#listen it just showed up on my discover weekly-

[mokeonn]

I think the frustrating thing about Spotify recommendations is sometimes it really does introduce me to lots of cool Indie Bands that I really vibe with and allow me to try some new stuff and sometimes it keeps telling me that I need to Listen to Mother Mother (I have not listened to Mother Mother ever and at this point I never will because it is a pride thing.)

Or a random unfunny tiktok joke song from 3 years ago/ a viral YouTube song from over a decade ago.

[starzblvd]

Me Espresso.ᐟ

Ellie thinks coffee tastes disgusting, but you taste delicious. Do u guys get my fire references in here, hope you babes enjoy 🍽️ Band!Ellie Bsf!ellie college!au

Hot summer nights while having your knees digging your weight into the carpet floor of your best friends small dorm room was starting to become weekly routine. Making band tees with cheap markers for her band that had its fair amount of supporters, somehow they’d sell out every time they performed. It was probably because there’d only be like 20 shirts that actually looked good enough to put out for sale.

Sitting next to you was Ellie with half of a bun she struggled to keep it together had some strands fall out and onto the back of her neck. You could smell the perfume on her, you convinced her to buy it that one time she’d agreed to come shopping with you. Wanting to be helpful you had to show her the right way to wear it, by spraying it on your wrist to then rubbing it into her collarbone, just to be helpful of course.

Holding up a finished shirt Ellie grins into the cocky face you’ve gotten to love the look of,

“Oh they’re gonna love this,”

“what your 300 Spotify listeners?”

“Ouch,” Ellie looks at you playing heartbroken to then throw the shirt right at your face. It was always banter like this, with the very few times the lines almost blurred to get somewhere further. Staying away gets harder when being with her was so natural.

“Just for that I’m so not coming to your concert tomorrow.”

“Hey hey hey I need my number one fan there, plus we’re getting ice cream after.”

You’d become a groupie to her, always front lining to every concert she was able to catch a venue in, which were basically all bars. When she’d look below to you under the neon lights playing guitar it felt like such a special moment only between you and Ellie. No crowd no other band mates, as if you knew what she was thinking of and that she wanted you too. Some of your plans started to circle around her now that she was being a bit more discovered.

”You aren’t going to talk to your fan girls?”

“Nah, I’d rather spend my time with you. You know?” Staring at each other awkwardly stopped being so awkward when they’d happen so much, it’s was perfectly normal.

And with opportunity you got to be with Ellie you already knew you’d take it. As little as you knew she was wrapped around with whatever you had been involved in too, stuck and feeding off your sweetness like a bee.

June.21.24

Just like every concert you shared your special moment, no one else can say they had Ellie’s direct attention during multiple songs. This time it was more of an outside stage with sand below you. Yellow hued string lights draped above the stage and more along the audience area. The heat was really getting to Ellie, making her glow from sweat. The black T-shirt she picked out only made her condition worse. The face framing bangs she cut herself were sticking to the side of her face.

She wasn’t even singing, but being under your watch scorched her hotter. To save herself from embarrassment she mainly looked down to her guitar playing notes, but she made a mistake looking at you when a lyric of a song she made with you in thought came up.

Tell me you never wanna lose me

Cuz I know when you call you call for me

She might’ve been a little out of it when helping writing the song, but it became too late when Dina saw the scrunched up paper and kept insisting on making it an official song for a newer album.

To you it was just another lyric that was written by anyone but Ellie. If only you knew how much she relates to your desperation to be with you in every way and any position she could. Whether your batting of eyelashes at her was intentional or not her finger slipped making an unplanned squeak slip through.

‘Fuck this is so bad she probably thinks I’m shit at playing now’

Lucky for Ellie it was the final song anyways and she could get far away from the crowd and you. Other people clapped upon their leave and when they finished their set list you knew exactly where to meet her.

”You ever going to do more than eye her when we’re up there?” Dina was putting away the instruments back to take home with help from Jessie.

“What are you even saying I don’t do that,” Ellie scoffs then sits down on a blue deflated bean bag that who knows how long it’s been in this back room.

“Oh you know what I’m talking about, your friend zone is taking longer than your time with Cat.” She crossed her arms waiting for another excuse to why she hasn’t done anything after a continued semi dating friendship since freshman year.

“She’s nothing like Cat that’s why, if I lose feelings for her after getting rejected that’s one thing but losing her completely because I fucked it up is different.” Her constant fear of never getting to be near you again because of some feelings she couldn’t stop screwed her over with overthinking everything.

In her journal it was the same thing, “She liked my shirt today, I don’t want to look weird and over wear it now, but not under wear it now. Unless she’d like to see it more often or maybe she likes my style in general she’d like me in anything?? Fucking hate this gay stuff and whys it so hard.”

One of the two large metal doors swings open with you appearing, with the smile you wore she had engraved into her mind with a hot rod of metal after sketching you a few more times she’d probably ever admit. Ellie got up and cut the short distance and accepted you into her arms trying to not look like a desperate looser that flushes over a simple hug. Her ears clammy hands didn’t make her look exactly so hot and relaxed though.

“You did amazing El’s,”

“You think so?” She lit up into a smile under your praise, no matter how many times you give it to her mind melts.

“Except for the part where she messed up on the bridge.” Ellie shot a quick mean look at Jessie, but he just turned a cold shoulder before turning away.

“At least I didn’t bump into Dina’s drums 10 times,”

While Ellie kept bickering back and forth with Jessie she still held onto you, this felt like an opening to try at doing something.

A kiss on the check seemed harmless and innocent enough to take back in the case Ellie thought it was totally disgusting. Raising your head up towards her cheek nearing the corners of her smile, pressing your lips to a pout Ellie brought her face back in your direction landing the small peck on her lips. Ellie locked in place while you pulled away, not that you wanted to, but felt too embarrassed to start a kiss you didn’t know how to finish.

“El’s ‘m so sorry, you just moved out of nowhere and-“

“No, yeah mistakes happen, it’s chill or whatever,”

Her shit faced expression wasn’t helping the full pink flush saturating deeper on her face. Ellie lowered her head to wipe the bottom of her nose trying to forget the way your lips felt, your lipgloss was still sweet on her and so was the taste of it on her tongue wiping her lips clean.

