#and i feel twilight in this chilis tonight

[musingsofvenus]

“He’s like, the Terminator or something,” Bella says.

Bella is a foul-mouthed, accident prone florist. Jacob is a quiet tattoo artist who opened up his shop across the street.

Read Inked Blossoms on AO3 🌸🐺

@the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis @plainjaniedee @big-idiot-wolf-boys @teamjacobthot

[cockmcstuffins]

feeling blessed in the chili’s tonight considering anything twilight crossing my dash is just people (re: the show) “i ain’t watching that”

[fortunawren]

lyrics iii

“LOST BOY” by Troye Sivan

I fell in love with this album circa 2016, and overplayed it so much that I lost interest but now it’s come back around to nostalgia??

My favorite lines:

“So what are you waiting for? Cause someone could love you more I'm just a lost boy, lost boy I say I wanna settle down Build your hopes up like a tower I'm giving you the run around I'm just a lost boy Not ready to be found.”

“Flightless Bird, American Mouth” by Iron & Wine

Twilight did this. We allllllllll know Twilight did this. I’ve had unrealistic standards for romance ever since Twilight entered my life in the 6th grade. I bit a kid once.

Anyway, lines:

“I was a quick wet boy Diving too deep for coins All of your straight light eyes Wide on my plastic toys Then when the cops closed the fair I cut my long baby hair Stole me a dog-eared map And called for you everywhere Have I found you? Flightless bird, jealous, weeping Or lost you? American mouth Big bill looming.”

“Carolina” by Eric Church

Eric Church wrote this song about North Carolina. Well, I’m a South Carolina girl so… and secretly the biggest hick. 👀 Honestly, this song puts me at ease and helps me reconnect with my roots when I’m feeling too far up in the clouds.

I’ve got two favorite sets of lines from this song:

“Sometimes I grow weary From going' all the time I love to take a minute Let you ease my mind I'd love to see my mama Maybe go for a drive But I got to play the star in some little town again tonight Don't get me wrong I love what I do It's just another song about missing you”

And, then, of course the chorus:

“Like a phone call from my baby Saying honey I miss ya, I miss ya like crazy Just like the song of a siren song Oh Carolina Carolina[x2] Keep calling me home”

“Easier Than Lying”

I loved that this song came up on shuffle. After my ex died, I had to come to terms with how bad the relationship was and honestly Halsey came out with this banger album full of rage and hurt and anger and realizations about the world. It really gave me clarity.

Especially because of this line,

“I sleep with one eye open and one eye closed 'Cause I'll hang myself if you give me rope I lost all my faith and lost all hope That everything means anything at all One eye broken and one eye bruised 'Cause I gave myself away for you You liar, you don't love me too It's easy for you after all Losing you is easier than Lying to myself that you love me.”

I said that last part like a manifestation, bruh. Over and over again.

“Peppers” by Lana Del Rey

This is a new song on my playlist largely due to TikTok, but I was thinking about some bad past behavior and feeling a little shame for it and I heard the lyrics to this song and it settled the religious guilt/trauma.

“Me and my boyfriend listen to the Chili Peppers We write hit songs without trying like all the time, all the time I take off all my clothes, dance naked for the neighbors I'm like, "Fuck it, gonna give a show," I open up the blinds I threw caution to the wind, get onto the bike Take a minute to yourself, skinny-dip in my mind I'm in love”

“Down” by Jason Walker

This song comes from The Vampire Diaries soundtrack. I don’t know what episode, but probably one horribly devastating where Damon is the sassy King that he is.

But I’ve probably cried to this song seven times in my life.

“Not ready to let go 'Cause then I'll never know What I could be missing I'm missing way too much So when do I give up what I was wishing for I shot for the sky I'm stuck on the ground So why do I try, I know I'm gonna fall down I thought I could fly, so why did I drown? I'll never know why it's coming down, down, down.”

Bonus: “Echo” by Jason Walker !!! It’s even sadder.

“Easy (with Noah Cyrus” by Demi Lovato

Wherever you stand with Demi, she has a beautiful voice. I personally think she’s been through more than a person should ever have to and that she’s reacting to her trauma and the media needs to stay off her back…but I digress.

Additionally, if you’re not following NOAH CYRUS please do. Her voice is lovely and her music is heart-wrenching.

Lines:

“The hardest part of leaving is accepting the reasons That somehow we keep repeating endlessly The hardest part of leaving is to hold the heavy breathing back (Ooh, ooh-oh-oh-oh) From showing you how hard it is for me (Hard it is for me) To make it look so easy.”

“Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac

If you’ve never seen that meme where it’s like, “One day you’re a child, and then the next the lyrics to “Landslide” finally resonate and you’re crying in a car wash” well….here we are.

This song has literally gotten me through so much. It provides some deep clarity if you’re receptive to the message.

“I took my love, I took it down I climbed a mountain and I turned around And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills 'Til the landslide brought me down Oh, mirror in the sky What is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

“Lookalike” by Conan Grey

My shuffle is clearly refusing to give me any happy songs, and I desperately want to be in a better mood. THAT BEING SAID, Conan is amazing.

Lines:

“And I'll admit that I sometimes, maybe, might Think about you at night, well, almost every night No matter how I try to hide And erase you from my mind I'm dying To find a lookalike 'Cause when you look in his eyes Hope you think of mine And when you look at that smile Hope I cross your mind I hope in your head You see me instead 'Cause you've been in mine every day since then Maybe it's time to find a lookalike No, I can't lie I need a lookalike”

😭😭😭😭

“Hard Feelings/Loveless” by Lorde

THANK WHATEVER HIGHER POWER THAT THIS WAS THE NEXT SONG. If you haven’t been entranced by Melodrama yet, what are you waiting for? “Green Light”, “Writer in the Dark”, “Sober II”—I OWE IT ON VINYL.

So, this song is technically two songs. It had a shift, which I absolutely love, so we’re going to do two sets here.

