#written lyrics are from the first song linked there | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dear-bunnyboo · 8 months

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖

important note: my face claim will be madison beer but you can imagine whoever you desire. also the songs mentioned are not all technically all madison’s i will be incorporating other songs from other artists.

all the pictures seen below are not mine, however they were edited by yours truly. credits to the owners.

new format!! this would be the youtube or interview format, hope you enjoy cause I literally had to watch and copy the transcript of this interview from YouTube 😩 but Ily guys so it’s fine 🩵

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Joe Burrow x Singer!Reader / Brief Ex!Jack Hughes x Singer!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Your interview all the way from Los Angeles, Joe’s press conference back at Cincinnati, and the fans speculating all over the globe.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, interviews, press, media, haters, talk of past relationship, mentions of cheating ex, rumors, fluff, slight angst, mentions of crying, instigation

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐍𝐇𝐋 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐓𝐮𝐛𝐞

Los Angeles, California

Intro - Zach: Hello, beautiful human! Thank you for clicking on our conversation with Y/N Y/L/N— we have an entire album to dissect, it’s called Teardrops there’s a link in the description below if you haven’t heard it yet and while your down there please hit the like and leave your honest feedback in the comment section below and subscribe!

Zach: Hello, beautiful human! I am Zach Sang and that is Dan Zola and today we welcome, someone who’s dominating the charts and the music industry right now— Y/N Y/L/N! (*Zach and Dan starts clapping*)

Y/N: Hello! Hi, Zach, hey Dan— it’s been a while since I’ve last been here.

Zach: I know it has been a year and a half since your first appearance in the Zach Sang Show and we missed you, dude.

Y/N: I’ve missed you guys too, you guys are the best interviewers out there.

Dan: Really?

Zach: Are we really?

Y/N: You don’t ask me dumb questions, so yeah. (*chuckles*)

Zach: Well, thank you. We have lots to discuss today— you’re album Teardrops being one of those topics today, we’ll also be talking about your tour— Wonderland Tour which is ongoing currently, and more personal questions to finish if you don’t mind.

Y/N: Yeah, let’s get to it.

Zach: So, Teardrops, this album is years in the making, right? Two years at least, right?

Y/N: Yeah, almost two years but a year and a half to be more specific.

Zach: Can you tell us more as to why you kept pushing it back? And why you decided that now was the perfect time to release it?

Y/N: Well, I’ve always known a year and a half ago that I would be making this album. I already have written the songs for it at the time— and originally I was gonna release it last year but I am a perfectionist, so I decided to push it back a little. Cause I really do value the quality of my work, so I had to.

Then a few months ago, a lot had happened— life happened and I was in a really dark place in my life that I had no choice but put all of it on hold which I hated doing but I needed to do it for the sake of my sanity and then at one point I decided to scrap all the songs I had on the album— this album was originally going to be called Angel which had songs with completely different vibes as to what I have now but I decided to archive them for now because of my circumstances.

Zach: Oh wow, so you have a completely different album you had to archive. Can I ask what pushed that decision? Why not just stick to the original plan?

Y/N: Like I said, something happened in my personal life that pushed me to do so. My song making process involves a lot of emotion for me— I feel a lot. So whenever I’m happy or angry or sad or heartbroken, just whenever I feel an intense emotion I just start writing.

It just flows out of me and at first they are just lyrics and I piece them together, produce the melody and beats and then they become a song. When all the drama and chaos started happening to me a few months ago— I just kept writing. Writing and writing until I managed to make thirteen new songs.

Song writing is my way of grieving in a way and moving on from those emotions and experiences— so, changing the album completely was important for my grieving process in a way.

Don: Wow.

Zach: Yeah, wow! Dan just expressed everything in one word— wow. I don’t want to touch on that experience of yours cause i know how fresh it still is but hopefully we can touch on it a little when we dissect the songs— but before we start with the album dissection, do you think you’ll ever release the original album— Angel?

Y/N: (*smiles*) Uhm, as of now, no. I’m not sure when I’ll be doing that or if I’ll be doing that. It depends— someday maybe.

Zach: That’s fine— take all the time you need. So, let’s start talking about the album in detail. Teardrops, why that title? Why change it from Angel to Teardrops?

Y/N: I wanted to change everything from the original album— everything. So that meant the tracks, the title, the visuals, the concept. Everything.

I named it Teardrops because all I did while making this album was cry (*awkward laugh*). I was crying writing each song, cried when I produced each melody, cried after recording— it was a lot. Each song represents the tears I’ve shed in a way— which is why I called it Teardrops.

Zach: That’s amazing, what a process.

Dan: It really is.

Y/N: Thank you so much.

Zach: So, track 1— Raindrops (an angel cried.), please introduce us to this song.

Y/N: Ok, so, Raindrops is a short intro to the album. The name Angel is a name I was called a lot by– a person in my life and I wanted the intro to set the tone for the entire album, so that the listeners would know what they are getting into musically.

My mom used to say when I was young that the reason it would rain was because angels were crying and a couple of months ago an angel did cry— she cried and cried and cried.

Zach: Let me just say this track— is heavenly. That’s the word that seems to enter my head when I hear it.

Y/N: Thank you and that’s good. That’s the vibe I was going for— an almost angelic sounding production, without instruments or any melody at the back just my voice and an echo— it’s perfect.

Zach: Next we have, track 2— Selfish–

Y/N: Yeah, but I actually want to explain track 2 and 3 together— Selfish and Reckless.

Zach: Oh, go ahead. Please.

Y/N: Track 2— Selfish and Track 3— Reckless we’re actually written together which is why i’ll be talking about them together.

Selfish and Reckless are songs about regret and realization. The realization that you were with someone so selfish and reckless at the same time— it’s about– (*chuckles*) when I found out about the drama, those were the two words that came into my head— selfish and reckless then I just started writing.

They are twins almost (*laughs*) you have to listen to them one after the other to get the gist of the emotion and story I was trying to express.

Dan: I just want to say, I really love the intro to Reckless— the music box element. Why did you choose that sound and element to add to the song?

Y/N: That’s a great question. I have a couple songs on this album that has a very Disney feel to it almost— like a fairytale vibe that I really loved. I mean that is the concept I was going for, a fairytale theme. Everything about Reckless was heavily inspired by Tinkerbell, the fairly like aspect of it— the music box at the beginning made it it come to life.

Zach: Why a fairytale concept though?

Y/N: Well, fairytales aren’t real, aren’t they? (*smirks*)

Zach: Oh? So it wasn’t real? Is that what your implying? (*Zach and Dan smirk back understanding what you were implying*)

Y/N: That’s the thing about fairytales— for little children it’s real up until it isn’t anymore. It’s the same for me. (*smiles*)

Zach: Are we still talking about fairytales? (*laughs*)

Y/N: We are! We are.

Zach: Ok. The next song, track 4— Dangerous. What can you tell us about that?

Y/N: It’s one of my favorites. One of the fairytale-like songs that I was talking about. It’s a ballad, the melody reminds me of those Disney songs that would play when the Princess and the Prince are dancing but in contrast to that the lyrics are very sad.

Zach: What is it about?

Y/N: Zach seriously (*chuckles*) everyone knows what it is about.

Zach: (*laughing*) Moving on to track 5— Safety Net ft Ty Dolla $ign— your first feature in this album and by the way, let me just say that this is my favorite track.

Y/N: Thank you, I actually contacted Ty and asked him to be in it because I felt that his voice and style matched the song so well— and yeah, Safety Net is about realizing later into a relationship that no one is there to catch you at the bottom— that there was no safety net to begin with and you have no other choice but to continue falling.

Dan: We’ve all been there.

Y/N: We’ve all been there. (*nods in agreement*)

Zach: Now onto track 6— Leave Me Lonely.

Y/N: This track is also one of my favorites and I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot (*laughs*) anyway, this song is about asking to be left alone. It’s preferring to be left lonely rather than staying in a relationship that is no good for you.

This song is actually so much fun to sing. Vocally it’s the most unique I’ve ever done.

Zach: It kinda has a James Bond vibe, I don’t know why it feels like that but it does.

Y/N: That’s such a complement— James Bond vibe! That’s great. Thank you.

Dan: Track 7— Good in Goodbye. This is one of your more upbeat songs in this album. It’s really fun, with the wording in the chorus.

Zach: Yeah, it’s such a catchy chorus, dude and very clever with the play-on words.

Y/N: I know. It’s such a fun song to sing, honestly— the chorus I am very proud of. I just love how it all turned out honestly.

Zach: Now for track 8— Wonderland which you named your Tour after. Why this song?

Y/N: Again, the entire concept of this era is fairytale. Wonderland is an nod to Alice in Wonderland which I love and I thought It would be an appropriate title for my Tour— to be able to name that event Wonderland was the perfect choice.

The song is about falling into a relationship the same way Alice fell into the rabbit hole— the unexpectedness, the craziness, and uncertainty of it all. My previous relationship is just like Wonderland— it was new and exciting but it was also risky and frightening— it was all over the place.

Zach: We are halfway into your album. Track 9— Watch.

Dan: This song made me emotional out of all of them.

Y/N: Did it really?

Dan: (*nods*)

Y/N: Well, Watch is one of those songs that talks about the physical feeling of a heartbreak. The turmoil and anguish you feel. In this song I described it as a burning sensation which some might relate to and some might not— it depends it guess.

Zach: Ok, how about track 10— My Tears Ricochet which is such an interesting title by the way.

Y/N: Oohh, this one is tricky. This song can actually be interpreted in a lot of ways— everyone can have their own interpretation of this song which is the fun aspect of song writing. For me this song is about how the pain inflicted on me affects the person as well, how the tears I shed ricochet back— somewhat like karma in a way.

Zach: This song is deep. Probably the most versatile album you’ve ever put out to be honest.

Y/N: Thank you so much for saying that. That means a lot to me.

Dan: Now on to, Track 11— Consequences.

Zach: Another tear jerking song— well, they all are.

Y/N: (*chuckles*) That’s true. Consequences is just me listing down all the consequences I had to deal with for loving someone who embarrassed and hurt me. (*shrugs*)

Dan: I love how this song, with the meaning and the message you are trying to put out and then transitioning to the next track which is Track 12— The 1. Just the different emotions you’ve put into this.

Zach: Yeah, cause The 1 is almost a bittersweet song. Which is a complete opposite of the previous songs.

Y/N: This album is basically me going through the five stages of grief. Some people listening to the album might say “Oh she’s talking shit about her ex but then the next song is about her crying about him.” Or “She wrote a song about hating her ex but has a song about missing him.”— That’s the point.

You don’t just move on from someone. You don’t. Especially after a long relationship, it is gonna be hard to let go and I understand that— I’ve made peace with that. I understand that I have to go through all the stages to get to the point where I am finally at peace.

It’s not easy. I’m still at that process— yes, I may sing about missing and crying about a past lover but also singing another song about hating his guts— that’s the process. I’m grieving, I’m moving on— and The 1 is one one of those songs where I just reminisce. It’s about the possibilities that could have happened if everything didn’t come crashing down like it did.

Zach: I keep forgetting how young you are at how mature you speak. You carry yourself with so much grace and dignity— it’s honestly so admirable.

Y/N: Thank you, Zach but seriously stop it before I cry.

Zach: (*laughs*) Ok, finally the last song in the album. Track 13— Red.

Y/N: Red is the final track— I use colors to express and relate different feelings I’ve felt through my last relationship and yeah— That’s Teardrops! I’m extremely proud of it and happy with the feedback.

Zach: You should be, this is a masterpiece! One of the many achievements you’ve accomplished just in the last few months— one of them also being your tour which are sold out in all the cities.

Dan: We’ve got tickets for tomorrow by the way.

Y/N: Yay! That’s amazing! But yeah I’m extremely grateful for the love I have been receiving lately. My fans are extremely supportive and being able to perform for them every night is the best feeling in the world.

Zach: The opening night was at Cincinnati, right?

Y/N: It was yeah! Such a great opener as well, the response and the energy in the stadium was out of this world— I’d never forget it.

Dan: Along with your performance, the presence of Bengals’ Quarterback Joe Burrow also caused chaos. How did that happen?

Zach: Yeah, everyone wants to know, how long has this been going on?

Y/N: (*laughs while shaking your head*) I’ve met him just the day before the show actually, so not that long ago. The NFL invited me to sing the National Anthem the day before at a game and when the Bengals’ won— they invited my team an I to the after party. I was pretty hesitant on going but my best friend dragged me to it (*laughs*)

Obviously I knew who he was and surprisingly he knew who I was and when he approached me, he told me he was a fan— he congratulated me on performing which shocked me considering it was their win we were celebrating that night, but yeah. We talked and he mentioned that he tried to get tickets to my show but didn’t succeed in doing so.

So I offered him a ticket, I don’t know what urged me to do so but he hesitantly accepted and that’s how he ended up there— we became friends.

Zach: So you mean to tell me, that you had extra tickets laying around?! (*jokes*)

Y/N: I always have one extra ticket, just in case. (*shrugs*)

Dan: You attended their game a few weeks ago as well, didn’t you?

Y/N: Yeah, I think that was Joe’s way of repaying me back for the tickets— our schedule coincided and he asked me if I wanted to go and I didn’t have anything else better to do at New Jersey so I accepted.

Zach: Fans speculate that you two are dating because of your somewhat public interaction that day.

Y/N: No. Joe and I are good friends. We are both focused on our own careers and I don’t think I’m ready to be in another relationship of any kind at the moment. (*smiles sadly*)

Zach: And that’s understandable, I hope this puts the rumors to rest. Thank you for stopping by, Y/N.

Y/N: It won’t but thank you anyway— also thank you for inviting me.

Dan: We love having you here.

Zach: Good luck on the show tomorrow. We will see you!

Y/N: I’ll see you tomorrow, guys!

comments…

𝐟𝐚𝐧1: this interview is Godsent, everything was just perfect.

𝐟𝐚𝐧2: thank you to Zach and Dan for the amazing content as always.

𝐟𝐚𝐧3: An hour long interview of Y/N talking about her album? Yes please

↳ 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫1: An hour long interview of Y/N talking about her trash of an album as she continues to shit on Jack? Bitch please.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧4: Translation: I watched the entire 1 hour interview where Y/N talks about the songs she wrote about her cheating ex which she never ones name drops… but if the shoe fits ig 🤷‍♀️

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧5: OH SHIT HAHQHAHHAHQHQHAHA

𝐟𝐚𝐧6: Zach is right. Y/N handles herself with so much grace and dignity it is truly inspiring. She continued with her life and let her work speak for her. She’s stronger than me fr cause if my boyfriend of 3 years cheats on me and gets caught for the entire world to see I would be in jail rn.

𝐟𝐚𝐧7: it’s the fact that she had an completely different album called ANGEL and decided to scrap it all when Jack’s cheating scandal happened hurts my heart.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧8: I’m crying in the club rn. Angel is probably the complete opposite of Teardrops. It probably was about how in love she was with Jack.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧9: MY HEART HURTS FOR HER CAUSE ANGEL TO TEARDROPS WITH THE INTRO BEING RAINDROPS (AN ANGEL CRIED)!! She’s a genius but it’s so sad.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧10: just imagine how hurt she must have been to realize that she would never get to release those songs.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧11: When they asked her if she’ll ever release Angel she said maybe but the pain in her eyes when she was thinking about it says otherwise.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧12: I’m sorry I’m a new fan and I’m not sure why people keep emphasizing on the name Angel? Like, what does it represent? And why is it so important?

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧13: It’s alright 😊 Angel is what Y/N’s ex boyfriend Jack called her. He cheated on her after 3 years of being together hence her having an album called Angel is so shocking cause we are assuming it’s about her love for Jack which we will never get to hear by the looks of it.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧14: And since Jack plays for the New Jersey Devils, Y/N would call him the Devil and Y/N the Angel.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧12: Thank you so much for explaining. That is so sad.

𝐟𝐚𝐧15: Raindrops (an angel cried) hits harder now knowing what the album was called before 😭

𝐟𝐚𝐧16: I admire her so much. She said she made peace with the fact that she needed to go through the five stages of grief. She accepted that she was gonna feel all those emotions just so that she could move on.

𝐟𝐚𝐧17: “fairytales aren’t real, aren’t they?” OOOHH GIRL HER SMIRK AFTER SHE SAID THAT😏

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧18: “for little children fairytales are real until they aren’t anymore.” Put that on a shirt.

𝐟𝐚𝐧19: her explanation of Safety Net pained me, I related to that song the most.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧20: realizing that there wasn’t a Safety Net to catch you the entire time 🥲

𝐟𝐚𝐧21: she’s beauty and brains, she’s so intellectual.

𝐟𝐚𝐧22: she deserves all the love in the world 🥹🤍

𝐟𝐚𝐧23: look how happy she looked talking about Joe 😭

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧24: the immediate switch up was so cute. She literally lit up.

𝐟𝐚𝐧25: I know she just denied them dating but I really do feel that there is something there.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧26: IK!! CALL ME CRAZY BUT SHE EITHER WANTS TO KEEP IT A SECRET OR THEY HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER!

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧27: I understand the excitement but please let’s respect both their privacy. Joe and Y/N are both private people so IF they are dating and want to keep it quiet then let’s please respect that. However, I don’t think they are dating tho, not yet anyway. Y/N is still in the process of moving on, she said she’s not ready for a relationship. Let’s respect that please. 🤍

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧28: Couldn’t have said it any better 😊🤍

𝐟𝐚𝐧29: get you a friend who would give you tickets to their shows/games 😫

𝐟𝐚𝐧30: Joe congratulated Y/N for singing the National Anthem at his own after party 😩 can he get anymore perfect.

𝐟𝐚𝐧31: Y/N hates New Jersey. You can’t convince me otherwise. Joe gave her tickets to his game and she took it as a way to get out.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧32: he’s hot for that.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧33: I don’t blame her but I don’t think she’ll hate it forever. She just need time.

𝐟𝐚𝐧34: friends don’t look at friends the way they were looking at each other.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧35: they probably do like each other but give it time. I actually want them to last and she needs to heal first before doing so.

𝐟𝐚𝐧36: I’m so ready for her show even more now 💕

Cincinnati, Ohio

Joe: Hello, hello.

Reporter: Did you have a good time at practice today, Joe?

Joe: Uhm, it’s practice. It’s the same every season— it was good. Exhausting but good.

Reporter: You don’t train during off season?

Joe: Nah, I’m a lazy guy, sit at home all day. (*smiles*)

Reporter: What’s your favorite thing to do every year, Joe?

Joe: Just relax. Sit on my couch watch YouTube videos, play video games that’s my favorite thing to do.

Reporter: Did you watch the Quarterback thing, Joe?

Joe: I did not.

Reporter: Do you plan to?

Joe: Uhm, maybe one day. Probably not though.

Reporter: What why?

Joe: Would you watch a documentary about Hobson? (*grinning as he nodded his head at the reporter*)

Reporters: (*laughs*)

Reporter: Joe, one of your strengths is your ability to compartmentalize, is your focus right there?

Joe: Yeah. I’m able to hyper focus on a lot of different things at different times and when it’s time for one, I can completely focus on that and forget about everything else.

Reporter: Were you asked to be in season two of The Quarterback?

Joe: Yeah I was. Maybe one year— this year I’m not, uhm but we’ll see. I would like to do it maybe a couple of years down the road but I don’t think now is the right time.

Reporter: Joe, are there any personal goals you’ve set for yourself?

Joe: You always have personal goals, I’ve been thinking about goals a lot lately and I think where my mindset is these days is just improving everyday. The point I’m at now— I’m one of the best in the world and if I just continue to improve everyday I’m gonna help myself a lot more.

Reporter: What music do you listen to, Joe?

Joe: I’m, uh, kind of all over the place. I’ll listen to some indie, I listen to some hip hop, some pop. I listen to just about anything but country— I’m not a country guy. (*smiles*)

Reporter: A lot of Y/N Y/L/N then?

Joe: (*laughs while nodding his head*) Yeah, I’m a fan of hers.

Reporter: You were seen at her concert here at PayCor and she was at the game against the Jets recently— you two seem close.

Joe: She’s a good friend. I met her after the game against the Raiders— we had a good conversation. I joked about having a hard time buying tickets for her show and she offered to give me an extra ticket. Yeah, we became friends after that. I invited her to the game against the Jets cause our schedules aligned and yeah. She’s great.

Reporter: Gave her flowers recently, Joe? (*grins*)

Joe: (*shrugging his shoulders laughing*) Flowers? I don’t know? You tell me? Did I?

Reporter: I think you did.

Joe: She’s an amazing human being. So maybe I did. (*shrugs again*)

Reporter: Last question, Joe. How are you feeling that there is a possibility that you’ll be the highest paid NFL player is history?

Joe: That is not guaranteed yet as of the moment, so I don’t really feel anything about it— sure I’m flattered to be considered a valuable player but as of now it’s only a possibility. Ones it actually happens I’ll get back to you. (*chuckles*)

Reporters: Thank you so much, Joe.

Joe: Thank you.

comments…

𝐟𝐚𝐧1: WHO DEYYYYY🧡

𝐟𝐚𝐧2: Joe Burrow the man that you are 😩

𝐟𝐚𝐧3: he’s a homebody and so am I. We are perfect for each other joe.

𝐟𝐚𝐧4: OUR QB1

𝐟𝐚𝐧5: Joe gets it. Cause I could never get into country music.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧6: you’re missing out fr.

𝐟𝐚𝐧6: WE NEED HIM IN THE NEXT SEASON OF QUARTERBACK

𝐟𝐚𝐧7: his mentality. that’s it. that’s the comment.

𝐟𝐚𝐧8: his sense of humor makes him even more attractive 🤭

𝐟𝐚𝐧9: Miss Y/N really has this man blushing

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧10: nah fr cause he was all smiley when they asked about her.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧11: they both just confirmed that they are just friends but I call bullshit.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧12: friends for now.

𝐟𝐚𝐧13: he’s messing with us. cause you know damn well he sent those flowers.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧14: “She’s an amazing human being. So maybe I did.” I need that tattooed on my forehead.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧15: he definitely did.

𝐟𝐚𝐧16: MARK MY WORDS HE IS WINNING US THE SUPERBOWL THIS YEAR.

↳ 𝐟𝐚𝐧17: 💍💍💍

𝐟𝐚𝐧18: can I get flowers, Joseph? 🥲

𝐟𝐚𝐧19: he’s going to be the highest paid NFL player.

