#I’M HANGING THIS IN THE LOUVRE.

[joelsdagger]

*clears throat and grabs the mic*

excuse me i have some words i would like to share with everyone....

NIC AKA USER OVARYACTED HAS THE BIGGEST FILTHIEST NASTIEST MOST BEAUTIFUL BRAIN IN THE WHOLE ENITRE WORLD. i knew i was getting absolute perfection when you told me you were working on an old man!logan fic but this is BEYOND that and i don't even know how you managed to do that. i screamed a shit ton below…..please forgive me for the longest reblog anyone has ever seen.

“Yeah? You missed your old man, darlin’?” he asked, the corner of his lip curling up as he gave you a cheeky squeeze.

like just immediately. right off the bat, i sighed the deepest sigh ever known to this world. your old man????? YOUR OLD MAN!?!?!?!?! you know what that shit does to me nic omfg.

A pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be messing around with an old, broken man like him, especially someone on borrowed time.

"borrowed time" made me tear up. fuck man.

Why would he reject your affections if he was all you wanted? Hasn’t he been unhappy long enough?

nic you know how i feel why would you say that?!?!??!?!!? 😖☹️

He grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it to his feet, pointing to the ground and instructing you to kneel for him.

OH MY FUCKING GOD. MY FLABBERS ARE GASTED.

Shuddering at Logan’s command, you twisted to dig your knees into the pillow below you, arching your ass up in the air. You crossed your arms in front of you, resting your head on your forearms as you focused on steadying your breathing. Closing your eyes, you waited for any indication of what Logan might do next—a word, a sign, anything. His hand brushed over your ass with possessive affection, widening his palm to hold as much skin as he could grab, releasing his grip before doing it a second time. The other hand held up the glass of whiskey, refilled for a third time while you were preoccupied with getting into position. His hand remained on your rear, stroking here and there with his thumb, grazing over the material of your underwear. Another sip of his drink sent you deepening the arch of your back, presenting yourself and silently asking for more of his attention, the very thing you couldn’t seem to live without. “Patience. I just wanna look at you, so you stay there and behave.”

holy wow. this. all of this. this is so incredibly sexy. how he just wants to look at her but he doesn’t even just look at her, he fucking GAWPS at her. and the fact that it makes her feel so good about herself. ugh. i'm in love with your brain. and i’m PISSED this isn’t me right now.

The feel of cool glass surprised you, flinching forward as Logan sat his whiskey cup on your ass cheek, using your skin as his personal coaster.

MY FLABBERS HAVE BEEN GASTED AGAIN WHAT THE FUCK. THIS IS SO HOT I CANT THINK STRAIGHT I HAVE NO THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD.

It’s a shame you weren’t wearing your plug. Maybe next time.

the way my jaw DROPPED. like it’s not even attached to my head anymore. my jaw is just GONE. you can't just throw this in here like that what the fuck nic?????!?!?!?!?!? what is wrong with you????????

“Just wanted to say hi and give him a kiss, Daddy,” you giggled playfully, throwing him a cheeky smile. God, he’s so fucked. “Yeah? He likes it when you do that, especially when you use your mouth,” he leaned back into the couch, motioning for you to get to work.

them using cock pronouns is so hot WHY IS THAT SO HOT FUCK!!!!!

“Course you do. Trained your slutty holes to take me so well.”

bro. bro. BRO. WHAT. OH MY GOD. TRAINED YOUR SLUTTY HOLES TO TAKE ME SO WELL!??!??@$?#?%$?$ GOD HELP ME PLEASEEE!!!!!!!!

It was a skill you always had but kept secret for the most part until you met the right man, the only man who deserved it.

um hello not this read 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 nic lmfaoooooo

“My pretty girl. Having fun down there?”

oh my god. what the hell. what. the. hell.

You were melting, nerves firing up with every harsh jab Logan gave you, your head devoid of thought, the connection between your brain and the rest of your body evaporated into thin air. Like this, he could have you at your best, fully trusting him with your life. A man like him, turned into a monster and spat out by the world’s cruelty, can now fulfill his purpose in tending to a lost lamb like you who had become ensnared in the predator’s web.

this entire paragraph. nic. oh nic. your brain. i need to study it bc how— "a lost lamb like you who had become ensnared in the predator's web". like how does one come up with that????

“Know you're close bunny, just need a little push.”

okay. PAUSE. not this awakening a new kink up for me......ofc you would manage to do that. fucking hell.

Bestowing a final kiss to your forehead, he whispered those three words over the shell of your ear, closing his eyes as exhaustion lured him to join you. He hoped you could hear his confession in your dreams, and of course, if you didn’t, he’ll just have to remind you again when dawn breaks.

your beautiful TALENTED BRAIN bby. god i just had the time of my life while reading this fic. they are so in love. HE LOVES HER. 🥺 and i love them. nic i love them so much. 😭😭😭😭😭

twin. twin. what if i just died. huh. what if i just walked into traffic. fling myself off a cliff and let the big blue take me. how about that. this was so beautiful and so damn sexy and everything i could have ever imagined. i absolutely loved them and their dynamic. this is such a long reblog and i'm so sorry but i truly could not pick out every single one of my favorite moments otherwise it would have been a copypasta of your entire fic. thank you for this nic. i can't say it enough. you wrote the most perfect logan fic ever. but i expected nothing less from you. i know you were so worried about this but you had no reason to be bc this is genuinely my favorite logan fic i've ever fucking read. god it's just liquid gold. and i am never gonna let it go. i loved this so much. i love reader and i love logan and i love you and i adore you my beautiful talented pisces sister. my twin!!!!!!!!

SUGAR ON THE RIM

─ Old Man! Logan Howlett x fem! reader || WC: 6.3k

SYNOPSIS: When Logan comes home after finishing his driving rounds for the night, you help him wind down and enjoy a drink.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Assumed age gap [Logan is canon age, reader is 25+]. Daddy Dom! Logan. DDLG dynamic. Heavy Daddy kink. Subspace. Overstimulation. Praise kink. Slight degradation. Pet names (hun, baby, doll, sweetheart, darlin’, angel, honey, bunny). Alcohol consumption (Logan drinks whiskey). Pussy & Cock pronouns. Stripping. Spitting in the mouth. Squirting. Slight anal play. Allusions to past anal play. Body worship. Oral sex (m! & f! receiving). Oral fixation. Throat fucking. Pussy inspection. Fingering (f! receiving). Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Missionary & mating press positions. Power play. Biting kink. Implied Marking kink. Cock warming. The claws come out when Logan cums hard. Logan’s slightly insecure but passionate. Reader has hair & likes black lace.

A/N: I wrote this as a birthday gift for @/joelsdagger. Happy birthday twinnie bae, my Scorpio sister, I adore you so much my chest hurts thinking about it. I hope you like this, and thank you for being my friend. 🫶 Thank you to @/ozarkthedog for proofreading, I’m always grateful for your eyes, encouragement, and support. Hope you all like this one, I’m very proud of it and had a lot of fun! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. <3 (Reupload because tumblr hates me sorry.)

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Long nights chauffeuring in the limo always dampened Logan’s mood, the last thing he wanted or needed was to move around when his body simply desired to be home. Regardless of how tired he felt and how much his limbs ached with the poison that tainted his blood, he grinned and bore it as he completed his rounds late into the night.

He’s been on this Earth long enough to see the worst and the best of humanity. Every day was a coin toss to test his luck and see which side he’d have to deal with. The ravages of time have reduced him to nothing but an old, irate cab driver, the voice in the back of his head constantly nagging over the bullshit he’s had to endure until this point.

Pulling into the driveway of the quiet apartment complex, his hands fumbled into his pockets in search of the keys to the front door. With a metallic jingle, he inserted the matching keys into the corresponding locks he had bolted to the front door. His patience wore thin as the locks clicked one by one, his palm landing on the door handle to open it wide.

The floorboards creaked as he stepped inside, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind him. Shrugging off his suit jacket, he pulled at his tie to undo the knot, unbuttoning his cuffs as he made his way to the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised when he found a bottle of Jack Daniels on a counter and his preferred glass next to it, prepared in advance for his arrival. Reaching into the fridge for some ice cubes, he drops in two with a clink, screwing the top off the bottle and pouring a heaping amount into the glass.

He took two hefty gulps of the drink, the cool liquid soothing his tongue as the familiar taste of aged whiskey graced his taste buds. The murmur of a hum rumbled in his chest, taking the bottle back to the living room as he flopped on the couch. It didn’t take long to finish the first drink after another round of sips, quickly refilling it a second time, too immersed in his thoughts to hear the soft call of his name from the corner of the room.

“Logan?”

His ears perked up at the sound of your voice, turning his neck with tense eyes that softened at the sight of you. Sleep was still evident on your features as you wore one of his white shirts, buttoned halfway across the middle of your chest, the edge of the white fabric draping over your hips. If he squinted his eyes, he’d see the hints of black lace that barely covered your mound, silently tempting him into the habits he was so familiar with after work.

“You’re home,” you noted, an affirmation that he hasn’t left you alone just yet. He promised he wouldn’t, for as long as he could manage. “Long night?”

“Yeah. Didn’t mean to wake you, sweetheart,” Logan muttered apologetically.

“It’s fine. I couldn’t sleep much anyway.” You stepped closer to where he sat on the couch, standing next to him. You had mentioned once or twice how hard it was to sleep when he wasn’t home, not knowing whether you’d wake up to his arms wrapped around you or to an empty bed. 

“C’mere,” he stuck out a hand in invitation, accepting it with one of your own and gracefully situating yourself over his thick lap.

You pressed your hips against his, both of your thighs rubbing on either side of his legs. His rigid body began to relax at the feel of you against him, releasing a sigh as one of your hands ran over the expanse of his broad chest, the other caressing his taut shoulders. His palm came towards your lower back, fingers itching to clasp the fat of your ass as he enjoyed his whiskey.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, placing a kiss on the column of his throat, his pulse beating at the contact.

“Yeah? You missed your old man, darlin’?” he asked, the corner of his lip curling up as he gave you a cheeky squeeze.

“I always do. Always think about you when you’re gone.”

Logan whizzed in satisfaction at your answer, rubbing your thigh as you sat comfortably on top of him. The deepest parts of him were often filled with shame, knowing he managed to capture your attention for himself when you could have anybody else. A pretty young thing like you shouldn’t be messing around with an old, broken man like him, especially someone on borrowed time. He was too self-aware of the blatantly obvious age gap between you. Born at different times, having different lives and realities so vastly diverse, a connection like this was sure to fall apart at some point.

Yet he couldn’t seem to let you go—he didn’t dare to.

Your attention, your desire, and your loyalty felt too good for him to pass up. He knows he probably should’ve ended this relationship long ago, cut you loose to let you speak to people your age, people who were more than willing to give you everything you desired. His ego wouldn’t let him free you, not when the day brightened whenever you beamed at him or when your touch soothed the pains in his weary bones. He couldn’t help but indulge in the adoration and worship you gave him so willingly without expecting anything else in return. You were his reward for all of the pain and suffering he’s survived from walking over the planet for damn near 200 years. 

Why would he reject your affections if he was all you wanted? Hasn’t he been unhappy long enough?

“I think about you too, princess. All the time,” his voice lowered an octave as he spoke, kissing your cheek and bringing you closer by the waist.

Princess.

He caught your shiver when he used the pet name, one that was only reserved for your acknowledgment. It was more than just a term of endearment; to you, it was a sign that you were his and only his.

Tilting forward, you kissed his waiting lips, tasting the whiskey he’d been drinking. Your hands ran through his graying hair, fingers clutching at the strands while he handled your thigh, longing to bring you as close as possible. The fabric of the white button-down you wore rubbed against his, the hardened peaks of your nipples poking through the material from the friction.

He drew back from your mouth, noticing your pupils were blown with lust as you glanced at him, desire pooling in your gut.

“I’ve had a long fucking day, baby, been driving everywhere. You want to help your old man feel better?” He could've laughed at how quickly you nodded. He caressed your cheek, instinctively tilting your face into his hand as you waited for your cue to continue. 

“Wanna show Daddy what he missed while he was working?” There it was, the signifier that this wasn’t just a moment of comforting Logan after a long night shift. It was your time to shine; the spotlight was now on you to show gratitude for the man who worked so hard to care for you.

“Yes, Daddy.”

With one last peck on the lips, you stood up on your two legs, the thrill of entering the submissive role you played so well swiftly took over you. Your fingers started to unbutton the white shirt that covered your body, taking your time plucking each button from its designated hole while Logan observed you.

The shirt fell to the floor the next second, hazel eyes hungrily raking over your bare figure. His gaze drifted past the valley of your breasts and beyond your belly button to your panty-clad pussy, the black lace concealing what he desperately craved underneath. He could order you to take your underwear off right now if he wanted; watch with a grin as you peeled them down your legs and flung them to the side. Instead, he’ll humor you for a bit longer.

He grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it to his feet, pointing to the ground and instructing you to kneel for him. Without hesitation, you dropped to your knees and waited for his next order like he’s trained you to do. Peering up at him, he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, your breath growing unsteady as you waited in anticipation.

“Turn around for me. I want to look at you for a bit before you do anything else.”

Shuddering at Logan’s command, you twisted to dig your knees into the pillow below you, arching your ass up in the air. You crossed your arms in front of you, resting your head on your forearms as you focused on steadying your breathing. Closing your eyes, you waited for any indication of what Logan might do next—a word, a sign, anything.

His hand brushed over your ass with possessive affection, widening his palm to hold as much skin as he could grab, releasing his grip before doing it a second time. The other hand held up the glass of whiskey, refilled for a third time while you were preoccupied with getting into position.

