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nafeary · 4 years

Note

Can I have some really short headcanons with MC spending time with the Ikevamp boys?

✧✎ A/N: Hiii sweets! As I’m dealing with pretty heavy topics right, both in life and writing (my cheating!mc headcanon, oh my), I decided to make this short fluffy one first. Make sure to drink water and to sleep well :))))

Also, these kept on getting longer (and longer and longer)... I dunno how that happened 🤷‍♀️

Napoleon Bonaparte

While you enjoyed accompanying the former emperor and Isaac to teach the children in town

Or going for tranquil evening strolls

Or watching him spar with Jean (HOT)

Both of your favourite past time by far was you waking him, and the cuddling that would always follow (among other... activities *wink wink*)

He’d nuzzle up against your neck, enklindling giggles from you as he protested about you wanting to help Sebastian with breakfast

You couldn’t bring yourself to care too much (sorry Sebas)

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Music is the centre of his life; but so are you

He had to learn to give you the attention you deserved, and he’d often wonder if you were were truly content with sitting beside him as he played

You’d love to watch the genius in action, humming and singing along when you happen to recognize his songs

If you don’t already know, he’d teach you to play the piano and the violin

And despite being the ever strict instructor, you’d often catch his tranquil simper as his hands would ghost over your own

Leonardo Da Vinci

After all your chores would be completed, you’d hunt down the Renaissance man

Which would be quite time consuming, as he could be anywhere. Literally.

Once you succeeded in your mission, you’d sit beside wherever he decided to sleep this time (sometimes with one of your heads resting on the other’s lap) and you’d talk. As simple as that

You were, of course, aware of the scientist’s unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and you were more than glad to tell him about everything you knew about your time in detail

In return, he’d find a way to charge your phone, as you always expressed the desire to show him actual pictures of your old life

Curious boi is impressed

Arthur Conan Doyle

If his girlfriend were to be a social butterfly, you’d probably enjoy tagging along with the third wheel Theo to their regular bars, sharing embarrassing anecdotes of each other

Both of you could often be seen taking Vic for a walk, and Arthur would, no fail, try to get your attention away from the dog acting as his love rival

You could only roll your eyes at his histeronic behavior as he pulled you close, hiding his flaming cheeks at your teasing

If you tend to be more quiet loving, you’d indulge in some alone time in his room [goddammit, not that type of indulging]. As you listened to his calming puffs or air, he’d sometimes ask you to read some of his drafts

Whatever the case was, it would always end with Arthur sweetly pecking your purses lips, a smile gracing his handsome face

Vincent Van Gogh

Wanderlust is a mutual feeling you two shared, and Theodorus had to come to terms with the fact that you two could disappear for hours to end

As soon as you two would find a stunning location, he’d unpack his painting supplies while asking you questions about your old life

You two preferred to stay until the sun would retire for the moon to reign, so that the artist’s canvas had the chance to dry

Sebas would always prepare some snacks for you two upon Comte’s suggestion (because Sugar Daddy takes care of his kids)

As the picnic blanket lay beneath you two, Vincent would pull you close, basking in the serene serenity of your embrace

Thedorus Van Gogh

Baking!

Whether you know or don’t know (in which case Sebastian would gladly help you out) how to cook, the others would find the resident couple in the kitchen as Theo judged your pastries

Of course, he might be mean about it, but that was just apart of him that you’ve learnt to live with; after all, you weren’t perfect either

You discovered that he preferred his sweets... well, sweet, so you have grown used to making two batches of every dough/custard/anything, really: one for you and the other residents, and one solely for him

He’d sometimes saunter behind you, swiftly swiping some saccharine cream onto his finger from a bowl you were currently using. Before you could utter your protests, he’d paint your lips with it, a smirk parading across his cheeks

Successfully shutting you up with a tooth rottingly sweet kiss, he’d say, “Your creations are quite delicious, wouldn’t you agree, knabbletje?” [Would you look at that, Food Play!Theo has returned]

Your knee joints were seemingly replaced by the jelly chilling in the basement

Dazai Osamu

When he’d require inspiration for his novels (or simply felt trapped in his own misery), he’d find himself looking across the vast expanse of le Comte’s land

And somehow, he’d find you more than often amongst the flowers, waving at him to join you

He’d assist you as you cared for the flowers, watching your lithe and nimble hands as they practically danced across the fields

A few butterflies would appear, and he somehow had the ability to make them land on his finger as he explained each of their meanings, explanations spanning from eastern culture to Native American even

You’re always so fixed on the little butterflies resting on him, the writer can’t help himself but kiss your forehead, the subsequent crimson staining your face eliciting such a calm expression from him that you can’t help but smile at his joy

Isaac Newton

As you were both more than busy during the day, you’d vacate your time as the first stars speckled the horizon, Isaac busying himself with mapping the stars

You’d sometimes ask him to teach you, but you tended to zone out as the lectures became more and more scientific and “can you please repeat that in English”-like

Despite the ire lining his voice when he noticed your blank stare, his pouting made it rather apparent that he didn’t mind

He’d scoff whenever you’d start with astrology. “But you’re determined, just like a Capricorn.” “That doesn’t mean anything.”

As more and more stars would appear, you’d catch yourselves gaze more into each other’s eyes than the sky, alabaster rays illumining your loving eyes

His research would be entirely forgotten as your head rested upon his shoulder, liking the prospect of your figurative weight resting on him

Jean d’Arc

You want to watch him spar

Soft boi doesn’t want you to watch him spar

You want to try using his foil

Soft boi doesn’t want you to try using his foil

More than adamant about not revealing his dark side (you couldn’t care less, him sparing was hot but you didn’t know how to bring that up)

As such, you’d ask him to go shopping with you, arguing that his presence would act as the perfect protection

Foolproof way to persuade the stoic soldier: Volume I

You’d enjoy spending time with him in quiet cafes, enjoying him struggle to contain his expressions of content upon trying all the delicacies

Stone on the outside, panic in the inside when you decided to lower yourself onto his lap, telling him that no one could see you two (soldier life did not prepare him for his flirty amour)

William Shakespeare

Stabbing is his favourite past time

To Theo’s disgust, whenever you and and his broer would visit THE creep, he’d often return alone, relying your wish of staying at his mansion for a little while longer

He’d be besotted by all the stories you relayed to him, all the anecdotes of modern life

As you saw his latest works, you were glad he wasn’t using the residents for his drama anymore

He also liked dancing with you, in the moment the clock would hit midnight. As you would both sway beneath the moon’s embrace, he had never felt more at peace

Comte de Saint-Germain

Sugar Daddy likes buying you stuff, that’s it. That’s the headcanon

Jk, but he genuinely enjoys the prospect of shopping clothes with you

He’d even draft some on his own (I mean, have you seen his fashion style? Yes babayyy). If you were a fan of design, you’d both make outfits for one another

Would buy you the best silk if you wanted it... would buy you holo fabric from the future if you wanted it

After your shopping would be done, you’d walk along the Seine, reminiscing about the times none of you have gotten to life in

He enjoyed having you in his office, allowing you to vent about noble ladies that thought they could do as they please and parade around your man

As your ire left your ears fuming, he’d muse how scrumptiously adorable your jealousy it

He’d probably lift you ontop his desk to show you that you had absolutely nothing to fear— if you get what I mean ;)

...What are you talking about? I wasn’t talking about that 🙄. He’d simply show you all the designs you’ve made together smh

Sebastian

Vampires were goddamn lucky creatures. They, unlike him, didn’t have to deal with those horrid muscle cramps

However, his pain was more than familiar to you. Thus, one evening, you proposed as you prepared for bed if he’d like a massage from you

It would... sometimes lead to other acts, but that’s a story for another time 🙃

...I- that’s- I was talking about him massaging her... I should probably omit these insinuations

Now, you’d also spent time by adjusting your (and Dazai’s) favourite Japanese dishes with ingredients the 19th century France granted

This would oftentimes lead to questionable results, but you two would laugh it off with mirth enjoying your company

I am physically unable to write a Theo without foodplay, or Dazai without angsty undertones

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aliveandfullofjoy · 3 years

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So I was reading about the first Oscars ceremony, and it had a division between Outstanding Picture and Best Unique & Artistic Film, where Unique & Artistic was apparently meant to be an equal to Outstanding Picture but dedicated more for prestige artistic works. The next year, the two categories became one from then on, and Outstanding Picture was the only top prize. (If any of that is wrong, blame wikipedia.)

If the split had remained, and there was a more commercial-y movie top prize and a prestige art top prize, what are some notable movies that suddenly pick up wins?

okay wait........ this is a brilliant question and i am ashamed to say i’ve never really given it much thought until now.

idk if you’ve seen wings and sunrise but they’re both pretty great and they do represent wildly different kinds of filmmaking. while it’s safe to say Wings is the more commercial film, it has great craftsmanship behind it and it very clearly created the template for accessible, capital-i Important, and well-made best picture winners to come.

and, full transparency, sunrise is one of my, like, top 15 favorite movies, so i’m hella biased, but that movie is a gorgeous and strange and thrilling piece of work. the title “unique and artistic film” is impossibly vague, but watching sunrise makes it very, very clear that it fits that bill for that category. and while we’ll, of course, never know what might have happened if that category had continued, it’s tempting to think that all the winners in unique and artistic film would be of sunrise’s calibre, but knowing the oscars... that’s clearly a fantasy, lol. while sunrise is a wildly inventive and artistic film, it’s important to remember that it was fully on the academy’s radar -- janet gaynor won best actress in part for her performance in the film, and it also won best cinematography. so while it’s tempting to think the academy would always recognize a truly unique and artistic achievement every year, in all likelihood, they probably wouldn’t stray too far from the movies that were already on their radar.

so for this thought experiment!!

it’s probably safe to assume every best picture winner has to go in one of the two categories. there are only a handful of winners that stick out as maybe missing out on the big win in this new system, but only a handful.

so uh. this is way more than you asked but i got hooked. here’s what i think might have happened if the two best picture categories had stuck around. as i was working through the years, it became clear to me that, unfortunately, in a lot of years, the unique and artistic film would likely end up going to the more overtly “prestigious” films, such as the song of bernadette or the life of emile zola, while their far better and more commercially viable rivals (casablanca for bernadette, the awful truth for zola) would win outstanding picture. the actual best picture winners have an asterisk next to them. what’s also interesting to consider is the importance of the best director category: most of the time, a split in picture and director will tell you what’s clearly the runner-up. those years, usually, give you a good sense of how the two awards would shake out.

Outstanding Picture / Unique and Artistic Film

1929: The Broadway Melody*; The Divine Lady

1930: The Big House; All Quiet on the Western Front*

1931: Cimarron*; Morocco

1932: Grand Hotel*; Bad Girl

1933: Little Women; Cavalcade*

1934: It Happened One Night*; One Night of Love

1935: The Informer; A Midsummer Night’s Dream (** this is one of the few years i think the actual BP winner, Mutiny on the Bounty, would miss out; The Informer was clearly the runner-up for BP with wins in director, actor, and screenplay, while Midsummer was seen as THE artistic triumph of the year, and with its historic write-in cinematography win, there was clearly a lot of passion for it)

1936: Mr. Deeds Goes to Town; The Great Ziegfeld*

1937: The Awful Truth; The Life of Emile Zola*

1938: You Can’t Take It With You*; Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs or Grand Illusion (** this one’s tough... Grand Illusion made history as the first non-english movie nominated for BP, and it clearly had a lot of support, but Snow White was such a monumental moment in Hollywood, and the academy clearly acknowledged that with its honorary award)

1939: Gone with the Wind*; The Wizard of Oz (** this is one of the first years with a clear runaway favorite for best picture, which makes guessing the way the other award would go very difficult! i’m leaning towards Oz purely because of its technical achievements, but i’m not confident about that choice at all.)

1940: Rebecca*; The Grapes of Wrath

1941: How Green Was My Valley*; Citizen Kane

1942: Yankee Doodle Dandy; Mrs. Miniver*

1943: Casablanca*; The Song of Bernadette

1944: Going My Way*; Wilson

1945: The Bells of St. Mary’s; The Lost Weekend*

1946: The Best Years of Our Lives*; Henry V

1947: Gentleman’s Agreement*; A Double Life

1948: The Treasure of the Sierra Madre; Hamlet*

1949: All the King’s Men*; The Heiress

1950: All About Eve*; Sunset Boulevard

1951: A Place in the Sun; An American in Paris*

1952: The Greatest Show on Earth*; The Quiet Man

1953: Roman Holiday; From Here to Eternity*

1954: The Country Girl; On the Waterfront*

1955: Marty*; Picnic

1956: Around the World in 80 Days*; Giant

1957: Peyton Place; The Bridge on the River Kwai

1958: The Defiant Ones; Gigi*

1959: The Diary of Anne Frank; Ben-Hur*

1960: Elmer Gantry; The Apartment*

1961: West Side Story*; Judgment at Nuremberg

1962: To Kill a Mockingbird; Lawrence of Arabia*

1963: Tom Jones*; 8½

1964: Mary Poppins; My Fair Lady*

1965: The Sound of Music*; Doctor Zhivago

1966: A Man for All Seasons*; Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

1967: In the Heat of the Night*; The Graduate

1968: Oliver!*; 2001: A Space Odyssey

1969: Midnight Cowboy; Z

1970: Airport; Patton*

1971: The French Connection*; The Last Picture Show

1972: The Godfather; Cabaret

1973: The Sting*; The Exorcist

1974: Chinatown; The Godfather, Part II

1975: Jaws; One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest*

1976: Rocky*; Network

1977: Star Wars; Annie Hall*

1978: Coming Home; The Deer Hunter*

1979: Kramer vs. Kramer*; All That Jazz

1980: Ordinary People*; Raging Bull

1981: Chariots of Fire*; Reds

1982: E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial; Gandhi*

1983: Terms of Endearment*; Fanny and Alexander

1984: Amadeus*; The Killing Fields

1985: Out of Africa*; Ran

1986: Platoon*; Blue Velvet

1987: Moonstruck; The Last Emperor*

1988: Rain Man*; Who Framed Roger Rabbit

1989: Driving Miss Daisy*; Born on the Fourth of July

1990: Ghost; Dances with Wolves*

1991: The Silence of the Lambs*; JFK

1992: Unforgiven*; Howards End

1993: Schindler’s List*; The Piano

1994: Forrest Gump*; Three Colors: Red

1995: Braveheart*; Toy Story

1996: Jerry Maguire; The English Patient*

1997: Titanic*; L.A. Confidential

1998: Shakespeare in Love*; Saving Private Ryan

1999: The Cider House Rules; American Beauty*

2000: Traffic; Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (** this is another year where i think the actual BP winner, Gladiator, might have missed out. it was a tight three-way race going into oscar night, and if there were two BP awards, i think this consensus might have settled, leaving Gladiator to go home with just actor and some tech awards.)