Set one:

“'Cause I remember the rush when forever was us Before all of the winds of regret and mistrust Now we sit in your car and our love is a ghost Well, I guess I should go, yeah, I guess I should go Hard feelings These are what they call hard feelings of love When the sweet words and fevers All leave us right here in the cold Alone with the hard feelings of love God, I wish I believed ya When you told me this was my home”

I mean…she’s amazing.

And set two:

“We're L-O-V-E-L-E-S-S generation L-O-V-E-L-E-S-S generation All fuckin' with our lover's heads, generation Bet you wanna rip my heart out Bet you wanna skip my calls now Well, guess what? I'd like that 'Cause I'm gonna mess your life up Gonna wanna tape my mouth shut Look out, lovers.”

Anddd that’s all.

[its-always-sunny-in-forks]

I want y'all to know during my travel last week I was nestled in between Forks and Port Angeles and it was uhhhhhhh pretty good

[su-angelvicioso]

Have you come back to us? I remember you saying you were busy with school at one point. But I miss you and your content. Nobody does Maria like you do.

This is literally so freaking sweet omg 😭✨❤️

Yes I have been busy with school and life in general and I’ve just been feeling burnt out on everything I used to enjoy that gave me some sort of stimulation. But I’d love to come back and make more content, María is like my everything here lol. This really made my day, tbh I didn’t really think I’d be missed but it’s so heartwarming to know that someone feels this way about me. ❤️

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

If I tell you I just scrolled through literally every post in your blog that has the word "pretty" in it in order to find the tumblr version of said fic and get the link, do you want me to dm it to you or something

Nonnie twas faster at sending in an ask I see. Well played! I graciously accept my defeat in a race I didn't know I was in XD

me, expecting nothing: here is a frustrating problem i have

yall: *immediately take steps to correct the problem without me even asking*

me:

[the104yearoldvirgin]

Between working retail during all of this, still attending graduate school online, and writing 3 finals papers: who else wants to go to the forest just outside Forks, WA, lay down about 6 ft apart as per social distancing rules, and just kinda cry together for a minute?

[the-golden-onion]

things that keep me up at night: imagining what the rest of the films would have been like if catherine hardwicke had directed the entire the saga

[morelike-bi-light]

Twilight blogs, show me the best tag that pops up when you type in:

Love

Hate

Bite

Die

Cry

Vamp

Pack

No

Yes

Baby

Girl

Boy

Woman

Man

God

I'll start, check the tags!

[zenyattta]

@ rosalie hale

[musingsofvenus]

Pink Cheeks, Two Left Feet

request from anon: can you do a semi spicy slow burn fic with jacob x bella?

summary: Since Bella graduated, she hasn’t been back to Forks in almost a decade. When she finally returns for a wedding she runs into an old flame: Jacob. All human AU.

taglist: @werewolfseth @the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis @teamjacobthot @howlonghaveyoubeenseventeen @imwiththevampires @elderkatara @twilightreformation @sethclearwatermybeloved @wordsandsstuff @lin-says

chapter 3: don't hesitate

Contrary to what Bella told her father, she could actually hold her liquor pretty well.

Bella leans back against one of the many pieces of driftwood used for seating on the beach, sinking her toes into the gritty sand.

Across the bonfire, she catches Charlie’s eye as he sways with Sue in his arms to the acoustics playing on the loudspeaker. She salutes him with her third beer bottle and drains the last few drops.

Charlie rolls his eyes, mouthing, “Drink water” before he turns his fond gaze back to Sue.

A sappy smile stretches on Bella’s face as she watches the newly weds cuddle closer until she loses sight of them among the other couples dancing on the beach.

Bella sighs, hugging her knees to her chest. She always thought weddings were the best kind of family events. Especially the ones with no frills.

Her father’s wedding was quick and carefree– instead of a traditional processional, the entire wedding party walked as a group down the sandy aisle.

Bella and Leah stood beside Sue, dressed in a lace dress that clung to her waist and flowed at her knees. Jacob and Seth were with Charlie, all three dressed similarly in grey suits.

50 guests stood on the beach as they witnessed Charlie and Sue exchange short but heartfelt vows written on crumpled notebook paper. A bonfire reception immediately followed, the atmosphere more like a casual family barbeque than a formal event.

Bella glances around, and for the umpteenth time tonight her eyes catch on a certain somebody like a moth to a flame: Jacob Black.

Jacob in-a-perfectly-tailored-to-fit-suit Black.

It was so unfair.

After the ceremony he promptly ditched his tie and suit jacket, undoing the first few buttons of his white top and rolling his sleeves up.

He’s standing around with his buddies, a giant among fellow giants, laughing about something that makes his whole face light up.

He takes a sip of the beer in his hand, and Bella doesn’t know where she wants to look more– the sinewy lines on his forearms or the sensual way his throat moves as he takes a gulp.

When she finally manages to drag her eyes back up to his face, Jacob’s eyes meet hers.

Bella squeaks, quickly averting her gaze. She chances a peek behind her lashes.

Amusement sparkles in Jacob’s eyes across the beach.

And that’s been their game throughout the entire day. Bella would look, stupefied and aroused, and Jacob would catch her. He would only tilt his head and offer her a slow, sultry onceover that never failed to send a rush of heat right to her stomach. 

No stone was left unturned with that look; she could feel his gaze trace over every curve with precision. The gleam in his eyes was something like a feline stalking its prey, like he knew exactly what he was going to do as soon as he got her in his clutches. 

As a deer in headlights would, Bella would stand stock still as her heart rate picked up, faintly trembling in anticipation of his approach.

But Jacob would casually turn away like nothing happened. Just like he is right now. 

Bella wanted to clobber him…... and she really wanted to jump his bones. This was the longest game of cat and mouse in the history of man. When was he going to make his move?

Frustrated, she tugs on a loose curl and pouts.

“I need another drink,” Bella grumbles.

She stands, brushing off sand from her legs and makes her way to the nearest cooler. Her fingers rake through the melting ice in search of something decent to sip on. 

Bud Light, Bud Light, Heineken (ugh), Bud Light… Bella considers the slim selection with a frown. Maybe she should just suck it up and try the jungle juice Paul was not-so-subtly distributing in Gatorade bottles from his trunk– 

Bella rears back when a familiar amber bottle is pushed in front of her face. Her eyes slowly rove up to Jacob standing in front of her, offering a Modelo.