His hand remained on your rear, stroking here and there with his thumb, grazing over the material of your underwear. Another sip of his drink sent you deepening the arch of your back, presenting yourself and silently asking for more of his attention, the very thing you couldn’t seem to live without.

“Patience. I just wanna look at you, so you stay there and behave.”

You huffed out a breath, letting him do as he wished for however long he wanted. You were lucky he had the decency to give you a pillow for your knees, thankful for his generosity compared to his usual grumpy self. Still, you didn’t mind his treatment as long as he focused primarily on you.

The feel of cool glass surprised you, flinching forward as Logan sat his whiskey cup on your ass cheek, using your skin as his personal coaster. You gasped at the sudden temperature change, a shudder rolling down your spine and settling at the junction of your backbone. The man seated behind you chuckled, bringing his fingers to lightly skim the gusset of your panties, not surprised to feel the material damp under his touch. A low moan radiated from you at the contact, holding your breath when his thumb moved higher, teasing your other hole with the faintest amounts of pressure.

It’s a shame you weren’t wearing your plug. Maybe next time.

“Already achin’, sweetheart? Thought I taught you better than that.” His touch was constant, running lines up and down your cunt through the fabric that shielded you.

“I just missed you, Daddy,” you replied meekly, fighting the urge to grind your hips into his hand.

“I know you did, baby. Pussy can’t last a day without needing somethin’ from me. Is that it? You want Daddy to give her some love, huh?” His fingers found your clit through the material, rubbing circles over the bundle and forcing a whine out of you.

“Please, please…”

As quickly as he started, he pulled away, lifting your head and darting back at him with a slight pout. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. The smirk on his face let you know that you weren’t getting off that easily.

“Not so fast darlin’. Need you to do something first.” Logan gestured to the growing bulge in his black slacks, straightening your back and pivoting to face him. “You wanna be a doll and take care of this for me?”

You didn’t waver in reaching for the bump under Logan’s pants, the metal of his belt buckle beckoning you to come closer. Crawling to place your hands preemptively on his knees, your touch wafted over his thighs and to what you sought after most. Your agile fingers tugged his belt off, yanking it through the pant loops and letting it hit the floor with a thud.

You marveled at how hard he was for you, feeling him through his dark briefs, a faint stain growing near the waistband. Pressing your face into his groin, you breathed him in, setting a kiss over his erection through the black cotton. Logan knows he’s ruined you for anybody else—a pervert of his own making, mimicking the same behaviors and reactions he gave you when he was between your legs, worshiping you as if his life depended on it.

In all honesty, it probably did.

“You gonna keep teasing me? Or are you gonna get to the good stuff?" His stern tone brought you back to the present.

“Just wanted to say hi and give him a kiss, Daddy,” you giggled playfully, throwing him a cheeky smile.

God, he’s so fucked.

“Yeah? He likes it when you do that, especially when you use your mouth,” he leaned back into the couch, motioning for you to get to work.

You tugged on the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down along with his slacks until they dropped to his knees. The length of him bobbed against his stomach, holding him by the base to keep him upright. Heat coursed through your body at the sight of him, hard just for you. Always for you.

You kissed the crown of his cock, the faint taste of his precum hitting your lips, licking it off demurely. Your mouth moved lower, tracing the vein you loved feeling against your tongue and handling the two balls that held the most treasured part of him. Smooching each ball of skin, Logan’s groan received another one of your airy chuckles.

You had him in the palm of your hand—literally and figuratively.

Wrapping your mouth around his tip, you lowered yourself until your nose smashed into his pelvis. Breathing in through your nose, you dragged your head back before bobbing over him, using one hand to keep his cock steady and the other to cup his balls. The weight of him on your tongue was comforting, humming to yourself as his tangy flavor filled your senses.

You were in your own little world, peeking upwards at the man before you. A sharp canine sunk into his bottom lip as he held your stare, a smug expression on his aged face. Downing the rest of his whiskey in one swallow, he held the empty glass in one hand and cradled the back of your head with the other.

“Perfect fuckin’ mouth, baby. You like the taste of me?” You moaned around him in reply, loud and unabashed as you bucked your head faster over him. “Course you do. Trained your slutty holes to take me so well.”

His words emboldened you, moving more insistently and adding your hands to the mix. With a flick of your wrist, you jerked your hand over his length, the living room filling with the sounds of your gagging and slurping. The way you sucked dick was debauched—nasty and messy—just the way he liked, the way he taught you. It was a skill you always had but kept secret for the most part until you met the right man, the only man who deserved it.

Sucking him off with enthusiasm was easy when he’d pour out words of encouragement more than you could keep track of. It was easier to let your mind run empty with every pass of him over your tongue. A gag one second, a gurgle the next, you enjoyed this, being at his mercy—being good for him the best way you knew how.

“That’s it. Good fucking girl. You like using your mouth on Daddy? Getting me all messy?”

You towed your head back and exhaled, continuing to stroke him with one hand covered in spit while you diverted your attention lower. Running your wet muscle over his balls, you lavished your tongue over one of them, pussy clenching around nothing at the grunt Logan unleashed deep within his chest.

You knew just what he needed, what he wanted. Making sure he was covered in slobber, your fingers continued their movements, squeezing his testes as you glimpsed at him. Your cheeks warmed, showing your lover the starry-eyed expression he loved so much. Eyes bleary with tears threatening to slip out, lips plump from sucking him off so fervently, saliva coating your bottom lip and chin. You’ve never looked so pretty.

How did he get so lucky?

“My pretty girl. Having fun down there?”

You nodded, kissing the tip of his cock once more and plunging him back into your awaiting mouth with a sigh, pushing forward until he was hitting the back of your throat. The coarse pubic hair at the base of him pressed into your nostrils, the musky scent of him making your clit throb in your soaked underwear, the lace sticking to your skin. The palm of his hand kept you shoved against him until you lifted off for air, your throat constricting from the force of it and a string of spit connecting you to his length.

“Love when you’re in my throat, Daddy. Never want you to leave,” you admitted bashfully, your voice cracking from your esophagus being stretched.

“Can slip me inside if you want. You want me back here?” he questioned, his free hand wrapping around your throat, delivering a light squeeze that sent your blood flowing south. A nod from you was all the confirmation he needed to bring you closer, thrusting his hips upwards into the warmth of your mouth without restraint.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his continuous lunges, sharp eyes carousing how easily you gave yourself up for him. For his comfort, his peace, his happiness—all that ever mattered was him. Curling your hair in his fist, Logan’s regard stayed on your face as tears streamed down your cheeks and saliva dribbled out of you the faster he moved. Your nails scratched along his thigh, knowing the red streaks would heal within an hour and stay momentarily as a faint reminder that he was yours. His cock twitched at the sensation, chasing the high that was right around the corner with one more drive of his hips.

The pain that followed from your scraping was his undoing, tossing his head back and falling over the edge. He spilled into your mouth with a growl, your throat compressing around him to swallow his spend, not letting a drop go to waste. His adam's apple bobbed in an attempt to engulf some air that escaped him; your breathing labored as you grasped his legs to ground yourself.

Regaining some control, he carefully dragged you off of him, his softened cock flopping on his lower stomach, letting you finally breathe through your mouth. Holding your cheeks, his thumbs wiped at your tears and collected some of his release from the corner of your lip. He pushed it back inside your mouth, your tongue winding mischievously around the thick digit before detaching from it with a pop.

“Did I do good?” Your voice filtered through the light tingling between his ears, head gone blank from the intense climax you granted him. He should give you a gold medal for that performance, truthfully. Having you sit on your knees, throat abused and voice breaking as you sought after his approval and praise. He’ll never get used to this sight, all for him to enjoy.

“You did. You always do, sweetheart. C’mere and give me a kiss, I want a taste.”

Shuffling on shaky legs, you hauled up Logan’s slacks and briefs as you repositioned yourself. Now situated on Logan’s lap, you meshed your lips together, swirling your tongue around his as he grumbled at the taste of him in your mouth. You towed him closer by the collar of his button-down, beginning to undo each button until you could finally touch him through his faded white tank. His hands curved across your backside, playing with the ruined lace of your underwear as you shifted on top of him. You sought after more than promises and the ghost of his touch, hoping he’d reciprocate the favor and reward you for your hard work.

“Want you so bad. It hurts,” Logan’s acute ears registered your pitiful whine, his lips bending into a smirk.

“Feeling a little neglected, angel? Don’t worry, I’ll treat your pussy the way she needs, yeah? Daddy’s gotcha.”

Solid and rough hands reached to hold the underside of your thighs, picking you up with a grunt and walking you back to your shared bedroom. You laughed sweetly as he carried you to the room and dropped you on the bed, noticing how you stared at him in a daze, watching him tear off his shoes and slacks. Your pupils dilated at the sight of him in his briefs and white tank, wanting to trace the multitude of scars that covered his body.

“Staring much?”

“I like looking at you,” Logan buzzed as he hovered over you, kissing your lips and yanking the waistband of your panties down your legs, removing the offending article and tossing them behind him.

“Hm, and I wanna take a look at somethin’ else. Open up for me baby, gotta take a look at her, make sure she’s healthy.” He jutted his chin towards your center, big hands skimming over your knee to your thighs, parting you for his view.

You opened your legs slowly, unveiling your pussy to Logan just the way he wanted. His eyes went from your chest to between your thighs, admiring the sight of your cunt drenched for him, glistening with arousal.

“Fuckin’ prettiest pussy on the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you said with a nod, making sure to use your manners. He bent down on his knees, holding your hips stable and placing one of your legs over his shoulder, actively pinning you in place. 

You could feel his breath on your sensitive skin, your folds shining with your slick. The deviant in Logan emerged when he reached where you yearned for him, curious fingers peeling your folds apart and holding you open. You gasped out a breath as he stroked your body, his fingertips teasingly massaging along your opening, not yet inserting them inside.

“She’s cryin’ for me. Practically soakin’ my hand,” his voice stunned you, clenching at the sound of his lustful words. You jerked your hips towards his face, growing impatient as the feeling of emptiness threatened to consume you.

“Daddy…”

“I know, I know. Hurts right here, right?” He angled a finger deeper into your hole, not sinking it in all the way but enough for you to feel it.

“Please. I need you to touch me, need you inside,” you clutched the material of your pillow under your head, widening your thighs to make room for Logan.

“Easy. I know what you need. Daddy’s gotcha, he always does.”

He tipped forward to press a delicate kiss on your exposed clit, the act causing your hips to jolt upwards, seeking his mouth. Logan chuckled as he inhaled the natural scent of you, layering additional kisses on your vulva and mound, the coarse hair of his beard scuffing your inner thighs.

He spent the next few minutes just kissing your pussy, poking and toying with you as he went. The taste of you gathered on his lips the more he stayed between your legs, cheeks heated from his prolonged edging.

The tip of his tongue brushed your clit, curling around the engorged bundle of nerves with intention and sucking it gently between his lips. Your hands flew to his hair, running through the gray strands to keep him in place, grinding up into him as vivacious thirst flowed through you. His ample teasing compelled your body to tense, wanting nothing more than to have his permission to cum from everything he gave you.

“So good, so good. Fuck…” Your eyes were hazy from the pleasure, heat building in your lower back and curling up your spine. The thick hair that covered his chin added extra friction against your cunt, needy walls flexing around nothing, coveting his fingers or something thicker that you know you won’t get until he says otherwise.

“Taste so sweet. Ripe as a fuckin’ peach,” the words were muffled against you, mind blanking from the immense euphoria that surged through you. 

He loved it when you were like this, desperate and pathetic, crying out for more whenever you had the chance. You could feel the tips of his fingers coming back to your opening, taunting your cunt before plunging two of his thick digits inside, curling them into the spot tucked neatly at the roof of your canal. He parted his mouth away from you for a moment, taking in the look on your face as he started giving you what you needed.

“That’s your spot, hun? Just needed Daddy to touch your pussy and help you feel better.” He continued to pump his fingers into you, pressing them into the textured bump he found with ease before pulling them out and repeating the action. Your nails dug into his biceps, tearing at the flesh and leaving faint indents.

You could barely shake your head in confirmation, much less give him a verbal response. With every dip of his fingers, you tightened around him, holding his thick wrist with one hand. He interlocked his mouth with yours, letting you taste yourself on his lips as he increased the pace of his fingers. Whimpers poured out of you, holding on to Logan as he brought you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Daddy. I’m gonna cum,” your eyes were clouded as you glanced at him, his free hand pressing down on your abdomen, a textured thumb circling your clit.

“C’mon, give it to me, baby. Be a good girl and come for Daddy.”

The way he coaxed you through it with his gentle cooing and the rhythmic rubbing of his thumb sent you whirling into your climax. You wailed as your walls convulsed around his digits, never stopping their pace. Your thighs shook as Logan continued to please you through your orgasm, keeping your legs open with his hips until the wave was done crashing over you. His fingers didn’t stop moving, your clit almost hurt from the touch, and the tension you felt inside was amplified tenfold when he slipped in a third finger, stretching you out once more.

“Daddy, I can’t…” you lamented, hiding your face in his arm as your toes curled from the nonstop touching. Your insides were boiling—overstimulated and overwhelmed at the feel of it, with another surge of elation threatening to strike you all at once.

“You can darlin’, you can for me. Gimme another, need to make sure my girl is all fucked out.”

He shifted lower again, pressing the bridge of his nose into your clit and collecting the honey that spilled from you, curling his digits back into your g-spot. You pulled at his hair, unsure if you wanted him to get off of you or give you more. Cries turned into whimpers, hitting your limit again in rapid succession, mouth opening in a silent scream. Your legs trembled beside his ears, squeezing his head as you came for a second time, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as you gushed into his waiting mouth.

