brought close to $1.3 billion at the worldwide box office, becoming one of the only female-dominated movies among the top-grossing films of all time. What better way to show feminism than to have Ice Spice, a woman who made it in the rap industry, on the Barbie album.

Honestly, Ice Spice’s music was not for me, but her latest songs (Barbie World and boys a liar) were definitely a bop and got added to the playlist. It was nice to see the growth of her music, the growth of her fans, and the growth of her personal style. 

[charlieconwayy]

Re: the last ask I sent I’m so sorry you had to go through that 😭 I really hope you’re doing better now & in a better place where you feel accepted and loved. & I’m glad that at least that album was able to help you through it. Music really is a life saver and Reputation similarly enough actually became my second favorite Taylor album over the last year or so and I define very hard with this is why we can’t have nice things too, I don’t think the song deserves to be clowned at all it’s very relatable! The lyric “There I was, giving you a second chance but you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand” literally describes this situation I had with a guy and also look what you made me do I literally had that song on repeat for most of this year because of said situation with guy who screwed me over, I only saw him as a friend but it actually was worse than any heartbreak I’ve had from someone I was in love with. Both of those songs but especially lwymmd got me through. “Not for me not for me all I think about is karma” literally was me for several months lmao

Those are all great songs! I relate to anti hero a lot too but instead of all the people I’ve ghosted it’s all the people that have ghosted me 😂😭 but like “I wake up screaming from dreaming one day, I'll watch as you're leaving and life will lose all its meaning” is possibly the lyric of hers I relate to most it’s so real. Clean is another one I love dearly too! The one I originally was referring to in my original ask was blank space and I’m so excited to hear the re recorded version.

The songs about your friend It sounds like your friend is great and sees how wonderful you are and hope you continue to have him in your life ❤️ it sounds like there’s also some feelings there so I hope that things work out if that’s what you’re looking for!

If I had to describe the guy I’ve loved for years who I also considered my dearest friend in Taylor songs it would be I almost do and everything has changed. I still have hope though. I just saw him a few weeks ago and what’s funny is before I saw him (i wasn’t even planning to I was caught by surprise, great day though) everything has changed was the song I was listening to right before I unexpectedly saw him. Maybe I’m silly but I took it as kind of a sign idk lol.

I love how many songs Taylor has that can be applied to so many different situations. Lyrical genius I love her so much!

I loved reading your answers :) sorry this was a long response haha

thank you :') i appreciate that!

yeah you get it, reputation just hits differently when you've been betrayed, i don't think she has another album anywhere near that

oh yeah blank space is like an anthem for us bpd bitches haha so i love that one!! anti-hero is the first taylor song in forever that i felt genuinely connected to, the lyric that always comes to mind for me is "i'll stare directly at the sun but never at the mirror"

yeah he's......special. i'll leave it at that <3

sounds like we may be in a similar boat with our best friends. it's so funny the way that sometimes a specific song will play and illicit those emotions from you all over again. i don't think you're being silly. i think if it's been years and you still love him, there is something there, otherwise you would've given up.

i love taylor, but olivia will always be my number one haha just had to say that!

thank you so much for writing in!! i loved discussing this w you :)

[miekasa]

NICE.

+ pairings: eren yeager + (fem) reader

+ genres: rich kid au, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff, light-ish angst, smut/nsfw content (everybody gets a piece)!

+ warnings: mentions of depression/anxiety, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol, some of the smut happens under the influence so be cautious if that’s something you don’t like, i swear this is all more idiots in love than angst tho i just wanna disclose everything fairly

+ notes: this is alternatively titled super rich kids and you can probably figure out why. some of this is based off of real life, some of it is straight out of gossip girl and i challenge you to separate the facts from the fiction :��) anyways, i hope we all remember the lyrics to in my feelings

+ more notes: one quick reference for ages in this fic—all the vets are older but not by that much, think various stages of grad school. armin, connie, sasha, annie, and bertholdt are all college sophomores. eren, the reader, and pretty much everybody else are college seniors, so they’re about a year or two older. also here is a playlist for your reading pleasures, shoutout to ryn for letting me mooch of their spotify account :’)

+ word count: 19k. i’m sorry.

+ summary: fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool, fuck you.; or the story of notorious rich kid and self-proclaimed bad boy eren yeager, and his not so goody two-shoes best friend.

“So you’re saying that you don’t love me? That you’re not riding? That you’ll actually leave from beside me?”

“I’m saying that it’s ass o’clock in the morning and I’m not driving in the rain to Brooklyn to pick your sorry ass up.”

“But… but I want you, and I need you, and I’m down for you.”

You check the time on your phone screen and groan. 3:57am. Far too early to be dealing with the likes of Eren Jaeger. “Just get an Uber or something. I don’t know what you and your idiot friends were up to this time, but I don’t want any part of it.”

“First, they’re our idiot friends. Second, I don’t think they let you take Ubers from jail, and even if they did, it’s, like, four in the morning, so I don’t think there are any Ubers driving around, so could you pretty please come pick me up? I promise I’ll make it up to—”

“From where?” you cut him off, slowly sitting upright in your bed. You hold your phone closer to your ear, ready to listen again; because, certainly, you must have misheard him the first time. You wait, but the line is silent, save for Eren’s awkward chuckling. “Eren Asher Jaeger, tell me that that was another stupid lyric from that stupid song, and that you are not in prison right now.”

Eren makes a sad attempt at laughing. “Technically, it’s a holding cell, not really prison… and I would leave, but they suspended my license for a month, and Min can’t drive yet, so we kind of need you,” he explains, “Uh, no pun intended.”

“Min?” you pull your eyebrows together at the mention of the younger’s name, “Is Armin with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

With a frown and a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed, wedging your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you grab the nearest pair of sweatpants.

“Why did you get him caught up in whatever stupid shit you were doing tonight?” you complain, scanning your dark bedroom for a shirt to wear, “Erwin’s going to castrate you when he finds out.”

You curse as you stub your toe against the edge of your bed on your way out of the room. Given the time, weather, and the fact that you have several exams to start studying for, hanging up and leaving Eren in the middle of god knows where Brooklyn doesn’t seem like such a bad idea, but you couldn’t go back to sleep knowing that Armin would have to suffer with him.

“Relax,” Eren breathes in a tone all too nonchalant for the situation at hand, “He didn’t get charged with anything, and nothing’s going on his record.”

“You don’t know that,” you retort, sliding your raincoat over your free arm, as you paddle down the stairs of your apartment, “The NYPD suck.”

“True,” he hums, “But I paid off the cop, so it’ll be fine.”

You pause in your steps, but really, you shouldn’t be surprised. “Of course you did,” you mumble, moving again and grabbing your car keys off of the kitchen island.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions. His tone is actually genuine and it tempts you to roll your eyes.

“What it always means, Eren,” you sigh, stepping into the elevator, “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, baby. I love you.”

“Eren?”

“Yeah?”

“Get off my line.”

He doesn’t have time to throw in another pitiful “I love you” before the line goes dead and he’s met with static silence. He hangs up the station telephone with a silent chuckle, turning around to face Armin and Officer Hannes.

“Someone’s coming to pick us up,” he says, trying to focus on Armin’s sigh of relief and not the warmth creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, “I’ll, uh, call a tow for the car in the morning.”

The cop, too tired to care, only shrugs, and pays them no further attention. He hands Eren a plastic bag with his car keys and newly suspended license, escorts him back into the cell, and returns to his desk. Eren gives Hannes the finger while his back is turned.

Beside him, Armin is still quivering; bouncing his leg up and down, fiddling with his fingers, gnawing on his bottom lip. Eren frowns, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him as he takes in the younger’s anxiety ridden state. It wasn’t fair that Armin could have potentially suffered legal consequences because of his stupidity.

Eren’s lucky that Hannes was sleazy enough to accept his bribe and let him off with minimal punishment. With that they were doing, things could have ended up far worse for the both of them tonight.

“I’m sorry, man,” he apologizes, hands stuffed in his front pockets, “About tonight, I mean. We—I shouldn’t have done that, not with you there.”

Armin looks up at him with sparkling, doe eyes and Eren wants to punch himself in the gut for making him go through all of this, even if it didn’t amount to an actual arrest. “You couldn’t have known this was going to happen.”

“I could have prevented it,” he says. Because it’s what you would have said, too.

“It’s not your fault, I wanted to come, remember?” Armin tells him, redirecting his gaze to the grey floor of the precinct cell. He takes a deep breath, almost calming down completely when a sudden thought reignites his nervous ticks, “You… they’re not gonna tell my parents, right?”

“No, no—of course not.”

Armin was legally an adult; he, nor Eren, nor the police had to tell his parents anything. Sure, Hannes could rat them out, but honestly that sounded like way more work than he was cut out for; not to mention he’d be bound to reveal that he let them off easy for a couple thousand bucks.

Armin nods, “And… that wasn’t Erwin on the phone, right?”

“Are you kidding me? He’d murder me on the spot,” Eren says. He pauses before tacking on, “I, uh… I called (_____).”

“Oh,” the younger gapes, “She’ll kill you, too.”

“Yeah,” Eren sighs, scratching the back of his neck in nervous anticipation, “Trust me, I know.”

“You have your access card on you, right, Armin?” you ask. He nods sheepishly, hand on the car door handle.

“Thanks again for coming to get us,” he says meekly, “I’m sorry about waking you up and everything.”

You offer him a warm smile through the rear view mirror, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you’re safe. Text me when you get up tomorrow, okay? We can get brunch, my treat.”

His face lights up at the prospect of free food, and he nods once more, enthusiastically, but his expression falls again when he speaks, “Okay, and I’ll, um, pay you back for the tickets and stuff as soon as I can—”

“It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it,” you repeat.

“It was almost three thou—”

“You forget who you’re friends with,” you cut him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

Armin’s eyes dart to Eren quickly, before clearing his throat, a light pink tint to his cheeks. You know that the prospect of money can be a sensitive subject for Armin, one easily triggered by his very environment, but this wasn’t negotiable on your end. You know that Armin doesn’t like the feeling of owing anyone anything, but he knows he won’t get you to budge; so, he quietly nods, appreciative of your generosity, before bidding you and Eren a final goodnight and sprinting towards the dorm. Once you see that he’s safely inside, you wave one last time, and wait for the door to shut behind him.

Slowly, Eren turns to the driver’s seat to look at you. You were eerily calm when you came to pick him and Armin up from the station. You didn’t yell, cuss, or punch him in the face like he expected. You politely talked to the officer, thanked him for his service, paid their fees, and up until now, you’ve shown no signs of being angry with him at all.

The two of you drive back to your shared apartment in complete silence, Eren too confused, and borderline scared, of initiating a conversation. He wonders if you’re too tired, or if you really don’t give a damn anymore, but when you pull into the underground lot of your building and put the car in park, he finds out the silence was simply the calm before the storm.

You take your hand off of the gear shift and turn towards him. It’s a quiet stare down for nearly a full minute before you break the mime act with a slap to his thigh.

“Drag racing? Are you out of your fucking mind? Of all the stupid shit you’ve done—and you’ve done a lot of stupid shit—this has got to take the cake. Just what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” he inhales sharply, rubbing over where you’d hit him, “We were just having fun! Then these other guys showed up and started talking shit so—”

“Having fun?” you echo, “You couldn’t think of anything fun to do that’s not illegal in every borough of New York City?”

Eren feels his cheek flush, but he only huffs with the illusion of disinterest, “I don’t know why you’re freaking out so bad. I’m a good driver, it was those other squids that got us into shit, I’m telling you. They showed up looking for a fight, then ran like a bunch of pussies when the cops came.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head in disbelief. You seem to have no other words to say to him, choosing to step out of the car and slam the door behind you. Eren quickly follows, slamming his door equally as hard, and hot on your trail as you march towards the elevator.

“(_____), come on, enough with the silent treatment,” he whines when you stick yourself in a corner of the elevator after pushing the button to the penthouse, “I told you I didn’t start shit, Armin and I got ratted on.”

“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not they started it, Eren. You’re still the problem here.”

“Me? How am I the problem?” he pulls back, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion, “I just told you I didn’t do shit.”

You scoff, crossing your arms and shifting your left leg, “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Doing what with me?” he presses, tone growing icy.

“This, Eren!” you reiterate, “I’m too tired to hear your bullshit right now.”

The elevator dings and opens into your apartment. You push past him, continuing your deliberate strides through the living area, and to the stairs, but Eren catches you with a hand on your wrist before you can go any further.

“Will you fucking stop that,” he growls, “If you’ve got something to say, then stop running away from me, and just say it.”

“Funny,” you sneer, pulling your wrist away from him and settling both your feet on the bottom step, “You’re one to talk about running away from things.”

He takes a step back, standing just a notch below you, perfectly frozen in place. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your little drag racing episode was not only dangerous and immature, it was you running away from your problems like a spoiled child, yet again.”

Eren’s features narrow at your accusations; eyes fading into hooded slits, lips curving downwards, and voice bobbing low, “I’m not running away from anything.”

“Oh, please, Eren,” you roll your eyes, arms retreating to their crossed position in front of your chest, “Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” But he bets that even in the dim lighting of the apartment, you can see the tips of his ears growing red, just like they always do when he’s lying.

“Oh, really?” you ask, eyes widening in mock surprise, “You don’t think I don’t know this whole thing has something to do with the fact that your mom came home on Friday?”

Another pause. “Who told you that?” He asks, but it comes out more like a statement.

“Nobody had to,” you snap, “Jean said he caught you with a sack of coke over the weekend, and I knew something was up.”

“It wasn’t mine, I was—”

“I said cut the shit, Eren. If I went up into your room right now I bet your ass I’d find more than enough of it in a shoebox somewhere.”

He retreats, almost bashful, but unapologetic all the same. “Fine, whatever, I did a few lines. Big deal.”

