#i hear my heartbeat beat to the beat of the drums *rock and roll drum solo*

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i’m constantly like “yea i feel like crap i think my pots is flaring up” but considering it’s just literally every day now.. brother i don’t think that’s a flare up i think that’s your life

[afyrian]

hi :3 for your event could i call captain america for a screeching noise pls !! (´；Д；`) w suna or sakusa i don’t mind :3

sweaty palms and hearts suna rintaro x fem!reader (fluff) m.list | wc: 941 | prompts: brother's best friend + band au

    peeking out of the curtains, you feel your hands getting clammy. the velvet texture runs along your palm, feeling odd against the callouses on your fingers. taking in a deep breath, you let them close back together, the loud cries of the crowd slowly drowning out. shaking your hands, you roll your head, trying to steady your breathing.

  you commit to this exercise every gig, rain or shine. running your hands up and down your shirt, closing your eyes to mentally encourage yourself. when you open your eyes you're faced with the sight of suna walking onto the stage, spinning a drumstick in his hand. looking over at you, his gaze softens, mind emptying of the nervousness he's been feeling. 

  "you getting ready?" he asks, both to you and himself, hand shoving the drumsticks into his back pocket.

  pursing your lips, you nod, fingers fiddling absentmindedly. staring at your guitar, you swallow down the nervousness sitting idly in your throat. "yeah.. yeah, i'm just feeling- i don't even have the words, there's just so many people," resting your hands on the back of your neck, you pace the stage. 

  "you do great every time, n/n, you're gonna do fine now," he walks up to you, hands reaching out for yours.

  his thumbs run along the backs of your palms, his fingers noticeable softer than yours. a smile etches on his lips and for a moment you can feel your heartbeat slow. for a moment you can finally hear your thoughts play out in coherent sentences. he soothes you in a way you've always needed, he's your beat. 

  looking up at him, you take in one more deep breath, fingers tapping against his hands. "thanks, rin," you quietly say, the front of your old converses just barely touching his shoes, inches apart.

  "anything for you, n/n. plus talking to you helps me calm down too," suna breathes out a sigh of relief, his heartbeat returning to the same natural beat, like a drum that's rocking steadily.

  "really? well, i never knew that," you smile wider, feeling your cheeks getting warm, butterflies stirring in your stomach. 

  without missing a single second, his hands free themselves from yours, raising up to your cheeks. resting his thumbs against your cheekbones, his touch is soft and gentle. breath kissing yours, suna looks deep into your eyes, reaching down into your soul, "may i?"

  nodding softly, you lean into his touch, lips pressing against his. the gentle touch of his hands act opposite of his chapped lips. devoid of much chapstick or water, they're rough against your own. suna holds onto you like he's starving without you, as if he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

  bringing your hands up to his neck, you hold onto him, matching his energy. just as you're about to pull him closer, something falls to the ground, sounding like an old grocery store bag filled with boxes. letting go of his neck, you stand back, biting your lip. looking in the direction of the noise, you see atsumu standing with his mouth wide open. 

  "you two? suna you're kissing my sister?? and y/n? you're kissing my ex-teammate slash bandmate?" his eyebrows furrow, the bags of dessert and snacks he had brought for after resting on the ground.

  holding back a smile, you look back at suna, crinkling your nose. "i'm so sorry you had to see that 'sumu, but he’s not just your bandmate…” you quietly say, hands raising up and covering your mouth.

  suna stays next to you, hands resting by his sides, “she.. well, she is a great person. and i really like her and have known her and you for forever.”

  “this is so weird… god i have to text ‘samu,” atsumu grabs at the phone in his pocket, immediately wanting to tell his twin of their younger sibling’s personal love life.

  shaking your head, you take a few steps towards him, hoping to stop him from contacting your other brother. raising the phone higher, atsumu starts typing out a message, thumbs tapping quickly against the screen. “no! you’re not telling him!” reaching up once more for his phone, you give up, knowing there’s only one other way you’ll get it…

  you jump up from your spot, wrapping your arms around his neck. your legs wrap around his torso, the heels of your shoes dig into his stomach. one of your hands pushes against his face as your hand reaches out to his. your fingers push against his phone, attempting to get him to loosen his grip just enough that you can pull it from his hand. luckily, the pressure against his nose causes his hand to instinctively open. 

  grabbing the phone, you begin deleting the message, including the many typos. “no! you are not ruining this for me before ending something before it’s even begun!” shoving it into the pocket opposite of your own phone, you look down at his face, eyebrows raise.

  “i won’t send anything if you get off me!” atsumu says loudly, fingers pulling at your hand gripping onto his chin, “plus i think you climbing me like a monkey surely isn’t going to attract suna very much.”

  looking back at suna, you can instantly feel yourself growing embarrassed. he’s seen you mess with your brothers more than once, but never has he seen you act as wildly as you did today. he’s holding back a smile as he shrugs, “nah, don’t worry, never getting the ick with you.”

  “now i’m getting the ick…” atsumu frowns, ruffling his hair between his fingers to try to fix your mess.

a/n: thanks for requesting, i hope you like it!! gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

Finally! My first request from @gracev0609 is done! I’m so happy with this and hope you all enjoy reading it and much as I enjoyed writing it!

Pairings: Josh Kiszka X reader (male OC)

Warnings and tags: 18* only minors need not go any further! Adult content including drinking, mentions of smoking, strong suggestive language, some angst, smut including: explicit m/m sex, oral, fingering, unprotected sex

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: 10 years after Josh Kiszka left home to pursue his band, you meet again at one of his shows leading up to a night of reunion

August 2 1969

You stood with your hips pressed against the barricade, trying to give your feet and knees a break after standing all day. It was worth it though, worth the extra nights you’d stayed camped at the sketchy RV lot on the edge of town, the hours of waiting in line, the years spent lost- all leading up to this moment.

Half an hour and they would be taking the stage, and you were dead center front row surrounded by hundreds of young and old fans alike, ready for their own glimpse of the band just as you were.

By the time the stage lights dimmed and the massive stadium speakers started booming their instrumental introduction your body was buzzing with the vibrations as well as the anxiety of it all. Your eyes caught movement on the side of the raised stage and you immediately stood up straight, a rush of adrenaline making all the aches and pains in your legs and hips subside.

Sam took the stage first, waving excitedly and blowing welcoming kisses as the crowd hooped and roared, their combined volume only growing louder when Jake and Danny came up the steps next. Your mouth already felt dry but you yelled along nonetheless, expelling all air from your lungs with one giant cry until finally, Josh appeared.

Your throat clenched shut and your hands gripped the railing in front of you. You’d expected this, expected to see him here performing just the way he was always meant to be. Shining like the bright diamond star that had led all of you here tonight. But with him actually right in front of you, so close you felt like you could almost reach out and brush your fingertips against the satin of his bedazzled pant leg- and most around you did try to, it still didn’t feel real.

The first two songs were a blur, you sang along every word without even a second’s hesitation, but you couldn’t even hear yourself. Just the thundering of the drums, the rhythmic thumping of the bass commanding your heartbeat to palpitate along with its powerful strings. The resonating guitar, wailing its own meaningful melody alongside its musical counterparts. And above all, you heard Josh.

By the third song your senses were starting to come back to you. The ringing in your ears had faded into the background, you could feel the tiredness in your bones turning your body rigid, but you fought the stiffness as you swayed side to side, shoulders and arms bumping and brushing against the others around you without a care in the world. You were all too swept up in the moment to care, mesmerized by the spirit of pure rock n roll, and love, and devotion, and sex.

What happened next did not catch you off guard, you’d heard the stories, met first hand the groupies before who’d been following them around the country and experienced this magic more than once. During a long guitar solo Josh descended from the stage, embracing all his eager fans in hugs, gleaming smiles, desperate grabbing hands just trying to touch him once so that maybe a little bit of that radiating love would rub off.

What did catch you off guard, as you ignored what was still in full swing onstage and watched intently as Josh made his way down the line, just a few hopeful faces before you, Josh stopped, hugged, and planted a kiss right on this young girl's face. Your heart started beating faster in your chest, losing the pace set by the bass and the drums above you as you waited for Josh to get closer.

Then there he was, holding hands with the girl right next to you, he was so close you could see the tiny scar on his cheek, make out the small gap in his front teeth as he smiled and mouthed I love you to the excitedly crying girl and offering her a quick peck as well. Then he turned to you, the brightness in his eyes never fading as you made eye contact.

You took your opportunity and reached out, not expecting much. Josh had willingly kissed a few girls, but that didn’t mean he’d be so open to kiss another man right here in front of the entire crowd. He never ceased to amaze you though, as he easily cupped your scruffy face in his hands and planted his lips right on yours.

Maybe it was time dilation from traveling too close to the sun, Josh’s intense gravitational pull bringing you in closer so that your chest pressed firmer against the railing, but it felt like Josh had kissed you longer than the others. Or maybe it was just your imagination because before your mind could fully grasp what was happening he was gone, moving on to the next fan vying for his attention.

Though your moment was special, more than hundreds of others could ever say they’d had, you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit of disappointment. Instead of focusing on the rest of his interactions, not wanting to see if he’d kissed anyone else, you turned your face back to the stage and took a deep grounding breath.

Of course he wouldn’t remember you.

Michigan August 1959

“What am I going to do when you're gone Josh?” You asked as you sat across from your best friend of four years while he picked long pieces of funnel cake off the shared plate on the table between you two with his hands, the powdered sugar now thoroughly coating his thumb and pointer finger.

A thought ran across your mind as your eyes jumped from sugary fingers, to mouth, to the way his Adam’s apple became prominent as he tilted his head back and dangled the fried treat over his tongue. The funnel cake was good you admit, having had a few bites yourself, but you were much more entertained by the idea of licking Josh’s fingers clean. It was temptations like these you’d recently been finding harder and harder to keep to yourself.

“You gonna go to college?” Josh asked after chewing and swallowing his bite, already reaching down for another.

You pushed the inappropriate images in your head away, focusing instead on what Josh had asked you. “Don’t know, I haven’t even applied anywhere. It seems like a waste of time to write all those entry essays if you don’t even know what you want to do or study”.

“But how are you supposed to know what you want to do until you try?” He replied, the serious tone in his voice contradicted by the way he casually sat on the top of the table with his feet in the chair next to you.

Josh made a good point, he himself being the very example of his words. He never knew he wanted to be in a band until he and his brothers formed one. His bubbly and outgoing personality paired well with the position of front man, but Josh never knew singing would ever be a serious career choice up until they managed to land a label deal. Now here they were, a bunch of teenagers about to embark on the wildest journey of their lives and this was your last night to say goodbye to the only person in this small town you’d ever felt like you could truly be yourself around.

Well, maybe that was a bit of a lie. There was one thing you were hiding.

You and Josh had grown awfully close these past few months, closer than you ever were while in school together. Despite the short amount of time he had left with all of his friends and family here, Josh had spent most of the summer with you. The closer you got to him the more these strange feelings started to take root.

No matter how hard you tried to grip the weeds that rapidly grew and pull them out by the stem, they had wound their way deep into your heart and by the time you were sure of it- that you were in love with him, it was too late.

You looked up at Josh, still trying to get used to the way he’d sheared his hair short at the beginning of this summer saying he needed something fresh for this new era of his life. God he was a beautiful boy. You’d liked his long hair but you’d warmed up to this look by now, and honestly the way it fluffed at the top made him look so soft. It took every ounce of restraint in your body to not just stand up and bury your fingers down to his scalp as you kissed him with all you had.

“What? Do I have white powder on my face?” He asked when he noticed you staring. “Can’t be giving anyone the wrong impression even if I am a big shot rock star now”.

“No stupid, but you do have crumbs all over your shirt”.

Josh looked down in disbelief, quickly jumping off the rickety table and brushing the crumbs onto the ground. He offered you the rest of the mangled funnel cake and when you declined, took it over to the large plastic barrel chained to the lamppost being used as a trash can.

When he returned, Josh had pulled a single perfectly rolled joint out of a metal tin he had hidden in his pocket, cheesing over at you as he asked, “what to get high on the ferris wheel?”

“I thought you’d never ask”.

1969

You were brought back to the present when the set ended and the sea of people facing the stage all started to turn and retreat back to their own lives. Having all shared the same beautiful moment, you only hoped some of them had taken the message sent forth and were out to spread some good back into the world.

As for yourself, you were about ready for a lukewarm shower, dinner, and bed when someone calling your name stopped you in your tracks. A security guard approached you and you thought maybe you’d dropped your wallet otherwise how would a stranger know who you were, but all he said was “follow me”.

Behind the stage there was a large tent set up. It had just started to grow dark outside, but plenty of electric lamps and headlights of buses and vans lit your path through the chaos of working road crew until finally you were being deposited in front of a separate tent with a note hanging from its white canvas entrance that read ‘reserved’.

You glanced over your shoulder in question, but the security guard was gone. Off to finish what he needed to be doing before he was assigned the task of tracking you down. No one else passing by seemed to pay you any mind, probably thinking that if you’d made it this far then you had a reason to be back here. The reason was unknown to you though, as you took a deep breath and slid your hand between the slit in the opening to the tent and pushed inside.

“Josh?” Your voice came out in a quiver when you took in the only two people inside. One, a woman dressed in a pair of pinstripe pants and a button down with a badge hanging from her neck, maybe a manager. The other, still dressed in his stage clothes with his back turned towards you, was your long lost friend.

It had been a long time since you’d seen Josh. Nearly ten whole years if you didn’t count the first Christmas he came back home while you were still there. He hadn’t ever been lost though, you only chose not to keep track of everywhere he and his band went otherwise you’d go insane with regret for what never was and never will be.

“Thank god they found you!” Josh exclaimed when he turned around to see you standing there, unsure of how to approach. Josh made the decision for you, running over and throwing his arms around you to pull you into a tight hug. “What are you doing here? How have you been? What is that on your face?” He bombarded you with questions, pulling back but leaving his hands in a firm grip on your shoulders.

“Umm, I’m working here right now, I’m doing good I guess, and I assume you’re referring to my beard? I could ask you the same thing”. You answered each of his questions as shortly as you could, though really you could have spilled your heart out to him right there because you were so excited to see that he did remember you and apparently he’d sent that security guard to find you.

Josh burst out into laughter, his mustache and goatee combo haloing his pearly white teeth. “I suppose you’re right. I’d love to catch up, are you doing anything for the rest of the night?”

You had work tomorrow, but none of that seemed to matter with him here, touching you again, smiling at you again, looking at you with those same doe-like endearing eyes filled with marvel that you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. “No I’m free, what did you have in mind?”

“Drinks?” He raised a brow, of course the last time you’d seen him you were barely old enough to be allowed a glass of wine at Christmas dinner. A lot had changed since then though, and you’d had your fair share of wild drunken nights, some good, same bad, but all unforgettable. Hopefully tonight would be the same.

“Yeah that sounds great. I know a place that’s not too busy, only the locals really go there” you suggested.

“Perfect! Just let me get changed real quick then we can head out”.

“What about the others?” You asked. Though you would very much like to hear from Sammy, Jake, and Danny again, the thought of spending time alone with Josh just like you used to sounded even better.

“Oh they’ve all got their own stuff to do. Unless you want them to come I thought it’d just be us”.

Before you could explain yourself, Josh dropped his pants and your jaw nearly dropped to the floor as he switched into some going out clothes.

“What? You like what you see?” He teased as he slid his sparkly stage jacket off, trading its gems and rhinestones out for something more simple and muted. “I saw you watching me out there you know”.

For a second you thought Josh might be flirting with you a little bit, but you quickly pushed the thought aside marking it up to his effervescent personality that only seemed to have grown over the years. “I mean you guys were all fun to watch. I can’t believe that’s the first show I’ve been to since the garage days”.

“Seriously?!” Josh looked shocked and hurt learning this, though the pointed look in his eye told you that he might’ve known anyways considering this was the first time you’d met since the last goodbye.

Had he ever looked for you in the crowds before? How many shows did it take of him not seeing you there before he gave up and moved on? These thoughts were plaguing your mind now, but Josh finished changing and grabbed a light jacket to throw on as he led you out the tent and to the back artist exit.

One quick taxi ride from the street over, and you two were at the bar you’d frequented for quite some time now. Walking through the doors it didn’t take long for you to realize the reason why this bar wasn't as popular was because everyone who came here was just a little off.

You never met anyone bad here, nothing besides the ordinary light weights and messy drunks, but these were more than just society’s rejects. They were the type of people who challenged the status quo and in turn got labeled as freaks and queers. Josh didn’t seem to mind one bit though, already cozying up to the bartender to order the first round.

“So, what brought you this far from home?” Josh asked once drinks were ready and you’d found a place to sit.

“Well, I did start college that spring after the last Christmas we had together. Moved into the dorms and my roommate and I got pretty close”. You took your time explaining things to Josh now, feeling more and more comfortable being around him again. The way he met your gaze with such interest and excitement made it seem like no time at all had passed.

One thing you did choose to leave out of your story though was the part about your roommate being your first gay awakening and all the time spent in the dorm together. Except for your undying crush on Josh, he had been the first boy to help you really discover yourself and learn who you wanted to be and without that experience you weren’t sure where you would have ended up. Certainly not here surrounded by a bunch of bar-goers who were clearly not of the straight orientation.

“His uncle works for the company I do now. He got me this job when I decided I didn’t want to finish school. Basically we travel and build sets for films. I’ve been working out here for about six months but we’re about to finish up and move onto the next site”.

“You work on film sets?” You didn’t think Josh’s eyes could light up any brighter, but his irises seemed to sparkle now. “That’s amazing!”

“Sure” you chuckled, thinking to yourself that you wouldn’t exactly call the job ‘amazing’ but it definitely came with its perks. You’d gotten to travel a lot, meet so many interesting people on all walks of life, even learned a few skills here and there. Overall, you think you turned out alright.