“Looking for this?” he asks with a sexy hitch to his lips. 

Bella closes the lid, taking a second to cover her sudden nervousness by brushing the water from her hands against her thighs. She stands and takes the offered bottle with a jerky nod.

“Cheers,” she murmurs, knocking her glass against his. 

Jacob gestures behind him with his own beer. “Enjoying the party?” he asks.

Aside from when he tortures her with one of his looks? Sure.

“Of course,” Bella says instead. “I love weddings.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I don’t remember the last time Dad looked so happy…” She smiles when she catches a glimpse of the newly weds again among the other dancers. “There’s so much love here. I love the energy. And the dancing, too.”

Jacob snorts. “You can’t dance, Bella.”

Bella gasps in mock outrage and punches his shoulder, but he definitely wasn’t wrong.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy watching!”

Jacob leans back and searches her eyes with an assessing gaze. He nods once to himself, balancing his beer on a piece of driftwood before he holds his arms open. 

“Dance with me then,” he challenges.

And embarrass herself in front of all the wedding guests? No, thank you.

“We both know I couldn’t find a rhythm to save my life,” Bella argues.

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I’ll lead.” Jacob rocks forward with pleading eyes. “Please?” 

Closer to him now, Bella can pick up on the spicy notes of Jacob’s cologne. She hasn’t been this close to him all day, save for when he walked with her down the ceremonial aisle for fifteen seconds.

Bella purses her lips, trying to hide her excitement. “I’ll destroy your toes,” she warns him.

Jacob laughs. “I’ll take my chances.”

Bella takes two large swallows of beer for liquid courage and sets her bottle next to Jacob’s abandoned one.

His keeps a broad hand at the small of her back as he guides her to unclaimed space in the sand between other dancers. She pretends it’s the beer and not his touch that makes her nerves tingle, like synapses firing wherever he touches. 

And, somehow, Bella is suddenly dancing effortlessly with Jacob; he twirls her around the sand while her toes sit on top of his feet. She keeps her balance with her hands on his broad shoulders, admiring the feel of his muscles under fingers.

Jacob turns in an easy circle, holding Bella up like she weighs nothing more than a feather. 

Tiny fires light up where his fingers press into her waist. Eye level with the swath of skin exposed by his loosened buttons, the scent of his cologne is much more concentrated now.

It wafts through her senses like novacaine, loosening the muscles in her neck enough to make her head slowly bend forward to capture his scent more. And maybe bury her head in it forever.

“Not so bad, huh, tiny dancer?”

Bella’s head snaps back, and she blinks rapidly. “I’m not tiny. You’re just overgrown,” she manages to say.

Jacob playfully presses his fingers harder. “You love it.”

He had no idea how much she really did… especially if he was going to continue affecting her like that. 

Bella ducks her head with heavy-lidded eyes, muttering under her breath.

Their circles slow into an unhurried sway, and Jacob draws her closer until her head is nestled against his chest, tucked beneath the hollow of his throat… Exactly where she wants to be. 

The way he absent-mindedly thumbs circles on her back is much, much too distracting. His warmth lulls her back into that comfortable, almost sleepy state, and she closes her eyes. Her arms wind around his neck, a tiny hum of appreciation escaping her lips.

She’s caught off guard when Jacob leans his head down and chuckles low into her ear. The sound and feel of his lips against the shell of her ear makes Bella’s stomach flutter. He was too good at this game.

“What’s so funny?” she murmurs.

Jacob shrugs. “Just remembering something.”

Bella peels a curious eye open. “What?”

“Your junior prom. We were dancing in the parking lot, remember?” He chuckles again. “More like stumbling, now that I think about it.”

Bella’s then-boyfriend, Edward, brought her to prom as an unwanted surprise; a “right of teenage passage,” he claimed.

She honestly thought he was taking her to another one of his extravagant dinner dates after a two month hiatus– Bella wasn’t very mobile after a visit with her mom in Arizona ended with a two week stay in the hospital.

To this day she still couldn’t fathom how slipping on her step-father’s baseball bat led to such a nasty tumble down the staircase that she ended up with broken ribs and a fractured tibia.

Her ribs healed quickly, but her leg still had to remain in a bulky cast for several months. She would’ve preferred to stay at home in her sweatpants with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and was trying to figure out a way to ditch prom to do just that when Jacob suddenly showed up. 

They briefly danced together (read: staggered around) until they both realized nothing was going smoothly at all– Bella’s leg started to throb, and Jacob’s arms got tired from supporting her weight. 

They called it quits after a mere two minutes. She begged Edward to take her home after that, to save her from further embarrassment. After that, she swore she would never attend another prom in this lifetime.

Bella’s face grows hot just thinking about it. 

“I had a broken leg!” she says defensively, tucking her head.

“Ah, and that right there,” Jacob says. 

When he doesn’t elaborate, Bella looks up in confusion. 

His finger traces a path against her cheek. “That’s what I was remembering, too. Those pink cheeks... two left feet. All of it,” Jacob explains softly.

He stops their slow dance, straightening as he stares with those burning eyes again and stoking the embers heating just beneath her skin. Bella can feel his grip loosening, but she tightens her arms around his neck. 

She’s tired of playing the long game with Jacob. He’s not going to slip away from her again.

Heart racing, Bella keeps her eyes steady on his as she demands, “How long are we gonna keep up this staring contest, huh?”

Jacob smirks. “You started it when you were checking me out at the fitting.”

Bella chokes as Jacob laughs. So he did notice her gaze yesterday. Well, there was certainly no point in being embarrassed about it now. She forges on.

“Okay, you caught me. What are you gonna do about it?”

Jacob’s laughter abruptly stops. He secures his hold again, pinning her with an intense stare.

“Kiss you, for starters,” he croons. “We got interrupted last time.”

Bella bites her lip, moving her hands to cradle his neck… and they’re back to their same positions before they were interrupted in the Clearwater’s kitchen just last night. Everyone dancing around them suddenly filters into background noise.

