#and then it’s like three bangers that tug at my heart

[catzgam3rz]

I would like to know what was put in Leo/Need’s storylines to make me basically disinterested, until the last 3 chapters when I’m suddenly so deeply invested in these girls and their band

[strugglingyetvibing]

let me put y'all on something real quick

we all know children's animation rocks (bluey, phineas and ferb, steven universe, etc etc etc)

well i've stumbled across a banger of a show that either i have yet to find the fandom for or is being incredibly slept on

it's called "Go! Go! Cory Carson," it's on netflix, and it is so freaking adorable

first of all, this is the character design:

i mean, look at them!! the little green one is Chrissy, and she is the goat of the show. the orange one chrissy is sitting on is Cory, the blue one in the background is Mama, and the one with wood paneling is Papa.

the world of the show is super cute as well! i won't bombard with photos, but the plant life is all this neat felt-looking texture (which you can kind of see in the tree in the background of this pic), and the world itself is quite adorable, using over-exaggerated hills for much of the landscaping with sparse trees and bushes adorning them (which is reminiscent of a child's landscape drawing)

the show isn't built for older kids, like shows such as steven universe, but it's also not structured in a 'dora-style' format like some shows for kids are (being overly interactive with the audience with overwhelmingly positive protagonists or pointing out the obvious every five seconds to really drive home whatever message the show is sending)

the show is about cory and how he learns about life through playing with his friends and his family. it's really endearing, with a solid cast of characters, and the storytelling is very well done. the episodes, while short, are usually nicely paced, and they provide good messaging about healthy relationships with friends, family, the world around you, and even with yourself.

the characters are decently fleshed out as well. of course, headline protagonist cory has the most character development, and we ride along with him for most of the episodes. but chrissy is a pretty fleshed out character for being a toddler who still calls 'superheroes' "Scooplbeeple," and Mama and Papa have their moments that connect with older audiences that aren't just overused stereotypes. some of the episodes also vaguely spoof popular movies and television (like mission impossible's theme and dance dance revolution), which make these already cute episode even cuter

part of my system of deciding whether a piece of media is good or not (in my super subjective opinion) is if it can make me cry. it's not always a factor, but usually, if it makes me cry that's a pretty good thing. that's because there was enough emotional heart in the media to tug at my heartstrings enough to make me cry. bluey absolutely smashed this category out of the park (sleepytime, granddad, rug island, to name a few episodes that made me sob), and i could talk about how good that show is for quite some time. cory carson has six seasons so far, and i'm part of the way through season three. so far, two episode have made me cry, "Grandpa's Treasure" and "Show and Tell," so this show definitely passes the test.

long story short, "Go! Go! Cory Carson" is an adorable little Netflix show to check out if you have about 8 minutes to spare for an episode and want to see adorable little cars zoom around their cute little town, and i highly recommend it if you like children's animation similar to shows like bluey

but, really though, chrissy is the best character in the show, hands down. she's a little car of few 'words,' but when she speaks, you listen

[weelittleweasley]

guitar lesson (f.w.)

prompt: the band that the weasley siblings had formed brought new excitement to hogwarts. new music, new 

pairing: guitarist!fred weasley x fem! reader

warnings: language, allusions to sex (for like one second)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this is literally just pure fluff. pure cute musical fluff.

George groaned and halted his drumming, “Bloody hell, Ronald, it’s not that hard to get the chord progression right after the third time drilling the song!” he cried out before tucking a drumstick behind his ear. “We go from G to B minor to E minor back to B minor. What is so hard about that?” he scolds his brother who just rolls his eyes. “Do we want to get this right or not?” George looks to the rest of the band comprised of his other siblings.

Ron just retorted simply, “It’s the first time we’ve ran this song in weeks, George. Everyone is rusty. Just give it a rest. We’ll get it right next go. Besides, aren’t we due for a five?” he looks to his sister who gives him eager eyes and a nod, signaling they were in desperate need of a break. 

George scoffs at his younger brother and says, “No, you’ll get it right the next go. Which starts now. Ginny, from the chorus. Fred, keep the chords crunchy, it sounds better that way. Ron, don’t fuck it up. Ready?” George directs the band as they all sigh. 

They had only been in band practice for an hour and a half and George was already making it a living hell. Sure, it was his idea to form a band and it seemed like a great idea. It was a way to spend more time together, to make music, to meet new people, and blow off some steam. If anything, Fred was the first one to jump on the offer. He knew that it would be a way for his family to bond, but also a way for him to show off his guitar skills that he had been honing for the past few years. Fred had once said, “Ladies love musicians. Especially the guitarists.”

But now it seemed like the band, which once was a low-key, stress free environment has changed wildly. Almost overnight things took a rapid 360. George had managed to book a gig for their band, The Burrow Bangers, at Three Broomsticks for the next weekend. George had convinced Madam Rosmerta to let them have the whole building for the evening for the gig if they promised to bring in the people. Which would not be a problem. Students were itching to see the band of siblings play. But this meant high stakes for the Weasleys. A real gig, paying them real money, to play real music. All they had ever done before was fuck around and play random music that they thought was funny. But this? This was all very new and very different than what they were used to.

With a few strikes of his drumsticks, George yelled out, “A 1, 2, 3, 4!” And the band swelled with music, George keeping rhythm on the drum kit, Fred wailing on his guitar, Ron strumming on the bass, and Ginny belting into the mic.

“She’s a Killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, Dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind; anytime...” Ginny belted into the mic, her alto voice resonating throughout the room of requirement as Ron and Fred stared at each other, wondering when they would get a break. Fred looked concerned at Ginny who's voice was obviously getting tired from belting for an hour and a half with no water or bathroom break.

Fred drops his guitar and speaks, “Hold on, hold on!” The band fades slowly before George throws up his hands in protest, asking why they stopped. “Do you not hear Ginny’s voice? She’s tired. We’re all tired, Georgie. We’ve been working non-stop for next week’s gig. I don’t think a ten minute break is gonna kill us,” he protests.

George rolls his eyes, “None of you are taking this seriously. We are getting paid for this. People are coming to watch us. Don’t you wanna be decent?” George rises from his seat, searching the eyes of his siblings for some agreement. 

Instead, he’s met with concerned eyes and tired expressions. Ginny looked absolutely exhausted, Fred looked exasperated, and Ron was flat out fed up. But all were equally concerned as to why their brother was so gassed up over this gig. George sighs, “I-” Fred gives him a sympathetic smile. “Of course, we wanna be good, Georgie. But we need to balance things out. Let’s all take a break for a while. Reconvene tonight after some much needed rest and we’ll talk details of rehearsals then. Good?”

Ron eagerly nods his head before slipping the bass off from around his body. Ginny turns off the mic and starts out with Ron, talks of what was for dinner in the Great Hall. Fred approaches his twin and places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s bugging you?” he asks, knowing that this behavior wasn’t typical for George. It wasn’t like George to get serious all of a sudden and push everyone to work without a break. Something was up and Fred could read it all over his brother’s face. 

Defeated, George sighs. “I don’t know, Fred. I guess I’m getting myself all worked up because I invited Angelina to the show and I wanted to ask to be my girlfriend and I guess I just want things to be perfect for her in a way.” Fred gives his brother a knowing look, wiggling his eyebrows. “Oh, shut it, you dickhead,” George laughs, pushing his brother’s shoulder. “You’d do the same if you fancied someone,” he teases Fred as his twin shrugs. “Freddie...you don’t mean to tell me no girl has walked up to you and has told you how hot it was that you played lead guitar in Hogwarts’ premiere band?” he teases.

Fred laughs, “Can’t say anyone has...yet.”

This makes George laugh and shake his brother’s shoulders. “That’s the spirit,” George slings his arm over Fred’s shoulder. The two twins carry back their band equipment as they make their way to the Gryffindor common room. “Seriously, Freddie, I bet I can set you up with one of Angie’s friends. I’ll tell Angie to bring her to the show and she can see just how sexy you look fingering those strings,” George alludes as Fred chuckles. 

“Nah, mate, I don’t wanna just have a set up of a date. I want to naturally meet a girl, you know?” Fred tells his twin as George rolls his eyes. Fred was always a hopeless romantic deep down. Although he had some flings in the past and had his fun with shagging a few girls casually here and there, Fred was looking for something more serious now. Someone he could connect with. “I’m not expecting for the perfect girl to be right around the corner, Georgie, but I’m not expecting her to be a-”

Fred stops mid sentence as he feels his body collide with another body as they walk around the corner of the hallway, making Fred and the person he had bumped into stumble back a bit. “Godric, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t pay attention to where I was going,” Fred looks around at the sheet music that was now cast about the floor. “Did I make you drop anything?” Fred asks, now looking up at a pair of eyes that made his heart skip a beat.

There you stood, a little flustered, in a hurry on your way to the library. You were late for a study group with some of your friends from your Charms class and it would be your third time late this week. If you were late again, they would surely give you shit for it. But as you took in who was causing you to run late, you suddenly didn’t mind. “Uh,” you gulp, “I’m alright, don’t worry. I should have watched where I was going. Now I’ve made quite the mess, haven’t I?” you lightly laugh as you crouch down to help him pick up the miscellaneous pieces of sheet music.

Fred joins you on the floor, picking up the scattered sheets. “It’s equally our mess,” Fred gives you a soft smile as you blush lightly. 

Fred looks up at George who wiggles his brows as if to say Oh La-La! before he winks at his brother. “Oh, hey (Y/N),” George speaks before continuing to walk down the hallway, giving his dear twin some privacy. Fred shoot his brother a look to say, Mate, what the fuck? 

“Hey, Georgie,” you laugh. The two of you continue to pick up the pieces of parchment as you inspect the scribbling on them to be the treble clef. “You’re a musician?” you ask him, referring to the sheets. Fred nods. “What instrument?”

“Guitar,” Fred beams as you widen your eyes and nod. “I’m actually in a band with George and my other siblings,” he tells you. “I didn’t know you were friends with George.”

You hand him a small pile of sheet music before you both rise to your feet. “Yeah, George and I have been friends for a little while. I helped tutor him in Divinations class,” you tell Fred who nods. Fred mentally yells that he wishes George would have told him that he was friends with an absolute stunner of a girl. “I didn’t know that you and George were in a band. That’s really cool,” you tell Fred with a smile.

As you stand before Fred Weasley, you hope he doesn’t know how flustered you were. You had always seen him in the halls with George and admired how charming and handsome he was from a far, but never said anything to him. You could have easily told George that you had a thing for his twin, but you were far too nervous to act on your little crush. You clutched your textbooks closer to your chest as Fred fixed the strap of his guitar on his chest, muscles flexing underneath his shirt as your eyes darting to watch them tug against the thin shirt material. 

Fred spoke, “We started the band a couple of months ago. So it’s a pretty recent development.”

You nod your head and awkwardly stand before him before realizing that you were just staring at Fred’s face, admiring how his lips curled into a little smirk when he looked at you. Clearing your throat, you breathe, “Wicked.” Fred chuckles. “I’ve always been fascinated by musicians. I wanted to teach myself how to play guitar, but I’ve never gotten around to it,” you word vomit, instantly regretting the words coming out of your mouth. Damn it, (Y/N), you might as well just tell him your life story, you think to yourself. 

With a cheeky smile, you watch Fred’s face light up. “I could teach you,” he suggest as your eyes widen. Fred immediately back pedals. “If you want! I mean, Godric knows that you are probably very busy, but if you ever wanted an instructor, I wouldn’t mind giving you lessons,” he retorts as you can’t help but have a lazy smile appear on your lips. Fred’s heart skips another beat as he gulps. “That’s only if you’d like me to teach you, (Y/N).”

The way he spoke your name made your stomach erupt with butterflies. His voice was like honey as words parted from his lips, the sweetest sounds you have ever heard. You watched his eyes as they looked into yours, monitoring how you reacted to his proposal. 

Guitar lessons with Fred Weasley? You would have to be mental if you said no. With a meek smile and you reply, “You really don’t have to, Fred.”

“I want to,” he jumps before clearing his throat, realizing how quickly he answered, making you giggle as Fred blushes a deep red that matched his hair. “I would like to teach you, (Y/N).”

With a nod, you say, “I’d like you to teach me.” 

Fred smiles widely. “Wicked,” he breathes out as you look away from his gaze to hide your rosy cheeks. “Just one catch,” he smirks as you furrow your brows. “You have to come to our show next week. At Three Broomsticks. And bring friends.”

Extending your hand, you tease him, “You’ve got a deal.” Fred shakes your hand firmly as you laugh. “I’ll see you around, Fred.”

You start down the opposite direction before Fred calls out. “First lesson is on Thursday! 4pm sharp,” Fred says as you flip around to look at him. “Tardiness is not tolerated,” he winks at you as you roll your eyes before walking away to the library.

As you walked down the corridors, you could help but smile to yourself. Your cheeks tingled from your large grin as you toyed with the edges of your books. The thought of Fred Weasley’s hands guiding yours as he taught you how to play guitar made your heart giddy. You nibbled on your bottom lip at the thought that danced around your head. Suddenly, you didn’t care how late you were to this study group.

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

Thursday rolled around slowly, but surely and Fred was checking himself out in the mirror, combing his fingers through his red hair, brushing the pieces out of his face. He nervously looked at himself in the mirror. Should he have shaved? Was he wearing too much cologne? Should he brush his teeth for a third time?

He frantically ran around his dormitory room, thinking he should change his shirt again. Maybe you liked the color green better than blue. As if the color of his shirt would determine the outcome of this lesson/date. Fred didn’t even know if he could count this as a date. 

George tapped out rhythms on his bed frame, watching Fred change his shirt for the fourth time as he shook his head. “Freddie, mate, are you really sweating that much?” he laughed.

Fred shot his twin a dirty look. “No,” he spat. “I just...I like the green better than the blue,” he lied, pulling the green shirt over his head and down his torso. Fred darted to his bed and grabbed his guitar and checked the time on his watch. He had ten minutes. “Good Godric,” he huffed.

“You alright? Haven’t seen you this shaken up since the time you thought you ate puking pastilles before your O.W.L.s,” George laughed as he tapped away on his bed frame. 

Fred nervously tapped on his thighs, “I’m fine, George. I, uh, I’m giving (Y/N) a guitar lesson today,” he reveals to his twin who's eyes widen and chuckles, “It’s just a lesson. Nothing else. But I’m bloody nervous about it.”

Sitting up, George speaks, “You got nothing to worry about, mate.” He walks over to Fred and places reassuring hands on Fred’s shoulders. “(Y/N)s a great girl. She’s sweet and funny and proper fit,” George raises his brows as Fred groans. “I’m teasing you, Freddie, calm down. You’ve got nothing to lose. Now get down there and make her swoon.”

Fred was never nervous for dates or flirting with girls. All of that stuff came naturally to him. But for some reason the thought of you was enough to make his stomach do somersaults. The palms of his hands got sweaty when your name was spoken. There was something about you that made Fred Weasley lose his senses and that was hard to do. 

Shaking it off, Fred huffs and leaves the dormitory making his way down to the common room. With each step he descended, his heart beat harder and faster against his rib cage. As he came down the stairs, your figure came into view which only made Fred’s mouth dry with anxiousness and excitement. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in attempt to calm himself down. I got this, she’s just a girl, he thought to himself. “4:00 on the dot,” Fred speaks, getting your attention, causing you to turn around to face him with a smile on your lips. “Very punctual, (Y/L/N).”

You take a good look at Fred and think about how effortlessly good he looked. Hunter green t-shirt hung on his tall frame perfectly as he walked over to where you sat on the couch, acoustic guitar in his hands. “Not to toot my own horn, but I was here at 3:55, Weasley,” you joke as he smiles. “Early is on time and on time is late.”

Fred chuckles, “In that case, pardon me for my tardiness. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive someone as foolish as me.”

His smile made your heart flutter and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. His joy was infectious. How could someone be so addictive? “Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “You’re lucky I’m such a kind and forgiving person.”

Fred places a hand over his heart and feigns relief. “Thank Merlin,” he fans himself as you chuckle. “Alright. You ready to get started?” he asks as you nod your head. “Brilliant, let’s start with the basics...”

After an hour of trial and error, you had managed to learned some chord progressions and strumming techniques from Fred. You had to give it to him; he was a great teacher. He was patient and smart and knowledgable. Not to mention, you loved listening to him talk about music and how passionate he was about playing. When he talked, he spoke with so much heart and life, it made you gently smile as you watched how animated he became. Fred Weasley really was one of a kind. 

You were nearing the end of your lesson as Fred showed you how to play an F chord on the guitar. “Best chord,” he spoke as you looked at him quizzically. “F is for Fred, keep up (Y/N),” he teases making you scoff. 

He explained the finger placements as you struggled to get it just right. “Wait, my second finger goes where?” you ask again as Fred points to the third string. You adjust and strum as an off-key chord resonates. “Now, that can’t be right,” you laugh as Fred shakes his head.

Fred gets up and moves from the chair in front of you to the seat next to you on the couch. He looks at you and asks, “May I?” He gestures to placing his hand on yours as you shake your head.

Gently, Fred places his hand on yours that holds the neck of the guitar as the other hand rests on your other elbow. Having his body is such close proximity to yours made your breath hitch in your throat as you felt his chest press against your back. Fred’s fingers adjust your placement carefully as if you were made of glass, trying his hardest not to make you break into a thousand bits. “This finger goes on the third string and this one stays on the second,” he lowly instructs. “And now, strum,” he speaks, a smile in his voice.

And so you do, a soft F chord playing as the strings underneath your fingertips hum sweetly. You two let the sound ring a little bit, either one of you not daring to breathe, scared to say or do anything. Just the position that you were in, his hands on yours, his chin resting near your shoulder, your back pressed against his chest. You gulped and exhaled softly. “Pretty,” you smiled.

Fred chuckled softly. “Yes, you are,” he spoke making your heart stop, wondering if he had just spoken those words. 

You turn to face him, a questioning look in your eyes as Fred allows a small smirk to dance on his lips. Cheeky bastard, you think to yourself as you smile at him. 

The two of you remain in this position, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Fred’s eyes were a rich brown, like pools of chocolate melting under the summer sun. His eyes were full of playfulness and cheer which made joy course through your veins. Fred Weasley was special. 

You didn’t even realize that he was leaning in until his forehead was pressed against yours and you connected the gap between you two, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss. As you kissed, he inhaled deeply, cupping your cheek with his hand, bringing you closer to him. His hands were calloused from the guitar strings as they pressed against your soft cheek. You pressed your lips onto his harder as Fred smiled gently into the kiss, enjoying every moment. You were first to pull away, but it didn’t last long, Fred’s lips following yours for another kiss as you giggled lightly. His lips were soft and tasted of sweet cinnamon and you wanted more, like your own drug. 

Fred gently pulled away before speaking, “I have a confession.” You hum in response. “I was planning on kissing you this whole time. I was just trying to find a good excuse to sit next to you,” he confessed.

You smiled involuntarily and laughed. “I believe that,” you speak before placing another kiss to his lips quickly. “I also have a confession,” you bite your lip as Fred looks at you confused. 

Scooting back a little, you cradle the guitar in your grasp before skillfully strumming a combination of chords that could be recognized as the beginning chords of I’m Looking Through You by The Beatles. Fred’s mouth goes agape and eyes wide as you play better than he could ever. “I lied about not knowing how to play the guitar,” you laughed. “I’ve known how to play since I was ten. I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

Fred shakes his head in disbelief. “You sneak!” he exclaims. “A woman after my own heart,” he jokes as you laugh before he kisses your cheek. “Well, I guess you don’t need anymore lesson from a git like me. But I still think you should hold up your end of the deal,” he squeezes your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Weasley,” you smile. “Although, I will be coyly judging your skills from the audience.”

Fred laughs, “I’m sure you will be, darling.”

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

After days of rehearsing and planning and scheduling and rehearsing some more, the gig at the Three Broomsticks rolled around. Ginny had managed to convinced the entirety of the Hogwarts quidditch league to come out which already filled the Three Broomsticks at half capacity. But getting more people to come wasn’t a problem. The promise of good music and Butterbeer was enough to have swarms of students flow into the small building. 

The Three Broomsticks was soon teeming with people, chatting and drinking and laughing. The energy was high and the Weasleys could feel it from their make shift backstage (which was quite literally a curtain that Ron managed to pin up). 

However, this meant that expectations were high which in turn made the band exceptionally nervous. Ginny nervously danced around, doing lip trills to warm up her voice as Ron tuned the bass. George sat at his drumming seat and ran over rhythms in his head, Fred pacing back and forth, biting on his nails.

You shuffled through the audience and found Harry and Hermione sitting at a table in the front as you approached them. You could hear Hermione gush about how hard Ron has been practicing for the gig, a rosy hue forming on her cheeks as Harry poked at her crush. As you approach, Hermione notices you and beams, “(Y/N)! Hi! Are you excited for the concert? You know Ron is playing bass?”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Did you know Hermione has a big, fat cru-”

“Shut it, Harry,” Hermione quickly snaps as you laugh. “Anyway, what’s up?”

You smile, “Do you know if Fred is with the others still? I know he was nervous about tonight and I just wanna make sure he’s doing alright.”

Harry looks at Hermione and then back at you. “Yeah, he’s back with the others,” he says as you nod, leaving. But before you can leave, Harry stops you, “Wait, hold on, I didn’t know that you and Fred were....” he looks for the words.

“We’re not officially together, but we’ve been seeing each other,” you confess with a smile. Hermione gives you a teasing glance as she sips on her Butterbeer and Harry nudges her with an ooh. “Oh please. You think you two are slick? Everyone knows Harry fancies Ginny and Hermione is practically head over heels for Ronald,” you teases as they both wear bright red cheeks. “Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you laugh. “I’ll see you both in a minute.” You make your way to the back of the Three Broomsticks, behind the curtain to find a nervous band of siblings. Ginny catches your glances first and a smirk comes onto her lips. “Oh, Freddie,” she sing songs. “You have a guest.”

Fred turns around to face you and relief washes over his face as your heart skips a beat. Fred looked good sporting dark wash jeans and a black henley. Simple, but Godric, it was enough to make you swoon. Fred grabbed your hand and walked you over to the corner for a little more privacy. “I’m glad to see your face,” he spoke before bending down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I told you I wouldn’t miss it,” you squeeze his hand. “How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and gives you an awkward smile as you blurt out a laugh. “I don’t know,” he joins in. “Nervous? Excited? Weird? All three?” 

