#howl definitely sounds the most different live of all her songs to me

[true--north]

Night was falling on the Enchanted Forest, the misty dome turned soft red and tender pink, dissolving the light of the majestic sunset which they were not destined to see. The Northuldra tribe began to gather around the campfires to have dinner, rest and talk.

After a day full of work: caring for reindeer, fishing, picking berries, sewing, Honeymaren and Ryder met at their mother's, Yelana's kota. The tribal leader was in a melancholy mood, her heavy wise gaze thoughtful, her hands warming themselves up on a bowl of mushroom broth.

Honeymaren glanced meaningfully at her brother: "well, now Mama is definitely going to start remembering the old days again, and how life used to be easier and better."

And sure enough, looking at the neighbors trying to light a fire with a stone flint, Yelana quietly said:

“It wasn't like that before. As soon as we asked the Fire Spirit, the bonfires lit up by themselves.”

“Sure, Mama," Ryder muttered.

“You don't believe me, Son? Don't you dream about seeing the sky?” Yelana looked up at Ryder.

“I do, of course... Although I don't know what it is.” he shrugged.

Yelana sighed as she looked around the Forest. Of course, it looked beautiful and peaceful, bathing in a pink evening mist, but nothing will replace what was in the past.

“Everything was different then. We were blessed. We were rich. We lived in harmony with the Spirits. Each Element was to our aid and we honoured each of the Four. Water, the most important of all, the one who remembers everything. Air, without which there is no life, Fire that warms us and Earth that supports.”

It sounded like an ancient chant.

“But then something went wrong.” added Honeymaren, crossing her legs and looking questioningly at her mother.

A shadow passed over Yelana's face and she took a sip of the broth.

“The Arendellians desecrated the Forest and killed my father.” her voice became dark.

“On the other hand, thanks to the mist, even more of them did not come here.” remarked Honeymaren, maybe trying to cheer Yelana up a little.

“And there is no way out at all?” asked Ryder.

When he was younger, he often asked this question until he got tired of it. But today it felt somehow different. As if change was in the air. As if this evening full of light was special.

“We tried. Only legends remained...”

Yelana put the bowl on the moss and peered into the campfire, suddenly remembering the stories that her father had told her when she was a little curious child.

“Four spirits born from the Ice lie at the foundation of the World. But the old traditions told us about the lost Fifth Spirit who rules them all. If only we could find it, then maybe the Fifth Spirit would save us and bring everything back. Perhaps.”

“And where is it?” Honeymaren raised an eyebrow.

“I do not know. It's a legend. But you know what?" Yelana looked at her children seriously, “On the great and evil day of the Battle, I heard something strange. A voice. A song similar to the howling of the North wind, but much more beautiful. Somehow it gave my heart a consolation.”

“Do you think it was the Fifth Spirit, Mama?" Ryder beamed with hope.

“I don't think anything.”

“If it was the Fifth Spirit, then why did it silence? Where is it now?” Honeymaren demanded an answer, throwing a twig into the fire, "How can we find it?"

“Only Ahtohallan, the Mother of all Spirits, knows." Yelana shrugged and returned her attention to the soup, "We have to seek and wait. And remember.”

Honeymaren sighed softly, and Ryder slightly elbowed her.

“What if it's you, Honey, who will find the Fifth Spirit? Let me call it for you?”

Ryder chuckled and jokingly depicted how, in his opinion, the Spirit could sing. Honeymaren giggled and flinched at the sound of his terrible voice. It sounded like a wolf howling at the moon.

Yelana smiled discreetly, but shook her head.

“Don't joke with this, children. No one knows what the future can bring and whether the Fifth Spirit is not listening to us now.”

“Only Ahtohallan knows." echoed Honeymaren her mother's favourite saying.

Night was falling on the North. And further south along the Fjord, in a beautiful coastal castle, the young queen was tossing in her sleep. She dreamed of the Forest and the Song.

[alexandrasavior]

live @ mercury lounge (18 february 2020)

[transformedyt]

Hadestown is SUCH a good musical! I’ve listened to the entire soundtrack dozens of times, and my favourite songs so many more. And through that, I’ve noticed some messages that may or may not have been intended, and i keep noticing more. I wanna share some of my favourites because it’s so good and i wanna talk about it. (Spoiler alert if you haven’t listened to it. You should. It’s good.)

1. There’s an anti capitalist message. This is strongest in Chant, but it appears throughout most of the musical. In Hadestown, you live to work, and lose yourself in the process. You lose your memories, your identity, and your freedom. All while the boss rakes in the money at your expense. And to deal with that, you pay someone else, the wife of the boss, to give you a glimpse of what you’re missing. Stars, flowers, the moon. Things that are free are suddenly locked behind a paywall, which makes you keep working to get the things that let you tolerate all that working. That sounds an awful lot like capitalism…

2. It shows that you need to let your significant others be their own people, not hold them to you and never give them space. Hades wanting to be with Persephone all the time nearly ruined their marriage, and the world with it. He grew obsessive and possessive, viewing her as an object he should be able to control. Which ended up driving her to driving in order to put up with this. He even made artificial replacements for the things she loved on the surface to try and keep her from returning. And by the end, he seemed to have learned. He learned to be patient and to trust his wife. And i like to think he didn’t fall back into old habits.

3. And while you definitely shouldn’t be overbearing with your loved ones, it also says not to neglect them. Orpheus didn’t pay attention to Eurydice when she said there was a storm coming, and she ended up dying as a result. That’s obviously taking it to the extreme, but it’s good to listen to your loved ones when they tell you something is wrong.

4. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Orpheus walked halfway to Hell and back using sheer determination. The road may be scary, but you’ll never know if you can make the trip if you don’t try.

5. Wait and see if you can’t change the outcome. Orpheus was told that if he looked behind him, Eurydice would go back to Hadestown. He began to grow paranoid that she was not following him. If she was not there, looking behind him wouldn’t change that. If she was, it would. So logically, he should have finished the trip instead of looking behind him. If she wasn’t there, he could go back. He got there before, he’d be able to do it again. But because he looked, she was sent back and he was unable to save her again.

6. “The meanest dog you’ll ever meet, he ain’t the hound dog in the street. He’ll bare some teeth and tear some skin, but brother that’s the worst of him. The dog you really gotta dread is the one that howls inside your head. It’s him whose howling drives men mad and a mind to its undoing.” I interpret this to mean that you are your own worst enemy. That little voice in the back of your head that puts you down or says things to scare you is worse than anyone else. Because it knows you. And it follows you. And it is so much worse than some random person saying those same things, imo. I personally view this, along with another bit later on in Wait For Me (Reprise) about the hardest road to walk, is about mental illness. Depression. Anxiety. Disorders that make that voice so much worse. And through that, there’s this hopeful melody. They sound a little scared to me, but hopeful. Which just makes what comes next that much more tragic. Because sometimes people stumble. Sometimes they fall back into that thinking and do things that they might regret. For me, it was losing touch with so many of my friends. But it can be different for everyone. But try to remember that hopeful melody is still going, even when you can’t hear it.

7. Times are tough. There are a lot of people who can barely afford to eat, if they can at all. People who are so focused on surviving that they don’t have time to focus on living. There is a difference.

8. Weddings are expensive.

I know it got kinda heavy there, but it’s a heavy musical. I’d love to know your own interpretations, things that you noticed, favourite songs/lyrics, character breakdowns, and anything else! It’s my favourite musical, but i don’t know anyone else who likes it, so I’d love to be able to discuss it with someone!

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Lunar Violence (jjk)

Summary: You’re not a big fan of your best friend’s favorite band, Lunar Violence. Their werewolf gimmick makes you roll your eyes, even if the music isn’t too bad. When she drags you to a concert just as the blood moon rises, though, everything changes.

Warnings: werewolf sex, possessive behavior, choking, knotting, marking, heats and ruts so whatever consent issues you feel are within that realm, unrpotected sex, werewolf dick, abo dynamics

Word Count:7445

Rating: Explicit

You're not normally a fan of gimmicks, particularly with your music. So when your best friend begs you for a solid week to go with her to this concert, you're wary when you do a simple Google search.

Lunar Violence might be the dumbest fucking name for a band you've ever heard, but they certainly seem like they're going for a certain vibe. You'd definitely have been into it when you were a teen, the fake fangs, the facial piercings and torn leather pants, the howling they do at the ends of some of their songs.

The music itself isn't bad, the lead singer is stupid hot and has a smooth low tenor and bedroom eyes. 

You flip through only a few of the member pictures before making a decision based on the fact that they're good eye candy, at least.

Your friend Jia jumps up and down excitedly when you tell her and shows you the signs she's made. She's got a thing for the one they call Happy, a lean bassist who has a bright smile and a sexy glare.

"What are with these names? The seven dwarfs? I think they're mixing metaphors."

Jia snorts. "They call the drummer Baby because he's the youngest. It’s not that dumb and the music is really good, you’ll love it, I promise!"

"This is so dumb. You owe me."

"If I get close enough to Happy to make eye contact I'm gonna make him mine and then I'll give you anything you want." Jia says determinedly.

It’s a few weeks before the concert, so you find yourself listening to a few albums and actually getting pretty excited about it. It should be a fun time, get you away from the stress of your every day life, at the least.

You had no way of knowing that the night of the concert would complicate your life tenfold.

“Do we always have to schedule concerts around rutting season?” Namjoon whines after hitting yet another wrong chord on his guitar.

“It’s the best part about this job!” Hoseok grins.

“I can’t fucking concentrate being horny all the time, I agree with Joon,” Yoongi agrees, banging his forehead down on the keyboard.

“Should have called you Horny rather than Lucky,” Seokjin snorts, and Hoseok laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his bass guitar.

Jungkook watches them with a fond smile on his face, his brothers. Not by blood, of course but being the only werewolves in the city made them have an instant connection and camaraderie, and they’d created a pack pretty quickly. The music had come later, they’d all been interested in it, all had some talent and all been blessed with good looks, and after that it was only a matter of who did what and stage names.

Kim Seokjin, with his regal looks and sharp jaw: Prince.

Min Yoongi, with the scar over his left eye he’d gotten scrapping with a grey wolf in the woods behind his house in Daegu as a pup: Lucky.

Jung Hoseok with his easy smile and eager nature: Happy.

Kim Namjoon, always so serious and intelligent: Beethoven. 

Park Jimin, with his pretty face and sneaky smirk: Sly.

Kim Taehyung with his sweet nature and affectionate personality: Honey.

Finally, Jeon Jungkook, because he'd been barely old enough to breed when they'd met: Baby.

"Baby hasn't had his first rut yet, yeah?" It's Jimin, smirking, always giving Jungkook grief about something. 

Jungkook narrows his eyes and chucks a drumstick at him but it's no use, Jimin catching it in one band and twirling it like a goddamn baton. Jungkook would say Jimin was graceful if he hadn't seen him fall off about a dozen barstools and half a dozen stages, sober even for the latter.

“Kinda late, isn’t it?” Seokjin speaks up, and Jungkook knows he’s teasing but it stings a little, nonetheless. 

“He’s only just turned 23. You were two weeks from your 23rd before you ever popped a knot, hyung, or have you forgotten?” Namjoon snarks, and Jungkook snickers as Seokjin makes a face, that vein on his neck pulsing just a bit.

He shouldn’t laugh, they’re just as likely to come to blows during the beginning of a rut and in a full moon cycle, but he can’t help himself

Yoongi, as usual, manages to keep the peace by offering to order pizza and foot the bill, a truly saintlike act since they could go through a pizza each, as hot as their temperature would be running by now.

Jungkook doesn’t say that he’s had a knot for two years now, the very thought of his hyungs knowing that makes him blush so much he hides it by wiping his face with a towel, pretending to have been sweating. 

Truly, he should have had a rut by now, triggered by all the pheromones' from the shows they’d been doing, this tour had been particularly rough due to the upcoming blood moon, at least for all the other boys, and it isn’t as if Jungkook hasn’t mated, of course, but a full rut? Not even the hint of it. It worries him, but Namjoon keeps assuring him that everyone gets there in time, people are just different.

Taehyung had been a late bloomer himself, not starting his first rut until he met and fell in love with his girlfriend, a short feisty redhead he’d met after a hand injury from stringing his bass guitar and slicing his palm open. She’d been a nurse who scolded him for not coming in sooner and it’d been almost instant, her green eyes triggering every wolf thing about him, or at least that’s how he tells it, all wide eyed and dreamy.

She’s a near constant in Taehyung’s hotel rooms now, sometimes riding along on the tour bus, but he doesn’t let her into anymore of the concerts even when she pouts, because human mates around a group of wolves around rutting season can be a dangerous time.

Taehyung is one of the gentlest wolves Jungkook knows, but he’d seen him snarl when Yoongi so much as winked at the redhead near a rut, so it’s probably for the best.

Anyway, Jungkook wasn’t worried (much). He’d find his true mate eventually, but probably not at a concert. Maybe he’d start his rut there, at least, around the full moon. He’d never have imagined that he’d find both.

The crowd is nice enough, although they seem a little feral. Some of these girls have signs that should be x rated, but you're not one to judge, especially since you've never actually….done anything too x-rated. 

You feel a little strange when you enter the concert venue and you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shrug and blame it on the strong drink your friend had made you chug before you entered since she couldn’t finish it all herself.

It’s like there’s something living under your skin, some rush like heat, and it  makes you feel antsy, ready to dance along to the music or at least laugh at your friend losing her mind next to you.

There’s a lot of gimmick to the concert and it’s bright and dark at the same time near the stage. You’d swear you’d seen the guitarist strum with no pick, with a sharp claw instead, but you’re sure it’s makeup, part of the show. They’re wearing contacts, too, you’re pretty sure, and the music is good, your friend isn’t wrong.

The song you’d heard that you’d like is actually their encore song, heavy on the bass and drums, and the lead singer even makes your skin feel hot a little when he makes eye contact and winks at you. The last solo the lights come down on the drummer, he’s on the back stage so all you can see is his long hair bouncing, the flex of his admittedly impressive biceps as he finishes the song.

You’ve been jumping up and down and singing along so much that you’re sweating and feeling a bit dizzy, so you drag your friend out the back alley while she’s still swooning, having gotten a direct smile from her favorite bassist.

“Did you see him? He looked right at me! We’re in love, Y/n. Do you want to be my maid of honor?” She’s babbling when you hear the click of a lighter next to you.

There’s people milling about, it wasn’t exactly a sold out show but there was a decent crowd, and people are now piling into the bar next door.

“Did you like the show?” 

When you turn your head you’re shocked to see that it’s the lead singer, a couple strands of his silver hair falling over his eye as he smiles at you.

“Oh. Oh, yes, I liked it very...very much,” you stammer. He’s even more handsome up close. Those are some really good contacts, you can’t tell they aren’t real at all, even though surely no one’s eyes are a violet color like that.

“Sly!” Your friend screams, and you jolt forward, surprised.

The singer’s hand lights on your shoulder and you look down. You have time to think that they must make great money for these expensive special effects because they sure do look like claws before your friend rushes past you, yelling because Happy had come out the back with the rest of the band.

There’s no mob or anything, maybe a dozen people other than you and Jia, but it makes you a bit anxious nonetheless, especially since you’re still feeling just as antsy, hot and dizzy as you were before.

It might be worse, actually, as you stand outside in the moonlight.

“Sly’s just my stage name.” His voice sounds softer, closer to your ear as he leans in. “You can call me Jimin.”

“O-okay,” you stutter, unused to feeling this way. You’re usually more outgoing, talkative, but it feels so strange. You find yourself looking up at the sky as if looking for the moon.

It’s better, once you’re inside the bar, there’s not as much of a crowd and you’re sitting at a big table with Sly...Jimin, you remind yourself, and Jia and Happy, who seems to fit his name well, laughing open and loud with your best friend as if they’ve known each other forever.

After a few hours and a couple of drinks you’ve lost most of that antsy feeling since being indoors, and you and Jimin vibe well, becoming fast friends. You’re both flirty and talkative after getting to know each other, and your mood is lifted from the concert, the alcohol, and the socialization.

You even laugh about calling their gimmick dumb as they dodge questions about where they get their makeup and accessories. You assume it’s some kind of sponsorship situation or contract, not thinking much of it.

You manage to excuse yourself long enough to look for the bathroom, although Jia abandons you since she’s made her way into Happy’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and with a blissful smile you’re not sure you’ve ever seen on her.

There’s someone standing in the hall and it’s a narrow hallway and he’s pretty wide from the back so you stumble a little when you turn, placing a hand on the wall.

“Oh, excuse me!” You say, brightly, but when he turns you gasp, a little surprised by the bright red of his eyes before you realize it’s another member of Lunar Violence.

“Hello,” he says, quietly with a little smile and he has these prominent front teeth that are pretty cute, make him look a lot less intimidating, despite those contacts and an eyebrow piercing and his size.

“Oh, hello! You’re…”

“Baby,” he blurts, and it makes you giggle.

You feel a little tipsier than you’d realized, and you guess it must be since you’ve been sitting down for an hour or so and just gotten up.

He puts a hand over his face, embarrassed. “My name is Jungkook,” he explains. “I’m the drummer?”

It’s cute how his voice pitches up into a question, as if you wouldn’t recognize him. He’s definitely a bit more modest than the other two members you’d met, with Jimin and Happy (who you’d just learned also goes by Hoseoki), bragging about tours and performances. 

“Pretty big for a baby,” you tease, and he makes an embarrassed sound in the back of his throat.

“I keep trying to get them to let me change it,” he mutters.

You introduce yourself and he smiles again, and his eyes aren’t as red as you’d thought at first, anyway, maybe it’s just the light. You brush past him as you continue to the bathroom after excusing yourself, and it’s a little zing through you, like static electricity.

It takes you longer in the bathroom than it usually would, that last drink really must have packed a punch, and when you return to the table Jungkook is sitting there, too, next to your empty chair. Jimin looks a little sullen and pouty, but he smiles at you, those violet eyes crinkling up at the corners, and you give him a bright smile back.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is all energy, jiggling his leg and tapping his fingers on the table and Hoseok seems to be watching him intently.

The atmosphere in general seems to have changed, and after exchanging numbers with everyone with the urging of Jia, you two excuse yourself.

The three men walk you outside and Jimin is close while Jungkook hangs back. You imagine Jimin is so close since you mentioned feeling a bit dizzy and he asks you twice if he can call you a car but you tell him that the fresh air will do you good.

It’s funny, the moonlight seems to energize you a bit. When Jimin leans in to kiss you on the cheek, you jump a little at a sound behind you, something like a bark.

Jimin jolts back a little, eyes widening, and you both laugh at your nerves.

“Stray dog,” you remark, and Jimin snorts.

“Something like that.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “So what exactly the fuck happened after I left?”

Jimin is sullen on the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a busted lip and Jungkook is sitting next to Hoseok on the floor on the other side of the hotel room with tissue up his nose, Hoseok tilting his head back.

“Baby is about to go into rut,” Taehyung sings, laughing, his girlfriend draped over him on the bed drowsily, his teeth marks littering her neck and throat.

“Don’t,” Yoongi warns. “Everyone’s just wound up. Full moon is in two days, after all, cut him some slack.”

“Sees one girl he likes and suddenly no one else can talk to her,” Jimin complains, gingerly working his tongue across his lip ring to see if it’s torn.

“You tried to kiss her,” Jungkook growls, and Hoseok pushes on his chest to keep him from getting up.

Jungkook can’t explain why his wolf wanted to rip Jimin’s throat out when he leaned in to kiss you, he’d just met you, didn’t even know your last name, but it was visceral, sudden, something crawling up his throat. He’d almost moved forward to do it before Hoseok said his name, sharply.

“We all get a little possessive about potential mates around the full moon,” Namjoon reasons. “But that’s not the way to handle it, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hangs his head and removes the tissue from his nose with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looks over at Jimin but he means it for Namjoon. He’s still bitter, somehow, about Jimin’s hand on your lower back, his lips brushing your cheek. It makes his head feel fuzzy, his guts roll.

Namjoon, on the other hand, had been the one to “discover” Jungkook, back when he had no idea why his eyes were starting to change color with the moon cycles or why his nails grew out like claws. He’d started learning percussion just to get rid of some of the energy he had around those times, and he’d been 17 when Namjoon approached him in a music store when Jungkook was looking into buying cymbals. 

Jungkook had been abandoned when he was a baby, adopted at four years old and he had no idea about his wolf lineage, or even that they existed, until Namjoon explained it to him.

“Jungkook doesn’t know his lineage,” Namjoon reminds them all. “He might just be presenting as an alpha, that’s a lot around the full moon, Jimin, you remember.”

Jimin grumbles something under his breath and Jungkook has to take a deep breath through his nostrils, smelling iron from their scuffle earlier, in order not to lunge across the room and hit him again.

Eventually, Jungkook has to move to his own room despite usually bunking with Jimin, and he finds himself unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling. He keeps seeing your bright smile, your curls bouncing around as you talked and laughed, mostly at Jimin, and it makes him stiffen to think of how Jimin had met you first.

Why did it matter, anyway? You’re just a person, just like he is, just a girl, and he doesn’t have the best track record with talking to girls, anyway. You’d been in the front row, with your friend who Hoseok had gotten so smiley about, he’d seen you just before he started his set, his vision clearer around the full moon.

The others laughed at him for how he talked about “the wolf,” as if it wasn’t a part of him, as if it wasn’t who he was, but that’s how it had always felt. He just hadn’t had a name for it until he’d met Namjoon. It was like this thing, inside him, this beast, something that clawed and scratched to get out.

Seokjin keeps telling him that he’s fighting the wolf, that’s why he hasn’t gone into rut or popped his knot, that’s why he feels so achy and fidgety around the moon cycles, that’s why he hasn’t shifted. Namjoon would always respond there was no way to know that but Seokjin just rolled his eyes.

“Aish, I’m your hyung, listen to me. I fought mine, too, when I was young, and when I shifted I broke a few bones. You should give in, let it ride in the front seat once in a while.”

Jungkook had nodded at the time but now, he doesn’t know how to do that. Drumming helped, it was a lot of work and energy expelled and it felt like he could let him out, the wolf, just a little. It’s why he’d gotten so big, staying active and lifting weights was something the wolf liked.

The wolf came sometimes when he masturbated, too, when he’d feel particularly worked up around the full moon, after a concert, sweaty and rolling his hips into his hand.

When he tries it after meeting you, he can’t even finish, ending up panting and sore, the wolf still snarling over the memory of Jimin’s lips barely brushing across your cheek.

Surprisingly enough, it’s Jungkook who texts you first. Wanna go for a drink?

You’re not sure whether to say yes at first, you’ve been feeling so strange. You can barely sleep, your skin feeling hot, as if you’d burned yourself with a too hot shower. You think about that night at the concert a lot, Jimin’s violet eyes, Jungkook’s almost red ones, how odd you’d felt.

You would have talked to Jia about it but she’s been abducted by the werewolf band, apparently, you’ve barely seen her in a week and when you had she’d been littered with hickeys and with a big goofy smile.

Part of you wonders if this is all some sex ring cult but she seems happy, jubilant even, so you agree, meeting Jungkook at a downtown bar.

He’s there before you arrive, you can see him through the window sitting at a table, looking wide and a bit intimidating until he lifts his head and smiles at you with a little wave.

His eyes are a warm brown now, pretty and wide, you’re able to notice the shape more without the contacts.

Jungkook is still all energy, maybe that’s just how he is, talking to you more and more as the nights go on and you two share a pitcher of beer, scooting his chair closer. You find he flushes a pretty rose when you flirt with him and can’t stop laughing when he nearly falls out of his chair when you prop your legs up in his lap.

By the end of the night he can’t stop smiling at you and you’re intrigued, moreso than you’d imagined you would be when you’d first met him, smiling shyly at you at the bar near the concert. You start to feel funny again, your head fuzzy, probably from the alcohol.

When you tell him, he’s all wide eyed concern.

You giggle. “Now I know why they call you Baby.” 

He huffs a little. 

He walks you outside just as he did before but this time he doesn’t hang back, and when you reach the alleyway, he places a hand on the swell of your hip as you take a few deep breaths of the night air.

You’re surprised, laugh a little until you look up into his eyes. You’d swear they looked red tinged again, but surely it’s just the beer.

“Not a baby,” he murmurs, moving closer, pressing you up against the brick with his body, and you hitch in a breath.

“No?” You ask, boldly trailing your finger along his collarbone through the black tshirt he’s wearing.

He shakes his head, leaned down close enough to your face that his nose brushes yours.

“Prove it,” you tease, and he makes this rumbling sound in the back of his throat that makes goosebumps break out across your flesh.

He leans down further, nips at your lower lip, and you moan, body surging forward toward his as if it was made to fit it. You’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but his tongue is in your mouth, his hands on either side of your head, caging you in.

You feel hot all over, dizzy in the most pleasant way, at least until he pulls away, gasping.

You whine, a sound you don’t think you’ve ever made before, when he’s not touching you anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

He’s gone before you can even gasp out another whine of his name, and the moonlight on your skin burns instead of cools.

Jungkook tells this story in a burst to his bandmates the next day, hungover with his head pounding.

“You just left her there?” Jimin says, his face shocked, and Jungkook feels the wolf make a growl start at the back of his throat.

Namjoon puts a hand on his shoulder and it turns into a whine instead. 

“I’ve never felt him that close, hyung. Right at the surface. I wanted to…”

Namjoon and Seokjin meet eyes above Jungkook’s lowered head.

Jimin catches it. Jimin catches everything, it’s one of the best and worst things about him.

“What? You think…” Jimin laughs. “No. She can’t be his.... She’s not a wolf, I would’ve smelled it when-”

Jungkook surges out of his seat, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. “When what, Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes glow a pale violet as he snarls back, uncaring that Jungkook towers over him.

In the end, Namjoon and Seokjin have to separate them physically as they bark and snarl at each other.

Hoseok and Taehyung are missing, having holed up to ride out their ruts with their human mates instead of the house the seven share.

Yoongi huffs out a breath. “He’s definitely presenting as an alpha.”

“No shit,” Namjoon barks, unusually on edge. 

Yoongi, Seokjin, and Taehyung are the betas of the group, and until now there had only been a slight difference among the bandmates despite their different rankings.

Alpha pheromones were stronger and their senses were more heightened around rutting season, particularly for other mates. 

In the end, they have to completely change how they house themselves, with Jimin sharing a room with Yoongi, and Jungkook sharing with Seokjin.

“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jungkook says miserably, his wolf finally calmed as he sits down on the bed.

“It’s not your fault,” Seokjin says, voice much less harsh than Namjoon’s had been earlier when he’d scolded him. “I saw Namjoon during this time, and it wasn’t easy.”

Jungkook looks up at the elder with wide eyes. “Really?”

Seokjin snorts and nods. “Yeah, around the full moon he was unbearable, snarling at everything.”

“I just didn’t want to scare her or...or hurt her...I wanted to put her against the wall and…” Jungkook trails off, embarrassed.

Seokjin only smiles and ruffles Jungkook’s hair. “That’s normal too, Baby. You wouldn’t have hurt her, especially if it’s what we think it is.”