𝐟𝐚𝐧20: Joe and Y/N just be giving each other free tickets.

dividers: @cafekitsune

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @jackkyhughes @h0e4fictionalme-n @queenmendes @rd14 @scoobydoopoo @estapa94 @karmasabitchybitch @literaturelustrr @toterry @fangirl-madz @atticusismybae @stargaryenx @haydee5010 @porter113 @ryiamarie @starrgir1 @flwries @slafgoalskybaby @unsaidjaelinrose @in-my-body-bag @cixrosie @siutforjjmaybank @youn-jo @nobystanderz @bb-swift @buckystwilight @kidrauhlakaperf

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUESTS AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡

-𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲ఌ

628 notes · View notes

ressjeon · 1 year

Text

endearing | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: you're just worried when your loud housemate suddenly goes quiet after serenading you for hours

rating: pg13 | word count: 1.3k

genre/au: housemates!au, romance?, fluff (lmao who's this), they're just fRiEnDs 🤭

warnings/content: just alcohol consumption, they're sweet ig 🥰

a/n: yk i’m supposed to be on break (literally on midterm season) but here we are. also i haven’t written a purely SFW drabble for a very long time so please bear with me i just love him sm. huge thank you to my phone's voice feature lol, i'd never finished this in a few hours with how slow i usually am.

companion song: more than friends by becky g 💖

You’re scrolling through your phone when you notice that the whole house has suddenly turned quiet.

You couldn’t be that you’re fixated on your phone that you didn’t notice your housemate has ended his karaoke session because you swear the living room was still loud just a few minutes ago. Jungkook, one of your housemates, has been singing his heart out since past 1 AM today. Not that you mind it really, because you’re a night owl, just like him. You love it when he does his live streams because he usually does karaoke sessions in each of them no matter what he was doing at first.

Jungkook’s one of the popular students on your campus and has a huge following on his IG account, which he uses mainly for everything, no matter how random they are. He deletes his pictures often though when he feels like changing his feed. You’re hoping that he just archived them because he’s quite talented at photography. However, he does frequent lives on IG in return since people tune in when he goes live anyway, filled with comments from either his group of friends or his admirers.

It’s been a while since you heard Jungkook singing. He has a very beautiful voice that even though he doesn’t remember the lyrics for most of the songs that he sang, he still sounded so good to anyone who’s listening. Your other housemates are still not back from their reading week vacation, giving Jungkook the only time when he could be as loud as he can in the house without disturbing anybody. He’s aware that you stay up like him and listen to him when he’s singing, relieved that out of your housemates, it’s you who remained with him. Both of you are the only ones who didn’t go anywhere because of your packed schedules.

Tonight, as diverse as his playlist is, you still feel like he’s serenading you with most of his song choices. Those songs are on your playlist too, which he knew since you’ve shared each other’s links before. So now you’re going to let yourself be deluded, humming along to the songs while you’re getting your tasks done. When the music stopped, you thought he was just taking breaks, so you didn’t think much of it. Jungkook usually creates small noises after he’s done, cleaning up the living room and kitchen before going back to his room.

But it’s suddenly quiet. Did he fall asleep already? Should you check, but then why would you? Jungkook sleeps anywhere at any time unlike you, but you’ve always been paranoid. The lazy part of you wants to close your eyes and fall asleep already, but the other part wants to go down and check. It’s just normal right just in case? Besides, it’s also part of your responsibility as a housemate.

It’s the least you could do for Jungkook because he took care of you many times when you come home drunk from house parties at 5 AM. He even took as much as helping you by being there while you let everything out, offering you a glass of water and making sure you remove your makeup before tucking you into your bed after. He cooks you noodle soup in the morning too in case you get hangovers, which you thankfully don't but your heart somersaults every time with how thoughtful he is.

So despite how comfy your bed is right now, you forced yourself to get up and pushed away your comforter before going down to the living room to check.

And your guts were right because you see Jungkook sleeping soundly on his stomach by the couch with a lighted-scented candle on the table in front of him. The light from the candle allows you to see his handsome face clearly, with flushed cheeks and slightly puckered lips as he sleeps in his arms. He looks adorable, wearing a black crewneck in sweater paws, obscuring his colourful sleeve from your eyes. His cute snores crack a small smile on your face as you approach his sleeping figure, carefully taking the remote from his hands. Sure, he’s a deep sleeper, but you didn’t want to wake him up because it’s already 4 AM and you’re a bit sleepy too.

You then turn off the TV and unplugged the mood lamp that he designed for one of his classes. It’s so pretty, and he brings it out in the living room once in a while, especially when he’s doing his live streams. You also just noticed the half-filled beer mug on the table, taking it with you to the kitchen where you’ve put it back on the ref before deciding to look for spare blankets for him. You couldn’t find any though, so you just opted for his room, which is surprisingly wide open.

Jungkook stays in the room on the first floor, so he frequents the living room when he’s not gaming or doing schoolwork. Entering his room, you grabbed his blanket at once, fighting the urge to nuzzle it, given how good Jungkook usually smells when you hug him. You went back to the living room and put the blanket over him, pushing away a strand of his hair from his closed eyes before tucking it behind his ears. His hair had gotten longer and curly, so fluffy too that you’d been expressing how you love this look on him. Jungkook smiles when you do, letting you ruffle his hair more.

He stirs a bit, causing you to go rigid and worried that you woke him up. You don’t move until you were sure that he’s fully sleeping. And though he might not hear it, you still wish him a quiet good night before eyeing the candle. You love the smell of it but for safety reasons, you blow out and retreat upstairs to your room.

The footsteps padding in the hallway woke you up from your deep slumber, being the sensitive sleeper you are. You’re wondering how Jungkook’s awake at this hour and why he’s up here, reluctantly rising from your bed before opening the door. There you watch him scurrying back to the stairs wrapped in his blankets looking like a deer caught in the headlights when he hears you.

“Jungkook? why are you awake? do you need something? it’s still early” you asked him sleepily while rubbing your eyes.

“um, i woke up and i-uh” he couldn’t look you in the eye, the nervousness evident in his voice. “you can’t sleep?” you yawn, yearning to go back to your comfy bed but you just wanna talk to him more.

Jungkook shakes his head. “i just wanna say thank you for earlier and uh-sorry for waking you up” he grins apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck.

“oh Kook, that’s nothing compared to what you’ve done more for me” you smile at him, truly grateful for his existence in your life. Hold, you’re sleep deprived to be having these thoughts right now but Jungkook just looks so endearing in your eyes despite how sleepy you still are.

Damn, you really should sleep more.

He’s oddly looking at you fondly so you mimic him, both of you waiting who will back down first. Jungkook looks like he wants to say something more, tongue poking around his lip ring with that doe eyes of his. You smile at him, urging him to continue. He’s back to being shy around you these days for some reason but you don’t wanna pry, just want him to be comfortable as much as possible.

“i’m still sleepy so i’m going back to my room” you can see him retracting so you approach him, a knowing smile already plastered on your face. “do you wanna cuddle? i think we’ll fit in my bed” his nervous eyes were replaced with excitement, following you to your room.

You didn’t even get to lie down on your bed properly when he tackles you, spurring a hearty giggle out of you with him matching you. “what?” he hugs you right away, mumbling something against your skin as he snuggles his head on the crook of your neck. Your hands automatically card through his luscious hair until you hear his breathing slow down, and his cute snores occurring once again.

Guess you’ll never know what all these are for until he wakes.

e/n: i'm testing many things from this so hope it's wholesome enough lmao (i tried). have a lovely week everyone!

854 notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 4 months

Text

Your First Kiss With Jason Todd

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

Jason always thought he hated you. He did hate you.

Until he didn't.

Until his love for you ruined him in ways he couldn't even imagine.

Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Reader. Frenemies to Lovers. Pure Angst (Hurt, No Comfort). Set during Season 3.

Word Count: 8,200

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is almost entirely angst - hurt, no comfort. This fic does not have a happy ending!!! So be warned of that before you enter here. Jason and the reader are described as ‘hating’ each other, but they are more like frenemies/annoyances - they have a playful banter (at the time, even they don’t know that they like arguing because it’s sexual tension and passion for each other); the reader is completely gender neutral - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours; this is mostly written from Jason’s POV (which is where most of the angst comes from); Jason describes himself as a ‘zombie’ or ‘half-alive’ - but he is fully alive and has all of his mental faculties, he is just freaked out about the fact that he was resurrected; the reader does not have any meta powers, but is described as being very good at combat (this does not denote the reader’s body type); mentions of sex and some sexual themes - but there is no outright smut and no detailed descriptions of sex; mentions of negative stereotypes surrounding frat boys/frat houses - including STDs and group sex (mentioned in a negative light); mentions of Jason masturbating (and thinking about the reader while doing it); mentions of Jason’s canon trauma (being kidnapped and tortured by Deathstroke, dropped off the building); mentions of Jason being killed by the Joker (and being ressurected by Crane); mentions of the reader mourning Jason’s death; mentions of drugs and drug addiction (based around the canon storyline of the anti-fear gas); mentions of Jason’s trauma surround his mother’s drug addiction; mentions of Jason killing Hank (as in the canon); the reader is kidnapped (by Crane or someone who works for Crane) and held hostage, and later rescued by Jason; somewhat graphic descriptions of violence (Jason beating up Crane, other background instances), gory descriptions of a death toward the end (mentions of acid burns and choking on non-breathable air); major character death - the reader character does die. Like I said - no happy ending. Sorry not sorry.

A/N: This is set during Season 3 - and this does feature spoilers for Season 3 if you haven't seen Titans before. So if you wanna watch the show spoiler free, definitely avoid this fic. I was imagining this to be set around episode 6 or episode 7, before Crane's plan to use the ice cream factory is taken down by the Titans, but obviously Jason breaking away from Crane's control so early goes against the canon - so there's that. Also, if you wanna pair some music with this for something truly heartbreaking, I would highly recommend the classic Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, or the highly underrated Colorado Sunrise by 3OH!3 (the lyrics are way more depressing than people realize, and I love it as a whump song. oomf). I also feel like the song Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny would go so well with this fic, but in like - the most devastating way. I haven't written something this cruel since I wrote Ghosting and I had so much fun doing it. You can't leave me alone with whump for too long, I turn into a monster. I need to go back to smut again quickly lmao.

...

Jason Todd was in love with you.

It was something that he hated himself for. Actually, it was one of the most infuriating, devastating facts in the world. But it was true. You were someone who was so entirely amazing. You were beautiful - literally the hottest person Jason had ever met who wasn’t photoshopped or catered to be some unrealistic daydream. You were clever and smart and strong. You could kick anybody’s ass on any day of the week and still have enough energy left to tell them how much of an idiot they were and list all of the reasons why.

And you would definitely never love Jason back. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that he could ever have someone like you.

So he kept all of that stupid, idiotic love to himself. It was a secret that he had sworn to die with - and technically, he already had.

Jason tried not to linger on the very fucked up, seemingly impossible fact that he had come back from the dead. And now he was existing as some weird, fucked up zombie thing - resurrected from having his skull caved in by the Joker to do Jonathan Crane’s bidding. This definitely wasn’t what Jason would have wanted out of a renewed life - but hey: when an Arkham prisoner gives you rotten lemons.

When Jason wasn’t beating down drug dealers, stealing money, or strapping bombs to people - when he was trying his hardest not to focus on the fact that he had died and he was now living some strange half-life, reliant on Crane’s drugs, he was thinking about you. He thought about you a lot.

He hadn’t come into contact with you since his strange foray back into the land of the living. That was probably for the best. He knew that you had freshly come back to Gotham, upon Dick’s request. Nightwing had called for backup from all the ex-Titans to help end Red Hood’s reign of terror. Jason wanted to stay as far away from you as possible.

Genuinely, he didn’t want you getting caught in the crossfire of whatever Crane was planning. He wished you had stayed out of Gotham, but he knew that you were too loyal, too good not to come to the aid of the Titans when they needed you. He couldn’t reveal himself to you just for a taste of nostalgia - one last argument before you sold him down the river for good. But fuck - he thought about you a lot.

When the two of you had first met, you were the last person he ever thought that he would surrender that stupid, soft label of love to. Even months into first knowing you - he would have said that he hated you. He would have told anybody that he found you to be the most annoying person on earth.

Your relationship used to be the worst kind of dance.

Every single time that Jason opened his mouth, you said something to contradict him. To a point, he believed that you didn’t even fully stand behind the things you said - you just enjoyed arguing against him. That you did it for sport. You used every single last bit of your time and energy to get under his skin. From mocking him to calling him a fuckboy to prodding at his grammar, poking holes in his points by smugly correcting him. He always found you to be the most infuriating person in any room. But it seemed that the more frustrated he got with you, the more cool headed you remained.

He tried to mock you back, and you shrugged it off. Every time he became visibly annoyed in your presence - you giggled. He wanted to strangle you.

And it was one fated day that he realized the line between heat fueled by frustration and heat fueled by lust truly weren’t that different.

…

“Jason! I thought I smelled you coming down the hall!”

Jason groaned when he heard you make this comment.

He thought that for once, he could have some peace to train alone - but it appeared that he would have no such luck. You were already in the training room, holding a long bo-staff as you ran some drills. Apparently, you were eager to exercise your mouth too - already whipping off clever insults the minute that Jason entered the room.

When all he could muster was a glare in your direction, you let out a giggle. His blood boiled.

“Between that god awful Axe body wash and that alcohol based aftershave that you like to drown yourself in, you smell like a walking frat house.” You continued, blabbering on even though Jason had made no efforts to engage you. At least not yet. “Just throw in some Busch Light and weed, and I might be able to catch gonorrhea just from the stench.”

That was the nerve that hooked Jason into the conversation. First of all - he smelled fucking delightful. He always made hygiene one of his personal priorities. He was absolutely not one of those guys with crusty, sweaty balls. And second of all - he was not one of those STD spreading manwhores. He was clean in all senses. He always used a condom.

“Sounds like you’ve got experience with that.” Jason quipped back.

He looked to you for some kind of reaction, some inkling that he had gotten under your skin even a fraction of the way that you did his. His movements were rough with annoyance as he began wrapping his knuckles with tape so he could have a few rounds with the heavy bag - mostly out of a need to pound out his frustration on something. He was getting too angered with your presence in the room and not wanting to snap and take it out on you. (He already had enough on his record with Bruce, and despite popular opinion - he was trying to improve.)

When you weren’t quick to respond, Jason continued.

“You used to letting frat boys all over you? You seem like the type of person who would enjoy a good, sloppy frat house train. Twenty guys, one after the other, none of them knowing your name, just because you’re so needy for a good fuck.”

Jason grinned, feeling like he had won this conversation with the essence of shock alone.

But no. As always, you remained cool. You grinned right back at him, stepping toward him, crowding into his personal space as you said your next words in a low, smooth voice.

“Sounds like you spend an awful lot of time picturing me running a train.” You smirked. “Is that why you’re always so late getting up in the morning? You wake up and the first thing you do is get a hand on your dick, imagining me getting fucked by a lineup of guys? Probably just wishing that one of them was you.”

Jason’s face fell flat.

You were so strikingly confident in your words that it made his stomach twist. Facing him down, speaking such filthy words without flinching - embarrassment and heat collided inside of him. Even more so with what you did next.

You put a hand out in front of your crotch, mimicking the motions of jacking off while you mocked him in a broken voice.

“Oh, oh fuck Y/N! Come on! Take my sloppy, frat house cock!”

You then mocked a whiny series of moans that must have been Jason’s fake orgasm - and while Jason’s insides bubbled with a confusing heat, you quickly dissolved off into laughter.

“Shut up.” Jason snapped, forcing his eyes down to focus on the process of taping himself up - praying that you wouldn’t see the heat that had spread across his cheeks. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Only when I’m with you.” You replied, blowing him a kiss - to which he stuck his middle finger up at you.

He was eternally thankful when you went back to your own training in silence, only taking occasional glances up in his direction.

…

After that point, Jason had to admit to himself that he was attracted to you, at the very least. He could no longer deny that you were insanely attractive; you were a very, very hot person. And somehow, even past your annoying habits, he was being drawn into the orbit of your gorgeous looks and your wonderfully cocky, filthy mouth.

But he still hated you. He definitely still hated you.

He hated it even more when you became right - and you did become the object of some of his more heated fantasies. He became downright annoyed at the times he had his hand around his cock and imagined himself hate fucking you - imagined forcing every cocky retort out of your mouth, imagining you breathless and needy beneath him, begging for more with every hard push of his hips.

He hated how everything changed after Doctor Light.

Jason wasn’t thinking about your stupid beautiful cocky mouth after that. His mind was full of glass and he was being shredded from the inside out. He came home broken. After everything that happened with Deathstroke and Doctor Light - he was some fragile bird; some chewed up, used, pitiful thing. He didn’t have the energy to fight you anymore, not even for sport.

So after he was rescued, still floating in numbness, he didn’t know what to do when you burst into his room unannounced. You practically shoved the door off its hinges, and stormed across the room toward him - tears hot in your eyes. You pounded curled fists against his chest, screaming at the top of your lungs. Half of your words were static in his ears, but the tone of your voice pierced through his heart like an arrow. You called him stupid, asking where in his empty head he had gotten the idea to go off by himself.

Jason didn’t have it in him to fight you. So he broke down.

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot for crying in front of you. But his throat was tight and he choked on the tears - he was too tired. He just couldn’t hold them back. He screamed back, and asked you to lay off. To get off his fucking back.

You looked shocked. Like you had swallowed a piece of glass.

You surprised him when you uncurled your fists and wrapped the most tender, gentle hands around his back, and for the first time since he had known you - you embraced him in a hug. He was weak and he needed it more than he was willing to admit, so he let you. He sobbed against your neck, his own cries too loud that he missed the timid sound of your apology.

That wasn’t the only time you surprised him that week.

He knew it was because he was some broken little bird, but you started taking care of him. You brought him plates of food without being asked, and when he attempted to shove them away - you refused. You told him to eat before you had to ‘shove it down his fucking throat’.

You didn’t mock him. You didn’t correct him. And you surprised him even more when you turned the sharpness of your tongue on the others when they tried attacking Jason. They accused him of planting booze in Hank’s room or drawing crosses on Rachel’s mirror to fuck with her, among other things. And you popped veins in your neck going on a winding rant about how stupid and baseless their accusations were.

Jason wasn’t sure if you knew it, but you jumping to his defense wrapped him in a blanket of protection that he had never before felt. It was so entirely strange, but welcomed coming from you. Especially because he knew that it was genuine. He knew that you didn’t have any ulterior motives for doing this - for some reason, you just wanted to help him.

When you extended an invitation toward him to come with you as the group dispersed, torn apart by Dick’s nasty, festering secret - Jason felt welcomed by you. He knew that the dynamic between the two of you was changing at a breakneck speed, and he had to embrace it. He found himself eager to follow the weird, newly developing kinship that he had with you rather than wanting to stay in the empty coldness of the Tower with a brooding Dick.

From there, it was really difficult for Jason to pin down the exact moment that his feelings transitioned toward you from casual lust to something more. He couldn’t tell exactly when it turned into that panic-inducing, ‘oh my god, I’m fucked’ feeling of being in love. After leaving San Francisco, during the entirety of the time that the two of you were in Gotham together, your relationship remained completely platonic.

It was a few short weeks spent kicking ass as the best vigilante duo the city had ever seen, but there wasn’t a single moment Jason could point to where the two of you lit up with that romantic spark. It wasn’t some romcom bullshit come to life. It was just the two of you being friendly for once. The two of you helping each other survive.

Back then - Jason wanted you, badly. Even if he didn’t know just how badly, he wasn’t going to fuck up the whole dynamic just to get laid. He felt safe with you. He kicked ass with you. He was good with you. And during that short time - he was happy. So he wasn’t going to do anything to risk that happiness. Happiness was too rare for him. So why the hell would he try putting the moves on you, scare you away, and fuck it all up?

…

A little slice of that happiness came in the form of Hal’s Diner. It was a place in downtown Gotham, open twenty four hours, and you and Jason had gotten into the habit of stopping there after your patrols.

The two of you would kick some ass - break the legs of some drug dealers, make sure that women got home safe if they were walking late at night, keep the streets a little safer. And then you would change out of your patrol outfits and head to the diner, just as the sun was rising over the scummy streets of Gotham. You would get breakfast and Jason would get dinner. He would steal one of your eggs and you would take half his burger, and you would always comment about him putting way too much ketchup on his plate.

It was harmony.

“You know, every time I see you make a grown man cry, it brings me such intense joy.” Jason grinned as he said this, reminiscing about a beautiful moment from earlier in the night.

He spoke about it in the same manner that someone might reminisce about seeing a relative or a cute puppy. But this was natural for the two of you - since you had taken up vigilantism as a duo, violence was a sweet art for the two of you.

“Well, if he would have left that girl alone the first time I asked, I wouldn’t have broken his arm.” You shrugged, speaking very casually about it yourself.

You then picked a piece of bacon up off your plate and took a bite, grinning at Jason fondly. You did appreciate it when he complimented your skills.

Jason chuckled.

“You know, it is nice to see you using your powers for good instead of evil.” He commented.

“My powers?” You parroted back, your mouth half busy with chewing, your words slightly muffled.

You didn’t have any metahuman powers, so this comment did leave you slightly confused.

“Yeah.” He nodded, entirely confident in the statement he had to follow. “Your endless amount of energy to harass people and be endlessly annoying. The powers you used to spend all your time using on me.”

“You used to deserve it.” You were quick with your tongue as usual, not missing a beat with this statement.

Jason’s only rebuttal was to pick up a french fry - one not doused in ketchup - and throw it at your head. You flinched slightly when it bounced off your forehead - but when it landed in your lap, you easily picked it up and put it in your mouth, not thinking twice about doing so as you tossed Jason a wicked grin.

That. That must have been the moment.

That was the moment he realized that he was truly in love with you. You grinning at him from across the table, your smile lighting up your whole face, playing around with him like he actually made you happy. Like he could spend the rest of his life making you happy.

That’s why it hurt so much more when your phone buzzed on the table a few minutes later. When you told him that it was the Titans - Gar in trouble. That’s why it hurt so fucking much when you left.

Jason knew, in hindsight, that he should have gone with you. But he flailed like a rabbit caught in a snare, and rather than just agreeing with you, he felt the trap tightening around him, and he opted to chew off his own foot rather than simply letting you help him free.

He stupidly argued that it was some test from Dick. That the Titans could deal with their own problems. Jason knew that deep down, he was still tender from everything that had happened - Dick dropping him, even by accident. The accusations, the secrets. The rejection. He felt like he was laying down a line - he was letting you make a choice.

Him or the Titans.

But it shouldn’t have been a choice. It was Gar. Jason should have stood by his friend. He should have gone with you.

Deep down, Jason feared that if he did go with you - the Titans wouldn’t want him back. He feared another cutting rejection. They would simply bench him again, they wouldn’t even need him to help save Gar. They wouldn’t want him to help. He was useless, after all. He was careless and stupid. That was why he needed you to choose him. To stay.

That was what his mind was screaming out as you looked at him, disappointment flooding your eyes as you questioned him about Gar, about going back to the Titans.

Stay. He silently begged. Pick me.

And watching you snatch up your jacket in a huff and get up from the table, your food barely touched - his eyes boring into your back as you retreated - it was like having his heart carved out of his chest. And because he was so fucked up, he just sat there. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He didn’t chase you.

He let you go.

Having you suddenly disappear from his life was like missing a limb. Jason was constantly aching around your non-presence, constantly missing you. He felt torn up from the inside out, wondering if his frayed nerve endings would ever heal themselves. When he went to Donna’s funeral, he stared at you from across the tarmac - telling himself that if you even so much as glanced in his direction, he would cross that sickly one hundred foot black sea and talk to you. He would make the leap and apologize.