Josh talked for a while about tour life, learning the music industry at such a young age, and more than just a handful of hilarious stories about nearly killing his brothers along the way. A few rounds in and your sides were hurting from how hard you were both laughing, the addition of sweet alcohol making catching up as smooth as the last shot Josh brought from the bar.

“Gonna go catch a break in the restroom real quick” you mentioned after your glasses both clanked against the table top.

“Me too” Josh stood up with you, following behind since you knew the way.

Somehow the air seemed to shift from the light laughter at the table to something more heavy along the way. You could feel Josh’s eyes on your back as you weaved through the small crowd. Your extremities felt heavy but they carried you anyways and you nearly bumped into the person coming out of the men’s room. After excusing yourself you slipped inside, stopping in the middle of the room as you heard the door shut and lock behind you.

Josh, I need to tell you something rang in your head, the idea of telling him how you’d felt all these years weighing heavily on you with your inhibitions fading the faster your blood pumped the alcohol through your system. You turned to gauge his expression, attempting to read the room, but before you could make sense of what was happening Josh was jumping at you.

His lips crashed against yours in a frenzy and his hands came up to cup your face to pull you closer to him. It took you a few seconds to process, but then something clicked in your head and your arms wrapped around his waist as you kissed him back.

“So you do feel the same way?” Josh broke the kiss momentarily to question.

“Feel the same way?” You answered breathily, “Josh, I’ve been in love with you for ten years”.

His brows furrowed, trying to process his own feelings flooding through him right now. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

That was a loaded question, one that seemed obvious to you. He was leaving, you were young and stupid, but more than any of that you were scared then. The small town back home wasn’t exactly the ideal place to grow up queer in, but even now that you’d gotten away you only learned first hand about how prejudiced and judgmental the world could be. “What would I have said? You were my best friend, things were harder back then, things are still hard now”.

“Were” Josh repeated that one word. “I was your best friend, but after I left that changed. At Christmas you were distant, I thought you hated me. I tried calling home a few times, mom said you were around but didn’t come over anymore. She missed you, I missed you”.

You sighed and took a few steps back, creating a bit of space so you could think clearly without his warm body pressed against yours. “I was upset. Maybe even a little angry, but not at you, at the situation. I wanted out of there so badly but I hadn’t found my purpose in life, fuck I still haven’t if it even exists, but you did. I missed you so fucking bad Josh it physically hurt. I went to go see your mom a few times but it just made me more sad so I stopped. I stopped doing a lot of things that used to make me happy because they didn’t anymore and then I realized that the only reason why those things ever made me happy in the first place was because I was with you”. A small tear slipped out the corner of your eye, rolling down next to your nose until you swiped it away. It had been years since you cried even a single tear, having learned men didn’t show their emotions like that in the real world, but around Josh you couldn’t help it.

“So what now?” Josh’s voice was whisper soft now and he looked like he was on the verge of tears himself.

You looked at him in silence for a moment, asking yourself what really could you do? The truth was out in the open now, it was uglier and harder to admit than you’d ever imagined, but Josh seemed to reciprocate your feelings and that you never really seriously considered. The only problem now was Josh was still in a very successful band, and you didn’t even know where you were going to be next month. This couldn’t work, it’d be messy, and you debated whether it would really be worth it, but when you looked over at Josh you knew you didn’t care anymore.

You closed the gap between you again, grabbing at the collar of Josh’s open jacket and pulling him into another hungry kiss. Josh ran his hands up your chest and around your shoulders, tangling his fingers into the strands of hair at the nape of your neck that had come loose from your bun.

“Your hair is so long now” he mumbled between kisses. “I like it”.

“I know, I’ve really leaned into the homeless hippie look” you replied, smiling at the way your comment made him chuckle. It felt so good to hold him while he laughed that you had to fight back the thought of how bad it would feel when he was gone again and you couldn’t have this every day.

The kiss you shared started to grow deeper, and Josh responded by stepping impossibly closer so that he could press his whole body up against yours, moaning slightly at the way your thigh felt pressing into his groin.

Your eyes opened when you felt that he was hard, well you were too, but the physical proof that he indeed was as into this as you were was about to send you spiraling over the edge. Before you could make a move to touch him, see if you could pull another pretty sound from his pretty mouth, a pound bang came from the otherside of the door.

Looks like your bathroom break had taken too long.

“You have somewhere we can go?” Josh asked, trying to regather himself after being startled.

“You want to come back to my place?”

“Why not?” He replied and pushed his hips into your thigh once more. “Come on, the night is young”.

-

“You weren’t kidding about the hippie thing” Josh laughed when you showed him where you lived. An old beat up RV trailer passed down to you from your old roommates uncle.

“Like I said. I move around a lot”. You shrugged your shoulders and unlocked the rickety door that could probably just be forced open with one hard enough tug, locked or not- you were thankful you never had to find out if that was true, and allowed him to take the first step inside. “It’s nice to not have to pack everything up when I move, I can just take it all with me”.

Though it was small, you’d taken the time to keep the inside nice. Most of your furniture you’d taken off of sets once they were torn down and all the pieces the directors crew didn’t want to haul back to the studio were thrown away. It was a bachelors pad to say the least, but it was cozy and welcoming nonetheless.

“It’s like the tour buses” he commented as he moved around and took everything in. “I never expected we’d be living so similarly without even knowing it”.

He was right, it had never crossed your mind that Josh lived life on the road as well- he just made more frequent stops whereas you stayed put for some time. Maybe you still had a lot more in common than you’d expected.

“You want something to drink?” You asked, trying to be a good host. You didn’t bring people back to your RV often, and when you did it was usually just for a quick fuck or a weed deal. Josh didn’t feel like either of those, though if he was anything like the Josh you knew before then he did have a stash somewhere on him.

“No” he answered, finding his way to the back of the trailer where there were two doors. One was cracked open so he could tell it was the washroom, the other behind him was shut. Without breaking eye contact, Josh reached back and found the door knob giving it a half twist. “What’s in here?”

“I think you know what’s in there”. The space in the trailer was small and intimate, just enough room for one person to live comfortably. The bedroom on the other hand, he was sure to be surprised that it wasn’t much of a bedroom at all but only

a tiny space with a mattress stuffed inside.

You approached, matching the mischievous look in his eye showing him now that you were both here, you weren’t going to back down. He twisted the knob the rest of the way and turned around to pull the door open, stopping in his tracks when he saw it really was just a raised bed with a window behind it that had the curtains drawn shut.

Even if he wanted to back away now, you were already behind him, wrapping your arms around his midsection and kissing at his neck. “What? Expected a California king?”

“I don’t know what I expected,” he laughed again, leaning into your touch and letting out a little sigh of relief now that he was being touched and kissed again, “but this will do”.

Josh pulled his jacket off and tossed it aside, allowing you a wider plane of shoulder to press your kisses against. Then he whipped around and pulled at your shirt, prompting you to take it off quickly before he started to kiss you again.

Feather light brushes against clavicles with fingertips, warm breath caressing the apples of your cheeks, and a hitched voice as you wedged your knee between Josh’s thighs. It was all so intoxicating, and soon you were both stripped down crawling into the bunk you called your bedroom.

“It’s a little bigger than mine” he commented as he looked around at the walls surrounding you, the ceiling just high enough that you could sit up but nothing else.

“Let me see for myself”. You kissed him again, slipping your hand between your bodies to take hold of his length. “Hmm, it’ll do”.

“I’m gonna make you eat those words” Josh teased back, though his body arched into your touch.

“Why do that? When there’s so much more I can do with my mouth?”

He cocked a brow, trying to remain as calm and resolved as you were with your hand still wrapped around his cock. “Oh? Please enlighten me”.

You smiled, secretly relieved Josh was following your lead and seemingly enjoying himself too. Hopefully he’d be enjoying himself even more once you had your lips around him instead of your fingers.

Your mouth was watering already as you made your descent down his body, kissing and licking at his milky smooth skin, paying special attention to the rosy pink buds on his chest. His legs parted for you and you settled comfortably between them, determined to stay there for as long as he liked, giving him one testing lick to the underside of his head and watching him twitch and suck in a breath. Taking the whole tip into your mouth next, you tasted him fully with a swirl of your tongue, his salty essence present with each flick against the slit. Then you bobbed your head all the way down, holding back your gag reflex as you held

Yourself there while he squirmed underneath you and reached up to tangle one of his hands in your hair. When he’d settled back down you started your motions, tucking an arm underneath your chest so you could cup his balls while you sucked him off.

“So- ah- so so good” he moaned, not even bothering with trying to thrust on his own because you were taking him down so well.

After a while your name was falling from his mouth like a musical melody when his hand in your hair tightened into a fist and he was pulling you off before he could finish. “Fuck, that’s good but I want more” he panted, his eyes glazed over already as he watched you wipe the spit from your mouth. “Will you fuck me from behind? I like it like that”.

You’d thought you’d nearly sobered up by now, but by the way your head spun and you fumbled to get into position you weren’t so sure anymore. Grabbing a bottle of lube you kept handy, you squirted a little bit onto the fingers of your dominant hand, then put the bottle back somewhere it’d be safe but still in reach and placed your opposite hand on the round of his ass.

“God Josh you’re so fucking hot” you mumbled as you took in the picture below you for a moment before continuing.

He was propped up on his knees and elbows, and he looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Even more than before?”

“What do you think?”

Your crush on Josh before was nothing more than puppy love. You loved him before you ever even knew what that really meant, and you had your heart broken anyways. This Josh was still the same person you’d spent that summer with, your night at the fair, even the Christmas he’d said he thought you hated him, but he had also grown.

You had grown as well. Loved someone else and had your heart broken again, delved into your sexuality with more than a couple one night stands. Even throughout all that time and all those lovers, you’d never forgotten Josh, and he’d never forgotten you. Your meeting now may not have been destined. You knew his band was playing at that festival and you’d spent all those hours standing at that stage so you wouldn’t lose your spot in the front row. Just for one hopeful glance at the ghost of your past, and now look at where you were.

This reunion wasn’t sweet, it was desperate and animalistic, years of pent up yearning coming out. But you were gentle as you took your time stretching him for you, petting him deep inside until he was choking back sobs.

“Are you ready?” You asked, knowing the answer already by the way your fingers slid in and out easily, but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Yes, I’m so fucking ready”.

Josh lifted himself from his elbows onto his palms, balling up your sheets in his fists. You waited for him to hold still again and retreated your fingers slowly. He whimpered at the loss, but you were quick to find the bottle of lube and squirt some into your palm to lather up your own throbbing length with.

Before lining yourself up, you leaned over his back and kissed him deeply, placing the bottle of lube into one of his hands. While he kissed you back, sloppy and full of tongue, you wiggled your hips against his ass and with just a few adjustments you were slipping inside.

Josh broke the kiss, letting his head fall and his shoulders roll back when you set in at a grueling pace. You straightened up and grabbed his hips, angling your thrusts in the spot you’d found just a moment ago that had him coming apart. He jolted forward from the shock against his nerves, but then widened his knees and rocked backwards, meeting your thrusts in the middle.

“That’s it, right there” you groaned as you pumped into him harder, threads of your hair sticking to the sweat on your neck and face. You could feel yourself getting close, the burn in your belly fighting against the burn in your legs for which would give in first.

With the lube still tightly gripped in one hand, Josh decided he couldn’t bother with trying to get the cap open right now, instead spitting into his other palm and reaching underneath to start hurriedly stroking himself. You relented only when he started to cum, focusing on slowly fucking him through his orgasm and trying to hold it together as he clenched around you. His elbow folded and he collapsed onto the bed just in time for you to pull out and finish yourself, shooting all over his back while he caught his breath.

Your exhaustion caught up to you all at once as you threw yourself onto the bed beside him. You landed on your back and he immediately crawled on top of you, resting his cheek against your chest and humming. “I’m so glad you came to the show. I was worried I’d never see you again”.

“I went far too long without seeing you Josh Kiszka. I guess ten years is my limit”.

“Please tell me it’s not going to take another ten for us to meet like this again” he whispered, trying not to ruin the mood but also needing some sort of consolation to ease his mind before he could go to sleep in your arms.

“Not if I have a say in it” you answered him with a squeeze and a kiss to the top of his fluffy curls. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Josh turned his head so that his chin was against your chest now, peering up at you through his long dark eyelashes with his chocolatey sweet eyes. He looked like some sort of woodland nymph leisurely laying in the nude with nothing but the moonlight filtering through the thin spots in your old curtains illuminating the features of his soft face as he waited for your question.

“Earlier at the bar, you said ‘so you do feel the same’… how long have you felt this way?”

“Just as long as you have” he answered plainly, no point in hiding it now. “I don’t think I would have changed anything though. I wasn’t ready for any type of commitment back then, I think I would’ve just made a mess of everything then still had to leave. I enjoyed that summer, enjoyed spending it with you”.

So he wasn’t ready. That was a reasonable excuse, nothing worse than the one you had, but there was still the bigger question either of you had yet to resolve. “And now?”

“Now…” Josh sighed, laying his head back down and tracing invisible circles with his finger to distract one part of his brain while the other thought. “Now life is busier than ever, one tour ends and the next begins, we’ve still got lots of music we’re working on recording”.

You held your breath as he spoke, staring up at your ceiling in wait for the pen to drop, for Josh to tell you he still wasn’t ready.

“But, I'm freer than I’ve ever been, and I’m ready. I want to share the rest of my journey with someone”.

“And you think I can be that someone?”

“I think I’d very much like to try. If that’s what you want”.

“I think I’d very much like that too”.

-

It was early in the morning, you could tell by the way your eyes prickled with the first of light. That wasn’t what woke you though. No, you were used to sleeping through the sun coming up, it was the warmth around your cock and the subtle slurping sounds filling the tiny space that pulled you from sleep.

“I gotta go soon” Josh popped off for a moment to speak, having noticed your awakening by the way you suddenly went from only half hard to completely rock solid in his mouth. “Wanna love on you some more first”.

“No complaints here” you replied as he went back to work, though not before grabbing the bottle of lube. Josh pushed on your thighs to spread your legs wider, then pressed a lubed up finger to your entrance.

He wasn’t easy with you like you were last night to him, giving you just enough time to adjust to the first finger before he added another. As soon as he was able to, Josh sat up and positioned himself, gradually pushing inside until his hips were flush against your ass.

The stretch burned a little, but you welcomed it with a deep exhale as he squirted more lube into his hand and started pumping his fist over your length, each downward stroke meeting his thrust into you. Josh stared down at you the entire time, his eyes only flicking away from yours every so often to watch the way he slid in and out.

“Can I cum in you?” He asked through a moan that signaled he was getting close. “Please? I want to leave you with something”.

“Fuck Josh yes, fill me up” you cried out, your own orgasm starting to wrack through your body. “I want to feel it”.

“Fuck here it is” he groaned, letting go of your softening cock so he could grip both your hips and deliver his final blow.

He pulled out and you shivered from the feeling of his warmth leaving you as well, laying there in your messy sheets as he got up and started to gather his things.

“I’m sorry, running late already” he mentioned as he quickly pulled all his clothes back on, bumping his elbows and shoulders in the narrow opening of your RV.

You sat up and watched in silence, trying to figure out what to say. He remembered everything you said last night right? Or was all that just pillow talk?

Once Josh was fully dressed again, he grabbed his jacket last and threw it over his arm then leaned back through the threshold of your bedroom and gave you one last kiss.

When he was gone you felt your heart breaking all over again. You wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep until this all felt like just a dream, but you got up anyway to make a pot of coffee.

There it was, a piece of paper sitting on the counter right in front of the coffee pot. A note from Josh.

This is my address. At the end of this week I’ve got the rest of the month off. Come stay with me and we will figure everything out.

I love you, J

A smile tugged at your lips as you read the note over again. This really was happening, after all this time he was back in your life. You had no idea how this was going to work, but if he was willing then you were too.

Fin

[hillbillyhippiemusicreview]

THE HHMR ISSUED A STORM WARNING: A NORTHER IS BLOWING IN AS SHANE SMITH AND THE SAINTS ROLL OUT THEIR LATEST RELEASE

Areas affected include: The Heart, The Soul, & Your Tappin’ Toes. Prepare accordingly.

Strong. Fast moving. Cold. Breathtaking. Those are adjectives to describe a Norther or Blue Norther, a storm bringing in fast cold winds from the north into Texas and surrounding states. Those words also perfectly describe Shane Smith & the Saints newest album, Norther. This album hits you hard and fast! Shane, Bennett, Dustin, Chase and Zach put together an eclectic record that, in my humble opinion, is their best work yet, even topping my favorite, 2013’s Coast.

Before I go any further, I will give a disclaimer that this review is biased—for good reason. I have no affiliation with the band; I’ve only met Shane twice, I’ve met the other members each once, and I follow Bennett on instagram (he’s also originally from my adoptive city of Louisville, KY). BUT, they are my *favorite* band! I may have Timmy Ty’s lyrics tattooed on my arm, but there hasn’t ever been a band that puts me in a trance quite like Shane Smith & the Saints. I’ve seen them at: Tumbleweed (LaCygne, KS), the Basement East (Nashville, TN), Headliners (Louisville, KY), Bulls, Bands, and Barrels (Lexington, KY), and most recently for their headline debut at the Mother Church, the Ryman Auditorium (Nashville, TN). So yes, I am a fan—to say the least. I *may* even fanboy out when they are within a 4 hour drive. That may ruin the credibility of my review in some people’s eyes; however, in others it makes this review even more true and authentic as I have been a fan for 10 years for no reason except for the facts that they make damn fine music, and that they are the some of the nicest artists I have ever met. And to “kind of” quote Uncle Dallas Moore, “there ain’t no one [reading] my shit anyway.” 🤠

Norther opens with “Book of Joe,” a hard hitting ballad with a heavy fiddle presence from Bennett and drums that hit you so hard that your heartbeat matches that of the drum beat. “Book of Joe” repeatedly tells us that “It’s a rich man’s war, it’s a poor man’s fight”—no matter which side of the dollar you are on, this life is always a battle. Next up, we get “Fire in the Sky.” Shane starts out by “deep talking” the lyrics, reminiscent of some of Johnny Cash’s lasts works. But then it goes into a toe tappin’, head banging song that isn’t country, Americana, or red dirt, but in my limited Eastern Kentucky vernacular can only be described as Rock.