“The big deal is that you think this is fucking normal, and now you’ve upgraded from coke to getting yourself arrested! It’d be one thing if you were acting like a misfit on your own, but to drag Armin into it because you—”

“Drag him into it?” he echoes with the snare of sarcasm dripping from each syllable, “You talk about Armin like he’s six. I don’t know why you think he’s some helpless little baby, but you have no goddamn responsibility over him. He’s not your fucking charity case.”

“I never fucking said he’s my charity case—don’t you ever fucking say that,” you say, “Having some basic respect and concern for my friends isn’t charity.”

“Wake the fuck up! You baby Armin when he’s a grown ass man. I didn’t force him into the fucking car to get sympathy points from you.”

“Grown? Armin is barely nineteen, disowned by his parents, is on a full fucking ride to an insanely expensive university, and you got him arrested tonight! Do you know what could happen if NYU found out? They could fucking kick him out, take his scholarship away—and then what, huh? Or were you just gonna buy off the headmaster, too?”

“You’re acting like I fucking planned for it!”

He’s screaming now, voice bellowing throughout the apartment, face red—and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t mean it at all; but it’s late, and he’s tired, and those shouldn’t be excuses, but he’s too prideful to back down.

“Of course you didn’t! You didn’t plan for anything, you were just being a reckless, irresponsible asshole like always,” you tell him, too blind-sighted by anger and the need to chide him that you miss the teary undertones in his words.

“And what’s it matter to you?”

“It fucking matters to me when you call at some godforsaken hour asking me to pick you up from prison!”

He takes a step forward, right leg elevated by the same step that both your feet rest on. “Well, what else am I supposed to fucking do!” He shouts even though he’s mere inches from your face, “Tell me just what the fuck I’m supposed to do instead!”

“You’re supposed to act like an adult and fucking talk to someone!”

“Who the hell am I supposed to talk to, huh?” he presses, taking a step forward and forcing you to retreat backwards, and up a step, “My mother who’s never home or her bastard boyfriend?”—another step forward for him, another step backwards for you—“The step-brother I can’t get in contact with?”—one step forward; one step backwards—“Or maybe the dad I never had, right?”

“Me, Eren!” you yell back with equal vigor, throwing your hands up at your sides, and planting your feet firmly. “Armin, Mikasa, Jean—anyone! You have people who fucking care about you! Stop treating us like correction officers, we’re your fucking friends!”

There’s silence for a while, just you and Eren staring at each other, heavy breathing, waiting for the other to make the next move. He opens his mouth, but when he tries to speak, his resolve washes away, his throat tightens and the words get sucked back in.

It would be easy to keep yelling, screaming, blaming you for blowing up on him. He used to think the scolding he got from you after pulling some stupid stunt was the worst part; but now, he thinks it might be his favorite part. He hates to hear you scream, and it hurts to see you cry, but if you’re yelling, you’re angry that he hurt himself; you care that he’s okay.

“I—” he stutters, words quiet and broken, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to get like this tonight, it was an accident I—”

“You never mean for any of it to happen, yet it always does,” you interrupt, voice soft yet strained, “I know you have your own shit to deal with, but so does everybody else.”

“(_____), please, you’re right, okay? I should have said something before,” he admits, mouth small as he voices his confessions, “I should have talked to you or one of the boys, but I—I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

He’s groveling now. Mouth in pout, eyes wide, voice small, and honestly, he thinks he might cry. At this point he doesn’t care if he does.

“I want you to mean it,” you finally say, and when he looks up, he hates the look he sees in your eyes. It’s something between sad and hurt and empty and it’s awful. Someone like you shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t make you feel that way.

“I—”

“When you’re ready to tell me exactly what’s going on with you—what’s happening that made you think going to jail would be better than facing your issues—I’ll be here to talk,” you continue, eyes watering, “But until then, goodnight, Eren.”

Eren winces when you turn around and ascend up the remaining stairs. He flirts with the idea of following you, going to your room to finish talking, but you’re probably angry enough to have it locked. His room is up there, too, but he opts for part of the sectional, laying down with the palms of his hands kneading against his closed eyelids.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been there for him. Your friendship, at times, was like a game of tag—Eren always on the run with you loyally chasing after him; he’d always run amuck, and you’d always be there to catch him in the act. Now, it’s five in the morning, there’s no more yelling, no more chasing, no more racing, but he’s still running.

The following morning, you take Armin out to brunch, as promised. Jean tags along too, something about hanging out with the two of you being infinitely more entertaining than his genetics lecture. It doesn’t seem like Jean knows anything about Armin and Eren’s late night antics, so you don’t bring it up yourself.

Oblivious, Jean chats your ears off as if nothing is awry. Whether he knows it or not, he does a great job of distracting Armin from his own thoughts. They both eat to their heart’s content when you remind them you’ll foot the bill; and you don’t bat an eye when Jean convinces Armin to order his third round of pancakes. He deserves it.

Afterwards, Jean convinces the three of you to go window shopping with him in SoHo, claiming that he needed inspiration for his latest fashion assignment (you don’t question why he’s taking a fashion class as a biology major, but you suspect it has something to do with Mikasa). Window shopping soon turns into actual shopping, so almost completely unprompted, and with little effort on his part, Armin gets a few pieces of clothing on your behalf, while you try to ignore Eren’s words itching at the back of your mind.

Armin’s not a baby, but he certainly is a kid with a rough past and rough relationship with his parents at a time in his life where he arguably needs them the most. A little extra support from his friends wouldn’t harm him.

It’s nearing six when the three of you are wedged in a small booth inside a café, indulging in overpriced hot chocolate. Three sips into his second cup, Jean excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving you sitting across from Armin.

“You know, you don’t have to keep buying me stuff to make up for Eren,” Armin says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m not trying to make up for him,” you sputter, careful not to spill your drink over your lap, “You had a rough night. Just accept my gifts, don’t be a brat.”

“I do accept them. Erwin’s been eyeing that Off White sweater for, like, three weeks now. He’s gonna have a hissy fit when he sees me wearing it.” You chuckle, and he continues, “But you know, as much I love spending time with you, you can’t use me to avoid Eren forever.”

“I’m not avoiding him,” you frown.

“You said you were going to take us to brunch, and then spent the whole day with us.”

“Funny, I recall you saying something about how much you love my company about thirty seconds ago.”

“He’s called you at least ten times today.”

“I was spending the day with my favorite NYU student… and Jean,” you bat your lashes, “I see you maybe once a week. I live with Eren, I have to see him every day.”

Armin calls your name with a pout, “He’s sorry, you know.”

“Not sorry enough,” you mumble. Armin opens his mouth to say something again, but then Jean’s sliding back into the booth, chatting about how he’s finally come up with the perfect anniversary date for Mikasa.

Armin doesn’t notice your sigh of relief, but he does take note of the way you wipe away your notifications when a text rings through. If Eren could spend his days running away from his problems, then you could, too.

Despite being arguably the greediest of you all, Jean loves company, so he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when you ask to crash at his place after your shopping escapades. You expect to be welcomed with sounds of screaming, laughter, and loud music, but to your surprise his apartment is completely silent upon your entering.

“Bertholdt has class and Marco has a meeting,” he prompts, as if he could read your thoughts. He shimmies his coat off his shoulders and tosses it over the bar in the foyer.

Their apartment has the same amount of rooms as yours and Eren’s, but is all stretched along a single floor. It’s more of a maze, really, with intricate turns, and hallways, that all more or less open up into the expanse of the foyer and bar. Their living room is your favorite part. A dark, brown leather sectional wraps around the back three walls and an oversized flatscreen encased in an ebony frame takes center stage. A collection of vinyl records litters the walls above the couch; each of the boys contributing their favorite discs as décor.

“If he has class, shouldn’t you have class?” you question, fingers dragging over the ridges of the closest record.

“I’ve had class all day, but that doesn’t mean I go,” Jean shrugs, walking up behind you and taking your jacket off your shoulders and your bag from your hand, “Besides, Bertholdt will probably cut half-way to go see Reiner, if he can even stay awake that long. Going with him is just as productive as staying home.”

“You’re all a mess,” you scoff, turning around as a cheesy grin grows on Jean’s lips. His smile is infectious, and soon you catch yourself grinning just because.

“You want something to drink?” he offers, throwing your coat over his elbow and tilting his head in the direction of the bar.

“You’re bad at mixing drinks,” you remind him, but follow him anyway.  

Jean laughs, not bothering to deny the jab. He doesn’t try his hand at anything mixed or complicated this time; simply offering you a glass of your favorite red, and pouring himself a smaller amount.

He puts the album you were gawking at earlier on the record player, the two of you sinking into the couch as lovely melodies radiate throughout the apartment.

He spends the first hour bitching about how Marco’s supposed to become a CEO in less than a year, yet has the attention span of a squirrel; but the playful lilt in the brunette’s voice, and the begrudging smile on his face lets you know that it’s all love. He gushes about Mikasa for a good half hour, cramming you with stories about his girlfriend’s talent for sewing and fashion. You also learn that Bertholdt’s been busier than usual these days, and Jean suspects it has something to do with a secret lover.

You pinch your eyebrows at his hunch. Bertholdt’s never been one for dating. He’s had many friends with benefits in the past, but they weren’t relationships, nor were they secrets. In fact, you don’t think that he could keep a secret to save his life.

“Why would he be hiding it if he were seeing someone?” you question, swirling your newly refilled glass.

“Dunno,” Jean shrugs, “But it’s sus, I’m telling you. He’s been oddly busy for someone with a 2.3 GPA. Either way, I’ll pry it out of him eventually.”

“You’re so fucking nosey,” you chuckle, watching the mischievous, satisfied grin settle onto his features.

“I kinda think it’s Armin,” Jean says after a while, downing the remaining wine in his cup, while you choke on your own drink.

“Why on Earth do you think if Bertholdt had a secret lover that it’d be Armin?”

“Because he was in love with him for, like, two years in high school,” Jean says, as if the information should be painfully obvious.

“Yeah, and Bert also hooked up with a million different people in high school.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t still in love with Armin.”

“I don’t think Armin’s kissed another human, let alone is in a secret relationship with one.”

“Hm, true. I forget he’s still a virgin.”

“Hey—there’s nothing wrong with Armin being a virgin, leave him be.”

“I know there’s nothing wrong with it,” Jean whines, “But it’s so—he doesn’t have to be. Armin’s cute! And very attractive—dare I even say sexy. He could go outside and get laid right now if he just tried.”

“Stay humble, Jean boy. If I remember correctly, you only started breaking hearts a year ago,” you tut. Jean’s nose goes pink as he shoves you away when you continue, “But, if you’re so concerned with Armin’s virginity, why don’t you go help him out with it.”

“Actually, if I remember correctly, I think that’s more your gig,” he shoots back, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Not to mention, I’m not trying to get beat up by Annie. Though, I wonder how much longer it’ll take before she finally snaps. Hey, maybe the both of you can tag team him, I’m sure Annie wouldn’t mind, and it might even make Armin less nervous to have you—”

It’s your turn to shove him now, throwing in an extra punch when his head bobs back with laughter. You’re very certain Annie would mind; you would mind if someone inserted themself in your kind of, sort of, not really relationship, and ruined your four years of pining.

“Speaking of lovers,” Jean prompts, once his laughter dies down, bending his knee and turning closer to you. “Why are you and lover boy fighting? Trouble in paradise?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hum, sipping your drink in between words. Jean’s eyes pinch together. “Marco and I would never fight.”

“My god, will you let your Marco fantasies go already? You’ve already caused him one sexuality crisis,” Jean groans, “You know I mean Eren.”

You sigh, lowering your glass and reaching forward to pinch his cheek. “It’s nothing you have to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Please,” he scoffs, flicking your offending hand back, “He’s been texting us nonstop since this morning at, like, nine. I didn’t even know he was capable of waking up before noon.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but Jean continues, “Why he would ask us for advice on you is beyond me. He knows you better than all of us combined.”

“And why you’re saying all of this is beyond me.”

“Oh, come on, what’d he do,” Jean pushes, borderline whines, as he puts his empty glass down in a cup holder embedded in the couch. He’s always been the most prone to gossip, but you forget that wine makes him even more of a nosey prick. “Must have been pretty bad. Or stupid.”

“Try both,” you mumble, “Well—I don’t know, it wasn’t… the worst thing anyone could do, but it was really fucking reckless—and why he did it, I couldn’t even tell you. I don’t know what goes through his mind half the time, but I swear he must have been on crack last night.”

“He probably was. On crack, I mean. I told you, I took an ounce from him over the weekend, but that was after Eren and Ymir did, like, five lines.”

“Do they really do that regularly?” you nearly cry, a hand massaging your temple, “Fucking Christ, if he really was high while driving, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Well, I don’t know if regular is the right word,” Jean ponders, “Maybe for Ymir, but god knows what she’s on half the time, anyways. Besides, coke isn’t the worst thing they could do.”

“You sound like you speak from personal experience.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, pausing when you shoot him a disapproving look, “Oh, come on! You’re no angel, either—if memory serves, you were high as shit at Moblit’s birthday party, and kept singing the star spangled banner all night.”

“Yeah, on weed! One time! It was on a rooftop and the stars were out and it has the same rhythm as the happy birthday song, cut me some slack!”

He finds laughing at your expense to be much more fun, however, as he continues to chuckle while you throw a fit. He’s also not one to let a topic of gossip go undiscussed, and has no problem bringing the conversation back to Eren.

“It’s because you two don’t talk, you know,” Jean tuts, “That’s why you fight like this.”

For the second time, the younger’s words have your eyebrows growing close together. “I mean, I guess—but it’s more than that. Eren and I live together, we obviously talk, but—”

“I know, I know, but just hear me out, okay? You and Eren talk about a lot of things, yeah, but you also… don’t. And sometimes you don’t have to, because you guys, like… get each other.”

“Wow. What a way with words you have, Jean Kirstein. You should write a self-help book.”

“What I mean,” he sneers, unhappy with the sarcasm being thrown his way, “Is that you guys understand each other in weird ways. It’s actually kind of cute—sometimes a little freaky, in all honesty. It’s why you don’t always have to talk about serious things. But you take it for granted and let shit bottle up, and then get in denial about it until you blow up in each other’s faces.”