But you were fettered and stubborn and you kept your head straight. You knew it was the ultimate punishment not to acknowledge him. So the moment that the plane took off, Jason shoved on his helmet and sped off on his bike.

He easily became numb after that.

He went back to Bruce - to lay low and lick his wounds, or because it was the only place he knew, he wasn’t sure. He tried to be a Robin that wasn’t with you. It didn’t work. He felt more broken than ever. It was cheesy, pathetic bullshit - but he talked about you in therapy. Leslie encouraged him to reach out to you, but every time Jason’s fingers hovered over your contact in his phone, his hands shook, and all he remembered was the look of pure scorn you had given him before you snatched up your things and left the diner that day.

He thought of you as he suited up to go after the Joker. He considered how easy it would be for the two of you to take down the stupid clown together - how flawlessly the two of you worked as a team.

Jason thought of you as he drew his last breath, soaked in blood and struggling past the world-ending pain. He wondered, in a haze, if you were warm in your bed in The Tower while he was pressed into the cold ground, taunted by the laughter that rung in his ears.

…

Jason didn’t know how hard you cried for him when you heard the news of his death.

You wouldn’t have dared to say that the hole in the middle of your chest was caused by love - caused by the heartbreak of a lover being stolen. But you certainly felt robbed when you heard that the Joker had killed him. You seethed and you heavily considered marching toward Gotham to seek revenge.

You knew that Dick was angry with Bruce for finally giving in to what the Joker wanted and killing him. For finally ending their sick, twisted game. But when you found out - you were glad that the clown was dead. You wrapped one of Jason’s stolen shirts around your pillow, and you slept a bit easier at night.

…

Jason knew that he should have left town.

Crane claimed that Red Hood was going to be the next Batman - that he was going to be something the Bat never could. That he was going to actually keep the streets safe. But so far, all Jason had done was steal, kill, terrorize, torture. Crane spoke of omelets and breaking eggs - pigs and bacon, and ‘marketing’ himself to the public. But truly, it never made any real sense to Jason.

Jason knew that now, he was the type of man lurking in the night whose arm you would have broken if he was lingering too closely to the vulnerable. And you would have been right for doing so.

Jason was tired. He felt lost - directionless. He was getting tired of Crane’s bullshit. He missed you. But he knew that he couldn’t just go running back to you. You likely wouldn’t have accepted him back into your life if he did.

When Crane called him in that night, wanting to discuss ‘the game plan’ - Jason was worn. His patience for all of it was already wearing thin, and what happened next - it truly caused him to snap.

Jason showed up in full gear, wearing the costume of an alias he no longer believed in; foolishly dressed up as someone he had truly begun to resent. He was holding his helmet in hand, his heavy boots clunking on the floor as he dodged around Crane’s egghead lackeys - a random group of people who were working to convert the anti-fear gas into a larger batch. He knew that they were aiming to get more and more people in the city hooked; if Jason hadn’t abandoned his morals in this new life, he might have cared more about the consequences.

Instead, he made a B-line for Crane, who was typing away at something on the computer.

“Jason, my boy!” Crane grinned at him, giving a false, performative grin over his shoulder. “Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” Jason asked, his tone flat.

He was far too tired of Crane to engage in more word play or stupid riddles.

“Never one for pleasantries, are you?” Crane chuckled.

Jason didn’t offer him a reply - seemingly confirming his theory with this simple act.

Truthfully, he wasn’t. He wasn’t feeling very pleasant today. He hadn’t felt very pleasant any day since he had been so rudely pulled from the morgue and zombified to do someone else’s bidding against his will. Being an undead puppet didn’t really make a person all that pleasant.

Crane reached into the pocket of his oddly quaint grandpa sweater and pulled something out - a small glass vial, containing some clear liquid. It looked harmless - like water. But Jason knew Crane, and he knew that whatever it was must have been entirely dangerous if Crane was carrying around such a small dose of it.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked, giving the vial a small shake, jostling the liquid inside to emphasize his point.

Jason hesitated before he shook his head in the negative. He hated to appear clueless and stupid around such an intelligent man, but he didn’t want to guess and be wrong. He knew that being misinformed around Crane was dangerous. But being cocky and pretending to know more than Crane was even more dangerous.

“This is a very highly concentrated form of liquid Methadone.” Crane explained. “It’s a highly addictive substance. And I think it’s going to give the mass market version of your formula that little extra kick that it needs, ya know? Keep the people coming back for more!”

He let out a bright chuckle, as though he was talking about a cleaning product that was marketed on an infomercial or some kind of great recipe for soup. That was one of the things that scared Jason the most about Crane - his ability to talk about life changing, deadly things with such jarring enthusiasm. He truly thought of bringing people their worst nightmares and their most painful deaths as ‘beautiful work’.

“What about it?” Jason prodded quietly.

He knew that Crane hadn’t called him here just to brag about a new idea to add something to the formula. He needed Jason for something.

Jason just hoped that he wasn’t looking to use him as a guinea pig again. He would likely rather die again than go down the path of heavy drugs. One thing he had vowed - he wouldn’t end up like his mother.

“Well, you see, my boy, that’s where you come in.” Crane grinned at him. “Due to its highly addictive qualities, Methadone is also a highly regulated substance. But because I am the wonderfully well-connected man that I am, I happen to know that there is a very large stash of it just sitting there, ripe for the taking, in this quaint little building uptown.”

Jason’s gut stirred with suspicion.

“Where uptown?” He asked.

“Well, it’s just-” Crane stuttered, and then sighed, deciding to get it out and over with. “The Wayne Memorial Cancer Research Facility.”

Jason glared at him.

“But see, it’s fine! Because I happen to know someone who knows their way around the Wayne Tech security systems very well. So Red Hood breaks in there, gets me my-”

“No.” Jason said flatly, before he turned and started to walk away. “Find somebody else. We’re done.”

Crane had threatened to replace him before. Crane had no-so-subtly threatened to kill him alongside being replaced. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Jason would be better off dead. Maybe Crane would find out that Jason was irreplaceable after all. Maybe Jason was a dirty, seedy criminal shaped by life for only one thing: ruining the lives of others. If Jason couldn’t do that, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

But he wasn’t going to fucking do this.

Killing was one thing. Stealing from drug dealers and mobsters was another. What he had done to Hank had crossed too many lines - but it didn’t even begin to approach the lines that this crossed.

Stealing from a facility that Thomas and Martha had set up when Bruce was just a child, shitting all over their legacy, using skills that Bruce had taught him in order to do it? That was too far. Jason couldn’t say that he had morals anymore, but he still had that voice of common decency in the back of his head yelling at him to stop it. Maybe it was your voice, correcting him at every turn the way you used to.

He should listen to that voice.

He should leave town.

“Hold on, hold on there, Jaybird!” Crane called after him.

The pure annoyance that the nickname caused was the only thing that stopped Jason. He considered turning around and shooting Crane just to shut him up.

“See, I think you forget how this works.” The man went off again - talking in that humming tone he always used that made Jason’s ears numb, made his brain switch off. “Every loyal dog gets a treat. A little motivation to get that Pavlovian mind barking in the right direction.”

Jason turned back around then.

“Nothing you say ever makes any fucking sense.” He barked out, ready to leave Crane with these as his last remarks before he left Gotham forever.

But then Crane tapped at a few things on his keyboard and pulled something up on the monitor - a dark, grainy video feed that had Jason squinting his eyes and walking closer to get a better look.

When Jason was able to truly take in the scene - his stomach dropped.

It was you.

You were sitting alone in some anonymous, concrete warehouse - probably in the industrial district of Gotham, if Jason had to guess. Crane didn’t like to keep his insurance policies too far away, he liked to play it close to the vest. You were tied to a chair, duct tape tight over your mouth, very much there against your will. You were looking straight ahead, with the camera angled down from the top corner of the room. Even through the grainy, black and white footage, Jason could see the wetness of tears streaking down your face.

You were terrified.

Jason’s helmet clattered to the floor, slipping from his grip as the shock overtook his system.

For the first time in weeks, fighting through the numbness of the drugs and the hazy shock of his new half-life - he was terrified too. Then he was angry. Rage bubbled up inside of him like a sharp, acidic bile.

“What the fuck have you done?” Jason growled out, the anger setting his jaw so tight that the words could barely escape between his teeth.

“I told you - every loyal dog gets a treat.” Crane said, a barely contained glee filtering through his voice as he peered over Jason’s shoulder at your weeping face on the screen.

He clapped a large hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason felt himself nearly choke on his own tongue - so swollen with anger that it barely fit in his mouth.

“So, go fetch, doggie.” Crane continued. “Go get me what I need. Otherwise, that sweet little treat of yours is gonna play dead.”

Crane leaned over and whispered those last words into Jason’s ear - and that was what truly caused him to snap.

In a flash, Jason grabbed the hand that was on his shoulder, whipped Crane around - there was a loud crack as Jason broke Crane’s arm. The egghead types who were working on the formula all paused; some of them gasped or hid behind things, but none of them were brave enough to intervene. Jason shoved Crane’s face into the monitor, cracking it out like a spider’s web but never fully obscuring the image of that dark, cold warehouse - the place where you were alone and terrified.

He twisted Crane’s broken arm, making a sound like glass grinding in on itself, and the man let out a howl.

“I think you forget how this works.” Jason barked at him, his voice so dark with rage that it almost sounded like he was wearing Red Hood’s voice modulator even though his helmet was on the floor at Crane’s feet. “When dogs get pissed off - they bite.”

He twisted the injury again, and Crane let out another bitter howl.

Jason demanded to know where you were, and Crane squeaked out an address. It was in the industrial district, so it checked out in Jason’s mind. It didn’t seem like a trap or a false answer to waste his time.

Jason shoved the pathetic, useless man to the ground, kicked him in the gut for good measure, and then leaned down to grab his helmet before shoving it on. He would need it in case Crane had anybody stationed there, guarding you.

Crane shouted something at him as he walked away, but Jason was barely paying attention - now very singular minded on his mission toward you.

“You have to learn to play by the rules, Red!” Crane choked out. “You won’t like how this ends! I made you! I fucking made you!”

…

Jason was surprised to find the building empty. No guards, seemingly no bombs, no gas canisters. At first, he thought it really was a trick, a misdirect to waste his time. But when he had just about given up hope of finding you, searching one of the back most rooms that used to serve as overflow storage for Ace Chemicals - he found you. Concrete and anonymous, some of the beams having eroded away in places from improper chemical storage.

When you saw him stalking toward you - his gun drawn, heavy boots thudding against the floor, modulator puffing out heavy, mechanical breaths - you let out a terrified whimper past the duct tape and more tears flowed freely down your face.

Jason felt a twinge of guilt. Of course. You had no clue it was him.

Perhaps he could get away with the mercy of never revealing himself to you. He could keep his mask on, release you, drop you back off with the Titans and then leave town. But eventually, Dick would tell you who he was.

At the very least, he could give you the comfort of seeing a familiar face after the hell you had been through. You were wearing a sweatshirt and simple cotton pants, and running shoes - it looked like you had been plucked off the street during a jogging session. He could only imagine how much Crane’s lackeys had scared you.

Once he was confident that the area was secure, he holstered his gun and then reached up, removing the face mask from his helmet and tossing it aside.

“Hey, hey, it’s me.” He told you - attempting to be gentle and soothing in his voice.

He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be scared as he reached to his belt for a knife - only with the intention to cut the ropes around your torso, wrists, and ankles.

He watched your expression as you flashed through a range of emotions - deep confusion, a bit of relief, sadness, and then strangely - burning anger. You glared at him with the most intense rage he had ever seen from you - more intense even than the day you had stormed into his room and called him stupid and suicidal for going after Doctor Light without backup.

Jason was slightly afraid of the lecture that would come next, but nonetheless, he knelt beside you and began cutting you free.

The minute that one of your hands was free, you reached up and ripped the duct tape off your mouth. You took only a fraction of a second to wince in pain from the tender skin of your lips being disturbed before you began verbally tearing into him.

“Jason Todd!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, so loudly that Jason was sure some of the edges of the corroded concrete pebbled off and fell down just from this. “Jason fucking Todd! I should have known you had something to do with this!”

“Wh-?”

Before Jason could question your odd choice of words or even recognize it as an accusation, you raised your other freshly free hand and slapped him squarely across the cheek - it was a hard, skull-shaking clatter. It had Jason dizzy, falling back onto his ass and dropping the knife before he could finish cutting the ropes around your legs.

“Fucking ow!” Jason griped, reaching up to grab his now very red cheek.

“You are such an asshole! Of all the completely idiotic, stupid things you have ever done-”

“I didn’t fucking kidnap you! Okay? I didn’t do shit!” Jason quickly argued back, finally now realizing that you thought he had put you here in the first place. “I’m here to rescue you!” He said each of these words slowly, looking you in the eyes, hoping that his point would get across more firmly this way.

There was a tense moment as you stared back at him with your jaw locked. It was likely that if your feet hadn’t still been tied, you would have run away - or kicked him. Jason was thankful that you couldn’t do either at the moment.

“Why?” You asked, finally breaking the tension.

“What?” Jason gaped.

This was the last thing he had been expecting.

He was saving you - why were you questioning him?

“Why are you ‘rescuing’ me?” You asked, taunting his phrasing of it with a mocking tone and large air quotes. He now regretted freeing your hands. “So you can bargain me off to Dick for ransom money? So you can put a bomb in my chest?”

You said the last part with intense disdain, tears dancing in your eyes.

So you did know what a monster he was.

He was surprised that you hadn’t hit him harder.

Jason heaved a sigh. He reached over and picked up the knife, very slowly, very tentatively resuming cutting the ropes on your legs to free you.

“I’m just freeing you so that you can be free. That’s it.” He said quietly, defeat lacing through every inch of his voice. “You don’t deserve this.”

He cut the last rope and folded the knife, sticking it back in his belt. He stood up then and caught a glimpse of your face - you were wearing the most complex expression he had ever seen. Perhaps confusion, perhaps anger. Maybe somewhere deep in your eyes - hurt.

He turned and moved to leave, hoping you would simply follow him out of the confusing maze of the building and he wouldn’t have to drag you out kicking and screaming.

“That’s not an answer.” You told him, your tone sharp and certain - the same tone you always used to correct him.

Jason whipped back around then, heaving a sigh as he looked at you - standing in the middle of the room now, arms folded over your chest, glaring at him on the spot. Cocky and so sure about yourself. Too damn certain and immobile in your points. Infuriating.

“Why the fuck do you have to make everything so damn complicated?” Jason shot back, annoyance and dread tight in every inch of him. “Why do you have to interrogate me about every damn thing that I do?”

“Because you make stupid ass decisions when I don’t.” You easily fired back. “Now tell me: why are you doing this?”

“Because I wanted to.” Jason huffed.

“Why?” You prodded again.

He let out another hot huff, and you didn’t let it go.

“Come on Jason!” You shouted, increasing in volume as you became more frustrated with his lack of an answer. “You didn’t just develop a conscience all of a sudden! Why did you feel the need to suddenly drop everything and come to my rescue? What makes me different than Hank? What makes me different than-?”

It was the annoyance grinding on him. It was a combination of your nagging voice, the lack of drugs in his system for the first time in weeks. The rawness of the world ragging on his last good nerve. The sound of your voice putting him in line - exactly where he was supposed to be. The way you reminded him of the truth now more than ever.

“Because I’m in love with you!” Jason shouted.

It was almost… angry. It was a declaration that hit you like a whip - more like an insult than something warm and kind. It wasn’t made of sweetness, like some moment from a film with a gentle piano riff wrapped around it. It was real - made of the haunting kind of passion that kept Jason awake at night.

Your eyes widened. Jason’s breathing stilled as he waited for you to react - to say something.

“Oh.” Your voice cracked around this syllable, and your eyes danced with more tears.

Jason felt his own heart crack apart inside of his chest, more terror flooding him.

He had died with the secret because he had never wanted to live up to the embarrassing vulnerability of confessing it. In the deepest part of his mind, he had lived this horror a thousand times. Him finally creeping out onto the edge of oblivion - speaking those words. Confessing. And then you stabbing him in the heart, rejecting him.

The reality of it ripped through him so much harder than it ever had in his nightmares.

Any last tiny piece of his soul that had survived being murdered by the Joker had just been shattered by you.

“Yeah. Fucking oh.” Jason echoed back, his own tears clutching at his throat.

Seeing him with that naked vulnerability dancing behind his eyes - it reminded you of the same person who came back from being kidnapped by Doctor Light. It reminded you of the real Jason you had gotten to know.

In that moment, it all came crashing toward you. You gasped harshly as you could barely breathe around it.

That hole in your chest had been shaped like a lover - it had been shaped like him. Filled with the pain of letting him get hurt, leaving him alone in Gotham to be murdered by the Joker. Filled with the doubt and confusion of never knowing what could have been between the two of you if you had chased those flirtations a little bit farther.

And now, he was standing right here in front of you, somehow perfectly alive and well - and there was only one possible thing you could do.

“Jason.” You gasped out his name, unable to fathom more words.

Before he could move, you reached out and grabbed both sides of his face, one of them still singed with a burning ache where you had slapped him so hard - and you pulled him into a kiss, hard.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dainty or smooth like some Hollywood love confession - it was hungry. Bordering on feral as you both fought to consume more of the other person, bleeding out little moans and fighting for breath past each other’s lips. Jason’s hands rushed to embrace you, wrapping around your back and grabbing a needy, possessive handful of your ass while you kept your grip tight on his face, keeping his face forcefully close to your own as you devoured his mouth.

You felt some of his tears escape - such a rush of emotions making him raw and unable to hold them back, and you moaned pitifully into his mouth as he wetness slipped underneath your palms. Whatever it was - his pain, his pleasure; you would take it. He was all yours now.

…

Far off, on the other side of Gotham, Crane chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the scene unfold. He had pulled up the camera feed on a separate tablet, seeing as Jason had used his head to crack the monitor. With his broken arm bound in a temporary sling, he used his one good hand to pull something out of a drawer - a remote with a single button.

“For these violent delights have violent ends,” He recited to himself, still grinning widely as he looked at the two lovers in the grainy, black and white footage. “And in their triumph, die like fire and powder. Which as they kiss, consume. Even the sweetest honey is loathsome in his own deliciousness, if the taste confounds the appetite.” Crane poised his finger on the button. “Therefore, love moderately.”

He pressed down, and dissolved into more epic laughter as he watched what came next.

…

You were only human, and you could only kiss Jason for a few minutes before your brain demanded oxygen. As much as you hated to pull away from the sweet, bruising sting of his lips, you forced yourself back and immediately took in a sharp breath that turned into a rolling pant - Jason let out a needy whine in protest.

With his arms holding you so securely and the dizzying heat now flowing through you - you almost didn’t catch it. But it was there, in the background, something steadily present that wasn’t there before.

Beeping. A small, electronic beeping.

“Do you hear that?” You asked Jason, squinting your eyes with confusion and looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

He did hear it.

“Fuck.” Jason mumbled.

Panic flooded him. The whole thing had been a trap.

He pulled away from you hesitantly and grabbed his mask up off the ground, snapping it back on.

“We have to go. Now.” He told you, his voice now sharp and robotic through the voice filter as he grabbed your wrist and began dragging you away - you became limp to his direction for once and simply followed, fear tight in your gut once again.

Jason didn’t want to consider the possibilities, but he knew it could be anything from a large bomb, meant to tear you to shreds, to a large dose of fear gas waiting to be deployed. And he didn’t have an antidote at the moment. He needed to get you out of the building and transport you to safety.

When the two of you came to a door - one of the many that Jason had passed through on his way in - it snapped shut in Jason’s face. It was on some kind of mechanical locking system, that much was apparent. Jason rushed forward, trying to pry it open - but it was welded steel, and it wouldn’t budge.

Jason heard more slamming - more metal forcing itself shut on the same locking system.

“Jason?” You croaked, that unsure terror back in your voice again. Something so rare for you. You were looking to him for answers. You were looking to him to rescue you.

Overhead, the last bits of light were shut out - glimpses of the street lights outside - as thick metal shudders collapsed down over the windows. The room was sealing itself shut, becoming air tight.

“Stand back.” Jason told you, not waiting to see if you followed the instruction before he pulled out one of his guns and began shooting at the door’s heavy metal hinges. He knew it was futile and he feared that one of the bullets might ricochet off and hit you, but he didn’t have many options left.

Then he heard it. The gentle hissing of gas being released into the air.

Jason was naive to have hoped that it was Crane’s classic Fear Gas - that would have been a merciful walk in the park compared to what he had planned for you. Betraying Jonathan Crane meant that Jason had to be truly punished.

Jason turned to you, wrapping his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the air itself - but it was too late. You began coughing and struggling to breathe, and Jason looked on with confusion as his chest twisted with guilt.

With his helmet on, he felt nothing. For the first few moments, he didn’t even understand what was going on as you gasped for air, struggling to form a word as you choked on each breath. Jason had no clue what the substance was or how he could fix it, looking on in horror as thick fog clouded around your ankles - your eyes bulging out of your head as you struggled for oxygen.

“Y/N?” Jason gasped, holding you by both shoulders as you became weaker and leaned on him. “Y/N?”

You couldn’t answer him.

You continued to wheeze, your breath hitching against your throat harshly. As the fog reached up to touch your face, it left angry, blistering marks in your skin. Unlike Jason, you had no armor to protect yourself - and somehow, Crane had turned the air itself acidic. Your eyes became wrecked with bloody red streaks and your face swelled as you continued to choke.

Jason’s insides screamed, but he felt too still.

As more of the fog touched you, some of the marks on your neck and your cheek blistered more and opened up, bleeding out pinkish bubbling puss as Jason continued to hold you - he didn’t know what else to do.

All he could do was hold you.

A harsh foam seeped out of your mouth as you choked on your last half-breath, and Jason felt a stinging pain consuming him - he wasn’t sure if it was the acidic fog finally breaching through his clothing, or the biting pain of having you limp in his arms - dead, as he huddled there on the floor.

“Come on.” Jason wept, steaming up the inside of his helmet as he recycled back his own breath now. He reached up to your cheek, accidentally skimming off a layer of your marred skin with his gloved thumb as he tried to wipe away some of the teary blood that had leaked from your eyes. “Come on, Y/N. Wake up.”

Jason simply wept. And he held you.

As he looked at the camera feed, Crane smiled.

“This is what happens when you don’t play by the rules, Red.”

...

A/N: SOOOO obviously this ending leaves us with a lot of questions - did Jason survive? I think this can be interpreted one of two ways: one, Jason did live. He managed to escape somehow, and he had scars all over his body from the acidic fog, and he enacted a very vicious, bloody, torturous revenge on Crane before going into hiding forever (or before using Red Hood to give actual justice to innocent people who needed it, his scars always a reminder of who he lost). Or - he sat there in shock and eventually choked to death as well. Or he pulled the whole 'my life is not worth living anymore' thing and just took off his helmet on purpose. So you can imagine that either of those things happened next.