“What...what does that mean?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Something you gotta work out on your own.”

Jungkook groans and flops down on the bed as Seokjin laughs, heading downstairs to make dinner while things are calm.

He has trouble sleeping again, but this time instead of wondering why, he knew, could almost feel the soft skin of your hip on his palm like it was still there, how you’d moaned into his mouth, whined for him.

Jungkook isn’t sure there’s a cold enough shower to help.

You can’t seem to sit still as the full moon nears, feeling like you might jump out of your skin. You can’t count the number of friends you’d called but no one seems up to going out. You bite your lip while looking at Jungkook’s contact on your phone screen.

If you think about it long enough, you can still feel the way he pressed against you, how the hair on the nape of your neck stood up when he nipped at your lip, how hot you’d felt, how wet…

You sigh and scroll up, seeing Jimin’s name instead. Jimin had been fun to be with the night you’d met, easy to talk to, less….intense. And he didn’t make you feel like you were about to crawl out of your skin, so you ask if he wants to meet up for a drink.

It’s late, by the time you decide, and the moon is out, waxing toward fullness. There’s only a tiny sliver remaining, big in the sky, and you can’t stop looking up at it as you walk to the bar near your house.

You’d chosen it because it’s close and not because it’s where hot drummer Jeon Jungkook, also known as Baby, had pressed you against an alley wall and made you almost…

Jimin jolts you out of your thoughts, calling your name and waving as you approach the door. He’s leaned against the doorjamb, giving you a smirk and you think now you understand why they call him Sly.

It makes you smile and again, you vibe well with him, you get along in the best way, conversation is easy and you don’t feel gooseflesh or your hair stand up when he brushes his fingers against yours.

Jimin knows he’s playing with fire when he replies to your text, but they don’t call him Sly for nothing, and you’re interesting, for a human. He’s only met one other female wolf, a tall and feisty woman with a sharp tongue and the most beautiful brown eyes, but she’d had a mate and well...things hadn’t ended well. 

Jungkook thinks of his wolf as this separate entity but Jimin disagrees, let’s his wolf do what it wants, so that all the bad things he feels have some kind of outlet. This was especially so after he’d lost his brown eyed wolf girl, so he invites you back to the house, knowing that Jungkook will be at the gym all night before the full moon tomorrow.

In fact, all of the others will be out, finding fun of their own, and why shouldn’t Jimin do the same? It isn’t as if Jungkook has marked you, or even can, since you’re human. 

Your eyes aren’t quite the same shade of hers, but he can pretend.

Jungkook works out until his muscles ache but nothing can shake this feeling he has, like something’s wrong. When he leaves the gym even the moon looks off, as if it’s dimmer than it should be, and something’s pulling him home, like this tug in his gut. It feels like it used to as a kid in his first foster home, when he’d get so anxious he’d climb onto the roof and stare up at it.

He’s almost running as he gets closer, feeling his skin prickle as he gets to the house, his wolf so close to the surface he can feel the fur that isn’t there yet standing up on the back of his neck.

He smells Jimin first, wrinkling his nose at the alpha pheromones, and when he walks upstairs it isn’t as if he decides to let the wolf take over, or struggles with it - it’s instant.

You’re standing in the hall, head tilted up, and Jimin is leaning against the wall, smiling down at you, and when you lean up to just softly brush your lips against Jimin’s, Jungkook’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest, and the wolf barks, loud and warning.

You turn, surprised, and Jungkook doesn’t think, doesn’t act, it’s all wolf. He grabs you by your waist, hefts you up over your shoulder, and begins to walk you to his room.

Jimin protests and Jungkook growls over his shoulder, daring him to try something. Later, Jungkook is glad his friend didn’t follow, because he isn’t sure that he could have held the wolf back.

You kick and yell and beat on his back and Jungkook doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s plopped you down on his bed, crawling toward you.

You kick him in the chest and it barely registers. You stand up and that’s when he snaps back to himself, at least to a degree.

"Don't leave. You can't leave." It's panicked, his voice, higher pitched almost like a whine.

"I can do whatever I want," you snap.

He makes this sound between a whine and a snarl and it's startling, strange, and you stop at the door.

"I know that! I know, but he doesn't!" 

"He..." you turn to look at him and he's trembling, head down, and you step closer, worried. "Baby, what do you mean?"

Jungkook just stands there, still trembling, until you reach out to touch his hair, gently. "He thinks he owns you, that you're his, that no one else can touch you." He explains, almost in a whisper.

"Who is he?" You ask slowly.

He raises his head slow and you gasp when you look into his eyes, instead of a warm brown this burnt amber, red hued.

"The wolf."

You stand there, blinking in surprise, for a long moment before actively telling your feet to move to the door. Unfortunately, your brain seems to have some kind of disconnect to your limbs, because you just step even closer, lean in and inhale along his neck, this scent of sweat and the iron of the weights he’d been lifting washing over you.

Rationally, you know that you should be shocked, horrified, even, that werewolves are real and you’re apparently standing in a house full of them but all you can do is run your tongue along the vein in his throat and Jungkook is trembling all over, whimpering like a puppy.

“Y/n, please, don’t-” he chokes out.

“Why not?” You murmur against his skin, the scent of him making your body react like you’ve never felt before. There’s this ache between your thighs that you’ve only felt a hint of before and you want more, nipping at his skin, unable to think clearly.

“He wants to...wants you,” Jungkook stutters, balling his hands into fists to keep from touching you.

“He does? Or you do?” You ask, lifting your head to pout at him, and Jungkook groans.

“Both,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Then take me,” you say, and you don’t even know where the words came from. Your head feels light on your shoulders, dizzy with the scent of him, how his skin tastes under your tongue, and you do what he did to you the last night you’d seen him, nipping at his lower lip. Your canine pierces the skin and you taste iron on your tongue

Jungkook growls and lifts you again, this time with his hands under your ass and thighs and your legs wrap around him instantly. He all but throws you down on the bed, this time, and you whimper when he grips one of your thighs with his big hand, squeezing the flesh there.

“Mine,” he snarls, that high pitched whine at the end, and it makes you arch your back, claw your nails across his shoulders.

Jungkook leans down to sniff at your neck and growls again, wrinkling his nose and when you open your eyes he’s staring down at you with those red/amber eyes. 

You look back defiantly but you’re rolling your hips against his, you can feel him hard against your core and even though you’d never gone all the way with anyone before you want him inside you, can’t think of anything else.

“You smell like him,” he accuses, voice hoarse, and his wide eyes fade back to brown, just slightly, the color dilating around his pupils.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, feeling something like guilt, even though nothing had happened, really, and even it if it had…

He rubs his nose against your throat, covers you with his body like he’s replacing any of Jimin’s scent with his own. He licks against your neck, bites down on your skin, making you yelp.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook whines. “I’m sorry, I have to. You’re mine, I have to mark you, have to scent you anywhere he touched you,” he tries to explain, his hands skating down your ample curves.

“It’s okay,” you say, and somehow you mean it, you understand, the very thought of Jungkook smelling like anyone else makes your heart jump into your throat, something primal rise in your gut. “I know, baby.”

“You’re mine?” He says again, voice pitching up into a question just like when he’d introduced himself and it scares you, the way it makes your heart ache.

Instead of speaking you kiss him again, hard, moving your hands to his hair to get him closer. You had worn a skirt and halter out, it’s so warm even though it’s close to winter, your skin feeling so hot under the moonlight that you couldn’t wear much else.

Even as you kiss him he’s tearing at your clothes and you lean up to help him until you’re bare beneath him and panting, this whining noise coming from your throat that you can’t explain.

“God,” Jungkook groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I-”

“You haven’t...haven’t done this before?” Your eyes widen.

Jungkook realizes what you mean and he blushes a bit. “I’ve...yeah, I’ve done this before but not...not like this. I feel like...the wolf feels like...he’s been crazy. Since the first moment I saw you.”

“Like you’re gonna jump out of your skin? Always feeling...hot?” You ask.

Jungkook nods slowly, eyes widening.

“Me too,” you admit. “I don’t...I don’t know what it means. That’s why I came out with Jimin, I-”

Jungkook cuts you off with a choked whine. “It means you’re supposed to be mine.”

He snuffles against your neck again, hands at your hips, still holding back, trembling. “It means he never should have touched you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, even though you know you have nothing to apologize for. “I want you. I’ve never...I’ve never done this before but I want you so bad,” you admit, clutching at his tshirt, pulling it up until he gets on his knees and pulls it off, tossing it to the side. You spread your hands across his chest and he lets out a wrecked moan.

“You’re holding back,” you accuse.

He nods. “The wolf, he doesn’t….I don’t want to hurt you. Especially...fuck, no one’s touched you like this before?” His hands slide up and down your thighs as he stares down at your body, your breasts, the cleft of your cunt.

Jungkook knows that shouldn’t make him so hard, shouldn’t make his dick pulse in his sweats, shouldn’t make the wolf keen with pride. Mine mine mine, the first, the only is all his brain is chanting, he feels dizzy like he’s drank too much even though he hasn’t had a drop.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, but he can’t, can’t let the wolf out, he’s afraid he’ll rip you apart. You’re human and a virgin and he can’t risk hurting you.

The wolf won’t even let him say it, so he just shakes his head. 

You huff out a breath, your body aching all over, need making your arousal coat your thighs. You don’t know what you’re going to say until you say it.

“Should I ask Jimin to do it? I bet he can smell me,” you taunt, shocking yourself.

Jungkook freezes, his eyes bleeding to red again and one hand jolting out to wrap around your throat.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You know you should be cautious since you’re about to fuck an actual werewolf, but fuck, you’re so hot, you can’t think, you need something inside you and you drop your feet to the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“Jimin would mark me. He’d fuck me, fill me full like I want.” 

Jungkook feels something in him snap, and his heart hurts and his cock aches and the wolf is keening, clawing inside him and he can’t control it anymore, just like before.

“Never,” he growls, squeezes his fingers around your throat and you gasp, your stomach aching with need.

Finally, finally he slides his fingers along your pussy and you choke out a sob as his thumb slips across your clit but it’s not enough.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “Make me yours.”

“Already mine,” he murmurs, and finally slides two fingers inside you, making you cry out. “You’re already mine but I’m gonna give you what you want, mark you, fuck you, make sure Park fucking Jimin never so much as sniffs at you again.”

“Yes,” you sigh. “Yes, please, please.”

Jungkook still worries somewhere in the back of his mind that he’ll hurt you, that the wolf will, and by now he understands they’re one and the same but you’re rolling your hips up and his cock feels heavy and full like he’s about to burst, somehow wider at the base and he rips down his sweats, fucking you with three fingers now. 

When his cock bounces against his stomach you gasp, and if you’d been in your right mind you might worry he’s too big but something inside you is crying out in pleasure just at the sight of it. You spread your legs wider and he releases your throat, leaning over to kiss you instead, biting your lip as he slowly works himself inside you.

It’s a tight fit even after three fingers and you’re whining into his mouth, wanting more.

Jungkook isn’t a virgin, far from it although a little less experienced than some of his band members (Hoseok had once bragged about fucking a house of sorority sisters during a rut), but the way you clench around him has his hips twitching, wanting to buck into you even if it would split you open. 

Despite his worry, neither he or the wolf wants to hurt you, though, so he waits for you to adjust even as you beg, waits until you can take all of him.

He’s barely realized that he’s popped his knot until he looks down to see where you’ve joined and he groans. He knows how to do this, has been talked to (endlessly, by Taehyung, about his human girlfriend and how she desperately wants to take his knot and they’re working on it but it will take time and training), knows that you can’t take his knot but the wolf is howling for it, wants to fuck you hard and then pop it inside you, spill a littler into your womb.

You whine and pulse around him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Kookie,” you pout. “Baby. Want you inside me, fuck me harder, please-”

“I can’t-” he chokes out, but then you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper and the wolf growls, leans down, mine mine mine chanting in his head. My mate.

You felt a tiny pop when Jungkook first entered you, nothing painful and then just need, you want more and more and you don’t even know how to say it. You look up at him, near tears, needing something that you feel he won’t give you.

“I’m not yours yet,” you slur, and he looks pained, his eyes dilating from warm brown to amber red again and again.

He rocks his hips against you slow, and you’ve orgasmed twice already, once from his fingers and one from his cock but it’s not enough and you whine, it comes out almost inhuman, like his.

“Fill me up,” you urge, and Jungkook tries to hold the wolf back, he really does, but he’s too far gone, this close to the full moon and in the start of his first rut. 

Jungkook groans, fucks you harder and faster and when you cry out his name his balls draw up and he thrusts forward harder than he’d meant to, popping his knot inside you.

You make a surprised sound and his eyes pop open, his hands cupping your face even as his hips twitch as he cums, spills inside you.

“Y/n. I’m so sorry,” he mourns. “I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” he babbles, kissing along your neck and throat, seeing that he’d already marked you twice, once on each side of your throat, and he barely remembers it.

You let out a happy sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, feeling finally sated, at least for the moment. “What are you sorry for, silly baby?”

“Doesn’t it hurt?” He asks, and you look up into his eyes and they’re heterochromatic, now, red hued amber and brown both.

“You’d never hurt me,” you mumble against his throat.

“Never,” he promises. “Never, I love you so much.” 

You’re half asleep, sated with him still inside you, planting soft kisses on your lips and face. You don’t know where you’d learned the word, but it feels right when you say it, right before you drift to sleep.

“I love you too, Alpha.”

It takes a while to understand, especially between Jungkook being barely able to leave his room since he’s in rut and you’re in heat, but eventually, you figure it out.

Your great grandmother had been an omega werewolf, and it’s a recessive gene so you’d been the lucky one to receive it. Since you had never shifted because your gene wasn’t activated by male wolves, you had no smell.

At least, not until the full moon, when you shifted into what Jungkook says is the prettiest wolf he’d ever seen.

After, when you’d near your heat, Jungkook would snap and snarl at the boys so much just for talking to you that it made you roll your eyes, but eventually you got the dates right (for the most part, there’d been one instance in which Jimin had made a snarky comment and Jungkook had lunged at him and they’d gone rolling down the stairs), and you holed up in your apartment, instead.

Jungkook was working with Seokjin to understand that the wolf is him instead of some seperate entity. You tell him you’ve always known that. From what you know now, if the wolf wasn’t, he would have taken you the very first night. True mates are rare, and you’d both known it the whole time, even when you hadn’t.

You and Jia went to every concert, her always telling you her neverending sexcapades with Hoseok to be able to take his knot, front row, waiting for your Alpha’s set. It’s cute, you think, that they call him Baby on stage but he’s your Alpha, especially since he’s both, always, to you.

[astraeagreengrass]

French Press

Sam Wilson has a crush on two things: good coffee and you

Pairing: EMT!Sam Wilson x Nurse!Reader 

Word Count:1.981

Warnings: bad words, probably bad descriptions of medical professions and f l u f f

A/N: This is my submission to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ "Little Darlin's Mystery AU Challenge". Thank you Clea for hosting this challenge! My prompt was EMT/paramedic featuring Sam Wilson. Many thanks to the only person lovelier than Captain America - Dani @xbuchananbarnes​ who kindly kept up with me rambling on and on about this for weeks. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

Sam Wilson was having a really bad day.

He had slept in, having missed his alarm by well over forty minutes, and when his - goddamned, motherfucking, idiotic - roommate Bucky started banging on the door warning that they were going to be late, Sam rose in a flash, tripping on the strewn covers and stubbing his left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. Howling in pain, he half-entered, half-fell in the shower, scrubbing himself as fast as he could while muttering curses under the cold water.

The temperature was just warming up when he got out, only to realize he forgot to get a towel from the clean laundry basket. Trusting that drying himself off with a face towel was less humiliating than asking Bucky for a regular one - even if it meant going over his legs five times - Sam lost even more precious minutes, having to forgo his beloved french-pressed coffee in order to get to the hospital on time. Barnes could be a dick sometimes, but he was the best ambulance driver in the city, and, right now, Sam’s only hope.

Only they were not on the ambulance yet, and New York City's traffic didn't make way for Bucky's old Camaro - "It's vintage!" - the way it did for first responders. So when the tires screeched in front of Brooklyn General and the two friends rushed to the ER, they were greeted by the displeased face of their supervisor, Maria Rambeau.

"Please come in" she said in mock welcome. "I'm sure emergencies can wait for the princesses to get their beauty sleep."

And because anything in life that can go wrong will go wrong, you happened to pass by precisely as Sam was spilling out apology after apology. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stifling a laugh as you ducked behing Maria to get to the women’s rest room.

That was Monday.

Late evening blended into early morning and Sam found himself in the hospital cafeteria, upper body slumped on a chair and legs stretched in another. He always found it funny how healthcare professionals were usually the ones with the most unhealthy habits - like the irregular sleeping habits and the copious amount of bad coffee. Still, over and over again he took refuge on beige walls of the cafeteria, trying to find a modicum of rest between calls.

So far, the night had brought in an amateur archer with a cracked rib and a teenager with a allergic reaction to spiders. All in all, not a bad 24-hour shift.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the shutters when you walked in with Carol Danvers, another nurse. Your scrubs were rumpled and there was a dot of smudged mascara under your eyes. A thin line streamed your cheek from where the surgical mask sat and he was sure your hands were dry and scratchy from the latex gloves just like his were. Even so, to Sam, you were as beautiful as you did when you arrived yesterday morning, if only for the twinkled of mischief he could still catch in your gaze.

Next to him, Bucky snickered.

“You’re so whipped.”

That was Tuesday.

The first time you saw each other outside the hospital, it was a coincidence.

Sam turned left at the coffee aisle and there you were - almost unrecognizable in legging pants and a cap, bopping to a song he couldn’t hear on your earphones. You looked worlds away from the capable nurse he knew you were, staring absentmindedly at the rows of grains, weighing different options on each hand.

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the familiar white packaging on your right palm or the way the black pants hugged your calves and thighs in a soft curve your scrubs could never achieve. Somehow, finding you in the domestic setting of the local grocery store brought the words out of Sam’s lips, past lungs and vocal cords, toppling the insecurity that lived at the tip of his tongue.

“The Colombian one is great,” he blurted out.

Your removed an earbud, then the other. Your confused frown morphed into the most beautiful stretch of lips when you recognized the tall man at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” you beamed. “I know you.”

I know you.

I know you.

I know you.

“From the hospital,” you quickly explained yourself, not knowing you didn’t have to. “You're Sam, right?”

On the inside, he was hyperventilating.

Oh my God, she knows me.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sam Wilson.”

Two steps forward and he was close enough to extend his arm. The handshake was brief and polite, but thrilling. Sam sensed the gentle caress of your palm on every nerve ending of his body. He was wrong yesterday: your hands were so soft it felt as though you'd never once wore latex gloves.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said and damn it sounded so much better coming from your mouth rather than someone else’s. “Since you’re a friend, do you think you can help me understand this coffee?”

Friend. Friend. Cool. Helping a friend at the grocery store. He could do that. Friend. Get it together, Wilson.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Well, I use a French Press, so if that’s your thing I’d suggest a medium or dark roast. That one is one of my favorites,” he pointed to the small white bag you were still holding in the cradle of your elbow.

“Oh wow, you’re a pro,” you laughed. “I don’t think I can operate anything more complicated than a coffee bag.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“A coffee bag? Really? That’s like a crime against coffee!”

You giggled, carefree, melodious and slightly embarrassed, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, still shy and oblivious to her greatness.

“In my defense, I’ve been trying to get better,” you claimed. “I don’t think I can survive much longer with the cafeteria coffee as my standard.”

“You’re right about that,” Sam said. Then, in a push of his good luck, he added. “Hey, if you want you can borrow my book on coffee recipes. When’s your next shift?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied. “And thank you! Are you sure you won’t need your book?”

“Not at all!” he shook his head. “Besides, it would a crime to let you keep using those coffee bags.”

And there it was again, the laugh. He could keep hearing it forever.

There was a pause, then. That awkward silence in the middle of a sentence when someone wishes they could say more but they don't know how to. It's child's play all over again, from the itch at the tip of the fingers to the flutter in the stomach. In a few moments of quiet, everything is a lot - emotions are too intense, too noisy and too much, toppling over careful overthought expectations of an infatuated heart.

He saves the memory of your smile, willing it to be good fortune, read from coffee grounds sitting on a an empty cup.

“Ok, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

That was Wednesday.

He found you at the nurses’ station.

Standard green scrubs, hair out of your face, glasses on the bridge of your nose. There was a pink stain on your middle finger from the neon pen you used to highlight patient’s prontuary.

He’d never seen you in glasses before and something about them made his heart beat faster.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, fingers drumming the countertop in a nervous tick disguised as smooth greeting.

“Oh. Hey, Sam, ” you offered. Next to you, Carol Danvers looked like the cat that ate the canary. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “What about you? Committing any coffee sins recently?”

“I’ll let you know my coffee bags are safe and healthy, thank you very much,” you grinned and laughter bubbled from him in easy breaths of adoration.

“Here,” Sam slid a small rectangular to you. “The recipe book I promised you.”

You held it to your chest like a precious gift and he crumbled, tiny pieces of man falling apart in earth-shattering joy.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please,” Sam whispered, either to you or to himself, he wasn’t sure. “Please do.”

That was Thursday.

It took Bucky a lot of convincing, but he eventually let Sam take the Camaro.

"Never call her old again, ya hear me?" he complained. "Not when she's helping you get your girl."

Sam was going to call it something a lot worse if he didn’t manage to find a place to park soon.

On it’s defense, it was Friday night on Fulton Street. Chances of finding a parking space were little to none, even if you were a man with a crush and a nice car. So when he finally reaches you, looking pretty in a dress under the artificial light of a café, he’s just a little breathless from racing down three blocks.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed and you beamed, brighter than the signboard, or his headlights or the first twinkling star shining through the foggy city sky.

“Hey,” you said. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Never,” he breathed out. “I just… Idrovemybestfriendscartoimpressyoubuttherewasnoparkingspace.”

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you, so I borrowed my friend’s car,” he admitted. “Only there was no parking space, so I had to go around the block a few times.”

Relief flooded from you and your shoulders visibly relaxed - but not enough.

The text came ungodly early, in an hour that most people would consider impolite, but not you and definitely not him. In your line of work, odd hours were just regular hours.

Hey Sam, it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from an EMT named Steve. He said he’s your friend. Anyway, there’s this café in Bed-Stuy that’s doing a “French Press Festival”. I don’t know what that means but I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. Like friends, of course. To honor good coffee.

He said yes of course. Perhaps more than once.

“I have something to confess, too,” you said. “I thought you’d found out about it and that’s why you didn’t show.”

Sam froze.

“I’m not a coffee newbie,” you admitted. “I actually know a lot about it. But when we met at the supermarket you seemed so enthusiastic… And honestly, I’d tried to find so many excuses to talk to you at the hospital but I was embarrassed - you make me nervous!”

And nervous you were, fingers twisting each other in a painful, agitated grip.

“I didn’t want to ruin the first good opportunity I got by saying that I knew the Colombian coffee was awesome, and yes, coffee bags should be banned from the face of the planet.”

There are moments that define a boy's heart. Shape it like more than muscle and blood, with something akin to manhood. Sam Wilson was grown - long limbs, tall frame and brave heart - but something in your presence screamed schoolyard crush and teenage fever at him. Like a toddler learning to walk or a boy tasting love for the first time. Like an adult discovering that some things feel better when they speed through older veins.

Sam’s smile was an earthquake - shattering the ground and dismantling structures in its wake. It rattled the five feet keeping you apart, pushing your bodies forward finally.

“I must say I was a little disappointed when you mentioned coffee bags,” he stated. Then he opened the café door and mentioned you forward. “But not as disappointed as I’ll be if say you’ll prefer Chemex over French Presses.”

You grinned and maybe Sam’s fortune was read before the coffee was poured.

“I guess you’re in luck, Mr. Wilson.”

That was Friday.

That was the beginning.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 4

Woof, it’s been such a hell of a week! Here is a (slightly delayed) fourth chapter. As usual my notes are at the bottom. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.

[December 24, 1992]

The yellow mocks him. Lines of it cross the walls, broad brushstrokes that climb from floor to the ceiling, ceiling to floor. Back again.

FAITH.

Once, Jamie and Claire had laughed at the names underneath, the written ghosts of other possibilities:

“How about Lambert?”

“Nay, Dalhousie is much better.

“Dalhousie?” Claire’s paintbrush strike-through, a definite no. “That sounds like a bloody sneeze.”

He thinks of them now: the would-be Dalhousie, the would-be Lambert, who still exist, half-formed, beneath the layers of paint. Two futures they’d decidedly rejected, covering them with white and then, finally, in the brightest yellow. F-A-I-T-H, they’d declared instead. So bold and sure—what they’d chosen and surrendered, by force, to the grave.

I dinna ken how to say this, man, but the hospital called and…

It was the prison guard who’d told Jamie this, watery eyes peering apologies through the bars. For the first time since Jamie’s arrest, the man’s scowl had lifted, and under the twitching bush of mustache, a grimmer line rose up. Solid as any wall. (That line marks the end of this part of the story. Jamie and Claire’s marigold paradise, gone forever.)

Jamie sees the proof of this all around him: the crib is empty, its sheets unused and its teddy unloved. A bed that will wait and wait, its expectations never met. Right above, the mobile’s flowers droop, dead before tiny fingers could swat them into life. Jamie rips it from the ceiling, and the plaster falls. Little chips of white on his shoulders.

It has been eight months since Claire kneeled alone, veiled in black. It has been eight months since Jamie wept in orange, that very same day, behind a sheet of Plexiglass. He had stared into the other side, willing every visitor’s face into Claire’s. (None of them right; none of them hers.)

And it has been eight days since Claire left and Jamie woke up, drowning in their empty cot. He still smells her, all flowers and wet soil because, even gone, she is there beneath his skin.

Outside, Jamie hears carolers sing, voices carried on the upward swing of the wind. Silent night, holy night. He slides the window open, letting the ice fill his lungs. He holds his breath, welcomes the sting, and listens for the reassuring sounds of her. Claire, a memory under the gust and song:

“You should’ve seen the hernia I treated today!”

“He shushed me, can you believe it? What a wanker.”

“Chinese take-out for dinner, yeah?”

“Jamie, will you come to bed?”

But his wife grows faint beneath the rising bellows, the carolers cheered by the promise of warmth. Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright. And so Jamie exhales—nothing else to do but mouth along, swallow that calm, bright place within the wind; conjure it inside the studio.

In this new place, Jamie does not betray his wife or know the cold, unforgiving grip of handcuffs and the cold, unforgiving grip of grief. In this place, husbands say the right words and wives accept them, do not leave in the dead of night. Here is a place where things make sense, and where babies breathe. Holy infant so tender and mild.

And yet. Jamie and Claire’s home, with its frozen pipes and its skeleton crib, is not that place, does not make sense anymore. The great, illogical impossibility of it all—this:

It was here that Jamie, so desperate for money, siphoned off what little they had. A gamble gone wrong, behind Claire’s back and against his word. And it is here that Jamie wrapped his wrists each morning, bandaging the marks of four weeks in a cell. His skin had bruised, like his heart, which still sits feather-light in his chest. So soft, so quiet. So much of it gone without Claire.