You reach up and brush his hair out of his face as he relaxes under your touch. Just the simple gesture was enough to calm him down instantly. “It’s alright to feel like that. You are gonna be bloody brilliant. All of you,” you tell him sincerely. “You’ve been working so hard and you are all so talented. You’re gonna knock the audience’s socks off. I have no doubt in my mind,” you encourage him.

Fred smiles and without another word, he pulls you in by your waist to press your lips to his. You wrap your arms around his neck as you kiss him sweetly. His lips are pressed against yours firmly, but sweetly with passion. His touch was enough to make your head reel. Fred pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, “I’m playing for you tonight. And only you.”

Your heart skips a beat as you smile, staring into his eyes with so much adoration. It had only been a week and a half since you had started seeing each other, but you couldn’t help but have the overwhelming feeling that Fred was the one for you. He was everything you could ever ask for. Charming, kind, handsome, funny, witty. Fred Weasley was it. 

“And I’ll be cheering you on the whole time,” you tell him, extending your pinky finger to him as he loops his with yours. The two of you press kisses to your thumbs, making it a pinky promise. “Now, go get ‘em, tiger,” you encourage him. As you walk away, Fred taps you bum playfully as you scurry away, back into the audience with Harry and Hermione. 

The three of you buzz about the band and the atmosphere, sipping on Butterbeer before suddenly the audience starts wildly cheering. You turn your attention to the make-shift stage and see the Weasleys all enter. You immediately start clapping and cheering for the band as Ginny speaks into the mic. “Hello, Hogsmeade!” she laughs as the crowd cheers louder. “We are the Burrow Bangers and tonight we’ve got quite the show for you all!” she exclaims as the audience claps and shouts out. You look over at Harry and a wide grin is plastered on his face. “So, without further ado...”

“1, 2, 3, 4!” George bangs on his drumsticks before 80s rock blares through the small inn, the crowd immediately cheering and dancing the sound of the music.

And you had to admit it. They were damn good. They were all in synch with each other and blended so well together. The Weasleys were performers no matter how much they may hate it admit it. Not to mention, Fred looked hot wailing away on his cherry red electric guitar. His fingers skillfully strummed out chords and he musically added riffs when needed which made the crowd roar. 

You were overwhelmed with pride at the boy you had taken such a keen liking to you and it was palpable. Fred would catch your eyes every now and then and drop his left eye into a wink, making you blush and cheer louder for him.

Tonight, and every night following, he played for you and you only.

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll tell you i was wrong if you dance with me

word count: 3.3k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, slightly unhealthy relationship moment (lack of communication), mention of infidelity, cursing, alcohol consumption, a fair bit of angst

recommended listening: fred astaire | adam brock

a/n: communicate with your partners!!! also yeah this is the song from lady bird. it’s a banger

This seriously isn’t happening. 

You never fight with Travis. Communication comes easy between the two of you, but you also make it a priority to talk about your feelings. It keeps things from boiling over; both of you are known to unleash wicked tempers on occasion and have found being direct stops issues from occuring. Arguments still occasionally happen, but they’re typically over trivial things like what movie to watch or where you’re spending the holidays. Travis apparently forgot about the fact you talk to each other about things. 

He’d been upset when he came home from practice, but you were pretty sure he was fine after he woke up from his pre-game nap. Knowing he’s a superstitious person and has a lot of pressure on him to put up points, you had made the choice not to ask about what was bothering him. Throwing off his routine could have detrimental consequences. Tonight's game is tighter than it should have been, but the Flyers come out on top. Travis spends a bit more time in the penalty box than you would have liked, but everyone was getting chippy by the start of the third period. Claude tries to talk to him on the bench but he gets shut down. Whatever Travis was upset about before is still clearly bothering him, and it’s affecting his game. 

You’re following Travis home from the game, and can tell he’s uptight from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. As you wind through downtown Philadelphia you try and prepare yourself for any bomb that could drop. Chances are that when you reach your apartment things will explode. Maybe it’s nothing; Travis is fine and just wants to be a responsible driver for once. You pull into the free spot beside his car and see him walking towards the elevator, suit jacket balled up and tucked under his arm. This won’t be good. Trying to buy yourself some time, you take the stairs. Seven flights later you arrive outside your door; he left it unlocked, which gives you a sliver of hope things will be fine. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” you call into the darkness of the apartment. Your sneakers are left at the door and to retreat towards the bedroom, looking for a sign of life. You find one in the bathroom: the light is on. A gentle push on the door reveals your boyfriend is in the shower and ignoring you. 

“Trav?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, words muffled by him tossing his head back to rinse the shampoo of his hair. Apparently the shower isn’t as relaxing as he had hoped. 

You don’t bother to tread lightly, upset that he’s acting like a child. “You’re being an asshole. I get that you had a bad day, but you can’t take it out on me. I just want to help.”

Travis turns the water off suddenly. “Can’t help if you’re the problem,” he scoffs. 

His statement doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing out of the ordinary the past couple of days; nothing that would warrant the behaviour you’re receiving. “What do you mean?”

Shouldering passed you to exit the room, Travis doesn’t bother to respond. You’re beyond frustrated: partners in healthy relationships communicate, not show emotions like grade schoolers. “You’re not giving me the fucking silent treatment Travis. You gotta talk to me.” The bedroom is dark when you enter and you flick the overhead light on to see better.

“You really don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t know,” you seethe. “If I did know we wouldn’t be in this predicament because we’d be solving the issue.”

The glare you receive is sharp enough to cut stone. He pulls on a t-shirt, anger clear in the aggression he does it with. “Why did I have to find out from Carter that you’ve been getting coffee with your TA?”

You’re shocked. In no way is it what he thinks it is. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you sigh, upset that Travis would take someone else’s words at face value and not talk to you about it. 

“I’m dead fucking serious Y/N. You preach communication, but it looks as though you’re the one who hasn’t been doing enough talking.”

The room around you starts to spin. You can’t comprehend what he’s insinuating. “Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?” you ask. There has been a gross miscommunication error somewhere; never in a million years would you think of having an affair.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well what the fuck did you say?”

Travis tugs at the roots of his hair in frustration. He doesn’t answer immediately, pacing the length of the bed a few times. “I just–” he struggles to articulate his words. “I just said that you’re being a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? You’re standing here yelling at me because I didn’t voice my concerns, but you haven’t been talking to me about what’s going on in your life.” Travis’ tone is sharp, and it stings. 

It’s your turn to show how upset you are. Your hands curl into fists at your side, and you squeeze your nails into your palms before releasing them. “I do tell you what goes on in my life Travis,” your breathing ragged as you try to not lose your cool. “I ran into my TA at the coffee shop yesterday, and he paid for my drink because my card wouldn’t work. Didn’t think it was breaking news, sorry I don’t send you every single fucking life update that happens. What’s gotten into you?”

“You could have been cheating!” 

“But I wasn’t!” you scream, no longing caring about keeping up appearances. You can’t believe Travis would think that. It hurts. “And I never would! You know this”

He turns his back to you, like it pains him to look at you, but you don’t understand why. You're not the one suggesting infidelity. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” he seethes. 

“That’s all there is to say! There’s nothing to explain, no secret to uncover. I’m not in the wrong here.”

“And you think I am?”

You look at Travis like he has three heads. “Are you serious? You’re the one who’s so fucking upset over a situation that could have happened to literally anyone.” Your tone suggests that you’re exhausted with the conversation, and Travis gets the hint. 

He slinks towards the door, still visibly angry. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” he grits out before tightly gripping the doorknob and shutting the door with more force than needed. 

The bed doesn’t look appealing, full of much happier memories, but fighting with Travis has knocked any and all energy out of you. You gingerly pull back the covers and slip underneath. Tears trickle down your cheek as you toss and turn, trying to fall into some sort of slumber. However, your mind has other ideas, replaying the blowout. You can’t begin to understand why Travis is so bothered by the instance, and more importantly why it caused him to disregard a fundamental part of your relationship. There’s little movement from beyond the door, but you can hear the faint noise of a Johnny Cash record playing from the speakers in the living room. After hours of staring at the ceiling your eyes close and a fitful sleep follows. 

You might have gotten nine hours of sleep, but you wake up feeling exhausted. Fighting with anyone drains you, but fighting with Travis is especially terrible because it rarely happens. There doesn’t seem to be any movement from the other side of the door; maybe he’s still asleep. You refrain from heading into the kitchen, unsure of what will happen if you see him. After nearly twenty minutes you can’t wait any longer to start your day and pad into the main living space. It’s empty: no sign that Travis has been there for many hours. Guess you don’t have to immediately deal with the fallout of last night. 

A post-it note is tacked onto the fridge handle and your heart skips a beat. In Travis’ chicken scratch it reads I’ll see you at the gala tonight. We’ve got media all day and I won’t be back in time for us to go together. There’s no mention of the fight, and you can’t judge from a two sentence note whether or not he’s still pissed off. 

“Fuck,” you groan. “The gala.” Tonight’s the annual Flyers Give Back gala, and you’re expected to be in attendance. It’s not even a charity event; the organization is offering a chance for business men to chat up the players in hopes they continue to donate. You find things like these unbearable and tedious, but Travis does his best to make them enjoyable. Not knowing what page you’re on with him is going to be terrible. There’s a pretty good chance he’ll ignore you if he’s still upset. 

As if someone is reading your mind, the better halves group chat starts to explode. Everyone is chattering excitedly about tonight, and under normal circumstances you’d be excited to see them in such a relaxed setting. It’s been a while you’ve all hung out, but you can’t find yourself to contribute to the conversation. You mute the notifications and do your best to move on with your day. The rest of the morning is spent working on your thesis; mind numbing work that almost makes you forget about everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours. Once you’ve hit an acceptable word count for the day you shutdown your computer and make lunch. 

The grilled cheese sandwich you eat while watching a John Mulaney comedy special fulfills your appetite but doesn’t curb your dread. You decide to call your sister, hoping she can be a welcome distraction. Dialling her number you sink further into the couch cushions, wrapping yourself tightly with a blanket so that only your head is poking out. “What’s up?” she asks, and you hear her shuffle in the background, presumably to move somewhere more private. It isn’t normal for you to call her unannounced. 

You hold it together for approximately two seconds. The tears start and they don’t stop. Every emotion you’ve felt since getting home last night comes to the surface, and before you know it you’re sobbing into the receiver. 

“Woah, slow down,” she says. “Y/N, take some deep breaths.” When your breathing returns to a somewhat regular level she continues speaking. “What happened?”

It takes you nearly twenty minutes to tell the whole story because you’re so distraught. No detail is spared, and you go back much farther than is probably needed. You recount what happened after yesterday’s practice, pretty much the entire game, and the fight that followed. “I just don’t know what brought this on,” you sniffle. “We don’t fight, we talk about things. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at what he insinuated or at the fact he broke a cardinal rule.”

Your sister sighs, and you hear her breath fan in slight annoyance. You’re worked up about something kinda stupid, you know, but you can’t let it slide. “It’s probably a bit of both. So, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I know that we need to talk about what happened, but a public event is not the best place to do that. I also can’t not show up or ask Trav to ditch in order to figure this out. We have to be there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out then.”

You really don’t. “What happens if he ignores me the entire night?”

She laughs and tells you to not to anything stupid, and to take your mind off of things tells you a story about your nephew eating dirt. It does the trick; you’re momentarily distracted and forget about Travis. You talk for a while longer before she has to go. “Miles is crying, will you be okay if I let you go?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. A glance at the clock tells you it’s time to start getting ready. “I’ve gotta shower and start the process. Beauty is time consuming you know.”

Against your better judgement you open your text messages to see if there’s anything from Travis. His text thread is the same as it was yesterday and you’re disappointed. You had hoped that maybe he’d get bored between interviews and check in. With no new notifications you exit out of the application and pull up a playlist you hope will brighten your mood. The steam from the shower relaxes your tense muscles and warms you up. It’s comforting in the way a cocoon is; you practically have to drag yourself out of the bathtub. 

Your bedroom is cold and doesn’t offer the same respite as the bathroom. The music continues to float in from the hallway, and you allow yourself to get lost in it. It’s been a while since you danced around your room; it worked to cure sadness when you were a teenager. Hopefully the magic hasn’t worn off. You flail your arms, not caring how silly you look since no one is here to see you anyways, and scream along at the top of your lungs. After a few songs you feel better and return to the task at hand. The dress code is labelled as ‘black tie’ on the invitation, but that isn’t what you’re worried about. You own a million dresses for situations like this after being with Travis for so long. You don’t know what he packed to wear, and there’s a decent chance you’ll be pushed together for photos. Clashing colours will look terrible.

A quick glance through his side of the closest leaves you no clues, so you decide to be as literal as possible. Black is a flattering colour and works well with every colour combination. There’s a jumpsuit hanging in the back that catches your eye and you think it’s the perfect choice. After pulling it on you move back into the bathroom to do your hair and makeup. Everything is natural and relaxed; once again for the sake of potential photos. The clock strikes on the hour and you realize it’s time to leave. A pair of heels are slipped on and you order an Uber before locking the apartment and heading to the lobby. You had thought about driving yourself, but on the occasion that things don’t end well with Travis you’ll probably have more than a couple of drinks. 

The entire way to the venue your leg bounces up and down. It’s been years since you’ve been this nervous about being around the team. You’ve been with Travis for a few seasons now, and the organization has become a second family to you. No one is going to know about the fight and you worry they’re going to talk about your solo arrival. The outside of the convention centre is sharply decorated, and your driver lets out a low whistle at the extravagance of it all. “Thank you so much,” you gush, and exit the car. Thankfully no photographers are set up outside, and you dart inside without being seen. 

Once in the main event space, you scan for the bar. There’s no sign of Travis, which should make you more relaxed but doesn’t. What if there was an accident on the way to the venue? You have no idea where he was all or who he came with. Overthinking distracts you from your original goal, leaving you standing aimlessly in the middle of the room. 

“You look like you might need one of these,” Ryanne chuckles, handing you a champagne flute. You gladly accept and down it in two gulps. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes scanning to see if your boyfriend has made an appearance. 

She sees right through your facade of calm and wraps you in a tight hug. “What’s going on?”

For a second time today you explain what happened last night. There’s no judgement from Ryanne as there might have been from your sister because she understands. Dating a professional athlete isn’t easy; things like this happen much more frequently than you’d expect. Perhaps it’s all the time spent apart that makes the occasional lapse in communication so apparent. She listens quietly, full attention on you. To your credit you don’t cry this time, slightly more numb to the situation to due more time passing. It still hurts a tremendous amount. 

“He’ll come around,” Ryanne insists. “TK is a little moronic sometimes, but he’d never jeopardize his relationship with you. You’re quite literally the most important thing in his life.”

 “I know. I’m just upset because the whole thing could have been avoided.”

She offers you a sympathetic smile. “I know.” Ryanne links her arm through yours. “Let’s go find something to snack on.”

You spend most of the night with Ryanne, and occasionally Claude when he can get away from the hot-shot businessmen. Travis eventually came in, flanked by Nolan, but was immediately pulled into the politics of the night. The two of you occasionally sneak glances at each other and you tell he’s uncomfortable. You can only hope it isn’t because of your presence. It’s nearing eleven; the party has become a much more relaxed affair, and the DJ is playing sappy love songs in an attempt to get the media team some good photo ops. An intern asks the Giroux’s if they’ll dance for an instagram story and they both look hesitant. “Go on guys, I’ll be fine,” you reassure. It’s the subtle push they need to enjoy a quiet moment together. 

As if he can sense you’re lonely and feel out of place, Travis approaches you. It’s tentative, like he’s petrified you’ll turn him away, but he comes regardless. Drinks are in each of his hands and he extends one to you. When you don’t take it he sets it on the table behind you. “Hi,” he says sheepishly, fiddling with something in his pocket. 

“Hi Travis.” You’re determined not to let his presence crack your resolve; last night illuminated a big issue and it needed to be dealt with. It’s proving to be difficult because he bumps a shoulder against yours and all you can think of is kissing him senseless. 

The song changes to a Bruce Springsteen ballad, and you recognize it instantly. It played at the coffee shop on your first date with Travis all those years ago. One look at him tells you this isn’t an accident, that he had requested it specifically for the two of you. “Dance with me?”

You sigh deeply, looking him in the eyes. “Trav, this isn’t going to magically fix things.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he pleads. “I fucked up so bad last night because I was being an idiot. I wrote down everything I would do differently if I had a time machine, look.” A hand reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper filled with his nearly illegible print. “Just one dance, and then we can go home and talk about it like I should have suggested in the first place. Let me know we’re still okay.”

If you hadn’t been in public you’re sure Travis would have been in tears. It’s not necessarily a good look to cry in front of hundreds of sponsors. He has a reputation as the goofy boy who takes no shit to uphold. “You have a lot of talking ahead of you,” you say, and let him drag you onto the dance floor. Swaying in his arms you realize things are going to be just fine. Travis loves you and you love him; there’s nothing the two of you can’t work through. 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[tessiete]

For the Spotify fanfic ficlet: 12 for the Kenobi-Kryze fam? 🥺

@lightasthesun so here’s the deal. I STRUGGLED with this. Because I wanted to give you happy, fun, fluffy times, and there are some real bangers on my Wrapped. I mean, relative bangers.

But you picked probably the most Obitine-angst appropriate song ever, and I was like......oh, no. I can’t - I can’t do that to them.

So, after several days of thinking about it, we came up with this. It’s...I refuse to call it angst, bc everyone is alive, and well. It’s just like, some family fun times. Thanks, especially to the Obitine discord, and @duchess-of-mandalore @mg024 and Finn!

And anyway, I hope you love it! Thank you so much for the challenge! <3

Prompt: The Chain (Ingrid Michaelson)

THE CHAIN

The sky over Capital City is grey, and tremulous when they arrive on Coruscant. A natural storm had surged over the breakers of the planet’s ancient atmo regulators to sound its rage and fury out above the city. It’s rare, but not unheard of, and though some might take it as an ill omen, Satine thinks it a fair reflection of the twisting winds within her breast. Rain falls in great, heavy drops, lashing its grief across the transparisteel viewports as they break through the clouds. Thunder cracks, righteous and defiant. Lightning fractures the plate of the sky, reaching out with jealous fingers to touch the earth. Korkie has slept through it all, but Satine doesn’t want to miss any moment more than she must.

They hit the pad with the sudden jolt of gravity reasserting itself, the locking clamps securing them in place. She feels each shudder of the ship echoing in her bones, the soft satyn of her simple travelling gown like water over her skin. Every contrast feels sharp, and malicious. She takes Korkie’s small hand in her larger one, and together they wait for the ramp to lower, releasing them into the wilds outside.

And they are met.

Across the platform, standing silent in the downpour, is Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Though her vision blurs, and renders his face unreadable, she can see the straight line of his shoulders, the proud tilt of his chin, and the defiant stance of his feet spread wide. His hands are hidden in the fold of his cloak, and at his back are Masters Windu and Jinn.

At Satine’s back is the black maw of the ship, and the wind whistling through it. Korkie laughs, and she looks away from the Jedi to see her son, hands out, catching rain. 

“It’s wet! Belli, look!” he says, showing her his hand, shining in the grey light. “The sky is crying!”

Satine feels the rain coursing over her own face, and smiles in recognition of his delight.

“It is,” she says. “Happy tears, of course. Coruscant is glad to meet you, kih'kairkiyc.”

He grins at her, and she squeezes his hand, and together they cross the narrow bridge from the ship’s dock to the reception platform where they are met by Obi-Wan. He steps forward, and bows, deep, and formal.

“Duchess,” he says. His voice does not waver, but lies flat, and orderly in the space between them. 

He is much the same as she remembers, though his hair is longer, and his braid is cut. A beard has grown in, at long last, though she does not like how it covers his mouth, and hides half his face, and she longs to reach out and wipe it away so she might be able to read him again, like she used to. But there is more than an arm’s length between them, so instead, she nods her head in acknowledgement.

“Knight Kenobi,” she says, like glass, clean and showing nothing of itself.

Korkie tugs at her hand, and she pulls him forward to introduce him next. His fingers linger at the tips of hers as she lets him go. He takes a step. He takes a breath, and just as they’d practiced, he bows with his hands clasped before him, until his back is level with the floor.

“How do you do, Knight Kenobi?” Then, in succession, “Master Windu. Master Jinn.”

The three Jedi return the gesture. Master Windu is tense, and wary of her, she can tell, still unconvinced of the wisdom in this. Obi-Wan’s eyes are fixed on her, but Qui-Gon Jinn smiles at the boy, and Korkie stumbles back until he falls against his mother’s stomach, his hand reaching out to fist in the fabric of her gown to steady himself.

“Hello Korkie,” the old Jedi greets. His voice is soft, like birdwatchers in Keldabe before. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

Obi-Wan is pulled from his study of the past by this reminder of their present company. His hands drop, and he shifts, leaning towards her, his head ducked and uncertain.

“I apologise for the weather,” he says. “I would have - if there had been any indication of inclemence such as this, I would have suggested somewhere with a roof.”

“Of course,” Satine says, too quickly. Then, bridling herself, she continues. “Coruscant is usually such a civilised, and well-behaved planet, it could not have been foreseen.”

There is the promise of forgiveness at the end of her declaration, which Obi-Wan accepts with relief, and they smile at each other. It is brief, and carried more in their eyes, than in their mouths or hands, but it is there nonetheless.

“And you, Master Korkie,” says Qui-Gon, with a smirk of his own. “Are you more civilised, and well-behaved than you appear at first glance?”

He gestures to Korkies rumpled tunic, and mussed hair which sticks up in wild tussocks like knots of grass.

“Someone was rather exhausted by our journey,” says Satine, fondly. “He fell asleep just past Corsin.”

“It was rather a long flight,” says Korkie, in his own defence. “And I don’t much like flying. Lightspeed always feels funny.”

At this, Qui-Gon kneels to meet Korkie on his level, and speaks as if he is confessing some great secret.

“Do you know,” he says, “That Knight Kenobi also dislikes flying.”

Korkie throws a wondering glance at Obi-Wan, who shifts beneath the scrutiny.

“Truly?” he asks Qui-Gon.

The Jedi nods. “Yes, truly. Only he stays awake the whole time.”

“Why?”