“Please, you barely passed one philosophy class and now you think you’re Plato.”

“You’re doing the in denial thing right now!” he taunts, “Come one, when you two fight like this, what’s it usually about?”

You sigh, sinking back into the plush leather of the couch, and wrapping your hands around a fluffy throw pillow. Thinking about arguing with Eren isn’t particularly something you like to do, and truthfully, you don’t really get pissed at each other that often. Not to the point of ignoring each other, at least.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, “Drugs, me forgetting things, him doing stupid shit, him thinking Mikasa could do better than you, school, drinking, the fact that he leaves his big ass shoes at the top of the stairs for me to trip over and fall to my death every morning, when—”

“His parents?” Jean cuts you off.

“I—we don’t really… it’s not so much fighting over his parents, it’s all the stuff he does to deal with his parents. He never gives his mom’s boyfriends a chance, and he never really talks about why, either. I know he’s secretly just angry and insecure about his dad, but… I don’t know. That doesn’t really make it better.”

“True,” he nods, “See—he doesn’t talk about it.”

“I know, and I told him that last night, too, but… it’s a sensitive subject for him—his dad, I mean,” you sigh, “And you’re right, he shouldn’t bottle his feelings up, but, on the other hand he’s watched his mom get married five times. I don’t always blame him for not wanting to talk about it.”

“Yeah, but just because it’s hard to talk about doesn’t mean he shouldn’t,” Jean lolls, “Wouldn’t you have rather he said something than have done whatever stupid shit he did to make you want to sleep here tonight?”

“Okay, Socrates, I get it,” you lighten up, “I’ll talk to him—or get him to talk to me. Are you happy?”

“Quite,” he says, annoyingly chipper as he rises from the couch. “I hate seeing my favorite power couple fighting.”

Jean knows his words would elicit a slap to his arm, so he takes off just before you can reach him, prompting you to chase him out of the living room and down the hall. The brunette cackles ridiculously loudly as you scream his name with profanities sprinkled in-between. You catch a hold of the bottom of his shirt and pull him back, finally flicking him on the forehead.

He accepts his punishment with pride, offering you a signature smile in return while you both catch your breaths. It’s a sweet moment, the two of you looking at each other with stupid smiles on your face, exhalations tickling your cheeks.

Jean’s eyes break the gaze first, as he looks down the remainder of your face, and back up to your eyes again. His words could get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t let them—he shakes his head, and swiftly turns around, beckoning for you to follow him.

“Come on, we can steal Marco’s clothes for your pajamas this time.”

Jean spends all of three minutes pulling apart Marco’s dresser before swiping a t-shirt and Christmas themed pajama bottoms from his room. He tosses them in your direction before leading you back down the hall and to the left, opening the door to the guest bedroom for you, before leaving you to change.

They have more than one guest bedroom, but this one is unofficially yours. Little pieces of you can be found littered throughout the room, from spare jewelry to mismatched makeup. You spot a single, gold, teardrop shaped earring on the vanity and sigh as you run your fingers over it.

You swear you’d lost it a few months ago. Trust Jean to put it away for safekeeping without telling you he’d found it. The boy in question returns moments later, knocking while walking through the door with your purse in hand.

“How’d you know I was about to ask you to get that?” you question, a smile on your face as you retrieve the small bag from his hands.

Jean offers you a cocky grin, “Cause I’m the best.”

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” you tease, “Or, well, an even bigger head.”

Jean ignores your insult, as you take a seat at the edge of the bed, fishing through your bag for your phone to plug it in for the night. He’s about to turn around and bid you goodnight, when the flash of something orange peeping out of your purse prompts his next thought.

“Hey, you picked up your refill, right?” he asks innocently, “It should have been ready last Thursday.”

You sigh, head falling slightly when you close your bag and place it on the vanity. “Uh… no.”

Jean’s mouth is already open, ready with equally friendly and scolding words, but you cut him off before he can talk. “I was going to on Thursday, but I had class late, and then I forgot on Friday and I haven’t really had time since then. But I have a few left-overs from the last two months, so I’ve been taking those!”

Jean’s mouth closes, but his eyes narrow as he begins to walk towards you. You know he’s putting two and two together, so you speak ahead of him again.

“I know, I know, I shouldn’t have any left over, but it’s only five, I promise! I’ve been really good, lately.”

Jean’s eyes remain in concentrated slits, but his resolve is waning when he reads over your expression. His facade fades as he takes the final steps towards you to stand directly in front of your body.

“Okay,” he says, voice soft through his smile, “I’ll go with you to pick them up tomorrow before I drop you home, yeah?”

It elates him more than it should to see the smile you flash his way. Unfortunately, it’s short-lived, as his next question leaves your face twisted with guilt.

“Have you… told Eren yet?”

You consider lying and saying yes, but something tells you Jean won’t buy it. Your silence seems to speak loud enough, as his shoulders drop with a quiet sigh.

“I want to, I just… well I’m mad at him right now, and even when I’m not… I don’t know why it’s so hard,” you confess.

“He’d wanna know, you know,” Jean says, and it’s not the first time he’s said it to you, either. “You know he wouldn’t judge you or anything.”

“I know that. But, truthfully, if I had things my way, not even you would know, Jean.”

It was an accident that Jean found out that you’d been taking anxiety medication.

It was at somebody’s house party where the majority of your friends and their guests had gotten piss drunk. Reiner’s date had suggested mixing their alcohol with molly she’d supposedly had in her bag. In her drunken stupor, she’d mistaken your purse for her own, but luckily, a not so drunk Jean had noticed the label didn’t match her name, and snagged the bottle before the worst could happen.

They ended up not finding her molly, anyway, but it’s a moot point. Jean had cornered you about the bottle later in the week with honest intentions; he’d been concerned that might be another kind of drug disguised by a prescription veil. However, you’d assured him that it was indeed your prescribed Lexapro, and not a shady mixture of black market substances.

And, he’d been more than understanding in the aftermath. Quite frankly, he had somewhat made it his business to ensure that you got and took your medication on time and felt comfortable getting to and from your therapy appointments.

It’s endearing in a way that made you pause and count your blessings sometimes. Jean had been nothing but unequivocally supportive in his understanding about anxiety and had gone the extra mile to comfort you where need be. It made you wonder why you hesitated to tell Eren on several occasions.

It was probably the very nature of anxiety itself that had you doubting your trust in Eren. You wanted to tell him—of course you did—but, you couldn’t. You know that Eren would do everything in his power to make it better, even if that was just being. You know that he’d want to know and he’d kill to understand. But you couldn’t possibly burden him with your problems, not when he has a million of his own.

The one person in the world you wanted to tell, you were terrified of talking to. And you know it’s irrational to be afraid of him, but you can’t seem to control those thoughts. It’s a tiring, consuming, endless cycle.

Jean watches the way your gaze lowers to the floor. He knows exactly what you’re thinking, and, god, he swears if he could take that train of thought away from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

With a heavy heart and tired eyes, he takes a final step forward and wraps his arms around your body. He counts three, four seconds before you hug him back. He raises a hand to the back to your head, cradling your face into his shoulder and squeezing you tightly.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, you know that,” he speaks, just a notch above a whisper, “I know you’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. You hug him back a little tighter and close your eyes, “Thank you, Jean.”

And Jean holds on, and hopes you know that he wouldn’t let you go, “You’re welcome, (_____).”

You come home to find your entire apartment littered with flowers; in the hallway, on the sectional, atop the counter, up the stairs.

There are several boxes of your favorite macarons stacked in a small pyramid on the kitchen island, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you checked the labels to find that they were shipped straight from the south of France this morning. There’s too many bottles of Ace on the coffee table, sparkling next to a basket of what looks like your regular skincare products. A pretty, gold bow rests atop an even prettier pair of red-bottomed heels, and if you’re not mistaken, that’s a limited edition, vintage YSL clutch on the sectional, resting against your favorite throw pillow.

You sigh, making your way to the couch to pick up the orange envelope sticking out of the handbag. Just as you’re about to open it, you hear footsteps, and a voice that follows.

“You’re back,” Eren chirps from mid-way on the staircase, “I, uh, there’s catering coming from Butter coming soon. I know it’s your favorite,” he continues as he descends the stairs.

He has his hand on the back of his neck and there’s a faint, pink tint to his cheeks as he slowly makes his way towards you. You cross your arms, looking him up and down when he stands in front of you.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a tweed sweater with patches at the elbow. His hair is split down the middle, longer than usual, so the ends of sweep over his eyelashes; and there are telltale signs that he’d been toying with it.

“Eren, what is all of this?” you finally ask, shifting your weight to your right leg.

“Part one of my apology and explanation,” he replies, a hopeful timbre to his voice. You roll your eyes, but he continues anyway, “Actually, part two is in that envelope.”

Skeptical, you unfold your arms and open the envelope. You don’t know what you were expecting—a card, maybe tickets to a musical or something; but what you definitely weren’t expecting were two tickets to Paris.

“France?” you look up, tickets in hand, “You don’t get it do you? You can’t just buy all of this shit, jet us off to Europe and expect everything to be okay.”

“No, no it’s not like that—I swear!” he interjects, hands moving sporadically, “It’s just, well… Can we sit? Then I can explain everything.”

Eren looks at you with those big green eyes and that sad pout to his lips, and you find yourself sighing and taking a seat on the couch against your better judgement. There’s a small smile to his lips when you do—a little victory—and he sits next to you, your knees resting against each other as you face him.

He’s shaking, and your resolve to punish him with whatever solid exterior and half-assed silent treatment dissolves as you take his left hand in your right, and recall your conversation with Jean. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s me, Eren. You can talk to me.”

When he feels your smaller hand envelop his, the shaking stops, and for a moment, it feels like he can do this, like everything is okay. He smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“The other night, you were right, about my mom and her boyfriend coming home,” he starts, words slow and heavy, “I didn’t even know she was coming—I knew she was visiting this month, but she didn’t tell me when, and I thought it was going to be just her, you know? But then she showed up with him, and, well, I don’t know. I was upset. She’s been home for a week now, and we haven’t even gone to dinner or anything.”

He pauses, and you squeeze his hand for reassurance, “We were supposed to get lunch on Thursday, but she cancelled. Had some meeting or something, I don’t know, I don’t care. Friday comes and she says she wants to have dinner, right?”

You nod, he continues. “I thought it was just going to be us, but he was there. That’s when she told me that… that they’re…” he squeezes his eyes shut, “They’re engaged.”

Your mouth falls into a small o-shape. Everything made perfect sense now.

It’s not that Eren didn’t love his mother, quite the opposite actually. He’s a mama’s boy through and through; she’s his role model, his everything, he adores her. Her career as a designer often takes her on long business trips, most frequently as prolonged stays in Paris, so much so that she relocated her primary office there shortly after Eren graduated high school.

Now, she only visits home for one or two weeks at a time, sometimes only for the weekend. Upon her decision to permanently relocate, she planned to leave Eren under the unofficial supervision of Mikasa. Instead, Eren bought Mikasa her own three-bedroom apartment in Midtown (according to his logic, it was better for her to have her own place than to move in with Jean), and a shared two-story penthouse for the both of you that overlooks Central Park.

Eren misses her more than he cares to admit, but he puts on the same facade every time she comes home because he hates the company she brings.

Paris is where she met her newest boyfriend, Mitchell, and Eren swears he hates that man with every fiber of his being. It’s not saying much, though, not when Eren’s hated every single one of his mother’s past romantic partners, right down to his own father.

“Is… is that why you—”

“Rented a brand new Corvette and went drag racing at one in the morning?” he chuckles, “Yeah. It was stupid, I know, but I was just angry, I guess. I dunno what I was feeling, but it wasn’t good.”

You nod, wrapping both of your hands around his now and offering him a warm smile. He smiles back, just for a moment. “That’s what the tickets are for, actually. The wedding.”

“They’re getting married in France?” you question, to which he nods, “On the first? Isn’t that a little short notice to plan a wedding?”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of Carla Jaeger,” he chuckles, “Apparently, it’s been in the works for a few months now. He proposed with fireworks or some shit. Said she wanted to tell me in person, though.”

“This ticket is for next week,” you say, rereading the dates on the papers. “The wedding is three weeks from now.”

“Well, I kind of figured we could take a little vacation before then,” he grins, “I texted most of the boys earlier, and they can probably come to the wedding, but I want to spend some time with you before it gets hectic, you know? Consider it an end of the semester present.”

Your eyes flicker down to your hand, still wrapped around Eren’s, when he starts to trace circles into your skin, “I thought I just told you, you can’t jet us off to Europe to fix things.”

“You did,” he hums, “And I know I can’t—I’m not trying to, I just… Truthfully, I reserved the plane and the hotel a few weeks back and it really was just going to be a surprise for us—well, more like a gift for you because I know you’ve been busting your ass in chem—but then… everything else happened, and I think a break sounds perfect before I watch my mom get married for the sixth time.”

You watch him continue to toy with your hands for a while, processing your conversation. It was typical of Eren to surprise you like this, so you can’t figure out why this particular present leaves you feeling warmer than usual.

“You sure you don’t need a break from me?”

Eren beams and takes the opportunity to lace your fingers together. “Nah, you’re annoying, but not Jean level annoying.”

You scoff, “I’m telling him you said that.”

“It’ll sound better coming from you, anyway,” he shrugs, “Besides, I might just murder Mitchell if you’re not there with me.”

You chuckle, on the verge of accepting his proposal, but the mention of Jean prompts another thought to cross through your mind. “I’d love to, but I… I don’t know. I don’t want Armin to spend the first few weeks of winter break here all alone.”

This Christmas would mark one year since Armin had seen, or even talked to, any of his immediate family members, with the exception of Erwin.

Last year, you all tried to salvage the damage by sticking around so, at the very least, he didn’t have to feel alone. You and your friends decided that Armin ought to be celebrated, not ostracized for any aspect of himself, so you all chipped in for a cute, impromptu trip to the Catskills so that everyone could be together and close to home.

