#bill would totally be playing Just the Two of Us on the piano in this while they sing

[jimjamart]

Got the Book of Bill, so I had to make Gravity Falls fanart again. Gravity Falls will forever be one of my favorite cartoons and a part of my constant brain rot.

[ckret2]

okay so bill’s coordination is completely ass in a human body, right? so i was thinking, if he finally ever does get a chance to play the piano again, (on soos’ keyboard or otherwise) would it be emotionally devastating for him to realize he doesn’t have the muscle memory or hand-eye coordination to do something he loves so much?

His coordination isn't overall universally bad. It's bad at specific things for specific reasons:

One: There are some restraints to being in a human body beholden to Earth's laws of physics that he just doesn't have a lot of experience navigating. For example, as seen in the last chapter: stairs. He hasn't walked on many stairs. He forgets that you can't walk sideways on stairs here, because you can in the Nightmare Realm.

And two: His eyes are still at the same height that's always been his eye level when he floats around, which fools his subconscious into thinking oh, still a triangle; but rather than being about two feet tall total, he's somewhere between 4 feet and 6 feet (I will not give an official height) and his feet are on the ground, not floating in the air.

He subconsciously expects to float over an obstacle on the floor; he trips on it instead. He tries to walk around a coffee table; he forgets how wide his stance is and bangs his shin into it instead. He tries to walk through a doorway; he forgets where his hips are and bumps into the doorframe. He tries to slide slideways through a four inch gap; well, that just ain't happening. He tries to aim his food the same place he's aimed his food for trillions of years—into the center of his field of vision—and sticks a fork into his eye.

His problem isn't that he's lost his muscle memory. It's the exact opposite: he DOES still have muscle memory and he's ACTING on his muscle memory—for a completely different body.

When the above two issues don't come into play, his coordination is just fine. Remember that two chapters ago he was turning cartwheels up and down the sidewalk and only fell once—which is pretty remarkable for a guy who's been locked up inside without any opportunities to exercise or practice. He was pretty darn graceful when dodging Mabel's attack during their water fight, or when dodging the tooth fairy's attacks. He's got unexpectedly good balance when he's holding still.

The environment he's in is strange and unfamiliar, but pianos are still pianos. His body has changed in horrifying and uncomfortable ways, but his hands are still hands. He might not be able to play quite the way he used to—for instance, can't stretch out his pinky eighteen inches like a looney tune in order to hit a high key—but he can still play.

[satoru-is-the-way]

“Long Long Time”

 A/N: Based off the 3rd episode of the last of us and so far my favorite. I am in love with this episode! Cried so much! Next week on Feb 5th or sooner I will release my first chapter of Little Lion Man a Joel x Reader series based on the HBO Max show with hints of the game. 

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be on the tag list

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR TLOU EPISODE 3, Cussing, Blood, Death, Depression, PARTIAL SMUT, MDI!

*(S/n)- Sibling name*

Flashback - Italicised

You knew Joel Miller long before the outbreak. You met Joel when your younger brother introduced you. (S/n) ((L/n) and Tommy Miller are childhood friends. They grew up together meaning you had little to do with the group of boys. But you fancied the older brother just a few years older than you. At first, it had been nothing but a childish crush. As the years passed, that turned into more. Regardless, he never saw you in such a way. You both took separate paths resulting in families, spouses, and children. Whether or not you realized it, those feelings towards Joel Miller never left. 

One thing led to another 20 years after the outbreak flew by. You lived with Joel in the QZ for years. Tommy went missing and now there is a young girl who claims to be the cure. Now here you stand at your old 'friends' house, Bill and Frank. Bill reminded you more of Joel while Frank is the total opposite. You meet the couple a few years after the outbreak. 

Flashback 

Joel and Bill sat across the table from each other exchanging glares. Frank cleared his throat. "More wine?" He questioned picking the bottle up. You nod holding your glass out. Frank poured you a generous amount. A few slips later you felt the tense atmosphere drain. It had been a long time since you tasted such a delicious alcoholic beverage. Bill picked up his gun and Joel reached for his side holster. 

"Billy stop"

"Joel don't." 

With a grumble, Bill dropped the gun allowing Joel to relax. "Would you like to see the house?" Frank asked. 

"I would love to!" You replied. 

"No, don't!" Replied both the men at the dinner table watching as their other disappeared into the house. 

"Oh, this is beautiful. I dare say my dream house!" You laughed (e/c) orbs taking in every detail fingertips dancing over the piano keys. 

"How long have you and Joel been a couple?" Frank's question caused you to choke on your semi-dry wine. With a sigh, you sat down on the piano bench. 

"We are not a couple. Never have been. His brother and I were childhood friends. So I grew up around them both. Mainly Tommy…But Joel and I never amounted to anything. One-sided romance story." You confessed quicker than expected. Perhaps the wine made your tongue lose. 

"Really? I did not get that feeling. The way he looks at you. The side glanced. His posture walking next to you…Bill looks at me the same way. Have you talked about it with him or made any sort of move?" 

"No, and I don't plan to. I never need such a stubborn man before. More than I am! And that is saying a lot." 

Frank chuckled, "Hm. Well just know I am here if you ever need to talk. What are friends for?" This caused you to smile and raise your glass. "So (Y/n) do you play?" 

"I knew the basics but that is when I was a child." You replied Frank sitting next to you. 

"Well then let me teach you a little song I know. Bill's favorite."

It had been a year since you last met with Frank and Bill. Their home is overgrown and dead plants are everywhere. No sign of forced entry so you both assumed nature has taken her course. Entering the home felt different. Empty glasses and half-eaten food molded. You frown sitting down at the table. Ellie rushed past you picking up a whole letter. Joel left the two females going deeper into the house calling for your old friends. 

"For whoever but probably Joel," Ellie whispered, opening the letter. She began to read the last message that you would receive from Bill or Frank. Your heart sank. It was a good and happy emotion. One that is hard to explain. You at least could say you had made one friend since the outbreak. Had dinner with them on different occasions even if things were for business. It felt nice to see there are still good people. You closed your eyes as Ellie read the letter but paused. 

"What is it, Ellie?" She looked up at you with a smirk forming. "Nothing. Just telling Joel to keep people he loves safe." 

"The letter is from Bill?" Joel asked entering the room. 

Flashback. 

"No, don't!" They replied. Joel watched (Y/n) disappear with Frank. He groaned and looked down. 

"Never listen." Joel earned a partial chuckle from Bill. "I'm sorry I had no idea what my- my friend had in store saying she was talking to some man on the radio." He comments poking at his home-cooked meal. When you too him about meeting up with some man a jealous and protective rage engulfed his body. 

"I don't trust you." 

"Same here. But you are going to need our help. That fence has a year tops…Listen you want to keep your partner safe then trade with him. " 

"I don't need your help or your girlfriends."

"What? She isn't - nothing more than a friend." 

"Look, Joel. I spent all of my life hiding my feelings. You need to be honest with yourself… The fence? Fine. We can work something out. I want to protect the person I love." 

"Yes…They are gone. Asked not to open the bedroom door." Ellie whispered. You turned around walking over to the piano. A gentle smile crossed your face. You imagined the lesson Frank taught all those years ago. 

"Are you ok?" Joel asked, touching your lower back. 

"Y-Yeah. Just …I don't know. Sad."

"Well, I am going to take a shower. They have hot water here!" Ellie left the heading upstairs. 

You sat down fingers brushing over the keys before 

D E F#M D E A 

Taking a deep breath you continued.

" Love will abide, take things in stride.

That sounds like good advice but there's no one at my side

And time washes clean love's wounds unseen

That's what someone told me but I don't know what it means" 

You felt the song move through your body. It is related to your relationship with Joel. The male stood lips parted listening to your angel voice. 

" 'Cause I've done everything I know to try and make you mine

And I think I'm gonna love you for a long long time." 

Your voice trembles as the lyrics only pulled those feelings for Joel closer and closer to the surface. 

" Caught in my fears

Blinking back the tears

I can't say you hurt me when you never let me near

And I never drew one response from you

All the while you fell all over girls you never knew

'Cause I've done everything I know to try and make you mine

And I think it's gonna hurt me for a long long time"

You stopped, unable to finish the song heading towards the door. Joel followed you calling your name each step. 

"(Y/n)! Please talk to me!" He sighed, combining through his salt and pepper locks. He thought about letting you walk away. But he couldn't. "No! Stop." He gripped your arm pulling you back. 

"Joel enough! I don't want to talk about it!" You yelled tears falling from your cheeks. 

"I love you! Damnit!" He yelled, breathing heavy. 

"What?..." 

"I love you. I always have. I figured you needed someone better than me…You still do but I can't stop how I feel. Ever since we met…And even now I can only think of you. Dream of you. Crave your touch." 

You moved close and he leaned in kissing your lips. A soft whimper escaped the adrenaline and ran over your entire body. Joel couldn't keep your hands off you. Feeling your hips, thighs, running up your body to squeeze your round breasts. "J-Joel" You moaned. Joel growled, pressing you against the nearby the boutique. He wraps your legs around his waist grinding hard cock on you. 

"Fuck I need you." He whispered not feeling his cock so hard for a while. Joel pants roughly getting the friction he desperately needed. Your pussy clenched around nothing his cock rubbing against your clothed clit. 

"Right now?! We are out in the open." You pant.

"Yes, while no one is watching." He chuckled brown eyes gazing up at you with a hungry lust... 

-end!

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #46:

The Rolling Stones' Goats Head Soup

I dwell alongside indifferent angels and non-voters when it comes to The Stones. Dante would condemn me to his realm of the Neutrals, where I'd forever chase a blank banner, when it comes to Mick's strutting, Keith's drugs and Charlie's backbeat.

But Goats Head Soup boils my blood: I'm ready to chase some tasty goat brains with a little chomp or two on Ruggieri's brain Ugolino-style every time I listen to it.

Indeed, the record is one of the worst and greatest parts of my entire Dollar Bin.

The whole thing starts, flatulently, with Dancing with Mr. D, a bland bologna sandwich of a song if there ever was one. What the hell was Jagger thinking by making this the lead track?

If dancing with death is this dull I'd rather slow dance for all of eternity with Robert Pollard.

But the rest of Side 1 is wonderful. Indeed, it makes me wanna befriend all kinds of goats.

100 Years Ago is a freakin' masterclass in songwriting and musicianship. It swings, it rocks, it's goofy. It's staggering.

My teenager was watching some kinda sapphic Netflix Christmas ugly sweater film recently. The whole thing was probably written by a chatbot and 100 Years Ago served as the soundtrack for one of the movie's hipsters' mid-film dance party with their conservative grandpa. Meanwhile, somewhere off camera, Keith Richards chortled merrily over a simmering bowl of goat broth.

Coming Down Again, which follows, can't compete with 100 Years Ago, or, for that matter, the previous record's primary Richard's vehicle, Happy. But the song is pretty, earnest and bravely paced.

The rest of Goats Head Soup could have just proceed in this vein: well written 70's soft rock songs performed with skill. Instead, Jagger momentarily hijacks everything and reminds us with the ridiculously titled Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo (Heartbreaker) that we are spinning a Rolling Stones record.

Heartbreaker is silly, sure; but it's also totally awesome.

Mick Taylor's wah wah peddle gets a righteous workout; everyone else in this band clearly plays bass better than the absent sex criminal that is Bill Wyman, who was off making music with his pitiful equals, namely Stephen Stills and Joe Freakin' Lala, at this point in the game; the horns make me want to smelt iron and then pump it.

And then there's Angie. The album's weird choice for a first single, Angie is a classic, I suppose. I love Nicky Hopkins' piano throughout and I don't mind Jagger's day-time-TV-level acting in the vocals department. But the song cools my forge considerably.

Sadly, Side 2 is far worse. Indeed, it's made of up almost entirely of nothingburgers bathed in coddled mayo and sad pickles. I typically flip this record just to listen to Winter.

Somewhere in the months leading up to 9/11 I went and visited my not-yet-famous brother during his senior year of college. I was an adult with a job and a marriage; I mistakenly thought I had things figured out.

I feel like I already wrote about that visit, which featured a preposterously drunken night with his cover band, The Freezermen, and a lot of me swearing in absent-minded exuberance while live on the airwaves. Yes, I did.

But another seminal moment in that trip was hearing Winter for the first time in my life. The impetus was me informing my brother and his big deal bandmate, who would soon have a Ph.D., that The Rolling Stones could suck my (not too compact) disc.

Those two already far wiser twenty years olds pounced on my dumb comment and played me Jagger's quite masterful Van Morrison impersonation track, daring me to not wrap my coat around Winter's late surging guitar midst swirling strings.

I think it's telling that Keith Richards doesn't even play on Winter; the rhythm guitar comes from Jagger; the lead guitar is of course played by the band's reluctant genius at the time, Taylor. But once again it's a non-member of the band, Nicky Hopkins, who in his career played with everyone from Spinal Tap to Jerry Garcia, who holds the whole thing so elegantly together on keys.

Suffice it to say that Winter is not a song I'm neutral about. Winter gives me chills.

By 1973 The Rolling Stones clearly struggled to land their punches as an actual band. But when they connected, wow, they sure could smash our faces right in.

[lucszli]

Bill cipher headcanons part two

-because I have issues.

He would almost always call you by a nickname / petname. Rarely ever your name

If you like music, he'd play the piano for you. The lyrics of the songs he chooses might be a bit questionable though. But that man can sing pretty well

He would kill someone for you. No hesitation. At all. Someone hurts you? Dead. Some friend of yours shit talks you behind your back? You won't see them any time soon after that.

Since he's a dream demon, he puts that to use. He makes sure all of your dreams are nice. You won't have a nightmare for ages once you get with him.

Adding onto the "he can't cook" hc, he did try cooking for you one time. Let's just say he's banned from the kitchen now:)

Would totally pop up at random times to scare you

says some of the weirdest (and best) pick up lines

Let's be honest, he's bill cipher, he probably only started talking to you because he thought having you around would benefit him. Even if he maybe had a change of heart at some point, this mf probably only became close to you at first to use you.

He never tells you about that though. You don't have to know.

If you were against him starting weirdmaggedon (or however the hell it's spelled) he'd low-key be a little pissed. Which would most likely lead to an argument.

And we all know how gravity falls ends right? So if it goes that way, the last conversation you'd have with him was an argument.

-I am low-key delusional, so why be delusional alone when I can share my headcanons with you all?

[slavghoul]

Impera track by track in TF’s own words. From Total Guitar 5/2022

 --

Imperium

It was meant almost like a national theme to this empire. It’s a very bombastic and grandiose start to the album. At some point I want to re-record this song with a full orchestra and choir, almost like a classical version. And though it’s a pretty simple melody and chord progression, it sounds really big because of all the harmonies. In the final mix, we actually took the harmonies down compared to the demo – they were even louder there!

Kaisarion

The funny thing is that I originally wrote the intro as a simple picking thing. At first I was using the open frets and then we reinterpreted it higher up the neck as more of a lead guitar thing, which is why it sounds like it does. It suddenly became so much more difficult and sounded difficult, which therefore made it more metal and cool! I think the reaction to the song has been good so far but once people have heard the record and know the song it will make more sense. We’ve done this weird thing before where we start a tour pre-album and open the set with the first track and people are like deer in the headlights! But it’s fine, and a good opener!

Spillways

I can proudly say ABBA are one of my favourite bands of all time. As a songwriter, I’ll always feel like I’m in the absolute shadow of their legacy because it’s hard to find such enormous talent and impeccably fine-tuned songwriting. They’ve been an influence on our songs in general, maybe this one in particular. To make things extra nerdy, we recorded this album in Atlantis Studio in Stockholm, which is the old Metronome Studio – where ABBA recorded most of their hits. There’s a video on YouTube of them making Dancing Queen and it’s the exact same outboard gear, mixing console, microphones, marimba and piano we had around us. You’d play the piano and it would sound exactly the same as it did on Money, Money, Money, or try the marimba and it would sound like Mamma Mia. As an ABBA fan, being there was so wonderful. And our third album, Meliora, was recorded in Benny Andersson’s own studio, which is where they made the new ABBA record. It’s weird how some of our albums seem to follow their footsteps, but with that album we recorded somewhere before they did!

Call Me Little Sunshine

I like to use open strings and clashing notes in my riffs. I came up with this one in my head, just like I did with Cirice [from Meliora], and hummed it into my phone. Then I make sense of it using a guitar and try to find the most effective way of playing it. This one is kinda special because you have to fret the fifth fret on the lowest string first, and then the next string played open, for the first two notes. I chose to do that instead of hitting the same string twice. Basically, I’m trying to create more problems out of something simple in order to find the ultimate riff! I also did something similar with our song Majesty [also from Meliora]. The opening melody came first, which sounded very ABBA – and then I came up with the chords underneath. It’s like working backwards, a bit like writing a good detective novel. You never start at the beginning, you start with the finish so that you know that the payoff and end is worth it. You start with the murder and go back from there.

Hunter’s Moon

This song has a nostalgic, sad and almost romantic kind of feel where it’s unclear whether the narrator is a protagonist or an antagonist. With lyrics like, ‘It’s been a long time coming, I’m coming back for you’, it’s sort of inviting but also threatening. I wanted the guitar and synth leads at the end of each chorus to symbolise this moment of insanity – a bit like the theme music in Kill Bill when Uma Thurman gets angry, it’s this alarming sound that’s a symbol for when she loses it. So I came up with that part to signal this is where madness kicks in, with all those guitars going through old synth pedals plus actual synths as well.

Watcher In The Sky

There were a few things we added on this record to enhance the drum kit. We’ve never had double bass drum before, so this song was the first we’ve made with a big kit. The double bass allowed for that Vinnie Paul [of Pantera] thing where there are triplet-feel things on the kick drum. Nothing against Pantera, but what influenced me there was actually a track called Blood Ritual by [Swiss extreme metal band] Samael, which had that feel I wanted to tap into.

Dominion

If you listen to the vinyl record, Dominion will be the first track on side B. It gives you a sense of break and rest for the ears. I wanted it to feel like a re‑introduction for the new side. And even if you are listening to a CD or stream version, a break like this is often needed in order to segue between two contrasting points.

Twenties

When we were working on this song, I kept imagining: ‘What would Slayer and Missy Elliott sound like doing a song together?’ That’s how I wanted it to come out. Sometimes it can be a dreaded term in rock and metal, but this had modern pop qualities I wanted to explore... just to see if it would be doable. And I think we succeeded. It’s a very aggressive song with very thrashy guitar playing and very evil lyrics about doing evil things. I always try to write songs I haven’t heard or at least that we don’t have. And this song felt like exactly that.

Darkness At The Heart Of My Love

It’s the ballad of the record. As with most things Ghost, if it sounds pretty, the lyrics will be extra nasty. Honestly, we struggled with the writing a little. The original idea was the chorus, which I tried out in various forms. For some time it was sped-up in another track that doesn’t exist anymore. As an experiment, we decided to slow the chorus down and build the song around it. It went through quite a few versions – one was even just an acoustic version, with five or so guitars for this Jeff Lynne wall of acoustics. Then it ended up being a metal version, which was harder and heavier. So it really morphed itself along the way, especially compared to tracks like Twenties – if you heard the first sketch I made for that song, it would be pretty close to the end result. This one took on new qualities. It got written and rewritten and rewritten again and again, continually getting altered. But it turned out cool! If we ever play it, I’d definitely like to see if we could execute it the acoustic way, because I feel that was also a really interesting version of it.

Griftwood

What made the song for me was the fact that there’s this crazy breakdown in what’s otherwise a Sunset Strip kind of thing, which I see as more Van Halen than Ratt. It goes from this 80s homage to a completely different kind of rock. That’s what makes it unique and different, though I’m sure there were a lot of songs that came out of the Sunset Strip in the 80s about the same subject! It felt like a good way of paying tribute while also doing something different, almost Tarantino-ing old things into something new.

Bite Of Passage

This piece ties into the album closer, which was actually written on piano. I’ve done that before on tracks like Deus In Absentia. I always try to find a good closing scene, I guess.

Respite On The Spitalfields

I find writing on the piano can make a song end up sounding a certain way. This was definitely one of my favourites while making this record. I feel like it’s the most interesting song. My favourite part of the whole record is actually the solo after the first chorus, where we go up half a step. It’s the best bit and only 25 seconds long! As much as there’s a victorious feeling when you squeeze in a three-minute banger at the end, it’s nice to have a seven-minute freeform track that doesn’t take any commercial appeal into consideration. It lends to a certain freedom, which is why it came out that way, and eventually closes with the same theme from the opening track.

[lollypopsx]

Flatmate!Harry: I'll Make It Up To You - Part 2

Please like if it’s not too shabby, reblog for anyone who may enjoy this and follow if you want to see more! Any suggestions are happily taken for future writing! I love you all! be safe and be kind x

Warnings: Hints of depression and anxiety

Part 1 - Part 3

—————————

Days had passed since the audition, and while you were sat on your laptop every hour searching for new jobs, new projects, more auditions and pure hope of some miracle, you couldn't help but starting to feel like you were failing slightly.