“I think in order to complain,” says Qui-Gon. “He needs to be sure that I am equally as miserable as he is, otherwise he feels lonely for company. But it does make for a very long trip, from my point of view.”

“That’s silly, Knight Kenobi,” declares Korkie. He turns to address Obi-Wan directly, and though he speaks critically, his brow is lifted, and his eyes wide in an earnest desire to ease the knight’s discomfort. “It’s much better if you sleep,” he says, with all the wisdom of a moment. “The time goes by much faster.”

Obi-Wan is forced to accept his master’s censure with grace as to spare the gentle feelings of an innocent child, so he smiles, and bows to acknowledge the boy.

“As you say, Master Kryze. You are probably right.”

“I know I am,” Korkie says. “Even though I do look a little wild in the end. But I feel tidy. So I suppose it’s just a matter of which part of me you look at.”

With a rumble that starts deep in his belly, then tumbles out like thunder, Qui-Gon Jinn laughs.

“A man after my own heart,” he says, giving Korkie a little clap on the shoulder. “I foresee you will become a great Jedi, Kiorkicek Kryze.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Duchess, Obi-Wan,” says Master Windu, stepping between the parties, “But as this rain doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon, may I suggest we complete the investiture ceremony somewhere a little drier?”

He levels Obi-Wan with a challenging glance, but its severity is diminished somewhat by his own bedraggled state. Despite their equal exposure, the rain has somehow managed to do more damage to Mace Windu’s composure than any of the others. Perhaps because he is more conscious of his position, and his dignity than the other two, Qui-Gon being rather untroubled by such pretensions, and Obi-Wan still humbled and distracted by the circumstances in which he’s come face to face with the unquiet ghosts of his past. Both of them wear the rain with ease, but Mace has struggled, unable to convince himself of the need to shield himself, but conscious of the desire. His cloak is patchy with damp, and the top of his head reflects the sky, the water washing his face, and dripping from his lips and chin. It is clear that Obi-Wan feels this indignity on his superior’s behalf, but Satine fights laughter at the spectacle.

“I think that would be wise, Master Windu,” she says, her voice tripping and sparking with barely repressed delight.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, with a shallow bow. And then he says, “There is an air car waiting.”

And Satine feels her stomach drop.

She meets Obi-Wan’s eye over Mace’s shoulder. His gaze is steady, and somber and as he makes his answer to the master’s request, and she can hear farewell in the heaviness of his voice.

“Yes, Master Windu,” he says. “Satine, I’m sorry we must be so brief, but I -” and he stands gaping, and voiceless for a moment.

The tight knuckle of sickness twists in her gut, scraping across the raw nerves of the underside of her skin, buckling muscles, and shifting against her bones, but she swallows the nausea back, and saves Obi-Wan from the inexorable void of silence.

“Do not apologise, Obi-Wan,” she says. “These things cannot be helped. Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps the sting will be less.”

“Like a plaster,” he says, numbly.

And she agrees. “Just like.”

Master Jinn’s rises from his crouch, leaving his hands to ghost over Korkie’s shoulders, his hand still wrapped in her own, and Obi-Wan still staring at her, still drowning in the rain. Master Windu is merciful then, and bows out his leave taking.

“I’ll prepare the car,” he says.

“Thank you, Mace,” says Qui-Gon, when no one says anything else, and Master Windu leaves them to say goodbye. 

But still, no one moves. Silence falls, a fragile, lacework thing, too delicate to touch with the clumsy fingers of speech. They remain suspended in its web for an age, until Qui-Gon braves what the others cannot fathom, and speaks again.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, stepping away from Korkie to reach for his own grown padawan. “A word.”

He draws him aside, turning away, turning their backs to Satine and Korkie, and speaking quietly in Obi-Wan’s ear, an arm about his shoulders, and drawing him close in private assignation. At another time, she might feel ostracised and othered by this, but now, she is grateful. It is she who is with Korkie, and the Jedi who must stand apart.

She kneels to face her son, heedless of her skirt, of the thin satyn and how it catches at the rough duracrete, pulling taut, maybe tearing beneath the pressure of her knees. She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: herself, and her son, and the rain washing away the things between them.

“I don’t want to go,” says Korkie, and she grips his hands tighter than before.

“You must,” she says. “You must. You are going to be a wonderful Jedi Knight. Just think of that.”

“I don’t care,” he says. “I know I said before, but I changed my mind. I want to go home.”

“You can’t go home, kih'kairkiyc,” she replies, her tongue growing thick with a truth she hates to speak. “Remember? We talked about this. It’s dangerous. But you will be safe here. Knight Kenobi will protect you.”

“But who will protect you if I’m not there?”

“Oh, many people, Kiorkicek,” she says. “A whole court of people. All the people. The people of Mandalore will be my strength, and they will take very good care of me while you’re away, and one day, when you come home, they will be glad to meet you again, and so will I.”

“Do you promise?” he asks. “You won’t forget me? Even if I’m gone for a very long time?”

“Even if you were gone for almost as long as forever, I would never forget you, Kiorkicek Kryze. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad. Ratiin.”

“Ratiin,” he repeats. “Always, and always.”

“Yes,” she avows. “Now, do you remember what I told you?”

“To wash my face, and brush my teeth every day, even if I’m very sleepy.”

And she laughs, pulling him close to her breast, and tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Yes,” she says. “That is very important, but what else?”

“To listen to the masters, and study hard, and show respect, and try my best, and to always, always be very kind to Knight Kenobi, because he isn’t always very kind to himself.”

“Yes,” she whispers. She presses a kiss to his hair, and combs it as flat as she can. “That last part, most especially, kih'kairkiyc. Look after each other. For me.”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Belli.”

“Bal Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, balyc.”

“Satine?” The call is Obi-Wan’s and she looks up from the cradle of her embrace, and her son within it to see him standing cautious, and concerned a few paces away. “It’s time to go.” 

“Of course,” she says. She stands. She takes Korkie’s hand, nestled in her own, and places it in Obi-Wan’s. For a moment, the three of them are one, together, and then…

She lets go.

“Goodbye, my Kiorkicek,” she says. “Remember what I told you. Kote, ijaa, aliit. Ratiin.”

He nods, and she can see his grip tighten on Obi-Wan’s hand, fierce determination rising in the face of her expectations. It is Obi-Wan who falters.

“Satine, I -” he shakes his head. His eyes match the storm. “I will do my best by him, I swear. I will not fail you. I will not.”

“I know,” she says, steady where he is not. “I would not give him up to another. None but you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Gar ratiin ru’kar'taylir. Be gentle with it.”

He nods. There is nothing else to say, and they’ve always been terrible at goodbye. She smiles at Korkie one last time, and he points at the sky.

“Happy tears,” he says, and grins, wiping the salty streaks from his own face.

And with that, he tugs on Obi-Wan’s hand, and leads him off towards the distant figure of Mace Windu, and the air car waiting patiently to take them home.

But Satine is not alone.

Qui-Gon Jinn steps close, until she can feel his shoulder jut up against her own, the warmth of his body breaching the barricade of wet clothes, to soothe her own chapped skin, and she shivers against him.

For a moment, they say nothing, just watching as Obi-Wan turns to Korkie, and Korkie to Obi-Wan, chatting animatedly, his free hand swooping through the air. She imagines he must be telling him of their departure from Mandalore, and the world he left behind, and she hopes that selfishly, she might be included in as many of these stories as he thinks to tell, because he is in all of hers. Qui-Gon chuckles beside her.

“Fast friends, already,” he says.

“Forgotten just as fast,” she whispers, nearly losing the words to the storm. But Qui-Gon is listening closely.

“Never that,” he says. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she yields like water, dropping her head to his shoulder, and weeping into the crook of his neck.

“I thought I was ready,” she says, hitching breaths to match the shifting winds. “But it has come too soon.”

She feels his chin press against her skull, and though it isn’t exactly comfortable, there is comfort in the angles of his affection, and she leans closer to him, until her arms sneak beneath the wet folds of his outer robe, and wrap around his waist. She clings there, as though she might blow away. This is familiar, though it is an old, old memory, now. She was once a girl, before she was a Duchess, and Qui-Gon Jinn was once to her the very thing her father could not be. She was bereaved, but never lost, and there were many nights that Qui-Gon held her while she wept just like this. It is easy to reach for him, now. It is easy to look back.

“You are never ready,” he says, his voice vibrating so near to her ear it is as though he speaks to her from within her own mind. “But he is not going very far. He is with his family. He is with his father. You are not losing him to the wilderness.”

“No,” she says. “Only to the Force.”

He does not chide her for the bitterness upon her tongue.

His own words remain gentle, and soothing, and he rocks her in his arms, as they watch the matched set of their hearts walk away.

“Then I have lost my own heart twice,” he says. “First to the Force, and then to you. But people always come back, in one way or another. No one is gone forever.”

And as they reach the car, as though he hears their call from across a vast, unending night, and over the wind and roar of the storm, Obi-Wan looks back, and Qui-Gon smiles.

“Oh, look,” he says, as the knight turns once more to his son. “There he goes again.”

Satine buries her face in Qui-Gon’s arms, and though she doesn’t feel at peace, for a moment, she feels like she has come home.

[countessofbiscuit]

Suppressive Fire

(Sev/Scorch, E, 3.9k words)

Two bros, chillin' on a top bunk no feet apart 'cause they're vode. . . .

Fleet Support, Ord Mantell, barrack block 7 Alpha, six standard weeks after Geonosis

She’d be built like a tank. That was Requirement the First.

She’d be humanoid, or near enough. Her arms would number ... four. Yes, four arms, each of them doing something clever. Two to open my ass, two to pinch my nipples, her long tongue going to crazy town on my cock, burning off my pubes with her caustic breath—

Sergeant Draka. The near-human-tank was Sergeant Draka, sure as day.

Scorch grabbed this realization with one firm hand and tugged.

Her species was shab-if-I-know: some unhappy hybrid who’d washed up on the far edge of the Outer Rim and been scraped into one of those fringe clans that never removed their helmets. Her folks developed a reputation for ritualized kidnapping that didn’t sit right with Jango. He’d ripped Draka’s helmet off in a duel, apparently, and spending ten years training the spawn of her enemy was the price she’d agreed to pay to regain her honor. All those kids and nowhere to run: a bitter form of torture for both parties. Her trainees were an insular, silent bunch with a tendency to tactically acquire your shit when you weren’t looking, but they got the job done.

Scorch had first seen Draka at a parade for the prime minister when he was three. He’d never forgotten it: she had fangs and yellow eyes and ears that twitched at the tips like they were catching your current of fear. No wonder they’d encouraged her to keep a lid on.

Then Scorch was six and change and he’d stumbled upon her in a hallway. She’d had a cadet upside down, smoking him good for something. “What are you gawping at, Six-Two?” she’d snarled, her generous chest heaving, three spare arms tensing in his direction. “Shift it. Unless you want your balls torn off next.”

Scorch had been a little scared and a lot turned on.

Sergeant Vau didn’t have to use many words to put the fear of Fett under your skin. He was a conservative man. Sergeant Draka regarded a shebs-chewing as the highest form of oratory and her calling in life. Whenever Scorch stood downwind of her in the combat hall, he could feel his eyebrows being singed off a second time.

Sweating a little, Scorch’s core tensed as this fantasy tightened vividly in his holographic mind.

She puts two hands around my cock, one hand on my nipple, one hand clawing under my balls—

Scorch flipped her on her back.

She uses all four arms to spread her trunky legs, hairy as a man’s, wide in invitation—

“Knock it off,” barked Sev.

She was gone. In her place was the knowledge that his brother was clued in to what Scorch was doing on the bottom bunk and determined to make it stop.

But the pressure under Scorch’s balls held firm and his erection stood fast. Sev was an oaf with shit timing. There was a reason they gave Scorch the fiddly wires and det controls. He stretched his fingers and reset his grip. “Not happening, vod.”

“Do you have to be so loud about it?”

“Loud?” Had he said something? Lost control of his breathing?

“Yes. Loud. Like you’re slugging a hamm sandwich.”

Scorch frowned. “Have you ever had a hamm sandwich?”

“I don’t want one now.”

There was some improvement to technique needed there: Scorch was always open to feedback—to the challenge of reducing the marginal noise of a wank. “You embarrassed?” he found himself asking, strokes resuming. Less hamm-fistedly. His orgasm had slumped a little and he'd have to tenderly call it back up.

“I’m embarrassed for you,” Sev said.

Scorch closed his eyes, picturing something ...

Sergeant Draka was back, and now she was holding him and Sev upside down. The arrival of RC-1207 into the sim wasn’t throwing Scorch off. In fact, it was encouraging. Exciting. He even leaked a little at the idea. What was a commando without his squad? Chafed, apparently. He should’ve brought Sev into the game two nights ago, after they’d been rudely pulled from stasis in preparation for some op known only to Boss.

Scorch didn’t remember decant. But Sergeant Vau, who'd wasted no time rocking up to his watery exile when Jango had put out the word, said they’d been ugly, annoyed, and ornery. The nursery techs had given them mock, miniature Deeces to keep their fussy hands and mouths occupied.

Coming out of stasis had to be worse—they were issued Deeces again, but they weren’t left alone to soothe themselves to sleep with weapons. Now their waking moments belonged entirely to some Jedi named Zey. They’d been forced to run a gamut of proprioception and endurance tests, cleaned their spanking new Katarn and cleaned it once more for luck on Boss’s orders, and told to familiarize themselves with their upgraded HUD systems.

Scorch had and he'd found it wanting: no pre-loaded heavy-isotope bangers or high-definition tailhead reference holos. Did he have to do everything himself in this shabla army?

After submitting to all this with only mild complaint—Fixer had sworn in full sentences—the op order was still not forthcoming. Classic hurry up and fekkin' wait. Wait for instructions they didn’t even need. Coordinates, intel support, and a broad objective would have sufficed for a commando tasking: top brass still had a lot to learn. It had left Delta with more downtime than they liked and had left Scorch wanting nothing more than to take care of that perennial need in his groin. And each time, he had to get a little more creative.

“What’re you thinking ‘bout, Sev?” he teased, poking the boundaries of this sim. Longnecks hated that: it’s why they let the commandos have off-world field trips to forsaken places where they couldn’t peel back the corners without dying. “Something profane? Something a little non-regulation?”

“The shab is wrong with you.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking ... ” The opportunity for candor—without Fixer on the opposite bunk telling him to pipe down or Boss around to make it happen—was interesting. And as far as Scorch knew, this slap-dash prefab of a support base didn’t have surveillance bugs like their dorms on Kamino. The range and assault course here weren't even specced for lasers; they had to waste live rounds on discs and be honest about getting locked onto. Not likely.

With nothing left to hide, Scorch rolled away from the wall and relaxed onto his back, his cock stiff and spry. He pulled his hood up and over his wet glans and back down again, as far as he could take it, skin smarting nicely at the stretch. He went on, “I’m thinking about Sergeant Draka.”

“Stop,” Sev said.

“Her thick thighs in my face—”

“Stop.”

Scorch spat in his hand and throttled his shaft. “Biting our balls … ” Okay, maybe that was a little weird. But if Fixer’s quick work of the base pyrowall in the anxious hours before chill-down was anything to go by, weird could be good. Better than good.

“Don’t make me come down there,” Sev growled. Not unlike Sergeant Draka, actually.

Scorch couldn’t help himself. “Oh yeah, do come down here ... ” He bucked into his fist, as if to jerk out that ball of bliss from behind his sack. The mass of him tensed rigid under one fixed goal. His fumbled around for something in the sheets with his free hand. “Come down her thick legs ... ”

If anything could singe Draka’s hairs, it’d be Sev’s spunk. Scorch loved a blast, but Sev would sprinkle baradium on his Oaties every morning if he could. Sev would spill like a gutted aiwha, animalistic and uncontrolled, and Draka would hiss and gnash her teeth and—

And suddenly, Scorch was over the line. His base clenched hard, choking his groan of release. He convulsed and came thickly into one of yesterday’s socks.

“Shab,” he croaked, his vision returning, his limbs pooling with pituitary pleasure. “Blew up real good.”

Somewhere above him, Sev huffed. “Three nights in a row. You’re disgusting—you know that, right?”

“Stasis, my shebs. I’ve never had such busy balls in my short life.” Scorch twisted languidly to the edge of the mattress and sat up, squeezing his cock clean. “Cooking blanks like they might get lucky.” The knotted sock got buried in tomorrow’s laundry and Scorch borrowed some of Boss’s wet wipes for the cleanup. Sarge wouldn’t miss them.

“The rest of us are fine,” Sev countered.

Scorch glanced at Sev over his shoulder. His brother looked like a corpse who’d taken up reading in the afterlife. Base bunks weren’t much cosier than a stasis pod, but something else was keeping Sev’s spine stiff. Something that might affect squad performance if it wasn’t addressed: a bad case of self-inflicted blue balls.

Scorch pulled up his pants and ambled over. “You know ... you say that. But this says something else.” He grabbed Sev’s perky junk.

Happily for his brother, Scorch’s grip was light. So when Sev knocked Scorch backwards at the throat, he didn’t take Sev’s sack with him. A scuffle ensued, half-hearted on Scorch’s side, though Sev was obviously in one of his fuck-off moods. He always was crankiest after a nap; it’d take him days to shake off stasis. And he was still pissed about Procurement’s theft of his helmet, with its authentic Gamma blood enshrined in red paint. That di’kutla squad had been shipped to Triple Zero, and until Sev butted heads with them again, he’d be as scratchy as a flea-bitten akk.

Using the shallow bunkrail, Scorch flung himself up and collapsed onto his brother, asking the cantilevered cot to bear the weight of two commandos. He was a trusting soul. The tussle continued until Scorch allowed Sev to secure a headlock, rather than drag them both onto the floor. They’d just gotten out of one unnatural bath and he didn’t fancy a dunk in bacta.

Scorch tapped Sev’s thigh. “Alright, alright,” he said hoarsely. Sev’s hold loosened a fraction and Scorch scooted out from it. Sitting up, he grabbed the holozine that had gotten pinned against the wall: some monthly edition of erudition that called itself Lasers & Blasters. “Didn’t know you could, Oh-Seven.”

Sev snatched the ‘zine to stuff it under his pillow. “It’s above your cadet-grade.”

“I think everyone knows you’re the knuckle-dragger around here, not me.”

“I think everyone knows I’m the hero of Geonosis, Killer of Sun Fac.”

Scorch made a theatrical noise that sounded like a broken, wet bes’bev. “Woo-hoo! You hit the broad side of a bantha!”

Now Sev really tried to catapult him onto the floor. But Scorch’s close-combat situational awareness noticed that his brother’s cockstand was holding strong.

“Sev,” he said, panting a little when they’d reached another stalemate, “the only people who know Sun Fac’s name are us, some spooks, and that random forward air controller.”

“Shove off.” Sev kicked him with his boot. He wore them to bed like an animal.

Scorch shook his head. “Not until you take care of yourself.”

“You have some shabla nerve, vod.”

“Rule 45: there should be no happier union than that between a commando and his weapon. But you’ve neglected yours.” He cast a judgemental eye at Sev’s tented pants. They’d been sleeping, shooting, and shitting cheek-by-jowl for their entire lives: Scorch didn’t know why one more bodily function would be that much worse. In that moment, he had more sympathy for his brother’s dick than his brother’s karked-up dignity. Or his own.

He glanced at the chrono. Boss and Fixer still had half an hour at the range and they’d probably hit the mess on the way back. Time enough for a little more equipment maintenance; Scorch believed he was being supremely generous offering what remained of his. He flopped over into a plank above his brother, who was still lying deathly prone. “If you’re not gonna help yourself ...”

“What?” Sev sneered. “You’ll do the honors?”

“Maybe I will. I am better than you, after all,” Scorch grinned. Suddenly, he sensed a game that he wanted to win. They were all like that. Competitive. Not so much against each other, but with each other. Getting screwy Sev off would be the ultimate victory: no one would lose and everyone would leave happy.

“You can’t.” Sev’s disinterest was as threadbare as his pillowcase.

“Alright, vod. I’ll take that bet.” Scorch dug the heel of his hand into his brother’s persistent erection. Sev’s eyelids fluttered. No greater tell in the book. “I bet I can get you off before Boss and Fixer get back. Just this once.”

Sev circled his hands around Scorch’s throat, hissing through perfect teeth bared tight, “You—can’t—Sergeant—Vau—would—”

Scorch scoffed. “You see Sarge here? He’s fucked off to his castle with his kaminii retirement fund.”

Vau had never promised he’d be there on the other side, but ... did he know they’d done a good job? That they’d been singled out for the assassination of the bugs’ chief lieutenant? That they’d survived—no, that they'd excelled, when hundreds of other squads hadn’t? Did he even care? Scorch had to wonder.

He shoved those thoughts aside with conscious effort; they wouldn’t do him any good. Better that Vau wasn't here anyway: he would sniff mightily at this interpretation of no brother left behind. “Hells, he’s probably rubbing one out to a portrait of the dead missus right now,” Scorch continued.

Sev’s grip tightened for their sergeant’s honor. “He wouldn’t—”

“He would. Stars love the old chakaar, Sev, but he’s only flesh and blood.” Actually, that’s all Vau was: cragged skin and blue blood twisted ‘round a frame that seemed to boast a few more bones than average. There must have been a heart in there, too—see: Mird—but Delta had spent their entire cadethood seeking it out to little good. Especially Sev, though he’d slot you for saying so.

Oh, Sev’ika: flesh and blood, plus a lot of bile and bad humor. He stank out the backend when he’d scarfed down too many ration packs, but what would splatter out the front? Scorch was beyond curious now, as he palmed his brother’s package through his clothes.

Sev’s hands held firm, but it was half-hearted, his thumbs only tickling his brother’s trachea. His nostrils flared. He was afraid. No, even better—he was desperate.

It was all the vindication Scorch needed. “That’s right—breathe. Relax. Six-Two’s got you.” He tugged Sev’s fatigues down, hitching the elasticene band behind his balls. Sev grimaced. Yeah, it might not be comfortable yet, but just wait; a little pressure there goes a long way.

“That hurts,” growled Sev.

“Gonna hand me the game?” If Sev had lost sight of his mission objective, he really was gummed up. “Jerking off through a fly feels like doing it in formation,” Scorch said.

Sev turned his head to the wall. If he’d done it at all, that was clearly how.