Now it was your turn to feel scared and conflicted. It was too silent in the room even with the chatter of everyone else doing their own things outside. Taking back the small kiss wasn’t so easy now that it was done and got taken up a notch further.

She dropped her arms from both of your sides, looking away from you because looking at you right now felt like looking directly into the sun.

“Ellie you should start up the car we’re done here,” Jessie throws the keys at her giving her a slight knowing look to let her go and collect herself back together.

She didn’t even say anything, walked away without a goodbye or convincing enough reassurance that would calm your nerves.

“I’m gonna go home too, see you guys.” You were left with only your actions to think about. Ellie’s response to an accidental kiss made her ran away in the other away how could’ve you imagined it going any of other way? Feeling guilt and shame were the only emotions you could feel, rethinking the crush you’ve denied yourself from paying attention to and that it should’ve stayed that way.

Instead of paying attention to the kiss Ellie let her actions drive themself, not wanting to think at all. Until she hit herself with the car door, why did I act so grossed out? Making different scenarios of how it could’ve played out a million times better she thrust the keys into the ignition.

She dug out her cracked old red iPhone from her butt pocket and threw it into the passenger side. It hit something else than the leather seat, one of the lipglosses you always carry around abandoned alone. Ellie reached for it and saw the shade label, Glassy Expresso.

It sounded like the taste in her mouth from earlier, a taste you stole from her too soon. Unscrewing the lid she contemplated just trying it on. My lips are dry anyways, she swiped the applicator across her lips twice to get an even coat and rubbed it in with her lips. Some of it slipped onto her tongue, again. If only the taste of you could come along with the gloss.

Lmk if you guys want a pt.2♡🍒

[elliespassagerprincess]

Headcannons: Milf!abby anderson x reader (part 3)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

☆ Milf Abby who’s literally the sweetest girlfriend ever. A little old school, but she’s still cute.

☆ Milf Abby who buys you weekly flowers, and who packs you lunch.

☆ Milf Abby who helps you plan lessons and sometimes comes and helps you teach.

☆ Milf Abby who gets baby fever if she sees you with kids.

☆ Milf Abby who said I love you after 3 days of dating.

☆ Milf Abby who has you as her lock screen.

☆ Milf Abby who plans family dates for you and her daughter.

☆ Milf Abby whose heart clenches when she sees how much Aubrey talks about you.

☆ Milf Abby who feels like a teenager because of you.

☆ Milf Abby that’s confused when you text her slang

Abby: ill come pick you up later?

you: yeah baby, I have to go now ttyl

Abby: what is that

☆ Milf Abby who finds pop culture drama interesting because she’s never really took interest in it till you appeared.

☆ Milf Abby who discovers so much and she feels old, but you never judge or make fun of her for it.

☆ Milf Abby who knows you’re the one.

☆ Milf Abby bought you an engagement ring after 2 weeks of dating. It was a simple ring because she knew you didn’t like big and extravagant things (unless it’s her dick-)

☆ Milf Abby who wants to propose to you at a family BBQ

☆ Milf Abby who takes you to meet her family after 4 months of dating, and she knew that this was the weekend she was going to propose.

☆ Milf Abby who held your hand the entire time, when you were being introduced.

☆ Milf Abby who tried staying by your side, but then you snatched away by Aubrey and her cousins.

☆ Milf Abby who stared at you with a smile as you were playing with the kids because you were just that pretty.

☆ Milf Abby who gets cocky when her family tells her she made the right choice.

“You got yourself a pretty girl abs”

“I know”

☆ Milf Abby who was having a good night till her ex-wife showed up.

“What are you doing here?” Abby asked through gritted teeth.

“it’s a family event, can I not be here?”

“you aren’t family”

“Abby she barley sees her mother:

“did you forget we have a child together?”

☆ Milf Abby who wanted to leave but you convinced her to stay for the sake of Aubrey.

“but she’s a bitch”

Aubrey grabbed onto your hand and she ran to her mother. You watched the women’s face drop at the sight of you

“Abby please”

☆ Milf Abby who wanted to slap her ex-wife every time she gave you a dirty look.

“mom this mommy’s girlfriend! isn’t she pretty?!”

The women stared at you with hatred in her eyes. She extended her hand out to grab your other hand in a tight handshake “I’m Kimberly” then you told her your name. The two of you fell into a awkward conversation, until she brought up Abby.

“how long have you been together?” she asked

“4 months” you replied with a smile.

“isn’t it too early to be meeting the family?” she asked, and you rolled your eyes before you responding: “isn’t it too bitchy to judge what I do in my relationship?”

Kimberly stared at you with wide eyes.

☆ Milf Abby who was listening to the whole interaction and she had the biggest smile on her face. That her girl.

☆ Milf Abby who was glued by your side the entire night, but you somehow got lost.

☆ Milf Abby who saw Kimberly walk up to her and she knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“What do you want?” Abby groaned.

“Look I need to say something”

“then talk”

The women took a deep breath before she started spewing nonsense: “I think she’s too young for you! She’s childish”

“that’s your opinion, you know nothing about her”

“well I don’t like her” Kimberly went on.

“that’s ok, but she’s my girlfriend so I don’t know why its bothering you”

“I don’t want her around Aubrey”

that was Abby’s final straw.

“Listen here, you’re barley present in our daughters life. She’s been a better mother to her that you, ever were! You know shit about Aubrey”

“I do” she tried arguing.

“if you did you would’ve know she doesn’t like the nutty chocolate you brought for her”

Kimberly went quiet. Abby continued on to talk.

“You are a shit person. You were a shitty wife, and a shitty mother. My daughter doesn’t deserve that. She needs someone like her. She’s my everything and I would fucking kill for her, so I suggest you stay out of my family’s life”

“but she’s still my daughter”

“she might be but I have full custody” Abby chuckled. “And besides not everyone was made to be a mother, especially you” Kimberly stood there quietly, and she left the party soon after.

☆ Milf Abby who was relieved that she was finally gone.

☆ Milf Abby whose family knew about the proposal and they were helping her plan it.