The ringing in your ears persisted until you could catch your breath, mind stuck in the muddy headspace Logan enjoyed guiding you into. Raising from between your legs, he dropped both of your thighs on the bed, kissing each knee and holding your body close as you swam in the sea of ecstasy.

“You did so good for me. Always so good for me.” His voice sounded distant when he spoke to you, kissing you softly as you held on to him, short pants falling over his lips. “Are you slippin’, princess?”

You nodded weakly, staring at your older lover with glazed eyes. Despite feeling like you’re floating away, you were present enough to ask for more, even if it wasn’t directly. Discreetly, one of your hands went to touch his cock through his briefs, hardened again after feasting on you. Your palm rubbed up his length, fondling him through the fabric as he twitched in your hand.

“Need Daddy inside? To take care of ya?” He was already taking off the last bits of clothing as he spoke out loud, using his remaining strength to position you how he wanted, your head comfortably on the pillows and your legs bracketing either side of him.

“Please, I need you.” You think you’d start crying if you didn’t get Logan to fuck you in the next minute, a primal urge to fill that emptiness you felt in your core.

“I’m right here hun, I ain’t leaving. Go ahead and put Daddy inside, wanna feel you.”

Wrapping your hand around his cock, you drew him towards your entrance, rubbing the tip up and down your wet center before angling him so he’d slip inside. He shifted his hips and swiftly pushed into you with one singular thrust, his hips flushed against yours down to the hilt. You purred at the feel of him being so deep, a dazed smile adorning your features as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Logan allowed you to adjust as much as he knew you needed, though with how wet you were, you didn’t need to wait any longer. He stayed still inside you, grunting lowly under his breath as your warm walls pulsed around him. Once you were relaxed enough, he drew his hips back, leaving only the tip of him and pistoning forward with power. The movement jostled your body up on the bed, hands embracing his bicep, seeking purchase as he fucked you into the mattress.

“That’s where you need me, honey? Deep inside, ya? Making you mine?” Logan snarled at you, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, huffing through his nose. His nostrils flared at the scent of you spiking, your slick coating his length and trickling down his balls.

“Yes, yes, Daddy,” the honorific tumbled effortlessly from your lips. He turned into your God, the only thing you knew when nothing else made sense, when you lost track of reality. “Yours, only yours.”

He watched your face closely as he continued to fuck into you, holding your legs open by the thighs and keeping them towards your chest, effectively pinning you to the mattress. Leaning down to make sure you were held in place, he caught your eyes rolling to the back of your head, tongue lolling as you huffed under your breath, drool spilling out of your mouth. 

He held your jaw between his fingers and grinned when you instinctively stuck your tongue out, waiting for your gift. He spat shamelessly, the blob landing on your tongue before colliding his mouth with yours. Despite the onslaught of bliss, you reciprocated the kiss that carried you to the highest cloud only he could bring you down from.

He could see when the switch happens, and you begin to slip into subspace, your mind drifting off to that safe space you’ve curated when you turned your brain off. You were stuck in limbo, somewhere between here and nowhere. Your eyes couldn’t stay focused on him, half-lidded and glassy, tears running down your face and wetting the pillow below you.

Underneath him like this, you were everything and nothing all at once, astral projecting out of your body and feeling only him as a perpetual numbness possessed you. You were melting, nerves firing up with every harsh jab Logan gave you, your head devoid of thought, the connection between your brain and the rest of your body evaporated into thin air. Like this, he could have you at your best, fully trusting him with your life. A man like him, turned into a monster and spat out by the world’s cruelty, can now fulfill his purpose in tending to a lost lamb like you who had become ensnared in the predator’s web.

To the world, he was a broken fragment of the X-Men, a forgotten memory lost to the suffering of his kind. He frequently wondered when he would meet his maker if such a thing existed or if he’d be met with eternal damnation when he crossed that bridge. Now that you were in his life, he could wait a bit longer for his fate if it meant he’d spend the rest of his days with you, having you like this.

“That’s it baby, that’s it. Just let Daddy have ya. Let him take care of you.”

That was all you needed to hear, sobbing into the side of his neck and submitting fully to Logan. You wheezed every time his cock bumped into your g-spot with fierce precision, incising his scarred chest and leaving new marks in your path. Unlike the rest of the flaws that encircled his body, he’ll carry these with pride, showing the world the impact and effect you had on him.

Your thighs started to quiver beneath him, the telltale signs of your impending release creeping up on you at rapid speed. Logan noticed it as usual: your heart was pounding faster, blood streaming to pump through you, and your pulse was beating louder by the second. He could sense every gulp of air you took, your lungs expanding in your ribs, choking as you cried for him.

You could happily die here, even if Logan couldn’t live with himself if that happened. If you did leave him behind, he’ll just find a way to join you.

“Know you're close bunny, just need a little push.” One of his hands went between your legs, aiming for your oversensitive nub and rubbing tight circles over the bud. Your voice pitched up in a loud mewl, nails raking through his scalp and digging into the back of his head.

“One more. Give me one more, and I’ll fill you up, angel. Be a good girl and listen to me, make Daddy happy.”

One last combination of his rough advances and circling your clit brought you to a devastating climax, convulsing violently around him and yelling his name loud enough for the next-door neighbors to hear. Your blood vessels burst at the seams into a million pieces, leaving nothing behind to mend or remember. Your very being crumbled to dust, buried under the sand and washing away into the vast ocean, transforming into the next tidal wave crashing along the shore.

You couldn’t hear Logan as he rasped praises next to your ear, drilling into you with such force that the headboard slammed into the wall as he chased his release. The metal of his dog tags tickled your sternum and did nothing to rouse you from the intensity of your high. Arranging his fists towards the bed, he ignored the pain of his knuckles splitting to make room for his claws to poke out, ensuring he wouldn’t accidentally nick you once they did.

You missed the declaration of Logan’s love as he reached a high so extreme black spots filled his vision. His sharp canines bit into the crease where your neck and shoulder met, imprinting you with his mark like he’d done so many times before—the faded indents of his teeth over other areas of your body made that fairly obvious. You could only weep as he pressed his hips flush with yours, rutting into you until there was nothing left to give.

You couldn’t breathe, your figure quavering underneath Logan as he strained to keep himself upright, careful not to smother you with his weight. The metal claws that protected you slipped back into his body, leaving holes in the mattress from where they punctured through it.

As carefully as he could, Logan turned to his side, bringing you into his chest as you cried into his skin. His seed dripped out of you and stained the bed sheets—a problem for tomorrow that you’ll surely handle. 

He ran soothing lines over your hips and back, leaving a trail of kisses over your sweaty hairline and heated cheeks. Ideally, he’d want to clean you up and probably shower before going to bed, but the exertion you felt was palpable. He tried to pull out of you and let your body relax, but your soft voice wept in protest at the action.

“Stay.” One word from you kept him in place, holding you against his chest. Your eyes fluttered closed, struggling to stay awake at the affection this man had offered you with open arms time and time again.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Sleep, sweetheart, I’ll be here.”

You snuggled into his side soon after, the pacifying warmth of his body easing you into a deep slumber. He loved having you beside him, safe and content. He could spend all night just watching you doze off in his arms.

Bestowing a final kiss to your forehead, he whispered those three words over the shell of your ear, closing his eyes as exhaustion lured him to join you. He hoped you could hear his confession in your dreams, and of course, if you didn’t, he’ll just have to remind you again when dawn breaks.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[cillixn]

feeling very normal rn

[lilianhuas]

Day ♾️ of talking about Luca Guadagnino’s Queer 2024: When it was announced way back when that Luca was making this film and Daniel was going to be in it I was intrigued to the point I kept an eye out for it in the background. I wanted to see it blind and in the cinema. No reviews, no reactions, nothing. The only thing I did was I watched Luca and Denis on variety’s director on directors, & then Daniel and Drew’s episodes on variety’s actors on actors. Because I love hearing discussions about this stuff. And then by a stroke of luck my local theater began screening it so I bought a ticket and went to see the film by myself with a cup of coffee. Zero expectations. It was super quiet in the cinema, and the theater staff were really nice and even kind enough to basically skip the adverts so I just went in and sat down as the film started. It was the best film going experience I have ever had.

It was pure cinema, like a work of art within a work of art within a work of art on the screen. And even now studying all the little references and reasons for each and every scene is like going on a treasure hunt. The soundtrack is also absolutely sensational on top of everything else. I don’t know how to explain but it was one of those films that makes you think “I’m so blessed/lucky/thankful to be able to live in a time where this film was made and exists.” And it was a film I needed to see, (and a novella I needed to read, too) without even knowing why but that thing of “you should see this”.

It’s one of those moments where if I could go back to my younger self and say “one day you’ll see a film that will basically heal you, also make you feel so grateful to be alive and just…it’ll rock your world in the best way possible, in a way you least except, you won’t even know that you needed it.”

[azurexsnake]

picasso wants what I have

My favorite part about this is that if Kni saw he’d be so fucking offended you gave him chicken legs

[whimsicalpolitical]

me reading this:

walkabout

your teacher asks you to tutor none other than matty healy. the very beginning of the bf matty au.

warning: cheesy fluff. teenagers being dramatic. grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

you cannot believe your luck.

of all the people mr. davis could assign you to tutor, it has to be matty healy. matty, who sits at the back of the classroom, half-asleep, drumming on the desk like he’s got an entire band in his head. the boy who’s always late, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. the one everyone can’t stop whispering about—quiet, untouchable, with that mess of hair and a permanent slouch that somehow makes him even more infuriatingly attractive to every single girl in school.

“so, you’ll do it, yeah?” mr. davis asks, holding you both back after class, his tone practically daring you to argue. his eyes flick between the two of you, clearly expecting some kind of protest.

no. absolutely not. you want to say, mr. davis, i will do literally anything else. mop the floors. clean the whiteboards. just, please, don’t make me do this.

but instead, you say, “of course,” because that’s what good students do, isn’t it?

mr. davis turns to matty, who, by the way, hasn’t even looked at you once. not even a glance. “and you? will you actually show up?”

“yeah. sure.” matty shrugs, voice low, casual, not impolite exactly but not making any promises either.

when you leave the classroom, your brain is spinning. how is this your life now? you spend the rest of the day picturing every way this could go wrong. matty showing up late—or not at all. matty being too quiet, distant, barely meeting your eyes. matty fidgeting in his seat, counting the minutes until he can leave, not paying attention whatsoever.

and after school, you unload all your frustration onto your friend, desperate for a shred of sympathy. but really, you should’ve known better.

“shut the fuck up.”

her voice slices through the air, sharp and disbelieving. she’s already sitting up, magazine abandoned, eyes wide like you’d just confessed you were moving to mars. “are you serious?”

“unfortunately,” you groan, covering yourself with your favourite pillow, your words coming out muffled. “apparently, someone thinks i’m a miracle worker who can make him care about school.”

“holy shit.” she leans forward, her grin stretching wider by the second. you can feel it without even looking. “you’re kidding. matty fucking healy?”

“yes.” you drag the pillow over your face wishing it could block out her inevitable reaction. “he doesn’t even try in class. now i’m supposed to magically make him care about algebra?”

“oh, who gives a flying fuck about algebra!” she waves a hand dismissively. “you’re gonna be sitting across from him. alone. for an hour. every week. that’s… basically the fucking dream.”

“oh my god,” you collapse further into the bed hoping the worn sheets beneath can provide some sort of comfort. “you’re delusional.”

“no, you’re delusional if you think this isn’t fate.” she’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “you have to find out everything about him.”

“he’s not some alien experiment,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to glare at her. “he’s just a guy who probably can’t add fractions.” still, the thought lingers. maybe you do want to know more—just a little. not because you care, obviously, but because it’s… curious. infuriatingly so.

“and yet, he’s also the hottest guy in school. don’t even try to deny it.”

you hesitate. she’s not wrong, exactly, but you can’t admit that—not out loud.

“there’s no—”

“don’t.” she cuts you off like a stern teacher catching a student mid-lie. “i know you. i remember. you had the biggest crush on him.”

you can help that your face burns instantly. “that was years ago.”

“doesn’t matter,” she sings songs, her grin practically glowing now. “you were obsessed. you used to be like, ‘oh my god, matty’s curls looks so soft’ and ‘did you see how he dressed today?’ you were embarrassing.”

“i was twelve.” your voice cracks, too defensive, maybe too high-pitched. “it doesn’t count.”

“oh, it absolutely counts.” she leans closer, “plus, you’re really flustered right now.”

“i��m not!”

“you so are.” the smile plastered on her face is absolutely wicked now. “you still like him, don’t you?”

your stomach warps into knots. “jesus christ, no!” you practically shout, burying your face in your hands.

“sure,” she drags the word out. “but just so you know, louise totally made out with him at that party last month.”

your head snaps up so fast you’re pretty sure you strain something. “what?”

“uh-huh.” she looks far too pleased with herself. “she said he’s, like, weirdly good at it.”

“matty healy?” those two words don’t even make sense in your mouth and brain anymore.

“apparently, he’s super eager and… sweet. can you imagine? matty fucking healy being cute?”

you snort, because no. you can’t.

“right? same. but louise swears it’s true. she said he kept pulling her closer and saying, ‘is this okay?’ and ‘you’re really pretty.’”

your gut twists again, this awful, fluttery thing you refuse to acknowledge.

“you’re so full of shit.”