Scorch took his theoretically-identical brother in hand and felt the heft and heat of a dick that was still an inch left of familiar, however many times he'd seen it. Sev was throbbing. His hands fell away, as deliberately limp as the rest of him, like he was trying to absent himself from his body.

“So ... Sergeant Draka—” Scorch began, realizing he’d just been staring at his brother’s kad for longer than was right. He mentally constructed the fantasy again, deliberately this time, while he warmed up to the idea of working someone else’s shaft. Sev’s shaft. He imagined what Sev might like to hear, because Scorch sure as shab wasn’t keen on hardening up between his brother’s legs himself. That would just be strange. “She’s got you under two hands and a squawking bug under the other, honkin' great tits ready to smother the both of you ...”

Up until he’d found his brother’s cock in his hand, Scorch had fancied himself an honest commando. He really did. Then he had to close the dissonance between his not-insignificant-interest in Sev’s pink tip and, well, Sev: that awkward grump-a-lump who couldn’t look at a sapient or sentient, droid or organic, without scaring them away.

Scorch did it by telling himself this was just his own his cock in a mirror. A learning experience, if nothing else. And his tongue loosened to remember the bet. He began rubbing with intent. “She snaps its neck. Crunch. And isn’t that just your favoritest sound, Sev, ol’ boy?”

“Not her,” Sev said hoarsely.

Manda, he really was giving this to Scorch in the bag. “Who?”

“—don’t know—I don’t shabla know.”

“Easy, vod. You got a lifetime to find out. Well, half of one.”

“Shut. Up.”

Scorch changed the program and flicked a thumbnail right under Sev’s hood. Scratched out whatever dream Sev had building behind his scrunched eyes. It was irrelevant, whatever cleaned the pipes. If his brother didn’t want to say, who was Scorch to ask? The silky give of his hard-on and his nasally gasps vouched that Sev was having an a-okay time. Scorch wouldn’t have a hand, otherwise.

Sev bubbled from his tip. Scorch felt himself flush, but he was more intrigued than anything. It really was like watching a holo of himself. Obviously, Scorch was more handsome, mostly because he wasn’t a fucking psycho ... but a cock was a cock. He lengthened his movement with the slick aid of precome, fisting all the way down to Sev’s slightly lighter curls.

Suddenly, Sev’s fingers wrapped around his. For an alarming half-second, Scorch feared his wrist was about to be snapped. Goodbye dominant hand and superhuman reaction times.

But Sev just held on, eyes pinched shut, arm as unyielding as a barrel.

The situation became more straightforward. Emboldened by the team effort, Scorch stroked faster. Harder. He read the lines in Sev’s fierce face like a manual for a weapon he’d been handed five years ago. A clone lifetime. A batcher’s intuition. He shucked Sev’s sheath down as hard as he could. Twisted his wrist at the top further than Sev’s delicate skin wanted to go. Scorch figured his brother liked the bite of pain. “You feelin’ the heat? You gonna spill all over my fingers, Sev’ika?” he teased.

Sev heaved like he might throw up, and he coughed out only two words. “Do. Not.”

Yeah, he hates that kind of chummy osik and yakking. It was almost sad how much Sev knew what he didn’t want, but couldn’t voice what he did. Even Fixer grunted in approval when something wriggled across the ‘pad’s screen; at least he had some idea what kind of parts he fancied. It was a very broad pool.

Sev just looked embarrassed to be asked.

“Someone’s gonna love your shit, Sev,” Scorch encouraged, coming at it again from a different vector. If he didn’t show his wacky brother some love, who would?

Vau hadn’t been there to bestow that curt nod. They didn’t want to be spoiled. Scorch and his brothers weren’t Skirata’s pups: they’d survived Geonosis because they weren’t. But ... Delta was here and Theta wasn’t and Vau had no karkin’ clue what a close-run thing it’d been. Didn’t know how the knife-edge of his training had probably made all the difference and how chuffed they all were about it.

Or how Sev had made that one-in-a-million shot to Sun Fac’s fighter with half his visor splattered in bug spray. Scorch would remember that for the rest of his short life: angry tendrils of smoke rising behind Sev as he turned contemptuously away from his kill, his helmet gooey with Geonosian.

There were brothers, and there were your brothers: the ones who’d made you better just by being there beside you. Sev was one of those.

Scorch didn’t have to improv osik, now. The words came as easy as his muscle memory as he pistoned his palm along Sev’s angry cock. “Fuckin’ proud of you, Sev: bane of bugs and sniper extraordinaire. Wish Vau could’ve seen it, I really do. I’ll have CLONINT’s guts for rappelling lines for wiping Boss’s cache.”

Sev’s free hand had bunched into the sheet, his knuckles whitening. He stilled suddenly, tense as the second before the opening salvo. Here it comes.

“Ooh, so that’s how Sev breaks. Result!” Scorch had imagined Sev’s orgasm would be like squeezing blood from a stone. Not at all: it came as surely and naturally as his own. Scorch watched intently. Who knew their balls became one in the moment of triumph like that? As Sev’s practically disappeared into his taut body, Scorch had to think on his feet to save his brother’s freshly-laundered fatigues—or, on his knees and elbows, as the case was.

Thunking his other arm across his face, Sev lost the bet with a violent shudder—and without a sound, probably so he couldn’t say he’d enjoyed it. He squirted fully but cleanly onto the open spread of the ‘zine, thanks to Scorch’s management and direction. A long, messy line of cloudy white right across the cross-sectioned barrel of a Magna-Caster-100. Thank fuck for flimsi.

Shaking off Sev's hand, Scorch dropped the wilting cock. It was not attractive, and he prayed the ladies wouldn't think the same, warring with himself about whether he could succumb to the mortification of going limp in someone’s mouth. Maybe it was better to pull out and stripe them? It merited further research on Fixer’s ‘pad, just in case.

“Target softened. Should make things easier for you. Hope you took notes,” Scorch said, oddly transfixed by the description of the ‘Caster’s invisible quarrels he’d spotted on the page. He was growing itchy for a time-sensitive rummage—Scorch would wager his lower left nut that Delta could now go toe-to-toe with any of Draka’s squads for acquisition. With any luck, this mysterious upcoming op would net them some exotic toys.

He shifted his weight, feeling the need to move before that idea made him stiff again and everyone got the wrong impression.

“‘m not soft, di’kut,” Sev mumbled from underneath his arm.

Scorch patted his thigh. “Sure you’re not.”

“Getting soft will get us popped.”

Scorch was halfway off the bunk, but he stopped to squeeze Sev’s fucked-up head. “Hey, ner vod. Look at me—look at me,” he demanded. Sev let his arm fall behind his curls but he kept his gaze elsewhere. “No need to quote Sarge to me. Or go grey over stupid stuff like him.”

Stuff like distraction—a dirty word in Vau’s lexicon. What did they have to get distracted by, anyhow? Grainy holovids? They had enough room in their over-engineered skulls for a few of those, and if they ever got to touch the real thing, Scorch figured they wouldn’t lose their heads. Right? Civvies were so unexceptional, after all. Probably couldn’t tell a maranium blast from a benign xenon light sculpture. Brothers, especially your fellow commandos, were the only company worth keeping—even Vau said so, and Skirata had said Vau had wined and dined New Mando aristos and had bedded a fekkin’ princess in a past life.

Eventually, Sev’s sour mug puckered in something like thought. “If you fucked up my range scores, I’m going to piss in your pack.”

Scorch laughed, dumping his feet onto the floor and wandering in the direction of Boss’s ration bars. Mess was a whole two hours away and Scorch had a month’s eating to make up for. “Sev’ika, no one could fuck up your range scores. You just pregamed with Lasers & Blasters.”

The ‘zine smacked the back of Scorch’s head, wet side flat.

Yeah, we're still good, Scorch thought, as he finally manhandled his stroppy brother onto the floor. And we always will be.

(also on Ao3)

[aro-of-artemis]

Will They Won't They

number two! this one is inspired by Jeremy Shada’s banger by the same name. it can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626231 Julie and Luke have been dancing around each other but will they finally admit their feelings?

AKA 3 times they won't and 1 time they will. ----

(1)

The California-bright sun hangs high in the sky, casting its brilliant rays on the milling group of teenagers below. If one were to look at these teenagers - four in all - they would notice nothing amiss, each one leaving hazy shadows on the boardwalk. Their bodies seem to be moved about by the sea breeze, constantly colliding in joyful embraces with one another as they sing snatches of songs to one another.

Julie drops back from the boys a little bit, watching with a soft, almost painfully fond smile on her face. She closes her eyes a moment, lifting her face to catch the warmth of the sun.

"Hey, Julie." Luke had fallen back too, noticing her pause. The other two continue on, Reggie spinning Alex in a little twirl beneath his raised arm and Alex reciprocating with a broad grin. "You all good?"

When Julie opens her eyes, she is met with a small curling smile.

"Yeah, Luke. I'm good," she says, her smile growing toothy. "Just … appreciating my environment." She wouldn't of course mention that Luke was a key part of that environment that she was appreciating but the slightly mischievous look on Luke's face told her that he had an inkling.

"Good," Luke says, tucking his hands into his pockets and scuffing his shoes on the ground as he begins to slowly walk again. Julie joins him, matching his strides.

They walk together quietly, smiling and laughing at the other boys' antics up ahead. Julie's chest feels so incredibly warm, buoyed by contentment, making her feel as though she is merely floating. As they walk, Julie gently bumps her shoulder into Luke's and he reciprocates, causing his hands to drop from his pockets and start swinging gently by his side. Julie can feel his fingers next to hers, like an electric current. His presence next to her is so warm. Like the hearth of a fire. Comforting and homey but brimming with energy so close to being set loose.

She feels their fingers brush. Once, twice, three times. Until their pinkie fingers hook together. She feels as though the whole world is contained within that one point of contact. The Big Bang and the inevitable heat death of the universe pinned in one spot.

Neither of them look at each other or otherwise acknowledge their linked hands swinging between them but Julie can't help the broad grin forcefully tugging on the corners of her mouth.

After a while - Julie's not sure she could pinpoint the amount of time passed with any kind of accuracy - she tangles the rest of their fingers together, brushing her thumb along the back of his hand. She hears him take a sharp breath in and her own heart stutters in her chest. She can now feel the soft contours of his palm, the hard-won calluses on his fingertips now rubbing gently across her knuckles. She is filled by a sudden wish to study his hands as if they are precious artefacts detailing each moment of his life. However, that line of thinking is promptly cut off.

In their exuberance, Alex and Reggie had gotten quite far ahead. They double back, re-joining Julie and Luke, unknowingly interrupting something that felt indescribably intimate. Julie couldn't be mad at them though.

They had yet to stop singing - currently doing their best rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody possible with two voices. When Alex tugs on her free hand to pull her into some vague, chest-clutching choreography to emphasise his very serious position as just a poor boy, nobody loves me, she sings back in her best operatics, he's just a poor boy from a poor family. Reggie chimes in to add that they should spare him his life from this monstrosity.

They all dissolve into delirious giggles, hanging off one another. But Julie's hand still burns with all the energy of the Big Bang and all the potential contained within.

(2)

Julie's fingers flit along the keys of the music room piano, plucking out the notes to a song. The song, really. The one she had dreamt up in dance class. The one that wouldn't leave her head or her heart. She begins to hum along, adding lyrics as her voice rises in intensity.

By the last chorus, she is belting with the force of all the pent-up emotions pushing their corners into her ribcage. She pulls back, softening for the final lines, ending on a breathy reiteration of the words perfect harmony.

Julie lurches to her feet, whirling around when the ringing quiet is interrupted by a voice. Luke's voice.

"That was beautiful, Julie." He says her name in that way of his, softening the j, tongue curling around the l as if it's a precious thing. He's leaning against the door frame, hands bracketing his own biceps looking at her with an impossibly tender smile. Julie can feel her face heating up, her eyes widening to comic proportions.

"Luke!" she chokes out past the invisible hand that seems to be strangling her. "What are you doing here?"

Luke shrugs his shoulders, dropping his hands to his pockets and meandering towards her.

"Ah, y'know," he glances at her a little sheepishly, "Got a little bored at home." Julie feels her chest warm a couple degrees at him calling her home his home but she pushes that down, raising her eyebrow slightly instead and folding her arms.

"Is that so?" she challenges. "And what kind of entertainment do you think I could provide you?”

Luke shrugs again. He's still shuffling his feet. This boy can never stay still.

A moment of silence stretches long between them until Luke clears his throat, scratching the back of his head.

"So, what was that song you were working on?"

"Oh!" Julie feels her eyes widen again and her face feels like a hot stove, "That? Pfft nothing. It's nothing. Just- ah - just a song. Don't worry about it."

Luke quirks the corner of his mouth and looks up at her through his lashes, seeing through her terrible cover-up. "Can you play it for me again? Maybe we can work on it together."

Julie feels her mouth drop open as she desperately tries to formulate a response that gets her out of baring her soul to her crush and his boy band hair and his pink lips and those expressive fucking eyebrows that she wants to kiss just to see how they would move and she-

"It's okay if you don't wanna," Luke says, looking a little dejected but clearly sees her distress.

"No - well - I - fuck - I -," Julie forces herself to stop. Take a breath.

Luke laughed at her, loud and bright. "Julie Molina! Did you just cuss?"

Julie scowls at him, the slight irritation of being made fun of by Luke allowing her to catch her breath. "Yes," she said tersely. "I cuss!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, still chuckling, hands up in a mock defensive gesture, "It's just that I've never heard you swear before."

Julie huffs. "I contain multitudes." She sits back down at the piano, straight-backed. But then she softens. Looking back at him, she pats next to herself on the piano stool in tacit invitation. "Do you wanna hear it or not?"

Luke scrambles over to her, settling his incandescent warmth next to her. She can feel energy radiating off his skin, causing her heart to flutter into her windpipe. Julie clears her throat, pushing it back to its rightful position, takes a deep breath and starts playing.

As she plays, she can feel each spot where their bodies touch. (The front of his leg to the back of her calf, his shoulder brushing against hers as she breaths in and out, their hips where they meet on the piano stool). She can feel as Luke leans progressively closer and closer until there's barely any breathing room between them. She feels the vibration of his chest as he begins to join in singing the lyrics. The press of his chest to her shoulder blade. The wild beating of his heart.

When the song draws to an end once more, she only needs to turn her head just slightly to be breathing the same air as him. She looks quickly between his shining eyes and his lips that are hanging open as if he'd forgotten to close them. When she glances back into his eyes, she notices him having a similar struggle. The air feels thick between them, the weight of the unsaid and the sung hanging like a veil over their heads, wrapping them within their own private world.

And then the sharp trill of the period bell rings, jolting them apart, flustered and uncertain.

"I - I've got to get to class."

"I better get back to the boys."

They say these things at the same time, both feeling the disappointment of their broken moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Luke says, eyes still catching on hers like they can't bear to look anywhere else. "I'll, um, see you at home." And with that he poofs out.

(3)

The end of the movie playing on Julie's laptop gives way to the scroll of credits, softly illuminating the pile of tangled limbs on the pull-out couch. Reggie's head lays cushioned on the softness of Alex's stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Julie's legs are tangled with Reggie's, her head on Luke's chest, forming a V between Luke and Alex.

Alex and Reggie are snoring softly as the credit music quietens. Julie can feel the gentle breeze of Luke's breath shifting her curls ever so slightly. She twists slightly to look at him, careful not to disturb Reggie's legs. When she looks up at him, she is startled to find his warm eyes fixed on her face, brimming with something she couldn't put a name to.

"Did you enjoy the movie?" she asks softly.

Luke huffs out a somewhat rueful chuckle, as if sharing a private joke with himself. "Yeah, it was good." (If one were to ask Luke, he’d say he could barely remember the movie. He’d been distracted).

Julie gives him a bemused look but doesn't push. She can feel him playing with the ends of her hair, tugging on the curls and watching with fascination as they spring back. The slight tugging sensation causes a shiver to reach cool fingers down the whole length of her spine. And Luke clearly notices because his (soft, pink) mouth pulls into a mischievous grin. God, she is so gone on this boy.

"You cold?" he asks, clearly knowing the answer but unable to prevent himself from teasing her.

Julie bumps his chest lightly with the flat of her hand, intending to scold him but instead finding she doesn't want to move it from where it landed. She sucks in a sharp breath when she looks up into his eyes, feeling her pounding heartbeat in the tips of her ears, the pads of her fingers, the flesh of her lips.

She still scowls at him slightly, even as her hand traces along the slight dip and rise of his chest, warm through the thin fabric of his irritatingly (amazingly, fantastically) sleeveless shirt. "Shut up," she finally says, unable to come up with an adequate response.

Luke scoffs a little but the curl of his lip is affectionate. He jerks his chin slightly at the other boys. "I guess it's time for bed."

"I guess so," Julie returns, nestling in closer to the softness of his chest instead of getting up and taking herself to her room. She couldn't imagine being anywhere but here, encompassed by an overwhelming feeling of safety and warmth and love for her boys.

"G'night, Julie," Luke says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

"Night, Luke," Julie says, his name delicate and precious in her mouth.

And then. Then. He darts forward (a mere few inches) to place on peck on the end of her nose.

Julie's mouth doesn’t have to go very far to tug into a broad grin, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she looks up at Luke's reddening face. She replaces her head on his chest, right over his heart, feeling how it races against her cheek. She feels his muscles relax slightly as she does so and his hand returns to playing gently with her hair. She falls to sleep with a smile on her face.

(+1)

Luke can't sleep. It's not unusual, exactly. He's often plagued by memories or filled up with ideas, making him feel as though he'll jitter right out of his skin if he doesn't keep moving in one way or another. He prefers the latter, obviously, even if Reggie and Alex make fun of him for practically vibrating when he sings sometimes. He just can't help it.

At the moment, he is filled to the brim with snatches of songs, some his and some not. Carlos had been showing him some of those TikToks the young boy was so fond of. There was one particular song that had gotten stuck in his head, causing him to borrow Carlos' laptop to listen to the full thing.

"Oh, she's a she's a lady and I am just a boy," he mumbles under his breath as he wanders (twirls) around the kitchen looking for a snack (he can do that now, much to his delight). "She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a - oh baby I am a wreck when I'm without you-"

He cuts himself off abruptly as he catches sight of Julie out of the corner of his eye, mid-twirl between the fridge and the pantry.

She stands in the doorway, amused expression set over folded arms. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she is swamped in a warm-looking jumper that Luke is 95% sure belongs to Alex.

"Julie!" he says, mouth hanging open.

"Luke!" she responds teasingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you - I'll keep it down."

Julie shakes her head and moves towards him. "No, it's fine. I couldn't sleep. I came down to get a drink but -" she gestures vaguely at the space in which Luke had been dancing.

"Oh," Luke breathes, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah," Julie says and there's a long moment of silence that feels anything but empty as they look at one another.

Julie finally breaks it. "I like that song you were singing. Line Without a Hook, right? It's a good song."

Luke smiles at her, bright eyed. "Yeah? You know it?"

Julie nods and starts singing the chorus. "Oh, baby I am a wreck when I'm without you."

Luke joins in, "I need you here to stay, I broke all of my bones that day I found you."

He grabs her hand and pulls her into a little dance as they sing, moving with the rhythm of the song.

When they reach the bridge, they stop moving, standing chest to chest in the middle of the kitchen. Julie voice halts in her throat as she stares up into Luke's hazel blue eyes.

He sings softly once again, his voice mostly breath, "She's a she's a lady and I am just a boy, She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a -"

He trails off, sucked into the burbling warmth of her eyes, right hand coming up to trace the gentle curve of her cheekbone, her jaw. His thumb brushes along the tail of her eyebrow, fingers curling behind her ear. He can feel both their chests heaving, not with exertion but with some unnameable something. He feels as though if he were to speak right now, everything building up inside him would come tumbling violently out. He shouldn't, he can't, he won't --

She will. She does. She presses her lips to his, her lips soft and slightly chapped, stealing every bit of breath from his lungs. He presses back, his left hand coming up to cup the other side of her face, impossibly gentle. Her hands rise to bracket the back of his neck, fingers digging into the gentle waves at the nape of his neck.

He feels euphoric. Every part of skin is alive and buzzing, trying to gather as much sensation as physically possible. Julie presses back harder, deepening the kiss for a moment and Luke feels a new thrill shoot through him.

When she pulls back to breathe, she rests her forehead against his, their panting breaths mingling between them. Luke can feel a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and Julie can't bear to look away from it.

"Hi," he says, his voice husky.

"Hi," she says, and it sounds like an entirely new word in her kiss-roughened voice. A word that belongs only to them.

Luke leans down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, still breathing heavily, causing goose bumps to raise on Julie's skin where it skates across.

"You're amazing." His words sound a whole lot like a confession. Julie's hands continue to comb through the short hair at that tickles the back of his neck.

"Luke," she says. He lifts his head to meet her intense gaze. "I --" she drops her eyes for a moment but looks up again, a fire seemingly lit behind them. "I love you."

He can't help the smile that splits his face in two, looking for all the world like the sun had taken residence upon his face.

"Julie," his tongue curling around each syllable, "I love you, too."

[flirtingwitharson]

drunk remus plz

contrary to popular belief, I haven’t died, just am trying to find time and motivation you mega nerds

Remus Lupin wasn’t exactly one to get drunk. It was honestly difficult to get him even bordering on inebriated, considering his metabolism was extraordinarily quick, what with his lycanthropy and everything. It took some rather strong whiskey and arseloads of convincing to make it happen, really. Luckily enough, in all matters concerning whiskey and Remus Lupin, Sirius Black was very, very gifted.

“Remus John Lupin, you are not bailing on your own fucking birthday party,” Sirius scoffed, strolling dramatically into the common room and simultaneously scaring off children in younger years with the stomping of his heavy boots. “A little birdie called James let loose that you said to him that you ‘weren’t really feeling it this year’, or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. Not feeling it, my arse.”

Giving a world weary sigh–having only picked up just a hint of Sirius’ dramatic tendencies over the years–Remus uncrossed his legs and gently placed his bookmark inside his novel, preparing himself for the skirmish Sirius was surely about to stage. “You’re causing a scene,” were the words that came out of his mouth first, taking the form of a half-assed attempt to stop Sirius’ idiosyncrasies before they even got started. 

“As if,” Sirius replied, his drama increasing as his irritation increased as well. “Moony, you are turning eighteen, the big one-eight, Mr. Adult, you can’t just not  have a party. I won’t hear anything of it.” 