Her eyebrow lifts, waiting. Challenging.

Jacob isn’t one to disappoint.

When he dips forward and kisses Bella, her fingers unconsciously curl in his hair. His lips are warm and insistent against hers, threatening to drown her in a puddle of desire. He presses closer with an unrestrained hunger, changing the angle of his attack on her lips. Bella returns his kisses eagerly.

Jacob pulls her lower lip into his mouth in a torturous way that makes her whimper, and her fingers travel from his hair to dig into his shoulders, drawing him impossibly closer.

She wants to be completely smothered by those possessive hands rhythmically squeezing her tighter. And she wonders what it would feel like to have that sensuous touch against her bare skin... Her stomach clenches at the thought.

Why had she waited so many years to kiss him?

Bella is breathless when she pulls away with a gasp and a soft smack of skin. 

“Starters?” she pants, dizzy with want.

She was never going to be satisfied with just a kiss. She wanted more. Much, much more.

Jacob looks like he’s in his own daze with her rosy lipstick smeared all over his mouth and chin. A wave of smugness washes over Bella. She did that to him.

“Jake?” she prompts when he takes too long.

That snaps him out of it, and he opens his mouth to respond.

The MC for the night, Jacob’s father, beats him to it.

“Alright, ladies and gents,” Billy says, his voice booming in the loudspeakers. “It’s time to give Charlie and Sue their honeymoon sendoff! Everybody head to the parking lot and grab a sparkler!”

Bella debates between seeing her father off or kissing Jacob some more. Jacob seems to have no problem deciding, already pulling her closer without a word. That makes Bella’s next decision much easier.

She wriggles free from his hands, slipping away before Jacob can grab her up again. He stills, eyeing the distance she put between them with a frown.

“Bella-”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, Jake!” Bella interrupts, giving him a casual salute. She turns on her heel, laughing at his gaping expression.

Just a little payback for teasing her all night.

The wedding guests gather with their sparklers in hand, waving goodbye as Charlie and Sue climb into the cruiser decorated with streamers and a cheesy ‘Just Married’ sign on the back. 

Bella leans through the open door on the driver’s side to hug her father and press a kiss against Sue’s cheek. She straightens with a wide smile.

“Congratulations,” she whispers. “Have so much fun. Take a bunch of pictures. And don’t forget to wear sunscreen, Dad. You’ll turn into a lobster-”

“Who’s the parent here, Bella?” Charlie complains.

Bella laughs as she steps back and closes the door. Charlie waves once before he starts the engine and makes a slow crawl down the drive. The crowd follows after them, yelling well wishes and waving sparklers. 

Bella doesn’t follow, opting to watch the crowd gather at the fork in the road as Charlie makes a left turn and disappears into the night. She’s the only one left standing in the main area of the parking lot.

Aside from Jacob of course, who’s making his way over and staring Bella down like he wants to swallow her whole.

And she’s planning to let him do just that.

.

.

.

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[heatherthetiredwriter]

Today was an interesting day, to say the least. Not that this is a matter to which any of you should know, but I feel inclined to share, for reasons unknown to me. I shouldn't expect anyone to read through the entire thing, but this is my Tumblr blog, so here it goes.

Unfortunately, you shan't be able to understand a word I'll say because I can only talk like Anne Shirley today and I rather like it.

:readmore: :readmore:

I awoke this morning, the sun streaming through the window above me. I was so asleep and tired still, yet I woke with a strange hint of restfulness that I have not known for months now. I spared no time to dress or even put on my glasses. I only ate a piece of homemade bread and left. I drove along, listening to a classical rendition of "My Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music, which I great enjoyed. The day was beautiful from there. The birds kept their singing throughout the day, even till twilight. I presume I've heard more morning doves today than I have in the past few years. The wrens and Robbins were about today. The sun shine brightly in a clear blue sky, puffy clouds sprinkled across it's beautiful expanse. The wind danced across the land, rustling through the trees and flowers that dotted the long road. It's touch was crisp and refreshing, like a drink of water on a hot day. It carried upon it the most delicate scent of the first budding roses and tulips. The Earth itself seemed to be bursting for joy, for every corner was brimming with the signs of life. I think I never have, and will likely never again, seen leaves so bright and green. I felt that if I breathed in hard enough, I could have just been filled with their life too. Across the yard, along the drive way, tiny little daisy's pepped out of the grass. Even the long dead sticks and leaves looked lively and beautiful.

I wanted to be happy. So dreadfully so. It was the kind of day that made you wish you were a shepherd boy in the Alps, or a peasant girl from long ago, dancing barefoot in the grass. I could see merry Centaurs and Fawns and Fairies, for if there was ever a day for them to exist, it was today.

Yet I couldn't. My heart aches because I longed to be happy. But I feel as if I can't. Alarmingly, I feel nothing. I can appreciate the world's beauty, but it doesn't fill me with life, nor give me a smile under rosey cheeks.

In truth, though I enjoyed how fantastically beautiful this earth was today, I couldn't help but wish that today had been a gloomy day. That it had been rainy, with dark, low-hanging clouds covering the sky. That the wind had been dry and unfriendly. That the birds wouldn't sing. Maybe then I could cry like I wish too. But I think even then I couldn't. I fear I've run out of tears to cry. So I shall just be numb.

I did try my hardest. If not for me, for I have discovered that I really could care less, then for the people that love me. For I love them, and I could never bear to hurt them. For each and every action I did today, I did it for one of you. You know who you are, for I hold you very dearly to my heart. For you I rose this morning, for you I ate a breakfast, a lunch, and a dinner. For you I took my medicine. For you I drank water, took a shower, took a nap, and cared for my face. For you I drank a hot tea, so that I might sleep well tonight. For you, I spent the day picking flowers, making a blanket, and listening to the few books that still give me comfort.

