#I think this is the first time I've seen him mess up the lyrics in Wanna B Ur Lovr

[arollofmirrors]

I'm something of a connoisseur when it comes to Wanna B Ur Lovr. I can say with confidence that I have seen way too many videos of this song done live, so don't be surprised if at any point I just randomly share a clip from one of these videos cause I think it's neat or whatever.

Like right now.

[roosterforme]

Whole Lotta Love | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley were just friends, and perhaps that was why you trusted him so much. It wasn't his fault that you were secretly harboring a crush a mile wide. When your noisy neighbor becomes too much and you decide you need to move, Bradley helps you brainstorm a solution. But when you set your plans into action, you're surprised to find that he seems almost jealous.

Warnings: Adult language, angst, fluff, drinking, mentions of masturbation

Length: 8600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @mak-32

"I need to move."

Bradley looked up at your annoyed expression as you dropped your lunch tray a little violently onto the cafeteria table across from him with a clatter. The top piece of bread slid off your sandwich as you sat down with a pout. 

"Like to a new apartment?" he asked, reaching over to straighten out your silverware and napkin. "Didn't we just help you move a few months ago, Sparrow?"

For some reason that set you off as your clenched fist bumped the edge of the tray, messing everything up again. "Yes, to a new apartment, Rooster! And yes, I just moved six months ago, but I can't take another day of this shit."

"What's wrong?" Jake asked where he was inhaling his food right next to you like he had a vendetta against it.

You sighed, and the sound was so soft and sweet compared to your frustrated expression, Bradley almost laughed. "The guy who lives above me is an aspiring wedding DJ. Do you have any idea what that means for my sleep schedule?"

"Oh shit," Javy groaned from your other side. "Are you getting Cupid Shuffle all night long?"

"Coyote," you whined, "he makes his own remixes! At four in the morning! When I asked him to stop, he said he was perfecting his artform, but that he'd turn the volume down a smidge. Meanwhile, I moved into my current apartment, because my old neighbors were hosting woodworking retreats in their living room!"

Now Bradley really was laughing. "You need a break? You can come sleep over at my place tonight."

You were finally smiling now as you said, "Thanks Rooster, but I've seen the wrong side of your couch before. I had a long, long night in your living room after the holiday party."

"So don't get drunk first this time," he replied easily, remembering that night vividly. You let him carry you into his house from his Bronco while you whispered the lyrics to Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin really slowly to him. It was funny and somehow a little hot at the same time. He liked it a little too much. "Or you can just sleep in my bed."

Your eyes went a little wide. "With you?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly, hoping he wasn't blushing. "We're just friends. I could take the couch for one night so you can have a break. If you want."

You and he really were just friends. You were friends with all the guys. They all loved you and your humor, and you were a hell of a good WSO. Bradley didn't even fly with a backseater, but he always liked getting paired with you and Omaha. You had an ease about you, and it even translated to the way you took a massive bite out of your sandwich after you said, "Maybe I'll just sneak in and break DJ Insomnia's turntables."

Then you smiled at Bradley while you chewed your food, and Javy and Jake started to make up a song about DJ Insomnia. You laughed when they tried to rhyme 'slumber' with 'nightmare', but you were still looking at Bradley as if he was in on some inside joke with you. Your eyes twinkled when he nudged your leg with his boot underneath the table.

"Hey, I'll be more than happy to help you move again, Sparrow, but I think you ought to at least consider having me over around three in the morning with my keyboard. I'll bring these two idiots with me as well, and we can all sing at the top of our lungs until your neighbor moves out."

You tipped your head back and laughed. "Oh, Rooster. You're the sweetest, but he'd probably actually enjoy that."

Now Bradley was definitely blushing as he looked down at his lunch, and he wasn't really sure why.

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

You gathered your things together for the night as soon as you heard your neighbor playing the Electric Slide. If he was already starting at seven o'clock, you needed to get out now. You shoved clean underwear and some random clothing into your backpack before you stopped in the bathroom and grabbed the essentials. Bradley's couch had never sounded better to you in your life, but if he felt like offering up his bed, then even better. Hell, you'd curl up in there with him at this point. What difference did it make? It wasn't like anything physical was ever going to happen.

He was one of the boys, and you loved them all. It wasn't Bradley's fault that his sun kissed skin and wavy hair were kind of your thing. If they were attached to another man, you'd probably have made a move, but he was your friend. Sure, you'd thought about it before, when you were alone in bed and it was very, very late. He was attractive and hilarious, and you were only human. But some things were sacred.

"Yeah, like peace and quiet," you growled as you stomped down your hallway. You grabbed your keys and headed out, zipping along to Bradley's house in record time. You were obsessed with his place which was complete with flower boxes underneath the front windows and a pink front door that he never seemed to get around to repainting even though he mentioned it all the time.

You hauled yourself up to his porch with your half zipped backpack and bad attitude and pounded on his door. You had a spare key somewhere in the bottom of your purse, but you didn't feel like digging for it. When he didn't answer, you pounded again, a little harder this time. 

"Yeah?" he asked, his tone gruff as the door flew open. "Sparrow," he muttered, his voice much softer with your call sign attached to it. "Hey."

But you didn't register too much besides the fact that he was standing there in nothing but a pair of snug boxer briefs with damp hair and skin that smelled delicious just inches away from you. "Hi," you said, sounding as mesmerized as you felt. Golden tan. Sparse chest hair. Perfectly groomed mustache. You wanted to lick him. Where on earth did that urge come from? You never thought about dragging your tongue along his chest and neck and all the way up to his lips. Except that you had... very, very late at night.

Fuck.

It wouldn't be worth messing things up. You forced your gaze up to his brown eyes. "I'm here for our sleepover," you said with as much normalcy as you could muster, but the response you got was Bradley's cheeks turning pink as he leaned away from the doorway so you could step inside. Then you came to a stop and looked at him again. He smelled really good. Like maybe he was wearing cologne. "Oh. Were you heading out? Do you have a date?"

His cheeks grew redder. "Um, no. Not at all. Of course not."

His answer sent a little wave of relief through your body. "Good." You winced at your response as you continued to his couch and set your bag down. "I mean, do you want to order a pizza or something?"

He ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Just let me get dressed. I'll be right back out."

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

You actually came over. With your backpack full of your stuff. Bradley wasn't expecting you to take him up on his offer, and now he was doubly flustered; he actually did plan a last minute date, and he just jerked off in the shower while thinking about you.

"Oh fuck," he groaned as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He didn't start off thinking about you. It just kind of happened. At first, he was thinking about a faceless girl sitting on his lap with her hand in his underwear, and then suddenly she did have a face. Your face. And then she had your voice. And then he pictured the two of you on his actual couch. And it was definitely you giving him a handjob in his shower fantasy, and he came all over the tile wall like it was your face. He was lucky you didn't let yourself in with your spare key in time to hear him moaning your name.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked his reflection in the bedroom mirror. He looked wild. Slightly deranged. His pupils were huge, and his cheeks were hot pink. How the hell was he supposed to eat pizza with you while he was thinking about you on his lap?

But the fact that he wanted nothing more than to eat pizza and drink beers with you solidified the fact that he needed to cancel his date with Erin. He was so stupid for doing this. She was a viable option for someone to date. You were not. But he was apparently going to torture himself anyway as he texted her Hey, sorry this is last minute, but I need to reschedule.

He didn't wait for a response as he made his way back to his living room where you had already cracked open a can of beer from the refrigerator and made yourself at home on the couch. You were wearing what you always wore when you didn't have on a flight suit, just yoga pants and a baggy tee shirt. It shouldn't have been cute, but it was. 

You smiled up at him as you nudged the unopened can of beer on the coffee table with your blue painted toenail. "I got you one."

He poked your foot with his finger and picked up the beer as he said, "Yeah, it's the least you could do since you helped yourself to my fridge." 

When he dropped down onto the couch next to you, his weight on the cushions had you colliding into him. "Sorry," you murmured, your hand coming to rest on his abs as you pushed yourself back into place like it was nothing. Meanwhile, he broke out in a nervous sweat. "What do you want to watch?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied, handing you the remote. Then he grinned and said, "Or we could skip the TV, and I could get my keyboard out and play Cupid Shuffle for you. Maybe try my hand at a remix." You tipped your head back and pretended to cry before you started laughing. "What's the matter? I'm sure I'll sound better than your neighbor. Give it a chance, Sparrow," he teased.

You turned to face him on the couch, still laughing with your beer can resting against his bicep. "First of all, no. Please. No. Absolutely not. Second, has anyone ever told you how adorable it is that you have a keyboard that you actually play?"

"I tell myself that all the time," he replied, trying hard not to smile as you laughed. "I say, 'Bradley, you're adorable. I think it's so cool that you want to relive your piano lessons from middle school. Maybe you should get braces again, too.'"

You were cackling now as you gasped, "Stop it."

He sipped his beer and shook his head. "Of course nobody has ever said my keyboard is adorable. It's the nerdiest thing a guy in his thirties could possibly own, and only like five people in total know about it."

With tears in your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath. "I'm so happy I'm one of those five people."

"Yeah, well, keep it to yourself," he muttered with a smile as he took the remote back and turned on the Padres game. You were still giggling softly as you settled in next to him again. "You want pizza?" he asked. 

"I've never said no to pizza," you replied easily, your thigh rubbing gently against his.

"My treat."

"You always say it's your treat. I'll get it this time."

"Nah, you've got to save up your money so you can move out of your apartment, remember?" he asked as he placed the order on his phone.

"How could I forget?" you moaned. "Your house is so nice, I wish I could evict you and move in here."

He set his phone aside and kicked his feet up onto his coffee table. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. "That would be a pretty rude thing to do to the guy who always buys your pizza."

Your side eye was impeccable as you said, "It's not like you'd be destitute. I'd let you live with DJ Insomnia. Now I just need a way to make money fast."

Bradley shook his head as the baseball game went to a commercial. "There's no such thing, Sparrow. Nothing legal anyway, and Uncle Sam pays your salary."

You were tapping your beer can with your finger and biting your lip gently, and Bradley's mind drifted back to his shower fantasy. You hummed softly, and he could practically feel the weight of your body settling onto his lap. That's what he wanted. You and he could finish this discussion with you straddling his thighs and his tongue in your mouth. 

He should have gone out with Erin. He should have just admitted that he had a date and told you that you could hang out here while he was gone, because now he was getting his hopes up as your leg bumped his again. He knew he was blushing when he looked at you, so he turned back to the TV just in time for the beginning of a Hooters commercial.

"Wow," you mused with a little snicker as you gestured toward the parade of tits with your beer can. "That really got your attention."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "No, it didn't."

"Seriously? That's a lot of boobs, Rooster. You think we should contact the ad agency and tell them they should feature a few more?"

He turned and looked at you, and you started cracking up again. "I think it was actually just the right amount of boobs," he said, trying really hard not to look at your chest.

You forced your face into a neutral expression. "Do you like to go to Hooters?"

Bradley groaned and tried to stand up but you reached for his arm and tugged him closer to you instead. "Why do you think it's fun to pick on me?" 

"I'm not really sure, but it's great," you replied. "Didn't all the guys go to Hooters for Jake's birthday?"

"Yeah," he replied with a laugh. "Jake got completely fucking wasted and proposed to our waitress. Then he tried to write his number on a napkin for her, but it looked like hieroglyphics. He even tried to follow her into the kitchen at one point, and Javy had to go get him. At least he left her a two hundred dollar tip for being so annoying."

You gaped at him and set your empty beer can on the coffee table. "Two hundred bucks? Oh my god, do you realize how fast I could buy my own place with guys like Jake around if I worked at Hooters?"

Bradley sat up a little straighter and watched as your eyes lit up while you watched the end of the commercial before the Padres game came on again. "You wouldn't want guys... fussing over you like that, would you?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "I can handle myself."

"That's not what I meant. I just-" He cut himself off. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to tell you he was already jealous just thinking about it? He definitely couldn't admit that. So instead he said, "Your boobs are too good for Hooters. You should keep them in your flight suit."

Now you were looking down at your body and running your hands up your belly to your chest, and Bradley was entranced as he watched you squeeze yourself through your tee shirt like it didn't even matter if he was there or not. You must have trusted him implicitly as you looked at him with sad eyes and said, "You're probably right. Guys know best about this kind of thing, and flight suits are a catch-all for making everyone's body look identical. Maybe it's better to just keep blending in."

He felt like a jerk, because that's not what he meant at all. He wanted to tell you that you were beautiful and that you'd probably make enough money in two weeks to buy the house of your dreams in those orange booty shorts and the tiny tops, but he couldn't. He wanted to kiss that little pout from your lips, but he wouldn't. Instead he said, "Let's keep brainstorming?"

"Yeah, thanks," you whispered, letting your lips brush against his cheek, and Bradley jumped about a mile into the air when there was a knock at the front door.

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

You and Bradley had given up on the Padres game. Now you were turned so you were facing each other with pizza and paper plates and more cans of beer. "Okay, you hear how quiet your house is? You hear how nobody is annoying the shit out of you right now? No turntables or amplifiers anywhere?"

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. His cheeks had been perpetually pink all night, and it was really distracting. You had to keep reminding yourself that he thought you'd look better in your shapeless flight suit than in a Hooters uniform, and it kind of broke your heart every single time. But that's what you needed.

You forced a smile as you said, "I want this kind of peace in my life. So give me your best brainstorming ideas for how I can make some more money. Go."

"What about cage fighting?" he asked before he took an enormous bite of pizza. 

"Cage fighting?" you balked. "Maybe you don't think much of my face, but I happen to like it the way it is!"

His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open. "I do like your face, Sparrow. I was just joking." 

He still looked concerned as you waved him off and asked, "What if I started bartending again? Like I did in college?"

Bradley shrugged. "You'll get just as many guys creeping on you at a bar."

You nibbled on your pizza crust and thought about your options. "What if it's the right kind of bar though? One with bouncers and security guards and everything, and oh my god! I've got it!"

"What?" 

You watched him fold another slice of pizza in half and devour it as you said, "The Beauty Bar."

He froze with his mouth full and started shaking his head. "No," he said as soon as he swallowed. "That's like Hooters, but the girls dance. On the bar." 

"Exactly," you told him, letting your hand rest on his knee. "Bigger tips and buffer security guards. Just think about it, Rooster. I could play one of the characters and have my own unique outfit. It's mostly just bartending, but the breaks for dancing would be so fun."

He looked a little constipated, and you almost laughed when he asked, "What kind of outfit?"

You tried to remember the girls from the only time you'd been there. "I think there was a cowgirl and a schoolgirl? Or like a dirty librarian?"

Bradley leaned a little closer to you and said, "Maybe you should reconsider the cage fighting. I could get you like a hockey mask to wear?" He ran his fingertip gently down the side of your face. "You know, to keep you safe?"

"I wouldn't last one round," you told him with a grin. "Besides, The Beauty Bar is mostly filled with bachelorette parties and girls having a fun night out. I think I'll call them or stop by tomorrow and see what they say."

Bradley dropped his hand from your face and muttered, "I'll keep brainstorming. You feel like watching a movie?"

"Sure," you told him as you stretched. "You pick since you paid for the pizza."

A few seconds later, your favorite movie was queued up on the TV, and you tried to get him to look at you, but he was actively avoiding doing so as he tried not to smile. You were halfway on his lap with your hands on his cheeks when he finally met your eyes. "Thanks, Bradley. For the pizza and for the movie and the sleepover and everything."

"You're welcome," he whispered softly. You thought about how good it would feel to kiss him, but you ended up laying on a pillow that was propped against his thigh instead. Less than halfway into the movie, you were sound asleep. 

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

Bradley didn't want to move. You were sound asleep with your cheek pressed to his thigh, and a tiny little spot of drool darkened the fabric of his jeans next to your lips. You had pushed the pillow to the floor, and you had reached for his hand while you dozed.

He'd had a full blown crush on you for a while now. It was useless to try to deny it. But you had him in the friend zone along with Javy and Jake and all the rest of the guys, and he was sure that if he tried to level up, you'd smash him right back down where he belonged.

You were so cute, finally getting the sleep you deserved. Clearly you trusted him, which made him feel important, but he wanted to be important to you in every way. 

When he tried to slide off the couch, you snuggled against him harder. When he tried to wake you up, you moaned and snoozed on. He got himself awkwardly into position to pick you up, and he hoisted you into his arms. Your hand rested on his chest, and your lips met his neck as you mumbled, "I'm sleepy."

"I know you are, Honey." The pet name just slipped out, but you didn't complain as he stood there in his living room trying to stave off an erection as you snuggled against him. "I'm taking you to my bed. You'll be more comfortable."

"M'kay." 

Then he was treated to your half asleep rendition of Whole Lotta Love where most of the lyrics were wrong and it was pretty much completely off key. But you were singing it right next to his ear, and once again, he liked it more than he should. When he set you down on his bed, you immediately burrowed under the blankets like you slept in his room all the time, and he watched you curl up on your side. 

Your eyes were closed as you whispered, "Aren't you getting in?"

He wanted to. He knew the feel of your body well enough to know that he'd love snuggling with you all night. But this friendship meant something to him. "Nah, I'll be out on the couch if you need me."

You didn't respond verbally, but you did nod, and Bradley kissed your temple. Then he grabbed a blanket from his closet and left you alone. His thoughts were a complete mess as he stepped out of his jeans and tossed them on the coffee table. He stretched out on his couch as much as he could, but then he thought about you wearing a Hooters uniform.

"Don't do it," he warned himself, but it was too fucking late. The little orange shorts and the tiny white shirts had been nice on the other girls, sure. But on you'd, they would be lethal for him. 

The idea of you dressed as a cowgirl doing a little dance routine on a sticky bartop wasn't much better. Guys would be throwing tip money at you and begging you to make their drinks. They would all want to chat you up and try to touch you. Bradley would go through the roof if one of them did. But if this is what you wanted to do and it was going to help you reach your goal, then he was going to have to be supportive, even if it killed him. 

After barely sleeping most of the night, Bradley was finally dozing when you walked out into the living room the next morning. His blanket ended up on the floor at some point, but you came right over to him where he was overflowing from the couch in just his undershirt and boxer briefs. 

"You could have slept in your bed, too," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. "You're too big for the couch."

He noted that you were wearing your backpack as he melted into your touch. "Are you leaving? I thought we could grab breakfast."

Now you were smiling. "I'm gonna run. I'm planning to stop at The Beauty Bar later and see if they're hiring any new bartenders. Thanks for everything."

With that, you kissed his forehead, and Bradley's eyes closed as soon as you went prancing out his front door into the sunlight. "I'll keep brainstorming," he groaned.

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

Your interview at the bar consisted of making three drinks and picking out a 'uniform' to wear. Some of the clothing was so tiny, it made the Hooters girls look modest by comparison. But they assured you that you'd love working there, so you accepted the position and took your new clothing home. 