“It just gets boring, having all these parties all the time, you know that’s not my kind of fun, Sirius,” reasoned Remus tiredly. It was true; Remus was always the odd one out of their tight little group. He liked to go out, sure, but all of these grandiose parties with drinks, and people he’d hardly ever even talked to, it just wasn’t his scene. However, James and Sirius were quite the opposite: they loved to entertain, and host, and simply just have loads of fun, so organizing huge ragers in the Gryffindor common room and getting drunk off their arses was right up their alley.

“Moony, Moony, Moony,” Sirius crooned. “I’ll make it fun, I promise. Since when have I ever let you down?”

“Well–”

“Don’t answer that.”

The conversation seemed settled, and Remus was one hundred and one percent positive that he would resent his inability to say no to Sirius for the rest of eternity.

Sirius and James made it their goal for the evening to finally, for what might be the first time, to get Remus Lupin properly and totally pissed. Being the rich, unknowingly privileged people they were, they went out and bought the nicest, strongest alcohol they could, fully determined to make the one to remember–or get so drunk that they couldn’t. They snuck the crate they had gathered into their dormitory under the invisibility cloak, knocking it off their to-do list as they headed out to spread the word of  “Mr. Moony’s Birthday Banger” (not their most creative title, but it would have to do last minute.

“How do you figure you’ll even be able to convince him to drink?” James asked curiously as he walked besides Sirius, handing out flyers to all sixth and seventh years they came across. 

“Oh, some jealousy, a lap dance, and whispering dirty things into his ear should do the trick,” Sirius smirked devilishly, the unsurprised sigh that James emitted satisfying him.

“Why of all people he chose to fall for your sorry arse, I’ll never understand.”

“I’m irresistible, Jamesy, how could I blame him?”

The party was a roaring success, as was any event organized by the daunting duo of Padfoot and Prongs. The gift table was sneakily placed next to the drink table, encouraging everyone to not only spoil the birthday boy, but to get spoiled on the plethora of alcohol they had provided. Remus sulked nearby in an armchair, wearily smiling and conversing with all who were courteous enough to wish him a happy birthday, even if most were just there for the booze. Sirius tutted at the sight, and set off to begin step one of Mission Get Moony Hammered. He took a swig of the beer he was starting out with, and sauntered over to Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the only other students besides Remus and himself that was out as a queer man, barring Marlene and Dorcas proudly announcing themselves as lesbian (far, far too publicly). He made eye contact with Remus from across the room, grinning mischievously before laying his hand on Kingsley’s shoulder. “Hey, Shacklebolt,” he said in a low tone, shooting him a well-practiced smile, “care for a dance?”

“What will the boyfriend say, Black?” Kingsley laughed back, knowing full well what Sirius’ end goal was, because they’d been down this road before.

“This time I’m not trying to get him to shag me–well, yet,” Sirius insisted. “I just fancy seeing him drunk off his arse on his eighteenth birthday, surely you understand what amusement that long-concealed knowledge could provide.”

“Very well,” came the reply as Kingsley allowed Sirius to drag him off to the makeshift dance floor and place his hands on his lower back. Sirius was confident that this would at least get Remus started, and surely enough, when Sirius looked back over ta his lover, their was a beer in his white-knuckled fist as he conversed with Frank Longbottom. Sirius knew that it was a bit sick to make his boyfriend jealous just for a drink, but Remus always pulled the same tactics when he wanted something out of Sirius, and the whole population of Europe could deduce that Remus and Sirius were madly in love and that their teasing and shenanigans meant nothing in the slightest.

“Thank you, Shacksy my dear,” Sirius smiled as he slipped a cheeky grab of his arse in before departing. “He better be good in bed!” Kingsley called after him halfheartedly, Sirius hardly having heard him as he made a beeline for Remus. He sat right on his lap, completely ignoring the conversation that he was interrupting while he tilted Remus’ chin up to make him focus on him alone. If he was honest, Sirius was already a bit tipsy, for he and James had ‘sampled’ everything before people arrived. 

Frank got the message and went off to go join James in a heated argument about the Quidditch World Cup, leaving Sirius and Remus alone in a rather small chair. “Enjoying yourself, Moon man?” asked Sirius, smiling down at his boyfriend happily, if not a little sneakily.

“Why do you always have to tease,” pouted Remus, furrowing his brow as he stared at Sirius  right back. 

“You and I both know it’s the only way to get you to have a little fun,” replied Sirius quite simply, ducking to peck the pout off of Remus’ lips.

“Don’t think I didn’t realize you bought particularly strong beverages this time around, mangy mutt.”

“…Okay, guilty, but I resent the mangy bit,” Black insisted. “Aw, c’mon, Moons, lighten up. It’s one night, and we leave here in three months for the last time, and everyone will forget all about us and no one will give two shites about that one birthday party they were at in March of their seventh year.”

Remus looked across the room, back at Sirius, and sighed. “Fine, then. Pour me a drink, you bastard.” Sirius could have sworn his grin reached his ears.

Two beers, one whiskey, and a multitude of birthday shots later, and James and Sirius were sure they reached their goal. In fact, they knew they finally had, but were quite honestly a bit frightened about what drunk Remus might entail. After all, he wasn’t used to it–he was almost never, ever drunk. 

Currently, Remus was dancing with an equally drunken Lily…shirtless, the both of them, on top of some table on the other side of the room. “Er, Prongs?” Sirius asked hesitantly. “Is it just me, or is that-is that Lily and Moons on that table?”

James’ eyes widened as they flicked from Sirius to the table and back to Sirius again. “I fucking believe it is,” he replied in awe. “Hell, Moony’s hammered! He’s got to be, he never even takes his shirt off in front of me, much less in front of loads of randos.” After the shock settled down a bit, James and Sirius raced over to go convince their significant others to put their clothes back on and drink some water, as Sirius and James had been doing for the last half hour in order to be good hosts.

“Pads! Oh, you’ve got to dance with me up here, I’m a much better dancer than Kingsley,” Remus whined gleefully–and rather bluntly at that–his voice surprisingly slurred. 

Unlike Remus might have done if the situation were switched, Sirius gave in. He let Remus pull him up to the table, and was happily shocked when Remus hands immediately slipped down the back of his pants. It was quite the spectacle, but Sirius was always one for causing scenes. James had already persuaded Lily off the table and to the staircase to sit her down and give her water–for fear of another embarrassing situation (she was a wild drunk). 

“Moony!” Sirius yelped, jaw falling open when Remus slipped his hand down further and squeezed his arse. “There are prying eyes!” Remus shrugged and simply pressed his body closer to Sirius’. Sirius made eye contact with James and grinned, mouthing ‘holy fuck’ as Remus continued to borderline grind on him, acting much unlike himself. 

“Mm, I’ve the hottest boyfriend in the school,” Remus mumbled lowly in his ear, ignoring Sirius’ half hearted attempts at prying him off. All of their friends were catcalling them and cheering them on by now, but Remus was completely and utterly oblivious. 

“Moony, as much as I love what you’re doing, you can’t do…whatever it is you’re trying to do in front of half the school,” Sirius reprimanded, taking a deep breath and internally believing that he should earn some type of award for the amount of strength it took to not give in to Remus right then and there.

“You…are an awfully boring boyfriend, s’not fair,” Remus pouted, trying to tug Sirius’ shirt off now too. When Sirius didn’t give in, Remus huffed and stepped back, subsequently falling off the table. “Fuck,” he groaned, trying to stand up, yet falling right back down. Sirius covered his mouth with his hand and laughed in surprise at Remus’ expense, but stepped off the table when he realized he should probably be a gentleman and help him up. 

“C’mon, pup, let’s get some water in you,” he suggested, crouching as he sat Remus up and stroked his hair. Remus looked like he was about to protest, but was interrupted as he leaned over and vomited all over Sirius, then passed out.

Maybe this would be a night to remember after all.

[earformusic]

Album Review: 5 Seconds of Summer - CALM

Less than two years after their smash hit album Youngblood, 5 Seconds of Summer (5sos) are back with their fourth studio album titled CALM. The 12 track album was released on March 27, 2020, and is titled using an acronym of each of the band members’ first names. CALM is filled with a sort of coming of age feel, juxtaposing the overall darker tone of their previous album release.

The record kickstarts with the first track “Red Desert”. The track is jam packed with layered harmonies, and gives the listener a feeling as though this is truly the beginning of the record. The song itself is also one of the few on the album that showcases each of the members’ vocals, proving how dynamic the band truly is. The overall openness and freedom feel this song radiates is the perfect start to the album. 

Moving on from the first track, tracks two through six are what we’ll call a “saga of singles”. Each of these songs were individually released as singles, the earliest of which was released in May 2019. However, my personal favorite of these is “No Shame”, the third single to be released and second song on the album. The song reflects over the dark side of the media and the Internet, while simultaneously self reflecting on how the members of 5sos are also apart of this twisted cycle. This in your face pop song gives a good feel that’s fun to dance to while simultaneously having darker meaningful lyrics, giving it what you could call a “Paramore effect” (Paramore is a band known for having darker lyrics with a bright, upbeat sound). 

Track three titled “Old Me” is probably my least favorite song on the record. Though it has inspirational lyrics about acceptance of the past, it reminds me of any average radio hit. The following track “Easier”, is chalk full of synthesizers and was the first single from CALM to be released. When I first heard this song back in 2019, it felt like such a new and unique hard rock feel that was very different for 5sos. Overall, this is one song I’ll never get tired of listening to. Track number five “Teeth” is filled with bass. This heavy bass track coupled with a driving kick makes for one intense record. “Easier” and “Teeth” are probably the two most unique sounding songs on the whole record. “Wildflower” is the last single on the album, and was released only three days prior to the album’s official release date. At first listen, the song wasn’t my favorite and sounded like any other radio song. However, after many more listens I began to find the upbeat pace on the song endearing. It’s a fun anthem-type song that would sound great live.

The album then takes a sadder tone with the song “Best Years”. This song will pull at your heart strings like no other, battling 5sos’ previous tear jerker “Ghost of You”. Reflecting on both the darker and happier parts of a relationship, the song gives you an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia for a relationship you may never have even had. It’s one of those songs you’d hear play at someone’s wedding, and rightly so. The harmonies between Luke Hemmings and Michael Clifford in the chorus give the song such a loving feel that’s hard to ignore. Overall, I’d definitely consider this song to be almost a love note of sorts.

Completely taking a full 180, the songs “Not in the Same Way” will have you dancing around your room. Lyrics such as “I love you, you love me / but not in the same way” tug at your heartstrings, however, it’s hard to ignore the vivacious tone of the song. It displays how chaotic relationships can truly be, putting the ugliest parts of a relationship on a silver platter for all to see. This song is followed by “Lover of Mine”, which takes a less fast paced tone. Filled with poetic, self-reflecting lyrics, the song itself definitely feels like a follow up to “Not in the Same Way”. It seems as though the character in the song has finally realized his/her faults and mistakes in the relationship, and is ready to make amends to make this relationship work. 

Following the sad song happy song pattern that’s occurred since track seven, an upbeat song called “Thin White Lies” takes the spot as track number nine. With a groovy chorus and brutally honest lyrics, this song is what the kids would call a “banger”. Its impactful bridge especially stood out to me, with lyrics such as “I don't think I like me anymore / Can someone tell me who I was before?” that show the truth behind what getting too invested in a toxic relationship can do to you. Next is once again a slower paced track called “Lonely Heart”. At first, it makes listeners believe it’s just a simple acoustic song with soft vocals. But the first verse slowly builds up into a chorus that smacks you in the face. Harmonies between all the members make the chorus itself sound larger than life. My favorite part of this song is the harmony in the second verse between band members Luke Hemmings and Calum Hood, which gives off this soft yet powerful tone.

Lastly, the record finishes off with my personal favorite song “High”. It’s a song filled with hope of change and self discovery. Lyrics such as “I need to stop letting me down” show how the character portrayed throughout this album has finally realized that they deserve better, and now are beginning to find themselves. Witty lyrics in this song such as “I hope you think of me high / I hope you think of me highly” also stuck out to me. I feel as though this is the perfect way to end the album, and completes it on a high (get it? because the song is titled “High”) note. 

This album portrays the rollercoaster that is modern day relationships, giving honest outlooks on the high highs and low lows that come with any relationship. CALM showcases both the personal and musical growth 5sos has had over the course of their careers, and the maturity in this record is clear for all to see. 5 Seconds of Summer has coined itself as a band that constantly experiments with new sounds, and this record is proof of that. 

My Personal Rating: ★★★★☆

[deacymercury]

Maybe Someday (Ben Hardy/Roger Taylor x Reader Part 4)

A/N: Hey there! Sorry for the long overdue. I really had a lot of school stuff to do and it drained me :< so I’m sorry because I kept you guys waiting. Anw, here’s the last part of Maybe Someday. As for the taglist, it is still open. And if I miss tagging you here, just message me. I’m sorry uff. Thank you for all the love and support darlings! I appreciated it a lot! Sorry if this sucks, but I hope you still enjoy reading it! x

You were actually confused with what Freddie told you. Jealous eh?  You scoffed at the thought. That’s impossible. He’s in love with Dominique how the hell is that even possible, right? Plus he rejected for how many times. That’s impossible. You shook your head to forget about it but then Roger’s frustrated image crossed your mind again as you close your door. It’s just been a year yet it almost feels like a decade. You missed him. So much. That it actually hurts. Your heart is beating erratically with the thought.

“Remember what he told you last time Y/N. He’s not for you.” You reminded yourself as you started moving towards your bathroom.

You didn’t start taking a bath yet. You just stared at the mirror, scrutinizing every part of your body as you strip your clothes off. You saw the kiss mark Landon left at your neck. What a fucking ass. You looked at yourself fully. You look good. A year away from Roger has done you well. But you’re still problematic with your body. It’s fine, but it’s not fully developed. You can’t help but compare your body to the girls that he’s bedding. All of them got a model-like body. Big breasts, nice butts, and hour glass bodies. You huffed with the thought.

See Y/N? Your weird attraction towards him caused a deep rooting insecurity in yourself. You told yourself as you started washing up.

Wearing a red turtle neck blouse paired with a light blue floral bell bottoms, you went out of your bedroom and went to your kitchen to talk with the boys.

“Hey that smells good.” You said, making them turn their attention at you.

“Oh it’s just some bangers and pasta.” Brian smiled at you.

“Ugh I missed this.” You told them as you take your sit. You are welcomed with the savory smell of pasta. You felt your stomach grumble so you quickly sat beside your brother Brian, and Roger is in front of you. You can feel his stare at you so you tried not looking at his direction as much as possible.

You diverted your attention towards Freddie and you saw him smirking as he take his seat between Roger and Deacy. You gave him a confused look but Freddie just shrugged his shoulders.

“So how was school Y/N?” you heard your Brian asked as you started delving on into your food.

“School’s great even though it’s tiring.” You answered him quickly.

“But school is really fun. I’ve met a lot of artists and directors because of it. Plus I always got to watch free theater plays.” You added.

They started bombarding you questions about school and New York, and you were doing the exact same. Roger doesn’t participate that much, he’s been quiet since you sat into the table. He was just answering one word or two and just laughs with whatever you guys say. You can feel his stare at you the whole time and you think the boys are having an idea already.

“So Y/N.” Freddie cuts the topic off about their tour, smile plastered into his face. You were not quite sure what is his real intention but you know he is planning something with that kind of look in his face. You tried acting nonchalantly, not wanting to give Freddie any reaction.

“What is it?” you asked him.

“I saw a men’s shirt here darling! Is that your boyfriend’s? Looks like you’re really having a wild time!” he told you, half-laughing. You almost choked with his question. You started coughing hard to remove the awkwardness you’re feeling.

“Stop it Fred!” you exclaimed at him with your face looking like a freaking tomato.

“Looks like our little Y/N is getting what she wants.” Deacy joked. They three guys started laughing but you can see the crease on Roger’s forehead. He wasn’t very happy with what is happening.

“Who is it Y/N? You should let him meet me if that’s the case.” Brian told you.

“You’re alright with it Bri?” Roger asked, completely amazed. But you can sense the anger in his voice.

“Of course. I want to meet whoever that guy is. I mean Y/N is already old enough to decide whatever she wants in life. I know my sister can handle it.” He explained at Roger.

“Besides I’m going to beat that guy if he hurts Y/N.” Brian added, laughing. You saw Roger scoffed.

What is wrong with him?

“So who’s the lucky guy then Y/N?” Freddie curiously asked.

“U-uh he’s Landon.” You stuttered. You were very nervous. You felt like a thief caught red-handed. Your nervousness is increasing because you can see Roger staring at you darkly.

“Ooooh.” Freddie said. “He must be very lucky. He got the goddess Y/N May!” he exclaimed.

“Landon? What kind of name is that?”  Roger said, disgust is laced in his voice.

“What?” you asked him. You’re getting mad with the attitude that he’s showing.

“Never thought you’ll like a Landon in your life.” He said, mocking you. “I mean that name is very lanky.” He added.

You decided to ignore his rude comment. It’ll just make things complicated, and it is not good to fight in front of the food. So you just rolled your eyes at him, turning your attention to the pasta that is in front of you.

“Are you jealous Roger Taylor?” Deacy joked as he put a spoonful of pasta into his mouth.

“Why would I be jealous? Y/N isn’t even my type.” He replied.

Why would I be jealous? Y/N isn’t even my type. His voice kept on ringing to your head. You were too stunned with what he said that you can’t even put the fork with pasta in your mouth. After a year you thought you’re already fine. That you’re not hurting anymore. But you were wrong. You’re shattered once again.

How can someone be that cruel? You told yourself.  How can you like someone like that Y/N?

“Well you aren’t my type too so it’s fair.” you replied bitterly. You wanted to applaud yourself for saying that line even though you wanted to cry already.

“Is that so? As far as I know you’re begging at me to like you back the last time I met you.” Roger said, raising his eyebrow while smirking. What a fucking asshole. Silence invaded the whole room. You can feel the tension all over.  You were fuming mad.

“Well that’s the last time you asshole. And if you think I still like you now then you’re fucking wrong because I already don’t!” you said, venom dripping in your voice. You can feel the tears brim in your eyes.  “And you know w-what?” you spoke, trying to stop the tears from falling. “I regret liking someone like you. You’re a fucking asshole who don’t deserve anyone.” you added, as you walked away from them, banging your front door to get out of your flat.

Tears started falling rapidly in your eyes. You walked away as fast as you can. The cold December wind welcomed you as you make your way to the road, but you couldn’t care less with the cold. You’re too hurt too care. You continued to cry as you walk through the pavement, making the strangers stare at you. I must look like a lunatic. You told yourself as you wipe your tears.

Was it just 30 minutes? Or one hour? You don’t know how much time did you spent on walking; you don’t even know where you are right now because you weren’t really familiar with the place. You just continued walking straight, until you reached this park. You saw an empty bench, so you decided to rest for a while. You can feel your feet hurt as you rest on the bench. You started calming yourself down. You closed your eyes for a while.

“Why would I be jealous? Y/N isn’t even my type.”

“Is that so? As far as I know you’re begging at me to like you back the last time I met you.”

It was repeating on your head. You immediately opened your eyes, not wanting to hear it again. His words punched a hole in your heart.

How dare him to say that?

Who does he think he is?

You already know that he doesn’t like you. And you were just a little sister to him. You already accepted it- a bit. But hearing him say it again, in front of other people hurts you more, and makes you feel embarrassed. The wind blew once again. You hugged your knees as you shook your head down. You were cold and scared a bit. But you don’t want to go home yet. You just want to be alone for a while.

But the rain started to pour down. How fucking great. You told yourself. The sound of emptiness was distrupted by the loud gregarious boom of thunder. You felt very alone, and hurt. You probably looked so pitiful as you sat here on the bench, alone, while your clothes are soaking wet.

“Why would I be jealous? Y/N isn’t even my type.”

“Is that so? As far as I know you’re begging at me to like you back the last time I met you.”

You started crying again. Your shoulders shakes violently as you cried hard. You didn’t mind the bullets of cold rain piercing through your skin. You just cried your heart out, while you’re shivering from the cold.

Until you felt the rain stopped falling.  

You slowly detached yourself from hugging your knees, and you raised your head. You were welcomed with a man with a messy blonde, with baby blue eyes. He was holding an umbrella to prevent the rain pouring down on the two of you. The car lights gleams softly to his face, and you can see the concern all over his face.

“Let’s go home.” He said softly. You stared at him emptily.

“No. Go a-away.” You whispered weakly, still shivering. You started standing up, walking away from him. But he didn’t let you. He held your hand.

“Don’t go.” He said. You tried pulling your hand away from him, but he held it tightly, tugging you towards him. You fell into his chest, feeling the warmth immediately. He securely wrapped his other hand to your body while holding out an umbrella.

“Let me go.” You mumbled to his chest. But you don’t actually want him to let you go. You just want him to hold you, even if it’s just friendly. Or brotherly. Or temporary.

“I’m sorry.” He started. Not even paying attention to your protest.

“You always say that when you hurt me, all the time.” You mumbled, almost whispering the last two words.

“I regret it Y/N.” he answered. You can feel his heart beating loud. You don’t see his expression because he is still hugging you.

“What do you r-regret?” You answered shakily.

“You’ll find somebody else once you grow a little more…” he trailed. “And if you find that somebody else, I-I’ll gladly support you.” You can hear his voice breaking. It was the exact words he told you when he rejected you. “I regretted saying those words every day. I regretted telling you that I’ll let you find somebody else. And I still regret, up until this day, that keep on letting you walk away h-hurt.” His voice sounded so broken. “I-I kept on pushing you away. Telling you I don’t like you but I’m feeling otherwise.” He laughs, but you know he was broken.

“R-rog.” You whispered, trying to pull away from him, but he just hugged you tighter.

“No let me finish Y/N.” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry Y/N. For all the years you spent getting hurt. For making you cry all the time. I-I thought it was the best thing to do. Because you’re still young. You have a lot of dreams ahead you. A lot of opportunities to get. And I don’t want to hold you b-back.” His voice is already quivering.

“I don’t want to drag you down. I mean what would you do with a guy like me? A guy who plays drums in a band, getting drunk almost every night, and he plays with girls all the time. Why would you like that? I’m obnoxious, vague, rude, ill-tempered. Straight up cunt. My l-life was a complete m-mess and I don’t want you entering it. You don’t deserve someone like me. You don’t deserve an asshole, just like you said earlier. That’s why I p-pushed you away.” He mumbled brokenly.

