Do I think it's going to happen? Probably not. but that won't stop me from hoping that they play Three Days Grace during an epic Shadow scene in Sonic 3.

uhm uhh i started talking about this and then i thought about it too much so i’m writing a post now about dethklok members and their childhood trauma and what it means to me yeah ok sorry it’s long, tw for basically like everything i guess

I really like how aside from animals and forces of evil and stuff each of the boys represent a very specific kind of childhood trauma that makes fucked up adults. And it’s not super explicit in the show but yeah we get into it.

First of all, Pickles is smart. And his entire problem is he’s too damn smart for his surroundings. He’s not book smart or school smart. His family has this plan lined up for him- you go to school, you get a job, you get married etc because that’s what NORMAL people do. But he’s not normal and that makes him not good enough. He’s not an addict because he’s stupid, he’s an addict because the kind of intelligence he has isn’t valued by his family or community, he’s a middle class midwestern average looking guy. He’s supposed to follow a set of rules. Being able to play basically any instrument? That’s not a VALUABLE skill. So he drinks. Cause that’s what you do in suburban hell, when there’s nothing left to do. And in Dethklok, the reason he finds true family is because they’re the ones that tell him in their stupid way, fuck that! We think you’re fucking smart! It doesn’t matter if you’re not good enough for those normie douchebags. You’re good enough for US. Fuck those assholes. You are valuable. I think Pickles represents people that were really devalued their whole lives because they were in the wrong place, with narrow-minded people. If you’re in his shoes, you need to remember, you do have value. You just need to find the family that sees that in you. You aren’t nothing. You matter.

Toki obviously has a lot of religious trauma, but also isolation. He’s made to believe from the beginning, it’s your job to serve. You will NEVER be important. You’re a worker. You lift heavy stuff. You organize. You pray. You lay down and take it because it’s what you deserve. You aren’t god, so you don’t deserve love. You should be seen and not heard. You should be invisible. And he’s so desperate to escape it that he never really gets to be a kid. He’s just a workhorse, and being childish or having fun is something that he can only do in secret, ashamed, his personality just stuffed down as small as possible. And when he finds Dethklok, this family that bullies him, yeah, but they LAUGH while they’re doing it, and they call him lazy, but yeah, they’re lazy too, he just. Wants to be a kid again. And then after he’s kidnapped he fully regresses because that experience fully threw him back in the hole he crawled out of, unexpectedly, back to the place where he feels he should be punished just for existing. He’s a good representation of how exhausting it is to be forced to be an adult before you’re ready. How much people don’t realize they should value their freedom to just PLAY and be SILLY, because not every kid does.

Skwisgaar has a couple things going on. He doesn’t have a dad, but that’s not really the issue. He thinks it is, but really, it’s more like he’s never experienced that people can care about each other without sex being involved. That’s why sex means nothing to him. He’s an endless void of sexual dissatisfaction, because he can’t actually connect with anyone he bangs. It’s just like playing his imagined frets- just energy he needs to get out, one way or another, anxiety and anger that needs any kind of release. Skwisgaar just loves music and being able to play whatever he wants, but also, I think Dethklok are the only people he can really care about, because they’re the only people he would absolutely NEVER have sex with. He’s forced to actually value them as people. He has no choice but to connect with them. He’s pretty narcissistic too, even more than the other members, and I think a lot of that comes from not being given enough attention as a kid. He has to put himself first because even his own mom was never going to. It wouldn’t really fit with the show, but I think Skwis is a good representation of people with sexual trauma, especially people who’s trauma makes them hyper sexual instead of the reverse. And Dethklok is a good family for him because they really don’t care how much he fucks, as long as he can play. His sexual prowess has zero value to them.

Nathan’s kind of fascinating because his trauma is just. One really messed up thing that he saw happen. That’s it. But that’s REAL, like it happens to a lot of people. You just experience one thing that was really horrible and it messed you up for life. You watch one accident or one train crash and it fills your mind so much, replaying over and over, it totally consumes you. He also has visions, which I think is a good metaphor for OCD or other disorders that mostly manifest internally. I think Nathan represents everyone that’s gotten sucked into darker stuff without really understanding why. Or people who are just born with depression or anxiety and there’s no “reason” behind it. And Dethklok LOVES that darkness in him. He’s the king, baby. He releases all that darkness into his lyrics, and because he has that release, in his regular day he’s able to be somewhat normal. He has an outlet that’s actually pretty healthy.

Murderface has my favorite backstory of all the boys, because his trauma is poverty. He lives in a trailer park in New Jersey with his grandparents (great-aunt-and-uncle? i don’t remember but it doesn’t matter.) He says that his big traumatizing event was his parents murder-suicide, but that’s not really what messed him up, he was an infant. He’s messed up because of how his life played out after that, totally out of his control. He had to with his geriatric family that completely didn’t want him. He was bullied in school because his grandma didn’t do laundry. He was gross and rude, because no one taught him proper hygiene or how to talk to people. He was a little shit because everyone treated him like shit. He never had a chance. He isolated himself because it’s easier to be alone, when you’re pretending that you chose to be alone. And he’s the best in regards to his found family arc, because he hates himself so much he fully didn’t realize until the very end of the story, that’s WHY Dethklok loves him. He sucks! He’s negative and bitchy and they need that! He has a home with them. They value his grossness, his whinyness, his bad attitude, how much he just hates everything. He’s such an annoying asshole that it’s actually really nice. He has a perspective that none of them have. He SUCKS. No one else in the world sucks the way he does.

Anyway. I just. Really like them. I really like that they’re all fucking messed up weirdos that found each other and love each other only the way that people who really can’t stand each other do.

The Chariot: Technical Boy - American Gods

Technical Boy x partner!reader, romantic

Technical Boy loves you and needs to hear your voice. You think you've lost him when he doesn't come home for months.

Part of @dragon430’s Tarot Troop.

TW/CW: Perceived death, fear, loss.

Word count: 1.7+ K

•

The young god sat on the steps of Xie Comm. His phone turnt on, displaying your number in his contact list. He hovered over the call button.

It had been a week since you had talked to each other. He’d been ignoring you and when you brought it up, he snapped. He'll admit, he shouldn't have, but World had been pressuring him and the war was just fucking everything up. Before Wednesday decided on war, the tech god already had a strained relationship with World. After, it only got worse and that did nothing to help your relationship.

Technical Boy pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. He needed to hear your voice, even if you were still rightly upset.

It rang. Once, twice, thrice. You didn't pick up.

At home, you were playing music on the telly and cooking. The phone rang in the living room, but you didn't hear it.

"If it isn't important, go away. If you're T or an employer, leave a voicemail."

He chuckled.

It wasn't you, just a recording, but it was enough to give him a little morale boost.

"Y/N, hey. It's me, um, T. I wanted to say I'm sorry for snapping at you and ignoring you. It was a dick move. I love you, baby. A lot. I, uh, I need you to know that. If I'm still around by the end of this, I'm gonna come home to you. I'll bring you your favourites and we can do whatever you want. If I'm not there by 9, tonight, I'm sorry. I love you. *chuckles* I haven't said that enough but I really do. You're my heart. You keep me sane and I love you for that. I'm confident I'll see you tonight and when I do, I'll apologize properly."

He hung up, breathing heavily.

He would see you tonight. He would apologize. He would tell you to your face how much he loved you.

Putting his phone away, Technical Boy looked at the infinity symbol-shaped behind him and sighed.

He would come back to you.

•

Panting heavily, the god took a moment to catch his breath. His back was pressed against the cold wall, eyes closed. The soft buzzing of his phone in his pocket pulled him out of his head. Quietly, he prayed it wasn't New Media calling to taunt him about his failure.

When he pulled it out, he stared.

It was you. You were calling him back.

He answered and listened for you.

"Hey, T? Are you there?" You asked.

After he regained his composure, he smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."

"Love, are you okay? You sound out of breath. And your voicemail- It scared me. Is everything okay?"

"I love you." It's all he could think to say. He needed you to know that more than anything else.

"I know, love. You made that pretty clear in your voicemail," you said, picking at your lips. "I love you, too. But, are you okay?"

"I don't know if I'm going to make it home to you. I’m sorry," he mumbled. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A flash of New Media. "I've got to go, baby. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I always will."

"I love you, too. But-"

Not allowing you to finish, he hung up and started running again.

He had to get away from World and New Media. He had to get away from this building. And, most importantly, he had to get home to you.

But, as soon as he saw that box next to the stairs, he knew he wasn't going to make it back.

His last conscious thought was of you. It was of knowing you would be up late, waiting for him, terrified for him. It was of your tears and mourning. It was of you, eventually, knowing he wasn’t coming back and that you lost him and he lost you.

•

You stayed quiet, your phone still pressed to your ear.

He hung up on you. If you weren't so worried about him, you'd be mad.

Over the several years you'd been together, he only hung up when it was important or he was pissed. The fear in his voice, the heavy breathing, the way he spoke and what he spoke about. Whatever World had done was bad. Or maybe it was what he was going to do. Either way, you couldn't help but feel dread, knowing that if -- no -- when Technical Boy came back, something would be wrong. Maybe he would be injured or afraid. Maybe he'd even be half-dead.

Quietly, you tucked your phone away and walked to the living room.

It was quiet now. You'd shut the music off so you could talk with your partner but that didn't take as long as you thought it would. It felt eerily silent like a phone line going dead. That dull, constant buzzing in your ear but instead of that, there was simply nothing. The silence was somehow worse.

The window that faced the street let light in and the heater was on, but it felt darker and colder than it should. You sat on the sofa under that window, staring out. You'd wait as long as you had to to see him again. He'd come home eventually. He had to.

•

Months after he was supposed to be back, you still waited for him. Always to 9, like clockwork. Sometimes, you'd wait longer. Hoping, praying, for your lost love to return. You didn't let it interfere with daily life, but the thought of him never left you.

Now, you laid on the sofa, the one under the window. It was almost 9. Almost time to go to bed. Almost another day without him. Something told you to stay a little longer tonight. That something had pestered you before, but now, it screamed.

Pushing up to sit, you laid your arms on the top of the sofa and laid your head on top of those.

The soft, orange lights of the lamp posts flickered before shutting off. Which was strange since it was almost nine at night without a sliver of the sun to be found.

You straightened, head tilting to the side.

Technical Boy crossed your mind. But you pushed the hope aside. It had been months of silence. If he was okay, he would have shown up far sooner. It was probably just a technical malfunction or something. Still, your mind wandered to him, to his smile and laugh, to his silly hair and eccentric clothes, to the way he held you and the way he'd snuggle up to you when he needed to, to the way you'd bicker about silliest things but always talk about the big ones.

The thoughts of your love hurt, crushing your heart as you remembered all the good, the bad, and the ugly of being with the tech god.

You hadn't noticed the tears streaming down your face until they fell almost all the way down. You wiped them away, sighing.

He was gone, likely for good, and you were finally weeping for him and what you had lost. After months, you'd realized he wasn't coming back to you. That he couldn't. That he was gone for now and forever.

•

Shutting the curtains, you wiped more tears away. The soft cloth of the sofa enticed you to stay. You didn't have the will to say no so you pulled the blanket from the top and wrapped it around yourself. In a way, it was like you were still waiting for him to come home.

Just as you'd gotten comfortable, a knock came to your door.

Your first thought was to ignore it. Whoever it was was probably a creep. Come on, who starts knocking at doors at 9 at night? Serial killers, that's who.

But, the person was insistent so much so that you tore away your blanket and got off the sofa.

"I'm fucking coming, alright. Jeez," you said, storming to your front door.

You threw it open, ready to give whoever it was a good, stern talking to. But, maybe you shouldn't have if it was a murderer.

All your anger dissipated at the sight of the knocker.

It was him. It was your Technical Boy.

•

You gawked before covering your mouth.

He smiled, pained. "Hey," he said.

You stepped out, not believing your eyes.

Was it really him? Was he here now? Was this really your Technical Boy?

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me this long to get back to you. I didn't mean--"

You cut him off with a tight hug, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

He froze in shock.

The god had expected many things. Yelling, hitting, you slamming the door in his face. But, he hadn't expected this. When he calculated the probability of various reactions, hugging was very low. A 0.82% chance, to be exact. It was higher than a kiss but still incredibly low.

Finally, he settled his arms around you, holding you as tight as he could. It was like he was afraid you'd slip from his grasp.

You breathed his scent in, a mix of his cologne and vape. Over the last while, you'd forgotten it. You'd forgotten a lot. Like how big he was, how soft his skin was, and how warm he was against you. You never wanted to forget any of that ever again.

Your own heart thudded in your chest.

This was real. He was real. But you had to make sure. Maybe you had fallen asleep and this was just a dream. A cruel, cruel dream.

You pulled away, tears falling.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing away your tears. "Please, don't do that. If you cry, I'm going to start crying."

You laughed and smiled at him.

It couldn't be a dream. Dreams never made sense. They were never accurate for you. But this, he was. Maybe his hair was shorter and his clothes screaming a little less, but it was him. It was your Technical Boy.

You reached for him, cupping his cheek. "T?" It came out like a sob.

His hand held yours as he nuzzled into it, kissing your palm. "It's me. I promise."

Overwhelmed with joy, you kissed him, placing your other hand on his other cheek. It's forcefulness left your lover stunned but he quickly reciprocated, bringing you closer.

You panted hard as you broke away, pressing your forehead against his.

"I love you," you said.

He grinned. "I love you, too."

Rescuer

Pairing: WinchesterSister!Reader

Disclaimers: sexual assault, unwanted touching, unwanted groping 

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: this got a little darker than I originally planned...

M A S T E R L I S T

buy me a coffee?

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I sliced my machete clean through the vampire’s neck, watching it roll across the floor before turning, slicing into another one and then the one behind that. I stood in the living room, my machete held out in front of me as I waited for more to appear, careful of the ones littering the floor around me.

I slowly crept back up the stairs toward where Dean was supposed to be. I turned into the first room where three vampires laid lifeless. I moved onto the next room where I could see Dean untying two young guys from a wooden post.

“Hey, you alright?” Dean asked over his shoulder as he cut the guys loose

“I’m good,” I said, looking to him as he stood, helping them up. “You?”

Before he could even answer, I heard the creak of the floorboards behind me. I quickly dropped low to the ground, swiping a foot across the floor, knocking the vampire to the floor. It growled up at me, baring its teeth as I brought the machete up over my shoulder and sent it down sailing through the air, severing its head.

I panted, wiping away the splattered blood over my face as I stood, turning to Dean and the two guys who watched in shock, “Woah.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Dean said as he ushered them down the stairs and out of the house. “Lets get out of here before anymore of those freaks show up.”

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

Dean and I leaned up against the sticky bar, the loud music booming around us. The Saturday night scene was in full force and we were right in the middle of it. The bartender continued to bring us more rounds of beers long after I waved him off, but Dean kept asking for more.

“God, I haven’t seen you drink this much since you were in your twenties,” I said, laughing as he picked up another beer and shoved another into my hands.

“We’re celebrating. To a hunt gone right,” Dean said, slightly slurred as he clinked his bottle against mine. “We earned a win.”

I nodded, taking a sip from the beer, “First time in a while…we’re not getting rusty are we?”

“Psshh,” Dean said, making me laugh. “Speak for yourself. I am as youthful as ever.”

I raised my eyebrows, “Right. Because for the next few days you’re not gonna talk about how bad your back hurts?”

Dean ran his tongue over his top teeth as he took another drink from his bottle. “Hey, by the way, nice job back there. You did good.”

I watched him closely, “You should drink more often.”

“Amen, sister,” he said. “And that thing you did with the leg? Knocking that vamp down like that? Pretty badass.”

“Right?!” I said. “Pretty sure I learned it from watching one too many Charlie’s Angels movies.”

Dean laughed, throwing his head back when someone traveling from one end of the bar to the other caught his eye. I watched as Dean’s eyes traveled to the girl that passed, his eyes raking up her long legs and short shorts, her dark hair that curled down the middle of her back. She turned halfway over her shoulder to wink at him at the last minute before disappearing out the back of the bar.

“Go,” I said to him, making his eyes dart to me in confusion. “I know you want to. We’re celebrating, right?”

“No, no, I really shouldn’t- alright, I’ll go,” he gave in, quickly grabbing his beer from the bar top and meeting the girl outside, the heavy door closing behind them.

I shook my head, laughing as I tapped the pads of my fingertips against the bar top as I watched the TV screen above the racks of alcohol, sipping my beer. I tried to push away all of the crap that’d been piled on us the past few months. With Cas M.I.A, Rowena dying and the only weapon to rid all of the supernatural beings on the planet being destroyed, it could easily be categorized as one of the worst few months of our lives. However, now I decided to take a play from Dean’s playbook, to drown myself in cheap beer and forget about our problems for just a little while.

I should’ve known it wouldn’t have been that easy. As I watched the TV, I began to have the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that someone was watching me. Call it hunter’s instinct.

I looked to my left but was only met with a crowd of people talking loudly around a table, nothing entirely suspicious. I dragged my eyes back up to the TV before looking to my right where sure enough, a large man sat at the other end of the bar, definitely not trying to hide the fact that he was watching me.

Gripping the bottle tighter in my hand, I downed the rest of its contents before standing. I flipped my jacket aside as I dug for the cash in my pocket, revealing the gun tucked away in my waistband to the man. I slammed the money on the bar top as I stared back, challenging him.

I began to gather my things, grabbing Dean’s jacket from the chair, planning on going to sit in the Impala to wait for Dean when I turned around and nearly ran into the man. He was tall and burly, and not bad looking if he hadn’t been a total creep. I made a mental note that this guy could easily take me down if he really tried.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Did you miss the part when I showed you I had a gun, or do I have to remind you?” I asked, moving to the left to pass him but he moved too, blocking my way.

“I don’t know, shooting a guy in a public bar might get you into some trouble,” he said. I clenched my jaw as I watched a smirk spread across his face. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“Oh, I plan on getting out of here, just not with you,” I stepped to the right this time, but he blocked me again. This wasn’t this guy’s first time harassing a girl in a bar. “Stay away from me.”

He began to run his hands up my arms. I tried pulling away but he only tightened his grip, “C’mon, let’s go have some fun.”

I scowled up at him, twisting my arms before pulling them out of his grip and pushing him away from me, “Don’t touch me.”

Pushing past him, I bound out the bar’s main entrance, silently cursing Dean for parking the car so far away. I pulled the keys from his jacket pocket slung over my arm, my hands slightly shaking as I neared the car when a strong hand gripped my shoulder, pulling me backwards.

I stumbled back, watching the man. I felt myself begin to shrink. You could put any kind of monster, demon or angel in front of me and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash before taking them down. When it came to these situations, the ones with just people, those were the hardest. Monsters were scary, but people like this guy were much scarier.