You liked to write happy songs and create stories using your music, but you were finding it harder to find the inspiration. Usually you and Harry would sit and talk ideas for hours, but since he made you miss your audition, you were distant from him, it was only the last day or two that you had been getting slowly back to normal.

Every day since the incident when Harry came home after working at the studio, he would open the curtains to make sure you had fresh air and daylight after cooping yourself up on the sofa all day, in the dimly lit living room. Not only that, he would check the cupboards, fridge and the sink to check that you were eating enough. He had seen you stressed and upset before. He had been there through some difficult moments in your life, and had always been your rock throughout the years, especially when your mental health was struggling during these times. But this time was worse. He couldn't help being concerned for someone he loved and cared for.

"Hey pumpkin..." He whispers softly, settling himself down beside you after completing his daily routine "Have you done much today?" he gently combs his fingers through your hair before dropping his arm round your shoulders.

You just sigh softly, looking ahead blankly at the quiet TV, simply shaking your head. If only he could see what was going on in that pretty mind of yours then maybe he could make everything better.

"I see you used the piano and the guitar today though..." he states, although it came out more like a question.

Minutes of silence filled the room until out of the blue, some words left your lips. "...Adam came to get the ring today" you whisper, feeling the tears brim your eyes once again, for what felt like the millionth time today.

"Oh darling" He frowns, pulling you into his chest tightly, just like he did the night you found out your (now ex-) boyfriend, Adam, was cheating on you. Unfortunately, you happened to find out minutes before he proposed to you, in front of all of your friends, including Harry. You didn't know what to do, so you took the ring, said you'd think about it and you left him standing alone. This all happened months ago, and you really thought that you was totally over it.

"Everything that's happened this week...I-I just...I feel like such a failure Haz. It just feels like I...I-I'm falling...falling apart and nothings going right! Why isn’t anything going right! I can’t even write one stupid song that makes sense" you let out hard sobs as your hands fisted his clean white t-shirt.

"No...no, no, no don't say that...please don't ever say that." He frowns, pulling away from you, but still staying close. His warm hands press against your cheeks as he lifts your face gently "hey, hey look at me" he whispers, begging you to look at him.

Your sad wide eyes flickered up into his, gentle tears falling down your face. "I know...I know it's hard at the moment. But everything happens for a reason. And everything will get better...I know it will. Do you trust me?" He whispers, his eyes gazing deep into yours, almost like if he looked hard enough, he could read your mind.

You give a hesitant nod as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before wiping the tears dampening your cheeks. Being affectionate together wasn't anything unusual for the two of you, you really were the best of friends.

"I'll go make some dinner okay? Pasta sound good?" You just nod your head gently at him as he leaves your side. You let out a deep sigh and head over to the living room window, watching the sunrise beginning to set over the busy London town. "So...how's the studio going?" You ask him curiously, your gaze still at the window.

"I erm..." He clutters around in the kitchen. His job was a topic he had been avoiding for the last few days. He didn't want to rub it in that he was busy writing an album for millions of fans, who would be screaming his lyrics back to him all over the world in years to come. "It's...good. I mean, its tiring but I...yeah. It's good" He nods.

"H, you don't have to avoid it. I forgive you for what happened. I know you would never have done it out of spite...and you deserve your life style, you work hard!" You say as you head into the kitchen, re-filling the water in the vase on the table, your vibrant roses and lilies still looking as beautiful as the first day Harry bought them for you.

"You work hard too!" He frowns softly "Harry I don't think moping around on the sofa, drowning in my sorrows, is the definition of working hard" You let out a gentle chuckle.

"So...how's it really going?" You hop up onto the stool beside the kitchen counter.

"Well, we have 4 songs so far...and they are...different to the last album. I mean they reckon three of them will be on the pop charts...maybe even a number one slot there" He sighs softly.

"Oh wow, that does sound different to before...and you...don't want that?" You ask curiously, judging by the lack of excitement. "Well...it's not that. I just...it's hard to write another album when the last one did well, and you have to make sure it's better than the last one." He sighs softly as he cooks. "They want me to write some slower, more emotional songs. I just can't...well the words don't fit right. I'm just not feeling emotional about anything, so I don't know where to get the emotion from"

"Well you can't put a price on emotion Haz, you can't just go and buy it in Gucci. You have to really feel it. Even if you aren't thinking about something specific or direct to you. I used to find that sometimes when I was trying to write, I'd create these characters in my head, and I'd give them all these different stories and personalities. And I...I used that to really help me write music. It's not easy." You explain while getting two of the plates from the cupboard and pouring two drinks for the table.

"You used to? You mean you don't use that method anymore?" He asks curiously, while giving the pasta one final stir.

"I...I think I've decided that I'm not going to write music anymore" You shrug softly, your eyes unable to life to his. "I need a proper job. And things aren't going well with auditions lately and I make a total fool out of myself every time I go into a meeting. It's time I looked for a proper job. Besides, the price of bills in this house keeps going up and up."

"What?! Y/N you're so good at writing songs and music! You can't throw it all away now! That is your proper job. And I love hearing what you write, it inspires my own stuff!" He frowns, his brow furrowing, trying to understand you. "Think of all the songs no one will get to hear"

"No one hears them anyway...It's different now. The entertainment industry is changing more and more by the day. Maybe the stuff I write just isn't as trendy anymore." It was difficult for you to admit, but you knew you had to accept it.

"There's a fine line between us Styles, because the difference is, you're already there. You have the whole world in your hands Haz, you can go anywhere and do anything. You could sing a song to a fish and the whole world would be adored by you still! If I did something like that...I'd be laughed out of every interview, audition and meeting for the rest of my life. But we’ll be alright" You smile and shrug, your mood had certainly been hit and miss the last few days, but you knew you had to carry on with your life.

—————————

“Hey Y/N come here!” Harry calls from the living room. You were currently in your room, scrolling through your Instagram, while in a pasta coma after dinner. You rush over to the living room “What’s up?” You ask, seeing him sat at the gleaming white piano, which as always was sat under the window.

“What do you think?” He starts to play a few notes on the piano, looking between the scruffy paper notes cluttering the top of the piano and his hands. 

“Can’t put a price on emotion...it’s something that you just can’t buy...you...you’ve got my devotion...but....but” He sighs softly, playing around with the notes and the wording on his notes. 

You smile softly as you recognise his acknowledgment of your earlier conversation “...but man, I can hate you sometimes” you sing gently, testing to see how it could fit.

“Hey that’s mean! Why would you say that!” He fakes a pout up at you “I thought we- hey actually...you’re right! That really fits!” He chuckles, pulling you onto the stool beside him. “Can you try a G chord, B chord and....lets try a C...” You nod and smile as your fingers gloss over the keys effortlessly, while Harry fits the verse together and tries to find the right tempo.

“Wait...it doesn’t sound right. Maybe lets try a D instead of C?” You suggest as you re-try, playing those three chords over and over again.

“You...are...a genius!” He grins and wraps his arms around your waist. ”Keep going!” He smirks, pushing more lyrics in front of you. Sometimes having a fresh pair of eyes really helped...or perhaps he just wanted to prove that you had talent.

You peer down at the pages upon pages of words flooding your view. “...I don’t want to fight with you....and I...and I don’t like to sleep in the dark...we’ll get the drinks in...I...I can’t stop thinking of her...” 

Harrys fingers join yours at the piano “We’ll be a fine line....We’ll be a fine line...”He smiles softly as he taps on a few random keys. 

You pull your fingers away gently “It...your song sounds...really good H. It’s beautiful actually.”

 “You mean our song...” He whispers.

“Harry no, it’s your song, all the pieces, I just put your jigsaw together” You smile. “I know how it is writing songs and the first draft is never the same as the final version. You might decide to change it all completely” You whisper.

“Not with your lyrical genius ability and words of wisdom...your name will be all over this track” You felt a shock of electricity ripple through your veins as you felt his eyes burning into yours. His lips pressed gently against your forehead, lingering against your skin longer than usual. That sort of affection was normal from your best friend...so why did it just feel like something completely different? And what did he mean about my name being all over the track?

—————————

Tag List: @harryhoney-bee - @sunandherflores - @sad-capuccino

[knjoodles]

sallang; taehyung | 01

pairing: singlefather!taehyung x reader

genre: fluff

recommended song: come on get higher by matt nathanson

word count: 2K

warnings/author’s note: this first chapter is slightly suggestive. nothing that i’d consider smut-worthy, but a warning never hurts! i’m also starting this as a mini-series, with short chapters and an overall short story. glad to be back!

summary: handsome, intelligent, fashionably late: taehyung seems to be a total package, and you’re all for it. that is, until his rain-checks and delayed appearances become so frequent that you feel left in the dark. what could he possibly be hiding?

sallang - a word describing the manner of the wind blowing lightly.

lowercase intended

this is a major waste of my time is what you thought as you rhythmically tapped your fingers against the clothed wooden table of a local restaurant, your knee bouncing impatiently against the floor, your free hand holding your head, glancing around in pure boredom. with how much time you’d spent staring at the wall beside you, you’d probably noted every color its paint compiled. it was your first date with a man from tinder who you realized was way out of your league — and you began to fear that he realized it way before you did.

snaking your phone from your back pocket, leg still bouncing, a deep sigh escaping your lips, you opened his profile once again. “kim taehyung, twenty-five, huh?” you filed through his tab once again, mumbling as you read. “likes reading, going to the beach… do you like being late, too?” you hissed, “because, from the looks of it, its like you get off on—”

“excuse me?”  

your thoughts of innermost annoyance suddenly subsided at the sound of a deep, masculine voice from above you. your head darted upwards to find none other than kim taehyung standing in black slacks with a complementary white shirt to match, his chest rising and falling, almost like he’d run to your date. “are you (y/n)? i’m taehyung… from tinder?” his eyebrow pricked up as he finished his sentence, an embarrassed smile cracking across his face. you stared at him for a moment, taking in the man standing before you. (y/n)? upset at kim taehyung? never. seeing him in person, you’d almost completely forgotten you were irritated.  

“yeah, that’s me. have a seat,” you smiled awkwardly, chuckling softly. you watched as taehyung hooked his casual blazer, previously wrung lazily around his arm, onto his chair. he sat down quietly, moving his seat closer to the table, adjusting his glasses and jet black hair. a moment of silence fell between the two of you, taehyung picking up his menu to appear preoccupied in the dinner menu. you smiled to yourself, catching glimpses of his eyes blinking rapidly as he excitedly scanned the text, a habit that’d already made itself known. you began to notice how he’d glance up at you every so often, chewing his lip, flustered, almost as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words to do it.

“i’m sorry for being so late,” he admit, sighing. “i had something to take care of earlier, and it took a lot longer than i’d hoped,” he set his menu down, toying with its edge with his finger. “i...” he paused, “i apologize. i know it must’ve been inconvenient for you.” you took this moment to eye taehyung's hands, slender and dainty, his fingers long and adequate.  

you laughed at his slightly frantic tone. “it’s fine, don’t worry about it. you’re here now, right? let’s focus on that. you wanna tell me a little more about yourself, ot should i go first?” you assured, smiling comfortingly. “your bio only tells me so much.”

“uh, okay!” he nodded, resting his hands on the table. “well, i’m taehyung, i recently received my bachelor’s and i’m aiming for a phd in english, i don’t care for coffee all that much, i love pretty much all animals you can find, and… i’m 5’11".” he introduced himself with detail as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, pulling them up to only reach past his elbows. “how about you?”

“oh, my turn?” you questioned, earning a giggle from the man facing you. “i guess it’s only fair. i’m (y/n), i’m pursuing law as of now, we can lay low on coffee if you’d like — i don’t really mind. i like going on simple dates, i love music recommendations, i love musicians, and i’m significantly shorter without these heels on.” you finished, content that either taehyung had a really bad sense of humor or that your finishing line made a better impression than you’d thought it ever could. 

“does this fulfill your requirement of a simple date?” taehyung inquired playfully, lightly patting the table.

“it does,” you replied, tone flirtatious. you noticed taehyung eyebrow raise and jaw tighten at your response as he cracked a smirk, entertained at the shift in energy. that look jumbled your insides, but there was no time for that. you expelled those thoughts from your mind as you cleared your throat, silently scolding yourself. your moment was interrupted by a waitress, the same one who’d pitifully watched you poke at the complimentary sourdough bread slices with an empty seat in front of you. offering to kindly take your menus and your orders, the two of you obliged. as she scurried away from your table, a notepad with messy handwriting scribbled across it dangling from her waist apron, you turned back to taehyung, whose eyes were glued to you, one of his hands caught in his hair as he ran a hand through it. “hey,” he muttered, his voice deep, his eyebrow habitually twitching upwards once more. was he trying to make you unravel in the middle of your date?

“oh my god,” you laughed, trying to shake off how flustered you were. “you can’t just do that and expect me to be okay!” you joked.

“do what?” he chuckled in return. “the deep voice? i can’t control that; it just happens sometimes,” he smiled at his lap, looking back up at you soon after. “you said you were interested in musicians?”

“i mean, it’s not a necessity, but yeah, i find musicians especially interesting.” you explained, reaching for your glass of cold water, ice half melted.  

“i don’t want to brag, but when i was in high school, i was in a band.” he grinned as your jaw dropped. your mind raced with thoughts of how flawless he was, from how well he dressed to how every secret of his made him ten times more attractive. “it was just seven of us, seven of my friends. some would rap, some would sing. i was a singer, and i was really invested in the group. after we all graduated, the group kind of fell out, but we’re all still friends. cool, huh? i would play a little bit of everything, from piano to guitar. more piano, though.” he added, tilting his glass of water towards you, his attractive grin infectious.  

“that’s crazy,” you gasped, leaning forward in your chair. “ever thought of getting the band back together? you’ve got the looks!”

“the looks?” he repeated, laughing excitedly. “you’re giving me too much credit here, (y/n),”

“i don’t think you’re giving yourself enough,” you replied, raising your eyebrows, challenging his humble temperament.  

the two of you dined contentedly, taehyung's charismatic personality and contagious smile catching you every time. the conversation, surprisingly, were never boring, they flowed into one another the way good friends converse after not seeing each other for a long time. his mannerisms and aura struck you as welcoming and comforting, as if he was a bright, warm light you wanted to step into. he was safety embodied, he was a simple, gentle man, with kindness and love pouring out of his soul. to your multiple objections, taehyung covered the bill, still feeling guilty over arriving late. a part of you inexplicably pitied him; you felt as though you should’ve at least pitched in half. it may have just been your morals being challenged, but you almost felt obligated to pay him back.  

dusting off his trousers, taehyung arose from his chair, your date coming to a close. a wave of childish frustration fell over you: you didn’t want it to end, not yet! to your surprise, he glided to your side of the table, chivalrously offering his hand to help you up. you smiled and took his hand graciously, his endless good-natured acts perplexing you. who was this guy? other than being late, was there really a flaw?

as you arose from your seat, you decided the answer to the latter question was no. this was absolutely the best date you’d ever been on: he wasn’t obnoxious, he wasn’t boisterous, he didn’t ask you for anything afterwards… you’d been with your fair share of unforgettably horrible men. taehyung was different, though: it wasn’t that he was just more decent than the men you’d previously gone out with, it was his aura, his persona, it was something above physicality that made you fall for him more than you thought you should.  

“thank you for the lunch,” you smiled graciously as he accompanied you out of the restaurant, opening the door for you as well. “this was really enjoyable! i hope we can do this again soon.”

“me too! thank you for being so nice to me despite me being late.” he returned your kind grin before grasping for his buzzing phone in his pocket, pulling it out to check an apparent text. “i, uh…” he swallowed, now visibly anxious. “would you like me to walk you to your car?” his tone completely different from his physical state.  

“i’m just over there!” you motioned to your car, stammering, confused by his sudden shift in energy. “if you have something important to get to, you go ahead!” he relaxed slightly, thanking you kindly and pulling you into a warm embrace. it felt shocking, but not in a bad way — his very intimidatingly handsome appearance contrasted with how gentle he had been with you. should you have liked him this much on the first date alone?

“i’ll see you soon! i can text you my number on tinder later. thank you again!” he jogged backwards, still making eye contact before he finished his statement, where he then turned completely and began dashing towards his car. you found him charming and funny and it made you smile.  

spinning on your heel to walk towards your car, you spun the chain of your car keys on your finger, the thought of taehyung still with you. he’d been perfect: good-hearted, humble, witty… you could go on. you sat quietly in the front seat of your car, thumbing the leather of your steering wheel. part of this felt very suspicious — how could someone be this perfect? how could someone be this enjoyable, this wonderful, this considerate? you didn’t want to feel this way about him as he felt wholly genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling of possibly being lied to. was he messing with you? he absolutely could be. what would you know?

you'd thought yourself into a corner. suddenly, you felt very bad, sitting alone in your car in a silent parking lot. you closed your eyes tightly and sighed loudly, trying to expel as much upset as you could from your body. you’d just had an amazing date! you shouldn’t be feeling this bad afterwards. taking a moment to collect yourself once more, you started your car, dusting yourself off before driving yourself home, the scent of taehyung’s faint cologne lingering in your mind.

i missed u guys :}. enjoy this piece from me!

[yikesharringrove]

Sweet Little Mango

Rewrite

Read on Ao3

Chapter 3

-

Billy groaned as he folded himself into the Camaro.

Steve hadn’t been at school that day.

Billy wasn’t totally worried, it was around time for his heat, anyway, but Steve had been feeling bad the past few days, throwing up nearly every morning this week before making his way to school, looking pale and clammy, and sleeping through nearly every class.

Billy smoked lazily out the window. The October chill was beginning to set in, and he was fucking dreading the cold weather. He was a California, golden sunshine, warm weather baby through and through, and if it fucking snows, well. Basically, he doesn’t have a coat and he’s pretty much fucked.

He pulled into the driveway in front of Steve’s house, letting himself in the front door with the key Steve had given him at the end of summer.

The house didn’t smell like it did when Steve was in heat, full of the honey lavender scent of his hormones, his slick.

The house was as cold as still as it usually was when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington couldn’t be assed to spend time with their only kid.

Something uneasy climbed down Billy’s spine.

“Stevie?” He yelled up the stairs. There was no answer. Billy didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before he bounded upstairs. “Stever!”

He found Steve in his bedroom, all snuggly and wrapped up in bed, nestled under a pile of blankets. Again, not really unusual behavior for Steve, especially if he was in one of his moods, but the entire situation just didn’t sit right with Billy.

Call it alpha intuition.

Billy sat on the other side of the bed, laying over Steve, melting his body weight onto him.

Steve didn’t react to him.

Something’s up.

“Baby, what’s up?” Steve just made a high sound in his throat in reply.

So, there’s a big something up.

Billy started shifting blankets, finding Steve’s face. “Talk to me.” One of Steve’s eyes opened, big and round and full of something Billy couldn’t place. “You okay?”

“I went to the doctor today. I was awake all night throwing up.”

Billy kissed his forehead. He was covered in cold sweat.

“What’s the verdict? You alright?” Steve shifted, sitting up, holding a pillow to his chest. “Flu? Strep? Hand-foot-and-mouth disease?” Steve didn’t laugh. Didn’t even smile.

Billy was fucking worried.

“I, um, I’m, I’m pregnant.”

Billy’s heart fucking stopped.

“She said I was probably eight weeks along.” Steve was nervously picking at something on the bedspread, beginning to ramble. “So I guess it was during one of my heats, that sometimes, sometimes omegas still have heats during the early pregnancy, which is why, why I still had the last one but didn’t have this one, and apparently it’s the size of a raspberry, a tiny little raspberry, Bill. And I, I know we’re so young, but I don’t, I don’t think I can bring myself to get rid of it, and this, I mean, it’s a fucking miracle I even got pregnant in the first place, and this could be my chance to have a pup of my own, and, god, it’s all just so fucking much, and I’m not, you don’t, I‘m not expecting anything from you but-” Billy pulled Steve into his chest, petting his hair, shushing him softly.

“It’s okay, Sweet Thing.” He kissed Steve’s head. “Whatever you wanna do. I’m gonna be right here for you.” Steve melted into him.

“Bill, I, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can, if we can actually, actually be fucking parents, but I, Billy I can not just, just-I already love them so fucking much. ”

“You don’t have to, Honey. You can decide. We’ll make this work, how ever we have to.” He hefted Steve further into his lap. “I’m gonna be here for you, for our pup. And we got, like, family that’ll help us.”

“Bill, I don’t think our parents are gonna-”

Billy was quick to cut him off.

“Are you gonna tell Joyce she can’t babysit, or should I get murdered for it?”

Steve laughed, an unexpected little thing.

“So you’re- you’re okay?”

“I mean, nothing’s really sunk in, and I’ve got a huge fucking breakdown on the horizon once I realize what all this actually means. But, you know. I’m fine.”

-

Billy’s breakdown came when he went home the next morning.

When his dad backhanded him across the face for staying out all night.