2001: A Beautiful Mind*; Mulholland Drive

2002: Chicago*; The Pianist

2003: Mystic River; The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King*

2004: Million Dollar Baby*; The Aviator

2005: Crash*; Brokeback Mountain

2006: The Departed*; Babel

2007: No Country for Old Men*; The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

2008: The Dark Knight; Slumdog Millionaire*

2009: The Hurt Locker*; Avatar

2010: The King’s Speech*; The Social Network

2011: The Artist*; The Tree of Life

2012: Argo*; Life of Pi

2013: 12 Years a Slave*; Gravity

2014: Birdman*; Boyhood

2015: Spotlight*; The Revenant

2016: La La Land; Moonlight*

2017: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri; The Shape of Water*

2018: Black Panther; Roma (** again, i think Green Book gets bumped out in this scenario, i think Black Panther is precisely the kind of movie that benefits from an award that’s seemingly more ~populist~ while Roma easily snags the unique & artistic prize)

2019: 1917; Parasite*

2020: The Father; Nomadland*

but of course i have no idea at all, and most of these are just my gut reactions lol. what a fun question!

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maximura · 3 years

Text

KPOP BIASES AS: A BLOODY BIRTHDAY PARTY

Yeonjun: Zero For Conduct by Bastarz. This is most sinister beat I have ever heard in Idol-KPOP. Sorry to everyone else. So many trigger warnings on this video. You’ve been warned. Not for children.

Jaebeom: Beom by RAVI. A totally unique experience to be honest. I love deranged cult music.

Hyunjin: Maestro by Wolfgang Amadeus Changmozart. Watch all the fucking versions okay. Because they are all perfect. Even the lives. This is what I wish Hyunjin did a cover to. If you don’t listen to this, you’re not invited to My Bloody Birthday Party. Or maybe you are but not as a guest...

Changbin: God’s Menu by some group I’ve never heard of. Still one of the best intro raps done by someone I’ve never heard of. Might be a Leo. Might be his birthday soon.

Hongjoong: Crooked by GD. I have nothing to say except that your life is missing joy if you have never seen this.

Taemin: Drunk Dazed by Enhypen. They’re all invited. But especially that deranged dude in the chains. Hi, baby.

Sunoo: Meteor by Changmo. Kinda cute. Kinda unhinged. They both look like they could rob a bank, leave with a smiley arigato and never get caught.

Jisung: Turtle Ship by a whole box of crazy for a guy who is a whole box of crazy. It’s just a lot of crazy okay.

Mingi: BOMB by RAVI. He just likes Beoms and Bombs and Bombs I guess. I will allow it because it is so good.

Taeyong: I’m Him by MINO. We’ve all got that song that makes us feel like #2 on the FBI’s most wanted list for stealing diamonds and getting away with it. What? Just me? Okay. Anyways....

Jaehyun: Shoot by MINO and HAHA. This had no right to be this good and entertaining.

Chan: Come Here by Masta Wu. I learnt this phrase from this song. Every single person nailed their verses and Bobby looks like a bad baby in this, it’s hilarious.

Seonghwa: MTBD by CL. I can so clearly see Seonghwa doing a dance cover to this and I don’t know why. I just know that he would kill it.

SAN: VENI VIDI VICI by ZICO. Let’s just say that Zico is the official DJ to my Bloody Birthday Party so I’m going to bookend this list with two of my favourite riffs/hooks in korean music. That dirty bass is so fat that I can’t eat any more cake.

#KPOP BIASES AS #hi welcome to my bloody birthday party playlist #music to do crime to #hi FBI #yeah it's nearly Leo season #which means Changbin Mark Lee Mingi ...and ME season lol #oh man you would not want us in the same room together #it'd either be like a jpeg or a glitch in the matrix #text #music

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canonloveinterest · 3 years

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Hi, I was fucking around in AI D/ungeon in the Ghost-based world/scenarios I had on there from a while back. Don't mind me.

These got angsty at some points and it shouldn't have made me as (crying cat.jpg) as it did. #long post

> You say "Who?"

"Papa Emeritus II," he says.

You scrunch your face up, and roll your eyes. You rest your elbows on the desk across from Miach, and put your chin on your hands.

> You say "I heard he's an asshole."

"He's a great leader," Amadeus says. "And pretty friendly when you get to know him."

> You say "Is he friendly with you?"

"Yes." Amadeus smiles, before nodding.

"Alright," you say. You stand, and nod to Amadeus. He smiles, and reaches out to shake your hand. You shake Amadeus's hand. His grip is too tight and it hurts a little bit.

"Bye, Amadeus," you say.

"Bye," he replies. You walk over to the door, opening it.

You stick your head out, looking up and down the hallways.

> You go to meet with Papa Emeritus II.

You walk along the hallway, trying to remember the way to the Papa Emeritus II's office. Eventually, you reach the large doors leading to it. You reach up, and knock on the door. There is no answer. You knock again.

"Hello?" you say.

You wait, but there is no reply. You shrug, and walk into the office, looking around. You're not seeing anything out of place.

There is no reply.

You sigh, and continue looking around. You spot Papa Emeritus II's coat on a chair by the desk, and smile. The sight of the coat is comforting. You feel a fondness in your chest. You and Papa Emeritus II have had a number of pleasant conversations at this point, but you still don't know him very well. He is intimidating.

> You sit on the couch and wait for Papa Emeritus II to return.

You sit on the couch, and wait patiently. Papa Emeritus II still hasn't returned. You begin to worry.

> You check the papers on his desk.

There is a large amount of papers on the desk, all of which you've read before. They're Papa Emeritus II's way of keeping up with events in the church.

> You text Zaffre the ghoul and ask if they have seen Papa Emeritus II anywhere in the cathedral.

You stand from the couch, and begin to open up your phone. You type out a message to Zaf, quickly tapping out the message.

> You wait for a reply.

A minute passes. Still no reply. Frustrated, you slam your fist on the desk. The papers flutter down, and your hand tightens around the phone. You wait for a reply from him. After an hour, your patience wears thin. You get frustrated and throw the cell phone across the room.

> You leave the office and go to Papa Emeritus II's personal living quarters.

You enter Papa Emeritus II's bedroom, and look around. You spot his coat on the chair he usually sits on, and smile. You walk over to the coat, and pick it up, hanging it in the closet.

> You look at the clothes in his closet.

You walk over to Papa Emeritus II's closet, and run your hand along the back of his suits. You wonder where he is.

> You call Papa Emeritus II's cell phone.

Papa Emeritus II's calm voice comes in on the other line.

"Yes?" He answers.

You pause for a long second.

"Hi," you say.

He doesn't respond.

"I...um...just wanted to see how you are."

"I'm fine, Cirice."

You pause again.

"Are...are you at the office?"

"Yes."

> You say "No you aren't. I was just there."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I see..." Papa Emeritus II says slowly.

"Are you mad at me?" You ask.

"No."

"Are you sad?"

Papa Emeritus II doesn't answer.

"Well, okay," you say. "Well I was just calling to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine, Cirice."

> You say "Can you come see me? I'm in your room. "

"No."

"Please?"

"Can you come see me?"

Papa Emeritus II continues to remain silent.

"Please?"

> You cry.

Papa Emeritus II laughs.

"I'm hanging up now, Cirice."

You wait for Papa Emeritus II to hang up, but he doesn't.

> You say "Okay. That's fine. I'll be at my apartment when you're ready to talk to me, then. "

"See you later, little one," Papa Emeritus II says.

"Bye Papa."

You hang up the phone, and sit on the bed in Papa Emeritus II's room.

Papa Emeritus II's bedroom is a large, luxurious room. The wall in front of you is covered in photographs taken over the years. Most of the pictures feature Papa Emeritus II with various people. You punch the wall, and some frames shake and tilt crookedly. A few photos flutter off the wall. You do not feel better. Papa Emeritus II's bedroom is dimly lit, but the sun sets behind the office tower, so the room is cast in shadows. You sit slumped on Papa Emeritus II's bed, starring at the wall of photographs.

> You go back to your apartment.

You stand up from Papa Emeritus II's bed, and pick up your coat from the chair in the corner by the door. You slip into your coat, and walk outside. On your way out, you run into Papa Emeritus II coming home. You accidentally make eye contact and desperately try to make it seem like you weren't just crying in Papa Emeritus II's bedroom.

"Cirice, are you okay?" he asks.

"Yes, Papa."

"Do you need something?"

You look down at your feet, avoiding his gaze.

"I was just leaving," you say.

After a brief pause you look back up at Papa Emeritus II and remember what he said on the phone.

"Why were you acting like that?" You ask him.

"Like what?"

"You know, sad."

"I wasn't acting sad. I was just thinking, is all."

"About?" "Things."

> You say "If there's anything wrong, I want you to know you can tell me. Or not, if you don't want to. Whatever."

"There's nothing wrong, Cirice. Go on, now."

You stand awkwardly for a few moments longer, looking him hard in his eyes. You furrow your brow and look at his mismatched green and white eyes.

"I'm sorry you're... occupied, with your thoughts," you say. "But I don't appreciate you being so dismissive. It hurts, you know? And I love you." You say.

Papa Emeritus II looks at you. You can't tell what he's thinking behind the green and white eyes.

"We'll talk later tonight, okay?" he says.

> You say "Right. Call me when you're ready to talk, then. I'm going to my apartment. "

"Very well, Cirice. I love you."

> You take your leave.

On your way out of the office building, you walk quickly through the offices.

> You go home to your apartment.

You go home to your apartment, wondering what Papa Emeritus II's problem is. You go home to your empty apartment and turn on the TV, only to continue thinking about his harsh words on the phone and then your terse meeting in the hallway outside his living quarters. Papa Emeritus II is a single man who has shown no interest in love or romance. He has no wife and has no children of his own. He seems to only pursue people who he finds sexually appealing, but they never remain for long. He only keeps them around long enough to be satisfied in the bedroom, and then they break up. So why has he been showing you this amount of romantic interest? Surely he would have given up or gotten bored after a while, pursuing you, a nervous wreck of an office worker. You've denied him at every attempt to become sexually intimate.

Maybe it's because you remind him of a dead lover or ex-flame.

But you can't know for sure.

The man never opens up, and when he does he's just as quick to shut you out. Maybe you should give up trying to figure him out. Now that he's not interested in you, why bother? Those thoughts make you cry a little more. But if he wasn't interested, why would he kiss you? Why would he say that he loves you as often as he does, when he does that with no one else but you?

> What does it mean?

You've been trying to figure out the hidden meanings in Papa Emeritus II's words and actions ever since he first showed them to you. Papa Emeritus II is mysterious and no one ever knows what his intentions are. Surely, he has no ill will toward you. He said he loved you when you spoke outside his office. He kissed you, even though he was harsh over the phone earlier. You decide to continue waiting for him to either visit your apartment or call you to explain himself.

> You turn off the TV and go to bed.

The next day, you enter your office as usual. All is normal, nothing is wrong. Papa Emeritus II did not speak to you that night. His exact words were "I'll speak to you later".

Perhaps he meant in the morning, at the office. You wait for him, thinking about him the entire time you're at work. He didn't know that you waited up for him. You watch as night after night passes by without any interaction from him.

> You return to his office and knock at the door.

You knock at the door, and after a few moments it opens, with Papa Emeritus II looking down upon you. He's in the same outfit as yesterday, and holds a small box in his hand.

> You look at him suspiciously.

"You're back," he says.

> "Of course I am," you reply.

"I have a gift for you," he says, handing you the box.

You take the chocolates gingerly from his hand. You give him a soft "thank you" before looking back up at him.

> "How are you feeling today?" You ask him.

His eye twitches and his lips press into a thin line.

"You were awfully short with me yesterday, you know. I hope everything is still... okay. Between you and me, I mean." You say.

"Yes, of course," he replies.

He looks down for a moment, and his eye twitches. After a brief pause, you begin to leave. "Wait!"

> You say "Yes?"

Papa Emeritus II hesitates, as if he didn't mean to call out.

"I..." he begins to say, before pausing. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Your hand clenches into a fist, crumpling the box slightly.

"You said that yesterday! And nothing! You didn't even call me back." You say, your voice becoming slightly louder than needed. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes again.

For a split second, Papa Emeritus II looks absolutely furious at someone raising their voice to him. He is the Unholy Excellency. He is the leader of this church. Nobody raises their voice at Papa Emeritus II.

"Please just tell me what's wrong," you whisper.

The look of hurt and confusion on your face seems to strike a chord in him. He sighs, defeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm tired. I'm sick. I'm overwhelmed. I'm sad. Please, just leave me alone." He says, his voice breaking.

> You say "Alright. If that's what you want. I'm sorry that I disturbed you. "

> You say "Thanks for the candy. "

You turn around and return to your desk in the office. The candy in its crumpled box sits untouched at your desk. You can't think of anything else but the sorrowful expression on Papa Emeritus II's face. You hide your face with your hand. You're confused, and hurt, and don't know where to go from here. You feel something wet dripping down the side of your face. It takes you a moment to realize that it's your own tears. You didn't notice that you started crying again. You don't cry that easily.

The next day, you wait to see if Papa Emeritus II acknowledges you. You see him at the bottom of the staircase. He is looking up, staring off into the distance. You wave to catch his attention, but he does not wave back. You approach slowly, with your head down.

"Hullo, Papa." You say.

"Cirice." He says to you, nodding his head. "Did you need something?" He asks.

"No, I was just coming to see if you needed any help."

"No, I'm fine. I wanted to speak with you though."

"Of course. Anything you need." You say.

> You wince internally at the desperation in your voice.

"I need you." He says. Your face turns bright red and feels warm under your skin. You wince and cross your arms, looking away.

"I don't know what to do with you." You say.

Papa Emeritus II has the self awareness to look ashamed. Not many people have seen Papa Emeritus II in this state; forlorn, remorseful, and entirely human.

"You can do what you like," he says. "You can do anything you like."

You turn to look at him and uncross your arms. You close the distance and put a gentle hand on his chest and on his arm.

"I want to help you." You say.

"You already do." Papa Emeritus II says. And there it is. The faintest ghost of a smile. You touch his cheek and turn him to face you.

> You say "Can I kiss you?"

He stares at you with wide eyes, before smiling faintly.

"Yes." You kiss him.

You kiss him again. And you keep kissing him until you're both breathless. You remember that you're standing in the stairwell of the office building. You hold him with your hands on the sides of his face, stroking his cheek. Papa Emeritus II looks at you with shining eyes.

"Thank you." He says, before leaning in for another kiss.

#ai dungeon kills the man #ii+cirice

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randbwrite · 3 years

Text

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 5 Part 1

Words: 1561

TW: Death, violence, blood CW: vampires, assassins

His blush at her calling him “luv” was quite satisfying. Smirk widened. He was quite cute like that, hmmm, strange feeling there. Maybe this is why Arthur had fun making the ladies blush?

Her ears were good enough to be able to hear them while she dispatched their enemies. The banter between these two suggested they were rather good friends. Good, that would make the transition easier. Certainly, it would be some time before Cal was able to make friends with the residents at the mansion, given what he had done to her. Arthur would likely be the least forgiving of them all, since he had treated her wounds personally.

<<Yes, I am one. Figured out yet I haven’t exactly aged since you got here?>>

Ah, now there was the answer to a question she had. She had suspected as much but left such things to the proper time. Good to know she was escorting two vampires rather than a human and newly sired vampire. Next question would be who his sire was, but that would have to wait.

They made their way through the citadel, she dispatching anyone that stood in their way. Even in the council room, she had worked with surgical speed and accuracy. Now, they stood outside what remained of the assassin’s league. She turned around and listened intently to both of them.