The first time you put on the black leather skirt that zipped all the way up the front along with the cropped shirt, you took it back off immediately. Could you mix cocktails in the outfit? Sure. Could you dance on the top of the bar for three minutes straight three times per night? Maybe not. But then you remembered that they told you some girls made up to five hundred bucks per shift. And then DJ Insomnia started on a remix of the Macarena right above you. 

So you put the outfit back on again and decided that yes, you could do this. And maybe it would help to get a guy's perspective on the way you looked and your dance moves. You wanted to ask Bradley, but you didn't think you could handle the way he'd laugh about this. But there was something about the way he'd been concerned about you when you slept over at his place on Friday night. You almost felt protected. Cared for. God, you were already jealous of the woman he would eventually fall for, because she would be on the receiving end of all of his warm attention. And she'd get to live in that house with him. And he'd actually sleep in his bed with her, unlike the couch when you were there. 

You rolled your eyes in the mirror and added some makeup to your face. This was so unlike you, falling for one of your friends. But you were tired of trying to fight it. And you still trusted his opinions. So you called him.

"Sparrow," he crooned when he answered your call.

"Rooster," you replied in your most matter of fact tone. "I was wondering if you could stop by for a few minutes and help me with something?"

"Right now?" he asked immediately.

You bit your lip before swiping some lipstick on while you said, "Whenever you have a chance."

"I'll be there soon."

He didn't let you down. He never did. Twenty minutes later, there were three taps on your apartment door, and then he was letting himself inside with the spare key you gave him months ago.

"Sparrow, it's me," he called out over the remix of Footloose. "Jesus. You weren't kidding. Your neighbor plays music like this all the time?"

"Yes," you shouted from your bedroom. "Constantly."

"I'm going to go up and have a little chat with him."

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup as you said, "Don't bother. I've tried so many times. All he's done is lower the volume the slightest bit."

Bradley's sarcastic laugh from your living room made you smile. "I'm sure I can get him to do whatever I say."

That was undoubtedly the truth. You also didn't want him to get arrested. When you ran out to see him, you had forgotten what you were wearing as you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him.

Bradley's eyes were wide, and as soon as his hands settled on your bare waist, he pulled them right off again. "Holy shit. What the fuck is this?"

"Oh," you gasped, taking a nervous step away from him. "It's kind of my uniform. For my new bartending gig?" His cheeks were pink, his lips were parted, and he was gaping at you as he dragged his gaze up and down your body. "Is it bad?"

"Holy shit," he repeated. And then he said it one more time before he met your eyes. "Do you think it's bad?"

You winced and groaned. "I wasn't sure. But you're a guy. If you think it's awful, then I certainly don't want to wear it to my second job." He let out a strangled sound, and you started to turn back to your bedroom. "I'll stick to my flight suits."

You felt his fingers lace with yours before you heard his strained voice. "It's not bad, Sparrow. It's really fucking hot." You turned and looked at him, annoyed that you were feeling so vulnerable. He swallowed hard before he added, "You always look good."

He tugged you a little closer to him, and a smile found your lips. "I think I get it. It's hard to be objective when you're friends with someone. You'd probably like the outfit better on someone else."

Somehow his eyes went wider. "I really don't think that's it at all, actually," he whispered. Then DJ Insomnia started playing a remix that actually sounded good for once, and you tugged Bradley toward your couch with your linked fingers. 

"Here, watch me dance real quick, and then we can just hang out."

"Okay," he grunted, taking a seat.

"Just pretend I'm someone else," you told him as you ran one hand down your side until your palm settled on your hip. You started to turn in a slow circle as you moved your hips to the music that made its way to your living room. 

"I don't really want to do that."

You looked back at Bradley over your shoulder and caught him staring at your butt. "You don't?"

He shook his head slowly as you turned to face him, still dancing. "Hell no," he whispered, watching your face now. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth, and his dark gaze looked almost greedy, but he sat there and watched you dance, barely moving a muscle until you stopped along with the music.

"Well? What do you think?" you asked, holding your hands out to your sides.

He cleared his throat. "I think it's a good thing you don't have a boyfriend, because he'd already be jealous as fuck."

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

You looked exhausted every single day now. Bradley started to bring you extra coffee from his own kitchen to try to combat your near constant yawning and fatigue each morning. You weren't just battling through sleepless nights at your apartment with DJ Insomnia, you were also working all day as a WSO and frequently working late into the night at the bar. 

"I'm a little worried about you," he murmured one morning as you sipped the coffee he made. "You're working too hard, Sparrow." He didn't want to put voice to the way he felt about your bartending shifts. He made it a point not to stop by and see you there even though you'd asked him to. But he desperately wished you would quit. Every time he thought about you in your little costume with your red, pouty lips, he got more jealous inside. He could just imagine dozens, maybe hundreds of pairs of eyes on you, and he didn't like the way he wanted to be the only one treated to that sight.

"I'm fine," you replied softly. "I've already made thousands in tip money, and it's only been two weeks." You tried to smile up at him, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. "I mean, it's not the best scenario, because sometimes the patrons get a little rowdy. But it's not the worst thing. I'll just keep it up for a few months or until I get deployed."

Bradley grunted. "Explain to me exactly how rowdy they get."

Now you were sipping your coffee and staring at the patches on his flight suit instead of looking at his face. "Well, nobody is supposed to touch us. But sometimes guys do try it. Especially when we're dancing. The bouncers are great and all, but they can only get over there so quickly."

Bradley leaned down until you were looking him in the eye. He knew he was no better than some random asshole at the bar. He was probably worse since he thought about you dancing for him every time he took a shower. But he couldn't stand how apprehensive you looked when you talked about that place. You never looked like that when you were alone with him. 

"I think you should quit," he told you blandly. 

"It's not that bad," you replied. "Maybe I'm not doing a good job of explaining it. Come visit one night, and I'll buy you a drink."

"Sparrow, literally the last thing I want to do is witness every drunk asshole at the bar trying to look up your skirt."

You scoffed. "I wear little booty shorts underneath it!"

He closed his eyes and grunted, "I could have lived without that visual." It would just add to his shower time fodder.

"Oh! You should come on Friday night," you said, patting him on the chest. "I'll invite all the guys! There are drink specials. Hey, Javy!"

You wandered away, and soon Bradley's fate was sealed. Javy, Jake, Mickey, Reuben and Bob were all planning on going to The Beauty Bar for happy hour, and he was expected to be there, too. It wasn't like it was your fault he was falling for you, so he was just going to have to go and be supportive. He'd make sure all the guys left you massive tips, too. 

You were still exhausted on Friday morning, and Bradley didn't like the way you were yawning as you loaded into your jet. You were quieter now at work than you usually were, and he was tempted to tell you to start sleeping at his place to try to cut out some of your stress. Having you close by sounded good to him as well.

Maybe he'd hang out at your bar all night and take you home with him. He could carry you to his bed before retiring to the couch and pretending he was also in his bed. Maybe you would even serenade him with the song. You'd get a good night's sleep and then this never ending friendship loop would start all over again.

If he could think of a way to break the loop and turn it into a straight line that led to a relationship with you, he'd take it. That was probably the type of brainstorming he should be working on at this point since you were already working at the bar now. He was still trying to think of a way to tell you how he really felt without destroying the friendship as he drove his Bronco across the city to the extremely popular Beauty Bar. 

"You're kidding," he muttered. There was a line to get inside, and he told you he'd be here by eight o'clock when the dancing started. 

"Holy shit," Jake said as he and Javy headed up the sidewalk and got in line with him. "I guess there's no shortage of guys who want to look at Sparrow."

Javy nodded in agreement. "I mean, I don't really want to look at Sparrow, but I'll gladly take all the other girls."

That was literally the exact opposite of Bradley's thinking. He couldn't give a shit who else was working, his eyes would find you and stay there all night. Whether you were serving drinks, chatting with patrons or dancing, he'd be focused on nothing but you.

The guys all got their driver's licenses out, and the bouncer muttered, "Don't want any trouble from the three of you," as he checked them. 

Shit, what the hell kind of place was this if you got warned at the door on your way in? But when he walked inside and saw how crowded it was along with the two random girls doing a line dance along the bar, he could kind of understand. It was mostly packed with guys, and Reuben, Mickey and Bob were waving them over. Bradley moved slowly through the crowd, and then he found you in your cute little outfit handing someone a beer, and his heart stopped. 

Your smile looked like it was pasted on, but once you saw Bradley, your whole face lit up. You waved to him as you bounced up and down behind the bar, clearly excited that he was here. He started throwing his elbows and shoulders around to get to you, passing all of the other guys in the process. 

"Rooster!" you called out over the music when he got closer. The two girls danced across the bar between you and him, but his focus didn't waver at all as he matched your smile. "Do you want a drink?"

He shrugged and said, "I kind of just wanted to see you."

"Oh," you replied, looking pleased enough that Bradley decided to push the boundary just a little bit. 

"I don't really like it here, actually. If at any time you feel like quitting your job, I'll take you right to my place and let you sleep in peace and quiet again."

You poured a beer and handed it to him. "You don't like the girls?" you asked, glancing at the boots as they went by again. 

"Not those ones."

You looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Which ones then?"

His fingers flexed on his pint of beer as someone tried to jostle him out of the way to get closer, but he didn't look away from you as he said, "Come on, Sparrow." His voice was a little rough, and now you looked confused. He would do it. He'd ruin everything just so you knew. But he didn't want you to feel bad for him. 

Then someone called your first name, and you and he both turned to see an older woman holding up both hands. "I'm on in ten," you told him, reaching out to touch his fingers where they rested on the bar. "Let me take a few more drink orders before I have to dance."

"Right," he said. It was better that you didn't know. You were trying to make some money here, and he was already messing it up by talking to you for too long. "I'll catch you later."

He wandered off in the direction of the rest of the guys. "Yo, that blonde is so hot, and she made my drink perfectly," Mickey was saying as he drank something that looked fruity and sweet. 

"I'm an equal opportunity aviator tonight," Jake drawled. "I see a girl in a little outfit, she gets my phone number."

"You're delusional is what you are," Bradley told him as he sipped his beer. "All of you better leave Sparrow a massive tip. Seriously. I'm not kidding." 

He listened to the guys chat as he turned back toward the bar to check on you. It was almost time for you to dance, and his stomach was churning with anticipation and anxiety. He'd been dying to see you move like that again, but he could do without the memory of everyone else knowing how you looked when you shook your hips. 

Then you broke away from some guy who looked like a real tool who was reaching for you across the bar. You backed up and bumped into the mini fridge behind you and winced, and Bradley took a few steps in your direction. He memorized what that guy was wearing and what he looked like, just in case. 

But now it was time for you to dance, so at least you were able to step away from him. One of the cowgirls was helping you up onto the bar, and the crowd started cheering. The opening notes to Whole Lotta Love started playing, and Bradley's arms prickled with goosebumps as you ran your hand down to your waist and shook your hips from side to side. You were moving just like you had in your living room, but all he could think about were the times you sang this song to him. He wanted all of it to be just for him. He wanted to touch you the way you were touching yourself. He wanted to taste the sweat that glistened on your neck.

His jealousy flared, burning bright inside of him as he watched everyone crowd the bar as you strutted along with a smile on your face. And once again your smile brightened when you found him, and then you mouthed the lyrics, 'Way down inside, honey you need it. I'm gonna give you my love. I'm gonna give you my love.' You mouthed the words to him. 

Bradley grunted. His body felt like it was pulled taut like a rubber band, about to snap. You stopped at the end of the bar and did a little twirl as the crowd sang along to the song, but you kept your eyes on him. Your lips perfectly formed every word, and he'd never forget this feeling for the rest of his life. 

Then you turned away from him, and he instantly missed the way you were subtly giving him your attention. He moved forward a little bit through the crowd, wanting to get closer to you. When you spun around again, he saw you looking for him, and your smile wavered. 

"Sparrow!" he called out, and when you found him again, you laughed. And he laughed, too. But this must have been the breaking point in the evening, because Bradley got hit in the shoulder as a fight broke out to his right. Everyone got shoved forward, and a random glass of beer hit the bar. You tried to jump out of the way as your feet got soaked, and then your boss started yelling at you to keep dancing. Now when you looked at Bradley, you were no longer smiling.

He called your first name this time as you tried to step over the wet part of the bar and continue to the other end. Bradley saw him before you did. That asshole guy was back, and he smiled as he looked up your skirt. Bradley fleetingly remembered you told him you wore shorts under your skirt, and he really hoped you had them on tonight. But that wasn't the end of it, because now he was reaching out for your foot. 

"What the fuck?" Bradley shouted, handing his glass to a stranger as he tried to get to you. With that asshole's hand firmly wrapped around your ankle, you started to waver. You were nine feet up in the air, surrounded by glass bottles, and he knew he was closer to you than any of the bouncers. 

"Stop it!" you shouted above the music as you tried to pull yourself free, but that guy was unrelenting. You took one more awkward step before your body turned sideways. You were about to fall off the bar. Bradley fought his way forward as you tried to correct yourself, but it was too late, now it looked like you were going to land on your wrist on the bar, and probably break a bone. 

Bradley lunged just in time, and thankfully you saw him. You trusted him, and right now he could see that fact in your eyes. You let yourself fall forward into the crowd. Into his open arms. 

"Oh my god, Bradley!" you gasped as your arms wound around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him. You were shaking.

"I've got you," he promised as the song played on. He wanted to throw that guy up against the wall, but he was too content holding you to him as you buried your face against his neck. Letting go of you wasn't really an option. He wrapped one big hand around your thigh while the other squeezed your waist. "I have you, Sparrow."

Jake and Javy were there now, and Bradley nodded to the guy who grabbed you. He'd let them take care of it, because now your lips were brushing his ear. "That was terrifying," you whispered, and someone finally changed the song while another dancer climbed onto the bar.

Bradley made the decision to carry you outside into the cool night, walking slowly down the block where it was quieter as you caught your breath. "Are you okay now?" he asked softly.

You nodded against him, and when he adjusted you in his arms, you quickly whispered, "Please don't put me down yet."

"I won't," he promised before pressing his lips to your collarbone. You whimpered, and he couldn't help it. He said, "I don't ever want to put you down. And for the record, I don't want you to dance here anymore either. I never wanted you to."

You lifted your head away from him, and Bradley practically melted as your fingers tugged through the hair at the back of his head. Your lips were pouty, and your eyes were trusting as you asked, "You never wanted me to?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

He knew he had to say it and risk ruining everything, because pretending like this friendship with you was enough was actually hurting him now. He looked at your pretty face as he said, "Because I'm in love with you. And I'm selfish and jealous, and I don't want a bunch of other guys watching you dance around in this little outfit. Dancing around to my song."

"Bradley." You leaned closer, and you didn't stop until your lips were on his. This was better than he thought it could be, already so comfortable around you. Already addicted to your voice and the way you felt in his arms. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you kissed him, parting his lips with yours until you were tasting him. When you pulled away with a little moan, you whispered his name again while you ran your thumb along his mustache. 

"Why did you dance to that song?" he demanded gently.

You pressed another kiss to his mouth before you said, "It made it less scary to get up on the bar when I was listening to a song that reminds me of you."

"Why?" he demanded again. 

Then you very easily and simply said, "Because I'm in love with you, too."

"Honey," he sighed against your lips, smiling this time as you slowly unwrapped your legs and slid down the front of his body. Once you were standing on your own, Bradley let his hands fall to your hips, and you wiggled yourself snug against his body. 

You felt just like his shower fantasies and all of his other fantasies, if he was being honest with himself. He thought about you all the time. You nibbled on his lips and dragged your fingers through his hair until he was frankly afraid he was going to get hard in his jeans right here on the sidewalk. He pried his lips from yours, making you pout, and he chuckled as he said, "Sparrow, you're killing me."

Your pout grew more pronounced as you said, "I want you to call me Honey again."

His smile must look ridiculous now as he said, "Honey."

"That's better," you said as your lips curled into a grin. "Let's get out of here."

"Do you think you should go back inside first?" he asked, hoping you'd just ditch the whole thing with him, but you nodded in response. 

"Yeah, good idea. I'll go quit in person," you said, taking his hand in yours.

He stood his ground in response, and you weren't able to move him, but one tug on your hand and you were headed right back to his arms. "Excellent. As soon as you do that, we can talk about how we aren't friends anymore."

"We're not?" you asked, and as soon as that pout started returning, Bradley leaned down and kissed you.

"Hell no," he whispered against your lips. "You're gonna be my girlfriend. And I'll be your boyfriend. And I'm going to take you back to my house. And this time when I carry you to bed, I'm going to stay there with you all night. If that's cool."

"It's so cool," you promised him, and this time when you tugged on his hand, he followed you back up the sidewalk. "It's almost as cool as a man in his thirties who has a keyboard."

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

You were honestly impressed by the way the other guys weren't phased at all. Maybe it was obvious that you and Bradley belonged together, but none of them found it surprising that you were suddenly a couple. It really wasn't sudden at all in your mind though. There was a slow build of trust and appreciation over time that turned physical as soon as Bradley admitted he was in love with you. And four months later, none of it had let up. In fact, you couldn't get enough, and neither could he.

"That's it?" he asked, pointing to the single box left in your trunk. 

"That's it," you told him as you picked it up. And then he picked you up and carried you toward his house while you laughed. You passed the planter boxes full of flowers and went through the pink door.

"Then it's official. You live here now. Welcome home, Honey."

"Oh please," you replied as he set you down. "I've been unofficially living here for months."

"All thanks to DJ Insomnia," he whispered, leaning down and placing an absolutely filthy kiss on your lips.

You moaned. "I owe him so much."

Bradley shrugged and said, "I think we would have eventually arrived at the same conclusion regardless."

"What conclusion would that be?"

"That you're in love with me."

You wanted to deny it, but you couldn't. "Help me unpack the rest of my clothes and shoes so we can explore another one of your shower fantasies."

Bradley moaned and said, "Absolutely. I'll meet you in the bedroom. I just need to get something first."

That's how you ended up putting your clothes on hangers while Bradley resurfaced a few minutes later with his keyboard. Instead of helping you in any way, he sat on the bed and started playing Whole Lotta Love. 

"I asked you to help me," you told him with a laugh as you tossed a pair of your shorts at him while he played. "You're worse than DJ Insomnia."

"Just for that, you get a remix too."

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

I'm not exactly sure how "Sneak Peek: Bradley's Version" ended up happening, but I hope you enjoyed it. I might like it even better than the Jake fic! Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Chapter One

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R  Chapter Rating : PG

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes. All chapters will contain mentions of blood. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.4k

A/N : The full first chapter. For anyone that missed the first sneak peak, this is going to be a vampire fic, so it's going to have smut, dark themes, and blood mentions. I've been reading a lot of gothic novels lately so there's a bit of inspo from that in here. Anyway, hope you enjoy this one!

Chapter One

It was official; you'd lost your fucking mind.

You’d been standing outside the building for five minutes now, the paperwork tucked in your coat pocket feeling heavier by the second. Were you sure that you wanted to do this? Could you really give up a year of your life to serve a vampire?

What other choice did you have?