This year, however, there seemed to be quite a few conflicts of interest. Even if Armin was one of the boys who was planning on attending the wedding, you doubt he had plans leading up to it. You know that Marco, Bertholdt, Mikasa, and Jean had invited him to go to Aspen with them, but Armin declined the offer. Similarly, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Reiner, and Ymir would be off to Dubai as soon as classes ended; an invitation Armin had also turned down.

You weren’t sure what Erwin’s plans were, though you’re certain they involved his own friends in some way or another. At the very least, it was unlikely that he would leave his younger brother completely stranded over the break; but you didn’t want to make plans without knowing Armin wouldn’t be alone.

“He won’t, actually he’ll be closer than you think,” Eren reassures you, “Hange and Moblit wanted to go skiing anyways, so Erwin is taking all of them to the Alps instead of Aspen. Armin doesn’t know yet, but he’s going with them.”

“Shouldn’t Erwin spend his break campaigning, and not skiing? Last I checked, he wasn’t too popular in Queens”

“Ah, you know Erwin,” Eren shrugs, “He has a way of making people devote themselves to him. He’ll win the election with or without campaigning, trust me—the point is, that little baby Armin will be safe and sound under Erwin’s protection, and you don’t have to worry about him.”

“How come you get to call him a baby?”

“Because I’m a hypocritical asshole who doesn’t deserve you, but is hoping you’ll come with me anyway.”

Eren smirks, but there’s a genuine undertone to his words as he moves his fingers to toy with the ring around your pointer finger. The same one he gave to you two Christmases ago. Well, kind of.

The ring he originally gifted you was a Harry Winston piece, with an encrusted band that wrapped into two sunflowers, both made of classic, white diamonds with emeralds sparkling in the center. After seeing the design, and the price tag, you demanded that he take it back, or at the very least, get it sized to fit on your index finger or thumb so that people didn’t get the wrong idea.

Instead, he came back with a simple, silver chain for the original ring to hang from, and the current ring on your finger; a rose gold band with tiny diamonds studded around it. Likely equally as expensive, but more appropriate according to you.

“Fine. But you have to be on your best behavior,” you agree, paying no mind to Eren’s thumb twirling your jewelry, “Do you promise me no drag racing or antics of any sort while we’re there?”

Eren shakes his head at the memory, eyeing the first ring that sits against your chest.

He smiles. “I do.”

The afternoon after your last exam, you bid the remainder of your friends goodbye, grab your bags, and hop on a plane with Eren. It arrives in Paris, but you’re rerouted off to Nice before you can so much as blink at the Eiffel tower; you’d be staying there for the two and half weeks leading up to the wedding, in a small villa.

You had to hand it to him, Eren really outdid himself. It’s dark and nearing three in the morning when you arrive, but even in your sleepy stupor you can admire your accommodations. The villa is secluded, the perfect distance from the water, and decorated lavishly almost to your exact liking. You wouldn’t be surprised if Eren sprung it on you that he’d bought the place, and wasn’t merely renting it for this vacation.

Every day after that, Eren proves he was honest in his intentions of this being a getaway gift to you. He’s planned every activity under the sun—from hot air balloon rides, to helicopter tours, to jet-skiing. The days are certainly fun and filled with beautiful memories, but there’s something special about Nice at sunset; something about the sound of gentle waves brushing up against the beach, and the spotlights carved from sun-cast shadows on the buildings.

It’s just after dinner time, bordering on your eighth night here, when you and Eren are walking along the cobblestone streets that border the beach, the length of your sundress flowing every which way with the breeze, and the tail of Eren’s blazer flailing like a cape behind him.

He looks nice tonight, but, truthfully, he always does. He claimed he hadn’t put on the casual green suit because of your outfit, but you swear he was wearing khakis before he saw your dress. The tips of his ears go red when you tease him about it at dinner, but it doesn’t really matter to you; he would have looked good, regardless. Those suits are made for him, after all; tailored to fit perfectly, and designed by his own mother.

The streets tend to settle down after six, locals and tourists retreating indoors or heading to the beach to relax and draw in the evening. Tonight, however, there’s much more commotion than usual on your route.

“Maybe we should take the long way,” you suggest. On the tips of your toes, you realize that there’s some kind of special event happening in the square, filled with lights and music that grows louder with every step you take.

But the crowd and the lights and the smell of food only piques Eren’s interest. “No way—let’s check it out!”

You don’t have the time to refute before his long legs surpass your own stride, headfirst into the sea of people. You can only follow with a smile and a shake of your head. The soft green of his suit jacket serves as your guide as he navigates through the crowd, but the closer you get to the center, the more people there are.

You can feel palms of your hands growing uncomfortably warm as you become hyperaware of just how many people there are. You clutch the end of your dress in your hand, for both practicality and as a sort of comfort mechanism, as you try your best to calm the anxious wave threatening to crash against you.

With a deep breath, you begin to walk again, unaware of Eren’s actions until you physically walk into his hand, long fingers poking at your belly. You hadn’t realized he stopped walking, or that you’d caught up with him, and your eyebrows crinkle when you look down to see Eren’s left hand extended behind him and towards you, palm facing upwards.

He doesn’t say anything, or look back at you at all. Only wraps his larger fingers around yours when he feels the weight of your hand in his, and continues to guide you through the crowd, his pace slower, and hand firm around yours.

The mass of people becomes more spread out when you approach what appears to be the center of the event; and it looks like a party, maybe a wedding of some sort. There’s food and champagne galore, and more than enough happy guests dancing along to upbeat music in the streets.

Eren’s eyes light up as he takes in the scene, “You wanna dance?”

“What—Eren, no!” you refuse, “We cannot crash these people’s party!”

“Why not?” he counters, without a care in the world, “Seems like an open invitation to me! Come on!”

And for the second time that evening, you find yourself being pulled into his schemes; this time in the direction of the open space dubbed dance floor.

You’re both terrible and ostentatious and people start to watch, but it doesn’t matter because you’re smiling too wide and laughing too hard to care. Eren has a way of moving both with and against the music, forcing your body to follow his lead.

He shouts something over the noise, but you don’t have time to register his words before he laces your right hand with his left, and places his right hand on your waist. There’s a blink of confusion for a moment before you’re being swept off your feet and into a dramatic dip. You don’t have time to secure yourself against his shoulders, but Eren does a fine job of supporting you with a single arm against your back.

From what you can tell the song is far from over and the dramatic pose is completely unwarranted, but you and the crowd alike are victim to his charm. You indulge yourself, looking up at him with eyes too fond to memorize every feature of his face in this moment; the way he’s laughing with that big, dumb, wide smile of his that makes his nose crinkle and his eyes light up.

You’re too busy looking at him to hear Eren’s voice calling out to you, or even realize that he’s moved you from your pose to standing back upright. He’s equal parts amused and concerned at the glazed over look in your eyes.

“Hello? Anybody home up there?” he teases, elongating the vowels and squeezing your waist to alert you.

The reminder of his hands on your hips pulls you back to reality, your eyes fluttering down to his arms, then back to his face. It feels stuffy suddenly, too close to function.

“Yea—yeah! Do you wanna get a drink? Yeah, let’s get a drink!” you exclaim, haphazardly pointing and walking towards the food.

You don’t see it, but Eren looks on with glittering eyes, his verbal agreement heard only by himself as you veer towards the buffet. He can still feel your body in his grip, still see the specks of gold in your pupils as he lingers on the back of your silhouette lovingly. And before you can realize, he snaps himself out of it—an out of body experience similar to yours a few moments ago—before catching up with you.

You end up socializing for much longer than intended. Eren makes friends with everyone, to no surprise, and, uncharacteristically, you feel influenced by his actions, and converse with a few people yourself. You let him take the lead, though. Partially because he’s better at it, and partially because you just like listening to him speak French.

“Hey, we should probably get out of here,” he whispers into your ear after waving goodbye to a lovely couple you’d just met, “Before the host of this party realizes we’re miles better than his actual guests.”

You nod with a smile, more than happy to play by his rules for the evening. He offers you his hand again, that same, dopey smile on his face when you take it.

He leads you out of the crowd and back on to the path to your villa, the smell of warm food and sounds of vibrant music growing dull as you venture further from the celebration. It’s much darker than it was when you began your trek back from the restaurant, but beautiful all the same.

Your sandals pad against the wooden dock that leads up the villa, and Eren unlocks the door silently, ushering you inside before entering behind you.

“I know I said I wanted to leave, but I’m not really tired yet,” Eren confesses, pulling his blazer off of his shoulders.

“Me neither,” you say, placing your small wristlet on the table with a shrug, “What do you wanna do though, I’m not—”

“Great!” he cuts you off, smile too big. You narrow your own in suspicion. That tone of voice with that look on his face usually meant something mischievous, at best. “Remember when you said the first time you’d smoke would be with me, and then pranced away and took a bowl from Hange and got high as shit at Moblit’s party?”

“Why does everyone remember Moblit’s party but me!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, waving the topic away, “Anyway… Do you wanna smoke now?”

You blink. “I… did you… smuggle weed all the way to France?”

“No, of course not!” he refutes, “…I got it here.”

You scoff, but don’t have the time to question him further before Eren’s tugging on your wrist and pulling you into the bedroom. You take to sitting on your bed while he rummages through his suitcase to retrieve a small, clear jar with several rolled joints inside and a lighter to match.

He shuffles next to you in the bed, mindlessly handing you the lighter while he unscrews the top off the jar. He takes out two of the joints, places one next to the jar on the nightstand, and tucks the other between his teeth. He asks you to hand him the lighter, and you do so wordlessly, distracted by the sight of Eren’s gaze and the blunt poking out his mouth.

“This’ll be fun, yeah?” He reassures you, “Technically, you let Hange take your weed virginity, but I’ll be better.”

“Can you not phrase it like that,” you roll your eyes, “You already took my virginity virginity, don’t be bitter.”

An all too smug grin settles on his features as he recounts the fact. “Besides,” you tack on, “I’ve never done it like this before. So, it’s still a first, kind of.”

Eren cups one hand around the joint, sparking the lighter with the other until it catches fire. He inhales, slow and deliberate, as if he were putting on a show, or a lesson, of sorts, taking the smoke into his lungs and out through his mouth.

You’d gravely miscalculated how attractive Eren would look doing this. Sure, he’s hot, you knew that, but the pronunciation of his jawline when he exhales, and the confidence with which he drags on the blunt is a stark reminder to you. He takes a few more hits, just as slow and sensual as the first, and the room begins to feel warmer.

“Come closer,” be beckons, smoke rolling off of his tongue with every syllable.

You snap yourself out of the haze of your imagination and scoot closer to him. He silently hands you the joint, and it feels heavy between your fingers. At the distance, you take in the smell—pungent and off-putting, but too familiar.

Eventually, you bring it to your lips, careful not to let your tongue press against the tip, and inhale slowly, like you’d seen Eren do before. You do your best to hold the smoke in your lungs for a bit, but seeing as the last time you did this you were amped up on adrenaline and drunk off your ass, the task proves to be much more difficult. It tickles before becoming uncomfortable and you exhale ungracefully, puffs of smoke punctuating your coughs.

Eren watches with a grin, amused at the sight of you fanning the excess smoke away with your nose scrunched in distaste. “You should have warned me you were gonna cough like a bitch.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you whine, trying to hide the hint of a smile creeping onto your face. You hand the blunt back to him, “You’re supposed to teach me, not tease me, asshole.”

Eren pauses his laughter, unsure of what to make of your tone; rushed, a bit embarrassed, but testy. It’s quiet while he stares at you, trying not to let the implication of your words run wild in his mind; but it’s futile when you’re pouting like that, the room is growing foggier, and he’s been semi-hard since you accepted his offer.

“Fine. Watch and learn,” he breathes, words coming out more jagged than he’d intended.

This time, he completely exaggerates every motion; he inhales at a tantalizing pace and flutters his eyes closed while he lets the smoke swish in his mouth, down his throat, and expand into his lungs. He cranes his neck upwards, and purses his lips to let the clouds exit in the streamline that follows the slope of his jaw.

Maybe it’s the drugs getting to you, but your mind is filled with nothing but sheer clouds that aren’t thick enough to block out thoughts of Eren. The weed is unattractive, potent in smell, and all kinds of wrong; yet, everything about him is soft, sultry, and pulls you in.

“Wanna try again, or do you need another lesson?”

You faintly mutter a profanity under your breath. His words end with giggles, a sign the drugs have already begun to take their effect on him, his expression is still smug. You forget Eren knows just how attractive he is. Motherfucker.

“Actually,” he cuts your train of thought, “I have a better idea, come ‘ere.”

Eren beckons you forward again, closing the gap between your legs so that your knees graze each other under the fabric of your clothing while you’re sat next to each other. He leans over, far too close into your personal space, as if to test something; he freezes when his nose is mere inches from your face, a dissatisfied scrunch taking over his features.

He reinstates his hold on your wrist, motioning your body backwards until your back is against the frame of the bed. He hums in approval, positioning himself next to you again, equally as close, but far more comfortable for what he has planned next.

“I’m—I’m gonna try somethin’, okay?” he stutters, the first word mistakenly coming out in broken German, “Just, don’t freak out on me. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, unsure of what you’ve just signed off on, but you don’t have time to ask questions. Eren takes another hit, then passes the blunt to his non-dominant hand. He turns to face you, leans forward, and places his free hand on the back of your neck to pull you closer; the expanse of his palm leaving room for his thumb to venture over the bottom half of your cheek.

Eren pulls you in until your lips are millimeters apart, and he can see the pattern of your eyes in beautiful detail. He shifts his hand now so that the majority of it covers your face, the pad of his thumb running across your bottom lip. He applies the perfect amount of pressure to pry your willing mouth open, and then, finally, exhales.

This time, you can taste it. It’s woodsy, and bitter, but the sweet undertones dance on your tongue. This time, there’s more to think about than just the smoke in your lungs; like the burn of Eren’s hand on your neck; the pressure of his thumb against your bottom lip; the proximity of his lips to yours; the look in his eyes.