<<You will have my unwavering loyalty for the rest of my life, this I swear.>>

“I thank thee for such an expression of devotion, brave sir knight. Remember though, I am no queen, my domain is but a small part of the world. And to answer your question, I can tell by the way you speak. I remember the courts of old.”

<<So dramatic! But yeah, what he said. Obviously, I don’t have an issue not fighting on the side of the angels, but if there were any such thing, I’d say you come the closest. Avenging angel, maybe.>>

Laughter, this time short and to the point, more like a scoff but without the derision. A somber tone and expression took hold. “You will learn soon enough that I am no angel, I have never deserved such admiration. An angel of death more than an avenging angel, darkness and despair is all that has followed me for hundreds of years. There is a reason that I am called to the battlefield, and it’s not to make the place art worthy. But, if you wish to think of me as such, I cannot stop you.” Gaze met his, eyes wavering, telling tales of old, death, and destruction, of unimaginable loss, all in an instance.

She uncased her wings, slowly, her eyes glowing for a moment. “Time to go home.” Wings stretched and flapped a few times before she took off, the two of them flying right behind her via her abilities.

Over the countryside they flew, the small lives of those below unable to be seen but able to be felt as their tiny figures moved about. Over rivers, forests, and ravines they flew still. A good time later a castle came into view, situated on a cliff, its defenses rivaled by few.

Landing gently in front of two large doors, she glanced back at them both before knocking. Door creaked open to reveal a man dressed as a butler.

“Ah, M. La Comtesse, glad to see you’ve finally arrived. I have dinner set for our newest gue-” He stopped, there were two men with her, not one. “M. la Comtesse? Two?” A slightly exasperated sigh. “A little warning next time would be nice. Now the dinner service will have to be adjusted. You are also late. Did something happen?”

A chuckle at his sass, something that she had found endearing over the years. “A few unexpected things happened, including bringing our second guest with me. He was in a predicament that I could not ignore.”

“Ah, very good. M. la Comtesse. I shall have a second room arranged immediately. You know, this reminds me of when you brought the Van Gogh brothers here. Are they brothers?”

“Not to my knowledge, though they banter like they are. Suppose you’ll have to ask them when you’re not pretending they aren’t right behind me. Can we move on? The smaller gentleman is in need of rouge.”

“Of course, M. la Comtesse.” It was then that Sebastian figured out that it was Cal who had done the unthinkable to his mistress. Though he hid his displeasure well from her in tone, the look he gave Cal was as cold and furious as a blizzard. “Might I have their names?”

“Oh, sorry… the larger gentleman is named Derrick, the smaller is called Rapscallion, though he also seems to go by Cal.” She stepped past Sebastian to be met by the prying eyes of the castle residents. “Good evening everyone.” She motioned at their new guests, “These two, Derrick and Cal, will be living here from now on. No harm should come to either of them, or you’ll be answering to me personally. Now, can we have a normal dinner, please? It’s been a long day.”

A few more steps into the castle and she faltered. A grunt and she began to fall, only to be caught by Arthur. “Now, luv, what have I said about overexerting yourself?”

“Mmmmm, I don’t need a lecture now….” Her wings went back into her back and she began to breathe heavily.

Quietly, he spoke to her, “You know, dove, you didn’t need to bring him back here, let alone two. Seems like it may not have been worth the effort.” Arthur shot both men a look, his eyes showing of his vampiric rage. All that left him as he picked her up and carried her off.

“Apologies gentlemen, introductions of your fellow residents shall have to wait till dinner itself.” Sebastian chimed in, “My name is Sebastian. I am the head of staff here and am the butler that serves M. la Comtesse personally. Now, let’s get you two cleaned up so you are presentable. Can’t have you dressed like that for dinner with everyone.”

He ushered them both to where they could bathe and get their choice of finer clothing.

……

“What happened out there, luv?” Arthur inquired, his eyes looking over her exhausted figure.

“I’m not used to having to carry so much weight with my powers for so long. Seems I need to train more. Not used to flying while using my powers either. The battlefield usually doesn’t call for use of my wings. I had been planning on just carrying back one, not two.”

“And why are there two? Who do we need to watch out for…. Who…. who did those horrible things to you?”

“Ask Jean, I’d rather not tell everyone so as to give them a chance to make their own impressions.”

“Ever the mystery with you, luv. What am I ever to do with you, hmm?”

She scoffed, “Suppose you’ll stay with me, as you always have. I’ll be fine Arthur, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Mmmm, the blood on your clothes tell enough of the tale.”

Eyebrows quirked, “Damn, guess I wasn’t as focused as I usually am. Apologies to Sebastian and the staff.”

“Get some rest and change, maybe take a bath. Till dinner then, luv.” With that, Arthur left her alone, all the while hatching a plan to figure out which of the two had tried to kill their beloved Comtesse.

…...

Having scrubbed all the blood off her, a bath had felt refreshing, especially for her sore wing muscles. Sheesh, that was a long flight. Ah, yes, dinner. Time to look nice and make pleasantries. This was going to be interesting. Never before had she brought anyone to the mansion with as much issue with the other residents. Even Theo, resident tsundere, or Mozart, resident grump had been this much of an issue. She only hoped her warning not to harm them would stick. Didn’t mean they had to accept them, or be nice for that matter. Oy vey this was a mess.

…...

Heels clicked on the hard floor as she entered the dining room. Starry dress flowed with each movement, it looking like it was the sky just as the sun had decided to finally sleep. Everyone seated now rose to greet her. Sebastian pushed in the chair with her as she sat down, ever the lady of elegance. A soft smile graced her lips as she raised a glass of rouge, “Welcome, Derrick and Cal. Introductions are in order, so I shall go around the table.”

Taking a sip from the glass, she set it down. “Derrick, to your left going ‘round the table we have, William Shakespeare, Vincent Van Gogh, Theo Van Gogh, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Napoleon Bonapart, Isaac Newton, Leonardo da Vinci, Dazai, Jean de Arc, and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is to your right Cal. And yes, these are the actual men of their namesakes. I specialize in bringing back people from history to help with current predicaments. Gentlemen, please enjoy dinner. I can now also take any of your questions, as promised before we left that accursed place.”

Glares ‘round the table were at both Cal and Derrick, but no one said anything to them, they all starting to chatter among themselves.

#tw: violence #tw:death #tw: blood #vampires #assassin #ikemen vampire #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp arthur #au #oc #whump #whumpfic #dark fantasy #fanfiction #derrick #rapscallion #comtesse

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borisbubbles · 4 years

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28. ITALY

Diodato - “Fai Rumore”

youtube

And we’re back to our usual disconnect, where everyone pretends to love Italy and I don’t. I cannot wait for all the Italian crazies to be OUTRAGED by this ranking (28/41 is fine for an entry I don’t care about...?) and reblog this all over the tumblrverse and inflate my reader stats. 😈 but first, let’s discuss what we have on our hands here.

Song Analysis

There’s no way this post *won’t* end up offensive to every Fai Rumore fan, so I will resort to brutal honesty. I never, ever, *ever* cared about “Fai rumore”. In fact, I’d even say it’s strongly overrated by the gross of the Eurovision fandom?

Okay so here’s the deal. I will not deny that “Fai Rumore” has several things going for it. The song has emotional gravitas, Diodato has a great voice and acts very well. It’s technically precise and well produced. It is very competent at what it sets out to be, which is a very standard HQ Sanremo Power Ballad.

But here’s where I feel like I deviate from the norm: You may think “wow Fai Rumore! How brilliant, meticulous and poised”, but I think “how expected, overtly earnest and unfun?”

The problem is, this is Boris’s Bubble and Boris doesn’t enjoy songs that feel like they belong inside a trophy cupboard, and “Fai rumore” is exactly one of those songs, don’t lie. So “meticulous, poised and brilliant” you say, well *I* say “how overtly earnest, unfun and aloof”? I have a Spotify - if I wanted to listen to good music, I’d just use that? Or one of my like 15 Youtube Playlists containing non-ESC entries? Why would I watch Eurovision, or Sanremo for that matter, for the good music when there are so many other (and easier) options available for me that align better to my tastes?

The fact that “Fai Rumore” is *too* perfect for me (and therefore very hard to empathize with imo) is one thing, which leads to other thing I need to point out. I’ll let my friend Matthew take over here, who wrote this paragraph on ESCUnited right after Diodato’s selection:

That final sentences is bone-chilling because it’s so, so true. “I AM A SOPHISTICATED MUSIC FAN BECAUSE I FOLLOW ~FESTIVALE DI SANREMO~” is such a common trope of elistism (like, replace “San Remo” with any quality newspaper, nobel prize winning author or classical music composer and you’ll find to be nearly universally applicable to snobs across the globe), but I find it specifically ugly in Eurovision.

You see, would the same courtesy be extended to a country of lower prestige if they got a Fai Rumore? Would the same courtesy be extended to a person of colour? or a woman? How about others songs that, like Fai Rumore, emulate their country’s musical traditions (Fai Rumore is SO italian you can smell the basil), except those traditions fall outside of the western European bubble? See, it doesn’t bother me that Italians like Fai Rumore and are proud of it. They’re Italians. Of course they are! I don’t judge them for it. I don’t rly care if the odd introvert finds solace in a song of this calibre. But as soon as Matthew made the aforementioned post, people who had previously rated Diodato as a 5/6 already started adjusting their scores to 10s and 12s and, well...

It bothers me that the same fanbase that DEMANDS cultural diversity (Diodato) and/or MOAR ETHNOBOPS (Efendi) refuse to accept a Solovey or an Origo -which are a thousandfold more layered, sophisticated and daring- as an equal.

It bothers *even more* me that people are willing to immediately give Italy a plethora of chances (especially when they choose men! fuck institutionalised sexism!), while not doing the same for a Belarus. Belarus HAS no clear musical scene or funds to really produce good music, yet produced a ridiculously good NF (with a VERY righteous winner - yes, Chakras, but also: Chakras) I’ve seen snobs SLAM VAL, mercilessly despite being an excellent left-field pick (god imagine if Yan had won Eurofest for a sec. What a nightmare). Italy, otoh, also delivered a sterling NF, have *a VERY* rich musical tradition, tons of talent and money and production value... and they still went the lowest common denominator available, and yet they receive praise, without so much as a whisper of protest from our so-called “value seekers”. This level of hypocrisy and double standard wielding, all in the name of wishing to be taken seriously delivers *such* a toxic undercurrent to Eurovision and has absolutely soured me on Diodato. This isn’t his fault, but sadly he’s become a weapon of mass misconstruction and well just because I hate the guy who pressed the big red button more doesn’t mean I automatically like ICBMs. As we come near the songs I actually give a damn’ about, I will start calling the shitpociries out. Brace yourself for it, when I rank Solovey and Da Vidna inside my top five.

Want some examples specifically pertaining to the Diodato fandom? Sure, I’ll give you some:

EJEMPLO UNO:

Diodato fanboys openly coddling him on social media post-lockdown all “PROTECT OUR POOR MUNCHKIN FROM THE CORONAVIRUS”. Like... he’s a *thirty-eight year old adult* he can take care of himself, BACK UP OFF HIM you freaks.

EJEMPLO DOS:

The relevant media having baptized Diodato as THE SAVING GRACE OF THE LOCKDOWN, ITALIANS SINGING ‘FAI RUMORE’ FROM THEIR BALCONIES IN DEFIANCE OF COVID-19, which is such a bullshit narrative it’s turned my hair from black to brown. Yes, the Italians sang “Fai Rumore”. What they don’t tell you is that they also sang many other Italian and non-Italian songs, including humanitarian anthem “Roar” by Kety Perr (cue to Katy Perry being like “OMG I’M SO HONORED TO INSPIRE SO MANY ITALIANS ::hungarianflagemoji::” on twitter.). CNN Like, Eurovision related media LOVE portraying it as a ~life-chaning confort anthem~ - the reality is that “Fai rumore”, while playing its part, was merely a tiny spoke in a giant wheel.

EJEMPLO QUATRO:

Well take a look at how many people will reblog this post and slam it for daring to point out, what I think are really obvious truths to anyone who doesn’t suffer from musical myopia.

In the end, the song is okay and it’s okay to love it. But if you ‘love’ it because you’ve convinced yourself that you must, and not because it genuinely means something to you, I don’t think you have grounds to criticise to criticise anyone but yourself.

NF Corner

As I said, I didn’t follow San Remo live (I never do! *gasp* blasphemy, I know), but I did plan to check it for this write-up except RAI deleted every live performance? And they won’t let me embed the few remaining vids either?

Anyway, this happened so right-click-open this a new tab and then return once you’ve finished it.

Backstage feuds being fought out LIVE on the stage in front of millions of viewers 😍 Apparently Morgan and Bugo were at loggerheads for a while, and had a massive row RIGHT before their performance on the second night, which caused Morgan to stray from the script and sing all the insulting things Bugo told him *to Bugo* instead of the actual lyrics of their duet. 😍 😍 😍 Bugo IMMEDIATELY stormed off the stage to the point where Amadeus had to like... literally tell the gobsmacked audience that Bugo had left the building 😍 😍 😍. This is some god-tier pettiness and I’m completely in awe of it. DEITIES. 😍

aside from Sincerogate, I would’ve embedded vidoes that contained the DRAMA (Rancore), CAMP (Achille) and UNABASHED WEIRDNESS (Levante) of this year’s line-up, but I guess RAI really doesn’t like for people to have fun. Oh well.

Italy 2020 vs Italy 2021

Diodato is male and Italian, so yeah, guaranteed top 10 in Rotterdam, no matter what happens. Search your feelings, you know it to be true. Cynicism aside, televoters WOULD have flocked to it without thinking twice (for exactly those two reasons), passing over many better entries in the process and well... I’m tired and exhausted and I think you can guess I am not very impressed by this likely outcome.

Not sure what RAI’s strategy for 2021 is (lol it’s RAI - they don’t have a strategy. besides Italy have bigger fish to fry than the Eurovision Song Contest as you know), but I’m not very invested either way. I could imagine them internally selecting Diodato if he’s willing to do ESC in 2021, but if this was a one-off deal (which I think it was), they will probably select another plain white bloke for you to obsess over, so no worries :-) #TuttoVaPene

FREAKY! FRIDAY! FACTOR!

I’m sort of conflicted? On one hand, god Fai Ru*snore* is SO typical of “Italy in Eurovision”, not just from a musical perspective but from a point of reverence as well. On to the other hand, when are the fanbases *not* acting insane w/r/t Italy?

San Remo was really crazy this year, enough for me to award Italy a couple Senheads. However... if I wanted to see nice and inoffensive triumph over a bunch of deranged, gimmicky, ott masterpieces, I’d just rewatch #London1977? (offensive take #16: “people that like Marie Myriam the most in 1977 do not understand Eurovision”) Ehhhh whatevs.

Score: 2 Senhits out of 5.

#Eurovision #Eurovision 2020 #Eurovison Song Contest #Italy #Diodato #Fai Rumore

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wonjaekook · 5 years

Text

Blank Keys

A/N: I started this one right after I finished the last one and worked on it in a couple of large chunks and a few small ones… and it still took forever. This really did not go where I initially expected it to, but I guess these tropes never do ^^

21 Tropes: 6. Bad Boy AU + ivory w/Hendery

Description: A chance encounter with the school “bad boy” sends your life spiraling in a new direction.