From his window, Jamie watches the carolers advance towards a church, its doors sprung wide. Their footprints sign farewells in the snow, walking away, away, away. The wind howls in their wake, alive with Jamie’s loneliness.

“Come back!” he yells from above, and his own voice is a shock to him. He yells a second time, more frantic now. It comes so easily, these pleas to the retreating strangers. So much easier than calling his wife, begging for her forgiveness, because finally—finally—he has found the words. Come back, come back, come back.

But when it counted, Jamie had turned inward and away; had said nothing. Wasn’t silence better than the wrong words? Smile, rub your hand along her back, take her to bed and fill the void with another, different child? But in that silence, Claire had heard the rip—that swift severance of the bright, red string between them. The two of them, suddenly on their own, waging separate wars against the world. And so she’d left—and he has not called.

“Come back!” he yells again. His desperation echoes between the buildings.

For a second, Jamie thinks they’ve heard him. Their shuffling stops and a woman, fingers clutching her naked neck, turns around. She looks to the ground, all frenzied eyes, before someone grabs her, saying, “It’s cold! Leave it!” She resists at first, peering over her shoulder, but then forges onwards with the crowd. Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace…

It is quiet now. Jamie closes the window and leans against it, coming face to face with the empty crib. It is this, this above all else, that does not make sense to him. Hadn’t he seen the pictures—those blurry, vague promises of a little girl? Tacked them to the visor of his car, folded them into his wallet to brandish at the office? And hadn’t he felt the kicks against Claire’s stomach, and assembled this crib, this damn crib?

And yet—there is nothing that makes sense.

And yet—he knows handcuffs and he knows grief.

And yet—she’d had no words to accept, simply left in the dead of night.

And yet. And yet. And yet.

The baby did not breathe.

— - —

(Later, Jamie will rise from his sleep and look out the window. He will follow the path of the sinking sun until it catches a necklace, glaring golden in the snow. Jamie will brace the storm, put the necklace in his pocket. Wait. And when the sidewalk has melted, he will place the necklace there, precisely where it was dropped, for the caroler to find.

Of all the things that do not make sense, he is sure of this: soon, the woman will remember her father clasping it around her neck. Or she will remember when her boyfriend said, “I saw this, and I thought of you.” When she tried it on, just a child, in front of her mother’s mirror. She will remember how much she loves this necklace, this slice of paradise in the dark, cold winter, and she will look for it. This, Jamie knows: she will come back.)

— - —

Before she signs the papers, her lawyer asks, “Are ye sure of this, Claire?”

And when she sees the page, filled with so many endings, she wants to say, “No. No, I’m not sure.”

No, I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.  

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

But, Claire thinks, what other option is there? How else to forget the butterfly ears, or the way Faith’s skin had caught the dawn? Such a beautiful, translucent thing: strawberry hair, blue lightning across the pales of her lids. How else to forget that Claire had clung to the hospital sheets, so damp and so bloody, after they’d taken Faith away? Just to remember, please, she’d cried. Those dirty sheets, the only sign that the child had ever been there. Please, please. Just to remember.

She’s grown so tired of remembering, now craves the oblivion of forget. She does not want the memory of Jamie’s sleep-smile, lit red and blue (just like their daughter) by the Christmas tree’s glow. She does not want the memory of how she almost didn’t leave, how she’d stood in the gateway to their marigold paradise, paralyzed. A moment in time where she might have gone back, lain down beside her husband and unpacked the suitcase. Never called Ned Gowan.

Standing there that night, Claire had watched Jamie sleep and wondered: Would she have been like you? and Would she have looked like you? And the answers, so immediate and so clear in the rainbow tree light were, Yes. Because how could God resist?

And so what else is there to do but sign the papers? Jamie, day after day, staring back at her with their would-be-child’s face. Claire had closed the door, had not looked back. Because how could she possibly stay?

At her silence, Ned Gowan probes again, “Are ye sure of this, Claire?” and calmly, calmly she takes the pen. She signs along the blank line, and every loop of her name—now: Beauchamp, Beauchamp, Beauchamp—swirls with all her doubts.

No, I’m not sure.

No, I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.

I don’t know.  

I don’t know.  

I don’t—

No.

— - —

(If the heart moves at the speed of light, then it will shatter upon impact. A million broken shards, all strewn across the world. Pieces of Claire will remain in that studio, in that cot, in her husband’s arms. But most will be found buried deep below the ground. Inside the tiny, wooden box that holds their baby girl.)

— - —

And now we get to my least favorite chapter in the entire fic! I still laugh about the fact that I casually gloss over Jamie gambling their life away on the day Faith died—which I think was my nod to Jamie’s duel with BJR? I honestly never quite figured it out, which means it probably shouldn’t be in the story at all. It’s asking you guys to take a massive leap of faith, so thanks for making the jump for me.

Either way, I have seen my parents go through a similar experience. And I think when you’re living on your own for the first time—as I was doing when I first wrote this—you start to reflect on who they are as people, outside of their role as “your parent”. What sort of griefs and hardships have they shielded you from? It was something that was on my mind at the time and it bled into this story.

Despite its flaws, there are some things I still like about this chapter. Claire and Jamie painting Faith’s name on the wall is the image that I started with. The passage about Jamie seeing the caroler is one of my favorites, and I hope it’s a metaphor that works. And I still like the rhythm of Claire’s indecision: I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t—No. It’s nice to write something that makes even you, the writer, feel a lil sad!

[justwritethatdown]

The Bella's house is haunted by the ghost of a girl who died there in the 80's . They have a seance. Things go very badly...

Rating: M for vivid description of violence

Words count: 3k

Trigger warning: cruent deaths, mention of blood

(I’ve been meaning to tell you)

I think your house is haunted

Beca had moved in the Bella’s house and had been living there with the other girls for just one week when she started to notice there was something weird going on in that place.

At first, she thought it might have been one of the girls – definitely Amy – who was playing tricks on her; it was just annoying silly things, really, like misplaced objects, doors that opened and closed on their own or songs that mysteriously changed to Cindy Lauper while she was listening to her Spotify playlists. All things Amy could have managed to do with little effort.

What made Beca question her believes were the events of that day she was sick and decided to stay home while all the girls went to class and then to rehearsals. She was home alone, so nobody could be pranking her, but strange things continued to happen – doubled even.

It started with her headphones; Beca could swear she’d left them on the desk, next to her computer, but when she came back from the bathroom they were gone. The brunette looked for them everywhere and finally found them in the fridge

“Mh, weird” she mumbled to herself, making her way back in her room to start working on a new mix.

 Halfway through her mix, her laptop started to flash and then it showed statics

“What the fuck!? Come on you can’t die on me right now” lamented Beca hitting her laptop, she took her brand-new iPhone 5 and saw it was doing the same thing “what the hell is going on?”

She threw the phone asides and stated that she was delirious, probably due to the fever, so she decided to make herself one of Chloe’s infusions. Beca put the boiler on the stove and started looking in the cabinet for the infusion, when the home theater they had in the living room started to blast Time after Time.

“Who’s there?” she called out but didn’t get an answer. If she was honest, she’d admit she was starting to freak out a little bit.

The brunette slowly entered the living room to see that nobody was there

“That’s not funny” she called out, doing her best to hide the shake in her voice “Amy I saw you, you can come out” she tried, but again, no answer. She gulped and went to turn off the stereo, then slowly sat on the sofa to calm down, but the boiler’s whistle made her jump

“Fuck” she spat out marching to the kitchen.

Beca took a deep calming breath pouring the boiling water in her favorite mug, put the boiler away and sat down to enjoy her drink. The warm bitter liquid running down her throat was starting to relax her and free her lungs, she put down the mug and rubbed her face with both hands, when she heard the mug crashing on the floor.

  Chloe opened the door and the first thing she saw was a baseball bat moving in her direction. She dodged it and saw a very startled Beca holding it

“Beca what are you doing?” she squeaked

“I- sorry I thought…” trailed off the brunette letting her weapon fall and tiredly hid her face with her palms

“Hey, what’s going on, how are you feeling?” Chloe asked removing Beca’s hands “Oh my god, Bec, you’re burning up! Let me take you to bed”

 “I broke a mug” mumbled Beca while Chloe was helping her under the covers “and my phone” she added

“Your phone is working…” stated Chloe showing it to her “don’t worry for the mug, now try to get some rest” she whispered tucking a lock of brown hair away from Beca’s forehead.

Beca let out a heavy breath and briefly considered telling Chloe what she went through

“Chlo…”

“Mh?” the redhead asked turning around with a soft smile

“Thank you” mumbled the brunette before rolling on her side. “Ghosts don’t exist you’re just delirious” she told to herself before falling asleep.

 “You’re such a loser”

“You will never be one of us”

“There’s no place for cowards in here”

“Ahahahah”

It was night, the cold air was making Beca shiver. The area of porch she could see from her bedroom’s window looked different than usual and she couldn’t recognize any of the voices laughing at her. She wasn’t looking down from her window, she was standing outside the window. She was barefoot.

“Come on, we don’t have all night!”

Beca swallowed hard, her head was spinning, she slipped.

 Beca woke up in her bed, damp with sweat, her – now working – phone pointed 4AM, she groaned and went back to sleep.

 Weeks passed and then months, objects kept disappearing and appearing in weird places and Beca made sure to never be alone in the house again, but she never talked to anyone about what happened, she was too embarrassed about it – ghosts don’t exist.  

One evening, after helping Jessica find her bracelet that ended up being in a plant near the bathroom, she decided to talk to Chloe about it.

“Hey Chlo, can we talk for a moment?” she mumbled, still uncertain about saying it out loud

“Sure, what’s up?” asked the redhead putting aside her Russian lit book

“I uhm… this might sound weir but…” she trailed off

“You know you can tell me everything, right?” assured her Chloe leaning in to grab her hand

“I – not that I believe in this kind of things, but uhm… I think there’s a ghost in the house”

Chloe’s face fell and she cleared her throat sitting back straight “Yeah, that’s Molly” she said casually, going back to her reading.

“WHAT?” gasped the brunette

“Molly” repeated Chloe “she died here in the 80’s” she explained

“You don’t actually believe she- she’s living with us, right?” stuttered Beca

“Of course, she is-”

“What are we talking about?” interrupted her Stacie

“Apparently we have a ghost” explained Cynthia-Rose who happened to hear the conversation

“Cool, a ghost story!” gasped Stacie excited “wait, I’ll call the others”

 They moved in the living room after Stacie gathered all the girls and Chloe started telling the story

“In the 80’s this house was the sorority house of the θγτ. Those girls were known to be the cruelest sorority Barden had ever seen. They always made their new members prove their worth through impossible dares, like eating worms or doing dangerous things. Most times the new girls run away crying and were thrown out of the sorority, but there was this girl – Molly – who wanted to be part of the sorority more than anything. She was willing to die for it-”

“How did she die?” interrupted Beca, her throat felt tight and her heart was beating incredibly fast

“It was initiation night. They gave her a dare, a test of bravery…”

The crunching of chips coming from Amy destroyed the mood Chloe was skillfully setting with her story

“Amy, would you mind!?” lamented Cynthia-Rose

“What?” asked Amy stopping with her mouth full of chips

“We’re kinda in the middle of something here…” added Ashley

“Go on” spurred her on Stacie

Chloe cleated her throat “they told her that to be a member of the θγτ she had to walk on the ledge from side to side of the house only wearing her nightgown. They knew she was scared of heights, they probably thought she would have given up, but she tried anyway…”

“fuck…” whispered Beca, she had chills thinking about her dream

“She fell” added Chloe in a sad voice

“Do you want to contact her?” offered Lilly in her usual creepy tone

“Yes! Let’s summon a ghost” squealed Stacie

“Dude, no!” gasped Beca horrified

“What? You scared Mitchell?” challenged her the tall brunette

“I’m not scared” retorted Beca

“Come on, it’s Halloween week, it’ll be fun” tried Jessica and the girls agreed. Beca didn’t like it, she didn’t like it at all.

 Lilly seemed to be rather expert on the field. She made them move the furniture and drawn a pentagram on the floor in the middle of the living room, she turned off the lights and placed five candles, one on each point of the circled star. The girls were sitting in circle around the symbol while Lilly placed herself in the center and started saying something Beca assumed to be in Latin.

Suddenly a gust of wind turned off all the candles and the room feel silent

“You girls shouldn’t be playing around with seances” Lilly said in a demoniac voice and someone, probably Jessica or Ashley – Beca wasn’t sure – screamed. Some of the girls turned on the flashlight on their phones and they could see Lilly standing up, with her hair down on her face.

“Shit, she looks just like Samara” said Amy

“You foolish girls, must pay respect to the rituals” Roared Lilly

“Fuck, is she possessed?” gasped Cynthia-Rose

“Lilly that’s the best Halloween prank I’ve ever seen” laughed Stacie “You look disgusting”

At that Lilly howled in rage turning to Stacie and showed her face, her eyes were completely white, and her body was still facing forward while her face was turned to look at the brunette. The girls screamed and moved away but Beca noticed Chloe was still on the pentagram

“Chloe what are you doing?” she shouted to her

“Molly” tried the redhead swallowing hard

The monster turned to face her and Beca grabbed Chloe’s hand to drag her away. Molly grunted and started to walk towards Stacie, in the meantime someone had turned on the lights and Beca could see that Lilly wasn’t wearing her clothes anymore, she recognized the white gown she was wearing in her dream.

Molly reached Stacie and cornered her

“Please, please not my face! Or the boobs, please-” begged the girl, but the spirit reached out to her throat and ripped her trachea out making blood splash everywhere. All the girls screamed in horror crying out Stacie’s name and the lights went out again.

 The Bellas ran away in different places of the house and Beca had no idea where the others went, except for Chloe who had never let go of her hand. She had dragged her in a room and locked the door behind them, everything was dark and Beca could barely make out the silhouette of Chloe’s face.

“I can’t believe Stacie is dead” sniffed Chloe

“Yeah, that’s crazy” murmured Beca letting the redhead hug her

“I’m glad you’re her with me” she breathed out

“Me too, I can’t imagine being alone right now” confessed the brunette and Chloe pulled away from the hug

“No, I mean… I’m glad that it’s you” clarified the redhead looking into her eyes

Beca swallowed hard noticing how close they were and in the dim light she could see Chloe’s eyes looking down at her lips for a moment. It’s funny how you throw all cares to the wind when you think you’re about to die. Beca leaned in and kissed her. Chloe responded instantly pressing her against the door and slipping her tongue into Beca’s mouth. Her hands were desperatcely gripping at Beca and for a moment the brunette thought that maybe this was worth dying for.

Their kiss was interrupted by Cynthia-Rose pointing a flashlight at them

“Finally!” she cheered making them jump “we need to go to the basement, unless you have something better to do…” she added in a judgy tone

“Why to the basement?” asked Beca clearing her throat “of all places…” she added with a shiver

“To fix the lighting maybe?” retorted Cynthia-Rose

“Okay but why can’t you go?” asked Beca hissing when Chloe hit her with her elbow

“Because the black and the queer characters always die first in horror movies, and if you didn’t notice, I am black and a lesbian! So, I’m definitely not going there alone” explained the girl

“Of course we’re coming with you” agreed Chloe.

 “Lock the door” intimated Beca once they entered the basement. They reached the electric cabinet and Beca pointed the light of the phone to it “you know how to do that?” she asked

“Yep”

While Cynthia-Rose was working on the cables Beca let herself get lost in the comfort of Chloe’s body pressed up against her back and the girl’s fingers intertwined with her owns. It caused a weird warm sensation, like if it didn’t matter that there was a murderous demon around the house and that they were all going to be slaughtered by it.

When the lights started working again the girls turned around to find Molly covered in Stacie’s blood standing in the middle of the room. Beca whimpered and pressed herself more into Chloe who had pretty much the same reaction, while Cynthia-Rose threw her flashlight to the monster hitting her in the face and gaining them some important seconds

“Go go go go go!” she shouted, and they started to climb the stairs.

As soon as Beca and Chloe were out of the basement door, it slammed shut behind them trapping the other girl inside. They could hear her scream and hit the door trying to open it, so they started doing the same until Beca couldn’t hear her anymore

“Chlo…” she tried, but the red head wouldn’t stop “Chlo-”

“We need to get her out of there Beca!” she cried

“Chlo, it’s too late… she’s gone” she sobbed “we have to go” she added grabbing Chloe’s hand again, but this time it wasn’t enough to calm her.

They started to run towards the door, when the couch slid between them and their target, they turned around to see Molly slowly approaching them.

“You don’t belong here” thundered Molly tilting her head “you didn’t complete the ritual”

“Yes, yes she does” gasped Chloe placing herself in front of Beca “Bree didn’t want her at first, but then she was okay with it”

“Chlo what are you doing?” whispered Beca, but the monster suddenly turned around and walked away “what the fuck?” breathed out Beca in confusion.

They saw Cynthia-Rose crawl out from the basement and ran to help her

“How are you what did she do to you?” asked Chloe helping the girl up to her feet

“Slowly, slowly, I’m injured” she gasped showing them a bleeding wound on her hip “she pushed me downstairs, I must have caught a nail or something”

“Come on, let’s take you to the bathroom, Chloe has a first aid kit” said Beca pushing the girl’s arm around her neck to help her stand.

 On their way to the bathroom, they found Jessica with a tear-stained face standing next to the staircase that led to the second floor, Chloe moved to hug her and saw Ashley’s lying on the floor with her neck broken and some limbs twisted.

“Fuck” sadly whispered Cynthia-Rose rubbing her face with her palm

“Lilly was following us upstairs, Amy got away” sobbed Jessica “I couldn’t leave her”

“It’s okay, come here, it’s okay" tried to comfort her Chloe.

 The group made it to Chloe’s bathroom and the redhead was trying to medicate Cynthia-Rose as best as she could

“What else did you see in horror movies?” asked Beca

“About ghosts? They’re usually here because they have unfinished business- ouch”

“Sorry" whispered Chloe

“ ‘s alright. But those were movies I don’t know- OUCH!”

“I’m done" promised Chloe getting up

“I don’t know if it applies to real ghosts” added Cynthia-Rose

“It’s all we have" huffed Beca “I need to try, and we still need to find Amy"

“I’m coming with you" said Chloe

“No, it’s too dangerous I don’t want you to get hurt”

“You’re not going alone” argued Chloe and Beca gave up

“Alright. Jessica, you stay here with CR”

 Beca and Chloe started to wander around the house, looking for Molly

“Why did you think the ghost was after me?” whispered Beca

“Her name is Molly” corrected her Chloe “and I don’t know…” she trailed off

“You mentioned Aubrey, did she tell the ghost- Molly, to haunt me or something?” suggested Beca

“What? No" gasped the redhead “I just assumed because she’s been here the whole time I was in this house, but since when you moved in, she seemed to be… more nervous” she explained

“I had a dream about her" confessed Beca “I mean I was her. In the dream. The night she died… I think she just wants to be accepted"

They heard a loud noise and suddenly stopped swallowing hard

“we should check that” said Chloe in a tiny voice

“I hope it’s Amy" huffed Beca nodding

 As it turned out it was Amy, but she’d just been thrown against the wall by Molly.

“Amy” shouted Beca without thinking, letting the ghost know they were there

“Beca, finally! Save me, I’m too important to die" screamed Amy trying to free herself, but the monster shoved a hand in her chest ripping her guts out.

“No!” cried Beca “stop it, what do you want from us?” she shouted at the ghost

Molly let Amy’s body fall to the ground and started to walk towards them again.

“You did not respect the ritual" she kept saying, the lights were flashing like crazy and there was wind coming out of nowere

Beca took a step forward “what ritual? What are you talking about?”

Molly pushed her asides and took Chloe by the throat. The redhead gasped trying to free herself from the bloody hand chocking her, but it was pointless

“You must complete the ritual!”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do your ritual” volunteered Beca

Molly instantly let go of Chloe and turned to the brunette

“Bec no" begged Chloe trying to catch her breath

“You are a Bella now!” she declared, confusing both Chloe and the ghost

“I, as co-captain of the Bellas, declare that you have passed the test and are a Bella. You’re one of us" she gulped, her heart was beating so fast it was hard to breathe, like if she’d run a marathon. Chloe had reached her and was standing beside her

“And I, as the other co-captain, approve that" confirmed the redhead.

“Thank you" whispered Molly.

Suddenly the lights stopped flashing and everything seemed to be back to normal. Lilly’s body fell to the ground with a thud and Chloe immediately moved to go check on her but Beca stopped her

“What if she’s faking it?” questioned the brunette

“Why would she fake it?” pointed out Chloe and went to kneel down besides Lilly.

“Is she…” asked Beca

“She’s breathing” assured Chloe relieved

“We should call the police” suggested Jessica once her and Cynthia-Rose joined them.

 The police was still taking their depositions and Lilly was taken away with an ambulance, it was clear that the girls couldn’t have been killed by a person, but the policeman refused to believe their ghost story and kept asking them if they’d taken any drugs or were drunk. He kept bringing up an animal attack, almost like if he was trying to convince them.

Chloe went to sit on the porch next to Beca, both wrapped in those panic blankets they’d only saw in movies before that night.

“You saved my life" she stated humping her with the shoulder

“Well, you tried that first” answered Beca looking down at her feet “I noticed you stepping in front of me"

“Yes, but it turned out she was never after you… she just wanted the head of the sorority to accept her"

“If I only figured that out earlier Amy would still be alive, maybe Ashley too" sniffed Beca

“Hey, look at me” told her Chloe reaching out to gently tilt Beca’s face towards her “it’s not your fault, okay? If anything you saved the rest of us. If it wasn’t for you I…” she trailed off shivering at the memory of that cold hand around her throat

“I’m glad you’re okay" whispered Beca with teary eyes before leaning in to kiss her.

[mhdiaries]

Wave 2 Cleo de Nile Diary

Ninth Month 15th Day

I didn’t sleep very well last night at all. I had this dream that I was about to lead the Fear Squad onto a stage where we were supposed to perform in front of an undead JV audience with millions of monsters watching all over the world. Only when I looked back Frankie had forgotten her arms, Draculaura had a tiny bat body with her normal sized head and Deuce had turned the rest of the team into stone. He kept saying, “It’s okay we’ll take them home and they can live in the garden with the other gnomes.” Then I realized I was wearing a lunch lady outfit and my pompoms had turned into gravy ladles. Fortunately, I woke up before we had to perform. I told father about the dream and he said, “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.” Well, perhaps I should lessen that unease with more team practice.

Ninth Month 20th Day

Ghoulia yelled at me today and I must admit that it sort of hurt my feelings. She was sitting by herself in the creepateria drawing something in her notebook and I was going to ask her to sit with the rest of us. When I said her name though it startled her, and she slammed her notebook closed. Then she said, “Oh my ghoul!” “Can you please take your own notes and give me just a moment of privacy?” Then she turned her back on me and started drawing again. I think what hurt my feelings the most was not that she yelled at me but that she thought it wasn’t her company I wanted. She apologized later which I accepted, of course. I like having Ghoulia around because I absolutely trust her. I wish I could tell her that but it’s just not done. I am royalty after all… although perhaps I need to learn to make exceptions for my friends.

Tenth Month 7th Day

Spectra… leave it to her to make a mausoleum out of a molehill. I saw Deuce at the end of the school day, and he told me how everything started. He wrote a song for my upcoming birthday celebration and he wanted Operetta to put it to music and make a recording for me. Of course, there have been thousands of songs composed in my honor but this was different… anyway so Deuce goes into the band room with Operetta and starts reading her the song. Spectra floats through and misinterprets what’s going on, like she always does, and all of a sudden the whole school is in full scale gossip mode. Before I know it I’m being dumped by Deuce and getting back together with Clawd. She even had the audacity to ask me for a comment! I was so angry I shouted at her in Ancient Egyptian… probably a good thing since what I said was not exactly befitting royalty. I even cancelled Fear Squad practice because I totally couldn’t focus. I know that Clawd tracked Spectra down and tried to reason with her but that actually made things worse because if she thinks she’s being persecuted she gets even louder about what she thinks the “real” truth is. I appreciated Clawd trying to stand up for me though. He is an honorable wolf and under different circumstances maybe we’d still be together but undue speculation is something which commoners concern themselves, so I’ll stop now.

Tenth Month 12th Day

Why is it that Headless Headmistress Bloodgood wants us to dredge up the past? The last thing I want to do is write about how my family went from ruling the greatest dynasty ever to being betrayed and dethroned by people we trusted. I will not write about that because even after so many thousands of years it still hurts. What to write then? I have the ability to charm snakes – not with a stupid flute – but I can speak to them and they will do what I ask them to. It’s not something I do all the time – I mostly just use it when Hissette crawls inside a shoe I want to wear and won’t come out. No, I’ve never used it on Deuce although I have been tempted a time or two… just kidding. He likes me for who I am, why would I want to ruin that by manipulating him? I must also wear some of my wrappings at all times otherwise… well it’s not something I really wish to think about. Father also has quite a collection of amulets and charms that will work only for those in my family. Of course, they usually also come with a curse if you overuse them.

Tenth Month 16th Day

I’m beginning to think that allowing Purrsephone, Meowlody and Toralei to stay on the Fear Squad was a mistake. My sister brought them onto the team, she always was a cat person, when she was the Fear Squad captain. If they weren’t so athletic and graceful I would have kicked them off when I became captain, despite my sister’s insistence that I keep them. They definitely have their own agenda and even though on the outside they act like they are sold out for the team I do not trust them. I think if something “better” came along they would leave me up the Styx without a Charon. I even overheard them making fun of Ghoulia one day which they totally denied when I confronted them about it. I on the other hand have one agenda; making the Fear Squad the best it can be. If they get in the way of making that happen I hear Lagoona is looking for new members on the swim team.

Tenth Month 22nd Day

I got an email from Nefera today. Ugh… haven’t had that name haunting over my head since she graduated. Just writing it after so long sends chills down my spine and not in a good way either. She said that she was up for five magazine covers and a spooks model contract. She was also up on all the MH gossip and what was happening on the Fear Squad. Wonder who she’s getting all her information from… not. Of course she gave me a whole list of things I was doing wrong and what I needed to do to fix them. As the older sister she is entitled to correct me if I do anything “unbecoming to one of royal birth.” I am entitled to sit quietly and listen which I did, a lot. The Fear Squad is not about royalty though and as a past captain she is entitled to her opinion but I’m no longer entitled to sit quietly and listen. It’s my team now and even though we haven’t yet won the awards her teams did I believe that we can and will. I don’t know why she should care anyway since her email made it sound like she’s one step away from ruling the world. If I were in her place what’s happing at high school would be the last thing on my mind.