He was standing in his room, staring wide-eyed at the window.

How could he be so fucking stupid? Steve wasn’t on birth control. Billy fucking knew that , and still pumped him full of cum every fucking heat.

Steve had told him that it was near impossible for male omegas to get pregnant. It had to be a perfect storm of proper anatomy and a strong heat that allowed for their bodies to actually implant and grow a tiny clump of cells into a whole human person.

Steve had been working with the idea that he pretty much couldn’t get pregnant since he was a kid. And Billy had totally run with that.

And now Steve’s got a little tiny almost person inside of him.

He’s fucking stupid. He’s stupid, and dumb, and he’s a fucking teenager with a pup on the way.

The tears stung his eyes.

He sank to his knees, one hand fisted in his own hair.

Fuck. Fuck.

He’s not gonna tell Steve what to do with his own body. If he wants to have the pup, then Billy’s gonna fucking support him.

Because he’s not a shitty deadbeat.

And he loves Steve. He really does.

But he doesn’t believe in himself, though. There’s no fucking way they make this work.

There’s no fucking way they raise this pup, and stay together, and not traumatize the little thing.

There’s not a way in this fucking world.

-

“Alright, Steven.”

Steve was perched nervously on the exam table, his fingers in knots in his lap.

Billy was sitting against the wall, bouncing his leg and itching for a cigarette.

He hadn’t had one since Steve told him about the pup.

Two weeks ago.

He quit when Steve did. Not that Steve kept up the same level as Billy. There was a big difference between one or two cigarettes at a party, and nearly two packs a day.

But it wasn’t good for Steve, or the pup, so Billy took the most stressful time in his whole life so far, to quit smoking.

They were at Steve’s ten-week appointment. At the clinic in Indianapolis. The one where the front desk staff only raised an eyebrow at the boys’ fake I.D.s and didn’t ask for their parents’ contact information.

The doctor ushered Steve to lay back, pulling up his t-shirt to spread the clear jelly on his stomach, turning on the machine.

She located the fetus easily.

“Well, it looks like you’re coming along nicely. You’re at the proper growth for this stage, and the heartbeat’s nice and strong.”

Billy was staring at the monitor.

He couldn’t really make anything out. The machine was making this wooshing sound, like it was a scope underwater, and not a digital look into Steve.

But there was a little tiny blob in there. Something that looked like a little white bean nestled in Steve’s abdomen.

Their pup.

The doctor highlighted the little bean, zooming in and taking a capture of the image.

“Little pup's first picture.”

Steve’s scent went absolutely sweet, filling the room with sugar. Billy just reached out, taking his hand.

-

At the beginning of his pregnancy, Steve had terrible insomnia.

Billy would sneak out of his house to come over most nights, curling up behind Steve with one hand splayed wide on his slightly chubby tummy. He was always solid behind Steve. Warm and soft, a constant comfort to remind Steve that he wasn’t alone with the pup. That he had Billy to love them. To protect them and take care of them.

And sometimes, his warmth and steady breathing would be enough to lull Steve into a nice doze, or even to coax him into sleep.

But most nights, he was wide awake.

Steve didn’t want to keep Billy awake on those long nights, so he would sneak out of Billy’s gentle embrace, and sit on the couch downstairs in the sitting room. He would usually hang out in the quiet, just him and the little pup growing inside of him.

But then Billy would wake up, cold and alone, and would trudge downstairs to find Steve, and manhandle Steve until he was laying on top of Billy on the couch.

That’s where they were when Billy first spotted the grand piano in the corner of the room. Never noticed where it stood, collecting dust. Partially hidden by a large potted fern. He slid out from under Steve and took a seat at the leather padded seat, brushing his fingers over the glossy blackness of the beautiful piano.

Many of the keys were out of tune, as the thing hadn’t been played in years, but he plonked out a few easy scales.

Billy’s mom used to play. He had vivid memories of sitting on her lap, his hands on hers as she played beautiful songs. She taught him a few, once upon a time.

He struggled through one of the songs he could kind of remember, occasionally hitting the wrong key before correcting himself and continuing with the melody. He stumbled through what he could of Hey Jude before turning back to Steve, expecting to see a soft smile, big tired eyes blinking slowly back at him.

But Steve was dead asleep on the couch, both hands resting over his tummy.

Billy carried him up to bed.

That became their ritual on nights Steve couldn’t sleep.

Steve even decided to scour the poorly stocked music store and bought Billy lots of sheet music. He had just grabbed random stuff, and ended up with the weirdest assortment of things. Rock ballads and classical pieces. Swing jazz and a few beginner piano books.

Billy sifted through to find the easier stuff. He could still read sheet music well enough to slowly decipher the notes, but had to remind himself which keys corresponded to which note.

The piano was still out of tune and sometimes made the songs sound dreadfully wrong and quite nearly frightening, but it was peaceful. Quiet except for the sounds of the piano.

Steve was just content to sit next to him as he did it, holding onto his stomach, his head leaned gently against Billy’s shoulder.

-

They didn’t really tell Joyce.

Not exactly, anyway.

Steve and Billy were at Melvald’s, looking through the health section, throwing vitamins Steve’s OBGYN had recommended into the basket.

The basket was heavy, the metal handles digging into the meat of Billy’s palm. Nearly overflowing with expensive supplements that were meant to help their little pup grow into something fully formed and functioning.

Steve was being picky about the supplements. Taking the specific brands the doctor had recommended, reading the labels diligently to see if they said anything along the lines of Warning: Do not take while pregnant. Will give your pup an extra head.

Joyce was the only person at the check-out stand, and she made small talk while she scanned vitamins, shea butter, and produce, not even looking at the rattling plastic bottles.

Until one container wouldn’t scan. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands.

She faltered, and it was like the world came to a halt.

Prenatal Vitamins, omega specialized formula

She stared at it. Steve felt like he was gonna cry.

But she moved in a flash, shifting around the counter, and pulling Steve into a tight hug.

It took him a second to return the hug, wrapping his arms around her.

“If you boys need anything, and I mean anything at all, you come get me.” Steve scrunched his eyes up, trying not to sob into her shoulder.

She pulled away, giving Billy a hug of his own.

He hooked his chin on her shoulder, and he kinda felt like he could cry too. She gave him a bone-crushing hug for someone so small.

She took Steve’s hand when she finally relinquished Billy.

“How far along are you?”

“Just about ten weeks.” She cooed, handing them their bags as Billy counted out bills.

“And you’re not even showing. With Jon, I must’ve put on thirty pounds.” Steve looked around.

He was wearing a baggy sweatshirt, mostly wearing too-big clothes of Billy’s these days, trying to hide what he could for as long as possible. He was beginning to get insecure about the weight he was gaining, even though it showed off the growth of their pup.

But he’s vain. And Steve’s the first to admit that.

He lifted his sweatshirt to show the shirt underneath, the tighter fabric showing off his little bump. Joyce smiled at them, and it made Steve feel so warm.

“I want copies of the very first sonogram.”

[write-orflight]

Watch Over Me: Chapter One

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Rating: M

Words: 3.2K

Warnings: none for this chapter: innuendo, language

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Steve Rogers learns about the future from a woman stuck in the past.

A.N This is my jazz club reader fic I’ve been talking about writing. This fic isn’t gonna be long but I like it so I hope yall do too. I’m not using my perm taglist because it’s different than my normal content. reply, message, or inbox to be tagged. Devil Has Lilith will be updated Saturday.

Slang used in this chapter:

Dish: An attractive Woman

Butter and egg man: The money man, the man who comes to town to blow a big wad in nightclubs.

Dip the bill: Have a drink.

Corn: Bourbon

Cake-eater: A ladies’ man

Jalopy: An old car.

Drop a dime: Make a phone call

Chapter 1: There's a somebody I'm longin' to see 

“I can’t watch this anymore!” Tony said storming into the compound’s kitchen one night.  Steve looked up from his sketchbook in confusion. “I can’t watch you sit in here another friday night. It’s tragic!” 

“Ugh, not this again, Tony.” Steve says, sighing. Nat and Bucky begin snickering next to him, knowing where the conversation was going. 

“Yes, this again. Cap, I excused it for the first couple of years because you were adjusting to the times but it’s been years! If you’re not on a mission, you don’t go out! Sometimes, when Pep is having trouble sleeping I describe your social life to her, puts her right slee--” 

“Alright, I get it!” Steve cuts him off, slapping Bucky, who was in full hysterics at this point, in the arm. “I know my personal life is--” 

“Non-existent?” Nat provides.   

“Dead?” Tony adds, laughing.  

“But it’s my personal life. I’m over 100 years old. If I looked it, you guys wouldn’t be questioning my staying home.”   

“Exactly, if you looked it, I wouldn’t. But you are not that old yet.” Tony says. “Come on, let’s just all go out once. If you don’t like it, I’ll never make you go out again. I’ll even get you a coloring book or a model ship, or whatever old people do.” 

“Fine.” Steve sighed, as the man next to him cheered. “But nothing like those places you typically go to. They’re too noisy and sweaty and--” 

“Yea I got it, old-timer. We’re not going anywhere like that.” Tony provides. “My friend recently opened a restaurant where their back room is a speakeasy, very accurately themed, you need a password and everything to get in. You’ll fit right in.” 

“Prohibition ended in the 30s.” Bucky says. “Long before Stevie could even drink.” 

“Even still, work with me a little here.” Tony says. 

“Fine.” Steve sighs.  

“Awesome. Now, you’ve got to come in costume to these things so I’ve already taken the liberty of telling my tailor to make you guys something.” 

“What if I had said no?” Steve asks. 

“Oh, Cap. You should know by now I don’t take no as an answer.” 

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

  Steve shifted uncomfortably in his uniform. It was almost exactly like the one he would wear out during down times in the war though he knew it wasn’t the real one as that one was in the Smithsonian. Still, Tony’s tailor did a good job with seemingly all the costumes. Tony looked almost identical to how Steve remembered Howard back in the day. Bucky was in a uniform that looked similar to his back in the day, Glove covering his metal hand. Natatsha was in a sleek red gown, white gloves and pearls that was more modest than he’d seen her wear but still made her look drop dead gorgeous. 

Tony led them down a dark alley to what seemed to be a back door. Steve looked around confused as they entered the smokey hallway. At the end of the hallway there were two large doors and a lady with pinned up hair and a black shimmery dress, smoking with her feet propped up on the desk she was sitting at. 

“Evening gentlemen.” She croons in an english accent. “And lady. Are you lost?” 

“We have a meeting with Dr. Volstead.” Tony says, confidently. 

The woman tilts her head back giving all of you a once over. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it?” She asks. 

“Yes, it is. But I prefer the rain.” Tony says.  

With that the woman stands and walks over to the large doors and knocks rhythmically 3 times. The doors open to reveal a large dance hall where couples are in full swing, laughing and drinking. A trio of girls crooned a faced paced song as a jazz band was playing behind them. For a moment, Steve did actually forget he was in the 21st century. 

“Enjoy Paradise, my friends.” The woman smiles, before shutting the doors to the outside world. 

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

You were in the kitchen, taking a much needed headache break from the facade you had been putting up for your tables all night long when your Co-worker, Dalia, came up to you. 

“Y/N, Y/N! You have to trade tables with me.” 

You looked at her with a suspicious look. “Why?” 

“Come on, It’s a 4-top anyway. I’ll even trade you the party table for it.” That made you even more suspicious. “50 bucks for it, come on.” 

“Don’t trade, Y/N/N!” Your co-worker and friend/roommate, Jade added. “Tony Stark is in your section. I bet she only wants to give you 50 for it because she knows she’ll make 500.” 

“Come on, that’s not even why.” Dalia groans. “Black Widow is also at your table and you know she’s on my ‘Celebrities I have to fuck before I die’ list.” 

“God, are the rest of the avengers here?” You ask. 

“Not all but you know who is here?” Jade asks. “Steve Rogers.” She says, in a mocking singsong tone, jabbing you. Your crush on Captain America wasn’t really a secret anymore after you confessed it drunk one night. “And he looks almost edible.”  

You hum, you didn’t really feel like taking another table but this wasn’t a normal table. You doubt you had a chance but you weren’t passing up on serving Steve Rogers. 

“I’ll make you a deal. I still want that 50 bucks and we share the table, I’ll consider splitting the tip.” You say, the idea of making your rent in a night did appease you. 

“Deal.”

“Now ladies, I have a song to do.” You say, leaving the girls behind in the kitchen. 

—————————————-

Steve, for the first time in a while it seemed, was having fun. Tony was right, he did feel like he fit right in here. He clapped with the crowd, as the three girls bowed and left the stage. The piano man stood up and took the microphone Steve could tell was only styled to look old but actually wasn’t that old. 

“One more time for the Duclaw sisters folks.” The smooth voiced man said into the microphone, inciting another round of applause from the crowd. “Our next performer is actually the last of the night.” That incited a few ‘awws’ of disappointment. “Don’t cry just yet because Old Gary never disappoints, our next performer is my personal favorite. Sings like a Canary and the Cat who caught it.” That induces a laugh from the crowd and a small chuckle from Steve. “And maybe if you’re good she’ll come on for an encore later. Ladies and Gentlemen, The Sultry Sounds of Y/N L/N.” He says, moving from the mic back to the piano as the crowd cheers. Steve watches the stage as arguably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen seems to glide out from the backstage. She’s wearing a floor length silver gown that seemed to glimmer with every step she took. Her hair came down in long fingerwaves, pinned back so you could see the sculpt of her face. Steve would be lying if he said that wasn’t his favorite part of her facade. She had on simple eyeliner, foundation, and a bold red lip he could probably see from mars. You were beautiful, in a timeless sort of way. 

“My, my.” She crooned in an sultry old new york accent that reminded Steve of the women he grew up around. “What would your wife say if she knew I was your favorite, Old Gary?” 

“She’d agree!” The man called from the piano, inducing the chuckle from the crowd. And a deep sultry one from you. 

“Well as they say, two’s just fine but three’s a party.” She winked at the old man in a way that would make Steve weak if he wasn’t already sitting. 

“You ok there, Cap?” Tony said, snapping Steve out of the mystery woman’s trance. “You disappeared for a second.” 

“I’m fine.” Steve said, fighting the flush that threatened to spread over his face. He looks out the side of his eye to Bucky, who was smirking at him knowingly. Of course, he knew. 

“You know, you saying something about being good got me thinking, Old Gary.” She said, as the man softly played behind her. “A good man is hard to find. Great men are great, bad men are good sometimes too.” She winked to the crowd. “But every girl wants a good man, someone to watch over her.” Old Gary seems to take the cue to start playing her song. 

“There's a saying old, says that love is blind. Still we're often told, ‘seek and ye shall find’” She began singing and it made Steve sit up in his seat. She had the kind of voice that was almost beckoning. She was becoming his own personal siren. “So I'm going to seek a certain lad I've had in mind”  

“She’s a looker, huh?” The server, who introduced herself as Dalia, said as she sat down Bucky’s drink. “Y/N’s the main dish of this place.” 

“I think I’m more interested in you, doll.” Bucky flirted, shamelessly. 

“And I think I’m more interested in dames, Soldier.” She says, winking to Natasha who smiles coyly at her. Steve hardly pays them any mind as his focus was on you as you finished your song and thanked the crowd and waved while Old Gary helped her off stage. 

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

You were changing from your stage outfit into your floor outfit when Dalia burst into the locker room.

“Y/N/N, I actually think I might have a chance with Widow. I mean, she’s kinda been ignoring me the whole night but when I mentioned I was into girls she smiled!” Dalia ranted, excitedly as you nodded. You turned your back to her so she’d get the clue to zip you up which she does. “Also, you should’ve seen the way Steve Rogers was watching you sing. He totally wants to hit that.” That makes you perk up a bit. 

“I doubt it. I have it under good authority that he hasn’t hit anything in over 70 years. I doubt I’m what he’s been waiting for.” You laugh. “Still, it’s fun to think about.” 

Dalia tugs you out of the locker room. “Come on, let's get back out there.” 

You sighed before stepping out of the locker room and seemingly out of this century. 

You fake laughed with a guest at the bar as you grabbed your tray of drinks and made your way over to the table that had been making you nervous all night. You placed the four whiskey rocks drinks on the tables. 

“Courtesy of Dean.” You say, placing the drinks down. Stopping at Tony Stark. “Don’t know why? You seem to be the butter and egg man out tonight. 

“Butter and egg?” He asks, looking to Steve and Bucky. 

“Means money man, High roller.” Bucky explains, Steve nods. 

“Ah, well I am that.” Tony says, laughing. “I must say Miss, what was it? Y/N?” You nod confirming. “I have to say you are quite the performer.” 

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Stark. Go ahead, dip your bill.” You say pointing to the drink, Hoping they’d get the hint. They did of course, after seeing Steve and Bucky take a sip. You watch Steve grimace slightly at the taste of the liquor. 

“Everything alright, fella?” 

You watch Steve flush at the attention being tossed his way. You can’t help the confident smirk that graced your face knowing it was you that had Steve Rogers flustered. “I’m fine, I just don’t enjoy the taste.” 

You hum. “Yea, it’s the big cheese’s favorite drink and he’s known for liking it rough.” You wink, somehow making Steve flush more. That made you want to push it more. “I’ve got some corn in the back they call the Y/N because it feels really good when it’s going down.” That makes Steve choke a little and induces a hearty laugh from the group. “Can I get you a glass, Soldier?”  

“Y-Yea, I’d like that.” Steve flushes. It was almost fun at this point. 

“I’d love to try the real thing.” Bucky says, flirting right back with a smirk you knew has to make every girl in the 40s weak in the knees. You didn’t indulge him though. 

“Well, aren’t you a regular cake-eater.” You smirk. “I’ll be back with two glasses.”  

“I see the serum didn’t enhance your ability to talk to pretty girls.” Bucky laughs as you want away. Steve can’t help but become a little distracted by the sway of your hips. 

The rest of the night seemed to go like that. You bringing them drinks and flirting with the captain anyway you could just to see the pretty flush that spread across his face. But soon the time came for the superheroes to take their leave. As you sat the check in front of Tony, you brushed a hand over the Captain’s shoulder admiring the broadness of them. 

“You’ll come back and see me, Sugar?” You say, phrasing it like a question despite it not really being one. Steve nods, dumbfounded by you. You smile and wink at him before walking away. 

You’re in the kitchen eating the pizza you had ordered earlier when your manager, Dean comes out of his office for the first time that shift. 

“Y/N!” You roll your eyes when you hear him scream your name. “What do you think you’re doing?!” 

“I’m eating dinner. Something I could’ve done on my break if I ever got one.” 

“You know you’re not supposed to be eating anything that couldn’t be made in the 30s. People pay for the illusion and if they see you gorging yourself on pizza, it ruins it.” 

“No one’s looking in the fucking kitchen, Dean.” 

“Uh-huh, and another thing. You know what kind of songs you’re supposed to sing.” You roll your eyes harder. You knew this argument was coming. “That song is from the 50s and you knew it.” 

“None of those bullshit hipsters know who Ella fucking Fitzgerald is!” You yell. “Much less what years her fucking songs came out. That song killed and that’s all that fucking matters.” 

“Change your set or you’re fired.” 

That makes you laugh in his face. “Uh-huh, as if you’re going to find a singer who’ll work as cheap as me.” You say, brushing past him. “See you tomorrow.” 

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

Steve comes back to the bar the following week. He tells himself that it’s just for a quick drink but he knew the real reason was because he could not stop thinking about you. He also knew you were probably just being friendly because it’s your job to. He just needed you to reject him so he could go on with his life. 

He found himself in that hallway again approaching the woman he had seen last week. 

“Evening, Sir.” She says. “Are you lost?” 

“Umm.. I have a meeting with Mr. Volstead?” Steve questions, not really recalling the password fully. 

The woman hums. “Nice night, no?” She says. 

“I prefer the rain.” 

The woman sighs. “I’m sorry. I typically would let you in because I don’t really care but technically I’m not supposed to let anyone who doesn’t know the password in… even if  they are kinda famous.” She says. “The password changes every week. I’m sure if you ask Mr. Stark, he can find it for you.” 

“Oh, no worries. Sorry for wasting your time.” Steve sighs, turning back out the building. 

He’s approaching where he parked his bike when he hears a string of expletives being screamed followed with a car stuttering before not starting. He looks over to see a woman angrily get out of her car and lift the hood to see it smoking. The woman lets out another stream of expletives before kicking the tire and leaning her head on the roof of the car, defeated. For some reason, he feels compelled to go over and see how he could help. As he got closer he couldn’t believe his luck, it was you. He tapped you lightly on the shoulder and you turned with the beginnings of tears in your eyes. 

“Oh, Soldier!” You said, quickly turning around to wipe your eyes and putting the facade you typically used with customers back up. “I almost got offended when you didn’t come back to see me. Imagine a broad’s old luck.” You said, smiling flirtatiously. Steve didn’t buy that smile for a second. He could see in your eyes you were still upset. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

“Oh, everything’s swell! This old jalopy has seen better days, gonna drop a dime to a friend hopefully--” You cut yourself off, switching into your normal speaking voice. “Listen, I’m sorry I just can’t keep talking like this off the clock. I’ll drive myself insane. Please, don’t tell my boss. I’m already on thin ice for not ‘maintaining the illusion’.” 