Also, if you didn't catch it (or, if you're not a Saw person) - this situation was heavily inspired by the final plot twist trap in Saw X. I love the acidic fog, and I feel like Crane could be a trap guy. The Titans version of Crane could be good friends with John, imo.

Also, if you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gn!reader #titans fanfiction #dc titans #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction

169 notes · View notes

outofmydepthatapublicbeach · 2 months

Text

to fall in deeper - Julien Baker x lacy!reader

jj chats: this has been one of the longest things ive written on this account and i am very proud of it!!! i hope this lives up to any expectations!!! also i recommend reading the first part before reading this it is linked here!

word count: almost 2000!!!

warnings: RPF, use of y/n, reader is a musician/famous, julien is kinda mean, someone passes out (not the reader, the boys or muna), reader calls julien 'jay'.

inspired by the request: i lovvved your love Julien fic based on lacy SO much!!! you’re crazy talented <3 would you consider writing more parts of it? 🎀🩷 like maybe how julien falls more and more in love and maybe an eventual angry love confession from julien, and their first date/kiss?

feedback is encouraged and i'd love to get some just please be kind!!!

When MUNA went on tour, they asked their dear friends to perform as openers. It was on billboards and spread across social media: “Boygenius and (Y/N): openers for The Greatest Band in the World”. All parties were ebullient, another few months of music, laughter, and fun. Everyone except Julien Baker, Julien wasn’t pleased when she found out you were the other opener. She despised the feeling she got in her gut when your name was mentioned, she couldn’t decide what it meant. She was torn between it being contempt or admiration. She didn’t like not knowing, she didn’t like the fact she couldn’t figure you out, let alone figure out her own feelings for you.

So far the tour had been faring well. There were huge crowds showing up every night, all screaming out the lyrics to their favorite MUNA hits. Everything was going well, until August 6th, a Friday night. It was exceptionally hot and it was starting to take a toll on the musicians. However they were all pushing through, they had loud fans backstage that gave them some relief from the heat and could basically get away with no shirt on stage. So far, the night was going well, besides the heat. Lucy and Julien sat in front of a large fan, while Phoebe and you stood in front of another one. MUNA was performing on stage, while you all waited until the last song, “Silk Chiffon” . It was always a nice surprise to the fans when you four came bobbing up on stage singing along, dancing with one another.

Phoebe sighed, turning towards you “Want to go back with me to get some water?”

Your eyes darted to the right, where your water bottle stood proud and tall, still about half full. “No Pheobs I’m okay! I’ll walk with you though!”

“Oh no dude you’re good,” The platinum blond turned to Lucy and proposed the same question.

“Yeah my water ran out like 5 minutes ago,” Lucy hopped up from her seat, moving towards an already upright Phoebe who was wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, sweat droplets rolling off. “Be right back guys!”

Before they turned the corner you checked the time and yelled to the singers “I think there's only two more songs till Silk Chiffon so hurry!” Lucy and Phoebe nodded to you and continued their walk to wherever they were storing the water bottles. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Julien rolling her eyes.

You turned your body to hers, you ignored her obvious irritation towards you and smiling you asked, “You good Julien? I got some water if you need it!”

“Yeah I’m fine. Thanks.” The tattooed woman replied, curtly.

“Ohhhkay,” you said, confused by her tone. You thought for a minute going back over the day to see if you did anything that would warrant that reaction. You couldn’t find anything, but you did remember how Julien really hadn’t ever been that cordial to you, not since that night outside the restaurant where she found you crying. In a moment of panic you asked the woman sitting 5 feet from you, “Did I do something?”

Julien turned towards you, obviously dumbstruck by your question. She hesitated before responding, you could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes, “No, you didn’t do anything.”

Quickly you replied, desperate to figure out where you went wrong. “You act weird around me.”

You could see a flash of panic move over Julien;s face before it was replaced with a look of annoyance. “How do I act weird around you?” Julien asked as if it was the most absurd sentence you could have chosen to have said.

“You don’t talk to me ever, you avoid me, you don’t reply to my texts in the groupchat. Yesterday on stage you avoided me every chance you got. I get that we aren’t really close but do you have to pretend like I’m not even there? Like I don’t even matter?” Your voice started to strain towards the end of your dialogue, you could feel your eyes start to water.

“I-I don’t-”

Julien was cut off by a very energetic Phoebe who came skipping backstage. “We’re on stage in like a minute guys! Grab your mics!”

You quickly got up, blinking back your tears as you approached a table, grabbing a mic. You settled your breathing as Lucy came up to you. “You okay?” She asked, voice laced with worry.

“Mhm! I’m fine! I think the heat is just getting to me!” You replied, your voice steady. You’re honestly surprised at how fast you pulled yourself together.

MUNA was on stage finishing up their second to last song for the night when Katie yelled into her microphone, “Thank you all for such a gorgeous night! We have one last song! Can you all welcome our guests to the stage please?” The crowd begins to go crazy.

One by one the 4 of you run out on stage as the band starts playing “Silk Chiffon”. Your eyes scan over the crowd, everyone is having an amazing time, they all look tired, but in a euphoric concert driven tiredness. Until you spot one girl near the front of the barricade. She looks as if she's about to pass out, and the people around her don’t seem to notice. You brush it off, but decide to keep an eye on her just in case something happens.

As the band starts to play the music fills your body, heating your veins with electricity. You move the mic to your mouth as you sing background for Katie. This was always one of your favorite parts of the show, the harmony between all of your voices, the feeling of being alive and showing it through music. Phoebe rushes up to you and grabs your wrist, twirling you around and smiling wide at you. She leans in and gives you a kiss on your cheek before your bodies find natural sync, dancing together. Everything always gets too chaotic when the 7 of you are all on stage. AS your eyes move from Phoebes to the rest of the talent on stage you spot Julien glaring at you, your cheeks redden and you can’t distinguish whether it's from the heat or the shorter woman's dangerous stare.

Suddenly you remember that girl in the audience and when you look back to her place, you see her almost going limp, merely held up by the sweating bodies around her. Immediately your mind moves fast, remembering your highschool first aid lessons on heat stroke. Your brain quickly runs down her obvious symptoms and realizes it could be severe dehydration or worse, heat stroke. You quickly let go of Phoebe's arm and run backstage to grab a water bottle and someone to help you.

Phoebe is confused, her eyes follow you backstage until she sees you grab a bottle of water. Too caught up in the moment she thinks you need a drink. She assumes nothing is wrong and then goes over to Jo to dance with her. The others don't realize your absence, too caught up in the song. Except Julien.

Julien was keeping a close eye on you when you were on stage, she saw every time you glanced at that specific spot in the barricade. Though she didn’t follow you, not until you suddenly appeared on the lawn in front of the stage with a medical professional and a security guard.

You run to the dehydrated woman and then help her get to a cooler spot, and give her small sips of water to hydrate her. You couldn’t care less about the concert at that point, too concentrated on making sure this person was alright.

Julien’s stomach started to churn, once again you were proving to her that you were perfect. There wasn’t anything Julien could flaw you on at this point. You stopped singing in the middle of a concert to go and take care of someone in need. How could she avoid her true feelings now?

The song came to a close, and the bands lined up, wrapping their arms around each other's waists and bowing. Naomi, Jo and Katie blew kisses to the crowd and then they all walked offstage, a concert well performed.

As Phoebe looked backstage she didn’t see you. She turned to the group and asked, “Did anyone see where (Y/N) went?”

It came as a surprise to everyone when Julien answered, “They went to help someone in the audience, I saw them with medical.”

Everyone nodded, Jo hoped the person was okay. Katie and Naomi went to ask someone about what had happened. It wasn’t soon after that you showed up.

Walking back to where you had just appeared from, Naomi and Katie both asked you “What happened?”

You told them that “Some girl in the barricade got really dehydrated and passed out, but she’s alright now!”

A sigh of relief was heard from all 6 people, relieved that everyone was okay. Small chit chat was made until Jo spoke up “Okay I don’t know about you guys but it is hot as hell out here and I am going somewhere with air conditioning!”

“Finally someone said it!”

“Thank god I was starting to think I’d melt,”

Naomi, Katie, Lucy, and Phoebe dispersed after Jo, all talking about some record they’d listened to recently or where to get takeout from.

Julien stayed behind, and just as you were about to follow after the others she caught your arm. You turned towards her, “What’s up Jay?” The nickname leaves your lips in a second before you could think to not say it.

Julien looked at you strangely and let go of your arm, not really realizing she had grabbed it in the first place. Another round of butterflies flew through her body as you looked at her questioningly.. “That was super cool what you did for that girl. Leaving mid song I mean.”

You sighed, you were starting to get frustrated with her antics. Did she loathe you? Were you two friends? It seemed every other minute her feelings towards you changed. It was confusing the hell out of you. “Thanks.” You clipped, starting to walk away.

“That’s it?” Julien asked from behind you.

As you turned back around you noticed she stood as if trying to make her 5 foot frame seem taller, not that it was working. “What?”

“‘Thanks.’ That’s all you're gonna say? Normally you're much more chatty,” Julien laughed.

“I don’t know what you want from me Julien.”

Julien pauses, looking at you with questions written all over her face.

“When I talk to you, you get snippy and you’re mean. When I don’t talk to you, you want me to talk more. I don’t get what your deal is with me?” You whisper-yelled, afraid someone from the crew would see your argument.

“I-” Julien stuttered, not being able to come up with anything to say.

Finally done with the back and forth banter that has been hurting your feelings ever since you met Julien you declared, “If you don’t want to be my friend just say it.”

Julien looked at you, eyes wide. You watched her as the gears turned in her head, trying to come up with what to say. You gave her a chance to explain herself, you set a mental timer of 30 seconds, if she didn’t say anything then you would go away.

Those 30 seconds flew by without a peep from Julien, your eyes teared up as you spoke, “Fine, I’ll see you later I guess.” Turning around you went to your tour bus, wondering what you did to get Julien to dislike you so.

The only thing going through Julien’s mind was how she screwed up, bad.

#julien baker x reader #boygenius x reader #julien baker fanfic #julien baker fluff #jj writes #julien baker one shot #julien baker au #julien baker x singer!reader #julien baker x lacy!reader #muna x reader #julien baker angst

116 notes · View notes

extrajigs · 4 months

Text

The MODERN MIRAN SCRIPT. Basically the continuation of the old school Chimeric that I covered in this post. That has most of the nitty gritty and this is more so about the branch of the language. The BIG info dump below the cut!

Chimeric is the original, a purely written language used by chimera when talking is unavailable. Written in a circle heading inwards with two defined lines of dialogue. The subject/action 'real' substance and the tonal, emotional intent of the writer and sometimes reader. Chimeric is still used by the remaining population to talk within their ranks, but nearly every chimera is at least bilingual depending on where they ended up. Back in Mirum the written language of Chimeric stayed behind but has been pretty heavily modified to better suit the reading style of the people that remained. Mainly Histin who cut out pretty much all the fluff and added a bit more structure.

So! As opposed to the radial style of Chimeric, Miran has double decker sentences. With the top row being the remnants of the Subject quarter and the bottom row being the Action quarter. Linkage of subjects and actions take place between the two lines. Plus there is a new form of linkage, the priority/influence links which show which subject is acting upon who, and define action sequences. While Chimeric is written inwards radially, Miran is written top to bottom, starting going from left to right then right to left and alternating down the page. Also circular paper is swapped for rectangular, think a standard 8x10. Still, you are expected to enclose sentences within two parentheses, lil hold over from the circular days. But to the outside perspective the largest difference between the two is their tones, or well overtonage of one and lack of tone in the other. Chimeric is the 3 paragraph overly detailed text, Miran is the single word response. Lest to say they do not mesh super well.

ANOTHER fun hold over I want to add but am still thinking over characters for is that for rare fancy words (poetry/music/heart speak) Miran can slide in a THIRD ROW in between the first and second. There the spoken tone quarter manages to eek out a meager Miran existence through a few dozen sets of characters to convey certain emotions and the like. Songs in Miran very often have multiple sets of lyrics overlaid in this fashion, the largest can have 5+ tonal rows.

Oh that reminds me! Miran DOES have a spoken equivalent. Or rather, the original shared Histin/Diagrevies language has been stretched over to fit better with the written word. That in itself has split the spoken word in Mirum in two once more, with spoken Miran and Draconic being the two main talkings. Histin typically only speak and read Miran, whilst Diagrevies will speak both; with their preference being draconic. A Diagrevies will typically have a Histin under their employ to read and write for them since ya know, they cannot see.

All this taken into consideration though, Miran and Chimeric are still basically two ways of writing the same basal language. Not that modern speakers like to admit that. But small character additions and style changes aside, if you can read one you can get the gist of the other. Miran is by far the most spoken in modern times tho. Its a little more accessible for different species than Chimeric.

Want to get more into the modern Mirum dealings. The chimera may be absent but their influence is still very plain to see if you know where to look.

#yay i missed drawin all these guys #chimera #histin #diagrevies #kinda #they dont get the writing unfortunately #no true north #worldbuilding #conlang #art #mirum

161 notes · View notes

lemoncrushh · 25 days

Text

The Entertainer - Story Page

Summary: Set in the 70s, Sky Jones, a young woman from L.A., meets Harry Styles, an up-and-coming musician and frontman for the band Wildfire. Told in first person from Sky's point of view, she shares her journey and what it's like to fall for a rockstar.

Author's Note: This was originally written and posted way back in 2017. An oldie, but I'm finally getting around to finishing the sequel. I figured before I start reposting that, you need the original story. Hopefully there are some newer fans/readers who haven't read this one yet. A ten-part series, each chapter acts as a track from an album. Within each chapter, there will be song lyrics. Be sure to check the bottom of each part to get a list of the songs included. It makes for a great soundtrack, like a movie. This story is very special to me, and I hope you enjoy. Inspired by the song "The Entertainer" by Billy Joel.

I am the entertainer And I know just where I stand Another serenader And another long haired band Today I am your champion I may have won your hearts But I know the game, you’ll forget my name And I won’t be here in another year If I don’t stay on the charts

Reposting daily! Links will be updated as I post.

Track 01 - You Have a Great Collection

Track 02 - Looks Like Rain

Track 03 - Pick a Memory

Track 04 - Pajamas & The Holiday Inn

Track 05 - It's Always Been About the Music

Track 06 - No Concern of Yours

Track 07 - Let's Hit The Road

Track 08 - I Don't Wanna Be Alone

Track 09 - Make Some Beautiful Music

Track 10 - Let's Make the Most of It

The Playlist

Another note: Though this story does include some sex, I would not consider this smutty at all, just in case that's what you're looking for. The sequel, however, will contain a lot so...lol...it's your call.

I do require that you be at least 18 to read my fics though.

MASTERLIST

86 notes · View notes

oh-stars · 2 months

Text

Special Treatment

Love is letting him pick the music.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 519 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

It comes to no surprise that Eddie’s particular about his music. He doesn’t hate other types, despite what he says and how he reacts to Wayne cranking up the bluegrass or the old school country. In fact, he loves exploring new genres and figuring out how they work. It’s what makes his songwriting so strong, he thinks.

But he’s spent too many years hearing how awful his music preference is. People shitting on his bands and his taste because they don’t understand, they’re not listening to it. They’re not even trying to hear what he has to say, what the music is trying to tell them. They just say it’s all screams and unnecessary guitar riffs.

So yes, he gets defensive and he’ll be the first to scrunch his nose up at other genres to keep up this scary façade he wears like armor.

“Do we have to listen to Madonna again?” Eddie whines as he drapes along Jane’s shoulders, putting all his weight on her.

She giggles and pushes at him. “Yes!”

And when the boys climb into his van on the way to school or Hellfire, Dustin asks without fail if they can play Weird Al. Eddie always scoffs and swats at his hand. “No one,” Eddie says with a severity he usually keeps for Hellfire alone, “touches my radio.”

“No one?” Dustin will counter, narrowing his eyes.

Eddie glowers. “No one.”

That’s how he likes things. With only the closest people knowing how he really feels about music, how deep his love goes that it transcends genre. He’s not heartless, he can appreciate a good tune no matter the nasally singer or funky lyrics. It’s just not something he advertises to the general public, or even his friends.

But then he’ll be driving Steve out to the little cafe he likes a few towns over, a day trip just the two of them, and Steve will happily swap tapes the entire way there. Sometimes it’s a mixtape, blending their tastes together, and other times he’ll pop Eddie’s tapes in and ask questions, replaying songs so he can try to make out the lyrics.

He tries to understand what Eddie hears, even if he doesn’t.

Eddie was destined to fall no matter what.

And when they’re at the trailer, hanging out with Wayne, and Steve changes Eddie’s tape for an old Johnny Cash one of Wayne’s, Eddie doesn’t make his usual comments. He doesn’t whine or stomp his foot, even for the hell of it to rile up Wayne, not when Steve’s singing along softly to the lyrics.

He doesn’t want Steve to feel the way he did about his own music, not when he gets enough shit from the kids about his other interests.

Wayne raises an eyebrow at him, smirking as he leans back in his recliner.

Eddie shrugs. He knows his feelings are written along his face clear as day, but he can’t find it in him to care. All he can do is get up and crank the volume up so they can belt along to Cash’s voice to “I Walk The Line.”

Thank you @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #ohstars posting challenge

109 notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary: Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

421 notes · View notes

lastlennonista · 10 days

Text

Citations edit:

Paris:

Cats:

If I Fell:

Acid:

Song battles:

(This link talks about 2. Honestly, not detailed enough.)

#lennon mccartney #mclennon #frankly i miss paris #paul mccartney: queen of the john girls #poll

59 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 10 months

Text

Pomiluj me (Love Me Tender) - S.R.

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; standalone (NOT a part of this medieval AU)

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 10k 😁 best possible division if needed is at the first divider

Summary: Knight Steven Rogers and his brothers in arms are returning home after having tackled an unruly creature terrorizing the people of Starkerbürg. Upon encountering an injured woman, Steven offers to bring her – carry her, truly – back to her home. How could he deserve a knighthood if he left a woman in distress to her fate, after all?

But not everything it as it seems. And love blooms in the most unlikely of places.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex (shocking in medieval times huh), bit of angst, tons of fluff, himbo knights in BBC Merlin style (long live the legends), knight Steve ‘cause he’s a warning, Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Title from the song which inspired the story, Pomiluj mě (Love on Me/Love Me Tender)...tumblr cannot handle an “ě “in their title 🙃 Lyrics, translation and link here, you’ll find a few lines in the fic as well - truly recommend. DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics

A/N/2: AO3 says this is my 100th work (as posted here anyway) and I’m brushing 1,680k of words written according to the counter. Which… whoa. And it’s almost six years since I first posted a marvel fic 🥺 Enjoy!

Alone, you only wander in the dark Chased by the cold I shall light up the torch you’re guarding

Should I be worried about you That all you do is take When are you coming back to me?

The cavalry moved rather slowly.

The noble men appeared a far cry from the polished image known from books, even as they had attempted to wash in a river. They reeked of battle, smoke and blood still; and the drying blood in their wounds was just as red as that of ordinary men, the scent of sweat and fear having seeped into their clothes and armour. And yet, their vests carried the sigil of Starkerbürg with pride, signaling the knights’ dedication to the protection of their kingdom.

With only horse left, they truly might make a pitiful sight, certain weariness to their step; but an air of victory and camaraderie made for a picture of life instead. Laughter sounded between the group, a joke thrown around here and there, a tease about a wound each of them suffered, particularly the youngest one. Despite those, true concern for their new friend, Sir Parker, could be read in their eyes. He was the youngest to ever been dubbed in the history of Starkerbürg; it was no wonder the good men assigned him the role he would have played had the bond they shared been one of a blood family. The youngest of brothers was as much made fun of as protected, since he was eager to prove he deserved the honour to ride with the knights of Starkerbürg just like any other. Now he sat on the horse in front of Sir Barton, the eldest, as they made their way back after successfully ridding the kingdom of a horrific creature: the chimera had been believed to only exist in old tales until it brought terrible and painfully real suffering to the people of the west of the kingdom and so the king’s loyal servants were tasked to ride at dawn five days ago.

“Alright, alright, let us leave the poor lad,” Sir Barton said, patting the young Sir Parker on his shoulder a little too hard. “He shall do better next time.”

Peter smiled over his shoulder gratefully, having started to feel not humbled, but humiliated.

“Yes, yes, we should let him be,” Sir Maximoff agreed, side-eyeing the two riders mischievously. “We should talk about how you moved like an old lady.”

The collective ooooooh and chuckles might have as well come from a group of children, rather than grown men, causing Sir Barton to glare at the cheeky lad he called a friend.

“Old ladies are wise and worth of respect, Maximoff. You could learn a thing or two from them, as you had learned from me,” he scoffed, feigning offence. “Do not forget who taught you how to swing a sword, kiddo.”

“There is a point in what Clint is saying,” Sir Wilson hummed good-naturedly, raising his eyebrow at Pietro in challenge.

“Maybe. Does not change the fact he’s grown seven years older since then, while I have grown seven years more mature.”

The explosion of laughter following his statement was louder this time.

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sir Barnes snorted, elbowing his best of friends, Sir Rogers. “About as mature as this one was when he used to pick his battles with guys twice his size, eh?”

Sir Rogers, Steven to most, only smirked, speaking up for the first time in a while, since his thoughts were far far away. “Should we get technical, we all took up on an enemy twice our size only yesterday morning.”

“Oh?” Sir Barton feigned surprise. “Listen to the guy. He might tell you what brought the monster to its knees next – an arrow straight to its eye. Remind me, Maximoff, whose crossbow it was that fired it?” he asked pointedly, grinning down at the man walking by their horse, earning an eyeroll.

“Did it even have knees?” Sir Lang questioned, “All I know is that it was a nasty, nasty thing.”

“Nastier than Hydra? Cut off one had, two shall takes its place? I truly believed that was only a legend…” Sir Wilson said, a visible shiver of disgust shaking him.

“Not sure we can compare the two… maybe Barnes or Rogers could, huh?” Sir Maximoff suggested.

Steven’s face darkened; he did indeed remember the hydra creature very well for it nearly cost his best friend his arm. The scars still littered Bucky’s skin, from the back of his hand all the way up to his shoulder; Gods had blessed him enough that his ability to use his arm remained intact, even as its appearance did not.

As for the strange chimera they had slayed yesterday… it was true that Steven had gotten more familiar with it then he would have liked. He could recall it with uncomfortable clarity: its foul breath smelling of death on his face, feeling as if it had seeped deep into his very bones when he had finally thrusted his sword through its heart. He could still hear the clang of teeth near his neck, a near death sentence.

No, he would rather not compare the two. He would rather not think of either of the creatures at all.

“Why us, Maximoff? Because I nearly lost my arm to the former and my best friend to latter? No thanks,” Sir Barnes hissed, face turning ashen as well.

Steven instinctively reached for his friend, squeezing his arm, casting a concerned glance as he was torn away from his own dark memories.