As the party continued to go on you stood at the table, helping Abby’s aunts with making salads. It was odd, everything became more and more quiet.

You felt arms wrap around you and you knew it was her.

“Hi” you giggled

“hi” she replied. You could practically hear her smile.

“You having fun baby?” Abby asked.

“yeah”

You noticed her sudden silence before you asked: “are you ok?”

Abby took a deep breath. She was nervous. You could tell.

“Yeah, I’m just thinking”

“about?”

“I want this”

“Salad?”

“no” she chuckled. 

“A life with you”

Your heartrate increased.

“I want us to grow old together and throw family BBQ’s. I want us to have a big house, so Aubrey can bring her kids over one day. I want to spend forever waking up next to you, and I want to grow our family….”

During her speech you didn’t notice that she let go of you. You were too busy processing her words at that moment.

“Baby look at me” Abby spoke. You slowly turned around to see Abby’s family surrounding the two of you and her on her one knee, with a delicate ring in her hand.

“Will you marry me?” She asked unsure.

You looked at her with wide eyes, no words were coming out out.

“Say yes! please I can’t wait any longer” Aubrey yelled from the sidelines. You saw Abby chuckle.

You fell down onto your knees before you grabbed her face for a kiss.

“I guess that’s a yes” Abby chuckled when she pulled away.

“fuck yes”

She slipped the ring onto your finger before she got up and yelled “she said yes!” The crowd erupted in screams and cries.

☆ Milf Abby who kissed you passionately as tears flowed from both your eyes.

This was true love.

my pookie: (the tag list): @elliens4

[ero-heart]

Alright alright while I am making your request

Imma request another Reader x Ruv

A funny one i guess

Ruv getting attacked by Reader's pet crows (probably like 20-30 crows)

THIS IS AMAZING YES

This fic can be perceived as either platonic or romantic

It ended up being another hurt/comfort- Ruv has a lot of inner struggle

Cw: self harm, light description of violence

THE COUNCIL

(Ruv x Reader + crow army)

Ruv didn’t knew you very well, he was curious though, something about you just seemed to spark curiosity in him. Sarvente budged him to speak to you, eager to make him socialize, he begrudgingly complied. Now he was on the church’s stairs, trembling, waiting for you to arrive to your weekly visits. Quietly preparing a conversation starter on his mind.

“Hey, I want to be your friend!” This sounds stupid; “I find you cool let’s hangout!” Also stupid. Everything he came up with was stupid, everything would work with anyone else but him.

Ruv takes off his hat and throws it on the ground in a fit of anger, grabbing fists of his hair. Taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Ruv curls in a ball as he dig his fingers into his head. Still taking deep breaths, he didn’t notice the dark creature slowly approaching to peck on his hat, another flies down to also inspect the object. When Ruv opened his eyes, there was five crows picking on his hat. Ruv got up to retrieve his hat from the creatures before they flew farther from him, with his hat in one of their beaks, loudly cawing. Ruv sighed before charging at them, granting more cawing as they flew away farther. He felt something grabbing at his hood, discovering another crow with its claws secured on the fluff, pushing Ruv while it flies. He tried to shoo the crow away but another one rapidly flew in front of him, getting caught off guard and falling on the ground. More cawing.

“Tsk”

Ruv was ready to break those bird’s necks when he realized, in mild horror, the quantity of crows surrounding him. On the church’s stairs, the trees, the sidewalk, everywhere.

What. The fuck.

Soon his moment of shock was cut off by a familiar voice, quickly turning around to see none other than y/n, face filled with confusion. A crow flew past them, dropping his ushanka right on their hands. Realizing what was happening, y/n came running towards Ruv.

“Shoo don’t bother him! Shoo! Shoo!”

Some crows went away while others remained to watch y/n apologize profusely for what just happened.

“I am so so so so soooo sorry! I really am! They are such menaces! I am really sorry-“

Y/n kept on as they put Ruv’s hat back on him and brushed some dirt off his clothes. Ruv just looks at them, why are they apologizing.. for the crows?? His adrenaline still ran high with doubt and shame, but he managed to speak up.

“S’ ok..”

Y/n grabs his hands and pushes up, it took a while to Ruv to realize that they were trying to help him get up, so he lifts himself from the floor, immediately towering over y/n as they smile up at him.

“Are you sure? Are you not hurt?”

“I’m.. no I’m not”

“Then I am glad!”

They sighed as they continued:

“They do that all the time! Every person in my life has gone through that!”

Were you murder’s caretaker of some kind? Those birds were yours? That was interesting, that was actually a great way to start a conversation.

Both of you sat on the church’s stairs as you told your story with your crows, Ruv was a great listener, intrigued with your experiences. Sarv eventually went outside, worried with y/n who until now hasn’t showed up yet, to find both them and Ruv circled by crows, telling stories and jokes as the crow laughed with you.

Ruv could get used to that.

Haa that was it!~ it was a small one but I really hope you liked it! I’m sorry if it’s too ooc haha stay safe everyone ❤️ happy pride

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2024 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #3

The third week of posting has come to an end! Enjoy catching up with this week's selection of wonderful works. 

There's a work for everyone in this fest (and if you haven't found what you're looking for yet, we're not done with posting).

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️ And here for the YouTube playlist.

Please enjoy this week’s entries below the cut:

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 A Quiet Life [T, Digital art]

🎵 Song Prompt: A Quiet Life by Teho Teardo & Blixa Bargeld  🎵 Summary: After their relationship becomes public knowledge; after being hounded by the paparazzi; after Draco says enough is enough and leaves London; Harry’s more than happy to follow.  After all, a quiet life is all he’s ever wanted.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 I made loving you a blood sport (so let's play) [E, 3,032]

🎵 Song Prompt: Blood Sport by Sleep Token  🎵 Summary: They sat in an odd kind of silence, comfortable in its discomfort. In the predictability of its recklessness. The thing between them was as palpable as the thick smoke in the air, consumed with every breath, and likely just as bad for them.