Steve laughs, a weight suddenly feeling lifted off his shoulders. Suddenly you weren’t this mysterious woman who seemed to have all the right things to say and how to say them. You were human, just like him. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He says. 

“Good.”  You say, smiling briefly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve gotta call Triple A for a tow.” You say, pulling your cell phone out. Steve had to admit it looked a little weird to see you with a cellphone in your olden days attire. 

“How will you get home?” He asks. 

“I’ll probably hoof it.” You shrug. “Or take the subway.” 

“At night?!” Steve says, incredulously. “No, I can take you if you’d like.” 

You look at him, hopefully. “I don’t want to be a burden.” You say. 

“You won’t be one.” He smiles. God, that smile made you feel a little weak. 

“Okay.” You smile back. 

“Are you hungry by chance?” He asks, as the two of you walk back to his ride. “I was going to eat in the bar but I couldn’t remember the password.” He says, sheepishly. 

That makes you laugh out loud. “Those passwords are such bullshit, Dean keeps changing them to keep it ‘exclusive’ but they always end up online anyway.” You say. “Every server has their own password, to keep track of regulars coming in. If you tell them you have a rose delivery for Mae, They’ll take you to my table no questions.” 

“Mae?” Steve asks. 

“For Mae West.” You explain, That makes Steve laugh again, of course you liked Mae West. “I could eat though. There’s actually a diner right down the road from here.” 

“Perfect.” He says, straddling onto his bike. He raises an eyebrow at you when you hesitate. “Something wrong?” 

“I’ve never ridden on a bike before is all.” 

“As long as you hold on to me, you’ll be fine.” He says, smirking when he sees a flush creep over your face as he hands you his helmet. It was about time for you to be flustered by your interactions. 

“I have no problems with that.” You say, placing that helmet on your head after you straddle the bike behind him. Your hands are tight around his waist as the two of you ride out of the lot, leaving Paradise behind. 

Taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink

[ckret2]

I don't know if it's just because I have the most horrible taste in music known to humankind but that playlist isn't actually that bad? I like most of the songs on there

So, I'm constructing the Songs Bill Cipher Would Totally Listen To playlist based on four criteria I've identified for songs I think fit him. For most of the playlist so far, I'm literally alternating 1-2-3-4 through each of these categories:

Literal noise. This might mean sound effects (Shepard tones, sirens, air horns) or might be discordant music that uses these sounds, or might be really experimental music genres, ex: noise music or electroacoustic composition.

60s rock and/or psychedelic music, since the one human song we KNOW he thinks he's good comes from 60s rock. This includes more mainstream selections like Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd, and Jimi Hendrix; but also more obscure, more experimental music like Bruce Haack or Joe Meek; but also modern psychedelic rock like Jess and the Ancient Ones.

2000s party music, emphasizing hip hop and heavier EDM genres like dubstep or hardstyle, with a particular focus on songs that could be seen as more "obnoxious"—louder, less melodic songs, oftentimes with lyrics about partying (or lyrics that could be considered pretty obscene) rather than more laid back things about romance and the like. I literally have a couple of tabs open with "most overplayed party songs" and "most overplayed EDM songs" that I'm drawing from, and passing over the ones I don't feel are in-your-face enough. There's also a few memey songs thrown in (Dragostea Din Tei, for instance), but only ones I subjectively feel are widely known.

Piano covers of songs I think he might have learned to play on the piano; popular songs, played in a way that sounds simpler, without as many musical flourishes. (For folks who have played piano and know what I'm talking about here: I'm leaning toward covers that are less legato, not much dynamic range, and lean away from using the sustain pedal, because that's how we see him play in the show.) There's basically no genre consistency to the songs being covered, although I've been leaning toward songs I think Bill might be more interested in lyrically (ex: songs about murders, outlaws)—but even that's not a hard and fast rule.

None of the music is objectively BAD. However:

Category 1 consists COMPLETELY of tracks that either aren't music at all, or else are VERY out-there experimental music most folks would never listen to.

Category 2 has some mainstream music, but then starts sliding into niche obscure 60s acts or niche obscure modern psychedelic acts—and some of those are (deliberately) pretty weird-sounding, too.

Category 3 consists almost entirely of very popular music, BUT very popular music from over a decade ago, and SO popular that a lot of people listening to popular music at the time considered them overplayed. They're songs put on in a club because everyone knows them but also songs most likely to make somebody go "UGH, this song AGAIN???"

Category 4 consists of the most plain piano covers I can find, like if there are two piano covers of the same song I choose the one that sounds more boring to me. If you like a song in category 4 it's probably because you already liked the song itself and so hearing a piano cover is nice—but there's a wide variety of songs being covered in this category, with little uniting them except "they're popular enough to get covered."

Any given song on this playlist is probably good, or at least okay. (Except the William Shatner one.) But: the playlist as a whole is thematically incoherent and discordant. It adds up to less than the sum of its parts.

[tiptapricot]

I’ve been having a lot of Evil Robo BnT thoughts recently, so here’s a bunch of them! This ended up pretty long just as a forwarning djjdjd

Post DeNomolos, Evil BnT are forced to do a lot of self exploration and discovery

They’re two robots from the far future, stuck in the past with each other and the two humongously important historical figures they were not only sent back to kill, but also physically made to look and sound exactly like, with no way back to their own time and no further reason to carry out the mission they were created for

It’s a lot to adjust to

(Three uses of the f-slur near the end in a canon compliant/reclaimed usage context, and implied sexual content, but extremely mild)

It still doesn’t have much of an impact on them at first though, besides some anger and annoyance. They don’t feel emotions in the same way or to the same depth that humans do, so they kind of fall back on: this sucks and that guy was a dick, guess we have to live in the stupid past now, and that’s the extent of it

But they’re also AIs, and AIs learn and grow

They hide out in a cheap apartment for the first few months or so back, going out to steal money to pay for rent and to pick up movies and stuff, but it’s exposure to the world, it’s living. And the more they interact with people, the more media they consume, the more the rigid walls of their programming break down and expand

And that’s when things start getting complicated

Because that’s when things like morals, sense of self, purpose in life, and, to their horror, real emotions start coming into play

Their evil edges start corroding, things stop being as straightforward, and they start developing into their own complex people

Being Bill and Ted with a few glorified descriptors stuck on the front starts feeling… weird, especially when they inevitably end up running into them again and being around them more

Because they’re supposed to be Bill and Ted, but they aren’t, and yet they can’t completely deny the parts of themselves that are….. it’s frustrating

As a first step in both asserting and exploring their individuality, they choose their own names

Evil Bill chooses Willis, or Will for short, and Evil Ted goes with Theoneous, Theo for short

It’s different enough to feel like their own thing, while still appeasing the ingrained itch to take BnT’s place

There are gaps like that, a disconnect/mental dissonance between their consciousnesses and the knowledge that they’re robots, circuitboards and wires and code, like a separation between what they feel is them and what they feel is the robot

That’s an experience that continues as they grow, especially as they try and figure out what to do with their lives. It’s tough sometimes, to figure out where the programming ends and where their own wants and drives begin

They’re the only ones familiar enough with future tech to help each other when they experience technical issues or need repairs, and the only ones they feel comfortable being that physically vulnerable with

It leads to them being kind of codependent, but it’s warranted in a lot of ways

They also naturally stick closer to each other, because even though they grow to have emotions and are able to care about people, they aren’t totally mushy

They don’t get as upset about things, or as excited, and while they form their own kind of love for the people they end up caring about (without admitting it), they’re still never able to connect with humans in the same way they connect with each other

It’s this inherent wall, a difference in how they experience the world

Their forms of affection are machine based, just like how humans are human based. They’ll give each other cold packs when it’s hot or they’ve been moving a lot, they’ll do evening maintenance on each other, chatting while one of them has their hand in the other’s chest cavity, and they jump on each other or bang their shoulders together super hard, because they can’t feel a thing and they’re durable enough for it, and that’s fun to them

That doesn’t really carry over to human interaction though, and a lot of times they end up coming across as cold or mean

They generally have a rougher seeming relationship than most humans. There’s a lot of teasing and insults and slapping, which turns most people off from them, but that’s how they show they’re comfortable (it’s also how they show they don’t like people, but there’s a subtle and meaningful difference there, AKA that they won’t purposefully try to harm the former party)

Robots process sound differently too, for them it’s more of a physical experience than just listening

Will’s guilty pleasure is that he likes to listen to piano (secretly), especially Debussy and other classical that sounds similar. Something about it makes his circuitry feel good and fuzzy and calms him down

He doesn’t feel comfortable telling Theo about it, it still feels like a dumb pussweed thing to be into (plus it continues to make him have some most non metal thoughts about kissing and That’s DEFINITELY not something he can share)

They also both really like death metal. Though they were loosely programmed with the knowledge of BnT’s music taste, it’s not quite their style, and they lean towards the more intense stuff

They do that in most fields though, since it usually takes higher energy stuff to get them going/excited/into something

That’s why they roughhouse a lot, and mess things up, and drive recklessly, it forces their mechanics to process more things more quickly, and as a result gives them their own form of dopamine/adrenaline

Sometimes things backfire, they’ve fucked themselves up accidentally on more then one occasion when stuff goes too far or isn’t what they expect, but they’re always there to patch each other up

When their synth skin gets ripped or torn they don’t always bother to repair it, and underneath there’s a layer of see through hard plastic and their bodies look like those clear case electronics that were popular in the 90s (idea cred to @juiceboxfrog !)

They also have inspector gadget-like telescoping stretch arms at their wrist and ankle joints, but they don’t use those much because they’re unsettling to most humans. Definitely a leg up when they want to climb places the shouldn’t, though (idea cred to @showbiz-za !)

Theo is more prone to needing fix ups than Will, since the extra wiring that was installed for the time and space spanning camera DeNomolos gave him made him more susceptible to short circuiting, over heating, and other glitches

After awhile he just takes his left eye out and leaves it like that, keeping his hair in his face to cover it. It doesn’t do anything for the internal parts of it he still has, but it’s not like it’s a loss. The connection port kept sparking, and it was uncomfortable and kept fucking with his vision, so it wasn’t worth it

Plus he didn’t really like that it used to be a camera… or still could be

One of the things Will and Theo both have to get used to is actually valuing their own privacy and autonomy

When DeNomolos was around they were just his tools, tools that he didn’t even like

They honestly grow to resent him pretty fast, both with his treatment of them, and, when their emotions are especially out of control, his creation of them

They don’t talk about it much, or when they do it’s mainly anger, not addressing or showing the more raw parts they do feel, because that’s still foreign to them, and their circuits weren’t designed to process or understand more complex stuff

Complex stuff like how being around Ted more makes Theo develop a certain… insecurity

It’s not like the connections are hard to make: he looks like Ted, he sounds like Ted, he was meant to be Ted, Ted has a dickweed of a dad, and Theo had a dickweed of a creator, Ted has Bill and Theo has Will

But Theo doesn’t have Deacon

And while he doesn’t want to be exactly like Ted, part of him also does (it was made to). Part of him wants to be human, to have those natural connections and someone to watch over

But he doesn’t and it’s weird*

He tries to ignore it, chalks it up to his drive still attempting to put him on his original track of replacing Ted, and therefore making him more aware of the family roles Ted has

For all he knows that is what it is, he’s just a robot after all

Even though they aren’t really ones for mushy love, Will and Theo do love each other

You can’t not when you know the other person inside and out, literally

They joke a lot about that when they’re doing repairs (“Dude you’re holding my heart, pretty faggy of you.”), and though they laugh, there’s an unspoken intimacy to it, something that sits warm in their wires and goes beyond platonic; something (though they would never describe it as such) loving about getting to take care of each other, and getting to get taken care of

The jokes also stop being jokes after awhile and take on a charge, morphing into unofficial flirting

Eventually that charge sparks, and their relationship becomes a different kind of physical. That’s new, too, a type of exploration neither of them are familiar with, but it’s nice, it’s good, and it’s easier to write off as casual and not meaningful than anything else (for the record I do think this works/plays out different for them than it does for humans, but I will nOt get into that here or anywhere lmao)

That arrangement doesn’t last forever, though, because one night Theo has a bad malfunction that cause him to completely power down, and it sends Will into a panic

It takes him almost an hour to fix the problem and for Theo to reboot, and when he comes back Will can’t stop touching him and checking in and it’s weird

“Why are you so worked up dude, this’s happened plenty of times.”

“Yeah I know you just… you fritzed out and went limp and it freaked me out dude.”

“So? You know this is nothing to worry about. I don’t get why you’re kinda acting like such a pussweed dude.”

“I didn’t know what was wrong! That’s plenty of reason to be fucking worried!”

“Not for you! Not for us! Why the hell do you care so much this time?”

“Because I love you, asshole!”

And then there’s silence, and staring, and then Theo cracks a smile

“Heh, fag.”

Kissing after a confession, as it turns out, makes both of them short circuit, and they wake up three days later still tangled up on top of each other, half falling off the apartment couch

“Y’know… I think we’re both fags now dude,” Will whispers, and they chuckle in the space between their mouths. “I did it first though.”

*he does get this later with Billie and Thea, but that’s a whole separate post

(As one last thing wanted to add that Love Came Along by Pansy Division perfectly encapsulates the vibes of Will n Theo’s relationship to me, AKA something casual and almost humorous while still being super intimate and emotional, so def check it out if you’re ok with suuuuper explicitly sexual lyrics bfgjgfdfg)

Headcanons masterpost

[1kook]

subdued

— good boy joon on his bday x fem reader

summary; He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way. tags; birthday boy joon, solo rapper joon, college student reader (unspecified year/age lol), this entire fic is based off THIS joon everyone look and never forget him warnings; kissing, blowjobs, grinding, unprotected, birthday sex, sub!joon word count; 5k

notes; hoooo boy, if you think my other fics were self-indulgent, this one is straight from my 3 am thoughts... anyway. i actually have the same birthday as joon so this fantasy plays off very different in daydream universe no. 794 lol but i understand not everyone is as lucky as us sept 12 babies so i adjusted it 😌

The stoplight down the street from his building takes the longest. He had warned you of its faulty mechanics the very first time you visited. It lingered on red a beat too long, wasted precious seconds you could be spending with him. It’s been the sole challenger to your patience this past year. Every time you wanted to visit him, it was this same stoplight that held you up— made the sugar in his coffee cup settle, the food in its container go cold. It absolutely dampened your mood.

Today, it’s from the back of an Uber that you watch the red glow of the light, gaze fading in and out of focus. It’s raining, the rhythmic pattering of raindrops against the wind shield hypnotizing you. There’s a styrofoam box of takeout beside you falling into the same fate as all its predecessors, tucked inside a plastic bag. It’s his favorite today, the black bean noodles down the street from your university paired with a sickeningly sweet fizzy drink. (There’s a cheap bottle of wine too, but he was never one for getting shitfaced so it had a slim chance of consumption.)

The longer the light stalls, the more nervous you become. One glance at your phone tells you it’s nearing eleven forty-nine, your last message to him just a few minutes before. It was a slew of sad faces as you apologized for the fifth time that night. Another minute ticks by and you’re suddenly hit with the overwhelming fear that you won’t make it on time.

It was Namjoon’s birthday.

At least it would be for the next ten minutes.

You hadn’t seen him all day, your usual Saturday morning brunch postponed by your conflicting schedules. You had a huge group project coming up, and the other students in your group all had lives of their own, jobs, sports, dates, that made their schedules hard to work around. Namjoon, too, was busy gearing up for the release of his mixtape, a collection of songs he had worked hard on for the better half of the year.

He had been planning for this since you first met, around this time the previous year. It was all he ever spoke about these days, which was both endearing and worrisome. Regardless of how you felt about his avid dedication towards his mixtape, you would continue to support him through it all.

You were supposed to drop by after your last class, but one thing led to another and suddenly you were babysitting your neighbor’s kids as she ran off to the hospital. You had felt bad for her, something about a relative in an accident, and had said yes without thinking through what exactly that meant. Two overexcited children and a kitchen lined in cake batter, is what it meant. Your neighbor had returned a little before eleven, and by then you were really cutting it close.

The order you placed had been ready when you got to the little restaurant, and, deciding to forgo bus stop waiting times, the Uber came quickly enough. Because things can never go your way, there was a small accident on one of the major streets that set you back, leading to your driver taking an abrupt detour that you doubt was helpful, and now you were here.

You bite down on your lower lip for probably the umpteenth time, flipping your phone around to check the time. 11:52.

The light changes a second later, your chauffeur for the evening slowly easing his foot off the break and sending the two of you one step closer to your boyfriend. The movement doesn’t ease your nerves in the slightest, foot tapping wildly against the carpeted flooring of the backseat as you think of that creaky elevator. Will it be on your side today? Or will it force you to run four flights of stairs up to his floor?

You won’t know until you get there, absentmindedly tipping the poor soul who bore witness to the rolling waves of tension that had swamped your body tonight. You can only hope it’s an appropriate bill, taking off toward the front doors of his building. The water on the sidewalk splashes beneath your frantic footsteps, tickling your bare ankles. The black boots you wore that day did nothing to save you, a small gust of cold air trying to sweep up beneath the thin material of your dress, luckily to no avail.

The front area is as empty as it usually is, though you doubt the late hour would change that. Knuckle jammed harshly against the flickering elevator button, you wait impatiently for it to descend. His small label takes up the entirety of the fourth floor, studios squeezed beside meeting rooms and offices. It was by no means a monster record label, but it had gained enough fame from the quality soloists it produced over the years; Namjoon was quickly becoming one of those. The carriage is on the fifth floor, right above his, the digital panel beside you says. It passes his floor, passes the fourth, and then… nothing.

You curse every deity in the universe as you watch it freeze on the second floor. You had been so close, you groan, kicking the tip of your shoe against the metal doors. It does nothing to fix the broken elevator, and with one heavy sigh, you turn to the flight of stairs. It was 11:54 now.

The stairway is silent, off-grey concrete walls mocking you as the time continues to tick down. Holding the plastic bag to your chest, you start up the stairs in a hurry. The rustling of the bag grows annoying quickly, your thighs aching half way up. The platforms between floors provide nearly no reprieve before you ascend the next level of stairs, heaving for air as you turn onto the final platform before his floor. Your hair sticks uncomfortably to the back of your neck.

You can’t fling the door open fast enough, heart hammering between your rib cage. The hallway is filled with blissful air conditioning, nothing like the stuffy air of the staircase. You relish in it for a second before taking down the winding halls, torpedoing straight into the room your boyfriend’s in.

“Happy birthday,” you gasp, only hoping you made it in on time. Your sudden appearance has him whirling around in surprise, dark eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets at his surprise intruder. The digital clock above one of his speakers blinks back at you. 11:59.

The surprise wears off soon enough. Namjoon melts back into his puffy chair, easy going smile taking over his features as he regards your ruffled appearance. “Jesus, what’ve you been up to?” he teases playfully, standing up to relieve you of the bag in your hand, still warm against your chest.

He brushes a kiss against your forehead, placing the plastic bag somewhere off behind him before enveloping you in your arms. “Thank you, baby,” he hums, strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. Almost immediately the tension in your body melts away, oozes out of your skin as you bury yourself against his chest. It feels good to be there, the faint cologne from that morning clinging to his white zip-up.

“Sorry I’m so late,” you murmur. Feeling comforted enough, you pull away from your hiding spot against his chest. The arms hanging loosely around your waist don’t let you get too far, low-lidded eyes staring down at you over the straight angle of his nose. “So much happened today— I’m sorry.”

Namjoon waves your apologies off as he guides you towards his computer chair. He plops down first, pulling you over to sit on his thigh. The clock ticks by, and suddenly his birthday is over. The scent of the noodles fills his dark studio, and you become acutely aware of the soft melody drifting from his speakers. Nothing too developed yet, just a simple piano with a bass drum kicking in.

“Another year, another grey hair,” he sighs, leaning back against his seat. You laugh at his dramatics, running a finger through the head full of silver hairs he’s rocking this time around.

“I fail to see the issue,” you muse, shifting about until you can loop your arms around his neck, pulling his face close enough to yours to kiss. He lets you, opening his mouth when your tongue prods against his plush, doll lips. He tastes of that energy drink you know is bad for him, the one that keeps him up way past his nonexistent bedtime. You should scold him for it, but there’s something about the way he molds his mouth against yours that makes it difficult to pull away and do so. You kiss him for a few minutes, lips casually molding against each other.

The enticing scent of the food you brought over has you pulling away with a soft smack of your lips, lazily grinning down at him. “You should eat,” you encourage, attempting to move out of his grip. If anything, the hands on the small of your back stiffen, keeping you comfortably pressed against him.