“Buck…”

“Are you jesting? Sir Rogers was incredible,” Sir Parker cried out excitedly, having four of the knights groan, for Steven’s bravery – or idiocy, should anyone ask Sir Barnes, truly – was all the youngest knight had been talking about for the majority of their journey, causing Steven’s cheeks redden under his beard, sense of pride and satisfaction battling the terror of the memory. As for the remaining knights, well; while they did not diminish Steven’s important contribution of delivering the fatal blow, they had grown annoyed at the constant babble.

“Sure he was, kiddo.”

“Oh yes. They should probably knight him. Oh wait-“ Sir Wilson said, causing the men to laugh.

“Yeah, a set of deadly teeth perhaps three inches from his throat? Let him have all the glory and Princess Morgana’s hand too,” Sir Barnes grumbled, sending his friend both a proud and irked glance.

A sudden rustle of leaves and a woman’s yelp followed by a thud caused them all fall silent and turnbattle-ready in a split second, snapping in the direction of noise.

However, there was little need for caution. Their intruder barely appeared dangerous: the peasant woman observed them with wide eyes and forehead scrunched in pain, blossoms of common elder, spilled all around her like precious silks of a gown instead of the worn fabric of the simple shirt, shawl and ankle-length skirt, speaking thousand words of what she had been doing until she had fallen. Her fingers were clutching at her left foot, a clear sign of her ungraceful landing. The tree was by no means tall, but that should not mean the fall was what they could call comfortable.

For a moment, the group of knights stood frozen, rendered speechless as much as the poor woman who found herself face to face with not one but seven of the crown’s most loyal servants.

Steven, perhaps the kindest of them all, was the first to snap from the shock of an unexpected disturbance of their journey, releasing the grip on his sword, never having drawn it from its sheath. He took several long strides to the young woman, instantly capturing her attention.

“My lady, are you quite alright?” Steven inquired, gently as he realized his large frame, accentuated by his armour, might intimidate the poor sweetling.

And yet. Just as the question left his lips and his gaze met hers, he was the one rendered mute all of sudden.

Steven had never seen anyone more clearly, he was certain; and just as sure he was of the fact that no woman could ever hope to encompass sincerity and beauty in her eyes only as the one he was facing at the moment.

Her smile was but a shy little thing, pain masked by gratitude for the knight’s care. He was a handsome one, of robust built but with delicate lines to his face, bright blue irises with a speckle of green, plush lips framed by a short beard; distantly, she imagined his wide shoulders would barely fit the doorframe of her cabin – of her hut, truly. She found the imagery enticing, almost as much as the gentle tone he had spoken with despite his giant frame.

“’Quite aright’ seems accurate, sir. I am not hurting much beyond my left ankle,” she admitted, even as her source of discomfort was evident from her hand still covering the affected area.

Steven’s brows furrowed slightly in worry, yet he made no move, spoke no words, even as his lips parted. Instead, his eyes roamed the woman’s face, searching and fascinated. It was the silence which prompted his comrades to enter the interaction.

“Do you think you can walk?” Sir Wilson asked as he stepped forward – a movement barely acknowledged as the woman did not shift her gaze from Steven still.

“Wobble, perhaps,” she said, the corners of her lips briefly turning downwards. “Could perhaps one of you assist me? I should be most grateful for your chivalry.”

Sir Barnes could scoff at the absurdity of her wording; even as she suggested she would welcome anyone’s aid, her fixation on Steven was ridiculously evident. It almost scared him, how steadily she watched him; even as ladies’ interest in his best friend’s company had increased significantly along with how Steven’s muscles had grown, the way this woman observed him… unsettling him for some reason.

“Oh! We should borrow you the horse for a while-“ Sir Parker – bless him, the youngest and the purest of heart of them all – cried out, soon silenced by a more sombre voice of reason of Sir Barnes.

“Kid, you lose your leg should you put your weight on it now. Believe me, I have almost lost my arm to the same foolishness.”

“…oh.”

“Well, I suppose one of us should support you and walk you to your home,” Sir Barton suggested nonchalantly, preparing to dismount the horse. “The most experienced one of us, perhaps?”

“Truly? Is that so, Clinton?” Sir Wilson questioned as he eyed him, his tone carrying wryness of a man who would not care for nonsense – unless it was one that could earn him a great deal of fun. “Why you?”

“I have a pair of very well-working eyes for one,” the older man uttered, causing sir Maximoff to snicker silently.

“So do I and yet I would never offer!” Sir Lang opposed as soon as he understood the meanings behind Sir Barton’s words. “Must we remind you how inappropriate that would be, since you have a lovely wife and three kids at home?”

“And a knee that knows a rain is coming at least two sunsets ahead?” Sir Barnes added for honestly, the foolishness of Sir Barton’s idea battled the one of the youngling’s.

“Ugh, alright then. Spoilsports.”

Sir Maximoff, unsurprisingly, grinned and shrugged as he stepped forward. “Ah, well, fellas, it seems-“

“I can do it. I can even carry her.”

Sir Barnes sighed, an involuntary reaction to best of comrades choosing this moment to snap from his reverie. Speaking of foolishness.

Not once had Steven’s gaze left the beautiful woman since the very moment he had laid his eyes on her, almost as if he was drawn by ancient power whose pull not even his virtuous heart could resist. The pull had been literal too; while the movements had been subtle, step by step Steven inched closer to the woman, now standing barely three feet from her, way too close even as he had been the first to spring forward.

Sir Barnes would be amazed and certainly more than amused at his friend’s antics, had it not been for the fact the scene was as fascinating as disconcerting. For a myriad of reasons. Beginning with-

“You are injured as well,” Sir Wilson noted pointedly.

Sir Wilson appeared to be the only of the men aside from Sir Barnes who had not lost all reason in the midst of all of them having acquired an expression of awe and smugness. In all fairness, the reaction of the knights was nothing short of understandable, for Steven, Sir Rogers, who had kept from many women who had been rather literally battling for his attention, seemed enamoured all of sudden. And of all creatures, enamoured by a beautiful, yet the most ordinary of women. He appeared if not utterly lost to the fabled love at first sight, then certainly lost enough to abandon all reason.

“Oh no, if you are severely injured, I could not possibly-“ the woman resisted, gathering her skirt in attempt to stand up as if to prove she was considerably less inconvenienced by absence of aid than it had originally appeared.

Naturally, her efforts were doomed to failure – and just as naturally, Steve had been there to catch her, promptly supporting her weight. She had barely caught herself, one palm flat against his chest, the other on his bicep, lips parted in silent surprise; and much to the amusement of all knights, in awe of his strength.

Sir Rogers was certainly not the only one of the pair who appeared smitten.

“Thank you, good Sir.”

“Sir Steven Rogers, my lady. I should be happy to aid you,” he pronounced, the words ‘with anything’ unsaid but clearly implied as he helped her straighten up as much as her own injury allowed. “I have not been injured severely. Worry not.”

Needless to say, Sir Barnes would argue; bruised ribs, several cuts, more so when one of them sat right above his brow, should be considered severe enough not to carry a woman in his arms… particularly when these injuries were coupled with a heavy blow to the head. Before, Sir Barnes had not been sure how strong of a hit Steven had taken, but now, seeing how absent of any common sense Steven was-

Ah. His best friend was being quite himself, now that Sir Barnes thought of it.

“…so we are to ignore there are at least three better candidates whose ribs are not bruised or-“ Peter muttered in low voice to his companions, all but earning a warning slap to his healthy leg as Sir Lang gently shushed him, himself charmed by the romantic ballad-worthy scene in front of them.

“Seeing as she does, I suppose we do too,” Sir Maximoff scoffed lowly, tilting his head to side as he observed his comrade, suddenly frowning, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And so does he. Is he alright? He looks… strange. Has any of you put something in his water?”

“You are saying this as if you were not as miffed about him being chosen by her as I am,” Sir Barton huffed, sourness turning into humour at the other man’s misery.

Pietro’s gaze torn away from the pair, their downright love-sick gazes suddenly difficult to watch; it almost felt as if by looking at them, they were prying on an intimate moment. Pietro thought it curious, for he had never had any issues of laughing loud at the displays of affection his fellow knights had offered in the Tower tavern for everyone to see, but he did not want to examine it too hard. He could find joy elsewhere once they had made it to the city, with no shortage of ladies no doubt willing to offer comfort to the heroes of Starkerbürg.

“He is one lucky bastard,” he sighed, patting the horse’s neck, preparing to take off.

“And lucky he might get…” Sir Wilson sing-sang quietly, causing the group to laugh as their gazes once again appreciated the almost palpable spark between the unlikely couple, exchanging knowing glances as the woman gasped when Steven sneaked his arms under her knees and back, lifting her into his arms with ease despite his gear weighting him down.

“Alright, it is settled. We are certain you are safe with Sir Rogers…” Sir Barton called out, entirely ignored by the pair who instead kept observing one another without as much as a blink, as if they could not bear losing even a fraction of the precious time they were given. “For he is-- they are not even listening to me, are they? No one cares about me anymore, I truly must be getting old-”

Sir Barnes sighed again, realization dawning to him; one he should never share with his companions, but one he would for certain inquire about later when Steven returned to the castle.

“We shall move then,” he muttered, beckoning others towards the road, not before sparing the couple a last slightly disapproving glance.

He feared not for his most precious friend’s safety; he only feared for his heart, too big even for the impressive size his body had grown into since his early days as a weakling. At the moment, it was his mind Bucky feared for, since it almost seemed feeble under a spell of a beautiful woman. A spell no one dared to break.

As the group walked away, each of their steps was uncharacteristically silent; until they believed to reach enough of a distance to have a boisterous laugh about Sir Rogers no doubt to be rewarded for his chivalry. The sound bothered not the pair as they smiled at each other softly, the woman’s thumb brushing over Steven’s sternum, covered by worn chainmail.

The simple touch seemed to reach his soul; his breathing, having already eased since he had first caught her, cleared completely, the ache in his bones gone. The woman’s smile widened, silently prompting Steven to start walking. He was not one to hesitate, his feet moving almost of their own volition.

“You are not obliged to carry me,” she said, a teasing note lacing her gentle voice. “I slowed the landing enough. It is nothing but a bruise.”

Steven shook his head, appearing as if he was barely holding back a grin. “But I must, my lady. It is my duty as a knight of Starkerbürg.”

She pursed her lips, one corner lifting in a smirk.

“Oh? Is it so, my good sir? Hm... speaking of knights of Starkerbürg, Sir Rogers,” she emphasized, a playful spark appearing in her eye, “your friends act like children.”

Undignified for a knight for certain – yet who was he to diminish the already scraped reputation of men who truly unsubtly jested about him taking advantage of the very woman in distress he was to help – Steven snorted.

“Don’t I know it.”

“But Samuel might not be wrong…“ she said, voice equally full of amusement and promise. “Set me down, Steven. You must be tired.”

Tired he was not. Not ever since he had met the woman’s eyes moments ago and recognized their beauty and depth as familiar. But who was he to deny a lady?

And a lady she was, for all she was and was not. They might have jested about it together, but in Steven’s mind, she was precisely that and nothing less, no matter what any half-wit of this kingdom would think. Slowly, he lowered her back to her feet, his heart thundering in his ribcage in anticipation as he focused on the sounds surrounding them.

Content with only gentle whisper of the wind and songs of robins for a company, his worn hands cradled the woman’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, heart trembling when she leaned into his touch, her lips brushing his palm.

In return, the tips of her fingers ghosted over his brow, the nasty cut closing at once, without a single sting of pain. She focused on that aspect often, even as she knew he would try and not as much as flinch for her benefit, much like he had not when she healed his ribs earlier.

“Thank you. They must be far enough now, I am sure,” he whispered, stepping closer so their bodies aligned and nearly merged in one. “Do not hide from me, bosorka moja. Let me see you, beautiful.”

Her smile turned a little coy, even as her soul sang at his sweet words. Steven was quite a master of compliments; but not a shameless flirt or a rake. What he said always came from heart; that beautiful, beautiful heart he had sworn belonged to her and never made her question it despite their situation.

“As you wish, good sir,” she whispered, fingertips sliding down his cheekbone, repairing the darkening bruising in their wake, before she turned focus on her own transformation. “Close your eyes, love, release me for just a moment.”

With a sigh of disappointment – but eager to oblige – Steven lifted his hands an inch, missing the lovely heat under his touch at once, and let his eyes slide close. Soft light caressed his skin, flickering behind his closed eyelids as her features shifted, her cloaking spell dispersing.

Steven did not fight the smile tugging at his lips as he allowed himself to open his eyes again just as the glow was dying out, welcomed by the sight of his beloved in her true face. The spell she had casted changed her features but a bit, only enough to protect her from those who would still hunt her upon mere suspicion of her being a magical creature. She appeared just as human as before; but should a half-wit still nursing grudges against magic even century and half since its dark side caused people to suffer ever recognize her as anything else… Steven did not wish to imagine what hell would have been raised; even as it would have been one he would fight to death against.

Indeed, she appeared human even in her true form to most, Steven assumed. Yet, to him, she appeared almost ethereal; she always had. From the very moment she had walked into his life and took his world by gentle storm, slowly nursing him back to health day by day from multiple wounds which would have been his doom. She had risked her own life in process, revealing her talents to anyone, let alone a knight of Starkerbürg, but for a good deed, she had barely even hesitated.

Beautiful, powerful, brave and endlessly kind; and now, by the blessing of gods, even as Steven failed to be a proper gentleman, his.

He let his fingers slide into her hair, tilting her face up to feast his eyes on her features, heart humming pleasantly as only a person who owned it could make it hum.

It was clearer than the skies that she felt just the same. Drawing him close, not waiting for his prompting, she rose to her tiptoes and brushed his lips with hers, sweet and healing. No cut was there for her to fix, but it appeared that whenever she kissed him, even with no magic involved as she had claimed, Steven’s often weary soul was lifted.

He followed her lips, earning a hearty chuckle but no protest, a hand on his nape as her fingers curled in his hair as well.

“Bosorka moja,” he said softly against her lips before tasting them again, greedy for every stolen moment, every stolen kiss she was willing to give him.

And she would give him a lifetime, much like he would give his own to her.

But there was not a single reason to do it right where they stood. One more peck to his lips and she escaped his arms sneakily, only to grab at his hand with both of hers, tugging him down the now familiar path.

“Come, rytier moj.”

And so he followed her, without a word of protest. He would follow his heart anywhere.

Their destination was by no means far, they were in no rush. Unbeknownst to Sir Barnes, his thoughts had been precisely on point – the pair of lovers cherished every moment spent together, may it be walking with purpose or wandering.

This day, they chose the former, the hut soon appearing in a barely-there clearing among the trees. Steve’s lips curled in a smile on instinct as despite the humble outside state of the tiny house, he knew what he would find upon entering with his love and lover by his side. A home. Not only hers; theirs. A safe space for their love.

As soon as they entered, the air smelling of herbs and dried meadow flowers, ones he had picked and gifted her the last time he had escaped his knight-bound duties, hit his nostrils and widened his smile. It was met with her own, soft and welcoming, heartbreakingly beautiful; ache echoed in his heart, its emptiness present for the past few days without her suddenly dissolving into nothing.

He brought her hand to his lips, a gentle kiss to her knuckles before releasing her, so they could begin their routine.

From the mountains Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay your armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

Wind from the mountains

Wind, dust and defiance is rising I lay my armour to your feet Don’t let my skin get cold at night

You made your way to the pot, a simple curl of your wrist lighting up a fire to heat the water for tea. Steven’s gaze followed you as he stood by the door, blindly unclasping his belt, putting away his sword and chainmail. He had no need for weapons nor armour in his home; vulnerability in this house was no sign of weakness, but one of strength. It was a privilege he took upon proudly as you were blissfully aware.

Then, you ruminated through your dried herbs in search of chamomile and lavender, even as you knew the exact placement of every single item; once you heard Steven lose his armour and step forward, you looked over your shoulder, offering an unassuming smile – despite assuming quite a lot from the many encounters you had shared before.

“Tea, my love?”

Like clockwork, like the most beautiful habit, you barely got the chance to speak the question before he stood behind you, fingers cradling your chin, angling your head further to meet your lips again, an indulgent smile tasting indulgent smile as neither of you ever believed a tea was to be served. Not yet at least.

Where your first shared kiss after days of being apart tasted of longing, relief and soft smiles, this one tasted of feelings much more primal. Your breath hitched in the briefest surprise at the intensity, yet you responded in earnest, shifting to accommodate his large body, your hands finding purchase of his broad shoulders as soon as you spun around. He rewarded your cooperation with enthusiasm; you yielded to his force with a breathy laugh once he allowed you to retrieve the air he so lovingly stole from your lungs.

“No tea then?”

A hand previously grasping at your hips wrapped around your back to pull you to his chest, three steps leading you to walk backwards until your back brushed the makeshift table, Steven’s lips as urgent as sweet, his beard scratching at your sensitive skin, each breath tickling your lips.

“Would rather drink from your lips, love,” he whispered to your mouth, the only chance for both of you to breathe in before his lips returned. His hold tightened to ground you against his advances, trapping you in a cage of love you could have easily escaped should you wish; yet, you only withdrew for a moment, a cheeky retort on your tongue as your need for him grew with every touch.

“That could be arranged, I believe.”

Glancing up, you were met with his darkened eyes, his hand firm as he held onto your jaw; and yet, his thumb caressed your skin gently, the desire blending into softness and amusement at your bold demeanour. You lifted one corner of your lips in a smirk, gasping when his mouth possessed yours again, teeth tugging at your lower lip, his arm still holding onto your waist – the only thing keeping you from practically laying on the table, his hips pining yours against the hard surface, fingers squeezing your flesh.

Now there was a thought; Steve’s weight rendering you weightless as he’d coax peak after peak from your body laid on the dark wood as an offering to Gods at an altar…

The very thought, however, was fast to dissolve as Steven’s hips rocked into yours, allowing you to feel the outline of his burning need, having you clutch at his shirt as friction teased your throbbing core. He swallowed the needy noise he elicited from your lips, fingers slipping under your shirt, thumb pressing into your skin just above your hipbone as to guide your movements.

You shuddered upon his lips travelling down the column of your throat, teeth grazing skin alongside the hem of your shirt above your collarbone; your hands began their own quest over the hard planes of his body, appreciative of his truly impressive physique. Steven’s fingers roamed as well, caressing and squeezing, your given name but a breathy whisper when his fingertips stroked the underside of your breasts.

You nearly missed his words due to the blissful sensation, but you had heard the silent plea spoken so many times before there was no mistaking it.

“Dance for me, my love?”

Your swollen lips curled in a playful smile as his fingers carded through your hair, kiss brushing your cheek and jaw and finally your mouth again.

“Oh? Is that what you wish for, lover mine?”

His gaze followed the patterns his fingertips whispered over your face as if they were brushes painting the most precious canvas, a curious contradiction to his eager kisses and hardness.

“Would you hold it against me?” he inquired in a hushed voice, stealing yet another kiss from your waiting lips, his nose gently caressing yours before his gaze bore into yours with intensity again, “that I wish to see something so beautiful and so alive after a battle?”

The amusement slipped from your face, features softening as your heart sored at the subtle confession. The knights of Starkerbürg were full of jest and gestures so great they might border on insanity when situation allowed it. Their bravery was a thing of legends, as much of a legend as the thing you knew they had gone to fight days ago and were only now returning, having bested a mythical creature much more vicious and deadly than yourself, crushing life with not more than one bite to a man’s flesh.

Yet, for all their heroism, even knights, even the most precious of them all – even your Steven – felt the disarming fear of death itself, cruel and all too powerful. You would be always be more than willing to remind him of the power of life for a change, until you’d release yours with your last breath.

Ad so the answer was no – no, you would not hold it against him, whatever he would ask. Never him.

Standing on your tiptoes, framing his face with your hands, his whiskers and already messy hair ticking your palms, you told him as much, sealing your deal with a kiss.

Easing his grip, he allowed you to push against chest, easily giving in as you lead him to walk backwards until his calves hit the frame of your bed. He sat down obediently and you leaned into him, stealing another brief peck.

“Please, bosorka moja,” he pleaded once more as your forehead touched his, taking a moment to breathe him in, reminding yourself that both you indeed were still alive; and thus, such victory should be celebrated with joys life itself provided. “Dance for me, my love.”

Smiling, you placed a finger over his lips to shush him at last, gliding several steps back, mischief appearing in your eyes as his own followed your every movement hungrily, more so when you slipped out of your shawl, the shirt far from brushing the waist of the skirt suddenly hanging low on your hips, providing Steve with a silver of skin of your stomach.

There was no music but the howl of the wind carrying the occasional note by chaffinches and dunnocks and rustles of leaves. Yet, an old old melody echoed in your heart, guiding your movements and filling you with power and confidence of all witches that came before you and enchanted men into giving away their kingdom without as much as a fleeting thought, surrendering their strength and their hearts, all that only to be blessed with a single sinful glance, a single touch of magic as old as humanity itself. For a single drop of passion.

You could feel it fill the air, the longing and thirst for life and body, your lover’s eyes turning dark, hypnotized by the simple swirls of your wrists above your head, at your sides, following every slide of the back of your hands over your ribs, over your bare skin, his visceral need to replace your touch with his own. Drinking in but the smallest motions of your hips, breath hitching at the briefest tilt of your head back or to side, his lips tingling to attach themselves to the exposed skin of your throat, to taste, to suck a bruise. The force with which his fists curled into themselves seemed to ignite sparkles in the air, bringing a sensual smile to your lips as you let your eyes slip shut, feeling the energy hum louder when you moved closer; a sweet thunder within you, within Steve, all around you.

The thud of Steve’s knees on the floor came with his hands grasping your hips; needy but not firm, only to feel the slow movements of your hips and allow you to continue swinging freely. You released a breath, head tipping backwards as Steve’s hot lips found the now burning skin of your stomach, nosing his way up an inch at a time, beard tickling, an open-mouthed kiss following and causing you to shudder – with pleasure, with overwhelming power.

“Steven-“

“Keep dancing, bosorka moja,” he hummed into your skin with a pleased smile, teeth grazing over your belly button as if to distract you from his rough but deft fingers slipping under the waist on your skirt, inching it lower and lower until it hit the floor. Cold air brushed over your bare core, Steven’s lips trailing to the junction of your thigh, his smile growing wicked. “I shall help you dance.”

The very first flicker of his tongue over your pearl had you stutter in your movements, a whimper leaving your lips as Steven’s fingers dug deep into your flesh of your sides and thighs, a wordless warning not to cease the dance he had pleaded for. With a shudder of a breath, you willed yourself to continue, naturally rocking onto his hot tongue as it swept over your weeping core with indulgence, stars flashing behind your closed eyelids at the contrast of the slick muscle to the scrapes his beard left behind.

“Steven-“

“Shhh,” your lover whispered, the sound gentle and teasing at once, the pleasant vibration against your sensitive flesh causing your fingers to find way into his hair and grip, only earning another appreciative hum. “Keep dancing, love.”