📻 Everything that can go wrong will go wrong [T, 5,178]

🎵 Song Prompt: If You Were Mine by Leon Bridges and Miranda Lambert  🎵 Summary: “You can move in with me!”  Shit. Apparently there was still a possibility to make a fool out of himself to his crush despite his best efforts at minimizing contact. Draco and Andromeda looked at him in record speed, showing their own expressions of confusion. Maybe at his appearing out of nowhere, maybe at his panting that made it seem like he just ran a marathon for some reason, or maybe at his abrupt and impulsive suggestion. Shit. Teddy wasn’t even here to take off the edge—Harry was completely alone in this one.  After a pause, Draco fully turned to him with a manner that definitely showed his opinion of how stupid Harry was, and asked, “What?”

📻 Antelucan Ruins [E, 29,453] 

🎵 Song Prompt: Ghost by Justin Bieber  🎵 Summary: From the bloody Prophet, Draco discovers Harry Potter’s death splashed in grey ink printed on the front page. Potter is dead before Draco gets to see him again to fulfil a half-spoken promise. And yet, these days Draco has the power to bend the world to his heart’s desires, and that includes fucking Harry Potter even after he personally saw Potter’s pale, lifeless body lying in a coffin before it got buried under the soil. "Do you realise that you're just as pathetic and insane? You're so hung up on the idea of me that you'd fuck a ghost, Malfoy. You risked your life for it."  Draco puts an arm around Potter's body, "Whoever says I am sane? Certainly not me. It's calculated risk with more success rate than failure. And you are dead, Potter. You refuse to move on to the next realm because you crave for my cock."

📻 I've Been There (sitting in that same chair) [Gen, 2,212]

🎵 Song Prompt: The Village by Wrabel  🎵 Summary: People keep knocking on Draco’s door. Draco just wants to read his book (he doesn’t mind, really).  Or: Draco gets to be the supportive queer person he’d wished for when he was younger.

📻 Lonely Rivers [M, 7,370]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'Unchained Melody' by 'The Righteous Brothers'  🎵 Summary: Six years after the end of the war, Harry takes care of Teddy Lupin and has started to learn guitar. Hermione negotiates with foreign powers. Draco's a trainee Healer with a glam karaoke routine. And when Ron and Parvati decide to get married, they find a job for everyone...

📻 How to Begin [E, 8,478]

🎵 Song Prompt: Blush by Orville Peck  🎵 Summary: Harry is completely, pathetically besotted with his flatmate, Draco. Fuelled by liquid courage, he finally makes his move when he's absolutely sozzled. What could possibly go wrong?

📻 Oneiros [E, 13,125]

🎵 Song Prompt: Enter Sandman by Metallica  🎵 Summary: When contact with a weird vase traps Harry in his nightmares, it's Unspeakable Draco Malfoy's task to rescue him. In order to do so, he will have to face his past and his family history and win a duel of wits against a Morpheus and try to be better than his father each step of the way...

📻 Say When [E, 24,545]

🎵 Song Prompt: Undisclosed Desires by Muse 🎵 Summary: When Auror Harry Potter is sent in undercover to determine if Draco Malfoy is laundering money through his BDSM club, will he be able to keep up the ruse and close the case? Or, more to the point, will he keep from falling in love?

🎶 H/D Wireless Podfic 🎶

📻 [Podfic] Case of You [E, 11:48:56]

🎵 Song Prompt: Case of You by Joni Mitchell  🎵 Summary: Draco was doing just fine working as an Unspeakable in Paris, hanging out with his living and ghostly pals, inventing new spells, and definitely not thinking about Potter. Then, Lucius just had to break out of prison and turn his world upside down.  Now, Draco has to return to England, where he is forced to confront how family ties bind us—and one infuriatingly fit Harry Potter.

[rayneing-on-your-parade]

International Podcast Day!

I'm a little late, but today was busy with work and writing. So for podcast day here's my list of podcast recommendations (along with tumblr links if they have them so you can follow):

@slowly-unspooling:

(I am not above promoing my own show)

Description:

Slowly Unspooling is a serial fiction podcast that follows Kai and their journey to discover the secrets of some tapes that showed up one day. Tapes with their voice on them.

Kai will have to battle with themself and their family to unspool the mystery that has decided to involve them.

length: 10 episodes so far season 2 starting next week

Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality

(follow the creator for this and next @dom-guilfoyle

Description:

Hello, and welcome to the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. The Audio Tour Guide will be your window into the history of the museum and its exhibits today.

Please note, that if you notice your version of the Audio Tour Guide behaving oddly, kindly ensure that you dispose of your Audio Device in the nearest incinerator at the earliest convenience.

Personal Review: This story about finding your place in a world, is one of the best I have ever listened to or read. The narratives are weaved perfectly together and I will protect Guide with my life. Stay safe out there.

Length: 79 episodes, completed

Tales of the Low City

Description:

Deep beneath the soil of a dead world, there is life.

Tales From The Low City is a collection of tales from a strange, bleak, and beautiful world where all creatures great and small, ambitious and content, bipedal and tripedal and quadrupedal must come together and make something like "civilisation".

Personal Review: I just started this one after being on the patreon for a while, and I love it. The stories are so well written and as I wrote in an episode review: Dom's main talent has always laid in their ability to tell a story that everyone can relate to, but is more than a simple "i can relate" to some. This episode does just that.

Length: 10, incomplete

The Magnus Archives

Description: “Make your statement, face your fear.” A weekly horror fiction podcast examining what lurks in the archives of the Magnus Institute, an organisation dedicated to researching the esoteric and the weird. Join Jonathan Sims as he explores the archive, but be warned, as he looks into its depths something starts to look back…

Personal Review: Honestly, i don't think I ever sat down to review this one, its so good. Jonathan Sims is one of my favorite authors and while each episode may not be your cup of tea, the whole show has something for everything.

Length: 200 episodes, complete

Liminal Apocalypse

Description: It's the end of the world... Or is it? Five people retreat into an underground doomsday bunker fearing nuclear fallout, and when they get there they start receiving radio transmissions from the outside. But the information they're receiving, just doesn't quite add up.

Personal Review: Short and heart wrenching, Liminal Apocalypse delivers a tale of hope and love defying odds no matter the outcome.