“Don’t want to,” he whines, half-lidded eyes gazing at you with that tender look. He leans back in, nudges his nose against yours until you’re moving to accommodate him again. His lips catch yours a second time, a soft sigh released on his end. His body feels like a furnace, swaddled up in that nice white tracksuit, some fancy brand he’s an ambassador for. There’s something about him that’s different today, cherry lips catching you in a daze. He seems totally aware of the pull he has over you, moving his mouth against yours like he knows he’s won you over and was now ready to dedicate the rest of the night to you.

You weren’t having any of that, at least not tonight.

Knitting your hands in his hair, you tug. You tug and tug until he’s releasing you with a whine, swollen red lips shiny from your lip gloss. It’s certainly a look on him, and as he pants beneath you, you’re left wondering why he’s chosen to be an elusive rapper when his doll-like face could easily blend into the idol world.

Another mystery you’ll never solve.

“Missed you today,” he admits bashfully, lips pulling into a shy smile he tries to hide from you. You reward his confession with a soft peck against his cheek, hands cupping his soft cheeks between your palms. Despite how easily you’d been forgiven before, there’s a tinge of a whine curling around his next words. “Who blows someone off on their birthday?” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut.

You chuckle, tracing your thumbs over his skin. They just barely brush against the corners of his mouth, the soft flesh begging to be touched. “Who spends their birthday cooped up in a tiny room?” you reply teasingly, leaning in to kiss the mole beneath his plump lips.

Namjoon inhales softly, head lolling backwards as you kiss down his chin, over his pulse point. “Was inspired,” he weakly defends, the grip around your waist growing tight. “There was a pretty girl in my dreams last night.”

“Oh?” You hum, slithering off his lap. The floor mat he has beneath his rolling chair to protect his hardwood floors is cold. There’s ridges on it that press uncomfortably into your knees. But all that is forgotten when you roll your hands over his shoulders, kiss his neck tenderly, and he groans. “How pretty?”

Your back is straining from being awkwardly stretched over him in a desperate attempt to kiss the entire column of his neck. He doesn’t make it easier, hips wiggling before you as you nip against the side of his neck. “Joon?” you coo, sliding your hands down his chest. The muscles jump beneath his zip-up, one shuddering exhale escaping him.

“R-Real fuckin’ gorgeous,” he mumbles, hands circling your shoulders. He wants to pull you close like he always does, but you can tell he’s equally as conflicted by the need to push you down onto his cock.

The front zip of his sweater gives with one tug, the clicks of the teeth coming apart following your hand down. He’s wearing a plain white shirt underneath, the beginnings of sweat clinging to the flimsy material. You place your hands around his waist, let the fabric catch over your knuckles as you glide them upwards. The sinewy muscle quivers under your touch, Namjoon’s breath catching in your throat.

When you reach his pecs, he barely contains the whimper in his throat, hands releasing you in favor of clutching at the armrest. “Please,” he huffs, the white zip-up halting you from pushing any further. “Off.”

“Of course,” you purr, pushing it over his deltoids. He doesn’t shake the sweater off completely, the sleeves catching over each other in his haste to feel you closer against his body. The t-shirt remains tugged up to his chest, held up by your wandering hands. “Relax for me, okay?” you croon, leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. The plush skin bounces back, redder than ever. He nods shakily, chest rising and falling.

You place a kiss directly on his sternum, his heart fluttering wildly just a few inches away. You feel it beneath your palm, the way it beats wildly out of rhythm for you. The music loops back around, the same melodious tune mixing with his airy sounds. You trail your mouth lower, letting it mold against the faint ridges over his abdomen.

He’s been putting on muscle these last few months. It’s a sight you only get to appreciate in moments like these. Namjoon wasn’t a flashy performer; he was too shy to wear revealing outfits, not that they particularly fit his onstage aesthetic anyway. He liked it simple and dark, wanting his words to capture people more than his looks.

It was a humble approach, really, because you don’t doubt for a second someone with looks of his caliber couldn’t pull fans with that alone. But as you said before, Namjoon didn’t like that sort of thing, and you suppose that’s why he’s declined invitations to join rookie boy groups time and again. He had worked hard to make himself known on his own, frequenting various hip hop scenes until he picked up steam. By the time you’d met him, he had his own contract, with this same company you’re currently in.

Now he was freshly twenty-six, on the cusp of releasing his first full mixtape, completely of his own creativity. His first mini-album had done extraordinarily well, but there had been a lot of outside partners and producers that pushed it along. This mixtape was one hundred percent him, a fact you couldn’t be more proud of.

What better way to treat him than to shower him in attention like this?

You press a soft kiss to his belly button, glancing up just in time to see those plush lips pull into a smile, pearly white teeth appearing in between, eyes fluttered shut. The waistband of his matching bottoms stretches easily enough, giving you a brief view of the dark underwear he’s got underneath. You let it snap back into place, relishing in the tiny gasp he gives. “You’re acting extra sweet for me today, aren’t you?” you smirk, running a palm over the bulge beneath his pants. His knuckles tighten dangerously against his armrests.

“I’m the same,” he chokes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head when you give his outline a teasing squeeze. “Just… lower please.”

His statement is followed with one hand on the back of your head, tentatively urging you closer to his stiff member just an inch. He’s so polite and shy tonight, cheeks tinted a nice rosy color as he looks away from your lewd expression practically salivating over the prize hidden beneath his clothes. His bottoms come down around his thighs, throbbing cock bouncing up to tap his stomach.

“Oooh,” you say appreciatively, taking him in your hand. Namjoon flinches, a groan catching in his throat as you trail your fingers over his cock. They end at the tip, swollen and red; you can’t help yourself as you duck down, kissing the tip softly. Namjoon full on shivers, hips bucking against your touch.

“Please, just... touch,” he begs, wiggling around underneath you.

You nod, pulling away to plant your hands against his hips. “Have to sit still for me, big boy,” you remind him, pushing down until his bottom glues itself firmly to the leather padding of his chair again. He does so with a huff. Clouded eyes meet yours, so beautifully framed by the blood that rushes to his face.

Despite calming him just moments before, the first kiss against his tip makes him squirm and buck like a wild stallion, your name falling from his lips like a mantra. Eventually he calms down, labored breath fanning across his chest as he watches you lower your mouth down around his cock. It twitches in your hand, one perfect pearl of cum oozing from the tip. It’s barely rolled down past his head when you strike, the tip of your tongue scooping it up quickly.

A little on the salty side, but it still makes you shudder. Above you, Namjoon isn't faring that well either. He groans, hands clenched over the armrest as he tries his best to be good for you. “More,” he says hoarsely, silver hair dangling over his eyes. It creates a curtain between you two, his beautiful expression hidden from your view.

You ease his cock down your mouth. It feels just as good as you remembered. Your knees ache from being on the ground, but you wouldn’t trade places with anyone in the world right now. An inaudible moan resonates from above you, his back going stiff the further down you swallow him. You could practically feel yourself drooling, excess saliva making his entrance into your mouth so much easier. You get about two thirds down before it becomes difficult, lips pulled taut around his swollen member. The tip is reaching dangerous territory now, nudging against the soft spot in the back of your throat.

You could gag, but that would only startle him away, make him worry about you. You don’t want that, not when he’s melting into his seat with every inch you swallow. So you push the discomfort away, focus on feeling the entirety of his cock in your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whines, shaking his silvery locks away from his eyes when he leans forward to look at you. You take extra care to bat your lashes up at him; he obviously likes the sight, his lower lip catching between his teeth for the umpteenth time that night.

When you finally surpass that initial discomfort, his cock wonderfully resting in your mouth and throat, everything becomes so much better. The drag against your lips feels almost heavenly, never mind the fact it would certainly leave the skin around there soft and tender tomorrow. It’s something you’re willing to overlook, running the flat length of your tongue against the underside of his cock to distract him.

You make one hand busy, reaching down to cup his balls. The skin is soft, but tight, like it’s taking everything in him not to bust right now. The other situates itself loosely against his hip, thumb drawing slow circles against the skin. He’s grown hotter since you’ve gotten here, like your own personal furnace.

He’s a good boy, through and through.

It had admittedly taken a while to tame his wildness; there had been a time where he would push your head down his cock the second your lips touched his mouth. Now, he fared pretty well against his own carnal instincts, blunt nails digging into the armrests in order to stop himself. Thanks to this, you’re able to pick up a comfortable pace against his cock, bobbing up and down between his thighs.

“M-More,” he pants, muscles trembling from the exertion it takes for him to hold himself back. “Please,” he throws in.

You appease him, letting go of his balls to grip the base of his cock. He hisses at the touch, hips unconsciously jumping. You hold him tight, squeezing his cock between your palm until his thighs are quivering too. The descent down his cock is easier too, no longer trying to swallow him up whole every time.

It only calms him for so long before that same plea is falling from his lips again. This time, you pull off completely, lazily jerking him off as you rest an elbow on his thigh, chin falling into your open palm as you analyze his figure. “Always need more,” you sigh, the slippery sound of your hand mingling with his little moans.

Namjoon’s jaw tightens, head falling forward until his chin touches his chest. “Would like to fuck now,” he seethes, his t-shirt growing damp at the collar from all the sweating he’s been doing.

“Is that so?” You smile. As you say this, you loosen your grip, letting your hand fall away much to his dismay. “Your clothes, Joon,” you explain, using his thighs as leverage to push yourself to your feet again. There’s creases on the skin over your knees, skin and joints tender from the position. That gets pushed to the back burner as you watch Namjoon finally fight his way out of his clothing, hands stuck in the sleeves of his zip-up.

“Off, off,” he huffs, eventually tugging it off all inside out. The shirt is next, neck hole stretched huge as he peels it away from his body.

You muffle a giggle behind your palm, placing a hand on his bare shoulder when he’s done. He’s looking at you with those same, desperate eyes, stealing your heart without even realizing. “Adorable,” you tease only to watch the blood crawl over his ears and down his neck. You throw a leg over him, his thigh pressing against yours. Before you can mount him you’re tugging off the thin jacket you’d worn that day, pawing it off until only the thin barrier of your dress is between the two of you.

With both knees pressed to either side of him, you finally show him what he wants to see. The sundress you’d worn that day makes everything so accessible. The flimsy material stretches over your ass, sits pretty around your waist to reveal your sheer panties. The sight makes Namjoon groan, eyes downcast as he fights to see your pussy. You return his gaze with a hand against his jaw. “Look at me, sweetheart,” you murmur, looping your hands around his head, finding their place on the nape of his neck first. Your fingers instinctively run through his locks, drawing an airy gasp from him.

“Yes,” he breathes, lower lip brushing against yours from such close proximity. You smile down at him, easing your core down on him. His cock pressed against your clothed panties, leaving a wet trail against the exterior side of them.

He fits snugly between your folds, hesitant hands resting at your hips like he wants to grind you down but knows better than to attempt such a bold move. You reward his behavior with a faint kiss against his cheek. “Good boy, Joonie,” you praise, barely containing your own gasp as you wiggle over his cock. “Being so nice for me today,” you sigh, grinding down against him.

Namjoon shivers, cock throbbing against your soiled panties. “Always good for you,” he groans, a trail of sweat running down from his hairline.

Another kiss is pressed against his face, this time against his cheekbone as you begin grinding back and forth. “That’s right,” you confirm, hugging him tight to your chest, until his face is practically buried between your breasts. “Even on your birthday,” you sigh, stretching a hand behind you to tug your panties to the side. The first glide of his cock against your folds has him bucking against you, a choked gasp escaping both your lips.

“I-Yes,” he cries, hands wrapped tight around you.

You bite down a whimper, his length running over every inch of your folds. It makes your toes curl when he stimulates your clit. Your attention had been solely on making him feel good tonight, that the barest amounts of pleasure to your own body was enough to make you shake. “Tell me,” you pant, moving back to grab him by the shoulders as you run against his length. “What you would do if you weren’t my good boy.”

Namjoon cries at your sudden pace, head lolling back as he fights every instinct in his body telling him to just fuck right into your inviting heat. “Can’t,” he sobs, eyes squeezed shut.

“Joon,” you growl, snapping your hips forward roughly. “Tell me.”

He shakes his head with another whimper, thigh muscles jolting beneath you. It makes you shift forward, clit running hard along his cock. “No, you’ll—“ he wheezes, fingers digging deep into your sides now. “You’ll… think I’m bad. Dirty.”

You lean forward, shove your tongue into his mouth with no warning. He moans, letting you push his tongue around until yours is halfway down his throat, licking and slurping every inch of him you can reach. You yank his head back by the hair, catching those watery eyes. “Tell me all your dirty thoughts,” you croon, lips trailing down his jaw. “Tell me them and maybe we’ll make them come true.”

Namjoon moans. “You,” he hesitates. While he does that, you reach down to align his cock with your hole, throbbing to be filled. His tip brushes along the tightened lips surrounding your entrance, reducing him to a stuttering mess. “You tell me I’m dirty,” he cries, “dirty and messy, and-and you make me beg for forgiveness just to cum, s-sometimes you don’t like it and make me d-do it again,” he babbles. “I-if you’re feeling mean y-you just edge me. Until I cry.”

You sink down on his cock, your shared arousal making the glide slippery and so wet. It’s almost too easy how he fits inside of you, your back arching as the head of his cock runs deliciously against your walls. The sensation of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock has him gasping for air.

“Until you cry?” You repeat through clenched teeth. “Like you are now?”

Namjoon trembles, hips and thighs twitching every few minutes. He nods his head, but he’s become overwhelmed by his thoughts and your touches, so the movement ends up looking more dazed. There’s a couple tears that escaped and painted pretty trails down his cheeks, one catching on the corner of that pout of his. The rest pool in the corner of his eyes, glassy just like his sweat-soaked skin.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble, brushing his hair away from his face to press a kiss against his forehead. Namjoon groans. “Fuck me, baby,” you purr, wrapping your hands around his neck again. “You deserve it.”

Namjoon lets out a loud cry at your permission, hands tightening around your hips. He wastes no time, bucking into you like a wild animal that’s desperate to cum. You don’t blame him; he’d been close to cumming down your throat, and recounting his demeaning fantasies while stuffed deep inside you certainly didn’t help.

You let him jostle you to and fro, dick slipping in and out of your pussy with an unreal amount of force. He was grunting all kinds of sounds against your shoulder, biting down on the skin like it would calm him. It doesn’t, and you already know there will be a big bruise to attend to tomorrow.

With every thrust, the head of his cock rubs against that sensitive spot in your pussy, back arching at the angle he pushes in at. It makes every hair on your body stand, the animalistic sounds he’s releasing reaching deep into your core.

It’s a brief reminder of what this man was truly capable of, buff arms and thick thighs lifting you around like you’re nothing. He could so easily take you over in the bedroom, push you down and ram himself inside until you cried. But it’s the other way around, and he likes it that way.

Well, you liked it that way too, especially if it meant having this big strong man so pliant under your touch.

“Fuck,” you moan, holding the back of his head closer to where he’s seemingly set on bruising your entire shoulder. “Just like that.”

Your walls clench around his length, squeezing him so tight that it becomes difficult for him to move. A wail catches in his throat, his body beginning to burn out from the initial burst of energy he’d received when you gave him the go ahead. “I-I,” he pants, weakly and unevenly bucking into you. You know he’s close from the cute wavering of his speech, his usual eloquent speaking style reduced to a stuttering mess. You take pity on him, gearing your muscles up again to see him to completion.

It doesn’t take long. A few slow rolls of your hips later and he’s spasming beneath you, your name rolling off his tongue in a series of soft whimpers. He continues groaning even afterwards, hands falling limply to his sides as you finish yourself off.

The thing about this big strong body was that it burned out extremely fast, his head rolling back to give you a clear view of his fucked out features. He was tired, absolutely drained from your little moment, and such was exhibited on his lax frame. Your orgasm rolls around right after, stomach clenching. Despite the shock of pleasure that swallows you up, you can’t help the endeared smile that takes over your features at the sight beneath you as you cum.

“So proud of you,” you murmur afterwards, cupping his face in your hands to deliver a brigade of kisses against his skin. He groans in faux annoyance, letting you turn him this way and that as you shower him in affection. “My baby did so well today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, though the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “What’s there to eat?”

You snort, pushing yourself off of him. You wiggle your panties and dress back into place, tossing him his discarded shirt as you make toward the noodles. They’ve probably gone cold by now, neglected in favor of fucking like two bunnies in heat. Still, you give them a poke. Just as you’d predicted, they’re way too cold to be edible, a fact which greatly saddens Namjoon.

You weren’t having any of that, especially not on his birthday (it was 12:49 now, but technically, it’s still his birthday until he goes to sleep), which is why you make him pack everything up right away. “I’ll heat them up at my place,” you assure him, patting his bum as he whines at the sudden relocation. He’s tugging his zip-up on, the collar tugged all the way up for him to hide the lower half of his face behind.

It doesn’t stop you from pressing a kiss over where you know his mouth is.

“Come on,” you grin, waiting for him to lock up his studio. He falls into step beside you, grudgingly throwing a hand around your shoulders. You beam up at him, leaning onto your toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make you cry at my place,” you promise, relishing in the dark flush that floods the apples of his cheeks.

Copyright © July 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[purplekiwis]

The story of a hopelessly romantic saloon girl, her long lost lover and very stubborn horse. (Part 1)

A/N: Hi, so this is a ‘little’ piece I wrote for @stellarboystyles​​ 3 year anniversary fic challenge. Which was originally just meant to be a one shot, but as usual, I got carried away with it. 🤷 Which is mostly why i’m only posting it now (3 months too late), but either way... Here it is! 🧡

P.S: This story goes a bit back and forth at the beggining, so mind the dates and locations as you read, otherwise it might get a little confusing.

Genre: Cowboy AU

Trope (3): Different Time Period 

Prompt (3):“you’re really cute when you start rambling like that”

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Alcohol Use and General Cowboy Rowdy Behavior  🤠  

Wordcount: 28K (total) 11K (part 1) [I divided it into 2 parts to make your reading more bearable. Also, I don’t know how this happened, so cope with me.]

Gravefort, Texas. 3rd of August, 1890

Thursday nights at the Mystery Galore Saloon were always busy.

It was Gravefort’s cowboys favorite place to rest their feet at the end of a long day of working on the ranch or down the mines.

It’s facade’s warped clapboards matched the ones from the rest of the street’s woody, meager buildings... that only differenciated themselves by the color of the lettering painted on their fronts. And still, Mystery Galore still managed to be the worst looking building by comparison... since it happened to be situated right next to Gravefort’s bank, whose facade besides monumental, was also kept in immaculate shape.

Any visitor who dared walking through the Saloon’s swinging doors, would most likely be met with groups of men of all kinds - from the most prestigious lawmen to the most wanted outlaws.

The saloon was the place where they’d all come together. Conversing over glasses of whiskey, downing shots of Tequila by the counter or playing poker or Monte while they bitched about their bosses and wives and nogotiated over cattle work.

Unfortunately, most often than not these congregations ended up resulting in beating scenes and sometimes, even shootings... much to Bathilda’s desmay.

Bathilda was the owner of the saloon.

She was a large woman in her fifties, but she carried her weight well. Mostly on her large breasts and strong hips, that she made sure to accentuate with a bustle, a tight leather corset and one of her characteristic long frilled skirts, that she liked to sway to the sound of the animated Piano chords that could be heard during the whole day by courtesy of Bill, the rounded looking piano player with permanent red stained cheeks, ebony hair and an enviable walrus moustache.

However, on this particular Thursday there was another peculiarly vivid sound echoing inside the thin walls of the Saloon...

Coming all the way from the dressing room.

“What in the Tarnation is going on in here?” Sally, the new girl, asked as she walked through the door in a hurry, pushing it shut behind her. “The costumers are complaining about the noise…”

Sally wasn’t really new anymore. She’d gotten the job two years ago, but to the rest of the dance hall girls, she was still a baby. Her looks didn’t help that fact. – With full, rosy cheeks, a cute little button nose and strawberry blonde strands that framed her face entirely, curling around her ears in an almost perfect arc.

“What happened?” The blonde questioned once she was met with a scene that startled her out of her disgruntled state.

There was one of her confreres, Valerie, sitting on her vanity bowling her eyes out. Her characteristic rouge blush was running down her puffy cheeks, along with the black mascara she was desperately trying to apply in front of the mirror in between sobs.

“She’s gotten engaged...” Bathilda, who was standing in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips informed with a heavy sigh.

In Gravefort and it’s surroundings, Bathilda had a reputation for being tough as nails, as the cowboys usually called her.

And even the bravest of them knew better than to mess with her or one of her girls... but deep down, under the woman's dark clothing and heavy make-up, rested a big heart of gold. Bathilda’s workers knew so,

Especially Valerie.

Ever since her mother had passed away from tuberculosis, Bathilda had been taking care of her almost as if she were her own daughter...