And so you did. Leaning into the affection so willingly offered, you succumbed to a different kind of dance. Fingers flexing in Steven’s hair upon a particularly smart swirl of his tongue, breathless praise, calls to Gods and desperate pleas for more more more spilling from your lips. Meeting his ministrations without shame; guiding him, opening up for him as the liquid fire of pleasure spread through your veins, turning into an inferno when you found your thigh on his shoulder, completely out of your doing, an instinct to chase relief – but thoroughly appreciated as Steven’s arm circled your bottom, pulling you impossibly close and loving you deep enough to set you on fire entirely.

You let the primal hunger consume you as you climbed to your peak, crying out when you reached it, head spinning from the intensity; waves of bliss washed over you, body pliant and relaxed. You shrieked when you suddenly found yourself losing your footing, for a brief moment frustratingly empty and cold; and then you were spread on the table, your lover’s lips wrapped around your bundle of nerves, burning blue gaze swallowed by lust firmly set on your face as two thick fingers entered you, latching onto the last aftershocks of your peak. You reached a second high with dizzying speed, unable to tear your gaze away from your giving – and so, so wicked – lover. Gods could possess you at that moment and you would have not felt as if you ascended to such heights as you had while indulging on Earthly pleasures with him.

A soft trail of kisses and pets soothed you as you came down, a breathless chuckle bleeding into a sob when you noticed few of your possessions floating in the air, your magic quite literally having exploded outside of you.

Steven’s lips curled into a smile against your jaw and then you were tasting your essence – as well his much-satisfied grin – on your tongue, revelling in the warm weight of his body covering yours. It seemed your Steven had a few magic tricks up his sleeve too, mind-reading being one of them. You smiled into the kiss, using your grip on his hair to pull him even closer. He could never be close enough; and as he stood between your spread legs, his hard bulge brushing against your bare core, his lips and hands eager, you were certain he felt just the same.

“So beautiful for me,” he whispered to your mouth before retreating, darkened eyes sparkling with lust and pride as well as affection.

“And yours,” you hummed, fingers raking through his beard appreciatively, chuckling when fresh hunger flashed in his pupils. Oh how possessive your knight could be… how much joy it brought you to tease him. “Should I show you?”

A breathy yes was your only answer and so you gripped his shirt, using the fabric for leverage to you sit up. You kissed him again, hands sliding under his garments, gliding over his stomach, your magic flowing freely and healing whichever injuries you had missed earlier.

Easily ridding him of his shirt and pants in between sweet encounters of lips and shedding your clothes as well, you wrapped your legs around his waist, a faint whisper of ‘bed’ enough to have him pick you up without protest; on contrary, with quite the enthusiasm since his hardness throbbed when you led him to sit down with you in his lap.

“Missed you… love you… need you,” you confessed, his breathy voice echoing your sentiments as your lips brushed over every patch of his skin in reach, fingers wrapping around him and guiding him inside you, bliss surrounding you both when you finally sank yourself down his length in one fluid movement.

You rested your forehead against his and simply breathed, living in the moment of utter bliss; a different kind, not the almost primitive one, no, not the wild one. This moment belonged to serenity. Sharing air and warmth with your lover, tender hands appreciating the wide planes of his muscles, strength radiating from flesh and soul alike. And love. Always love.

As if he was able to read your mind once more, his lips sought out yours, a declaration of love indeed, simple, honest and unyielding. His thumb gently traced the pattern of your tattoo, its ink reaching from behind your ear over the side on your neck, a swirl over your left collarbone and spreading over your shoulder. I love you as you are, for all you are, his touch whispered even as no sound left his lips. And even if you felt no shame for your nature, your Steven’s acceptance caressed your soul as did his diligence; not once he had forgotten his ritual of reminding you that with him, your existence was not merely tolerated – but adored and celebrated. When you first understood the significance of this habit of his, tears had stung your eyes, kissed away before they could roll down your cheeks.

“Ľúbim ťa,” you had breathed out then, a love confession in the old language, and ever since, you had not failed to say it once in response to his gesture.

Then, rough fingertips carefully followed the line of a fine silver chain carrying a tear-shaped indigo sapphire, a token of affection usually hidden from plain sight, protected; a promise of faithfulness even as you remained unwed. You had no need for gemstones, but you understood its importance, the significance of the gesture; it made for your heart warm and safe upon its possession and for Steven’s heart lighter a pound of the burden of your circumstance.

Your circumstance was not one of the simple ones, a forbidden love one might say; in which you were the only forbidden thing. Forbidden to even live, let alone love or be loved; an abomination to some. A magic wielder, no doubt seducing the most honourable with her dark powers, for what other reason could be there for him to take liking in you? It mattered not that there was less than a little true to it, that your bond was of much purer nature, as common and as human as the blood you drew from your own veins to cast protection spells over your beloved. True did not matter. Should you reveal your relationship now, Steven would have been painted a victim; and you would have lived no more.

An easy circumstance yours was not at all; but your dedication to each other was to conquer all troubles. And in the meantime, you shall have moments of serenity and of passion, of you and him.

The smallest shift of Steven’s hand pulled from your thoughts, breath hitching when his fingers slid an inch lower, brushing over your nipple. Your hips buckled on instinct, drawing a groan from your lover’s lips, a grip on your bottom encouraging you to move.

Who were you to deny pleasure to you both?

Smiling, you withdrew, index finger covering Steve’s lips as he tried to follow, a discontent furrow to his brow. You tilted your head, thumb brushing over his swollen lips.

“Would you like me to dance still, lover mine?” you inquired teasingly, his disapproval at your actions wiped away in an instant, replaced by fire in his eyes.

Gentle flames of affection battled those of desire, his warm palm caressing over your lower cheeks, before he snapped you impossibly close, causing you to gasp – and to question who it was who had the upper hand here. Your hand fell to his chest, his heart beating wildly under your palm, an answer of its own.

Both then. It seemed you were both on top and simultaneously under the other’s thumb. Such a beautiful thing.

“Would you, bosorka moja?”

Your smile grew, lips attaching to his once more and planning to remain for as long as possible, first careful rock of your hips the first step to reach for the stars – together this time.

“Oh Steven… for my honourable knight? For you, my love? With pleasure…”

An absent smile played on Steve’s lips, his fingers running up and down your arm, appreciating the softness and warmth of your skin. An air of comfort and contentedness hovered around you as he held you close, fast asleep in his arms, cheek pressed to his chest as if the very sound of his heart against your ear lulled you to peaceful slumber.

Despite the sweetness of the idea, Steve felt his brows furrow in concern. While as he was perfectly happy to serve as a pillow for his beautiful lover, aware there was barely any greater expression of trust than a shared sleep, worry seized him for this occurrence was beyond rare. He once asked whether your incredible magic was an effortless as you made it seem, met with a weary chuckle and a kind, if a little condescending smile and a confession that if seen weak, your kind would have been an easy prey. Having understood he had taken your answer as a testimony to the lack of trust you had laid in him, you had also admitted that while the teachings of your ancestors had been deeply ingrained in your instincts, part of your reluctance to show your weakness to him was precisely what weighted his conscience just now. You simply could not be bothered to make him fret too much.

The fact you had let sleep take you alone was truly worrisome and Steve pondered just how exhausted you must have been. Even as the fresh memory of your breathless pleas for more and the cries of pleasure as you rode him till you both tasted heaven were nothing short of precious to him, he could not but wonder whether he was taking too much; your magic healing his wounds, your body a sanctuary to his love and fears.

Perhaps he had. But who could ever blame him?

Steven had never known a woman like this – unafraid to give, just as unshy to take; one or the other, but never like this. He had fallen for you and had fallen hard, body and soul. Yes, should anyone call him selfish, they would not be wrong, because Gods, did he take what he craved and lusted – and yet. Yet, every moment with you felt ethereally right as your still unconscious form drifted closer, almost as if you sensed his thoughts and wished for them to evaporate. And so far, they always had, dissolved in your easy smile when you refused his offer and plea to come with him; to bring you to the castle with him so he could give as well, give more, provide and protect and worship you in his home, your new home, true home where you would not have to hide in the middle of the woods like some sort of an abomination.

It is not the time yet, my love. It will come, you would always say, washing away his guilt with a sweet kiss and a promise. One day. One day I shall come with you and we should be unabashedly happy with no fear, free to be you and me.

He had let your words and touch sooth him, always; but not today. Your body having melted into his had his protective instinct flare up, determination set in his very heart. He should convince you today, to make you his and him yours as two people in love deserved. He shall make an honest woman of you in the eyes of the whole kingdom at last. It was what you were worthy of, for you were worthy of anything and everything. And with you… he believed he deserved the same. He could not stand it anymore. Parting ways with you, only to hope for your next stolen moment to come the very minute after he had left. He could no longer bear you existing so close and yet so far out of his reach.

No, he shall convince you today, insist more than ever. He wanted this, he wished for nothing more than to lay to sleep like this every night, with you. You deserved it. You deserved the world and he shall lay it to your feet, for his honour and his benefit at once.

Any other day, you would have berated yourself for having fallen asleep; but knowing the changes your body was going through, weariness settling in sooner than it used to, it only brought a smile to your face when you found yourself waking to Steven’s tender fingers carding through your hair.

The night was slowly falling. Wandering the woods in darkness would have been an unnecessary risk for anyone, even for a skilled knight with your protective spell over him; your lover was more than aware of it and still, you could tell it pained him to bring you out of your slumber nevertheless. It was no feat to kiss his guilt away, smiles adorning your faces, noses caressing, hands wandering, nearly leading you back into the clutches of lust.

He sat patiently on your bed now, half dressed as you took your blade, his eyes following your every move with more attention than ever as he absently sipped chamomile tea; he found himself deep in thought, such was obvious. It was not difficult to guess where his mind had trailed off to, for it had always been the same.

His voice was soft when he spoke the words, a soft wrinkle on his forehead as your cut your finger and stood between his spread legs.

“Come with me.”

A sad smile played in the corner of your lips as your heart fluttered at his plea, one he never failed to deliver, even as your sigh must have sounded weary every time.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

Steven was no half-wit, which was more than could said about many of the people of Starkerbürg. He knew precisely why you could not come; why you never could, at least not yet. Magic was still forbidden – as if it was a choice, as if one could choose to stop breathing and still live – hated for the pain and destruction the dark twisted witches and sorcerers had once left in their wake, misusing magic to spread fear and suffering. It was not just that all magic wielders were still paying the price for what their ancestors had done. It was even less just that you, not having done any harm unless you needed to escape imminent danger to your life, should live a hermit life, too far from your love and lover. Yet it was how times were, still.

But you were no fool either. You could feel Steven’s uneasiness growing heavier every time he left without you, for it went against his very nature, against the need to keep you close, to hold you, to love – to protect you from harm. You had no doubt he would lay his life for you. You could not allow him to do that, not when the time was finally growing near for your love to be cherished as any other, time for your kind to be free. You must not lose him to rushed foolishness. He was no longer only yours to lose.

“I would protect you,” he promised, steely conviction in his husky voice.

As sweet as the sentiment was, you could not but smirk, a knowing gaze reminding him that should the situation require it, you could very well protect yourself, even as your true gift – the one special talent every magic wielder had, naturally developed with barely any practice – was of the healing kind. Should you truly wished, you could burn villages with terrifying ease; gods knew sorcerers and sorceresses had done this and more with a single snap of their fingers.

Steve took no offence in your teasing gaze; but the determination in his own remained unshaken as you begun to draw the protective symbol over his sternum.

“The time is yet come for people to understand the blessings of magic again, for its light to outshine the darkness it had sowed,” you reasoned, as much as it pained you. “The time shall come soon, I promise. It is simply not today, my love.”

Long fingers circled your wrist, gentle but firm, having you cease your movement, your gaze meeting the brilliant blue roaming over your face.

“I miss you. All days, all nights. I-“ he paused, licking his lips, a shadow of hurt passing over his face. “Don’t you?”

Your heart soared, a sigh leaving your lips. Steven was not easy on you today; but your conviction and determination was just as strong as his. You had to be brave and so did he. A few days longer, that would be all you needed. The right time would come. You were certain of it, even as it was nothing but a whisper of intuition in the back of your mind. Wait, the voice said, the time grows near, but you must wait.

“Do not do this, rytier moj,” you scolded Steven, letting gentleness seep into your voice. “It does not suit you. You must know I love you. I miss you too. And I worry. All days. All nights. Therefore…”

You wiggled your fingers, Steven’s shoulders sagging as he released you, an exasperated pout to his lips – unjustly adorable – as you resumed your work. You smiled widely despite your unnerving circumstance; he would give you anything and everything. The knowledge of this, having been reminded by every little gesture, every word he spoke, made for the warmest feeling in your soul.

Content with your handiwork as you drew the last spiral, you had to swallow a chuckle when Steven’s brows furrowed in confusion, head bowing, eyes flickering over the unfamiliar pattern. A triskele instead of a simple two-headed spiral. A symbol speaking more words than your knight could ever imagine in his wildest dreams, you supposed.

“It’s different.”

Shrugging, you withdrew your hand, calling to your magic to finish the ritual.

“You always draw two spirals connected…” Steve continued, eyes growing large and curious.

“I do”, you agreed softly.

He observed you, intrigued. He had once said he might not understand your power, but he swore he would always try. He would not dare to question your rituals, but you could almost feel how fast his thoughts whirled in a frantic search for an answer. The ritual had remained the same, always, countless times, over and over… why would you steer from it today of all days? What was its significance? What had changed?

Oh Steven. Your sweet, sweet Steven… if he only knew.

“You always say it is about love. The unity of us. You and me,” he said slowly and you nodded, unable to contain your joy any longer, eyes surely glimmering.

“Yes. Our love, you and me. Unity of two.”

His eyes, roaming your face in silent question still, suddenly widened, flickering down and snapping back up as the realization dawned on him, leaving his lips slightly parted.

You simply shrugged, a chuckle shaking your chest, while guilt already began to gnaw at your conscience. You should have not told him, not yet. But how could you have kept it for yourself? How could you have denied yourself a little indulgence, even when knowing nothing could change just yet? You simply wished to see him learn your sweet secret, yours and his, even if for a moment, see he was equally elated.

Your knight did not disappoint you, not that you believed he ever could. His face was a perfect blend of shock and delight, radiating joy and hope and shame and sadness in equal amount as he stammered, shaky hand reaching out to carefully brush his fingers over your belly showing no signs of the treasure growing inside yet.

“You- are you—are we? Oh gods-“ And then, as you predicted, his expression shifted in an instant, determination taking deep root. “Then you must come with me. Allow me to take care of you, to-“

Satisfied and aching at once, you promptly shushed him with your still bloody finger to his lips. A single tear rolled down your cheek; a testimony to happiness, reassured anew of your lover’s goodness and dedication to you. To your family. The wonder, the glimmer of hope and the conviction in Steven’s expression would stay with you till you could grant him his wish.

“The time has not yet come, my love. I share your joy. And your worry,” you whispered through the tightness of your throat, even as a smile adorned your lips. Your finger drew a small cross over his mouth despite the pain it caused you. You had had your moment – and that had to be enough for now. “I am sorry, rytier moj. But you shall not remember this, not yet.”

Before he could as much as take a breath, you withdrew your hand, the symbols on his chest and lips disappearing with a soft glow. Disoriented, your knight blinked, steadying himself by the hand on your hip even as he remained seated.

With a shaky inhale you composed yourself before he could, leaning forward and planting a tender kiss on his lips, fingers raking through his hair. His hand cradled your jaw, adoring.

“Be careful,” you spoke against his lips, earning another small peck.

“Always.”

You retreated with a huff, shaking your head as you went to find an ointment you knew his friend would soon need.

“You speak as if I did not know you, Steven. A basilisk chimera’s teeth three inches from your throat, I heard? Careful indeed.”

His smile was sheepish as he rose to his full height, tying the top of his shirt before reaching for the garments you had so hastily rid him of earlier.

“I always try. The idea that should I fail, I shall never see you again… it can be quite a motivation,” he sweet-talked, succeeding just a bit in softening your exasperation.

Perhaps the vision of him dutifully putting on his armour, making his frame appear even larger – and protected – calmed you further.

“Well, Steven, try harder,” you snipped, pressing a tiny pot into his hand, earning a raised brow. “And take this to Peter, the wound on his leg was already turning foul. And this…”

You reached for a salve you had prepared for when a wave of nausea had taken you by surprise, dipped your finger in the dark substance and carefully patted it over Steven’s brow where his cut had been. You did not expect Steven to feel nauseous – after all he was not the one carrying a new life under his heart – but the colour was convenient. A cut healing so rapidly would have casted a dangerous suspicion on whoever he had interacted with – or worse, on Steven himself. You could not have that.

He observed you softly as you tended to him, adding a small tap where a bruise had begun to form earlier on his cheekbone. He did not utter a word until you were satisfied with your work. Once your hands fell to your sides, his own framed your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your nose and finally your mouth again, a bittersweet goodbye.

“Always so meticulous and careful… always so good. Taking care of me, of my friends…” he mused, breathing you in one last time, hovering, hesitating more than usual. Almost, almost as if your spell had not worked and he still knew. As if he still knew precisely what he was leaving behind this time. “Take care of the person most precious to me too? Until I come back again?”

There might be two of those for you now, you thought, the memory of his delight flashing in your mind, bringing a smile to your lips as you nuzzled into his touch and kissed his palm.

Looking up at his face, you echoed his own reassurance. “Always.”

With one last kiss and hearts as heavy as light, you declared your love to each other. You walked him out quietly, watching him disappear between the trees, his gaze turning to you several times, always finding you standing at the doorstep of his true home, a tender smile on your lips.

Once he was out of sight, you released a sigh, hand settling over your belly, a tear stinging in your eye despite the corners of your lips having been turn upwards.

Yes. The time was yet to come for the people to see again the blessings of magic. For now… the blessing of love already bloomed and it was enough.

Očaruj mě (a fic with the same pairing in the same universe)

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this one

Complete masterlist

Yes, I’m mixing symbols, I know… do I care? Nope.

Terms of endearment/addressing used from Slovak language: bosorka moja = witch mine rytier môj = knight mine ľubim ťa = I love you

Thank you for reading!💕 I wrote it in between really difficult exams in the ocourse of two months and it needed a LOT of editing afterwards too, so... feedback is, as always, appreciated 🥰

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #knight steve rogers #knight steve rogers x reader #knight steve rogers x you #knight steve rogers imagine #medieval au #fantasy au #fairy tale au #lemons #pomiluj me #anika ann

225 notes · View notes

uhbasicallyjustmilex · 4 months

Text

✨ ARCTIC MONKEYS ASK GAME ✨

favourite record opener track?

have you been to a live show? if so, feel free to share a photo/something particular that struck you about your experience!

humbug or tbh+c?

which member of the band would you most like to spend the afternoon with and why? how would you spend your time?

which album means the most to you?

if you had to pick one song from their discography to never hear again, which one would it be?

how long have you been a fan? tell us about your journey!

do you have any cool arctic monkeys memorabilia or keepsakes that are meaningful to you? (eg wristbands from a show, merch you’ve bought, signed stuff, tour posters)

what’s the first song you heard that made you fall in love with the band? where were you when you heard it?

what’s your favourite alex era hair? feel free to share photo examples!

have you ever created any fanart or fanfiction inspired by the band/involving anyone in the band? feel free to share a link!

do you have any arctic monkeys tattoos? if not, do you want any?

what are some of your favourite lyrics alex has written? (doesn't have to be arctic monkeys, can also include tlsp/ other artist collaborations/the submarine soundtrack)

do you own any physical copies of any of the albums?

favourite arctic monkeys b-side?

if each of the albums was a person, which one do you think you'd most be like and why?

favourite album cover?

if you could ask each member of the band something and have them answer honestly, what questions would you ask them?

what's your favourite quote said by someone in the band? feel free to share a link/clip!

favourite record ender track?

#this is what happens when i'm in bed all day with a chronic pain flare and don't have the brain power for writing 😅#anyway it was a fun little distraction coming up with these!#feel free to reblog and share with each other 🥰#and even though i came up with the questions i'd love to answer some too #so feel free to drop some in my ask box!#have fun! 😘💖#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #jamie cook #nick o'malley #ask game #ask games #bands #lulu posts

133 notes · View notes

littlexscarletxwitch · 10 months

Text

── ༊*·˚⋆ 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗲

paring: florence pugh x fem!reader

tag(s): fluff, based on endgame by taylor swift (you don't understand how much i'm loving this song), cute gf flo

warning(s): grammatical errors, unedited

word count: 2.2k

note: omg, it's finally here. I'm so sorry it took me sooo long, it just I was super busy. Was this inspire by Ms. Taylor Swift? Yes, yes it was. I really hope you guys like this one. I'm not a native english speaker, so please let me know about any sort of mistake. Love you all so much <3

note 2: guys, I'm currently reading 'Delilah Green doesnt' care' and it's giving me so many ideas for fics. So would any of you be interest in more mum!florence? Please let me know. Xoxo, M

requests are open! + check my rules here + masterlist <3

Your eyes were closed, your head was on her chest listening to her steady heartbeats, a soft smile formed on your lips.

“Promise me this is forever,” you whispered.

You knew she was awake, she was doing the same thing as you, enjoying the moment, living in the present.

Your eyes found hers already looking at you.

“I promise,” she said, her smile mirroring yours.

Her lips found yours as if sealing the promise forever, but nothing ever lasts forever. The kiss that was first sweet and soft and filled with love, turned bitter, harsh and cold. You pulled back confusion written all over your face.

You blink once then twice, and suddenly you were waking up on your bed, alone. You cursed yourself at the stupid memory. It was so pathetic to still think about Florence that way. You two were history, long forgotten, just a memory of your adolescence.

You shook your head, trying to wake up your foggy brain from the nap you had taken. And decided to get some work done as a way to clear your head from your silly old fantasies.

You made yourself a cup of tea, grabbed your notebook and put your headphones on. You only had three more months to finish your second album. The deadline wasn’t much of a concern of yours, what bothered you was the lack of inspiration. Every lyric you would write down was just trash, it was as if you were missing something. So far you had only five finished songs, and you needed ten more to have the album finished.

You were humming, moving your head to the beat as you let your brain come up with the right words, but it felt as if you were stuck.

“I wanna be your endgame,” you sang to the beat. “I wanna be, I wanna be your… ” you threw your head back in annoyance, frustration getting the best out of you.

You had been sitting on the floor for the last hour, trying to finish this one song but you were not even close to it. You took a deep breath trying not to lose your shit. Your phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a new notification and that took your whole attention.

“Y/n Y/l/n and Drew Starkey spotted out for dinner,” you read out loud and couldn’t help rolling your eyes at the link your manager and best friend had sent you.

According to the news, you were dating both Drew Starkey and Joe Keery. You also almost got engaged the week before to Rudy Pankow, but apparently cheated on him with Maya Hawke. You knew better than to actually pay attention to fake news, but you couldn’t help to. After all that was now your life, the life of a startpop in the making, so much for a boring Oxford kid.

Your reputation precedes you, in rumours you were knee-deep. But there was nothing you could do about it. Exhausted from your social life and the poor lack of motivation to do the one thing you loved the most, you decided to go out on a walk, hoping it would help to clear your thoughts about both the fake news and Florence, who you tried to ignore from thinking of. But ever since that dream you found yourself thinking about her more often.