Tenth Month 25th Day

I ran into Clawdeen at the Maul today. We both came out of a dressing room wearing the same thing. I braced myself for some sarcastic comment but she just looked at me and started laughing. I don’t know why but I did as well and before long we were both sitting on the floor of the dressing room howling with laughter. We got kicked out of the store and ended up at the food corpse sharing a basket of fries. She told me that Clawd told her the real story behind our breakup and I told her that I was sorry for not being honest about the situation from the beginning. She apologized too – for not confronting me directly and getting the true tale. We hung out for a while and mocked some current fashion trends and then before we left Clawdeen stuck out her hand, “Frenemies?” she said. “Frenemies,” I said as I shook it. While it is doubtful that two “alphas” can ever be more than that, not have Clawdeen actively against me is a step in the right direction.

[animalkingdom-an0nymous]

Cruel Summer

Disclaimer: No gifs or photos are mine unless stated otherwise.

Warning: It’s a smutty, filthy, NSFW Tom Holland AU and he just can’t seem to keep his hands off his best friend’s sister. No. Really. It’s a problem for both of them.

Subject: Tom X Y/N

"Why can't you watch the beach house, Jordan?" I asked my brother with my phone tucked between my ear and shoulder, wet dishes in between my palms.

"Because you live closer, you don't have a toddler running around, and you got out of doing it last time."

"Bringing JJ into this is low, even for you. Scumbag." I laughed, not serious in the slightest.

Jordan was two years younger than me but was probably more put together than I'd ever be. He ran his own construction company, had a beautiful wife, and had given me the greatest gift I'd ever known; my nephew, JJ.

Staying at the beach house was far from a hardship, but there was a storm coming and based on the news reports it was going to get ugly. Mom and dad wanted someone there to keep an eye on things and they were getting a bit too old to handle the responsibility of tending to the beach house on their own. I didn't blame them, and I didnt blame Jordan, he was right. I did live closer, but I was also looking forward to spending this weekend's storm curled up in bed watching old Audrey Hepburn movies and eating my weight in Pizzeria Regina. My phone was gonna be on airplane mode, absolutely no disturbances. Maybe a few orgasms, a little porn.

But even as I was scrubbing dishes and getting ready for my relaxing weekend, I knew I'd soon be packing a bag and getting in my car to head to the beach. Shit. “Fine. Fine. I’ll head out soon, but if this storm turns out to be nothing I am returning your birthday present and you’re responsible for mom and dad’s anniversary dinner.”

“If you really want to trust your dear brother in the kitchen then that’s your fault.”

I laughed, drying my hands with a towel before grabbing the phone. “Jordan, can you promise me one thing?”

“What’s that, Y/N?”

“Promise to give that kid the biggest kiss for me. Leila, too.”

“Thank you for not stealing him away!” My sister-in-law’s voice traveled through the phone like a song, her Japanese accent soft.

“Love you both. Stay safe tonight.”

“Text me when you get there.”

I ended the call, tossing my phone on the bed and quickly rummaging through my closet. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the tv could be heard faintly from the living room, alerting me to the weather report. Sixty mile per hour winds, flash floods, possibility of power outages, and a storm warning was already in effect.

I quickly yanked on a pair of denim shorts and an old UMass hoodie, the maroon material worn and comfortable, and definitely not mine. There may have been a storm rolling in but the summer air was thick with humidity, so all I grabbed as alternatives were a bathing suit, another pair of shorts, and a t-shirt, tucking the materials into my backpack along with my toothbrush and phone charger.

Within minutes I was packed and ready to go, pulling the hood over my head and catching the familiar scent of someone I hadn’t seen in a while. Or, maybe it was less of a scent and more of a memory. Shrugging it away, I locked the door and bounded to my car just as the first few drops of rain began to fall.

Music flowed through the speakers as I took back roads towards the coast, something tugging at my heart a bit as I thought of the last time I’d been at the beach house. My parents, Jordan, Leila, JJ.

Tom.

I rolled my shoulders, trying to relax as an old song came on.

Fuck this. I turned the radio down, alone with my thoughts. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about Tom since the last time I saw him, since I said too much. It wasn’t a hookup, it was nothing more than a conversation. Which was fine, Tom and I were friends. Sort of. Not really. He was my brother’s friend, his best friend. And that was it.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t sitting there suddenly drowning in thoughts about our last encounter, both of us out on the back deck long after everyone had gone to sleep, the first real conversation we’d ever had in our adult lives. I hadn’t seen him in nearly two years when we were both still in college, Tom at UMass Amherst while I attended USC. He’d moved from London to the States with his family when he was thirteen, making fast friends with Jordan and becoming like a part of the family. He was around on holidays, weekends, he practically lived at our house during the summer. He would drink my orange juice and bother me while I tried to read. I’d known him when he was annoying and pimple faced, when he was an absolute dick to anyone who wasn’t JJ, when he was going off to college. Tom had been a major part of my childhood, my formative years.

He was also the biggest player I had ever met.

From an early age he knew that girls were drawn to the accent. He used it to his advantage, had girls hanging off his every word. I’d seen his social media, saw him shirtless on beaches with different girls, in clubs with different girls, in dorm rooms with different girls. I wasn’t jealous, but only because I’d known him for years. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the hype.

From the day I met him, I knew Tom Holland was trouble.

But that night, long after everyone had gone to sleep and we were two bottles of wine deep, something shifted. Maybe it was the topic of conversation, maybe it was the way the late June breeze wrapped around us, maybe it was the fucking wine. But something changed that night.

But that was two months ago.

We hadn’t spoken since.

I shook my head, telling myself to stay focused on the road, on the drive. I could still have the peaceful weekend I wanted, if only I could turn my brain off for just a bit.

I was pulling into the driveway of the beach house forty five minutes later and the rain was coming down in buckets. It was flying sideways, splashing against the car hard enough that I couldn’t see out the windshield. Thunder boomed overhead and it felt as though it was straight out of a movie.

I yanked my hood up once more and killed the engine, gripping my backpack and holding it against my chest as I looked at the house. The two story, wood shingled home was every bit the beach cottage. It was located right on a dead end, a path leading straight down to the beach.

The lights were off, the furniture on the porch scattered from the wind. I knew I’d have my work cut out for me if I needed to make sure everything was secure, so without thinking twice, I threw open the driver’s side door and jumped out, the broken shells in the driveway crunching under my sneakers. I made a beeline for the side door, running up the steps and throwing open the storm door as the wind howled around me, A regular thunderstorm was bad enough. A summer storm? It could leave the house flooded.

Unlocking the door, I threw myself inside and slammed it behind me, leaning back and catching my breath as the silent stillness of the house settled around me. Thanks to modern technology, I turned the central air on before I got there, so the air was cool against my bare legs.

I went through the motions and turned some lights on, made sure the basement was shut with bags of sand by every entrance to soak up any flood water or other leaks. The fridge was empty, but I wasn’t hungry anyway. I knew I’d disappear up to my room with a bottle of wine and Netflix on my mind soon enough, I just needed to make-

Headlights bounced off the living room walls, a sign that someone had just pulled into the driveway. Surely it wasn’t my parents, they both hated driving in the rain, and it couldn’t have been Jordan, unless he was so concerned by the weather that he felt compelled to drive over an hour to check on me.

I quickly pulled my phone out of my back pocket. No missed calls or texts. Oh, so you’re saying it’s a murderer? My mind was quickly going into overdrive, covering all the possibilities of who would be there to murder me and what I could use as a weapon to defend myself. But hey, could you blame me? Twenty five years old and alone during a storm, 20/20 basically already had that episode mapped out for me.

A car door slammed shut.

Shells were being crunched under shoes.

Pounding footsteps up the side stairs. A shadow appeared on the other side of the door and my heart leaped into my chest. I was more than prepared to call the police when I heard the familiar sound of a key being inserted into a lock. I was standing in the doorway of the living room when the side door swung open, revealing someone I most certainly wasn’t expecting to see.

“I… Tom?”

He was squinting, his face and hair soaked by the onslaught of rain outside. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

It was evident that he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Tom’s accent seemed to thicken when he was angry or confused, and right now he seemed to be a mix of both.

I took in his appearance, trying not to be too obvious. He was wearing dark washed jeans and a pair of black Nikes, a simple black hoodie over a plain white t-shirt. Completely fucking effortless and still the most good looking guy in a fifty mile radius. His brown curls were matted to his forehead and he pushed them back, running his fingers through the thick trusses.

“What are you doing here?” The words came out accusatory and I cleared my throat. Relax. You’ve been in this house with him plenty of times before. “Are you... is there a girl in your car or something?”

“What?” Tom scrubbed a hand over his face, still clearly shocked and confused. “What do you- Jesus, no. You think I’d bring a girl back to your parents’ beach house, Y/N?” He finally looked at me, drops of water still catching on his long lashes. “You think I’d- hey, my jumper.”

“What?” I responded before looking down. Fuck. Me. Sideways. I was still wearing the UMass hoodie, the same UMass hoodie he’d given me last time I saw him. “Oh! Yeah, I… I brought it back to my place with me. And then Jordan called me and asked me to come here and it was right by the door, so I figured I’d… you know, bring it back here and… leave it… for you?” I was making it sound like a question.

Why was I making it sound like a question?

Are you having a fucking stroke? I asked myself as Tom blinked at me a few times, saying nothing. Lightning struck outside, momentarily blinding me as the lights flickered. Damn, losing power meant no Netflix. No Netflix meant Y/N’s chill weekend was about to go to shit. Technically, it already did because I 1) wasn’t even in my own home and 2) no longer feeling chill thanks to one british Tom.

“Jordan asked you to come?”

“Yeah, why?”

He looked around, peeking out the window. “Your parents called me and asked if I’d come make sure the house was secure.”

My parents? I was confused. Jordan specifically called me and asked me to go because he couldn’t. Why would my parents call Tom? Questions were flying through my head and I was already shrugging out of the hoodie, suddenly feeling like the material was too heavy, like I was drowning in it.

I held it out to him as he turned to face me again. “He probably didn’t call them to let them know I was coming, you know how he is.”

Tom smiled then, revealing straight white teeth. “Your brother’s a space cadet.”

That smile had my stomach doing backflips and I ached to calm down. It never used to be like this with him. He was cute, yes. Very. He was charming. He had nice looking hands. But he was Tom. He was Jordan’s Tom. He was the same Tom who fucked Missy Turner under the bleachers at the Homecoming game and the same Tom who let Rochelle Adams suck him off in the janitor’s closet during school. He was that Tom.

So why was I looking at him like he was Netflix and I’d had a long ass day?

I realized I was still staring, not saying anything. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here. We can kill Jordan, if you want. I feel like that’s good payback?”

Tom nodded, still smiling and playing along. “Yeah, we could. But then Leila would do away with us and I’m far too handsome to die this young.”

“True.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and jerked his chin at me. “And you… you have more of my jumpers to steal.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I didn’t steal it. If I remember correctly, you offered it to me.”

“I did.”

I was still holding the hoodie out to him. “Here.”

He made no move to grab it, hands still in his pockets. “Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”

My stomach dropped and I found myself speechless. “I… you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah, no worries.”

I nodded my head, heat flooding my face as I looked down. What the fuck was going on with me? I didn’t act shy, not around other guys and definitely not around Tom. During college, I finally found my confidence sexually and I took hold of that. I was not the shy girl.

“Do you want to head out before the weather gets really bad?” I asked him

.As if on cue, thunder cracked loudly overhead, releasing a loud boom followed by flashes of lightning. The lights flickered again and Tom met my eyes across the room, blinking those chocolate pools at me. “I don’t think I’m going anywhere, darling.”

His voice was quiet, almost too quiet. I could have sworn I could hear the waves crashing against the shore, or maybe it was the blood rushing in my ears. We stood, staring at each other for a moment, and I opened my mouth to speak when there was a loud crash at the back of the house.

I jumped with a yelp, my heart slamming against my ribcage. “What the fuck was that?”

Tom moved past me, absentmindedly reaching out to touch my arm as he went. “Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Um, that’s what people say right before they murdered. Even though I had come to terms with the fact that I was irrational, I wasn’t going to take any risks. Turning, I followed close behind him, catching the earthy, musky scent of his soap. Or, was it his laundry detergent? I didn’t know, but I enjoyed it. He smelled woodsy, warm. Safe.

Back the fuck up I cleared my throat, telling myself not to look at the way the material of his jacket stretched across his shoulders. There was a small crash again as we made our way to the back door.

“It’s a shutter.” He laughed and opened the window, screaming wind filling my ears as he grabbed the shutter and slammed it, closing the window. Turning, he had a smug smirk on his face. “You’re a big baby.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “No, I’m not.”

He started to laugh, tilting his head back. “You screamed like a banshee.”

I flipped him off before turning my back on him, retreating as his laughter followed. “You’re a dick.”

My response only made him laugh harder.

Everything in the house seemed to be in order. The windows were shut and locked, the basement was set. The only thing that needed to be brought in was the outdoor furniture, but we needed the rain to let up a bit first.

When I walked back down the stairs after checking the second floor, Tom was rummaging through the kitchen. Seeing him there immediately brought me back to that night, the intimate conversation, the almost.

TWO MONTHS AGO

My parents had gone to bed nearly an hour ago and I was in my room listening to an old Rolling Stones record. Jordan was somewhere, possibly in his room with Leila and JJ, or possibly drinking down on the beach with Tom. It was one of the first weekends at the beach house, one of the first weekends of summer, and the air wasn’t thick yet. There was a breeze floating through the open windows and everything felt warm. New. The summer solstice was upon us and I lived for family weekends at the beach.

Funny thing about family weekends? Tom was there almost every single time.

“You’re still up?” I asked his back as I entered the kitchen, watching as he struggled to uncork a bottle of wine. He was wearing black basketball shorts and his old UMass hoodie, somehow still looking like an ad for an Abercrombie summer collection.

Tom sighed in defeat, slamming the bottle down on the granite countertop before answering me with a huff. “First weekend here and your brother’s already in bed.”

“Dad life.” I said with a laugh.

Tom smiled at the mention of our godchild. The day Jordan and Leila asked us to be godparents I’d been so emotional I cried for nearly an hour and, though I knew he wouldn't admit it if pressed, Tom was emotional about it, too.

“I love that little monster.”

I reached out, taking the bottle and finessing the cork for a moment before it finally released with a soft pop. “Jesus, Tom, you need to be slow with her. Gentle.” I chided as I reached into the cabinet, producing two glasses.

He took the bottle in a wide palm, tilting it to fill a glass before passing it to me. “I don’t know, she doesn’t like it too gentle.”

I rolled my eyes even as I felt my heart speed up. “Are we still talking about wine, or has the conversation moved to your latest conquest?”

Tom put a hand over his heart and threw his head back as if he’d been shot. “For your information, there hasn’t been a so called conquest in over a month.”

I feigned shock. “Over a month? Tommy, are you feeling alright?”

I was still laughing, but Tom paused to glare at me for using his little nickname. He hated being called Tommy and always had, but for whatever reason he never corrected me, never told me not to call him that. He’d glare, sure, but he never told me to stop.

“Feeling just fine, love.” He took a sip of the cool white wine, his brown eyes looking at me over the delicate crystal glass he held. “Fancy going outside for a bit?”

We were the only two left awake. I could faintly hear the pitter patter of feet upstairs as Jordan or Leila hushed a crying JJ, and then looked at Tom. “Yeah, let’s go.”

And that’s how we ended up on the back porch, the sound of the sea crashing against the shoreline as a soundtrack for our conversation. The wind had picked up but other than that the world was silent. It was just the two of us, and after not seeing each other for so long it felt like there was a million things to catch up on, yet I didn’t know where to start. I could ask him about graduation or what it was like to live in a big city, but in the grand scheme of things did those questions really matter? Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the atmosphere. But I wanted to know about Tom, about how he was doing, how his life was. If he was happy.

If he was single.

The thought was fleeting yet it caught me off guard nonetheless. I had no reason for caring if Tom was single, but there I was wondering if he was. He had changed over the two years I was away, his eyes sharper, his jaw more defined and making him look older. Still five eight but no longer the skinny boy he used to be. There was more definition to his arms, his chest a bit more puffed up. I took in the breadth of his shoulders and the slope of his neck, too caught up in staring at him to notice that he was actually speaking to me.

“What did you say?”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Daydreamer. Are you listening to me at all?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry!” I laughed, draining my glass and then reaching for the bottle. “This wine goes right to my head. I’m all ears, what were you saying?”

He grabbed the bottle from me, refilling his own glass. “I was asking you about being home. Are you and… Bryan… Bobby… doing the long distance thing?”

“His name is Ben, and no.”

Tom snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Ben! That’s right, Boring Ben.”

I wanted to defend my newest ex, but I couldn’t. He truly was one of the most boring, insufferable people I’d ever been around. We dated for the last two years of college, maybe out of convenience, or maybe because it was because I’d gotten comfortable. People assumed we would get married, but the thought of walking down the aisle to him made me sick to my stomach. We literally had nothing to talk about, his friends didn’t like me, and the sex was mediocre at best, leaving me disappointed with myself for getting so comfortable that I was settling for bad sex.

I took a sip of my wine, looking down at the glass for a moment.

“I… what did you just say, love?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused.

“Did you just say that you settled for bad sex with Boring Ben?”

What? What? It was quite possibly the biggest mistake I’d ever made, saying those words aloud. But it all honesty I didn’t think I’d said anything. I wasn’t drunk, definitely not drunk enough to make that sort of slip.

I was mortified.

My eyes widened as I looked at Tom. My face and ears felt hot and I tried to sputter out an apology. “Holy shit. Tom, listen, I didn’t mean to say any of that out loud. I-”

“Stop.”

I paused, my heart hammering in my chest. He leaned forward slightly, placing his glass on the table as he regarded me seriously. “You didn’t mean to say any of it out loud. But you were thinking about the bad sex you settled for?”

I took in his words and felt my face heat even more. It sounded pathetic, embarrassing, but I was so focused on school that the relationship had taken more of a backseat. It was nice to have someone at the holidays and during family and university events. It was nice to not feel so alone in California while my friends and family were three thousand miles away. It was all… nice. Convenient. Words that shouldn’t always be associated when regarding a relationship.

But it was my truth. Ben was boring, I was settling, we got stuck.

“Can we pretend this never happened?” I blurted the words out, hoping Tom would be agreeable. If he told Jordan they would rag on me for the rest of my life and having to suffer through it now was bad enough.

“I don’t think I can do that, darling.” He was already shaking his head and my stomach was sinking. “Because it breaks my heart that you settled for less.”

I didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by Tom’s soft tone and sweet words. I shouldn’t have zeroed in on him calling me darling, but I couldn’t help it. He’d never done that before.

Ever.

I shivered, not knowing if it was from the breeze or the way he was looking at me, but he noticed. Quirking that one, whacky eyebrow at me, Tom asked, “Are you cold?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, the wind is picking up.” I rubbed my hands over my arms.

Tom stood, reaching a hand behind his back in between his shoulder blades, pulling his hoodie off. I tried to avert my eyes as the front of his shirt rose, revealing a strip of skin above his shorts. I couldn’t help but stare at the defined V of his hips or notice the way his ab muscles contracted with every movement.

He handed me the sweatshirt with a boyish smile on his face. “Take it. I’m hot anyway.”

You have no idea, I mused silently, thanking him and slipping the material over my head. It was soft, worn, the inside of it felt warm from his body heat. I could feel his eyes on me as I adjusted the material, pulling the hood up so that it framed my face.

“Looks good,” he quipped.

I smiled, taking a very large sip of my wine, thinking I was out of the clear.

“So how bad was it?”

I nearly spit the wine out at the question. “Excuse me?”

“The sex.” He deadpanned. “How bad was it?”

If I was the fainting type I would have been on the deck floor. “Tom, I’m not fucking telling you about my sex life.”

“Sounds like a LACK of a sex life, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

He smiled, but it quickly faded as he regarded me seriously. “Really, Y/N, how bad was it?”

I wanted to blame my honesty on the alcohol or the late hour, but really I think I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to confide in. Tom may have been an asshole playboy to some, but never to me. Thinking back on it, he may have even been a gentleman to me. Sure, he would annoy me when we were kids and barge into my room without knocking, or he’d go through my purse looking for gum, and there was the time he accidentally ate my birth control thinking it was a mint.

But Tom was also the guy who punched my high school boyfriend in the teeth for dumping me the night before Homecoming. He was also the guy who made an obnoxiously huge sign with Jordan for my graduation. He was that guy.

“It wasn’t… bad.” I found myself starting to open up a bit, pulling at a thread that was sure to unravel if I didn’t stop soon. “It was just routine. It was always the same thing, Ben wasn’t very adventurous. He didn’t like to try things, he hated anything new. He was just…” I took a breath, trying to choose my words carefully. “Set in his ways, I suppose. And that didn’t work for me anymore.”

“So, you ended it?”

I nodded, draining my glass once again. “Yeah, and that was when he showed his true colors.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

I thought back to the breakup. We’d been in Ben’s truck and it was raining. We were parked at a diner that was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. “He confronted me. He knew I was acting weird and he refused to drop it until I told him. I tried to explain that it wasn’t him, that I felt we just weren’t compatible. Ben lost his fucking mind. He was screaming at me about how he had all these plans for us, how I was fucking things up.” I paused, thinking back on the way he looked at me, like I was trash. “He called me a cunt, told me to get out of his car, and then I walked two miles back to my apartment.”

Tom’s eyes widened at my admission. His cheeks were tinted pink and I assumed it was from the booze, but when his mouth pulled into a tight line I realized it was because he was angry. I’d even say he was pissed. “He what?”

“I know, I know, it was a shitty thing for him to do. But the thing is, I’m not even all that upset about it anymore. I finally got to see who he really was and, oddly enough, the only thing I felt on that two mile walk was relief. It was finally over, it was like Ben was my last attachment to California. I could finally come home.”

He was silent for a moment, taking a sip of his wine before speaking. “Do your parents know about what happened with Ben? Does Jordan?”

I shook my head.

“Then why tell me?”

Our eyes met, held. Tom’s face held a look of concern, confusion, and something else. Something I couldn’t quite place. He was leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees as we stared each other down.

“Because honesty comes easier when it’s dark out, Tommy.”

He swallowed, not looking away from me. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears, the wine making my lips tingle with the familiar buzz. Everything suddenly felt hot, burning hot, like it was on fire. Like the whole world was about to go up in flames.

Maybe mine was.

“I won’t tell them.”

“I know you won’t.” I reached out, gripping his hand. “You’re a good guy, Tommy.” I gave his hand a quick squeeze, meaning to let go, but then his long digits were wrapping around the back of my hand and it suddenly felt like we were magnets. I couldn’t let him go. His skin was warm, somewhat calloused against the soft skin of my knuckles.

His voice was so soft and quiet when he finally broke the silence, I had to lean in to hear him. “Y/N, what were those things you wanted to try?”

“Huh?” I felt as though I was in a trance.

“You said Boring Ben never wanted to try new things. What were they? He raised his eyebrows expectantly, fingers still stroking over the back of my hand.

It felt like a distraction, a very chaotic, overstimulating distraction. It was the smallest, simplest of movements, but feeling his fingers dance across my skin was hypnotic, and it was only my HAND. But I couldn’t ignore the question and it made my stomach turn. I didn’t want to tell him the things I wanted to do with Ben, the different versions of sex I wanted to explore more of. Sure, I tried things with different people before Ben and I got together, but it had been so long. So long since I got the attention I was craving.

So long since I’d done something reckless and new.

So long since I’d been touched by hands that were actually interested in making me feel more than a grip.“Tom…” I breathed out his name, suddenly overwhelmed. The scent of him was on the sweatshirt I wore and I could feel his knee bump mine as he moved closer.

“Tell me. I can keep a secret, love.” His words were hushed, quiet as he leaned just a little closer, our faces mere inches apart.

“I…” I started, my eyes flickering down to his lips before moving back up. Tom saw the movement, his lips curling slightly. “I wanted… something new.”

“Something new or someone new?” Tom responded.

“I don’t know.” I answered honestly, feeling his fingers tighten around mine.

“I think you do. I think you know exactly what you want, Y/N, you just need to say it.” He leaned even closer, his nose brushing mine, and when I went to back up he brought his free hand around and reached into the sweatshirt, knocking the hood off and cupping the back of my neck, his hand gentle but firm, kneading the soft skin where my neck met my shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” I gasped, suddenly struggling to breathe, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events.

“Then tell me what you want. Say it.”

I was so wrapped up in Tom, in the moment, that I didn’t care about anything. Fuck the neighbors, fuck Boring Ben, fuck my family that was literally sleeping only feet away in the house. I wanted Tom. I wanted new. I wanted him to touch me the way he touched the girls who told stories about him. I wanted him to kiss me like he’d die if couldn’t.

“I want y-”

“Y/N? Tom?” a soft, sleepy voice came from just inside the house.

We sprang apart like we’d been electrocuted, Tom standing and walking to the edge of the porch while I pulled the hood back up, trying to look nonchalant and failing beautifully just as Jordan poked his head out from the screen door. “What are you two doing up?”

Tom didn’t answer, still looking out towards the path that led to the beach. “We couldn’t sleep, figured we’d devour a bottle of wine and then crash.” I laughed even though I felt anything but amused, standing up and heading over to the door. “I’m gonna try to sleep, though. I’ll see you both in the morning?” I brushed past Jordan, standing up on my tiptoes to hug him before turning to Tom, who had finally turned around. The look on his face was strained and frustrated, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

God, he was so far from the boy I used to know.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

PRESENT

“Earth to Y/N.” Tom waved a hand in front of my face, laughing. “You with me?”

I shook my head, pulled out of that very intimate memory. “What? Yeah, sorry. It’s been a long week.” I laughed and tried to play it off like I was fine, but my stomach was turning in knots. We’d both slept under the same roof before, hundreds of times, but now things felt different. Heavy. It was like I’d spilled something last time and there was still a stain that wouldn’t come up no matter how hard I scrubbed.

“You have your pick of bedrooms.” I said casually. “Jordan’s, my parents’, the guest room. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want. It was an unintentional double entendre, but I noticed the way his eyes darkened slightly.

“Where are you sleeping?”

“My room.” I clarified.

He nodded his head, moving around the center island as he shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch. “Y/N, can I ask you a question?”I shrugged my shoulders.

“Go for it.”

He looked at me then, his jaw clenched as he braced his hands on the back of the sofa, fingers spread in a way that looked almost vulgar. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like you’re scared I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

“I’m not.” I started to defend myself, straightening my spine. “I’m just freaked out because of the rain.”

“Bollocks. You’ve loved the rain since we were kids.”

I shook my head, sensing the anger in his tone. “Don’t do this whole angry british thing tonight, Tom. I’m in a mood.”

“Clearly.”I narrowed my eyes at him, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” He huffed at me, his cheeks flushed. “You’re the one who can barely look me in the eye, Y/N. So, you tell me what the problem is.”

“I don’t have a problem.” It was a lie. A blatant lie. But I wanted to move past whatever this was with him. I had to move past it. I couldn’t crush on my brother’s best friend. I read those books. I saw those movies. It would ruin everything.I had finally come home, had finally gotten my old life back. No matter how much I wanted Tom- and believe me, I fucking craved him- I could never have him. He would always be just out of my grasp.Which was a good thing.