Valerie still had her dad though, old sheriff Monty. Although their relationship had seen better days…

“Oh! That’s amazing news Valerie! You must be delighted!” Sally hooted with genuine excitement. What only caused Valerie’s sobs to intensify as she let her head fall over her forearms and resumed to cry her heart out. “Aw…” The newby cooed, patting her friend’s back soothingly. Even though she couldn’t really feel it due to Agnes tightning her corset with a little too much effort. “I can’t wait until the day comes when someone makes me cry happy tears like that!”

“Oh Sally... such an innocent girl...” Bathilda scoffed, with a shake of her head.

“You really are new here…” Agnes, that was kneeling on the floor next to Valerie’s stool trying her best to comfort her, commented in a taunting tone.

“What? You don’t think I’ll find a husband someday?” The blonde asked with a scoff, causing Bathilda and Agnes to snort at her. “Is it a crime for a woman to believe in love in times like these?”

“It’s not that, mush-head.” Agnes replied sharply, a little humourously.

With another sigh, Bathilda opened the cubbord she kept her stack of spirits for special occasions at. “Will one of you just tell the newby? She’s bound to figure it out sooner or later...” The question was directed at Agnes and Judith, making both girls exchange a knowing look between them before their attention focused on Valerie again, who’s crying kept gotting worse with each word spoken out as Bathilda moved around the room, collecting two shot glasses and placing them harshly on top of the vanity, right next to where Valerie’s head still rested over her forearms.

“W-what is that?” The girl questioned in a whimper, lifting her droopy, tinted face at the sound of glass smashing against the wooden surface.

“Tequila.” Bathilda informed briskly, filling up the glasses to the brim and pushing one in Valerie’s direction. “Drink.”

Valerie hesitantly shook her head ‘No’, but the stern look she got from the motherly figure had her picking up the drink and taking it to her frowny lips. She hissed at the alcohol sting. “You stop that crying, right now.” Bathilda menaced, pointing her naturally large finger at the girl’s face. “Those embellishments you’re wasting are hard and expensive to make.” The older woman complained as she picked them up and stacked them back inside the vanity’s drawer. “I’m not sustaining your heartbreaks any further. If I see one more single tear, the next face powder and rouge is being cut off your salary.”

Valerie nodded, hastily wiping her face despite knowing Bathilda didn’t really mean it. “Heartbreaks?” Sally inquired quizzically, prompting all the women in the room to share looks between them again, still unsure of what to do. “Can someone please just tell me what the hell is going on already?” The blonde demanded in a pleading tone.

Agnes looked at Valerie for confirmation, who was still struggling to speak due to the lump in her throat. “Valerie's not crying because she’s happy…” Agnes informed once she finally managed to pull a encouraging nod out of her crying friend. “In fact, I think she couldn’t be sadder...”

“Oh?” Sally voiced with surprise. “So what happened? Don’t tell me he cheated on you with one of those calico queens working at Myrtle’s…”

The mention brought a snarl to Bathilda's lips. Myrtle’s Sapphires. The house of ill fame situated a couple of estabelishments down the street... and naturally Mystery Galore’s biggest competitor. But truly, the conflict between the places was more than just rivalry over alcohol sales and costumer frequency… In fact, one could say it went as deep as blood, since it’s owner Myrtle, was Bathilda’s gruesome half-sister.

It was no secret that ever since childhood, the two had done nothing but bump heads and go at each other’s throats... literally.

And don’t get it twisted, Bathilda was no saint, but Myrtle was mean enough to eat off the same plate with a snake.

“It’s not that...” Judith disclosed hesitantly. “It’s just that Valerie... she’s not in love with the chap.”

“Blimey…” The other girl mumbled lowly. “Is he ill-favored?”

Judith shruged her shoulders in reply to the question. “He’s alright. You’ve probably seen him around... He comes around to see Valerie sometimes.”

Sally looked a little lost. She didn’t remember ever seeing Valerie paying extra attention to any of the men that came to the hall.

“...His name is Otis Montgomery.” Judith continued. “He’s a rancher. His dad owns a big cattle farm in Vernon.”

“A cattle farm?! Sounds like a good deal to me!” Sally mused, before her gaze fell on her unconsolable work partner again. “Well… Don’t worry, Valerie…” She said, pulling a stool and sitting down on the available spot on the vanity. “Maybe it will go like it did with my great-aunt Sylvia. She absolutely dispised my uncle, and fairly so! The guy was a nightmare! Heavy drinker, uncle John… One time he even tried to hit her! Poor guy... ended up with a cracked head and two broken ribs... So, anyway,” The blonde concurred, realizing that she was getting carried away with her rambling. “They ended up warming up to each other after all. If you asked her now, she’d say he was the biggest love of her life.” Sally sighed dreamingly. “What I’m trying to say is that maybe you’ll end up warming up to that Otis guy after all, who knows… he might be the one true love of your life.”

To Sally’s surprise, her motivational words only ended up bringing a fresh wave of tears to Valerie’s already swollen and smudged eyes. Prompting Bathilda to squeeze the bridge of her nose in dispair, whist Judith rushed to join Agnes, who had resumed to caress Valerie’s back in a soothing manner.

“That’s the problem, can’t you see?” Judith told, in a slightly amused tone. “Valerie has already met the love of her life.”

Skeleton Trails, Missisipi. 16th of April, 1892

“C'mooon...!” Harry hissed, pulling at the reigns tightened around his horse’s head.

Unsuccessfully, once again... since it kept refusing to move. Instead it kept pulling backwords and dragging Harry across the floor by the heels of his boots. “You stupid…! stubborn…! bronco...!” The boy hissed between gritted teeth, pulling at the reigns as hard as he physically could.

His force prompted the mustang to give two steps forwards, leading Harry to believe that he had finally managed to get it to do what he wanted. “Yeah, that’s it… c'mon, that’s a good boy, Kiwi.” He praised. ...but suddently the horse stopped in his tracks.

It snorted. Projecting multiple strings of blabber directly onto Harry’s already dirty and sweaty face.

The boy sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pursing his lips in defeat. “You know, I really thought we were already past that attitude, mate.” Harry complained, loosening his grip on the caveson, in order to wipe his face on the sleeve of his shirt.

With his hands resting on his hips over the leather belt, that secured his mud stained, corduroy flares in place, Harry decided to take a breather. Trying to work out the best way of getting the wild equine to do as he pleased, preferably without getting kicked in the nuts in the process.

“Why do you always have to be so rowdy?” He asked the hoofed creature, that had resumed to feed on the tall, dried-up grass underneath their feet. “Guess it must be in your nature, isn’t that so?” He questioned back with a smile. “...it's why we get along so well, hm? We're like two peas in a pod.” He mumbled as he affectionately patted the horse’s back where its heavy saddle was usually placed, before his attention was brought to his rear, at the sound of whistling at distance. The cowboy turned around, being immediately met with the sight of one of his accomplices, Niall, waving his hands in the air and calling his name.

“Hurry up, heh?!” The youngster urged. “Don’t wanna miss our train now, do we?”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Harry shouted back at the boy before turning to face his horse again. “Don’t think I’ll forget about it...” He said, pointing his finger directly at the stallion’s muzzle, that was now standing right in front of his face again, since the animal had lifted his head at the ringing of a distant voice as well. “We’re still trimming and changing those horseshoes today.” The cowboy warned. “We’ve got a long journey ahead of us tomorrow,” In cue with his words, the horse pinned his ears back and tightened his muzzle, a sign that he was getting irritated. Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and clicked his tongue at the creature’s attitude. “You know, I’ve heard they’ve been paying real good for horse steak lately...” As if he could understand his owner’s empty threat, Kiwi snorted again. Coating Harry’s face with a fresh layer of snot and slobber. “Fucking hell...” The cowboy cursed, untying the red bandana from around his neck and wiping his face with it. “You my friend, are as crooked as a Virginia’s fence...”

Gravefort, Texas. 22nd of June 1886

“He can’t keep his eyes away from you.” Judith commented, leaning against the counter Valerie was behind of, currently wiping dry a stack of cups.

“Nonsense.” The other girl babbled, taking a stealthly peek towards the stranger sitting in one of the gambling tables before she turned around and began stacking the cups in one of the cupboards behind her. He was staring at her, just like he had been the last three times she’d checked. Eyes twinkling with amusement and a smug smile drawn onto his lips.

He was extremely good looking… Tall, with sun kissed skin and messy pecan locks that poured from under his bone colored cowboy hat and curled around his ears. His eyes were light and bright, and Valerie couldn’t deny the way her insides twisted everytime their gazes met for brief seconds. One of those times, he even dared to flash her a kittenish smile, which she rebated by looking away and swabbing a cloth over the counter, just so that he couldn’t spot the flush taking over her cheeks at the seemingly innocent interaction.

“It’s the forth night in a row that he comes by…” Agnes joined in on the conversation as she walked over from the other end of the counter with a tray in hand. She passed behind Valerie and placed the empty cups she had been collecting from the tables inside a water bowl, lazily washing them. As she did, she stared directly at the gambling table, not even bothering to hide her gawking. “I wonder what his business here is…” In queue with her sentence, the other two girls also turned their heads to take a better look at the guy, who was luckily distracted by the deck in his hand.

“I bet he’s a gunslinger…” Judith guessed. “I haven’t seen him around before, and those are the ones that always come and go…”

“I don’t know...” Agnes hummed apprehensively. “He’s got more of a railroad worker fit. Slim with a broad back, strong arms… I’ve heard they’ve started building the new railroads for the coal mine last week, and Bill was saying they’ve hired some outsiders as well… Ain’t that right Bill?” She questioned, tilting her head towards the Pianist, but he didn’t descry her question. Too delirious over the chords he was playing and the large quantity of red wine he had already ingested.

“I’d say he’s an entertainer.” Judith ventued further. “Notice how he’s managed to capture the attention of the whole table…” She disclosed, leaning over the counter and speaking in a whispery tone as if he could somehow hear her from across the room. “The man’s got experience… And charisma! Definitely an exhibition shooter… Plus, his trousers are too clean for someone who’s been laying tracks all day.”

“Why don’t you just go over there and ask him?” Valerie suggested with feign indifference, picking up the discarded cloth and vigorously wiping the gin splatters a group of regulars had left over the counter on their way out. “I’m sure he would enjoy the company... And I would thoroughly enjoy not having both of you knocking around my ears.”

“Thought we’d pass you the chance, you fool!” Agnes spat back, forging a offended expression. “He’s clearly trying to make a mash on you…”

“You know I don’t get with passengers…” Valerie acknowledged. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

“Nor with locals…” Agnes added on. “Swear that if your skirt was any less short I’d take you for a nun in disguise...”

Gravefort, Texas. 9th. of February, 1892

“Valerie…” Agnes breathed out with a chuckle, placing her hand over her coworker’s forearm. “That would be an awful mistake.”

“I have to agree on that one. It’s good for a woman to get some experience before she gets married...” Judith started, taking a seat on one of the tall stools and resting her chin over her hand with her gaze locked on Valerie’s unpleased one. “Some say it’s even the secret to a happy marriage... I believe them. Whether you like it or not, when it comes to men, it’s always easier to keep ‘em in line when you know how to please ‘em in bed.”

“That sure is…” A curly wolf sitting alone on one of the counter edges confirmed. His hair was grey and moderately long, just like the hook moustache that curled over his upper lip, and his treacherous eyes were cloaked by a dark shadow. Consequence of the wide brim of his hat.  

He lifted his glass in the air in a single-handed toast and downed the golden liquid in a swift motion, dropping the cup over the counter with a loud clink. “I suppose none of you birds would like to join an old rag like me for a dance, would you?” He inquired, flashing his big yellow grin at the girls and wiggling his bushy eyebrows invitingly.

“Maybe so…” Judith disclosed with a charming smile. “Might need a refreshment to get me going though, I’m getting quite hot under all these flares…” She waved her fan in front of her exposed chest and battened her eyes at him. Contrary to Valerie, Judith was a natural in the art of flirting with the cowboys. Alluring them spend the whole night at the saloon, blowing their wages in games and overpriced alcohol.

“What do you fancy, petal?” The man asked, adjusting himself in his seat. “Perhaps some Rye Whiskey?”

“I reckon that’ll do just fine.” The blue-eyed beauty agreed, nodding her head to Valerie who was already pouring both of them a drink. She grabbed it from the counter with her right hand and extended her left to the man, who wasted no time in taking it and leading her across the room to demand the promised dance.

“Unbelievable…” Valerie shook her head, watching a series of younger cowboys pushing eachother around as they desperatly tried to steal Judith away from the old fogey. “Can’t these fools pick on the fact that dances must be patronized?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually…” Agnes concluded. “All I know is that as long as none of them pulls out a gun, I’m going to keep looking the other way…” Both of the girls sighed in silent agreement. “Do you think he would like to dance?” She asked, nodding her head towards the handsome stranger, that was now happily collecting a couple of Maravedies he’d won over a bet.

Valerie shrugged lightly. “I don’t know… Doesn’t look like the kind to loosen his strings for female attention...”

“Maybe he’s just shy…” Agnes ventured, shifting in the counter so that she was directly facing Valerie again. “Although I bet you could get him to pay for way more than just a drink…”

“Don’t be vulgar!” Valerie scolded with offense. “I’m no prostitute.”

“I’m just saying… If he was making those eyes at me I would’ve given it to him for free…” Agnes carried on, much to Valerie’s dismay.

Valerie decided to ignore her teasing, tightening her grip around the cloth and submerging it inside a bowl of water and vinegar before she began scrubbing the already clean counter in petulant silence. “There’s enough dirt around my name as it is, I don’t need to go to bed with a heavy conscience on top of it.” She fretted, finally throwing the cloth back inside the bowl. “Call me old fashioned but I would like my first to be the man I end up marrying.”

“Watch that foul mouth!” Valerie snapped, grabbing the soggy, smelly cloth she had been wiping with and throwing it at the curly haired girl bent over the counter. She hadn’t meant for it to actually hit her, let alone smack the front of her gown… But it did! And Valerie couldn’t stop the cackle that broke away from her at Agnes’s scandalized expression. “How dare you? You slipshod floozy!” The girl wailed. “This bodice was gifted to me by Mother Myrtle, when I still worked for her!” She hissed, so that Bathilda didn’t hear her.

“Good! Now it smells just like her as well!” Valerie bickered, causing Agnes to fly of the handle and jump further over the counter, trying to wrap her hands around Valerie’s throat, and consequentely flashing the whole room with her underwear. “Get off of me, you snake!” Valerie brushed off, grabbing another cloth and repeatedly smacking Agnes with it.

The girls were so immersed in their topsy-turvy discussion that they didn’t even notice that they were being loud and disturbing the costumers. At least not until Bathilda came rushedly walking from the back room and surprised them both with a splash of cold water over their heads.

“What’s all this fuss about?” The boss reprimanded, as both girls let out a squeal and cut apart immediately.

“Valerie has an admirer!” Agnes tattled bitterly, nodding her head towards the table with a mischievious smile. “But apparently she prefers to be hauling off on me rather than doing her job...” She told, leaving Valerie in the lurch.

“What are you waiting for, young lady?” Bathilda questioned, placing her hands on her hips as Valerie began stammering excuses why Agnes was seeing things and he certainly wasn’t interested on buying her drink. “I don’t care, convince him!” The woman interrupted, once she finally had enough of Valerie’s same old tell tale. “You’re a saloon girl, not a barmaid.” Bathilda said, placing her large palms on Valerie’s fragile shoulders and pushing her from behind the counter. “Speaking of which, where’s that godforsaken bartender I hired?” The woman inquired, moving her head from side to side as she looked for the redheaded, spot faced, half-grown boy.

“Probably in the back…” Agnes disclosed. “The poor thing... told me he has been having caughing issues...” She sighed with fake sympathy. “Must be from all of the tobacco he has been chewing lately…” At Agnes’s announcement, Bathilda cursed under her breath. Practically crashing through the back door, yelling for Armand and leaving the girls alone again.

“You’re a rancorous weasel.” Valerie accused with a raise of her eyebrows, realizing that Agnes was just trying to put a flea in Bathilda’s ear that Armand was the one who had been surreptitiously taking her Beech-Nut packs. “No wonder they kicked you out of Myrtle’s… Only a truly desperate cowboy could enjoy your company!” Valerie affronted, making half a turn in order to dry her hands and put her gloves back on before stepping out from behind the counter.

She moved pompously around the room, flaunting her hips the way she’d learn to over the past two years she’d worked at Mystery Galore. “Howdy gentlemen.” Valerie approached the inebriated looking men sitting at gambling table with a smile. Strategically placing her body so that she didn’t have to face the nobby cowboy she had been trading looks with all throughout the evening. “How are the odds today?” She asked, leaning against one of the empty chairs.

Their cackling stopped at the surprise intervention, all of the men darting their eyes and heads up to look at the beautiful girl standing before them, with her hands behind her back and a slightly flustered appearance. One of them burst into laughter at Valerie’s question. At his odd behaviour, some of the others let out a couple of nervous cackles, clearly unsure of what they should be laughing about.

“Come on sweetheart, you know women can’t play.” The man proclaimed.  He was a greasy looking big guy, with dirty and smelly clothes, thin and fragile hair strands cascading down his back and eyes so wide and souless that, if Valerie wasn’t looking directly into them, she would’ve believed belonged to a dead man. “Would be surprised if she could tell a king from a jack, heh?” He spoke to the man beside him, elbowing him on the arm and still choking on his own laughter.

Valerie stuck her nose up at the offensive comment. “I can assure you I can… and if you must know, I also consider myself quite a decent gambler...”

The man whistled mockingly at her stance. “Do me a favor, sweetheart…” He started, taking a hand to the pocket of his vest and pulling out a couple of coins that he let fall over the tabletop for Valerie to collect. “Why don’t you leave the gambling for the players and go get me a glass of Red Eye instead?”

Valerie exhaled through her nose in frustration, but decided to collect the coins from the table anyway… Figuring that it wouldn’t be wise not to keep her mouth shut to avoid causing a scene and upsetting Bathilda any further. “How much for a tit squeeze?” The man asked, with his eyes locked onto Valerie’s heart-shaped cleavage as she bent down to wipe the coins off the table.

“You’re as crude as homemade sin!” The girl arraigned, covering her chest and spinning around in the tip of her pointy shoe to head back to the counter. Except when she did, she heard a throathy mumble of a objectionable slur directed at her, immediately followed by the sound of a gun clicking behind her. She froze in place, withholding from making a single move or noise. Her mouth gasped, figuring that there was a gun barrel pointed at her back. Out of all the men in the room, if there was one who would have the audacity to shoot a woman from the back, it would’ve been a mad-looking, mannerless man like this.

“Apologize to the lady.” A gravely voice demanded in a calm tone, prompting Valerie to turn swiftly. Harry was leaning back in his chair, right arm firmly stretched over the round table. On his hand, stood a beautifully engraved Colt Revolver, pointed directly at the offender’s heart.

“Easy tiger…” The man said with nervous snigger. “Don’t be foolish, boy…” He advised. “A piece of Eve’s meat ain’t worth a noose around your neck. Put that gun down.”

Harry’s patience was growing thinner by the second, and judging by the way his index was confidently placed over the trigger, he’d done this at least a couple of times before. He cocked his gun menacingly, mouth contorting into a poised smile “One more disrespectful word towards the girl and I’ll fire a bullet right through that pea you call a brain.” He warned, smile fading into a hard line as his wild eyes squinted jeaopardizingly. “Apologize… and leave.”

The man’s lips drew back into a ravaging snarl, but the persistence of the aim towards his chest had him pushing himself off his chair. He patted the revolver on his belt as he did so. “Sorry, miss.” He excused himself, with a wry smile. Valerie didn’t comment on it, only stared him up and down with a snooty pout as he stepped into the porch, loudly pulling spit into his mouth and spewing on the floor with his gaze set on her. Then his eyes met Harry’s again. “I’ll see you around… cowboy.” He said suggestively, straightening his back and puffing out his chest before starting to pace towards the corral.

The silence settled for a couple of moments as Harry tucked his revolver back into his belt and those present collected their thoughts on the one-on-one they’d just witnessed. But it didn’t take long for the spirited and vivacious atmosphere to settle back in. After all, it wasn’t like it was uncommon for gunfights and altercations to start behind the doors of the saloon, with drunk and reckless men pulling out their guns for all and for nothing.

It was the first time, however, that someone had pulled out their gun in Valerie’s defence, and although the dagger she kept in her stocking had always served her just fine, she couldn’t help the contented feeling that erupted in her core at the handsome fella’s chivalry.

She glanced towards him, only to find him already staring at her with an exquisite gleam in his eyes. “Thank you, sir.” She expressed her gratitude sheepishly. “That was very kind of you.”

The handsome cowboy extended his hand in greeting. “Anytime, miss.” Falteringly, Valerie placed her satin covered fingers over his hard work blemished palm, and leaning down, he placed a gente kiss right over her knuckles. The shudder that flared up her spine at the impact made her feel dizzier than the tightness of her corset did, while simultaneously making her feel sorry for deciding to put her gloves on before heading over. “If that bloke ever adresses you like that again, give me a tip and I’ll make sure he won’t live to tell the story.”