A lithe and pale figure watched from behind the tinted, UV proof glass while you changed your mind a dozen times over. After a few more minutes, the sun finally disappeared into the New York skyline, plunging the street into shadow.

The door opened.

The figure called your name, and you stepped forward, almost mesmerised by the lilting, lyrical tone of her voice. You shook your head a little, trying to keep your wits about you. 

You took in the sight of her as she held open the door; taller than you with a willowy figure, long white hair down to her hips, and eyes of pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You’d seen enough vampires to tell one by sight.

Your small suitcase was clutched in your hand, the few possessions that meant anything to you had been hastily packed before you’d headed to New York, and now felt like all you had left in the world. She glanced at the suitcase with disdain, but said nothing.

“Do you have the paperwork?” She asked, the soft but icy sound of her voice sending a shiver up your spine. You nodded and she held out her hand expectantly, waiting while you fished the folded mess of documents from your coat. She gave the contract a cursory glance, making sure you’d signed every dotted line, before; “good. And are you sure you understand everything that this position entails and what will be required of you?”

You nodded again.

“Speak up,” she prompted. “This is your last chance to ask questions.”

Despite the impatience on her face, you took a moment. Only minutes ago you’d had at least half a dozen questions about the job and the mysterious vampire who had hired you.

“What happened to the last person who took this job?” Her eyebrow rose, obviously not expecting that question. “The contract is for a year, but I’ve seen this job advertised three times in the last ten months.”

“There are a lot of people who mistakenly believe that they can do what is required of them. Many have come to work for Mr Russo, and many have disappointed him,” she shrugged.

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that will happen to you if you breach your contract; immediate dismissal with no severance,” she explained, slowly starting to step towards the elevator. “During your time here, everything will be provided for you and you will only be paid once your term of service is completed.”

“A million dollars,” even though that was the amount in black and white on the contract, it still didn’t seem real to you.

“Yes,” she pressed the call button, putting an obvious timer on this conversation. “Like I said, this is your last chance to ask questions. Once I take you upstairs, your contract will officially begin, and you will forfeit the agreed upon rights.” 

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and nodded, knowing you had no choice. You needed the money and a year wasn’t that long if you really thought about it. 

The elevator doors slid open and you took one last deep breath before stepping inside.

“What floor are we going to?” You asked, not wanting to stand in silence.

“The penthouse,” she answered, allowing another moment of quiet before adding; “you’ll find that Mr Russo has been more than generous with your living quarters, far more generous than most.”

“Do a lot of vampires do this? Hire people to feed from, I mean?” 

“For those that can afford it, or those with particular... tastes, it’s quite common, yes,” she replied offhandedly, not even bothering to look at you, knowing that it didn’t matter anymore; it was too late for you to change your mind.

“And which is Mr Russo?” You dared to ask, which was enough to earn a glance from her.

“Both,” she answered coldly, “as you no doubt saw in the advertisement, Mr Russo is very particular, and you’d do well to remember that. He is a man who likes everything in its place.”

Your lips parted, more comments and questions about your mysterious employer on your tongue, but they were cut off by the opening of the elevator doors. She led you out into the penthouse; a large open-plan living and kitchen area, with an open fireplace and wrap-around sofa, decorated in dark colours and dark-stained wood.

“Leave your suitcase there,” she instructed. “You won’t need it.”

You did as you were told, speechless as you took in the huge space in front of you. The windows drew your attention; tinted and obviously UV proof, but spanning from floor to ceiling, giving an amazing view of Central Park.

“This is the main area of the penthouse,” she started, as if she was a tour guide, reeling off facts that she no longer found interesting. “You may use this area as you see fit during daylight hours, but between 9pm and 6am it is off-limits. You will clean up after yourself.”

You nodded, following her as she slowly started towards the kitchen, leaving your suitcase at the elevator.

“All food will be provided, and should not be left in this kitchen area. You have your own private kitchen in your quarters. As per your contract, you will keep to the list of acceptable foods, and will receive grocery deliveries once a week on Fridays.” She stopped for a moment, letting you get a look at the main kitchen.

While there didn’t seem to be much in the way of food in the main kitchen, there was a large wine rack, filled with bottles. But it was the small glass-fronted refrigerator that caught your attention. That was where he would keep your blood. Suddenly it all started to feel very real to you.

If your guide cared, she didn’t bother to show it. She started to move again, and you followed after.

“Behind that door,” she pointed, “are Mr Russo’s rooms. You are forbidden from entering. Any breach of that rule will result in your immediate dismissal.”

You nodded, eyes lingering on the door, wondering if he was behind it right now, if he was listening in to everything being said. The thought caused your heart to beat a little faster and, that, you were certain she did notice. She led you away, towards the other end of the apartment.

“Through that door is Mr Russo’s library, you may use it as you see fit during daylight hours,” she didn’t linger or allow you to look inside, so you decided that was the first place you would explore once you were alone.

“And this,” she pushed a door open, “is your private suite.”

The door led to a small corridor with three doors. You continued to follow her. 

“Your kitchen,” she pushed open the first door and let you glance inside before moving to the door on the opposite side of the hallway, “your bathroom.” Again, she only gave you a second before moving to the door at the end of the hallway. “And this is your bedroom. For your privacy, the door can be locked. Though once you’ve slept here, no vampire will be able to enter without permission.” 

You were almost speechless as you stepped into the room, immediately noticing the floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around the corner of the room, giving you amazing views of Central Park and the city. The room contained a large bed, a sofa and TV, as well as a small gym area in the corner. There was a wardrobe, the doors of which had been strategically left open so you could see that it had already been filled with clothes for you. Beyond that, there was a desk and several mirrors, and everything was decorated with the same dark palette as the rest of the penthouse. 

“As per your contract, you are expected to remain clean and healthy at all times,” she continued while you slowly stepped around the room, cautiously running your fingers over the desk and opening drawers. “Mr Russo requires that you shower at least once every day and that you wear only the clothes provided. If the clothes provided are not to your tastes, reasonable adjustments to the wardrobe can be made.”

You opened a drawer and felt heat rise in your cheeks when you realised that it was filled with silk and lace lingerie sets. Closing the drawer, you decided to look elsewhere, moving towards the nightstand. There was a silk sleep mask beside the lamp, with your initials sewn into the fabric.

“You will not leave the penthouse without permission. Any attempt to do so will result in your immediate dismissal,” again, on paper, it had sounded easy but now you weren’t so sure. “Part of remaining clean for Mr Russo means that you will forgo sex for the duration of your contract, and you will not allow anyone to touch you in a sexual way. However, Mr Russo understands that this can be... difficult for someone your age, so he has provided everything you need to keep yourself... satisfied.”

Your confused glance was met by a raised eyebrow and the slightest dip of her head, indicating the drawer which, stupidly, you opened without hesitation.

“Oh...” you weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but a drawer full of sex toys certainly wasn’t it. Your cheeks got hotter and your heart raced in your chest.

“I would suggest getting that under control, your embarrassment is quite distracting to vampires,” she stated before leaving the room. You quickly pushed the drawer of toys closed and followed after her. 

She led you into the kitchen, a clean and sterile looking room with everything you’d ever need to cook for yourself. Waving at the only chair at the small table, she instructed you to sit, take your coat off and roll up your sleeve.

“For the first week, I will assist you in drawing blood and showing you how to store it, after that it will become your responsibility. You will do this at least once a day, and it is your job to ensure that Mr Russo never goes without,” she explained, opening a drawer and removing what she needed.

You felt queasy the moment the needle punctured the skin, and you were sure she scoffed when you looked away from the sight of blood. Clearly, she didn’t think you were going to last in your new job.

“While your contract is in effect, Mr Russo is the only vampire who may drink your blood,” she continued to list rules and stipulations. 

“And he’ll only drink it like this? He won’t -” you hesitated, trying to decide if the question could be seen as offensive to a vampire.

“It is, legally speaking, entirely up to you whether or not you would allow Mr Russo to feed from you directly,” which, of course was something you knew - since vampires revealed themselves to the world, lots of safe-measures had been put in place to protect humans from being involuntarily fed upon. “However, Mr Russo prefers to feed this way, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

After almost ten minutes she pulled the needle from your arm and began to explain how to seal the blood before handing you a bottle of supplements and a glass of water. 

“Take one of those every day after bleeding, they will help your body replace what you’ve given.” She watched as you took one of the supplements without questions and then led you back out into the main area of the apartment, showing you how the blood was to be stored in the fridge, with the day's date clearly marked on the jar.

“Now, you should go shower and change into the clothes provided. I can either dispose of what you’re wearing or it can be placed in storage with your other things until your contract is complete.”

“Wait - storage?” You asked, your heart skipping a beat.

“As per your contract, everything is provided -”

“I get that, but... you’re saying I can’t keep my things? What about my phone?” Sure, you’d read the contract, but you’d never realised that that was what it meant.

“Mr Russo is a very private man, your phone or other electronic devices would be a security risk,” she answered sharply. “If you wish to terminate your contract -”

“No - no, it’s fine. As long as they’re kept safe.” As much as you hated it, you knew the alternative was worse. No, you could live without your phone and laptop for a year if it meant earning a million dollars, if it meant finally being free.

Without hesitation, you removed your phone from your pocket and handed it to her. She seemed almost amused that it was already turned off, and quickly slid it into her own pocket.

She nodded and started to walk away. “Leave anything you want put into storage by the elevator.”

It was then that you realised that she was about to leave you all alone and you’d have no more chances to ask her questions.

“When will I meet Mr Russo?” You asked as she pressed the call button.

“That depends on Mr Russo,” she shrugged, “you may never meet him if he doesn’t wish it. He’ll decide when he returns to New York tomorrow. For now, I’d suggest you spend your time getting comfortable. A year is a long time for warmbloods...”

The elevator doors slid open and she carried your suitcase inside.

“I’ll be back after sunset tomorrow to draw more blood.”

It wasn’t until she was gone that you realised you’d never even gotten her name.

Alone, you remained in the kitchen for a few minutes, half expecting her to come back to explain more rules but, when she didn’t, you decided to explore.

It felt strange and you didn’t dare touch anything, practically creeping around the apartment, even though you were fairly certain that you were all alone now. You got yourself familiar with the main living area, taking a moment to enjoy the view from the windows before heading for the door that led to Mr Russo’s library.

Whatever thoughts you had about it, you weren’t expecting what you found behind that door. The book cases covered two of the walls and, in the corner of the room sat a grand piano. There was a worn looking leather sofa and, towards the back of the room, you realised that there was a set of shelves filled with vinyl records. Suddenly, being stuck in this apartment for a whole year didn’t seem like enough time. 

There was a strange mix of old and new about the room, things that made you wonder about the sort of person your new employer was. How old was he? How long had he been a vampire? 

You decided that you were definitely going to spend a lot of time in the library but, for tonight, you settled on taking a battered looking copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray from a shelf, hoping that no one would mind if you took it back to your room.

While it wasn’t getting late, it had been a long day and you were still feeling a little shaky, so you decided to do as instructed and have a shower before changing into one of the silken pairs of pyjamas that had been provided. Once you’d neatly folded and piled your old clothes by the elevator, you returned to your bedroom.

Paranoia had you checking around the room, beneath the bed and in the wardrobe, before you finally felt safe enough to lock yourself in. While it had been your plan to read until you fell asleep, you were too distracted by thoughts of home; had anyone noticed that you were gone yet? Were they looking for you? Had they been trying to call?

The only thing that you knew for certain was that no one would find you here. And, once you’d completed your year and had your million dollars, no one would find you ever again.

The next morning you realised why you’d been provided a sleep mask; as stunning as the floor to ceiling windows were, the moment the sun rose your room was filled with light. Grumbling, your hand reached for your phone on the night stand before you remembered exactly where you were and that you no longer had your phone.

There was a clock in the kitchen, on the wall above the small table where you sat and had breakfast, telling you that it was far too early to be awake. 

After breakfast you showered and decided to spend the day getting used to your surroundings, starting with the bedroom. 

The contents of the wardrobe left you speechless. Even the leggings and jeans were expensive brands, and some of the ball gowns... honestly, you didn’t even know why they were in there, but you’d spent enough time attending balls and gala’s back home to know that each was easily worth tens of thousands of dollars. Some of the garments felt a little more questionable; corsets and dresses that would probably reveal far more than you were comfortable with.

And the shoes.

You’d never seen so many pairs of shoes. Everything ranging from cute sneakers, to thigh-high boots with heels so big you’d break your neck if you fell over in them. Every kind of shoe for every sort of occasion, and they were all stunning.

Then, in the drawers, you had your more everyday items; underwear, tee-shirts, leggings. And, again, it seemed like no expense had been spared. Admittedly when you finally changed out of the pyjamas, it felt a little bit weird to put on underwear that you hadn’t bought for yourself, and weirder still to think about how soft the lace felt on your skin.

You picked out a pair of jeggings, an oversized sweater and a pair of Uggs to wear before continuing to search through your room. There was everything you could think that you might want or need, with the exception of a laptop or phone. (And you were very mindful about ignoring the drawer of sex toys, not even wanting to think about it.)

It took you almost the whole day to get through it all and find where everything was. Once you were done, you decided to cook dinner; a simple pasta in sauce with some bread. You hadn’t even stepped out of your suite and into the main apartment, you’d almost managed to forget that anything existed outside of your bubble until the sudden knock on the suite's door. 

You opened the door to find her standing there, remembering she had promised to return at sunset.

“Have you found everything to your liking so far?” She asked as she stepped past you and made her way into the kitchen. 

“Everything is fine,” you told her, following after. “I did have a few... questions about some things?”

She indicated that you take a seat and moved to the cupboard that contains the equipment for drawing blood. You rolled up your sleeve without being asked.

“Yes?” She prompted.

“In the wardrobe, there are ball gowns?” More statement than question and she looked at you with a raised eyebrow until you clarified; “why?”

“Mr Russo occasionally likes to host parties or attend events in the city,” she answered, piercing your skin with the needle. “If he decides he enjoys your company, he may ask you to attend with him.”

“Oh,” you decided not to ask the ridiculous follow up and instead change direction completely. “And, while I’m here I’m not allowed a phone or the internet?”

“As I told you yesterday, Mr Russo is a very private man. If you wish to contact loved ones, I can -”

“No, it’s fine,” you quickly cut her off. “What if there’s... I don’t know, an emergency? Or something I need?”

For a second she paused, the slightest look of realisation on her face, as if she’d just remembered something. 

“By the elevator, there’s an intercom. You can use it to contact me or, if I’m not available, you can contact the doorman.”

Which, of course, brought you to the next awkward question.

“... you never told me your name.”

“Lissa,” she quickly responded, off-handedly, almost dismissively, like she thought you’d never need it. 

Once she was finished drawing blood, you followed her out into the main area of the penthouse and over to the fridge where, to your surprise, yesterday’s blood was gone.

“Is -” you started to ask, glancing towards that foreboding door that was off-limits to you, “- is Mr Russo here?”

“He’s back in the city, yes.” 

You took that to mean that he wasn’t in, so you decided not to ask any more questions - what had she told you yesterday? That he’d decide whether he wanted to meet you when he got back. Well, he was back now and, obviously, he didn’t.

Lissa asked if you needed anything desperately and you told her you didn’t; she didn’t exactly make it seem like she was interested, more that she felt obligated.

The next few days passed in much the same way; you’d spend your afternoons exploring the penthouse, trying to get some idea of what Mr Russo was like. Then Lissa would help you draw blood and, by the end of the first week, you no longer needed her assistance. Every morning you checked the fridge and found it empty. He was there, in the penthouse. But, as the days passed, you started to think you’d never cross paths and maybe that was by design.

Maybe that was for the best, maybe it would be easier to get through the year without meeting him. You could just pretend that the penthouse was yours.

But it seemed like a lonely way to live, especially once Lissa no longer had a reason to visit. You weren’t used to space or privacy, not like this. You took to muttering to yourself, moving from room to room of the penthouse just to get a little bit of variety in your life.

The first day you were completely left alone, you decided to start the morning with a run on the treadmill. It was raining outside but you tried to picture what it would be like to run through the winding paths of Central Park, all the way to the fountain. Then, after showering, you rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen to find all the ingredients you needed to make chocolate muffins.

By the time the sun started to set, you were quietly impressed with how well you’d managed to distract yourself. But it was only one day, and you had over three-hundred and fifty more to fill. You made yourself some dinner, drew some blood and took it out to the fridge for Mr Russo, whenever he decided to get it.

Then, you ended up on the sofa.

Initially you’d only wanted to sit down for a few minutes, feeling tired and a little bit unsteady after putting today’s blood in the fridge. You had a feeling that you might have drawn a little too much, and you found your eyes drifting shut. 

The alarm on your watch woke you, set to remind you every night when it was approaching 9pm so you could retire to your suite, as per the rules. You felt groggy as your eyes opened, taking a second to sharpen.

And there he was, sitting on the opposite side of the wrap-around sofa, a glass in his hand, dark eyes set on you.

You sat up quickly - so quickly that it made you feel dizzy.

Your cheeks warmed, though you weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or nausea.

If he cared about your display of discomfort, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, for a moment you were sure you saw a flicker of a smirk cross his lips. For a second you found yourself staring, taking in the sight of him; dark suit, dark hair, and even darker eyes. He was stunning, even by vampire standards.

“I’m sorry, I -” you started, flustered. You didn’t even know what you were apologising for. It wasn’t like you’d broken any of his rules.

“So you’re the new one,” his voice didn’t sound like you thought it would. For the look of him, you’d imagined a smooth but commanding tone, instead there was something rough to it.

“Yes, sir,” you answered, quickly introducing yourself to him rather than addressing what exactly he meant by the new one.

“Drink that,” he instructed and you noticed the glass of orange juice on the table. “It’ll help with the blood loss.”

Your cheeks warmed a fraction, embarrassed that he’d figured out why you were sleeping on the sofa. (Just how long had he been sitting watching you sleep, anyway?)

You gave a muttered thank you before reaching for the glass and slowly starting to drink. You’d forgotten to take your supplement too and that probably wasn’t helping.

“So, what are you running from?”

“I'm sorry?” You asked, not understanding the question. 

“You've agreed to spend a year living in the home of a man you've never met - a vampire, no less - so, what are you running from?” He looked at you as if he could look through you, as if he expect a lie and he’d be able to catch you in it

“I’m not running,” you answered, forcing yourself to sit a little straighter, despite the light-headedness. “I just didn’t want to be at home anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?” You answered flippantly before realising that that wasn’t the best way to talk to your new employer. “I mean - I already signed all of your contracts, so does it make a difference?”

“It does if I end up with your parents at the door screaming about how I spirited away their daughter and have her under my thrall so I can drain her blood.”

“Has - has that happened before?” There was something about his face, his eyes, it made it impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious. “Things like this are legal, so it’s not like they could complain...”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

It was only then that you realised what was in his glass, the dark viscous liquid he was gently swirling. He was sitting and having this conversation with you while cradling a glass of your blood.

“I’m not avoiding it,” you decided to tell him, “I just don’t want to answer it. I appreciate how this could look to some people, but I can promise you my family won’t be an issue. They don’t even know that I’m here and they have no way of finding me.”