“she’s full of shit,” she corrects, laughing. “but honestly? if it’s true, it makes him even more confusing. how can someone be broody and sweet? pick a fucking lane.”

and there it is again—that thought you don’t want to have. matty healy. sweet. yup.

he barely talks to anyone, always hunched over a notebook or sketching weird little patterns on the edges of his papers. he’s quiet in this intense, self-contained way, like he doesn’t want anyone seeing too much. he doesn’t seem like the type to ask ‘is this alright?’ or let alone call someone pretty.

but what if he is? what if there’s something softer under all the sharp edges, something he keeps hidden on purpose? what if—

no. fucking. way. it’s ridiculous. you shove the thought down, locking it in the imaginary safe inside your brain. plus, he’s probably never even thought about you twice.

“he’s not like that,” you say finally, more to yourself than to her.

“oh, yeah?” she raises an eyebrow, daring you to argue. “guess you’ll find out, won’t you?”

“jesus christ, stop it.” you grab the nearest pillow and launch it at her, but she just laughs, catching it before it hits her face.

“hey, i’m just saying,” her grin is downright evil now. “if he’s a good kisser, you’re practically obligated to confirm it.”

“get out,” you groan, flopping back down.

but even as you bury your face back in the pillow, you can’t stop thinking about it.

what if she wasn’t wrong?

—

by the time the first session rolls around, your nerves are a complete wreck. your hands are clammy, you feel a bit lightheaded, and you’re already regretting every decision that’s led you here. the library is practically dead—just the low buzz of those ancient fluorescent lights and the occasional shuffle of someone flipping a page somewhere in the distance. it smells strange, this weird mix of dusty books and that lemony floor cleaner that somehow always feels sticky no matter how fresh it is.

your swear your bag is a million pounds, stuffed to the brim with textbooks and notes you’re not even sure will matter. every step toward the back of the room seems slower than the last, as if your feet are trying to talk you out of this whole thing. but you press on, your heart hammering, every instinct screaming to spin around and hide in the safety of the nearest aisle.

he’s already there when you stumble around the corner, looking exactly how you expected. his hair’s a reckless mess, all careless pieces falling into his face because gravity’s obviously playing favourites. his shoulders droop so far it’s a small miracle he hasn’t slid off the chair entirely. his tie’s hanging on by sheer willpower, slack and crooked, and his shirt—don’t even get started on the shirt—looks like it’s been wadded up at the bottom of a gym bag for weeks. yet by some ungodly miracle, he still looks stupidly good. you’re sure the universe must’ve bent the rules just for him.

you stop dead in your tracks, your stomach doing this annoying thing once again, but this time more from dread than nerves. he’s not intimidating, exactly, but there’s something about the sheer disinterest radiating off him that makes you hesitate. you’re clutching your bag so hard your knuckles are white, and for one brief, tempting second, bolting feels like a legitimate option. but then he glances up, his eyes widening just enough to make it clear he didn’t think you’d actually show. the expression isn’t exactly inviting, but it’s enough to stop you from finding the exit. barely.

“oh. hi.” his voice is soft, so quiet it takes you a second to register that he’s spoken.

you swallow hard, willing your nerves to calm, and walk over, lowering yourself into the seat across from him. “hi.” your voice comes out steadier than you feel, the single word hovering awkwardly in the air.

you pull your bag onto the table and set it down with exaggerated care, as if even the slightest sound might crack the fragile calm between you. he doesn’t say anything else, just shrugs, his movements loose and lazy, still half-melting into the chair. 

“are you ready?” you manage, keeping your tone neutral, polite, professional even.

another shrug. “yeah. sure.”

his voice is low and rough. perhaps it hasn’t gotten much use today. it’s still not exactly rude, but it’s not encouraging either. you nod, your hands fumbling slightly as you flip open your notebook. you start simple, writing out a basic equation: 3x + 4 = 10.

“try this one,” you say, sliding the notebook toward him.

he picks up his pen, taps it rhythmically against the table for a few beats, then scribbles something down. x = 2.

“good,” you say before you can stop yourself, a flicker of surprise coloring your voice. you didn’t expect him to nail it on the first try, and the unexpected ease of it catches you off guard. “okay, what about this one?” you write out another problem: 2(x - 3) = 8.

he stares at the equation for a long moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he traces the numbers with his eyes. his lips press together in concentration and for a brief second, you think he might actually be invested in figuring it out. then he bites his bottom lip, and it’s glossy and pink when he lets go, and you have to snap your attention back to your notebook, pretending you didn’t notice.

“uh… x is… 11?”

it’s wrong, obviously, and you should’ve seen it coming, but something about the way he says it—hesitant, unsure—makes you bite back a laugh. instead, you shake your head, the corners of your mouth tugging into an involuntary smile. “not quite. here, let me show you.”

you walk him through the steps, breaking it down as simply as you can, and to his credit, he listens. his eyes follow your pen as you write, nodding slowly as if he’s trying to piece it all together. his hair falls into his face as he leans in, the faintest shadow of understanding flickering across his expression.

“oh. so x is 7.”

“exactly.”

he leans back with a soft sigh, dragging a hand through his hair. his fingers catch in the tangles, but it doesn’t seem to bother him—it’s more automatic than deliberate. “right. makes sense, i guess.”

you glance at his notebook, curiosity tugging at the edges of your focus. it’s open, but not to anything remotely useful. instead of math problems, the pages are crammed with chaotic scribbles—tiny guitars, abstract shapes, half-finished stick figures tangled with half-finished sentences. words scratched out and rewritten so many times they’re barely legible, spiraling across the margins in waves of ink that don’t seem to lead anywhere.

you try not to stare, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer disarray of it. it feels oddly intimate, a window into his head he hasn’t really hidden but hasn’t offered up, either.

“this one’s hard,” he mutters, pulling you back. his voice is quiet again, but there’s a faint edge of frustration as he frowns at the problem you’ve written: 5x - 2 = 3x + 6.

“it’s not too bad,” you say, leaning forward slightly, your tone gentle. “just move all the x terms to one side and the numbers to the other.”

he scratches something down, his pen pausing mid-air as he hesitates, then scribbles a little more. finally, he looks up, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “x is… 4?”

you nod, feeling a flicker of warmth at the small victory. “exactly. see? you’re getting it.”

his lips tug into a smile—small, tentative, almost reluctant—and it’s not much, but it’s something. you look away, turning the page in your notebook, refusing to acknowledge the way your chest flutters for half a second.

the hour drags and flies at the same time. he tries, which surprises you more than anything else, even if he has the attention span of a newborn goldfish. his foot taps a steady rhythm against the floor, and his fingers keep tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve, but when you gently redirect him, he comes back.

the more time you spend with him, the more details start to sink in. the way his voice softens when he’s unsure of something. the way his nails are bitten down to jagged nubs. the way his lips part slightly when he’s thinking, his gaze flicking back and forth between the notebook and the table as if the answer might reveal itself if he stares long enough.

when the hour’s finally up, you take your time packing up, every movement drawn out and careful, watching out of the corner of your eye as he shoves papers into his bag. half of them are crumpled, a few look like they’ve barely survived, and none of them seem to end up where they’re supposed to.

“thanks for this,” he mutters, barely loud enough to register, his focus stuck on cramming his notebook into the disaster zone. “i mean… yeah. thanks.” 

“no worries.” you aim for light, casual, as if your pulse isn’t doing that weird, too-fast thud in your chest. “that’s why i’m here. see you next week?”

he nods, barely, and there’s this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—a smile that doesn’t quite make it but lingers just enough to be noticeable. “yeah. see you.”

he walks off, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his bag hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, papers still sticking out at random angles. you’re just about to leave when your eyes catch something on the table. a crumpled piece of paper, left behind in his whirlwind of packing.

you pause, glancing around like you’re about to commit some kind of crime, but the library’s empty. no one’s watching. your fingers hover for half a second before curiosity gets the better of you, and you pick it up, smoothing the wrinkles carefully.

the handwriting is a mess—words scratched out and rewritten, lines twisted into tangles of uncertainty: and this is how it starts

take your shoes off in the back of my car van

you share my shirt, looks so good

when it’s just hangin’ off your back (???)

you stare at it, the edges still crumpled, the ink smudged in places where his hand must have dragged across the page. it feels too personal, but you can’t stop looking. your fingers hover for a second before folding it up and slipping it into your bag, your thoughts buzzing with questions you’re not sure you should even want answers to.

[filmflam-and-nonsense]

*at a birthday party, assigned to entertain kids*

Me: okay I’m gonna count to ten and when I open my eyes maybe I’ll finally amount to something

My cousin: don’t you mean you’ll come look for us?

Me: I’m already counting.

[lovecla]

TAKE IT EASY (OTHERWISE I’M LEAVING) ; connor bedard.

© property of lovecla, nhl masterlist, single chapter:

ᡣ𐭩 — pair: connor bedard x fmc (olivia)

ᡣ𐭩 — synopsis: in which connor bedard’s girlfiend, olivia, is tired of seeing her boyfriend destroy himself every single day.

ᡣ𐭩 — word count: 3.1k

ᡣ𐭩 — chapter warnings: inspired by the song “you” by chase atlantic, angst, hurt with a dash of comfort.

ᡣ𐭩 — from me to you: the second chase atlantic released this album i knew i had to write something inspired by it. i missed writing for bedsy and since he’s our golden, hardworking boy, i thought this was very fitting. hope u like it 🤍

ᯓᡣ𐭩

but you've been diggin' up the truth

haven't slept in like four nights now

blame it on substance abuse

out in the deep end, i'm swimmin', i'm swimmin' again

YOU WOKE up startled with the loud bang coming from somewhere inside your apartment, your whole body jumping and your heart starting to race inside your chest.

Now, almost fully awake, you stare at the clock sitting on your bedside table, reading the time. 4:13 a.m., and when you pat the other side of the bed, where your boyfriend of two years should be laying, you frown as you find it empty and lukewarm to the touch.

“Connor?” You whisper, scared to wake him up unnecessarily, even if you knew he wasn’t lying with you in bed. Again.

You get up, the fabric of his old Blackhawks sweater heating up your skin, as you put on your slippers and leave the bedroom, noticing traces of Connor’s absence here and there— his slippers aren’t by his side of the bed, his duffel bag isn’t on the hallway like it usually is, his water bottle isn’t on the couch like he had left it last night, when you both went no sleep at one in the morning.

So that’s why you don’t understand what he’s doing by the front door, ready to leave, even if he had only slept for three hours.

“Connor?” You call again, watching as his blue eyes look at you, surprise and guilt decorating his expression like a famous painting hanging on the Louvre’s wall. “What are you doing?”

Your voice is still soft, and despite the scare, your eyes can barely stay open. You’re tired, tonight was the first night you had allowed yourself to sleep freely since now you were done with your exams. And you were happy because you managed to convince Connor to come home earlier, at eleven instead of midnight, just so you could spend some time together, like you used to do when you started dating.

“Liv, hey,” he whispers, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

That’s when you realize what he’s doing. The bag, the stick on his hand, the outfit. He’s—

“Are you serious right now?” You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re going to the rink? At four in the morning?”

“Baby, you know I need to,” he tries to sound convincing and if it wasn’t for the fact that this is probably the hundredth time he’s done this, you would’ve actually believed him. “We have a game coming up and—”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Connor. But you went to sleep at one. Two nights ago, you also went to sleep at one and woke up at five. And the night before, and the night before that too.”

You don’t try to hide your feelings anymore. You want him to know you’re upset, and you want him to know that this, whatever the hell he’s doing, isn’t okay.

“I know, baby, but you know I have to keep practicing so I can help the guys.” He’s now facing you, his body visibly tense.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Connor, what the hell. There are other twenty fucking people in your team, you’re not the only player there. It’s not your responsibility only!” You cover your face with your hands, truly upset.

“Liv,” he calls your name, and it hurts to even hear it, because his voice is so full of guilt and shame. It makes you feel sick. “You’re not being reasonable right now. This is the NHL. You know how hard I’ve worked for this. There are people counting on me.”

“And I’m not one of them?” You whisper, making eye contact again, only to realize you’re not strong enough to have this conversation at four in the morning.

“Liv—”

“It’s fine, Connor. Go to practice.” You sigh, making your way back to the bedroom, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears running down your cheeks.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

you said, "take it easy, otherwise i'm leaving

yeah, i don't wanna stay and watch you die",

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CONNOR HAD an injury.

His jaw had been fractured, and he had to go to surgery to fix it. You were in the arena watching the game with Connor’s sister when it happened, and you had never been so scared.

You know Hockey is about hitting people as much as it is about playing and winning, but you won’t lie and say your heart doesn’t hurt inside your chest whenever you see Connor getting hurt on the ice.

And you aren’t dumb. You know that some players will purposefully hurt him just because he’s good. And even if people aren’t one hundred percent sure that that is what happened that night, you still remember the terrible feeling of losing when you were in the ambulance with Connor to the hospital, trying your hardest not to cry in front of anyone because you know what they would say.

She’s not tough enough to date a NHL player.

But you believed yourself to be tough. The only problem with all of this is that you knew Bedard would never take great care of himself, meaning that you’d have to be with him twenty-four-seven, which wouldn’t be a problem, if only he accepted your help.

Now, four weeks after the surgery, you’re inside the United Center, the Blackhawks arena in Chicago, stomping your feet as you walk towards the rink, the sound of your steps being muffled by Connor’s constant skating.

“Connor.”

You have to call him a few times so that he can finally get out of his head and look at you; once again, those blameworthy eyes looking down at you, as he skates closer to the benches where you were standing.

“Liv.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Connor?” You snap. “You’re supposed to be resting. You’re definitely not supposed to be on the ice.”

“I know, but my jaw is just fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He removes his helmet, running his gloved hand through his hair.