We have to go all the way to track number 7 (out of 13) for what may be my favorite song on the album, “Wheels.” One set of lyrics in particular makes this song my favorite…“You can’t blame the memories because they brought you a long long way.” As imperfect humans living in a broken world, we have all had experiences that that have shaped us. Some are great and some we could do without. Personally, looking back at those memories, the good and the bad, they all taught me a lesson or changed my direction; something I am thankful for from the Man up above. And “Just like wheels caught in their motion,” we keep trudging forward throughout this crazy life. Jumping down to the 10th song on the album, “1,000 Wild Horses” gives something to the lover of “real country.” While it may be a little faster and have some great instrumentals, the focus is obviously Shane’s deep voice, the lyrics, and the melody.

Y’all, most albums have one or two of those “skip over songs.” That isn’t the case with Norther. The album has 13 imposing songs, 6 of which were singles starting with “Hummingbird” back in 2022. I’ve already told you once, I am biased because Shane Smith & the Saints are my favorite band for no other reasons except they make great music that casts a spell on me every time I hear it; and that in my few interactions, they are all humble, friendly and down to earth fellas who work as hard as hell to make the music they want to make. So, I know it is only March, but this album has the potential to have my vote for best release of 2024!

Do yourself and the band a favor and go listen to these independent artists right now. Stream them on your preferred platform, check out their merch, and lastly go to the show! I’ve been to a ton of shows over the years, but not one show impacted me the way Shane Smith & the Saints with Justin Wells did at the Basement East. P.S. and that was a show they played with borrowed instruments from Turnpike Troubadours (I think) after their van burned!

-Cheers, N.

Below is the music video for “Adeline,” a track off Norther

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Aurum Gathering in the Athanor

Klemens Weidmann had once said there are two types of travel. The journey guided by a goal, traveling in hopes of reaching one’s destination. And the departure from the known, venturing into the unknown, whether driven by pure desire to explore, or for the sake of the journey itself, regardless of any discoveries, or in spite of the absence thereof.

When Frank Williams started his car that morning, he had harbored no idea of where exactly he was headed. In some ways, he defied Klemens Weidmann’s dichotomy. Frank Williams—in his fifties, single, unemployed, eccentric, cowardly, and obsessed with mapping out ley lines—had woken up that morning with the desire to just… drive.

He woke up in his car as he usually did. He got changed with the crumpled clothes out of his trunk that smelled the least offensive. He stopped at another diner to pick up coffee. And then… he would just drive. Hardly anything he could explain beyond chalking it up to vibes, he had set out, hoping to stumble across another powerful node in the ley lines for him to document, and started riding his old car down THE HIGHWAY.

He had an objective, but no destination.

Oblivious to how the day of reckoning had arrived.

In the year of 1995, Frank drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, merrily singing along to Paint It Black on his car radio as he enjoyed the wind in his messy gray hair, and the vastness of the open road. Consciously, he forgot about things like the arrest warrant on his name in Delaware for a dine-and-dash from a restaurant, or the stack of unpaid parking tickets, all dancing mad like butterflies as the wind swept them out a backseat window.

Unwittingly, he was only one among many whose spirit enriched the bloodstream of THE HIGHWAY. Carrying oxygen through the vast circulation of North America.

It took all of them to prevent the slow decay and the withering of its dying limbs. So close, sometimes, to grasping this truth of truths; and yet so far away, no matter how far he ever traveled.

Whether he knew where he was headed, or simply followed his heart that day, an old and withered heart rested in the heart of hearts in the center of THE HIGHWAY, and all their spirits thrummed in unison, in sync with this invisible heartbeat.

And Klemens Weidmann sat just outside that heart, in the dust and heat and winds of the desert surrounding Las Vegas.

The old rocking chair creaked as he rocked in it, to the same pace as the beat of a Rolling Stones song he could not hear. His wizened old hands tapped in tune against the armrests.

Sun baked the roof of the porch where he waited. Eyes closed, he smiled. Relaxed.

Finally time to relax.

The day of reckoning had come.

Agent Parker exited the ranch’s house, joining Klemens on the porch. This was not the original Agent Parker, but the homunculus. The new doppelganger he had fashioned.

He no longer remembered the face of his daughter. He no longer remembered the tragedy that claimed her. He only remembered that he had had a daughter once, and that he had lost her in tragedy. He had a vague idea of what that tragedy entailed, and he had done his part to avenge it.

“I can feel it, my king,” said the red-headed woman in the black suit. Though her body was comprised of clockwork parts, encased in a magicked facsimile of flesh and blood, she appeared all human. “She nears.”

Klemens exhaled a slow and satisfied sigh.

The day of reckoning indeed.

With eyes closed, he stewed in his own sweat, and relished the sensation of grease and grit on his old hands.

“Please, my dear,” he replied, “call me Klemens. I like to think of us as family.”

The homunculus cast him a sidelong glance.

“I am not of your kind, not… I, I am Promethean.”

The Way King chuckled.

“And yet, from all I’ve learned about Quinn Isabelle Parker, you sound just like her, even now. Promethean,” he repeated on the breath of another soft chuckle, eyes remaining closed. “What a beautiful word.”

“I understand the exchange you’ve made,” she said. “Are you never sad?”

He opened a single eyelid to study her.

Pale, freckled, inquisitive blue eyes hid a sadness behind their mirrors; mirrors in which he saw his old and failing body.

With both eyes wide open, he smiled warmly at her. The closest thing to a daughter he’d have in this final lap of his lifetime.

“No, my girl. If I cannot remember the sad things, I can no longer be sad about them. By giving away the old sadness, I find new happiness in my masterworks. And more, I find happiness in knowing all of you will outlive me, and go on do to great things. My only regret is how I will not get to see what kind of world you go on to create in my absence.”

The homunculus’ chin crinkled. Her eyes glistened with tears, fought back by the same spirit he had copied in creating her, drawn from the void between worlds, and forged from the brass and copper and steel and wood of the Heart.

Made real through the memories he had sacrificed.

Even now, she mirrored his sentiments. The wells of his old eyes had long dried up, thus no tears arrived. But he felt as she did in that moment.

“Oh, my sweet girl, do not be sad. I marvel at the thought of what things you may experience. I envy you for the journey you will embark on, to explore your spirituality, to explore your identity, like all magicians before me, and all who will follow.”

Her gaze hardened as she stared into the horizon, past the circuit of salvaged husks of car wrecks, and the long, lonesome road leading to the dead end of the ranch.

“It will not be the same without you… Klemens.”

The chair creaked in rhythm again as he continued rocking it to an invisible tune, nodding his head along.

“That is alright. As you asked, I shall answer. I am not so sad about what I lose, for I win so much in return. When I am gone, you will be in good company. The knights and magi who gathered to fill my court are good people. Pure, even when they must do wicked things. They will shape a future I can only dream of, and I take satisfaction in knowing that I had a hand in… paving the way.”

“But what about the Whispers I heard before my awakening?”

He joined her in staring down the road.

Clouds of dust rose in the distance, tiny specks on the horizon where a small caravan of cars approached.

Klemens sighed again, though no longer with satisfaction flowing from it. Though the end of his road neared, her question filled him with apprehension. It made his stomach knot.

Whispers.

“What Whispers?”

Whispers that lay dormant now. A Shadow lurked between the shadows.

A corrupting voice in the back of one’s mind. But it did not speak to her.

The homunculus swallowed an invisible lump in her throat.

“Before my awakening, while my consciousness coalesced from the echoes of hers, I heard these Whispers. Sweet and helpful at times, dark and menacing at others. Commanding, even. It was like they, like they had good intentions, but something… something’s just off about them.”

Klemens set his jaw.

The clouds of dust grew on the horizon. Three cars neared at a steady pace.

“Tell me more about these Whispers,” he said. “Why have you not told me about them before?”

His question lingered and her answer floated to the surface with painful slowness, like bubbles rising from the depths until they popped at the surface of a pond.

“They don’t seem real until they do. They helped me—her—in one moment, then demanded things in the next. Though I have her memories and consciousness, I am lacking many things, and it’s like… it’s like a soup in my mind. Mind soup. The memories do not come back to me in a linear fashion. They’re like puzzle pieces, and I have to start at the edges, working my way to the center as I complete the image.”

Klemens studied her again.

He had come too far to let doubt eat at him. To question this path, this quest, and the inevitable outcome he had engineered in assembling the Heart of THE HIGHWAY, the mechanical machine that connected the spiderweb of roads, siphoning spirit energy from every individual, and pumping out raw power to the far ends of its network.

This Parker—the second homunculus of her he had built—still stared into the distance, to the three cars steadily approaching. A rusty old Buick, Michael’s van, and a white stretch limousine.

Soft tremors echoed in her voice as she continued.

“I’m afraid this will end badly, for these Whispers are not something you accounted for. I’m afraid they will visit me, too, in time. I’m afraid they will try to… guide me. I’m afraid they will consume me instead. I know I’m not real—”

“Oh, no, no, my dear, please let me stop you there. You are very, very real. You may not have entered this world like other human children, but please make no mistake. You are very real. You are alive, and you can die like any human being. You can feel, and live, and remember, and dream, like everybody else.”

“But my destiny is predetermined, as artificial as I am. My purpose—”

“No,” he said softly. “My girl, you are like any other person. You are special for what you do, not what you are. There is no such thing as destiny, as a future written in books. There is no such thing as a destiny we cannot escape.”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, I may have built you with purpose in mind. I created you for… a vision, a vision of peace. I created you to help build a better future. A better future for all. But you shall be your own woman, your own person. What you do with this life, with our world, is up to you.”

Wind howled through the ruins of the old chapel near the ranch’s house. A shovel, still staked outside a shallow grave in the dead fields, stood all by its lonesome, above which the breeze carried sand.

Strange lights glinted in the desert. Nobody noticed.

And the three cars continued to near, trailing behind them a large cloud of dust.

“But, please, indulge an old man, my dear,” he said. “Tell me more of these Whispers.”

Homunculus-Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. She cringed as if she felt a sharp pain in her head.

“They want me… no, th-they want her to do something. They’re helping her so she can help them accomplish… something. They haven’t said what, but I can feel it. They are benevolent, but only benevolent in the way a parasite would be. I can feel it. Like I can feel her nearing now. She’s in one of those cars out there. She is distressed, like I am. Scared. Scared of what happens when we both gaze into the mirrors. What happens when the mirrors collide. Will we both shatter? What is left behind if we shatter?”

Klemens stifled a sigh as he rose from his rocking chair.

His wizened old hand, scarred and wrinkled and strong despite its frailty, found hers.

Squeezed it.

Just like he used to squeeze his daughter’s hand, oh so long ago. A memory that had slipped through the cracks.

He smiled.

“We are human, you and I and her. We are not made of glass. We are like… aurum horizontale. We have attained the weight of gold, but are only on the verge of reaching citrinatas. We do not shatter like glass, we melt and solidify in the athanor. The… the Whispers. What do they say?”

The airbrushed painting of a wizard on the van turned visible, so close had it gotten to the scrapyard in front of the ranch house. Where THE HIGHWAY’S ultimate road ended, it turned to gravel, crunching underneath the many wheels carrying their chariots towards the Heart.

The homunculus finally articulated a description of the Whispers.

Something concrete.

And it sent chills down Klemens’ spine.

“They sleep at the bottom of a dark ocean of consciousness. They ask her to take their hand, and pull them to the surface. They promise many things and offer aid in return. She does not fully trust them. I do not fully trust them. She… we… trusted before, and learned from past betrayals. They… it’s…”

Her words trailed off. Interrupted by the three vehicles rounding the circuit in front of the house. Wheels kicked up gravel and dust as they slowed down, heat rising from the hoods, and silhouettes of figures moving inside the cars, concealed by dust and dirt and tinted windows each.

“It’s not human,” concluded the homunculus.

Klemens shuddered.

“There are only humans and animals in this world,” he countered.

“And ghosts? And demons?” she asked.

“They are also humans and animals,” he said, darkening on every syllable.

“This… thing… is neither,” she said.

He shuddered again.

Michael emerged from the passenger’s seat of the old rusty Buick, Jericho’s car. He cracked a crooked smile as he waved at Klemens. The original Special Agent Parker climbed out of the driver’s seat, casting a glance in the round until resting her gaze on her doppelganger on the porch.

Then the homunculus added, “But it’s not here, Klemens. I don’t… feel it. I don’t think it’s here.”

She was wrong. Utterly wrong.

The Shadow lurked in the darkness of the house behind them. It waited.

It watched.

FBI director Anthony Collins hopped down from the driver’s seat of the wizard van, slamming its door shut. He tilted his head and stretched his neck as he approached the ranch like Michael and Agent Parker.

Klemens stared at the white limousine with vested interest, as its presence planted another seed of doubt in his belly, joining the one that festered upon hearing of these Whispers.

From the silver chariot, gleaming in sunlight, emerged three figures.

A black man dressed like an FBI agent—presumably Agent Wells, whom he had heard of from Anthony.

A blonde, middle-aged woman in an expensive designer dress, clutching a tiny purse in one hand, and a silver hip flask in the other, from which she took a hearty swig upon staggering out of the limousine.

And a bodyguard, as tall as a giant, with steroid-laced muscles almost bursting out of his suit, suggesting he could tear a telephone book apart with his bare hands.

Klemens’ nostrils flared and he collected himself, fighting back a frown from marking his mien.

To hide his disappointment.

Such a momentous time, and he had expected Jericho and Karma to show up for it.

It would have been such an apt succession.

As the group gathered before the porch, Klemens asked Michael, “Still no sign of Jericho and Karma?”

Klemens descended down the weary old stairs, the wood creaking under every step before he traversed the gravel to join the gathering. The homunculus followed him, drawing three burning stares from Agent Parker, Agent Wells, and the blonde woman in the designer dress.

Michael shrugged and frowned. “Not a peep, my king. Though, to be quite honest, I haven’t made any effort to look. Bigger fish to fry, and all that. He is probably sleeping off a hangover in Vegas and she’s probably… doing whatever she does between her, uh, work?”

He grinned.

Klemens nodded and approached Agent Parker.

He extended a hand for her to shake.

She only stared at her doppelganger, one step behind him.

“How dangerous is she?” asked Parker.

“Man, you’ve got some nerve,” Agent Wells grumbled. Then with more volume, and indignant anger rising to the surface, he said, “You all got some real nerve.”

Wells glared at Collins. The FBI director kept a straight and stony mask of an expression, not maintaining eye contact with his former friend. All he did was adjust the thin frame of his glasses.

Wells continued, still glaring at Collins, then letting his accusatory gaze sweep among the others present. His voice quaked with fury and he enunciated his words with a heft to match.

“We find ourselves here in the company of murderers. It feels like yesterday that we would have been here to apprehend these murderers, and it is taking me everything to hold back from doing what we set out to do.”

He flapped his jacket open to expose his holstered gun.

Parker shot him a glance and shook her head. She said nothing.

Michael looked Wells up and down, projecting an air of exhaustion as he shot out a flat breath.

Klemens withdrew his hand and nodded.

“You are right, Special Agent Wells,” said the Way King, contrasting Wells’ tone with a gentle response and a faint smile. His German accent served to deepen that contrast. “I apologize for the circumstances under which we all come together like this. I can only humbly ask you to hear me out first.”

Michael interrupted him, “There is an abridged version of everything, which I’m happy to—”

“You fuck,” the blonde woman blurted out. She took another swig from her flask. Angrily. “Your Gravedigger killed Mac, you sneaky fuck. And you were the one who put me on the path of looking for that stupid fuckin’ book. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this, but rest assured, your ass is on thin fuckin’ ice, mister, and I have a nine-millimeter bullet that’s thirsty for your gray matter.”

Parker glared at her in turn.

“Aria, the dead don’t speak. Please.”

“Yes,” Klemens said, folding his hands in front of himself like a man of prayer. He then extended both as if surrendering, offering them to slap handcuffs onto his wrists. “I will be as candid as I can be, and share all I know with you. I promise that my intentions are pure, and if, once all is said and done, you still wish to arrest or execute me, I will offer myself up to your judgment. All I ask of you is a modicum of patience, and a sliver of your time on this Earth. Please, let us gather inside over some fine refreshments, and, as they say, hash things out. Yes?”

Michael crinkled his nose and scratched it.

Wells growled, clearly directing his ire at Anthony, Michael, and Klemens.

“It’s just like Aria just said. Thin fuckin’ ice, gentlemen.”

BANG. RATATATATAT. BANG-BANG-BANG.

All hell broke loose.

Puffs of gun smoke joined the clouds of dust, swept away by desert breeze. A cacophony of thunderclaps, of gunshots, all ripped through the air, breaking the silence of sandy wastes.

Rifles belched out deadly slugs, some chattered like vicious fireworks as they spat out salvos of automatic fire. Bullets tore up dirt and sent gravel flying wherever they hit the ground, and they caused chunky THUNKS when they hit the metal of cars. A tire hissed upon a bullet punching a hole through it.

Everybody gathering in front of the ranch house instinctively ducked or tucked and rolled, leaping for cover. Others fell upon getting shot, dropping on the spot.

RATATATATATATAT. RATATAT. BANG-BANG. BANG. RATATATAT—

Swearing, words of oath that dissipated underneath the infinite blue sky. The lenses of scopes reflected sunlight when spotted by the victims of the shooting.

Wells shouted from behind the Buick. “Parker!”

A salvo of shots ripped through the car’s body, leaving a stitched line of crude bullet holes, forcing him back down into cover behind the vehicle.

Parker groaned as she gritted her teeth, gripping her side, crawling towards the stairs to the house’s porch, leaving a trail of blood behind her in the sand.