“So, not running, escaping,” he stated like he didn’t want a response and already knew he was going to get one. And, finally, he lifted his glass and took a slow drink..

You didn’t want to watch him drink, but you found that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, watching the gentle bob of his throat and the way he licked his lips after draining half the glass. When he caught you looking, you dropped your attention to your own glass and took a slow drink.

“I’m not your first am I?” 

Sputtering, you almost choked on your drink and, for some reason, your mind immediately went to the drawer of toys in your bedroom. Your cheeks continued to warm as the corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk.

“My first what?”

“Vampire.”

“No. I mean, I’ve never -” you took a second, trying to regain your composure. “I’ve met other vampires, I’ve just never let them...”

He lifted the glass and cocked an eyebrow before taking a drink. This time when he drank, you let him see you watching, feeling your heart stutter in your chest. Again, his tongue wiped away any trace of your blood from his lips and he looked oddly satisfied.

“Do you like it here? Are you settling in?” He asked, and you were starting to realise he was trying to get a measure of you. “Are your rooms to your liking?”

“Yes, you have a lovely home,” you answered before taking an awkward drink. You weren’t sure what else to say about it because, outside of the library, there wasn’t much to the penthouse. In fact, once you started thinking about it, you couldn’t help but realise that it seemed a little cold and lonely. But, perhaps it was different in his rooms, perhaps that was where he’d made his penthouse into a home.

“You like the library,” a statement more than a question.

“Yes, I - how did you know?” Had he been spying on you? Watching you?

“My copy of Dorian Gray,” he stated softly, and you felt your breath catch, “it doesn’t seem to be where I left it.”

“It’s in my room,” you answered, worried that you might have already done something wrong - you couldn’t afford to lose this job, not after only a week. “No one told me that I couldn’t take it out of the library, I just wanted something to read in bed and I -”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, doing a poor job of hiding his amusement. “You can take as many books from the library as you want, as long as they’re returned undamaged.”

It seemed to mean a lot to him and, perhaps, you should have asked why but, instead, you found yourself feeling indignant.

“I’d never damage a book,” you told him, “especially one that didn’t belong to me.”

Again, he seemed more amused than fazed by your response. “So, you like to read?”

You nodded.

“Why?” His eyes stayed on you, staring through you, right to your soul. At least, that was how it felt. Your lips parted, but you didn’t have an answer for him. Why did anyone like to read? “Escapism? Perhaps to imagine a better life? Or is it love and fantasies of fictional men who will treat you better than anyone in the real world that you enjoy?”

“Is that why you have all those books? To fantasise about fictional men?” you found yourself responding, trying desperately to ignore the heat burning through your cheeks.

He let out a laugh, a deep and dark sound that sent a shiver up your spine. The smirk on his lips grew and, for a moment, he just watched you before shrugging.

“Sometimes men, sometimes women,” he admitted with ease, lifting his glass and draining it, leaving nothing but a pinkish stain on the inside of the glass. “I like you,” he decided and you weren’t sure if he meant you or your blood. “This is going to be fun.”

With that, he got to his feet and all you could do was watch, getting some idea of his height and how he held himself once he was standing. He moved with the confidence of a predator who knew his own strength even if others couldn’t see it, and you knew immediately that you shouldn’t underestimate him.

“You should return to your rooms,” he told you, turning and heading for the kitchen to get rid of his empty glass. “I wouldn’t want Lissa finding out that you’ve already broken your contract.”

For a second you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you saw the time. Twenty past nine. He’d kept you talking for almost half an hour. (Could he really fire you for that when he was the reason?)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise the time, I -” you got to your feet so quickly that you almost fell back down

“I’m joking,” it hadn’t sounded like a joke. He glanced back towards you, offering something of a smile. “You should go back to your rooms and rest, though. And tomorrow, take more care when you’re drawing blood. I wouldn’t want you fainting.”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before moving towards the elevator and slipping inside once the doors opened.

For a few seconds, you stood, at a loss over what had just happened, before quickly making your way back to your own rooms.

CHAPTER TWO

End Notes : Sooo... there it is. I honestly hate starting new fics because I always feel like they start a little slow. I'm not sure what the posting schedule will look like for this one, I'm hoping once a week (on Friday evenings) but I'll post an update or something if that changes.

Thanks for checking this out, I know it's a bit of a departure from Catch Me if You Can. Have a wonderful weekend.

Let me know if you want to be tagged.

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

MeMe and Control over One's Own Destiny

Alright I've been holding off on talking about Mikoto until Double releases, but I saw he was on a train and my brain went Silly. Don't you understand how crazy the symbolism is?! (<- Mentally unwell)

So now I have to talk about how MeMe handles the concept of destiny and the control the alters have on the system's future, because it's honestly so interesting to me.

CW Murder

Disclaimer: I'm not an expert on DID, feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong

The first big connection between MeMe and the idea of destiny is obviously the recurring theme of tarot cards. These are used for divination, meaning the practice of trying to learn about the future through supernatural means. In other words, they're deeply tied to the concept of destiny, of future events that will come to affect us, and the ways we may influence it. What's important to take away here is that, regardless of whether or not you believe in it, reading tarot cards is a way for people to try to understand their future so they can take try to take control of it.

Once you make this little connection, a lot of the imagery in MeMe starts to get interesting. To give you an example, one of the opening shots is of a bunch of tarot cards all scattered in water.

So, their future is scattered, it's uncertain, it's messy, etc. You get the idea, I don't think I need to elaborate on why Mikoto's life is a bit of a mess.

However, I think there are two scenes which are particularly interesting in this regard. When Aokoto (host) draws a blank card in the first chorus, and when he gathers the cards in the deck at the start of the third chorus.

So first, we can be sure this is Aokoto because the lyrics not only use 'boku', but also express confusion at the situation, which only really fits the host.

Why am I [boku] here? It must be a mistake? Take a good look at me [boku], until you find me The truth will come to reveal itself I won't forgive you if this is happening to me even though I'm right

Why am I [boku] here? It must be a mistake? Take a good look at me [boku], until you find me

(Note: If there is no clarification on which pronoun is used when I put lyrics here, it's because the Japanese doesn't actually use any pronouns)

What's happening here? As stated, the tarot cards are a representation of destiny and their future. By drawing a tarot card, Aokoto is trying to understand his situation and destiny better. And by stacking the deck up neatly, he's trying to take control of his destiny, of his future. The desire to be free and be able to control his life is a very important part of Aokoto's character:

(T1) Q14: What will you be doing in 10 years? M (Ao): I'd like to work independently and make my own design company. That way I'm free to do what I want.

(T1) Q8: What are your reasons for wanting to work for your current job? M (Ao): I work at an advertising company that's at the top of the business world, you know? Just being able to get to that position is something to be proud of. I worked really hard to get hired there, too.

Aokoto places high value on the work he's done, because that shows how committed he is to having control over his life and his job.

(T1) Q12: How do you get to work? M (Ao): I ride a road bike. It's a hobby of mine, and it's good to exercise too. I don't need to worry about missing the train, but that can either be a good or bad thing.

I've seen this answer interpreted a few different ways, but personally I believe what Aokoto's implying is that the freedom of not having to rely on the train is both good and bad. Essentially, he doesn't have to stress about missing it, but there's also no guarantee that he'll get to work in time without the reliability of the train. However, he still prefers the bike, because it gives him more freedom.

... Foreshadowing is a narrative device-

There's also the matter of the tarot spreads which appear in that "blank card" scene. There are two distinct ones:

Now, the whole mess is too complicated to get into here (and I actually am holding off from analysis until we get extra context from Double for that reason), but I believe one of these spreads belongs to Aokoto, and the other belongs to Midokoto (Secret Third gatekeeper alter). Which is which doesn't matter, because the card I want to focus on is the card in the "Hopes and Fears" position (EXTREMELY long story), which is I - The Magician (upright) in both of them. The Magician represents (among a fuckton of other things because tarot cards are frustratingly ambiguous by design) power, potential, basically the ability to achieve your goals. Thus, in the "Hopes and Fears" position, it would mean Aokoto wants to be able to control his life and fulfill his potential, and is afraid he might not be able to.

There is also the "Present" or "Self" card being the reversed XII - The Hanged Man. The Hanged Man upright represents (among other things) patience, the hope that as long as everything continues the same, things will turn out okay. Thus, reversed, it could be read as implying the querent is trying their best to change their situation, but are failing at it.

And this is where we get to the second part of the scenes I pointed out before. Because when Aokoto draws a card by itself, it's a blank card. In other words, no matter how much he wants to, Aokoto doesn't have full control of his future. I mean, obviously, right? He himself can't control his destiny when the other alters are also doing pretty impactful stuff. Depending on what theories you subscribe to, he may have ended up in Milgram without even murdering anyone, which is what I believe.

The same can be seen when he tries to put the deck back together. You might notice the deck there is actually thinner than the other time we see it.

He tries to "fix" or "arrange" his future, but he's "playing with half a deck", he's only half in control of his future. In this metaphor, the other alter(s) would have the rest of the deck, would control the rest of the system's destiny. Does that make sense?

Which gets us to the other alter who does tarot reading.

Notice the red mannequin there? The way 0 - The Fool's pouch of food is now a skull? And you can see this alter, heavily implied to be Orekoto, reads a Celtic cross spread with the Fool in the "querent" or "present" position.

Thus, The Fool represents Orekoto, and he too desires control over their future. That's why he's reading the spread, the same way Aokoto previously tried to draw a card to check his future. And I think it's pretty safe to say Orekoto must have killed or attacked at least one person, which is his way of trying to secure a better future for the system. Protector alter and all that.

[Timelines] Mikoto (Ao): Can you hear me talking like this? If you can hear me, then answer me. Why are you doing such horrible things? Hey. It's your fault things have become like this. ……Answer me!! Mikoto (Ore): Ah, ahhh!! Because, I did it for my/your (Boku's) sake…! Because I/you (Boku-ga) would break apart!!

(Translation by Maristelina)

Plus all the other reasons to believe that.

That spread is a bit odd for many reasons, but one thing we can pretty much be sure of is Orekoto's "Hopes and Fears" are represented by VII - The Chariot.

The Chariot (among other things) represents strength of will and control, basically think of it as a more forceful version of The Magician. Thus, Orekoto also hopes he can take control of their life, though he does it through force, and he fears he might be getting too forceful.

If I could laugh, if I could go back I'd play dead even though I'm alive right? If I could end, if I could stop How long would this dream go on?

Assuming it is Orekoto singing here (no pronouns so), it seems he doesn't want to kill, but sees himself cornered, like he has to kill. If he could stop, he'd "go back and play dead even while alive", he wouldn't kill anymore. But when he feels "boku will fall apart", he tries to save him through any means he can, which is likely murder. The exact reasons are as of yet unknown (someone stalking them, stress, could be a lot of things), but that's the idea.

However, you tarot enthusiast might notice a few interesting differences between this Chariot card and the actual Chariot card. This is important, because the meaning of these cards comes from the images, so when the image differs (apart from stylistic choices obvs), the meaning differs with it.

First important difference: the real Chariot has lions, MeMe's Chariot has bikes. This again relates bikes to the idea of freedom and one's own will.

Foreshadowing is-

Second; MeMe's Chariot has the protagonist swinging around a mace, which the real Chariot just has a wand. I frankly don't think this means anything other than MeMe's Chariot explicitly references murder rather than other, non-physical forms of strength and force.

Third, an important part of the real Chariot is that the man doesn't hold a leash on the lions, he controls them through force of will, apparently. Meanwhile, the mannequin in MeMe's version does hold chains to control the bikes, which again I believe simply implies a more forceful and direct version of the meaning. Orekoto doesn't trust his destiny to guide the system in the right direction as long as they're strong enough, he feels he needs to have more direct control.

And finally, the lions in the real Chariot are fine, but in MeMe's version, one of the bikes is fucking exploding.

So what the hell is up with that? Well, let's keep in mind what I said before. Aokoto also wants control of his life. So I believe in a way these bikes represent Aokoto and Orekoto's actions. One of them Orekoto has direct control over (he controls his own actions, after all), while the other is getting hurt by Orekoto's control. Orekoto may want nothing more than to protect the system, but the way he does it is harmful to Aokoto and destroys the control he wants to have over their life. I mean, it landed them in Milgram (according to some interpretations), and it's not like Aokoto likes the murder.

(T1) Q6: Tell us what you hate. M (Ao): Staying up all night working / reptiles / violence

[Double Preview] Hey now, I [ore] saved you right? So why in the hell are you crying?

(I will use the preview as evidence, watch me)

Temporary CW for abusive relationships and rape (Mono Poisoner)

This idea of "love" that hurts the other is also implied by Mono Poisoner, their Trial 1 cover. Though to be clear, Orekoto is not anywhere near as awful as the protagonist of Mono Poisoner, since he isn't intentionally hurting the rest of the system, and obviously isn't actually abusing the other alter(s).

“She belongs completely, entirely to me!” Kissing, sleeping together, everything beyond that too No one can hope to cut this connection between us

After brandishing that poisonous desire to monopolize and having erased YOU completely, It seems like it can be easily embraced, the entirety of that heart “YOU best not get carried away!”

Taking out the really violent and abusive elements out, this does vaguely fit the idea I'm trying to get across.

Temporary CW over

Anyways, the point is that Orekoto wants control over their life, but is accidentally harming Aokoto by taking away his agency.

There is more symbolism of this ‘drive to control destiny’ in the moon which consistently appears throughout MeMe.

As you can see, it’s in the first quarter phase. This is halfway between the New Moon which represents the beginning of a journey and the Full Moon which represents the end or rebirth, and because of that, it can represent a difficult time where decisions must be made, a point where strength of will is necessary. This again fits both of Aokoto and Orekoto, since they’re both making important decisions for their future. Hence also why the moon is half and half, the future is being decided half by Aokoto, half by Orekoto.

Alternatively, you could read it as only Orekoto making decisions, with the other 'half' being "left in the dark" because Aokoto doesn't know what Ore's doing. That would explain why the moon only shows up in relation to Orekoto in the internal world and the murder scenes.

Heavy speculation incoming (more than before anyways)

But hold on a second. I said before the upright Hanged Man, the card on Mikoto's shirt through most of MeMe, is about patience and not doing anything to change their situation. This is somewhat contradictory to The Fool, which is all about new opportunities and taking new risks (long story), and is obviously contradictory to the reversed Hanged Man because that's how tarot cards work. Because of that, and everything else I've been saying, it feels like the upright Hanged Man doesn't really fit either Aokoto or Orekoto.

Which is why it's so convenient we have a third (plot-relevant, there may be more) alter who does want their life to continue as is, isn't it?

The minus energy that I swallowed Hugged me [boku] Maybe it's okay to try to keep on living Split in half, Make that heart beat

This scene is very clearly connected to the aftermath of a murder, and shows an alter that has accepted the "negative (minus) energy" of violence. However, the use of 'boku' rules out Orekoto as the singer. Thus, we have ourselves our favorite Secret Third Alter, Midokoto. And Midokoto says, filling in the blanks, that ‘maybe it’s okay to keep living [like this]’, as long as they ‘split in half’ to ‘make that heart beat.’

Before we continue, I have to address that yes, I believe Midokoto is represented by the upright Hanged Man, even though he’s the only alter who’s never seen wearing the shirt. Either his back is turned, he’s shirtless, or straight up has a completely different shirt. However, I actually think this makes perfect sense.

It’s widely accepted that if Midokoto exists, he’s likely a gatekeeper alter who co-fronts most of the time, meaning he’s still aware of everything that’s happening even while he isn’t controlling the body (<- simplified version, read more if you’re interested [alter roles] [co-fronting]). Therefore, he’s a constant in Mikoto’s life, and it makes sense for him to always be present in some way as long as any alter is on screen. He’s on the shirt when the other two are there, so when the shirt isn’t there, it’s because the ‘upright Hanged Man’ is the one controlling the body. Does that make sense?

I should note, Mikoto’s version of The Hanged Man includes a bunch of eyes on the background.

Which fits the idea of Midokoto overseeing everything in the others’ lives, and for the inverse in Aokoto’s case could also be interpreted as societal pressure, long story.

Yes, Midokoto's celtic cross spread has the reversed Hanged Man in the middle of The Wheel, but let’s just say that means ‘present’ rather than ‘querent.’ Yes, there’s a Fool portrait in the background of that one scene, I swear there’s an explanation but it’s too long to get into here.

Point is, he’s the one who wants their life to continue as is, and thus the one who fits the idea of ‘patience’ that The Hanged Man (upright) embodies.

But make no mistake. He still has The Magician as his “Hopes and Fears” in the spread which represents him, meaning he does yearn for some control and fears not having the means to achieve it.

However, I believe the type of control he’s looking for is different from the other two. See, while Aokoto wants freedom and control over his life in a more conventional way (good job, free movement, independence), and Orekoto wants control in a ‘no one will stop “I/you” from achieving what “I/you” want’ kinda way (aka safety), Midokoto wants control over the system, not the rest of their life. He wants to keep Aokoto and Orekoto ‘split in half’ because that’s how they can both live as they please, it ‘makes their heart beat.’

That’s why the moon that represents decision-making is split in half. That’s why there’s only two bikes in The Chariot card. That’s why Midokoto never bothers to read a single tarot card. Because the ones deciding where their life moves are Aokoto and Orekoto, all Midokoto does is keep things running smoothly. Though of course, this is all just my interpretation.

In fact, you can even tell based on what we believe each alter to do. Aokoto does the day-to-day work, making sure he has the opportunity to achieve his dream of working independently in the future. Orekoto deals with threats until the system as a whole is safe, which includes throwing away evidence so they don't get arrested. He does a dogshit job at it, yeah, but he's trying.

However, once they get into the apartment, when the external threats have been dealt with, the one who bathes to make sure Aokoto doesn't learn of Orekoto's actions, the one who keeps their lives metaphorically 'split in half', is Midokoto.

Heavy speculation kinda over

So, where were we? I said this was inspired by the Double thumbnail, didn’t I? Well, yes, even if I have very little to say about it in relation to this post. You could say I kinda, uh, went off the rails a bit (<- I am immensely unfunny)

As I said, he’s on a train. And with all the stuff I mentioned before about how bikes are associated with freedom for him and stuff, it makes the imagery of being stuck on a train with the victims (I assume that’s what the mannequins represent, I’ve seen other interpretations) a lot more interesting.

Think about it. When you get on a train, you made the decision to enter it, but you don’t have control over where it goes. And that’s what’s happening here: the alter on screen is in for the ride, and he feels there’s nothing he can do to alter the course. It’s like a railroad.

Aokoto didn’t get on this train. Obviously the scene is metaphorical (otherwise who left their mannequins in the goddamn public train), but we know Aokoto doesn’t use the train. However, he’s on it now, alongside Orekoto who is probably the one fronting here? I assume, given the red light in the background. In my mind it would make sense for the thumbnails to be Aokoto T1 -> Orekoto T2 -> Midokoto T3, but that doesn’t have to be the case.