“But… even though I kept on pushing… you away… telling myself you don’t deserve me..” he spoke. “It was still you. After all this years… I’m still in love with you.” he mumbled.

You felt the whole world stopped. The coldness you’re feeling suddenly went away. It feels like as if it wasn’t raining. You don’t hear the pattering of the rain. The only thing you hear is the sound of your heart booming erratically, and the only thing you feel was the warmth Roger giving you and his beating heart.

“I just wanted to say it. I know you regret liking me. I-I understand.” He whispered. “I know it’s already late because you already found somebody else. But I wish you all the happiness Y/N. I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused.” He added. A minute passed and you’re still not reacting. You just stayed in your position.

“Y/N love, please. Say something.” He whispered

You punched him in the chest, causing him to move backwards, letting you go from his hug.

“I hate you.” you started. “How dare you to decide for something better without me being in it! How dare you tell me someone who I deserve!” you cried. “H-how dare you to push me every time! For hurting me!” you continued, tears falling down your eyes again. “How dare you to tell me that you wish me all the happiness, that you’re still in love with me if you’re actually letting me go!” you shouted at him.

“You’re not even chasing me! I hate you Roger! And I also hate the fact that I still like you after all this time and I always do-“  you didn’t finished what you want to tell him because you felt his lips into yours. All of your anger started to melt away, and all you can feel was the longing for him.

The kiss was urgent, but it was passionate. You can feel all the emotions to his kiss. The umbrella that he was holding already fell on the ground because he caressed both of your cheeks with his hands. The rain runs down to your face, where your lips met. Instead of detracting from the moment, the rain just brought you to new heights. It was magical.  Roger pushed his lips in more firmly, making you more intoxicated. It was addicting. You felt like you’re going to combust. He pulled away slowly, still caressing your face, he put his forehead into yours.

“You still like me.” He whispered smiling.

“I don’t like you anymore.” you whispered, smiling too.

“I love you Y/N.” he said, still smiling. He pecked at your lips again.

“Oi say something!” he laughed.

“You still need to win my heart!” you joked.

“Well let’s get home so I can start winning your heart.” he winked at you, as he tugged you towards his car.

He promised himself that the night he rejected you, he’ll have you maybe someday. And he was right. He had you.

Tags

@16wiishes @cardybenhardy @whatismylifeman @whitebirdwithablacktail @magicwithaknife @musicprincesslikestorock @desir-ae @smile-nine @sabbrriiinnaa @michaels-endtime @majorlyextra @duvetsandpillows 

[tiny-maus-boots]

The Art of Negotiation

A/N: Part 3 of The Debt Collector Series, or the many bespoke three piece suits of Aubrey Posen. 

Super big thank you to my bestie and beta @chloes-yellow-cup who puts up with me when I’m annoying (which is all the time), and STILL is kind enough to read and edit for me.

AAAAAND a very special thank you to @kate-harper because omgosh look at what she made!!! It’s beautiful and I love and I have it saved as my lock screen so I can stare at it all day at work. 

----

It was cold for the season and raining. Aubrey didn’t mind the rain though, it made it harder to notice if you were being followed and that worked to her advantage. The car ahead of them flashed its brakes as it slowed behind a line of traffic. In Los Angeles the traffic was a pain in the ass and definitely road rage inducing, but in the City it was nightmare and she definitely didn’t miss it. The company maybe but not the traffic. But she didn’t miss her current company as much as she missed Stacie.

They hadn’t parted on the softest of terms and she had been regretting it for the last three days and was already resolved to making it up to the other woman. Sometimes Aubrey got tunnel vision when she had a problem that needed solving and Weston Whitman was definitely a problem for her particular issue resolution skill set. But it had taken her away from home and pushed a wedge between her and Stacie and that made her even angrier at the situation.  

The cars ahead started to drive and she tipped her head to the side to rest against the passenger door window to see where her target was. “He’s getting off the turnpike.”

Jesse put on his turn signal on when he merged out of the lane and onto the ramp. She gave him a mild glare and shook her head. Rain didn’t prevent you from getting noticed if you were fucking obvious but he just smiled and shrugged at her. It was still good to see him even if he was an idiot.

“So you never said why you needed to know about this Whitman guy. What, is he in for deep or something?”

No. She was the one in deep. Way too deep for something that started so casually over a night of poker. She knew she loved Stacie because she’d never felt this way about anyone else in her entire life. It wasn’t just the want of her physically, though there was plenty of that, but she loved the way Stacie saw the world. She loved her good heart and practical business mind. She loved the way Stacie laughed when they were alone and wrapped up in each other. She just fucking loved the woman. And she didn’t even bother questioning it.

Aubrey didn’t answer and he nodded with a scoffed chuckle as if he had expected as much. She rolled her eyes and gave a lazy shrug. “He has something I want.”

“Yeah? Like what? You gonna go legit and start running some hedge fund?”

She pointed to the right when they came to the light and he turned onto the street while maintaining a good enough distance. They rode in silence for a few moments, each of them watching the road and the area they were headed. “No.” That was it. Nothing more. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him but she just didn’t want to talk about it right now. After. When Weston was a footnote in their history, then she’d bring Stacie home to meet the Family. But not before when there were too many things to fuck that up still in the way.

“Jesus. I think we talk more when we’re three thousand miles apart.” Jesse nudged her in the arm playfully and it pulled a smile out of her. “Hey hey look. Un-fucking-believable that jag-off is stopping for a hotdog. What are you thinking?”

Aubrey watched as the black sedan pulled over and the front passenger got out to run across the street to a street vendor. It was risky in broad daylight but it was a tough neighborhood and the only people that seemed to be around were bangers and crackheads. “You follow until we get to the Heights. We’ll dump his car there.”

He nodded solemnly as she pulled on her black leather gloves. She checked to make sure the one man was still at the hotdog stand as they pulled up in front of the car. Aubrey ran through her usual routine and checked her clip before pulling the slide back on her gun. It was settling and she felt a mantle of cold detachment settle on her shoulders and through her chest. There was nothing but the buzz of white noise in her ears as she exited the SUV and tucked her gun tight along her thigh, hidden against the black of her long pea coat.

She gave the driver a smile and he smiled back, foolishly lowering the window to see what she wanted. When it was open just enough her free hand darted in to slam his face against the steering wheel twice in rapid succession. It wouldn’t knock him out, the guy had a face like a brick and probably just as hard too but he was disoriented enough that she was able to pull the car door open easily and yank him to the asphalt. She brought her gun up and fired into his chest, then twice more into his head.

“What the fuck?! Who the fu…”

“Shut up.”

“Do you know who the fuck I am? I’ll eat your fucking heart out you bitch, who the fuc…”

Aubrey pointed her gun at the man in the backseat before getting into the car and peeling away from the curb with a hard jerk. The man in the back flew across the seat in a hard thump against the door leaving him a little dazed. He seemed to understand that if he wasn’t dead yet it was for a reason so he sat quietly until she passed into the Heights where she pulled the car into an alleyway and got out. Jesse pulled up behind her and she opened the door for her passenger.

“Out.”

He looked around cautiously before exiting and turned to face the SUV with Jesse driving. Recognition sunk in and he gave a disgusted mutter. “Christ. Frank sent you didn’t he?”

“Get in the truck.”

“Look, whatever he’s paying you. I can pay double. You’re not bad looking, with that kind of money you could go anywhere, be anyone.”

None of the words coming out of his mouth were helping his case and she was getting tired of hearing his voice. Aubrey jabbed her gun hard into the small of his back and pushed him into the backseat, sliding into the car right behind him. She took a minute to do a quick frisk but she didn’t find anything. He had grown complacent, lazy even, and as her hand smoothed over his ribs looking for a gun she realized, fat as well. It was sloppy and shook her head in disgust at it.

“He’s clean.”

Jesse nodded and drove deeper into the neighborhood, taking several turns and doubling back on blocks just in case they were followed. She kept her gun trained on the man in the seat next to her as they drove and he watched her warily trying to figure her out. She said nothing until they pulled into a derelict garage on a street that had more rats than people and had been her father’s favorite spot to handle business. When the metal door closed behind the truck she got out and gestured with her gun for him to do the same.

He was still looking at her when she shoved him roughly into an old heavy office chair that had to be at least forty years old. Jesse moved to zip tie his wrists and hands to the chair and Aubrey slipped her gun into the holster at her back. Very carefully she peeled off her gloves, coat and jacket, laying them neatly over Jesse’s now outstretched arm. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before she turned back to the man.

He looked back and forth between them wondering what was happening. It shouldn’t be quite so confusing, she’d shot his driver in the head and abducted him. Jesse wasn’t the muscle he was just her wheel man. A fact that was just now dawning on Nicky. Aubrey gave a soft snort and started to roll up her sleeves, first the left cuff exactly three turns, then the right exactly three turns. Aubrey pulled the well-worn slap jack out of her pocket and placed it on the table he was sitting near. His dark eyes went to it then widened as understanding filled them.

“I know you. You’re Mickey the Fist’s kid. Jesus I thought you were….okay okay okay listen. Triple. I’ll give you triple what Frank is paying you. We don’t have to tell anyone. I could make you a rich woman.”

She gave him blank look and picked up the slap jack that had been her father’s before her. Just having the weight of it in her hand reminded her of him and her lips quirked into a dark smile. “I’m already a rich woman.”

“Look. Let’s cut a deal. Just tell me what you want.”

Aubrey used the slap jack to tip his chin up and waited until his eyes met her cold gaze. “Tell me about the girls Nicky. The ones you send to Whitman.”

That had been three months and several bodies ago but it was all coming to fruition now. All the literal blood and sweat that had gone into this whole thing was finally coming together. She had moved just enough pieces and encouraged just the right kind of people to do the wrong kind of thing and now it was all playing out the way she wanted it to. Her trip to New York had given her a lot of information on Stacie’s husband and none of it was good.

He had a habit of buying women and beating them for kicks. Some of his tastes running too dark for even the kink rings of New York’s elite. There had been a few too many dead hookers to clean up and he had been shunned from the community. It was why his bosses had sent him to the firm in Los Angeles, figuring any attention he might draw from his habits would be too far away to affect them. Everything else she found out from there had gone from bad to worse but it was enough for her to fix the problem of Weston Whitman.

Aubrey rolled to her side, arm sliding over Stacie's waist to tug her closer. Warm, soft skin slid against hers in a delicious caress and she sighed. The brunette smiled at her and it took her just a second to catch her breath. There was a good chance whatever she was going to say now would have Stacie running out her door as fast as those long gorgeous legs would take her.

She knew Stacie wanted to be free of him, but this wasn’t just some guy this was Stacie’s husband. And free of him didn’t necessarily mean that Aubrey should kill him. Though she wanted to. Very very badly. Aubrey brought her hand up to cup Stacie’s jaw, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. Just in case it all went sideways in the next few minutes, she wanted this last kiss.

Stacie pulled back with a frown sensing something different in Aubrey. “What’s wrong?”

It made her smile a little because of course Stacie could read her like a book, she was the only person alive that could. Aubrey took deep breath and met Stacie’s concern filled gaze. How Stacie responded wouldn’t change what was going to happen. Weston needed to go and if getting him out of Stacie’s life cost her all of this…she’d still do it. No matter what it cost her personally, Stacie needed to be free.

“He’s late on his payment.”

They hadn’t spoken of it since the night she’d confessed that he had come to her for a loan. Stacie didn’t need to know how or why just that he needed the cash and fast. Aubrey had laid out some severe terms for the loan knowing he’d never be able to pay it on time or in full. Not with the way he was being extorted anyway. Her fingers trailed down from Stacie’s jaw, along her neck to her shoulder. They traced over the faint scars of several savage bite marks and cold fury rose up in her. Tonight he’d start paying for each and every mark he’d made on Stacie.

“When do you have to leave?” Stacie wasn’t asking her not to do what needed to be done and Aubrey let out a breath of relief she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Now.” It was already later than she’d intended but she’d come home to find Stacie waiting for her in nothing but a pair of stilettos and one of Aubrey’s dress shirts unbuttoned to the waist, a silk tie barely knotted and hanging from her neck. So she was late now but who could blame her?

Stacie didn’t say anything, she just leaned into another kiss, claiming more of Aubrey’s heart with it. Whatever was happening or going to happen they were in it together now. And she hoped to God that they’d still be in it together when the dust settled because it was gonna get ugly fast now. Aubrey pulled away and slid out of the bed with a parting playful slap to Stacie’s ass that earned her a yelp.

“You gonna be here when I come back?”

“I’ll be here as long as you want me to be here.”

Aubrey gave a slight nod and padded into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Stacie knew what she did, who she was, but she’d never really seen her work. Didn’t exactly know how hands on Aubrey was when it came to collecting her tickets. Now it was all coming up in a very personal way and she wondered exactly how much blood was going to spill before it was too much for Stacie like it had been too much for her own mother.

When she had finished and stepped out of the shower she found a suit and tie already hanging from her dressing rack waiting for her. It was black on black save for the tie and underwear. Those were a deep crimson red and she’d never seen them before. Aubrey raised her brow at Stacie questioningly when the tall brunette walked out of the closet with a pair of matching heels.

“I thought you’d look good in a new suit.”

Aubrey smiled at that and hurried to finish getting ready and dress. The suit fit perfectly but she wasn’t at all surprised by that. Stacie had had her hands all over Aubrey enough times to know what would fit and what wouldn’t. When the last button on her vest had been buttoned she turned and reached for the silk tie to put it on but Stacie moved in close pressing her long naked body along Aubrey’s back. She draped the tie around her neck and wrapped her arms around Aubrey as she neatly and easily wound the tie around itself and knotted it in a perfect full Windsor knot just the way she liked it.

Stacie rested her chin on Aubrey’s shoulder and looked at them in the full length mirror. Aubrey turned in her arms and smirked teasingly. “So I look good?”

Stacie’s eyes darkened as they trailed down her body, one finger tracing the line of her tie to tuck it neatly into the vest. There was no doubt in Aubrey’s mind that Stacie thought she looked good. There was just one accessory missing and Stacie reached for the leather paddle holster and gun. Aubrey stayed still as Stacie clipped it in place at the small of her back then threaded her black leather belt through the loops to fasten around her waist before slipping the heavy 9mm into place.

“You definitely look good and the black won’t show blood.”

It was the first real acknowledgement of what she was about to do that Stacie had given. It was practical and just detached enough for Aubrey to realize that she’d thought this through while picking the suit out. That Stacie had already anticipated how the game would play out with Weston and was subtly showing her support of Aubrey’s life, of Aubrey herself.

Aubrey’s arms tightened around Stacie and she pushed them both against the wall, her frame tight against Stacie’s as she kissed her hungrily and with so much fucking need. She needed Stacie in her life, she needed someone that wasn’t just there to protect and fuck. She needed the strength of someone that understood her and had her back even on the dark days. And she needed the softness of comfort and the sweetest of laughs to remind her she was still a human deep inside. She needed everything Stacie was. She needed a queen at her side.

Stacie’s leg came up around her waist and Aubrey dropped her hand between them to stroke and tease the brunette. Stacie whimpered and rested her hand on Aubrey’s wrist even as her hips rolled for more friction. She brought Aubrey’s hand to her lips and kissed each fingertip before sighed in resignation.

“You’re late for work and I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Aubrey huffed at that but pulled back and slipped her jacket on. Stacie took the time to straighten her tie and collar for her before turning Aubrey toward the bedroom door with a little pat to her ass as encouragement. It made her smile and she stopped in the doorway to watch the other woman crawl back into bed with a book. She was silently watching for a moment, thinking about how that was a sight she could stand to see every night for the rest of her life. Aubrey leaned against the doorjamb her voice soft as she said something she’d never said to anyone in a romantic way before.

“Hey. I love you.”

She didn’t wait for Stacie to respond, she just picked up the heels and headed to the stairs. Aubrey took them at a fast clip, stopping at the bottom only long enough to slip on her shoes and tuck her cellphone into her inner jacket pocket. The car was already waiting for her and she slid behind the driver’s seat in the back. Happy, her driver smiled sunnily like she always did, not at all perturbed that she’d been left alone in the car for two hours with a man kicking in shouting in the trunk.

“Going to the office, Boss?”

Aubrey nodded and Happy pulled out of the driveway. The thumps in the back got quieter as they drove, Happy taking turns sharply when he got too loud. She said nothing the entire drive to The Dirty Bird. When they pulled up Lilly was waiting for them with the back door propped open. “Take him to the basement.”

She preceded them down the stairs, letting Lilly and Happy drag Weston down between them. He was wild eyed and sweating but wore his arrogance like armor, trying to puff himself up when he was shoved down into a chair and held steady by strong hands. Aubrey pulled a cigarette from the pack resting on the desk and lit it with the silver lighter she tossed on the table top. He watched her with wary eyes as she stalked over to him, one hand in her pocket the other bringing the cigarette to her lips for another slow drag.

“Mr. Whitman. How good of you to join us.”

“Did I have a fucking choice?” He tried to shrug off Happy and Lilly to show his dominance but they held him tighter. Aubrey smirked and gestured for them to back up and give him some room. “Look I’ll have your money okay? I just need another two days.”

Two days. Aubrey shook her head slowly at that.

“You’re already two days behind, add another two and that’s almost a week. The terms of our agreement were that each week you would provide me with a sum of money until your debt was paid off. Now you’re talking about missing a whole week. You know what this does to your interest rate Mr. Whitman?”

He nodded then and smiled, sure in the knowledge that he could broker a deal with her. That was his whole life, negotiating deals and playing with money. Robbing Peter to pay Paul as her father used to say. Aubrey stubbed out the cigarette in a tray and released the smoke in a slow exhale.

“Sure, our terms were that my interest doubles exponentially each day I’m late. But I can get it. I can get it all.” There was that smile again. The flash of his teeth brought up the image of the scars on Stacie’s shoulder. The sound of white noise drowned out everything else, even his voice as made a pretty show of a lot of reassuring words that didn’t mean shit at the end of the day. Aubrey didn’t need to hear them because she was only giving him enough rope to hang himself with.

“You smile a lot Mr. Whitman. I bet it goes a long way in getting people to believe you hm?” He wavered unsure where she was going with that but she ignored the question in his eyes. “Alright. I’ll grant you this one time extension but I want a little collateral as a show of good faith hm? How about I take that sweet ride of yours?”

Her voice had dropped to a deadly low tone making her words heavy with meaning. He knew there was danger in the question but didn’t understand where it was coming from.

“That’s a four hundred thousand dollar car, you can’t ju…”

His words trailed off when she turned to look at him. Immediately he nodded his agreement and smiled again and the corner of her eye twitched. That fucking smile.

“Sure sure of course. You can have my car, I’ll bring it by…or or…uh you can pick it up whatever you like. It’s yours.”

Aubrey jerked her chin at Happy and the blonde smiled and moved into place to hold his head steady. Whitman struggled against her but the curly haired blonde was strong and used her standing advantage to hold him still. Lilly held out a pair of pliers and Aubrey gave them a test click before she moved to loom over Weston.

“I’m going on a lot of faith, so I want to ensure you and I have an understanding about the terms and conditions of this deal.” He sensed what was about to happen and closed his mouth as though he could prevent her from pulling his teeth out. Lilly leaned over him, licking the bridge of his nose before she pinched the nostrils shut. It forced him to open his mouth to gasp in a breath and Aubrey grabbed his jaw in an iron grip. She wouldn’t take them all, just a few and mostly from the back. Mostly. “Let’s see how far you get making those deals now….”