“Okay, you don’t have a problem. That means we can discuss what happened last time we were here, yeah?”

I froze, no words coming out of my mouth. He said the words so casually it was as though he was talking about the weather. “I... “ I was struggling, slipping, losing my composure. “I don’t know-”

Tom was shaking his head, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Don’t even fuckin’ say it, Y/N. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Tom looked at me, eyes blazing. “You wanted it, I know you did. I felt it.”

My breathing was labored as I blinked at him. I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t want to acknowledge what happened, I wanted us to forget it and move on. It was a moment of weakness, it was late.

“It was the wine.” I said quietly. “We were drinking. W-we weren’t thinking straight.”

“It was the wine.” He repeated my words, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared at me. “It was the wine.. That’s a joke, innit?” When I didn’t respond, Tom walked over to me, the tips of his sneakers touching the tips of my bare toes. “The truth is, Y/N, you didn’t drink that much. Neither did I. I knew exactly what I was saying to you and I was sober enough to see your reaction.”

“Tom-”

“Why won’t you be honest with me?” Tom’s voice was so soft it felt like a blanket.

The question felt like a knife to the gut? He was right to be confused. I never had any issue speaking my mind with Tom, with Ben, with anyone. I was opinionated, I said what was on my mind. But I was completely frozen with him. I just couldn’t push the words out of my mouth, couldn’t tell him that all of this was killing me, draining me. I couldn’t be open and honest and tell him that I’d spent the last two months thinking about him. That it never stopped. That the smell of him was haunting me, the feeling of his fingers on my skin was a memory I wanted to drown it. Tom had been in my life for over a decade.

Why now?

As if God was finally on my side for once, we were interrupted by the sound of furniture scraping across both the front and back decks. “My parents are gonna kill me if we lose any of those deck chairs.”

He stared at me for a moment and said nothing, his eyes searching my face. Eventually, he took one step back, seemingly giving up

.I hated the relief that went through me. But more than that, I loathed the disappointment that tugged at my heartstrings. I felt his eyes on me as I walked to the front door, pulling open the door and bursting outside with a deep breath, appreciating the way the rain hit my skin. I needed to cool down.

We were both silent as we got the stuff from the front and put it in the living room, turning the normally spacious room into nothing more than a cramped closet. Then came the back of the house, something that would be more difficult. The furniture was heavier, we had to walk up and down stairs, the thunder was clapping so loud I feared I’d go deaf.

I glanced up at Tom as he bounded down the porch steps. His shirt was completely soaked, the white material now stuck to his skin, nearly transparent. I could make out the tight muscles of his shoulders and the way his back tapered down to a lean waist.

Stop, stop, stop. I was screaming at myself, my feet slipping in my flip flops. I angrily kicked them off and then stormed down the stairs, suddenly furious about the rain and having to come to the beach house, and I was angry at Tom for not leaving well enough alone. More than that though, I was angry at myself for letting any of it happen in the first place.

He was dragging chairs by me when I stopped and wheeled around, facing him. “Why would you go and do this now?” I had to shout to be heard over the rain. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”

Tom paused for a moment, his jaw clenched, rain dripping down his face. Releasing the chairs, he slicked his hair back. “I… I don’t know. Okay, I don’t bloody know, Y/N. I saw you here for the first time in two fucking years, and I missed you. I missed you so fucking much and I didn’t even know it. And then you were here and I couldn’t get enough of you. I wanted to catch up, I wanted to talk. I wasn’t even going to try anything, not that night, but then you mentioned Ben and everything you didn’t do with him, and I just couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, alright? I am. But I’m not gonna sit here and play this bullshit game with you. You let me in that night and you can’t take it back.”

You let me in that night and you can’t take it back.

His admission left me stunned. He looked vulnerable and honest, the words heartfelt. I knew he meant all of it, that he didn’t mean for anything to happen that night. Not that anything really happened, but it felt as though that conversation changed everything. There was a shift, one that neither of us could stop.

“It doesn’t matter.” I finally responded, my voice laced with disappointment. “We can’t do this, Tom. Whatever that night was, whatever that conversation was, it has to stay there. It has to stay in that night.”

“I can’t fucking do that!” He shouted, the rain still pouring down around us. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend I didn’t feel something, Y/N.”

I was aching for him to stop. I knew he meant all of it, that he wasn’t trying to play me or hurt me. Tom would never risk saying the things he said if they weren’t at least party true.

I was beyond frustrated as I turned, grabbing more things to bring inside. Tom was huffing and puffing ahead of me, mumbling to himself. He was clearly angry, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. We were both soaked from head to toe, my feet bare against the deck as we lifted the glass table, maneuvering it up the stairs to the back of the house.Tom’s eyes were on me the whole time and I was too cowardly to look in his direction. Carrying that heavy glass table while thunder roared and lightning flashed was stressful, to say the least. But I didn’t even care about the storm, I cared about the absolute hurricane that was my situation with Tom. I wanted to fix it, needed to.

“Why are you so stubborn?”

His question caught me off guard. We’d put the rest of the furniture away and I was outside searching for one missing flip flop, rain hitting me sideways as I turned to stare at him. He was leaned against the door frame, arms crossed with that white shirt sticking to him like a second skin. I could make out the line of the chain he wore, could see where it fell against his chest. Tom looked like the cover of a romance novel, a few stray curls falling around his forehead. Even in my terrified, angry confusion, my attraction to him was undeniable.

“I’m not being stubborn. I’m being smart. What, you want me to admit that I’m attracted to you? Fine, Tom. I am. But attraction doesn’t change things. We can’t cross that line, now will you please help me find my other flip flop?”

“Jesus.” He stormed past me, pointing a finger in my direction as he went. “This conversation’s not done.”

I shouted his name as he walked back down the stairs in no urgency because he was already soaked. His jeans sat low on his hips, probably weighed down by the water as he bent down, pulling something from one of the hedges at the end of the property. My flip flop. Turning, Tom walked back up the stairs slowly, purposefully, his stance all man and making me feel very, very small. I was waiting at the top when he finally stepped up, crowding me, holding my shoe in his right hand. Our chests were touching, just slightly, and I could feel my nipples harden from the slight contact.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, reaching to grab it from him.

Only to have Tom pull it towards him, away from me. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

“What?”

“Have you thought about me touching you?”

“Tom…” I backed up three steps with him following my movements, keeping us close, chest to chest.

“Those things you wanted to try, have you thought about trying them with me? Because, fuck, I’ve thought about you.”

His admission made me weak, my breath catching in my throat. We were getting close, so dangerously close to something we couldn’t turn back from.

“I’ve thought about you every day. I’ve thought about your eyes and your mouth and the way you look in my fucking jumper.” Tom’s hands grabbed my face roughly, cupping my cheeks, fingers tangling in my hair.

He was holding me there as my breathing went ragged, our eyes finally meeting. His pupils were blown out, water dripping down the bridge of his nose

.It was all so intense. It was overwhelming. I wanted him so bad it was physically starting to hurt, my hands going up and gripping his wrists, prepared to pull his hands away. “You are… so fucking infuriating.” I was breathless, weak, but I still noticed the smile that pulled at his lips.

“Darling, I’m a fucking devil.”

I knew what was coming, knew I should pull away, but as soon as his lips came down on mine in a bruising, hard kiss, I knew I was gone.

Tom’s lips were hard, demanding, his tongue eagerly licking at the seam of my mouth and begging for entry. His hands still held my face hard enough to prevent me from backing up, but even if he let go I knew I’d stay, the brief taste of his lips so intoxicating it felt like I was in a trance.

He pulled back, his eyes opening. Our noses still touched and I could feel his breath fan across my lips. Our eyes met and for the briefest moment I thought he was going to pull away, but he spoke instead.

“What do you want, Y/N?”

I paused, my throat dry and my breathing ragged. I couldn’t lie anymore, to Tom or myself, so I opted for honesty instead. “You, Tom. I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear before his mouth was on mine again. He slanted his lips over mine, tilting my head back. When our tongues touched I felt like my body was on fire and I couldn’t help but wonder why we hadn’t done it sooner. Tom tasted like mint, like a secret, like my deepest, darkest fucking fantasy.

All of a sudden he was pushing us, walking forward while I stumbled back, our mouths still fused together as he let out a soft groan. I wanted so badly to memorize the sound, to hear it again, but I was too focused on not falling over. Something sharp dug into my back and I winced, gasping into Tom’s mouth.

“What the fuck was that?” I gripped my side and turned. The doorknob.

“Shit,” he muttered, reaching to lift at the edge of my shirt. “Is it going to leave a bruise? Let me kiss it better.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed, opening the door and ushering him inside. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No.” Tom’s hands gripped my hips. He was looking at me with mischief in his eyes and it made my stomach do a backflip. “Really, love, let me kiss it better.” I felt his fingers skim over my bare flesh as he dragged the wet material of my shirt up and over my head, dropping it to the ground.

My chest was heaving as he looked me over, eyes zeroing in on my breasts. I was wearing a simple black lace bra, nothing fancy. But Tom was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and my heart swooned.I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead he sank to his knees and my breath caught in my throat as he looked up at me. I was wearing my shorts, my underwear, and a barely there bra while Tom was still fully dressed. I felt vulnerable, small, but in that moment I fucking loved it.

Tom’s breath fanned over my hip as he kissed the spot where the doorknob had jammed into me. “Better?” he asked, looking up at me through thick, dark lashes. All I could do was nod, and his smug smile told me everything I needed to know; Tom knew exactly what he was doing.

His hands skimmed over the backs of my thighs, traveling down. When his fingers touched the backs of my knees they wobbled, and I knew he felt it. “This alright?”

I nodded my head, reaching one hand out and tangling my fingers in his wet hair, feeling his head nudge into my touch. “Use your words, Y/N.”

“It’s okay.” I managed to gasp out. He’d barely touched me, barely kissed me and I was still completely breathless.

“Do you want more?”

"Fuck." I gritted my teeth, suddenly frustrated he was moving so slow. "Yes."

He smiled, soft lips trailing over my hip, his teeth biting at the denim that hugged my skin. "How about we play a game?"

I huffed, my fingers stilling in his hair. "I'm not in the mood for games, Tom."

He stood then, nails lightly scraping up the sides of my legs and making my skin break out in goosebumps. Every single part of me was ignited and I was on sensory overload. "What if I promised you win this game?" He kissed my shoulder, one hand trailing over my side and traveling up my back, tracing my vertebra. "What if I told you that you win quite a few times?"

I gasped, drunk on his words as he leaned in, kissing me again just as he reached up and unclasped my bra. The straps fell down my shoulders slowly and as his lips grazed mine I reached bed between us, tugging the rest of the material down.

Like any straight, hot blooded male, Tom leaned back and looked down, taking in my naked breasts. "Shit," he breathed, leaning down and sliding his tongue over the curve of one globe, mouth warm and tongue wet. I was already arching into his touch when his mouth closed over my nipple. I thought he’d be gentle, thought he’d start slow, but he sucked HARD, yanking my nipple to the roof of his mouth until I yelped.

Tom groaned against my skin, releasing me with a pop. “Mhm, I liked that sound. Didn’t picture you as a screamer.” He smirked at me, his mouth red and his lips swollen.

I laughed and leaned in, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as we stumbled through the dining room. “Yeah? You’ve been thinking about the sounds I make?” I licked a fat stripe up Tom’s neck, feeling him shiver against me.

“I’ve thought about much more than that.” He grabbed me by my hips, now in the kitchen, and lifted me, my ass landing on the counter as the wind howled outside.I watched, mesmerized as Tom lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, revealing the smooth expanse of his chest. His abs were hard, tight, and I wanted to leave hickies scattered across his collarbones.

“I’ve thought about you. Here.” He tapped one finger against the countertop. “And I thought about what it would be like to fuck you while everyone slept upstairs.” He took a step forward, his hands going to his jeans, fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper. “Me, telling you to be quiet, putting my hand over your mouth.”

Tom’s long fingers reached out, sliding over my chin, across my cheek. When they traveled over my lips I couldn’t help but poke my tongue out, tasting the tips of his fingers. He stopped for a moment, leaving them there, eyes glued to my mouth as I repeated the motion, this time holding eye contact as I tipped my head back, letting his index and middle fingers dip into my mouth, my tongue wrapping around them and sucking softly.

His hand twitched slightly, I felt it, and I smiled around his fingers, groaning softly when he pulled back. The truth was, I wanted them deeper. So much deeper.

“Fuckin’ minx.” Tom’s voice was rough and his hands were the same, gripping my thighs hard and pulling me to the edge of the counter. My legs hugged his slim waist, my hands settling on his chest. “You want me to fuck you, Y/N?”

I nodded my head. Consequences be damned.“Fine. I’ll fuck you any way you want. But you have to tell me one of those things you wanted to try first.”

“Tom…”

“C’mon.” His voice was soft, smooth. Charming. When he spoke again his accent was thicker and I physically throbbed for him. “Give me a little bit, love.”

“I…” I started, suddenly very self conscious of my own sexual desires. It was different when I was having sex with Ben because it was always the same thing, and it was different sleeping with a stranger because I’d never have to see them again. But I would have to face Tom in the morning and every day after that. I didn’t want his opinion of me to change. “I want to suck your fingers while you fuck me.”

The words were so soft I wasn’t even sure he heard me. He was silent, eyes staring at my mouth before looking up, meeting my gaze. “That’s it? That’s what you were so nervous to tell me?”

I shook my head, unable to help myself from laughing. “Oh, man. No, you have no idea how many things I want to try. We’re just not there yet.”

Yet.

Why was I implying that it was going to happen again?

Tom’s hands were sliding up and down my thighs while my ankles were locked at his waist, his fingers eventually popping the button and zipper while I waited for his response. “You like hands?” When I nodded he continued. “You like my hands?” As if to emphasize, he slapped one hand roughly over the side of my thigh and I jumped.

He shushed me, pursing his lips softly. “Relax, darling. We’re about to have fun.”

Without another word he unwound my legs and pushed his hands against my shoulders until I was laying flat against the cold quartz counter, arching my back and gasping. Tom hooked his fingers into my shorts and underwear, pulling both down and leaving me completely naked in one swift move. I felt vulnerable and open, but he quickly forced me to move past that as he spread my legs, his fingers splayed across my thighs.

His groan sent shivers through me.

“You’re like a fucking dream.” His words were hushed even though we were the only two in the house. “Oh, shit, did I just see you clench up for me?” His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as I threw my hands over my face, mortified and turned on all at once. He could see every part of me.

“Tom!” I practically shouted. If he didn’t touch me soon I was going to-

My body tensed up and every coherent through flew from my mind as Tom licked a fat stripe all the way from my ass to my clit, groaning and sending vibrations through me. My legs twitched and he repeated the motion, my nerve endings on fire.

Tom Holland’s head was between my fucking thighs.

His lips closed over my clit, sucking at the same time as he pressed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves, and my hips pretty much lifted off the counter.

“Tommy!” I gasped, the sound ending on a choked moan as he looked up at me, brown eyes nearly black.

He pulled back for a moment and I could see his lips, glistening and wet from my arousal. “You know, you’re the only one allowed to call me that?”

My head lolled slightly and I looked at him, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair. “Why?”

“Because I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

His admission did something to my insides, made me just a little weaker for him. I was the only one allowed to call him Tommy, the only one to have that little nickname. Something possessive soared through my veins and I quickly sat up, seeing his shocked expression as the fingers that were in his hair traveled down, grabbing the back of his neck and tugging him towards me, our lips attaching. I couldn’t stop fucking kissing him and when I tasted myself on his tongue I wanted him even more, sliding my tongue into his mouth and dominating the kiss.

“I wasn’t fucking done with you yet.” He spoke against my mouth.

“But you said this was about me trying things. There’s something I want to try, Tommy.”

His eyes shut briefly, his jaw clenched, concentrated. He was coming undone for me in the same way I was for him. “What’s that?”

I ran my fingers over his collarbones, tracing the delicate bones with my fingers. I was nervous, forcing myself to push the words out anyway. “You know how when you were in high school being sneaky and fucking in a girl’s parents house was fun? And, sometimes, when the parents weren’t around you and the girl would sneak up to her parents’ room?”

His laps traveled over my jaw, down my neck, and I felt him smile against my skin. “You want me to fuck you in your parents’ bed?”

My face heated and I nodded, burying my face in his shoulder.

Tom laughed softly, pulling back and helping me off the counter. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was completely naked while he still wore jeans and black Calvin’s but I no longer cared. In fact, there may have been a part of me that enjoyed the way I felt knowing I was the only one who was naked. It made me feel small, soft.

“What are ya’ waitin’ for then?” He arched a brow and nodded towards the stairs. “Move your ass.”

I practically sprinted past him, moving before he even finished speaking. His eyes were on me as I moved, my hips swaying a little more than usual. Tom was hot on my heels as I bounded up the stairs, one of his hands reaching out and giving my ass a swift, harsh slap. I welcomed the sting, pausing on the stairs and turning to look at him as a gasp escaped.

“I fuckin’ knew it.” He marveled, a smirk playing at his lips. “I knew you liked it a little rough.”

I began backing slowly down the hall, facing him. “Oh, you have no idea.”

He arched a brow, molten brown eyes looking me up and down. “Is that right? You feel like telling me any of those deep, dark fantasies, or are we not there yet?”

I couldn’t help but laugh as he threw my words back at me. “Not yet. I like surprising you.”

I stepped into my parents’ room and Tom followed suit, looking around as the wind rattled the glass windows.

The air suddenly felt thick. The king sized bed loomed behind me and it all felt real. Terrifyingly, brutally real. I was about to get into that bed with Tom, I was about to take a huge step off a very large cliff. Whether it was good or bad- although I prayed it would be good- didn’t matter. We would never be able to come back from this.

“Believe me, you’ve done nothing but surprise me tonight, Y/N.”

“I actually think it’s your turn.” I said with a small smile as I crawled onto the bed, looking at him over my shoulder.

Tom was too busy taking in the view of my naked backside to comprehend my question. “What?”

I sprawled out across the bed and rested my chin on my hand, looking at him. His jeans were undone and his hardened cock pressed almost painfully against the denim material. “It’s your turn. I’ve been very honest about what I want to try, but what about you, Tommy? What do you want?”

His eyes locked on mine and my breath caught as he moved forward. “I want you. I want you to say my name while you come, I want you to wrap those beautiful legs around me and squeeze whenever I go just a little too deep. I want to fuck you the way I’ve dreamed about fucking you since I was fifteen years old.”

His candid admission left a pang in my heart and I quickly tried to stifle it, leaning up as he leaned down, our mouths fusing together once again. It seemed that I couldn’t keep my mouth off his. Maybe it was because I had been fantasizing about that mouth for so long, maybe it was because Tom was just that good of a kisser, but either way I didn’t care.

“Fuck me. Now.” The words were mumbled against his lips.

Tom’s lips traveled down my jaw to my neck and he bit the skin where my shoulder and neck connected. His sopping wet jeans pressed against me and I hissed out a breath as he pulled back, laughing down at me. His brown hair had begun to curl at the sides and he looked boyish, young. His cheeks were flushed and I couldn’t even remember why I’d tried to fight my attraction in the first place.

He jumped off the bed and began the painstaking effort of removing wet denim.

“God… fucking… dammit!” I watched him struggle, biting back a laugh as he hopped around the room, kicking one leg free and then the other. When he looked back up at me his eyes narrowed and he glared. “Are you laughing?”I shook my head, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth.“You’re laughing at me right now.”

I shook my head, backing up on the bed as Tom came forward. “No, no I’m not. I’m-” I shrieked as his hand wrapped around my ankle and he dragged me down the matress.

I struggled against him as he leaned over me, covering his body with mine as his hands tickled at my sides. I gasped and laughed, nearly headbutting him at one point. “Tom, please, I was-wasn’t laughing.” I was trying to explain myself when his hips settled between my thighs, his hard cock pressing against my clit, right where I was aching for any kind of attention, or friction, I could find.

“You’re not laughing anymore,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Not really finding anything to laugh at right now.” My response was just as quiet, my fingers linking behind his neck as he braced a hand on either side of my head. Our eyes met as he ground his hips against me, my mouth falling open in a quiet moan as Tom settled on a good rhythm. He wasn’t even inside me yet and I was already on the edge, my thighs trembling as they squeezed his trim waist.

Tom seemed just as eager as I was, his arms wrapping around me and then unwrapping, hands trailing up and down my sides, over my breasts, gripping my thighs. My own nails scratched lightly over his shoulders and I reveled in the way he shivered on top of me. His breathing was heavy, chest heaving as I lifted my hips, grinding harder, needing more.

“I…I don’t…” Tom trailed off and I stopped my movements.

My heart sank at his tone. He was about to tell me he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t sleep with his best friend’s sister. I, of course, would be mortified and naked and ashamed as he got dressed to inevitably leave, where he would get into a car accident and die because there was a storm raging outside. And then I would have to explain to my parents and Jordan that I killed Tom because I-

“I don’t have a condom.”

What?

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom.”It was a split decision, and normally I would argue with myself about practicing the art of safe sex, but I had waited too fucking long for this and I was thankful that he wasn’t about to leave me naked in the middle of my parents’ bed.

“I’m on the pill.”

He arched a brow. “You’re cool with…”

I couldn’t help but smile. I hadn’t seen him bashful very often, but I had to admit I found it completely adorable. “Tommy, I’m cool with anything that involves you being inside me.”

“Thank fucking god.” He sat back on his knees between my splayed thighs and I watched as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his briefs, shoving them down so that his cock sprang free, slapping up against his abdomen. My eyes widened as I finally got the first glimpse of what had been grinding against me for the last thirty minutes, of what I’d been dreaming about all summer. His cock was long, a pulsating vein across his shaft.

My mouth watered at the sight of the pre-come that gathered at his crown and I reached forward with every intention of wrapping my fingers around him. But Tom’s hand snapped forward and he grabbed my wrist, halting my movements.

“I want this to last longer than fifteen seconds and, honestly, if you touch me right now I’m going to fucking explode all over you like a fifteen year old .I don’t want to ruin this.”

I looked up at him. He was panting, his cheeks tinted pink. He looked rumpled, worked up, his eyes dark, and I’d never wanted him more. Leaning up, I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, darting my tongue out to taste his quickly. “Get on with it then.”

Tom smiled against my mouth and then he was pushing me down again, covering his body with mine. His skin was warm and the hair on his legs tickled my thighs, but all I could really focus on was the deep, intense throbbing that had settled low in my stomach. I actually feared that I would die or combust if he didn’t fuck me so-

Too wrapped up in my aching body, I didn’t notice that Tom had reached between us and lined himself up at my entrance. When I felt his knuckles brush against my swollen clit I stiffened, a weak whine leaving my mouth.“I want to hear that fuckin’ noice on repeat for the rest of my life,” he whispered against the damp skin at my temple.

I was about to open my mouth and give a half assed witty response when I felt his body surge forward, his cock sinking into me in one long, swift, nearly painful because it was so good move. I gasped, my thighs squeezing Tom’s hips and my nails digging into his sides.

His groan in my ear sent vibrations through me and I shook underneath him, trying to find my breath, trying to acknowledge the fact that it was Tom inside me. Tom Holland. My brother’s best friend. But at that moment in time someone could tell me I didn’t actually have a brother and I would have believed them. I would have believed the moon was actually made of cheese. I would have believed anything… because none of it mattered.

In that moment the only two people who existed were Tom and me. Just us and the storm. “Tommy.” My voice shook as he pulled nearly all the way out, just holding the tip of his cock inside me.

Tom looked down at me with his eyebrows furrowed, mouth hanging open. He looked serious albeit desperate and I could completely understand why. It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room as soon as he pushed inside me. “You good? You need a minute?”

I shook my head. “You feel so good.”

Something snapped in him then. I watched it happen. His eyebrows relaxed, the hands that were on either side of my head clenched into fists, and his hips snapped forward as he pushed in to the hilt, repeating the motion twice more before a rough grunt escaped his lips.

I slammed my head back against the pillows as a moan tore from my throat. He’d barely been inside me two minutes and I already felt like I was on the verge of an earth shattering orgasm. But it was true. Tom had kept me riled up so long, far longer than just this messy afternoon. My body had been waiting for this for so fucking long.

Tom’s teeth sank into my shoulder. Hard. He didn’t let up until I yelped, and then he pulled back with a devilish smirk. “Look at you,” he said, breathing heavily as he lowered his head, our noses brushing. “Screaming underneath me whilst I fuck you in your mum and dad’s bed. So, so naughty.”

He was taunting me, teasing me, and his words spurred me on. My hips lifted, another rough moan leaving my mouth at the new angle.

Tom must have liked it too, because soon enough he was thrusting so hard it nearly hurt, so hard I swore I could feel him in my stomach.“You’re. So. Fucking. Perfect.” His voice was gruff, the words barely audible. Our moans and breaths mingled, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. It may have been pornographic, may have been downright filthy, but I was too far gone to care.

I was fucking drowning in Tom.

So close to coming harder than I had in my entire life.

When he reached between us to rub his thumb over my clit it felt like too much, my back arching as I shook my head. “Tom, Tommy… no. I-”

“Shhh.” Tom’s focus was between us as he looked down, sliding his now soaking wet digit over my clit again, reveling in the way I shook under him. “Been dreaming of this for years. For years, Y/N.” He was so transfixed on looking down at where we were joined, I truly didn’t know if he realized he was speaking. “Do you want to come on my cock, love?”

He looked up at me then, our eyes meeting. His pupils were so blown out there was barely any brown left. No longer able to form a coherent sentence all I could do was nod.

“Good.” He pressed his thumb against my clit, harder than before, and watched my face as a scream erupted from me.

“Tom!” I went to grab his hand and he quickly grabbed hold of it with his free one, slamming it down against the mattress near my head, resting his full weight on me.

“You’re going to come for me just like this. My cock inside you, my hands all over you.” He released the hand he was holding and grabbed a hold of my hair, yanking my head back in a move that shocked me. I hadn’t expected him to be so rough, but the move sent pleasurable shockwaves through my scalp and down my back. I felt him everywhere.

I was close, so fucking close, words and moans and broken pleas leaving my mouth. I wanted it so bad I could cry, my desperation palpable as Tom trailed rough, wet kisses down my neck, never once letting up on my clit as his hips pistoned forward in short, quick strokes. He was close too, I could feel it in the way his pace began to stutter, in the way his breath was hitting my neck.

I ran my fingers through his thick hair and his pace quickened. “Come, Y/N, please.” Tom’s voice was raspy and I knew he was serious. He was waiting for me, holding back for me, wanting to please me… and somehow that was everything I needed to finally let go.

My orgasm hit me like a freight train, knocking the wind out of me. I came with a silent scream, my mouth falling open with no sound coming out, my breath stuck in my throat as Tom’s grip on my hair tightened. Vaguely, I could hear his name coming out of my mouth on repeat, my entire body tensing up underneath him. It was like nothing I’d ever felt, like every nerve in my body was on fire.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck.” Tom’s back muscles tensed under my hands, his entire body going still as he held himself deep inside me. The feeling of his pulsating cock sent delicious aftershocks through me and I clenched around him, loving the small groan that erupted from him as he slowly relaxed, resting his full weight on me with a long, heavy sigh.