“It didn’t seem like it was fine last night when you had to swallow a bunch of pain pills because it was hurting. Connor, don’t you see what you’re doing to yourself?” You can feel your face heating up, and you’re trying so hard to keep your shit together but— “You have to allow your body to rest. If you keep up with this, you won’t get better—”

“That’s not an option, Liv, and you know it,” he hissed back, now looking more distressed than guilty. “This is my life. And I did allow myself to rest, I spent four weeks doing absolutely nothing, just like the doctor asked me to.”

“He said six to eight weeks, Connor,” you sigh, tired, not actually believing you’re having this conversation with him. “Please. Just think about how I feel when I know you’re not well enough to be here yet you still are.”

He pressed his lips together, placing his stick on the floor next to him and moving his helmet around his hands.

“Liv, you know I love you but this— Hockey is what I am. It’s what I do. You have to understand—”

“And I have done nothing but understand you!” You shout, finally losing your cool and snapping at him, your loud voice echoing through the empty arena’s walls. Connor takes a step back, but now you’ve already started and you won’t can’t stop. “Ever since we met, I have been nothing but understanding. I stood by your side at all times, even when what you were doing wasn’t healthy for you!”

“Olivia—”

“I went to sleep alone and cried more nights than you could ever imagine,” your voice cracks, and your stubborn tears are already rolling down your face. “I still supported you no matter what. I cooked your meals, I packed your bags, I went to those ridiculous gala dinners and I did it all with pleasure because I love you and you’re supposed to do these types of things for the people you love!”

“Baby—”

“So you don’t get to stand in front of me and ask me to understand how badly you treat yourself and how you don’t care about anything else besides Hockey when I gave up everything to be with you!” You try to wipe your face, stepping back when Connor tries to reach you. He frowns when you flinch. “I gave up my freedom because I wanted to be with you and God knows I’d do it all over again because I fucking love you.”

“Baby, I know all of this and I’m grateful, I really am but—”

You let out a wet chuckle, shaking your head. “There’s always a but with you.”

“Hockey is important to me, baby.”

“And I am not.”

The silence after your words is cruel, and it tears you apart, scratching your skin and making your insides hurt. His blue eyes, your favorite color to ever exist, are also filled with tears and you hate to see it. You hate to feel bad about saying these things.

The thing about loving someone is that the thread between giving up yourself for them and giving yourself to them is really thin.

You love Connor Bedard. Have loved him for years now. He makes you happy, he listens to you, he’s your best friend.

“You know that’s not true, Liv,” he gets closer, the sound of his skates hitting the ice making you want to puke. “You know you’re more important to me than any of this. You know I love you.”

“No, Connor, I don’t,” you whisper, smiling even when all you feel is pain. “I can’t do this. I won’t watch you d-destroy yourself and not do anything.”

He removes his gloves quickly and grabs your wrist, cold fingers holding your arm down. “Olivia, wait.”

“No,” You shake your head. “I need time. Sorry.”

You don’t look at his face as you leave the arena, and you certainly don’t listen to his voice shouting your name, over and over again.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

i don't know what to do

i’m stuck in a loop, stuck in a loop

ᯓᡣ𐭩

HE WATCHES you talking to the children from afar.

You’re sitting on the floor, and it’s so obvious you’re better different from everyone else at the party. The children surround you like you’re their favorite princess or superhero, all of them wanting a little bit of your attention.

Connor feels like he should be offended, since those kids were there to see his team in the first place. It was some kind of reunion Foligno arranged with the media team, inviting some of his son’s friends and some other children with less opportunities.

But he isn’t. First of all, he’s thankful because if it weren’t for your charm, he would be the one having to deal with the children, something he wasn’t very fond of. Sure, he likes kids and he’s happy they like him, but if he could avoid social interactions, he would.

Besides that, watching you happy is something that he had missed, and he feels like shit for it. He knows he hasn’t been a good boyfriend, and he knows he should do better. Ever since that one night at the rink, you haven’t been the same.

But if he thinks about it too much, he realizes that you haven’t been yourself for a long time now.

And it hurts.

It hurts because he doesn’t know what to do. He loves you, the very first girl he fell in love with, but he also loves Hockey. As a young player in the NHL, he feels like he constantly needs to prove himself to others, and since people give him so much attention, he needs to keep on being a good player.

He doesn’t know how to balance things, how not to spend hours and hours without end on the ice, muting all of his doubts and worries while he keeps throwing the puck in the net.

You smile at a little boy who’s now handing you a flower, and Connor smiles as he watches you ask the little boy to put it on your hair, laughing when the other kids stop their babbling to clap at your newest look.

You make eye contact with him, and he feels himself getting devastated when he notices that the shine in your eyes lessened a little when you looked at him.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

(why do you hate me?)

i could never hate you, despite the words that you've been sayin'

i’ve been having breakthroughs

and hoping you were proud, just maybe

anxiety drives me insane, and my newest addiction is pain

i know i said it was a ‘phase’

five years later, still stuck in my brain

ᯓᡣ𐭩

CLOSING THE front door with a sigh, you let your first sob out. The tears won’t stop, and you don’t bother to wipe them, it would be pointless.

All you want to do is slide down to the floor and stay there, letting the hardwood hurt your back and get you dirty, but you can’t. Your car decided to break in the middle of the road on your way back from college, and you had to walk until you found the nearest telephone to call your insurance company, which would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the terrible storm going on, the water drops penetrating your thin shirt like you weren’t even wearing anything in the first place.

It’s just one of those days where everything that could possibly go wrong goes wrong, but you’re already so fed up with life lately that this all seems too much.

“Liv? What happened, baby?”

You lift your head up faster than you should've, because now you can see tiny, black dots floating around in your vision. You weren’t expecting to see Connor at your house, much less wearing the apron you gave him when he prepared his first dish by himself two years ago— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Connor,” you whisper, not looking him in the eye. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I texted you,” he says, removing the apron that read “cook it yourself, cunt��. “What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

You don’t say anything, mostly because you’re certain that if you let one little word slip past your lips you’ll start crying uncontrollably once again, so you just shake your head and leave your things on the floor beside you, walking past him so you could get to your room.

He’s quick to follow, though, watching as you remove your wet clothes and get in the shower, both of you silent and lost in your own thoughts.

Not talking to Connor about your feelings feels weird, but you can’t help but feel like you’re holding him back. It’s sickening, because all you want is to stay with him and be happy, but sometimes loving is also letting go.

You get out of the shower, feeling the tears coming back when you spot the change of clothes Connor left for you on top of the toilet lid— his shirt, his pants, your favorite panties.

He knows you too well. He knows who you are as a person and he knows who you want to become. He knows your fears and your ambitions, he knows your dreams and hopes. He knows what you stand for and what you absolutely despise.

He knows you.

You change, and leave the bathroom quickly, wanting nothing more than to lay down and sleep for days.

“Some lady from your insurance company just called, saying your car will be ready next week,” Connor says, and only then you noticed he’d been standing next to your wardrobe the entire time, crossed arms in front of his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me your car was broken?”

You shrug. “I knew you were at practice. Didn’t want to bother you.”

“So you walked home? In the rain?” You can tell by his tone that he’s upset, but there’s nothing much you can do.

“I mean, what did you want me to do?” You scoff. “My phone died and I had no cash on me. And honestly, we both know that you would never leave the ice for something like this.”

“Liv, you know that’s not true,” he whispers, getting closer to you. “You know that I’d leave at any moment if I even knew you needed me.”

“Whatever,” you mumble before reaching for your phone in your bag, the device thankfully still dry, and put it to charge, removing the hundreds of pillows you have on top of your bed and throwing them on the carpet floor, already visualizing the amazing sleep you’d have.

“What are you doing?” You feel his hands on your back, his body closer to yours than it’s been in a while. “You haven’t had dinner yet. I cooked…”

His sad tone makes you break again, and you hate yourself for it. But you still love him so much, and it hurts to see what you’ve become.

“Liv, please, tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads, turning you around and wiping your tears with his thumbs. “I’ll fix it, I promise. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

“Can you fix us?” You whisper, resting your head against his chest, inhaling his comforting scent. He smells like home and the winter. “Can you fix what we’ve become?”

He’s quiet for a while, long fingers caressing your hair, like he used to do back when you had started dating.

“I’m trying, I swear I am,” he whispers back, and you can finally hear genuineness in his voice. “You’re everything to me, baby, and I won’t lose you.”

“I’m not asking you to give up on Hockey,” you explain, watching as your tears stain his shirt. “I’m just asking you to take care of yourself. Connor, I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry,” he kisses your cheek, the first time his lips touch you in more than two weeks. “I’m so sorry.”

You listen to his heartbeat and sigh, choosing not to say anything. You know the only way you can find out if he’s being genuine or not is with time, because only it will tell if you’re fixable or not.

But as you let yourself sleep close to his body that night, losing yourself between the sheets and his arms, you can finally breathe again.

Because he said he’ll try, and Connor Bedard always tries his hardest with everything.

[weird-is-life]

hiiii!! can i request aaron hotchner x bau!reader where reader gets sooo jealous of the women flirting (or trying to flirt) with him (at jacks soccer games, when they’re away on a case or when he did that fbi triathlon)? i’m curious to see how you think she’ll react and what aaron will say when he realises she’s jealous 🤭🤭

Hii, thank u for this request, lovely!🥰Warnings: pet names, mentions of food (kind of), like one kiss, (1k)

It's not your first time at one of Jack's soccer games. But it is your first time witnessing what is happening in front of you.

The other kid's moms are ogling Aaron like he is some kind of famous painting hanging in Louvre (which you can't really blame them for). They also keep smiling and waving flirtiously anytime he looks over their way.

And it is even worse, when you realise, they are all dressed up, make up done with pretty clothes on. It looks like they dressed up just for him. It causes a pang in your heart.

You didn't think about wearing anything special, as you dressed up this Saturday morning for Jack's match. Compared to them you look like a bag of potatoes, you with the loose jeans and a comfy hoodie on.

It makes you feel kind of anxious, but you also feel one even more intense feeling, which can be only described as jealousy.

But you didn't come here to be angry at ridiculous moms, you came to watch Jack score some goals and see him have fun. Which is exactly what you force yourself to do now. Occasionally, your gaze slips from Jack to Aaron, but most of the match you just cheer Jack on loudly.

During the half-time, you fight the want to go to Aaron. You don't want to distract him from his coaching duties, even if it's a friendly match between the kids.

So you stay seated, still having to see and listen to those moms. They even started to talk about how hot and handsome Aaron is, which has you squirming in your seat uncomfortably. You can't decide if you want to run away from them or if you want to go tell them off from talking about your Aaron.

But you don't, you power through the second half of the match, but the urge to go say some very rude things to them doesn't dissappear.

Finally you hear the whistle, signaling the end of the match. And while the kids shake their hands with happy faces, you sheepishly walk towards the bench. Aaron is standing next to it and when he notices you walking his way, his whole face lights up.

"Hi," you greet him, you smile at him, but it's not your usual big smile.

Aaron immediately picks up on it, but he doesn't say anything. He just opens his arms, inviting you to hug him, which you gladly do.

"Hi, honey," he quickly kisses your temple, "Did you have fun?" You've come separately here, having slept at your on place for a change.

"Not as much as Jack," you grin at him, "oh, before i forget, I've brought a little snack for the kids." You gesture at the big bag in your hand, it's full of juice boxes.

"Ah, you shouldn't have, the kids will want it every time you come here now," he teases you.

"Yeah, well I wouldn't mind getting them something every time," you respond. Aaron knows that you wouldn't mind, because you are the biggest sweetheart on the earth, which is one of the many reasons why he loves you.

You are grinning at him, when suddenly your smile dissappears and you start to frown. Aaron has never before seen that kind of frown on you.

"What's wrong?" he questions, eyebrows drawn up.

"Nothing, i just thought of something, " you murmur, but your frown deepens. And it doesn't take Aaron long to find out the reason behind your scowl.

He notices you frown more and more every time, one of the other moms speak near by. So he puts 2 and 2 together.

"Did those moms say something to you?" He asks you with stern voice, because if they did, he won't hesitate to go talk to them.

"No, it's just...," you feel rather embarrassed to say it now, "they talked about...-about you."

"About me? What did they say?" he puzzles, he hopes, that it isn't something to do with his coaching.

"Oh come on Aaron, you must know what I mean," you whine with slight frustration, it is clearly not directed at him but at them. Still you are a bit annoyed by his cluelessness.

"I really don't know, tell me?"

You sigh, "t-they talked about how hot and handsome you are, how they would love to go out with you. They waved and smiled at you basically the entire game," you grumble it silently. Face scrunched up in vexation.

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

"You must have noticed it by now."

"Well, I haven't," he tells you honestly, "I am too busy giving instructions to the kids and," he pulls you towards him by the sleeve of your hoodie," I am too distracted by you, to notice those silly women."

His words, as always, have you blushing, "Yeah?"

"Oh most definitely, have you looked in a mirror lately, sweetheart? Nothing compares to you and for sure not those moms," he playfully jabs his finger into your side, but his words are as sincere as they can be.

And after he says that, he quickly looks over to those moms to make sure they are looking and kisses you hard. It catches you off guard, but when you kiss him back, your kiss is just as eager as his.

When you pull away, he whispers against your lips, devilish smile on his face," I don't think you need to be jealous anymore, honey. I think, they understand now, that I only have my eyes for one person, that is you." The only thing you can do as a response to that, is to hide your red face in his neck.

You shyly smile at his words and inside you are beaming, happy that Aaron showed off your relationship even if he isn't the biggest fan of the pda. And you are a little, and i mean a lot, proud that he showed you off like that, because the irritation on those women's faces was priceless.

"I love you," you whisper bashful into his skin.

"I know, sweetheart. I love you, too," he responds warmly, "now let's go quickly hand out the snacks to the kids and get that breakfast, before those moms burn a whole into our faces."