What I’m trying to convey is the symbolism of the system being stuck in a set path, a set destiny, caused by a decision not made by Aokoto. And if Orekoto is really the one fronting or being represented here, he’s miserable because of the path his actions have landed him on.

If I could break it, if I could change Can I do it, I wonder from when I started to give up

He’s ‘given up’ because he’s accepted he’s ‘on the train’, his path is already set and he can’t change it (“if I could change”). Yes, give me that Orekoto angst!

Anyways, please keep in mind this is all my interpretation of the symbolism and all of this is extremely subjective, especially with how confusing Mikoto's entire story is. I hope you forgive my brainrot at seeing a guy take a train. Take care!

[midnightsslut]

the whole cardigan/Peter parallels are messing my head can u explain

okay so peter is actually one of my favorite songs on the album for this reason! I think it has parallels to a lot of other songs, not just cardigan. the first thing to get out of the way is the cardigan lyric about peter and wendy: ‘tried to change the ending, peter losing wendy.’ now, that line doesn’t make a ton of sense because peter losing wendy is the ending of peter pan (idk I’ve never seen it and never thought I’d spend this long thinking about them), but I think what she’s saying is that he tried to change the ending of *their* story to peter losing wendy. peter loses her because she outgrows him, while he remains a ‘lost boy’ forever. the cardigan demo has an alternate lyric where peter actually *leaves* wendy. this does not happen in the original story, and to me, it reads like betty (eh, I don’t think those characters existed when she wrote that song, but bear with me) is accusing him of trying to change their fate by leaving her. peter is meant to always come back to wendy. *she* is the one who eventually leaves him. either way, cardigan ends with them together. yay for betty and/or taylor.

now, peter was written 3-4 years later, and it is the conclusion of a story about outgrowing someone despite truly wanting them back. the ending was not, in fact, changed. she did outgrow him. very sad. I actually want to go lyric by lyric, but I’ll put a cut just in case.

Forgive me Peter

My lost fearless leader

In closets like cedar

Preserved from when we were just kids

Is it something I did

the song starts with taylor trying to figure out what went wrong. did she do something wrong to crush these dreams of theirs? she kept him in a closet of cedar (where unmarried women kept their belongings that they would want to take with them after getting married) in her mind, but things didn’t work out anyway. the first line being ‘forgive me, peter’ indicates that she is the one who pulled the plug, and she’s apologizing for it. again, she isn’t entirely sure what went wrong, which, to me, is a clear parallel to how did it end.

The goddess of timing

Once found us beguiling

She said she was trying

Peter was she lying

My ribs get the feeling she did

when they first met, the timing seemed to be perfect for their relationship (‘the goddess of timing *once* found us beguiling’), but that didn’t last. the goddess of timing claimed that she tried, but nothing could save them. taylor even wonders if she lied, which suggests a lack of faith in higher powers like fate or deities. this verse introduces timing as a major conflict in the story. ‘are you really gonna talk about timing in times like these?’

Said you were gonna grow up

Then you were gonna come find me

Words from the mouths of babes

Promises, oceans deep

But never to keep

peter went away, but he promised to come down once he was ready for a relationship. yes, this kind of applies to both of the main storylines on the album. you could take this to mean that they actually broke up a decade ago but promised to get back together, or you could assume there was some sort of break to their relationship, which she and joe did have. i kind of took it to mean that he wasn’t fully committed to the relationship, but he promised to be eventually. again, the renegade lyric, but also ‘i’m a fire, and i’ll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come’ and ‘I’d hold you as the water rushes in,’ both of which are grand promises that neither party could keep.

Are you still a mind reader?

A natural scene stealer

I've heard great things Peter

But life was always easier on you

Than it was on me

he is charismatic. his magnetic field is a little too strong. he can read people. but he’s also fragile and inexperienced (‘he was a hothouse flower to my outdoorsman’). he may be able to read people, but things have been way too easy for him to ever understand a truly hurt person fully.

And sometimes it gets me

When crossing your jet stream

We both did the best we could do underneath the same moon

In different galaxies

And I didn't want to hang around

We said it was just goodbye for now

this is the thesis statement of their relationship to me. obviously, there’s the call it what you want parallel, but more importantly, it shows that the two people really wanted this to work. they just came from completely different places in their lives and perhaps the entire universe. this verse seems to reference the epilogue (‘resentment rotting away galaxies we created’ / ‘some stars never align’). they learned the right steps to different dances, if you will. she knew he needed time, so she left temporarily.

And I won't confess that I waited

But I let the lamp burn

As the men masqueraded

I hoped you'd return

With your feet on the ground

Tell me all that you'd learned

Cause love's never lost when perspective is earned

she does get with other men, but she keeps longing for him. she wishes that he would return with a grasp on reality and be the man she needs. if anything, the time away would give him the perspective he needs to ground himself. interesting parallel to ‘I said I don’t mind / it takes time’ in loml.

And you said you'd come and get me but you were 25

And the shelf life of those fantasies has expired

Lost to the lost boys chapter of your life

Forgive me Peter, please know that I tried

To hold onto the days when you were mine

But the woman who sits by the window has turned out the light

this is just devastating to me. well, first of all, both matty and joe were 25 when they first met her, which, lol. the dreams they had together have expired now. it’s been too long. she cannot keep holding onto a love from almost a decade ago. he took too long to return. he lost his lifelong dreams to what was only supposed to be a chapter of his life. she tried to hold onto the days when he was hers, and everything was right, but she had to turn out the light at some point. this is the moment when she gives up on their relationship. she apologizes for abandoning the ship, but she must do it.

overall, I think peter is a story about two people who genuinely did everything they could to be together, but their needs and their growth no longer aligned. there’s a sense of acceptance and lingering fondness here. she did everything she could not to bolt, but the ending was the same.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Pink Scarf - PART 6! (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years.  [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: SEX. Some of it is on the rougher side. Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.  

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)        ||     Word Count: 6858

A/N: This part is HUGE, y'all, a monster! So much is happening. I'm sorry, I just could not for the life of me pair it down or find a good place to break it up, so I'm hoping you're all okay with the ginormous size of this part!

And y'all-- your reactions, reblogs, messages, and comments--I couldn't believe what an amazing response I got for Part 5, like I actually teared up, no lie. I can't tell you how glad I am that you are rooting for our reader and falling in love with/getting hot for EP as much as I am as you read! I hope you like this part, too, cuz I've got some good stuff planned for them coming ahead. (I'm a sucker for angst and tension, if you can't tell!)

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks since now I know how they work lol)! I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues.

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat! 

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch. 

(Listen, I chose this picture for very specific reasons for this part, so enjoy!)

The secret of it thrills you now, sitting there in the round booth with the other ladies before the show begins. The scarf still smells like Elvis, and each time you catch a whiff, it reminds you of his skin on yours. You smile inwardly at the thought.

You’ve shoved your earlier humiliation down as far as it will go, choosing to not let Jack ruin your night. Nothing really has changed, you convince yourself, things are only confirmed. You didn’t tell the others what happened, instead overcompensating, throwing yourself into having a good time, fueled by anticipation from the pink silk knotted around your neck and what might happen when Elvis sees it.

Finally, the lights go down and the crowd cheers. The Sweet Inspirations were a wonderful opening act, but you all know who you are really here for. The band starts playing and you feel your heart rate increase. The entire room is excited, though a nervousness underlies your own excitement. What if he doesn’t notice? What if it was all an act to placate you? What if he’s changed his mind?

You can’t dwell too much on it because Elvis enters and the room goes wild. He walks on the stage, in all black tonight, looking like a panther stalking the jungle, and you have to keep yourself from jumping out of your seat. Your heart hits your stomach at just how incredible he looks, and even though you can sense an initial nervousness in him the first few songs, he captivates the crowd immediately. He runs through all his old hits before heading into a breathless and charming monologue about how he ended up here, and somehow, he has you just as mesmerized, if not more, than the rest of the ladies in the audience.

He's obviously in good spirits, laughing frequently as he messes around with Charlie and the backup singers, changing the lyrics to some of his old hits to funny or naughty things, making the raucous, well-imbibed midnight audience laugh with him. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how he commands such a large room with ease, making every person feel seen even though they are just a sea of faces.

His voice sounds good, though maybe a bit tired with it being the second show of the night. He doesn’t let it affect his performance one bit, however. He is as energetic as ever and you become increasingly distracted by the way his body moves up there, thrusting in time with the drums, your mind unable to forget how he was doing the same to you less than 48 hours ago.

Heat flushes your body as you desperately squeeze your thighs together, because the more his baritone croons and the more he moves, the more you can picture him, feel him, on top of you. You are struck by how similar his performance seems to those intimate moments, just how turned on he looks playing and singing up there in front of the crowd. That mischievous glint in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches, how his lips pull, and that damn gritty whine in his voice the further up he goes in pitch—it all feels so very seductive. Even his fast, even vibrato has you shifting in your seat. You are thankful for the darkened room because you know your cheeks must be on fire and you can’t blame the unfinished martini sitting in front of you on the table.

You cannot tear your eyes from him, drinking in every inch, so captivated that you barely register when he brings the lights up to kiss his way through the audience during a rendition of Love Me Tender. Part of you feels a little jealous of all the girls, but as Elvis comes closer and closer, your heart speeds up and all you wonder is if he will have a chance to see you through the sea of women surrounding him. You fear he won’t, and prepare yourself for disappointment, reminding yourself that you’ll have access to him after the show anyway.

You need not have worried because he seems to sense you through the crowd, his blue eyes finding yours instantly as he nears the table. It is only for a second, as the barrage around him is intense, but his eyes flit down to the scarf and back up to your face, giving you a small grin and a wink before being consumed by the crowd once again.

You sit on your hands to keep yourself from leaping from your seat and attacking him right there and then. Just a few nights ago, you would’ve been absolutely mortified at this reaction to Elvis, but after everything that’s happened in the last few days, you can’t bring yourself to care, instead letting yourself get swept up by the feelings in your body. The heat flowing through you is intense, and you can’t seem to catch your breath. He saw you, alright, and now all you have to do is wait.

Which is easier said than done because your body is already ridiculously aroused. The more he sings and the more you watch, the more wetness pools between your legs. You have never in your life been aroused in a room full of people, and the more you try not to think about him, the worse it gets because he is right there, looking like that, seducing you without even trying.

Finally, he begins Can’t Help Falling in Love, bringing the show to a close, and Sonny rushes out to usher you all away from the table and get you backstage before it ends. You can’t help but fiddle with the scarf and the TLC necklace beneath it, both of which mark you as Elvis’, as you wait to see him.

You become increasingly aware, however, that you need to keep cool. Everyone is milling about, so any glances or words could be seen or heard easily. However, Jack is paying no attention to you whatsoever, making you somewhat infuriated but not surprised (though if he did pay attention to you in this moment, you might slap him in the face, so it’s probably better this way, you think). Pushing that aside, nervousness, laced with a little excitement at the danger of it, floods through you. It is all forgotten the moment you see Elvis walking towards all of you. You stand as casually as possible, attempting to make conversation with the ladies around you, waiting patiently as he greets everyone backstage.

He is drenched in sweat, blotting himself periodically with the towel around his neck as he slowly makes his way through the group. You feel that magnetic pull towards him as he lightly hugs everyone, a need that has your limbs tingling and forcing yourself to stand still. Then finally he gets to you, pulling you a little tighter, his hand gripping at your waist. You circle your hands to his back, the heat of his exertion rolling off him in waves, and you are overwhelmed by being so close to him again.

“Great show, E,” you manage to say breathlessly as he brings you closer.

He leans in quickly. “Wait for Jerry, baby,” he whispers so quiet in your ear, you almost question that he spoke at all.

Shivers rush through you, both in acknowledgement and anticipation. You squeeze him in a silent reply before he moves along.

Now you just need to figure out how to separate yourself from the pack without it seeming suspicious. But before you can think of something, Jerry is already pulling you to the side, as the others talk excitedly and make their way out. No one even seems to notice you’ve stayed behind.

You and Jerry look at each other for the first time since the incident with Jack earlier in the night. Part of you is suddenly worried about his judgement—it must be quite obvious to him what’s going on between you and Elvis, and he probably thinks it’s only a way for you to get back at Jack. You want to tell him it’s not, at least not just that, but he just looks at you knowingly.

“We have to wait until EP kicks everyone out of his dressing room before I take you back,” Jerry says.

“Jerry, it’s—” you begin.

He throws up a hand. “It’s none of my business, y/n, really. And I’m a vault when it comes to EP’s personal activities, so you don’t got to worry about that.” He pauses before continuing, “And after what happened earlier…well, you do what you gotta do.” He gives you an empathetic look.

“Thanks, Jer,” is all you can think of to say.

He only nods, then looks at his watch.

You can’t bring yourself to make small talk after that. After a few decidedly awkward, silent minutes, he motions you forward, leading you through hallways until you reach the door that says, Dressing Room of Elvis Presley. Your heart flip flops and suddenly you wonder if this is such a good idea after all. Doubt creeps in—how could Elvis, of all people, want to be with you when your own husband doesn’t want you? The thought makes your heart sink, but the part of you that is pissed off reminds you that Jack can go fuck himself.

Jerry listens at the door for a moment, then nods before letting you in. You know he’ll guard the door from anyone looking to enter, so you aren’t worried about that, but it feels a little ominous the way he closes the door behind you with finality.

Alone, at last.

The dressing room is huge, comprised first of this huge waiting room, which is currently empty, save for you. Further in, there is an open door leading to a private dressing area and then a bathroom beyond that. Elvis is not in this area, but the beautiful timbre of his voice, singing a gospel song, echoes from beyond, deeper in. You are drawn to it, slowly walking towards it as if hypnotized. The sound is so lovely it raises the hairs on your arms. Even though you just sat through 90 minutes of him singing, this is different, much more private, and it almost feels like you are eavesdropping. Suddenly, you feel an overwhelming swell of emotion for this man.

Pushing it down and clearing your throat, you alert him to your presence. “Elvis?”

The singing stops abruptly. “Come on back, honey!” he calls.

Nerves flutter through you as you walk back into the private dressing area. He’s not in here, so you place your clutch on a coffee table and straighten your dress, checking your reflection briefly in the vanity mirror before hesitantly making your way back to the bathroom.

You pause in the doorway, suddenly feeling rather bashful. Elvis is wearing a lush purple robe, his back to you, but sensing your presence, he turns immediately to face you.

He takes your breath away, even now. He’s positively glowing, most likely from the high of his performance, his hair still wet with sweat and plastered on his forehead. A grin spreads over his handsome features.

“You changed your mind,” he states.

“I did.”

“Hmm,” he muses. Then he fully takes you in, his eyes slowly roaming down your body in such a way that makes you flush from head to toe, your breath heaving in your chest. He glides towards you, cat-like in his smoothness, stopping right in front of you.

“That’s quite the little dress,” he says looking down at you, voice low, as his fingers toy with the hem. “D’you wear it just for me?” You can feel his fingertips lightly brush the bare skin of your thigh in the process and you can’t breathe. All you can do is nod.

The tension is thick, heavy, and when you look up at him (because how can you not), you feel like you are being sucked into a whirlpool. Those oceanic eyes take you in so quickly, you barely remember your nerves from a moment ago, the events that pushed you here, or even your own name.

His other hand plays with the scarf at your neck. “I’m glad you’re here,” he breathes, pulling you up into a kiss, his lips brushing yours softly.

You melt into him with a small sigh, your palms on his chest, clutching the front of his robe. God, you’re a goner and you’ve barely been here a minute. He smiles against your mouth, pleased by your response.

“I gotta shower, baby, then I’m all yours,” he says, kissing you lightly on the cheek. You must look disappointed because he chuckles, “Trust me, baby, ya’ want me to shower,” then he playfully swats you on the ass.

“Elvis!” you yip and squirm a little, as the arousal that’s been building in you the past two hours is nearly unbearable now that you are this close to him, now that you can smell and touch him. You are sure he knows this by the sly grin he gives you as he spins around and turns on the water in the tiny shower. When he strips off his robe, you gawk for a moment and then nearly follow him in the shower, and probably would have, too, except it barely held his tall frame, much less a second person. Though you soon have quite the view through the glass door as he lathers his body with soap, and suddenly, being out here isn’t so bad.

“You’re awful quiet, y/n,” he says, eyes closed, as the water streams over his head, then down his face and lean body. You bite your lip and lean back on the counter, watching as the rivulets cascade down his tan, perfect frame. You can’t help but rub your thighs together, desperate for friction.

“I’m enjoying the show,” you say. It comes out sultry, so much so that Elvis turns to look at you over the top of the door, wiping the water out of his eyes. He then looks down, realizing the door is glass, and laughs that beautiful laugh of his.

“You dirty, peepin’ Tom! Here I thought you were a nice girl,” he tsks.

“Oh, no. I can be quite naughty,” you reply, openly staring at his wet, naked form. The moment it’s out of your mouth, you can’t believe you said it, and based on the way his eyes widen, he can’t either. You don’t know what’s gotten into you.

Yes, you do.

Immediately, your cheeks are on fire, but then his eyes shift from surprise to lust and that warmth, that coil in your lower belly begins tightening in earnest.

“Pull your dress up for me, baby,” he says.

“What?”

“You heard me. Lean back and pull that sexy little dress up your thighs,” he commands. His voice is serious and deep, his eyes darkening. He’s never talked to you like this, but it sends a warm thrill right down your center, pooling at your core.

You can’t help but do what he asks and start to shimmy your dress up until your panties are almost showing.

“Further,” he demands, watching you carefully as you obey, your lacy, black underwear now on full display. Your heart thrums with anticipation in your chest.

“Hmm,” he tuts approvingly. “Scooch back on the counter and lean against the mirror.”

You follow his directions, hopping up, the marble countertop cold on the bare backs of your thighs. You watch as he slowly washes his body, taking his sweet time, a sexy quirk of his eyebrow telling you he knows exactly what he’s doing, though you aren’t privy just yet to the inner workings of his mind.

“Put your heels on the counter and spread wide for me,” his baritone vibrates, becoming thick with lust. You do as asked, feeling incredibly exposed. You don’t think your face could get any redder at this point.

“Good girl. Now, reach into those pretty panties and touch yourself,” he orders. At first, you think you must have misheard him, he couldn’t possibly be asking you to…

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he barks, though the mischievous glint in his eyes tells you all need to know.

Normally, you’d feel mortified at this, but he’s bringing out a side of you you’ve never encountered before. Slowly, bashfully, you reach down under the waistband of your panties, discovering quickly that they are already embarrassingly soaked and have been for some time. You find the sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes flutter closed when you finally have that friction you’ve been aching for.

“Nuh uh. Look at me,” Elvis commands. Your eyes pop open and you see his attention is fixed on you, gaze dark and wanting, his body rigid and still, as you rub circles on your clit. It’s absolutely obscene and maybe the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Run your fingers down your pussy, then pull them out and show me how wet you are,” he orders, his voice gruff. You do as you are told, running your fingers through your folds and pulling them out of your underwear to show him. They glisten, sticky with your arousal.