We lay like that for a few minutes, the thunder and wind having calmed at some point during our tryst. Tom was resting his sweaty forehead on my chest and I ran my fingers through his hair as I stared up at the ceiling. Everything would be different now, everything would change. But I was too lost in my post orgasm glow to care much about anything.

“Was that too rough?” Tom’s voice was soft, the question catching me off guard.

“What?”

He lifted his head to look at me, shifting his body weight as he examined my face. “Was I too rough? I get carried away sometimes, don’t always know my own strength.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. If he only knew half the things I wanted to do to him, or what I wanted him to do to me. Shit. He’d probably have me arrested. “No, Tom, no. Believe me, it was perfect.”

He arched in eyebrow in a cocky way that only Tom fucking Holland could do. “Perfect?” His accent was thick. “Just wait for round two.”

I was about to respond when he leaned in for a kiss, capturing my lips and holding me right there in that moment with him. It was crazy, it was stupid, it was reckless. And I didn’t give a flying fuck.

A noise from downstairs startled us and I jumped. “It was probably just the wind.” Tom reassured me.

I nodded my head, but when I heard the telltale sign of keys hitting the countertop my heart leapt into my throat. “Tom? Y/N? You guys here?”

Tom’s eyes met mine and in unison, we said, “Jordan.”

Oh, fuck.

[doomedandstoned]

Spelljammer Reveal Trippy New Vid, Talk ‘Abyssal Trip’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Interview by Billy Goate

Cover Art by Aaron Cahill

Our week of big interviews continues as we meet up with the ethereal doom outfit from Stockholm SPELLJAMMER and premiere a new music video, from their just released second LP, dropped only weeks ago on RidingEasy Records and now the number one album on the Doom Charts.

'Abyssal Trip' (2021) is an enthralling listen from edge to center, with lavish textures, deep thematic content, and unforgettably emotive atmosphere that will stick with you for life. Enjoy it as you read the revealing conversation with Niklas Olsson (guitar, vox) and Robert Sörling (guitar) that follows as we unpack their steller new spin, talk nerdy gear shit, and contemplate humanity's fate.

And now, Doomed & Stoned is pleased to bring you the world premiere of the brand new video for that epic third track, "Among The Holy."

Give ear...

Spelljammer - Among The Holy (music video)

You guys have been a band now for damn near 15 years, maybe longer. Most bands don't make it past two years! What is the "key" to the band staying together for so long and continuing to find inspiration for creating new music?

Rob: I don’t think it’s been 15 years just yet but we are getting there, haha. None the less - that’s a really interesting question! Nik and I started the band much because we share the same taste in music, film and, well, art in general. I think that's the core keeping it all together. Also, there have been a few constellations of band members over the years, all with their own dynamic. I think these kinds of changes, and the new directions of the music because of that, is part of the inspiration. Maybe another reason is that we all live in different cities and because of that sometimes a lot of time passes between rehearsals, writing sessions and such, making us always craving for new Spelljammer jams and songs.

Nik: The craving yes. And another reason I think is the fact that we’ve never really been in a rush to get anywhere. Anything Spelljammer, the music included, takes time. If we had been set on making it, this thing probably would have fallen apart a long time ago.

Abyssal Trip by Spelljammer

How did the theme for Abyssal Trip originate?

Nik: I have always been more drawn to the feelings or emotions you get from a riff or piece of music than to any theme of a lyric. But I would say that any themes came in at the lyrics state, which is at the end of the process. But the themes aren’t that specific to any of the albums. I think I cast a pretty wide net in the beginning and stuck to it. For the next album perhaps we will venture more into unchartered waters. We’ll see.

What fascinates you about the Great Abyss of the ocean?

Nik: I totally get that the word abyss conjures up images of ocean trenches and, yes, the ocean is a fascinating and to a large extent undiscovered place. However, when I wrote that I wasn’t necessarily thinking of the ocean but more the abyss of our own minds. But I think it’s a word that evokes many things, like despair and doom, and it is of course totally open to interpretation.

Is mankind doomed or do we have time to correct our course?

Nik: I’m not as pessimistic of a person as the lyrics may suggest. I think we will be here on earth for a long time. Mankind is clever (perhaps too clever for her own good) even if there are a lot of people hell-bent on trying to screw up everything for everybody else.

Rob: Yes, and considering how ignorant and careless (some) people are acting during this pandemic, at least over here, makes you wonder if there’s any hope at all.

Nik: People are the worst. Ultimately, though, none of it matters because we’re all doomed.

Have you guys seen any good movies/documentaries or read any good books lately that inspired you or otherwise challenged your thinking about life, the present, or the future?

Rob: I can’t say that I’ve seen or read anything recently that challenged me significantly, I guess I’m getting too old to be that overwhelmed haha. The film A Ghost Story though was kind of cool though because it was different, slow and weird (in a good way), and for me it’s always inspiring to read/see/hear something that makes you think, "Man, I wish I had come up with that idea”.

Nik: Absolutely! Punch Drunk Love, Moon, and Office Space are definitely movies like that. I have watched so many movies and series through this pandemic and I can’t remember any of them right now. But I did just notice that there is a season 3 of Loudermilk on HBO! If you haven’t already, see it! I’m currently reading "Homeward Bound, The Life of Paul Simon” by Peter Ames Carlin. It’s a good read about one of my favorite musicians.

For recording this album, what kind of gear did you use and what production/engineering considerations did you have to take into account?

Rob: Since we did a remote recording in the countryside we had to use whatever stuff that we could fit into a couple of cars. I have a couple of old audio interfaces that I linked for a total of 16 channels. I also have a small collection of mics (nothing fancy) and we used them all and the rest was borrowed. We set up the drums in the living room and put the guitar and bass rigs as far away as we could (the adjacent rooms) to avoid bleed and just focused on getting the rhythm tracks done. The goal was to get us all in the same room and to catch the vibe from a relaxed rehearsal kind of situation. The bass rig used was a Orange Terror Bass and an Ampeg SVT 810 and the guitar was tracked through a Reval Mark I and/or Orange TH-100 and a Orange PPC 412. Of course there’s always some unforeseen problem lurking and this time it was the electricity in the old country house.

Nik: I don’t use many effects, just a fuzz. For this one I used a Supercollider from Earthbound Audio. It is exactly what the name suggests. That’s all you need really.

The album cover is amazing! It reminds me, in some strange way, of the creature in the old B-movie Robot Monster (1953). What's the story behind the artwork?

Nik: It definitely has a B-movie vibe that I really like. I’m afraid I can’t really tell you much about it other than the artist name is Aaron Cahill and you can find his stuff on Instagram under the name nghbrs.

I filmed your first US appearance at Psycho Las Vegas in 2016. Fans want to know: do you have ambitions of returning to North America once the world sorts out this pandemic?

Rob: Yes, that’s our first and only US appearance so far and we wouldn’t mind at all returning to Vegas or any other part of the US. For now it’s really hard making any plans at all. In fact, you would think that this kind of isolation would enhance creativity, and maybe for some it does, but for us it’s actually been the most unproductive period so far for Spelljammer. So I’m hoping that by the time this thing blows over we get the inspiration back both for writing/recording new music, and in time hopefully revisiting the US!

Nik: I agree, playing at Psycho Las Vegas was a blast. I hope we get another opportunity to come back some day.

Spelljammer at Psycho Las Vegas/a>

Some Buzz

“The vastness of everything is something that I think about a lot,” says Spelljammer bassist/vocalist Niklas Olsson. And it certainly shows in both the expansive, sludgy sounds and contemplative lyrics of the Stockholm, Sweden based trio. Following a 5-year break between their previous album, Ancient of Days — perhaps fittingly spent pondering said vastness — Spelljammer is back with an album that perfectly bridges the band’s earlier desert rock leanings and their later massive, slow-burning riffs.

'Abyssal Trip' (note: carefully reread that album title) takes its moniker from the perpetually dark, cold, oxygen-free zone at the bottom of the ocean. The 6-song, 44-minute album fittingly embodies that bleak realm with rumbling, oozing guitars intercut with dramatic melodic interludes. The songs take their time to unfurl, making them even more hypnotic. Likewise, the lyrics take a poetic approach to establishing the sonic scenery.

“The lyrical themes we address, like the ultimate doom of man, and the search and longing for new and better worlds, are still there,” Olsson says. “The concept of something undiscovered out there in vast emptiness is pretty much always present.”

The recording process for Abyssal Trip differs from previous releases in that the band — guitarist Robert Sörling, drummer Jonatan Rimsbo and Olsson — opted to capture the performances while holed up in the mental bathysphere of a house in the countryside near Stockholm. “The songs benefitted from the relaxed environment of being away from everything,” Olsson explains. Indeed, the album sounds confident and meticulously arranged, afforded by the band’s isolation. Sörling mixed the album and it was mastered by Monolord drummer Esben Willems at Berserk Audio.

Album opener “Bellwether” begins dramatically with a very slow, nearly minute-long fade in of rumbling distortion setting the stage for heavily distorted bass and guitar plucking out the lugubrious riff for another minute and a half before the drums begin, and likewise equally as long before vocals gurgle to the surface. “Lake” abruptly shifts gears, opening with an unusually fast gallop before rupturing into thundering doom that soon drops into a clean-tone Middle Eastern melodic breakdown.

The title track serves as the album centerpiece, opening with ominous film dialogue about blood sacrifice that launches into pummeling, detuned guitars rumbling over gut-punching drums and howling vocals hearkening to the proto-sludge of Pink Floyd’s “The Nile Song.” The dynamic relents briefly for a slow building clean guitar melody before all instruments lock into a jerking riff topped off by a trilling Iommi style lead. Throughout, Abyssal Trip is, just like its title suggests, an epic tour through desolate zones which yields much to discover.

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After releasing their album Play With Fire last year via Suicide Squeeze Records, Californian punk trio L.A. Witch are sharing a new video for their standout track 'Motorcycle Boy'. Speaking about the video, L.A. Witch singer and guitarist Sade Sanchez said "The song is inspired by Moto Boys like Mickey Rourke, Marlon Brando, and Steve McQueen, so of course we took a lot of inspiration from our favorite biker movies like The Wild One, Rumble Fish, On any Sunday, Easy Rider, Hells Angeles '69 and The Girl on a Motorcycle. I had worked with (director) Ambar Navarro and Max on another project and loved their other work, so we wanted to work with them on this. They definitely did their homework and came up with a cool story line. I got to feature my bike that I'd been rebuilding during the pandemic. It was nice to shoot a video where you get to do two of your favorite things, riding motorcycles and play guitar."

Margo Price has shared a new music video for 'Hey Child', said to be the heart and “centerpiece” of her acclaimed 2020 album That’s How Rumors Get Started. It’s directed by Kimberly Stuckwisch. In the moving visual, the country star confronts the demons of her past. There are scenes referencing the time she spent in jail for substance abuse, as well as others depicting her struggles with addiction and depression. Price’s vulnerability is on full display here, and she ultimately uses it to heal and find strength again. Watch it down below. According to Price, 'Hey Child' was originally written back in 2012 “not long after my husband Jeremy and I lost our son Ezra.” She continued, noting how fellow country star and album producer Sturgill Simpson helped encourage her to release it: “'Hey Child' was a song that was written back in 2012 not long after my husband Jeremy and I lost our son Ezra. We were playing shows with our rock and roll band Buffalo Clover and occupying most of the bars in East Nashville. We had begun hanging with a rowdy group of degenerate musician friends and partying harder than The Rolling Stones…The song was about how many of our talented friends were drinking and partying their talents away but after a few years had passed, we realized it was just as much about us as our friends. I had retired it when the band broke up but Sturgill Simpson resurrected it when he asked me if I would re-record it for That’s How Rumors Get Started.” [via Consequence of Sound]

NYC collective MICHELLE has today unveiled their first new single of 2021. Titled 'FYO,' the track powerfully recounts the four lead singers’ experiences growing up with mixed race identities. The track arrives alongside a music video directed by the band’s own Layla Ku and Emma Lee. Speaking on the message behind the song, Jamee Lockard from the band shares: “'FYO' is about belonging to different worlds but feeling rejected by both. Growing up as a mixed-race minority in the US, my self concept was warped by other people telling me what I am and am not, pushing and pulling me between identities. Although my feelings of cultural dissonance still ebb and flow, now I have the vocabulary, support system, and perspective to unpack that inner conflict on my own terms. We should never give others the authority to define who we are."

With her new album Homecoming set for release on April 2 via Daemon T.V., Du Blonde is sharing the video for ‘Medicated’. Featuring Garbage’s Shirley Manson, Du Blonde says of the song, “‘Medicated’ is a letter to my 27 year old self who didn’t want to live anymore, from my now medicated, functioning and content self. It might sound depressing or concerning, but really it’s quite joyful. Like ‘look at how things can be if you hang around’. Shirley and I had talked about her adding vocals to a track and when I wrote Medicated it seemed like the perfect fit. She’s been a voice of reason for me many times when i’ve been struggling and it felt really appropriate to have her. I shot the video in my childhood bedroom using a green screen Girl Ray gave me at the start of lockdown,” she continues. “The spiders are a reference to a hallucination I had in my early teens where I pulled back my bed covers to see thousands of spiders writhing around in my bed, which now I see as a result of extreme anxiety. A lot of the scenarios in the video are a celebration of the things about me that I feel people might feel shame about. There’s so much stigma around taking medication in order to ease mental health conditions, so I wanted to express my feelings on the subject which is basically ‘I take medication and i’m stoked about it because thanks to that i’m still alive’.” [via DIY]

Back with her powerful Y2K sound, Spain's Rakky Ripper channels PC Music and Rina Sawayama on brightly catchy new single 'Whatever'. The new EP Xtra Cost is released  February 19. If you are over the age of 25, odds are that you can recall a very specific kind of pop that graced our launch into the new millennium. Since coined as "Y2K", chart music of that short era was flush with R&B beats, synthetic arrangements and sickly sweet hooks. Britney was the industry’s honey-highlighted princess whilst Christina made it dirrty. It’s something that Rina Sawayama has made 2020-relevant again with the release of her debut album Sawayama, whilst PC Music and Charli XCX took it to another extreme with the redefinition of what it means to be pop. Meanwhile, over in Spain, the alt-pop scene is flourishing courtesy of artists such as Rakky Ripper and her own unique blend of Y2K-meets-hyper-pop. Already gaining Charli XCX approval when the Mercury Award nominee asked Rakky to join her onstage at her Madrid show, the Granada talent shows crossover potential with her new single 'Whatever'. Punchy beats and playful synths capture the sticky heat of pop done well whilst its fuzzy guitar gives it an alternative edge, however it’s its hook-riddled chorus and Rakky’s Spanglish lyrical mix that make 'Whatever' a standout moment. “‘Whatever’ is the pop girl in my new EP Xtra Cost,” shares Rakky of her new release. “It’s my 2021 version of Britney, *NSYNC and the Spice Girls. The new video tells the story about two people who are in love but one of them pretends not to care, so the other person is always chasing.” [via Line Of Best Fit]

Things are afoot in the FKA twigs camp. In October, the R&B star revealed that her third album had been completed during quarantine. Now, she’s back with a new song called 'Don’t Judge Me'. It's her first since dropping the masterful album MAGDALENE in 2019. In addition to a stunning performance from FKA twigs, the track features UK rapper Headie One and producer Fred again…, who’s worked with the likes of Ed Sheeran and Brian Eno. 'Don’t Judge Me' appears to be something of a companion release or sequel to 'Don’t Judge Me (Interlude)', an early 2020 collaboration that also featured all three artists. Unlike the intentional vagueness of that song, the themes on this version are a lot more direct. During her verse and the hook, twigs begs her lover to hold her and appreciate the “precious love” she sends their way with a devastating urgency. Headie One takes a different approach in his verse and goes off about racial injustice and police brutality. “Know more about my people from the streets than from my teachers/ I done a million speeches/ No justice, no peace, ’cause we in pieces/ Officer, am I allowed to breathe here?,” he raps with a conversational directness. It’s a really powerful pairing from two different yet complementary artists with voices that demand the listener’s full attention. Check it out above via a dazzling video co-directed by FKA twigs and Emmanuel Adjei, who was heavily involved in Beyonce’s Black Is King visual album. Like all of FKA twigs’ clips, this one is truly something to behold. [via Consequence of Sound]

Girl Friday have delivered a surrealistic visual for 'Earthquake,' the powerhouse lead single from Androgynous Mary, their acclaimed album of 2020 out now on Hardly Art. 'Earthquake' is one of the band's most gloriously raging moments and sees the group power through three and a half minutes of unadulterated catharsis. Girl Friday’s Vera Ellen, who directed the new video, offers this, “The greatest love story is between a song and a video. I wanted to deconstruct the creative process. How do ideas find each other? What happens when the artist lets outside forces get in the way of an idea? How is an idea affected by us, the audience and our expectations? What does an idea have to do to become it’s complete, purest, self. Beyond anything, it’s a story of fighting for true liberation. This will look different for everyone but I hope people can project their own struggle onto the story, and relish in the freedom experienced by the characters (if only for a moment)."

J-Pop girl-group, FAKY has released their first single of 2021, 'The Light' with an accompanying music video. This song was selected as a campaign song for the horror film Jukaimura (Suicide Forest Village), the most recent work by the master horror director, Takashi Shimizu, who also directed The Ju-on (The Grudge) and Inunakimura (Howling Village). This up-tempo and cheerful track was created to add another layer of eerieness and uncertainty to the hair-raising storyline and themes of the movie. 2020 was a successful year for the girl group. FAKY hopes to further their success in 2021 starting with the release of 'The Light'. “Our new single ‘The Light’ is an uplifting song with its pop melody, powerful live band sound, and motivating message to move forward towards the light” - FAKY. The music was composed by up-and-coming music producer, Maeshima Soshi (Hypnosis Mic, Hey! Say! JUMP, Rinne and Sorane). 'The Light' expresses that moment when your heart quivers, just when you are about to change, with the theme being about overcoming conflict and having “power to strike out into the world.”

Kinlaw's dark-pop quest has seen her shatter boundaries. Snapped up by Bayonet Records, her piercing, roving eye deconstructs her personal feelings, illuminating electronic structures in their stead. New album The Tipping Scale is out this month, and it expertly reflects the vagaries of winter, the spartan landscapes and the self-examination. Taken from the record, new single 'Haircut' deals with shifts in her life, with the urge to propel herself into something fresh. "I cut my hair to confuse myself," she comments. "It started as a mission to change who I was, to make a new and better version, but ended with my feeling like I no longer knew what I was mourning." A song about leaving trauma behind and embracing the possibilities of the present, 'Haircut' carries some inspired connotations for these troubled times. Kinlaw says the single offers "a question of personal power, and even speaking on this song today has been challenging because it was written when I was unsure if I had any power left. I think 'Haircut' can be a lot of things to many different people, particularly those who identify with the juxtaposition of in-depth, internal dialogue paired with everyday coping strategies. There is a sweetness to it, but also such substantial, unwavering difficulty. Today, I prefer to think of 'Haircut' as an anthem of resilience and an ode to the ways we keep going, we shapeshift, and we reinstall that there is a way to find what it is we are hoping to find." The visual leans on the intimate, opening up a window into Kinlaw's life, and her true feelings. [via Clash]

The Rhode Island born,  Los Angeles based singer, songwriter, musician and actress Emeline is known for her work with Thievery Corporation's Rob Garza as well as her solo music full of biting lyrics and catchy hooks. Her new music video for '6 Foot Deep' was filmed at the infamous Westerfeld Mansion a.k.a “House of Legends.” Icons like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin have lived there, as well as the founder of the Church of Satan. Covered in satanic etchings and scratches from his pet lions, the energy within the house added to the feel of the music video. Also previously used for the Russian Embassy, the house has featured on "Ghost Hunters" for it's haunted happenings.

The Charli XCX-crafted Nasty Cherry have returned with their first single of the year, 'Lucky'. The new track follows last year's Season 2 EP, and arrives as first taster of a new EP landing this spring. The band say of their new single, "'Lucky' is a song we wrote for each other during the pandemic where the six weeks we got to spend together felt incredibly precious and introspective. It's a reflective, sweet and spiky little song." [via Line Of Best Fit]

Griff has premiered the video for her incredible new single ‘Black Hole’. Launched as Annie Mac’s Hottest Record in the World last week, the striking new visual sees Griff examine a past relationship through a surreal, Alice in Wonderland’-esque journey from the sewing room into self-discovery (directed by duo SOB). [via With Guitars]

Poppy Ajudha has shared her new single 'Weakness' in full. The London based artist blends together jazz, soul, R&B, and a whole lot more besides, resulting in a sound that is truly her own. 'Weakness' is a song about love, and it finds Poppy capturing that nuanced dichotomy between the rush of pleasure and an innate fear of being out of control. In a note, Poppy explains that her new single is "about feeling out of control and at the mercy of someone else because of how crazy they make you feel, but also feeling bittersweet about it, because you’re a bad b*tch and you don’t have time for that ish." The songwriter steered the video, too, a self-admitted "control freak" who oversaw the neat mixture of animation and a superbly styled set. "Self-directing was really fun," she comments. "I’m a control freak so it was great to get stuck into all the facets of making a music video. Choosing the team, the makeup looks, directing the styling ideas, writing the narrative, working out how to build the set. It definitely felt like a challenge to direct, star-in and perform choreographed moves for the first time but I love to push myself and am really glad I did." [via Clash]

GG McG’s latest single, ‘Good Morning’, is her first release this year and second overall, following ‘Boom’ in 2019. The song was written on GarageBand during lockdown and was produced by Japanese Wallpaper’s Gab Strum, mixed by Konstantin Kersting and mastered by Andrei Eremin. “‘Good Morning’ is about the total, complete chaos of the past year and the feeling of waking up every morning, reading the news and being blown away by just how much worse things were than the day before,” McGauran said in a statement. [via the Music Network]

Singer HyunA dropped her seventh mini album I’m Not Cool on Thursday, singing of the ups and downs of being the “cool girl” on stage. The album’s title song 'I’m Not Cool' sings about the nice things she tells herself. “It’s really about my originality. I try to compliment myself before going onto the stage. I tell myself it’s not bad to be myself. I’ve long dreamed of this moment right now, and I feel like I’m a bird flying freely in the sky or a flower blooming in the field. I know I cannot be loved by everyone, but I become perfect with just one person’s love. The song is about these kind of every day thoughts.” Donned in exotic outfits and flashy makeup, HyunA said she “became a snake” in the song that sings “No one’s as intense as I am, like salmosa. I tried to show as much of myself as I could in the music video. I wanted to show how intense the ‘not cool’ HyunA could become when fully set,” she added. The creativity behind the title track comes from the unique minds of herself, singer and the founder of her agency P Nation Psy, and her best colleague and boyfriend Dawn. “We worked on the song while just chatting about it endlessly with each other,” HyunA said. “When Psy threw in a big catchy chunk, Dawn would creatively unfold this, adding fun elements to make it fit my style and state of mind. I personally like writing those rebellious lines. Mingling these three minds together, every day, was just so much fun.” [via The Korea Herald]

THYLA are sharing their first new music of 2021, with new single 'Breathe', a track that the band confirm will appear on their long-awaited debut album, set for release later this year. Putting 2020 firmly in the rear-view mirror, the Thyla ethos of putting one foot in front of the other serves them well as they look toward what a long-awaited debut album might sound like. As self-confessed underdogs they've developed an attitude that aims at turning the possible into the inevitable, and with the hypnotic 'Breathe' they reach for reflective, melancholy sounds to accompany what is a time of intense loneliness for many. It is a theme that has been creeping into Thyla's music for some time, and 'Breathe' sees them further explore the idea that, in a world more connected than ever, we are paradoxically more shut off as individuals. 'Breathe' shows yet again that even at their subtlest, Thyla are capable of carving out an impassioned pop world full of the intricacies of our much-missed IRL interactions. Lead singer Millie Duthie offers these thoughts on the track: "'Breathe' was written in the early hours of the morning. Eventually we chanced upon this really vibey atmospheric lick that you hear in the intro, and the whole song grew from there. The song blossomed into a slightly melancholic dream-pop bop, it’s bittersweet and has a slightly inconclusive feeling to it; imagine a film where the main character never actually gets the happy ending you’ve been so long yearning for. The result of how the instrumental sounded no doubt manifested lyrics that held the same sentiment. The song is about loneliness, estrangement from family and close friends, yet despite this, feeling a sense of inner strength about the situation. It’s like recovering from a breakup and realising you’ve come out stronger, but a reflection of the scar tissue that resulted from the trauma."

[thegreenfairy13]

How about 3 for the whump prompt 😊 although characters are up to you.

Prompt: ‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t splatter your brains on the floor.’ Well...as I’ve been Birds of Prey lately, I fell down the Zsaszmask (Victor Zsasz x Roman Sionis) hole and wrote a fic about their first encounter.  I just love those two bastards! I hope you like it :)

Gotham’s Truths

Victor Zsasz always thought a first meeting says a lot about how a relationship is supposed to develop in the future. That firm belief turned out to be quite untrue when it comes to one Roman Sionis. 

But then what does was Victor know? Most people would argue their first and last meeting with the infamous killer coincides. 

That’s not to say those people wouldn’t leave a lasting impression - quite the contrary. But to leave an impression that isn’t quite as obvious, well, that honor had been up to Gotham’s newest candidate for the crown of the underbelly. 

But we’ll start at the beginning, kay? 

Motherfuckin fuckwit of a peacock, Victor thinks when first laying his eyes on the man currently dangling from the ceiling in some very private basement. 

He spits on the floor, visibly disappointed by today’s task, and cracks his knuckles. This will be over embarrassingly soon. One good look at Sionis, the Black Mask, as he loves to call himself, has told him everything he needs to know. 

The wanker is just pathetic! Who the fuck wears fuckin pastels? To a shoot-out of all things? An attempt to take down Sofia Gigante is not the fuckin Oscars. And if it were, Sionis would have earned himself a Razzy. 

But then Zsasz didn’t expect much from him in the first place. The pathetic lil shit will break down within seconds, of that he’s certain. Stupid, boarding-school wimp, that one is. He’s probably lost the moment he enters a room without a drink to hold onto. 

He spits out again, this time in disgust, and goes to work. Gigante wants Sionis to get sliced into tiny pieces and fed to her genetically modified koi-carps. No problemo! 

Victor starts setting out his tools one by one. The hammer comes first. It’s decorated with one or two dried blood-stains. 

He hates the blood, though. Personally, he prefers a clean, hygienic approach to work, yet his boss insists on some crude intimidation-techniques. Oh well, employee-protection isn’t something anyone gives much thought to in Gotham. The pincers are next, followed by a shiny, new set of scalpels. 