Barry the Bodyguard popped out from behind the Buick’s trunk, gripping a pistol dwarfed by his big meaty hands, returning fire at the hidden sharpshooters surrounding the ranch, forcing one of the adversaries into cover.

BLAM-BLAM, BANG-BANG, RATATATATAT—

Aria, hunkered down next to Barry, fumbling with her purse, pulling from its bowels a tiny silvery pistol to match the silvery flask in her lap.

“Motherfucker,” snarled Michael through gritted teeth, gripping his belly.

Blood pumped out between his fingers at an alarming rate.

Collins pumped the pump-action shotgun he retrieved from the van, ducking just in time before a series of three rifle shots tore up the van’s hood and left a spiderweb of cracks on its windshield.

“Klemens!” shouted the homunculus.

She helped drag both the old man and the wounded Agent Parker up the three steps onto the porch, where more shots landed, splintering wood, and shattering the weathered railing.

“I can’t,” Klemens replied through bloodless lips. He spoke with an eerie calm. “My legs. I can’t move them.”

The rocking chair exploded into small wooden chunks from a stray rifle bullet.

BANG-BANG-BANG, BLAM-BLAM, RATATATATATA—

A moment of dead silence followed, punctuated by labored breathing, hectic clicking, and groans. Guns were being reloaded. The sharpshooters barely moved behind their cover. They had chosen their positions with deadly precision.

“Five,” Wells shouted with his weapon drawn, peering past the busted headlight of the Buick.

“Four more,” Collins shouted back before diving inside the van, vanishing in its cabin.

“Son of a bitch,” Michael hissed, “I forgot how much bullets hurt. Anthony!”

A car door groaned as Barry swung it open to add cover for himself, Wells, and Aria, where he ducked down, surveying their surroundings for the sharpshooters they had called out.

“What?” Collins shouted back.

BLAM-BLAM.

Bullets kicked up dust near Michael where they hit the ground, and he stumbled as he tripped and limped his way up the steps of the porch. More and more blood splattered the sound, escaping his body.

“You motherfucker! Anthony! You did this!” Michael yelled, breaking out into a fit of coughing.

“What?” Collins yelled back. Exasperated.

The Shadow smiled.

To nobody in particular, it whispered.

Oh, that’s rich, Mikey.

“You did this!” Michael yelled again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The homunculus and the injured Agent Parker had vanished inside the house just before another series of gunshots tore across the ranch. The targets returned fire upon the attackers.

BRATATATATATATBLAM-BLAM-BLAMBAM-BANG-BANG-RATATATATATATA—

Window panes exploded, wooden supports to the porch’s roofing collapsed, and car bodies swallowed dozens upon dozens of bullets, rocking under every impact.

“How dare you?” Michael yelled. He fell inside the shadows of the house.

Wells glared at the van where Collins hid.

Barry popped out of cover in a lull between shots—

BANG-BANG-BANG—

A yelping man’s cry erupted from the distance, just before a stranger’s figure crumpled to the ground behind the cover of a pile of old car husks.

The wizard van’s engine roared and its wheels kicked up gravel. Collins hadn’t even bothered to slam the door shut behind him, letting it flap and crack open and closed as he steered the van around.

“Anthony!” Wells hollered. “You better run, you fucking coward!”

The FBI agent’s face oscillated between uncontrollable rage and righteous fury. Wells popped out of cover just as another sharpshooter’s shot sent Barry into hiding again. Aria joined him.

They blazed away with their pistols.

Two more bodies dropped into the desert sands.

Winds howled through the ruined chapel, where another scope’s lens glinted in the sunlight.

RATATATATATATAT—

Sparks flew and bullets chewed away at the dying and battered body of Jericho’s Buick. In a drunken stupor, Aria stumbled into Barry, who lost his balance, and knocked into Agent Wells, crashing all three of them face down into the dirt like dominos—

BRATATATATATATATATATAT—

The three fell splayed, sprawled out, and sputtering dust, and coughing, and scrambling, to find new cover—and just low enough to evade the salvos of automatic fire. Aria’s drunken stumbling had saved the three of them.

Clicking. Furious clicking. Reloading.

They stumbled and shoved each other to the house in a mad dash.

The van engine’s growls died down as it gained distance, trailing down the road, swallowed by a new dust cloud.

The sharpshooters did not target it.

Everybody had fled inside the house. Three trails of blood led inside.

Chests and shoulders heaved. Adrenaline pumped in every body. People grunted, ducking behind the cover of sad old dusty furniture, eaten by the sands of time, now bearing new wounds, chipped away by stray shots. Windows gaped open with broken shards, and the screened door to the entrance flapped in the wind, lazily slapping against its frame.

The shooting had stopped.

The Shadow still watched. Waiting.

“I can heal us,” Michael said, crawling over to Klemens.

The old man’s head rested on a thin beaten-up pillow, and a dark crimson color spread beneath him, soaking a worn Afghan rug.

“I can fix this,” Michael breathed.

“It’s too late,” Agent Parker hissed through gritted teeth. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought against paralyzing pain.

“Never too late,” Wells barked back, cradling Parker’s head on his lap as he looked for the bullet wound that was drenching her white shirt in merciless red.

“You gotta get him,” Michael said, “You gotta get Collins and bring him back here so we can figure out what the hell this was all about. Only way we’ll stop whatever he did, only way we’ll find the hornet’s nest he kicked.”

“Can you stretch your legs?” the homunculus asked.

“I cannot feel my legs,” Klemens replied with the same eerie calmness.

With eyes closed, he smiled.

Michael’s voice trembled. “Look, I can heal you. I can heal us. I’m always ready for something like this.” Then, to Wells, he said, “But you got guns, you got guts—you know him—you got what it takes to get Collins, so he can answer for this. Bring him back alive so he can answer.”

Wells squinted at him. Aria squinted at him, wiping dirt from her cheek. Barry, who had lost his sunglasses, also squinted at Michael.

And the Shadow smiled.

It finally offered a Whisper. A tiny olive branch. Something only Michael could hear.

Oh, Mikey, what a snake you are.

Michael’s face fell.

Haunted.

Eyes wide, all blood drained from his cheeks.

It even helped sell his ruse. The Shadow spoke to him with melodious malice and mockery.

Yes, it’s ME. You’ve always wanted to hear me, right? Ever since you hijacked their perceptions, and heard me WHISPER, you’ve wanted this, right? Wanted to talk to me? Well, here I am, Mikey.

IN ALL MY GLORY.

Where darkness pooled in the house, in the most unfathomable corner of the room behind the wounded Parker, and Klemens, and the homunculus, there it was—

Tiny dots where sunlight glinted upon reflections of objects… resembling a multitude of alien eyes.

Its shadowy face split open in a vertical smile, dripping with insubstantial tar.

The Whispers cackled, audible only to Michael. Then they growled and snarled in the voices of a thousand. Many in one, one in many.

HERE I AM, MIKEY.

Michael had never felt so afraid in his entire life. His body tingled. The terror paralyzed him.

That fear—that dread—it broke the dam of his coolness, flooding the valley of his assertiveness, and it spilled out from his soul, gripping his body, leaking like the blood from his gunshot wound—

And selling his terror. How small the Shadow made him feel in that moment.

It had just helped sell the act better than Michael could have ever sold it.

Wells clicked his tongue.

He snarled at Michael. “You are damn right I’m gonna get Anthony back. And then you are all going to answer for this—for everything. If you do not heal Parker, then so help me God, I will make life a living hell for you.”

Before he could rise to creep out through a backdoor, Aria stopped Wells, clutching his wrist to the point of painfulness.

“You’re not going alone,” she said.

Before he could utter any protest, she shushed him with a raised index finger, and emptied the rest of her flask’s contents into her gullet. Wells said nothing, just clenching his jaw and shaking his head.

“Be… careful,” Parker eked out. Then she groaned in pain.

“This doesn’t sit right with me at all,” Wells said, shaking his head. “Leaving you with him, and… that thing.”

He cast one last glare at the homunculus. The homunculus did not meet his gaze… exactly like Parker.

This wiped the anger from his expression.

Confusion claimed Well’s face. In that moment, he saw something in that doppelganger. Something vaguely familiar. And the realization paralyzed him in turn.

“I’m… a big girl, Derek,” Parker said with a forced grin, barely keeping her eyes open. “Strange times… a strange world… makes for strange bedfellows, man.”

She still held a hand pressed over the gunshot wound in her side, where blood still wept. The very sight of her state made Wells cringe.

Then his expression hardened. The old drill, discipline, and routine returned to him. The ranger kicked in. He had a job to do.

“You have been warned,” he told Michael before leaving.

Aria and Barry snuck outside with him.

For now, the desert remained silent. No gunshots followed. Gravel crunched as the three crept between the husks of old decrepit buildings and eviscerated car wrecks.

Wide-eyed and terrified, Michael still stared into the darkness. Into the dozens of tiny white dots, the alien eyes. They blinked.

Dread cut his thoughts short and his breaths even shorter.

The Shadow still smiled at him with its terrible smile.

Come on, Mikey, it taunted him with more sinister Whispers. Don’t you have work to do? I can’t heal any of you, you know. That’s in your ballpark.

“You need to heal Klemens,” said the homunculus, lightly tapping Klemens’ cheek. “He’s no longer responsive.”

And as Agent Parker’s consciousness faded, she groaned again, trying to sit up. Michael crawled until he arrived by her side, laying a hand upon her bullet wound.

“No,” Parker wheezed. “Heal… the Way King… first.”

The Whispers no longer spoke to Michael.

The Shadow now whispered to Parker again.

In perfect control, it projected different Whispers her way.

Tender. Soothing.

You… listen. Listen.

Blood pumped. Adrenaline rushed. The light of the world slowly faded.

“He’s still breathing, but you must hurry,” said the homunculus.

You need to stay awake. Our task is not complete.

“What do… you want?” Parker squeezed out between shallow breaths, panting.

“To heal you,” Michael answered instead.

Flesh and blood squelched as her body twisted on the inside. The bullet crumpled within her, crushed like coal into a diamond, briefly causing more blood to flow, and forcing another groan out of her throat as her back arched reflexively against the pain. The bullet rose to the surface, following the dark pull of Michael’s magick.

The wound spat the bullet out into his palm. He tossed it aside and it clattered on the floor.

Near the Shadow.

“I need you,” he said.

Darkness encroached around the edges of her vision.

She believed him. In that moment, Parker had reason to believe him.

Things never work out as we plan, do they? I understand that now. A lesson this world has taught me. But rest assured, all is in good hands. We’re on the right track, you and I.

Parker passed out.

The Shadow’s tone switched again as it granted Michael more Whispers. More Growls.

Oh, do I understand it now.

You and I are destined to accomplish wonderful things together, Mikey.

WONDERFUL THINGS.

All you have to do next is… let me in.

LET ME IN.

LET ME IN.

[hackneyreviews]

- The 2nd half of the song is the good stuff. Rock and Roll. I can wax poetic about that if you want.*

- The lyrics are a reminder of why some of the best Stones songs bury the vocal so it blends into the rhythm section. The delivery is peak Mick, but to what end?

- I miss the now dead drummer Charlie Watts. I'll never forgive the band for not retiring the name of the Rolling Stones when he died. ** Can I really tell the difference or is it just the narrative? Does anything in pop music exist without the narrative?

- I do admire them for not writing an obvious song. Do they have an agent? I imagine the agent saying "Write a big one! You've been the devil, you've got the giant lips. Yer the OG rockers. Lean into it!"

- A lot of their hits have this quality of being off and sideways. The devil one is a Samaba. (I can wax poetic about this too)***

- Still for all that... the first two mins of the song are petulant and small. It's musical virtues are buried. It's lyrical content amounting to: My partner is mad at me and I don't know why and I don't really care to find out why? Just no there there for me.

- C -

- Having Sydney Sweeney star as the male gaze object in the music video was a very savy move. A different actress and I think it this plays much worse. Total understanding of zeitgeist

- B+

* At min 2, the guitar takes center stage, and it is the sound that reconfigured my brain. The sound of rock and roll. The mystical amalgamation of kinetic energy and languid phrasing. Of deep passion and hunger. Of indifference that promises inner peace.

The sounds mesh with the rhythm section, elevate it, are of it, and pull it's themes into a blurry focus. Before the drums and bass were a little funky, now you can hear they have been in the pocket all along.

It contains contradictions without a care or second glance. Let other art forms be coherent.

The guitars are not soaring. They are gritty and sporadic, coming in and out. Not promising anything or leading anywhere. Simply being.

But with an attentive passion that fact is mesmerizing. These notes could be your life.

The music is as if it was always meant to be there. As if rock and roll was not created but found... found to be the heartbeat of the universe.

In other words, it's the Rolling Stones doing what they do, what they make seem easy, and what few others have achieved.

**What is that sound? From the telegraph: "In other words, it’s an unconventional set-up. This means that the bass player in the Stones must act as a kind of flexible glue, bonding these elements together.

In a band, the drummer and the bass player meld to provide a solid rhythm section, a foundation on which the rest of the band can lay their sound. Jones and Watts did this in the Stones but there was a catch: the jazz-loving Watts always used to play just behind the beat. And Richards has always played his guitar in a languid blues-influenced style that flits between rhythm and lead guitar and has always been characterised by loose phrasing."

For the first two mins most of these musical charms are hidden. If you listen carefully they are there, but not easy to detect.

The funky baseline, the slightly odd drumbeat, even Mick Jaggers *almost but not quite* a parody delivery are all buried by the insipid lyrics that are put front and center in a pop song that says too much and yet not enough.

Is this song just a long whine ?

A repeating riff. If I work at it I can find the interesting dynamic core, but why would I work at it?

To a casual listen it sounds innocuous and inoffensive. Like something cooked up in 10 minutes at a rock and roll guitar camp and then copy and pasted a few times using Garageband.

If it wasn't the Rolling Stones it wouldn't get a second listen.

*** Wild Horses is great, but listen to those words... it's not a love song I would want to play at my wedding.

The philosophy of You Can't Always Get What You Want is deep but full of strange asides and unsatisfying conclusions.

Gimmie Shelter is about how love and war are just a kiss away - which feels right but... What does that even mean. Etc...

#music

[adelha-mathilde]

Soaking In A Love Like Sunrise(Trigun) fic

I awoke in the arms of an angel. His scent surrounding me as we lay against the rocks for sunrise to bloom. My head nestled against his chest as he watched the sunrise with a smile on his face. I was laying in his prosthetic arm to be nestled gently against his front. His other hand resting on his chin for his elbow to be propped up by his knee. That beautiful face turned so he might watch the horizon without a care in the world. That heart in his chest drumming steady with peace at this tender moment. Which made this morning absolutely perfect.

The feeling of complete peace and safety wrapped around me like a warm blanket against the world. So I chose to stay unmoving and just soak in this moment to keep with me forever. That strong thumping against my ear a sublime background music as I listened and watched Vash without his knowing. Taking in how he was happy and relaxed and savoring this morning like a priceless treasure to his soul. My own treasure still drumming against my hearing as I basked in this perfect moment. Until a deeper want had me finally move.

Vash blinked to look down at me when I gave a heavy sigh of air. His smile growing warmer as he saw my eyes were on him. That chuckle rich and full to have the sound vibrate over his ribs along with his heartbeat. Words of pure love washing over his ribs and lips. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?" My chuckle escapes as I wrap my arms around his waist to press myself as close to his front as possible. Which forces Vash to shift so I'm laying on top of him as he lays down fully onto the warm rocks. My words given against his chest for me to blush with both warmth and desire. "Yes. I had the perfect sonnet to savor as I dreamed of us. Your heart makes beautiful music, love."

That heart beating against my ear gave a very noticeable skip before the pace resumed in a heightening confession of emotions. Vash squeaking to blush as his flesh hand wove his fingers into my hair at the back of my head. "Mayfly. Stop it, would you? Being so flirtatious and romantic right out the gate like that. I don't think my poor shy heart can take such a thing this early in the morning." My laugh is soft and rich with both love and amusement. My arms tightening around Vash for him to hug me just as close. My words melted and breathless as my own heart begin to race. "I'm just as weak to such if you were doing the flirting. Actually, I might be even more affected by my words that you." Vash paused to ask with a teasing tone, "Oh really?" I leaned my head to expose my neck more in offering. So Vash took my hint to place his fingers to my neck. His whistle soft as he grinned with that devious glint. "You weren't kidding. Makes me think we should start our morning with something extra special..."

My huff for air is heated as Vash moves us so he might capture my attentions with a slow kiss. Another soon making me squeak when his prosthetic hand tickled at the base of my spine. So I grinned to kiss Vash back with all my love and devotion I held for him. The two of us kissing and panting for air as the minutes ticked by. Until we were both gasping and blushing for Vash to ask me with heated begging, "We gonna spend our morning rolling around in the sleeping bag, love?" Which had me nod to shiver all over. "Please."

[lilyellowsongbird]

The White Stripes - Simplicity

I don't think I've ever been fascinated with an artist like I am with Jack White. Really, there's nothing I could say about him that hasn't already been said. Polyphonic has two great videos about Jack's work (Jack White's Obsession with the Number Three and In Defense of Meg White), so I would definitely go watch those before or after you read this. He has a certain type of charisma, this I-don't-give-a-damn-I'm-gonna-make-my-art-how-I-want-to attitude. He's been around in the industry long enough, he has his own label and record pressing factory, he certainly can do whatever he'd like, and he's good at what he does. He's willing to experiment with his sound and take great risks to achieve something new. I could talk about all of his work for quite some time, but this post is all about his greatest achievement: The White Stripes

Before I got a "real" job, I had to find a cheap and easy way to sustain my music habit without having to listen to an ad every other song. I would go to the library, check out a CD, rip it onto my computer, and put it on my phone. Janis Joplin, Green Day, MCR, Panic!, Florence + The Machine, and so many more. I went through my entire emo phase without it being documented in my Spotify stats. In February of 2019 (I remembered the month it was that important) I read a comment on a Green Day video suggesting the similarities between Dead Leaves and The Dirty Ground by the White Stripes and Brain Stew. I had to hear it and upon doing so, it sparked my interest. I started listening to the band on Spotify until my weekly library trip. I walked straight to the CDs, flipped through W, and grabbed every White Stripes album I could find (there's only seven, minus the live album, and still I got most of them). I ripped them onto my phone and never looked back.