Length: 3 episodes, complete

@wanderersjournalpod

Description: Wanderer’s Journal is a fantasy fiction podcast about Marigold and Pluto, two people from different backgrounds, and their unlikely friendship formed through a magical journal that links them. Each of them finds a journal, learns that their voice is recorded into it, and can be both read and played back to the other. Unbeknownst to them, they become a part of an ancient mystery, and see the world from new angles.

Personal Review: Marigold and Pluto do not fail to entertain, the two of them, unlikely friends in different but similar situations is everything.

Length: 10 episodes, crowdfunding for s2 right now, find a link on their tumblr

Old Gods of Appalachia

Description: In the mountains of central Appalachia, blood runs as deep as these hollers and just as dark. Since before our kind knew these hills, hearts of unknowable hunger and madness have slumbered beneath them. These are the darkest mountains in the world. How dare we think we can break the skin of a god and dig out its heart without bringing forth blood and darkness? Old Gods of Appalachia is a horror-anthology podcast set in the shadows of an Alternate Appalachia, a place where digging too deep into the mines was just the first mistake.

Personal Review: The storylines weave together wonderfully and manage to, in a story about creatures and those more than human, touch on the human story.

Length: 70 episodes, New season 10/31/2024

The Sheridan Tapes

Description: In 2018, famed horror writer Anna Sheridan disappeared, leaving behind only a box of mysterious cassette tapes. Detective Sam Bailey is tasked with piecing together what happened to Anna Sheridan from the seemingly impossible encounters she recorded, but as the scattered pieces of the puzzle come together, Bailey discovers that the picture is even stranger – and more dangerous – than it seemed.

Personal Review: I haven't completed this one, but so far I love the story. Just when you think you have it figured out, no you don't.

Length: ~100 episodes (not entirely sure my rss feed won't show me), completed

@twigsandhearts

Description: A book that ties many together. Who picks up a copy? What powers do they serve? Between missing people and people missing, who will you trust? Twigs and Hearts Open at your own risk.

Personal Review: Each episode made me fall in love more. I am on team angel forever and always. (I have a problem). The story is told in such an interesting format that pleases my soul.

Length: 8 episodes so far, s2 tba

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 6/25/2024

i played a game that is not genshin impact!

listening

paige kennedy's lingerie model. the line "cause i'm a little rat boy in the body of a lingerie model" startled a laugh out of me. off the discover weekly playlist.

-

reading

thank you philip.

Johnny Guitar by Roy Chanslor, on interlibrary loan bc i was hoping reading the book would kickstart my long-planned fic based on the movie. surprise! wildly different book i read in one sitting! the locations, most of the characters (except most of them are much younger) and who's on what sides are essentially the same, but everything else is different!

there are five whole women in this thing, which is a staggering number for a western. i don't know that i have a clear idea of what this book is trying to say about Women in general or specific. i've just been kind of rolling it around in my head for a while. once i figure out what i want to say about this book everyone better watch out

-

watching

borrowed my best friend's husband and their disney plus account to watch a lot of star wars. we certainly had a lot of thoughts about the show Ahsoka but none of them were particularly complimentary. it's dave filoni playing the fucking hits. would you like some wolves and some owls and people having bad feelings and recreating the training session on the millennium falcon from ANH? would you like some fairly lackluster lightsaber battles? would you like the least interesting concept of a waiting room/purgatory/underworld you've ever seen? this is a show where we meet Anakin again and TRAVEL TO A DIFFERENT FUCKING GALAXY, the BIRTHPLACE of some WITCHES. can we be a little bit excited about new things please??? please?????? we are so very bogged down in cutting back and forth, bc god forbid everyone be in the same place at the same time, that we get only the tiniest glimpses of fun new places. show me the places. stop giving me medium shots of people yapping. easily three quarters of this show is filmed from the waist up or closer. what fucking gives. if i really really wanted to scratch the itch of a worrisome legacy and lost love and slightly weird student/teacher dynamics i would go read a contemporary literary novel. show me the interesting parts of star wars and not just the fanservicey callback parts please thanks

we did have a lot of fun with The Acolyte, which genuinely does feel like a breath of fresh air. most of the dialogue is extremely bad, which is sort of par for the course for a star war, but the gleeful jumping with both feet into some real melodramatic weekly serial/space opera tropes!!! much more interested in playing with a heightened narrative/playing with narrative at all, unlike ahsoka which is more focused on filling in a little blank spot!!! witches here also!!! the GOOD TWIN and the EVIL TWIN, several inventive assassinations, the CLEARING of one's NAME, a cursed planet, some fights that feel like they're playing with samurai movies and westerns in a fun new way instead of reminding me of a better thing i could be watching. thank you im eating this with a spoon. many people are very mad about it bc the protagonist is black and perhaps not perfectly straight. the public says this star wars is bad, bc of woke and bc of cliffhangers. i think this one is fun actually so far!!!

-

playing

Freshly Frosted (2022, Quantum Astrophysics Guild). free on Epic rn and quite honestly this should be a self-care/old people brain plasticity phone game. why it is NOT on mobile is beyond me. why it is on SWITCH is also beyond me.

it did make me miss a novelty doughnut and coffee mini local chain in the five college area that has long since gone under. one of my therapists used to have an office above one of their stores and i used to go to a class at smith on wednesdays, go to therapy, and then jog for the half hour bus back to umass, reward doughnut in hand.

it opens with a soft-voiced woman telling you about how she likes to decompress by laying in a field and imagining a donut factory in the sky. she gives encouraging little tips and "hey! be nice to yourself!" throughout the game, but mostly at the beginnings of levels and introducing new mechanics. there are, perhaps, overly plentiful achievements.

there are a dozen dozen levels and i played through the first three dozen, or the first three boxes (normie don't draw over your line, multi track drifting, merging paths). i once had a level correct and then hit undo out of indecision and the tutorial lady told me "“You had it, click the undo button in the top right to undo”. which i don't believe i've ever seen in a game.

i stopped at the third box bc there’s a universal order to ingredients (always frosting then sprinkles then whipped cream then etc) but it does not ever tutorialize that it will only put the next ingredient on if the previous ones are fulfilled. like this was the level i figured this out on.

on further levels in this box i was not thinking super hard about what the actual order was and i couldn't really tell you how i solved a particular level except for making sure every possible path existed. maybe this gets super wild in later levels idk but three dozen levels was enough of a novelty for me. if i may be a little mean to a perfectly fine game, it feels like a coding bootcamp project in the way it steps through its logic and introduces new mechanics.