The other man is meanwhile still dangling from the ceiling, looking at Victor’s devices. At this point, the assassin expects something like a horrified gasp, maybe an occasional cry of ‘you don’t have to do this’, or - at least - a sob. 

What he gets, though, is a high-pitched whine. “Boooooooring”, Roman cries out, sounding like an annoyed little bitch about to find out her favorite lipstick is outta stock. 

Now, that’s not an unheard-of approach, however, definitely a more unique one. 

Turning around, Victor gives Roman a seemingly uninterested once-over. The other man rolls his eyes, and wiggling his upper body, he starts swinging as if he was on a playground. 

The bastard even has the audacity to yawn. 

Grinning ferociously, Victor decides he wants the smugness gone from the other one’s face. He raises his hammer, aims for the face, and finally elicits the cry he hoped for - unless in a decidedly different context. 

Roman swings swiftly outta the way, furiously screaming, ‘not my face, not my face’ like that one hysterical chick who walked in on Victor while delivering a message to her now late husband. 

“That face is worth more than all your ugly-ass teeth combined,” the man screeches, sounding every bit like an enraged banshee. “If I’m about to get murdered with a fuckin household-appliance, at least make sure that fuckin thing from the dollar store doesn’t come near my face.”

Roman glares down at Victor from below, which is in itself an achievement, not showing the slightest bit of fear, and yelling out orders. It’s so absurd the killer has to laugh. And not just that bemused bark he sometimes coughs out, no, an honest to God, pure, heartfelt roar that whips through his entire body. 

Tilting his head to the side, he decides he’ll indulge his victim and see what else it has to offer. Tossing the hammer aside, he picks up the scalpel. Roman only rolls his eyes at him. 

“What you gonna do?” he challenges. “Carve some patterns into my skin? Ask me some questions? Wait for me to cry and beg? Pah!” 

“Well, that’s how those things usually work,” Victor confirms sensibly. He bends down until he’s at eye level with his prey, checking for those sweet, sweet signs of distress. Inhaling, he expects to smell that sour, musky scent of sweat that always indicates the beginning of his fun. 

He smells nothing but a hint of chrysanthemum and vervain. Not that Victor knows that very moment what exactly he smells. He only knows it smells good. 

He takes a better look at that skin the other man is so obviously very fond of, takes in the line of a strong jaw-line, pliant lips, fine lines from smiling too often around his eyes, and decides that, yes, that face is indeed a wonderful canvas. Too bad there won’t be much left of it once he’s done. 

Under different circumstances, he’d probably fuck the guy first and kill him later - but this is about business, not his personal pleasure. 

Roman, stop calling him Roman, Victor chides, tries suppressing a wheeze. Ah yes, he almost forgot, his ribs are already broken. The other man bares his teeth, pulls a grimace that somewhat resembles a grin, yet Victor knows the signs - he’s merely trying to mask his pain. 

Grabbing his chin, he turns the man, forces him to study him as well. Roman scoffs. “Pathetic,” is his verdict. “Look what you’ve become,” he grumbles.

“And that would be?” Victor snaps back before he can stop himself. 

“You used to be an artist!” Roman exclaims so violently the chains holding him up, start to rattle precariously. “The Da Vinci of murder you used to be! A Salvador Dali with a knife, and now? All you come up with is dangling me from the ceiling and showing me this crap.”

Victor snarls, gives him a good shove in return, and turns back to his tools. 

“Hey, how does it feel to live your life like a chained pit bull?” Roman howls instead. “Every day you get up, torture a bit, but where’s the passion? The spark? The creativity?” Victor is sure if he could, he’d gesticulate wildly. 

“Trust me, creativity will be the last thing on your mind once I’m done with you,” he snaps back.

Roman clicks his tongue, yet refuses to acknowledge that statement. “When was the last time you truly had fun?” he asks instead, managing to look smug even in his predicament. “When was the last time someone really let you loose, mm?”

Arching an eyebrow at his captive, Victor licks his lips. What a shame, truly, he thinks. He should have been given a chance to bang that vocal, little slut before cutting his throat. 

Roman smirks knowingly, and for a moment, Victor is baffled. 

“You said that out loud,” he sing-songs, as a strand of his hair loosens, elegantly framing his face. “Look,” he continues, still grinning knowingly. “I have an offer for you - you can either work for me, or kill me off and file for unemployment in about….” Roman wiggles his head from side to side, seemingly counting, when a loud bang jolts through the basement. 

“Well, I guess now,” he finishes, unfazed. 

Tilting his head, Victor considers the offer. It sounds suspiciously like Gigante is no more, and besides, he has never been especially good all on his own, without anyone to point him in the right direction. On the other hand, it’s been a long time since he enjoyed true freedom. 

But then he hasn’t met anyone who has the ability to humor him in an even longer time. 

Nodding to himself, Victor makes a decision. 

Yet before he can touch the chain, Roman stops him. “One thing though,” he declares sternly. “I demand absolute loyalty.” 

Victor sighs and pushes a button, releasing him. If there’s even one thing he’s better at than killing people, it’s serving people. 

Roman jumps to his feet almost immediately. “Eww,” he says. Wrinkling his nose in disgust as he wipes some grime from his suit before slapping Victor’s face with his palm outstretched, like a little girl. It stings viciously, though. 

Surprised, Victor looks up. 

“No more ruining my suits,” Romans orders angrily. “And now,” he continues, putting his arm around Victor’s shoulders as if they’d been friends forever. “Do you know how to make shrinking heads?” 

Baffled, the assassin follows his new boss out of the basement, slowly realizing this had been the first and last time he had the upper hand in his relationship with Roman Sionis. 

Nobody in Gotham dares to tell him that is untrue, though. 

But then it’s Gotham - and she has her own truths. 

[justlookatthosesausages]

:: “Memoirs” :: a post-Frozen 2 Time Travel AU

======= CHAPTER 7 Safe and sound =======

As Elsa opened her eyes - even though, she thought, she didn’t really opened them, because Ahtohallan was projecting the memories of the future into her mind - she was welcome by a melodious and soft music. 

The notes turned into a song as a gentle male voice accompanied them, and Elsa looked around trying to understand where she was standing. 

This was Anna’s and Kristoff’s bedroom. It had been only Anna’s, a long time ago, then they had redesigned it from the moment Kristoff lived in the castle, and Elsa had seen its design change once again in the future memory of Anna giving birth to her daughter. But here, it had a different structure, though half-familiar, and the Snow Queen easily guessed that what she was about to witness was happening before the memory that was submitted to her in the Forest.

She finally laid eyes on the source of the music, and found a moving ice statue representing Kristoff playing the lute, seated on the bed, as Anna was on the sheets next to him, her face adorned with a dreamy smile. She had a hand against the pillow next to her, and the other was absentmindedly rubbing her belly. 

Elsa loudly gasped with emotion when she saw that Anna was pregnant, and visibly in the last months. She immediately covered her mouth, fearing for a second that she ruined the soft lullaby Kristoff was playing. Thankfully, she wasn’t really there, them neither, and they were all just sharing a moment lost in time. 

Lost in time, but real. The blonde felt her eyes sting at the thought, and her stomach leaped a bit. This would become true. This was the future. Kristoff was singing to his wife one of the most tender songs she had ever heard from him, and Anna was looking at him singing like she was in the best place in the entire world. 

Once he was finished, it took all of Elsa’s will to not clap right then in awe or sigh with delight as Kristoff placed his hand above Anna’s on her belly. She had to focus on what they were saying. She couldn’t help but think, despite the beauty of the scene: was she already dead in that moment?  

Kristoff bent to his wife to kiss her in the hair, then he shifted to kiss her belly. He smiled after he did. 

“Oh, I’m very lucky tonight.” He said, his voice a bit crystalline and reverberated in ice statue form. “No kick in the face. I won’t lose a teeth this time.”

Anna giggled, but also eye-rolled. “Come on. Don’t exaggerate. It had just been a tiny kick.”

“Still. She’s as strong as you, and I’m sure that one centimeter to the right would have knocked me down.” 

They both laughed, then kissed, and Elsa shed a tear at Anna’s voice. It was the first time she heard her talking as a grown adult, and a future mother. Last time she saw her around that age was when she was giving birth, and well, it wasn’t the most representative sample... She had mostly heard her scream. Here, she was calm, bathing in love and happiness, and it filled Elsa’s heart. 

“Hey, you’re still persuaded that it’s a girl?” Frowned Anna, lifting her face, her long untied hair sliding along the pillow.

“What, this conversation again?” Groaned Kristoff, but he was amused. “Come on, feisty. I told you. Bulda said it would be a girl. The northern lights are never wrong.”

“The northern lights...” Repeated Anna with a long sigh, exasperated, and Elsa couldn’t help but laugh, especially at the face she made as she put her head back down. 

Kristoff chuckled. “Don’t mock it. It’s been proven.”

Anna smirked. “Alright. Then we need to think of baby names. I only thought about boys ones.” 

“Oh yeah? What were your choices?” Asked Kristoff, picking up his lute and idly plucking the chords.

Elsa stepped forward. This conversation was lovely, and she leaned on the edge of the bed made out of ice, her arms crossed, smiling at their soft interaction. 

“I was thinking about ‘Hans’.”

Kristoff missed a heartbeat and his hand slipped on the chords, and Elsa almost fell to the floor at the sentence. 

Anna cackled loudly with laughter. “I’m just kidding! Oh my goodness, you should have seen your face!!”

“This is not funny.” Mumbled Kristoff. 

She howled with laughter, and suddenly slammed her hand on her belly when her moves became too big. “Ow, ow, ow...”

“See? Stop saying nonsense, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

He helped her change her posture on the bed, using his own pillow to put it under her back. 

“Thank you. Ugh, I shouldn’t have laughed that hard. At least she’ll have the sense of humor.”

Kristoff and Elsa shook their head at the same time, puffing. 

“Do you have ideas for a girl name?” Asked Anna, her voice soft and calm again. 

“I’ve been thinking about Olwen.”

“What? What even is that kind of name?” Snorted the Queen. 

“It means ‘White footprint’ in Welsh. And I got the idea inspired from old mythology. Olwen was a goddess who would make flowers spring up as she walked in snow.” Smiled Kristoff, waving her hands with pretty illustrative gestures. “For a baby who will be born between Winter and Spring, it will be great, don’t you think? Your sister would approve it.”  

Elsa’s entire body stiffened as she heard the sentence. Did that mean... What that meant? Was she gone already?

“Okay, ice nerd.” Puffed Anna. “Well, don’t try to convince me with emotion. That’s not gonna make me change my mind. It’s a no-no.”

Kristoff pouted, and Elsa’s heart split in half. ‘With emotion’ echoed in her mind. So she was dead before this scene happened. She was dead before Anna even finished her pregnancy. 

If present Anna was there by her side, she would convince her that she had to wait for more clues, and was taking things out of context. But she wasn’t there. And Elsa knew that it was too many coincidences for it to not be the truth. 

As Kristoff kept defending his choice of name, Elsa winced. She sighed and forced herself to smile. At least she could enjoy this moment of them. 

“How about Alexandria?” Suggested Anna with a big smile. 

Kristoff groaned. “That’s sounds a bit like a disease.” 

“What?? Come onnnn, be supportive!” 

“I would if that didn’t sound like a disease.”

She nudged him on the shoulder, and he chuckled, continuing his soft plucking of the chords. The scene was so sweet that it actually made Elsa grin, and she forgot her sadness.

“Okay, I’m gonna think about another one.” Accepted Anna.

She then turned to him with a warning finger. “But we’re never ever going to pick your name.”

=======

“Hi, Olwen.” Smiled Anna with a soft voice. 

Elsa blinked when the memory suddenly changed. The room was the same, still filled with moving ice statues, but there were more people, and the furniture had changed. It was back to the design Elsa had seen in the memory when Anna had given birth. 

And then it hit her. This was what happened right afterwards. 

With an emotional gasp, Elsa ran to the tiny baby Anna was holding in the crook of her arms with a smile, and that Kristoff and her couldn’t detach their eyes from. Anna was gently rubbing her cheek with her thumb, her eyes filled with maternal love, and the elder felt her heart leap at the beautiful scene.  

The baby was adorable, and the blonde started crying along the new parents as they all stared at it. 

“Olwen of Arendelle. You’ve got all the world to discover.” Whispered Kristoff, like he feared that talking too loud would shatter the fragile skin of his daughter. 

Elsa rubbed her tears so she would stop seeing blur, and smiled to the blond as he caressed the head of the sleeping baby. It looked infinitely cute, and Elsa wished she could say the same of Anna, but she had messy hair, and some locks were stuck to her face because of her sweat. 

With a chuckle, Elsa looked at her, and lifted her hand as she wanted to put some of her hair behind her ear and tell her how amazing she had been in her labor. 

However, this only was a memory, even if it was from the future, and she only contented herself with a supportive smile as she saw Anna hold Olwen closer to her chest. 

The Fifth Spirit looked around, looking one last time with one last hope that she was indeed present in the room, but hadn’t noticed. Nevertheless, she definitely wasn’t. With a pinch to the heart, she looked at Kristoff and Anna kissing each other, then the redhead giggled with happiness. Seeing them both admire their daughter, who brought such touching smiles on their faces, and would become the future of Arendelle, was enough to make her lips stretch in a content smile, and she enjoyed the moment as it was.

=======

A new flash appeared as the memory changed. Now, a lot of years had passed, easy to notice for the blonde in a simple stare: the furniture was different, and maybe even the wallpaper, but she couldn’t tell which color it was, for everything was cyan and white in ice statues. 

Elsa squinted as she walked to the bed, and tried to recognized the ones present there. She gasped in joy when she saw how adorable Olwen had grown up to be. She now was around 10 years old, and reminded her of Anna was she was her age. She wanted to step further to see how cute she was, but the little girl shifted in her sheets as Anna, now an older adult, kissed her on the forehead. 

They both giggled, and the Snow Queen masked a giggle behind her hand as well. She couldn’t help but hide her sounds. She felt like the moment was intimate, private even, and was so touched by the love filling the room that she didn’t want to ruin it, even if they couldn’t hear her. It was a shame that the ice memories couldn’t show much colors, because she would have loved to know if her niece’s hair was blonde, red, or maybe a mix of both. Elsa chose to use her imagination, like she usually did, and it wasn’t hard because of much she looked like her mother.

“Sleep well, love.” Smiled Anna, and her bun swayed in her move as she stood up from the bed.  

“Mama, can you tell me a story about Auntie?”

Anna stopped right in her tracks just before reaching the door. Elsa stopped breathing.

The blonde’s hand, who had lowered from her mouth to her chest in emotion at Anna’s love as she put her daughter to bed, clenched there. 

‘Here we go.’ Thought Elsa. ‘She’ll want to know what happened.’

Anna didn’t look back, and from where the elder stood, she couldn’t know what her expression was. Her heart squeezed even harder. The redhead probably was feeling sad about it. She had stopped walking, and wasn’t looking back as she answered her daughter. 

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Sorry.”

“Mamaaaa!” Insisted Olwen, using adorable bounces in the sheets to persuade her. 

Elsa would have found it adorable if she wasn’t devastated. 

“Please tell me the story about that time she saved Ahtohallan!” Begged the little girl. 

Anna didn’t reply right away, and Elsa accepted with sadness that she didn’t want to talk about how she had lost her... Wait, when she saved Ahtohallan? The elder frowned in confusion. 

“Why wouldn’t she tell you herself?” Finally turned around Anna, and to Elsa’s greatest surprise, she was wearing a big smile and looking right at her. 

The elder gasped with wide eyes, panicking. Was she able to see her? Did she know she was here? How long did she know? 

She inspected the expression on the ice statue of her grown adult sister, and then realized that she wasn’t looking at her, but behind her. 

Slowly, Elsa turned around, and was seized by the biggest emotion when she saw who had just came in by the window.

A gust of wind finished twirling as an older adult Elsa stepped in the room, and as she turned around to close the window behind her, present Elsa got struck by the vision of her own front and back. With a dropped jaw, she saw how in the move, her shoulder pieces sparkled, even in the dimmed light of the candles in Olwen’s bedroom. Her white outfit was the same after all these years, but was more sophisticated, more ergonomic, and, Elsa couldn’t help but admit, ten times more gorgeous than the one she was currently wearing. She - her older self, as insane as the situation was - had added light armor pieces made of dense ice that brightened with the purest white, and they covered her shoulders, her chest, but also her arms and her thighs. 

Elsa forgot to breath and gulp for the eternal seconds when her older self stepped in the room and to the bed. As she did, she stared at her with wide eyes. Her future self had shorter hair, way shorter hair than present time, but also undeniably more muscles, from bigger biceps to broader shoulders, and Elsa wondered if it was due to intense riding or to simply living in the woods for several tens of years. Her brain was unable to come with an answer, for how stunned she was by that mere entrance. As her older self came to sit on the bed, the skin-like ice fabric below her chest armor piece shone. It attracted Elsa’s gaze, who detached her eyes from the impressively confident expression her future self had, to make them land on a set of sharp abs. 

Present Elsa let out a gasp that was a mix of a scoff and a sigh as she looked over and over at herself. She was alive. And not only alive; actually looking really great.

“AUNTIEEE!!” Exclaimed the little girl, jumping in joy and completely going off the sheets to join her and crush her in a hug. 

Elsa gasped in emotion, tears now rolling down her cheeks. She couldn’t tell if it was due to happiness, relief, or because her older self now was hugging Olwen tight.

“Hi sweetie.” She chuckled. 

It was odd to hear one’s own voice, and even weirder to hear it from one’s future self. Elsa felt taken aback by the situation, but the memory went on, and she barely caught on the sensation. 

“Seriously, Elsa?” Grumbled Anna. 

Present Elsa thought she was going to scold her from suddenly appearing at the window, reproach her from not using the door, or tell her to have warned about her visit. But it was none of those. 

“It took me ages to put her to bed. I’m gonna kill you.” Sighed Anna. 

Older Elsa chuckled, and Olwen giggled with a guilty tone. “I doubt that you will kill me”, smiled the blonde. “Also, we can make a deal.” She added to her niece, looking down. “I tell you the story of that time I saved Ahtohallan, and then off to bed, alright?” 

“I promise!” Jolted the girl, beaming in joy and not disappointed at all. 

“Alright. Now go back in your sheets.” Asked Elsa as she ruffled her hair. 

Anna had stepped to her, and while the child was lying back down, the blonde added: “The meeting has ended. I took care of the maps. Kristoff is walking the dignitaries to their coaches. You don’t need to go back.”

“Okay, thanks.” Smiled Anna with a relieved but also tired sigh. She wasn’t a fan of interrupting her evening meetings, going upstairs, putting her daughter to bed, to then switch her mood back and go to regal tone again.

“I think contracts are on the right way with eastern diplomats.” Analyzed Elsa. “With the new politics, we made an equal deal.”

Present Elsa was speechless at the scene. The blonde’s lips stretched slightly at how her older self sounded. By those simple sentences, she was showing a lot of assurance, relaxation, and she was touched to see that she got Anna’s back in Queen duties despite clearly only passing by. However, she was surprised to see that her voice hadn’t changed at all in all those years. She was way more confident, but still had a light voice. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” Nodded Anna with a smile and some professional wisdom.

“Hey, enough boring adult talk!” Grumbled Olwen from the sheets she had buried herself in to the cheeks. 

The sisters giggled, and even present Elsa shook her head. Yep, she was Anna’s spitting image. Even if, proof being there, older Anna would become a very serious and dedicated Queen. 

Older Elsa tapped her chin. “Okay, the story of that time I saved Ahtohallan... Hummm...”

Anna eye-rolled. “She heard it a hundred times already, no need to put that much suspense.”

The Snow Queen laughed, and gave an amused look to her sister as she sat on the bed too. “Did you tell the story more times than me, or is it the reverse?”

“I think I did.” Snorted Anna. 

“I prefer when it’s Auntie who tells it.” Pouted Olwen. 

Anna dropped her jaw as Elsa cackled with laughter. 

“Ouch?” Gasped the redhead. 

“You put too much details when you tell it. I want to go to the action part.” Explained the child, and Elsa laughed again.

“There’s no need to rush to the fight part!” Frowned Anna, defending her own version of the story. 

“But you always spend soooo much time praising Auntie, it gets so long!” 

Elsa looked away to openly laugh without embarrassing her sister, and present Elsa smiled with delight at the scene. Anna was blushing deeply - even if she couldn’t really tell in ice statue form, she just knew it -, her older self was laughing out loud without hiding behind her hand, and her niece was adorably pouting after proving that truth comes out of the mouth of children. 

“Okay, okay, no useless intro, then.” Coughed Elsa, retrieving her breath. 

She patted Anna’s shoulder. “The positive part in this, is that she’ll go to sleep earlier.”

The redhead pouted a bit, still not recovering from being criticized on the way she told stories. 

“Once upon a time, raiders plundered Ahtohallan. I fought them back. The end.”

“AUNTIEEEE!!”

“I’m just kidding.” Giggled Elsa, and Anna joined the laugh. 

“Okay, once upon a time, and that was when you were very little--”

“I wasn’t born yet, actually.” 

“Yes, you weren’t born yet.” Smiled Elsa. “She knows the story better than me.” She added to Anna on side note, and the Queen nodded. It was the third time in the month that she asked for that story. 

“Ahtohallan got attacked by very evil and very numerous raiders.” Continued Elsa with a lower mysterious voice, pocking her niece’s belly above the sheets at each ‘very’, and the latter giggled. 

“They had carefully planned their coup. I was there in Arendelle, along your mother, because she was about to give birth.”

“Ew.”

“To you.” Specified Anna.

“Still ew.”

The sisters chuckled, and Elsa kept going. “They had strategically chosen that period because they knew that the Queen was in no condition to send an army, and I’d be too far to come prevent them from raiding the glacier.”

Olwen was listening carefully, her eyes opened wide, even if she knew the story into every detail. 

“Little did they know that Ahtohallan could warn me.” Said Elsa, now switching to a soft and deep tone, almost hypnotic to the young girl’s ears. 

She then moved her fingers, and some tiny figures made of ice and snow appeared in the air just above her niece’s eyes, and showed what happened. “I waited for them to enter the glacier to create an ambush...” 

“Hey, no wonder you’re her favorite to tell the story!” Suddenly exclaimed Anna with a bit of anger. “You cheater! You’re making images as well!”

Elsa and Olwen laughed as the snow characters continued to move. 

“Shhhh, we’re getting to her favorite part.” Teased Elsa, and the Queen grumbled as she looked away and muttered a ‘It’s unfair.’

Elsa put as much suspense she could, and suddenly burst a mini explosion of snow, making Olwen gasp, as she showed the raiders falling into a pit in the reproduction of the glacier. The little girl giggled as some of them comically tried to hang to the sides with their picks, but then fell backwards. 

“Some were clever enough to have anticipated it, and had escaped the trap. So I started fighting them...”

The mini ice figure representing Elsa started to craft herself an ice staff, and fought the angry men in Northuldra style. 

“Awesome!” Beamed Olwen.

“This is a bit too graphic for a girl of her age.” Mumbled Anna, and she waved her hand through a snow figure particularly violent that depicted Elsa knocking down a guy with her staff. 

“You can’t erase them.” Smirked Elsa.

It dispersed but reformed after Anna took her hand away. No way her elder was going to let down her golden ticket to the girl’s heart. Anna shook her head with a smile, and let her continue the illustrations. She however gave her sister a look that meant ‘less violence in the figures, please’, which Elsa understood with a nod, and the snow figures became a bit more vague. 

“Olaf had come along to help me.” Smiled Elsa, adding some humor in her illustrations to mask the brutality of the action. “He wasn’t really good at fighting, but scared some of the raiders, and got very useful.” 

Anna and her daughter observed the funny moves of the figures, seeing a bunch of grown men running away in fear as Olaf led an army of snowgies to chase them. They all laughed when one of them managed to go out of the glacier, and screamed of panic when he noticed that a snowgie had made its way into his pants. 

“Olaf named himself ‘Guardian of Ahtohallan’ afterwards.” Smiled Anna. “Not sure if it stuck.”

“Ahtohallan doesn’t dare to tell him that it’s already technically me”, laughed Elsa. “But it’s fine. He can keep the title.” 

“Olaf is so funny.” Giggled Olwen. 

The sisters nodded, and Elsa flicked her wrist, continuing the story. Present Elsa was just as attentive as the little girl now, for she was as curious to know what happened next. 

“The fight continued for long hours. The raiders were ready for a possible danger so they were numerous, though they didn’t expect to face me.” Smirked older Elsa.

“And that is why she couldn’t attend the day I was giving birth to you.” Smiled Anna. “And several days afterwards, because Ahtohallan needed to be rebuilt and reshaped, and justice to be done about those mean raiders with Elsa as a witness.”

Olwen nodded slowly, her jaw still dropped. Present Elsa smiled tenderly at how, once again, she reminded her so much of Anna when she was a child, and listened to stories told by her own mother. 

“She was busing up North, but it was so epic and I’m so proud of her, that I never got upset that she wasn’t there.” Smiled Anna, putting a hand on Elsa’s shoulder, who smiled. “Also, she came three days afterwards with so many gifts that we couldn’t even step in your bedroom for how much they filled it.”

Elsa chuckled. “Guilty.” 

Olwen laughed at Elsa’s love for her, that they all knew very well, then her laugh extended to a long yawn. 

“Alright, that signal means that it’s time for bed!” Jolted Anna. 

“N’ther story, b’lease?” Muttered her daughter. 

“Oh no, young princess, it’s getting late now. Come on, close your eyes.” 

Elsa stood up as Anna put the sheets back on her, and the girl soon went off to sleep. Present Elsa, who rubbed an emotional tear off her cheek once again, noticed that the girl didn’t snore, and thought that she inherited from her father’s side on it. 

She felt filled with love, due to the scene, the situation, how Anna and herself had grown up to be, and the fact she now knew why she hadn’t been at Anna’s side that day, and now understood why Ahtohallan had planned to show her this bed time story moment.

Anna kissed Olwen’s forehead again, and the two sisters silently left the room. 

“We should catch up with Kristoff to join our feedbacks about the meeting.” Whispered Anna to her elder as they passed the threshold. 

“Sure. Just give me a minute. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.” Whispered back Elsa.

“Okay.” 

Anna left and went in the corridor, her ice statue disappearing as she did, because she stepped out of the memory. 

Present Elsa suddenly got struck by the fact that she had been wrong; this future memory wasn’t Anna’s. Or Olwen’s. It was hers. 

Her older self stood still, and then she smiled and turned around. Her gaze roamed over the whole room, like she was searching for something hidden in the walls. 

“I know you’re here.”

Present Elsa gasped in surprise, stepping back as a reflex. Her older self smiled softly, like she knew she had just reacted that way. 

“I’ll always remember seeing this memory of the future.”

There was a silence, and both Elsas looked at each other with respect and calm smiles. 

“Take care of yourself. Well, of ourself.” Said older Elsa. “The future is sunny.” 

Present Elsa took a shaking inhale, her throat tightened with emotion. 

Her older version winked, and turned around to pass the door. 