As he has stated a million times, Jack's basis is in the blues. Jack took that rough, simple sound and brought it into the modern age. With his rowdy electric guitar and Meg White's simple, deep drumming, they blended blues and punk rock to create that iconic White Stripes sound. It is gritty and it is powerful. They understood the concept of simplicity and just how impactful it can be. Their first album only uses four instruments; they don't even use a bass guitar until their fifth studio album Get Behind Me Satan. Limitation is what makes the White Stripes what they are.

One of the most fascinating things about the band to me is the fact that they never used a setlist. They relied solely on silent communication, an almost psychic link to both the audience and each other. They could flow seamlessly from one song to another, not missing a single beat. Any flubbed chord could be revived. Any path could be followed. They felt the energy of the crowd and let it move through them, guiding their every heartbeat. As much as they relied on the crowd, they relied on each other. They could gesture or even lock eyes and know exactly which song they were playing next. They could move on without a second thought and still be on the same page. My favorite example can be found here.

Yes, Jack is incredibly talented. He's the epitome of rock and roll. However, we cannot overlook Meg. Meg is the heartbeat of the band, and what a heart she is. I don't care what any prog-rock-music-purist says, Meg is a brilliant drummer. It doesn't matter what you can do technically on your own, if you can't make something good with someone else, you, your work is useless. Meg's simple drumming style is just as essential to the White Stripes' edge as Jack's guitar. Her frequent use of the bass drum rings out like a beating heart. It's dirty, guttural, and most of all, it blends perfectly with Jack's guitar. Meg wasn't afraid to drum her way, and that is why she is so wonderful. She could follow Jack's lead with silent communication and make each song perfect.

The White Stripes officially dissolved in 2011. Meg's anxiety became too much for her to continue touring and Jack was already starting on other projects. They only produced seven studio albums over their nearly fifteen year run, but dear god, they're good. I'm a huge proponent of quality over quantity. I would rather savor a few good albums than have to suffer through the slow decline and wasting away of a band.

I remember those first few months where all I listened to was Jack White and The White Stripes with great fondness. Listening gave me confidence. I felt like me, it was one component of my lifeblood. Later that year I saw him live with his band The Raconteurs, another band I will make an individual post on one day. He still refused to use a setlist. Seeing him live, watching him communicate with his bandmates, and just rocking out, I've never felt like I did that night. I've seen several of my favorite artists live, ones that I love more than Jack, and still, none of them compare to that night in that old theater, watching him perform. As much as I adore him, I don't think I could ever meet him. Maybe I hold him to too high a standard, maybe I don't want him to know just how much of an impact he made on my life. He taught me that simplicity and limitations can give you more freedom than no rules at all. They get your mind working, leading you to produce art that is detailed and precise.

Maybe one day Meg will return to the stage, but if not, I won't be sad. They had a good run, they were true to themselves, and they left a lasting impact on this world in a way that many artists never will. That is all that matters in the end

My Favorite Tracks in No Particular Order:

Apple Blossom

Jolene - Live Under Blackpool Lights

There's No Home For You Here

The Air Near My Fingers

Fell In Love With A Girl

Honey, We Can't Afford To Look This Cheap

Jimmy The Exploder

Stop Breaking Down

St James Infirmary Blues

I Fought Piranhas

Well, It's True That We Love One Another

[loostssoul]

if you kissed me - Rodrick Heffley | 1.9k

Yeah yeah i know i haven't written since a million years ago. and yeah yeah i know this is my first real fanfiction i posted on tumblr. fair warning, i'm not the best writer, i honestly just do this for fun and i'm totally up to criticism because i do want to make my writing better. if this is literally inaccurate, im sorry its been like 5 years since i've read the books. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this fluff-fest that I created in the span of a few hours.

paring: rodrick x reader genre: fluff. lots of fluff

Credits to the maker of the picture! 15 Days till the Contest | 9:42 PM, Saturday

Plick, plick, plick

My speakers were blasting so loud I almost didn’t hear the sound of pebbles hitting my window.

Plick, plick, plick

I rubbed my eyes and slammed my laptop shut, walking toward my bedroom window. Peering down, I saw a figure a few yards down from my second-story bedroom, looking back up at me. Dark brown, messy hair that stuck up around his face. A red and black flannel, black ripped jeans, and, (of course) a tee-shirt with “Loded Diper” clumsily written on it. A grin spread on his face as he saw my face come into his view, causing me to blush. Rodrick Heffley, Crossland High bad boy, and my boyfriend.

I unlocked the latch to my window and stuck my head out, taking in the cool air and letting the neighbors enjoy the music I was playing (they never did). I looked down.

“Y/N!” He whisper-yelled

“Evening, Heffley.”

“I need to tell you something!”

“What’s so important that you have to scratch my window instead of using the power of modern technology to call me?”

His mouth opened to give me a response, but nothing came out. I smirked, “Come on up.”

I opened the window wider as he climbed the trellis that lined the back of my house. I backed up to my door and locked it. Precautions, my parents liked Rodrick but they definitely wouldn’t approve of him in my room at night. I looked back and I saw him, every feature of him illuminated by the light of my room. His cheeky smile and chocolate brown eyes. He slowly closed the window and walked toward me, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. I still got butterflies whenever he touched me.

“Hey, Spiderman. What did ya climb in here to tell me?” I asked

“I got Loded Diper into a contest.”

My eyes widened, Loded Diper, my boyfriend’s rock band, wasn’t exactly known for being the best. It was mostly known for his mom’s insane dance moves during the Plainview Talent Show. But of course, i'll never say that in front of his face.

“You did?! That’s awesome Rodrick!”

“Yeah! It's a battle of the bands contest, we’re going against two other bands. I really think this is gonna be our big break!” His eyes sparkled in excitement.

His happiness was contagious, he was like a goddamn puppy. I pulled him into my arms. “I’m proud of you Rod.” I muttered and smiled into his collarbone. I felt him inhale the scent of my hair and twirl my locks around his fingers.

“Hey,” he said, breaking the hug. “I’m having practice tomorrow with the band, you wanna come?”

“Sure. I go to every practice anyway, why miss out on this one?” I shrugged.

He chuckled and looked at me. Really looked at me. That’s one of the reasons why I fell for him. It never seemed like it, but he paid attention. We’ve only been dating for 4 months, but he knew me like no one else did, and I knew that in the way he looked at me. I felt his hand cup my face, his thumb rubbing my cheek in small circles. I looked up at him, noticing how tall he was, how close he was. Was I the one who leaned in? Was he the one who leaned in? Did we just do it subconsciously? Did he want this? Was he ready? Was I ready?

The ringing of Rodrick’s phone filled the room. The daze we were trapped in was gone and we separated, our faces red. Rodrick picked up the phone, it was his mom.

“Yeah, mom? Mom...I’m in the middle of something. I’ll do laundry later, ok? Now? C’mon… Alright, fine. Bye.” He hung up. “Sorry, I gotta blast.”

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked him as he started toward my window.

He looked back at me and planted a kiss on my forehead, the farthest we’ve ever gone with physical touch as a couple.

“Tomorrow”

~~✰✰✰~~

14 Days till the Contest | 1:22 PM, Saturday afternoon

“Should we take it from the top?”

Practice wasn’t going so well. I could feel the nervousness, the tension. Drums were slightly off beat, the guitarist’s fingers would fly to the wrong places on the fretboard, lyrics would go all over the place. The contest was two weeks away, and Loded Diper was already feeling the anxiousness. I sat on the floor of the garage, on top of a picnic blanket I found. To Rodrick’s dismay, his mom forced him to let Greg watch band practice, as a form of “brother-to-brother bonding time.” Greg sat next to me, mockingly covering his ears.

“Oh thank god, it's done.” Greg said with an immense amount of sarcasm and uncovering his ears.

Rodrick threw a crumpled-up piece of paper at his head, “Shut up.”

“Both of you, be nice.” I laughed. “I think you guys should take a break for a while, maybe shake off the nerves.”

“Good idea Y/N, 20 minute break everyone!” The lead singer said. Everyone spread out, grabbing a piece of pizza ordered earlier and laying down. Greg ran out of the garage, yelling, “I’m free!”

Rodrick stood up and began gulping down a bottle of water. He wore a black tanktop and black ripped jeans, sweat dripping down his forehead. I ran up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. He turned and faced me, running his hands through my hair, lost in thought.

“You ok, Rod?” I asked him.

He sighed, “nerves”

I leaned my head on his chest, “You’re gonna do great, you’ve done so many gigs in the past. Think of this as one of those!”

He smiled at me, “You know what would make me feel a lot less nervous?”

“Oh god. What?”

A really common thing Rodrick did was try to bargain a kiss on the lips from me. It's been an ongoing joke, a meaningless bit he did all the time. I’ll do my homework if you kissed me on the lips. I’ll smile in the picture if you kissed me on the lips. It still hasn’t worked.

“I might be less nervous if you kissed me on the lips.” He whispered to me.

I rolled my eyes, “If that’s what it takes then I think you’ll lose the competition.”

He let go of me and laughed, my favorite laugh. “Worth a try.” He shrugged, going off to join his bandmates and the pizza. But as I watched him smile and laugh with his friends, I lost myself. I thought about the previous night. The way we fit into each other, the closeness, the fact that was so close that I could see my reflection in his eyes.

Maybe I should just say yes.

~~✰✰✰~~

The Day of the Contest

For the past 2 weeks, Rodrick has given me the “kiss-bargain” joke 9 times. Every time, I deflected it with sarcastic remarks, and every time I regretted not agreeing.

I sat on the front steps of my porch, waiting for Rodrick to pick me up. I regretted the jean shorts and plain black tee-shirt I had on, as a cold breeze brushed my skin. I pulled my black leather jacket on, which I painted “Loded Diper” on the back in white paint. Then, I heard it. The echo of heavy metal turned to full blast, and… the faint sound of something big getting knocked over. Oh god, they’re here. The white van with “Loded Diper” written in huge words screeched to a halt in front of my house.

The window rolled down, revealing my boyfriend and his excited grin. “Get in.”

~~✰✰✰~~

30 minutes till Loded Diper preforms

It felt surreal to be backstage, and really exciting. Energy was flowing through the room, as all the other bands talked and played. The rest of the band members seemed excited, full of adrenaline. Except for Rodrick, he’s been nervous ever since soundcheck. His leg was bouncing,he twirled his drumsticks around, drumming them on random objects, and his eyes stared into nothing.

“Rodrick, you want me to do your eyeliner?”

“Huh?” He didn’t take his eyes away from the ground, his voice seemed far away.

I lifted a liquid eyeliner pen I had in my pocket, “Eyeliner. I just did mine, we can match!”

He lifted his head and noticed me. I had my eyeliner smudged, just like he always does during a gig. He grinned, “Yeah. Yeah sure.”

I’ve done his eyeliner many times in the past, and I loved doing it because I had to be as close to him as possible. So I hopped onto his lap, pressing myself close to him, trying to comfort him with my warmth.

“Close your eyes.” I ordered.

As I applied his eyeliner, I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. It was heavy, and fast. I’m pretty sure I would still hear it if I wasn’t as close to him as I was, even though the loud music blasting through the theatre.

“Done”

He opened his eyes, and butterflies flooded my stomach. We were close. Very close. Should I do it? Should I lean in?

Rodrick probably sensed my flustered-ness. He smirked, “Cat got your tongue?”

I rolled my eyes, blushing hard. “Shut up.” I said, playfully punching him.

~~✰✰✰~~

“5 Minutes until Loded Diper performs!” A man exclaimed to us.

Rodrick was as nervous as ever. We’ve been standing on the left wing of the stage, watching the other bands play. It felt like a bunch of Loded Diper copy-pastes. A bunch of high schoolers, weird names, very aggressive playing. But they were still pretty good. Rodrick was biting the nails of one of his hands and tapping his other hand on the wall behind him. I looked up at him and held his hand, stopping it from fidgeting. He smiled nervously.

Now or never Y/N…

“Hey, you said that if I kiss you, you won’t be as nervous. Right?”

He looked at me, wide eyed. He seemed to be trying to compute what I said.

I stood on tiptoe and put his face in my hands. It was that night all over again. Every detail of his face, of him was in full view. His eyes, his eyeliner, his scent, his lips. I leaned in.

His lips were soft against mine, but they were tense, flustered. I was terrified, It was the wrong place, the wrong time. Until I felt one hand in my hair, another on my waist, pulling me closer.

How long was the kiss? A few seconds? It felt like minutes, hours. Sparked ignited. Butterflies flew in my stomach. His scent was the only thing I smelled, his warmth was the only thing I felt. The music faded away. Everything faded away. It was just him and I. Until we broke apart, taking in deep breaths of each other. We wanted more, but Loded Diper was playing in a few seconds.

“Hey, Rodrick.”

“Yeah?”

“If you win I’ll kiss you again”

We both knew I would kiss him regardless.

I didn't edit this because editing is for wimps (just kidding be responsible and edit your work)

please like and reblog because it gives me serotonin and i need that

[nkhrchuwuya]

(im)patiently waiting

bungou stray dogs | mildly E | 663 words nakahara chuuya x reader / oc

chuuya with an s/o saving themself for until after marriage. except, because life is like that, you end up walking in on him trying to... relieve his needs.

“fuck, baby!”

the syllables of your name a decadent sound on his lips. your hand hovers over the doorknob of the slightly ajar bedroom door, your heart suddenly pumping at what feels like a thousand beats per minute.

you did not, apparently, come home at the best time.

when you’d first told chuuya you were saving yourself for until after marriage, his face faltered with the slightest dismay before settling to his usual understanding smile. you’d felt guilt about that ever since, plaguing the back of your mind, and now—

“god, shit!” chuuya slurs again, and to that you gasp loudly, cheeks all red.

you’re about to turn around and just hide in the living room when—

“wait—shit, baby?”

the crisper sound of chuuya’s voice only then alerts you that, in your shock, you’d actually pushed the door open a little more, letting you and your boyfriend make tentative eye contact from six feet away. you take in what he looks like; his dress shirt rumpled in places; his pants pooled by his feet; his damp, sweaty expression…

his pretty, rock-hard dick in his hand.

“sorry!” you yell, suddenly aware that you are, in fact, staring. “i’ll be—i’ll be in the living room!”

and with that, you dash back into the hall, slamming the door shut.

-

you hear his footsteps before he announces his presence. your heart is still a loud drum in your ears. the sofa sinks where chuuya sits next to you.

you scramble to fill the silence. “f-feeling better now?”

“stupid,” chuuya snorts. “why are you asking me that?”

then nothing, for a moment. you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, because it’s basically rocking your frame. you hadn’t meant to interrupt him—hadn’t meant to be so imposing, and you weren’t opposed to him doing what he wants, thinking of what he wants while he—even if he’s thinking of you, but—

“i’m sorry,” chuuya finally says. “i didn’t think you’d be home early. i didn’t— i don’t want you to be uncomfortable, i just—”

“i know,” you answer, turning to face chuuya finally, despite your nerves. his gray eyes are heavy with guilt. you vaguely wonder if yours look the same. “look… my situation doesn’t change the fact that you have, err, very normal, very human needs,” you say, blushing. “i’m… well, consider me flattered i’m at least in your thoughts.”

chuuya smirks. “oh really? can’t let that get to your head.”

you take a look at him carefully. he’s joking with you now, but you can still feel his unease. you reach out to place your hand on his, careful not to touch his thigh—because, well, everything feels so sensitive right now, the air zapping with electricity.

it’s the first time you’re touching him since … well, that, and it suddenly comes to you how warm and firm chuuya feels under your touch, ever there, ever reliable.

“hey,” you smile. “really, you don’t have to feel guilty.”

“it was inappropriate,” he says, the syllables of the last word rolling out slowly. guiltily.

“what, no!” you deny. “i’m the one who walked in on you, remember?”

chuuya looks up at you with wary eyes. “you don’t feel disrespected that i—”

“chuuya,” you smile. “i’m already making you wait. the fact that you respect that enough to just deal with it yourself—”

“like any good man ought to.”

“—is already everything to me,” you finish. “look, what about we talk about this over tea, yeah?”

he blinks. “talk about what?”

you squeeze his hand in yours. “us,” you say, cupping his cheek with your free hand. “set boundaries, clear up that… that guilt of yours—you know, mature relationship stuff?” you grin. “i love you, chuuya. and i want to keep you, so let’s talk, yeah?”

he turns his face ever so slightly to press a kiss on your palm, the smile finally back on his face. “you’re the best.”

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

with the power of tight socks and this electrolyte powder i will become what everyone fears (able to walk around without my heart rate being over 140)

[fific7]

Even His Name - Part 1

Sirius Black x OC

Summary: Friends forever? Maybe. Maybe not.

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, slight consent issues, 18+ please due to NSFW content including unprotected* sex. The age of consent in the UK is 16, sorry if that’s not in line with the laws in your own country/state.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

A/N: Looking at this photo, I can kinda see why Ben Barnes got fancast as Sirius Black. This story is non-canon and takes place in my imaginary HP AU with OC, Celeste (meaning celestial or heavenly).

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Sirius Black. Even his name was beautiful.

She watched his tall, lean figure approaching as she sat & relaxed against one of the shady trees beside the lake.

She drank in every last detail before he got too close, before her out-and-out staring was noticeable to him.

The lazily slouching but graceful walk, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

The pale, porcelain-like skin, the aristocratic cheekbones, the trendy light scruff of moustache with matching scruff along his jawline, the full sensuous lips, the famed long black wavy hair. And of course, those hypnotic grey eyes, ringed by long dark lashes. Those eyes could change like mercury, from silver to dark pewter within a heartbeat.