Word Count: 7.9k

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: swearing

School sucks. Life sucks. Music sucks. But, here you are, walking to the music rooms once again so you can practice and hate it for the ninth time this month. It’s not that you hate music itself - you love music. You’ve loved music for as long as you can remember, it’s your minor for God’s sake, but, right now, you can’t stand to write a single note.

Your steps slow as you hear the sound of someone playing piano drift towards you from down the hall. It’s… it’s kind of bad. Not the worst, but it’s certainly no masterful playing. But, the passion that the person beats on the keys with makes it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. The more you hear it, the more your fingertips itch and the more you feel like your voice is being constricted in your throat. Hurriedly, you sit down outside the door of the practice room where the music is coming from, you dig around in your backpack until you find your music notebook, and you begin to write. Quietly, so the person playing in the room doesn’t hear you and stop, you hum to yourself, seeing music come to life in the air around you. As the person’s piece comes to a halt, your own hand begins to slow, finally stopping.

Every feeling you’ve ever been able to put into words and every feeling you haven’t been able to put into words sits on the paper in front of you and you find yourself really smiling at your work for the first time in a long while. Putting away your notebook, you get up, intending to just glance into the room as you pass by as to not reveal that you were weirdly listening to them play, but the person who sits at the piano bench shocks you. There, starting a new song, a more familiar tune, is Wong Kunhang or, as most people know him, Hendery. Hendery, who is always causing trouble in class when he isn’t skipping it, Hendery who brings the beer to parties, Hendery who’s always getting into some sort of trouble, just inspired you to write a new song when you’d been in a dry spell for more than a month. You’re so shocked that you find yourself pushing open the door, approaching him on the bench.

“So, the school bad boy plays piano?” The sound of your voice over his shoulder has his fingers skittering to a halt on the ivory and black keys. The noise that results from the incident is a mix of the crashing of several notes that certainly do not belong together and his incoherent stuttering at being caught.

“I-I-!”

You don’t know where your boldness comes from - you would usually be terrified of him - but you plop down next to him on the bench. “Where did you even learn how to play piano?”

“Kun-ge is really good at it…” He refuses to meet your eyes, cheeks flushed and gaze glued to the piano.

“You’re friends with Kun? Qian Kun? Straight-A, Honor-Roll, Mister Perfect Qian Kun?”

“Family friends…” He mumbles before he looks over to glare at you. “What are you even doing here?”

“I have a music minor,” you say, eyeing the keys of the piano, “I was never good at piano though.”

“Well, get out of here, good girl. I’m busy.” He turns back to the piano, trying to play off his embarrassment at having been caught.

“I’m not a good girl!”

“Compared to me, you are.” He turns his nose at you, a completely strange action on him. You break the serious air by laughing at him and he’s taken aback. “What are you-”

“Okay, Mr. Bad Boy, play me something.”

“Why should I play anything for you?” His face is entirely unamused and you smile brightly at him.

“Play something for me and I won’t tell anyone that you sneak in here to play piano.”

“You think people would believe that shit?” He glares at you.

“Well, with this handy little tool,” you muse, pulling out your phone and waving it around, “I could make anyone believe anything.”

His glare sharpens further before he sighs and visibly deflates. “Fine.” He sets his fingers down on the keys before starting the beginning of a very, very familiar piece.

“Hey,” you say, realizing what he’s doing, “are you just playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star?”

He finishes abruptly. “Yeah, and you got your song. Now, leave me alone.”

“No,” you whine, bumping his shoulder with your own, “I want you to play me a real song.”

He puts a hand to his heart, pretending to be offended. “Are you calling the work of our great lord Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ‘not a real song?’ How could you?”

“Come on,” you insist, “play me something longer.”

While most of him resists your desires, a part of him wants to make you happy. He had never played for anyone but Kun, not even his parents. It’s kind of nice to have a willing audience for once. Silently, he places his fingers back on the keys and begins to play.

As he plays, you watch him and you listen. After he gave you your inspiration back, you desperately want to keep feeling it again - ‘it’ being whatever it was that he made you feel with that first song you heard. You quickly realize that he’s playing Clair De Lune, slowly and a little clumsily, but better than however he had been playing before. You’re disappointed to find that you don’t feel quite the same spark, but his playing is enjoyable nonetheless. Your eyes rake over his features. He’s concentrating hard - you can tell that from his expression - and you notice for the first time that his face is surprisingly well-structured and handsome. He’s not what you would expect out of a bad boy, that’s for sure. You had never seen him up close before, only from a distance in class or on campus as he was messing around with his band of trouble-making friends. When he finishes playing, it almost feels as if no time at all had passed. You blink and feel as though you have to say something. “That was… good.”

He snorts. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I’m not a master pianist and I don’t plan to be. I just do it to relieve stress.”

You smile. “That in itself is enough to be good.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m heading out, Y/N. I got stuff to do.”

You nod along, watching as he gets up and shoulders his bag. “Thanks for playing for me.” He gives you a look, his eyebrow raised, and shrugs.

“It’s whatever.”

It takes you a moment to process what he had said before. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

He opens the door. “Freshmen year Chem class.” The door clicks shut behind him.

That class had almost a hundred people in it. You’d only known him because he had become infamous even by that point, but he remembered your name in a crowd of quiet faces that never made any trouble. You smile, looking down at the piano. Wong Kunhang remembered your name.

You find it a lot easier to write and sing again after that. When you return at the same time, a few days later, to practice and test out some of your new songs, you’re not as surprised as you should be to see him there again. As you open the door, he also seems unsurprised to see you. At least, he’s not nearly as startled when you walk in this time.

“Should I be expecting you from now on?” He says, taking his hands off of the keys. You glance at the unlabeled sheet music in front of him.

“What are you practicing?”

He shrugs and reaches forward, flipping the page to Moonlight Sonata. “Not much.”

“Can I listen?” You ask, proceeding to sit yourself down on the end of the piano bench anyways. He sighs and puts his fingers back on the keys.

“I guess I can’t stop you.”

That time, and every time after, you join him and, to your surprise, he becomes more and more receptive to you as an audience member. The way his fingers move across the piano remind you that he’s a person, not just some trouble-maker, not just the bad boy. You also realize that you may have misjudged him. He’s no idiot - not even close. In conversation between his playing, you find out that his final grade in the chemistry class you two had together was actually higher than yours had been. There’s something deeper to crack about him, but you just can’t place it. At least, not yet. What is it about him, what had he done that time to make you feel the way you did that makes him so special?

You think that you’re making progress with figuring him out. Then, you’re walking with your friend Mark on campus one day when you see him with his group, consisting most prominently of some guys you know as Ten, Lucas, and Yangyang. If the same thing had happened last semester, you would have put your head down and walked past as to not draw attention from him, but, now, you look at him head-on. He meets you with a look that lacks the usual calm and hesitant friendliness that you see in it. Mark nudges you, trying to get you to stop staring. “Don’t draw attention!” He whisper-yells to you.

“What?” You break eye contact with Hendery to look at your friend. “I’m not doing anything.”

“They’ll start shit with anyone, so just keep walking and-” You look away from Mark again to turn back at him.

“See something you like?” You hear him say, meeting you with a smirk. You frown at his tone. He would usually never talk to you like that.

“Not particularly,” you say, trying to see if he’ll play along with you like he usually does when he’s in the practice room with you.

“Is there a problem, then?” Hendery raises an eyebrow, keeping the same confrontational tone, and your heart sinks. So, that’s how it’s going to be.

“Yeah, there’s a bunch of idiots being loud and annoying in the middle of campus.”

You regret saying it almost immediately. Mark groans quietly next to you.

“Huh, shy puppy finally has something to say, does she? Don’t think I’ve ever seen you open your mouth before.” Hendery lies through his teeth and he does it easily, dismissing every single thing you’ve said to each other over the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes. “Maybe next time you’ll open your ears and listen.”

The boys around Hendery snicker and you can tell you’re gaining the attention of some of the other students wandering around campus. Mark grabs at your arm, trying to get you moving. “Y/N, let’s just go.” You start to let him move you, but Ten speaks up this time.

“Hey, you think you can start shit and just-”

Hendery stops him, lowering his voice, but you can still hear it. “I’ll deal with her later.”

“Oh my god, you’re dead. You’re so dead.” You let Mark tug you along, absentmindedly hearing him ramble and lecture you as you continue on to the music rooms. You can practically feel Hendery’s eyes on you until you leave his field of vision. In the practice room, you try to do some homework while Mark plays guitar, but your mind keeps wandering back to Hendery. Even with his personality swap, you can’t make yourself hate him. You’re more confused than anything. You’ve never felt so conflicted before, not even after you found him playing piano for the first time. Why is he a completely different person when you’re alone?

Mark eventually leaves, heading to meet someone else for a group project, and you find that your thoughts are even louder when you’re alone and without the relaxing strumming of your friend playing guitar. You shove your chair away from the side table that you had been working at and make your way to the piano. With a huff, you sit down in front of it, realizing that the instrument itself now just reminds you of Hendery. Opening the lid, you set your fingers down.

You had only ever played piano for a class in your first semester of college. You had been atrocious - you had basically only passed with a decent grade because your teacher saw how hard you were trying. With your vocal focus, you always found it more natural to find notes within yourself, unlike piano, where you have to know where notes are and make sure you press down on the right keys. You think that, maybe, this time, you’ll be able to sound at least semi-okay. You try your hand at playing Hot Cross Buns, surprised that you remember the notes. Trying something a little harder, you go for Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and you hit a wrong note not even two measures in. On that first night, when you had demanded Hendery play a song for you, you hate to admit it, but his rendition of the classic was miles beyond yours. Without realizing, you begin to hum along, using your voice to find the notes on the keys. With many wrong presses and lots of backtracking, you finally play the whole song and you sit back, pleased with yourself.

From behind you, someone starts clapping and you whip around to see Hendery himself. You sigh and shake your head. You hadn’t noticed when he had entered. “Why are you here?” You ask. “This isn’t your normal day.”

“I said I would deal with you later. It’s not like you’re that hard to find,” he says, walking over to the bench and standing next to you. “That was pretty bad.”

“You play it, then,” you say, some of your previous irritation leaking into your voice, but you shift over to make room for him anyways. He sits down next to you, sets his fingers on the keys, and begins to play. The song sounds similar to yours at first, in the same key, with the same notes, but, then, it takes a turn. It changes into a different song, but it’s still Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, and you find yourself entranced, watching him play. In those moments, you forget the separate person he had become earlier and just pay attention to the music flowing in the room. Before you know it, the song is back to what the original is and he’s done, looking at you expectantly.

“Have you ever tried writing? I think you’d be good at it.” It’s the first thing you can think to say. You don’t know if he had actually written the strange rendition that you had just heard, but he certainly played it like he owns it.

“No.” As expected, he refuses immediately.

“Well, just consider it! You’ve done it before. I’ve heard you. Plus, you owe me for today.”

“When the hell did you hear me play something original? And, no, I don’t, you’re the one who started shit.” You can tell from the slight red making its way onto his face that you’re right, what you had heard that day was something he made himself.

“Says you, the King of Starting Shit. But, that first day, I came over here because I heard you playing.” His brows furrow at the comment, so you continue. “It was really nice, by the way.”

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know it didn’t sound good.”

“But, it did!” He gives you a look, so you insist further. “It really did.”

He scans your face, looking for a sign that you’re lying to him somehow, and sighs when he finds none. You really had thought it was good. The technique hadn’t been exactly right, but whatever he made up that day had brought your inspiration back so, to you, it was the most precious piece you’d heard in a long time. Finally, he speaks again, his voice quiet. “I’ll give it a try if you show me how.”

You brighten up instantly. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says, “and if you sing for me.”

“Wait, that’s not part of the-”

“I heard you singing when you were playing earlier, so I assume that’s what your focus is for your minor. Tell me I’m wrong.” Just like how you could tell from his embarrassment earlier that you were right, he can tell from you silence and bashfulness that he’s right. It surprises you that he would ask you to sing - that might be the closest to a compliment that you’ll get from him.

“Fine,” you say bitterly, “but only because you owe me.”

He stands up suddenly, surprisingly you. “Are you free right now?”

“Yeah, I guess, I only really have homework to do, so-”

“Come with me.” You’re more than surprised at his invitation, but you get up and grab your stuff, following him nonetheless. He leads you out of the room, out of the building, off campus, and he keeps walking. It’s getting dark outside now, but he keeps going, glancing back every so often and keeping idle conversation, like he’s making sure that you’re still following him. Finally, he stops, opening the door to a restaurant that you had never been to before. It’s pretty dimly lit and there are one or two customers inside.

“Where are we?” You whisper, not wanting to disturb the air.

“The owners are family friends,” he says, walking towards the back. He calls out something in Cantonese and an older lady pops her out from behind the curtain separating the kitchen and the dining area. When she sees him, she smiles, displaying the laugh lines around her mouth, and greets him. Her eyes shift over to you quickly after and you hurriedly bow to her, trying to be respectful. She seems surprised, saying something to him in Cantonese. He shakes his head, laughing slightly, and says something else to her that you don’t understand. Nodding, she looks back at you and smiles again.

“Hello,” she says in slightly accented Korean, “I’m Mrs. Chan. It’s nice to see Kunhang-ah bring a friend by. If you need anything, I’ll be back here.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Y/N. Thank you for having me.” You bow to her again and she smiles once more before disappearing back into what you assume is the kitchen. You look to Hendery, smirking at him. “Kunhang-ah?”

He flushes ever so slightly. “You know Hendery isn’t my real name. And the ‘ah’ is just a Canto thing.” He turns back towards the main restaurant. “Come on.”

You follow him and see, nestled in a small, hidden corner of the restaurant, is a piano. It’s old and painted a chipping yellow, but seems to be in relatively good shape otherwise. The bench is small, but he sits down, leaving just enough room for you to squeeze next to him. “I used to come here all the time as a kid,” he says, running his fingers lightly over the worn-down keys. “While the adults talked, I would just sit here and mess around. It sounded awful, but it was fun. Kun heard me one day and offered to teach me.” He takes his hand away and gestures towards the keys. Tentatively, like you’re afraid to disturb some of his childhood memories, you lift your hand and press down on what you hope is a C. The sound is deep and resonant, the timbre speaking of old wood and comfort. You can’t help but think that you’re sharing a part of Hendery right now, but the part of him that’s more like Kunhang and less like the guy you had a back-and-forth with on campus today.

“It sounds beautiful,” you say quietly, slowly taking your hand back. You can feel him staring at you, but when you look back, he’s looking at the piano again. You feel like you can barely breathe. Suddenly, you hear a call of his name from Mrs. Chan and you both turn to look. She emerges from around the corner and smiles after seeing the two of you at the bench together. She has a plate in her hands with what you recognize as egg tarts.

“These are for you two. No charge, of course.” Instinctually, you bow again and thank her, accepting one of the tarts. Hendery takes one as well, thanking her in Cantonese. With one last smile, she disappears again.

“This smells really good,” you say, observing the treat in your hand.

“She makes them herself. They’re her specialty. Before I started messing around on the piano, the only reason I didn’t throw a fit coming here was for these.” The smile he has on his face as he looks at his is sweet and innocent, almost enough to rival the egg tart you’re holding. The desserts in both of your hands disappear pretty quickly and you find yourself smiling widely after you finish it. It’s not very often that you get real Chinese cuisine.