“I’m not gonna tell you again,” I said, mustering up every ounce of strength I had to stand in front of him without shaking like a leaf. “Stay away from me.”

“Or what?” he said as he came closer. With every step he took toward me, I was taking one back. This went on until he’d backed me up into a corner, right where he wanted me. My back pressed up against the harsh brick wall of the bar, my arms scraping it as I tried to sink deeper into it. He rested a palm on either side of my head as he looked down at me, his face nearly inches from now. “What are you gonna do if I don’t stay away?”

My breathing began to pick up as I swallowed roughly. I had no idea. I had no clue as to what I’d do, and this guy knew it. He twisted my hair in between his fingers, his eyes flicking up to mine as one of his hands began to roam down my body, the other one still pinned to the wall beside my head.

The man came in close to my ear, biting at it before whispering something to me that I couldn’t quite process. I felt myself begin to shake slightly as his hands came to rest on my hips.

“Relax,” he whispered, which only succeeded in making my heart pound faster. He began to kiss down my neck, biting my skin as he pushed me harder up against the wall. I racked my brain for anything, almost like everything I’d ever learned up to this point about what to do in these situations was lost on me, completely wiped from my memory. I felt frozen as his hands massaged my chest, crashing his lips into mine.

I felt myself begin to tighten my grip on something in my hand, almost as if my body were going into autopilot because it knew I was of no use. I felt the metal of the car keys sliding in between my fingers before jutting them upward into the man, making him stumble backwards in shock. With the split second of freedom, I found myself screaming for Dean who I prayed would be able to hear me if he were still even here.

I began to run toward the side of the building, pumping my legs. “Dean!” I screamed again before I felt a pair of arms wrap around me and slam me against the brick wall. I watched in fear as the man gripped a tight hand over my mouth.

“You’re gonna regret that,” he snarled at me, inches from my face when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. My heart dropped, unsure of how I hadn’t seen he’d had a gun, wondering if maybe he’d taken mine. However, the look on the man’s face was enough for me to know that it wasn’t him who had the gun.

“No,” Dean said from a few feet away. The man and I looked toward him, my whole body nearly going limp with relief. “You are.” Dean shot the gun twice, making the man fall to the ground, screaming in agony as he held his legs where blood began to pour from the wounds. Dean quickly ran toward me, his eyes scanning my face. “Are you okay? Did he touch you-”

“Lets just go,” I said, the words coming out just above a whisper. I pulled him away from the man who continued to scream for help. Dean didn’t move from where he was standing, clenching his jaw as he looked from me to the man on the ground, a look of anger I’d never seen in him before.

Dean gently pushed past me as he stood over the man, grabbing him by his shirt collar with his left hand and swinging a fist into his face with his right. Dean’s fist rained down over the man once, twice, three times before he threw him back onto the ground, his chest heaving with anger.

“C’mon,” he said, leading me back to the car. He pulled the passenger door open for me, putting a hand on my head as I slid into the car, watching him walk slowly to the driver’s side. We sat in silence, neither of us sure of what to say.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept mine glued to the dashboard.

The scene continued to replay in my head like a broken record, everything I could’ve done differently racing through my mind at top speed. Now that my head was back on straight again, I felt the weight of the gun in my waistband, how if I had been thinking I could’ve used it a lot sooner.

“I froze,” I said, still keeping my eyes off of Dean. “I never freeze.”

“I know.”

“I should’ve shot him.”

“I did it for you,” he said. I looked up to him now where the anger in his face was beginning to fade away and was being replaced by concern. “Are you okay?” He asked again.

I hesitated, unsure of what I was feeling, “I don’t know.”

Dean nodded slowly, turned the engine over, the Impala rumbling to life. I tightened my jacket around myself tighter as I slunk down in my seat, desperately trying to get the feeling of the man’s hands over my body out of my head.

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

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Heaven

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: Smut/fluff

Work count: 4.2k

Summary: In which pretending to get laid actually ends with a good lay. or In which you spend more than just seven minutes in heaven with your crush.

Warnings: oral (female receiving), fingering, riding/cowgirl. can’t think of much else tbh, it’s pretty tame. not yet proofread, i apologize.

A/N: This turned out a lot fluffier than originally intended ..but hey, that’s what happens when you write while you’re in your feels :,) side note, I think I finally wrote smth that isn’t a pwp so..yay! though i was sleep deprived when i wrote this & it’s like 6am as i’m posting-

Ah, the sweet stench of sweat, alcohol and vomit. Typical traits of a college party, and if you were being honest, you weren’t all too sure how you allowed yourself to be persuaded into attendance. It could have been the fact that you really needed to let off some steam after finals, it could have been that you were bored at home and needed a change of scenery, or perhaps it was because a little birdie had informed you that your crush was likely to show up tonight. But surely, it was because of the free booze, no?

Lying aside, it wasn’t as large as a typical frat party; a fairly average one as far as you could gather from your experience, given that it was being held in someone’s home. Your friends had split in all directions almost as soon as you’d arrived, looking to find drinks or companions or old friends, of which you weren’t very concerned with. Jelly shots and heavy bass EDM wasn’t your ideal Friday night, but it would have to do for now.

After your fair share of drinks (a beer, some jello shots, and a supposed margarita that tasted more like tap water than alcohol), you decide to venture inwards, trying your hand at a spot on the makeshift dance floor. You’re having fun in your own little world until you accidentally bump into someone while trying to break free for some fresh air, almost spilling your drink over the unfortunate passerby. Turning to apologize for your inebriated clumsiness, you’re greeted by none other than your classmate, Mark.

“Oh hey,” Mark calls out to you, smiling at a familiar face, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I, until tonight,” you joke, but there’s a hint of truth behind your words.

“Did you also happen to be abandoned by the people you came with, or are you lone wolfing it?” You chuckle at the way he words his question, not missing the way he tries (and fails) to subtly check you out in your gorgeous emerald dress.

“Lone wolfing it after my abandonment, if they left me, they can stay gone.” A smug grin plasters itself on your face as you take a sip of your drink.

“Ahh, I feel you. The guys ditched me the second they found the cheerleaders and beer pong.” Mark rolls his eyes, following suit and taking a swig from his beer. Leaning closer to him, you find yourself having to speak up due to the music.

“In all honesty, this conversation is great, but I can barely hear you,” Mark’s eyes crinkle as his telltale laugh lines form, “so if you’d like to continue, can we move somewhere quieter? Unless you were just saying hi, that’s fine too.”

“Someplace quieter sounds great right now, after you,” he gestures vaguely, insinuating that he would simply follow your lead. You try your best not to let yourself linger over his appearance, but you know damn well that in the back of your mind, the image of Mark in a button down and jeans will be embroidered there for the better part of the next month. Minimum.

Conversation flows smoothly as you both enjoy the breeze on the balcony, catching up on life events, intermittent with preposterous tales and the silliest of jokes. That’s how it always felt when you were around Mark though, like you could be yourself without a care in the world, his free spirit and funny personality letting conversation flow through so easily you’d hardly noticed how long you’d been missing.

The balcony door suddenly swings open, making you pray it wasn’t some horny couple trying to get it on in the fresh air. Instead, you’re met with one of the friends you came with, claiming she’d frantically been searching for you everywhere. When you ask why, all she answers with is that they need people for truth or dare, to which you roll your eyes at but begrudgingly accept your fate. As you’re dragged by the wrist, you shoot an apologetic glance at your companion; he only shrugs in response, opting to tag along due to his unwavering curiosity.

The game commenced after the first person volunteered, and whoever was seated clockwise from them had to go next. So far: someone had revealed they were secretly a porn actor, someone had to lick the bottom of someone else’s boot, someone had confessed they once had a wet dream with a clown, and someone was dared to prank call the local pizza joint asking if it was the krusty krab. Not too far out of a game, but also not exactly anything normal, as far as you were concerned. You find your heart starting to pound, hand sweating as your friend goes, watching as she does a belly shot off one of Mark’s friends; perhaps his name was Johnny, but you’re not too certain. All you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, immediately regretting picking dare when you see the way your friend’s eyes light up with malicious intent.

“I dare you... to a round of seven minutes in heaven,” she pauses for dramatic effect, effectively jamming your heart into your throat when you notice where her eyes land... to the boy sitting right next to you. “With Mark Lee.” Everyone in the circle cheers, having only witnessed a reluctant make-out earlier, they were ready for some fresh blood, and it would appear you were the sacrificial lamb.

You swallow hard, the way Mark stills in his spot going entirely unnoticed. He stands up first, trying to act unfazed as he holds out his hand to help you up, walking over to the closet with you in tow, hanging your head low. You damned the drinks for starting to wear off, knowing you were much shier without the alcoholic assistance, and much better off with it.

“And the timer starts... now!”

your friend yells as she locks the closet door, leaving you both in a relatively dark, cramped space. You swear to get your vengeance on your friend for tonight, she knew damn well about your crush on Mark, and she was going to force it out of you one way or another, it would appear.

“God, I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” you run your hands through your hair, once again failing to notice as Mark’s throat runs dry, eyes raking over your appearance with heavy gaze.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says after clearing his throat, “it’s not like any of this is your fault, anyway.” Even in the pale glow of the light through the lines of the closet door you can make out his beautiful smile; it’s a smile that you would know anywhere.

“So... seven minutes locked in a closet. Hope neither of us are claustrophobic,” you try to make light of the situation, pretending that you can’t feel the heat radiating off his body. You try to raise your hand to find the wall, instead finding Mark’s chest, apologizing as you pull your hand back as if it had just touched a hot iron. He laughs at your reaction, finding it adorable how opposite your actions were to your appearance tonight. A tight emerald dress paired with black heels and smoky-eyed makeup to complete your ensemble had you looking like you’d devour the first person to speak to you, but instead, here you were blushing at every slight action. The boy had no idea that was all his effect on you, thinking you were just very shy all the while.

“Hey, I just got an idea,” Mark grins deviously, causing you to furrow your brows in concern. “Hear me out, ok? Have you ever seem Easy A?” You nod, wondering where this was going. “Do you remember how she would pretend that she slept with someone, just faking the noise?” Your eyes widen as what he’s hinting at registers in your brain, elevating your nerves and skyrocketing your pulse. The mere thought of it had you feeling a little damp, wondering what pretty little noises would be leaving his mouth.

“I’m... not too sure about this,” you start off, chewing on your lip. He assures you that he won’t force you into anything, just found it to be a fun, harmless prank to play. “Yeah sure, let’s get on with this, then,” and you pray that for the second time tonight, you don’t regret your decision.

It’s a lot harder than you initially thought, you ponder, trying not to laugh as you both slap the walls and make the most absurd of noises. If that was really how he sounded, you don’t think you could ever sleep with Mark without laughing your ass off; but then again, you certainly weren’t true to form with your overly exaggerated fake moaning either.

It’s when he suggests that you both make it sound more real that things take a turn. You suddenly find yourself all too close, drowning in his scent, tempted by his presence and tainted by desire. You’re all too tempted to just lean up and kiss Mark’s beautiful pouted lips when he catches you staring, stopping dead in his tracks mid-fake moan.

“Something tells me that look on your face definitely isn’t fake,” he whispers, voice a hushed whisper lulling past the dull thudding in your eardrums. “Please tell me it isn’t fake, that I’m not imagining the way your eyes are just eating me up.” Mark sounds breathless, almost as if incredulous at your attraction towards him. You can’t help but think he must be dense to not have noticed by now... but so must you if you never caught his shy glances or lustful staring.

“Oh it’s real alright, and so could these noises if we just stopped playing these games already,” you hadn’t noticed you’d said the second part aloud until you saw firsthand the shift in his demeanor. Mark’s entire face screamed want as he brought a hand up to cup your face, the other landing on your waist.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, searching deep into your eyes as if to find out that this was a bad joke all along.

“About as sure as the fact that I’m glad my underwear is matching tonight,” you tease, unknowing of where this sudden urge of confidence was coming from, entirely grateful nonetheless. Mark leans in softly, slowly, as if worried he might scare you away, and it takes everything in you not to drag him to you by the collar in one hurried tug.

His plush lips feel wet, likely from running his tongue over it one too many times, and slightly cracked, probably due to chapping. But that’s the least of your worries as it feels like he’s sucking the air out from your very lungs, pausing to nip or suckle on your bottom lip before losing it entirely when your fingers tug at his hair, slipping his tongue past your lips. You’re startled by the sudden noise, followed by more light than your eyes could properly get used to on such short notice. There stands your friend on the other side, the room mostly empty now, with just a few stragglers.

“So did you two fuck all that tension away yet or was that all just for show?” She quirks a brow at your bruised lip, wondering if you’d been kissed anywhere else tonight.

“Was working on it, til you showed up, actually.” Mark’s brazenness leaves you floored, but surprisingly only serves to fuel the fire he’d ignited deep in your belly.

“By all means then, don’t let me stop you,” she leaves you with a wink, mimicking a phone with her hand as she tells you to call her tomorrow with the details. After she disappears from view, you feel Mark’s hand slip though your tresses, bringing you back to reality.

“Hey, I was totally joking to get her to bug off, but... the offer stands,” he lets out hurriedly, almost as if he was scared you’d shut him down.

“Well, what did you have in mind?”

“We can either go grab a late dinner and pretend this never happened or we can go back to my place? And I’ll treat you to breakfast. It’s all in your hands though,” he smiles nervously at you, eyes pleading what his heart is too scared to show.

“You must be confident,” to which Mark quirks a brow in response, “assuming I’d stay until morning come.” You jest, watching as his mouth gapes but fails to come up with an actual reply. “I’m just kidding, lover boy. Let’s get back to your place then, I’m sure you’d like more than just an answer in my hands.” He audibly groans at that, feeling his pants tighten as he follows you out the front door of the party residence, calling for an uber as you trail a line of teasing kisses across his jaw.

The ride back to his apartment is filled with mindless conversation, neither of you daring to go farther than sneaking kisses or placing a hand on each other’s thighs. The moment of arrival, you swear you could’ve kissed the pavement from how relieved you were. You both made out for the duration of the elevator ride, with your hands in his back pockets as his find purchase at the base of your thighs, just under the hem of your dress. When the door opens, he walks backwards with you in tow, stopping to suck a lovely bruise into your collarbone before slotting the key into the lock.

No sooner than the door shuts behind you are you being pressed up against it, jumping up to wrap your legs around Mark’s waist. It’s the first time you come into heavy contact with the stiffness in his jeans, letting out a muffled noise into the heated kiss. He’s stumbling to carry you as he blindly makes his way around, nearly tripping over a cord as he opts to set you down until you’ve reached the safety of the bedroom. Laughing it off, you follow Mark to his quarters, taking in the sights of his room as you wrap yourself into his backside.

“Time for you to put your money where your mouth is,” you tease, spurring him on to turn around and run his hands down your sides.

“Oh, there will be plenty of time for me to put things in my mouth, baby. But for right now, as gorgeous as you look in it,” he stops to stare at the way it hugs your curves, “I just want you out of this damned dress.” You chuckle at his impatience, turning around so he can tug the zipper down, feeling Mark place kisses down your spine as the dress pools around your legs at the floor. He pulls back only to be pleasantly surprised by your earlier statement, you actually were wearing matching underwear, and white lace at that.

“I can’t tell if you’re an angel who’s come to me or the devil who’s luring me,” he sighs, breathless, “but either way I’m worshipping you tonight.”

“Does that mean you’ll be on your knees for me?” your tone flirty and light, taking note of the way your words have such a hold on him, the way his face gives away every one of his emotions.

“If that’s what you want, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” And so you find yourself sitting up against the headrest, Mark’s button down joining your dress on the floor as he tweaks your nipples, kissing his way down your stomach. His hands slide to part your thighs, taking in a deep breath at the scent of your arousal as your underwear joins the heap. He spends countless minutes pulling sounds from you with his tongue and fingers, not failing to let you know how mesmerizing he found you (and your moans); all the while not so subtly humping the bed to help give some friction where he needed it most. You’ve already come once and feel yourself starting to build up to a second when Mark pulls away, drawing out a whine from you as you tug at his hair.

There’s an almost sleepy smile on his face, no doubt tired from a long week of finals as well. “Tell me to stop at any time and I will, ok?” he says as he places multiple kisses on your lips, still in disbelief as to how he managed to get you to come home with him after weeks of being unable to work up the courage to just ask you out. He’d have to thank liquid courage for that one, actually.

You lean up on your elbows to watch as Mark undresses, then produces a condom from his nightstand, pinching the tip and rolling it onto his length.

“You ready, sweetness?” Unable to help crinkle in your nose, or the giggle that bubbles in your throat at the name, you lean up to tug him down to you; taking the time to enjoy his slow, deep kisses before moving on to the main event, uncaring if you could taste yourself on his lips. As you two part, a trail of saliva follows, which he wipes at with his thumb, rubbing it across your bottom lip gently.

“You’re absolutely sure about this?”

“I’m sure, Mark. No regrets,” you mutter more to yourself than to him, wondering how the human brain can choose to psych itself out at the worst of times. He flips you both over, having you straddle his lap as he places both of his hands on your sides, pausing briefly to litter your neck and chest with butterfly kisses, half of which you’re sure will blossom into a constellation of love bites.

“Feeling lazy now, are we?” you attempt to tease him once again to help settle your oncoming nerves.

“I’d rather you take it at your own pace, babygirl,” one of his hands moves up to run across your jaw, “I wanna learn what you like, what you don’t like, what makes you tick. If tonight’s the only shot I have at impressing you, so be it, but I’d love to take you out sometime... maybe do this all again someday.” Mark’s confession flows out naturally, but it’s obvious you’re not the only one feeling like you’re in over your head here, which makes you feel much more at ease.

“Look at you, Lee, I didn’t peg you to be someone to do things so out of order,” you tsk. “Isn’t it supposed to be a date first and then sex?” He unconsciously pouts at your teasing, bringing you to press another kiss to his lips, this time with the sole intention of pulling his jutting lower lip with your teeth.

“We’ll go out on a date wherever you want tomorrow, I promise,” he slurs into the crook of your neck, almost shy in his words now. It’s as if the admittance of feelings has made the night much more personal than either one of you intended, and yet, neither of you can find it in you to complain.

You slowly lower yourself onto his cock, shutting your eyes at the sheer pleasure beginning to build up again. Mark lets out the softest of whines despite his deep voice, absolutely enamored by the way your warm walls seem to just trap him right in, making him never wish to leave the paradise between your legs.

You start to find your rhythm the more you bounce yourself in his lap, shifting from grinding down slowly to humping into him with fervor. Mark tries desperately to quiet his moans by meeting your lips with his, only for it to not work out quite as intended when your noses bump into one another. You two simply laugh it off, his hands sliding down to your thighs and back, head falling back as it resonates with the headboard.