And do those things I did. I think you should be rather proud of me. Not just last week I was surviving on three apples a day. But today for breakfast I had two English muffins with cheese and sausage, with fried potatoes and berries, bananas, grapes and all sorts of nuts. And for lunch I had a large potato, toped with cheese and chili and everything you can imagine on the top. Importantly I had lots of kale. Oh please say you are proud of me for that one. I know I need the kale for my stomach to heal, but I do detest is so. However, maybe it was due to my numbness, but today I didn't mind it so much. I had it twice even. One might think that I liked it. Oh and for dinner I had it again, which really should make my mother happy. She is terribly worried about me, I know.

I started making a blanket you know. I have gone through thirty-two yards of yarn so far and it seems as if I have barely started. The work is boring and repetitive, yet something about it helped steady me today. And I can't help but wonder what would have happened had I not begun work on the blanket.

But most of all, I surprisingly talked to you, my beloved. I love to talk to you, that's true, but I so often ignore you because I cannot bring myself to do anything. So this action surprised even I.

Now, my tea is finished. I feel warm inside and my eyes are tired. My soul is tired. I shall drift away into a sleep, and perhaps, in my dreams, I shall cry.

[soyforramen]

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.  

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.  

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away.  He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him.  But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.  

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake.  With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said.  With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair.  “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s.  Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school.  Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong.  Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood.  Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered.  “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest.  Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest?  And was was Reggie acting so cordial?  

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty.  Serpent’s jacket?  

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What?  It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.  

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air.  With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact.  There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy.  He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream.  It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused.  Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.  

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world.  The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart.  The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought.  Sure, they weren’t the perfect family.  But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be.  That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin.  It was a nice touch.  Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world.  Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best.  While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake.  When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee.  As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show.  But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream.  Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face.  He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled.   “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout.  She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen.  “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood.  He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.  

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold.  He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said.  She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched.  “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him.  When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks.  She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile.  It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner.  That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts?  Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked.  When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side.  It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her).  He shivered and quickened his step.  Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.  

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him.  Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream.  He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings.  His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.  

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle.  She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought.  Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.  

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood.   Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky.  Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused.  “My mother?  And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered.  “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence.  As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace.  Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified.  With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before.  Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her.  He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach.  Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house.  He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice.  Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights.  Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly.  When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump.  “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment.  “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched.  Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house.  Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust.  But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him.  Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him.  Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek.  He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.  

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school.  There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn.  For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl.  (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed.  Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.

[owillofthewisps]

got a goddamn nerve

notes: may i make up the angst from the other day with some filth? fun fact writing yennefer is terrifying, she’s so beautifully complex and forceful and delicate that i am worried i can’t even do her a semblance of justice.  but also. i really needed some smut with her. and i am feeling filthy in this chili’s tonight.

title is from fka twigs ‘in time’ (which is on my femme top playlist lmao)

not doing my taglist because this is - not geralt. 

rating: explicit.  this is straight up pwp. well. not straight. but you get it. (warnings: hairpulling, yen giving the strap, vaginal fingering, some d/s elements, lil bit of choking, cockwarming elements, dirty talk, mentions of Geralt during sex, mentions of public sex, maybe a hint of praise kink, just general filth.)

pairing: yennefer of vengerberg/female reader

word count: 2.2k

Yennefer is a force of nature, chaos barely contained.  As a lover, she’s something of a hurricane, but you’ve always chased storms.

“My perfect little crescent moon,” Yennefer purrs.

You whimper.

She has one slim hand wound through your hair, her deft fingers fisted tight at your nape, little pricks of pain melting down your spine to puddle in your cunt.  Yennefer is an unrelenting river, her hands eroding you to her will, forcing your head back until your spine curves like a bend in the riverbank.  Until it curves like a crescent moon.  She holds you still in the velvet expanse of her night sky, surrounding you, encompassing you.  

She traces a finger down the skipping stones of your vertebrae.  You can feel the waxy streaks of her lip paint drying on your skin, a meandering trail of her paths across the map of your body.  She thumbs at one streak of it gently, rubs the stickiness of it from your sweat slick skin.  Sometimes you aren’t sure if she’s rubbing the paint from you, or further into you.  It doesn’t matter, you suppose.  Each touch of her lips sinks into your skin.  The imprint of her lips lives under every inch of you, marks you beneath the surface, burns like a comet below your skin.  You know the touch of her lips will never truly leave you.

“Yenna,” you breathe.

The yank on your hair is short and sharp and vicious.  The biting sting radiates through you, sends a moan tumbling from your lips.  It trickles from you like wine, warm and full-bodied.  Yennefer laughs, low and pleased, and the sultry sound of it makes you squirm on the thick stone cock splitting you wide, your thighs trembling.

She’s pushed deep in you, bottomed out, her slim hips flush against your ass.  It’s the biggest you’ve ever taken.  Yennefer had spent an inordinate amount of time opening you, had filled you with her fingers one by one, gazing up at you with violet eyes gleaming like twilight, until your slick dripped gleaming down her hand, your cunt clenching with each strong stroke.  Still, when she had pushed home, her hips nestled against yours as she speared into you, your voice had broken on her name at the fullness.

You can feel every inch of it against your sensitive walls, even when she’s still, just her fingertips tapping against the soft skin of your stomach.  That alone sends you fluttering around the stone, sensation dancing up your spine like lightning, each press of her fingers a strike point.  

“Hush,” Yennefer tells you.  “Don’t be impatient.”

She pulls your head to the side with her grip on your hair, tugs hard to expose the column of your throat, and lays a biting kiss at the junction of your neck and shoulder.  She licks at the indent of her teeth.  Her grip on your hair slackens, just a smidge, so that she can crowd forward, until you can feel the softness of her breasts against you, her nipples pebbled and tight.  You swallow down a whine as she slips just a hint deeper.  

“So pretty like this,” she murmurs.  Her ebony hair flutters over the curve of your shoulder like a raven’s wing, drapes soft against your skin.  “So pretty and so good, speared open for me.  You always take me so very, very well.”

You clench.

“Mm,” Yennefer hums.  “I could keep you clenching tight on me for hours, darling.  I don’t think I could tire of the sight if I tried.”