“Tell me why you’re so wet, baby,” he demands with an eagerness that thrills you.

“Apparently, watching you perform for an hour and a half gets me all hot and bothered,” you reply honestly, demurely.

He groans then, turning the shower off. “Take them off. Take off your panties.” It’s still an order, but a little breathless, hurried this time.

You obey, but slowly, making a show of hooking your fingers, pulling them off your hips, and shimmying them down your legs before disposing them on the floor. You place your heels back on the counter, leaving your core completely exposed to him. He’s trying to keep his face serious, neutral to your advances, but you can see him start to crack, his tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip, his eyes ablaze.

“Look at me and pleasure yourself.” The command is heated, fierce, wanting, making your heart beat faster. You make a point of running your fingers through the ample wetness that has gathered between your thighs before setting to task on your clit. You nearly falter under his intense gaze, biting your lip to keep yourself with him.

Beyond the steam-fogged glass, you can make out when Elvis grabs his cock in his hand and starts to lazily tug on it, and that in and of itself sends a surge of heat through you that has you quickening your pace. A quiet, “oh,” escapes your lips and, seeing your arousal at his actions, he makes more of a show of jerking himself off.

“Use your other hand, your fingers, honey,” he utters, fully breathless now. You reach down, doing something you’ve never done to yourself before, and insert a digit into your weeping hole. It slides in effortlessly and you moan, unable to keep your eyes open.

It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You can’t reach the places you need to and only succeed in bringing yourself somewhat close to the edge. Your eyes fly open, and you watch him and his gorgeous, perfect self as he jerks off to you, and it’s not nearly enough.

“I…Elvis…I need you,” you finally whimper and that’s all it takes. He’s out of the shower and his long legs cross the space between you in an instant.

“I got you, baby,” he says, placing his wet body between your open legs before sliding two long fingers straight and deep into your pussy. You cry out loudly at the welcome intrusion, and his jaw clenches as he begins relentlessly thrusting, pumping into you, his other hand furiously working your clit. He’s so completely focused on you, his brow furrowed, and then he leans forward and begins sucking and lapping at your upper lip with his tongue.

Oh, god, that coil inside you, the one that’s been building for hours, is so tight, so ready to explode and he’s only just touched you. His wet tongue expertly mimics the motion of his fingers, and the sensation drives you straight to the edge of the cliff.

The wave of heat is building, building so high as he finds that one spot deep inside you, curving his finger the slightest bit. As soon as he hits it, that’s it for you—your entire body bucks off the counter, pushing him even deeper into your clenching heat. You can barely breathe, clinging to his wet shoulders as if your life depended on it, those stars from a few nights ago making a reappearance behind your closed eyes. Finally, that denied, coiled heat explodes inside you, your entire body shuddering hard, over and over, against him, around his fingers, with a strangled cry of release.

“Oh, yeah, baby. That’s my good girl,” Elvis coos in your ear as he pulls his fingers out of you. You are still flying high, high above, aftershocks of pleasure radiating through you, as he pulls you off the counter and into his still-wet arms.

“Baby, whatchur doin’ to me…need you so damn bad, and I ain’t got it in me to be very gentle ri’ now,” he mutters, accent thick and barely understandable, his lips dragging on your neck. You moan into him, and he flips you around, his hands roaming up and under your sequined dress. Quickly, he walks you forward a few steps until your breasts are against the bathroom wall. He moves in behind you until he’s pressing the length of his wet body into you, trapping you against the wall with his comforting weight, his cock hard against your ass.

Roughly, Elvis uses his knee to open your thighs from behind. You are delirious with him, the feel of him, still reeling and sensitive from your orgasm. Without warning, he thrusts into you from behind so hard you nearly see stars again.

“Ohmigod, Elvis!” you cry out, pushing back against the wall with your palms, raising up in your heels on your tip toes to try and accommodate the surprise of his length.

“Fuck, honey…why you gotta be so tight and wet for me, lil’ mama?” he murmurs into your neck, drunk on you, one arm wrapping around your hips to hold you to him, the other hand next to yours on the wall. True to his word, he is not gentle: he begins to drive into you hard, his grunts and groans heated in your ear, the sound alone swirling down your body and reigniting your core.

Still reeling from your climax, you can’t help the punctuated, high-pitched sighs escaping you with each deep press of his cock into you. You are so full of him that it’s uncomfortable despite your wetness, but with each thrust, you adjust around him, taking all of him the best you can. Desperate for purchase, your fingernails dig and scratch at the plaster as he takes you from behind, fucking you into the wall.

Perhaps noticing your discomfort, Elvis pulls on your hips, walking you both back a bit until you are angled, palms sprawled against the wall, ass fully entrenched in his pelvis. It is somewhat more comfortable, and the grip he has on your hips eases slightly. He slows a bit, intoxicated by consuming you with each inch of his long dick.

“Look, honey,” he pulls your attention over your left shoulder. You see the two of you reflected in the large mirror over the counter, both panting and flushed, joined in the most intimate of ways. It startles you a little, how undeniably sexy it is.

“Goddamn, look atchu, doll, so beautiful and takin’ my cock so good,” Elvis breathes, watching you and watching himself fuck you in the mirror. He is so gorgeous, so completely aroused, that you can’t pull your eyes away. The way his pouty mouth puckers and his eyelids drop so you can see the fan of those long, dark lashes, how his body still drips with water from the shower. The sight of him taking you like this has tingles coursing through you, every nerve on edge and on fire. He begins to thrust harder, and your eyes roll back as he hits that spot, the one only he seems able to hit.

You can’t watch anymore because you are too overstimulated as it is with the feel of him plowing into you, hands digging into your hips. You begin to push back into him, meeting his thrusts now, your arms and legs starting to shake with the effort and pleasure. You don’t even recognize the sounds coming from your throat, a mixture of moans and the whisper of his name over and over, like a mantra.

With his deliciously relentless fucking, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold this position. Your arms are beginning to give way and your legs tremble uncontrollably. “E…E…I..can’t…hold myself…,” you breathe out in between thrusts.

“Sorry, baby,” he says apologetically, “Too excited.” He pulls out of you, brings you upright, and turns you around in his arms. You practically fall into him as he presses your back into the wall, using his naked body to support you. Grateful, you take the moment to look into his eyes, to push his dripping wet hair back off his forehead, brush the water from his cheeks. Your chests heave, mouths so close his breath mingles with yours, the tension still thick between you.

Then his lips are hot on yours, messy and wet and needy and all you can do is give in completely. Your body melts into his, dizzy with him, limbs weak. His strong arms wrap around you, keeping you against him, not letting you fall. He kisses you like you are the last woman on earth, like this is his last day on earth. In this moment, there is nothing else but Elvis and how he is making your body sing. Never in your life have you felt like this—so dangerous, untethered, vulnerable.

Breaking the kiss, his lips ghosting over your face, he whispers, “I need you, y/n.”

God, it’s so raw, so true, and you’re not sure if he means physically or emotionally or both, but in any case, it makes your heart fly.

You look deep into his eyes, so he knows you mean it. “Then take me, Elvis.” It comes out breathless, sensual.

He picks you up by the waist and lays you on the counter, nestling between your thighs, his hands massaging up them, lifting your dress back up to your waist. Brushing his fingers lightly over your clit, your wet heat, he teases you. You arch up in response, hungry for him, any part of him.

He knows it. Grabbing his cock, he slides it up through the wetness of your folds, using the swollen tip to draw circles on your clit. You gasp in response, still so sensitive, and he feels oh, so good.

“You like that, baby?” he purrs.

“Mm hmm,” is all you can manage to get out as you undulate your hips. You can see he’s struggling to be gentle, struggling to hold it together for you, so you give him what he needs, what you both need.

“Fuck me, please,” you mewl, moving his cock to your entrance.

Elvis growls, gritty and deep, as he plunges into you. You are ready for him this time, taking his length more easily in this position. The counter is cold and hard under your back, but you don’t care as you wind your hand between you and rub your clit in time to his unyielding thrusts. He looks wild above you, his raven hair dripping, eyes feral. You’ve never seen him like this before, and it sends shivers through you. They shoot down your spine, your arms, your legs, to your fingers and toes, curling around the unending heat that builds in your lower belly, encasing him within you.

You notice how his eyes dart up to watch himself fuck you in the mirror before looking directly at you, up and down, up and down. He can’t get enough of you, can’t get enough of watching himself get enough of you, and putting two and two together, it comes to you.

He likes to watch.

Interesting. But you don’t have time to dwell on it because then he’s putting his knee onto the counter outside of your leg (damn, all that karate has made him flexible), pulling you forward, and lifting your hips, gaining a whole different kind of leverage. His next thrust is so deep you feel like you are going to fly off the edge of the world. You vaguely hear yourself crying out his name but are so completely consumed, so fucking filled that there is nothing you can process other than his dick inside you and the frantic speed of your fingers trying to keep up.

Your orgasm hits so hard and so fast that you don’t even have time to warn him, your whole body just tenses so tight and then he hits that spot, and everything turns red hot before you shatter. A strangled cry comes from your throat, and you shudder, your walls squeezing his cock hard.

“Oh, jesus fuck, woman!” he groans, unprepared for the way your body flutters around him. “Huh, huh,” he pants, trying to hold on, but he can’t stop what’s coming. You feel your pussy milk him for all he’s worth as his hips stutter into yours with one last deep thrust. His mouth clenches, then goes slack jawed with an eye-rolling moan.

“Oh, god. Goddamn, baby,” he mutters, accent drawling, eyes closed as he stands over you. If you could speak, you’d likely be saying the same thing, but your body is rubber and you are speechless.

Finally, he comes back into himself, opening his eyes dreamily, looking down at you, completely sexed. You can only imagine you look the same, based on how you feel.

He pulls out and helps you to sit up. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” hums almost reverently, caressing your cheek, looking down at you through those impossibly long lashes. Then he bows down and kisses you sweetly.

The sentiment is not lost on you, even in your sexed-out haze. Elvis Presley thinks you of all people are beautiful.

Elvis hands you a washcloth off the counter, then dries himself off, running the towel through his wet hair, making it fluffy. You clean up and put yourself back together, pulling your dress down and straightening the pink scarf at your neck. He throws on his robe, and as you reach for your long-discarded panties, he swoops them up before you can grab them.

“Elvis, give me my underwear, please,” you say, putting your hand out and lifting an eyebrow.

“Nope, they’re mine now, woman,” he grins slyly.

“E, I need them!” you protest with a laugh, reaching for them. “I don’t have that many pairs with me here in Vegas!”

He just shakes his head and holds them up out of your reach. “I’ll buy you a thousand new pairs, baby, but these ones are mine,” he says, then kisses the tip of your nose.

“Seriously?! Elvis, you’re just gonna let me walk around the hotel with no underwear on with you…leaking out of me?” you vehemently whisper the last part. It’s completely scandalous to you.

He nods, “Precisely, baby.” Standing in the doorway, he makes a show of bringing the panties up to his nose and takes a deep, long whiff. The look on his face turns from joking to heated in an instant as he locks eyes with you and puts the panties into the pocket of his robe. “I’m gonna think of it all night long and into tomorrow.”

After what you two just did in the bathroom, you didn’t think you could blush any harder, but you feel your face heat up with the suggestion of what he’s saying. His eyes sparkle at you with that wicked grin on his face and you know you’ve lost this battle.

It doesn’t stop you from huffing a little, though. If he hadn’t just completely wrecked you and if you weren’t flooded with happy hormones, you might fight him on it, but you both know it’s not going to happen.

“Well, fine. I’m gonna to shower then,” you decide. Turning from him, you unzip your dress, let it fall to the floor, and unhook your bra to do the same. This leaves you in only the pink scarf that is still tied around your neck. You know your backside is on full display and you can feel Elvis’ eyes burning on you. Without looking at him, you make a little show of unknotting the scarf, holding it out to the side, and letting it flutter to the ground.

A wolf whistle comes from the doorway. “Remind me to take your undergarments more often, lil’ mama,” he jokes, but there is a passionate nature to it. “And damn if giving you that scarf wasn’t the best decision I ever made.” You just throw him a smile over your shoulder, grab a washcloth, and turn on the shower.

Your body still feels like rubber, and your back is a little sore from the hard counter, so you opt to take it slow, relishing the feel of the hot water on your muscles. You try to make sense of what’s going on in your head, but you just can’t, not yet, brain too foggy from sex. You’ve only had sex with him twice and Elvis is already expanding your horizons quite a bit in that area. It’s like you didn’t truly know what good sex even was before you experienced it with him. The aftermath leaves you a little lightheaded.

In your daze, you don’t even notice that you’ve started singing since it is just something you always do when in the shower (or in the car, or when you’re happy). You’ve always loved to sing, though you were usually shy about it unless you were singing with a group. Music is something that has always been a part of your life, especially growing up. You and your siblings all played various instruments, yours mainly being piano.

Part of what draws you to Elvis as a person is that shared love for music—feeling that passion behind the beat of the drums or the pull of the violin, or how a voice could invoke such pure emotion with interpretation and sound. Music has the power to make people cry or feel joy or take them back in time, which is just such an amazing thing, you think. And Elvis has the gift to draw people in with his charisma, but they stay because of the beauty of his artistry. His is a once-in-a-generation type talent—innate, raw, and self-taught.

Perhaps that is why seeing him live has affected you so much mentally and physically, you wonder. Of course, you’ve heard him sing and play at Graceland many times over the years, which was wonderful in its own right. You’d even played the piano for him a few times and chimed in with the others on some songs. You’d heard his records and seen some of his movies. But something about seeing him live with that full band and orchestra, seeing the excitement in him, hearing the growth in his voice and as a musician, it just does something to you beyond the norm.

As is evident by how you showed up here tonight, ready to eat him alive.

You step out of the shower, singing louder than you realize, lost in thought. Suddenly, a towel appears, wrapping around you out of nowhere, startling you out of your head.

Elvis’ arms circle around you from behind, his head burying in the crook of your neck.

“Now how come I never knew what a beautiful voice you got, sweetheart?” his raspy voice rumbles in your ear.

You are slightly mortified, blood rushing to your cheeks, realizing that Elvis Presley, one of the best vocalists on the planet, was just privy to your private shower-concert. Your embarrassment has you flustering.

“Oh, god, you’re just saying that to be nice,” you murmur, covering your face. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking...”

“Sorry? Oh, there’ll be none of that, honey. Don’t you dare apologize to me for singin’ your lil’ heart out,” he says sternly, turning you around to face him. He puts a finger underneath your chin, tilting it so you have to look him in the eye. “It was lovely. In fact, I think I’ll need to hear it more from now on.”

“Elvis,” you begin, disbelievingly. Your self-conscious heart pounds in your chest, wanting to shirk off everything he’s saying. But looking into those azure blues, you are surprised to see not an ounce of sarcasm or teasing. “That’s very kind of you to say. I’m just really shy about people hearing me sing,” you say quietly.

He nods in understanding, dropping his finger and wrapping his arms around your waist instead. “Y’know, back before I got big, I’d turn off all the lights and turn my back before singin’ or playin’ in front of anyone.” His eyes cloud a little, as if he’s picturing it in his head.

“What? Seriously?” you ask, totally surprised.

“Yep. And to this day, honey, I still gotta have someone push me out on that stage every night, I get so damn scared,” he tells you honestly. You think of all that nervous energy in the first few songs of his shows, and it starts to make sense.

“I’ll tell ya’—and don’t go tellin’ this to no one—opening night, I almost didn’t even make it out there. I was losin’ my mind so damn bad I thought I was gonna die,” he says, dead serious. His eyes look a little wild just talking about it.

You pause. “Well, I guess if you can brave a crowd of thousands, I can live with the embarrassment of having you hear me sing in the shower,” you say gently, “and thank you for sharing that with me.” You smile and, cupping his cheek, pull him down for a soft kiss.

“Mmm…Come on, honey.” He grabs your hand and pulls you back into the larger dressing room with him. There’s a huge, deep couch on the side of the room and he brings you down to sit, curling you up in his lap.

You melt into him, sighing in relief as you continue to recover (from both the sex and your embarrassment), leaning your head against his shoulder. He leans his cheek into the top of your head, just holding you close. You close your eyes and pause, trying to commit this to memory, this feeling, everything about him. Breathing him in, you notice for the first time that even without his signature cologne, he has a distinctly ‘Elvis’ smell—Neutrogena soap plus his own delicious, manly musk. His heart beats strong and steady under your palm. His hand warm and comforting upon your thigh. It’s all Elvis, and right now, he’s all yours.

How strange, you think, that you have known him for so long, and yet feel like you are experiencing him anew every day. You realize that you may have more in common with him than you previously thought.

He breaks the silence, interrupting your nearly meditative state.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come back to me,” he says quietly, his hand gently weaving through your hair.

It’s so honest, so vulnerable, that you are shocked.

It is tempting to see Elvis as a man who never has to worry about someone coming to him because he is The Elvis Presley, especially when he projects the image of the confident, macho, self-assured superstar, sometimes very much buying into his own hype. However, having known him for as long as you have, you know that is mostly bravado and façade. You can see past all that ego to the shy, nervous, sometimes insecure young man you knew was beneath everything else. Someone afraid to disappoint his fans and those around him. Someone who cared deeply for those close to him. Someone who was afraid of being left alone.

You just never assumed he would think such a thing about you.

Fiddling with the stitching on his robe, you try to form a coherent thought. “I almost didn’t,” you reply honestly.

He stills, voice soft. “What changed your mind?”

You are not ready to share that, not yet. “It’s complicated,” you say, then move to look into his eyes, “but I’m here now.”

And the way he looks at you with those shining blue eyes, as if you are the only one that matters, makes you want to stay here in his arms forever. And it causes your heart to break a little because you know you can’t.

You know it’s not that simple, not at all.

**

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[ghoulangerlee]

Mushy May 11 - Papa Time / First Kiss

this is for day 11 for mushy may, i've combied Papa Time w/ First Kiss and thus we get Dew and Copia's first kiss vaguely based in my You Share Not universe (though a technical AU since this has yet to happen).

Mountain is also mentioned but not present, heavily implied Moutain/Copia, Mountain/Dew and Rain/Dew and Mountain/Dew/Copia :)

you don't have to have read you share not to know anything other than it's a slowish burn au of Copia taking over the mantle as the leader of the ghost project and the ghouls eventually fall in love with him.

-

Copia's nervous energy manifests itself into a sour sort of scent, cloying Dewdrop's senses as he watches the man pace along the aisle of the tour bus.

They're due soon, at their first stop of the tour and for the most part, Copia had seemed excited to leave the heavy and imposing walls of the church, ignoring the way one of the Clergy suits had tittered at them before they'd boarded, wishing Copia a good tour.

We'll be watching, of course. Do us proud.

There was a thinly veiled threat there that made Dew's hair stand on end, the urge to slink up to Copia's back and intimidate the man had been there for a moment, before Dew had bitten it back, knowing it was no use to pull the ire of the Clergy with so little time left.