“Fuuckk,” the word escapes Mark’s lips in a drawn-out drawl. “You feel so good baby, so.. so fucking good,” he grunts as he thrusts up into you, checking for your reaction until you nod, giving him the green light. Mark doesn’t hold back anymore after that, meeting your hips with his own, hitting even harder now, much deeper than before.

“Looks like I might be staying until breakfast after all,” you pant, dropping yourself into his lap, exhausted. Mark chuckles into the break he’d been sucking at, nudging at your chest with his nose to get your attention.

“Want me to take over if you’re too tired?” His voice was far too sweet for the way he was still shallowly thrusting into your heat, too needy to think straight but still focusing as much of his attention as possible on your own needs. You nod before leaning to place your forehead on his shoulder. Duly noted, don’t skip leg day.

Mark picks up speed with renewed fervor, holding your hips in place as he thrusts upwards at an angle that fills you up deliciously. He thumbs at your clit, eager to get you off before he cums, already racing you towards your orgasm whether he wanted to or not.

“Ok this is going to sound kind of embarrassing but you’re so fucking hot and you feel amazing, I don’t think I can last much longer,” Mark admits openly, honestly.

“That’s fine by me, I’m fucking exhausted,” you two stop to laugh at the double entendre before rutting yourselves into one another in search of release. You’re only allowed a quick warning before you feel him cum into the condom, the pulsing of his cock being the final trigger to your orgasm.

You whimper and whine in his lap as Mark keeps rubbing your clit, eventually stopping him when it gets too much, feeling too sensitive for any more. He tilts his head to press a kiss onto your forehead, cradling the back of your head with one arm as the other encircles your waist. Both of you start to slip from your current position as Mark slowly slides down, pulling out with a hiss and parting from your entanglement of limbs to dispose of the used condom.

“Man, that was lame,” Mark breaks the silence, almost making you worry before adding, “I wasn’t supposed to come before you did.” He drapes an arm over his head after his statement, rejoining you on the mattress now. It’s adorable how he’s beating himself up over something you found so trivial. After all, it wasn’t like you didn’t come, in fact, you’d come twice tonight.

“Mark, please don’t worry about that. It’s fine, baby,” you coo at him, leaning up on an elbow to play with his hair. “You did wonderful, and it’s not like I was dissatisfied, so please, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Mark, ever the perfectionist, opts not to answer, but rather vows to do better next time. Oh, how he hopes there’s a next time.

“So, about that date tomorrow...” he changes the subject, falling hard for the twinkle in your eyes as you two discuss your plans for the following day. He’s almost shocked at himself with how domestic he was already acting around you, how gentle he was and how carefully he wanted to treasure you. You stop halfway into your rambling when you notice the silly grin plastered on Mark’s face.

“You haven’t heard a damn thing I said, have you?” You stop stroking his hair, nose huffing as you realize you were wasting your breath. Mark simply pulls you down into his chest, wrapping you tight into his embrace, too bashful to say things like these to your face.

“I was just busy thanking all the divine beings for shoving us into that raggedy closet tonight,” he muses, mulling over his words carefully. “You know, I’m not so sure I would have had the courage to finally ask you out if it wasn’t for that little stunt tonight.” You’re almost shocked at his confession, but find you can only nod as you’d been in the same predicament just hours prior.

“My friend is never going to let me heat the end of this,” you groan as Mark laughs at your pathetic struggle. He brings his hand under your chin, tilting it until you’re looking up at him.

“Those were definitely more than seven minutes in heaven,” Mark purrs, “and these moans were definitely not fake,” he smirks at the light rose color dusting on your cheeks. You slap weakly at his bicep, it’s all you can do to stop yourself from spontaneously combusting.

“And I’d like for nothing more than several years in heaven with you,” Mark thinks to himself as you snore softly in his arms, blissfully ignorant of the lovesick look in his eyes yet again.

           ✞ IN THE SUSPENSION *      FIND ME THERE

he calls haknyeon first.

 it’s a proper celebration, and a reminder why he’s his best friend. on the phone with him, he can forget about the difficult side of this news. he can forget about all of the people he’ll effectively be leaving behind, and just focus on the fact that finally, he got what he wanted: for one of the entertainment companies that turned him down twice on live television to finally want him.

 in the past, he would’ve waffled. he would’ve held that contract in his hands and wondered if it was worth the sacrifice. but my band, but my friends, but my parents. now, all that remains is the second, and they’re all people he knows will understand the decision he already knows he’ll make. even daniel in all of his usual optimism can’t deny this will be painful, though: the loss of time with the people he loves and the hours of dance practice he’s set himself up for.

 somehow, it seems like it’ll be worth it, and next, he texts the reason he believes it’s so, because woojin doesn’t seem like the type for phone calls, and daniel isn’t the type for phonecalls with woojin. he doesn’t know what to say, but with woojin, he knows he doesn’t need any padding or beating around the bush. it’s why he settles on a simple “hey, i got in.” there’s one more important detail he needs to add, though: “ i’m not signing until i release all of my music that i want to, though.”

 that’s the plan. if there’s anything he learned from the aftermath of the mgas, it’s that companies don’t want you uploading anything that suggests you have a mind of your own, and daniel’s music is too important to him to keep locked in a vault, never to see the light of day. he’ll write more in sphere, certainly, but it'll be different, and he knows. he has so much ready now that just hasn't made it to his soundcloud or youtube. that changes today, and maybe tomorrow if he needs it, and maybe the day after that--

 next, he calls songhee. he breaks the news to her, and he knows her well enough to detect her forced happiness. he doesn't blame her, and there's no use in him acknowledging it or dwelling on it. she tries to be happy for him, and he's grateful for that much. "hey, so...do you have time to record our song?

        ⊰ ✞ CACTUS IN THE VALLEY ; written, composed and sang by daniel & songhee                ☇ if my yesterday is a disgrace, tell me that you still recall my name ⊱

 here's an original song, and the first of a few you'll see over the course of the weekend! thank you to songhee for writing and singing this with me, and playing it with me the past few weeks, and to sophie for helping learn the cello.

 this song grew really close to my heart while we recorded it, and i hope you like it even if it's a little different from what you're used to.

 matthew 18:12

 before the end of the mgas, he prayed. he prayed for everything to happen as it should, but somehow, only had two options in mind: empty enigma stays together, or he gets a contract. of course, neither of those things happened in the end. after all the pain, daniel can understand why. daniel's job as a christian is supposed to be to reflect jesus, and cameo didn't really do that, aside from one song that made it on their album. this way, he didn't have to worry about how to glorify him as a trainee, because he wasn't one.

 now, he's still not really sure how god's plan or mission or what have you will benefit from him signing to sphere, but there's not that possibility of turning down a contract anymore. as always, god knew what he was doing.

 in that prayer before the finale, he said that he would write a ton of songs about him, regardless of what happened. he hasn't done as good of a job at that as he should've, but at least there's this.

 daniel and songhee wrote cactus in the valley together after the green ribbon festival. they decided after their performance there that they made a pretty good duo, and decided to make it official-- or semi-official. if they lasted longer, maybe they would've come up with a name. they got so far as writing a song together and playing shows every weekend, and it sated something in daniel's soul-- an unaddressed unrest dwelling there following the mgas and empty enigma's demise. they wrote it as an acoustic arrangement, with songhee on the piano, and daniel on the cello-- a relatively new instrument for him, basics learned thanks to sophie and polished now for the sake of an original version that would never make it to the stage because daniel's cello skills weren't that good.

 on stage, it's different-- songhee with a guitar and daniel on bass, mainly because it would be hard for daniel to sing while on cello, aside from the fact that he plays instruments he still isn't entirely comfortable with better with several takes. live, he doesn't have that luxury. in the recording studio, however, it's different, and he hopes people won't be disappointed by the song in its original form.

 (he thinks both the cello and piano are beautiful, and he's glad he took the challenge of writing a song for them. he wants to get better.)

 songhee sings the second verse, and one of his favorite lines of the song, and one he can only aspire to: if this whole world goes up in arms all i do is can stand, and i won't fight for anyone until you move my hand.

 ultimately, it's a song about god. it's about all of daniel's struggles to stand and all of his drifting-- all of his attempts to survive on his own and his world crashing down. it's all of the change, and the fact that that's not god, and there is a consistency that he never realized before, or never relied on. there's a love he'll always have and that he too often takes for granted, and the least he can do is write this song and release it to anyone that will listen. it's up to them how to interpret it, but for daniel, it is a i'm sorry you always need to remind me how much you love me, but thank you. i know i'll never deserve it, but i get it anyway.

                        ⊰ ✞ AUTOMATIC ; lyrics by yuzu, composed and sung by daniel                        ☇ i'm lost, out of place, i'm hooked on every single word you say ⊱

these lyrics were written by choi yena! i had a demo of this instrumental not so long after the mgas, and she had lyrics already written that ended up matching to it well. a little bit of rehashing the instrumental (or a lot) and here it is! enjoy ^_^

 automatic is a little experimental for him. it's a step out of his comfort zone of band-oriented or acoustic sound, with a little more touch of pop and edm. of course, he wrote in a heavy bass line too, and it drives the entire song. it's what he wrote it all around, too.

 he hasn't uploaded the song yet because he sang it, then mastered it, and hated how it turned out. he didn't even bother to share it with yuzu, and instead, left it to rot to eventually return to with a refreshed mind and different perspective. it was neglected in favor of other unfinished songs that his fans may never hear, so he dusts automatic off because it's near finished, and he'd be doing yuzu a disservice to not release the song they wrote together.

 he goes back to the studio, and plays more with the instrumental, stripping it down to just the bass line again, seeing what it'll sound like if he starts over.

 he thinks the lyrics are something most people can relate to. it's the attraction to a person when the relationship may be ending, or when it's already over-- the lack of direction without them, and why they still want to follow them. daniel didn't ask yuzu what she wrote the song about. he could assume enough, and for daniel, the meanings behind songs were always personal. when he wrote lyrics for his songs on his own, he didn't even share the meanings of some of them with empty enigma, and they were (still are) his closest friends.

 plus, these lyrics are pretty straightforward.

 he overhauls the instrumental, and feels a little guilty because it'll sound so different from what yuzu heard from him before. it's probably better like this though: an instrumental built around the lyrics instead of two separate pieces coming together. he likes it better.

 "finally have automatic mastered. check it out and see what you think. it ended up pretty different '^^" he sends in a message, song file attached.

 yuzu shares her liking of it with great enthusiasm, and daniel is relieved. he uploads it with satisfaction in finally having a finished product.

                           ⊰ ✞ SUSPENSION ; written, composed and sung by daniel                      ☇ this sky feeling i get when you're near, i'd give up gravity to feel ⊱

here's another original, and this one's all mine. i wrote it a while ago, actually, but i think now is the perfect time for it to find its way to you.

 suspension still feels too personal to upload, but that's precisely why he needs to. it's an important song to him-- too much so to keep to himself.

 he wrote suspension in the week following empty enigma's final show, when sungwoon ran off to japan. it was what he did instead of getting mad, and to cope with the ridiculous feeling of how much he missed him, and wished he was with him. it was what he did while waiting for him to come home so he could tell him how much he loved him (and in the end, he still couldn't wait until then.)

 he's held back from posting it anywhere because he's embarrassed. sometimes, it's still hard to admit he even has these feelings, and he thinks it would be for anyone. he's only been writing songs for a year and a half, and he never wrote a song for someone before. then again, suspension isn't for sungwoon-- it's about him, but it's for daniel. it's not the first song he wrote about sungwoon either, but this one feels different. maybe it's because it's the first song he wrote about sungwoon knowing he loves him.

 he hasn't even played it for anyone else, he's so self-conscious of it. it's not because he thinks the lyrics or melody are bad, just because...it's a part of his heart that he hasn't shared with anyone. it's a look into him that he doesn't show. kenta knows the guitar part; he played it for him when he got home from training one day to daniel camped out on their sofa, playing through chords. minhyun probably caught a lot of it from daniel singing over the lyrics absently.

 soon, everyone will know it. he tries to steel himself in advance, but he knows he'll always be a little nervous.

 it's just him and his acoustic guitar in the studio for this one, recording it for the first time despite the months it's been completed, and there's something cathartic about finally doing it.

 now, knowing he'll become a trainee and feel so distant from his previous life, it hits a little closer to home. daniel didn't know it was possible.

 there is so much more he wants to do. there's a panic-- a preemptive mourning of all the songs no one will ever hear. surely there's more he can finish up and upload without taking too long. there comes a point where he'll feel like he's taking advantage of baek jiyoung's grace in offering him a contract for his own self-serving reasons.

 he can't help but think of all of those empty enigma songs that didn't make between fear and faith-- the other 30 he wrote in preparation for it. they talked of polishing them and including some on their next album, and some of them he doesn't like anymore, but others...losing empty enigma was painful enough, but so was losing all of their unreleased songs to the void of their main composers becoming trainees with contracts that forbade the release of original music.

 there's one song in particular: daniel's favorite song he wrote in the build up to between fear and faith, actually. it's the one he had his mind set on to perform if the mga finale had solo rounds. how can he not share it on his youtube and soundcloud if he was willing to perform it in front of a live audience, on live television?

 the only problem: kenta and woojin helped him compose this song.

                    ⊰ ✞ NO ORDINARY LOVE ; written, composed and sung by daniel                       ☇ come back to me love, i forgive you, oh how i've missed you ⊱

i originally wrote this to be on the between fear and faith album, but we ultimately decided other songs fit better. it's still one of my favorites i've ever written, and since you won't get to hear it on an album, why not hear it like this? it's different than it would be played by an awesome band, but i did my best. this is a cameo only zone.

 he does the natural thing, and pulls a vanilla ice, slightly altering the song's composition just enough that it isn't quite the same song anymore, but could be accused of plagiarism. he would say it wouldn't matter, he could just upload it even though kenta and woojin took part in writing it, but he now knows sphere watches his youtube channel, and he doesn't want to risk it.

 so he reigns things in, changes the screaming originally written in for a rap, and without woojin to record a drum part, it's already essentially a different song. daniel can barely play the drums at all, let alone to woojin's level, so he doesn't even bother, and leaves that to his trusty drum machine to do the best work of its life. the rest, however, daniel can do: bass part, two guitar parts, vocals. squall who?

 more than an empty enigma song, it's another song about god. he wrote this one significantly earlier than cactus in the valley, of course-- not so long after he moved out of his mom's house and into his own apartment, when he started growing into his own skin and his own person for the first time. away from her, he could finally disassociate church from her iron fist and constant criticisms. until then, he thought god saw him the same way: as someone that always fell short, disappointing, worthy of endless rebuke, impatient and unforgiving.

 he learned better, and it was an eye-opening and...emotional process for him. he wrote no ordinary love about that process, and what he discovered: god waited for him to come to him, and greeted him with love and mercy even though it took him so long to, and to mean it. he didn't deserve it, but he got it anyway.

 this feels like the perfect ending to daniel the singer-songwriter online. it's a callback to empty enigma, and a song for god after he told him he would write more about him. he started on one and he'll end on one, and maybe it's this song that is the truest reflection of his heart.

 it's then, putting the final finishing touches up on the recording, that he realizes this is the real end of cameo. he doubts sphere will want him to return, and it's bittersweet, because with this, he realizes, like he did in his sphere audition, that he doesn't need him anymore. he doesn't have to create a cooler alter ego-- doesn't need to create a separate identity to enjoy music or be able to perform. he doesn't need to pretend to be someone he isn't to be liked; he doesn't need him to be brave and to be bold. maybe daniel has learned to take all of those qualities for himself without hanging onto a mask.

 it's still hard to let go. when he finishes, and starts the upload, his chest feels tight and his heart is in his throat. empty enigma was over before, but somehow, knowing he's about to sign a sphere contract makes it realer than ever.

 with the song he's releasing, a moment like this calls for prayer, however quick it may be. thank you. i wouldn't be me without them, and without cameo, and i finally like who that is. because of them, and because of you, i'm finally ready to face whatever comes next.

NOTES:

* all songs in korean; reference songs are only references ** songs are all uploaded to both youtube and soundcloud (un: kameo), sometimes with a live version on youtube and studio version on soundcloud, and that’s how everything he uploads goes

D/ream Da/ddy SnzFic M*t 1

More of the DD story I started. This is the last one I have written so far.

Mat 1

Okay. Going to a concert. That is a thing people do. That is a thing I can do. I’ve been to concerts, I’ve been cool at concerts, I’ve been popular. at. concerts. And I was great at going to the last concert with Mat! How crazy can it be to go to another one? Granted, aside from that one concert with Mat it’s been… well, we don’t need to count how many years it’s been since I’ve been to a concert that wasn’t full of glitter, scream-crying, and gyrating nineteen year old boys dancing in sync—heh—and arguably singing. Arguably. The point is, I’ve been to concerts, I go to concerts, and I’m cool enough to go to this concert with incredibly cool Mat and his incredibly cool hair, and his incredibly cool band knowledge and his incredibly cool face. Here goes nothing…

I go to knock on Mat’s door—meeting him at his place this time, instead of the coffee shop, cause we’re Super Tight—only he opens the door at the same time I go to knock and I end up knocking on his… chest? He looks at me, head tilted slightly to the side, lips quirking like he’s not entirely sure whether he should laugh or not, and try to extricate my hand from his chest as gracefully as possible. (You cannot extricate your hand from knocking on someone’s chest gracefully.)

“I think I should follow this up with some kind of knock-knock joke maybe?” I offer, after achieving the ungraceful extrication. I can salvage this situation with a classic Dad Joke, right? There must be a way to make this happen…

“Like…” Mat’s seriously contemplating this, he’s deep in thought. Then he comes out with: “Like maybe, knock knock, who’s there, Mat’s chest. Mat’s chest who? Mat’s ‘jest opening the door at the same time as you?”

See, this is the best thing about Mat. (Well, one of the many best things about Mat.) I guess because he’s nearly as awkward as I am—or so he says, I’ve yet to see him be anything but adorable—he rolls with my awkward. It’s like our awkward cancels out to become our own private brand of cool, like multiplying a negative… or is it adding a negative to a negative… I have no idea how Amanda and I got through Algebra. Tenth grade was an adventure.

“Like that exactly,” I say, smiling at him. “Sorry for um, knocking on your chest?”

“No need to apologize, you can knock me any time you want… aaaaaaaand that sounded wrong. Sorry, I…”

“What are you talking about? That sounded just right to me.” I’m not exactly sure if I’m trying to flirt or not? There may or may not have been an eyebrow waggle, but also I wasn’t fully committed to it and a not-fully-committed eyebrow waggle is one of the most awkward things known to man, and even Mat’s superhuman awkward-canceling powers might not be able to overcome this one…

“SO WHAT BAND ARE WE SEEING TONIGHT?” I ask, considerably too loudly, but Mat seems grateful for the change of subject, and so am I. We start to walk towards the venue as he talks.