“I appreciate your worriment, sir... but I believe that won’t be necessary. I've always managed to take care of myself, it's not a crude rusty man who's going to scare me.” With a gente smile and a grateful curtsy, Valerie anticipated her withdraw.

Harry couldn’t deviate his eyes away from the girl as she left. Eager eyes unsure of whether to focus on the way her long braid fell over her narrow waistline or on the bright colored plumage of her outrageously short garment, that did little to conceal her dark pigmented stockings and dear god, were her ankles out?

“Hey miss!” The cowboy called, making Valerie tilt her head over her shoulder to look at him. There was an effortless smile on both of their lips as their eyes met one more time. “Has anyone ever told ya you have the prettiest eyes in the whole West?” Valerie spurt out a nervous giggle, fixing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes focused on the frills of Harry’s brown leather jacket, that swang around appealingly with each move that he made as he sat back down.“Know what they remind me of?”

His question had her bashfully shaking her head ‘No’, trying to conceal her coffee brown eyes from him while simultaneously covering up the heat spreading over the entirety of her face and neck at the compliment. “Cherries,” He answered his own question, and slowly, Valerie picked up her head and stared into the boy’s equally beautiful green ones. “They’re my favorite.”

But there was nothing he could do about it now, so he mustered up all the courage he had and walked up the ring, climbing over the barricade and sitting on the edge the beast stood under. He couldn’t help running his hand through forehead. There was sweat pooling on his scalp and creeping down his face in thick globules. The cowboy flinched once one of the salted drops slithered inside one of his eyes, but he rubbed it off quickly, knowing he wasn’t in position to afford any distractions.

Gravefort, Texas. 4th of July 1886

As the yearly warmest days arrived to Gravefort, so did the the annual holiday festivities and exhibitions.

This year, Gravefort’s dwellers were in particular great luck and awe, since they would be able to witness Bill Irving’s outstanding skills in the flesh. Irving was one of the greatest bronco riders of the whole West, known for his familiarity with the legendary Buffalo Bill and Miss Annie Oakley herself.

Therefore, contrary to what happened during the traditional modest festivities, the whole town and residents of it’s surroundings had came out to see the show. Resulting into the whole site being jam-packed with families, cowboys, lawmen and even land workers. It wasn’t usual for the bosses to give free afternoons to their employees on the national holidays, but quite frankly, not even the sternest big bugs could overlook this year’s truly special guest. It was an unmissable event for any western… Including Harry.

“Got anything to cool down a man’s gut?” The young cowboy heaved exasperately, rolling up his sleeves and waving his already half unbottoned shirt.

“Here you go.” The bartender announced, placing a cooled down beer bottle in the small counter as Harry took his hand to the pocket of his trousers, picking out a couple of pennies and handing them down directly to his hand.

Without further hesitation, the cowboy took the bottle to his lips, chugging almost half of it in one go. It god rid of his dry throat, but the temptation to down the other half was proving to be hard to resist, so he decided to focus his attention on the ring for the time being, where a team of boys were currently trying to rope a snoozy calf.

He was just hoping the distraction would make the drink in his hand last a little longer... but that’s when he saw the beautiful girl he’d met at the Saloon standing there, with her arm tangled with a tall, handsome belvidere. The sight caused Harry’s stomach to sink a little further down his body. And Christ, he didn’t know if there was any use in beseeching, but once he noticed the man’s other arm kept the hold of another woman, he couldn’t help but to wish from the recesses of his heart for the beauty in the high-waisted skirt and tucked in blouse to be the unfettered one.

As if she could sense his staring, the girl peeked over her shoulder, looking away immediately as their gazes met. However, it didn’t take long until Harry spotted her skittishly glancing back at him over again. In a sudden outbreak of bravery, Harry nodded and sparked a rabbity smile at her. She greeted him back the same way. That couldn’t not be a good sign, right? He was pondering on coming over and properly introduce himself to her, when he got interrupted by a unexpected guest.

“Howdy.” Avriel, one of his work mates saluted, taking the available spot next to Harry on the counter. The boys shared a beer and engaged into small conversation for a bit, mostly talking about the venue and having a laugh at the lack of skill of the kids attempting to ride an old goat in the second ring. “Aren’t you from Horse’s Road?” Avriel asked, suddently remembering a previous conversation they’d had.

“Born and raised.” Harry confirmed, taking the last gulp of his beer.

“So you can ride a bull, right?”

Harry pursed his lips, tilting his head from side to side. “Sort of…”

“You should sign up for the contest then,” Avriel good-naturedly suggested. “I would if I could, but my crooked spine won’t let me.” Harry srunched up his nose and shook his head at the suggestion. He was already uncomfortable enough with the heat as it was, didn’t need to add physical activity and dirt to the mix. “They’re paying good money this year. 250$ for the first prize, 75$ for second and third.”

Harry let out a little dumbstruck whistle at the large ammount. “Is the entry free?”

“Completely free.” The bartender butted in on the conversation. “Hey! You two! There’s a gentleman over here that wants to sign up for the contest!” He screamed back at the some cowboys reclining against the barricades, making Harry’s eyes widen.

“I actually hadn’t decided yet...” His face was terror-stricken, once the two men came rushing over. To be fair, Harry was never the most skilled bull rider, matter of fact, he couldn’t even point out the last time he’d riden a bull. Back home, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take the lucky shot, but there was a pretty girl in the audience that he was trying to impress… And he wasn’t so sure this was the best way to go about it.

“What’s your name, son?” The older man inquired, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pencil from his shirt pocket.

“Uh…” Harry stalled, “It’s Harry… Styles.” He mumbled as he watched the man hastily scribble his name in a piece of paper. He ripped it out and handed it to him with a polite nod. Harry took a quick glance at it, folding it in half before saving it inside the pocket of his trousers. 

May God be with me, the boy thought as he ordered another beer, hoping the alcohol would help calm the ants in his pants.

He kept on waiting by bar, stomping the heel of his boot against the dry soil and chewing on his fingers impatiently as he heard the riders names being called. With his job, he’d naturally seen cows up close and personal quite often. Howbeit, he couldn’t deny that the large bucking bull before him was giving him the heebie-jeebies, especially since no man had been able to sit on it for longer than 7 seconds without getting launched into the air.

“And finally our last contestant, yet another brave gentleman.” A pounchy, well-groomed cowboy announced. “Give it up for mister…” He held the paper closer to his face and squinted his eyes. “Harry Styles.”

Harry swallowed thickly as the crowd cheered for him with little enthusiasm. Out of all the ways one could die in the west, being projected into the afterlife wasn’t exactly the most unfavorable or disreputable death he could think of… But in case he didn’t happen to die, it would still feel quite humiliating to nose dive into excrement in front of a large crowd and, especially, the beautiful young girl he had been trying to find the guts to court.

“All good, cowboy?” One of the men holding the barricade shut asked, and Harry nodded firmly. He breathed heavily through his mouth, trying to calm the nervous pinch he could feel in his stomach as he spreaded his legs and lowered himself until his backside was firmly sat on the bulls back. “Ready?” The same man asked in a compelling tone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be…” Harry granted, adjusting the hat on his head before he grabbed steadily onto the rope tightened around the bull’s torso. He pressed his eyes shut and focused on the countdown. “1… 2…” He tried to ignore the spine-chilling thoughts taking over everytime his eyes landed on the bull’s enormous horns, pointy and positioned right in front of him. “3.” Harry couldn’t help but to yelp out loud once the barricades opened and the bull leaped out, jumping in circles around the arena.

Harry’s brain felt like complete mush. All he could focus on was the fragile looking rope and the few strands of the bull’s rigid fur he was trying to keep a hold on to as it relentlessly reeled and kicked the air. With every wallop, Harry’s back arched forward and his butt jumped further away from place. He kept waving one of his arms in the air, trying to keep a steady balance but quite frankly the bull was relentless.

Harry’s eyes darted at the audience once he noticed Valerie’s figure standing there and cupping her mouth in shock, but unfortunantly he couldn’t even get a good glimpse of her face before the bull gave a powerful jerk and sent Harry’s narrow body off it’s back like it was nothing. Surprisingly though, mainly for Harry, he ended up landing on his feet.

The first thing he did once his soles dropped firmly over the sandy ground was letting out a long and relieved sigh but the bull was still dangerously springing around him, so he quickly backed to the barrel, staring at the time keeper. “6.2 seconds.” The man announced. “What makes him our forth best timer! Congratulations sir!” Harry shook his head in defeat. Don’t get him wrong, he was more than thankful that he managed to come out of that bull’s back still in perfect health, but he couldn’t deny that not winning a money prize for so little was annoying, to say the least. Especially since the money would’ve honestly done him some good. “Tough luck.” Someone commented from behind him, sympathetically patting his shoulder once before walking off.

“Tell me about it...” Harry mumbled to himself, kicking at the sand with the point of his boot as he did so.

His mood picked up though, once he felt a smaller and notably gentler hand touching his opposite shoulder. “You cut a figure out there, cowboy!” The stunning girl charmed, bending over the barricade to approach him with a dazzling smile on her lips.

Harry’s cheeks warmed at the compliment. “Thank you, miss.” He watched the gentleman next to Valerie bend over the fence and reaching out his hand to help him climb out of the ring. Harry took it as he aped up the bars, although a little begrudgingly. “Pardon my intrusiveness but I don’t think I’ve asked for your name yet…” He said, landing steadily on his feet for the second time that day.

“You haven’t…” The girl confirmed. “My name’s Valerie Bluebell,” She introduced herself. “This is my cousin Noyes… and his spouse Anetta.”

Harry breathed out in relief at the news that the bird was uncompromised after all… or at least not consorting with the handsome man that was Noyes. “Harry Styles.” He introduced himself back, shaking the other man’s hand with cordial grasp, and bowing down to greet Anetta and Valerie. “I take great pleasure in seeing you again, miss.”

Valerie wished he would’ve taken her hand instead, like he did that day at the saloon. But in all fairness, considering they were mere acquaintances, Harry would have to be a very shameless man to take her hand first in front of her relatives. “Indeed, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed with obvious infatuation as he timidly beamed at Valerie. “Oh, just call me Harry.”

Anette and Noyes traded a insightful look between them. Only a fool could not notice the way the pair were completely spellbound by one another’s presence. “Um, Noyes.” Anette pointedly cleared her throat. “Why don’t we just go take a look at the other ring and let your cousin and Mr. Styles catch up with a little more privacy?” She suggested, tangling her arm with her husband’s and giving him a little push.

Although Noyes seemed a little more uptight about leaving his cousin’s side, he ended up following his wife’s lead and walking off a couple of meters onwards, just enough to give the pair some elbowroom. “Can I offer you a drink, miss? Are you a whisky appreciator?” Harry ventured to ask, after a couple of seconds of shy smiling and lumbering silence.

“So… Harry.” Valerie tested the name on her tongue, and Harry loved the way the syllables dripped from her lips with such natural sweetness. “What’s your business in Gravefort?”

“With Ginger, yes…” Valerie confided. “But I’d prefer an Apple Jack if you please…” She suggested with modesty, figuring that it would be best to be sincere about her tastes from the start.

“An Apple Jack for the lady it is then…” Harry chimed after her, loud enough so that the bartender could hear him and get to make her a drink.

“You know, just the usual... A job opportunity came up for the summer.” The boy elucidated briefly. “Same as most fellas around here, I’m sure.” He dismissed the topic, not wanting to make the focus of the conversation about himself. He’d much rather know all about her. He wanted to know about her childhood, what her favorite season of the year was, but most of all, he wanted to know what she saw when she looked at him.

He wondered if she liked his eyes as much as he liked hers. Women usually always claimed they looked lovely… Either their blueish green color or something about the way they gleamed when he smiled. Harry couldn’t really remember their exact words, especially once the girl asked him another question. “Does that mean you’re working at the new railroad?”

“No, no...” Harry enlighted “I came for a job at that big grange close to the post office... You know, the one with two floors and blue shutters.”

For some reason, his answer made Valerie’s eyes widen and her mouth open in awe. “That’s such a nice property!” The girl cooed out loud. “I’ve always wondered how it looked on the inside...”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean…” Harry exclaimed, only now realizing that the words that came out of his mouth sounded an awful lot like a vulgar sex invitation. “Miss Valerie… I didn’t mean…” He placed his drink next to Valerie’s discarded one and reached for her hand instead, making both of their hearts effortlessly skip a beat as their fingertips touched. “I swear I only meant ‘cause the owner doesn’t allow the workers inside the house.”

Harry let out a chuckle at Valerie’s wishful suspire. “I would love to show you the house, but I’m afraid the best I can do is give you a tour of the cattle barn.”

Harry got distracted, once the bull’s horns collided loudly against the ring fence, preventing him from seeing the indignation taking over Valerie’s features. “Excuse you?” Valerie gasped, placing the drink back on top of the counter loudly. “Thank you for the drink Mr. Styles, but I do not appreciate invitations of that nature… and I certainly believe that I deserve better than a barn lay. Have a good day.”

She didn’t reply to him right away, too blown away by the warm jitters running up her hand and forearm from where Harry’s wrapped fingers were. “Right...” She sounded breathless, voice coming out simultaneously husky and pitchy. “What kind of job do you do at the grange then, Mr. Styles?”

Harry pinched his lips, trying to hide the nervous giggle crawling up his throat. She looked marvelous. Eyes bright like wild cherries and almost as dark as the long strands of hair she’d conservatively tied into an updo today, her nose was straight, yet slightly hooked at the tip, mouth full and pink like cactus flowers and oh, how Harry wished to find out if it tasted as sweet and pulpy as prickly pears. “A little bit of everything...” He managed to spurt out. “But I have to admit bulls aren’t really my area of expertise...”

“What is then?” She asked with genuine inquiringness.

“Horses...” Harry rebuffed, his cheeks growing slightly pink at the confession.  “Especially the wild ones.”

“Holy cow! So you’re a bronc buster, are you?” The girl said excitedly. “It’s why you were so good riding that bull, isn’t it?” Harry didn’t want to put his foot in and ruin his chances with the girl by letting her down two times in a row, so he decided to leave out the fact that he’d just striked it lucky when it came to the bull and focused on his job instead.

“I’m just a horse wrangler…” He admitted, feeling a little embarassed that he might have accidentally made himself seem better than he was. “Horses like me, you know? And I like them as well…” He shrugged. “I know I could make some actual if I invested in my skill, but I believe broncos are wild for a reason, and that’s the way it should stay…” He carried on. “I’ve only kept Kiwi because the idiot foal kept following me around like I was his mare.” Harry snorted a laugh at the memory. “Practically grew up together, him and I…”

“You know,” The girl started, shyly fiddling with her white lace gloves. “I’ve heard indigenous tribes say animals are drawn to good natured people who have healing energy within their hearts…” Valerie’s eyes finally drifted from her gloves to Harry’s truly angelic face, just in time to catch his lips curling with a touch of bashfulness.

“I don’t know if that’s true, miss Valerie…”

Sanderson Acres, Dallas. 18th of April, 1892

“What were you thinking about?”

Harry simpered, deviating his eyes away from the blown out moon to look at his mate. “My Cherry.” He admitted coyly, reaching out his hand and pulling at the tall and slightly humid grasses both men were laying over.

“A woman, heh?” Niall asked with a knowing grin that Harry reciprocated a little shyly.

“Not just a woman...” Harry confessed, as he entertained himself with tearing some grasses into smaller pieces and throwing them back carelessly. “She’s my everything.” He disclosed as he threw the last piece away.

Crossing his hands over his stomach, the cowboy focused his gaze on the night sky again, carefully observing the stars shining above his head. He asked himself what Val could be up to at the moment... Could she be staring at the same night sky? Could she be thinking about him too? He wondered what she looked like now… He had no doubt she would still look beautiful…

He pressed his eyes shut and tried his hardest to remember every single detail of her. The collection of dark strands falling perfectly over the bones of her collar and down as she pulled her single braid apart, the way her eyes gleamed and her lips twisted into a smile everytime he pulled her into his lap and called her his lucky charm, the way her breasts rose, compressed by the material of her low-cut corset and that sweet, sweet…

“So when was the last time you saw this girl?” Niall questioned, breaking Harry away from the luscious recollection clouding his mind.

The boy cleared his throat, disquieted with the question. “A while ago…”

“So do you just write eachother letters?” His friend spat another question, mostly out of curiosity.

“Not really, no.” Harry affirmed, his chest filling with remorse at the thought. “We haven’t really spoke since I left…”

The other brunette boy arched his brow questioningly. “So how do you know the bird hasn’t married someone else in the meantime?” He popped the question, sparing a brief look towards Harry before he closed his eyes again.

The cowboy huffed, resting his head over his forearms, that were now bent behind his head. “Well, I don’t…” He paused, taking a deep breath of the humid mountain air. “She wouldn’t do that though… Not my Cherry… She promised herself to me.” Harry maundered, mainly trying to reassure himself.

“Did you compromise with her old man or something?”

“No, she…” Harry started, but stopped halfway. “We’re different, alright? This isn’t an arranged marriage… We actually care about eachother.”

Niall’s eyes widened in surprise at his friend’s confession. “Well, no offense Nightingale but... ” He scratched the back of his head apprehensively. “Leaving a woman unattended in a place filled with rabid dogs with just a lick and a promise, that ain’t very smart of you.” Harry remained silent, contemplating over his mate’s words. With his tender heart growing heavy and disquiet and a tight knot forming on the tip of his stomach at the thought of someone else having his most cherished treasure.

“Don’t lose your sleep over it…” The other boy advised confidently. “You’re a handsome chap, and I’ve noticed you cut a swell with the ladies… I’m sure you’ll find yourself a nice rib in no time...” Harry forged half a smile, but as soon as he watched the man adjust the sacking behind his head and pull his hat down to conceal his eyes from the bright moonlight, he focused on the starry sky again. Wide eyed and distressed, he allowed for the dark and begrudging thoughts to cloud his once negligent mind... What if Niall was right? What if she really found someone new?

“I’ve told you already, I don’t do that sort of thing.” The girl insisted, and Agnes gave her a long, scrutinizing look. “Judith’s right, you know?” She leaned over the counter, what made her dress ride up her leg a few more inches. Something that caught the attention of the quarrelsome group of boys, who were still partially wrestling to try and steal Judith away from the old man. “Look…” Agnes called in a hushed tone. “If you’re scared of getting knocked up, there are many other things you can do without actually getting to put it up there… And even if you do, as long as he doesn’t finish ins-”

Sitting in and staring at the grange had become sort of a monthly ritual for Valerie.

Each and every second Sunday of the month, she would walk to the post office with the goal of picking up her dad’s mail. She would always stay for a 5 minute chat with the receptionist, Mr. Turner, who had been a family friend for longer than she could remember.

After being handed her monthly mail, she would reach for the doorhandle and twist it open with the intention of leaving, but as soon as she felt the warm dusty wind caress her face, she’d remember him. His hands, his lips, his hold. And then she couldn’t stop herself from asking the pitiful question. “There isn’t any other mail for me, is there?” Only to be met with the same heartbreaking answer every time.

Then, she would cross the street and sit on the same hay bale, the one outlooking the grange with the blue shutters. The building was so large that Valerie swore she could find different details in it every time. That day, she noticed the paint in the shutters was peeling around the corners, unsurprisingly overburnt by the western sun. Then, she observed the group of cattle workers ahead of her, attempting to repair a piece of broken fence. Although she’d seen them around, she realized she wasn’t familiar with any of their names, but then again, why would she bother to learn them? The faces changed every summer.

As she walked back home after long minutes, Valerie was surprised to find Bonney browsing outside the house, since her dad was usually never home until a little before dinner time. But what was even more unnusual was that the old mare wasn’t alone... There was another horse keeping her company… A well-groomed coal colored stallion she’d certainly never laid eyes on before.

She didn’t stand for any longer outside, fearing that for once in her life she might have actually lost track of time due to her secret wallowing and missed the 3 o’clock dinner mark. If that was the case, she would probably find Monty sitting at the kitchen table with a very displeased look in his face and an even more unpleasant half-eaten plate of cold baked goods in front of him.

She pushed the door open, cringing when the hinges made a rusty sounding noise. “What took you so long? Did the mail coach get lost in the English fog?”  He questioned in jest from the living room once he heard his daughter walk inside. “Sorry daddy. I’m going to go get the table ready.” Valerie appologized, removing the letters from the lace pocket over her lap and shoving them inside the mail drawer in a jiffy.

“Set the table for three. I’ve brought company for dinner today...” Valerie’s eyes narrowed with consternation. “Actually, why don’t you come over here and say hello to our guest?”

Ever since Valerie turned 15, Monty had made it his mission to assure his daughter married well. With that purpose in mind, throughout the 7 years that passed, he'd been introducing her to any wealthy, polite and lawful gentleman that he assumed she would be partial to marry one day... Tall, short, bald, hairy… He'd tried everything! Assuming she’d eventually take a liking to one of them. She hadn’t. Therefore, when she arrived at the room’s door and saw her dad accompanied by yet another tall, clean-faced gentleman, she wasn’t so surprised.