“Feel good?” he doesn’t bother to pull away before asking, and the words ghost over your lips with the remaining smoke. You nod; he smiles. “Wanna try again?”

You let out a breathy note of affirmation, and then he’s inhaling and exhaling into you, and you welcome him with pried lips and a heavy thumping in your chest. The confidence with which he maneuvers his body and the drugs is nerve-wracking, yet comforting at the same time; he has an expertise and power that intimidates, but compels you to follow.

Together, you finish the first blunt, and Eren lights the second without missing a beat. His hands are more demanding this around; they guide you into submission, and he’s pleased to find that you’re willing to listen.

After the third exhale, you stop focusing on his hands, and more on his lips. After the fourth, you think you might be high—not to the stars as you infamously were during Moblit’s party—but with a comfortable, dull buzz in your head. Everything feels a little fuzzy, out of touch, but you host a burning want for something more, something tangible.

You don’t know it, but Eren feels the same.

After the fifth exhale, Eren pulls away, the blunt a simple stub as he flicks it away onto the night stand, and you miss him being too close. You miss his hands, you miss his warmth, you crave his touch.

“Eren,” you call, unable to think of or see anything but him in the haze. He answers with a strained, “Yeah?” keening towards the sound of your voice, wide eyes flitting all over your face.

It’s too much, too close, too hot. That’s when you cup his jaw, pull him forward, and meld your lips together.

Kissing Eren is painfully familiar, and unnervingly satisfying. It’s certainly not your first kiss with him; and, yet he has a way of making you feel like it is while reminding you of your history. His lips are soft, and they taste like smoke and the chapstick you swear by because he refuses to buy or test out his own.

You pull away too soon, gauging his reaction with blown-out eyes, before dipping forward to have him against you again. Then again, and again, and again, until Eren is tired of your leaving, and his hands are back on your neck.

This kiss is deeper, Eren searching to satisfy the hunger aching inside of him, and you’re happy to comply when his thumb is pressing at your lower lip again. You open your mouth for him and he doesn’t waste a moment, brushing his tongue against yours experimentally, and then flush into your mouth.

He groans when you rake your fingers into his hair, and pulls back with a hissing noise when you scratch at his nape. Large hands move to grip at your waist, and he pulls you into his lap with a concentrated gaze—a brief second for him to admire the sight of you on top of him, before he resumes kissing you. He sucks on your tongue, rolls his past your teeth, and bites on your bottom lip.

You know he relishes in the sounds he elicits from you, and under any normal circumstance, you’re willing to put up a fight with him, but not now. Now, you let him unzip the back of your dress and snake his hands beneath the fabric. The rubbing motions of his hands turn into gripping, gripping into grinding, and eventually, an unfiltered moan slips past your lips when you feel Eren’s erection roll against you.

“Fuck,” he pulls back with a suck of your swollen lip, “You’re so hot.”

Eren quickly switches your positions so that he’s hovering over you. You chuckle lightly underneath him, taking the opportunity to run both your hands through his hair and cradle his head in your hold, “Haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Eren murmurs, dipping his head down to press kisses into your neck, “Still so sexy. So pretty, always.”

Eren bites a hickey into your collar bone, and everywhere he can touch; your neck, your ears, your cheeks, your lips. Your moaning serves as the spark to keep him going, but he’s barely coherent himself the way you keep pulling at his hair and grinding yourself against him. Even through his clothes, you can feel how painfully hard he is.

He barely catches your tongue between his lips when you moan again, sucking harshly before bruising his lips over yours again. His hands are grabby again, finally pulling your dress completely off of your body, leaving it to form a puddle on the ground. They’re back on your as soon as possible, massaging over your tits, and running his index finger over your nipples.

“Eren... Eren, please,” you whimper, chest heaving as you look down at him. He rolls his index finger over your right nipple, with his left hand teasing the other with his thumb. You can’t tell if the look in his eyes is a product of the weed, or just his glassy, borderline predatory stare, but it makes you shiver with pleasure when he wraps his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

“I want you.”

“Want you, too,” Eren hums, pulling back with a thin trail of spit from your breast, before moving to give your left nipple the same treatment, “More than you know.”

You keen to him when he teases his teeth against you, finally having had enough you force him off of you with a tug of his hair. “Then take off your clothes.”

Eren blinks, wide-eyed but glazed all the same. He chuckles lightly, a blush spreading over his cheeks as he nods. He sits back on his knees, pulling his shirt over his head, forgoing undoing the buttons, and pauses briefly with his hands over the zipper of his pants.

“Please tell me you’re not that gone that you forgot how to undo your zipper,” you tease him, chest still heaving from his previous ministrations. Eren smiles, doe-eyed and hazy, and shakes his head.

“No,” he reassures you, finally undoing his zipper and shimmying his pants off his legs, “Was trying to remember what underwear I was wearing. Didn't want it to be embarrassing.”

His honesty makes you laugh, and Eren pauses for a moment to soak it in. Even like this, even with him stumbling over the steps to undress himself, and you almost completely naked in front of him, he can make you smile. There’s something equally sexy and endearing about your giggles; a juxtaposition that makes him want to hug you or kiss you or something in between. And you—you like the look in his eyes even through your giggling; the way he smiles back and blushes and tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “Don’t think mine are particularly sexy either.”

Eren hums, shuffling back on to the bed so that he’s between your legs, and leans forward to kiss you again. He still can’t seem to keep his hands off of you, his fingers immediately flying to your underwear and peeling them off your legs, pulling you closer despite the lack of space between your bodies.

“Yeah, doesn’t matter,” Eren echos, tossing the offending item to the side, before cupping your face in his hands, “I’d still wanna fuck you in your granny panties.”

“You wanna fuck me?” you question, eyes sparkling and hopeful.

“Yeah, I do,” Eren can’t help but to smile again, happy and high and drunk on you, too, “Will you let me?”

Your feverish nodding is all it takes for Eren’s mind to go hazy again; clouded with you, you, you. You pull him into a kiss, arching your body into his, and running your hands down the sides of his back. He moans at the feeling, punishing you by nipping at your lower lip and pressing your stomach back to the mattress with his palm.

Your eyes meet his as Eren lines himself up with your cunt, teasing your folds with the head; but it doesn’t take long before he finally pushes in, sheathing himself inside you completely without movement. He waits a minute, whether it’s to make you comfortable, or to gather his own bearings, you’re not sure; but when he’s ready, he flashes you a smile and waits for one in return, before he starts thrusting.

You know Eren’s not gentle; rough whether or not he intends to be by virtue of his size in comparison to you, but you seem to have forgotten just how capable he is of making you lose your senses. He has you gasping, grasping at him at him unintelligibly, feeling full with his cock inside of you.

Eren groans, borderline growls, when he feels you clench around him, when he sees you shaking beneath him. He could do this all; could watch you all day.

“So pretty, the prettiest. Prettiest girl, my favorite girl,” Eren praises, eyes raking up and down your thrashing body, “My favorite fucking girl.”

“You—you, too.”

“Yeah? I’m your favorite, too?” Eren coos, reaching out to guide your arms over your head, the force of his body pinning your hands down; you can hardly gasp before he lacess your fingers together, and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“Promised you, didn’t I? That I’d be good to you, be on my best behavior,” Eren reminds you, leaning forward.

He eyes your necklace—eyes glued to ring around it—bouncing with your body. He bends his head down to kiss it, bites at the skin near it; a possessive streak overcoming him as the diamonds shine against you. “I said I’d treat you good, always. Meant it.”

He stutters, when you squeeze him back; fingers tightening around his hold, your pussy clenching around his cock. Your whining is insistent, and mixes with Eren’s low moans and guttural noises. Eren doesn’t let up his pace, fucking you fast and deep, and it’s only a matter of time before you feel a knot twisting in your belly.

You attempt to move your arms, searching for a release of the feeling building up inside of you but Eren is strong; stronger than you, and he keeps you in your place. Keeps your arms pinned above you, keeps his palms pressed into yours, keeps his lips hovering above yours, just out of reach.

“Eren,” you call his name through shaky moans.

“Yeah? What, baby?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, his lips needy and hungry over yours. Eren fucks you and kisses you through your orgasm, tasting your moans on his tongue in timing with him cumming inside of you. You don’t let up; kissing him lewdly while you both come down from your highs.

“So good,” Eren croons against your lips, down your jaw, into your skin, “So good for me.”

You both moan in chorus when he finally pulls out, Eren’s head laying on your collar, nose nuzzling into your neck. He lets your hands free, and immediately you wrap them around his back, holding him close as you both attempt to catch your breaths.

You don’t know how long you lay there like that, with Eren on top of you, and your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek while he sleeps soundly. Maybe an hour, maybe more, maybe less; but the euphoria of your sex doesn’t quiet seem to fade.

It might last all night, maybe even for the rest of your trip but you don’t mind. You think back to earlier in the evening, when you’d caught his gaze after your dance. The feeling isn’t all that different; warm, and fuzzy, and too much and not enough all at once. It feels good, it feels like Eren.

You hum softly to yourself, careful not to wake up the sleeping boy on your chest, when you realize exactly what these two moments have in common: a rare event in which Eren is still in front of you, steady and stagnant, no running or chasing; and you don’t want to let him go.

Sometimes Eren thinks you act oblivious on purpose just to fuck with him, because there’s absolutely no way you—or any human with a functioning nervous system and social cues—can’t tell that he’s completely, stupidly, and embarrassingly in love with you.

Long gone are his days of trying to deny it or get over it. He realized that sophomore year of high school—almost eight years ago—that no matter where he went, what kind of drug he inhaled, or how hard he tried, you’d be permanently etched into his heart. That doesn’t make it any less exhausting, and, in fact, only makes it more astounding that you haven’t caught on yet. Honestly, Eren’s considered hiring a private psychiatrist just to make nothing’s wrong with you.

Amazingly, the remainder of your vacation continues just like the former half. The only exception being that now you’re in Paris. And that he’s shamelessly coerced you into letting him fuck your brains out on several occasions. But besides that, everything’s chill.

Just two best friends traveling through France together and stopping to fuck in any semi-private location they can find. Just two peas in a pod walking along the Champs Elysées at damn near midnight. Just two best buds with linked arms tasting (see: feeding each other) every macaron flavor they come across while violinists play stupidly romantic, classical music in the background.

He knows he should probably talk to you about it, but for some reason he can’t. Like telling you would make it all too real, and give it a meaning that could so easily be taken away from him; give you a reason to want to leave him. Right now, it’s just a fantasy, and he’s free to keep dreaming, believing that he’s special and worth enough for the affection you’ve shown him.

He doesn’t want to be one in a list of your boyfriends, or fiances, or husbands; he wants to be your only one, and if he can’t be, then he’d rather be stuck to your side as your best friend. At least that way, in someway, he could remain special to you; not a forgotten, ordinary ex of your past.

Though, a best friend who he’s sleeping with regularly and he’s in love with and will always be in love with is starting to sound a lot like a husband to him. At least, the kind of husband he would like to be to you.

You call his name, asking him if he wants to try another sweet. Eren rolls his eyes. What he wants is to fuck you, and marry you, and have you bless his stupid little existence with two runts for kids that look like him but act like you so his life savings don’t run out by the time they’re twelve. But sure, he’ll settle for having you feed him another macaron in the meantime.

“This one tastes just like the coconut one,” he mumbles, chewing his way through the pastry you’d stuffed into his mouth whole.

It’s the seventh bakery you’ve stopped at tonight, and even though Eren’s growing pretty sick of the sugary treats, he’ll walk with you to every damn bakery in Paris tonight if that’s what you want.

He blinks at the thought. He’s so lovesick it’s disgusting. And he wouldn’t do a damn thing to change it.

“That’s probably because it’s almond and coconut flavored,” you say, wiping the stickiness from your fingers onto a napkin.

“I didn’t taste any almonds.”

“I don’t even think you could spell almond, much less tell me what they taste like.”

Eren simply pouts in refute, leaving you giggling at his expression. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but you seem even prettier in Paris than in Nice. But, that’s probably his rose-colored glasses speaking.

“You think there’ll be macarons at the reception?” you question, biting into yet another pistachio flavored treat, “And if not, would it be rude to bring my own?”

He chuckles. “Yes, babe, I’m sure there will be macarons there.”

He’s always loved Paris, even when his mom moved away here and left him in New York, and he’d always loved it more when you’re with him. He feared that having to attend another, what he considered to be wasteful, wedding in arguably one of his favorite places in the world would leave a bitter taste in his mouth; but, thankfully, he’s only fallen deeper in love since being here.

“You sure you won’t be sick of them by tomorrow?” he asks, watching you debate between taste testing another variation of vanilla bean or rosé.

“How could I get sick of them?” you answer offhandedly, not sparing him a glance away as you choose the pink snack. How could he get sick of you.

“By the time we get back to New York you’ll have forgotten all about them,” he scoffs.

“Don’t worry I’ll quit it soon. I’ll have to eat something solid if I wanna take my meds and go to bed,” you spew with a smile, unaware of what you’ve actually just said, “But they are delicious and I have no regrets.”

Eren pauses. Then so do you, mouth stuffed with sickly sweet.

“I mean—”

“I know, you know,” he cuts you off, “About the meds and stuff.”

You look like you could pass out, or scream, or cry, or everything in between. Eren figures saying more is better than saying less, so he continues.

“I saw a bottle in the bathroom a few months ago,” he admits shyly, but careful about his tone, “Didn’t understand half the words on the label, but it had your name on it so I just, uh… Googled it.”

Of course he knows. Eren’s always kind of known, just never had the words to express it. He imagines that’s what you’re feeling right now.

“Oh,” you finally gape, “Why didn’t you, um… you know, like, say… anything?”

“It seemed like your secret to tell,” Eren shrugs, features softening out, “Besides, I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”

Eren’s always been better at showing than saying, anyway. He hopes that his actions, small as they may seem, might have provided you with any sort of comfort in the past few months. Maybe even before that, too.