The whole room dissolved into snowflakes, ending the memory in a wind of snow. 

Elsa watched it elevate, sparkly and beautiful, and smiled deeply. She closed her eyes, the remaining drops on her eyelashes rolling on her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes again, she came back to present time. 

=======

Anna hadn’t detached her eyes from her sister’s face, and jumped of surprise when she started to blink. 

“Elsa?” 

“I’m here.” Assured the blonde, smiling to the face above hers. 

Anna sighed with relief, even if she wasn’t really scared that her elder would never wake up. Tears of joy filled Elsa’s eyes, and she suddenly sat up to hug her sister deeply. 

“Oh- okay.” Blabbered Anna, tackled by the hug. She was confused, but gave it back with closed eyes. 

When they finished hugging, they stared at each other, seated on the ice floor of Ahtohallan, and Elsa found it odd to see Anna in her twenties in front of her. 

“What?” Worried the redhead, seeing the way she stared. 

“Nothing.” Smiled Elsa. 

She turned her head to the dome, nodding calmly and wisely. “Thank you.”

The magic source brightened in a ‘You’re welcome’ gesture, and when the blonde turned to Anna again, the younger had a questioning face. 

“So? What happened?? What was the event of the future? Why won’t you be there at my delivery? Why are you happy crying??”

Elsa sniffed and laughed. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you.” She grinned.

[movienotesbyzawmer]

April 18: Rocky IV

(previous notes: Rocky III)

The Cold War one! I was in high school when this came out, and it seems like the Rocky movie that has most endured in pop culture for people my age, and even younger maybe? I haven't seen it in a very, very long time so I'm wondering if the Rocky-versus-All-Of-Communism logline is going to seem like a pathetically irrelevant conflict. Or, frankly, if that sentiment is going to sound like the dipshits that attacked the US Capitol just a few short months ago. It's definitely going to feel like just a slight twist on a formula that's been working, right? Let's see…

Totally different intro from the rest of the series, and surprisingly the recap of the end of the last movie also includes the hit single from the last movie. But also there is a thing about an American-flag glove and a Soviet-flag glove punching each other into an explosion.

They were so happy with the chummy chit-chat at the end of Rocky III that they just gratuitously include that whole scene here. It is a cheap way to eat up a couple of minutes.

Oh My God. The first actual new scene in this movie serves the important purpose of documenting for all time how dazzlingly technically advanced things were in 1985. For Paulie's birthday party, he gets a ROBOT! It talks… ROBOT-style! Paulie is whelmed by how robot-y it is.

"Open your prize," Rocky tells her when asking Adrian to open her PRESENT. Why did he say "prize".

MEANWHILE IN SOVIET UNION… They do a quick montage that only vaguely suggests something about a boxer and the USSR.

Apollo Creed spots an innocuous news story about Russian boxer Ivan Drago coming to America to participate in sportsmanlike fighting. AC is PISSED! A Russian being competitive, oh hell no.

At least Drago has a female companion so there will be an actual female character who isn't played by Talia Shire.

"Commies Are Evil" isn't the only theme of this movie; there's also "The Marvels of Technology". Drago's unmatched strength is demonstrated for the press in a very electricity-filled gym. And the robot has been in three scenes already in the first fifteen minutes! Oh I hope they aren't going to get me to fall in love with Robot Character only to have it lose in a boxing match to The Commies.

Big press conference to announce that AC will be fighting Drago in an exhibition match. AC is all cocky and Drago literally says nothing the whole scene. He is characterized as perhaps yet another robot character. But his wife and some other Russian guy do all the talking, and if they're supposed to seem like the Bad Guy, I don't see it. They are perfectly diplomatic and AC is just acting like a tool.

0:23:23 - I remember this scene, we all do, oh yes we do. The Fight That Does Not Go So Well. It starts with a super flashy intro; they're at the venue in Vegas and there are showgirls and pretend fighter planes and Actual James Brown singing this movie's legit hit single, "Living in America", singing it all At The Russians as AC descends in front of a monster thing in spangly Uncle Sam garb. AC actually dances alongside James Brown and around Drago. What they're doing, these diabolical filmmakers, is going to make what happens next sting the audience pretty bad.

Right before the fight, Drago's first line is "you vill lose". Monotone. Robotic. Technology! #1985

Drago beats him to actual death, he twitches on the floor as Drago robotically says things like "I will not be defeated". It is a bummer, this turn of events.

New press conference. Rocky is going to fight Drago. "No money. It's not about the money." That's weird, addressing money in this press conference. They're not really addressing the monumental fact that Rocky is sitting next to the guy that killed Apollo Creed.

This time, the Soviets are less diplomatic. Rocky barely says anything, but the old Russian dude calls him little and weak. They have a good point, though, about how Drago gets death threats in the US on account of he is a killer of an American hero, even though the wife also says he is not a killer. But that's why the fight will be in Russia.

New montage with a very 80s pop song. Worth noting that we have not heard any of the famous music from the first movie. This montage also looks very 80s, with it's flashbacks using a lot of different, highly techologically sophisticated frame rates.

0:42:41 - Adrian eye-close sighting! Thank you so much for that, it is what we all want and only you, Rocky-movie, can provide it.

Flashbacks to all the other movies. He is thinking about it all as he anticipates The Hell Of Going To Russia. Remember when he pointed to the jacket in the window that one time? Rocky does. Remember when he looked at his statue? Rocky does. He even somehow remembers Adrian closing her eyes. This is a music video with mostly recycled footage from the whole series.

0:48:35 - Another "modern" pop song, I think it's the band called Survivor again. Were we supposed to love all the catchy tunes and go out and buy the soundtrack? We only remember the James Brown one in 2021.

It is snowy in Russia ha ha! Paulie has joined him on the trip because he is part of Rocky's staff, but he doesn't like how cold it is ha ha.

Rocky's quarters consist of a log cabin dripping with icicles at the foot of some really pretty mountains. I play Geoguessr a lot and I don't ever see pretty mountains like that in Russia, but they must have them, right?

Rocky has been assigned minders. He is told they will go wherever he goes. I'm pretty sure that's not an unfair characterization.

He's got Apollo's trainer guy there with him, but Rocky makes it clear that he just has to do this training stuff on his own or whatever blah blah.

Now a montage going back and forth between Drago training and Rocky just running through the snow-covered countryside. ON HIS OWN. Plus also sawing wood and displacing boulders on his own. Oh and being the dog in a dogsled pulling Paulie! Locals look at Rocky because, look, a man doing something, that's new and confusing. Drago has electric machines. Rocky fells trees! Drago is inside comfortable facilities. Rocky is growing his beard out! The minders observe it all. The minders observe it all.

There is a subplot about how Adrian is dealing with this whole thing. She had been unconfident earlier, and did not join Rocky in USSR. But surprise, she is now there in Russia suddenly because love! Rocky continues to train, not so alone-y now and with a new rock song with more major chords. That is Drago's weakness! Communism hates major triads.

Gotta have inspired running, right? This time Rocky runs up a snowy mountain, running so hard that the minders can't keep up! At the peak he does his trademark cheer howl in that pretty place… but he is saying "DRAGO!!!!!!!!!"

Just like that, we're at the big fight. This time it's in Russia and it's mostly uniformed soldiers in the crowd.

Ugh. Quick cut to Rocky's kid watching at home on TV with friends. He says "that's my dad" and one of them replies "what do you think we are, nerds?" Ladies and gentlemen, the wit of Mr. Stallone: Screenwriter.

Do we need to talk about Drago's hair? He has very styled hair. I think it looks like Vanilla Ice hair. Is that a strange choice? I don't know how to think about hair, I guess.

"I must break you". That's what Drago says to Rocky right before they fight. I remember it. It is an above average dialogue choice compared with other Rocky-movie-right-before-the-fight dialogue choices.

Drago punches Rocky a lot, and the commentators make sure we know that Rocky might lose and they may even have to stop the fight. But also, yes, it does just look like Rocky is taking a lot of rough beating.

"He's not human. He's a piece of iron." So speaks Drago in unbecoming monotone. I don't know what that means.

It's a montage now, an appealingly edited summary of a whole bunch of rounds. The two boxers are both doing well and maybe not doing well, both. Montage.

I guess I'm experiencing what I remember noticing back when I first saw this in the 80s, which is that they really did convince us that Drago was indestructible, and now we're seeing him be damaged and it's kind of satisfying.

1:21:15 - Whoa, I forgot about this. The Soviet Diplomat Man is giving Drago a hard time about not winning yet, and Drago lifts him up violently by the neck and says something about I Will Win For Me, For Me. It's a little like we're supposed to think Drago is increasingly inspired by American Freedom, maybe? But it won't help him if he's still the bad guy in a Rocky movie.

This fight is taking a long time. A lot of this movie's running time is being consumed by this fight.

Eventually Rocky wins, because it turns out that he is just better because Freedom, and it's that same tiresome "Rocky-won" music, maybe arranged a little differently.

What does he say in the mic at the end? What is his message? "During this fight, I seen a lot of changing…" he says that during this fight, like during the actual boxing match, they all grew to appreciate each other. And it's better to do boxing than do nuclear annihilations. The whole crowd cheers for Rocky! Even the important Soviet Boss Men, startling even themselves with their abrupt adoration of The Wise American. Then when he says Merry Christmas Kid to his kid at home, well this whole entire crowd clearly thinks Rocky is better than their whole entire country. We don't see Drago any more. We don't know if he, too, is moved by Rocky's profound monologue. And we never find out what Drago and Robot Character think of each other.

So that's it, that's the end of Rocky IV. I get why it fires people up in a simple way, but I don’t think it's good. It totally assumes you'll understand that Rocky wins because the USSR just kind of sucks. Or you won't care that it's improbable that Rocky wins because it's just so gratifying to see Drago falter. Which they achieve by making him look very perfect, and having no charming characteristics.

It's true, though, how cocky we were about technology in the mid-80s.

(next: Rocky V)

[writingfandomfeels]

Scott McCall - Stories From Camp

Every kid always has stories from their times at camp. They get excited sharing them and they almost always include something adventurous and amazing. Not you. The idea of being stranded in the woods with strangers telling you what to do, when to eat, what to eat, and basically giving you chores, sounded a bit like the definition of prison, just in the wilderness. But apparently others found that very appealing. You figured once you’d passed grade school the question of summer camp was no longer there, and yet, here you were. All in the name of college applications. Volunteer work looks good on college applications and since you liked kids you thought you’d try out this camp counselor business. Quick into the gig you found yourself having a lot of fun, especially when it came to another camp counselor: Scott. He was amazing with the kids. You’d already had quite a few shifts with him, each one leaving you grinning like an idiot. At the moment you were on your way to conducting arts and crafts with him and his friend, and honestly, you’d been looking forward to it all day. 

You stood at the head of the long table where the group of small children were talking and playing around with the craft supplies in front of them. 

“If everyone could… if, I could have your attention… if you could please listen…” You stuttered, trying to get the attention of the young group to give the instructions. 

“Hey everyone!!! Let’s all listen to what counselor Y/N has to say and then we’ll make our crafts, okay?!!” Scott projected his voice above the many others and the children quieted down for you. 

“Thanks” you smiled at him then proceeded to give the instructions on the craft. The kids were given the option of either making a card for someone, or making caterpillars out of cut up egg cartons and decorating them. 

“What’s your caterpillar’s name Stiles?” A little boy asked Scott’s friend who was decorating an egg carton next to the child. 

“What? It’s an egg carton.” Stiles replied. 

You saw Scott (who’s face was covered in stickers a little girl had put on him) give Stiles a look, seeming to ask him to be nice to the kid. 

“Uhhh, Jimmy.” Stiles named the carton. 

The boy inspected the carton before shaking his head. “No, I think his name is Randall.” 

“Okay, fine, then it’s Randall.” Stiles begrudgingly gave in. 

As you helped a kid with the glitter glue, you overheard Scott and the little girl he was sitting with. 

“Wow! That looks amazing! What do you think it should say inside?” Scott asked her. 

“Ummmm, well she has really pretty hair. Maybe you should say her hair is pretty.” The little girl suggested. 

“Thats a great idea!” Scott encouraged. “You should write that down for me.” 

The little girl spelled it out loud as she wrote it down with a marker. 

“I gotta peeeee!!!” 

Your attention was quickly stolen from Scott and the girl as a boy stood in front of you, grabbing his crotch and dancing a little. 

“Oh! Okay, let’s go now.” You responded and quickly got up to escort him. 

When you returned, the group was cleaning up. The little girl Scott was with ran over to you and handed you the card she’d been working on. 

“Scott wanted me to help him make it” She beamed. 

“Thank you!” You accepted the folded, bright red, construction paper. 

On the front was a glitter glue flower and a heart that was still drying. Flecks of extra glitter fell off the card with every touch. On the inside it read: 

TO: Y/N. YORE HAIR IS RELY PRITTY. With a few of the letters written backwards. Then it had the word “love” scribbled out and replaced with FRM: SCOTT MADE BY MARIE

You felt a blush heating your cheeks. “That was very sweet of you.” 

The boy that you’d returned with from the bathroom grabbed at your arm to try and pull it down for him to see the card too. 

“Ewww.” The boy grimaced. “Is Mr. Scott your boyfriend?” 

Well if your cheeks weren’t bright red before, they definitely were now. Your eyes darted up, seeing Scott smile from across the room. Quickly you shot your eyes down, trying to hide your embarrassment. 

“Umm, no, he’s, he’s not.” You replied awkwardly. 

“Oh. Well he should be. People don’t get gross like that unless they’re in love.” The boy informed with a shudder that made you giggle. 

Once the craft supplies were completely cleaned up, you found yourself leaving the art cabin at the same time as Scott. You smiled at him bashfully. A moment passed as you were trying to get up the courage to say something to him, when a boy ran by yelling. 

“OHHHH, AHHH, OH NOOOOO, IT’S… HAPPENING!!!!!” The boy yelled and fell to the ground, seeming to be in pain. 

“Are you okay?!” You worried, rushing to the boy’s side. 

“IT’S, IT’S THE FULL MOON, AHHHHH” The boy continued to scream. “I’M. I’M. I’M A WEREWOLF!!!!! AWWOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!” The boy howled. “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

Unimpressed, you frowned at the child. You really thought something had been wrong when he was, quite literally, just crying wolf. Meanwhile Scott just grinned at him. 

“Actually kid, if you get practiced at it you can control when you turn into a werewolf despite the full moon.” Scott disclosed. 

“Whoa.” The kid stared at him in disbelief. “COOL!!!!” Then he ran off continuing to howl and growl at other kids, occasionally pretending to eat them. 

“Into mythology I take it?” You questioned, relieved to have finally found something to say. 

“You could say that.” Scott nodded. 

A silence fell on the two of you again. Apparently your conversation starter only scratched the ice rather than breaking it. 

“I, uh, I’ve got canoeing next.” Scott gestured behind him to the lake. 

“Oh, that must be nice. You can cool off in the water.” You replied nervously. 

He smiled. “Uhh, not so much actually. You, don’t really get wet. That’s… kind of what the boat is for.” He chuckled a bit. 

“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course, I don’t know why I-” You were cut off when another counsellor called Scott from a distance. 

“Scott!” 

“Yeah!” He responded. 

“We need you at the lake now!” 

“Yeah! I’m on it!” Scott replied. “Sorry, gotta run.” 

“I-right, yeah, that’s- okay, see you later!” You called after him as he ran off. 

***

You didn’t see Scott again until the next night when you were sat across the fire from him. He had brought his guitar and was playing classic camp songs for the kids. After it was discovered that you have a knack for roasting marshmallows, you turned into The Official Best Marshmallow Roaster to most of the kids, receiving many requests to ‘pretty please roast my marshmallow for me Miss Y/N’, and of course you happily complied. 

“Alright, who wants to hear me write a song right now about anything you want?” Scott asked after finishing Down By The Bay. The kidlets cheered. “What do you want to hear a song about?” Different kids began yelling out ideas. “BUGS!” 

“CATS!” “MY GRANDMA!” “BOOGERS!” “MISS Y/N!” The last one caught Scott’s attention. “Ahh, I don’t know.” he responded. “WHO WANTS COUNSELLOR SCOTT TO SING ABOUT COUNSELLOR Y/N?!” Stiles stood up and asked the kids. “YEAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” All the kids yelled in response. “The jury has spoken.” Stiles stated and sat back down. “Um, okay,” Scott smiled nervously then fiddled with his guitar, trying to find a certain chord. He then proceeded to play an awkward but extremely cute song featuring how nice you are to everyone, the color of your eyes, how you like to eat toast for breakfast in the mess hall and so does he, and how great you’ve been making the summer for everyone. When he finished there was a brief silence which was rare with so many kids around. A little girl approached you and tapped you on your knee. “Miss Y/N, will you please go out with Mr Scott?” The girl asked politely. You pressed your lips together in an attempt not to smile and blush even harder than the song had made you. “Oh c’mon you guys! What, you don’t think I can get my own dates?” Scott teased the kids before smiling back at you. 

“Noooooo!” The kids answered. Another counsellor then changed the topic by starting to sing Baby Shark. Your eyes were still locked with Scott’s, both of you smiling at each other. “Do you want to?” Scott mouthed over the many singers. You nodded your head. All you ever wanted was to go on a date with him. And after that song? It was dumb to say but you were melting. “Okay” He mouthed again, nodding excitedly too. Then he jumped in with his guitar and playing the music for Baby Shark. 

***

Just after the campfire was disbanded, a very young child handed you a paper then disappeared without saying a word. You unfolded the note and read it. 

Meet me on the dock at 10:30 -Scott

You grinned at the paper before slipping it into your pocket. Once your cabin was tucked in and fast asleep, along with all the other cabins, you walked down to the dock. You found Scott sitting on the edge of it, his feet hanging into the lake. Taking a seat next to his flip flops, you joined him. “I liked your song.” You said, your eyes fixed on the lake, too nervous to look at him. “Thanks,” You kicked your feet in the water a little bit. “So, uh, what brought you to camp this year?” You asked, attempting to make conversation. “My mom suggested it. Volunteer work makes it easier to get into colleges and universities and Stiles and I could use all the help we can get.” He answered. “Where do you want to go? Or, what do you want to do?” “I’d like to be a veterinarian. I’ve been working at a clinic for a few years now and I love it.” He smiled. “That’s so cool! I love animals. Although I guess I don’t really know anyone who hates them… I mean who can look at a puppy and hate it, that’s just inhuman.” You babbled a bit, making him laugh. “No, it’s true.” Scott agreed. Suddenly your stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. “Are you hungry?” He asked. “Yeah,” you admitted, “I’m used to snacking a lot at home so I haven’t really gotten used to the set meals and things here yet.” “You know, I have a key to the mess hall. You wanna sneak in and check out what leftovers are in the kitchen?” “Sure!” “Okay, let’s go!” He stood up from the dock, and took your hand, leading you up to the mess hall. Your stomach fluttered in excitement at the feeling of his hand holding yours. He unlocked the door and you crept inside. Unsure of where the light switches were located, Scott used his phone to light your way. Once in the kitchen, the dim light from inside the fridge illuminated the room. “Now what do we have here, chicken, apples, macaroni salad, ooh!” Scott reached in and pulled out an already cut into blueberry pie. “How about this?” “Looks delicious.” You replied, staring at the pie. He cut a slice for both of you and grabbed forks. You stood next to the preparation counter to eat. While eating, the two of you discussed your hobbies, your friends, and your last year of high school approaching. “It’s all happening so fast, you know?” He agreed. “Yeah, in some ways it feels like high school didn’t start all that long ago. But then you remember everything that’s happened since then. All the changes.” “I hate change.” You stated, shaking your head a bit. “I know I’ve been working towards Harvard, what feels like my entire life, but now… I don’t know it just seems so soon. I don’t want to leave my friends and have it all be different.” “Sometimes change can be good though… right?” Scott said, putting down his fork. You shrugged, still eating your pie. “I guess. I don’t know… it depends.” He took a step closer to you and gently brushed a strand of your hair so it was behind your ear. “What about this?” he asked softly. You looked into his sweet brown eyes. “This… is good…” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And this?” He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, his hand cupping your face. Your heart pounded inside your chest as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Fingers tangled into his hair as you kissed him back. He moved his hands to your waist, his tongue gently grazing your bottom lip, seeking entry. Opening your mouth for him, you felt his tongue glide across yours, you replied back in a similar motion. The kiss was broken too quickly though as you felt him suddenly pull away and the lights flick on. You opened your eyes to find a boy in his pyjamas standing in front of the two of you. “What, uh, what are you doing out of bed?” Scott questioned the boy. “What are you doing in the kitchen so late when you’re not kitchen staff?” the boy replied. “That’s… that’s a good point.” Scott paused, looking at you. You gave him a sheepish grin. Scott looked back to the kid. “I won’t tell if you wont?” “Give me a slice of that pie on the counter there and you got yourself a deal.” he bargained. Scott handed over the last slice in the pie plate to him. “I was never here.” the kid said, leaving with his pie. You giggled when Scott turned back to you, breathing a sigh of relief. “We, uh, we should probably get out of here before that happens again.” he suggested. You nodded your head, stifling laughter at the situation. 

That was definitely your best camp story.

[heartbreaknow]

The Christmas Tradition Of The Vintage Scully Fanmix

In January of 2011, I made a Dana Scully fanmix. I always struggled to find songs I felt really fit her, but I made a fanmix anyway, just for my own edification. At the time I figured I’d probably post it on my LJ when it was finished (because that’s a thing people did in 2011, posted fanmixes on their LJs). But then I guess I wasn’t happy with it, so I didn’t post it.

When Christmas of 2011 rolled around, I was wrapping presents on the floor of my childhood bedroom, and for some reason I decided to put my Scully fanmix on while I wrapped. It’s a deeply melancholy fanmix, so I’m not sure why I did it. It was probably because I loved Scully and Mulder in that bone-deep way that made them feel like family—like people you want to hold extra close to your heart during the holidays.  

So I put on my Scully fanmix, and enjoyed its deep, lingering melancholy as a soundtrack for my Christmas wrapping.

Notably, 2012 was the year I finally moved on to a new OTP, after five long years shipping almost exclusively Scully/Mulder. But when Christmas of 2012 rolled around and it came time to wrap presents—yet again on the floor of my childhood bedroom—I remembered the melancholic pleasure of listening to my Scully fanmix the previous year, and decided to make a repeat of it.

And so I have done every year since. Nine Christmases in a row I have wrapped presents and listened to my Scully fanmix (which in 2011 I titled Quite A Lovely Army, though if I were to title it now I’d probably title it something different). I never made any changes to it after that first year, even though I undoubtedly would make a ton of changes if I were to make a Scully fanmix now.

This Christmas would be the tenth year of the fanmix tradition, but this Christmas it just didn’t happen. I was organized this year; I had boxes to disguise my gifts, which allowed me to wrap them in the living room. And for some reason it just felt wrong to put on my Scully fanmix in the company of other people. So I guess this is the end of an annual tradition.

And that’s why this year I decided to post the darn thing.

It changed a bit, in that first year, as you can see by the fact that Not Only Human by Heather Nova is listed on the back cover art, but was later removed from the mix. Not sure why I removed it, to be honest. It’s a good one (and has the distinction of being used in a particular, much loved Scully fanvid from ye old days of 2004).

I was never convinced anyone would vibe with this mix but me, and after being out of the fandom for a decade, and actively forgoing S10 and S11, I’m all the more certain it is a fanmix with an audience of one. But after all these years, having finally broken the tradition, I wanted to give it a send off of some kind. And I thought, what better way to do that than to finally take the final step I neglected to take back in 2011, and post it? So here it is.

1. Hopeful Hearts by Sarah Slean 

Fiends and devils in the garden

Take their fill and leave me scarred

But I still have my secret weapon

This my brave and hopeful heart

Incidentally, this is also on my Peter Parker playlist. But a decade before that, it was one of my favorite Scully songs.          

 2. Wonderwall (instrumental) by The Vitamin String Quartet 

All the lights that lead us there are blinding, is a very X-Filesean line. I always particularly identified Wonderwall with S5 and S6. The word is on the street that the fire in your heart is out, makes me think of Mulder's doubt in S5, and his apathy and discouragement throughout most of S6.    

3. Notes From The Underground by Sarah Slean 

We're still out on the roof, howling at the moon

Exiled, another exile in the kingdom

Still out on the roof, I'm a dreamer too

Exiled, we are exiles, we two    

Mulder and Scully, the weirdos in the basement. Spooky Mulder and Mrs. Spooky—aka, the world’s leading paranatural cryptozoologist-pathologist*. Partners, first, last, and always.

*borrowing from Parabiosis by Penumbra

 4. Ordinary Life by Kristen Barry 

Heel to toe takes you from my side

In and out, every breath divides

My eyes to your head, I can't go the distance

But when you go you take me in an instant

Could be a CancerArc track, or a S8 and S9 track. Numbing pain and a sense of helplessness.

 5. Sound Of Water by Sarah Slean 

Sometimes the sword is so heavy

The pain has a ravenous mouth

In the pits of my own making

Sometimes I don't think I'll ever get out

Loosely anthemic, but it’s mostly the sound of this one that clinched it as a Scully track for me. Kind of spirited and refined at the same time.  

 6. Red Moon by David Gray 

I'm getting tired of

Being denied of

Things getting in my way

And if I'm quiet that's 'cause there's nothing left to say

Again, it’s more the sound and the emotion of this one than the lyrics specifically. Definitely post-William, though.

 7. My Invitation by Sarah Slean 

She has such an awful lot of soldiers

Quite a lovely army all her own

Night and day they stand before the fortress

Very safe but very all alone

Probably best suited to the CancerArc, particularly towards the end of S4, as things become increasingly grim.

 8. Falling Down The Mountainside by David Gray 

Without a word you set your sights into the sun

When all the world you put to rights is still so wrong

Pin your heart out on your sleeve

Spouting all that make believe

From your lips it seemed it might come true

Falling down the mountainside with you

This is the second of my two quintessential Scully tracks. I was originally going to have this be the last track, because in its own quiet way it's very comprehensive. But to end on such a fateful note, when it’s already such a sorrow-packed fanmix, felt wrong.  

 9. Kissing Song by Dawn Landes 

And it's meeting that will make them love sick

Distinctly a S7 track. This is a Scully song, to me, because it is focused on order and chaos: the unanswered phone, the unanswered knock at the door, the unacknowledged maelstrom outside. That's Scully's challenge not Mulder's—learning to embrace chaos and uncertainty in some situations.

 'Hidden' Track: No Place At All by Sarah Slean 

(One of my favorites on the mix, so of course I can’t find a link to the full song.)

Oh, look at me

Crying in my sleep

No one has to rescue me

It's plain to see

Could it be

I'm following this reverie

To nowhere and to nobody

To no place at all

The first time I heard this song I imagined Mulder and Scully conspiring together at the edge of a dance floor during some formal function they'd been ordered to attend. I imagined this song coming on, and somehow, with barely a word spoken, they end up falling into a (perfectly professional, hands-in-appropriate-places, but nonetheless achingly yearning) slow dance.

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