“The Comfortable Barstools,” he says, “it’s kind of a… indie singer-songwriter vibe, but with a house twist? Just these two guys, one sings and plays the piano and the other one mans a turntable and a computer that does all kinds of magic. Really, it’s a great outfit, I think you’ll enjoy them. They’re cool guys too. I jammed with Scott once—he’s the piano-playing one. I’m not technological enough to jam with Austin.”

“Well I mean what are you gonna do, wail on the Macbook?”

“Dude, I shred on the Dell.”

“Yeah, I bet you crush on the Hewlitt-Packard.”

Mat doesn’t exactly belly laugh at that one—he shouldn’t; it wasn’t that funny—but he does give one of his soft smiles. I try to collect those little smiles like tokens when I’m out with Mat. It’s how you know he’s having a good time. And if I sometimes let myself think those smiles mean something special about me, or about our relationship or whatever… well, what? I’m human, aren’t I? CAN’T A GUY DREAM?

And he is starting to tell me more of his old music stories. I never push, he’d hate that but… he just drops little stories like that, pretty often actually. It’s… it’s really sweet honestly. And if it encourages me in my little daydreams about our relationship, well… that’s just a bonus.

Mat looks serious all of a sudden, and for a second I’m afraid I’ve done something wrong.

“But uh, I have something to tell you…”

Oh god, this is it. I daydreamed too much. He caught me. He can tell. I’m not being a cool friend, I’m being… what do the kids call it? I’m being thirsty and he can tell and he’s gonna tell me to cut it out or find another friend…

“I’m really sorry but…”

Oh geez, here it comes.

“We can totally be friends!” I blurt at exactly the same time as he says, “Jonathan Jones is opening again.”

“Wait, what?” We say in unison.

“Oh I mean I just said… we can totally still be friends,” I say, trying to make a smooth recovery, “even though you’re putting my ears through the Jonathan Jones torment again.” Nice, nice recovery. Although, moment of intense awkwardness past, I fully process what he said. Jonathan Jones and the Speakeasy Choir? Again? The single most unpleasant collection of noise I have heard in my life? Oh geez. Well, for Mat. And For Music!

“Sorry,” Mat said, shuffling awkwardly, eyes down at the ground. “I just uh, I didn’t want to go to this one alone? I know I should have told you.”

“Ah, Mat, don’t worry about it. I’d sit through a whole Jonathan Jones concert for you.”

“Wow. Th-that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in like a year.”

“Well, you know, I’m probably the nicest guy you’ve met all year, sooooo…”

“Haha. You probably are.”

We chat some, swap daughter stories, acquire some Beers. Maybe we have more Beer than we did last time, but I start feeling pretty buzzed. And I may or may not have gotten a little bold and suggested a shot or two. Mat seemed to hesitate for a second, and I hoped I wasn’t pushing him but after he eagerly downed his shot and ordered our next round of drinks, I was pretty sure he was cool with it. At least until I saw his face begin to waver, a look of… uncertainty on his face? And that uncertainty rapidly collapsed into something approaching panic. Had I done something wrong? Was I scaring him off? Mat could be skittish, like a deer with incredibly cool hair. But before I knew it he was turning away from me, raising his arm and…

“HEHTttssccchhh! HEHTtscchhhhh! HEHTschhh! HEHTscch! hehh… hehHHH… HEEHHTSCCccchhhhhh!”

Was that a sneeze? That certainly was not a Dad Sneeze. Leave it to Mat, World’s Coolest Dad, to have a normal Regular Man sneeze, unlike my great galumphing roars.

“Bless you, Mat, for those very un-Dad-like sneezes.”

Mat blushed, and looked at me bit quizzically before he choked out a sneezy “w-wait a mineehhhhh… ahhhhh…” and again he turned away from me, brought up his elbow to his face and…

“ehhttscchhhoOOO! EHTscchhhHH! huh… HUH-EHHHHT-Scccchhhhhuuhhh!” That last one had some force behind it, as he tried to clear out whatever was irritating his sinuses. But it still wasn’t really loud enough even to be heard over the noise of the room. Meanwhile, I��d probably drown out the band if I sneezed as many times as Mat had.

“Geez, Mat, you okay?”

“Y-yeah…” he said, smiling up at me as he turned back towards me, blushing a bit, nose slightly red. How did he manage to look so cute post-sneeze? “I um… the alcohol, actually. If I drink too much I get… oh geez… hehh… here it… heh-heh-hehh-hehhH… comes…” he said, chest swelling with air, head tipping back, voice going high pitched as the sneeze distorted his voice before he… “HEEHHHHHTT-sccchhhhhhh! Oh, geez! Whew!” he said, sniffing, as he reacted to the sneeze, which apparently had come on too strongly for him to properly execute the Vampire Dab Elbow Sneeze. He bent forward with the sneeze, pretty far, slowly recovering from what had, apparently, been a big sneeze for him.

“That was a big one!” He chuckled, saying as much.

“You call that a big one?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Mat, if I were capable of sneezing with even _half_ your level of chill…”

“Your… sneezes… aren’t chill?” Mat asked, smiling a bit.

“NO! My sneezes aren’t chill! I have horrible Dad Sneezes! I sneeze with the fury of a thousand Dads! I sneeze so loud, and so hard, that I once made not one, not two, not three, but seven toddlers cry from sheer shock. I can’t control it, I can’t manage it, it just…”

“eht-SHOO! ahhh… heettscchhOOO! HEHTschhhhhooo! hehh… EHTTTsscchhhh!” Mat sneezed again, his nose thankfully interrupting my sneeze-related ramblings. “Sorry I… I was listening it was just all that talk about sneezing must have made my nose itch.” He said, twitching it around experimentally, checking his nose for sneezes like one might rattling a jar for coins. “Sorry, I’m gonna be doing that all night. My alcohol thing once it… hehh… once it starts it just… comes back again and… EHTSCCHOOO!” He sneezed, another of his more forceful ones. I thought I glimpsed a glimmer of Dad Sneeze potential but… Mat was hiding his light under a bushel, alas. Of course it was probably good when one owned a food-service establishment not to be constantly sneezing loudly enough to strike terror into the hearts of all your quiet Macbooking coffeeshop-goers.

“Sorry,” Mat said, slightly bleary-eyed as he recovered from the heavy sneeze. “You were saying…?”

“Just… I have big sneezes, I guess. Wish they were a little more manageable like yours.”

“Manageable? I think I just sneezed twelve times in the span of five minutes. You call that manageable?”

“Compared to a true Dad Sneeze? Yes. Compared to mine? Mat… it is a fearsome and terrible sight. And sound.” I said solemnly. “I pray you never have to witness it.”

Mat rolled his eyes and laughed me off, and somehow flawlessly transitioned his eyeroll into turning away from me for another bout of properly dabbed “ehhttscchhuuhh! ‘scchhuh! TTttsccchhhuh! eeehhhTTCchuhh! HEHtchhhhh!”

“Bless you, Mat. Maybe enough drinks for now?” I offered, putting my hand on his shoulder. It felt warm.

He turned back to me and smiled. “Yeah, maybe enough drinks for now. Although you-know-who is coming up in a second. We might need just one more Beer. Might make them a little more bearable.”

“Bartender?”

— I had polished off more than half of my Beer—and Mat had fired off two or three more rounds of his tight, itchy sneezes, and we still had yet to be aurally assaulted by the dreaded Speakeasy Choir. It seemed as though Mat’s nose had calmed down for the moment. Perhaps he’d acclimated to the Beer. I just wished my nose would acclimate to tree pollen, cats, dogs, ragweed, hamsters (the way I traumatized Amanda’s class hamster… I still shudder to think about it), cut grass, all flowers, most perfumes, a few cleaning supplies and/or tomatoes. Alas… the Dad Sneeze was relentless. At least, mine were.

The Dad Bladder, by contrast… was shrinking. Shrinking every day. And that meant that even with only 65ish percent of my Beer consumed… a trip to the can, the head, the little boys’ room, the water closet, the pee-pee palace was in order.

“Hey, Mat, I gotta head to the pee-pee… I mean the restroom!” Damn my internal monologue.

“Oh, uh, actually I could stand to drain the snake myself.” (I was definitely not thinking about Mat’s “snake” the instant he mentioned it.)

“You sure you don’t want to wait until the Speakeasy Choir is up? The bathroom may be our only refuge once they start playing.”

“Oh, that won’t help. You can hear them through the walls. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

I could only sigh, as Mat and I headed towards the restroom, dodging teenagers the whole way. Of course, they all wanted to greet Mat, who continued being impossibly cool. They mostly bumped into me.

We reached the restroom at last, and it occurred to me that it was perhaps a little odd to go to the restroom with someone you were definitely just hanging out as dads, as dudes, as dudefriends, guypals, daddudebuddies… but maybe also you had a little crush on and…

I had stopped at the first urinal, while Mat, observing proper ManCode(tm) chose the open urinal furthest from me, which was of course the correct ManCode(tm) choice, which was relieving as I occasionally had the slightest bit of stage fright and you didn’t want somebody eyeing your one eyed monster while it tried to cry—wait no that’s a terrible metaphor—but anyway maybe I did want him eyeing my crying monster—wait no that’s even worse—

And suddenly a great cry went up from the Teenagers.

“oh no.” Mat and I said at once. And then before we could say, or even think anything else, a wall of incomprehensible noise assaulted us. Was that a kazoo? A banjo? A live bleating goat?

“YOU’RE RIGHT!” I tried to scream at Mat over the noise, “I CAN HEAR THEM THROUGH THE WALLS!”

“WHAT?!” Mat yelled back, as he zipped up and headed for the sinks.

“I CAN HEAR THEM THROUGH THE WALLS!”

“WHAT?!”

“I CAN HEAR—”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU ALL I CAN HEAR IS THE MUSIC THROUGH THE WALLS!”

“WHAT?!”

We probably would have gone on like that for some time, even as I joined him at the sinks, but suddenly a youngster walked in who had clearly bathed in some variety of Teen Body Spray. And the instant I caught a whiff of it, my blood ran cold.

“Take cover, Mat.” was all I could say before the urge was upon me.

I was going to Dad Sneeze.

But it wasn’t going to be any ordinary Dad Sneeze, oh no, not even for me. I’d always been allergic to those damned body sprays, even when I was a youngster attempting to cover up all the funk of adolescence with pounds of chemicals myself. It caused me to collapse into a sneezing fit on my first date with Amanda’s Mom. Luckily that was before my Dad Sneeze powers emerged. It was still incredibly embarrassing, but at least no one was hurt.

Now… someone was definitely going to be hurt. Because I was about to have a Dad Sneeze Attack.

I could feel the sneeze attack taking over, filling my lungs, erasing every other thought, overwhelming my senses with the primal urge to roar like a rare animal on a nature show attempting to intimidate a much larger and scarier animal it probably couldn’t take on in a fight but hey maybe if we’re loud enough it’ll go away (I figure that’s what my nose was thinking as the sneeze built up). My breaths came in great heaving pants like I had just climbed three, maybe four flights of stairs. My chest swelled against the maybe-slightly-too-tight-for-me-but-I-still-have-abs-sorta-right? t-shirt I’d chosen for the occasion. Every sniff took in more of that accursed Body Spray scent, like loading gunpowder into… whatever explosive device that you load gunpowder into.

I could barely even hear Mat asking what was wrong, could barely see him looking at me with his ordinary quizzical look, half a smile, a smile that was soon to be wiped off his face—especially because he was in the line of fire. And with the sneeze I felt building up, it was clearly either going to blow him into the wall or blast me into orbit… and I couldn’t take a chance with either. With my last burst of non-sneeze-occupied brain power, I desperately stumbled towards the bathroom door, and no sooner had I crossed the threshold than it came roaring up from my toes with a great, monstrous, uncontrollable, epic…

“GGGGGAAAARRRRRSSSSPPPPPPLLLLAAAAAAATTTTTSSSSCCCHHHHEEEEERRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

It was as big a Dad Sneeze as I’d ever done. But I felt no relief. The urge to sneeze was just as strong, stronger even. I barely had time to open my eyes to see the surprised faces of the Speakeasy Choir as I reeled back for another:

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSJJJDDKKKKKKKKKAAAAAASSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEWWWWWWYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!”

I vaguely felt Mat’s hand on my shoulder, barely heard his cry of “Man, are  you okay?” before yet another hurricane of a Dad Sneeze overwhelmed me. And they kept coming. Again, and again, and again, I submitted to the Dad Sneeze Attack, and prayed the bar would still be standing when it at last released me from its grip.

But gradually, through the fog of the Sneeze Attack, I heard… clapping? And more importantly I didn’t hear… goat bleating? And then Mat… “I.. I can’t believe it. You did it. You… you’re drowning them out. I…” and then he was practically cheering, “keep going! Keep going, I think they’re giving up. I think…”

I could only hear bits and pieces. Most of my attention was consumed with the Sneeze Attack. But it seemed as though…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSPPPPPPPPPPPPLLLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSPPPPPPPFFFFFFFF!!!”

At last the final sneeze launched itself from me. Bleary-eyed, I attempted to recover, and tried to imagine how I would possibly apologize to Mat but as I opened my eyes I saw him… beaming?

And everyone around was clapping, staring not at the stage, but at me, cheering.

Mat was shaking his head, and before long he was tipping his head back in a beautiful, open-mouthed laugh. I was unclear as to how it was possible for a man to have a beautiful Adam’s Apple, but the plain fact was that Mat’s Adam’s Apple was beautiful so it must be possible—

“You did it! I can’t believe you did it! Hahahahahahaha! You warned me you had an epic Dad Sneeze but… I might have to bring you and some of that spray to every concert.”

“Wha—?” I asked, still unclear as to what had happened.

“Cary, you—you—hahahahahahahaha—” Mat was still falling into peals of laughter, which made it difficult to understand what exactly he was saying. But eventually he managed to choke out: “you sneezed the Speakeasy Choir off the stage! I can’t believe it!”

“I did… what?”

“Cary. You sneezed so loud you drowned out the Speakeasy Choir. And you sneezed so many times, they got bored and left the stage!”

“I… oh. I mean uh… I did that on purpose?”

Mat just laughed harder at me, and ushered me over towards the bar. “Cmon. You deserve a seat, and a Beer. For once, I don’t have to survive an entire Speakeasy set to hear the band I actually came here for.” Mat said as we sat down. And suddenly he turned that megawatt smile on me, and I swear my insides turned immediately to pudding as he said, “you’re my hero, man.”

And that’s how we spent the next hour sitting at the bar, me assuring Mat that clearly, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my sneezes were a fearsome sight to behold, him joking about how I was the only thing on earth louder than the Speakeasy Choir, and the occasional teen (or twentysomething, I know I couldn’t tell the difference) coming by to—I believe the term is—dap me up? And provide reviews of my Dad Sneeze Attack which included “the Dadliest Dad Sneeze that ever a Dad did Sneeze” and “extremely metal, brah” and “woah.”

I’d never thought that my sneezes could be a force for good but Mat was happy, I was a minor celebrity among the cool music teens, and we got to enjoy what was all in all a pretty great concert. And I was Mat’s hero, man. That’s all I need for a great night.

time to subject myself to Dracula: The Dark Prince, aka another bad movie starring another dude from black sails. this time with 100% less horny on main because my only real motivation for watching it is it truly looks to be a whole new caliber of horrible and I have to see it.

witness my standards for incomprehensibly bad movies being raised prohibitively high in every way imaginable under the cut

I seriously doubt that.

this was made in 2013 by the way, not 1994 as the graphic design of that logo might suggest

oh good, once again we’re opening with an exposition narrator. except this time it’s a woman and she has less vocal inflection and emotional investment than an amazon echo.

I feel like she’s gonna tell me to turn left in 800ft

it feels like a dragon age epilogue, but just. worse.

WE ARE WATCHING A TRULY HIGH QUALITY MOVIE TONIGHT MY FRIENDS

I can’t even describe how bad this is, you really need the sound. that’s where the true lack of quality shines through. siri’s depressed sister is talking about pre-vampire dracula’s epic feats in battle to more weird sepia dioramas and the dying soldiers sound like they hired muppets to voice them

HOLY WIG BATMAN

also this dude is obnoxiously jovial considering he’s supposed to be dracula, even if this is pre-vampire

oh no dracula’s advisors, who all wear black hooded robes and scowl ominously, have betrayed him and killed his wife, how unexpected

someone drew these, looked at them, and thought “yeah that’s good enough to go in the final movie”

the characters are speaking both english and what I assume is... romanian or something? transylvanian? it’s not spanish or welsh I can tell you that much. anyway there are no subtitles and also no rhyme or reason to which they’re speaking at any given time so I hope I’m not missing anything important. probably not.

so like... they killed his wife, yes. and he went on a murderfest in what appears to be a church in revenge, makes sense. now a dude who... I think maybe he’s supposed to be a priest or something? but he wasn’t speaking english so I can’t be sure, then a voice over said “I have killed for god, the hand that fought for him will now be turned against him” but I’m unclear on who was speaking. this movie is an absolute clusterfuck and we aren’t even five minutes in yet. this is still the prologue.

now zombie alexa claims dracula was cursed with immortality “in punishment for his defiance” but I’m still not sure... what defiance. he killed the dudes who murdered his wife and that’s somehow not okay despite his apparent status as a war hero, a designation that implies a LOT of killing has already happened?

fucking finally, the title screen. usually a prologue clarifies what a movie is about but I went in thinking I knew and now have absolutely no idea what I’m watching.

a carriage drawn by friesians is rolling through a misty forest with wolf howling sound bites playing at random in the background to vaguely urgent music, now this is what I’m here to see.

nevermind the carriage is too slow so they’re leaving it because that’s a thing people do (?????)

“Lady Arwen, we cannot delay”

seriously though everyone’s mumbling so much I can’t understand them much better than when they were speaking whatever the other language was

BOOTLEG XENA RIDES AGAIN

but this time she’s accompanied by esme. we don’t know who esme is yet either.

there she goes

and now the knights are being attacked by hilarious squeaky goblin things? who I guess are led by this power rangers villain with, again, an unintentionally hilarious voice. it’s like a bad batman impression.

with every minute that passes I become less certain of what I’m actually watching.

they’re looking for the “light bringer” and telepathically overseen by the world’s most halfassed lestat dracula

they’ve also got some random prisoners in a cage wagon

okay the prisoners are being taken to dracula’s castle and I’m sorry for such an image-heavy post but I NEED you to understand the community theater level of set design/quality we’re dealing with here

“what is that?” cardboard and mod podge is my guess

so far the only thing esme has done is fall off her horse and be knocked unconscious, and now a Roving Band of Misogynists has appeared to harass Bootleg Xena 3.0 in the most generic way possible (the words “what ‘ave we got ‘ere” accompanied by a chorus of malicious cackling and some whistles have been spoken)

oooh no the ringleader of the Roving Misogynists has been given a name, and it’s ~Lucien~. I have a horrible feeling that I’m about to bear witness to the worst romantic subplot in the history of cinema.

oh for... I thought at least bootleg xena 3.0 would be a Strong Female Character and fight them off, but she just rapped lucien on the head with her sword and then they stole her very important box and left as obnoxiously as they came

OH NO SHE’S ASKING TO GO WITH THEM, SOMEHOW THAT’S HER PLAN I THINK I’M RIGHT SHE’S GONNA HOOK UP WITH LUCIEN AND IT’S GOING TO BE HORRIBLE.