“I’ll have to thank her again before we leave. That was delicious.” Somewhere at the back of your mind, you recognize that this is the first time that you had eaten with Hendery, but you don’t let the implications sink in too much. The two of you brush the crumbs off of your hands and look at the piano again. “When you write something, do you know where to start?” He shakes his head, so you continue. “Think of something important to you. A memory, a feeling, anything. Something that’s strong enough that you’re inspired by it.” You watch as he thinks, his eyebrows scrunching.

“I… think I know something.” You’ve never heard him so timid.

“Okay,” you say, watching his expression shift again, “I guess for an instrumentalist, you’ll choose a key. And, then, you just kind of… go.”

“You just go?” He says, quirking an eyebrow at you. “I thought you were supposed to be helping me.”

“Music is supposed to come from here,” you say, poking at his chest, right above where his heart should be. “So, just play from there. Take that emotion or memory or whatever and turn it into music.”

When he had previously started to lift his hands to the keys, he stops, setting them down. “Sing for me first.” “What? Here?” Though you’re normally not that shy about your singing and the restaurant is practically empty, you can’t help but be hesitant. He nods, no duh, and waits for you. You sigh, trying to think of something that you know and that he might enjoy. You might as well go basic - You Are My Sunshine. Slowly, the words and notes begin to flow from your lips, filling this corner of the restaurant. He watches you, as you have figured out that he does a lot, and, when the song is over, he turns back to the piano. Without saying anything, he begins to play.

That night, in that dim restaurant in the corner that hardly anybody sees, he plays a new song for you. You sit next to him, your side pressed to his, and you listen. There is no blank space between you anymore, but all you want is to move closer so that you could somehow hear and feel his song even better. You can almost feel his heartbeat in the song and, as he plays, yours begins to sync with it. When his fingers finally stop moving, he doesn’t look at you. His face is warm in a way he hadn’t really felt before and, though he spends so much time just staring at you these days, he feels like he’ll change everything if he looks at you. When he finally looks over, you’re already gazing at him. Without thinking, but having put too much thought into it for so long, he leans down and presses his lips to yours.

His lips are warm with the feelings he had just shared with you and sweet with the egg tart that he had eaten so many times before. This time, somehow, it tasted even sweeter than usual, and now he thinks he knows why.

The two of you leave quietly, thanking Mrs. Chan again. She simply observes the glow that the two you have about yourselves and smiles when she sees you tug on his hand as you’re walking out.

As you walk, you don’t say much, just hold his hand in yours. As the pair of you get closer to campus, he speaks softly, not wanting to disturb the air between you. “Do you want to come back to my apartment with me?” You’re about to accept - though you’re not really talking right now, you don’t quite want to leave him just yet - but then you think of the implications and flush. He sees your reaction and his eyes widen. “No, no, no, not like that!” He pauses and then smirks, squeezing your hand. “Unless you want to.”

With your free hand, you jokingly hit him and he laughs, showing you a full-toothed smile. You can’t help but smile back. “I’ll come, but just so I can do some work.”

“Mhm,” he hums and you smack him lightly again. “Work. That’s what you want.”

With a bit more playful bickering, you walk with him to his apartment, finding that he lives on the second floor of a building right next to campus. As you kick off your shoes, you note that his apartment is surprisingly clean. Peering farther in, you see two closed doors in the hallway. “Do you have a roommate?”

“Yeah, it’s Ten.” Instantly, unpleasant memories of your experience with Ten from earlier come to mind and you grimace, which Hendery notices. “He isn’t here right now, but he’s not that bad. He’s actually pretty smart, he can just be kind of a dick sometimes.”

“Sometimes? All I’ve seen from him is dick dehavior.”

He just shrugs and walks to his room with you following him and, when you get there, you set down your stuff and begin to pull out your work, setting up shop at his desk at his prompting. You don’t know what time it is when you drift off and you only half wake up when you feel him pick you up and move you to his bed. You fall back asleep, nestled in his blankets and pillows. You wake up again, seeing dim lamplight through your eyelids, and open your eyes, turning to see the clock on his nightstand read 4:32 a.m. Next, you look for him, confused, and spot him hunched over his desk, a textbook in front of him, where you were sure you had fallen asleep earlier.

“Hendery?” You say, causing him to turn his head in surprise. “Why are you awake? It’s so late.”

“I can never sleep this early,” he replies, giving you a soft smile. “Go back to sleep, I’ll wake you up in time for class.”

“I have a 9 a.m.,” you say, suddenly realizing where you are and what’s happening. “I’m terrible, I’m taking up your bed.”

You start to get up, but he stops you, putting a hand on the edge of the bed. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep later. I told you I can never sleep this early.”

“It’s not early,” you say, pushing a hand through your hair, “Do you have a test tomorrow or something?”

He shakes his head, glancing back at the textbook. “I just can’t sleep most nights. When I can’t sleep, I just study.”

Your eyes widen as you make the connection. “That’s why you got a better score in chemistry than me…”

He smiles bitterly. “Yup. Now, go back to sleep.”

“I’ll only sleep if you come sleep with me.” You’re too tired to care about the implications of what you just said, instead making grabby-hands at him.

Frowning at you, he shakes his head. “I really-”

“I’m staying awake, then.” You pout at him and he sighs, giving in and shutting his textbook. The lamplight gets flicked off and he slips under the covers, facing towards you. He can’t see the smile on your face in the dark, but he’s sure it’s there. Carefully, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest.

“Is this okay?” You hum in response and, before you know it, you’re asleep in his arms. He sleeps more soundly that night that he had in a long time.

The next evening, you find yourself in that same practice room, listening to him play again. This time, it’s a piece you’ve heard before but can’t quite name - you’ve never been very well-versed in classical piano pieces, but you can at least recognize the melody. Suddenly, he stops playing and looks at you. You think that his gaze has been softer recently and you think you like it. You hold that eye contact with him as he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about it and… why did you even come in here that day? Why did you want me to play for you so bad?” His voice is expectant, as if he had been trying to find answers about you just like you had been trying to find answers about him. After everything that happened last night, you figure that it’s time to come clean.

You swallow your feelings, your pride, your everything. “I heard you playing and I just…” You trail off. “I can’t really describe how I felt. You just played beautifully.” To try to explain what made you follow the music you heard, you dig around in your backpack, pulling out a notebook. The cover is beaten up, worn down from many years of usage, with only a few blank pages left towards the end of the notebook. You run a hand over the cover. You don’t know why you trust him so much already, but you suppose that hearing him play just now makes you feel as if he had opened his heart to you as well, in a way. You hand him the notebook. He takes it with gentle hands, his gaze not leaving your face. “This is my music notebook. Every song I’ve ever worked on is in here. For a while, it was hard to make anything. Anything at all. But, when you played that day, it made me feel like writing again. I…” You pause, feeling the confession scratch at your throat and turn your face pink with embarrassment. A moment before, he had opened your notebook, flipping through some of the pages, but he stops and looks back up at you when you stop talking. “...I actually sat outside the door and wrote something for a little while I listened to you play.”

His eyes are wide and curious, another look you don’t really see on him that often, as you talk. “What did you write?”

“It’s… it’s in there somewhere.” You know by heart where that song is, but you don’t want to admit that to him just yet. He gave you your inspiration back, whether he did it on purpose or not, and that means everything to you - how could you not remember where that song is? “Anyway, yesterday you played like you did that day again.”

He nods slowly, his dark hair swaying above his handsome face. “I think I get it.” You think he really means it and you can’t help but smile. “You love music, right?” He asks, keeping his gaze on you as he hands your notebook back to you.

“More than anything.” From somewhere deep down, he feels a flutter of emotion at your genuine, heartwarming smile.

“Why are you just a music minor, then? Why not make it your major?” He almost falters as he sees the look on your face fade into something more mournful, something much sadder. You clutch your notebook to your chest.

“My parents would never let me. I have to do chemistry. I don’t hate it, but… it’s not something I can see myself doing for the rest of my life.” A few weeks ago, you never would have guessed that you’d be confessing your deepest sadness and insecurity to Hendery Wong of all people, but here you are. Your voice lowers as you whisper your previously unspoken thoughts. “I don’t think I’ll be happy doing it.”

“Just quit.” He suggests it so quickly, so easily that you don’t know how to comprehend what he said or how to respond to him.

“Quit? It’s not that easy,” you scoff at him.

“Do what you want with your life. Stop all of that following your parents’ wishes and just quit. Major in music.” You stare at him, dumbfounded.

“I- I can’t-”

“Can’t you?” He says, raising an eyebrow at you. “Who’s paying your tuition?”

“I’m on scholarship, but-”

“Who’s paying your living expenses?” “I mean, I have a job over breaks and I make some side money here when I can…”

“So, just switch majors. Quit doing the thing you hate and living only to satisfy your parents. Live for yourself for once.” Your eyes are wide and you can’t help but continue to stare at him, your mouth agape. Could you really…?

“I… I don’t know if I could have a career in music…” You trail off, stumbling for all of the excuses you gave yourself over the past few years.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “You know you can find something in the field. Just do your research. You’re smart and hardworking. You can find something.”

For the third time in the short while you’ve known him, he’s opening your eyes. Your heart lifts from where it had been weighed down in your chest for so long and you suddenly feel like soaring. You’d looked into more doable careers in music in the past and you’d found so many opportunities, but you had crossed them off in your head because of everything your parents burned into your head. You throw yourself against him, hugging him tightly. All of your emotions well up at once again and you feel like crying. “Thank you,” you say to him, “thank you.”

He hugs you back and doesn’t say much else.

Y/N: are you home?

Hendery: ya, why?

Y/N: look outside!!

A couple evenings later, you find yourself craving his company outside of your time in the practice rooms, but it’s late enough that you know he’ll probably be home. So, your feet take you outside of his apartment building. For the sake of ease and the little risk that comes with it, you peek up at his window - he’s only on the second floor after all. His shadow soon appears in the window, the light blinding you to his actual appearance because of the darkness outside. He opens the window and peers down at you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” you announce before studying the side of his building. There are quite a few uneven bricks and pipes, so if you just…

He watches as you climb up to his second floor apartment, sticking out a hand to grab yours when you get close enough and smirking as he pulls you the rest of the way in. “If I’m the bad boy, why are you the one climbing in my window at night?”

“Honestly, it was kind of fun,” you say, jokingly dusting your clothes off. “You should try it some- mm.”

He interrupts you by planting a kiss on your lips, to your pleasant surprise. When he pulls away, he seems proud of the blush that you can feel spreading across your face. “The front door would be much easier.”

“I guess…” You respond, still flustered. You’ll really have to get used to that. You also don’t want to tell him that you were avoiding Ten, as his roommate doesn’t know anything about your relationship with Hendery yet and you don’t have the greatest impression of the guy. Shaking your head to clear your inhibitions, you smile at him as he closes the window again. “Anyways, I have good news!” At his hum, affirming that he’s listening to you, you continue. “I talked to my advisor today and she said I’m good to change majors! I just have to wait until next semester for my major-related classes start up. I’ll probably still graduate on time, too, given the way things are going.”

“I’m happy for you, babe.” He brushes your hair back and kisses your forehead, making warmth bubble up in your chest. His arms wrap around you in a hug a moment later.

“Thank you again,” you mumble against his chest as he hugs you, “I really owe you everything.”

“Nah,” he says, “I’m just doing what a good boyfriend would do.”

“Boyfriend?” You say, pulling back ever so slightly to look at him. The two of you hadn’t put your relationship into terms like that yet, so the word surprises you before the feeling of excited butterflies swarms in your chest again.

“You don’t like it?” He says, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“I like it a lot, actually. My boyfriend, Hendery Wong, the bad boy.” The somewhat squeaky laugh he lets out is cute, so different from the persona you had associated him with for so long.

As usual, you find yourself lounging around his room, idly studying and doing the homework that you brought with you. It’s almost midnight when you hear a door slam nearby. There’s a brief pause and some shuffling noises before Hendery’s door flies open, revealing Ten. Hendery rolls his eyes. “Dude, what did I tell you about just coming in here when the door is closed? I could be doing stuff you don’t want to see.”

“Yeah, whatever. I needed to tell you-” He stops suddenly as he sees you sitting in the middle of the room with a textbook in front of you. “What is the puppy doing here?”

“Puppy?” You fire back. “Is that really the nickname you’re giving me?”

“We’re in a class together,” Hendery says, ignoring you and lying as easily as if he was just breathing. “We have a project to work on.”

“Uh-huh. No open space in the library?” Ten questions, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the doorframe.

“There’s a huge gen chem test tomorrow,” he says, “all the freshmen are in there. It was easier to just come here.” It’s not a lie - you know from your younger friends that he’s telling the truth, but his refusal to admit that there’s something more between the two of you makes you knit your brows together in displeasure.

“Whatever. I’ll tell you what happened with the boys later.” Ten eyes you once more before turning around, closing the door as he leaves. You nearly laugh out loud. At least he’s polite in that respect.

“We’re just classmates, huh?” You say, turning to the boy who had just proclaimed himself your boyfriend not two hours earlier. You get up from the floor, packing away your things. “I’m heading home.”

“You won’t stay the night?” He says, sitting up straighter.

“It’s getting kinda late for your ‘classmate’ to be here.” He watches helplessly as you finish gathering your things and step towards his bedroom door.

“No window this time?” He jokes, trying to lift your spirits back up.

“Like you said, the front door is much easier. Goodnight, Kunhang.” The coldness with which you say it keeps him frozen in place as you let yourself out. Neither of you sleep particularly well that night.

A few days later, as an apology, he plays a new song for you. When you listen to him, the feeling that his compositions bring you comes back like it always does, but it feels heavier, more melancholy this time. Half of your heart wants to forgive him and half of it wants to never speak to him again. You suppose the split is partially your fault - you shouldn’t have thought a relationship with Hendery, the self-proclaimed bad boy of the school, would be normal in any way. But, now that it has progressed this far, you just want it to work out. You like the honest side he shows you a lot more than you ever liked his troublemaking side. You wish he would just be more honest with everyone else, too.

As he plays, you find yourself moving closer until your head rests against his shoulder. Slowly, his song turns into something softer and sadder, his fingers dancing across the ivory and black keys more slowly. “What song is that?” You ask.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, stopping a few notes later. It seems unfinished somehow. He just stares down at the keys for a long moment. Finally, he takes a deep breath. “Listen… I’m sorry.”

“I want to say it’s okay, but it’s not.” Your response makes him frown more deeply, which makes you frown, too. You reach out, cupping his face in your hands so that he looks you in the eye and stops avoiding your gaze. His eyes, you notice, have a lot of warmth and emotion when he lets himself show it. “Kunhang. I like you. I really, really like you. But, if you want us to be together, you can’t keep treating me like this, like I’m your girlfriend here and you don’t know me at all when your friends are around. Listen.” You drop your hands from his face and place them on the piano. You pray that the chord you’re about to play is right and press down. Pleasant notes resonate through the room, into your bones, intertwining with your heartbeat as you sing. “I want to tell the whole world how I feel. I wish I could sing a song that shows them everything I see in you.” Your voice falls into a low, sad tone and the notes of your song turn into spoken resignation. “But, right now, you won’t let me.”