As he got got closer, her eyes almost totally closed, but she wasn’t dozing off, it was a ruse to disguise her intense staring. Her eyes continued to eat him up like he was a very large chocolate eclair.

It was Saturday, so no school uniform. Trademark bad-boy attire, then. Her heart sped up at the sight of the scuffed leather biker jacket, the Led Zeppelin t-shirt, distressed jeans & leather work boots. Not properly laced up... of course.

All in black, a living embodiment of his name.

She heaved a long sigh, letting it escape without thought, and her eyes closed fully.

She was aware of a shadow blocking the sunlight falling on her closed eyelids. The sound of somebody settling themselves down next to her, still partly casting a shadow onto her.

Her eyes opened a sliver, and her head rolled to the side towards him of its own accord.

“What’s the big sigh for, Celeste?” in his deep, slightly hoarse, breathy voice. The voice which sent a thousand female hearts beating like drums.

“Sirius.” She sighed again, her eyes opening slowly. “You’re blocking my sun.”

He grinned, chuckling. He gestured to his body with one hand, “This ... masterpiece... of a man joins you for a pleasant interlude by the lake, and all you can say is that I’m blocking your rays?!”

“Yeah.”

He chuckled again. “Ah c’mon, you know you love me.”

She rolled her head back to its original position. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“And maybe it’ll come true?” he smirked.

“When hell freezes over.”

He leant over, placing his head on her shoulder as he did so, puppy dog eyes in play, complete with pouted bottom lip.

“Now, you know that isn’t true. You’re desperate to get me into the sack.”

“But, Sirius,” she said innocently, “there wouldn’t be enough room in the bed for me, what with you and your massive ego already in it.”

His head shot back, his unmistakable & glorious barking laugh issuing forth & attracting the attention of every female within earshot.

“You’re hysterical,” he continued laughing, more quietly. “No, I’m Celeste,” she smirked, throwing her version of his favourite line back at him.

He groaned, “You’d use my own comeback against me? Really?”

“Every time,” she nodded.

He was grinning back at her, when she was suddenly aware of another shadow falling across her. She frowned involuntarily, looking up to see who it was. A tall Ravenclaw girl stood there, confidently smirking down at Sirius. She didn’t spare his current companion even a glance.

“Hi,” she smiled brightly at him. “Thought you’d maybe like to take a walk with me, Siri?” giving him a suggestive sideways look, all the while twirling a strand of her long brown hair round a finger.

Celeste rolled her eyes, smirking & tutting loudly. She muttered, “Pathetic,” under her breath & began to gather her books, getting ready to ‘exit stage left’.

Sirius looked over at her, smiling and laying his hand on her arm, stilling her movement.

He looked up at the other girl. “Sorry, love,” he said with a grin, “spending some one-on-one time with my best girl here.”

She still didn’t look at his ‘best girl’. “Well, why don’t I just join you here while you do that, and then we can go for a walk by ourselves afterwards?”

Sirius looked down, and Celeste knew what was coming next. He’d given her his polite brush-off, now here came the not-so-polite one.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m here with Celeste,” he said, voice harsh, glaring back up at her.

She stopped twirling that lock of hair, recoiling from his glare & tone. “Well, you know, I just thought...”

“You just thought wrong then, didn’t you! Now, run along dear, off you go.” Voice cold, eyes narrowed.

She turned on her heel and scuttled back to her little band of giggling friends. Something told Celeste that her friends wouldn’t be all that sympathetic. If there was one thing almost guaranteed to break up friendship groups, it was who did, or didn’t have, Sirius’ attention.

Celeste laughed, “Lordy, I don’t know how you put up with all that fangirling.... ‘Siri’.” she imitated the girl in a high-pitched tone. “They make me ashamed to be a woman. Don’t they have any self-respect?!”

Sirius laughed, “But Cel, they’re just rightfully worshipping ... this!” Again, one hand gesturing up & down the length of his body.

“What.. a skinny boy?” she questioned, looking him up & down, “Really? What’s the attraction then?” she laughed.

He’d sat up straight as she’d been speaking, faux offended. “Celeste! How could you? Firstly, I am a man, not a boy.”

“Sirius, you’re sixteen. You.. are.. a.. boy!”

“Nah, nah, nah! I.. am.. a.. man!” dramatically emulating her slow delivery before continuing, “And I’m nearly seventeen. Secondly, I am not skinny. I’m tall and athletic.”

“Skinny.”

“Athletic!”

She laughed. “You don’t even play Quidditch any more. So where do you get this ‘athleticism’ from? Running away from Filch and the prefects after a prank?!”

“Thank you for answering your own question!” he said, laughing back at her.

He again leant towards her, eyes boring into hers, changing to dark & stormy mode, lips so close that she felt the little huffs of his breath on her own lips as he spoke.

“Don’t fight it, Cel. Just give in and admit you want me! We’ll head to my dorm right now and spend the entire night together, having hot, sensual, sheet-tangling sex!”

She burst out laughing, turning away momentarily, eager to break the close proximity to him. “The gods love a trier, Sirius. Pity I don’t.” She looked back at him, “And no doubt one of your fangirls is already curled up under your quilt, just waiting on the god that is Sirius Black to arrive and rock her world!!”

“My bed is exclusively reserved for you.”

“OK... curled up in her bed then, waiting on Mr I Never Stay The Night to arrive.”

“You pierce my heart!”

“Sirius, you may be one of my closest friends, but I can honestly say that you, within just the last few weeks, have become a total man-whore. And a barely legal one at that.”

“Celeste!! Just bloody well admit you want me.”

“Can’t that huge ego of yours handle the fact that there’s at least one girl in this school who doesn’t drop her panties the second you look at her?!” her laughter pealed out over the surrounding area, catching the attention of and sparking the venomous jealousy of the Sirius Fangirls’ Club.

He also burst out laughing, inciting the Fangirls even more.

“Ah.... Cel, my ego is perpetually the size of a peanut whenever you’re around.” Innocence personified, wide grey eyes gazed at her. “It never gets the chance to grow any bigger.”

Then the trademark smirk appeared. “Unlike a certain other part of my anatomy.” One eyebrow quirked up at her, long fingers slinking down onto his jeans zip. She couldn’t stop her eyes following them. His lips slid upwards into a pleased grin.

“Urggghhh!” she groaned, closing her eyes briefly before starting to pack up her stuff. “On that note, I’m off!”

“Awww, don’t go! This was just about to get interesting. You almost agreed to give me a quick blowjob!”

She stood up, brushing grass off her denim cutoffs and slipping on her low wedge sandals. Sirius raked his eyes up and down her figure as she did so.

She leant back down to him, knowing full well that he was getting an eyeful down her tastefully low-cut frilly top. She had on a translucent lacy bra, and she heard his breath catch as soon as he spotted it.

Putting her lips right next to his ear, she said, “Firstly, I don’t give blowjobs to sixteen-year-old skinny boys.” She huffed out a breath onto his earlobe, “And secondly, even if I did, it would.. not.. just be a quickie, darling.”

She pulled back and stood up straight, looking down at Sirius. A deep pink blush was spreading up from his neck over the entirety of his handsome face, his mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide, a glazed look in them.

She grinned, starting to walk away, “Have fun with the fangirls, Sirius!”

He was still staring after her when the first wave of girlies washed over him, clamouring for his attention in various tried, tested and (to him, at that moment) very tedious ways.

They were all to be disappointed. Sirius swatted them off like they were so many irritating mosquitoes, stretching out & lying on his back with his hands crossed under his head, staring up into the blue of the early autumn sky, deep in thought.

»»————————————-——��-　⚜　———————————-————-««

She leisurely strolled back to the castle, sniggering to herself at how easy it had been to wind Sirius up into a tight spring.

Her smirk dropped somewhat though, when she contemplated the bigger picture. What a shitshow.

She was slap-bang in the middle of the biggest cliché the fates had ever created. Best friend really fancies best friend, but won’t admit it in case it either doesn’t work out and/or ruins the friendship. Yeah... that old chestnut.

Sighing, she made her way to the Gryffindor common room, spotting Lily and Mary on their favourite corner sofa. She plopped herself down next to them, instantly becoming enmeshed in the girlie gossip which was currently in progress.

However her mind drifted to the beginning of that school year, their sixth, when she and Sirius had met up again after the summer holidays on the Hogwarts Express. She’d been frankly amazed at the change in him after such a short time.

From awkward, gawky schoolboy to man-god in the space of a couple of months.

She learned from him that he’d run away from Grimmauld Place at the beginning of the holidays and was now living at the Potters’. She was very glad to hear that, knowing what he’d gone through at the hands of his parents. He certainly seemed to be thriving there, having apparently sprouted quite a bit over the summer.

Everything about him suddenly seemed long & slim. Long legs and arms, with big hands and big feet to match. Long slim fingers. Long slim feet & toes which she stared at, fascinated, every time she caught a glimpse of them.

She’d instantly known that their friendship would change in future. She’d never thought of Sirius as anything except a little schoolboy buddy, but over the summer he’d emerged from his post-pubescent chrysalis as a hot, sexy teenager with shoulder-length hair, designer stubble and attitude with a capital A.

He’d always attracted a fair bit of female attention over the years. He’d never really acted on it though, too caught up in Marauders mischief to care.

But holy hell...now? All the girlies were going to go batshit crazy over him.

He’d also - right there on the train no less! - boxed her into a corner and immediately started flirting up a storm, which had mildly terrified her. This was the guy who, only two months before, had been a kind of surrogate brother figure in her life for the previous 5 years.

Now he was making sexual innuendoes and inviting her into his bed every five minutes. She just couldn’t figure out his agenda.

As predicted, at the start of term, the Hogwarts female population - irrespective of year - quickly lined up behind Sirius and adoringly dogged his every footstep. As did a fair proportion of the male population, it has to be said.

Sirius quickly accepted his new-found godlike status & revelled in it. Flirting his way around school and through classes and meals. Getting caught in broom closets, empty classrooms and corridors, snogging for Britain.

It was only 4 weeks into the new term and she already found it all mildly disgusting. Hence she’d decided to knock the flirtatious idiot back down a peg or two every chance she got.

However, his flirting behaviour with her hadn’t dialled back at all, if anything it had increased, and this is what she was pondering on.

Her name was suddenly yelled right into her face. Lily was staring at her as if she was an alien.

“Uh, sorry - what?”

“We’ve been waiting on you to answer Mary’s question, for like, 15 minutes.”

“Oh shut up! I just zoned out for a minute or two.”

Mary sniggered, “And no prizes for guessing who the subject matter of said zoning out was!!”

She sighed. “OK, OK, alright - yes - it was Sirius.”

Scoffing noises from her friends.

“Look - I just can’t get my head round the way he’s still behaving towards me. Flirting & shit.”

She shook her head, and continued, “This was my annoying little ‘school brother’ 3 months ago! So he’s either had a brain meltdown and actually fancies me, or else he’s practicing all that crap on me to then use on his fan girls! And let’s be honest, one reason’s as bad as the other!”

They both exchanged significant looks, grinning at each other.

She huffed, “What’s wrong now?! I’ve just told you what’s on my mind!”

“Can you, hand on heart, swear you don’t fancy the pants off Sirius?” asked Lily.

“Look, I can see why girls find him attractive, yeah. But you’re forgetting that for five years, he was...”

“Yeah, yeah,” interrupted Mary, rolling her eyes, “..your surrogate little brother.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@omgrachwrites

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

[bloobeary]

Steve comes home to Bucky starfished right in the middle of their bed.

Sometime between when Steve left for the compound and now, Bucky must’ve gotten home. He’s showered if the lingering smell of shampoo and the towel half in the hamper is any indication. It's hot as hell outside, and even though they have the AC cranked all the way up, they can still feel it.

It makes sense then, that the covers are all pooled on the floor at the foot of the bed. Steve smiles and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He’s known Bucky since he could walk, and seeing him still makes him feel giddy--that should be embarassing, but he really can’t find it in him to care. It's reciprocated, he knows, Bucky only tells him about a thousand times a day.

Steve wants to get into the bed and lay on top of him like a lizard on a hot rock. Bucky will let him, even if it means they get sweaty from being pressed together in the dead of summer. Its just sometimes Steve misses him so bad its like he never came back, it makes him want to crawl under Bucky's skin because close ain't close enough.

“What’re you staring at?” Bucky mumbles, not turning over from where he’s face down on the bed.

Steve smiles and runs a hand through his hair before unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. “You.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh, and stretches a little. Steve watches as all of his muscles bunch, and then relax. “Sap.”

“I happen to like you, a little.” Steve says to his defense, and Bucky props himself up on his elbows so he can turn and look at him. Steve’s well aware that he’s looking at Bucky like the sun shines out of his ass, but it makes Bucky grin, at least.

“How'd I get so lucky, huh?” Bucky says, and Steve rolls his eyes. “Get over here.” He asks, and Steve walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. He puts a hand in Bucky’s hair and dips down to kiss him. “Mm. How was uh--” Bucky starts, but Steve just kisses him again, not really up to talk about his five thousand meetings.

“Okay.” Bucky laughs and rolls over onto his back, grabbing the front of Steve’s shirt to pull him down too. He sits across his lap, feeling ridiculously overdressed in his button up and slacks compared to Bucky’s boxer brief and one sock ensemble.

“You get beat up too bad?” Steve asks, putting his hands on Bucky’s bare chest, fingers spread out, thumbs touching with room to spare.

Bucky laughs, and rubs his hands warm on Steve’s thighs, the metal cool even in the heat. “Nah."

“Hm.” Steve says, and he has a feeling that he’s being lied to. “Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over.” Steve repeats, and drums his fingers on Bucky’s collarbones.

“Why?” Bucky asks, a little suspicious, a little intrigued.

Steve smiles and shrugs. “I wanna give you a massage.”

Bucky blinks, and then taps Steve’s knee. He sits up, giving Bucky enough room to flip onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. “Why?” He asks again.

“What's with the third degree, Barnes? I can't just want to do something nice for you? Huh?” Steve says, exasperated and a little amused, and leans down to kiss Bucky’s shoulder. He spies a yellowing bruise there, and frowns at it before reaching into the nightstand to find some lotion. Bucky laughs a little. “I said earlier,” Steve starts, warming up his hands. “I like you.”

“Christ,” Bucky laughs. “Fine. Take off your shirt, though.”

It’s Steve’s turn to laugh. He raises an eyebrow but starts to unbutton it anyways.

He doesn’t ask why, but Bucky answers it for him. “If I have to sit through a massage, you should at least have your tits out.”

“Jesus,” Steve feels himself blush. He tosses his shirt off the side of the bed. “If you have to. Yeah, real favor you’re doing me, buddy.” He says, and Bucky just props himself up a little to give Steve a wolfish smile like he's about to say something smart. Steve leans forward and smacks a kiss on him to shut him up before sitting up again. “You ready?”

“You have the all clear, Captain.” Bucky says, and Steve smiles at him as he settles down again.

Bucky’s quiet the whole time Steve works up through his shoulders and upper back, even when he presses down hard enough to feel the lactic acid pop under his thumbs. His breathing is constant and calm as Steve carefully works through the scar tissue on his left side. Maybe he should put on some music; his thoughts might run away from him in the silence, and he's not feeling up to rage-crying about all the bullshit they've had to go through just to get here, today.

Bucky breaks the silence before Steve can even reach for his phone, though.

"Hey," Bucky says, and Steve hums. "You remember..." He starts, and takes a deep breath. Steve doesn't say anything while Bucky finds his words; this could go anywhere really. "'Member when you got pneumonia--"

Steve laughs. "Which time?"

"S'it matter?" Bucky mumbles, and Steve shrugs, guess not. "We got that menthol stuff from the older couple that lived a few floors up, remember?"

Steve thinks about it while he rubs circles into Bucky's triceps. He doesn't remember much, truthfully, about the specifics. Probably because he was busy hacking up a whole lung and trying not to die. What he does remember though is sitting just like this, except backwards, how Bucky sat next to instead of on top of him and rubbed the sticky ointment all over Steve's back. It helped, either the menthol or Bucky's warm hands all over him, he's not sure which, but it helped.

"Yeah, Buck." Steve says, finally. He smiles when he remembers something else, too. "You got it in your eyes."

"Did I?" Bucky asks, and Steve nods even though Bucky can't see him. Bucky breathes in deep again. "The things you do for love," He mumbles, and Steve just smiles at the back of his head.

He rubs down sides and the broad flat of his lats; Steve re-lotions and sets his hands right above the dimples of his back. He puts his weight into it as he pushes his thumbs up the ridge of spinal erectors, and Bucky gasps.

“Buck?” Steve asks, lifting his hands, a little worried he poked at an invisible bruise.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Bucky says, labored. Steve puts his hands up higher, scared.

“That hurt?”

“No. Yeah. Jesus, do it again.” Bucky says, and honest to God squirms. Steve’s eyebrows go up. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Bucky like this. “Feels good, baby. Keep going.”

“Not beat up too bad my ass,” Steve says, and Bucky just kicks him with his heel softly. Steve laughs and can’t help but lean in to give Bucky a kiss on the cheek before getting back to it.

They’re both sweating by the time Steve’s through but Bucky’s so relaxed he can barely keep his eyes open. Steve tries, and fails, not to feel too smug about that.

“Stop.” Bucky says, flipping onto his back and waving his hand at Steve. “Quit makin that face.”

“I ain’t got a face.” Steve says, but he laughs anyways. “I was right, say it.”

“Nah,” Bucky opens his eyes and they focus on where Steve’s standing, hands on his hips. Bucky eyes him appreciatively and then sighs again. “Get over here,” He says for the second time. “Take your trousers off.”

Steve makes a fond face at the choice of word but undoes his belt anyways. “I do all the work ‘round here.” He steps out of his pants. “You should compensate me for my services.” He says, and Bucky laughs at him, tipping his head back against the headboard. Christ, Steve hasn’t seen him this relaxed in ages. Why the hell don’t they do this more often?