-

making

cross stitch update. i don't believe this will be done by my brother's birthday

[tlbodine]

Overthinking Goosebumps

It's been a long, ugly year for me. So I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that I've be craving some intense comfort and nostalgia this fall. Which is, I think, why I found myself gripped by a sudden and intense desire to re-read the the Goosebumps books.

Like every horror-loving Millennial, I cut my teeth on R.L. Stine books. The Haunted Mask was the first chapter book I remember reading, checking it out from the library on a whim. I was 7 years old and completely enthralled.

I spent my weekly $5 allowance on Goosebumps as often as I could and read them from libraries all over the country as we traveled. I didn't have a complete set -- my interest waned by the end of the run, as I'd shifted over to Animorphs -- but I did have a couple dozen of them that I foolishly donated. I haven't touched one of these books in 20 years.

So when the craving hit, replacing my copies felt expensive and daunting. They're collector's items that are worth more than the $3.99 I paid for them in the first place. So I tried to quell my craving by watching videos of people who had done a "read every Goosebumps book challenge," except that just made me want to read them more.

Then I found a bunch of them in audio. They just so happen to be the perfect length to knock out in a day or two of commuting - 2-3 hours per book. A perfect indulgence. I started listening and discovered that not only was I enjoying myself, but that I even had some big thoughts! So, hell, why not blog it?

No promises that I'll blog about every one that I read, and no telling how far I'll make it into the series before my enthusiasm wears off, but for now...I'm overthinking Goosebumps.

So follow along at the "#overthinking goosebumps" tag and come tell me about YOUR experience with these books!

Some General Notes

There are a few things that are kind of a given for every Goosebumps book, which I'll acknowledge here so I don't have to re-tread the same ground over and over in future reviews:

Every chapter ends on a cliffhanger. A lot of those cliffhangers are fake "gotchas" and a lot of the stories rely heavily on practical joker characters in order to add some conflict. Sometimes this is more annoying than others, but I can't really fault Stine for doing it. These were pulpy books for young reluctant readers. When you're 7 years old, this kind of stuff keeps you engaged.

Every book has a twist. At least, most of them do. Some of these twists are better than others. I'll probably talk about a lot of them, but just...you have to go into this anticipating that a lot of these books are shaggy dog stories.

Adults are useless. That's just middle-grade fiction for you. Kids don't want to read about parents solving problems. They want to read about kids having cool adventures.

Oh yeah - I also may mention the TV show from time to time, but I was not much of a fan of the show. I know a lot of other people are nostalgic about it, but I didn't like it as a kid and it certainly hasn't aged well. The effects look cheap, the acting is uniformly terrible, and the episodes generally aren't well-adapted from the books. So sorry if I piss on your parade when I bring up episodes in relation to the books. The theme song is a banger though.

The average Goosebumps book is around 20-25k in length. Stine released a new one every month for the entirety of its 62-book run. He was writing these in a couple weeks. EDIT: Apparently he did employ some ghostwriters, which is news to me and makes me sad, but I still respect him anyway. His background in magazine and TV writing really shows through with these, both in terms of speed, process, and humor.

(I admire the hell out of R.L. Stine. I got to very briefly meet him at NYCC and thank him for his influence. It was great.)

Ok. Fangirl flexing over.

Looking forward to re-visiting these books and giving some of the ol' classic T.L. Bodine deep-dive treatment to them ;)

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 13: Elsa's song | 6 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where recovery is not a linear beast.)

The next few weeks settled into a tenuous pattern. Constantine’s nurse kept up her end of the bargain, though not from any kind of free will as Hob quickly learned when he lingered around the corner after one of their weekly supply hand-offs, listening to the women as they bickered.

“You gettin’ cold feet on me now, Sandy?” Constantine pushed, backing the woman against the side of her battered car. “I think you’re forgettin’ how this works.”

“I’m not a fucking hospital, much less a pharmacy!” she pushed back, though her voice was far less fiery than the words it spoke. “I’m gonna lose my license, I—”

“Are you seriously complaining about malpractice? You?” Constantine demanded, almost outright laughing in her face. But when Sandy did not back down, feebly standing her ground, shaking head to toe all the while, Constantine nodded to herself. “Alright.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder down the road. “I’ll just set that demon loose in your new ward, then.”

Sandy paled to a sheet.

“Wait!” she cried and chased after the departing exorcist. “Wait, stop—”

“You summoned the damned thing, not me. It’s not my fault,” she said without breaking pace and rounded on the woman as she grabbed hold of her coat and tried to pull her to a stop. She seized her by the arm and slammed her back-first into the wall, looming in her face. “Fucking go on,” she goaded. “See if I care about a bunch of old fucks staring at the walls like vegetables until they finally kick it. It’s better than the kids you fed it last time.” A heavy silence mounted between them, a kettle on the verge of blowing. “Try me.”

And Hob watched from around the corner as Sandy’s defiance wilted and rotted away to dust.

“Are we good?” Sandy nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Same time next week, then. I’ll text you what they need.”

Hob watched Constantine go. She never once looked back, and she walked with the stride of one unburdened by any guilt for the things she said or did.

Once, he would have envied her. But now…now, he did his best to just fear her.

Bandages, IV fluids and lines, antibiotics, lighter pain medications than what Hob had tried before, physical and occupational therapy routines, and resistance bands…anything and everything they could think of Constantine via Sandy procured. Various YouTube channels run by various disciplines of healthcare providers filled in the rest, and Gwen and Hob quickly discovered that between the two of them, Morpheus participated a touch more readily in the more involved things like physical therapy with Gwen. At first, Hob’s pride had smarted, but on reflection, it made a certain kind of sense. Gwen did not know Morpheus, had never known him.

It was easier to struggle and fail with her. Easier to fall on his face, easier for his joints to buckle and his lungs to heave with the lightest of exertions as his stomach turned on him and his coughs lasted so long that he began to pass out from the lack of air. It was easier to be helped to the bathroom in the early days of recovery by one who had no frame of reference for who he had once been and who did not rub salt into his wounds with her presence alone.