The silence between you is something that you know will make or break your relationship. You want him to choose you, to choose the good thing that you’ve found together, but, for a moment, you’re afraid he won’t. Then, he meets your eyes and smiles.

“Let’s show them, then.”

You peak out from behind the curtains of the stage. You can see some of your friends, including Mark, sitting in the audience. The house doors shut and you sigh, but a moment later, the doors open again, much to the annoyance of the ushers who had just closed them, and in walk Hendery, Ten, Lucas, and Yangyang. After seeing them, you duck backstage again and wait. Not too long into the start of the recital, Hendery joins you, wearing a slightly different outfit than he had walked in wearing. It’s his usual black, but slightly more formal and matching your own outfit well. A small feeling of pride wells up in your chest at the sight, pushing back the nerves that had begun to rise.

“Couple outfit,” you simply say. He rolls his eyes, but you can see the hint of a smile on his face. You know your performance is coming up soon, so you take his hands in yours. “Are you ready?”

“I should be asking you that,” he says, eyeing you, “you look like you’re about to run away any second.”

“I do not!” You whisper-yell back. “I’m-”

“You guys are up next,” a crew member interrupts, “two minutes.”

You thank her and turn back to your boyfriend. The air becomes more somber between the two of you. “Thank you,” you say, “for doing this with me.”

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he responds. He leans down, about to plant a quick kiss on your lips, but the light on stage goes out and the crew member from before ushers the two of you forward and on stage. You don’t really hear as the emcees introduce you, but you can imagine the looks on Mark, Ten, Lucas, and Yangyang’s faces as your name and Hendery’s name are announced together.

When the light comes on, the only thing you can see is him sitting on the bench with the piano in front of him. You look at each other one more time before he looks away, taking a breath before he begins to play. The notes from the piano hold the beat in them and, when it’s your turn, you raise your microphone and start to sing along.

“As sweet as honey

Your smile is as sweet as honey…”

As you sing, you forget about all of the eyes on you, all of your friends and his friends watching the two of you in shock. You’re singing to him, so you think only of him. You know this is his first time in front of an audience like this, but he looks entirely at peace, the stage lights illuminating his features well and making him look even more handsome than usual. Then again, maybe it’s not the lights. Maybe the way your heart is soaring is changing the way that you see him yet again. A bright, warm smile makes its way onto your face as you sing. Before you can fully comprehend the situation, the song is ending and you’re singing your final lines.

“Your smile is so familiar to me

But I still can’t remember where

Ah… in my dreams.”

You lower the microphone from its position by your lips, finally looking out into the ground. Everyone’s eyes are round and wide as Hendery plays the last measures of the song. The last note seems to reverberate throughout the theater. As if they were waiting for that note to finally fade away, it takes a moment before the audience bursts into applause. While you stare out at them, microphone still clasped in your hand, Hendery gets up, moving to stand by your side. He takes your free hand, bringing you back to the real world, and leads you in a bow. A smile blossoms on your face again after you rise from your bow and you turn to him, prepared to smile at him, but, to your immense surprise, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you, full and fast in front of everyone. At the back of your mind, you register that people are cheering and gasping and giving you all sorts of reactions, but you just enjoy the feeling of his lips on yours.

After the show, you vaguely recall Mark coming up to you, completely in shock but congratulating you nonetheless, and Ten threatening you, saying, “you’d better not take him completely away from us,” but you can tell from the half-smile on his face that he’s fine with whatever is happening as long as he can see the glow of happiness in Hendery’s face. You suppose that Ten isn’t too bad of a guy.

Ten leaves and you turn to your, now proudly public, boyfriend. “Not so scary, right?” “I guess not.”

One by one, you find that the last blank pages of your notebook are being filled and, as he takes your hand, the very different spaces between the two of you close until all that’s left is the music that you made together.

#wayv fluff #wayv angst #neowritingsnet #nct fluff #nct angst #hendery fluff #hendery angst #nct bad boy au #wayv bad boy au #wonjaekook #thanks for waiting again folks!!!!

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365days365movies · 4 years

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January 6, 2021: Last Action Hero (1993) (Part 1)

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

Comedy is my favorite genre, and I obviously also love action. So, when looking at the subgenres to cover this month, action-comedy most certainly was at the top of the list. But what exactly is action-comedy?

Exactly what it sounds like, funnily enough. Action-comedies rely on physical action sequences to further the plot, but also inject dialogue with humor and jokes throughout the script. Entertainment and amusement combined into one beautiful, succinct package. I’ll be judging the writing for these movies on how much they made me laugh while watching it. That said...

OK, so, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Last Action Hero. Schwarzenegger isn’t exactly the most emotionally expressive actor in the world, as you’ve probably noticed. And expressiveness is somewhat necessary to express humor. Look at Eddie Murphy up there, and see how expressive he is. Schwarzenegger...doesn’t have that. At all. But, this movie could still be funny! Shane Black wrote it, and he wrote one of my favorite guilty pleasure Halloween movies, The Monster Squad. So, I’m looking forward to this movie for that in and of itself. And with that...

Recap

We start with a sick guitar lick on Christmas Day, as a group of cops close in on a criminal known as the Ripper holding children hostage at an elementary school. But then...Jack Slater (played, naturally, by Arnold Schwarzenegger) arrives. And yes, this is a parody character and scene, meant to lambast all of the stereotypical renegade cop tropes that I’ve literally never seen in a movie. Like, I guess Lethal Weapon and Beverly Hills Cop have it, but I think this character concept has been Flanderized into...well...Jack Slater.

Slater kicks a cop through a window with a Schwarzenegger-esque action line, and CRUSHES A RADIO LIKE A NAPKIN. I appreciate Schwarzenegger making fun of himself like this, and we’ve only just begun. Jack goes through banter with the Ripper (Tom Noonan), who...is unironically terrifying. Holy shit, that guy is creepy as fuck, and his stylized ax is intimidating as hell. And as he holds Slater’s son hostage out of revenge, the two face off with some cool action beats, and...

...Shit, I think I want to watch this movie. And I don’t mean Last Action Hero, I mean the in-universe movie that our actual main character, Danny Madigan (Austin O’Brien) is watching. Danny’s a big Jack Slater fan, and one of the only patrons of a movie theater owned by Nick (Robert Prosky). Nick, a kind old man, invites Danny to see the next Slater film before anybody else. And honestly, I get it. I’d watch this movie series unironically if it existed, real talk. Mostly because it seems fun.

Danny’s skipped school just to see this movie, and he walks into his English class, where the teacher shows Lawrence Olivier as Hamlet. Fun fact! The English teacher showing it is played by Joanne Plowright, Olivier’s real life wife! Very sweet! Anyway, Danny, bored by a goddamn classic movie, conjures a different movie in his head.

Fuck yes. I need this movie to exist.

We learn from Danny’s mother (Mercedes Ruehl) that his father has recently died, and he spends far too much of his time watching movies at Nick’s theater. I look forward to this revelation never being explored. As he’s headed to the theater when he isn’t supposed to, he opens the door at the exact wrong time, and A ROBBER BREAKS INTO HIS PLACE, OH SHIT! Confronted with the type of real danger that he’d see in an action movie, and with no action hero to save him, the robber finds nothing of value and leaves the place. He gets rescued by the cops eventually, and they tell him to go home. But, no, he goes...to the movies.

Mom might have a point there, sport.

While he’s there, Nick brings him in, and begins to monologue to him about his past in the theater business. And that monologue introduces the MacGuffin of the film: the Golden Ticket, given to Nick by Houdini himself, and an alleged portal to another world.

So, is this gonna be more of a Pagemaster situation, or a The NeverEnding Story deal? The Golden Ticket is torn for admission, Danny sits down, and the movie-in-a-movie begins in earnest. In the film, Slater’s cousin Frank (Art Carney in his last film role) is being held hostage by the crime boss Vivaldi (Anthony Quinn), and his henchman...one of the most immediately visually interesting characters I’ve ever seen in a film...in a FILM.

Benedict (played by Charles Dance), is immediately a fascinating character, essentially a non-Marvel Bullseye, and a gunsman with flawless precision. And yeah...I dig it. Oh, how I dig it.

Jack Slater arrives in his snakeskin boots, and discovers Frank, who delivers a message in the cheesiest death sequence I’ve ever seen, followed by the cheesiest bomb compound I’ve ever seen, followed by a bigger explosion than anyone would’ve expected, FOLLOWED by...OK, look, the references to other action movies in this are already ridiculous and all over the place, and I refuse to spoil them all for those of you who’ve never seen this movie.

By the way, I gotta make a comment about Danny real quick. Watching this many action movies may have made him a little...detached...from reality. I say this because he expressed no shock or emotion during or after the robbery, then went immediately to the movie theater, and had no reaction whatsoever about the death of the two cops in the movie. Little budding sociopath, that Danny.

Although, that might change, now that the ticket’s getting all magic-y, and a stick of ACME dynamite (actually in the film, I swear) makes its way into the theater. It explodes, and Danny inexplicably (magically, even) finds himself in the movie. So, Pagemaster, then.

Danny’s complete lack of reaction and emotion in this situation confirms my theory on him being a liiiiiiiiiiittle detached from reality. But then...the most gloriously stupid thing I’ve seen this month happens.

Arnold proceeds to make a pun that is NOT “Nasty brainfreeze,” and I am disappointed forever. Who wrote this? Who wrote this?

We get a car chase fueled with jumps, gunfire, puns, a casual mention of premature ejaculation, and Coca Cola product placement, all accompanied by Danny finally showing a modicum of reaction to the fact that he is IN A FUCKING MOVIE. REACT MORE, DANNY. At his age, I would have soiled myself immediately. At MY age, I would soil myself if this happened to me! Anyway...

OK, I just have to say this now: this movie has some of the most insane shots and set-ups that I’ve ever seen, and by GOD, I am here for it. Like...Did you SEE the motorcycle dress girl panic while a man WAS ON FIRE IN THE BACKGROUND? Earlier, a car does an INSANE jump and crash and explodes in the BACKGROUND, and the movie just treats it like a pigeon flew on set! Nobody cares! THE SCENES IN THIS MOVIE MAKE INSANITY AN ART FORM.

Anyway...we get to the LAPD, and...HOLY SHIT. IS THAT…

Was that Sharon Stone as Catherine Trammel from Basic Instinct, and Robert Patrick as T1000 from Terminator 2? I...but...wait...if...how...I’m broken now. 404, blue screen, reboot, update needed, WHAT?!? I...just...SO many questions, and this movie better answer them.

We see some added insanity, including a man with a houndstooth suit which I DESPERATELY WANT but could not pull off. There’s literally a buddy cop generator, where we also see a rabbi cop, and an Amadeus reference is dropped as F. Murray goddamn Abraham (playing a cop named Practice) appears in this movie, and THEN...an animated cat cop sexually harasses a female cop. I am not joking.

Am...am I insane? Also, if I was in the theaters watching this movie-in-a-movie, I would be both angry and confused as to what in the FUCK was happening!!! WHY IS THERE AN ANIMATED CAT COP IN MY JACK SLATER MOVIE? WHO DIRECTED THIS BULLSHIT (in universe)?? Also that cat was recently suspended, and is also one of their best men.

And then, Danny uses his knowledge of the Jack Slater franchise to break down the barriers of repressed affection between the chief and Slater, and it’s briefly heartwarming for some reason. Anyway, they’re now suspicious of his knowledge of Slater’s life, and this leaves to the inevitable buddy cop pairing of Jack Slater and Danny Madigan. This art-deco something walks by…

...and I desperately need to know more about the art direction of this film. Because, wow, it is an absolute masterpiece of randomly exaggerated shit, damn.

To prove his point about being in a movie, Danny goes to a Blockbuster, which... man, does THAT bring me back! That’s right you young whippersnappers, I WAS THERE FOR BLOCKBUSTER IN THE ‘90s! We used to go to the store and look at the VHSs. I remember seeing The Lost World there, but my dad said I was too young for it. I was sad, but he got me some candy and a Really Wild Animals video, and we watched it that night after Carmen Sandiego. My God. It was paradise.

Anyway, Schwarzenegger doesn’t exist, and find out that Stallone has taken over his roles.

...I’d watch that. I’d watch the HELL out of that. Danny then uses some legitimately impressive math to dissect the “555” number thing in movies, as well as pointing out the lack of non-conventionally attractive women. Which, credit to you, kiddo, for addressing the overwrought emphasis on conventional attractiveness that permeated Hollywood at this time, and to this day. I mean, he’s not criticizing it, but he is pointing it out, and that’s better than nothing in the ‘90s.

Danny guides his way to Vivaldi’s house, where the butler is...Professor Toru Tanaki! He looks exactly like Odd Job from the James Bond series, but the actor is SubZero from The Running Man! You know, the hockey killer!

Anyway, after crack about Schwarzenegger’s “I’ll be back” line, a conversation with Benedict (who has a smiley face instead of a bullseye), and some terrible CGI dogs, Benedict becomes correctly convinced that something’s up with Danny. They arrive at his house, and his college-aged daughter Whitney (played by Bridgette Wilson, in her first film role in and out of the movie, in a neat little twist!) kisses Danny directly on the mouth, and I’m a liiiiiiittle uncomfortable with that. Anyway, we brush right past that, and realize that his son...died. Oh. Uh. Guess we didn’t see the end of that movie, huh? Yikes. Poor Jack.

Hey, Benedict and his gang arrive at Slater’s place! Fun! There’s a sort-of amusing play on “harming a hair on one’s head,” and the interrogation continues. Charles Dance is legitimately threatening as Benedict. And, while we’re at it, Bridgette Wilson has an entertaining action sequence all her own.

Anyway, Jack arrives, and makes a ridiculous jump off of the balcony to pursue Benedict. Benedict name drops getting a tank, which I’m assuming is named the Chekov (film trope reference there, have a good time). Danny realizes that he’s the comedy sidekick of the movie, and at this point, I need to mention something: in case you haven’t noticed, this film is delightfully meta. And I love that about it.

But it’s also...cluttered. You’ll see what I mean in a little bit, but real talk, I didn’t realize that Benedict had stolen the ticket until Danny mentioned it, because I was apparently quite distracted. And this is an important plot point, as Benedict soon realizes the true power of the ticket, cleverly overlaid by the opening to the Twilight Zone, with Rod Serling mentioning traveling to another dimension. Also...his eye was a bomb. What. Anyway, that explosion results in Slater officially getting fired from the department, and the chief...

Um. Yeah, this movie is also kind of a cartoon, not including the cartoon cat. And you have no idea how much I’m omitting from this movie. The digitization of Humphrey Bogart, the fact that Slater can’t say “fuck” in a PG-13 movie, the surprising character realization that Slater’s ex-wife is actually remarried, the clearly dominatrix cop clad in leather, the fact that there’s a plan to detonate a nerve gas-infused bomb stuffed into a dead man nicknamed Leo the Fart at his own funeral, a digitization of Humphrey Bogart. Yeah, I said that last one twice, because the effect actually holds up really well, like, seriously.

OK, let’s take a break, yeah? Part 2 later today!