[wileys-russo]

so you’re telling me not only did Lotte FINALLY get her first start but she scored barely two minutes in? having the absolute season of her career I’m so proud 🐐🐐 HANG IT IN THE LOUVRE 🥲🥹

[mangionebabymama]

One of my maladaptive daydream fiction requests/ideas? You're getting close to Luigi and he confides in you that the reason he really didn't date was because he was embarrassed about the conversation that would inevitably have to come up that sex might be difficult and require a lot of patience and maybe even trial and error. He hasn't had sex in a long time but one night he just asks if he can make love to you and just really sets the scene and makes it romantic and you all take it slow and he's nervous but it goes beautifully and he almost goes feral (in a sweet way????) because he hasn't experienced it in so long.

“It goes beautifully and he almost goes feral” yeah we gonna hang this one up in the Louvre.

Can I let y’all in on a little secret? I’ve never, in point of fact, written… an actual smut scene in any of my works, in my whole life of writing. I’ve mentioned it by just throwing it out there, but not in detail—the only time I’ve written anything smutty word-for-word was face riding. And at this rate, I’ll probably write something soon with y’all banging on your cells from horny jail, telling me what to write next (understandable, I’m not judging!)

But I’d love to take this one on, with that appeal of him wanting to make love to you. Whew. I’m probably gonna take my time with it, if it becomes my first time ever writing something grown folk-ish, to make sure it’s perfect. 🥺 you get me, anon!!!!

[highschoolstoryliveson]

Chloe's Birthday(s)

17

On her seventeenth birthday, Chloe groans as her alarm clock wakes her up. At some point in the night her moms must’ve snuck in to change it from the song it usually plays. Miserably looking at the time, she doesn’t bother hitting snooze, just unplugging the thing entirely. Before she can fall back into bed and pretend to be sick for the day, her phone starts buzzing. 

Accepting the facetime invite, she’s unsurprised to see Chase on some sort of train. His eyes are bright, “Happy birthday, little sis!”

Rubbing her eyes, Chloe can’t help but smile at this. “I’m like an hour older than you, dummy.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve been seventeen for nine more hours than you. So for as long as I’m here, you get to be the younger twin.”

“That’s not… that’s not how any of that works.” She huffs out a laugh and yawns, “Have you had a good day so far?”

“Totally! My host parents got us train tickets to Paris! Originally they wanted to take me to the Louvre but I knew-”

“That if you ever went without me I would kill you, blood be damned?”

“Exactly. So instead we just got to explore- and it’s so beautiful here! And hate to say it, but the bread really lives up to the hype.” 

“Spent your birthday eating bread? And I thought my plans were sad.”

“Hey! I had a piece of bread. I just didn’t bring up the nightclub because I didn’t want to make you jealous.” Chloe rolls her eyes, letting him continue instead of continuing to torture him. It was his birthday too, after all. “And what do you mean? I thought you’d have a bunch of plans with all of your new friends.”

“Yeah, but after last year it all feels too soon, ya know? I just want today to go like normal… but with more chocolate chip pancakes of course.”

“Of course… but Chlo- you really shouldn’t let what Jeanette did ruin your literal birthday.” 

Wincing at the mention of the name, she has to resist the urge to hang up and hide under her covers. “Maybe…”

“You know I’m right.” Blowing some of his blonde hair out of his eye, Chase looks to the side to talk to someone offscreen. “Oh shit- we’re about to get home and Pav says they have another surprise for me. Just…try to do something nice for yourself. Let other people do something nice for you.” 

“I- I’ll try. Love you.”

“Love you too!” And with that he’s gone. Again. She flops back onto her bed and stares at the ceiling, still wondering if she can weasel her way out of going to school. 

16

On her sixteenth birthday, Chloe was woken up by two figures laughing as they tried to sneak into her room. Glad she had the warning, she was prepared when her two best friends jumped into her bed singing ‘happy birthday’ as loudly and off-key as possible. From down the hall she could hear Chase’s friends doing the same thing. 

Katie was quick to bury herself under the covers with Chloe, while Jeanette looked through her closet and picked through outfits until she landed on Chloe’s favorite dress. Tossing the garment onto the bed, her friends left to let her get dressed and to help her moms with breakfast. 

Pulling the dress over head, she noticed that one side of the dress was a bit heavier. Once she had smoothed down any wrinkles, her hand slipped into the left pocket. Fingers wrapping around a tiny box, she pulled the first gift out. 

Gently pulling the ribbon, her heart warmed as she saw a jewelry box. Inside was a locket with a picture of the three of them their freshman year. 

17

Eventually, she accepts that she needs to face the day head on instead of hiding away from it all. Even if Payton is sure to want to do something, there might still be time to stop whatever party she has planned. 

As if.

Still, she takes some extra time pulling herself together. From making sure that her shirt doesn’t have any wrinkles, to taking the time to curl her hair, Chloe lets herself pretend for at least a moment that it’ll just be a normal day. Maybe above average, with people being nicer and the occasional ‘happy birthday’ being murmured her way. 

Before she leaves for breakfast, she stops by the large rat cage in the corner of the room. Their cage is a strange mish mash of decorations, each one of her friends pitching something in. Taking her boys gently into her hands and putting them on her shoulder as she fills their food bowls, Chloe giggles as freckles licks her cheek. “Yeah yeah, sweet boys, thank you. We’ll make sure to do something for your birthday too.” 

While making her way downstairs, she’s not surprised by the smell of pancake batter and burning chocolate. Both of her moms are in the kitchen- Stacy covered in pancake batter and Jill in chocolate syrup and whipped cream. There’s a mark on Jill’s cheek that matches Stacy’s lipstick. 

“I thought we agreed no chocolate chip pancakes this year…after-”

Cutting her off and grabbing her shoulders, her mom leads her to the table. “And we listened, Sweetheart.” Kissing her cheek and leaving her with a mark to match her mom’s, she watches as they both go into the kitchen. While waiting for them to come back, Chloe takes a quick photo of the lipstick mark on her cheek before wiping it off with a napkin. A sting goes through her heart as she remembers that this is the first year Chase won’t have a matching one. 

Still, her face lights up when she sees the strawberry covered pancakes. “Chocolate chip and strawberry pancakes.” They set the plate in front of her with a flourish, steam still wafting off them. Swatting Chloe’s hand away when she tries to eat, Stacy quickly adds the whipped cream and sticks a candle in the middle dollop. “Make a wish.” 

Instead of doing so, Chloe blows out the candle and gives both of her moms a kiss on the cheek, thanking them before digging into her breakfast. 

16

Every year, her moms made the same mistake. And every year, breakfast would end with both of the twins needing to wash the whipped cream off of their faces and out of their hair because the cans had been left on the table. The dining room had been a bit crowded, Chloe with her two best friends, Chase and his four buddies from whatever he got up to after school, two of their aunts, and their moms- but it had been so full of cheer and love no one even thought to complain. 

“You should probably head out, if you don’t want to be late.” Jill advised her children while picking up the towels everyone had used to clean up. 

Pouting, Chase crossed his arms. “It’s our birthday and you’re making us take the bus?”

“Yeah! Come on, Mrs. M, don’t leave our bro hanging!” Mike or Kale or whoever the brunette slacker was stood up for them. Chloe would’ve felt bad about not knowing her brother’s friends’ names, but he changed his friend group every few weeks. At this point it was better not to get attached. 

“And who said you were taking the bus?” Stacy’s smile promised something amazing, “Look outside.” 

Seeing the two cars with large red bows on the top, neither twin had to ask what car was theirs. Chase ran over to the black used convertible with a cheer, jumping over the door and into the front seat. Only one of his friends could fit into the car with them, but he told them all to find their own rides and drove off- no doubt in anyone's mind that he would be skipping school that day. 

Smiling at his antics, Chloe made her way to the lime green beetle. Katie joined her in the front while Jeanette sat in the backseat. As she looked through the glovebox and dash, she found two more wrapped gifts. “Guys? How many of these are there?” 

“You’ll just have to see~” Katie sang into her ear

Tearing open the paper, Chloe smiled down at the photo of the three of them during the winter formal. Chloe’s dress was a size too big, Jeanette’s at the time new braces had pretty much forced her face into a semi-permanent grimace, and Katie had yet to perfect her technique for dying her hair so half of the red had already faded. It was perfect. 

“You guys-” she felt a little choked up, and it was hard to keep her voice high. Luckily, she had told both of them over the summer and they had been accepting. Lowering her voice slightly as she cleared her throat, Chloe ignored the side glance from the back seat. They were in the middle of nowhere Alabama- it was going to be jarring. She was just glad that neither of them hated her for it or tried to say that she wasn’t like them. 

17

Just as Chloe reaches for the door handle to drive herself to school, a knock startles her. When she opens the door, it’s to Autumn, Mia, and Payton standing with a box of cupcakes. “Happy birthday!” Payton sings, gracefully pushing past her and walking inside. 

“Guys, I thought we agreed not to do anything.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Mia tilts her head towards Payton before grabbing a red velvet cupcake for herself and offering one to Chloe. 

After a bite, the pink haired girl huffed. “You’re lucky these are good.” 

Luckily, for the most part that was all anyone had planned for the day. Sure, every time someone passes Chloe in the hall they wish her a happy birthday, but that’s all she was wanting. Letting herself fall back into the chaos of things, she can almost forget what happened last year. 

16

In every single one of her classes, she found a tiny gift somewhere in or on her desk. She collected a mood ring, some heart earrings, and a signed poster from THE Claire Swanson. Even on the walk back to her car after school, Chloe spotted a gift tucked into a branch in the tree right next to the exit. In the box was a leather bound custom journal from Katie and a blue sweater from Jeanette.

Running her fingers over the soft fabric and looking at the thick cut pages of the journals, Chloe stopped holding herself back and tackled her two best friends in a crushing hug. “You two are the most amazing friends in the world.”

“Right back at ya.” Jeanette’s hold had been tight and protective around her while Katie nuzzled into the space between her neck and shoulder. It was almost overwhelming to feel so loved by two people. Chloe felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have them in her life. 

17

Chloe wishes that any of her friends knew how to be subtle. Not only was Payton’s wild goose chase an obvious way to waste time, but every single one of her friends cars immediately turned to the route to get to her house when they left. Starting to wonder how any of them were able to come off as suspicious or threatening in the beginning, she sighs and begins the doomed search for Payton’s lip gloss. 

An hour later, she gets a text saying that Payton actually just found the tube of glittery paste in her pocket and Chloe is good to go home. Sending a thumbs up in response, Chloe wonders if it’s too late to join her brother in Europe. 

“You know, making them wait isn’t going to stop the party.” A voice comes behind her. Chloe jumps and turns to see Beckett with a few books in his arms. “Just going to worry them.” 

“Well maybe I’ll let them worry,” She crosses her arms and slides down the wall and onto the floor. “I told them I didn’t want a party.” 

Sitting next to her, Beckett lets Chloe lean against his arm. “And I’m sure that they believed that you, Chloe Smith-McMannon, who throws the second most parties in this school, really meant that.” 

“Well I did.”

“Why?” He tilts his head, looking uncannily like his puppy, “I feel like you more than anyone deserve a day of people celebrating you. I mean look at how much you’ve done for this place, and it’s your first year in this state. Everyone at this school is coming from… something, and you gave them a home. Let them sing a few songs for you and shower you with affection.” 

Sighing, she leans into her friend's comfort for just a little bit longer. “You know, most exes don’t stay behind to talk their old partners into going to her own surprise party.” 

“Then I’m glad I don’t see you as an ex.” He stands up and offers his hand to help her up, “Just a best friend.” 

“You’re a cornball, you know that?” She accepts his hand. 

“And damn proud of it.” 

16

After school, the trio made their way to the skate park. Occasionally Chloe and Chase liked to rollerskate on the ramps or in the dip, but her skates were at home and her brother was god knows where. So instead they made their way to an unoccupied ramp, climbed to the top, and watched as Jeanette lit a joint for herself. 

Both Katie and Chloe were too terrified to ever try smoking- so they just sat beside her and watched. They had done this enough times that their noses didn’t even wrinkle at the smell of Jeanette’s subpar weed. 

For a while, they just basked in the silence. Chloe had long closed her eyes and been basking in the sun when she heard the scrape of wheels against old wood. Her eyes opened in time to see Wilbur Diaz- a senior she had known (and had a huge crush on) since freshman orientation. “Hear it’s your birthday, McMannon.” He said, catching himself on the ramp and pulling himself up with one hand to sit next to her. 

“Yep! Officially sixteen- can you see a difference?” 

At first he just jokingly glanced her over, but then he leaned in for a ‘closer look’. He was so close that Chloe could feel his soft breaths against her lips, and it wouldn’t take much for either of them to close the distance. “Nah, still cute.” 

“Hi, Wilbur!” Jeanette spoke up, effectively ruining the moment. 

“Hey, Jean.” he nodded at her before turning his attention back to Chloe, “So I was thinking, since I was a total dumbass for not getting you anything today- maybe I could make it up to you. Take you to my ma’s restaurant in the city?” He nervously picked at his thumb, and Chloe covered his hand with her own. 

“I’d love to.” 

17

Exactly like Chloe expected, her friends’ cars line the streets and all of the lights in the house are obviously turned off when she steps out of the car. Ignoring the loud shushing, she does her best to act shocked when everyone pops up from behind her furniture to yell ‘surprise!’ 

The first thing she does is hug Payton. “Thank you.” 

“Of course!” Excitedly taking her hands, Payton cheers, “Let's do gifts!”

“Don’t people usually save that for the end?” Chloe laughs as she’s dragged to the dining room- saying hello to everyone she can as they pass by. The table is piled reasonably high with gifts. 