“Oh,” you repeat, continually blinking at him, “That’s… that’s it? You’re cool with it?”

Now it’s Eren’s turn to blink. “What do you mean am I cool with it? They’re your meds.”

“Yeah, but like… you’re not mad I didn’t tell—”

“Of course I’m not mad,” he cuts you off with a soft smile, “It’s not really my business. I mean, like, you’re my business because I care about you, but you have your own private stuff, too, which is cool. Besides, when I was, uh, researching it, I learned that it can be hard to tell people stuff like that even if—”

Eren shuts up when he feels your weight against him and your arms wrapped around him. Shell shocked, he takes a moment to hug you back, and slowly comes to rest his chin atop your head after leaving a flurry of kisses.

“You didn’t have to look it up or do any kind of research, you know,” you mumble softly into his jacket. Eren borderline chortles, but only hugs you more tightly.

“Of course I did. If not for you, then for myself, because I meant it when I said I’d never seen half the words on the prescription before in my life,” he replies, heart glowing at the sound of your small chuckles.

He’s expecting an equally witty response, but you surprise him when you pull back just enough to face him, a hazy smile on your face. “You’re amazing, Eren.”

Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush, fool. Don’t blush—fucking idiot.

“Yeah, I’m pretty great,” he boasts, leaning back into the coolest pose he could muster up while ignoring the growing heat creeping up his neck. It’s all in vain as you reach over to playfully tug at one of his ears.

He thinks you’re pretty like this. All the time, but most notably when he has you in his arms. So pretty, that he has to lean forward to kiss you; you don’t seem to mind, if the way you smile into the kiss is any indication of your feelings. Eren finds himself mirroring your grin; moving his arms from around your waist to the sides of your face.

The workers in this poor little café probably hate the two of you, but he doesn’t fucking care. He’s got his favorite girl in his arms right now, and you taste like almonds and coconuts and like the love of his life.

And he should tell you. Eren wants to tell you, and he finds himself wondering if those same intrusive, fearful thoughts were part of the driving force behind your own reason to keep your secrets from him.

You pull away from him, hands lightly draped around his neck, and you smile like you’re shy—like he hasn’t known you your whole life. Still, Eren finds himself smiling back; and thinks that if you were brave enough to tell him how you were feeling, then he should do the same.

“(_____), I… I gotta tell you something,” he starts, voice soft as his fingers curl around your waist a little more tightly, “Though, I’m kind of hoping you already know.”

You blink at him, almost innocently. Eren bites the inside of his jaw; you’re going to have to stop doing that before he jumps you again.

Better now than never, he supposes. He tries to shake his nerves when he takes your hands in his, completely covering them with his palms, and closes his eyes. Despite that, you try to offer him comfort, squeezing his fingers as best you can; and Eren takes that moment to thank his lucky stars for whoever decided to put you in his life. Because he knows that no matter what, even if he royally fucks this up, you’ll find some way to be there for him.

He slowly blinks his eyes open again, gaze resting on the ring around your neck. A faded chuckle escapes his lips when looks at it. The only one who got the wrong idea about his gift was you. But, he supposes that’s his fault; he never did explain it, after all.

“It’s nothing… It’s just that, I’m in—”

But Eren’s startled by a voice that makes him freeze. He almost wants to believe he misheard it, but he can hear the telltale clacking of vintage heels on the floor of the bakery and he knows that he didn’t mishear a thing.

Eren turns his head, and sure enough, there is his mother, in all her five foot glory, adorned in designer clothing from her beret to her shoes. With a fucking street urchin on her arm.

“Well, well, well, what a lovely surprise,” Carla beams, red lipstick perfectly in place even after a long day of wear.

Eren’s eyebrows draw together, as he takes in his mother and her fiancé standing in front of him. He can just barely register you calling out towards her, carefully maneuvering yourself off of his lap, and into the neighboring chair; but still keeping your right hand wrapped around his left. He can feel you squeeze it—whether to give him comfort, or warning, he’s not sure yet; probably both.

“It’s so good to see you!” you beam, excitedly offering her and Mitchell a seat across from the two of you at the table. Eren opens his mouth to refute, but you squeeze his hand again; a warning.

Carla leans forward to encase you in a hug, exchanging cheek kisses, and leaving Eren to stare at the street rat across from him. Mitchell seems to know better than to make eye contact with him, irises scattering from Carla’s back to the décor of the bakery while the two girls catch up.

“We missed you at the rehearsal dinner on Sunday,” Carla recounts, eyes fluttering to Eren’s briefly. One look into her son’s eyes, and she understands why; one look into his mother’s eyes, and Eren knows she has him all figured out. “I was worried you might not show at all.”

Eren strategically averts your gaze when you turn your head towards him, choosing to look at his mother instead.

“I didn’t even know there was a rehearsal dinner,” you tell her, tone polite, but Eren can hear the clear jab directed towards him, “I’m sorry, I—we would have gone, otherwise.”

“No need to apologize, darling,” Carla smiles, “I’m sure you two were very busy.”

“We were,” Eren cuts in, words definite. He sees a hint of surprise flash in his mother’s eyes briefly, expertly covered up with her sweet demeanor. She only nods in understanding, sitting back a bit to wrap her arm around Mitchell’s.

“What are you even doing here, Ma?” Eren questions, even as you do the same with his hands under the table, “Isn’t it bad luck to see the groom before the wedding.”

“After the third or fourth wedding, you grow tired of pleasantries and superstitions, my love,” she replies, “This place makes Mitchell’s favorite macarons, we thought we’d share a few before the big day. Maybe get some tea as a pre-celebration.”

The topic of sweets has you speaking up once again, engaging both his mother and Mitchell in a discussion about them, and your other findings from bakery hopping earlier. If Eren didn’t love you to pieces, he would have left the table a long time ago.

It carries on much longer than he can bear to endure; almost an hour of you, and his mother, and Mitchell making pleasant conversation while he tries his best not to brood beside you, but it’s futile. He feels like a little kid again. Stuck at the dinner table with his mother and a man he was being forced to get to know, only for him to become a stranger to him in a matter of months.

Eren grinds his teeth into each other when you laugh at something Mitchell says. He’s not going to sit through his any longer; or ever again.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eren says, voice blatantly monotonous as his cuts through the conversation, “But we should all probably head back go to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

“Eren, we should—” but, he stands up quickly, hand wrapping around yours to force you upwards too.

He doesn’t care to look at you, knowing the dissatisfied expression he’ll be met with. He fishes for his wallet and pulls out too many Euros, neatly tucking them under an unused knife to pay for the meal.

Eren’s steps out from between his chair and the table. “We’ll see you guys tomorr—” But is stopped before he can take three steps away.

His mother’s hand wrapped around his wrist. She stands, significantly shorter than Eren’s full height. “Actually, Eren, could I borrow you for a bit?”

And he doesn’t want to, because he knows exactly the conversation waiting for him. But he looks down at her, lets his eyes flicker to you, and back to her, and he knows he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. Not even if he tried.

He sighs with a shallow nod. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, the proud smile on your lips when you tell him that you’ll meet him back at your hotel. Mitchell ensures him and Carla that he’ll make sure you get back safely, and Eren still can’t stand the guy, but he’s grateful that he can at least be of use for something.

Eren kisses you on the forehead briefly, a promise to you and himself that he’ll finish his confession later. After all, he probably should come to terms with the woman who taught him what love is before he vowed to love you for the rest of his life.

The walk to his mother’s hotel is silent, Eren choosing to keep to himself, hands stuffed in his pockets to prevent his mom from holding them. He’s probably acting like a child, but isn’t that what he is to her; isn’t that she treats him as.

“Look, Ma, you don’t need my approval to marry him,” Eren grumbles, when they finally exit the elevator into the hotel room, “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Of course I don’t,” Carla offers him a small grin, even if he won’t look at her directly, “But it matters to me.”

“Why does it matter now? It didn’t matter with Keith, or Henry, or Henri with an I, or any of the others,” Eren mumbles, reluctantly taking a seat on the stool opposite the vanity.

His mother tracks his movements with soft eyes and an amused grin as Eren absentmindedly bends a knee and begins to fiddle with the hem of his pants. Just like he used to when he was upset as a child.

“It mattered then, too, Eren,” she tells him, sitting on the stool and facing him.

He’s surprised by her words, his wide eyes giving him away even if he attempts to act unfazed. “It didn’t seem like it.”

Carla opens her mouth to speak, but closes it, words stuck in her throat. She watches Eren’s hunched figure, her tall son not even bothering to look her in the eyes. She exhales slowly; if he were five feet smaller, he’d have tucked himself under her arm, still refusing to look at her, but he’d have snuggled his head into her side while he pouted anyway.

“I suppose it didn’t,” she admits, “In the end, the love wasn’t enough to make it last, then.”

Eren is quiet for a bit at that, pulling at his pants leg. “And… and you love him enough, now?”

“It’s more than love, Eren. It’s... happiness—for yourself and another person—it’s being okay with somebody knowing you now, and forever. Whichever version of you that is.”

“Then why did you marry them before?” Eren asks, “If you knew it wasn’t enough, if you knew it was just going to end up as another big mistake.”

“Maybe the marriages were a mistake, and some of what came with them, but I don’t think the feelings were,” Carla muses, “Love is never wasted.”

“How can you say that?” Eren questions, disbelief and exasperation painted on his face, “Of course it is—you wasted your time, and your money, and your—your everything on those people who couldn’t care less about you now!”

“Eren—”

“You let them into our house,” Eren speaks over her, “You let them into your life, and they left. They always left—”

“Eren—”

“—And you even let some of them come back! Everyone, you let everyone have another chance, another anniversary, another wedding,” He’s ranting, crying, hot, irrational tears streaming down his face; hiccups interrupting his speech, “So—so, so if it’s not wasted and everyone gets another chance and another chance and another chance—why didn’t he come back, huh? For his?”

Eren’s standing now, arms flailing every which way during his breakdown, but his mother doesn’t try to stop him. She lets him continue, hears him out.

“If it’s love—if it’s not wasted, and it’s real—then why didn’t he come back? Why didn’t he want to? Why—why didn’t he want me? Why did I end up the bastard?”

Eren looks his mother in the eyes for the first time in the duration of their conversation with that final question; with his vision blurry, and chest heaving, and cheeks wet. Carla has no words to say; can only carefully open her arms, and wait for her son to come crashing into them. And he does; and it rains and pours, and Eren holds onto his mother for dear life, and onto the pieces of her breaking heart.

“Am I not good enough to have that kind of love?” Eren asks through tears, “Am I not special enough to want to know?”

“Eren,” she finally speaks, moving to cradle his head in her hands, “You don’t have to be special or good, to be known or loved. It’s enough that you were born. That’s enough to make you deserving of love.”

She doesn’t mind the tears against her palms or the hiccups of Eren’s breathing, “And you already have it.”

And Eren looks at her with eyes wide and wild like a child, staring at the first person to have ever loved someone as messed up, and plain, and ordinary as him; and he can feel more tears bubbling at his eyes.

“Ma, I’m—I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her even tighter, chin resting on her shoulder while his shake through his tears, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Carla hugs her son as close as she can, like he’s five years old and the apple of her eye and she can take all his pain away. “You don’t have to be. You’re my son, and I’ll love you always.”

It feels like they have all the time in the world like that, to hug and cry and apologize; but Carla hopes Eren knows that he was always forgiven; that he never had anything to apologize for in the first place.

“She loves you, too, baby,” she coos, holding Eren as tight as possible, “But you have to let her know that. That you accept it.”

“Do you think she knows?” Eren asks, words muffled into the fabric of her clothing, “That I love her, too?”

“I do,” Carla confirms, pulling away to look at Eren in the eyes; his beautiful, shining, green eyes, “But I don’t think that either of you really realized it. I mean, you did give her an engagement ring, darling.”

Eren huffs at the memory, “She thought it was a gift.”

“Because you gave it to her as a gift.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Love has a way of making people blind,” Carla muses, “Especially two lovesick semi-adults with too much money on their hands.”

Eren’s cheeks grow pink at the accusation, “It’s your money!”

“Yes, and I’m very happy to have it,” Carla chuckles, motioning for Eren to stand up. He does, and she looks up at him with glimmering, proud eyes. “Now, go, shoo. You have a girl to propose to, don’t you? There might be two Jaeger weddings this weekend.”

Eren nods, certain of himself for the first time in a while. He turns on his heel with a vigor igniting his footsteps, but pauses when he reaches the elevator. He makes a sharp turn, running back to his mom one last time, and squeezing her suddenly, and tightly against him.

“I love you, mom,” he says; the words too foreign on his tongue, and he vows to not let them be a stranger to his vocabulary from here on out.

“I love, you, too, Eren,” Carla calmly wraps her arms around her son one last time, “And I always will.”

You half-expected your walk back to your hotel with Mitchell to be painfully awkward, but he proves to be a pleasant conversationalist, even in Carla’s absence.

You know that Eren isn’t fond of him, but you wish that he would at least give him a chance. There’s no way to know if a marriage—if any relationship—will last forever, but, sometimes, you think it’s not about knowing about forever; but, rather about wanting it to make it there; about willing to go the distance with that person.

You can see that want, that willingness that works alongside love in Mitchell and Carla’s relationship, that stands out from her past marriages. You get the feeling they’re going to last; and that, most importantly, they both want it to, too.

It’s quiet out as you both walk the streets of Paris, Mitchell taking the time to point out small notes in architecture that interest you. You readjust your jacket as a gust of wind washes over you, careful to make sure your necklace doesn’t snag against your clothing.

“That’s a beautiful ring,” he calls to you gently.

“Thank you,” Surprised, you quickly let out an embarrassed cough, looking down to your left hand resting atop the uppermost button on your coat. “It was a gift.”

“I meant that one,” Mitchell corrects, carefully gesturing to his own neck to indicate that he was talking about the ring on your necklace, and not the one on your finger.

“Oh, thank you,” you repeat, “That one was actually a gift, too.”