And Gwen had returned home after that first week. She had just needed some time to process, according to her, had needed to map out a few ground rules in her head before moving forward. For one: no half-naked women, property damage, blood, or dead bodies in the house without warning. None of the above ever was preferred, but she had resigned herself to adjusting her expectations at least for the short-term future.

If she was going to come home to a shit show, she had the right to know about it ahead of time.

For another: no talking animals while she was in the flat. Her brain was this close to breaking already. If Matthew was around when she was, he had to confine himself to raven noises only, thank you very much.

While Morpheus had been visibly wounded to hear the bit about Matthew, he had begrudgingly accepted her terms. Not that he had really had much of a choice, but the semblance of one mattered all the same.

Hob had given her so many massages in those weeks, and he had a couple different spa packages in his back pocket for future heavy days. He wished there wouldn’t be anymore, that healing from this point on would only get easier. But he knew better.

Recovery was not a linear thing.

o\\__oOoOoOo__//o

The first major relapse came about three weeks in. Morpheus had never truly recovered any kind of appetite; he still picked at his food more than he ate it. He was only slightly better at keeping up with his fluids and still relied quite heavily on the IV to keep him adequately hydrated. While the antibiotics had gone a long way to resolving the pneumonia, he still grew short of breath at even the slightest exertion, and when he did choose to speak, his sentences were punctuated every four or so words by a heavy, recovering breath.

But the one thing he did keep up with, as best as he could with the way he was neglecting himself in every other category, was his mobility.

Range of motion, weight bearing exercises, resistance bands, slowly increasing the very brief distances he struggled through in Gadling’s flat—he chipped away at it all, kept at it until his strength resembled more that of a schoolchild and less that of toothpicks and wet paper.

Gwen was delighted; in her eyes, this was a step in the right direction, a sign that their strange guest had turned at least one corner and had committed to his recovery. It was a sign that he would maybe yet not be a permanent fixture in their home, whether she would admit it or not.

It puzzled Hob.

He knew his stranger to be many things: stubborn, principled, utterly bone-headed at times in his drive to prove that he and he alone was right.

The one thing he knew him to not be was receptive to the notion that he had perhaps been mistaken and over-reacted and that he should actually listen to the counsel of others.

That was downright laughable.

A man who had let himself waste away into a breathing corpse purely to make a point did not just wake up one day and decide to live. That did not happen. Anywhere. Hob couldn’t think of even a single fairytale or folk story that went that way. And yet here he was, standing at the kitchen island as he finished grading his last paper and watching nervously as his Stranger finally tired at the window, set aside his book, removed the blankets from his legs, and rose unsteadily to his feet. He crossed the room back to his bed in similar, slow fashion, bracing himself along every surface he could reach as he did and using the infusing IV pole as a crutch all the way. But he made it back, even lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed instead of getting partway down and collapsing the rest of the distance. His cheeks were flushed with the effort, his breaths heavy, and he looked to Hob as he pushed back his bangs that were just starting to reach his eyebrows once more. His nails were still fragile, but not as split and no longer infected, and the little scabs dotting his body had faded away to scars in most places and disappeared altogether in others.

“Satisfied?” Morpheus muttered in that backhanded manner of his, and Hob rolled his eyes as he fetched his friend his nightly cup of water. It was never touched when the morning came, but he liked to think he was laying the groundwork for a future habit.  

Harmless delusions like that were important to have.

“A grand marathon,” he threw back and set the glass on the coffee table beside him. “You need anything else?”

“No,” Morpheus shook his head. “I am…well, Gadling.” 

“I think well is overselling it a bit. You’re still breathing like a bad advertisement in a smoking kills campaign. Come on.”

Morpheus rolled his eyes but followed Gadling’s herding hands nonetheless to lay back in bed, drawing the blankets over himself with his own strength as had been increasingly common of late. A small smile pulled at Hob’s mouth as he watched him move, as he noted the already far decreased number of dressings taped about him and the shallower hollows within his cheeks and ribs.

Slow, but steady.

“Good to go?” he asked, reaching for the light switch as he headed for his own room, and Morpheus nodded his assent. “Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well.”

“Good…night.”

The room fell dark, and Hob hesitated for a moment amid the black, listening to his friend’s unsteady breaths as they gradually slowed before forcing himself to go to his own room.

For all intents and purposes, it had seemed a perfectly normal evening. Or at least, as close to their normal as their bizarre new lives could get.

So, when Hob awoke in a panic four hours later, at the blackest hour of the night, to the sound of some calamitous crash from beyond their bedroom and a harshly stifled scream of pain, it was the understatement of the century to say he had not been expecting it.

“What the fuck?!” Gwen yelped, scrambling for the lamp switch beside them, but Hob was already out of bed, sprinting for the living room.

“Stranger?!”

The bed was empty. The IV pump still stood beside it, still running happily away without a problem, but a small puddle of saline spread across the floor, seeping into the rug. Hob could see the pulled catheter at the center of it, tinged with blood, and he quickly scanned the rest of the flat, going to the kitchen and the knives first.

All there. Same with the hatchet and the fire pokers. The window was shut.

But the front door…

“Robbie!” Gwen was calling from the other room, stumbling from the bed herself, “what happened?!”

The front door was open.

“Fuck,” he hissed and ran for the landing.

Curled at the bottom of the stairs, wheezing and moaning in pain, laid Morpheus.

“Fuck,” Hob repeated, with greater feeling this time round, and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could manage in the dark, leaning into the banister all the way. “Stranger!”

Morpheus gritted his teeth against his burning tears and ground the heel of his one working hand into his eyes as he listened to Gadling hurrying to his side. It came away bloody, and he hid his battered face in the floor.

Useless. Weakling. You could not even manage to run away properly.