[atrophiedcompassion]

my definitive Avengers Infinity War review

spoilers abound

so, i saw it for the third time yesterday night and oh boyyy. knowing what happens and how poorly it ends for the good guys kinda marred the jokey parts. i mean, i don’t think i was able to keep 20 consec mins without tearing up. for instance, the whole thor - rocket discussion is spent in tears, even if initially and the second time i had laughed at the jokes.

note that eventually quill & wanda did what they had to do, even if it didn’t matter. note that thanos says he can’t not do what he has to do once again, not even for gamora. note that gamora, most likely knowing she wouldn’t resist / be able to lie to thanos asked quill to kill her. note that red skull tells thanos that everyone thinks they’re ready for the soul stone sacrifice, but they are all wrong. note that being out of time, time related phrasing is used throughout the final 20 mins, including by thanos. note that wanda is firing at vision with one hand while with the other she’s holding thanos back - effortlessly. note that stormbreaker cuts right into the all six stones beam and ends in thanos’s chest, so stormbreaker is stronger than the infinity stones!? note that thanos fake dies twice. note that thanos looks awfully sorry when he says it cost him everything.

so, what i take. gamora in the soul stone will break thanos’s resolve. as red skull said, he will regret killing her. the time stone hasn’t had its last play. wanda and thor with stormbreaker might be key in defeating thanos. (of course, i am not forgetting captain marvel!!!!)

the movie overall is very sombre, the jokes tug at your strings even if they make you laugh. or they make you laugh to shake you out of the sadness.

now onto the chars: i came into the MCU via tumblr’s tom hiddleston obsession in early 2012. i most likely started with thor and then saw avengers. i remember seeing a torrented copy of avengers and a week later going to the cinema to see it. i didn’t like cap america in avengers, chris evans (who i totally dug) looked weird, too blond, his face with too much makeup (whedon!!) and RDJ’s tony was a delight. i caught up more or less with the MCU and then winter solider happened and i was taken with cap. so, i was team cap in civil war. and could never relate to tony, to his my way or the highway pov.

but the tony in infinity war is such a great character, he was one of my favourites. he is unflinchingly one of the bravest people in the game and the way he goes after thanos with his suit basically falling to pieces is one of the best action and emotion sequences i’ve ever seen. and tony’s so human, trying to keep up the spirits, to maintain optimism, to find a silver lining, to give 110%, to find strength even in defeat. and that’s not even touching on his relationship with peter. i guess civil war isn’t really a captain america movie, because, as always RDJ/tony steals every movie’s he’s in.

tony’s the 4th best char in IW, and that’s because i’m not a tony fan.

third best is gamora, who has some of the most disturbing and yet wonderful developments. she’s first seen as loose, finally open, singing along to an 80s banger, then it all takes a dark and darker turn. and like i said above, i think she knew she would be the price for the soul stone in a way. it’s such amazing acting when, after she’s done mocking thanos for crying (for being refused a present). she realises she’s gonna be the sacrifice. this is probably my fav emotionally draining scene in IW. it’s raw, sort of unexpected with her suddenly cheerful and then turning immediately sinister. in death, gamora has still a lot of influence on what happens next.

second best is thor. thor goes through a lot and that’s before taking the whole power of a star! he’s the protag of the story, showing strength, sorrow, emotion, regret, faith in his fate, determination. thor has my three favourite scenes in the movie, the discussion with the sweet Rabbit about loss, the forging of stormbreaker, (and yes it does help that hemsworth looks like that as he opens up the star!) and his arrival in Wakanda and it shows a really well fleshed out thor, ready to take on challenges and be the hero and yet allowing himself a moment of grieving, of raw emotion.

finally, the best character is of course thanos. he is also fleshed out and i think some people have a hard time accepting his motivation because they miss that thanos has already begun his world halving, gamora’s and drax’s world have been part of it, through fire and blood. in comparison to that kind of “balancing”, of course the snap with largely non painful turning to ash removal from existence seems the more judicious, less destructive method. his rapport with gamora and even nebula is also well done. and his tears, his grief, seem normal. he is presented as an abuser, of gamora with “good” intentions, making her strong and whatnot, and with nebula out of sheer cruelty. this is also touched upon in GOTG2 when the sisters have their heart to heart. thanos definitely wants to seem like he thought this through, like he is ready, for everything, but he isn’t. red skull’s warning is pretty clear. his pained response to soul stone girl gamora is also clear. his smile upon viewing the sunrise is a fakeout. thanos will probably at least try to undo what he had done, at least part of it.

special mentions

peter parker - not really a fan, but tom holland really sells the character. it really does help that he’s a very young actor, with a high voice and small, slim figure, he sells the fun boyishness of spiderman macguirre and garfield couldn’t ever really pull off. the fun, quippy spiderman up until the final moments actually highlights the awful ending, although, on my third viewing it seemed a bit long, milking it for the audience (had the same impression the first time, yet the second time i was really moved by it).

dr strange - better fleshed out in this movie than his very own, where i guess the formulaic origin story hindered the development of this cold calculated persona we see in IW.

wanda & vision. they were severely underpowered. wanda keeps thanos at bay with one hand, yet she needs help vs proxima midnight & corvus glaive?! lame. hard to understand how two mind stone powered heroes (or just one, since vision was severely hurt by CG’s spear thingy) are less capable than cap, nat and falcon. but i guess this is the superman syndrome, you can’t unleash these folk’s full power cause otherwise what would the other heroes get to do. still, okoye’s quip is well earned.

yet, i loved their love story. finally a lovestory well handled in the MCU, which is so rare. their final scene together, in particular wanda’s comments to thanos about loss and her almost relieved face when turning to ash was incredible, very powerful.

rocket & groot were poignant and had some wonderful scenes, this time around groot ashing up really made me spring new tears.

everyone else got just a few scenes, and indeed, one can say we spent way too little with cap, nat, t’challa, shuri and most of the wakanda section. i suppose the movie was all but done by the time black panther became such a major hit and maybe spending less time with these chars now would ensure more time in Avengers 4. for chars like cap or nat, it’s all we needed. for black panther, maybe it was too little. esp that he too turned to dust at the end.

overall, the movie is impressive. it has weight and moves almost seamlessly from scene to scene. it’s got plenty of heart and it leaves you needing more but also quite sated!?! also, this was my final viewing, it gets too emotional too fast for further enjoyment of the fun, light scenes.

[captainjanegay]

[1D] tell me there are things that you regret

Title: tell me there are things that you regret Ship: Ziall (Zayn Malik x Niall Horan) Genre: angst with happy ending Rating: T Word count: ~4,4k Summary: “I bumped into Niall yesterday.” Zayn was so busy carrying two cartons of milk to the fridge and he almost missed those words. Almost.

Because whenever that name was mentioned, he still felt like a little spark was going over his whole body. A/N: ok, i’ll try not to babble for too long, promise. I’d like to dedicate tht fic for two incredibly special and lovely people. @lepetitcomte aka my lovely mum who gave me the request. I have to say that I hated her at first, because I can’t and I didn’t want to write angst. But then she told me to fixt the whole thing. So I did.

The second person I want to mention is @farfromthstars DID U GUYS KNOW THAT IT’S PIA’S BDAY TODAY?! I thought that today will be a great date to post this fic so I can provide you with some new Ziall content and (hopefully!) make you smile a bit ;’) ‘m sorry I haven’t managed to do anything just for you, promise to do better next year djasdjak Anyway! I love you so much, you deserve the Universe and then some more, I hope you’ll get all the hugs in the world, including an one (or more) from Niall ;’) I wish you the happiest birthday, love <3

Read on AO3

the fic wasn’t beta’d and all mistakes are my own. you’ve been warned, i’m sorry dakjdak

There was a soft knock on the door. Zayn knew who he’d find on the other side before he even went to answer it. There weren’t that many people visiting him and besides, when you lived all your life with someone, you got used to their habits. Even their knocks.

“Hello, love,” Zayn was greeted by a big smile as soon as he opened the door and a pair of warm arms tugged him closer, crushing him in a hug.

For a woman her size, Trisha Malik was pretty strong. At least when it came to hugs.

“Hi, mum,” he answered, pressing a kiss to his mum’s cheek. “What are you doing here?”

Just as Zayn expected, she almost completely ignored his question and walked past him to get to the kitchen. Only then Zayn noticed that she was carrying two bags, probably filled with food. Trisha started explaining that she just was in the neighbourhood and she decided to check on her only son - who she wasn’t seeing often enough, of course. Both of them knew that it was pure nonsense, but nobody said a word. It was always like this.

Before Zayn reached the kitchen, the counter was already halfway filled with groceries and boxes with homemade goodies.

“You’re aware that I can do shopping on my own? And that I also have a cooker?”

“I have doubts if you even use it. You’re forgetting to eat properly again, you think I don’t know you?” Trisha sent him a glare over her shoulder. “You’re getting skinnier and skinnier every time I see you!”

“You’ve seen me three days ago, mum. And you said the exact same thing. I think you’re exaggerating a bit, ya know?”

Despite his words, Zayn couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face. It was nice to have someone that cared about him. Even if it was just his mum. Besides, his mama’s meals always were the highlight of his days.

For a few moments he only watched his mum shifting around the kitchen. Sometimes Zayn thought that she knew this place better than he did, even though he lived in this apartment for a few years now. And he did cook from time to time, despite his mum’s accusations.

To not feel like an alien in his own house, Zayn moved from where he was leaning against the doorframe and helped Trisha unpack all the food she’d brought. He also tried to keep up with the updates on their family and friends that his mum was giving him. It turned out to be harder than packing groceries away. To be honest, he didn’t really listened that carefully, it was a lot of information and he didn’t even cared about half of it. One thing was for sure - he didn’t inherit wordiness from his mother.

“I bumped into Niall yesterday.”

Zayn was so busy carrying two cartons of milk to the fridge and he almost missed those words. Almost.

Because whenever that name was mentioned, he still felt like a little spark was going over his whole body. It startled him hard enough, that one of the cartons he was holding, fell on the floor with a loud thud.

“Shit,” Zayn mumbled under his breath, picking up the container and clearing his throat awkwardly. “That’s- Um, that’s great. How’s he doing?”

His heart started pounding faster, which was absolutely ridiculous. He really shouldn’t be reacting like that. Not anymore. But… Zayn really didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer for a questions he’s just asked. If he was ready for it.

“Have you talked to him lately?” His mum said instead, as if she could tell that Zayn was having a tiny internal crisis even when he tried to hide behind the fridge’s door.

She probably could.

“I…,” Zayn started, unsure. “Um, we texted? Earlier this month or so, don’t remember.”

Of course he did remember and it wasn’t even close to this two weeks of October that had passed. The last time was about 5 months ago. Zayn texted him about Slow Hands being a great banger and that he loved it. Niall thanked him. That was all. Zayn remembered it painfully well. His mum didn’t have to know that, though.

Trisha glared at Zayn, probably hadn’t believed him at all. “We haven’t really had time to catch up properly, he was in a rush, as you all always are. But that’s understandable, his album is coming out in a few days, right?”

It took a lot of Zayn’s self control to stop a heavy sigh from escaping his mouth. Why did his mother want to talk about Niall so badly? Zayn knew why - just to mess with him. Or maybe because she adored Niall with passion, like everyone else always did. Probably both. Still, it was really unfair she made him go through this. Mothers shouldn't do things like this.

“Yeah, I think it is?” he nodded, trying to sound casual about it. He knew exactly when it’s out. He hadn’t really checked any social media in a while, hadn’t listened to the radio. And yet, he still knew that Flicker is out on October 20th, which happened to be tomorrow. It was hard not to know this, when posters with Niall’s face on them were hunting Zayn for a good two weeks. The Universe really did hate him.

And it was obviously just a coincidence that his mother picked that day to pay him a visit.

“I’ve heard his single the other day, they were playing it on the radio. It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?”

Closing his eyes for a second, Zayn took a deep breath and straightened up. It was starting to become suspicious that he was crouching with his head in the fridge for so long, so he needed to finally close it. That didn’t mean he was ready to face his mother who was watching him carefully.

“Um, I… I haven’t really had time to listen to it yet. Bet it’s wonderful, though. His previous ones had been really aces so why this one wouldn’t?” He said, making his way to the other side of the kitchen, aiming for the cooker. “Do you want some tea? I’ll fix us some, yeah?”

Tea was always a good idea, especially when it created an opportunity to run away from his own mum. Zayn loved her more than anything, but sometimes she was too much. And she wasn’t subtle at all.

Luckily, Trisha seemed to get the hint and she dropped the topic, telling Zayn about how Safaa was doing in school and what was happening at home - that of course he wasn’t visiting enough - in general. Zayn was glad to focus on that and not of his former bandmate that still had this weird effect on him.

It wasn’t until later, when they sat by the table, all the groceries put away, a cup of tea in each hand, something bubbling happily in a pot his mum put on the cooker a while ago. Zayn was content with the relative silence, having his mum on the other side of the table and not having to worry about anything important at the moment. But it would be too good of an afternoon if it had stayed this way.

“You really should talk to him, you know?”

Zayn flinched, turning his head towards his mum.

“Who?” he asked dumbly. Considering the look on Trisha’s face, he knew exactly what she was going to say next. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend.

“Niall,” she said, looking like she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes. Instead, she looked at her son, a hint of worry in her voice. “Don't you miss him?”

“We are talking,” Zayn stated, completely ignoring the second question he was asked. The only reaction he’d gotten was a disapproving glance. Damn, this woman knew him too well. “We really are. Maybe not as often as we used to, but… I mean… I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“I’m not expecting you to say anything,” she sighed. “Well, not to me, at least. But don’t you think it’s time to stop sulking?”

“I’m not sulking.”

Even Zayn could tell that his voice was saying something completely opposite and he hated himself for that. But the truth was, he wasn’t sulking. Pining, maybe. But not sulking. He wasn’t five to be sulking without any reason to do so.

“It’s just…,” his mum leaned forward, biting her lip, “you two were so… close. And happy. Back then. I miss seeing you like that, you know?”

“Mum…,” it sounded like a whine and Zayn wanted to bang his head against the table. However, he doubted if that would help him convince his mother that he was totally ok and totally not sulking. “Why are we talking about him anyway? You bugging me about it wouldn’t change much, would it?”

Zayn almost winced at how harsh his voice sounded. He didn’t mean to snap at his mother like this. It was just tiring, being reminded how he had fucked up and what he had lost. Whom he had lost. Zayn would prefer some help with forgetting about all this.

Trisha sent him a hard look and for a few second, she hasn’t said a word. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded much softer and kinder than her look might suggest. “You’re right. Me bugging you about him won’t change much. But maybe I’ll finally bug you enough that you'll do something about it.”

Clenching his teeth, Zayn looked down at the mug he was holding, not saying anything more.

***

Zayn wasn’t the easiest person to be around. He had some awful habits, that he knew he should get rid off, but he couldn’t. Tendency to run away from his problems when they were becoming too much to handle, cutting people off - even the ones closest to his heart - or feeling suffocated by a lot of, sometimes very trivial stuff. Some people said that it wasn’t something bad, that it was just his way to deal with the big, bad world. Or at least his mum said so. But the truth was, that sometimes those things was getting in Zayn’s way. Stopping him from doing things he really wanted to do, but was too scared or too stupid to try.

With a heavy sigh, Zayn rolled on his bed. He should add “overthinking” to the long list of his bad habits. As well as “thinking the dead of night is a perfect time to reflect on his miserable life”. It wasn’t causing any good.

He untangled his arm from under the covers and tried to find the phone without opening his eyes. It was harder than expected, but finally his fingers reached the device and brought it up to his face. Peeking one eye open, Zayn cursed under his breath when the bright light hit his tired eyes. It was just a few minutes after 3 in the morning and Zayn hated the whole world as if his insomnia was its fault. But it was easier, blaming something that couldn’t defend itself. This way his guilt trip wasn’t eating him alive.

He was mostly alright, though. Just sometimes, on nights like this, he felt that stupid sinking feeling in his stomach, the urge to punch someone. Himself, preferably. It was all gone the next day, most of this moping at least, so it wasn’t really that bad. The only problem was that nights like that were happening quite often lately.

After a few minutes of mindless staring at his phone, Zayn taped out the code and unlocked it. For god-knows-which time he gave himself a mental smack on the head and almost laughed at his own soppiness. There were so many combinations and yet, he had to pick those four damn digits. And after all this time he couldn’t bring himself to change it.

His fingers hovered over the screen, not sure why he’d even taken the phone.

Except he did.

With a defeated sigh, Zayn clicked the Spotify icon. During her visit, Trisha at least ten times mentioned how beautiful Too Much To Ask was and that he should listen to it. And who Zayn was to say no to his own mother.

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to hear it. Listening to Niall’s voice was always a great experience, no matter whether the Irishman was singing, talking or laughing. And that was exactly the reason why Zayn was so hesitant. The fact that he wasn’t able to hear much of the talking or the laughing lately hurt too much.

Plus, after hearing to the previous single, Zayn wasn’t sure if he could handle to the rest of the album. Listening to Slow Hands made him feel that awful sting of jealousy, because thinking about Niall hooking up with some random chick wasn’t really his favourite way of spending the day. The possibility of hearing more things like this made him anxious. He didn’t want to realise that Niall was over him, while Zayn most certainly wasn’t over Niall. Didn’t matter what he was telling others.

Nevertheless, he was a weak man. Especially with his mum gushing about the song all day and sending him all those weird looks. He typed out the title and clicked play, trying to ignore his pounding heart.

Soft sounds filled Zayn’s bedroom. Just after the first notes, Zayn knew that it wasn’t something he had expected. When Niall started singing, Zayn closed his eyes and clutched the phone more firmly in his hand. After a while without hearing it, Niall’s voice sounded different from what Zayn remembered. It was stronger, somehow a bit foreign. But at the same time so familiar. And even more beautiful.

Zayn was worried that over the furious pounding of his heart he wouldn’t be able to hear the lyrics properly. But every single word was clear as day, resounding loudly in the silence of the room. And it felt like every single one of them was ripping Zayn’s heart from his chest, releasing all the thoughts and feelings he was carefully stashing for all this time. It was all out now, like Zayn could hear it in the song.

Staring down at his phone, Zayn didn’t know whether he wanted to turn it off or to play the song once more and then again, so he wouldn’t miss anything. He did none of this, vision to blurry to see the screen properly. Was he crying? He wasn’t really sure. Zayn held his phone even tighter, feeling the urge to throw it across the room, to make it all stop. Instead, he just lay on his bed, petrified.

He felt like there was not enough space in his lungs for him to breath properly.

Not enough space in this room. Or in this city.

All the thoughts in his head, the sounds of the song, his pulse pounding in his ears, it all seemed to mix and blend until it turned into a static noise in his mind.

Before Zayn even realised, he was standing in the middle of the room, putting on first clothes he could find. It might have been the worst thing to do, but he couldn’t just let it go.

He had already let go once.

The whole ride was just a blur. Zayn had no idea how he managed to get to the other side of the city without crashing his car or running somebody over. He parked the car, barely remembering about locking it up. After a few more minutes, after running in the chill autumn air, Zayn finally reached his destination. He was trembling all over, his hands shaking. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the emotions, the cold or something entirely different.

Zayn stood there, staring at the door in front of him. What was he even doing? He didn't know if Niall was here and the song might not meant what Zayn thought, hoped it did. Was he allowed to do this? Just show up at Niall's doorstep, all of sudden, after months of silence and years of not seeing each other? Why was his heart speeding its beating even more, just at the thought of seeing Niall's face?

Zayn took a step back.

The adrenaline he felt earlier was rushing out of him with every breath he took. Instead, the panic was slowly taking over. Zayn felt the urge to run back to his flat, bury himself under the covers and pretend he'd never heard Niall's song, his mum's words from earlier and the crazy thumping of his heart. In situations like this, Zayn had never been the brave one and the possibility of being rejected or Niall not being here, made it even worse.

Although, Zayn was a coward earlier and instead of protecting him, it left him with a wounded heart. It was hard to live with it. So he knocked.

For a few, incredibly long and painful moments, nothing was happening. Zayn had a feeling that he still could hear the echo of his fist knocking against the wooden door, noise so loud in the quiet night. But maybe Niall didn’t hear it? If he even was there, he was probably asleep and Zayn knew Niall always was a heavy sleeper. Trying to ignore the anxiety and the blood rushing in his ears, Zayn raised his hand to ring the bell.

As soon as he placed his finger on the doorbell, the door swung open. Zayn’s brain needed a few long seconds to gather what was happening and only then realised that he should stop ringing.

Despite everything, Zayn really couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to catch Niall in here, that he wasn’t on the other side of the globe. He really hoped that it was a reason to be happy.

They stood there, just staring at each other, none of them could really believe who they saw. Zayn’s eyes wandered through Niall's body, just for a second or two. He was in a pair of sweats and a loose shirt, that was still stretching across his broad shoulders. His dark hair was ruffled, short stubble covering his cheeks. And those beautiful blue eyes, now wide opened were staring right at Zayn. Niall looked different, more mature, maybe more tired. Which seemed odd, because not that much time had passed since they've seen each other the last time, so things shouldn't change that much. And yet, they seemed to do.

“Zayn.”

Niall's tone was quiet, but not unsure or questioning. It sounded a bit like a sigh, but Zayn couldn’t tell whether it was a relieved or heavy one. Zayn’s heart - just a second ago pumping like crazy - now almost stopped after hearing his name being said by that low, raspy voice that he loved so much. His breath hitched in his throat, tongue feeling too big for his mouth. What was he doing here? It was difficult to catch at least one coherent thought in the mess that Zayn’s mind was at the moment. Mostly, there was Niall, his eyes closer that they were in years, his smell, his voice. And that damn song, still playing in Zayn’s brain on repeat.

“Was it about me?” Zayn blurted out before he could think twice.

It might not be the best way to start this conversation, but Zayn was surprised and quite proud of himself for being able to produce any words at all.

“I- What?” Niall shook his head, like he tried to focus. “Was what about you?”

“The song,” Zayn took a step closer. His fingers were twitching to touch Niall, to grab at his arm. To resist the urge, he curled his hands into fists. “Too much to ask. Was it about me?”

Every time that question popped up in his head, Zayn felt stupid. Like he was still as vain as people tried to portray him. That he was just imagining things that weren’t there. Because… was he really that relevant? Was he so relevant that Niall had written such song about him?

But now the question was out. Zayn opened his heart for Niall and there was no coming back. He could only wait and hope that Niall’s answer won’t break him completely.

In response, Niall’s eyes widened in shock and he looked down after a second or two. Zayn could hear the deep breath he took. Niall’s hand that was holding the door, gripped the wood a bit tighter, while the fingers of his other hand ran through his hair.

“Nia-”

“What are you doing, Zayn?” when Niall spoke again his voice was harsh. He snapped his head up, but he looked more tired than angry. “What is this all about, why are you here? It’s not like we pay ourselves a lot of visits lately, you know?”

Zayn didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything at all. Before he could even open his mouth, Niall spoke again.

“We haven’t talked in months and now you just come here, like nothing had happened, in the middle of a fucking night? And you ask me if- What the fuck, Zayn?”

Niall took a step forward. They were standing almost chest to chest and Zayn was no longer sure of anything. He tried not to think about how did Niall’s body changed, tried not to be intimidated by how big he seemed from this close.

“It was so damn hard and when I thought that I- Fuck, I was doing better. And now you’re fucking here. What do you want me to do?” Niall’s fingers ran through that little piece of hair on his temple, the nervous gesture he’d never got rid off. “You want me to tell you that I was so attached that I couldn’t get over you? That I tried to hate you for how our relation went, but I couldn’t? That I’ve written a fucking song cause I don’t know how to deal with such things differently?”

The more Niall talked, the quicker and more jumbled his words became. Zayn could feel Niall’s hot breath against his face, his own heartbeat almost drowning out what Niall was saying. Scattered words were echoing through his head when Zayn tried to make sense out of them, to make sure that he heard what he thought he did.

It seemed almost impossible, though. In that moment, Zayn could think about only one thing that might help him understand. Only one thing that he wanted to do. So he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Niall’s.

He missed a bit, placing a kiss on the corner of Niall’s mouth. That move surprised Niall, who made a weird noise, his words muffled by Zayn’s lips. He jerked back, staring at Zayn, wide-eyed and silent. Feeling more anxious and stupid with every passing second, Zayn opened his mouth to say something. Apologise or say goodbye and run away. Anything to break this silence.

He never did any of those, because all of sudden Niall’s hand were on him, grasping the front of his hoodie and pulling Zayn closer, right into Niall’s arms, into his warmth. Their lips crushed together, the angle not exactly right to kiss properly. Zayn moved one of his hands up, from where it was resting on Niall’s chest and gripped the back of his broad neck. Trying to tangle his fingers in the short, brown hair at the nape, Zayn turned his head and took another step forward, pressing his chest into Niall’s. He could feel Niall’s heartbeat under his palm, trapped between their bodies.