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lm3-imagines · 5 years

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Amadeus with a Meme Loving S/O Who Can’t Process Fear

-Amadeus has absolutely no idea what you’re saying whenever you reference any sort of meme. It’s all some kind of foreign language to him, and it sounds ridiculous; he has no interest in learning any of it, though he does pick up on some of the more common memes from you. He refuses to join you in anything. You’re free to make a fool of yourself, but he’s not going to. (He’s actually really entertained whenever you do something memey, even if he doesn’t entirely understand. There’s just something different about it when it’s you, and he’s happy that you’re happy. Anyone else, though, and it just looks ridiculous.)

-Amadeus will never admit this, but when you and the goobs engage in this strange culture you seem to have, he somewhat feels left out. So you take on the role of translator, and sometimes, when you explain one of the jokes, Amadeus just sighs and almost wishes that you hadn’t. How on Earth was that funny?

-One time, when you and two goobs were watching Amadeus play the piano, the goobs wouldn’t stop whispering to each other during the performance. At first, it was just glares from Amadeus that would silence them, but they would continue to whisper, just much more quietly than before. Still, it seemed that Amadeus could hear them as if they were talking at a normal level, and he slammed his fingers down on the keys of the piano, creating one displeasing note to hear, and proceeded to cause more than just a few of the audience seats to go flying at the two goobs. They scattered quickly, and you probably should have been scared at how angry Amadeus was and how close you were to some of the chairs’ impacts on the ground, but your only response was “Stop, I could’ve dropped my croissant”, which replaced Amadeus’s rage with confusion. What croissant? You weren’t holding one, nor were you previously. He still has no idea what croissant you were referring to to this day.

-He’s probably secretly worried at your lack of fear to anything you witness. One of these days, you’re going to get yourself into something dangerous just for fun, and he’s going to have to stop you from hurting yourself. You’re not really going to consume the laundry detergent, right? “That was something from a long time ago, get with the times”? What does that mean? Have you eaten one before?

-There was a day when Amadeus was trying to peacefully practice piano, but the triplets had the idea to play yet another one of their pranks on him. They invited you to tag along with them, and thinking it would be fun, you agreed. You all set up a stereo out in the fourth floor near the elevator and waited for the cue to start the music: the sound of Amadeus playing the piano. When he did start, you waited for about a minute until, with a wave of her wand, Lindsey turned on the stereo. Some of the loudest music you’ve heard in your life started to play, and soon Amadeus came through the wall to see what the commotion was.

-Seeing Nikki, Lindsey, and Ginny, he only sighed and turned off the stereo without even asking them what they were doing. As politely as he could and with the undertone of a threat, he requested that they don’t turn on the stereo again, then left to return to practicing, ignoring the snickering of the triplets. After a few minutes, they turned on the stereo once again and somehow raised the volume even more. They gestured for you to start that one of those dances they’ve seen you do, the ones everyone knows and seems to hate. You oblige, and just as quickly as he left, Amadeus returned, clearly more annoyed than before. He would have been amused by your antics, even though he absolutely despises what it is you’re dancing to, if he weren’t so upset with the triplets.

-Needless to say, he broke the stereo after another cycle of him leaving and coming back when it was turned back on. Filled with anger and frustration, he extended his arms and just crushed it with his fist. It caused a few of the parts to fly away, and some of them hit you. You weren’t hurt at all, but Amadeus was worried that he had accidentally caused damage to you. The triplets had left by now, having quickly mockingly bid their farewells after the stereo was destroyed and wanting to avoid any more of Amadeus’s wrath. With a sigh, he calmed down and wrapped his arms around you, happy that you were all right, and he quietly apologized that you were put in danger. But please, never play that disgusting “song” again.

-You played it again the next day.

#luigi's mansion #luigi's mansion 3 #lm3 #lm3 amadeus wolfgeist #luigi's mansion 3 x reader #lm3 x reader #lm3 imagine #request

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ikesengoficss · 5 years

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oh darling of course. Thank you for entrusting me with this request. Since you love Mozart, I really tried to make his special. I hope I do it justice, and I hope you enjoy :) <3

Theo, Arthur, Mozart, and St. Germain with a MC has flies a lantern once a year in remembrance of her father who passed away

WolfGang Amadeus Mozart

“Will you please fly the lantern with me this year, Wolfie?”

Mozart smiles warmly at you, and the way he pulls you to him in an almost bone crushing hug, an unusual thing for him to do, is all the answer you need, and all the reassurance of his undying love for you as well.

Mozart isn’t always the best with words and affection— it’s something that as the relationship flourishes, he improves with.

“If you really want me to come, than of course I will. I strive to do anything for meine liebe.” this man has my heart

Because he wants this to be so special for you, he goes out of his way to find a nice, open field where you’ll have the privacy to honor your father when flying the lantern.

If you want help with crafting the lantern, even if arts and crafts is not his specialty, he’ll most certainly assist.

He’ll most likely create a piece of music. He is very humbled and inspired by what you are doing, that he finds the best way to express that to you is through music.

It’s a delicate tune, telling the story of the schön Mädchen who every year finds the highest peak to fly the most brightest lantern to her father above.

A token of her remembrance, a gift over her everlasting love for him.

Watching the lantern fly high is almost surreal to him— he’s never seen something so visually… pleasing. He looks at you and can see a small smile on your face, and he can’t help but just smile with you.

The rest of the night, he’ll lay down with you in the grass, watching as the lantern joins the stars. He hums a small tune, and peppers feather light kisses to your face. He holds you tight and reminds you throughout the night, your father is always watching you.

Arthur Conan Doyle

He could see throughout the whole week you were hesitating to tell him something. He was worried he was going to be dumped at first, but then you finally confess to him what’s been on your mind;

and he is absolutely honored and blessed that you trust him with this, and want him to accompany you in this beautiful tradition to remember your father. Of course he wants to be a part of it.

This might even inspire a story to write, but he’d never do so without your permission, of course.

You’re quiet when it comes to flying the lantern. Walking to the location you’ve chosen to send it off, he understands why, so he isn’t pushing you to speak.

He’s quietly holding your hand and providing the comfort and support you need. With a gentle smile, you ask him to help fly the lantern.

“Why, of course.” He wraps his arm around your shoulder, and counts to three with you before releasing the lantern high into the night sky.

He holds you close to him, and it’s so warm and comforting. And the sight before him is beautiful. He cannot remove his eyes from the flowing lantern that graces the night skies.

“Hey…” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. He’s not always the most gentle, or tamest of lovers. But right now, he’s all for you; he’s tender and kind and soft. “Look how beautiful it is against the night sky. You know ya’ fathers smiling down at you right now.”

“You believe that?”

“Most definitely I do!”

Theodorus Van Gogh

When you told him of your tradition, the first thought that goes through his head is, you’re an absolute angel. How he’s been blessed with someone so pure and warm hearted as you astounds him.

He is honored you’d ask him to accompany you in flying your first lantern for you father, now in this time period and Paris.

Theo’s almost tentative to agree at first though because a part of him feels he’s unworthy to do so.

But even then, he’d never say no. You’re his sweetheart; he may uphold an antagonistic and ‘take no shit’ attitude, but now that you two are together and have finally accepted you’re in love,

he’s more kind and gentle towards you. Only you. And this is clearly very important to you, so though it may be something he’d never do, of course he’s going to go with you. “Sure.”

He might be a little tense leading up to it, because he doesn’t want to mess this up for you, and he wants this to go perfectly for you, since he knows how important it is. He’s trying to put himself in your shoes, and it’s a little difficult for him, but he’s trying bless him.

But when it comes to flying the lantern, he realizes, there was no need to be stressed or tense in regards to this. It’s a beautiful presentation, flying the lantern into the sky.

You’ve done something so beautiful, and he’s now apart of it, and he’s honored you’ve trusted him to be part of something so beautiful, when he sometimes see’s himself to be so ugly. i love him

He hears a sniffle, as quiet as a mouse, besides him and notices you trying to wipe your tears so he doesn’t see. “You don’t need to try and hide your tears,” he says gently, wrapping an arm around you to pull you close. The other arm wraps so he can stroke your hair. “This is beautiful, MC. And it’s all you. Your father will be so happy to see his lantern.”

Count of St. Germain

“You’re too kind for this world.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering softly against your skin, “Nothing would make me happier, ma chérie, in showing my respects to your father.”

He will suggest a gorgeous, open field he knows of, where sunflowers bloom, and the skies are particularly clear, so your lantern will truly shine amongst the dark of night.

Leading up to it, he might notice a difference in your attitude. You may seem a little bit more sad than usual, or maybe tend to get lost in your thoughts more than usual.

Whatever he can do for you he will. Whether it’s just being in your presence for comfort, or maybe your duties being taken care of.

He leads you to the field the night to fly the lantern, he has his arm wrapped around your waist and he’s holding you real close.

“Can we do it together?” you ask him softly. He notices a mournful look in your eyes, and as much as he wants to just make it disappear all together, he understands this is one of those times that he just can’t.

It’s ok to be sad, and he wants you to know that.