“trust me” she says to esme, who, wisely, obviously does not.

I appreciate the timely thunderclap every single time the castle comes on screen

who the fuck are you, did you wander onto the wrong movie set

nope okay they’re not gonna explain that shot at all we’re just moving on to a shot of a weird angel shadow doing slow flamenco moves on the ceiling while ominously gurgling, and the prisoners being led into the throne room

“what’s happening to us?” I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THE SAME THING, PRISONER #3

oh never mind that guy from before wasn’t a priest, he is remfield, chancellor of this kingdom, which means the last scene he was in makes even less sense

AKSLDGHJFGAKDLFJGHKAJGHFDKLFDS;GJokay so. remfield introduced himself then said “I will see that your needs are tended to.” then dracula in his new white contacts gets up from his shadowy throne, circumnavigates the cluster of prisoners, sniffs them dramatically, and walks back to his throne. remfield then says, “come, I will see that your needs are tended to” because proofreading is for COWARDS

now remfield is... literally giving the prisoners a tour of the castle and going on the “oh you’re our guests and many pleasures and adventures await you” speech and somehow the prisoners are accepting this despite the fact that they were just carted in on a barred wagon in shackles and got sniffed by a bad alucard cosplayer. they have a fucking harpist.

seriously, who the fuck are you

she’s just been twirling around in the background of this entire scene for no discernible reason no matter what rooms they go into

what the hell am I watching

yeah they’re just going for that incredibly suspicious food and also seem weirdly okay with the ambient clusters of scantily clad lesbians no one will explain okay they deserve whatever happens to them

WHOA TITS apparently this movie is a different rating than I thought

remfield: the newcomers have settled in

dracula: I  d o n ‘ t  l i k e  s t r a n g e r s

then why pray tell have you brought them directly into your home in chains. I cannot stress enough how avoidable this situation was for you my dude

“just think sire, once the light bringer is in your possession no one need die again” “except those who defy me” [ominous chime as the angel shadow on the ceiling continues its sensuous flamenco dance]

meanwhile in the misty blue filter forest of eternal night, some guy in a tricorn finds a gold amulet that I think bootleg xena 3.0 dropped, and the power ranger villain rides menacingly in a random direction for a few seconds

I’m still waiting on whether this masterful display of cinematic calvinball has any cohesive story to it.

ah joy and we’re back to The Non-Adventures of Xena 3.0, Esme, and the Roving Misogynists

as an aside, I’m not calling her that just to be dumb, I’m calling her that because they still haven’t given her a name even though her sidekick got one in the first five minutes

they’ve opened the box and revealed... the light bringer, which is a wooden staff. because it is not shiny gold, the roving misogynists regard it with confounded disgrunglement and scoff at xena 3.0′s insistence that it can defeat dracula

these guys sound like what an eleven year old thinks gangs of ne’er-do-wells sound like. like cartoon weasels, if the weasels were also mediocre pirates who have heard of women, conceptually, but never seen one. like goblins in a pre-written D&D campaign run by a slightly overwhelmed first time DM.

HUR DUR WALKING STICK NOT TREASURE, WOMAN DUMB

it’s what cain used to slay abel, apparently. given that zombie alexa mentioned that dracula is the descendent of abel, this leaves us with the terrifying implication that someone did put at least some vestige of effort into writing this movie.

oh good she’s finally gonna fight lucien

no she failed again. please someone just punch the shit out of lucien so he’ll stop.

NO WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT STOP IT GOD HAVE SOME STANDARDS WOMAN. STOP PLAYING FLOATY ROMANTIC MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND THEY ARE LITERALLY STILL STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ENTIRE BAND OF ROVING MISOGYNISTS

I thought it might at least be a trick but no she is actually, genuinely starstruck over this profoundly mediocre olde-timey frat boy who called her “sweetheart” while she was trying to explain to him why the ancient dracula-defeating relic was important.

this guy.

we did it boys, we found a worse love story than twilight

also I just. I wish I could convey with words the way the roving misogynists react to every single thing lucien and sometimes xena 3.0 says like the world’s worst greek chorus in a literally neverending stream

lucien (post makeout and xena 3.0 explaining again that the relic is ancient and powerful and they’ve searched for ages to find it): well we may not be knights but we can respect that

[cacophony of rowdy but understated agreement]

lucien: what do you think boys, should we give it back?

[assorted grumbles of assent]

xena 3.0: hm, a thief with a conscience

[gruff mercenary-esque chuckling]

lucien: maybe even a heart

[chorus of “ooooooOOOooh”s and some whistles]

it just goes on like that in every scene they happen to be physically adjacent to, they never shut up but also never actually contribute or say anything meaningful

ah, the mysterious leonardo has appeared. I think he was the one they were trying to take the light bringer to so that’s handy

“what is happening here? what is this flirtation?? is this the people to share your sacred secrets with???” - leonardo, the only remotely rational person in the entire movie

oh he is schooling these idiots, finally someone with sense. it’s bouncing right off of lucien, but at least he’s saying it.

“the scourge” - leonardo

“scourge!” “scourge!?” “scourge?” “hrgghhg??” “hrrm...” - the roving misogynists

power ranger villain and his squeaking goblins vs leonardo, the most useless female leads of all time, and the roving misogynists. who will win.

not the people watching this movie, I can tell you that much.

oh no, the lightbringer isn’t working. this will do nothing to convince the roving misogynists that it isn’t a walking stick

oop, wilhelm scream

oh no lucien has picked up the light bringer

goddamn it he’s the chosen one isn’t he

yep he activated the stick and now we all have to suffer

oh xena 3.0′s coming for power ranger villain maybe she’ll actually do something

nope she bounced off him and now he’s grabbed her and hauled her onto his horse

“you’re coming with me” he says in his weird batman voice, to make sure the audience can tell that he is in fact taking her with him

and esme has yelled “no” to make sure we remember that she’s in the movie

wait what the. did lucien just yell “xena” is that her actual name what the fuck. what the fuck. I had to have misheard that. okay I can’t tell what he’s saying for sure but someone’s bound to say her name again at some point in the movie so I’ll revisit that.

and on that note, I think I’ll end here, because there ended up being a LOT more to unpack in this movie than I expected, it’s after midnight, and I’m tired.

tomorrow, we follow lucien as he presumably goes to save some lady he wildly disrespected and then made out with one time whose name may or may not actually be xena, and hopefully figure out what the hell is even going on with dracula, remfield, and their castle full of artfully strewn half naked harpist lesbians and dancing ceiling shadows. because right now I really don’t have time to unpack all that, and I have a feeling it will only get worse.

some thoughts that I’ve kept in for a long time

I’m writing this in the hopes that someone will listen, but also in the hopes that it will help someone who may be going or have gone through similar things. You’re not alone. None of are and none of us ever will be. If you decide to read this whole thing, I thank you.

Over the past 2 years I have met incredible people and felt things I never thought I would feel before, like love. That’s a thing that happened. After repeatedly telling myself that I would never, I fell in love for the first time. Or so I thought. I saw a post online somewhere the other day that read “You think love is attention and that’s why you suffer so much.” It hit me really hard, but I’m so grateful I stumbled across it. It made me realize how skewed my view of love is, a result of my childhood and the media. I don’t like saying this and I hate that I don’t, but my mom has been in an emotionally abusive relationship for years and years now. Whether she realizes it or not, I have, and I’m sure my brother has too. Maybe she has, but she can’t do anything about it. Or maybe, the most likely one, she’s just stuck with him for so long because she’s got us. She knows it would tear the family apart and things would never be the same.

It’s difficult to imagine being in my place if you haven’t. But I want you to at least attempt to imagine your dad yelling at your mom almost every day for something, even if it’s something as trivial as adding too much water to the rice so now it’s a little hard, and making her feel worthless and stupid. I want you to imagine being there when he does and hearing every single word and not being able to say a single damn word about it. But then one day, you get tired of it. You’ve been watching her be abused for too long and you’re not gonna sit by and let it happen anymore. So you say something. And then you get yelled at too. You get yelled at for sticking up for the other parent. Now ain’t that some shit?

It doesn’t happen as much now, but he still does it sometimes. You’re not in the room to hear what he’s saying, but you know it’s happening. And after hearing yelling and arguing and almost violence that your family members thought would solve things your entire life, you freeze. People talk about your “fight or flight” response triggering all the time, but what they don’t usually talk about is “freeze.” It’s a more common response to trauma that you’d think. You’re sitting in your room doing something and having a good time; doesn’t matter what that something is: singing, listening to music, watching a funny movie and laughing so hard you’re crying. And then it happens. He or literally anybody else raises their voice a little louder than usual, and you stop. The smile drops from your face and you sink in your chair like a wilted flower. You stop everything you’re doing and pray to God, to the stars, whatever you believe in that what occurs next will not be an argument.

Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t. But my God if that doesn’t stop you from praying that the next thing you hear is laughter. “Please, not again. Don’t tell me this is happening again.” When you at last hear laughter, it’s like a heavy weight being lifted off of your shoulders. But when it keeps going and you hear your mom quietly protest and attempt to scream but it’s just not enough because he yells her into submission because it’s all he knows, you know it wasn’t just him talking about something he’s very passionate about. Your brother’s in your room talking to his friends or studying, so you know it wasn’t just friendly banter. Something’s pissed him off, and you know who he’s gonna blame? Your mom because everything is always her fault.

Then later, when you think all is said and done, or he’s at least calmed down, you hear dishes clatter in the sink. Normally, you would shrug this off because people sometimes drop things. But this time you know it’s because she’s suffering so much but can’t find a healthy way to express herself. She can’t talk to you about it because she wants you to focus on yourself and keep your grades up. She can’t talk to your brother because he’s always so busy. She doesn’t like worrying people. So she angrily throws down dish after dish, hoping that the sorrow and the pain will go down the drain with the soap and the water. But it doesn’t. It stays in the dark and feeds off of it. It creeps up on her and manifests itself in getting upset when someone on the TV says something she doesn’t like or beating herself up for not being able to do something she’s done a million times before.

You had pretty bad anger issues for a good portion of your life. You always had to repress your emotions, so you never learned how to properly deal with them. You would have random outbursts in school and sometimes get super defensive about the tiniest things. People saw you and probably just thought you were crazy. You so wish somebody would’ve pulled you aside and asked you what was wrong because it felt like you were perpetually stuck in a well and screaming your lungs out, but the outside world was so used to hearing your screams that nobody bothered to check up on you anymore. That’s how you’ve always been and you’re still alive. Why should they?

But then you got to high school. You met new people and felt like you belonged again. It was nice having a group to sit with at lunch every day. But people change and grow and the group disbanded. You’re sad, but you move on eventually because that’s life. Your junior year comes and you join choir. It was the one of the best decisions of your life. You meet your second family, your second home. And you truly feel like you belong. This is more than a group you can eat lunch with and catch up on classes with. This is people you never knew you needed in your until now. They’re so accepting and welcoming and a small part of you is healed. But like all things, it had to come to an end. You graduate, but you’ll never forget them.

Now you’re going off to college, and you’re depressed because you never fully recovered and you have no idea what you wanna do with your life yet. You don’t fully have a grasp on who you are yet because mental illness has taken so much of your personality away from you, and you’re afraid that it’s not the only thing it’s gonna take. My ability to achieve my goals? To make new friends? To find love?

You know that’s a ridiculous thing to even think. “I’m 18. I’ll find someone.” But then you think to yourself “What if I don’t? What if my low self-esteem and insecurities drives them away? What if everything couldn’t be better in the beginning and then they realize how flawed I really am and they leave me?” And you’re terrified, and even questioned at one point whether you even wanted to find love because is this what it’s really like? Being degraded and shot down and feeling like you are inferior? “I don’t want that,” you think to yourself. “I don’t want that at all.”

Sure, there are successful couples, successful marriages, but the concept seems so foreign to you because you’ve never experienced it. You’ve never seen your parents do anything romantic or intimate, not even hold hands or hug. And now you’re a touch-starved adult who doesn’t know how to act when someone plays with your hair or even fuckin’ shares a seat with you because intimacy scares the crap out of you. Being vulnerable and that closely connected to anyone scares the crap out of you.

But you’ve been through hell and back and clawed your way out of the ground when life tried to bury you alive and walked away and laughed when it was so sure you wouldn’t make it. And you’ll be damned if you’re gonna let it do it again. It will, but if you learn to love yourself and let others love you, it won’t happen as frequently. Yes, bad things will always happen; some will be out of your control. But people won’t be able to walk all over you again because you’ll know your worth. It will be hard as hell, but you’ve made it through everything you thought you couldn’t, and you’ll do it again.

05; Attacked

In which you recall how you nearly died (it’s not as serious as it sounds)

idol!jimin x staff!reader

genre: mostly fluff, comedy, and others along the way

word count: 2.5k ish i’m trying okay?

A/N: Don’t imagine Jimin dancing to this.

It was ridiculous at just how well you can recall this particular moment in your life. The details were so vivid that if you so much as to even think about what happened, your body would react as if you were going through a PTSD flashback…okay maybe not that severe in terms of actual real PTSD flashbacks, but you still felt like you were gonna die that moment.

You’re probably dying to know: what exactly was that moment in life?

Well…

It starts out simple enough; you were in the office, working until the late hours of the morning because the comeback is looming closer which means everything needed to be in absolute, perfect order. Schedules are checked, then double checked, then re-checked again for things like meetings, promotional videos, and twitter posts. Poster designs need to be finalized, album pre-order counts need to be confirmed and not to mention how many social media platforms needed to have a new banner and icon update soon…Your head was spinning at this point at just the amount of preparations that needed to be done and you still technically had a month until D-Day when the changes come drastically.

But you pride yourself as a diligent worker, always determined and resilient to get the work done and with careful attention to the finer details to deliver top quality results. So you stayed and worked until at around 3am did you finally decide that you were satisfied with what you got done. Stretching, you cracked out the kinks in your stiff neck, hissing at the stiffness before getting up from office chair. Gathering your things, you exit your cubicle and made sure to lock up before heading out of the office area. Before actually heading to the garage where you parked your car however, you detoured to the washroom because goddamn all that coffee just built up.

So after the washroom trip, you were finally set to go home and were already fantasizing about how soft and warm your bed will be.

That is until you noticed the lights were on in the dance studio. The white fluorescent lights streaming through the door practically made it look like a beacon in the darkness against the dimmed lights surrounding the area outside the room (didn’t help that the door to the dance studio was literally just a large panel of frosted glass with a frame around it). Once you’ve slowed to a stop in front of the practice room, you also detected the muffled sounds of a beat, no doubt some kind of song being played only to pause for a while before starting up again.

You really didn’t have to think too hard to guess who might be the one staying this late cramming in as much practice as he can (your 50/50 chance bet with yourself was either Hoseok or Jimin) but regardless, it brought up a little bit of concern in you because even though the comeback was soon, it wouldn’t do them any good to practice to the point where they can’t the very next day. Giving your body the time to rest and relax before doing more strenuous activities is just as important for it to be able to keep going and not completely shut down otherwise.

Which is what drove you to press down on the handle and gently push the door open. Cautiously, you poke your head in, letting your eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and starkness of the vast room before your eyes land on a lone figure currently sitting on the floor. At the sound of the door clicking open, they turn their head towards you and you sort of wished you had someone else to bet money on who it could be in the dance studio this late.

“Oh Jimin-ah.”

“Noona, you’re still here?” He blinks at you, genuinely surprised to see you. You wished you could say the same to him, but then you would be fooling no one.

“Yeah, late night. I had a lot of stuff to look over…Comeback prep and all that fun stuff.” You lamely say as you slip in through the door and let it gently close. Even though you’ve been in the practice room multiple times before, it still made you feel like a speck of dust standing against the all white flooring and walls (save for the wall of mirrors on one side). You feel it ten times more now that you’re literally one of only two people in the spacious room (and of course it had to be with Jimin).

You catch yourself from sighing aloud. Even after the whole closet debacle, you still felt really fidgety when it comes to Jimin, but hey at least now you two talked more than you have before! … Kinda… God Yoongi would not let you live it down if you admit that he’s right.

“Oh, wow I can imagine…” Jimin’s light chuckle pulls you out of your thoughts and you watch as he runs his hand through his hair. “I feel the most sorry around these times; the staffs work so hard to help us get ready for comebacks and to make sure it turns out perfect.”

Which no doubt is why he’s working so hard right now. The thought makes you smile softly at him; that part of Jimin was something you really admire and love (but honestly who cannot love that about him?)

“Trust me, we get a lot of joy from watching you all perform on stage so all the work is definitely worth it.” You say in all sincerity. His lips pull back to a smile, the one that makes his eyes disappear to crescents and he looks down shyly.

Crap, your heart is starting to stutter against your ribcage but no, you’re better than this. You’re. Fine.

And just when you get a hold of yourself, Jimin looks up at you except suddenly his eyes are now glinting with an underlying mischief, the once soft smile is replaced with a faint smirk that looked too devilish for you to not be suddenly nervous and, smoother than any cucumber, says, “Then I’ll make sure to put on a cool performance for you noona.”

….

 UM??!!

You physically feel your brain short circuit and suddenly you’re having a mental battle where an inner voice of logic is yelling at you to play this cool because goddammit YOU. ARE. BETTER. THAN. THIS. So with much effort, you let out a chuckle, praying that it doesn’t come off as sounding too nervous in order to mask your inner turmoil and reply as casually as you could, “I’ll look forward to it.”

If Jimin notices your sudden stiffness then he chooses to not comment on it. Instead, he shifts topic as he gets up from his seat, dusting his pants.

“I actually have a favour to ask since you’re here.”

“O-Oh…Um okay, yeah what is it?” The change has your nerves relaxing a bit but you still shift on the balls of your feet as you watch Jimin make his way to the stereo, fiddling around with the iPod plugged into it before turning to you again with a smile, all traces of…what happened earlier gone from his pretty face and it nearly has you reeling again because how.

“Can you help me record a video for this dance I’m working on? I want something to post on twitter.”