She reaches down, draws a circle around where you connect, where the stone splits you wide.  You keen at the touch, too light and too little, just a soft brush of her fingertips at the wet of you.  Her hand tightens in your hair, gives a soft pull that’s still enough to make you shudder.    

“Do you think they would notice?” Yennefer muses, slipping her fingers up your cunt to circle around your clit.  You spasm.  “If I had you take me at the dinner table, had you sit so pretty on my lap, had you warming thick stone in your tight cunt as the others bantered and laughed?”

She snaps her hips sharply, one quick, hard thrust, and you coil tight like a bowstring, swallowing down a scream.

“Well done, darling,” she says, unknotting her hand from your hair and petting at your flank.

Without her hand to keep you taut, you crumble like an ancient tower, collapsing into the soft cradle of the bed.  The stone cock slips out of you, the thick head of it catching at your hole.  You hiss out a quiet breath.  Yennefer presses a kiss against your shoulder, and then another, and another.  She kisses a constellation into your skin, and then she pulls you back up to your knees.  

Yennefer swipes the fat head of the cock through the wet of your cunt. The slick sound it makes brings heat to your cheeks.  She nudges at your clit with the stone, pulls a deep, primal noise from somewhere deep inside you.  

“You get so wet,” she muses. “Geralt would know, I suppose.  He’d be able to smell your ripe cunt before I could even fully seat you on my cock.”

The moan drips from your lips like thick honey, sweet and slow, and you fold like a paper crane.  Yennefer laughs again, a low, predatory rumble, and slips an arm around your waist to keep your ass up. The bedsheets are cool against your warm cheek, and you close your eyes.

“You would do it though, wouldn’t you, darling, if I asked?”

You can’t even squeak out an answer, because she steals your air as she spears into you again. The cock presses heavy in you, the weight of it monumental, sending sparks skittering up your spine.  You try to push back up to your hands and knees, to arch into every inch of skin that you can, but she places a slim hand between your shoulders to hold you down.

Her touch runs across your skin like heat lightning, darting from nerve to nerve until your synapses are singing a symphony to her storm.  

“Would you let me choke you on his cock?” she wonders.  Her fingers stroke along your spine, stroke at the damp hair at the nape of your neck.  She shifts her hips to sink deeper into your fluttering cunt.  Your whine rends the air, rises high like a hymn, a prayer at her altar.  You have written her a hymnal of moans in your time together, a collection of sounds she pries out of you when she lays you bare in more ways than one.  “You always look pretty when you’re gazing up through those damp eyelashes.”

You can feel her eyes on you, know they have darkened to the plum bruise of the night sky.  She traces a finger under your chin.  You turn back to her as best you can, pinned down as you are.  She’s radiant, a lightning storm come to life, her obsidian hair tumbling like rain over her shoulders, something sly tucked into the corner of her plush lips.

“I don’t think I could bear to share you,” Yennefer hums.  She presses her thumb against the pad of your lips.  You part for her, roll your tongue over the digit, and taste the salt of her skin just beneath the tang of your cunt.  

“Good,” she tells you.  You tighten around the stone.

Yennefer drapes herself over you.  She’s silken against you, soft like a spring storm, something warm and soothing and rippling with contained power.  She flexes her hips and you sob out her name as she pushes deeper still.

“Yenna,” you plead.  

“You sound as pretty as you look.”

“Yenna,” you say again, trying to push your hips back into the cradle of her.  “Please.”

She brushes a featherlight kiss just beneath the shell of your ear.

You start to say her name again, the sound of it soft on your tongue, and your teeth snap down on the sound as she pulls back and thrusts.

Yennefer fucks into you with sharp, hard snaps of her hips.  You sink your fingers into the sheets with a quiet wail, the pleasure spiking along the staircase of your spine, running down the ladder of your bones to pool hot in your cunt.  She catches you off guard with a slow, deep stroke, one that scrapes along every nerve in your sensitive walls, and you choke on your breath.  

Caught in the tide of molten pleasure, you don’t notice she’s woven her hand through your hair until she pulls.  The sting of it lights up your nerves.  You cry out, and she pulls you up by the hair, gets you onto your hands and knees, and then wraps a slim hand around your throat.

“So noisy,” Yennefer chides, but you can feel her pulse racing against you, can hear the little skip in her breath.  She gives a few more short, sharp strokes, and you clench around the girth in you, little noises spilling from you ceaselessly.  How easily she unravels you, pulls at the loose string of the tapestry of your pleasure until it takes you apart, until only the frame of you is left, the bones that have the print of her lips carved into them.

Her fingers tighten around your throat, just slightly, and you curse.

“There you are,” she says, pressing a smiling kiss against your shoulder.  “I can feel you trembling.”

“Gods, Yen.”

“Not quite,” she says, and then she’s leaning back, pulling you with her until you are cradled in her kneeling form, your thighs spread wide over hers.  She keeps you curved like a bow with her grip on your throat, lets you settle deep onto the cock.  You grind down on it, let your weight carry you down on the girth of it.  

Yennefer sets her teeth against your shoulder blade.  You whine again, circling your hips, until the stone grinds over every nerve in your cunt and you’re fluttering around it.  Yennefer fucks up into you with a strong flex of her hips, presses filthily deep inside you, until you are spasming around the stone, little tremors rolling through you.  It’s just short of enough.

“I’ll be nice,” she says.  “Because you were so good.”

You clench.  She tightens her fingers around the column of your throat, pressing just hard enough, until you can feel the air catching in your chest.  Yennefer thrusts up roughly, until you’re gasping, your breasts bouncing with each hard shove.

Her other hand slips to your cunt.  She spreads you wide, her nimble fingers playing over you like the sun shimmering through the forest’s canopy, light and fluttering.  You arch into her delicate touch.  

“Are you going to come on my cock?” she purrs into your ear.  “Clench tight around it and come apart at the seams?”

“Yes,” you grit out as she loosens the collar of her fingers on your throat.  “Yenna, please.”

“Delightful little thing,” she tells you, her breath drifting hot over the shell of your ear.  She sweeps a thumb over your clit.  “Go on, then.”