With eyes somehow brighter than when she saw a puppy, Payton shook her head. “Who cares what people usually do? I’m SO excited for you to see what we all got you.” 

16

Jeanette had been quiet ever since the skate park, and it wasn’t until they were already halfway to Chloe’s house that she finally spoke up. “I’m actually not feeling great, could you drop me off at home?”

“Oh.” Chloe deflated slightly and turned back in concern, “Are you okay? I’m sure my moms have some-”

“And I’m sure I want to go home.” Jeanette snapped, cutting her off. 

“Right.” Chloe changed the directions on her phone. Still, her expression rose a little when Katie put her hand over her’s. At least this wouldn’t be a total wash, she’d still have her best friend with her. She wasn’t going to let something so small ruin her birthday. Jeanette would get over… whatever was making her so angry, and they’d all be okay. 

17

Going through all of the gifts, Chloe almost isn’t able to handle how oppressive everyone's affection becomes. Kallie gets her a pink teddy bear with a little clown hat and collar, Sakura and Nishan surprise her with an almost suspiciously large pile of all of their favorite games for her Xbox (Nishan says they split the cost, but Chloe knows how decent Sakura is at pirating games she thinks are too expensive), Mia and Ezra give her a CD with a professionally mixed version of the song she had originally made for the band’s first album. 

“I finally got them to sit down and listen to it-”

“And it’s awesome! Oh my god we need to do more fun stuff like that with your fiddle.”

“We’re also going to put it on the band’s website, as an introduction to our sound.”

In the gift from Payton, Chloe pulls out two tiny suits intricately sewn to fit her rats. They even have little nametags, ‘Freckles’ and ‘Bunch’ written in careful and tiny script. “What kind of fairy godmother would I be to them if I forgot them on your special day??”

Lastly, she makes her way over to the largest gift. Even if the wrapping paper wasn’t made of photos of the two of them hanging out, Chloe would know it was from Autumn. Carefully unwrapping the gift to keep the paper in tact, she’s rendered speechless by the painting revealed. 

It’s the day she came out to Autumn. The two of them are walking on the boardwalk with ice cream- tastefully colored to represent the trans flag. The both of them look realistic, but also the vibrant colors Autumn used almost makes it look like they’re glowing. With tears in her eyes, Chloe attacks her best friend in a hug- uncaring of Wes being knocked off balance next to her. “This is the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me!” She mumbled, struggling to hold back tears of joy. 

“I’m glad.” Gentle arms wrapped themselves around her, “I just wanted to capture how beautiful and amazing you are…I’m glad that I was able to get close.” 

After that, she’s able to really start enjoying herself. They order pizza and have too much cake, watch her favorite horror movies, and play truth or dare- ending with Chloe and Julian sharing the most awkward kiss in the history of the universe. 

As she melts into the couch next to her friends, squished between Payton and Wes and all the happier for it, her phone dings. She looks down to see a message from Katie, just a simple ‘Happy birthday, Sweetness’. Feeling her throat filling with bile and eyes stinging with tears, she quickly excuses herself and rushes outside. 

Noticing the haste that she left in, Wes shifts to glance at her phone. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth pulls back into the beginning of a frown. Grabbing his bag, he shifts through for a second until finding what he was looking for. “I’m going to take a smoke break, be right back.” 

“You know those things will kill you one day.” Autumn chides, but she’s still smiling and leans in to let him kiss her cheek before he goes outside. 

Sitting on the bench in the backyard, Chloe is only given a few seconds warning that someone is coming. Stifling her sobs and palming away the tears and makeup on her cheeks, she looks up to see Wes walk outside. Despite knowing that she looks like a mess, he doesn’t say anything when he sits next to her. He just lights his cigarette and after a moment, offers it to her. 

Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach when their fingers touch, Chloe takes the cigarette from him and takes a large inhale from it. Letting the smoke pass her lips, the nicotine rushes through her system and forces her back into the moment. 

They smoke in silence, passing the cigarette back and forth until it’s nothing but the butt. Tossing it into his bag to deal with later, Wes pulls a large stack of papers out of his bag. 

“What’s that?”

“Your birthday gift.” He hands the stack over, and she’s faced with maybe a hundred pictures. Some of the tweets sent out when the ‘news’ broke at her old school, some of photos of her, Jeanette, and Katie, and somehow there’s the message sent to Wilbur telling him about her not an hour after they had left the skate park. 

“Without explanation, this is a really shitty gift, Wes.” 

Smirking, he digs in his pocket, “Good thing that’s not all of it.” Finally, he pulls out his lighter and hands it over. “You shouldn’t let those bitches ruin your birthday. Jeanette ruined your life and Katie left you out to dry. Some fucking friends.” Chloe went to correct him but was interrupted by the lump in her throat. “It’s time to stop letting them get to you. Burn that shit to the ground.”

“You’re insane.” Still, she leads him over to the fire pit and sets the papers down. The two of them huddle in the chill night air and watch as the bitter memories go up in flames. 

From the window, Stacy and Jill watch as their little girl leans into the arms of one of her friends. Stacy reaches out to clutch her wife’s hand, and the two share a knowing look when they see how the teens are looking at each other. “I’m glad she’s finally learning to trust again.”

“Me too. I’m so proud of her, you know?”

The Next Day

Just as she’s getting out of homeroom, Chloe gets a frantic text from Payton. ‘SOS- Student clubs protesting’

[tourmaline-dream]

I saw your tweet about Qimir splitting his space orange with Osha and I thought of my Spanish prof telling us about the phrase ‘mi media naranja’ which means my better half/my soulmate but the literal meaning is my half orange 😭 not sure if this was on purpose but omg I love you they should hang this in the louvre

I’m gonna cry!!! My original intent was just…I think peeling and sharing an orange/tangerine is very sweet and lovely, I had no idea of that particular meaning/symbolism but hot damn is that now part of it, I love that so so much. 🥹

Thank you ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[chartreuseian]

So I got inspired by @sweetteaandpie's comments on this post and did a thing!

I don't feel awesome about it (the last month or so I've been really struggling to feel good re writing and the like, if we're being honest) but the thought of train fic idiot bbys wandering the Louvre 130+ years in the future made me smile a bit so we're leaning in and hoping for the best. May go back and edit it to post later, but for now this will do.

Day 49, 281

Shifting her weight, Helen stifled a sigh and did her very best to focus on the enormous painting hanging before her. It was almost precisely as she remembered it and the nostalgia alone was enough to make her smile, but it was hard to think much on that when she could feel his eyes on her face.

Again.

She crossed her arms and took in a breath through her nose.

“Nikola,” she murmured warningly. He hummed beside her, shifting a little so that his arm brushed hers.

With a huff, she turned to him, but he was too fast (he was always too fast) and by the time she was looking at him, he was looking at the painting, his expression smooth and innocent. It made her want to pull his ear or pinch his side (or slide her hand into his hair and drag him to his knees but the gallery was a little too populated for such a thing) but she settled for rolling her eyes and shaking her head.

Then he did turn to her, his eyes wide and shocked.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Stop staring at me,” she hissed under her breath and he blinked, apparently determined to play innocent.

She turned back to the painting, but it was hard to let the glorious mix of colours overwhelm her when she felt entirely too aware of the insufferable vampire by her side.

“I’m not staring,” he murmured, jostling his elbow against hers. Biting her tongue against the comment about the unsuitability of said insufferable vampires as husbands, Helen slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, shooting him another dark look as she did so.

Nikola ignored her, instead leading them around the other patrons who milled about. The crowds were growing and, even though it was still early, Helen got the impression that in a few hours the entire museum would be packed to the brim with holidaymakers.

In truth, she knew it wasn’t really fair to compare it to their first visit and Nikola seemed to be relishing the excuse to hold her closer than she might have otherwise allowed, but still she almost thought their little excursion to be a waste of a day.

After all, she’d been perfectly in favour of remaining in their enormous hotel suite.

They wandered aimlessly for a few minutes and as their steps carried them into a new part of the museum, Helen found her annoyance fading somewhat. It was helped, of course, by Nikola’s warm and steady presence against her side and the fact that he couldn’t shoot surreptitious glances at her while they navigated the crowds.  

Their pace, however slowed as they approached a new array of cabinets and Helen found herself learning forward, intrigued by the ancient artefacts on display. Nikola’s arm fell away from hers as she stepped forwards, though she could feel him hovering just behind her.

“I think that’s the one we found with Howard,” Helen murmured, pressing a finger to the glass as she peered down at the display. “And perhaps that one…”

Nikola hummed his agreement, but offered no further response as Helen continued to inspect the delicately carved creatures. In fact, until she caught sight of his shimmering reflection in the clear glass of the display, Helen all but forgot that he was there.

And that she was annoyed at him.

Her husband was, once again, looking not at the artefacts he’d dragged her to see, but at her.

Helen straightened up, turning on her heel as her hands fell to her hips.

“This is ridiculous,” she scolded, narrowing her eyes.

Nikola’s politely innocent expression faltered for a moment.  

“You wanted to come here,” she reminded him, jabbing at his chest with one finger. “When I said we only had a day in Paris, you insisted on coming here of all places.”

He frowned, no longer playing at innocent but not quite sensing the direction of her frustrations yet. Helen pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are we here, Nikola?”

He opened his mouth, clearly ready to protest her ire (and something in her chest flared at the opportunity he was giving her to punish him later) but a small gaggle of children surged around them then, one particularly tiny critter scurrying between them to press its face against the glass. Their mother followed quickly, giving Helen and Nikola an apologetic look as she pried her children away but Helen merely smiled, taking Nikola’s elbow and guiding him away from the melee.

When they were no longer surrounded, he offered her his elbow once again.

The urge to push it away was strong, but she suffocated it, instead telling herself that having him close would at least prevent the ridiculous staring. When they started walking again, she squeezed his arm.

“Why are we here?” she asked him again, letting her nails dig in. He shuddered slightly beside her, but offered no other sign of being affected by her words.

“It’s our anniversary,” he began, though he almost sounded defeated to her.

“Nikola…”

“And I thought it might be nice to relive some of our honeymoon,” he tried. Helen sighed and shook her head.

“You’re only making this worse for yourself,” she said softly, smiling at an elderly couple (though more and more Helen was finding the whole concept of ‘elderly’ laughable – there was no one alive as old as they were) who smiled at them in passing. “Be truthful with me, husband.”

Nikola’s sharp intake of breath made her heart bound about against her ribs but she refused to give him any further satisfaction.

“You-u said,” Nikola breathed, his arm tense against hers, “this was where you… where we…”

She stopped them in front of the entrance to another room, the wide arch marked out in rich timber. Before them was a crowd, far thicker than in the other rooms they’d visited, but over their heads she could make out a statue that rose above the onlookers on a plinth.

Turning to look at Nikola, she was gratified to find that, for once, his eyes were not on her.

Slowly he turned to her too, his eyes wide and shining. All at once her frustrations disappeared and the scheme she’d been dreaming up to make him suffer for what she suspected must be an attempt to distract her from the wonders of the Louvre faded into nothingness.

They moved forwards together, lingering on the very edge of the crowd and as the people around them elbowed one another in an attempt to get a picture of the Venus de Milo in the centre of it all, Helen found she only had eyes for her husband.

He looked back to the statue briefly, then towards her again, his free hand moving to cover hers where it rested against his forearm.

“You’re still more beautiful,” he murmured, his voice so low that there was no hope that anyone else in the room might hear it. “Always more beautiful.”

Helen shuddered, leaning forwards as the past and the present blurred together. She could see her new husband standing where her partner of more than a hundred years was, see the innocent seduction of him twining around the blazing desire her Nikola never failed to take advantage of. She could see their beginning and the mess of it all alongside the beautiful, perfect mess of their lives that they’d created together and all at once she was seized with the same blazing sense of certainty that had captured her heart all those years ago.

Shifting to free herself from his embrace, Helen raised her hands to his shoulders, holding tightly as his hands came to rest, as they always did on her waist.

“Helen,” he breathed and she smiled, no longer worrying about who saw them or about whether such a thing might be right or wrong. She felt both miles away from her younger self who had been freed only momentarily from the constraints of the world they lived in, and remarkably close to her, entirely caught up in her desire not just to have Nikola as her husband, but to be his entirely.

“I love you,” she said. Loudly. Clearly. “Always, Nikola.”

His eyes were shining at the words she hadn't been able to say back then as he pulled her closer, his smile making her entire body hum with current.

“Until the end of time,” he murmured in reply and Helen nodded, grinning a little herself.

And then, because she could (because she must) Helen Magnus kissed her husband and forgot everything in the world except for him.

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHARLI XCX FT. LORDE - "THE GIRL, SO CONFUSING VERSION"

We opened July by giving you a Charli remix; we now close July by giving you a Charli remix. Let's work it out in the blurbs, then see you next month!