“Oh, yeah sure.” You agree, mind still not quite there yet but also not thinking much of it. Another known fact about Jimin is that he loves and feeds his fans well, even you who nowadays didn’t have as much time to be on the ball for their twitter postings knew that much. As you slowly stride away from the door, you suddenly feel uneasy — of what you’re not even sure yourself, but you can acutely compare it to the feelings a child would have if someone had suddenly taken their security blanket from them.

Yet you push through, determined to put aside those feelings. You make your way closer to Jimin who by now was also making his way to you, phone in his hand. You both stop with ample space in between as he hands you his phone, camera on recording mode already set up. You’re too hyper aware of your hands and take great care to not accidentally brush your fingers against his as you take his phone (you will not fall into that K-Drama trap, you have some pride). Jimin gives the room a once over before turning his gaze to you to gesture over to the wall with the mirror panels.

“You can stand just in the middle there.”

You wordlessly nod and shuffle your way over; positioning yourself to what you hoped would be a good angle. With the phone held in a landscape fashion, you begin to experiment with the shot; bending a little, leaning back slightly, or shuffling a half step to the left or right until you finally settle on a position you’re satisfied with.

“Good?” He asks, eyes dancing with hints of amusement and you return with a nod and a smile.

“Good.” The task of finding the perfect angle has your mind settling back down, welcoming the distraction to forget about the risk of a racing heart and a frazzled mind. You feel good which means you can totally do this.

And so you hit record.

With one last smile, Jimin bounds off towards what you had thought would be to the stereo system but as you look up from the screen wondering just where he’s going, you find him stopping in front of the light switches.

And suddenly the room is dimmed.

Your breath hitches (because what the fuck) and you had to count to ten backwards to reign in the onslaught of nerves. You were so caught up in doing so that you barely notice him heading to the stereo next to press play and in the moment of silence between tracks, a slow, heavy beat starts up as he gets into position. Wait isn’t this—

And then before you know it, he starts to dance.

Your thoughts start running a million miles a minute and the same goes for your heart as you watch him through the screen. His body moves with such precision and fluidity in time with the beat that even though he's practically on the other side of the room from you, it still felt like he was dancing way too close. You swear you could see the breath he takes and the way his face shifts as he feels the music.

The music… This song…!

As if Drake’s crooning wasn’t a dead giveaway, then the lyrics are because YOU DAMN WELL KNOW WHAT THIS SONG IS ABOUT AND YOU’RE SUDDENLY NERVOUS WHETHER JIMIN DOES TOO.

And that’s when you make your first mistake; your eyes stray from the phone screen to glance up at Jimin as if you would find some sign that he planned for this but you’re met with something worse. Way worse.

The smoulder that greets you nearly leaves you winded and it takes all of your willpower to not collapse right then and there. He’s still moving effortlessly to the song as if lost in a trance and you’re left trying to hold together what sanity you have left but it’s so hard to do that because of the way his fringe falls over his eyes only for him to move it away with a sweep of his hand and you get the full force of those eyes again AND DID HE JUST LICK HIS LIPS??

Oh no…oh no what is he doing now, no don’t— NO DO NOT GET ON THE FLO— PARK JIMIINN!!

You’re internally shrieking and want to so desperately look away but it’s one of those things where you just can’t no matter how much it makes you wish the mirrors would suddenly transport you to another dimension.

It felt like eons before he ends the choreography (by far the longest minute and a half of your life thus far) and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Before you actually get a chance to breathe though, he’s making his way towards you and you swallow the urge to make a run for it.

“Did it turn out okay?” He asks, voice taking on a rasp and sounding slightly breathy.

If you mean did the body rolls, casual grinding and all manners of movements that should be classified as illegal to be executed by Park Jimin were captured nicely in the video? Then yes, it turned out more than okay.

“Y-Yeah….” You stutter out instead and quickly spew out more words in hopes of covering it up, “It might be a little dark but the lighting behind you might be enough so it shouldn’t be so bad…” You feel the heat rising all the way from your neck to your cheeks and you actually think that it’s not such a bad thing that the lights were dimmed; you probably looked like a tomato right now.

Jimin gives you a noncommittal hum, showing no signs of noticing anything strange about the way your words came off as slightly choppier as he reaches over for his phone. You pass it over like the device had just burned you and silently thank your shaking hands didn’t drop it or that would’ve made things super awkward.

Jimin flashes you a smile after he looks through the footage and says in a very cheery voice, “Thanks a lot noona!”

You numbly nod back and muster a crooked smile, a little dazed and questioning whether or not this is an entirely different Park Jimin than the one a minute ago.

“Uhh…so do you—do you need anything... else?” You force out. As much as you want to exit the building right at this moment to just yell, it would be very impolite to not at least try to wrap up this interaction here.

He shoots you a sweet smile again (almost too sweet) and shakes his head, “Nope, that’s all I need help on.”

“Ah…” You more or less breathe out. You’re floundering again and the heat on your face is not letting up any time soon so before you might actually combust, you give one last, rushed words of concern (“Don’t stay so late!”) to which he replies with reassurances (“Don’t worry noona, I’ll leave soon!”) and then you’re skittering out of there, heart rattling against your ribs.

Your nerves are still shot even after you get into your car, and you take a minute for your mind to finally catch up to what happened in the dance studio. After who knows how long, the only conclusion that you can make is:

There is no way that happened. Absolutely. NO. WAY. In what universe does this happen?? And what higher being planned this??

Well, this universe clearly.

And little did you know, you didn’t have to look very far to find the person responsible.

A/N: So how about that comeback huh?

Album Review of DAMN by Kendrick Lamar

Kendrick Lamar's album 'DAMN' is a book of revelations. While it's packaged as revelations about the artist known as Kendrick Lamar, it's actually overwhelmingly a collection of revelations about African Americans, these United States, and society-at-large. What follows is a track by track breakdown:

 BLOOD. - Intro/interlude of poetry spoken word tells story of a blind woman whom [presumably] Kendrick approaches to ask if she needs help & she turns her gun on him and shoots to kill. The track ends with Fox News

DNA. - Here he invokes the name of Yashua and the belief that African Americans are the original, true Israelites. He educates you on all of the things inherently present in his DNA. "I got soldier's DNA". He also refers to himself as an antisocial extrovert while growling "My DNA not for imitation. Your DNA's an abomination." While cultural appropriation has been a hot button issue for YEARS now on social media, the collective of well known rappers has typically turned a blind eye in favor of their brand and music sales. TI's defense of Australian born rapper Iggy Azalea comes to mind, which is really interesting when you take into account that Kendrick came to her defense as well. DNA's infectious instrumentals almost overshadows the brilliant lyrics at play. Kendrick warns of "tenets on the way" if you look up in the sky and growls "I don't compromise. I just penetrate."

YAH. - the supreme creator, God, Yah, the universe...however you prefer to acknowledge your maker, Kendrick wants you to know that following your intuition is a must. Once again he mentions being an Israelite and even requests "...don't call me Black no mo'." He quotes Deuteronomy but also cautions that it ain't about religion.

ELEMENT. - here, we are introduced to "Kung Fu Kenny" and I'm immediately reminded that Kendrick is from Compton!! As I turn the volume to the max and hear "I don't give a f*ck". Our conscious warrior is back and wants you to know "I will die for this shit" ala Tupac. He even jokes about faking his death and going to Cuba. But don't worry because he's gonna "make it look sexy". The screw music style at the end of the track makes one wonder if he's directing his lyrics at Drake.

FEEL. - my first impression is that this music is psychedelic/trippy in nature. That's not a knock because I'm curious where the journey will lead! Here, we are introduced to Kdot's feelings of frustration with himself, his friends & the world at large. "Feel like removing myself ain't no feelings involved...since nobody praying for me." We've all been there haven't we? Not feeling like our best selves, having a moment of self pity and wondering where our friends are in our time of neediness and if anyone really cares at all! This track is an emotional journey of highs and lows, bravado, machismo, disconnection and ultimately, STRENGTH.

LOYALTY. (feat. Rihanna) - definitely a chill vibe; a bit of flirtation. Loyalty is described as a "secret society", no switching sides. Rihanna & Kdot take turns asking the question "Tell me who you're loyal to" be it money, food, weed, drank, your family or your friends. Will most definitely be on the radio and in heavy rotation this summer.

PRIDE. - more reflective sonics as he questions the choice between "happiness or flashiness". He cautions us not to take our respective pride too far. In this age of flexing our curated lives on the gram we are reminded the damage it does to the greater good. But don't worry Twitter, the line "I can't fake humble just cuz your ass is insecure" is just for you!

HUMBLE. - the track that jumpstarted the anticipation for the rest of the album. This song is truly an oxymoron about Kdot's ability to humble OTHERS. And folks wasted no time in posting the oft repeated refrain "Be humble. (Bitch) sit down." Blog posts exploded to debate the meaning of ditching photoshop for an "ass with some stretchmarks" and the contradictions of the male species' voicing a preference for au naturale but constantly clamoring for the prize also known as a 'bad bitch' who's accessories may/may not include cosmetic surgery, hair extensions & a face full of makeup. That aside, 'HUMBLE' is Kendrick's reminder that it's levels to this shit, and his competitors ain't there yet.

LUST. - we are initially confronted with a metaphor of the physical manifestation of a man's erection (blood rush, heart racing) as Kdot croons "Let me put the head in". But this song isn't about sex, not exactly. All of the things we and the male/female characters in the song lust for - sexual prowess, money, looks, danger keep us from doing good and making a difference. Keep listening and you'll recognize the recap of the energy post the 2016 presidential election & how the disappointment of so many swiftly dissipated as the collective became easily distracted by their lust for all things superficial.

LOVE. (feat. Zacari) - you WILL be singing this is the shower! Hearing that sweet confirmation: "I wanna be with you" is Kendrick's spin on the spirit of Motown's classic love songs. Get ready to hear this at weddings for the next 24 months and beyond. So many "If I...would you still love me?" moments to choose from.

XXX. - speaking directly to America. Not the people of America, but the entity. Kdot plainly lays out on the table disparities in quality of life, education and opportunities. And for those still tone deaf enough to continue equating death at the hands of police brutality with civilian on civilian crime that happen to be Black, he lets you know "Ain't no Black power when your baby killed by a coward." We end on a note that accurately describes how violence doesn't discriminate against social class, race or pedigree. From Compton to Wall Street to yes, our very own Oval Office.

FEAR. - the longest track on the album at 7 minutes and 40 seconds, it's also the most complex and thought provoking. Especially if you happened to grow up in a household that infused fear in an effort to make you act right and behave. You're reminded of all the threats of an ass whooping for everything from jumping on the couch, losing a fight at school, not finishing dinner, your homework, etc. This is the first seed where fear continues to grow within your heart. And Kendrick allows his vulnerability here to let us into all of the dark corners of his personal fears: losing wealth, losing love, walking home in the wrong gang territory, the police and ultimately, fear of judgment.

GOD. - it's not what you think. Actually it's more reminiscent of Kanye West's infamous 'I Am A God'. Kendrick is expressing his celebration of arrogance and ponders that "this what God feel like." Kinda like how all men feel fresh out of the barber's chair.

DUCKWORTH. - as stated at the beginning of this album review, 'DAMN' has proved to be a a book of revelations of sorts. Kendrick Lamar saved the best (and most personal) revelation for last. Without giving too much away, I'll tell you that 'Duckworth' tells the hard to believe (but confirmed as true) story of Top Dawg founder Anthony Tiffith crossing paths with Kendrick's own father "Ducky" on the streets of Compton, and how if things had ended differently, we wouldn't have the pleasure of Kendrick Lamar Duckworth's dynamic artistry to behold.

This album will be in rotation for years to come - A CLASSIC.  

Tenebrae

Chapter One: Maundy Thursday, Visita Iglesia

John 13:6-10

Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.”

~

Cathedrals are named for the cathedra, and Yuuri, sitting before the congregation on Maundy Thursday, feels the weight of ancient power vested in the chair behind him. He knows what they all see: two rows of pillars, carved out of stone and drawing the eye into the nave and up to the vaulted ceiling. The tower at the crossing, the apse of the eastern end with its famous stained glass windows. The altar and its cathedra, richly carved and made in proportion to the size of this cathedral, built at the zenith of the Church’s medieval excesses.

Churches were made to be grand, created to inspire awe with their beauty. Yuuri knows himself unworthy, feels the sharp sting of guilt as keenly as a sharpened dagger in his side.

The cathedral is packed for today’s service; even so, silence reigns over the congregation. The only sounds are distant footsteps and the hushed wail of a child. For a second Yuuri wishes himself younger, wishes himself returned to innocence, but he knows it’s too late. His sin is too deeply embedded into his soul.  

The bishop must be removing his magnificent purple cope and donning the gremiale around his waist, mitre forgone in this act of humility. There will be the deacons; in dalmatics and waiting to assist, basins and pitchers of water on hand. Yuuri knows this service, knows every psalm, every reading, every gesture loaded with meaning. The knowledge brings him no comfort. It only makes his sin all the more corrupt; that he was so educated in theology and philosophy, and managed to throw all that knowledge aside in a moment of weakness? God gives mercy to the foolish; but what of the wilful?

A gasp from the choir loft; Yuuri very nearly weeps when he hears Sara sing: “Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.” Where love and charity are, God is. But what of the wrong kinds of love, disordered and lustful?

Yuuri fixes his gaze on the graceful vaults of the cathedral’s crossing; he wills the tears back and fails.

He hears the rustle of clothing, and when he drops his gaze back to the ground it is to the sight of the worn face of Father Yakov, unreadable and sphinx-like. Kneeling beside him, his silvery hair a perfect match for the dalmatic he is wearing, is Viktor. He is pale and his hands are shaking, his shoulders hunched over in defeat as he pours water over Yuuri’s feet.

Yuuri cries. He buries his face in his hands and refuses to look, but he can still feel it: the cool rush of water over his feet, the soft brush of the towel wiping them clean, Bishop Feltsman’s warm breath as he kisses Yuuri’s feet in benediction.

He’s not worthy, he never could be. Not as long as he still remembers the sight of Viktor on his knees, the feeling of his embrace, his lips on Yuuri’s skin.

~

The light from the windows casts shades of gold and amber across the chapel, and despite the summer heat Yuuri is glad for the color. Without the windows, Xavier Chapel had an austere look, with its white marble floors and black pews and furnishings. Even the exteriors suffered the same austerity, the façade built in black granite, the clean lines of the modern architecture accented only by polished brass fittings on the windows and doors. But the stained glass above the main entrance seemed alight with fire at all times of day; the red and amber glass depicting the martyrdom of St. Francis Xavier.

Yuuri loves this chapel; he loves the simplicity of it, the minimalist design, the way faith intertwined with rigid rationality in the steep angles of the pyramid-like structure, built with scientific precision and yet drawing the eye to the heavens. He loves the intersections of science and art, theology and design, but most of all, Yuuri loves the choir-loft.

Suspended right above the chapel’s main entrance and right below the stained glass, it looks an impossible sight; a cantilever seemingly unsupported, with clear glass panes creating the illusion that the choir-loft had no railing. But the best aspect of it is the sound; the acoustics of churches were always incredible, but here in Xavier Chapel, music sounds better than it did even in the university’s many music rooms.

It isn’t open to students, not outside of mass, but Yuuri’s spiritual director is Father Celestino, head of the music department and also the musical director for the campus ministry. The chapel caretakers already know Yuuri quite well, both from choir practice and from daily mass; they let Yuuri in without question if the chapel happens to be free.

Yuuri is grateful for it; nothing soothes him more than making music in beautiful churches. It reminds Yuuri of that lost time years ago, when he was uprooted and hurting, with no direction and nothing to ground his life. And then he met Father Celestino, found his faith, and something inside him settled when Father Celestino told him to play music and pray.

He chases that feeling of surety now, tightens his bow and begins to play. The chapel is empty and no one is here to hear, no one except God and the Holy Spirit.

Father Celestino had pulled him aside this morning, brought Yuuri into his office and said: “A nearby parish wants to form a children’s choir for their orphanage as part of a summer music program. They were looking for a conductor and I recommended you.”

“Me?” Yuuri had spluttered. “But – Father, I’m just a student, I couldn���t possibly –”

“You’re more than ready to take on this kind of responsibility, Yuuri!” Father Celestino had laughed, patting Yuuri’s back encouragingly.

The man was an endless well of optimism and good cheer, but sometimes Yuuri couldn’t follow. Hope and happiness came so easily for people like Father Celestino, and Yuuri couldn’t understand how they didn’t seem to hear it, the endless thrum of anxiety and self-doubt that colored all of Yuuri’s days.

Still, Father Celestino spoke of it as a done deal; the Parish of Our Lady of Sorrows had asked for a recommended conductor for a parish short on funds and not many options, and Father Celestino had a music student doing post-graduate work in choral conducting but had no choir. It seemed a perfect match, and objectively, Yuuri knew that it was. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of disaster, the impression that something horrible was going to happen, and so Yuuri had packed up his violin and went to Xavier Chapel hours earlier than intended.

He was supposed to meet the assistant director of the orphanage today, and Yuuri really needs to get his head on straight, both for that meeting and for choir rehearsals with Father Celestino that afternoon. He has a solo to perform, a colleague to impress, and Yuuri needs to pull himself together.

The music from his violin begins to fill the chapel, and Yuuri loses himself in the music, gives himself up to God.

~

Rehearsals are going well; Yuuri had drilled his fellow tenors well enough during sectionals that the Poulenc mass was no problem. They had gotten an approving nod from Father Celestino after that run-through, even as the altos were scolded for their lack of control over their volume and Father Celestino fretted about the vocal color of the sopranos.

Ešenvalds’ Northern Lights is up last; a difficult piece and one where Yuuri is the designated soloist. Father Celestino gestures for everyone to get ready; Phichit distributes wine glasses filled with water and Michele hands out the chimes.

Unlike most of their repertoire, Northern Lights is a secular piece, the text lifted from the journals of Arctic explorers seeing the auroras for the first time. Everything about the piece suggests the magnificence of auroral lights: the tuned wine glasses, the chimes, the way the melody mirrored the rippling lights in the sky with glissandos and the triplet motif passed between the sections. And interspersed in all this, the solo: a Latvian folk song. Whenever at night, far in the north, I saw the kāvi soldiers (Northern Lights) having their battle, I was afraid; perhaps they might bring a war to my land too. The awe and fear of both texts feeds into each other and into the music, and of all their pieces, this is the one Yuuri loved the most.             

Everyone shuffles into place, and silence descends at Father Celestino’s gesture. The air is charged with expectation, as it always is before a performance, and all at once everyone takes a breath. The music begins.

“Cik naksnīnas pret ziemeli, redzēj kavus karojam,” Yuuri sings, focused on Father Celestino’s direction, being mindful of the other sections in the background. “Ē redzēj kavus karojam.”