You knew she was as famous as you were, maybe even more. You had to admit to yourself that some nights you found some kind of comfort in her movies, watching her cute pouty face, the one she was most known for.

She was your first love, she taught you how to love, what it was to be loved. Of course it wasn’t easy to forget about her, even after all these years, some part of you still craved her love. It wasn’t that you didn’t love each other when you both decided to go separate ways, it was because things weren’t so simple anymore. You two weren’t just two teenargs in love, you were slowly becoming adults. She had booked roles and you were making your way into the music industry.

And without the two of you knowing you two just drifted apart, the two of you too caught up in your careers. But you loved her, so you decided to let her go, hoping and praying to the universe that maybe she would come back to you one day.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you opened the door to your local cafe and someone bumped into you.

“Sorry, I wasn’t… “ but you stopped cold once you saw the strangers eyes.

“Y/n?” she asked, her voice as soft and raspy as you remembered. “What are you doing here?” a smile formed on her face, as if she was genuinely happy to see you.

You shook your head trying to clear out your mind, was Florence really in front of you? “I, um, I lived here,” you blinked once, twice and she was still there. “Just around the corner,” you added, cursing yourself for being so awkward. “What are you doing here?”

Was this a sign of the universe? Have your prayers been answered?

“Visiting my family,” right her family, you thought. “Well, not just that, I’m also working,” she scratched the back of her neck. “I was actually hoping to see you, too.”

“Really?” that had to mean something, the universe couldn't be messing around with you this cruelly. Right?

“Yeah, I have, um… I have been thinking about you.” she smiled at you and you felt the butterflies in your stomach. “I think we should talk.”

“I, um,” what were you supposed to say? Were you willingly going to agree to spend time with the love of your life as if the two of you were going to be just friends? What was that supposed to mean?

“Yeah, sure. When are you free?” you finally agree.

You mentally checked your schedule, you were supposed to finish your songs but taking a break wouldn’t hurt anybody. Plus, you were going to get your coffee and get back to it right away.

“Um, what about now?”

Shit, you thought. She wasn’t going to give you any time to prepare yourself. Well, you better get into it, rip it off like a band aid.

“Okay, I was going to get a coffee and then we can…”

“Yeah, yeah, take your time. I’m going to find us a table.”

You order your coffee while mentally preparing for the conversation the two of you were going to have. What was she on about? Was it really a big coincidence? Did the universe put her in our path for some reason? You shook your head, you needed to stop thinking about the universe’s way of working for a second.

They handed you your coffee and now you had no more excuses to avoid her, not that you wanted to. Some part of you long to be near her, but you were scared of what this whole thing was about.

“So, um, what’s up with Drew?” she tried to pretend she didn’t care but was actually dying to know if you were actually dating him, not that you noticed it.

“Who?”

“Drew? Starkey?”

“Oh, yeah, Drew,” you chuckled, silly you for forgetting your own friend. “He’s just a friend, a really good friend,” was it your imagination or did she just let out a breath of relief. “What about Ashley?” you asked before taking a sip of your coffee.

She smiled at you, “She’s also a really good friend.”

“So, um…”

“Listen, Y/n…”

The both of you chuckled.

“You go first, Flo”

That nickname. It was stupid because everyone who knew her would call her ‘Flo’, but coming out of your lips felt different. She had missed hearing her name on your lips, she had missed you.

“I’m just going to say it, okay?” you only nodded. “I lied earlier, I’m not here for work or visiting my family. I came here to find you,” your lips parted in disbelief. “Ever since we broke things apart, I had been feeling like something was missing, Y/n. And I recently realised it was you. Well, I saw the article about you getting married and all I could think of was that something wasn’t right.”

“Florence I…”

“No, please let me finish,” she cut you off. “I understand that we are strangers to each other, but I would love to get to know you once again. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, it can be like a fresh start. I just really need you in my life, Y/n. I miss my best friend.”

You took another sip of your coffee, stealing time before giving her an answer. The truth was you already knew what you wanted, you knew it the moment you sat at the table, but you wanted to mess with her just a little bit.

You put your cup down, and finally your eyes found hers, “I would like nothing more.”

[...]

Ever since that day, Florence and you had been spending everyday together. Catching up with each other and going back to old habits.

The more you hang out with her, the more you could feel your old feeling coming back. But you didn’t want to rush things just to ruin them again. But one particular afternoon you couldn't hold back anymore and decided to do something about it.

She had fallen asleep 30 minutes ago, you chuckled as you realised her current state because she had picked out the movie but turns out she was more tired than what she let you see.

You headed to your small studio and decided to get back to the song you were working on before running into Florence. You knew exactly what you wanted to say, having found your new inspiration a few weeks ago.

You pressed play and the music started playing, you already had a few things written down in your notebook you just needed to put all your ideas together.

You were so lost and immersed in finishing the song, going at it back and forth, changing some lyrics, singing some ideas, writing and crossing out some bits, that you didn’t realise someone was watching you just when you were about to finish.

You had already recorded the whole song and were just checking it out when Florence leaned in the frame door.

Florence smiled as she listened to your sweet voice. She wondered who this song was about.

Knew her when I was young, reconnected when we were little bit older

Both sprung, I got issues and chips on both of my shoulders

She didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Reputation precedes me, in rumors, I'm knee-deep

The truth is, it’s easier to ignore it, believe me

She felt her heart shrinking in her chest.

Even when we'd argue, we'd not do it for long

And you understand the good and bad end up in the song

She listened closely to the song as you hummed to it.

For all your beautiful traits and the way you do it with ease

For all my flaws, paranoia, and insecurities

Her heartbeat and body temperature were rising.

I've made mistakes and made some choices, that's hard to deny

After the storm, something was born on the 4th of July

I've passed days without fun, this end game is the one

With four words on the tip of my tongue, I'll never say it

She couldn't take it any longer.

“I like it,” she said, getting closer to where you were sitting. “It’s catchy,” she said, trying to shake her feeling away. That song could be about anyone.

“I feel like something’s missing,” you scrunch your nose.

“Sing the corus to me, please,” she looked at you with her doe eyes and you swear you could have melted in that moment.

You shook your head with a smile on your face and compiled, “I wanna be your endgame, endgame,” you finished singing the chorus. “And then it goes. Big reputation, big reputation. Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations, ah,” you sang, trying to not look at Florence.

“You know, it sounds awfully familiar,” she teased, wanting nothing more than for it to be true.

“And you heard about me, ooh. I got some big enemies,” you kept on going.

“What are you trying to say, Y/n?” she kept on pushing you.

“Big reputation, big reputation. Ooh, you and me would be a big conversation, ah. And I heard about you, ooh. You like the bad ones, too,” you finished, trying to tell her that you were thinking exactly what she was thinking.

She was so close to you now, her knees brushing against yours, sending electricity throughout your body. You could feel her hot breath on your lips.

“I want to…” she didn’t finish her sentence because you were already nodding and she smashed her lips to yours in a second.

You felt as if a wave of cold water was washing over you. Her lips felt both familiar and new at the same time. You felt at home as she wrapped her arm around your waist and her other hand cupped your cheek. You didn’t want to ever stop kissing her, but both you and her needed to breathe so ultimately pulled apart.

She rested her forehead on yours, both of her hands cupping your cheeks, caressing your skin with her fingertips.

“I wanna be your endgame,” you quietly sang to her.

She chuckled before kissing you again and again and again.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

-M

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pugh x fem reader #florence pugh x y/n #florence pugh x you #florence pugh fluff #florence pugh imagine #littlexscarletxwitch's fic #Spotify #[🎧⊹♡] based on songs i love

248 notes · View notes

whyareyouhere66 · 8 months

Note

Omg cool I have an angsty request 😈(if you’re comfortable writing it<3)

Kind of Tom!Peter Parker x Male!Stark!reader x Tony Stark(platonic obviously) ??

Reader has a rocky relationship with his dad Tony, just wants his attention, to be seen by Tony etc. but once Peter joins and takes Tonys full attention reader just automatically hates him for ‘stealing his dad from him’. As time goes on reader just gets more hateful and jealous of Peter, maybe getting into fights with Peter on purpose. Suddenly there’s a new villain/anti-hero (??) that’s been interfering with there plans or just wrecking havoc to go after Peter. Plot twist when they finally catch them/they’re too hurt to keep fighting, it’s revealed as reader. You can make it as angsty as u want!

(A.K.A. Reader is Loki, Peter is Thor and Tony is Odin lol)

AHH THIS

I love this trope-

So glad you requested this, (and thank you for checking stuff first) and enjoy

Also note that I’m not too fresh on the marvel timeline, if you notice anything that doesn’t exactly align with the movie than I’m sorry just brush past it- this also might be the longest fic I’ve ever written so

Implied to be set around the start of Peter’s Spider-Man stuff.

Look What You Made Me Do

Male Stark Reader x Avengers

“If I loved you, was a promise….

Would you break it, if you’re honest?”

[idontwannabeyouanymore, Billie Eillish, 2017]

Cw: violence/fighting, Tony being a bad dad, slightest mentions of drinking, angst Kind of jumping straight into it too-

I’ll fix a few things later I’m tired I want this one to be out and about

Named after a Taylor song, starting with a Billie lyric 💪💪

If you were to ask anyone about the wealthiest men in modern day New York, it’s inevitable for Tony Stark to appear somewhere on that list.

He’s rich, handsome, a superhero. New York’s knight in shining armor.

Most believe his life is a dream, somehow oblivious to the fact that maybe a superhero doesn’t live life in the dream house. But when he’s made his brand through money, fancy houses, big parties, and shiny military weapons it’s easy for people to see no further than surface level.

That isn’t the case for his son, though.

From a wealth aspect of it- the young Stark knows how grateful he is, how grateful he should be, for his father.

If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t be currently sitting in this large bedroom, with a view most would pay a couple grand for, wouldn’t be surrounded by the various expensive objects linked to his little interests. It doesn’t even matter how much Y/n would insist on paying- he never seems to think much of it. Maybe it’s his way of showing affection.

That’s what Y/n hopes, at least.

Because if not- there’s not much there. Tony Stark has never been much of an affectionate person, some may blame it on his own father. Others would blame it on the business- no time for distractions on a long days work.

But neither of those reasons matter- for all his son ever wanted is for Tony to love him the way he wants him to.

Static crackles through Y/n’s small speaker, and quickly the boy perks up. A short glance over and he finds the old Queen record spinning aimlessly, with the tone arm at the end of its songs.

Pushing himself off the bed, he walks over to the stand where Tony’s old record player sits. Taking the arm off- he flips the record over to side b, before returning it to its place.

The intro of Queen’s “Hammer to Fall” begins ringing from the speaker, and a small, satisfied smile grows on Y/n’s face.

He hums the beat, nodding his head with it while turning back to his bed- but something catches his eye.

Outside, there’s two figures standing out front. One eyebrow raises, Y/n slowly steps closer to the window.

“Who-?”

Recognizing his dad, dressed in his best suit, Y/n leans closer. The other figure isn’t quite as tall as Tony, and looks quite obviously nervous.

Y/n furrows his eyebrows.

….That’s Peter Parker.

What the hell is he doing at Stark’s house?

***

The sound of a backpack falling to the ground echoes through the foyer- and immediately it’s a sigh of relief. The sweet, sweet air conditioning here is heavenly in contrast to the one at school.

Y/n faintly feels a vibration in his pocket- grabbing it only to see multiple notifications coming from a group chat.

‘What are they on…’ he wonders, scrolling through countless messages worth of nonsense. He goes to reply, when-

“Y/n!”

His head snaps up at the voice, echoing out from the couch.

‘didn’t realize he was home…’ he looks back at the window, finding his father’s car parked in the driveway.

“Oh.”

Deciding the group chat can wait, the teen wanders to where his father sits.

“What’s up?” Immediately Y/n sees the scattered papers piling on top of one another on the coffee table, the short crystal glass filled halfway with rum. You’d think he’d wait until at least five, but that’s not the Stark way.

“I found a uh, form on the coffee table,” his voice sounds bored, tired, “something about textbooks for school?”

Y/n notices the forms sitting at the edge farthest from Tony, as if they’d been pushed away as far as they could go.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He says awkwardly, looking at the dirty laces of his shoes, “it’s fine, I got it.”

“Well I can pay for them, if that’s what you’d like.” The eldest Stark shrugs, finally looking at his son from over the rim of his glasses.

Y/n almost feels embarrassed- when had he asked for that? He shakes his head, though it doesn’t hide the surprised look on his face.

“No, no you don’t have to-“

“Oh please, I got it, education is our future or something, right?” Tony shrugs, taking off his glasses and beginning to stand up from his chair, headed for the black leather wallet he’d left on the dining table.

Y/n isn’t quite sure why he’s now rushing to step in front of his dad- there isn’t much harm in the gesture after all. Maybe he just doesn’t want the weight of depending on his father for everything to lay on his shoulders. Either way, excuses are already falling from his mouth.

“You really don’t have to, dad-“

“You’re acting like I’m handing you the presidents treasury,” Tony deadpans, “besides, you don’t have a job.”

Y/n pauses.

“Wha- yes, I do-“ does his dad really not know about his job?

“Look, it doesn’t matter, I can get them used anyways-“

Before he can take one step closer, a nervous voice quips up from the doorway and ends the race for the wallet.

“Um, Mr. Stark?”

Curiously, Y/n and his dad snap their heads to see who has just joined them.

“Peter-?”

Peter Parker stands in the large door way, curled into himself with his backpack strap folded between his fist. His eyes are wide and questioning, looking between his classmate and his idol as if he had walked into the wrong room.

Suddenly, Tony’s shoulders drop- and he’s no longer interested in any textbook or wallet.

“Ah, Parker, didn’t think you’d make it.” He says bluntly, strutting away from his son and towards the obviously nervous boy.

“Here, sit down kid.”

With the man’s hand pressed into his shoulder blade, Peter has no choice but to follow him towards the various seats lining the dining table. And from the side- Y/n watches, absolutely lost.

After he had seen his father and Peter talking, he kept it to himself. Knowing the boy, he had simply assumed Peter was asking for an autograph or a picture, just like half of the city.

But now, he is in his house. At his table.

What the hell is this?

“Um,” Y/n’s voice sounds blunt, almost too similar to his father- who’s already sitting down across from Peter with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised, as if this was a press conference.

Peter looks at him first, while his father throws a glance over his shoulder.

“What’s this?” Y/n asks, pointing to the strange teenage boy sitting down in his seat. Tony tiredly leans back in the chair, twisting to the side just slightly so he could look at Y/n head on.

“Y/n, this is Peter, Peter, this is Y/n.”

“Uh, yeah, we know each other.” Peter pipes up, giving Y/n the shortest, most awkward smile it seems he could muster. Y/n’s face stays blank.

“Yeah, I meant what is he doing here?”

Tony doesn’t seem at all phased by the rude undertones of Y/n’s question.

“Peter is gonna work as my intern for a little while, I’m training him.”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow.

“For what-“

“Hey, quit interrupting, will you?” Tony dismisses him with the wave of his hand, turning around so he’s fully facing Peter. And Y/n lingers there, processing. He doesn’t like feeling like a shadow, not in his own home especially, but that’s the feeling that begins to overtake him.

Intern…?

He tries understanding what that means- there’s many possibilities. Assistant, maybe. But when he looks between his dad and his classmate one last time, seeing that he’s been nearly forgotten in the room (aside from the short glances from Peter’s end) he turns around to retreat, fists clenched.

His dad has had interns before, Peter likely won’t be much different. Possibly.

***

It’s been 5 weeks.

And multiple times, for each of those weeks, Peter has been somewhere mixed into the tangle of Tony Stark’s extensive schedule, far more entangled than Y/n has been for the past few years.

He shows up to dinner, trains at the Avenger’s tower. He comes knocking on the door randomly asking for life advice, or something- he’s everywhere.

It wasn’t even until week 4 that Y/n discovered the truth behind his sudden presence, when he saw the suit for the first time.

He has his own suit, god can you believe it?

Y/n watches on as Tony seems to easily bring Peter under his wing- hating how he has to avoid the burning green envy that burns his ears. How has Tony managed to take on the father figure role to Peter, when he barely manages that role with his own son?

‘It shouldn’t hurt this bad,’ y/n will think to himself, ‘you’re independent, relying on him will only make it harder in the long run.’

But he couldn’t help the hardened glare that arose every time he saw his dad, his own dad, bonding with someone else the way he had been wanting for what- 16 years?

Even now, sitting at the table, while the teen stares into the bowl of cereal in front of him, it’s just so irking to think about.

His spoon scrapes the edges of the bowl, gathering the now soggy cheerios into a cluster in its silver dip. Then, they get lost in his mouth. Rinse and repeat- he does it over and over while staring a blazing hole into the wall.

What is Peter doing that he can’t?

“Mr. Stark-“

Speak of the devil.

Y/n’s grip on the spoon tightens.

Peter comes stumbling into the room, out of breathe as if he sprinted all the way here. He doesn’t even knock anymore, Y/n thinks, he’s made himself at home.

“Kid? What’re you doing here?”

The nickname sends a shivering twitch through Y/n’s already sore muscles, tugging his face so he can’t control the annoyed look that comes through.

They’re talking to each other now, Peter trying to tell a story far too quickly for either of them to follow. Y/n blocks their voices out.

His chair scrapes against the floor, and he grabs his bag to leave.

“I’m going to school.” He says loudly, cutting off their conversation.

“Oh, I guess I gotta go too-“

“No,” Peter freezes, looking at Y/n curiously, “no, no stay here longer why don’t you? Practically your house.” Venom leaks from his words, the sarcasm so loud it makes Peter flinch.

“Y/n,” Tony groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Y/n’s stare only hardens.

“What?” He snaps, now looking at his father.

“Really?” Is all that Tony manages, before Y/n is rolling his eyes and spinning on his heel.

“(F/n) is waiting for me.” He grumbles, snatching his phone and stomping out of the room.

How does his dad not get it? Is he so blind he can’t even see his own blatant favoritism?

The look of exhaustion displayed on his face would make you think hes working day and night having to put up with Y/n’s attitude- yet he’s unaware he’s exactly what’s causing it.

Y/n doesn’t want to blame Peter, in the back of his mind he knows that it’s his dad’s fault. But it feels like his father is being stolen.

But can it really be theft if there wasn’t much of him in the first place?

Y/n knows that he’s picking all the fights, starting all the arguments just so that twisted part of his head gets some satisfaction.

It shouldn’t be working so well.

The young Stark doesn’t return home until it’s just about dark outside, his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulders.

He walks the long halls of his home, past the doors that could either be a guest bathroom or a weapon closet. Even if there’s more entryways than doors, his father opting for large empty frames, he walks the length of it with no specific destination in mind.

He isn’t too sure where he’s headed anyways, considering he’s passed the way to his bedroom already.

Through half lidded eyes he guides himself through this maze of a house, bitter jealousy bubbling in his lungs. It’s such a haunting thought, a looming presence, and he wishes he could push it down the drain but it seems that he can’t.

“Stupid, stupid Peter…” he mumbles, hand grazing the wall beside him.

Ned’s voice still rings in his ears, breathy from how he had been exercising for most of the class.

“You don’t know what he looks like- what if he’s like seriously burnt?”

“I wouldn’t care, I would still love him for the person he is on the inside.”

Of course it caught their attention- Peter’s little crush on Liz wasn’t hard for most to notice.

“Peter knows Spider-Man!”

How horrible.

Across the room, Y/n’s head snapped to where the pair was on the gym floor- Peter’s jaw slacked. It didn’t matter how much he tried to quickly say otherwise- Flash already had slid down the climbing rope with another remark slick on the edge of his tongue.

And Y/n watched on, eye twitching, feeling how his friends slapped his arm in amusement.

“I can’t tell if he’s for real or not-“ F/n mumbled from next to him. Y/n’s eyes never tore away from the scene playing out ahead, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah,” and his eyes squeezed shut, “me neither.”

Y/n’s fists curl together, knuckles scraping the wall for a moment before he’s pulling away.

It’s so frustrating.

He’s walking further down the corridor, eyes sliding open just in time to catch a door left slightly ajar- and he pauses.

He’s passed the door many times, no doubt, but this time it’s different. There’s something pulling him inside, an unknown source that’s too intriguing to walk past.

Slowly, he pushes open the door. And there it is.

Old bins and cabinets with junk gadgets shoved inside- worn blueprints from his fathers old work. One eyebrow raises, cogs turning and grinding in his head.

There’s some things still in tact, some that have been broken apart and scattered about. Y/n kneels down to observe closer.

He feels the smooth surface of a metal clasp against his fingertips, grazing the jumbled objects.

This is his answer.

The backpack slides off his shoulders, thumping on the ground beside him. This room is one that his father doesn’t visit much anymore, now much more caught up in other things such as the Avengers, Peter, the scattered piles of paperwork that seem to constantly consume him.

And in the corner, there’s a bend in the wall partially hidden by a cabinet- if you were to tuck something inside, no one could see from the door frame.

Y/n already feels his mind blooming with ideas as he skims over the various parts and pieces in front of him.

If he can’t live up to his fathers standards, his fathers name,

then he’ll make his own.

***

Multiple nights pass, weeks go by and Y/n finds himself spending the time after dinner until midnight cooped up in Tony’s old gear room.

He likes to think it’s a family trait, something tying him to the Stark name, also known as his skill for parts. He can take a few glances at both his own notes as well as the old blueprints and suddenly have the necessary concept for a retractable weapon, built to strike out of an arm piece. And when he’s done, he simply drags it all into his tucked in corner- hidden until night falls again the next day.

Time not spent at school, occasionally in his room, or in his new lab- is now spent taking full advantage of the gym on the higher floors.

The Avengers don’t question it, barely even using it at the same time as him anyways. He’s planned it so no one is around to see the training he does, the work put in to not only muscle- but also skill.

He doesn’t have a vigilante name just yet- but perhaps that’s the fun in it. He’s totally anonymous.

And as the firm punching bag jerks beneath his incoming fist, he feels the creeping joy of power.

Y/n puts lots of thought into the first strike against the city- building an elaborate yet somewhat reckless attack plan, a formula.

No citizen will get hurt- it’s only the churning, growing need for revenge he wants so badly to be satisfied. Among the jumbled emotions, and new discoveries, he knows what he wants, and he knows just who he wants to be.

Y/n Stark may never be the millionaire superhero his father is- but he will be something. Something that no one will ever expect.

***

“A new vigilante seems to be on the loose, unidentified. They’ve struck many times already, but police have noticed that, interestingly enough, among the pattern of crime scenes none of the main public areas or citizens have been hit. Could this be the work of an Anti-hero, perhaps? Down at the Avengers Tow-“

The anchorman’s voice is cut off, mid sentence, and Tony holds the remote firmly.

Around him, on the expensive couches sit the Avengers themselves, but their faces are dulled by distress, their knuckles tense from a firm grip.

“We gotta find this guy,” Bruce sighs, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. Beside him, Natasha agrees.