She knew why he was here.

Just by looking at the collar of his shirt, Valerie could tell he wasn’t the average penny-maker cowboy. His trousers were nicely fitted. The complete opposite of Harry’s, since he always got them made loose, fearing that they wouldn’t fit him the following year…

His boots couldn’t have more than two springs of use and the gold chain dangling from his vest, that had definitely been made by a good tailor, really left no room for doubt. “Valerie, this is Mr. Otis Montgomery.” Monty introduced. “He’s the son of Brokenbrook’s Marshal. I believe you’ve met Mr. Abraham before at last winter’s festivities. If my memory serves me right Otis, you couldn’t make it because you were in a meeting with…”  

“I was in a meeting with Mr. Smith, yes.” He finished the sentence. “Houston’s mayor.” He clarified once he realized Valerie’s indifference towards the revelation. Did he really think he was going to win her heart by bragging about some bigwig she didn’t know? 

“It was a pleasure to meet you sir.” Valerie curtsied respectfully.

“You can shake his hand, Valerie.” Monty propounded. “It’s not like he’s a stranger, is it?” Valerie knew her dad well enough to discern that his dry laughing was a cloaked admonition for her to show a little more interest. So she swallowed the urge of saying that her greeting manners were her business to decide and extended her hand for Mr. Moneybags to take.

“With all due respect, I’m delighted to find neither of our dads deceived me…” Otis said, encapsulating Valerie’s hand in both of his. “You truly are a beauty, Miss Valerie.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.” He wasn’t so bad himself if Valerie was honest. Tall and slim figure, nicely matched outfit, handsome features and smile... If only his black hair was a little longer and his eyes a little kinder, perhaps he could’ve gotten her to consider. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some homemaking to finish in the kitchen.”

“Of course.” The man granted, taking a conspicuous look towards the sheriff, that was attentitively watching the interaction with a hopeful look in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a little better over dinner, miss.”

“Indeed.” Valerie paltered, mostly out of politeness, excusing herself and moving to the kitchen. If she’d knew her dad was expecting a guest, she would’ve made a proper supper. Perhaps even bake one of them fancy condensed milk pies her dad was so fond of… But now, with an empty pantry and a hungry guest waiting, she truly didn’t know what to do with herself.

Valerie ended up settling for a pot of black bean soup. It was not the best meal she’d ever cooked, but it was quick and filling. And the fresh tomatoes, leeks and bell peppers did wonders to mask the strong taste of the beans. She served it with bread and roasted some apples for desert. Thankfully, Otis didn’t seem to mind the simple meal, matter of fact, he even complimented the texture of the beans, saying that they were cooked to perfection. Poor guy, little did he know that they had come straight out of a can.

Dinner was going surprisingly smoothly, if Valerie said so herself. Not that she was participating much on the men’s conversation, but she wasn’t feeling completely dreaded hearing about Otis’s family orchard and his details on the house he was planning to build next to it.

Occasionally, when her dad was distracted crumbling pieces of bread and sinking them into his soup, the young man would take a glimpse in Valerie’s direction and wink his eye at her. She would either flash him a cordial smile or pretend not to notice it, mostly the last one. “So, Otis, I trust you’ve heard about the Red Hand Gang?” The sheriff questioned, once he eventually caught Mr. Montgomery staring at his daughter, who swallowed thickly at the mention, incredulous that her dad had decided to bring up what had always been a forbidden topic inside the house.

“Well, certainly.” Otis confirmed, seeming rather unapologetic about his ogling. “Who hasn't?”

“A few of years ago, one of the punks tried to court my daughter, can you believe it?” Monty let out a humourless chuckle.“That fucker… If I could get my hands on him, I’d put him to death myself.” He waved his fist in the air to reinforce his anger, but Valerie knew better than to pay no mind to a grumpy 60 year old’s hazarding.

If one thing, she should be worrying about her dad’s health. After all, not only was Monty blind as a bat, he was also apparently naive enough to believe he could come victorious out of a frey with a cowboy in his prime. Of course Valerie trusted Harry would never willingly do anything to harm a spunky old man, but she also believed that his cowboy instincts might speak louder than his solemnity if Monty dared to point his crumbling rifle at him.

“Is that so?” Otis inquired, flashing Valerie a tickling smile from his end of the table, she returned it the best she could, but there was no hiding that the conversation was making her insides feel like they were getting tied in a knot. “And what’s that man’s name, if I may ask.”

“They call him The Nightingale.” Monty clarified, much to Valerie’s dismay. “Aparently he has a good singing voice… He likes to use it to distract the passengers while the others do the dirty work.” Monty scooped a piece of soggy bread into his mouth, chewing it as he spoke. “A coward is what he is, nothing but a chiseler. Dares him set foot in Gravefort again, I’ll end him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that much if I were you, Mr. Bluebell…” Otis carried on, wiping his mouth with the napkin he carried with him. “Word on the street is that they’ve caught ‘em somewhere up east last month. I’m sure they’ve all been wiped out by now.”

Valerie’s expression fell as she put down the spoon she had been eating her soup with. There was a trapping cold taking over the entirety of her frame, biting from the edges of her hair to tips of her toes. “He’s not dead.” She stated firmly, with her mortified gaze locked onto the soup platter placed in the middle of the table.

Her audacious statement made Monty accidentaly drop his own spoon over the table, it ricocheted and fell on the house flooring. The metallic sound echoing loudly inside the four walls of the dining room where a uncomfortably quiet athmosphere had just settled.

“Valerie Cassidy…” Monty reprimanded, as a warning for the young girl to keep her mouth shut. But Valerie couldn’t listen, all that she could hear were Otis words that kept ringing inside her ears like a haunting Melody.

“No, he can’t be...” She didn’t notice it, but she was trembling in her seat, lip quivering and eyes brimming with tears as she spoke. “You’re a liar!”

“Enough!” Monty censured with a punch on the table, before Valerie could spoil his arrangement any further. “Mr. Montgomery, you’ll have to excuse my daughter’s behaviour. She’s a very sensitive girl.” The sheriff mediated, but Otis didn’t seem too phased or shocked by Valerie’s claims. It was more like he was nettled that he had to watch the situation unfold.

Without further ado, Valerie picked herself up from the table and recoiled inside the house’s single room. But as she suspected, it didn’t take long for her furious dad to break through the door asking for justifications, only fueling Valerie’s distressed state more.

“I will not tolerate that kind of deranged behaviour under my roof, young girl.” He chastised, pointing his finger in Valerie’s direction.

“It was your own fault for bringing him up in the middle of our dinner.” Valerie muttured, staring outside through the window. “Wheter he’s dead or not, it’s with him that my heart lies.” She stated calmly. “You can try all you want, I’m not marrying Mr. Montgomery or any other men of your liking. If all I’m destined for in marriage is cooking supper and sewing socks, I only want that with a man that loves me, not one who's only looking for a wife because he feels he’s at the age to settle down.”

“You think that bandit cared for you, huh? Foolish girl!” Monty spat in a ridiculing tone, making Valerie’s face involuntarily contort into sorrowful scowl. “All he wanted was to get his nasty hands up your skirt. He would’ve dumped you as soon as he deflowered you, had you given him the chance!”

“Well, he did!” She outbursted. “Is that what you wanted to know, father? He did it, ‘cause I let him.” Before Valerie could tell it was coming, she watched her dad pull his hand back. She heard the heavy palm jab against her cheek before she felt the burn. “You hit me...” She gasped, cupping the side of her stinging face. Valerie remembered receiving the occasional lash from her parents when she misbehaved as a child, but ever since Monty’s wife had passed away, he’d never raised his hand to his daughter again. Valerie supposes that over her past 22 years of existence she’d never really given him a reason to. “You had no right…” She sniffled, looking straight into her dad’s brooding eyes.

“I didn’t raise a daughter to behave like a whore.” The dad rasped, before the silence settled, only to be broke by him again soon after. “And from today on, you’re no longer allowed to keep working at that foul place. Being around all those men and those… unhinged women has clearly started getting to your head.” With one last look at his daughter’s broken expression, the sheriff left, shutting the room’s door behind him.

Valerie could tell he was already starting to feel remorseful, but she was a grown woman now, certainly too old to accept this sort of rough treatment coming from a man’s hand.

So without further ado, the girl let her own hand drop from her cheek and walked to her dresser, rummaging through her dresses and the few other belongings she owned. She knew that if she gave up her job in order to keep living under her dad’s roof, she’d be bound to marry one of her suitors sooner rather than later. And if she carried on refusing to, he’d probably end up sending her away against her will to marry a complete stranger.

Well, Valerie would rather starve to death!

You can read part 2 here

[mmvalentine]

The Pianist pt 8 | Jurdan

Modern AU. Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 9

Jude got home in the early hours of the morning and fell straight into bed.

It had been a whirlwind trip of meet and greets, recording demos, being passed from arm to arm and singing until her throat hurt. Bryern had paid for her accommodation, but the flights were more than she had expected, and she ended up having to buy new clothes while she was there. Especially since she was supposed to meet important people and look the part. Jude just hoped it had all been worth it.

Bryern had gotten her to sing for a number of producers, and they were so positive about her that Bryern made her his official project and dragged her around LA introducing her to everyone he knew. She barely slept, he told her not to eat while they were networking, and the alcohol they kept shoving into her hands made her head spin.

Of course, she had not anticipated being away for so long and had to make profuse apologies to all her workplaces. Java Island stood by their 'making of a celebrity' plan, but both the pub and the diner let her go. Jude had no idea how she was going to keep her apartment, but there was no point backing out now.

The truth was, Jude didn't mind this. Didn't mind any of it, not the sleepless nights or the being 'on' all the time or the being fawned over by strangers. In some ways it was tiring but in other ways it was exhilarating, and the more Jude tasted this life the hungrier she was for it. And although she knew she couldn't run on adrenaline forever, she thought she could very well do this life, if only she was let in.

So the weeks went by, and by the time she went home she had agreed for Bryern to officially be her agent, recorded five songs, and had three producers in negotiation with Bryern about a possible record deal down the track. He was optimistic, and she was exhausted.

Jude woke in her own bed hours later, and although the last few weeks were exciting, it was very good to be home and back to real life. Now she just had to pick up the pieces and hope the adventure had not cost her too much.

Jude groaned, dragged herself into the shower, and then took stock of the damage.

She was a week in rental arrears.

She had lost two of three jobs.

She now owed Cardan a grand total of $1, 436.

Jude flicked through the stack of letters by the door, adding her latest power bill to the growing tally of expenses.

And there in the pile was a card that had her name in curling cursive.

Jude Duarte, you are cordially invited to the fall showcase for the Juilliard school of music.

Jude stared at the invitation for some time, before realising that the date was today and the start time was in twenty minutes.

She threw on the black dress that was hanging over a chair nearby, bundled her hair up with a clip, and shoved her feet into a pair of shoes she had bought in LA. After everything Cardan had done for her, there was no way she could miss his showcase.

It took Jude an agonisingly long time to find the right hall, and by the time she got there the concert had already started. Jude slipped in the back of what was a small but plush theatre, with red seats and wood paneling that she supposed was good for acoustics.

There were twenty-odd musicians that all seemed to be more and more Nicasias and Lockes, and although they were all beautiful and talented, Jude itched to fast-foward the night until Cardan played.

Cardan. How odd that the first time she was seeing him after three weeks, he wouldn't even know she was there.

An hour and a half later, he was being announced. The darling of his cohort, Cardan was the closing act, and the man in the suit was telling the audience this was something Cardan had written himself. Jude shuffled in her seat, and leaned forward in rapt anticipation as he sat down at the piano stool and moved his neck as if getting comfortable. In her peripheral vision, Jude noticed others in the same posture as her.

It was not so much that Jude had forgotten Cardan's reputation. It was more that she had been so bent on hating him for so long that his being 'talented' just added to her irritation. He always seemed to get special treatment because of it and there was nothing she despised more.

Then she had been focusing on her own musical career, and was just now thinking that she couldn't even remember what his playing sounded like. Wasn't sure if she had ever actually just listened to him, or heard something he had written himself.

And then Cardan started to play.

Jude wasn't sure what she was expecting. Something technical, something impressively fast and vaguely furious. Something like the racket that kept her up all hours of the night.

But that wasn't what Cardan had written.

Cardan played soft, and languid, and sweet. She found herself leaning her chin on her hands against the back of the seat in front of her, and wondering if this is what Cardan's soul really looked like or if this was just some kind of clever trick he knew.

The audience was so silent, and design of the hall was so well made that the piano may as well have been right by Jude's side. She wondered where this song had come from, and how she had never, never heard anything like this coming from the upstairs apartment.

And then the sound changed and it was somehow familiar, like the had known this song her whole life.

Jude sat up, and her eyes went wide in the dark concert hall.

She did know this song. This was her mother's lullaby.

///////

Cardan had been allocated two invitations like everyone else. His parents had already announced they were coming so he sent one off to them because he knew they would manage to get their names on the list regardless. And then he turned the other one around in his hands for a good fifteen minutes before sliding it under Jude's door along with the handful of other white envelopes.

Jude had been gone for weeks and he didn't expect her to be back in time. Didn't expect she would come even if she was back- but then again, who else was he going to give it to?

Cardan had always planned to play his own composition on the night, although writing it was harder than expected due to the hasty return of his insomnia. In the end, what else could he write but Jude's song? The memory of it taunted him day and night, crystal clear in his head but out of reach for his ears.

So he played it, over and over trying to recreate the effect that Jude's voice had on him. And while it didn't help him sleep, it did morph over time into the only song he could manage while so sleep-deprived he was seeing things.

Which brought him to today. In the concert hall, with his parents and teachers in the front row, and the people who used to be his friends sitting somewhere to the lift and sniggering to themselves. Cardan didn't care. He just played, and to him it sounded like Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude.

This was not what had been expected of him today, and he knew that. It was not the usual style of his compositions, not what usually got him such high praise from the heads of department. But Cardan quite liked this song.

When he finished, the audience was silent. Then he stood and bowed, and realised that people were crying, and only then did they start to applaud, and even stand to their feet. Cardan grimaced, never being fully comfortable with this sort of thing, and nodded again before making his way off stage. The Head of Music was back on stage and speaking about... something, Cardan wasn't really paying attention, and he could see Nicasia and the others waving to him like they might try to talk to him. And then there were his parents, whispering to each other while watching the speech.

But Cardan didn't want to see any of them. Really just wanted to slip out of the hall before they had a chance to catch him, before faculty members or student journalists or anyone else cornered him and made him talk. So he snuck through the curtains, through a side door and up the side of the hall in the deep shadows while the Head of Music droned on. All the way to the back of the hall, because even though he had not looked out into the audience for long, he had stood there long enough to make out the important faces.

And the hall was small enough that he could see who was sitting in the back row.

It was small enough that he could see Jude.

****

As you can see I have no idea how anything actually works at Juilliard, I just started using it for the prestige of the name and then derailed into my own universe sorry if anyone actually has been there and knows how bullshit this all is 😂

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish @story-scribbler @thebonecarver @realbookloverproblems

[purplesurveys]

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If money wasn't an issue, how would you redecorate/renovate your house? I would much rather focus on fixing what’s currently not working or what can be enhanced so I can help out my parents. Like getting them the cozy rooftop lounge-y area they’ve always been discussing.

What's one style of fashion that you can't stand? Oh man, 2021 Robyn would have definitely said streetwear but what do you know, I’m all about that now... I don’t think I dislike any fashion styles or trends now. Wear whatever, people.

If you drink coffee, how did you take your last cup? If you don't drink coffee, what was the last caffeinated drink you had? I’m literally drinking coffee right now hahaha. It’s iced caramel macchiato, my usual at Starbucks since I’m here at the moment.

What was the last really funny thing someone said to you or told you? It’s not super funny unless you were there or have a good handle of Filipino, but essentially my mom has this go-to cuss phrase that I really hate and I regularly ask her if she can delete it from her vocabulary. Then this morning, she had the urge to say it again, but she caught herself right then and spit out half the phrase. She was holding up her arms and was like, “I said just half of it this time!” which I found hilarious lmao and I got back to her by remarking “as if that makes it better!” all in Filipino of course.

If you have a dog, do you pay to get it groomed, or do you do it yourself? If you don't have a dog, would you rather pay to have it groomed or do it yourself? Yes, we have them groomed.

When it comes to surveys, do you prefer a long detailed survey that makes you think, or something that you can do in 5 minutes and be done? I like complex surveys that ask interesting daily life questions, but not those that go deep that ask about politics, religion, existence, etc. Quick surveys are fine but I’m more likely to take two to three at a time if I’m going the shorter route.

What was the first really big/expensive thing you bought for yourself? (For example, a computer, iPod, car, etc.) My current phone. We did use my dad’s card to pay the full amount BUT BUT BUT I do pay him every two weeks until the total bill is settled lol so technically I’m the one shouldering it.

Have you ever re-listened to a band that you hadn't listened to for years? Did you get back into them or just enjoy reminiscing over the songs? I mean yeah, of course. When I get invested in something/someone, the bond is pretty much there for life, so it’s usual for me to keep coming back to my older favorites – this is most evident with my punk rock bands, like Against Me! and The Bouncing Souls. It’s never been the type of situation where I got into-into them all over again, but it’s just nice to enjoy the songs the same way I did when I was in high school.

If you could automatically learn how to knit, crochet or sew, which one would you choose? Crochet.

What is a skill other people have that you are really impressed by? Playing instruments. I was not granted any musical skill or knowledge whatsoever, and it’s always amazed me when I watch people rapidly moving their fingers as they press the keys on a piano or strum a guitar.

Do you listen to any foreign bands? If so, which? Do you generally enjoy music from other countries other than music from your own? Apart from English-language bands (which is technically foreign to me), I only ever really listen to K-pop. I wouldn’t say I’m very exploratory when it comes to music from other countries.

Do you think that Facebook is slowly getting less and less popular? Do you think we will see that trend die off in the next 5 or so years, like MySpace, or do you think there'll always be activity on Facebook? I’m not sure how it is in other countries but Facebook is the main social media in the Philippines and it’s been that way for a decade or so now; I do feel like it will continue that way because Filipinos use it for everything and there hasn’t ever been any other platform that’s been at par.

What I don’t like about Facebook is how it’s grown to be a massive machinery for disinformation and misinformation; and with the lack of media literacy and access to proper education here, so many Filipinos always fall victim to fake news and TikToks that disguise themselves as sources of credible information – it’s exactly why the wrong presidential candidate won this year. If anything, I hope this fact would be the start of its downfall here, if it were to have one.

Has the weather where you live generally been the same all week? We currently have a typhoon so it’s been colder than usual. Cold for the average Filipino, at least. Hahaha. The weather’s been playing at the 29ºCs to 30ºCs and I’m all fine with that. As long as I’m not sweating in the morning.

What's one thing that helps you get through a really cold day? How about a really hot day? A “really cold day” is nonexistent here lol but when it gets chilly, all I’d do is turn off the fan and bask in the lower temperature since it never happens unless it’s like, January. As for hot weather, all I do is complain and turn on the aircon. What's the worst drug that you think anyone can get into? Meth and cocaine have always freaked me out. I never want to be anywhere near those two.

Do your parents make you teach them how to use new technology? Would you say this is a pain, or are you a pretty patient teacher? My dad is actually a whole lot better than me when it comes to gadgets; I’ve never had to teach him anything other than the names of the BTS members LOL. My mom just flatout refuses to learn how to use most technology, so in that sense, I’ve never really gotten to teach her. She’s content with knowing how to get to Facebook with her phone - that’s all she really needs to know lol.

When something goes wrong with your computer, do you try to figure out on your own or find someone to fix the problem for you? Would you say that you're generally pretty technology-literate? I’ll try to troubleshoot as much as I can and will only call for help when none of the solutions I’m trying are working. This hasn’t happened a lot though because fortunately all my gadgets have been super cooperative over the years, so I wouldn’t say I deserve the title technology-literate.

What's one problem in today's world which you think is ridiculous that we haven't found a way to solve it yet? PROVIDING FOOD AND CLEAN WATER TO EVERYONE

There is this hilarious and yet sad and embarrassing TikTok I came across recently and it was basically this dude playing out a skit of Earth trying out for the “intergalactic council” or whatever it was. Anyway, so the entire bit was Earth applying to be part of that council and the interviewer was like “Oh you still have prisons? You have WARS? You’re in the middle of a pandemic? But for sure everyone has food to go around, right? ...Oh, not that too?” It’s hilarious how it was acted out but once you realize how poor our society’s state is in, that’s when it begins to feel miserable lmao.

What's one animal that you can't stand or find cute at all? What's an animal that absolutely terrifies you? Butterflies and bees are the two animals that are generally liked by people but I can’t stand/freak me out. As for an animal that terrifies me, I would have to go with cockroaches and rats.

If you go to the library, what was the last book you checked out? If you don't, what was the last book you purchased? I don’t remember anymore but it was probably a book I needed for class.