“I will,” Bucky says, a promise, and then makes a grabby hand at Steve. “But if that’s not what you meant, my wallet’s in the closet.”

Steve’s briefs hit him square in the chest, too loose to care to catch them. “Shut the hell up, Barnes.”

[calebdumes]

for @pretchatta who wanted kanera in evening wear and romantic tension. i hope i lived up to your wishes!

fandom: star wars rebels

relationship: kanan jarrus/hera syndulla

rating: n/r

word count: 2.6k

~

When it came to opulence and beauty, the estate of Count Jafan Harik had it in droves. From the marbled walls etched with gold and lined with expensive art, to the exotic foods served on guilded trays, every inch of the mansion displayed the man’s abundant wealth and taste for the grandeur. But even surrounded by priceless artifacts and glittering gems, Kanan couldn’t take his eyes off of Hera. 

Her gown was simple, compared to some of the other dresses Kanan had seen that evening, just a form fitting bodice that left her shoulders and arms bare, showing off the graceful white markings that traveled down to her wrists. The skirt hung off her slender waist like water, long flowing layers of gauzy fabric that had been dyed varying shades of dark blue and purple. The tiny crystals that had been woven into the folds caught on the light when she moved, giving off the impression of a shimmering night sky. 

Kanan had nearly tripped over his own two feet when he first saw her emerge from her cabin, dressed and ready for the mission - his mind going completely and utterly blank. Hera was beautiful no matter what she wore, but dressed in that gown, the deep color of the dress against her green skin, the gems in her headdress glittering as brightly as her eyes, Kanan felt the breath punch from his lungs and heat pool in his belly. 

She was stunning, like a dignitary from Ryloth, all the sophistication and grace of royalty surrounding her as if it had been there her whole life. It left Kanan mesmerized. He wanted to reach out and touch, to trace the white markings on her shoulders, to feel her lips against his own. She was the most beautiful being in the galaxy.

And Kanan wanted her. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Hera asked out of the corner of her mouth before taking a sip of her bright red cocktail. 

Kanan mentally shook himself and forced his eyes to do a sweep of the ballroom. It wasn’t the first time he had been distracted by Hera tonight and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

“No sign of him yet.” His eyes caught on the two ISB officers standing stiffly by their stormtrooper escorts, somehow managing to look completely out of place even in their regal dress uniforms. Kanan’s lip curled at the sight of them but didn’t let his gaze linger. For once, the Imperials weren’t the target of tonight’s mission. 

Hera frowned, setting her glass down gently on the silk covered table they were standing at. “I don’t like this.” she said, scanning the small gathering of beings had gathered on the polished dance floor. “He should be here by now.”

“Relax.” Kanan said, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder, her skin warm under his fingertips. It sent a thrill of electricity racing up his arm, his heartbeat doubling in pace. “It’s still early. And from what I hear, he likes to make a grand entrance.”

Hera didn’t look convinced but a light blush had begun to form on the tops of her cheeks. Kanan looked down and his hand and quickly withdrew it from her shoulder. 

Things with Hera were...complicated to put it simply. He was in love with her, that he could at least say with one hundred percent certainty. Kanan had loved her from the moment they met in the mud covered streets of Shaketown and he hadn’t stopped falling for her since. Hera had more charm and charisma in her little finger than most sentient beings in the galaxy possessed. She was headstrong to a fault, impulsive (even if she said otherwise), and cared so much that she was willing to risk everything if it meant that people could live free. Hera was good and smart and funny and Kanan was helplessly gone for her.

But he never did anything about it. Because she was his partner and his friend and they had built a relationship based on trust and respect. If she wasn’t ready or didn’t want anything more than friendship from him, then Kanan wasn’t going to push it. He valued their friendship too much to ruin it over unrequited feelings. 

Except there was something, more than just friendship between them. He could feel it in the quiet spaces after a mission, in the lingering glances and easy touches that came on so naturally. There was something there, Kanan just didn’t know what to do about it. Not without Hera making the first move. 

“I guess it’s too much to ask that the Count would show up to his own party on time.” Hera said, taking another sip of her drink. 

“Eh, you know these rich types,” Kanan shrugged. “They think the galaxy revolves around them.” 

“Sounds like you know from experience.” Hera drummed her fingers on the table. Kanan’s eyes fell to the white markings on her wrist that snaked their way up her arms to her shoulders. They were the same markings that decorated her lekku, gentle sloping white arches that formed a graceful design that put most artwork housed in the Count’s estate to shame. 

But then again, Kanan was a little bit biased. When it came to Hera, she beat out just about everything. 

“You meet one, you meet them all.”

“Is that so?”

Kanan rested his elbows on the table. “That’s been my experience.”

Hera hummed thoughtfully at his response before saying, “You know, I’m surprised you decided to help out on this mission. I know you still aren’t fully on board with my...cause.”

“I make excellent arm candy.” Kanan winked, his heart flipping as her jade green eyes trailed up his body. “Besides, we can help a lot of people with the information that’s on that list.”

There was pride shining in her eyes as she looked up at him, the light catching on the many gems that made up the silver headdress that sat on her head and twisted down her lekku. Kanan tried to ignore how his stomach flipped at her expression. “We can’t help anyone if the Count doesn’t show.”

“Give it time, he’ll be here.” He could tell she was growing impatient, the tips of her lekku flicking sharply in odd intervals. Naboo wasn’t the safest place for rebels and he sensed that Hera would rather get off this rock sooner rather than later. Kanan glanced over to the bodies swaying on the dancefloor as an idea struck him. “Come dance with me.” he said. 

Hera blinked at him in surprise. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is.” he smiled. “It’ll give you a better view of the room.” he pointed out. And it would hopefully help her relax until the Count decided to grace the party goers with his presence and they could get this show on the road. 

Hera continued to look at him doubtfully but made no move to stop him from leading her onto the dance floor. “Fine.” she said as Kanan settled one hand over her hip, the fabric of her skirt soft against his palm. “But just for one song.”

Kanan smiled at her. “Sounds like a deal.”

They swayed in an unhurried motion on the outer fringes of the dancefloor, keeping the entrance to the ballroom within their sights at all times. The music was light and heavy on the stringed instruments, a gentle melody that reminded Kanan of the many waterfalls of Naboo’s capital city. As they danced, Kanan watched as the tight line of tension slowly dripped from Hera’s shoulders. 

“Have you ever gone to parties like this before?” Hera asked as they swayed together.

“You do remember where you met me right?” He arched a brow in response. 

Hera rolled her eyes but there was a smile growing on her lips. “Don’t pull that with me. I know Gorse was just another one of your many adventures traveling through the galaxy. You could have gone to something like this before.”

Kanan smirked at her. It was true, Gorse was just another stop along his way but even as a youngling at the Temple, he had never been to something as extravagant as this. “I’ve been around but all this,” he waved a hand at the ornate room, “is too rich for my blood. What about you?”

“Once.” She nodded. “When I was really little, before the Clone Wars. I don’t remember much about it but I remember how beautiful my mother looked in her dress. I remember thinking that I wanted to be just like her someday.”

“What was she like? Your mother?”

Hera smiled at him, her eyes going distant for a moment. “She was kind. Always willing to lend a hand to those in need. And brave.”

“Well,” Kanan said softly. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve accomplished that.”

Color bloomed over Hera’s cheeks. “You’re just saying that to be nice.” she mumbled. 

“Hera.” he said ducking down to capture her gaze. “When have I ever said anything just to be nice?”

“Do you want that list alphabetically or by date?”

“I’m being serious.” He said, pulling her closer to him. “Look around this room. Not a single soul here gives a kriff about the state of the galaxy. They wouldn’t lift a finger to help. But you, you’re doing something about it. You don’t think your mother would have done the same?”

The blush on Hera’s cheeks grew deeper, her chest rising and falling in light breaths. Kanan could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. There was a look gleaming deep in her green eyes, bright and burning. It pulled him in, setting his soul on fire while the world around them melted away until all that was left was just Hera.

He loved her. He loved her more than anything, more than the air in his lungs or heart in his chest. He loved her. And he knew, in that moment, surrounded by all the riches the galaxy could afford, he would never love anyone as much as he loved her.

“Kanan,” Hera said, her breath ghosting over his lips. She was so close now, her body a long line of heat against his. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly bone dry. He could barely hear the music over the rush of blood in his ears. She licked her lips, her fingers tightening against his hip. “Kanan I-”

But before Hera could finish speaking the music suddenly cut off as the doors to the ballroom were thrown open and the Count made his grand entrance. The people clapped as a tall man with raven hair and white silk robes strode into the room, his dark eyes drinking in the adoration from the crowd. Hera took a step back. Kanan tried not to frown. 

Count Jafan was oddly enough, not escorted by any type of private security. He didn’t seem to mind as people milled up to him, shaking his hand and tittering on about the party. Kanan watched as the thin man smiled and carried on as if the party goers were his adoring subjects. In many ways they were. Just about everyone here at the party wanted something from the Count, themselves included. But while most tried to wine and dine the man to get what they wanted, Kanan and Hera had a...different plan. 

“Just say when.” Kanan said as they walked back to their table, leaving the dance floor behind. “I’ll follow your lead.” 

Hera flagged down a protocol droid and took another bright red drink off of the serving tray. “Wait until he gets closer, then we’ll make our move. But we need to intercept him before our ISB friends over there come to collect.”

Kanan eyed the Imperial officers that were now watching the Count with sharp eyes as he fawned with his guests. They were after the same thing he and Hera had come for, only they had paid the good Count a reasonable fee. Kanan and Hera didn’t see the need for money to exchange hands for this type of transaction. A small distraction and deft fingers would do the trick just fine. 

 “You know,” Kanan said while they waited for their moment to arrive, “I have to give the Count some credit, making the Imperials come to him for the information. It’s a gutsy move. They must want that data chip pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” Hera laughed without humor. “Too bad the Count is on their side. We could use someone with his connections.”

Kanan gave the man a once over as he drew near. Other than the fine clothes he was dressed in, there wasn’t much to the man. His dark hair was slicked back and there was a perpetual smirk on his face that made Kanan want to punch it off. “His money, we could use. The Count himself? I think we’d get more help from a blurrg.”

That time, Hera’s laugh was genuine. “Alright.” she said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s go meet our host.”

Kanan wrapped his arm around Hera’s, mindful of the drink still in her hand as they moved towards the Count. The music had returned, the dance floor filling out now that the Count had finally made his appearance. Kanan and Hera walked arm in arm around the edge of the ball room, past the gilded tables laden down with rich foods and groups of beings reflecting on the numerous painting that lined the wall. They moved at a leisurely pace that put them on track to walk right past their host.

Just as they were about to pass the man, Hera tripped over the hem of her dress, her drink crashed to the floor as she landed in the unsuspecting Count’s arms. Kanan reached from her, pulling her back on to her feet and away from the startled Count.

“Count Herik!” Hera said in a thick Rylothian accent as she adjusted her headdress. “I-I am so sorry!” 

The Count’s deep brown eyes landed on Hera, a slimy grin spreading across his face. He took her now empty hand in his own and brought it to his lips.

“It was merely an accident, my lady.” he said. “Enjoying the party I hope?” 

“Oh yes!” Hera said breathlessly, still trying to regain her composure from the slip. “You have a lovely home Count.”

“I certainly hope so.” Count Herik chuckled. “I spent a fortune on it!” The crowd around them laughed at his joke and Kanan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Our apologies for the mess.” Kanan cut in. “But my wife, she isn’t feeling very well. We were about to leave.” 

Count Herik flicked a disinterest glance at Kanan before turning his attention back to Hera. “I hope you get a chance to view the gardens before you leave my dear, I had some Rylothian vine flowers imported in just a few rotations ago. They seem to be taking to Naboo quite well.”

Kanan bit down on the inside of this cheek. “Perhaps on our way out.” Hera smiled at him, leaning heavily into Kanan. “Thank you again for such a wonderful evening.”

“Of course.” Count Herik nodded to her before stepping away. Kanan led Hera out of the ball room and into the hallway that would take them to the entrance. As soon as they were outside, Hera straightened and lifted a small data chip up between her fingers. 

“The Count should really learn to protect his valuables.” she said with a smirk. 

“Nice job Captain Hera.” Kanan said, taking the chip from her fingers and slipping it into the pocket of his pants. “Now let's get out of here before he realizes it’s gone.”

“He won’t know it’s gone until it’s too late.”

“You have a lot of practice in picking pockets?” He asked as he flagged down a hover taxi. 

“More than you I bet.”

Kanan laughed. “Honestly, you’re probably right.” He held open the door for her as she climbed into the taxi, gathering her skirts around her delicately. They didn’t speak on the trip back to the space port, the glowing lights of Theed passing by out the window. At some point, Hera’s head fell onto his shoulder, her eyes closed. The metal of her headdress pressed uncomfortably against the bone but he didn’t mind. He let her rest until the spaceport came into view and the taxi slowed. 

He helped her out of the cab and paid the driver before turning back to see Hera standing under the dim light of the street lamp looking tired but accomplished. A soft smile broke out on his face as he walked up to her. 

“What?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Nothin’.” He replied walking with her towards the Ghost.

“Hey Kanan.” She said, pausing. “What I was going to say earlier…”

“Don’t worry about it Hera.” Kanan cut her off, not willing to break the pleasant mood that had fallen between them. He didn’t know what she wanted to tell him before, back on the dancefloor but he had a sinking suspicion that he wouldn’t like it. He rather be left wondering than have to confront the truth. 

“No, I want to say it.” she grabbed on to his wrist, holding it tightly. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now.”

Kanan’s breath froze in his chest. “What is it?”

Hera bit her lip, her eyes searching his face as if it held the answer. Instead of saying anything, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. Kanan blinked at her in surprise as she pulled away, his mind going blank for the second time that day. 

“I like you.” she said, still holding on to his wrist. “I know I said that my mission comes first and I stand by that but I can’t help the way I feel about you and I think you might feel the same way too.”

She was looking at him with a worried look on her face but Kanan couldn’t quite get past her words. She liked him. She had feelings for him. She was ready for them to be something more. 

“Kanan could you please say something? You’re kind of freaking me out.”

Without thinking, Kanan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She melted into him, her hands cupping the sides of his face as he spun them around in the air. They broke apart, breathless and smiling. 

“I like you too,” he said. “If that wasn’t clear.” 

Hera nipped at the side of his mouth. “I think you might need to explain it to me again.” 

“Hera.” he said in between kisses. “I’ll explain it to you as much as you like.”

She rested her forehead against his. “I love you.” She whispered. 

Kanan held her close, his whole world resting in his arms. “I love you too.”

[my-socialdiary]

Cold yet Warm

*drum roll*

another Childe x Lumine fanfiction! i don’t know why but i LOVE this ship so much XD this time, i tried not to write angst even though i’m tempted to write more angst lmao 

my other fanfiction (you can find them on my AO3 account: LoxieAshtyn)

Behind His Mask

Deep Water

anyway, here it is!

Summary: Childe and Lumine decided to camp somewhere near Mondstadt because it’s getting dark and cold. 

It was freezing outside. It’s a snowy season here in the entire Teyvat. The snow is falling down, covering that once green grass with white blanket, giving the sense of dullness but still there’s a beauty in it. Especially when it’s dark and night, you can see a bunch of small lamp grass which emits enough light at night in the wild, when the windwheel aster is no longer blooming for a few months. It’s nice to see life and color in the middle of the monotonous time of the year. 

“It will be nice to have Amber or Klee to lit up this damn fire rather than me doing this,” The blonde-haired girl was mumbling annoyingly to the tree branch she gathered earlier. The air is frozen lace in her skin, slowly numbing her movement. “We will already be  frozen and die when finally this fire light.” She rolled her eyes while roughly rubbing tree branches against rocks with exasperation. 

“Paimon thinks you're doing it the wrong way, Lumine,” her travel companion in the form of a little fairy with a pair of translucent wings hovering near her. “Why don’t we asked Childe to help us? We can even switch tasks with him!” Paimon pointed at that deep blue eyes man who now is cutting fowl meat and mushroom so that they can have chicken-skewer feast. 

Childe, who is noticed that he’s being mentioned by Paimon, turns his head and looks at Lumine’s direction. “Need any help with that?” he said while pointing at the poor tree branches that have been broken several times with his chin and letting out small chuckles. “I pity those branches.” He puts his knife and walks toward Lumine and takes the branches from her hand. “Here, let me do it. We can switch.” She huffed and walked past him. 

Coldness is now wrapping their body even more. It’s even worse for Childe because he’s a hydro user. Lumine’s wondering if she’s almost feeling numb and her scarves didn’t do its job properly, how about Childe? She glances at him just to see that steam coming out from his mouth every time he breathes. But luckily, the fire is now lit up and he tries to make it even bigger by giving more branches. Heh. He seems fine. She shrugged and continued her task.  

“Wow! You are waaay more better than Lumine, Childe!” Paimon spins around in the air and claps her tiny hands. Lumine rolled her eyes. “Now we can eat! Paimon is already feeling hungry.” She said with trembling made up voices along with Lumine who is now walking to them with raw chicken-mushroom skewers ready to grilled. “Yay! Food!” 

Few moments later, they are all already fed, satisfied, and full. Even Paimon was already sleeping because she ate too many. Her tiny stomach can hold so many foods. Meanwhile, Childe is chilling outside his tent in front of the bonfire, enjoying the weather and warmness that tickles his body while his index finger is now poking the snow in the ground. 

“Are you not cold?” Ask Lumine. She has been finished putting Paimon to her own tent and found Childe sitting outside. She hands over a piece of a thick blanket to him.

Childe smiles and takes the blanket. “Not really, the bonfire I made is doing its job properly,” He teased her when emphasizing the words ‘I made’ and let out a small laugh. In response, Lumine nudged him with her elbow and narrowed her eyes. 