"Hey, why don't you come sit down or something," Dew says, right as Copia's about to turn sharply and make another circuit around the small aisle, he pats the couch beside him and relaxes his stance when Copia stops pacing and looks up at him.

Copia glances at Dew and then at the space beside him on the couch; it is, for the most part, a comfortable couch.

He sighs, spins on his heel and drops onto the couch beside Dew; leaning his head back against it. "First time jitters," he says, half a joke but mostly serious, turning his head to look over at Dew. "You'll forgive me if I'm not an old hat like you."

Dew snorts softly, nudges his shoulder against Copia's, "It'll be fine. First few shows are always nerve wracking but once we've gotten a few under our belts, things will fall into place."

"So you say," Copia says with a healthy amount of trepidation, "I feel like one wrong move from me and they'll somehow orchestrate pulling me off stage." He presses his lips together, dark circles more prominent under his eyes now that he's not wearing his paint.

He looks less of the proud Cardinal and more along the lines of a weary man with too much responsibility; things that Dew had seen in small bits and pieces during their time at the church, in preparation, keeping a strong facade up.

"Over our dead bodies," Dew says, he's mostly joking, but there's a fire in his heart as he says it, beating loud in his ears, zinging through their bond, "No one's going to pull you off stage for messing up some lyrics."

He tries to play it off as a joke, to quell the strong emotions he's feeling, but Copia smiles a small sort of thing, his eyes crinkling fondly as he does.

He looks younger, happier, with a smile on his face, less like the world has settled on his shoulders.

It's a good look on him.

"I won't mess the lyrics up," he says, though there is some doubt in his voice. "It's not my fault that some of the older songs are written the way they are."

Dew hums and knocks his shoulder against Copia's again, "Do you want to talk about it though? Your fears and stuff? The thing that's got you all," he waves a hand im Copia'd face, "stressed."

Copia reaches out and grabs Dew's hand, pulling it further into his space, "Not really," he says, pausing for a moment, "I think, the stress is coming from the expectations, the careful way we've planned these shows. I'm worried something will go off kilter and it will throw everything off. They want bigger and better and well. I want to give everyone that, but there's a voice in the back of my mind that's saying what if this isn't big enough, even though the Clergy have signed off on it."

He pauses, squeezes his fingers around Dew's; his own skin is slightly cool to the touch, a stark contrast to Dew's warmer skin; the difference calms him a bit, "Apparently I do want to talk about it." he says with a little laugh. "But, I'm done, I'm done." He squeezes Dew's fingers again and Dew shifts closer, pressing their thighs together.

"I'm just glad to be away for a bit."

Dew finally tips his head to the side and rests it against Copia's, "Yeah, me too," he says quietly, basking in their closeness. "Gonna be in close quarters with a bunch of hellbeasts for the next however many days, though. Might start missing the silence of your own room."

"When do I get silence in my own room?" Copia asks, amused, "There's this pack of ghouls who keep welcoming themselves into my room most nights." He says, incredibly fond.

"All you've gotta do is shoo us away," Dew says, the words catching a bit, wondering for a moment if they're all coming on too strong--

Copia hums softly, brings Dew's hand up to his mouth and brushes a kiss to his knuckles, "I didn't say it was a bad thing." he murmurs, lips still pressed against bare skin.

Dew can feel the roughness of Copia's lower lip against his skin and his mind short circuits for a moment, his words catching in his throat, and then Copia's pulling away, letting his hand fall back to his lap and turning a bit so he can look at Dew.

He's so close now.

"Dewdrop?" he says, there's a warble in his voice, hesitance and Dew shakes his head before turning just enough to press his mouth against Copia's.

It's chaste, the angle is a bit off and Copia's hand squeezes at his while his other hand sort of uselessly hovers by his hip, but when Dew pulls away, there's a bit of a flush on Copia's cheeks, a soft look on his face.

"Mountain did say you'd get there eventually," Copia says after several long moments, breaking the silence. "But, I'm always happy to wait."

That pulls a scoff from Dew and he butts his forehead against Copia's, "Mountain needs to mind his business," he grumbles, remembering the night they'd spent together, and how Mountain had whispered things in his ear about Copia, riling him up. "He was getting a little too comfortable, being the only one that gets to kiss you."

He sounds petulant, something about the amused look on Copia's face making him want to hide his face from the other man, "There's plenty of me to go around," he says with a little laugh.

Dew goes quiet then, hides his face against Copia's shoulder, basking in his scent, mellow and happy now, instead of acidic and thick, "I do understand your hesitance though," Copia murmurs after a long moment, "If I had gone through even an ounce of what you'd gone through after Terzo's death, I would have kept my heart guarded as close as I could too."

Copia presses a kiss to the side of Dew's head; he'd sort of shaved the hair there, given himself an undercut to keep cool under the helmet during shows, so he's able to feel the warmth of Copia's lips against almost bare skin.

"Thank you for opening yourself up to me," he continues, sliding his free arm around Dew's shoulders, keeping him close. "I won't take advantage of that."

Dew wants to snort, to make a joke and cut the tension that had built up, but he doesn't, he just buries closer to Copia, allows himself to relax.

"Mountain's going to be so annoying about this," Dew says with a sigh a bit later, pulling back so he can look Copia in the eye, "He's so annoying about things like this. He was the same way when me and Rain got together."

Copia grins, a teasing sort of thing, leans in close to Dew, "Don't worry, I know the best way to shut him up. Something you can help me with now that we've figured ourselves out."

The grin works its way onto Dew's face after a moment, his eyes flashing, "He'll never know what hit him."

[separatist-apologist]

Of course you can assign meaning to any of Taylor's songs however you like. However, I keep seeing people put The Alchemy in the Tayvis timeline because of the sports references and I'd just like to offer a different analysis of the lyrics.

The Alchemy is about calling up that one person you know is always waiting on you. The one who got away, the ex you never quite got over. The Alchemy is Taylors Version of Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I'm Bored.

For your consideration (in this essay, I will-):

This happens once every few lifetimes-

Like the phrase, "that was a lifetime ago,"- if you subscribe to the theory that Taylor and MH were together back in 2014, you could consider that a lifetime ago.

I circled you on a map/ I haven't come around in so long/ but I'm coming back so strong

She's calling him up, he's back on her mind and she's ready to give this a shot again. She's saying, I'm single (finally) and you're the first person I thought of, the first phone call/text I'm making now that it's over. I'm in it, now.

So when I touch down call the amateurs and cut them from the team. Ditch the clowns/get the crown/ baby I'm the one to beat

I get why people think this is about Travis but consider touch down in terms of an airplane landing on a runway. She's coming to him and telling him, break up with your girlfriend if you have one or cut your roster. Ditch the clowns LMAO because baby its ME. The one you've wanted for YEARS.

Cause the sign on your heart says it's still reserved for me

This implies they've been together before. It's STILL reserved for me- we didn't work out before but you've been holding the same candle I have. You can be done with all those others (they're never gonna work out anyway) because we both know you and I belong together.

Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

I love this line because alchemy is a pseudoscience. In medieval times, alchemy is basically proto-chemistry. It's looking at taking metals and turning them into elixirs, most famously turning lead into gold. Taylor isn't saying, who are we to fight fate? She's saying who are we to fight the ALCHEMY- it's not real, but she wants it to be. And I love this song because its a doomed love song. Lets turn these feelings we have into true love- but its alchemy. She can't, even if she wants to.

I'm taking this interpretation from Taylor's insistence that while Travis knows ball, she knows Aristotle. She'd be familiar with Neoplatonism and its relation to alchemy. Only she knows for sure, of course- I'm not stating any of this as fact.

Anyway back to the lyrics:

Hey you, what if I told you we're cool? That child's play back in school/Is forgiven under my rule

What happened in the past doesn't matter anymore. The things we messed up back then don't matter to me now. It's a fresh start for us

I haven't come around in so long/But I'm making a comeback to where I belong...

I haven't seen you in a long time- for whatever reason (her long term relationship imo), but I'm coming back to you now. I belong WITH you and I've always known it.

These blokes warm the benches/We been on a winning streak

All these other guys were just place holders for you, but they can't touch you. They'll never be US, they were never as important to me as you were.

He jokes that its heroin but this time with an "E"

I think this is the biggest indicator this song is not about Travis. I'm not a 1975 scholar, I don't know their music well, but I did listen to Halsey's Colors, she mentions similar themes with the drugs. A quick google search confirms that MH did have an addiction to heroin and honestly, this seems like the kind of joke he might make. He feels high again but this time it's her, the Heroine. She's his new drug.

Cheers chanted 'cause they said/There was no chance trying to be the greatest in the league/Where's the trophy?/He just comes running over to me

I struggle to make meaning of the bridge, but to me, I interpret this as HER saying he's the prize, where's her trophy, well he's running over to her right now. He's on his way to her. Everyone is telling her this isn't going to work, this isn't the kind of love she was writing about in Enchanted but she's not listening. It SHOULD be that kind of love, she wants it to be, and he's on his way to her. This time they're gonna get it right and this time it's going to work the way they both want it to.

[twsted-garden-imagines]

First Years (+ Ortho and Grim) Finding Your Diary

I've tried starting off with other headcanon ideas but then got all side tracked and lost focus. This idea came up randomly at work recently, so I figured I'd try that for the first set of headcanons I post on here!

Headcanons are under the cut, I hope you all enjoy!

With love, Daisy

Ace Trappola -

- This. Little. SHIT.

- He'll most likely randomly stumble across it after you accidentally left it somewhere, most likely in a class you both have or at his dorm.

- His first instinct is to open it and see who it belongs to only to find out it's your diary.

- ... Ohoho~ this is where the fun begins!

- Motherfucker reads the whole thing, zero hesitation after finding out it's your diary

- His eyes light up upon reading his name for the first time, only for it to be something like:

- "Ace Trappola is... weird."

- *insert first lyric of "You Give Love A Bad Name" here lmao*

- Then he reads on about your changing thoughts about him and boy is he ecstatic!

- He gets so lost into reading it he doesn't even notice when you return to pick up your forgotten diary and caught him reading it until he hears you calling for Riddle to use his signature spell on him.

- Poor bastard

Deuce Spade -

- I have this headcanon that Ace and Deuce like to pull little pranks on each other.

- One of the former's latest pranks involved switching the cover of a book that Deuce had to read for one of Trein's classes and the cover of your diary after he found out you'd left it in the library

- Oh how easily tricked Deuce can be sometimes....

- He obviously fell for it, not realizing his error until he was way too far into your diary to stop reading it.

- His thought process was as follows:

- "Well, that's cool and all, but what does this have to do with the history of magic?"

- "Wait shouldn't this be typed and not handwritten?"

- "Hey this looks like the Prefect's handwriting.... wait, this IS the Prefect's handwriting.... OH SHIT it's their diary!"

- Poor dude's face is BRIGHT red once he pieces it together

- Actually admits to reading it accidentally once you return to retrieve your diary, only to get teased by you and Ace for having read it

Jack Howl -

- Your diary cover and his notebook cover look similar to him.

- So after you go to look for a book in the library to help with the History of Magic project the two of you have, Jack prepares to take notes on the books you've found so far.

- He reads about three pages before realizing his mistake in grabbing your diary instead of his own notebook.

- And BOY is he absolutely mortified when he realizes-

- Now Jack has a bit of an internal conflict: he knows he messed up and accidentally read part of something that should remain private to you....

- ... BUT he also is too far invested in an entry about his dorm mates for him to just stop reading it.

- Against his better judgment, he continues to read your diary, his ears perking up and tail wagging when he comes across his own name for the first time.

- He's so entranced by your writing and a bit flustered upon reading the compliments you give him in the entry he's reading until...

- "Shishishishi~ you are NOT slick at all, Jack! What would the Prefect think when they find out you - of all people - read their diary?"

- Jack profusely apologizes to you once you return with Ruggie in front of you, almost crying from laughter at his dorm mate's embarrassment.

Epel Felmier -

- He's seen you carry your diary around before and during classes the two of you had together, but he always assumed it was just a sketchbook.

- He becomes a bit more suspicious when he tries to see what you're drawing, only for you to shield it from his prying eyes.

- Since then, Epel made it his mission to figure out what it was you were trying to hide from him.

- Until he overheard you shouting at Ace one time for reading your diary.

- Oh, so that's what that was....

- His temptations to read your diary overcame his fear of your reactions once he noticed you accidentally left it behind in his room one day.

- Epel beams with pride upon stumbling across his name for the first time, blushing when he comes across this gem:

- "I don't get why Vil always makes Epel hide his accent, I think it makes him more handsome than he already is!"

- His mind explodes as he reads that sentence over and over again, ecstatic until he's interrupted by...

- "Um... Epel? Why are rolling on the floor with my diary clutched to your chest?"

- Shit, he got caught.

Ortho Shroud -

- Your diary and one of Idia's sketchbooks look very similar to each other.

- Although Ortho can usually tell the difference between the two, he thought he'd stumbled across his brother's sketchbook not long after you'd headed back to Ramshackle from a long day of gaming with him.

- It only took him opening up to a random page to find writing that looked nothing like that of his big brother to realize his mistake.

- Poor boy nearly overheated with guilt and embarrassment once he figured out his error.

- Though he was tempted to read on, he thought it best to simply return your diary to you.

- Ortho apologizes profusely once he made it to Ramshackle and explained what had happened.

- Of course, it didn't take long for you to forgive and thank the ray of sunshine for returning your diary

Sebek Zigvolt -

- He first stumbled across the plain-looking journal after you left a sparring practice with him and Silver.

- Poor boy tried to return it, but didn't know who it belonged to.

- So what was the first thing Sebek decided to do? Open the journal to find out who the owner is of course!

- But with his thick fingers, he accidentally flips it open to a page in the middle, immediately finding a description of someone who sounds a lot like Malleus, but under the name "Hornton."

- Hm, what an odd name... but this "Hornton" fellow sounds as interesting as Waka Sama!

- He becomes so heavily invested in the entry he found, nearly losing his focus entirely until...

- "Sebek! I'm surprised at you! What are you thinking, reading the Prefect's diary so openly? Kheehehe~"

- "Master Lilia, it's not what you think! It's just a notebook left behind by... oh. Oh.... OH MY SEVENS, IT IS THEIR DIARY!"

- rip in peace to this sweet boy

- He has Silver go to return your diary to you as he's too embarrassed to do so himself lol

Grim -

- Oh, if you thought Ace was bad after he got a hold of your diary...

- Grim is at least 1,000 times worse

- Not only has this little asshole read your diary cover to cover many times,...

- ... he also came up with the BRILLIANT idea to use some of your entries as blackmail to make you get him extra cans of tuna for the day

- Usually the entries involving your "confusing feelings towards that Hornton guy"

- No matter what clever hiding spot you may put your precious diary in, Grim is sure to find it later that week at the longest.

- Despite him being a little shit and threatening to spill your secrets, he never acts on these threats

- After all, once you threatened to start getting a worse quality kind of tuna, he knew you had more willpower than he did.

- And he knows better than to genuinely piss of his henchman

[ttf46]

hmmm infinite's theme strangely goes well with nine

tallest of the mountains= boscage shard

Roughest of the waves= no place shard

Toughest of terror= new yoke shard

Darkest of the days= ghost hill shard

Im the last one standing don't try to stand in my way. Cuz I've been up against better just take a look at my face = implies what nine went through as a kid and how jaded and hardened he is.

And if you're messing with me? I am a dangerous weapon, I'm the sharpest of blades, I'll cut you down in a second. = this represents Nina's mechanical tails as we seen how he uses it as weapon in both season 1 and 2

Cuz I was born in this pain it only hurts if you let it. So of you think you can take me then you should go and forget it. = again, this can represents what nine went through as a kid and I think pain represents his extra tail because that's the main reason he went through that traumatic childhood.

and after all this time, you're back for more. I won't stop until they know my name. = 'you' in this probably means Sonic or Chaos Council idk 🤷‍♂️

So I'll take what's mine and start this war. I'm coming at you like a tidal wave. = what nine is taking are the shards because nine thought sonic agreed that he would come to grim with him to start a new home. You know because sonic in s1 ep6 said "it's great nine, but it's not going anywhere." Tidal wave probably means no place shard and how nine might use it against sonic because what we've seen so far, every shard has power(e.g. boscage=trees growing, no place= electric/thunder stuff?)

when everything you know has come and gone.(you're at your lowest, I am rising higher) only scars remain of who I was. (What I find in the ashes you lose in the fire) = this definitely represents how sonic is the first one to show kindness to him, first friend he ever had. And because of sonic's action of keep projecting Tails on nine and how much he left nine in the dust and at chaos council's mercy. And I don't know what the fire thing can represent. “What I find in the ashes” = Nine finding the Grim amongst the Shatterspaces as a clean slate to make the perfect home. “You lose in the fire” = Sonic losing the original Green Hill for these Shatterspaces to exist.

When there's no one left to carry on(this is an illusion open up your eyes and...) this pain persist, I can't resist. But that's what it takes to be infinite. = I think this line is very interesting because the echo 'this is an illusion open up your eyes and...' line might be from shadow! He kept telling sonic nine cannot be trusted and that he is not tails therefore he is not your real friend. And the pain part? Probably what nine went through AND what he is going through in the betrayal/collision scene (aka ending scene, cliff hanger)

The next lyrics goes

Yeah, so look around you And tell me what you really see I never end And that's the difference in you and me Cause when your time is up And everything is falling down, it's only me and you - who is gonna save you now? So look around you And tell me what you really see You live a lie And that's the difference in you and meI have the power, Let me show you what it's all about It's only me and you - who is gonna save you now? = alright so excluding lyrics saying stuff about infinite( like I never end or sth like that), it has to be nine telling sonic stuff in the grim. The 'tell me what you really see' is nine telling sonic that this is what WE could've had, 'when your time is up and everything is falling down, it's only me and you' = this might be something to do with how sonic keeps having collision, arguments between his friends' variants(e.g. pirates, dread, etc) or it might mean the shatter verses are starting to decay due to chaos council opening portal and not closing it or them decaying because they don't have a shard anymore. Who is gonna save you now.- this is the exact opposite of what tails in ghost hill is saying( as long as I'm around, you'll always have a wing man) because now tails doesn't exist anymore and now sonic's alone( he has shadow tho).

Alright so the only thing I'm gonna point out from lyrics after these are:

'I got the worlds on my shoulder,' , and 'I have the power'

Because they are mostly irrelevant or repeating.

Back to what I was saying, these two means that nine has the shards which are power.

Phew I was just listening to sonic music and this just came to my mind and I had nothing else to do, so I thought why not just write it?

Its not organized so I'm sorry for that T.T

[hungermakesmonsters]

(Once Bitten) Twice Shy

Sneak Peak

Plot summary : Desperate to get away from your controlling family, you take a job in New York as a wealthy vampire's blood source. A million dollars awaits if you can make it through a year, but life with Billy Russo is not going to be as simple as you think.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This whole story will deal with dark and smutty themes, as well as obvious mentions of blood.