The older man hums, continuing your walk to your hotel. “Must have been one hell of a gift. I don’t know many people who give out engagement rings as presents.”

“Oh, no, no, no, it wasn’t—it’s not an engagement ring,” you tell him, feeling a warmth creep up your cheeks even in the chilly atmosphere of the night, “Eren gave it to me, actually, a few years ago—it was a Christmas gift.”

“Eren, huh?” Mitchell smiles fondly, “That makes sense. Carla tells me how much he cares about you.”

“You—she does?” you stutter. Mitchell nods. “I—I mean, I care about him, too.”

“Enough to accept an engagement ring from him, it seems,” Mitchell taunts, “I’m no specialist, but I know a Harry Winston piece when I see it. They’re not cheap.”

“Trust me, I know,” you scoff, “I almost killed him when I saw how much he spent on it.”

“And you took it, anyway?”

“Well, he—he was supposed to return it,” you defend yourself, “Because I didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea! But he just, well, he gave me the other one instead, so I wear that one on my hand.”

Mitchell pauses, just as you both stand to the entrance of your hotel. “And what was the wrong idea you didn’t want people getting.”

“That... that...,” you pause, thinking back to that Christmas day.

Even though Eren is known for spending ludacris amounts of money, the ring came as a genuine surprise to you. A couple thousand on shoes, sure—you’re victim to that yourself; a couple hundred thousand on a lavish vacation wasn’t out of the ordinary, either; but a million, maybe even more, on a ring that you could have only ever asked of him in your dreams was another thing completely.

And, sure, even a few million didn’t mean much to you or Eren at the end of the day, but it wasn’t just the price; it was the object of the money, too. To accept a house, or a car, or a jet for that amount is something you could rationalize; but a ring seemed foreign, and far out of your league.

Then there was the display and value it held beyond money. It’s beautiful, gorgeous, but more than that, it’s tailored to your exact liking. The synthesis of your aesthetic and everything you could ask for, garnished with the memory of Eren in the very design; the diamonds you love, the flowers that remind him of you, and the way they stems wrap around each other and the petals meet in the middle.

A small gasp leaves your lips and instinctively, you reach to clutch the ring in your hold. There was no way this was an engagement ring... Eren hadn’t proposed to you when he gave it to you—in fact, he was so casual about it, that it had you stunned that he hadn’t thought to consider that other people might think it meant something more than what he intended it to be.

But, looking back, it seems like you’re the only one who didn’t understand what was going on. Because Eren told you, even then, that he’d wanted you forever; you didn’t know how to hear him. It was all right there—not just in the ring, but in all his gifts, in the entirety of your friendship.

Eren loves you, more than you could ever know.

“It’s an engagement ring,” you say aloud, but more to yourself than to Mitchell, “Oh my god, it’s an engagement ring.”

Mitchell can’t do anything but smile at your revelation. You’re practically bouncing off the walls, connecting the puzzle pieces of your relationship in the middle of the street at damn near midnight, but you don’t care; because it finally feels right, and it finally, finally all makes sense.

“He, but he never pro—oh my fucking god, I’m going to kill him.”

You feel elated and confused and happy and murderous all at once. Eren wanted to marry you; Eren loved you. He wants you for the rest of his life, and you’ve been too blind to see it this entire time.

Still, you think that maybe a verbal proposal might have helped to open your eyes a bit.

“Mitchell, I have to—”

You’re cut off by the echo of your name coming from the opposite end of the street, and you can just barely make out of Eren’s figure in the faded lights of the street lamps. His name falls from your lips like a whisper, and you hardly register Mitchell’s amused, soft laughter from beside you.

“I think that’s my cue,” he says, patting you on the shoulder, “I better get back to Carla. Something tells me you two have a bit to talk about.”

You can barely nod at him, eye still wide and stunned, but a smile on your face even in your fearful anticipation. You don’t have time to thank him before he turns away, bidding you goodnight; and then you have something else to focus on, as Eren’s footsteps grow louder, and his silhouette grows sharper the closer he gets to you.

He practically crashes into you, chest heaving, hair wind-swept and wild from his running. He puts his hands on your shoulders, to steady himself physically and mentally, labored breaths ghosting over the top of your head.

“Hi,” he finally squeaks; and that stupid, big, dopey grin is on his face.

It’s ridiculous, so utterly ridiculous that you can’t help but greet him back. The two of you stand there, smiling like fools for god knows how long, before the realization strikes you for a second time.

Eren opens his mouth to finally speak, but a pained squeal leaves his lips instead as he feels the back of your hand slap his chest. “Ouch—hey, what was that for!”

“What the hell do you think you were doing proposing to me without telling me?” you screech, packing another punch to his chest for good measure, but it’s a poor barrier and does nothing to stop your tears from falling, “You’re an idiot, I should kill you for this, you know that, Eren Jaeger?”

Eren laughs softly, only to be heard by you in close proximity. He takes your offending hand in his, and reaches for your other, pulling both of them between your bodies. He can feel tears welling in his own eyes, as he looks down at the necklace, glimmering perfectly under the moonlight.  

“In my defense, the first thing you told me to do when I gave it to you was to return it.”

“I might not have said that if you told me what it meant,” you can hardly choke out a laugh through your tears; and Eren can’t stop his from falling either, “It’s insane, you know. This whole thing—to ask me to marry you at 19. For me to not realize until we’re 21.”

“I know,” Eren agrees, inching closer even though there’s barely any room between you, “I know. But I know I love you, every version of you. I always have, I always will.”

You close your eyes as Eren’s hands move to your face, gingerly sweeping your tears away from your cheeks. He feels too close, it feels like too much; but you don’t want him to move.

“You know... if you had asked me, then,” you start, blinking your eyes open with a sniffle; you’re met with Eren’s emerald greens one with far too much hope and love glimmering in them, “I—I don’t even know what I would have said.”

“And if I asked you now?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, slowly raising your hands to wrap around Eren’s wrist, and lower them to your neck, before looking at him again, “Ask me.”

Eren blinks, carefully trailing his hands up and around your neck, nimble fingers undoing the clasp of your necklace. He hardly lets the chain pool into his hand before it’s tossed aside, and the ring is still between his thumbs and index fingers as he lowers himself on to one knee.

“You are the love of my life, and there’s not a single version of life—a single version of you, or me—where I don’t want to be with you forever,” Eren says, “And you know how shit I am with my words, but I fucking mean it. I swear to you, that I’ll do my best every day to show you how much you mean to me; marry me, and I’ll prove it to you, I swear, I will.”  

Your lips are wobbling at Eren’s confession below you, and you can just barely beckon him upwards in your state. He’s hardly back on two feet before you’re pulling him against you, ghosting the word “yes” on his lips before you kiss him.

You both melt into the kiss, Eren’s hands skillfully cupping your cheeks, while he keeps the ring in his hold and bruises your lips together.

“You don’t have to prove it to me, Eren,” you assure him, hand shaking when you pull apart and let him slip the ring onto your finger—where it belongs, “You already have.”

For his first birthday as a married man, Eren requested something intimate. He wanted just a small celebration with all of your mutual friends, some good food, alcohol, and lots of fun.

Supposedly simple and intimate for him entailed renting out the top floor of the Whitney, which was currently encasing an exhibit portraying some kind of abstract modern art that allowed for a very drunk Eren and Armin have to entertain themselves by trying their best to recreate the paintings using very flawed couples aerial yoga.

The art, paired with the dimmed lighting, Jean’s choice selection of overtly sexual music, and Eren’s pick of overpriced champagne also meant that Marco, Bertholdt, Connie, and Sasha found everything ten times funnier than they were—which meant they were a million times louder than usual.

Jean stands next to you by the bar, watching as Eren attempts to hold Armin above his head by holding on to just his waist. They’re unsuccessful, of course, resulting in both boys toppling onto the ground as the majority of their older friends laugh along.

“Lucky me, I get to take him home at the end of the night,” you drawl, turning to the bartender to order another drink.

She smiles, easily preparing your martini and sliding it you with an inquiry. “That’s your boyfriend? The tall one with the brown hair?”

“No,” you sigh, eyes closed for a moment before taking the glass between your fingers. “That’s my husband, unfortunately.”

× even more notes: this fic. is my baby. it’s been a draft of mine for over two years at this point. it’s gone through various fandoms but i’ve never quite been able to complete and post it, so i’m very happy that it’s finally here! i hope you all enjoyed, and i just wanted to say that i’m glad to finally have been able to share this with you all!

[marianosbrixton]

mcyts as taylor swift songs; dtk + wilbur

pairings: dream, sapnap, georgenotfound, wilbur soot, karl jacobs x reader (separate)

summary: mcyts in a relationship as various taylor swift songs

warnings: a swear word in george and wilbur’s sections, references to unhealthy relationships in karl’s

a/n: i wasn’t joking when i wrote my bio 

masterlist | navigation

dream

invisible string, delicate, ours

✧ i considered putting wildest dreams on the list but i held back

“and isn’t it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?”

✧ i couldn’t find the clip, but dream said once on a stream that invisible string is his favourite taylor swift song (an impeccable choice, if you ask me)

✧ i also read somewhere that he said he usually likes songs for their lyrics, which makes it so much more endearing that he likes it

✧ dream seems like such a loving person, and it really warms my heart to think about him with someone he loves, seeing them almost like a gift from the universe

✧ being with you seems so right and so perfect that he can’t help feeling as though he was destined to be yours, like it was written in the stars from the beginning of time

✧ he’s silently thanking every god and every universe for giving him someone as incredible as you

“my reputation’s never been worse, so you must like me for me.”

✧ it’s pretty well known to anybody with internet access that people will do essentially anything to cut dream down and turn people against him

✧ sometimes it feels like every two seconds there’s somebody with a new rumour trying to ruin what he’s built

✧ dream’s reputation hasn’t always been the best because of this, and while it sucks, and i wish people could recognise how much of a genuinely good person he is, i can imagine being cancelled a million times would do wonders for weeding out the fake people

✧ like, once your name has been dragged through the mud and there’s no longer anything you can do for them, they’ll leave pretty quickly because all they want to do is get further up the ladder than you

✧ so, when yet another rumour has come around, dream half expects you to walk away from him. not because you’re some selfish gold digger, but because, in his mind, who wouldn’t?

✧ but you’re like “don’t be dumb?? i'm literally in love with you??”

✧ and he’s all *insert smiling teary eyed emoji here because i haven’t updated my mac in five years and i don’t have it* “okay :D”

✧ it makes him love you even more, and it solidifies what he already knew, that you’re with him for him, not for dream, or for any other false version of himself that social media is constantly trying to push on him

“the stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this love is ours.”

✧ like i said before, there’s constantly somebody begging to be the new threat to dream’s career

✧ there’s always somebody starting a rumour or saying something negative, and i can only imagine how overwhelming it can be, especially when there are people in your life that you want to protect

✧ i can see dream sort of warning you a little bit, maybe letting you know the risks of being with him if god forbid, one day people found out about you, and the kind of hell that would break loose

✧ he wants to be with you, but more than anything, he wants to keep you safe, and if that means scaring you away by letting you know what you’re getting into, so be it

✧ but you’re not stupid, and you already know this. you know how bad it could be and how daunting all of it seems, but you also know how lucky you are to have someone like him, not only in your life, but caring about you half as much as you care about him

✧ you also know that, yes, twitter is absolutely terrifying, but not having him in your life is even scarier. the consequences could be astronomical, and it may not always be the easiest journey, but goddamnit, you love him, and you won’t apologise to anyone for it

sapnap

cowboy like me, i’m only me when i’m with you, daylight

“you’re a cowboy like me, and i’m never gonna love again.”

✧ i wish i could give a reason for choosing this song beyond the use of the word cowboy but i really can’t

✧ i would, however like to take a moment to appreciate this song (it reminds me of rodrick heffley and heather hills but i don’t want to have that conversation right now)

✧ it follows the perspective of somebody who’s used to having to use rich people to find their way in the world and gave up on the idea of trying to find love

✧ but then they find someone who leads the same life as them (hence “you’re a cowboy like me”) and all of a sudden they’re in love and it’s like this massive, world-shattering thing

✧ they’re so used to swindling people and winning people over just to take the money and run the first chance they get, but out of nowhere, there’s somebody they want to do right by and it’s so beautifully written (”with your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con” 😫)

✧ i also love the use of “i’m never gonna love again”, because most people view it as a heartbroken expression, but in this context, i interpret it as not wanting to love anyone ever again because you know you’ll never need anything more than the person in front of you (which, pertaining to sapnap, warms my heart <3)

✧ but anyway, cowboy sapnap supremacy 🤠

“you drive me crazy half the time, the other half i’m only trying to let you know that what i feel is true, and i’m only me when i’m with you.”

✧ i really need to stop choosing songs based on the fact that sapnap’s from texas but i really only picked this one because it’s from taylor’s debut album and it’s the most country one she’s made

✧ regardless, i do think it’s a good fit for him

✧ everyone knows that sapnap’s loud. he yells a lot, and he doesn’t try to hide it, which is very chaotic of him and could definitely result in him driving you up the wall a little bit, especially if you’re somebody that appreciates quiet environments

✧ if that’s the case, he would more than make up for it with soft forehead kisses and warm hugs while he mumbles muffled, “I’m sorry”s into your hair

✧ and how could you stay mad at him when he looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever seen?

✧ he’s loud, and he’s occasionally unhinged, but he’s yours, and you know you wouldn’t be the same without him

✧ basically sapnap go ahead and scream directly into my ears, it’s fine 🥰

“i don’t want to look at anything else now that i saw you. i don’t want to think of anything else now that i thought of you.”

✧ sapnap’s pretty send tweet

✧ in all honesty i was reading a sapnap one shot while listening to daylight and it made my heart happy so i decided to put it on the list

✧ he’s just so 😍😍

✧ he’s so beautiful and he’s effortlessly funny and i can’t imagine dating him and not wanting to just look at him all the time

✧ he’s the best part of your life and everything is so much lighter and happier and overall just better with him around

✧ loving him makes you want to be a better person

✧ spoiler alert, he feels the same about you

george

cornelia street, message in a bottle, the way i loved you, london boy

“and i hope i never lose you, hope it never ends. i’d never walk cornelia street again. that’s the kind of heartbreak time could never mend.”