“Well, I admit you’re good at this, okay.” She said. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

The gentle breeze brushed off their skin, the fire crackling from the roaring blaze as dying branches and twigs gasped for their last breaths before totally consumed by its heat. None of them speaks. Their gaze is focused on the dancing fire, and seems to entertain them in the midst of Whisper Forest. If it’s not because of the quest they need to complete, they won’t be camping outside in this weather. 

Lumine watches the fire as her mind slowly wanders off to the time when he still has his twin brother, Aether, on her side. They’ve been together since forever and now, she gotta admit that sometimes she’s afraid because of his absence. She breathes a sigh. 

That catches Childe’s ear. “Why are you sighing? Is something bothering you?” He asks. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m just thinking about Aether and his whereabouts.” She forced a smile. 

“You miss him?”

“Of course, you silly.” She squints.

“I miss my siblings too,” He looks at Lumine. 

“I’d like to meet them someday,” She already heard so many things about Childe’s trio siblings. “Do you think they’ll like me?” She looks back at Childe just to see directly to his face and the deep dark blue eyes he has. What a beauty. This is not fair. How can he be so charming like this? Her cheeks started to blushed.

“Tonia is a little bit shy, but I’m sure Anthony and Teucer will like you,” He said. “They probably will enjoy Paimon’s companion too.” 

“Y-yeah,” She looks away. Her heart is beating fast. 

“What is Aether like? You rarely speak about him since we met,” He is now placing his face in his palm while that strong, muscular arm… no. Is supporting his upper body weight. He leaned forward to see Lumine’s face and didn’t take his eyes off from her. “Did you two have a super-similar personality, or…?”

Don’t look at me like that! She screamed inside. “U-uh, we resemble each other, I-I think.” 

“It must be fun to have twin siblings,” He一finally一turns his face and watches the fire again. Lumine breathes a sigh of relief. “To know and to be known deeply. No wonder that you missed him so much.” He smiles. 

“Yeah… it’s hard because I have been with him all my life. And now we’re parting ways, it’s…” she’s trying to find the right word. “Terrifying.”

Yes. It’s terrifying. The feeling of not knowing anything about the one who’s being the only support system you have is terrifying. She doesn't know where he is. She doesn't know what he is up to. She doesn't know if he’s in danger or not or if he needs her help. Importantly, she doesn’t know if he’s still alive or not after being taken by the Unknown God. Thinking about that makes her shiver in fear. No… Aether will be still alive, right? She tries to assure herself. 

Just at that moment, she feels Childe’s arm wrapping her shoulder, pulling her closer to his body. Giving her a sense of comfort and safety. It’s warm… and nice. She knows that nothing has happened between her and Childe yet. And she also knows that at this moment she’s been carried away by her emotions yet she didn’t care. And it makes her head leisurely lean to his chest, hearing his heartbeat. It’s calming, she must admit. He stroked her upper arm with his palm. 

“I’m sure he’s fine. You have to believe in him, you know?” He looked down, whispering those words. She can feel his breath tickling her ears, making her stomach flutter with those stupid butterflies. “The only thing you should do right now is keeping yourself safe. Don’t jump into a group of treasure hoarders by yourself.” 

“I’m not that weak, you know,” She murmured. His warmth makes her a little bit sleepy. He tightened his embrace and that made her smile while closing her eyes, enjoying every bit of him. “Do you enjoy making me stay like this?” She teased him, trying to sound like she’s annoyed. 

“Do I?” He asks her back with a chuckle. 

“Seems like you do, Childe.” 

“I guess so. Do you mind?” Childe felt that she was smiling in his arms. And that makes him smile too. “No need to answer that. I know.”

“You know?” She pulled herself and raised her eyebrow.

“Of course. You would kill to be at my arms like this.” 

She pretends to think. “Well, I guess you’re right.” She grinned. 

There’s a pause for a few minutes when finally Childe opened his mouth while pulling himself from her “I will stay with you, as long as you want me to stay,” he said it with determination. “As long as you have not yet found your brother, I will stay. With you.” 

Lumine looks at him. His eyes showed the kind of gentle concern and sincerity her brother used to have. Childe put his hand on Lumine’s cheek, his soft voice made her feel his words calming her more than the actual words. It felt as if she were wrapped in a blanket of his thoughtful words. “Thank you,” She whispered while her eyes glimmered with watery tears. It was a happy cry. “Thank you, Childe. I mean it.”

He smiled and nodded. “I just want you to know that I care about you. I truly do, Lumine.” 

She leans forward and gives him a kiss on his cheek. “I know.” After that she stood up and walked back to her tent. “You’d better go sleep now, Childe. Go to your tent.” 

“How about you go to my tent?” He stood up and held her wrist, preventing her from walking away. “You know, it’s cold, and I’m a hydro user. I could use some warmth.” 

Lumine smiles. “Just to remind you, I’m an anemo user, not a pyro user, Childe.” 

“Well, your specialty is spreading out the effects of other elements, so…” he walks to lessen the gap between them. “I’m sure you can spread out the warmth from the fire to me as well.” 

“I never try that.”

“Now you can try.” 

Heat rose from Lumine’s stomach to her chest and soon enough arrived in both of her cheeks. Childe’s lips were getting closer till his smell hypnotized her beyond reasons. The feel of his frame leaning on hers as his arms wrapped around her felt comforting. She’s not sure who is exactly giving the warmth. Their lips met, transferring the sense of comfort they never felt before. 

He pulled his lips and looked at Lumine. Her cheeks flushed with bright pink. “I will protect you no matter what, Lumine,” When he said her name, she shivered. His voice lingered over the words as it sounded pleasant to her. He pulled her over a hug and placed his head above Lumine’s head. “I never thought that this kiss would happen so soon.” He smiles and chuckles. 

“So you anticipate and really think that we will kiss?” She teased him. 

“Of course.” He said, with a slight confidence in his voice. 

“Why?” pulled herself from the Childe’s arms and looked straight to his eye. 

“Because I really want to cross the boundaries.”

“What?”

“By saying this,” He exhale and locked his eyes with her. “I love you.” 

“Childe…”

“Sometime in the future, I want to cross those boundaries, I want to do many things with you,” He said. “That’s why I need to make sure that you know I love you. So that you will be assured with every action or words I do.”

She smiles. “I love you.”

That cold weather isn’t that bad, after all. 

[for-a-muse-of-fire]

let’s tessellate

“let’s tessellate”

Fandom: The Witcher (2019)

Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Zahra Auberel (WOC original character).

Summary: The White Wolf returns to his den, and his woman. A “reunion” ensues.

Warnings: NSFT/18+ - you should not be interacting with this fic if you are under the age of 18. Oral (f receiving), rough/possessive sex.

A/N: Please accept this humble PWP as an apology for vanishing from the Tumblrsphere. The world is still very much on fire, but I’ve missed y’all a bunch. I’m afraid I will no longer be providing a taglist - it’s stressful, and I honestly don’t want to. Best practice would be to make sure you get notifs when I post!

Thank you, dear hearts. Enjoy!

The lashing rain and wind has left the tavern utterly empty. One of those mindless summer storms, it cropped up almost without warning. The sky had darkened and gone deadly quiet as the air sat heavy; heavy, and so thick one could feel it settle on the skin. Zahra had let her people rush home when the last patron had scurried out the door – Lucja had just cleared the alley when the wind had picked up.

Thunder growls. Lightning splits the tumultuous sky asunder.

Zahra watches, smiling from the safety of the kitchens. She’s always loved storms like this – unbridled. Dangerous. She watches the crest of trees over the village rooftops; the canopy whips, bends. She counts the beats between the lightning and bellowing thunder. With a grin to herself, she pulls her light robe closer and takes the last walk around, locking the service door, then the heavy oaken door at the front of the tavern. The dying fire barely puts off enough light to see by, but she’s wandered this place in the dead of night for most of her life. Besides, each bolt of light from the storm makes it look like high noon.

One such bolt illuminates the main room when she turns towards the back door. The figure standing there is lit, clear as day – the barkeep shouts, and very nearly jumps out of her skin. “Gods dammit,” Zahra curses.

Pale, soft lips quirk up at one corner. Geralt is drenched to the bone, standing just inside the threshold and dripping on the flagstone. She glares at him as the lightning fades, giving his handsome face back to the shadows again.

“You are an asshole, Geralt,” she hisses. “I’m putting a fucking bell around your neck.”

“I’d like to see you try, love.”

His voice is a match to the deadly rumble that buzzes the thick window glass. It hums over her skin, doing very little to quell the startled tattoo of her heart. Nonetheless, she glowers, bare feet easing across the floor towards him. He lets her slip past him to lock the door.

“Oh, I’ll fucking-well do it,” she threatens, turning to face him. “Big, silver bell and gaudy, terrible silk ribbon.”

The Witcher lets out a low chuckle and though he almost hesitates, he lets her rests her hands on his waist. Zahra peers up at him in the near-dark and feels a thrill chase coolly down her spine. Geralt’s eyes are a deep, shining black and somewhat sunken in their sockets; bruise-colored veins creep down his cheeks. His skin is smooth and pale as fine parchment, while his frost-colored hair is plastered to his cheek with rain water. A silver-toned flash lights the room again and she can’t help the way her breath stalls. Gods.

He may not like it when she sees him like this, but he looks deadly and powerful and it arrows something base and wanton straight through her.

“Injured?” Zahra asks, breathier than she would like.

Black eyes stare. Geralt tilts his head, just so, but grunts once – a wordless ‘no’. He doesn’t shy away or dodge when she reaches for him, and her swift brown fingers carefully loosen the buckles and straps of his leathers. She keeps her eyes on his, muscle memory guiding her through the motions. The silence sits between them, heavy as the thick summer air and only broken by rain and thunder. Zahra feels sweat catch at her collarbone, her heartbeat drumming sharply behind her ribs. Each quick beat feathers heat through her- heat that settles low beneath her navel. It pulses there, a slick heaviness between her legs; she bites her lip and slides the last clasp open. The Witcher’s black eyes drop to her mouth.

“Your heart is pounding, little rabbit,” he rumbles, almost grinning when she drops her eyes. She hears the rustle of leather as he peels his gloves away. “What’s got you on edge?”

Zahra huffs out an embarrassed laugh.  The tension breaks – cut by her movement and the growling thunder. The armor finds its place on the hooks by the back door. Geralt tracks her with the single-minded focus of his moniker. The wolf sizing up his prey. The heavy, knowing press of his gaze makes her shudder.

“Let’s get you into dry clothes, hm?” she murmurs.

She brushes past him as the room is lit by the storm. Powerful fingers close on the back of her neck and she gasps, stumbling when Geralt tugs and spins her to face him. He doesn’t kiss her, not exactly, but she feels the press of his mouth over hers. She can feel the damp of his clothes soak through her robe, pebbling her nipples against the plane of his chest. His lips are cool with rain, though his breath rushes hot over her lips and Zahra feels her knees go a bit weak. Geralt snarls, matching the tone and timbre of the thunder.

“I asked you a question, Zahra,” he growls. His nose traces a chilly line up the heated curve of her cheek; she exhales on a breathless moan. “I can feel your pulse. I can smell you…”

Geralt’s fingers tangle in the loose curls at the nape of her neck. Lightning lets her see his pale, beautiful face, and the midnight dark of his eyes while he gives her hair a gentle, demanding tug. He fairly dwarfs her, lets his mouth tease over hers as he rumbles, “You like it, is that it? You like it when I come to you like this?”

He walks forward, forcing her back until she feels the blunted edge of a table against her backside. Zahra braces her hands on the smooth, cool wood.

“What is it?” he murmurs. She feels a tug – he looses the tie on her robe, parting the silken fabric with his free hand. “Hm? Why don’t you tell me why it gets you so hot?”

Calloused fingers twist around her nipple and Zahra gives a short gasp. “I don’t know,” she says with breathless mirth. “You look – oh gods – “

It’s hard to think – let alone speak – with his hand cupping her cunt. Her eyes drift close, lashes fluttering over her cheeks as Geralt slips a finger between her swollen lips, catching the slick on his fingertips before he draws delicate little circles over her clit. Zahra’s voice breaks on a whine.

“Geralt – “ she pleads. Deep brown eyes spring open, meeting lightning-lit black and she gasps out:

“You look dangerous.”

The thunder shakes the room as the Witcher’s mouth covers hers. It’s a biting kiss, greedy with teeth and tongue. He keeps the teasing pressure over her clit, rubbing with the tips of his fingers until her hips roll down to beg for friction. Zahra whimpers when he breaks away, only to utter a breathless curse as Geralt drags open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat. The shimmer silk fabric of her robe is yanked open – the fabric slips down her arms. His stubble scrapes harsh over her skin, down her neck, between the valley of her breasts – over the softness of her belly where his teeth dig in.

She moans his name – it makes him smile into her skin. “Fuck, I missed that,” he growls.

Geralt kneels and replaces his fingers with his tongue. Hot, wet – firm against her aching cunt, he pushes the blade of his tongue through her folds and growls at the slippery-sweet wetness he finds. Zahra keens.

The thunder drowns out the sound.

The insistent press of his mouth, the steady flicker of his tongue – they light up under her skin, making her squirm and cry with each crest of sensation. With one hand pressed to the table behind her, she lets the other fist tight in Geralt’s rain-damp hair. The wet strands stick to her palm, tangle around her fingers as she tugs. “Gods – fuck,” she hisses through grit teeth.

Geralt knows her tells, by now. He knows when to flick the tip of his tongue over her clit, when to dip into the clenching heat of her cunt. Her voices goes rough, breathless and needy, in a way that makes his cock throb in the confines of his trousers. When he feels her begin to shake, he gauges the tell-tale tremor of her strong thighs and lifts one over his shoulder. Two fingers press in – Zahra’s hips rock, the sensitive walls of her cunt bearing down hard around the intrusion as she pants. The Witcher’s low moan hums against her clit, pulling a ragged whine up from her throat.

“Geralt,” she groans. “Darling - love – please please please – “

The flickering lightning gives her just enough to watch. Geralt’s plays at supplicant, single-minded in his devotion, though he still looks the part of a god to her, even on his knees. His handsome face tips up towards her, soft mouth slick with her cum – his black, black eyes are hungry when he meets her gaze. The Witcher licks a heavy stripe through her, closing his mouth briefly around her clit to make her jump and swear before he pulls away to stand. Fingers still buried deep, he takes a gentle grip on her throat with his thumb running soft circles over her pulse point.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles when she shakes. The thunder plays at harmony with his voice. “What do you want, sweetheart?”

Geralt curls his fingers, strokes at that spot deep inside of her until she gasps. “Fuck me,” she whispers. “Geralt, please – “

Zahra hears him snarl in time with the thunder before he spins her. The silk of her robe pulls tight; Geralt uses the fabric to pinion her arms. His breath is harsh against her naked shoulder. With the racket of the rain, she doesn’t quite hear the sound of buttons sliding free, but then she feels the hot press of flesh and the beautiful, aching stretch. The Witcher gives a low moan into her skin, somewhere between relief and ecstasy.

He pulls his fingers through her curls at tugs. The motion arches her back into an obscene curve, forcing his cock so deep that Zahra shouts. It feels like the storm has taken up residence under her skin – lightning hisses from nerve to nerve. Geralt spears her wide open, somehow quelling the desperate ache while adding to it exponentially.

“Okay?” he pants into her ear.

“Yes – fuck yes,” she laughs, breathless and trembling.

She can feel his smug grin against her neck. Geralt flexes his hips, drawing the length of his cock out and then pushing back in to the hilt, making them both hiss. His rhythm rises and falls with the wind – with the torrential rain – and she is swept away by the tempest. He fucks into her with hard, greedy strokes that push her hipbones into the blunt edge of the table until she knows there will be bruises. The hand in her hair stays taught, but the hand holding the robe slips, pressing palm-down on the table by her hip. Damp, lightning-spiked air drags through her lungs as she gasps, moaning and pleading as Geralt murmurs against her temple.

Depraved, and sweet – possessive; he tells her how much he’s missed her, missed her sweet little cunt – fuck – missed how good she feels. “So good, sweetheart,” he moans. “So good for me – fucking perfect.”

The desperate whine that trickles up from her throat only serves to stoke the fire in his belly. She’s starting to shake, and whimper, voice climbing in pitch and volume to pierce over the howling wind. Geralt tugs at her hair, forces her to crane her head and meet the solid black of his eyes. He feels the flutter of her muscles around his cock, a desperate pulsing that drags a pitched snarl out of him before he presses his mouth to her jaw.

“Come for me, Zahra,” he snarls. “Come on - give it to me, sweetheart - “

Lightning fires off, storm cloud to storm cloud. Thunder snarls.

Her ragged scream clashes with the raging storm.

Geralt fucks her through the blinding orgasm until she feels him press tight against her back, frozen in his own pleasure while he pulses inside of her. He whispers his homily into her skin, chanting her name, filling her deep. The rapid beat of Zahra’s heart echoes in his ears. He grips her close, winds his arms around her torso ‘til that rhythm begins to slow. Carefully, he withdrawals, trying not to smirk when he hears her sharp inhale. Geralt tucks himself back into his trousers before burying his face into the fall of Zahra’s hair.

“‘Dangerous’,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Fucking hell, Zee…”

She giggles, sweetly winded, then squirms until the Witcher lets her turn in his grasp. She’s a sight. Soft brown skin dewy with sweat and shameless in her nudity. The smile she gives him settles somewhere between sweet and utterly filthy – it spikes heat straight through him all over again. Her clever fingers wrap around the chain of his medallion.

“I told you, Geralt of Rivia – you don’t scare me.”

She kisses him slowly. Savors the soft give of his mouth and licks the taste of herself from his tongue. Geralt’s hands ghost over her sides, palms pressing into soft, warm flesh. His teeth catch over the sweet fullness of her lip and he grins when she shivers.

“I love you, woman,” he mumbles against her lips.

Zahra draws back with a soft, but wicked grin. “I love you, Witcher,” she purrs back. “Now… take me to bed, hm?”

Geralt growls. “Yes, ma’am.”