A/N : Yes, this one is going to be a vampire fic. I'm not sure what my posting schedule will look like yet, either a chapter a week or one a fortnight. I'm not tagging this post so you'll probably only see it if you follow me but, idk, if you want tagging once I start posting the fic, let me know? I've been reading some gothic literature lately (Picture of Dorian Gray and Jane Eyre) so that's going to influence this. It's going to be a dark fic, but it's not going to stray into dead dove territory. The first chapter will be up on Friday. Anyway, here's a little sneak peak.

It was official; you'd lost your fucking mind.

You’d been standing outside the building for five minutes now, the paperwork tucked in your coat pocket feeling heavier by the second. Were you sure that you wanted to do this? Could you really give up a year of your life to serve a vampire?

What other choice did you have?

A lithe and pale figure watched from behind the tinted, UV proof glass while you changed your mind a dozen times over. After a few more minutes, the sun finally disappeared into the New York skyline, plunging the street into shadow.

The door opened.

The figure called your name, and you stepped forward, almost mesmerised by the lilting, lyrical tone of her voice. You shook your head a little, trying to keep your wits about you. 

You took in the sight of her as she held open the door; taller than you with a willowy figure, long white hair down to her hips, and eyes of pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You’d seen enough vampires to tell one by sight.

Your small suitcase was clutched in your hand, the few possessions that meant anything to you had been hastily packed before you’d headed to New York, and now felt like all you had left in the world. She glanced at the suitcase with disdain, but said nothing.

“Do you have the paperwork?” She asked, the soft but icy sound of her voice sending a shiver up your spine. You nodded and she held out her hand expectantly, waiting while you fished the folded mess of documents from your coat. She gave the contract a cursory glance, making sure you’d signed every dotted line, before; “good. And are you sure you understand everything that this position entails and what will be required of you?”

You nodded again.

“Speak up,” she prompted. “This is your last chance to ask questions.”

Despite the impatience on her face, you took a moment. Only minutes ago you’d had at least half a dozen questions about the job and the mysterious vampire who had hired you.

“What happened to the last person who took this job?” Her eyebrow rose, obviously not expecting that question. “The contract is for a year, but I’ve seen this job advertised three times in the last ten months.”

“There are a lot of people who mistakenly believe that they can do what is required of them. Many have come to work for Mr Russo, and many have disappointed him,” she shrugged.

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that will happen to you if you breach your contract; immediate dismissal with no severance,” she explained, slowly starting to step towards the elevator. “During your time here, everything will be provided for you and you will only be paid once your term of service is completed.”

“A million dollars,” even though that was the amount in black and white on the contract, it still didn’t seem real to you.

“Yes,” she pressed the call button, putting an obvious timer on this conversation. “Like I said, this is your last chance to ask questions. Once I take you upstairs, your contract will officially begin, and you will forfeit the agreed upon rights.” 

You swallowed the lump that had risen in your throat and nodded, knowing you had no choice. You needed the money and a year wasn’t that long if you really thought about it. 

The elevator doors slid open and you took one last deep breath before stepping inside.

[ghostsbimbo]

TF141 + and hearing a song by madeline the person

authors note: on my personal blog i also did scene queen, which is located here!! [ it's reblogged and very unorganized. unlike my posts here. ] the certain song that Ghost finds, is used in this list will have an asterisk near it btw. I didn't have the spoons to complete all the boys, so this will do for now.

Simon "Ghost" Riley - Unrecognizable.

When you went away my worst words went to bed But silly old me said, "Come sleep in my head, " but now I have become something I can't control Yes, I have become something unrecognizable

You had found this song while you two were on a break. It was very comforting to you, and it genuinely became a song that both of you could relate to. Of course he wouldn't ever admit it, but the dude grew a major love for Madeline The Person. btw, when he found a certain song* by them, it made him tear up. You had to comfort him.

John Price - Haunted.

But why’d you go back in the closet? You said you loved me and you meant it The way you kissed me, said I need you But maybe that’s just what they all do You didn’t have to go back in the closet Your mom’s uptight, but she’ll accept it And you can’t play the perfect dream girl If you're living in a split world

He first heard this song when he found you on the floor, this song blasting from your speaker. It was evident you were struggling with something, and he had no clue how to help. He ended up looking up the lyrics in his free time and next time he seen you he just hugged you.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish - Tantrum.

I've never been this lonely, so let's just have some kids Then we'll probably need a family therapist So we don't fuck our kids up, so they don't feel this too But we'll keep doing things we know we shouldn't

It was a day off for you two, just lazing around and he was finally having a small break. This song was softly playing in the background, and he definitely raised an eyebrow at you when he heard you softly singing along to the part mentioning the kids. "Ya wanna have kids with me, huh?" he'd question, and it kind of ended up with you having a few positive pregnancy tests after your first missed period.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - I Talk To The Sky*

I write down things I wish I could say to you I talk to the sky I collect words I wish I could give to you I talk to the sky I talk to the sky The sky doesn't say a word

It was a few weeks after a funeral of a very close friend of yours when he first heard the song, and he was actually the one to show it to you instead of the other way around. Hearing it made you tear up and turn into a mess in his arms. You had lost plenty of people in your life, so it just made you think about everyone, not just the recent loss. BTW, you didn't get mad at him, you thanked him and just went and looked for more music of Madeline the person.

[slytherinshua]

Hopefully they will get a bit of rest before the show! They definitely need it after the tour though, the schedule seemed brutal. I don't think I'd be able to cope if it was me lol. You'll have to let me know what they are like to watch live, I'm sure they'll be amazing!!

Play is such a comfort song! I have definitely cried listening to it as well haha, also haze. I really do love how they have a song for every mood lol.

I'm honestly so glad that I started to listen to them when I did. I found them at a time when I'm finally starting to think more positively about myself and seeing my own potential, like seeing that I can improve myself but also being kind to myself when I inevitably mess up. I think the messages in their songs are really comforting and make me feel seen. (Although I still remember the night when hug by seventeen absolutely broke me ahaha) Finding a talented violinist who plays music that I like has helped me want to become better in that sense too, although admittedly I have wanted to improve for a while, but Yechan has actually given me a goal which is nice. (I've started to try and learn boogie man and my respect for Yechan has went WAY up).

I have wanted to watch super and for ages!! I never knew where to find it though. I found out about it because I'd started to listen to Hoppipolla and then would watch compilation videos of clips from superband. It seems so fun! And the amount of talent would make me cry ahaha. I'll and Ha Hyunsang's voices in 1000x almost made me cry the first time I listened to it because they blended so beautifully. After getting into Lucy, I was kinda like, the bassist in the awesome cover of the Coldplay song (I can't remember what it's called lol) was Wonsang?! Yechan played viva la Vida?? With Ha Hyunsang?? That made me want to watch it more ahaha (although I don't know if I'll be emotionally prepared to see Sangyeop cry)

I'll let you know if I have any ideas haha, but definitely keep writing for Lucy! I really liked your style of writing and thought you wrote Sangyeop really well!

Enjoy the show!!!!

okay now that I’m back from the show lemme answer this 🥹🥹 I think they did get some rest beforehand they were rly energetic and excited :( moreso than me cause I was so sore it hurt to stand and I was struggling when sangyeop wanted us to jump sigh

You could rly just tell they went all out for their last show of the tour and it was just so special :( I was right by wonsang bcuz he’s my bias and I wanted to watch him up close so most of the videos I took are of him. Whenever I could see sangyeop or get noticed by sangyeop I would die internally idk smth abt him live is just way too attractive and charismatic and he needs to stop being so fucking fine istg??? But wonsang was so cute I was chilling standing by him <33

I swear I can cry to any lucy song cause even the happy ones have sad or relatable lyrics… the sad ones hit so fucking hard absolutely when I need to cry colourless is my go to…. Sangyeop ugh 👹👹👹👹 and when it’s a song like boogie man I just cry cause of how beautifully crafted it is cause I think abt how hard wonsang works on every song LMAO IM SO EMO KILL ME

I also feel like I found them at just the right time but like for the opposite reason. I was going through intense burnout and listening to stove while I worked on schoolwork was the only thing keeping me going :( (along w bambam ty husband <3)

I NEED TO REWATCH SUPERBAND IN FULL TBH CAUSE 😭😭 I went back to watch the lucy stages but I just need to experience the WHOLE thing again… anyway here’s the link to the google doc with the google drive eps for you <3333 AND YES ADVENTURE OF A LIFETIME COVER!!!! Absolutely adored it sm I remember how everyone thought wonsang was selfish and trying to make himself stand out by only picking guitarists while he was the only bassist but then he got all 5 votes cause his arrangement was so beautiful and chilling and ethereal and I love him sm I always call him my lil genius :(

Dropping some photos from the concert hehe

[chussyracing]

F1 drivers as some of 1d's most questionable song lyrics

(doing my part for the f1/1d community, disclaimer: none of it is to be taken seriously)

1. Charles as Steal My Girl: "Her mom calls me love, her dad calls son" but also "Everybody wanna steal my girl, everybody wanna take her heart away, couple billion in the whole wide world" (my grandparets love him)

2. Lewis as Don't Forget Where You Belong: "If you ever feel alone... don't" (he loves a good inspirational quote)

3. Pierre as More Than This / Gotta Be You: "My body falls, I'm on my knees... praying" / "What a mess I made upon your innocence" (self explanatory)

4. George as Over Again: "I can make your tears fall down like the showers that are British" (because he is bri'ish)

5. Fernando as Act My Age: "When I'm fat and old and my kids think I'm a joke" (this is also a joke, or is it?)

6. Lando as Heart Attack: "Baby, you have got me sick, I don't know what I did" (sick = derogatory)

7. Max as Save You Tonight: "It's quater to three, can't sleep at all, you're so overrated" (i'm not even sorry)

8. Logan as Stockholm Syndrome: "Used to sing about being free, but now he's changed his mind" (rahhhh)

9. Carlos as Little White Lies: "But you, you don't tell the truth. No you, you like playing games." (santander for me terrible bank)

10. Este as Stand Up: "I know your heart's been broken, but you don't give up" (and he didn't give up)

11. Lance as End of the Day: "If there's something I've learned from a million mistakes, you're the one that I want" (sometimes what we want the most might not be right for us though and that's ok)

12. Yuki as Little Things: "I know you've never loved, the crinkles by your eyes when you smile" (because he is little like me and he smiles a lot 🥺)

13. Kevin as Up All Night: "Don't even care about the table breaking, we only wanna have a laugh" (*door breaking)

14. Checo as I Want: "You could be preoccupied, different date every night, you just gotta say the word" (monaco 2022)

15. Nyck as Summer Love: "Can't believe you're packing your bags, trying so hard not to cry, had the best time and now it's the worst time, but we have to say goodbye" (red bull is rancid and there's a special place in hell for helmut marko)

16. Alex as What a Feeling: "what a feeling to be a king beside you" (we all know that lily is a queen, which makes alex the king)

17. Oscar as Story of My Life: "And I've been waiting for this time to come around" (he didn't wait THAT long for that seat but you get it)

18. Guanyu as Little Black Dress: "Little black dress just walked into the room, making heads turn can't stop looking at you" (he's a model first and person second)

19. Val as Live While We're Young: "Don't let the pictures leave your phone" (no seriously val, some stuff is not meant to be seen publicly, i see your ass more often than my own)

20. Nico as Kiss You: "I just wanna show you off to all of my friends, making them drool down their chinny-chin-chins" (i won't lie he score way out of his league and likes to show it off)

BONUS:

1. Daniel as I Would: "I can't complete with your boyfriend, he's got 27 tattoos" (except i think daniel might have more than that)

2. Ferrari as Midnight Memories: "Straight off the plane to a new hotel (...) same old shit but a different day" (🙃)

[the-bi-space-ace]

For the character ask, I'm going to be wild and ask about two characters: Crosshair and Teal'c. Feel free to only do one, if you'd like, or both!

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

Oooooh I'm excited about these two!

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

Crosshair - He was a 'I have to touch the stove to make sure it's actually hot' kid (I was too so this is a self burn (lol burn... bc the stove is hot... I'm sorry). He's gotta learn the hard way. Ya know, Crossy, you could just not learn the hard way. You could just not do that.

Teal'c - (I hate saying anything bad about you my darling boy I'm so sorry) my least favorite thing about Teal'c is that he doesn't always get that people are hurt by his actions because he did them for reasons he believes in. Like leaving his family when he started fighting for the freedom of Jaffa. It fucking hurt his wife and son and he just... didn't get that for awhile. Or when he undermines Ishta. Again, he is doing and fighting for what he believes in but he doesn't seem to get that just because he is doing something for the right reasons that doesn't erase the hurt and pain caused by them. He learns. He grows. But it's frustrating to watch him not get it sometimes.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Crosshair - you know what would be funny? Dropping him in a musical. I'm talking Grease or Mean Girls or Cats. Just. Any musical. And make him aware that he's in a musical and has no clue what's going on. Do you know how funny it would be to watch him try to talk to people and have them break into song????

Teal'c - Parks & Rec. Why? They would love him. I think April would love him so much and he'd just have such good comedic timing. Imagine him looking into the camera with judgement on SG-1. Also maybe he'd eventually get to be a fire fighter like in that one episode where he was seeing himself in an alternate reality and I just think Teal'c as a fire fighter was really cool.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Crosshair - Good 4 U by Olivia Rodrigo. The drama. The angst. The lyrics. That is a Crosshair song to me. Like yeah. Good for you! You're doing so well and loving life without me isn't that great WELL I'M NOT! Idk. It just really hits for me.

Teal'c - Born For This by The Score. Just. His commitment to his cause. The way he has such faith that one day all Jaffa will finally be free. He will fight for every single last one of them. He doesn't give up.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

Crosshair - maaaaaaaaaybe. On one hand I think he'd stick to himself and mind his own business and like having cats around and also scare away unwanted visitors with his general demeanor and protectiveness so that part I like! No strange men would literally ever try anything bc I mean... look at him. No one is messing with him... on the other hand I feel like he'd wander around in the dark and throw knives at the wall and be really territorial over his stuff to the point of me being afraid to touch anything so... it's a solid 5/10 chance we'd get along. I lived with 7 other people at one point and all of them had very different personalities so I can get along with a wide variety of people but he's a good toss up for me.

Teal'c - yes. 100%. I've seen the episode where he has his own apartment and that man is a perfect neighbor and probably a very respectful roommate. He's sweet! He watches out for people! He'd have a lot of candles which I like! And quite like Crosshair he'd scare away unwanted visitors. He's a quiet person and I'm a quiet person so we'd be able to sit in silence and it be okay and I looooove that. He also likes star wars so we're gonna do movie nights :)

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

Crosshair - I love Protective Crosshair in fics. It's my weakness. Give me protective Crosshair any day. A man who is grumpy and snarky and petty but loves so fiercely it's almost scary. Someone who doesn't know how to show how he feels so he covers it in snark and still covers the people he cares about in his own brand of love.

And something I don't like... okay... Sometimes people pretend he doesn't gaf bc he's evil or whatever. OR they act like he doesn't exist. Both things bother me. SO he's either overly callous in a way that is just plain mean and nasty and not callous in the way Crosshair actually is. Yes he can be mean. Yes he is sharp and he speaks his mind and he's grumpy and all of that is true. But his portrayal can veer into something that is less a personality trait and more an outright evil villain caricature. It's a double edged sword in fics. There's a weird idea that he doesn't have a single good trait and he's clearly just evil and it makes my blood boil. IT'S EITHER THAT OR I'VE SEEN STUFF WHERE HE JUST HATES ECHO ALL OF THE TIME. Like... I'm not sure we're all watching the same show... but... I don't think he would constantly belittle and try to harm Echo and I've seen plenty of fics where they simply never ever get along and I just don't know where that comes from. (I'm sorry I have so much to say about this ohmygoodness)

Teal'c - THAT HE'S FUNNY. And he's a good person at his core and even though he doesn't always talk very much in fics his personality is still there. I haven't read many Stargate fics yet but anytime Teal'c is in them I am hoping he's got a pretty good role in it because he is just so entertaining.

Sometimes he just stands in the background. AND LISTEN okay I know in the show a lot of the time he doesn't speak bc he's not much of a conversationalist BUT HIS PERSONALITY STILL SHINES. He's still funny and kind and interesting and sometimes he's just forgotten. So forgotten. I love him pls don't forget him.

I had so much to say thank you for coming to my TED Talk :)

[iwanderthroughthesenights]

Ok so I'm gonna post this and also send an ask to Jaime about it bc I feel like it's relevant after the events of last night:

So I guess this is a hot take bc from what everyone is saying it definitely qualifies as an unpopular opinion. When Midnights came out, my Swiftie friends and I were super confused by Question...?, we couldn't put together wtf it was talking about. One of my friends was like "it sounds like someone having a chaotic bi moment at a party" and I as a bi person myself was like "hmm yeah maybe". Then someone was like "nono it's gotta be referencing Harry bc of the I remember from OOTW". But then we remembered the Matty Healy thing in 2014, Lainey Gossip had posted about it in real time and we've always thought it really did happen bc Lainey's source was very specific and it was multiple different sources that said they were hooking up. So we started analyzing the lyrics through that lense (we had a sleep over to listen to Midnights when it came out lol) and suddenly every single lyric made sense. Question...? is her reminiscing about what happened with Matty back then, and it fit well with the theme of the rest of the songs on Midnights which all go through past relationships and why they didn't work. "Good girl, sad boy" Taylor was literally the ultimate Good Girl during 2014 and Matty is literally the Sad Boy according to one of those Swiftie friends who's also a 1975 stan. "Big city" is NYC. "A color I've searched for since" and Halsey literally wrote "Colors" about Matty canonically. And then the chorus is an absolute mess of a situation and it's probably bc everyone was on drugs 💀 I think at this point we all know Tay was doing ❄️ and stuff with all those model friends right. "You were on something" yes Matty was on hardcore drugs back then, he's talked about it and how he's stopped since etc. "Half-moon eyes" literally the shape of his eyes. "Dickhead guy" was Calvin lol. "Politics and gender roles" are strong themes in Matty's performative stuff that he does on stage. And then also just the fact that Matty's whole thing is talking in questions during interviews, it takes just a quick reading of one or two of his interviews to see that. It's a thing with him and the song is literally called Question...? 💀😭 And then also the fact that About You (2021), which I think we all agree is about Taylor, asks multiple times "Do you think I have forgotten?" and Taylor starts Question...? (2022) with "I remember". And then last night when she said that "this song brings back a lot of happy memories" before singing Question...? while she's actually hooking up with/dating Matty in real time... you should've seen our gc last night😭😂 we were all like "wait, did she just confirm our crackhead theory? Were we actually right?!" and tbh I fear we are and I'm a lil Worried™ about beloved bc 2014 was not a good time for her?? Even if she was happy when she had that first fling with Matty or whatever, it was a bad time for her overall?? And she's referencing it as "happy memories"??? I think I've seen this film before 😭 but I just want her to be happy so I really hope she genuinely is feeling happier than ever as she said.