“Of course, ma chérie.” You rest your head on his shoulder and together the two of you send the lantern flying. It’s gorgeous, radiating, stunning. And he lets you know that.

~~~~~~~~

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I’ve been having issues posting for some reason requests because all the bullets get messed up and everything becomes very clumped -- for the mean time, I will probably respond to requests like this, and make sure to tag whoever it it’s not under anon!!

Tags!

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if you would like to be tagged in upcoming works, please inform so I can do so!! <3

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikevamp headcanon #ikevamp headcanons #wolfgang amadeus mozart #ikevamp mozart #arthur conan doyle #ikevamp arthur #theodorus van ogh #ikevamp theo #ikevamp theodorus #count of st germain #ikevmap comte

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bl00dline · 4 years

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Quarantine movie asks

I was tagged by the wonderful @my-little-kraken to do this! Thank you so much, this really looks fun :D

Favourite movie: I have a few. Steamboat Bill Jr, Sherlock Jr, The Lodger, and 1917.

Movie that makes you remember your childhood: Maybe the Wizard of Oz. I remember thinking it was a modern movie, and being so surprised that it was actually from 1939!

Favourite Tom Hanks movie: I don’t know, I haven’t seen many of his movies. Wasn’t he in A League of Their Own? If so, that’s my favourite I guess.

Favourite Disney movie: I used to love Disney but really don’t like it now. It’s very overrated in my opinion. I do like the early cartoons though, like Steamboat Willie, if that counts. I also like Beauty and the Beast.

Movie that makes you cry: 1917. Every. Damn. Time. The end ALWAYS gets me. I’ve seen it like four times now and every time I cry even more.

Favourite 80s movie: Maybe Back to the Future.

Favourite comedy: Steamboat Bill Jr or Sherlock Jr (interesting how they both end with Jr)

Favourite sports movie: Field of Dreams.

Favourite courtroom movie: I have no idea what that means

Favourite horror movie: Nosferatu.

Most overrated movie: There are so many. The first that comes to mind is Amadeus. It was so confusing and the costumes were DREADFUL.

Favourite gangster movie: Little Caesar.

Favourite war movie: 1917.

Movie you can watch over and over again: Basically any movie I like, I guess.

Movie with the best soundtrack: 1917. The Night Window and Gehenna are some of the best songs from movies I’ve ever heard. Whenever I listen to them I can picture the scene they’re in.

Favourite Christmas movie: It’s a Wonderful Life and Charlie Brown Christmas.

Movie you’re embarrassed that you love: I can’t think of any.

Favourite sequel: I have no idea, I can’t think of any.

Favourite period drama: 1917. (Wow 1917 is my answer for so many of these)

Favourite DC movie: I’ve never been into superhero movies (except for when I was obsessed with spider man when I was like 4)

Favourite movie quote: “Bastard rats.” from 1917, and “Gee, Babe, you’ve done more for baseball than cheese did for Switzerland.” From Speedy.

I’m tagging @hobbadehoy, @made-by-our-history, @rubinstein1798, @noplacelikethesilverscreen, @heavy-focking-metal, @gecrgemackays, @bastardrats, and @akkerdistel if any of you would like to do this! :)

#thank you so much for tagging me this was really fun!#tagged #my-little-kraken

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victoriaholmeswriting · 5 years

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A Waste of Talent

Chapter Thirteen: One Nasty Hufflepuff

Read it on AO3!

Rating: M

Words: 1512

Following Sherlock’s lead, they put their wands in their pockets. John and Snape kept a hand on each of theirs, but Sherlock left both hands free, trusting the others to have his back.

The house he lead them up to looked just as normal and mundanely Muggle as all the other houses on Rosemary Drive. Small, solar-powered garden lights illuminated the pave-stone sidewalk that ran through the neatly kept lawn. A few brown leaves were scattered here and there, and a small garden that must have been quite impressive in the summertime preceded the quaint porch. A metal 42 in elegant script adorned the front door.

By all appearances, they were walking up the steps to the home of a very social and domestic Muggle family. It certainly didn’t appear to be the home of someone who deliberately invented a deadly potion and supplied it to a murderer.

According to Mycroft’s intelligence, however, that’s exactly what it was.

Sherlock bounced right up to the door as if he was paying an old friend a visit. He knocked three times and poised himself near the door, just enough to be seen through the peephole, while still being abnormally close.

Lights flicked on on the second floor, the stairs, and -- finally -- the foyer. After a few moments in which Kentworth was, presumably, looking through the peephole and assessing the situation, the door slowly creaked open a few inches.

With the speed of a striking cobra, Sherlock’s hand shot out, forcing the door completely open and took a step inside. Kentworth took an even step back, a shocked expression flashing across her face before quickly receding again.

He took a few more steps, which she compensated for to keep the distance between them, creating room for John and Snape to enter, wands drawn by their sides. Snape closed the door behind them, eyes fixed on the woman he’d deemed as “one of the nastiest Hufflepuffs” he’d ever met at such a young age.

Now that they were inside, John could get a proper look at her.

Margery Kentworth was on the shorter side, roughly 162 cm tall, though you would not know it from the confident way she carried herself. Her curly, blonde hair -- definitely not her natural colour, John noted -- was tied up in a messy bun. Given her attire, they’d definitely definitely woken her up; black sweatpants, a wrinkled grey tank top riddled with what looked like potion stains, and a black robe screamed of the early morning far louder than she ever could vocally.

She had a cool, indifferent demeanor, but, after years of living with Sherlock, John quickly saw that this was calculated. He could practically see her figuring out what was happening and running through her options -- just like Sherlock does on a crime scene.

Unlike Sherlock, however, she seemed to be coming up empty.

Desperately, she fixed her attention on a familiar face. “Such a pleasant surprise,” she said in a flat voice. “I had my fantasies about you, Professor, but I must confess I never expected you to be the type to bring company.” She gave Sherlock and John a once-over. “Though I’m not complaining -- you have good taste.”

Snape glared at her, lip curled into a snarl.

Eyes the size of Mrs. Hudson’s doilies, John’s face convulsed in a mixture of shock, horror -- and a little bit of anticipation of how Snape would respond. This might be his only chance to witness one of Snape’s legendary, invented spells first-hand.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t part of Sherlock’s plan.

The notoriously impatient detective hummed his annoyance. “Sorry, I don’t do well not being the center of attention of attention. Especially when I’m winning.”

At least he knows it, John thought, slightly disappointed.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr., um....” she feigned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, grinning wickedly like a wolf that’s cornered it’s prey -- or a consulting detective who’s cornered an elusive criminal.

“Oh, don’t play stupid with me, Kentworth,” he started. His speech pattern picked up speed with every word. “You know exactly who I am. A fact that was made quite clear by your momentary hesitation between when looking to see who was at the door and when you finally opened it. You gave yourself time to compose yourself after placing your hand on the doorknob. Very quick, hardly noticeable -- to anyone but me. Then, of course, there was your biggest mistake: looking past me. Passing off your attention to Professor Snape, making him angry and uncomfortable in a sad attempt to buy yourself time to come up with a plan to weasel yourself out of this. But I don’t think I have to tell you that your efforts are pointless -- there’s no way out. And I suspect you knew that from the instant you recognized me.

“Given how long you’ve been at large, in business with your little outlaw potioneering, you’ve been quite good at covering your tracks. No one could prove you were responsible, not even my own brother, Mycroft Holmes. But you made a mistake. You couldn’t resist using the potion you’d developed in school -- the one that put you on the staff’s watchlist. The one you’ve obsessed with ever since. What could it hurt? It was finally perfected and you were dying for someone to give you a reason to test drive it. Surely, no one would recognize it? It was so long ago. So much has happened since then.

“And then some poor fool comes along, looking for a way to get rid of some pesky Muggles. You finally have the perfect chance to test out your brain-child with no repercussions. Their deaths would be labelled as mysterious by the Muggle authorities -- possibly even covered up by the Ministry even if they can’t identify the potion. The case would go cold and no one could prove the potion was yours. Except me.

“You didn’t anticipate the wizard who worked with Muggle law enforcement as a consulting detective. Nor could you have predicted that we’d get in contact with the very professor that first raised concerns about your little hobby.

“God, I hate it when interesting cases turn out to be so boring!”

Kentworth shook like a trapped rabbit, flinching when he raised his voice with his last sentence. They could see desperation and panic written all over her face as she tried and failed to think her way out. She was defeated and she knew it.

John had the urge to check his watch -- to see how long they had before Mycroft shows up with the Aurors -- but he resisted, knowing it might give them away. It did not slip past him that Sherlock mentioned Mycroft’s name, eliciting a startled flash of recognition, but did not mention his impending arrival.

Suddenly, a spark ignited in her eyes. “But you don’t know who I sold the potion to,” she countered. “That’s why you’re here. Otherwise, you would have just sicced your brother and his dogs after me.” She crossed her arms defiantly. “That gives me leverage. You haven’t won yet. And I would much prefer if you didn’t.”

Sherlock allowed a poignant pause, making a show of studying her and considering her words.

John and Snape exchanged a knowing look -- she was playing right into his hand.

“Go on,” Sherlock encouraged, crossing his arms as well to mirror her posture.

“I want a deal: I give you his name and you let me go. Tell your big brother I wasn’t home, trail went cold.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because it will be more interesting for you.”

Again, Sherlock pretended to consider her words. “Fine. You have my word. Now, give me his name and anything else you know.”

She hesitated a moment, looking for signs of trickery from any of the men in her foyer, before deciding to take Sherlock’s word. Her shoulders relaxed.

“Amadeus Klint. Fairly ordinary. Didn’t say much about himself. None of them do ‘cept a few stray, lonely morons. Said he needed a potion to take care of some Muggles, his neighbors. He’s a mumbler, so I didn’t understand much of what he said, but -- from what I could understand -- they disrespected him...in some way. As well as just being annoying. He repeated that last part several times.”

The air left John’s lungs.

“You supplied a lethal potion to someone because their neighbors were annoying?!” Snape seethed, completely horrified.

Kentworth shrugged, clearly excited to have another opportunity to mess with him. “Sorry to disappoint you, professor. I’ll be happy to make it up to you,” she said with a wink.

With an emphatic flourish, Sherlock checked his watch. “Fortunately, I’m afraid there’s no time for that.”

Half a dozen loud cracks ripped through the air.

Kentworth whipped around the door burst open and five Aurors surrounded her. Mycroft was right behind them, vindication exploding across his face when he saw Sherlock’s smirk.

“YOU GAVE ME YOUR WORD!” she screamed.

Sherlock pulled an expression of mock regret. “I lied. My way is far more interesting!”

Tags: @madshelily @klinenovakwinchester @josiecarioca

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sintheyokai · 5 years

Text

Okay so I fell down a very deep Ikemen Vampire rabbit hole....

So I present you a little drabble that’s pretty much a full damn story at this point containing my OC that I totally didn’t make up two days after scrolling through a whole bunch of ikevamp content everywhere

Trapped Beneath the Waves

Rating: T, we’ll go with T

Additional tags: (surprisingly) light foul language, possible spoilers, I’ve also only partially remembered the prologue/needed to alter it for reasons so I apologize for that

The girl had found herself in a rather ornate hallway. She had gone into the hall that the kind man who had returned her hairpin had gone into. She remembered losing conscious, having the daymare of being bitten, waking up in the hallway she lay in now, near naked except for her extremely sheer knee length dress. She heard footsteps, and quickly went for the door she had exited from.

But the damned thing was locked tight.

Panicking, her eyes darted, looking for a place to hide, but she found no such place. Her eyes quickly turned to the man turning the corner in the hall who stared at her.

He was tall, towering over her rather small frame, three inches short of being five feet. He was dressed like the paintings she had seen, regal coat draped over his shoulders and silver sword at his side.

He made a quick grab for her, in which she hissed animalistically in reply. He put a finger to his lips to silence her.

“Stay quiet. I’ll protect you.” the man said.

He saw the doubt in her eyes, but proceeded to lead her down the hall. They had no sooner taken a couple of steps when the door at the hall suddenly opened, a British voice ringing out.

“By Jove, Leon, is that you?”

A man in all blue, standing casually with a dashing smile across his face. Leon, as she had heard, spoke in an irritated tone.

“Doyle...”

“Ah, and I see you’ve a woman with you! My, my, what a pretty catch~!”

She already decided that she was disgusted by him. She lightly snarled in response to his flirting.

“And from the looks of it...” Doyle studied her, “You’re helping her escape.”

The girl finally snapped. She swung at Doyle, nearly scratching his face, before aiming at Leon, scratching up his hands and forcing him to let go. She sprinted quickly down the hall, past the door Doyle had come out of. A door opened as she passed, and she was caught in the arms of something white.

Painfully white.

“What in the world-!?” The man scowled as Leon and Doyle caught up.

“Wolfie!” Doyle shouted, “I’d be careful with that one! Quite the fighter!”

In response, this “Wolfie” held her tighter, restricting her.

Both Leon caressed his wounds, blood slowly beginning to seep out.

As they gathered round, another man came through the door that could have been her escape route. He, much like the other men, was tall, donning a black suit. He approached them, the girl lightly snarling with every step closer.

“Gentlemen, I have been sent to bring you to the banquet.” he said.

Wolfie only grunted as the dame threw her head back hard into his chest.

“Sebastian, that’s gracious of you to let us know, but can’t you see we’re a little preoccupied? I’m already rather irked from the commotion this one’s caused!”

“I am fully aware, Master Mozart, and I’ve need inform you that the master of the house has requested this woman attend as well.”

She let out a loud snarl at this. Her? Attend a banquet, all fancy? Over her dead body!

“Now, now,” Sebastian scolded her, “I think it’s perfectly reasonable to cooperate. Especially since you’ve trespassed onto the Master’s mansion.”

Settling down, she realized that, despite the false accusation, she had no choice. With a low growl, she ceased to struggle. Mozart put her down gently onto the carpet. She stumbled a bit, her feet not used to sinking into the soft fabric, but she was caught by the man named Doyle. She recoiled slightly under his touch. Surrounding her and preventing an escape, they walked silently to the dining hall.

***

When they arrived, her eyes landed on one person right away.

She squeaked a hiss out as she stared at the golden eyed man, the reason she was here in the first place.

“I see you’ve made it here safely.” He said rather calmly, “Although I didn’t expect you to follow me. You seemed rather distant last we talked.”

She only twitched a little in response as Sebastian lead her to a chair. She was seated between a blond and... she supposed she should call it bronze or copper? Either way, he wasn’t making eye contact with her.

Good.

She soon heard the brun beside the blonde, whispering.

“Mijn broer, are you sure you don’t need me to cover you? I just don’t trust her silence.”

“Theo, now now, don’t be rude! Perhaps she’s just shy, or mute.”

“Very well.”

She fought her urge to snarl at both of them.

Suddenly, food was brought out by the tall man in the suit. She assumed he was, as people called it, a butler. She never understood the word, but didn’t object to it.

To her surprise and luck, seafood was placed in front of her. Clams to be exact. She grabbed one without hesitation.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” the golden eyed man said with a smile before lifting a glass of some alcohol, “Now, I’m aware that we have a few people missing, but I believe we should welcome our newest guest as soon as possible. Perhaps we should start with names? I’ll go first.” He turned to her.

“I am le Comte de Saint Germain. A pleasure to meet you.”

Comte...

She believed it meant Count. She wasn’t sure, but she could see it meaning such.

It went to his left, to the man named Doyle.

“My name is Arthur Conan Doyle. I’m a mystery writer!” he flashed her a flirtatious smile. She, again, fought the urge to snarl.

“I’m sure we’ll... get on... quite alright~”

God, she hated him already.

After him was the man in blinding white. Wolfie. She could barely look at him without blinking far more than necessary.

“Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.” he said curtly.

She lightly growled in mockery. She hid a smirk as she saw his eyebrow twitch in irritation.

Next was the copper haired boy on her left. He was fiddling with something, she didn’t know what though. He briefly caught her eye and stated his name.

“Isaac Newton.” Then he looked back on his toy.

Isaac...

“A...” she managed to croak. It had been a long time since she had spoken to anyone, and everyone at the table seemed shocked that she could speak. “Aaaaa... Aaapplee.”

Isaac slammed his head on the table, while Arthur choked back hysterical laughter. Had she done something wrong?

“Where’s Dazai; I’m going to kill him. With apples.”

“The young lady hasn’t met Master Dazai, Master Newton; she said that of her own accord.” Sebastian said, attempting to hide his own laughter from the others.

Isaac sighed, “Alright... Vincent?”

“Ah, yes!” she snapped her head towards the blonde who had spoken on her right, “I’m Vincent van Gogh! I’m a painter.”

She looked him over. Her eyes lit up slightly.

“Sss... Ssstars!” she exclaimed. Vincent gave her a kind smile.

“I see you’re aware of my work! It’s nice to meet you!”

By God... she thought, He’s sunshine...!

“Ah, and beside me is my little brother, Theodorus!” he pointed to the rude brun beside him.

“I can introduce myself, Vincent.” Theodorus grunted. Vincent only smiled, as if his brother had told a joke.

“Now, now, Theo, you don’t have to be so angry when we have a guest over!”

“I have to be angry for two, mijn broer.”

She sneered at him. One seemed an angel, and the other seemed a demon.

She knew which one she preferred out of the two.

Next was a tall man, more black in his brown hair than brown.

“I am Leonardo da Vinci. A pleasure to meet you, cara mia~”

She was less uncomfortable with his flirt than with Arthur’s... but she still sneered.

Finally was the man that she had met in the mansion first. Leon.

He glanced up from his meal, looking straight into her eyes.

“Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte. I’m a soldier.”

Le Comte smiled, and, suddenly, all eyes were on her.

“And what, might I ask, is your name, young miss?” he asked her. Her name? Her name... she hadn’t used it in a while. Yet she somehow remembered the minute she was asked.

“Belladicia Ainsi Nillihio Amoretta.” she said without missing a beat. Vincent let out a light chuckle while the others gawked at her long name.

“Quite a beautiful name, I must say!” he smiled, “But, perhaps, you have a shorter name?”

A shorter name? She tilted her head in confusion. Vincent pointed to his brother, “Much how like I call Theodorus ‘Theo’!”

She pondered for a little bit. A shorter name...

“Bella.” she finally said. Comte seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded.

“Well then, Bella, welcome to the mansion!” he greeted, “And while we still wait for other people, I believe we can eat now.”

Bella was thrilled to hear such. As she sniffed the clam in her fingers, Vincent held out his hand, but Bella did not notice.

“Bella, do you need help opening tha-”

CRACK!

Everyone’s attention was drawn back to Bella, who had cracked the clam open just wide enough for her to eat the insides with her tongue. She paid no mind as they watched her devour it in seconds.

She placed the clam on the plate in front of her. No one moved.

“M...Mmmoree... pleeaase...” she croaked. Vincent quickly handed her four more clams, which she ate as quickly as she had the first. Arthur chuckled, causing her to tense.

“Bella, do you have anywhere to stay? Or somewhere to go?” he asked, failing to remove the charming smirk off of his face. She looked at all them.

Then she began to sing.

It wasn’t anything special, just vocalizing a few notes like a warm up. Either way, it got their attention. After a while she almost had their undivided attention.

That is, until the window opened.

Everyone turned to see a man in a traditional... yukata? Or was it a kimono? Bella could never tell the difference.

“Ah... am I late?” he said in carefree tone, as if he didn’t actually care what the answer was. Mozart’s face darkened into a scornful look.

“Dazai, honestly. Use the door.”

“Ah, but I much prefer the window!”

“No.” Bella suddenly butted in, looking concerned. She had been told not go through windows, so this man shouldn’t either. She pointed to the window.

“Try again.”

***

The man, after being forced through a door, later introduced himself as a writer named Osamu Dazai.

While dinner continued, Bella noticed the last two empty chairs. She didn’t think much of it though. Perhaps they were late? Her friend told her that people are like that.

But no, no one else arrived. Perhaps they canceled? Her friend told her that too.

As dinner finished, Bella nearly having gone through the entirety of the clams all by herself, Comte stood up.

“Well, that was divine; thank you for the meal Sebastian. If you could, please take Bella to my office.”

Bella groaned, “Sleepyyy...” she said, “Talk. To. Mor. Row.” Le Comte laughed.

“Very well! Then please take her to her room instead, Sebastian.”

The butler nodded, and Bella stood up to follow him. They traversed the winding halls until they reached a bedroom on the ground floor.

When Sebastian opened the door, Bella ran to the bed, quickly plopping onto it. It was incredibly soft, and she sank right into it.

“Night!” she yelled, hearing a small chuckle from him.

“Good night, Miss Bella. We expect to see you tomorrow morning.”

And with that, he closed the door, Bella soon succumbing to blissful sleep.

***

She awoke with a start, gasping for air. She rolled out of the large bed, wheezing and weak.

Water.

She needed water. Fast.

There was panic in the mansion as the night owls heard the shattering of glass from Bella’s room. Everyone rushed to see if she was okay, but they only saw her running towards the ocean in the back.

Quickly following her out the window, Vincent cried out.

“Bella! Where are you going!? Come back!”

The tension and panic increased as Bella began to stumble, eventually falling.

But she did not stop. She frantically crawled towards the sea, clawing at the earth below her. They were so close; she had to hurry.

Finally, she made it to the grassy coastline; she tossed herself into the watery depths. At least half of the awakened residents screamed and moved faster.

But by the time they reached the edge of the water, Bella had already disappeared far below the sea.

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Okay so if this gets even 1 like, I might damn well continue this. It’s long asf so I’m happy that y’all read it.

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