The wine glasses come into play, their cold resonance adding to the thick illusion of the auroras; Yuuri feels himself slip further and further away from the reality of the chapel, the summer heat, and deeper into the music with its great soldiers in the Arctic sky.

“Karo kāvi pie debesu, vedīs karus mūs’ zemē; Ē vedīs karus mūs zemē.” He sings with feeling, pleading with the kāvi to be spared. Suddenly, the feeling of imminent disaster returns, heavy in the air and tension creeping in between the hushed voices of the choir. Yuuri feels it in the very core of himself; something was to happen, something to change everything –

And it happens all at once, in the space of a few breaths –

Come above, Yuuri sings – come above, Hall – a man comes up the stairs to the choir loft, as if Yuuri beckoned him closer – come above at once, Hall! – Yuuri glances in his direction, only barely registers the stranger’s presence – the world, the world is on fire! – His hair, his face is on fire, set alight in the golds and reds of the stained glass, the crown of light a halo for this stranger’s ethereal beauty, silver hair and blue eyes and pale skin.

In the space of a few breaths, Yuuri is lost.

~

“Do you ever think about love, Yuuri?”

Viktor’s tone is nonchalant, but in the harsh light of the streetlamps, his face is pensive and his eyes sad. The summer heat hangs heavy over street, and Viktor’s melancholy is palpable in the air. The change in mood is unsettling: one moment, Yuuri and Viktor were talking, excited for the possibilities and potential for the kids recruited into the youth choir; the next, Viktor had pulled away, enthusiasm extinguished and inexplicably sad.

There’s one boy in particular that caught Yuuri’s attention that afternoon: a nine year-old boy, also named Yuri, who had an enchanting treble voice and did all of Yuuri’s vocal exercises with ease. “He’s got talent,” Yuuri had acknowledged, “but his attitude is terrible and I’m worried it might cause friction within the choir. Do you know why he’s acting so sullen?”

It had disturbed Yuuri to see a child so closed off, so determined to turn everyone away. Guang-hong, a little Chinese boy also in the choir, had tried to talk to Yuri; in the end he burst into tears and needed to be comforted by one of the older boys, Leo. If that kind of behavior kept up, the internal dynamics of the choir  would be damaged. As much as Yuuri also cared about the kids, as their conductor his greatest concern was the music.

Viktor had replied: “He’s new to the orphanage. His grandfather died last month, and it’s been rough. Mr. Plisetsky was his last relative capable of looking after him. He’s had… a difficult time adjusting, you could say.” Viktor paused. “His mother – she could have taken him but didn’t. That must have hurt.”

Yuuri had badly wanted to ask, but the light of mischief in Viktor’s eyes had long disappeared. The single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the bus stop washed out all color; Viktor’s eyes were colorless and he seemed as closed off as a marble statue. Then he turned to Yuuri and asked; do you ever think about love?

Yuuri gives the question some consideration now, eyes drawn up to the lights: the streetlamps with their cold brightness and the stars beautiful and distant. Even here, out in the suburbs of this diocese, artificial lights overshadow the pure light from the heavens. In the sharp fluorescent lighting, the prefabricated concrete of Our Lady of Sorrows seems all the more utilitarian. It felt... pragmatic; artless and loveless.    

It bothers Yuuri. It makes him think of things he’s forced down, forced out of his mind for very good reasons.  

“I’ve thought about it before, but I’ve always accepted that right now, I’m not going to understand love.” He shrugs. “It takes time, I think – time and experience to really know love, and you need to know it from both ends to understand it truly.”

Here it is, the doubts he’d always had but felt too ashamed to articulate: “I know that I’m loved; my parents love me, and my sister Mari too. My parents put up with me and they’ve worked so hard to provide for me and support me, both with my music and with my formation. Mari-neesan…”  Yuuri hesitates.

Viktor turns to him, puzzled at his sudden silence. However, Yuuri is struggling. How does he put into words everything that Mari-neesan did for him? She did so much to make him the man he was today. She put the first violin into Yuuri’s hands when he was a little boy, and when he a bit older but no wiser, seventeen and believing that the end had come after he messed up a handful of auditions, it was Mari-neesan who threw clothes into his suitcase and brought him to St. Nikolai’s – to St. Nikolai’s, and to Father Celestino.

“She knows me,” Yuuri realizes. “She knows me to the very core of me, and without her I’d never have gotten to where I am today or become the person that I am. And I’m grateful!” He interjects, hoping to reassure Viktor that he loved his family too. “I love my family, a lot. I’m not very good at showing it, but…

He looks up again, looks for the comforting and familiar permanence of the stars in the sky. “Sometimes, I think… that it’s a little like giri-choco. It’s still chocolate, and it’s still sweet, and if you get the right kind then it’s just as delicious as hommei-choco.” Yuuri swallows, the next words bubbling up his throat despite his shame in the sentiment. “But it’s hard, sometimes. To shake off the feeling that it’s all just an obligation.”

Yuuri falls silent, and he’s glad when Viktor chooses not to press the issue. He takes a moment to collect himself, to smooth his expression back to the placid indifference required of the Jesuit Yuuri hoped to someday be. When he felt sufficiently recovered, Yuuri glances back at Viktor, a question on his lips, but Viktor beats him to the punch.

“I never had parents,” Viktor confesses. “I never had a family. All I ever knew was Father Yakov’s rectory, and after that, I was in boarding schools on scholarship, all the way to university and post-graduate work. I’ve never had anyone – just a string of past lovers, and look!” He smiles sardonically. “I’m here and they’re not; it’s perfectly obvious that wasn’t what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” Yuuri asks curiously. He can’t imagine what it would be like, to be so uprooted, and his heart ached for this lonely man he’d just met.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Viktor laughs. It sounds weak and uncertain, and Viktor, who seems uncomfortable with vulnerability, pastes on a smile. “In any case, I wouldn’t know. You just said it yourself: you need to experience love from both sides to understand it.”

~

“Is this it?” Viktor stands by the gate of the inn, marveling at the old building. It was a converted Jesuit seminary that his parents bought when they left Japan; the University of Francis Xavier’s seminary had just been completed and the Jesuits moved all their novices to the campus. Sometimes Yuuri thinks about this and is overwhelmed by the series of coincidences that led him here, another novice of the Society of Jesus returning to this lost seminary. It makes the inn feel like home, twice over.

The inn has a clean, bright look to it, even after all these years. Somehow, just by looking at the building, Yuuri can feel his parents’ affection beginning to surround him, in the way that their presence seemed to hover over the gardens. His father tended to the gardens himself, careful to maintain the plants’ health throughout the year. His mother kept an eagle-eyed watch over the cleaning and the building’s maintenance, and it showed. The whole building looked just as good as it did when Yuuri was little.  

“Yeah. We moved here from Japan when I was little, and my parents have been running this inn ever since. Come on! I want to get out of the cold.”

The inn is warm, and as he and Viktor enter, Yuuri calls out: “Tadaima!”

It’s exactly the way it has always been: the foyer with its raised step up to the main house, shoes arranged neatly in racks and slippers already waiting for guests. It smells like good food, as it always did; his father’s coat hangs on a peg in the hallway, like it always did. Yuuri feels the security of home settle around his bones, and he glances at Viktor, over his shoulder. Viktor looks shy and unsure, but Yuuri’s spirits lift to see that he also looks fascinated.

“Is that Yuuri-kun?” Yuuri hears his mother bustling in the kitchen, and that was when the scent of Christmas dinner really hit home. Michele and Father Celestino bonded over panettone and seafood pasta; Yuuri expected Christmas cake and fried chicken.

His mother comes out of the kitchen, still wiping her hands on her apron. “Okaeri, Yuuri-kun.” Her smile is warm and loving; when she gives Yuuri a brief hug, her hair smells like gingerbread. “And Vicchan! You’re still so tall!”

Viktor is nearly an entire foot taller than her, but Yuuri’s mom still manages to browbeat him into giving her a hug. “Now take off your coats! They’re all damp from the snow, and you’re going to catch a cold if you stay in them too long. Come into the kitchen when you’re done; you can help me with the food.”

Viktor looks abashed and even Yuuri feels vaguely embarrassed. His coat is dripping into the hallway, and he turns to hang it up on the coat rack. Yuuri hears Viktor’s clothes rustle as well, and when Viktor hands him his coat –

Viktor is wearing a deep, wine-red sweater, in wool that looks almost sinfully soft, and suddenly, Yuuri can’t breathe. He remembers: the red-gold of autumn leaves, the ruby red of Viktor’s lips in the cold, the pretty, pink flush of Viktor’s cock, the deep burgundy of communion wine –

“Um, Yuuri? Where should I hang my coat?”

Yuuri blinks. “You’re wearing red.”

Viktor frowns, looks down at his shirt. “It’s Christmas?”

Yuuri blinks again, tries to shake his head clear of the confusion. “Right. Um. I’ll take your coat.”

~

On the second day of the retreat, Yuuri digs out his violin and a folio of staff paper, and he treks out to a quiet, secluded corner of the forest.

Technically speaking, this was a silent retreat. But Father Celestino’s words had always rung true throughout Yuuri’s spiritual core: “It’s easy to recognize God’s grace in nature, Yuuri, because it’s also easy to accept nature as God’s creations. It’s much harder to acknowledge that even we were created by the Lord.

“In some cases, it’s human arrogance that can keep us from a closer relationship with God. For others, it’s hard to feel worthy of God’s grace. But remember, Yuuri, that for all our flaws and failures, man can still be an instrument of God. We serve His will, and we bear His message. God speaks through men as well He does through nature, and you can hear Him in your own music if you listen hard enough.”

Father Celestino had then handed Yuuri his violin, and Yuuri, seventeen and hurting, convinced that music was closed to him forever, had almost refused to take it.

Now, though, Yuuri can barely imagine prayer that didn’t include music. It’s embedded into his soul, the only way Yuuri can really express all that churned up within himself. Ever since that first retreat, the monks at St. Nikolai’s had been indulgent; all they requested was that Yuuri find a secluded place to pray and play.

Yuuri was happy enough to oblige, and he had found a good spot by a bend in the stream not too far from the monastery. There were large boulders by the rocky shore he could sit on, and from that vantage point, Yuuri could see the monastery. The solitary belfry rose through the forest skyline, its solemn gray stone and sober windows fitted with iron contrasting sharply with the vividness of color – the red-gold of autumn and the bright blue sky.

He goes there often when on retreat, usually with a violin, sometimes with a guitar. He is content to idly run through his music, sometimes playing pieces for class or practicing pieces for accompaniment to church services.

This time, however, he is going to do more than just play. Yuuri is determined to produce something, to create something he could offer to God.

By the fourth day of their retreat the manuscript is finished; Yuuri had avoided all other brothers in favor of finishing the piece. Privately, Yuuri thinks it’s beautiful, the lines of the song centered on a main melody sung by soprano and layered with organ music and woodwinds. It’s hardly revolutionary in terms of instrumentation for religious music, but it is also as sincere as Yuuri could write it.

The pines around him smell spicy and bright; the red-leaves of autumn float around him in lazy arcs. It’s a beautiful day for music. Yuuri’s running through the last bars of the piece when he hears leaves crunching underfoot nearby. He looks up.

It’s Viktor, half-hidden behind a tree and clutching a large notebook under his arm. He looks vaguely guilty to have been caught watching. Yuuri huffs out a tiny laugh, and without thinking twice, gestures toward a large rock nearby in invitation.

He smiles warmly at Viktor when he was finally seated, just to show him that he isn’t intruding. Yuuri makes a little bow as well, and gestures to the open folio on the music stand. Viktor raises an eyebrow.

An original composition? He seems to ask.

Yuuri only smiles. It is only right that the first person to hear On Love: Agape is Viktor; who else would Yuuri perform this piece for?

Yuuri raises the violin to his chin and begins to play.

For someone like Yuuri, who has often found it difficult to pray, each note is a prayer on its own. Somehow he could never put what he felt into words, and instead he would resort to the familiar cadences of traditional Latin prayer. But with a violin in his hands, it’s easy to pour himself into the music and know that God is listening.

Viktor sits on the rock, enraptured, as Yuuri plays on. This song is adoration, supplication, and thanksgiving all in one, and in that tiny pocket of stolen time, Viktor’s warmth nearby and God’s presence pressing into Yuuri all around, Yuuri finally feels at peace. He feels whole, he feels perfect, and to beg forgiveness for this moment feels ungrateful.

Contrition can wait for another day.

The next day, after breakfast at the refectory, Viktor follows Yuuri into the forest

~

“Viktor!” Yuuri hurries to catch up to him, the box burning a hole through his pocket. “Do you have a minute?”

Viktor, already by the cathedral gates, pauses. He is unfairly beautiful in the winter, blending into the snow and shadow of the cathedral’s grounds with his dark coat and light hair. He looks like an ink painting, his bright blue eyes vivid in the colorless landscape. It drives the breath from Yuuri’s lungs.

“Is there a problem?” Viktor asks, concerned. “We were about to leave for the youth center, but if there’s an issue with the kids I can catch up to them later.”

Yuuri swallows. “No! It’s just – Happy birthday.”

Viktor’s eyes widen slightly. “Thank you. I didn’t think you’d know.”

“Of course I do. And, it’s Christmas anyway, and I’d have…” Yuuri fumbles in his pockets, and produces the box wrapped in beautiful green paper and tied with a festive red ribbon. “This is for you.”

Viktor’s face breaks out into a wide smile. “You didn’t have to! But thank you, I’m sure it’s lovely.”

He moves to stow the box into his pocket, and Yuuri panics. “No! You should open it now, here.”

Here? In the shadow of the cathedral, its towers and spires casting long shadows over the landscape?

Yuuri feels exposed here, as if the cathedral itself were a living creature, every window an eye watching, spying. What he and Viktor had – it was private, it was theirs. Yuuri had sworn vows of obedience, poverty, and chastity; in the face of those vows Yuuri feels small. In the shadow of this cathedral, Yuuri feels miniscule. To give Viktor even this small token of his love felt illicit against the backdrop of the church, and Yuuri fights the urge to snatch the box away from Viktor’s fingers and retreat.

But one glance at Viktor is enough: Viktor, with his blue eyes and red cheeks, cold in the snow but warm to Yuuri’s touch. Viktor smiles at him, amused at his vehemence, and at the sight emotion surges in Yuuri’s heart, hope, courage and something Yuuri only recently named ‘love’.

Yuuri drags Viktor away from the gates, takes him to a quiet corner of the cathedral garden. It was the Calvary garden, fourteen stations clustered together and desolate in Christmastide. The gardens were empty and barren, and it came as no surprise. It was today that the Lord was born; it was no time to remember how He died.

Viktor makes quick work of the ribbon, and after carefully putting it away, he rips off the paper with glee. Yuuri can see nervousness flit across his face when he sees the jewelry box within, but before Yuuri can make any reassurances, Viktor lifts the lid.

Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a golden medal, the image of St. John the Beloved carved onto the surface.

“I wanted to get you something,” Yuuri explains awkwardly. “I know things have been… strange… between us, after last September.”

How could he explain everything? The insistent beat of his heart, pleading with him to grab hold of Viktor and never let go? The warmth that fills his soul whenever Viktor was close? The desperate longing that filled his bed when the nights got colder and colder? Yuuri can hardly understand it himself. Yuuri doesn’t even have a clear explanation for the medal; he only barely remembers passing by the shop window two weeks ago, and catching a glimpse of it. He somehow knew, knew that this would be a sign he needed to show Viktor. Yuuri runs out of words easily; music, his second language, falters just as quickly. But this medal, solid and real, with the face of Jesus’ most beloved apostle upon its face?

Yuuri struggles with the words. “You – you must know. It’s not right, for us to… But still. You need to know that –”

“That I’m your beloved?”

Viktor’s tone is deceptively light, but there’s a look in his eyes that Yuuri knows. Every muscle in Yuuri’s body tenses, because he knows what will happen next, but they’re still right next to the cathedral –

Viktor kisses him. Yuuri expected something dirty, something fiery and passionate. But today Viktor kisses him with the same tenderness with which he had washed Yuuri’s feet that awful day. The kiss is soft and loving, and the whole of Yuuri’s body relaxes, sighing into Viktor’s embrace.

It always feels right. Why did he have to say goodbye?

They break apart, and Viktor’s warm breath breathes life into Yuuri once again. A numbness had settled into Yuuri’s heart when the leaves started to fall, a numbness that encroached when Yuuri refused to admit he’d fallen too. But –

Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. A love like this can only have been a gift from God, and to reject it now, the day the world was blessed with the Son of God? Christmas Day, to Yuuri, can only be a day of blessing, for this was the day the Lord had come, and this was the day Viktor came into the world.

Yuuri buries his face in Viktor’s coat. “Stay,” he whispers.

A beat, and Viktor replies, voice wracked with emotion. “Always.”

~

“Yuuri.”

This pulpit was made to project sound. Even the softest pianissimo can be heard throughout the cathedral, music travelling across the nave and curling around every pillar like a caress. Yuuri knows this, and knows it well; he knows how to manipulate voice and instrument and make music that could affect every one of the faithful who came to this cathedral to pray. His music brought congregations to their knees.

But this? One word, spoken softly, spoken tenderly – the sound of his name reverberates across that ancient hall of worship. It hangs in the silence until the very air was thick with longing, thick with heartbreak.

Yuuri can’t breathe. He didn’t dare.

His papers are still scattered across the organ’s console; his hands are shaking too badly to pick up the pieces. The half-light of dusk filters through the spring rain and the stained glass windows of the cathedral. The passion of Christ is writ in glass and iron, but the images offer no assistance, no comfort as Yuuri fights the urge to look upon Christ’s face and weep. The Paschal Mystery was the greatest act of love that man would ever know, but: the glass is cold and lifeless in the midst of this storm.

The Lord’s love is mysterious and distant, and Yuuri knows no truer simplicity than Viktor’s lips on his skin.

Raindrops look like tears on His holy face, shattered in agony as He prays in the garden of Gethsemane mere moments away from disaster. Is this what the Lord felt that night? Like his heart was beating out of his chest, hands and feet numb, anxiety a rabid demon in his stomach?

Yuuri thinks that this is what it feels like to be damned. The prescience of unavoidable disaster, with no choice but to keep breathing and breathing, knowing that the hour has come and it was time to die? What Viktor wants, what Yuuri wants – it’s impossible. And yet –

Even impossible dreams have their own champion.

Yuuri turns around.

There is never a moment when Viktor isn’t beautiful. But these tears falling down his cheeks – they make Yuuri want to be a rich man. He wants to gather those tears and turn them into gems. They make Yuuri a lustful man, as the tears bring back memories in quick succession: happy years, tears of laughter, the tears that leak out of Viktor’s eyes when he swallows Yuuri’s cock whole. Those tears make Yuuri want to break his vows.