Yennefer spears deep into you, the girth knocking your thin breath out of your lungs, and she rubs firm, steady circles over your clit.  You sob, the sound torn out of you, your back arching as your muscles go tight. The gathering lightning knits into a single bolt at the bottom of your spine and strikes ground, rolls over you in a flash of white that leaves you blinking.  Your voice cracks like thunder as you come screaming.  

You slump against Yennefer, let her cradle you.  Your thighs are trembling against her.  She traces idle patterns over your hips.  Her lips are gentle as she presses a soft kiss against your cheek, the return of softer clouds after the storm has rolled on.  

When you start to stir, she slips out of you.  You hiss a soft breath as the cockhead catches against your cunt and flop forward onto the bed.  Yennefer brushes a kiss against your shoulder, hiding her smile in your skin.  

You roll over.  She leans up to cage you beneath her.  Her dark hair falls like a curtain around your face, shielding the two of you from the world.  You cup her cheek; rub a thumb over her cheekbone, trace the curve of it.  “Yen,” you murmur, eyes flickering to hers, finding spring peering back at you.  You wonder if you can find a dress in the same shade as her eyes.    

“How do you feel?” she asks.

“Fucked out.”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges.  “Not too much?”

“No.”

“Good,” she murmurs, and then she is leaning down to you, is curving soft against you.  You meet her kiss delicately, settle into the twilight dusk of her tenderness.  You trade lazy kisses, lick soft into her mouth.

She’s tracing the tip of her tongue over the cupid’s bow of your lips when you feel the stone cock drag against the lips of your cunt.  Yennefer slides it between your thighs and ruts there.  She presses a soft kiss at the corner of your lips and pulls back.

“Once more, darling,” she tells you.  “And then I want to come on your face.”

Yennefer leans down to kiss your half-hearted protest away, and you let her storm sweep you back up.  

[electric-marrow]

mouth dreams review but it was typed live while i was listening to it and completely unedited

under the cut because it’s 1800+ words. also, swearing. actual review to come soon!!

mouth dreams' first track is ephemeral and beautiful, spine-chilling and moving. it rocks you into this world in a beautiful passageway, like the entrance to sakaar, and the moment it peaks over into the twilight opening you are almost on the verge of tears.

and then we will rock you kicks in.

/and then the spongebob squarepants opening theme kicks in/.

and then the two motherfucking /sync/.

a beautiful piece of childhood, worked over another. beautiful guitar overlaid with beautiful chanting almost powerful.

the next song uses extensive sentence mixing, but is cut so smoothly that we are convinced Cash is offering up an absurd, painstakingly honest tale. "it's probably a good train." fuck, fuck, yes, it probably is. "my mama was my train." fuck, she was...

the instrumentals are soul-rising, and the "baby, baby, baby" undercurrent is eargasmic. everything about it feels like you're listening to your dying mentor's backstory.

it moves you, and you keep moving. this whole album keeps you in constant motion, as if you yourself have some falling to do.

and then he says "i shit my pants". and you realise, this is it, this is NEIL'S ALBUM, oh, how foolish you were for forgetting.

HELL YES IT'S FUCKING PSYCHO KILLER. let me pause the review of that song, fuck yes.

a heavily sentence-mixed "pyscho killer" focusing on david byrne's bed, overlaid atop the iconic instrumentals of super freak.

this makes the talking heads classic seem like an upbeat song you might hear on the radio. it's much less somber, more passionate.

neil's humor pokes through visibly, shining like a beacon of light that brings a smile to your tear-stained face.

there's no room to breathe on this album; the songs come running together in the most gorgeous of ways. holy shit, am i only twelve minutes in? i think i might sob.

this one is unfamiliar at first—i only saw the partridge family once or twice as a kid. the remixing is smooth, so that it sounds natural.

so natural that when it starts to sound unnatural, it's a terrifying work of art that made me shake. a plea with you to be happy, almost a demand, like they're outside your windows.

the music starts to dance from ear to ear, and it's almost masterful in the horror it invokes.

and then there's scatting. or, what sounds like it.

and then you realise it's the chili's babyback ribs ad. it's soulful, placed atop everybody wants to rule the world in smooth ease.

that's when marilyn manson starts shrieking. the roughness, the rasp, smacking against that smooth drawl. it's a beautiful juxtaposition.

oh, and then the lion sleeps tonight is there. somehow, it fits. you start to revel in neil's genius. no one will ever be able to achieve this again, not in the same way. this is the beacon that you needed in these dark times.

you wonder if you'll cry the next time you hear this.

it's a pretty effective ad, actually. if marilyn manson advertised everything, i might buy it.

the next song makes you jump to attention. the track teased in the trailer, with its jumping guitar and its congested vocals. this sounds almost natural, like an authentic goth song.

of course, he has to say "mouth". aerosmith and green day and, most importantly, neil cicierega, combining to create a mouthy ballad that echoes through you.

—oh, goddamnit, green day. september 30th. neil woke up when september ended. fuck. dammit. is that insensitive? maybe. shit.

i'm not well-versed with music, so these songs were both pretty alien. however, their mixing is masterful, and the removal of the singer's objections to his situations form a sweet little ballad.

my own worst enemy. this one is  familiar, and it makes heads turn as you realise what music is slowly remixed.

a rocking tribute to sleeping with your clothes on. short, sweet, rockin' and rollin' as hard as it can.

the segue is beautiful, like it's natural.

the lyrics make your chest heave, and the sound itself is heavily distorted to a dreamy state, as if you are as drunk as the singer sounds. anything can be amore, you realise.

the distortion is noticeable without ruining the track, and neil has gotten significantly better.

it ends a little more nightmarishly, and makes you feel very real. very in your skin. fuck yeah, neil.

the following "stop" is even more jarring, and it's almost welcome.

and then, stacy's mom. i think the instrumentals are where is my mind, i don't know. but it /works/, and it fits together, with stacy's mom slowed down considerably but not so that it ruins the track. the pitch is shifted properly so that it becomes an angry slow ballad about stacy's mom. rife with heartbreak.

and then it stops, breaks off into a cry for "mom" that might awaken buried maternal issues in the listener. maybe just me, though.