“If we don’t catch them soon, people will start doubting us.” She says it like it’s so simple, lips pressed into a thin line. Steve groans.

“They aren’t gonna start doubting us-“ he tries, but no one seems to believe him.

“Oh really? Sounds like you’ve got some superstar solution then, huh?” Tony, always packed full of sarcasm, looks absolutely exasperated. He’s been looking tirelessly for this new ‘vigilante’ of the sorts - they don’t even seem to have a name. They work quickly and precisely, yet go at it with a powerful vengeance. Their skill- it’s almost something he wants to respect.

The group begins to speak again, switching between civil turn taking and overlapping words. They don’t even notice the figure standing by the door.

Y/n peaks his head around the door frame, watching these strong, powerful superheroes stressing over him. Oh, they just have no clue.

As they’re still talking, planning unknowingly within earshot of their own enemy- Y/n takes his notes. He listens, until finally he slips past the door and walks quietly down the hall as the sick, strong feeling of triumph sinks into his stomach.

He’s got them.

***

The rumbling fill of chaos echoes from all around- machines jittering, codes breaking, and a light flickers down the hall.

Y/n stands at the center of the room, looking around at one of his father’s many warehouses from all around- this one being stationed north of his own home state- Maine, USA.

His dad brought him here only a few times as a kid, once or twice perhaps. He always hated it- still does, actually, hence the small bombs scattered across the place.

It would be funny, to think that not even the Avengers have caught on to his pattern- but that may be jinxing it. Plus, he knows the common traits of each area he’s hit so far, the places holding the unjust power. This stop, though, he’s been waiting to finally hit.

“Stark Enterprises” - a sign once strung together in big letters, now laying at Y/n’s feet broken into pieces. The boy crouches down, picking up a chunk from the “E” and crushes it in his hands.

Under his mask, he grins.

His suit, not quite as advanced as those made by his father, fits him well. The sleeves are tighter, snugly wrapped around his biceps with streaks of purple running through the black material. Padding, like thin layers of armor, protect his torso and the pants are the most loose- cargo, with big pockets.

A mask is what pulls the whole thing together, though, concealing the entirety of his head underneath its black and purple coloring.

Littering his hands, and even weaved into the material all across, are the gadgets he’s spent so many hours on. Rings sealed into the gloves have enough sharp metal twisted together inside that when activated, spread into blades. In the pocket around his waist band- is a button, the button, that with one push turns this warehouse into a cloud of orange and yellow.

Y/n is still watching the crumbling sign fall from his palm, like grains of sand, when the door caves in behind him.

“Put your hands up, tough guy, we caught you.”

Captain America, confident as ever, bursts in at the front of the group with his shield held high. Behind him, Tony, Peter, Natasha and even Bruce waltz right in after him. For a second- a glimmer of pride washes through Y/n’s body, they brought 5 to a fight against 1- he must be special.

“Yeah, times up buddy.”

Seeing his father, dressed in the famous Ironman suit, reminds Y/n of the whole reason this started- and another twisted feeling knots itself in his stomach.

The moment he’s been waiting for.

They can’t see him as he smirks underneath the mask, deciding to toy with them just a bit. He doesn’t speak- no one’s heard his voice when spoken through the filtered material yet. It seems they’ll be the first.

Y/n’s head cocks to the side, and raises an eyebrow- something the Avengers can see through the imprint of his mask. A challenge.

Bruce’s battle cry cuts through the air- and suddenly the Hulk is charging. It startles Y/n for a moment, but quickly he steps to the side and lets the green giant crush the ground beside him. As Hulk gets back up, snarling and growling, Y/n is already grabbing a long beam, bent from where it fell with the rest of the Stark Enterprise’s sign, and strikes Hulk right in the gut.

The giant man stumbles slightly, yet still stomps forward. But Y/n isn’t in front of him.

“Hulk!” Natasha yells out, watching from across the room as Y/n comes from behind, mid air, wielding the same beam from before. Hulk is barely able to tilt his head an inch before the metal is crashing down into the area just below his head, and bruising his neck.

He’s out within a few seconds, stumbling around clumsily while black dots tease his vision. Then, he falls to the floor.

“Well shit.” Steve mutters, bending his knees like a bull preparing to charge. He should’ve known sending in Hulk with no preparations would be a bad an idea.

“Sending the big one in first, huh?” Y/n looks at them cockily, “do you see me as a threat, Ironman?”

Tony raises an eyebrow, “oh look at that, he can talk.” He doesn’t even skip a beat as his suit begins to whir, the arm unfolding so a mini blaster pokes out from the forearm.

The vigilante barely has time to react as strings of energy are thrown his way, jumping and dodging each of them narrowly. Tony doesn’t wait for him to regain his footing though, flying straight towards his figure.

Steve eyes Natasha, gesturing for her to move. The woman obliges, creeping around the fight so Y/n’s back is in front of her.

Ironman grabs Y/n by the shoulders, pushing down with such strong force that the latter is forced back a few steps. He holds the metal sleeves with a firm grip, and at first Tony doesn’t notice as the boy’s rings begin to scrape against the surface. Sparks fly like the touch of a welding torch, grazing the edges of Tony’s mask just in time for him to realize mini blades are beginning to prod at his suit. Y/n doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity and shove the man away from him.

Natasha watches closely, seeing how Y/n stumbles from the impact. She jumps at him.

Y/n extends his arm in her direction, not even turning all the way around, and his rings grow from small blades to a sharp spiral of metal pointing right at Black Widow’s chest.

She freezes, he smirks.

Of course, it’s not his intention for someone to die. That’s not what he does. This, well, is simply defense.

“How about we get right to the point.” He says, slipping his free hand into one of the pouches around his waist band. Out with it comes a cylinder- black and sleek with some sort of dial built in, a bright red button on top.

Steve feels his stomach drop.

“Pick a number.”

Tony, seemingly unaware of the detonator to have just been introduced, rolls his eyes, he’s growing impatient.

“Alright, fine, 5- you wanna quit it with the games now?”

Big mistake.

Without skipping a step, Y/n is scrolling through digits on the small screen built into the detonator. It’s almost too quick for any of the Avengers to realize what he’s doing- and it’s far too late by the time they do.

“Alright, then.” Y/n presses the button.

Steve goes to lunge forward, tries to make a grab for the device, but he waited too long. The whole room rattles, and the section just to the left of them suddenly bursts. Bombs.

Y/n watches with a special glint in his covered eyes as everyone stumbles, yet his feet stay firmly planted in the ground. They’re startled, bits of the wall flying around and clattering against the floor. Peter snaps his head towards Y/n in shock.

“Who’s next?”

“Oh my god.” Peter mumbles, wide eyed. It’s the sound of his voice, his first time saying a word, that catches Y/n’s attention right away.

His teeth grind together, thumb smoothing over the button’s smooth surface. His mind mumbles, Do it again.

Staring into the large white panels of Peter’s mask, his guard is left fallen for just a moment too long. Tony sends one more blast his way.

A jolt of pain seers through Y/n’s thigh. The energy was strong enough to surpass the material of his pants, leaving a heavy ache in the area. Y/n glares.

“You asshole,” he grunts, spinning the dial with his thumb before slamming down the button.

Above them, part of the ceiling crumbles.

Bits of concrete come tumbling down, Peter and Natasha diving for cover. But Y/n is no where near finished.

“How many bombs are there-“ Peter asks to no one in particular. His question is soon to be answered.

“Let’s not wait to find out,” Steve grunts, sprinting to where his opponent stands at the opposite side of the room. Y/n feels the previous feeling of confidence, the smooth and cocky facade, slipping away. He wants to win.

Each of Captain America’s hits clang against metal couplets clasped to Y/n’s wrist- chaos ensues around them. Tony firing shots, Peter surrounding the fight, Natasha running for a hit at close combat- and hulk just starting to stir from his little nap.

But Y/n doesn’t let up- not until it’s too late.

A fiery blaze heads straight for him, straight for his face. It’s beginning to sizzle against his ears, he can feel it coming. But he doesn’t react in time, trying to defend himself from too many things at once.

The blast, coming from his own father’s hand, hits him.

His mask begins to spark, edges curling into themselves as slowly, Y/n feels the right side of his face being revealed.

His hand meets the wall, holding him up as he recovers from the impact. They haven’t seen him yet.

He hears Steve’s heavy breathing from behind him, something so familiar it almost tricks his mind. Then, Tony’s voice.

“It only takes a few hits, huh? If I knew that’s all it took I wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”

More sarcasm, Y/n almost laughs.

“Who are you.” Natasha doesn’t even make it sound like a question, her voice strong and firm.

Silence ensues, just for a moment, Y/n’s head is swimming.

Yet, over all the thoughts and noise, one thing screams loudest over the rest.

“Do. It.”

“Don’t you recognize me?” Y/n’s voice, no longer protected by a filter, is raspy and hoarse. He slowly turns around, head peaking out of the shadows.

“You know me already…”

Holy shit.

A loud clang echoes through the now dead silent room, the red white and silver shield rolling across the floor.

“…Y/n?”

Tony’s helmet folds into itself, revealing a sweaty face with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

A bitter smile is what he receives.

“Dad.”

Tony looks around, dumbfounded.

“I-“ he stutters, nearly speechless, “what- what the hell are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Y/n steps forward, voice dry yet dripping with venom.

Tony chokes, “being an absolute moron, that’s what-“

Y/n barks out a rough, quick laugh. “Ooh, rough.” He rasps. Steve steps forward, putting a hand onto Tony’s shoulder and pulling him back. It’s like a warning, silent communication because next, he’s the one to step forward.

“Y/n…” the words die on the tip of his tongue, throat running dry, but he still tries, “what- I mean, why?”

Y/n has begun to pace slightly, taking slow steps around the shocked group. He peels the mask away from his face.

“Yknow, most people tend to turn to the worst of their options when in a dark time,” he says smoothly, feeling each and every set of eyes watching while he walks. Hulk watches through blurred vision, completely disoriented.

“I mean, hate to give you the classic origin story and everything, but…”

“Hold on,” the thoughts are almost visible, loud and heavy in Tony’s head, “is this about something I did?”

So he’s finally getting it.

“What could Tony have possibly done?” Asks Natasha, and Y/n looks at his father directly.

“You don’t care, ok, that’s what-“ his voice is breathy, and he scowls, “You can’t even talk to your own kid, Stark. It’s like you don’t realize what I am, to you- what you are to me!” Anger rises with each word that shoots like poison from Y/n’s mouth.

Tony gets defensive, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not true, I know damn well you’re my kid-“

“Oh really? Cause you seem to have it a bit mixed up.” Y/n’s eyes flicker to Peter’s frame, and everyone tenses.

“Is…is this about Peter?”

At the mention of his name, Peter tears off his mask, a concerned, heavy look on his face.

“I, Y/n it’s not like that-“ he tries, only to be interrupted.

“Yknow,” Y/n’s voice sounds so pained, “I always thought maybe you aren’t too upfront with your affection. For years, ok, I would wake up, go to school, come back, and go to bed all without saying more than a few words to you. Years, dad.” A lump is forming in his throat, but it’s too late to turn back now. “But then, out of nowhere, someone else comes into the picture and suddenly you’re taking him to lunch, you’re picking him up from school, basically spending way more time with him, than with me.”

Bold, bitter, and wavering- Y/n doesn’t stop. Even as his father, his classmate, the people he’d grown up with thinking were like family, just watch with feeling burning in their eyes.

“Y/n,”

“You made it look so easy with him.”

“Hey, kid, c’mon-“

“Are you serious?!” Y/n yells in disbelief. “Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong? Is that it? I’m just exaggerating, or what-“

Tony straightens his posture, swallowing hard.

Y/n’s face almost crumbles from the way his fathers face wavers. But he just doesn’t stop.

“You can be the greatest hero in the world,” Y/n breathes, sweat sparkling around the frame of his face, “you can put on a face for the interviews, and train Peter to perfection,” a step closer, “but don’t forget that I’ve always been here too.”

Y/n’s voice sounds so dark, unfamiliar and breaking, it’s gone raspy from the pounding drum of his heart beat.

Ringing silence once more. 6 melting souls standing in the waste of their own troubles.

Y/n feels budding tears threatening to spill.

“And now look what we’ve done.”

#x male reader #Avengers x male reader #Male stark ready #Tony starks son #Avengers x vigilante reader #Peter Parker #tom!peter Parker x male reader #66 recs&replies #Pls say you like it

149 notes · View notes

jokeroutsubs · 4 months

Text

ENG translation: "When I'm on stage, I know that I have to be here and only here"

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin in Slovenian newspaper Delo, originally published 31.10.2021.

Original article is available here for Delo subscribers. Original article written by Beti Burger for Delo; photos by Blaž Samec; English translation by a member of Joker Out Subs, native proof reading by IG GBoleyn123.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

Bojan Cvjetićanin, frontman of Joker Out, says that the success happening to them is not the result of something that happened overnight.

When he's standing on stage, he doesn't know what's actually going on. Even though after the concert, he realises that he was on it, and remembers certain moments, he's actually in a zen-like state: his head is somewhere else, and his brain does what it wants to do. Young, reflective musician Bojan Cvjetićanin believes that he was born to write music and lyrics and sing them on stage. "What I enjoy the most at a concert is when we play a new song from start to finish with the band for the first time and we're 'vibing'."

And if some of the lines above did not have context yet when we talked the day before the first concert, and sort of 'hung in the air', in packed Cvetličarna it was crystal clear what he had wanted to say. They were 'vibing' not only when they played well-known hits - Omamljeno telo, Umazane misli, Vem da greš - but also to new songs from the album, when they felt the strong energy and heard the audience was singing the new songs with them... She'll find herself there, where no one knows her, where the road always carries the smell of fresh rain (...) where pearls are in seashells, not on necklaces (Barve oceana).

Bojan truly, as he said, seems a little distant on stage, as if he's in his own world, but also in contact with the audience at the same time. He is both confident and childishly playful at once, with a wide smile on his face, with the charisma of an experienced frontman. His friend and member of the band, bassist Martin Jurkovič, with whom they started their musical journey as young teenagers already, described him well in an interview as someone who "draws all the attention to himself and the band during a concert". When the band members look at each other during a gig, they recognise each other's exact thoughts, and a kind of perversion of pleasure happens. We witnessed this exact thing at the album presentation.

"On stage, I feel sexy, I feel free and accepted. I'm on autopilot and I'm never thinking about what my next move will be, it's when I'm 'free as a bird' because I am surrounded by friends who know me very well, so I don't have to be ashamed of anything. It's also a good feeling when you know that there is a crowd of people in the hall who came to our concert because they like something that we give them. This mutual accumulation of love and energy is very strong." Are there places where he doesn't feel accepted, I query his words. "I think that we all sometimes find ourselves in a situation when we feel like we don't belong there and we ask ourselves what we're even doing there. When I'm on stage, however, I know that I have to be here and only here."

Bojan Cvjetićanin Born in 1999. Frontman of currently the most in-demand young Slovenian band Joker Out which, with their shagadelic rock'n'roll, a genre they actually invented themselves, sold out Cvetličarna twice last week with their just-released album Umazane misli. Even off-stage, he's the 'joker' in a group, optimistic and talkative and an occasionally childishly playful young man. His lyrics (and music) are mature, sensitive and empathetic. The Ljubljana resident, otherwise a sociology student, has been making music for almost half of his life. Last but not least, a listener can quickly recognise that he actually grew up exactly where he feels the best: on stage.

Tired and sleep deprived, just a few days before the concert in Cvetličarna, which had been postponed (more than once) due to Covid-19 and which seemed like it would never happen, he had a nightmare. He dreamed "that there was one song that we just could not start and we tried again and again". He really had a lot of stage fright before the first concert this year. At the end of April and beginning of May, it still looked like there wouldn't be concerts in the summer, and then everything started to open up. They've never had as many concerts as this summer. "Those concerts hit us like a train, because we were neither mentally nor physically prepared for this many performances. We'd got used to rehearsing all day long and being completely self-sufficient. It was pretty hard before the first sold-out concert in Čin čin in Ljubljana, because the audience's expectations, as well as our own, were high. We performed with a new drummer for the first time, so the tension was even greater. When we stepped on stage, however, an enormous wave of energy that reflected from the audience washed over us, you could feel and see that people had been locked up at home, that they needed to relax, needed concerts."

"In these times, when the internet and media constantly bombard us with so much information, that defines us pretty strongly. So it seems like any kind of thinking for yourself, about anything, is already a dirty thought."

The epidemic was also a time when changes happened in the group, as during the creative process, they realised that not all members of the band have the same creative drive, so in the end, they switched their drummer. Since then, they have significantly changed the way they work. They have created, even if not completely intentionally, a spirit of band co-production, they've become more dependant on each other. They've realised that music demands that they help each other. It's also important that, when they start to grow wings from all the congratulations and praises, they pull each other back to solid ground. In interviews and articles, he is described as "the most recognisable voice of the new generation of Slovenian rock" or as "a rising star" and he feels honoured by those compliments, but in truth, those titles don't really tell him a lot. Hearing that from the people who listen to their music is what means the most to him. He says that it's not the sea of congratulations that caresses your ego, but rather certain moments and situations when you actually feel strong and in your own skin. "In the moment when the light shines on you on the stage, the feelings are indescribable, you feel like a god. That's the 'awesome' thing, not when someone tells you that you're a god." He adds that he thinks he's still the same Bojan he was years ago, when all those congratulations and titles didn't exist yet.

"The bassist Martin and I have been making music for almost half of our lives and I think that with time, we've managed to work through everything that happens during the evolution of a band. Our current success didn't come overnight, it is the result of a long period of work." The pivotal year for Joker Out was 2017, when it first started looking like this band could truly become 'something'. "From the start, you want it to be something more, but it's usually just a distant wish, like Cvetličarna used to be." Back then, however, after the single Omamljeno telo, all the positive response gave them the feeling that everything was being taken to a higher level. And there were several of those levels, they have jumped over many of them. "If I look at the situation objectively, it seems crazy to me that we sold out Cvetka (Cvetličarna, a.n.) twice with three singles." As he says, however, nothing that they do in the band is left up to chance. "Very early on, we put our heads together and had an in-depth discussion, first of all about our relationships with one another, and then about our duties, and we promised each other that we would never be afraid to tell each other what we wanted. When we determined our wishes, we turned them into goals, which we are now achieving." In his words, something that definitely contributes to their success is that they're surrounded by people who love what they do. "Now we work as a team, and if a team works well, it can't miss." In the future they want to release another album, and they're also drawn beyond the borders of Slovenia, to the Balkans.

As a band, they want to give people the things that drive them as artists - currently the prevailing theme in their lyrics is love, but also self-reflection and musings. These are very general, many songs talk about how young people sometimes feel constricted or lost and are looking for their place in the world. "We're currently not interested in politics and we don't plan to define ourselves politically one way or another, although our songs do feature some messages about society. We think that our job is to spread love and that people can, based also on our lyrics, come up with their own political opinion, without our imposition," he says.

And when I challenged him to use one of their songs to describe his current feeling before the concert (adrenaline, fear, uncertainty, expectations), he said that "there's a butterfly in my head that's just swimming through a weird universe. It feels like people around me are buzzing and not actually talking." Metulji ('Butterflies') is actually his favourite song. He wrote it at the same time as Omamljeno telo and it already meant a lot to him back then. He wanted to hear a recording of it, but today he says that he's happy that they recorded it later, because back then it wouldn't have been anything like it is today. "Now, the song is exactly as we imagined it back then, but didn't know how to embody it."

As the singer, Bojan Cvjetićanin is also the most recognisable and exposed member of the band. On the Slovenian scene, his role models are (were), among others, Tomi Meglič from Siddharta and Gregor Skočir, the singer of the band Big Foot Mama - "today I can already call them friends, they feel respect for us, as we do for them and for both bands. They come to our concerts, we hang out in private. Even though some people say that you shouldn't meet your idols, because then everything falls apart, now that I know Tomi and know who the person who made all that music is, I like listening to it even more." Among foreign frontmen, his favourite is Liam Gallagher, who became famous with the band Oasis. He was actually his inspiration for keeping his hands crossed behind his back while singing on stage. "I had a period of that 'Liam pose'... I didn't know what to do with my hands on stage, and when I put them behind my back once, it seemed like a good trick. Today, I grab the guitar more and more on stage, so I don't have an issue with what to do with my hands anymore. (smile)." What, then, are the key characteristics of a good frontman? "He has to be honest, genuine. There are many types of lead singers, Mick Jagger, for example, gives himself away completely, goes crazy and dances, while some others stand still constantly, but they both completely enchant you." He doesn't think about this too much, he simply exists on stage.

While some musicians, actors, or other performers are completely different, introverted, in their private lives and in the backstage, Bojan is generally very talkative and smiley. "Even as a little kid, as others have told me, I talked all the time, I wanted to socialise, with older people too, so it seems like I really never had issues with making connections. Now it's actually the same, there are just more people in front of the stage." At Poljane High School, which, as he has stressed many times, shaped him a lot as a person, he performed in a theatre group, so he already experienced the stage in the role of an actor, later he was on TV in the role of a host. These days, he still often says, half-laughing, that - if music won't be what he earns a living with - he'd like to be a sociology professor at Poljane. "But I heard they just got a new one, so I don't know how realistic the chances are."

But for now, he doesn't have to do anything other than make music. Bojan Cvjetićanin is also the author of the lyrics of most of the songs, in which, as he said, he's a kind of medium who conveys others' pain. While he did say not long ago that as a songwriter, he sometimes lacks unhappy emotions and that he doesn't know the pain of a broken heart, it's different now. "I got my dose of inspiration for quite some time..." He says that when making songs, it's almost always the music that comes first, and then the lyrics. "Most often, I take the guitar, lately I also sit at the piano, and I try to find the chords that sound interesting to me in that moment, and then I also sing along. Usually, associations form in my head and it feels like it suddenly becomes clear to me what the lyrics will be, sometimes I "accidentally" sing some lines that end up staying in the song and define what I will talk about." The lyrics are mostly, as mentioned, about love and self-reflection, but there are also a few slightly different ones among them. Aleppo, the duet with Omar Naber, who has been by his side from the beginning and helped him record demos, was created differently. The song, which talks about the city Aleppo in Syria, which is ravaged by war, was created when, in a TV report about what was happening there, he saw a young girl that inspired him. Then, he immediately started writing.

As someone who is sensitive to feeling other people's pain, does he ever fear that he could lose this empathy in the rather apathetic world we live in? "Just last year, there was a moment when I thought that I was completely alienated from myself, and I felt like I was never going to fall in love again. For a while, nothing excited me, I thought I had gone numb, but then something suddenly changed, I just waited for that natural 'click'." When songs become evergreen, hits that everyone sings and that connect generations, is it also important how much empathy the lyricists have?

"Absolutely. You have to have enough empathy to be honest with yourself. If you're honest, some people will connect very strongly with your lyrics. Nowadays, so many songs in the musical world are written just to be written. Not because they carry a real story within. And you can really feel that. It's that easy."

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

#bojan cvjeticanin #bojan cvjetićanin #joker out

85 notes · View notes