But – “We can’t,” he gasps. “You know this.”

Viktor says nothing, just steps closer and closer until he crowds Yuuri into the organ console.

“Viktor – it’s not right.”

“Why not?” The words are sharp as a whip, staccato pronouncements echo despite themselves. Viktor’s eyes are just as fierce, a predatory gleam surfacing behind the betrayal. “I love you, and you love me. It’s that simple; what’s wrong with love?”

“Everything! This – you and I aren’t meant for love, Viktor.” Yuuri’s voice cracks. “We can’t – not like this.”

Viktor steps closer; Yuuri steps back, and suddenly, he stumbles and only just catches himself against the organ keyboard. The organ comes to life, thunderous in its fury, discordant notes thrumming through Yuuri’s body. When Viktor finally touches him, cups his hand around Yuuri’s neck to draw him into a kiss –Yuuri moans, so lost to Viktor that he barely registers the keys digging into his back.

It is Maundy Thursday; Jesus has finished his last supper with his apostles and is making his way to Gethsemane to be betrayed. Church bells must be silent and the altar has been stripped bare, and yet: Yuuri and Viktor, Yuuri’s thighs bracketing Viktor’s and Viktor’s fingers in Yuuri’s hair. Viktor, moaning into Yuuri’s ear, Viktor, pushing Yuuri further and further into console’s keys and making the organ scream in protest.

“Tell me you want this,” Viktor whispers into Yuuri’s ear, somehow still loud and clear in the cacophony of noise. “Tell me you want me.”

“Always,” Yuuri sobs, and Viktor grinds his thigh against Yuuri’s cock. As Viktor’s fingers dip below the waist of his pants, Yuuri cries out to the heavens.  The heavens roar back, thunder crashing and the rain pouring, almost drowning out the organ’s voice.

The silence had been broken.

In that overwhelming noise, Viktor drops to his knees. “Do you think God will condemn us for this?” Viktor asked, reaching for Yuuri’s cock. “Do you think God hates his children for loving and living?”

He peers up at Yuuri through silvery-white eyelashes, eyes as blue as the stained glass of the Virgin’s robes. “Because I don’t. I’ve never felt more alive than I did while loving you, and I want to love you in every way I can.”

Before Yuuri can so much as breathe, Viktor licks a stripe up the underside of Yuuri’s cock and takes it all in, in one deft move that had Yuuri’s cock brushing against the back of Viktor’s throat.

Miserere mei, he prays, his back arching in pleasure and head thrown back in abandon. Peccatum meum contra me est semper.  And one was before him, kneeling between his legs in worship. Yuuri stuffs his fist into his mouth, hoping against hope to muffle the lewd moans he was making, the wanton display he was making of himself. But Viktor pulls off his cock with a pop.

As if he could here the song of contrition in Yuuri’s heart, Viktor looks him in the eye and replies. “Auditui meo dabis gaudium -- I want to hear you scream.”

“Bringing Home Ham”

This is going to be a three part introduction to what might turn into a full fledged Tumblr-base Hamilton (and other musical inspired) fanfiction. I wanted to keep going but I as nearing 2000 words and decided to break it up, see how I feel...idk I had this really vivid idea how the cat and Alexander, the modern day and all sorts of stuff. So this is my take on it all. I will include rating and themes as I post. As of right now, its as safe as you can get lol. No trigger, no smut, no cursing. (Enjoy, comments are greatly appreicated and desired)  Cast: Martha Washington, George Washington, Marquis de Lafayette Word Count: 1,994 Part 1 of Bringing Home Ham. Setting: February 2017, New York, New York Themes: Hamilton, sitcom-ish themes, possibly other themes __________________________________________________ There is nothing like winter in the city. People running a muck while the streets are far from pretty and there is trouble in the air. “Martha.” A very firm, curt almost glass cutting voice pierce the somewhat quiet walls of the two bedrooms, brown stone apartment. A small but luxurious place nestled in Harlem’s west side. It was on the expensive side, but twenty years in the NYPD, George earned himself a pension. The added bonus he might have retired as a cop but he continued to ‘work’. Taking pride of being a history teacher at the same private school his wife worked. They made a good living, comfortable at the very least. “Martha…” His voice was still firm but somehow unable to carry far to the kitchen where the water was running. Martha standing by the sink cleaning the remains of today’s dinner with a smile on her face, washing and passing off the dish for her temporary ‘son’ to dry. Beside her was a tall, slight muscular young teenage boy with a large puff of thick, textured curls tied into a bun. He was well groom, well mannered and constantly smiling casually. In contrast, Martha was a small and stout woman. She stood no taller than four nine and had the body of a young Mother Goose. Her skin was a beautiful marbled pattern of bright ivory and deep, rich mahogany. A patchwork of two tones that was both striking and somewhat hypnotic. Her hair slicked back and pin straight as black as ink and a pair of kind, warm almond shaped eyes. Of course she wasn’t this boy’s mother but by the looks they shared no one could have told the difference. “MARTHA!!!” This time the voice was no longer firm and conversational, it was demanding, harsh. The pure robustness of the voice was enough to make the walls quake. In one slip Martha lost control of the wet dish and dropped it. It nearly hit the sink when a fast hand came from under it and grasped it in time. “Thank you, Lafayette.” She exhaled deeply, placing a small hand to her chest. “Le Bienvenu(your welcome), mama.” He beamed. “Le Pere(father) sounds…how you say…in distress.” Martha nodded in agreement. She patted Lafayette’s back while he finished up at the sink. The little woman trotted lightly down the hall to the master bedroom. “A’right Mr. Washington” she began with a Southern sweetness that her decades in the city never took from her. “There better be a good nuff’ reason why you’re hollarin’ this time at night. You’re going to wake everyone on the block.” She chuckled, though once her gazed settled she noticed something was not right with her George. His back was towards her, hunched over not revealing his true height. His hands firmly on the dresser top. “Martha…” he spoke her name again kinder but still very stern. “George…” she answered hesitantly not sure where he was getting at. She approached him slower, holding out a hand to touch his back. “I’ve told you time and time again.” He whipped around so fast her hand recoiled to her side immediately. His body no longer shielding what was upsetting him. On the dresser were five sets of ties completely ripped to shreds? “Why George, your ties, how did you manage to rip them.” She was playing with him now, her face was a dead giveaway. Martha knew George could see right through her. Nearly thirty years of being married and twenty of policing the streets there was not a thing she could get past him. Exasperated. That was his expression as he clasped his large hands together as if to pray. He held them to his face and steadied his tone. So help him, he loved his wife but this was the last straw to his steely patience. “Where is it?” He demanded, when he opened his eyes his black gaze were cutting through her soft browns. His expression was controlled but just on the cusp of losing it. George’s brows couldn’t be knitted together anymore; their bushiness nearly turned into a solid unibrow on his reddened, cue ball head. Martha didn’t speak, she merely tucked her hands behind her back and looked off knowing well she was not in good waters. “Martha-May Dandridge Washington, where is the DAMN cat!?” He stormed out of the bedroom and was on the move now, Martha behind him. “No-Now George, wait!” She struggled to keep his stride. Each step he took were at least four to five of hers. “What makes you think I’m housing that cat? You’ve already told us we can’t have it.” Her voice was light and sweet, trying to sooth his anger but her forging innocence was not working. At this point Lafayette was leaning against his closed bedroom door, his hands behind him clasping the handle. “George, you’re acting like a mad man! Calm down, remember your blood pressure.” She tried to chastise him. “Marquis.” George paused in front of the tall French boy. The home stay student they housed while he was attending their private school, the boy was well behaved, polite, but not uptight. He was a natural and so very casual. As if life was just a breeze and he was the kite gliding over it. So George knew that this sudden tense smile on his face meant something. “Lafayette open your door.” He huffed. A stare down, he looked up at George’s face. For a man who was never going to be called ‘father’ he had the look and the aura down to a T. Lafayette shot his mother figure an apologetic look before twisting the door open. George waltzed in and scanned the room. Nothing. “See, you’re over exaggerating. Truly, Georgey.” She used that nickname. The nickname back during their dating years in high school back in Virginia, she was his sweet summer love. He was her strong teddy bear of a man. Married while they were still seniors and moved out to New York for a bigger and better life. That nickname, much like his wife, still unhinged him. Made him glow like he did when first saw that southern peach and knew she was going to have him. His anger did cool; he turned his head and wondered perhaps his instincts were rusty. He opened his mouth to apologize when a meow came out. Lafayette blinked a few times, “Pere did you just meow?” George eyed the bed and with a mighty heavy his hands lifted up Lafayette’s bed with all the contents still on top. Under there was a large, long haired white and ginger cat staring up at him with its tongue out. Meerrrow. George huffed, the cat was mocking him, using one hand to keep the bed up and the other to grab the cat from the back of the neck. “Explain THIS.” He huffed holding the cat out at arm’s length towards Martha and Marquis as he dropped the bed with a thud. Martha and Lafayette exchanged guilty glances. “Now George” Martha had some serious explaining. “Its just so cold…and the poor dear keeps coming back to our window.” George glared, not having it now, he was going to be made of fool!? Not in his house, he was putting his foot down. “The cat keeps coming back because you two keep feeding the damn thing.” He barked back, before Martha could rebuttal he kept going. “It’s a street cat Martha. A dirty, disease ridden stray you have no idea where the hell its been.” “But Georgey…” “Don’t. Georgey me!” He bellowed. “And to add insult to injury I find this pesky thing has clawed up my good ties and you lie to me!? Get Marquis to follow suit?” George’s face couldn’t have been any redder; a vein was nearly popping out of the skin along his temple. “You have some nerve, woman.” Oh, and did she. Martha was a sweet summer peach most of the time but only one man could test her enough to turn her tart and that was her husband. He could tell his last sentence struck her hard and it was no longer her trying to sooth him. The body language went from house wife, to run for your life, with a cock of her hip and a bend in her knee Lafayette moved aside when Martha Washington responded to her husband. “You listen here, Mr.Washington. That poor, defenseless creature is an animal of god and as a good god loving woman I opened my home to it. It needed love and affection and I will not let you blame your careless actions of leaving your ties out in the open be a reason this lil’ thing gets kicked out in the freezing cold.” “My…’careless’...! Martha I pick out my ties a week in advanced, its productive!” “Its stupid!” Even when glaring and red in the face, Washington had to admit he loved his little wife. He was a strong man, stronger now because he had a strong woman beside him. But no amount of undying affections in his heart could sooth this disrespect. He moved her aside, much to her discontent and started walking. “George! Be reasonable!” She had tried being nice, tried using their faith, now she was working on flat out begging. “I want him!” She finally yelled from the hallway. George made it passed the living room and paused at their front door. Martha always wanted things George didn’t want… George would give her the world if he could and he has basically done it. Give or take some things he couldn’t help. “George Washington you take one more step.” Empty threat, he could smell it. And with that he jerked opened the door and tossed the cat out. The animal landed on the snow banks made by the street cleaners and ran off into the dark streets of Harlem. “And there, back where he belongs.” He smiled closing the door, the winter air hitting his overheated face did good to calm him. George closed the door behind him and turned towards Martha, water gathered at the ends of her turned up, almond eyes. “Martha.” “Well I hope your manly bravado keeps you warm tonight Mr. Washington. The couch is ALL yours.” She turned with a sound hmph. Her body scurried to the room, passing Lafayette who was still standing by. The master bedroom door slammed shut and snapped as she turned the lock. George ran his hand over his smooth head, calmer and clearer of mind he realized perhaps he had gotten a bit too upset over a few ten dollar ties…From the corner Lafayette leaned on the wall and smiled at George. “What?” He looked at the teenage boy who simply shrugged. “I’m not going out there. Its freezing.” George spoke as if reading Lafayette’s mind. “Pere…will get the chat(cat) for mama. Because Pere is a good man.” He tossed him his house keys which George instinctively caught. “Be safe.” Lafayette waved and started retreating back to his bedroom. The older man glowered a little, “Haven’t I told you to call us Mr. and Mrs. Washington!? We’re not your parents!” Though …even in French he did like the term. It was a word he would never hear from his own children. He couldn’t have any…perhaps it was why Martha was so dedicated to serving. She became an English teacher to be around kids, a part time guidance counselor for them…she would watch them grow and graduate. The closest thing to children she could have given George’s infertility. The crippling loss of an adoption falling apart…the home-stay nearly saved her aching heart. A void to be needed and to care for another thing, a need George should have known Martha was going to defend even if it was just a cat. Defeated, he tossed on his coat, equipped himself with his phone and keys, bracing himself for the chill of a February night.  

Albums Being Released in June 2018

June is almost here! That means that summer is right around the corner, bringing with it longer days and warmer weather. It also means the start of summer album release season, with a whole host of new albums coming out to get excited for.

From rock to hip-hop and everything in between, there are a lot of big albums being released in June. Kanye West is putting out his controversial new album. Christina Aguilera makes her return with a fearless new sound. There are highly-anticipated new albums from rock bands like Florence + the Machine, Nine Inch Nails, Panic! at the Disco, Dave Matthews Band and Gorillaz, as well as Linkin Park’s Mike Shinoda. We will also be seeing some new music from legends like Roger Daltrey, Buddy Guy and The English Beat.

Vinyl Bay 777, Long Island’s music outlet, loves new music. That’s why we’ve compiled a list of new albums coming out in the month of June. Here are 12 we can’t wait to get our hands on.

1.       Kanye West, ‘Love Everyone’: Kanye West has been everywhere lately. Aside from the controversial statements he’s been making, much of it is also due to the impending release of his eighth studio album, ‘Love Everyone.’ So far, West has released two singles from the album, “Lift Yourself” and “Ye Vs. the People,” which both received praise from critics and earned spots on the Billboard Hot 100. If the album can draw as much hype as his words, then this could be one of the most anticipated albums of the summer. (6/1)

2.       Roger Daltrey, ‘As Long as I Have You’: Roger Daltrey releases his first solo album in four years this June. ‘As Long as I Have You’ will feature originals as well as covers of songs The Who frontman found transformative in his life. Special guests include Mick Talbot, Sean Genockey and Pete Townshend, who plays guitar on more than half the album, making this the first time the Who bandmates have made new music together since 2006. (6/1)

3.       Sheppard, ‘Watching the Sky’: Following the success of their 2014 debut full-length, Australian family band Sheppard is hoping to keep up the momentum with their second album, ‘Watching the Sky,’ this June. The band has already released five high-energy indie-pop singles from the album, all of which have charted in the top 10 in Australia with “Coming Home” already reaching platinum status. (6/8)

4.       Dave Matthews Band, ‘Come Tomorrow’: It has been six years since Dave Matthews Band released ‘Away From The World’ in 2012. That changes next month when the band releases their ninth album, ‘Come Tomorrow.’ This will be their first album without longtime violinist Boyd Tinsley, who was fired from the band earlier this year. From the singles released so far, this sounds like it might be a quieter album than some of their previous work. (6/8)

5.       Buddy Guy, ‘The Blues Is Alive And Well’: Still going strong at 81, Buddy Guy releases his 17th solo album, ‘The Blues Is Alive And Well,’ this June. The blues legend’s album features guest appearances from The Rolling Stones’ Mick Jaggar and Keith Richards, Jeff Beck and relative newcomer James Bay. (6/15)

6.       Christina Aguilera, ‘Liberation’: Christina Aguilera reinvents herself with every new album she releases and ‘Liberation’ is no exception. Going for a more personal vibe, Aguilera has said that the album is about freedom and letting herself be who she really is. While the album’s first single, “Acceleration,” is an okay track, second single “Fall in Line” is a bold, powerful tune that could easily help Aguilera get her music back into the spotlight. (6/15)

7.       Mike Shinoda, ‘Post Traumatic’: Since late last year, Linkin Park’s Mike Shinoda has been releasing solo recordings and self-made music videos, many of which dealt with the pain of losing bandmate Chester Bennington. Over the last year though, the project has evolved into an entire album, ‘Post Traumatic,’ set to be released next month. In an interview with Variety, Shinoda says that while the album starts out dark and heavy, the rest of the album finds a way out of the darkness. (6/15)

8.       The English Beat Starring Dave Wakeling, ‘Here We Go Love’: Dave Wakeling is finally releasing an album with his line-up of The English Beat, 36 years after the last official English Beat album. The product of a successful PledgeMusic campaign, ‘Here We Go Love’ tries to find a balance between love songs and politics, as well as that perfect ska sound. Early reviews of the album have been positive. (6/15)

9.       Nine Inch Nails, ‘Bad Witch’: Though labeled as an album, Nine Inch Nails’ ‘Bad Witch,’ is the third and final installment of their recent EP trilogy. Being released nearly a year after their last EP, frontman Trent Reznor said that the band needed the time for the album to “reveal” itself to them. If lead single “God Break Down the Door” is any indication, the album will be filled with six artistic and well-planned out tracks. (6/22)

10.   Panic! At The Disco, ‘Pray For The Wicked’: Following the mainstream success of their 2016 album ‘Death of a Bachelor,’ Panic! At The Disco is back with a new album. Titled ‘Pray for the Wicked,’ the album, according to frontman Brendon Urie in NME, was written as a way to thank the fans for everything that has happened to him over the last two years. So far, the band has released two upbeat, sample-filled singles to promote the album that definitely give me “high, high hopes” for it. (6/22)

11.   Florence + The Machine, ‘High As Hope’: More than a year in the making, Florence + the Machine are gearing up to release their fourth studio album, ‘High As Hope,’ this June. Second single “Hunger” has been a massive hit on alternative radio already, which bodes well for the album. (6/29)

12.   Gorillaz, ‘The Now Now’: Gorillaz has announced that they will be releasing their sixth album next month. ‘The Now Now’ comes just one year after the release of ‘Humanz,’ the animated band’s first release in seven years. Though there aren’t many details yet, work on a new album was teased last year by animator / co-creator Jamie Hewlett who said that it will bring the band in a different direction. There was more teasing over the weekend, with posters appearing near London’s All Points East festival, as well as Instagram and Twitter posts from the Damon Albarn and Emma De Caunes. (6/29)

As June approaches, there are a lot of new albums coming out to get excited about. Check out some of our most anticipated releases above and let us know what albums you’re looking forward to in the coming month.

                                                               ---

Discover music new and old at Vinyl Bay 777, Long Island’s favorite new independent record shop. We have thousands of titles in a wide range of genres to choose from. Browse our selection of new and used vinyl records, CDs, cassettes, music DVDs and memorabilia in store at our Plainview location or online at vinylbay777.com. Whether you’re looking to discover something new or rediscover the classics, we have you covered. And with more titles being added to our selection all the time, you never know what you might find at Vinyl Bay 777.