here comes fred durst. it gets the "wow wow" treatment, and its nookie theme becomes sweet, bouncing around with innocent sentimentality. i thought i heard seinfeld around there somewhere.

this is a good point in the album to close your eyes and really hear the album, to feel what ou are truly experiencing. it can move by too fast if you're not paying attention. listen to that iconic sledgehammer guitar. listen to—mario?

fuck. fuck. fuck.

fucking christ. not the fucking ewok celebration.

almost nonsensical lyrics play over the nookie instrumental (reversing the last track's roles), and the combination is natural and rowdy. you slowly realise what those ewoks reflected in neil's glasses /mean/, and it horrifies you just a little.

god, that's good. fuck you, neil.

jingles? is that—jingles?

a moment of confusion. and then, THX.

the iconic, crawling note, invading your ears and then slowly fading out. "she drives me crazy" is playing, and the THX sound is its backing track.

only neil.

it gets better as it goes on, from a joking track to a genuinely orchestral sensation. it's good music. it's beautiful. it feels like an action movie soundtrack, as the hero discovers a massive secret.

maybe you are dreaming.

the next sound sample is jarring. the announcement. the outsiders cast. and then more, and then more. it feels like a list of gods left in a dying world. johnny.

and then there is johnny cash.

and then it isn't.

what neil plays is heartbreaking. it feels like your world is crashing down around you. it's a betrayal that could bring anyone to their knees. the booing played behind it is appropriate.

but he builds that world right back up, with soft, strumming guitar. it's forgiveness and vitriol all rolled into one.

actually, you can forgive him for the next track. yes. fireflies. let's fucking go. closer overlaid with fireflies. yes. hell yes.

it's like a gift, a peace offering.

the nostalgic, upbeat lyrics, feel deeper atop the warbling, warped backing track. it's like owl city's song about dreaming feels like it could be a teenage angst anthem.

it's art.

the plucked guitar fades out, and the lyrics start to distort. everything fades away...

nevermind, time for billy joel.

the shrieking, screaming, rasping lyrics of nightmare are mixed atop the bouncing piano music, so the song lays halfway between an upbeat piece of joy, and a warning.

it ain't over yet.

xylophone. why is there xylophone?

the iconic "powerhouse" track serves as our instrumentals, the classic sound one from our childhood as the droning sound of jack white forms a buzzing piece of heartbreak. only neil, right?

only neil.

the "War" sample is iconic, and it makes you jump.

the "Wannabe" sample will make you writhe.

iconic, jamming guitar, and also wario. the spice girls, and also wario. yes. yes. this is it.

the following laughter brings back your childhood. elfman's work on the peewee soundtrack, peripatetic in nature, running up and down your ears as gorillaz croons a bittersweet sound. it becomes almost triumphant against the instrumental, re-energized like the monster in frankenstein's lab.

peewee is laughing. maybe we should laugh too.

the next one up is soft, plucked note by note, until alanis morisette goes completely off the deep end. the spoons, alanis.

holy shit, is that knight rider?

this mashup is classic, expertly remixed without a single hitch. it's neil at his finest, neil at his neiliest, alanis' quiet "Don't you think?" almost smug.

the sound of rain, followed by the crooning iconic "raiiiiin" is enough to make you break down. this is a blessing from an unknowable god.

two backstreet boys lines run up against each other, forming a surrounding sound that envelopes you in shaking guitar until the distorted sound in the back becomes noticeable.

there it is. there's the song you were waiting for.

your savior has arrived, and it is in a horrible form. it rises from the tomb in an unholy abomination. you fall to your knees.

"wake up."

i can't. i'm trapped here. i can feel every single one of my vertebra. i'm crying.

and then beethoven and britney make a duet.

"hit me baby one more time" runs along iconic dashing violin.

you start to hear it, and then it's there even more.

the hall of the mountain king, slowly building, the suspense enough to bring you to the edge of your seat. weezer's lyrics are pronounced like an oracle's prophecy, sardonic and yet grim, delivered with its iconic "say it ain't so" almost ironic.

then the crescendo hits, and the singing feels like it's declaring your fate. it rocks you, and never lets you still.

...and then there is the dial-up. you're staring at neil's face, and you realise the title itself has a secret. the starred letters spelled out "nice modem."

the screeching dial-up sound, and then nothing. you're sitting in the silence, with this quiet revelation.

he's carried you through the greatest adventure of your life, and then left you in the nothingness, tearing away a world that could only be imagined in the dreams of a 90s kid raised on the internet.

it's heartbreaking, but it mends every single tear of that vital organ. it's alright. neil's got you. this is his gift, this is his message.

he shares this dream with us, because it's the only piece of hope we can hold onto. someone else's dream, forged on childhood memories and ambition, woven together with years of experience until it culminates into an hour-long album of cultural mashup and musical blasphemy.

it brings tears to my eyes, and then wipes them off. it wants you to feel, it wants you to bleed, and then it wants you to heal. rejoice, says mouth dreams. rejoice. rejoice in what the world has given you.

you're going to be alright.

definitely, like, a solid 9/10. pretty good album. i think my favorite track was either brithoven or superkiller, tell me what yours was in the replies!

i can see new colors.

[engagedzukka]

Do u have any zukka fic recs!!!!

DO I! i’ve read more zukka fics than i care to admit. here are just the ones i can remember off the top of my head, but there are seriously so many amazing fics out there

literally anything by haicrescendo (it feels silly even recommending her at this point, but if you actually haven’t read her stuff, start with mass times acceleration, quarantine and chill, and quinacridone)

for peace and zuko by beersforqueers

fumbling towards ecstasy by @dickpuncher420 (also love language) 

unconditionally and irrevocably [AKA TWILIGHT ZUKKA 😍] by @sokkadyke

and i feel like an oblivious walnut in this chili’s tonight by lysiabeth

i could (never) give you peace by @zukkababey

spring comes to caldera by sinkburrito

and if you get bored maybe you could check out my stuff? 🥰

i’m sure i could come up with like fifty more but seriously, read these ones, you won’t regret it.