✧ it’s not a secret to anyone that george isn’t super outspoken in terms of his emotions, but i don’t at all think that means he doesn’t care very deeply about the people in his life

✧ i feel like maybe early on in the relationship, he’d be a little confused at all of these new feelings that seemingly came out of nowhere, and fair enough, emotions are hard, especially for someone who already has a hard time expressing them

✧ the reason i used cornelia street for george is because i feel like as confusing and messy as all of it might feel, one thing he’s absolutely sure of is how much he absolutely does not want to lose you

✧ he’s overwhelmed and he can’t think straight and nothing makes sense to him anymore, but he’d rather have all of those things than the gaping hole it would leave in his heart if you left

✧ he would spend the rest of his life missing you if he didn’t have you, and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that.

“message in a bottle is all i can do, standing here hoping it gets to you.”

✧ like i said before, we know that george finds expressing his emotions a bit difficult

✧ i don’t think that would change a whole lot if he was in a relationship, and i can imagine that would frustrate him a little 

✧ you know he loves you, and he knows you know he loves you, but it wouldn’t stop him from being annoyed at himself for struggling so much to say it

✧ he would try to show his love for you in other subtle ways, like refilling the water you keep by your bed in case you wake up thirsty in the middle of the night, or folding your laundry for you when he knows you’ve been too busy to do it yourself

✧ small gestures like that would make up most of your relationship, and the reason i used this line specifically for george is that he’d see these little expressions of love as throwing a bottle into the ocean and hoping that, somewhere along the way, you understand what he’s trying to say

✧ all he can do is hope you know how big of a place you hold in his heart (and you do <3)

“i never knew i could feel that much, and that’s the way i loved you.”

✧ with this one, i’m adding onto the idea that the way george feels about you would sort of just come out of nowhere and hit him like a ton of bricks

✧ like, one day he’s completely fine, then all of a sudden he’s head over heels in love with you and he doesn’t know what to do with all of these new feelings because holy shit, that’s a lot of emotions to feel towards one person in such a short time

✧ it’s honestly a huge shock to him, because he didn’t even realise it was possible for a person to love that strongly or to feel something that big, let alone that it could happen to him

✧ loving you is a completely new thing for him (a whole new world, if you will)

✧ it’s scary, unexplored territory, but he’s a little less frightened of it with you by his side

“they say home is where the heart is, but god, i love the english”

✧ george gets an extra one because i believe miss swift wrote london boy about him

✧ i don’t really have much to say about this one, he’s english and he’s pretty

✧ that’s all <3

wilbur

you belong with me (taylor’s version), you are in love, hey stephen (taylor’s version)

“have you ever thought, just maybe, you belong with me?”

✧ wilbur’s said a bunch of times that this is his favourite taylor swift song, so i figured i couldn’t make a headcanon like this without including it

✧ wilbur strikes me as someone who’s very sure of himself, so i can imagine that when he meets someone he likes, he has this innate desire to show them how good of an addition he could be to their life

✧ not in a cocky ‘look at me, i’m so good’ kind of way, but more in a ‘i think you’re an incredible person and you deserve the best the world has to offer, please let me show you why i can be that for you’ kind of way, you know?

✧ he knows he can make you happy, he just hopes you give him the chance to prove it

“one night, he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses, then says, ‘you’re my best friend,” and you knew what it was. he is in love.”

✧ this is my favourite taylor swift song so bear with me as i go on a tangent

✧ the entire premise of you are in love as a song is the idea of not needing the person you’re in a relationship with to tell you they love you because you can feel it in everything they do (hence “you can hear it in the silence, you can see it with the lights off” etc)

✧ and specifically when you compare “i was thinking on the drive down, any time now, he’s gonna say it’s love” from all too well (ten minute version) to “you can feel it on the way home” like?? it’s a stark contrast between willing yourself to wait out a shitty relationship in the dwindling hope that your partner will do something, anything, to prove to you that they care about you and then being in a relationship where they wake up in the middle of the night to tell you how much you mean to them. well done, blondie, i’m floored.

✧ “you keep his shirt, he keeps his word.” as somebody who has never experienced a man keeping his word, i appreciate this line a lot.

✧ the reason i associate this song with wilbur is because, even through a screen, he seems like the type of person who just radiates love, and i don’t even mean in an exclusively romantic way.

✧ even when he’s just playing dumb games with people he cares about, you can tell from the way he talks to them and about them that him loving them doesn’t begin or end in the moments that he outwardly expresses it (i hope that made sense)

✧ in being loved by wilbur soot, you would never for a second have to question or doubt how much you mean to him, because he would be constantly proving it to you

✧ whether it’s through the little glances you catch him throwing your way, looking at you as though you’d hung the stars in the sky, or the way he gently runs his hands through your hair in the middle of the night, or perhaps the way his face subtly lights up when you enter the room or when someone mentions you in conversation

✧ wilbur would show you that he loves you, even if it killed him.

“all those other girls, well, they’re beautiful, but would they write a song for you?”

✧ self explanatory but i’ll elaborate anyway

✧ wilbur’s written songs about the darkest times in his life, so i can definitely see, when he finds somebody who gives him a reason to get up in the morning and makes all his days brighter, him writing a song, or multiple songs, about them

✧ it sort of goes along with what i said before about how he has this desire to show the person he loves how happy he can make them. he knows there are a million other people out there that can kiss you on the cheek and buy you flowers, but how many of them will write you a song about how they’d never felt love until they looked at you? 

✧ you, this beautiful human being who can make his whole day just by existing. he’s so sure that nobody else can love you as much as he can, and honestly, he’s probably right.

karl

begin again (taylor’s version), mine, stay stay stay (taylor’s version)

“you pull my chair out and help me in, and you don’t know how nice that is, but i do.”

✧ karl jacobs is an absolute sweetheart, that’s not a new concept, but karl with someone he loves?? sweetheart x3000

✧ i don’t believe for one second that karl wouldn’t treat the person he loves like they’re the most important person to ever exist, because to him, they are. 

✧ maybe you’re like me, and you’ve only ever had negative experiences with love and relationships, and karl recognises that and makes it his mission to shower you with so much love that you’ll forget that there was ever anyone else, let alone that they made you feel as badly as they did (yes i am speaking this into existence for myself and what of it)

✧ like, i can imagine him doing something really casually generous for you because he cares about you, and it’s such a small, mundane thing, but you’re so grateful because you’ve never had that before and he’s like ???

✧ because he physically cannot comprehend why somebody would be lucky enough to have you in their life and not treat you like the best thing that’s ever happened to them, because to him, you’re everything, and the thought of not giving you everything you deserve tears him up inside

“you are the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

✧ i feel like this one goes hand in hand with the previous section a little bit and the idea that you’ve had less than stellar examples of people, particularly partners, being good to you

✧ karl literally cannot fathom somebody not recognising how incredible you are, because you’re you.

✧ he knows that he’s never felt love like this, and he’s never felt such an urge to make someone happy. he never knew how much he wanted to put a smile on someone’s face until the smile was coming from you, and the thought wouldn’t even cross his mind that somebody hadn’t felt the same

✧ in a way, he’s mad at whoever didn’t treat you right, because damn, what a dumbass, but in another, he’s grateful, because maybe if they’d been smart enough to give you what you deserve, he wouldn’t have you. and, god, does that idea scare him.

✧ it’s not even that he couldn’t love anyone else but you, it’s that he doesn’t want to. he knows how lucky he is to have you and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

“you took the time to memorise me, my fears, my hopes and dreams, i just like hanging out with you all the time. all those times that you didn’t leave, it’s been occurring to me, i’d like to hang out with you for my whole life.”

✧ we’ve heard from a few people, but mainly tina, about how karl’s really good at remembering small details about his friends and getting them random little gifts based off of what he remembers

✧ i’d imagine that he would try to remember every little thing about you, no matter how trivial, like what you wanted to be when you were a kid, or silly fears that arguably make no sense

✧ for example, i have a deeply irrational fear of pelicans. have i ever seen a pelican? no. do i have any real reason to be scared of them? of course not. regardless, i hate them and i want them all gone. (irrational fears make up 30-45% of my genetic coding, in case you were wondering)

✧ my point is, karl will remember everything about you, because you’re his favourite person and he loves you, and every time he learns something new about you, he falls for you all over again (he’s cute like that)

✧ going back to what i said about if you’ve had bad experiences with love, maybe you tell him something about you that people usually find strange, but it just adds to how in awe he is of you and the little things that make up who you are.

✧ you see him take interest in the things people have shamed you for, and you’re a little bit in shock, because wow, he isn’t looking at you funny or finding excuses for having one foot out the door. he’s not leaving, and you think you could get used to it.

[sophaeros]

— Tamino for M Le Magazine du Monde (x)

English translated text under the cut:

With "Sahar", Tamino makes its velvet revolution Four years after a first noticed album, the Belgian singer returns with a record imbued with sweetness that mixes rock, pop and oriental influences.

By Stéphane Davet Published on September 18, 2022

He was a flamboyant revelation of the European scene in 2018, thanks to a first album, Amir. Here it continues in the same romantic vein mixing rock lyricism and oriental roots. Always of a haughty presence, with his slender waist, brown curls and aquiline nose (his mother had chosen his first name in reference to the hero of The Magic Flute), the Antwerper of Egyptian origin bets, at 25, on the intimate depth of sounds and feelings to illuminate Sahar, a superb second album dominated by acoustic heat and a song of proximity.

After two years of emotional tours, Tamino did not apprehend confinement and forced return home as an ordeal. "I lived these two years devoted to my art as if I were on a mission," says Tamino-Amir Moharam Fouad, son of a Belgian anthropologist and an Egyptian show producer. “But, far from your loved ones, you end up being cut off from real life.”

After long periods on the road, some artists feel lost in resuming their daily lives, deprived of their technical team and their group. Tamino, on the contrary, has regained its bearings, delighted to reweave its friendships and share new ones, despite the context of the health crisis. "I felt more isolated on tour than during the pandemic.”

Caressing confidences

Unable to compose when concerts follow one another, he finds in his small house in Antwerp the cocoon necessary for creation. After the time of writing comes that of the models. "These recordings are imbued with the acoustic softness of these pieces," says the singer. If he then found his musicians in a large studio in Brussels to decorate Sahar with classy chord arrangements and a multitude of sound details ("which shine on the disc like particles suspended in a ray of light"), the original velvet of the demos has been preserved in many pieces.

"I have never used music for political purposes but to express emotions, feelings.” Tamino

Those on the first album, mostly written in late adolescence, vibrated with torments pushing Tamino to move from the deepest bass to the most crystalline treble. A way of flirting with the celestial and twilight that earned this former student of the Amsterdam Conservatory to be compared to the late Jeff Buckley.

Managing his doubts more serenely, the one who wrote his first song at the age of 14, following a heartache, no longer feels obliged to vocally play extremes. "I wondered if these vocal acrobatics would be missed by the listener," admits Tamino, "but it is the songs that dictate the interpretation. One way of singing should not become a gimmick.” The English-speaking Flemish now puts his velocity at the service of caressing confidences.

Paternal inheritance

The same sobriety prevailed to bring its cultural diversity into its diversity. If the first album scripted its origins by spectacularly crossing electric guitar and orchestra of Arab musicians, Sahar delicately merges acoustic guitar and oud. Tamino, who began his scales on the classical piano, started playing the guitar at the age of 14-15, after discovering, during a trip to Cairo, in an old wardrobe, that of his grandfather, Muharram Fouad (1934-2002), a star of Egyptian cinema and music.

This time he wanted to master the Arab lute in tribute to this paternal heritage."Piano and oud were the first instruments in my environment," he recalls. “My parents separated when I was 3 years old and I didn't see my father until long after. But he had left with us an oud with a broken handle. This mysterious object has always intrigued me. As if he were inviting me to play.”

He learns the rudiments of oud thanks to Tarek Alsayed, a Syrian musician who took refuge in Belgium. Under his fingers, the instrument sways subtly into titles such as The First Disciple or A Drop of Blood. "Music has always been what connected me most naturally to my roots," analyzes Tamino. “I don't speak Arabic, I spent little time in Egypt or Lebanon, the homeland of my paternal grandmother. I still have everything to discover about these cultures, but I have always felt close to this music that my mother listened to.”

A Radiohead to the rescue

Should we see a political message in the way it mixes cultures and influences? "I have never used music for a political purpose but to express emotions, feelings," he says. His mother introduced him as much to Arabic music as to the Beatles, classical music, jazz or folk song. In this second album, we will find references to Leonard Cohen (The Flame), but also to the Latin lounge atmospheres (Cinnamon), dream pop (a vaporous duo with his compatriot Angèle, in Sunflower) or the rock of the 1990s (the training single Fascination).

Fan of punk pop (Sum 41, Linkin Park, Blink-182), then grunge (Nirvana, Pearl Jam and, above all, Soundgarden) as a teenager, Tamino then for the first time formed a musical culture far from the maternal disco. Some haunted melodies (The Longing) or a suspended piano (You Don't Own Me) will also recall the introverted lyricism of Radiohead, another flagship formation of the "nineties". It is no coincidence that Colin Greenwood, the bassist of the British group, intervenes (on bass and rhythmic programming) on most of Sahar's songs.

"Before the first album, he came to one of my concerts in Antwerp, thanks to mutual friends," recalls Tamino. As he was particularly touched by one of the songs, Indigo Night, I invited him to participate in his recording. We got along so well that he joined the group on tour. "On Radiohead's forced vacation (whose last album dates back to 2016), Colin Greenwood - "so humble, so passionate despite his long career" - was not asked to invest in Sahar.

Sahar, from Tamino (Virgin Records/Universal). November 21 and 22 at the Trianon, in Paris (complete).