A sigh escaped Zayn’s mouth, when he felt Niall licking at his lips, trying to get inside. He let him, pressing himself further into Niall’s embrace. He was afraid to let go, afraid that if he did, it would all disappear and he’d be back in his flat. Alone.

“Fuck,” Niall mumbled into Zayn’s mouth, leaving a few more small kisses on his lips. Slowly straightening his fingers, he brought his hands up to cup Zayn’s face. Niall rested his forehead on Zayn’s, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Fuck you, Malik. I’d never free myself from you.”

“I don’t want you to,” Zayn whispered quickly. “Please don’t.”

A breathy laugh escaped Niall’s mouth. He moved his face away, just the slightest bit so he could look Zayn in the eyes. Absentmindedly, Niall rubbed Zayn’s cheek with his thumb. Zayn felt like his heart was about to burst in response to that gentle gesture.

“Do I have a choice?” Niall asked, his voice a bit teasing. “I was trying to and you fucked up all the progress I’ve made.”

Zayn grinned, trying to kiss Niall again, but his smile made it quite impossible.

“Sorry it took me so long, though,” he said and then added, getting serious, “Really. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I was too scared and didn’t know what to do. And the longer I waited, the more I was convincing myself that it’s too late to fix it. I’m an idiot and-”

Just like Zayn did earlier, this time Niall closed his mouth with a kiss. It was very effective, maybe even too effective, since Zayn’s mind went completely blank, Niall’s lips the only thing he could think of.

“You are an idiot. ‘M happy you’d finally understood that so we can move on.”

“Actually it’s my mum. That helped me understand, like. She was dropping subtle hints for some time now,” Zayn felt like his face was going to break in two from how big he was smiling.

Niall hummed in acknowledgement, biting at his lower lip in a rubbish attempt to hide his own smile.

“Always knew Trisha’s the best Malik.” He said, moving his hands from Zayn’s cheeks to wrap his arms around Zayn’s middle. “But how about we talk more in the morning? Don’t want to ruin the mood but it’s gonna be fucking downing soon.”

“Oh. Right. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t-,” Zayn started. “You have a busy day ahead, I should just go…”

Niall only snorted, pulling Zayn inside and closing the front door behind them. “As if I’m going to let you go ever again.”

[butyouvealwaysbeenthecaretaker]

OK, let’s try a good news feed:

One thing that’s brought happiness to my life is the Guardian Top 100 UK Singles chart, as voted by three of their music editors over a zoom chat. My gaydar is pinged (I Feel Love and You Spin Me Round top 5? Uhuh.), but especially the presence of Britney Spears, Kylie Minogue, Sugarbabes, ABBA, and other white-hot dance-floor bangers.

All The Things She Said. They’ve got All The Things She Said as one of the top 100 ever singles. YES GIRL. I am so glad the world seems to be critically re-evaluating t.A.T.U.

There’s a really telling comment in the essay on Dancing Queen, where someone points out that...a lot of these choices are under fire from the music fans for having insufficient cultural clout, but these songs are adored by - teenage girls, middle aged women, gay men. Between them, that’s a heck of a lot of the populace, & it says something about I suppose “high culture” or “sophistication” or “official” or something, that the arbiter of good music culture is - you can see him in your mind’s eye, a very serious young white man in a black turtleneck, and his values underpin “good culture”, from music to film. Nothing colourful, nothing joyous, nothing you can dance to.

Nothing embarrassing. I think that’s what this turtlenecked man dislikes: indignity.

So, embarrassing big emotions like My Heart Will Go On; fear of a loss of control - a song which will make you dance, a film which will make you cry; the cheapness, the lack of sophistication, the fact that this music tugs on something primal. Everyone cueing up to say “You Spin Me Round” is a terrible song, it’s not even the best song of its type, and a lone DJ in the comments saying...this song will fill a dancefloor, any decade between the year of release and right now, you play it and people are going to get down. Embarrassing means a sort of, self-conscious silliness - ra ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen! - and then everyone does the cossack dance, or tries to. Or something inarticulate, something unclever, like getting a barely-legal pop-star to dress up in a school uniform and, nevertheless make something which actual teenage girls will fall in love with. & you see that embarrassment a lot, I think, in this turtlenecked man trying to engage with black music - always with that awkwardness, that self-consciousness, because he can barely permit himself the emotional release to appreciate empty slosh like Celine Dion, let alone looking at race, and the uncomfortable emotions one might encounter there. No one who hates Dancing Queen has the emotional maturity to talk about Strange Fruit, you know?

Dissected and dispassionate, you’re trying to trap this in words and make it smart, it can just be what it is. Music is wordless. Music is what happens when something cannot be fully expressed. Of course, the music journalist is threatened by it. Of course he tries to re-transform it into something he can measure, organise and control.

Sometimes, I think the best word for my music taste is...wedding disco. It’s so damn hard to find a place that plays music that makes me want to dance. Except at weddings. I’ve even thought about becoming a wedding DJ, like...I love the idea of being the person who lets that music flow, as if for a moment you can become a part of it. This music brings such joy. What pulls the eclectic parts of my music taste together are...“can I dance to it?”. And sometimes, “Is it a concept album?”, so you can see why I go wild for Janelle Monae i.e.

(Sometimes, I am that turtlenecked man: I also listen to difficult hauntological ambient from a couple of niche labels you haven’t heard of, and require a thorough grounding in 1970s british occulture to fully appreciate. WERK)

One day someone will release the unsettling-yet-danceable concept album of my dreams. Until then, I’m going to take pleasure in one of the three critics of the list lamenting in the comments thread that he was narrowly outvoted on including BARBIE GIRL on the list. This is the kind of music criticism we need! Not held in the hands of a very narrow, very serious and rather cold vision of what music can be.

[sincerlyyme-blog]

Walnut: Part Two (EVAN HANSEN X READER)

AUTHORS NOTE: i currently have 586 things in my ask box. 124 of those asks were for a sequel to my fic ‘Walnut’. SO HERE YOU GO KIDDOS

TW: all of them. smut mostly.

Words: 2,503

Requested: hell ya           

You were slammed on the mattress that was now hibernating beneath your spine. Your head hit a pillow, and your boyfriend’s body was hovering over yours. His torso found its way between your thighs. His lips latched onto the flesh of your neck. The room swarmed with sensuality and familiarity. Layers of cotton and denim were strayed on the hard wooden floors of Evan’s bedroom. The sheets that protected his twin size mattress were thrown carelessly. It was a battle of flesh against flesh, in hopes of winning dominance and sweet harmony.

           The feeling of Evan’s racing heart was caught between your fingers. Your hands roamed his exposed skin, drinking in the image of his radiance. His brunette eyebrows were lifted as his eyelids fluttered to a close. Your touch was like fire, burning down deep into his soul. His skin was soft. Your hands traveled to his blue boxers, slipping them down the hip bone that poked the surface of his skin. With a soft growl, he opened his eyes, staring at your anatomy once more.

           Your hands went to his hair. You tugged on the coarse hair that lined the nape of his neck. It was a warm tangle of limbs, and you were to ready to physically be as close as humanly possible.

           Evan outstretched his arm. He opened up his bedside drawer with a shaky hand. Slipping his fingers inside, he patted down the area, looking for a condom. After a few moments his eyes grew wide.

           “Oh no,” he mumbled to himself.

           You sat up, putting your body weight on your elbows, searching for a clue in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

           “This can’t be right,” he left your embrace, digging deeper into the drawer.

           “Evan, what’s wrong?”

           Suddenly his squirrelish like movements came to a stop. He groaned out quickly, looking at you sheepishly.

           “We, uh, ran out of condoms.”

           You jumped up, searching through the drawer yourself. “No, that can’t be! Remember? We mapped it out so that way we would have two left for today?”

           After yours and Evan’s first time, you went to the corner store and bought a box of condoms. You both knew that the two of you were creatures of habit. So stealing a single condom from the guidance counselor would not be useful. There were 36 in the box. You and Evan had grabbed a calendar, mapping out how many you would use as of what day, and when you would need to buy another box. Obviously, you both dreaded the day of having to go out and buy another box, but it was easier on Evan’s behalf to prepare himself mentally. Which he did not.

           “We should have two more,” you repeated, biting onto your thumb.

           “Well, there was last week where we had an extra round,” Evan spoke quietly, scratching the back of his head.

           Last week was your parent’s annual Caribbean business cruise. Every year they would leave for six days on a business trip to an island get-away in the Carribean. Every year prior to last, you would be home alone, sitting on the couch, eating, and binge watching Netflix. This year, however, you and Evan took the empty house as an opportunity. That weekend the two of you decided to see how long you could both last. It started off as a normal make-out session. Then it moved into grinding and thigh-riding. Then slowly cascaded to oral. And finally finishing off with the big-banger. You came, an all time record, of four times. Evan, however, felt like it was not enough. The two of you cuddled until he woke you up with an, unplanned, morning round.

           “Okay, yeah, but what about the other one? Shouldn’t we have at least one more?” you crossed your arms over your bare chest, feeling the tiniest bit exposed.

           “Three weeks ago. When it, um, broke,” Evan softly reminded you.

           Three weeks ago was Evan’s birthday. Everything started perfectly, your plan was smooth sailing. You surprised him with a new matching set of underwear. He was over the moon. He was so excited that his trembling hands broke the condom while rolling it on.

           “Oh yeah,” you sighed.

           “Well, what now?” Evan asked with wide eyes, rubbing his hands up-and-down your arms reassuringly.

           You shrugged your shoulders, reaching down on the floor to grab Evan’s hoodie. “You’re going to go out and buy another box,” you bluntly stated.

           Evan scrambled, picking up his boxers and putting them back on. You threw his hoodie at his chest.

           “B-But what if the guy at the counter knows me? What if he tells my mom? What if he thinks I’m some weird sex freak who-“

           You laughed, shaking your head, placing a kiss on his cheek. “You will be fine. Just get in, get out. Don’t make weird conversation. You aren’t the first teenager to buy a box of condoms, Ev,” you pulled on the rest of your clothes.

           “I have to go home and get my things ready for school. Text me when you get home, okay?”

--

             Evan opened the door to the pharmacy. A soft ‘ding’ ran through the building. Evan jumped the slightest. He looked over at the man who stood behind the counter. Evan offered him an awkward, toothy grin. The man just scoffed back, placing a toothpick between his teeth. He was dressed in a white lab coat. Evan began to think that maybe he was apart of the CIA.

           The aisles were shortly stacked. Colonies of Advil and rubber gloves sectioned off the pharmacy and a small doctor’s clinic. Zipping his hoodie up a little bit further, Evan walked down the aisles. There, lined up in a row, was different renditions of what he needed. There was latex free, regular, extra large, five times more friction, and anything else he could think of.

           Why are there so many?

           Why are there flavours?

           Different sizes?

           Is mine considered large or small?  

Finally, Evan picked up a box. The purple label looked like the one you had bought last time. He clutched it in his hands tightly. His thumbs brushed over any dirty words, as if to seal them away from his own public morals. He felt like he was frozen in place. Almost as if his feet were permanently planted to the floor. Evan knew that he needed to buy the special little box of tin foil wrappers. But he just couldn’t seem to carry himself over to the cash register.

           Should I stack the box between packages of candy so no one sees?

           Should I just leave, tell Y/N that the store ran out, and just get her to get them?

           Should I call my mom to get them for me?

           Oh God, don’t call mom. Don’t let her know you’re having sex.

           She’s going to know I’m having sex.

           Everyone is going to know.

           It will be so embarrassing.

           How will I-

                       “Is that Evan Hansen?”

           Evan whipped his head to the left so quickly that he could have sprained it. There sat Jared Kleinman, grinning in a plastic chair. He was sandwiched between two people. All three of them were holding a piece of paper with numbers on them. Evan had guessed that it was the “take-a-number-and-wait” system for the clinic.

           Jared’s smile was genuine. As if he actually cared about seeing Evan, coincidentally, at the local pharmacy. The corner of Jared’s lips went from genuine to mischievous in 3.12 seconds. He saw the wall of condoms that surrounded Evan.

           Jared rose from his seat, walking over to Evan, sneering at the purple box that was clutched in his hands. Evan’s entire face flushed to a shade of maroon.

           “So you’re getting it on with L/N, eh?” he wiggled his eyebrows, elbowing Evan in the ribs.

           Evan’s eyes shut tight as if he was trying to shake himself out of the conversation.

           “We just- we ran out, okay? And I needed to pick up some more, but I am scared that-“

           Jared snorted obnoxiously, waving his hands in the air. “Wait, wait, wait,” he settled his hands on his hips, jutting his stomach outwards, “you’re trying to tell me that you have had enough sex to finish an entire box of condoms?”

           Evan nodded shyly, as if he was in trouble. He looked down at his feet. He focused on the frayed thread on his shoelaces. He couldn’t build up the courage to look back at Jared.

           Suddenly a hand swiped the purple box out of his hands.

           “Well, Hansen, today is your lucky day. I am going to get these for you,” Jared then grabbed Evan’s wallet from his hoodie pocket.

           “Y-You’re what?”

           “Yeah, I’ll get these for you. It’s the least I can do. I mean, it will make me look like a total catch,” he began to walk to the cash register until Evan stopped him.

           “W-Wait! Let me get you something. A-As a way to say ‘thank you’?”

           Jared stared at Evan for a few seconds before chuckling, “God, you’re weird.” He looked around the stacks of snacks, pulling out a random see-through container. “Here, get me these,” he looked closer to read the label, “candied walnuts.”

           Evan’s eyes grew wide. He felt frozen again.

           “Anything but that,” he murmured softly.

--

 Evan ran back home, the purple box was hidden in his hoodie. A small grin plastered on his face. He unlocked his front door, calling out to you.

“I’m still in your room!” you called out.

Evan had only been gone for an hour at maximum. That was enough time for you to run home and grab a few things that you needed for the weekend. Evan flung his shoes off his feet, slowly trudging up the stairs. They creaked beneath his feet. He took the box of condoms out from underneath his hoodie. Opening the door to his bedroom, the purple box fell out of his hands and on his floor.

While at home, you grabbed a set of lingerie that had been sitting at the back of your closet for a while. You had bought a set for Evan’s birthday, a few months back, and the store was having a 2 for the price of one deal. You forgot all about it until today. It was baby blue, and lace. On the spectrum of lingerie, it was not too scandalous. Rather, it was elegant and sweet.

You smiled at Evan. His eyes were the size of golf balls and his mouth hung open. You sauntered your way over to him.

“W-What’s the occasion?” he asked softly, his hands ghosting over your silhouette.

You smiled softly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “Nothing. It was just a surprise for you.”

Evan grinned widely, slamming his door shut, and throwing you back onto his mattress. He slobbered kisses up and down your neck, making you laugh loudly. After you began to cramp up from the laughter, Evan lifted his head to look into your eyes. He was giggling, his nose scrunched and his tongue was pressed against the bottom row of his teeth.

“I love you,” he breathed out. “I love everything about you.”

He kissed your lips, then your ear, then your neck. “I love the way you say my name. I love the way you look at flowers. I love the colour of your eyes. I love your lips. I love your ears. I love your neck.”

His hands went down to your breasts, palming them softly. “And, gosh, I love these,” he giggled with a blush. You slapped him on the arm playfully. You both laughed softly, connecting your lips once more. The kiss was warm and full of love. It was like a twist of purity and losing a childhood innocence wrapped in one. Night and day. Indescribable.

Evan pulled away from the kiss. His lips trailed down to the band of your lace underwear. Your boyfriend pulled them down your legs, placing them to the side of the bed. He looked up into your eyes, placing sweet kisses along your knees and inner thighs. His kisses inched closer to where you ached for him the most. You needed him there.

Taking his fingertips, he opened you up softly. His eyes focused on the most sacred part of your body. He got butterflies in his stomach whenever he reminded himself that he was the only other person who was allowed to see it. Evan dragged his lower lip against your core, planting a soft kiss to the sensitive flesh. You sucked in a breath, watching his every move. His tongue delved out of his mouth, licking a stripe upwards. It was warm and sent tingles down to your toes. Evan took his time. His tongue darted in and out of you, penetrating you slowly. His nose rubbed against your core as he worked on you.

The familiar know formed in your stomach. As you began to brim closer to the edge, Evan pulled away to speak to you.

“I’m not done,” he spoke lowly. Pulling his right hand off of your leg, he waved his hand to you. “I want to put three in you before you cum,” he referenced to his fingers.”

“Ev, I won’t last,” you warned him, breathing quickly.

“You know what to say,” he connected his mouth back to your core, slipping his index finger into you.

You let out a small yelp, your head thrown back into the pillows of Evan’s bed. Your abdomen was tensing and you were second-guessing your own willpower. You felt the tip of Evan’s middle finger protrude into your entrance, his tongue tapping the sensitive nub above. You held on as tight as you could. It felt like your abdomen was being ripped apart. You couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Walnut,” you cried, grabbing onto Evan’s thick head of hair.

Evan didn’t stop. He stuck his ring finger into you. You didn’t think it was possible.

“Walnut! Evan! Fuck!” you couldn’t hold on anymore. Your walls were coming down. Your muscles were tightening and you were seeing stars.

Evan sat up, wiping off his mouth and fingers on his sweater sleeve. You stripped him down. When he was finally fully bare, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. You jerked him off slowly, running your thumb along his slit. You began to move faster.

“Shit, walnut, stop,” he grabbed your hand and stopped your movements. He was already hard and leaking at the tip.

Ripping open the sacred purple box, Evan pulled out a silver packet. He opened it with his teeth, rolling it onto his length. He teased your entrance, daring to keep you waiting. Finally, he thrusted slowly and passionately. His hips touched yours as he delved deep.

 You and Evan both came that night. No safe words, no stops, just pure bliss and feeling of ecstasy. And never, once in your life, did you ever think to thank Jared Kleinman.

[spin-me-a-tapestry]

(stole this from @warpussy lolol)

wasnt tagged in this at all but i need a distraction right now so heres a top 10 songs in no particular order list and these are like not “of all time” cause im a music-lovin fiend so this is just stuff ive been listening to a lot lately

1. Bloc Party :: “The Pioneers.” tbh ive been listening to this entire album (Silent Alarm) on repeat the last few weeks its just so goddamn good.  this band kinda reminds me of the band the police for some reason??  just a great lead singer, great guitar riffs, beautiful lyrics, the shit i live for.  i really like this song in particular cause of the chorus.  “We promised the world we'd tame it, what were we hoping for?”

2. Bloc Party :: “Blue Light.” had to put two Bloc Party songs on here lolol this is one of the slower mellower songs on the album, the way the lead singer Kele Okereke sings the chorus just kinda tugs at my heartstrings.  “If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is.”

3. Hozier :: “In the Woods Somewhere.” This is another album ive been listening to on repeat and will never get tired of.  hozier is a fucking MUSICIAN, and his music has been helping me with some romantic angst ive been feeling lately.  this song may or may not be my fave, its creepy and haunting and his back-up singers have a part in this one where they do these gorgeous harmonizing “ooo’s” that bring chills down my spine every time.  “My head was warm/My skin was soaked/I called your name/‘Til the fever broke”

4. Torres :: “Skim.” saw her as the opener for a tegan and sara concert and proceeded to get a Huge Gay Crush on her.  she jacked off her own guitar during a solo need i say more???  this song is a banger, real interesting guitar moments and a simple beat but pretty impactful.  her lyrics are really interesting too they kinda tell a story.  (also i may or may have not watched the music video for this song multiple times for uuhhh reasons) “There’s no unlit corner of the room I’m in.”

5. Beyonce featuring Jack White :: “Don’t Hurt Yourself.” OK BEYONCE I GUESS YOUR’E A ROCK STAR NOW FUCK.  this song is everything i never thought i needed until i heard it, like the Uppercut Punch of Beyonce’s voice mixed with Jack White’s garage-y groovy rock sound is such a perfect combination.  when beyonce screams “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I IS” i ascend to another plane of existence.  “I am the dragon breathing fire; beautiful mane, I’m the lion.”

6. Asking Alexandria :: “A Candlelit Dinner with Inamorta.” gotta love some mid 2000′s screamo, what i like the most about this song tho is that at one point it breaks down into a sick EDM synth beat???  and then slowly the screaming starts happening again and the synth beat mixes in with the heavy metal guitar and its like this giant crescendo of noise but it still sounds oddly beautiful.  “With eyes closed, her heart breaks.  After it all, she brought this on herself.”

7. Paramore :: “Emergency.” i dont care what ANYONE ELSE SAYS All We Know Is Falling is Paramore’s best album ever of all time. i love their later music too but nothing beats the first album, i can listen to it all the way through and i love every single song.  the first three songs on the album are especially my faves, but theres something about "emergency” that makes it special.  the verses have this cool back-and-forth kinda thing that almost sounds like two people speaking to each other even though its just hayley.  “’Cause I’ve seen love die way too many times, when it deserved to be alive.”

8. Tyler the Creator :: “Yonkers.” this song is soooo NSFW its not even funny and the lyrics are Problematique but theres something about tyler’s voice and cadence when he raps, plus his beats are so killer.  hes a rapper with a dark punk kinda edge which i really appreciate.  the lyrics kinda just read like tyler was just taking all his scattered random thoughts and emotions and put them into a song but everything still fits together and flows.  “(Fuck everything, man), that's what my conscience said.  Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead.  Now the only guidance that I had is splattered on cement.  Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit.”

9. Crystal Castles featuring Robert Smith :: “Not In Love” Good god did i listen to this song ALL THE TIME when i was going through some emotional love life-related shit and i can still jam out to it.  it has crystal castles’ stellar synth work and backing beats with Robert Smith’s deep 80s synth-pop voice and the lyrics are just real gud.  real relatable.  theres something about a dance-able synth beat with song lyrics that are depressing as fuck that i really love.  “ I saw your picture hangin' on the back of my door.  Won't give you my heart, no one lives there anymore .”

10. Birdy :: “Shelter.” its kind of a shame she didnt get more popular, she was still a young teen when her first album came out but her voice has a lot of maturity to it.  also watching her play the piano is mesmerizing.  this songs a tear-jerker for sure just cause its so melancholy and her voice is light but extra emotional in this. “Maybe I have said something that was wrong, can I make it better with the lights turned on?”

im gonna tag these people!!! @moonlitserenades @ifyongemetrodonttrustyou @dasfreefree @wigglytata @cryingofficial @selig-sind and then anyone else who follows me who wants to do it!!!  YEEAAHHH