[7.62]

Julian Axelrod: The girls are fighting. The girls have always been fighting. Sometimes with each other, sometimes with their labels, usually with themselves. But even in a year dominated by petty beef, the girls are rarely fighting on record. Leave it to Charli to realize pop music is all wrestling and execute a perfect reverse heel turn. The week BRAT dropped, pulling back the coke-stained rug to reveal a trap door of professional insecurity, fans and critics clung to "Girl, so confusing" as the last vestige of the carefree club romp we were promised, spawning a million think pieces about which curly-haired brunette started the beef. Bringing Lorde into the mix one week later was at once an escalation and denouement, negating the feud narrative and digging down to the real emotions buried beneath its glossy sheen. Charli resents Lorde's success, her flakiness, and her critical acclaim. Lorde sees Charli as a 365 party girl too cool to acknowledge her, let alone invite her to collab. It's all so insular and meta and self-obsessed and earnest and honest and real, to the point where it's almost too intimate to witness. But it's a testament to Charli and Lorde that the whole thing doesn't topple under its own weight, and hearing them write to each other's style makes you realize they have more in common than just hair. The girls are talking. The girls are collaborating. The girls are working it out on the remix. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Iconic! Culture-changing! This could have been a podcast! [5]

Andrew Karpan: Upon release, it was funny to hear the speculation that this record was about Lorde, in that way that it is always funny to know something that feels intimate and real about a roving symbol of pop phenomenology. At any rate, it was satisfying to hear that we were right. Turning this from subtext to text feels like a decisively modern gesture, a living and breathing genius dot com annotation, something one could easily confuse for Taylor Swift’s 1989 rollout or any other kind of “this phony fake friends fake girl power shit” -- but I’m less inclined to be cynical, even in the meme economy of it all. The fiction of these two people with their relatable problems is played so straight that I practically cried at the end. She rides for Charli! Charli rides for her! Hang it in the Louvre, but down in the back.  [8]

TA Inskeep: I've traditionally not been a fan of Charli XCX, for various reasons not worth getting into here. That's relevant because I am thoroughly knocked the fuck out by the next-level-meta "girl talk" dialogue of this meeting-of-the-minds remix. Lorde responds to Charli's verse with a lacerating one of her own, spilling her guts and getting very real; talk about "work[ing] it out on the remix," goddamn. Charli, of course, is expert at riding producer A.G. Cook's hyperpop rhythms, but to hear Lorde matching her as the track heaves and bumps is a shock. This is profoundly soul-baring pop, what with Lorde candidly talking about eating disorders and Charli admitting on her opening verse "I don't know if you like me / Sometimes I think you might hate me." That they're doing this so publicly is frankly stunning. This feels like -- this is -- a true pop moment. [10]

Alfred Soto: They're having fun, and for once one of these interrogations sounds lived-in. The beats pop harder. Listening to Lorde and Charli ribbit around the cheerful electro-frogs is a visceral pleasure. Few of the problems they describe code as "girl," though, so I'll be the spoilsport. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: The original "Girl" had three problems, none of which got worked out on the remix. Problem the first: As with hot girl walks and girl math, this stuff is not especially girl-coded. Social anxiety and fake friendships are the human condition! Problem the second: I know it's a fandom joke, so apologies for bringing reality into your memes, but it must be said that basically no one is out here seriously comparing Charli XCX to Lorde, at least that I recall. I did a quick search to prove that I hadn't gaslit myself for a decade, and all I could find was this interview; which was almost definitely a bit; this anecdote about a taxi driver, which is mostly telling about the tastes of taxi drivers; and this Vox piece, which is... not good (or if you want to be charitable, maybe also a bit). In a music world where half the girls are regularly compared to half the other girls, that's an honestly impressive display of how much something hasn't happened. I know that none of us are privy to the actual lived history of Charli and Lorde's friendship, and I can certainly admire Charli stoking a grudge for 10+ years. But the emotional stakes just don't feel as dramatic as they've been hyped to, and thus the Internet inside my heart remains unbroken. Problem the third: There's also a song beneath the parasocial moment-making, and it sounds like "Take My Hand" but not as fun. [6]

Will Adams: Will I be sent to the gallows if I admit that this pairing had about the same emotional impact on me as when Taylor and Katy reunited in the "You Need To Calm Down" video? [6]

Hannah Jocelyn: I got thrown into the fire when it comes to female friendship, and honestly I still don't get it. There are entire movies about how nobody gets it, men just assuming women disappear into each other without a man to anchor them. I feel like cis women have the same bafflement, and they've been women for longer than I have. The questions are the same: do you like me? What do you need from me? Do you desire my company? What can I be, and what do I look like from this particular angle? Am I the one you tell your fears to? Do we have the same hair? Do you want to be me? I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is in the tracklist right after the SOPHIE tribute of “So I”; it’s the same push-pull dynamic, the fascination and the fear of getting too close. Lorde’s devastating verse reveals the insecurities underpinning her decade of coolness, but she manages to add another quotable to her pantheon at the same time: “let’s work it out on the remix” is as sweet as “you buy me orange juice” and “down the back, but who cares, it’s the Louvre." I don’t care much about the rivalry (if there really is one) and don't need to, and that lack of care for extraneous knowledge is why I don’t quite love Brat like the rest of the internet. The juxtaposition between electroclash and Real Feelings occasionally feels like a gimmick, but the best songs make the melancholic subtext into text. This one, with its flanged chorus and cyclical chord progression, gets across the angst underneath the blurry JPEGs and silly memes. [8]

Taylor Alatorre: It's unfortunate that the zero-sum economy of the pop remix led to the excising of the song's most crucial lyric: "Think you should come to my party / And put your hands up." Apart from its now-obsolete function as a barely veiled clue, it encapsulates the nervous mixture of resentment and admiration that bleeds through both versions and that is so hard to portray sympathetically, let alone with such an impish wink. Charli, as someone who attended more warehouse raves than I did in the early 2010s, had more of a reason to puzzle over that particular line from "Team," to shake her head and wonder whether this post-twee moralizing was really what the kids were into – "the kids," of course, being those three to four years younger than her. Like, it just seems so childish to be genuinely bothered by the chorus to a Flo Rida hit, doesn't it? And yet Charli XCX still goes by the MSN screen name she had when she was 14. The "girl" in the title is as much an age signifier as it is about gender, and the humanizing awkwardness of the remix is a product of its function as an intermural high school reunion, the kind of event that's "confusing" by necessity even if it goes well, which this one does. Your Pop Class of 2013, 'til infinity. [7]

Jonathan Bradley: In 2011, an eternity ago, Drake offered Kendrick Lamar an entire track on his Take Care album, giving the then up-and-coming Lamar space to talk over his worries about fame and the professional anxieties he felt regarding his more successful host. "React like an infant whenever you're mentioned," Lamar recalled of the Canadian. "He said that he was the same age as myself, and it didn't help cause it made me even more rude and impatient." Having worked it all out on the remix, surely no trouble between the two would ever rise again. So confusing! In 2024, Lorde and Charli XCX connect to puzzle out some feelings, and it works better as an event than a single. Lorde is a savvier writer than Charli and works away at old wounds and insecurities with a sense of intimacy that only appears artless. Unfortunately, the production runs her through filters and bleeps that mold her presence into simply another type of Charli, dispelling the tension created by bringing these two women together. Blame it on Ms. XCX. [5]

Jackie Powell: The beauty of this remix is how it shines a light on how women in pop in 2024 deal with "diss tracks" -- although, to be honest, the remix makes me question whether "Girl, so confusing" really was one in the first place. Diss tracks often don't reveal complex emotions but just function in a universe filled with envy and pettiness, but this remix reveals the chaos that resulted from poor communication, fear, body issues, anxiety and depression. Both Charli and Lorde admit that the confusion of being a girl is a result of comparing your insides to someone else's outsides, a mental exercise that's often destructive but difficult to stop. "It's you and me on the coin/The industry loves to spend" is their acknowledgment of what came across as transparent and icky on Kendrick Lamar's "Not Like Us." Also, Lorde sounds the most compelling she has since 2017's "Melodrama"; while I always prefer less Auto-Tune than more, her talk-singing with audio distortion behind her vocals reminds me why she was so beloved. Her messaging is focused: Lorde at her best. Her vocals are dark: also Lorde at her best. What I find most fascinating here is the choice of words during the final pre-chorus. Charli and Lorde sing that they "ride for each other" after working this out, which sounds more sincere than singing that they now magically love each other. It's not an artificial "love ya," but the more sincere "I see you and I know now what you've been through." I'm actually quite jealous of how seamless this appears. Charli and Lorde are somehow giving me some hope that maybe my own friendship breakups could have been resolved by something like this.  [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Too many friends, not enough time to keep up. Too much life. Too much work, too many health issues, too much doomscrolling. Too much fun and connection and joy had together, but then rewinding it back, wondering whether everyone else felt the same way. Too much anxiety, becoming paralysis, becoming withdrawal. Too much wondering, "Did people notice I was missing? Should I reach out? Is this made up in my head, and if so, why?" Too many panics, trying to find the exact date of their birthday. Too much energy spent internalizing the loss—or even the potential loss—of friends as my own fault, not enough time spent understanding circumstance and accepting change. (Coincidentally, too much “Bad Friend” on repeat, god bless.) Too much time wasted not reciprocating the love of others, when they easily and excitedly extended the grace that I didn’t extend to myself. Too much adulthood, so confusing. But in this song? Just enough. Just enough sweat, enough mess, enough of the internet going crazy. Just enough payoff for being terminally online. Just enough intrapersonal catharsis, brought by talking it out, and making it clear that you do indeed ride for each other and will always “work it out on the remix.” Just enough tears shed, understanding that others, including the ones I idolize, can feel the way that I sometimes do. Just enough possibility of redemption. Just enough hope for salvation.  [10]

Nortey Dowuona: Two things I learned today. 1. Lorde is still her. 2. We need to re-evaluate Solar Power. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[hockeyandhrsepwr]

One Year 🫶

Luke Hughes x college vlogger!reader

Sup Homies! masterlist

yourusername

liked by bestie, dylanduke.25 & others

yourusername Happy one year to my favourite sickly victorian child looking, incredible hockey playing, American eagle modelling, devil(ha)ishly handsome personal chauffeur! 🫶 Love you Luke, here to a lifetime 

view all comments

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User939 no same 

User02 same 😭

user84 Thats a hard launch if I've ever seen one

user215 girl did you not watch her latest video?

user84 lmao no, guess I'm behind

lhughes_06

liked by yourusername, _quinnhughes & others

lhughes_06 happy birthday & anniversary babe!! To many more coffee dates & beach trips

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Yourusername Thanks for always buying me coffee! Love you 🫶

lhughes_06 a caffeinated y/n is a happy y/n. Love you

yourusername true dat

Adamfantilli thats one way to never forget an anniversary 

Luca.fantilli youre not wrong

Edwards.73 happy birthday favourite roomie!!

Dylanduke.25 she doesn’t live here 

mackie.samo practically does tbh

Yourusername I have a key. I’d say im a roomie

Markestapa WHO GAVE HER A KEY! We’ll never have any peace!

Edwards.73 not like we had it before, Dylan lives here

_quinnHughes  happy birthday y/n!

yourusername Thanks Quinny!! Need to visit Vancouver soon!

_quinnhughes text me! We’ll sort it out

TrevorZegras I can’t believe you’ve had a girlfriend for a whole year

lhughes_06 a year longer than you’ve ever had one

Yourusername ooh burn 

Markestapa she’s a cougar

Yourusername doesn’t that make you old too?

Markestapa shut up

JackHughes happy Birthday!!

Yourusername OMG my sixth favourite Hughes!! Thank you

JackHughes hang on SIXTH favourite?! Theres 5 of us!

Yourusername oh, I met your cousin Julia last week. She’s much cooler than you

JuliaHughes Hah I love you!

Yourusername Ah, love you too!

Yourusername JackHughes if it makes you feel better, youre my fifth favourite NJDevil!

jackHughes fuck that Luke doesn’t count 

Yourusername oh he’s not included

NJDevils who make the roster?

Yourusername I’m so glad you asked!! Nico, Dougie, Johnny & Timo!

NJDevils thats a solid top 4!

jackHughes I got booted by the new guy?😦

yourusername

liked by Rutgermcgroarty , user50 & others

yourusername 21 & hella fun. Birthday Vlog up now

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Big thanks to everyone who helped me celebrate & _quinnhughes for the Can-ucket all the way from Van🫶

 User73 happy belated birthday!!!

Edwards.73 Birthday queen!

rutgermcgroatry hella hella fun!!

_quinnhughes I love can-ucket!! Hope it was a good day!

lhughes_06 you went hard for a Tuesday

Yourusername Only turn 21 once!

 User73 Quinn sent her a present? I love this 

User91 its cute how close they are!

User13 already watched it! Looked like fun!

User61 Luke was so sweet in it!! User72 Can’t wait!!

user29 I love that your birthday is Pi day!!

yourusername I like it too!!

[mvxfcb]

Lestappen FanFic Recs | my absolute favorite

This first one deserves so much more recognition than it got. It’s an absolute masterpiece without a doubt. The way Max is portrayed here made me lose my mind, because his character is so fucking smart. There’s no way you won’t get hooked on him just as much as Charles was.

You could hang in the Louvre, grapejuice_folklore

I read this one last night, literally, I was awake until 3 a.m. to finish it. Totally my fault because I already started reading pretty late at night. I just love when a story makes me feel butterflies just like the characters, it’s definitely the best feeling you could have as you follow two characters develop a close relationship, in my point of view. This one made me feel so happy smiling to my phone like I was the one in love with someone, but I was just falling in love with the story. 

You Jump In To Save Me, When My World Is Upside Down, LadyBugFlower

Maybe it was not the most appropriate place, but I read this on the train coming back from my university (Usually I don’t even read on the way since I’m with my friends but they didn’t go that day, which led me to do the best thing I could probably think of, read smut). There was an old lady sitting right next to me. Luckily, English isn’t an official language in my country because some old ladies really like to see what you are doing on ur phone and it would have been a really awkward situation indeed. Nevertheless, this fic made me feel a lot of things and I HAVE TO SAY, the overuse of the word baby is magnificent, could never get tired of it. I think it’s cute, what can I say. Actually, I recommend every single work from this author, this one is just the one which got printed in my mind. 

It’s Our Paradise (And It’s Our War Zone), Fabby

I read this one some time ago so I don’t remember it that clearly but liked it very much. It’s super cute. Max interacting with babies/children will always make me smile.

you’ll be alright, nyoomfruits