“Alright…you’re alright…”

I am not alright, you blundering fool! he wanted to snap as Gadling’s hands began their gentle assessment of his shivering body, starting with his head and spine. I am the furthest thing from alright. This is torture grander than the designs of hell, this is—

This was a refractured wrist, dislocated shoulder, a new laceration to his forehead and cheek where he had struck the edges of the steps, a bloody nose, several new bruises across his arms and legs and spine, at least one cracked rib, and a sizeable goose egg to the back of his head. Hob coaxed him onto his back, and his heart twisted at the way his friend threw his one good arm over his face, hiding from Hob’s eyes in the crook of his elbow as he fought to smother his shamed sobs.

“I’m going to have to reset the arm, my friend.”

Morpheus’ hand snapped from his head to Hob’s chest, scrabbling at his shirt, pleading.

“No—”

Hob caught his striking hand and forced him to still.

“It’s me or I call Constantine’s nurse.” He paused, holding Morpheus’ wide, fearful eyes. He seemed so much younger in the moonlight that spilled through the foyer window…so much paler. For a moment, the man beneath him seemed but a boy, and he thought of ebony black eyes and snow-white hair. “Which of us do you want?”

His answer came in closing eyes and a head turning away.

“I’ll be quick,” he promised.

From the landing upstairs, Gwen watched Robbie gently help Morpheus into a seat against the wall. He maneuvered his arm into position, and then there came a quick pull and a jerk followed by two nauseating pops as first the wrist and then the shoulder realigned. Morpheus cried out again through gritted teeth, and a new track of tears spilled down his cheeks.

“All done,” Hob soothed and ran his hand up and down Morpheus’ bruised side, trying to calm his hyperventilating breaths. “We’re all done.”

He tugged off his pullover and bound the garment around his friend’s chest, knotting and twisting the sleeves until he had fashioned a sturdy sling that kept the limb immobile and pressed close. And then, there was silence, punctuated only by Morpheus’ soft, shaking breaths and the quiet notes of pain that accompanied the end of each exhale. But by now, Hob knew better than to mistake this for the quiet of calm, of centering meditation. For the quiet of sanity. 

And when Morpheus made a sudden lurching bolt for the door, barely getting his legs under him, Hob was ready. He lunged after him and caught him around the middle before he could swan dive back into the tile.

“My friend, I am not here to keep you prisoner,” he protested and fought to wrangle the man back to the ground with him. “But you are not well!”

“I am well enough to walk—” Morpheus spat back, the words strung together in a rushing wheeze as he struggled to free himself. Hob dragged him back to the floor and pinned him in a seat against the wall with a single hand to his chest.

“You couldn’t even manage the stairs, you just fell your way down them!” he hissed in disbelief, shouting though his words were whispered still. “Where were you going? Where did you think—”

Morpheus shoved at him to no avail, and his eyes welled anew with frustrated, hateful tears as he shouted back his answer.

“Back to the alley!”

Hob went quiet. His hand slowly slipped from his friend’s chest as his own eyes began to glitter.

“I…I cannot be here,” Morpheus continued and tore at his clothes, his skin, at his lame arm with a mounting self-horror and hatred, and the tears slipped from his eyes in a steady, unnoticed stream. “This-this form, it is fragile, weak—this-this grotesque burden! It is despicable, I am desp—I cannot—”

Hob grabbed him mid-ramble and pulled him into a crushing embrace that stopped his thoughts mid-tailspin like a wall. And for a few heartbeats, they just sat there in silence, two grown men on a tiled floor bathed in moonlight at three in the godless morning.

“Let go,” Morpheus whispered.

“No.”

Morpheus tried to push at him, to wrench him away. A mouse would have had better luck moving a mountain.

“Let go of me, I command you—”

“Why?” Hob demanded as Morpheus continued to thrash against him, no care given now to his hyperventilating breaths or his new wounds as the blood spattered Hob’s shirt and smeared across his neck and jaw.

“No one touches me—” his Stranger snarled, desperate now, and Hob tightened his arms in a jostling wrench with one hand at the crown of his old friend’s head and the other wrapped about his back.

“I do!”

The ferocity in those two, snapped syllables knocked Morpheus back enough on his heels that Gadling forged ahead, his voice trembling but earnest and true.

“I carried you in my arms when you were more rot and death than life. I warmed your face against my throat. I bathed you. I tended your wounds. I fed you. I cleaned you.” He swallowed, took a few breaths, and pushed on. “I saw you at your absolute worst, and I loved you all the while.”

From the word loved on, even Morpheus went still.

“And yeah,” Hob wetly laughed and tucked his fingers into his friend’s hair, “you were grotesque. And you are a burden, let’s not pretend you aren’t. Especially because I know you put yourself in that alley.” Morpheus flinched. His hand curled into a trembling claw of a thing, shaking, as he tried not to touch anything, let alone Hob. “You dug that hole I found you in for yourself like there was oil or gold at the bottom and you only had a day to strike it. You are a self-destructive, cruel fuckin’ mess.”

Morpheus wanted to disappear. He wanted the earth to swallow him, wanted to be as good as dead beneath a blanket of snow and a frozen quilt, forgotten by the world.

“But we’re all burdens. That’s fucking life!” Hob snapped and shook him again, his voice nearing the breaking point. “And I am hugging you like if I let go the world’s gonna end because you are my friend, and I love you all the same.”

Morpheus’ eyes went wide, and he scarcely breathed. His hand slowly began to drift down.

“I loved you as a demon,” Hob continued when he was sure his words wouldn’t fray apart into croaking tears. “As a fae lord…as some inscrutable cosmic…thing. I loved you as a shroud.” The edge of Morpheus’ palm settled on Gadling’s hip, and the man sucked in a sharp, quaking breath as he pushed on. “I loved you as a pain in the arse who lives on my sofa. And I love you right now as the stuck-up, arrogant idiot who just threw himself headfirst down the stairs because how dare somebody see him as less than beautiful and perfect and untouchably all-powerful.”

And in the silence that followed Gadling’s mighty declaration, the kind of words that would have wreaked havoc on the Dreaming for an age and now echoed only in the foyer of a Richmond flat, Morpheus’ broken head sagged heavily upon his shoulder. His hand tipped to settle fully against Hob’s hip before slipping into a hesitant return embrace.

Surrender; at long last, surrender.

Hob’s shirt grew damp with blood and silent tears, and he blinked swiftly at the ceiling, fighting to keep himself together.

“I did not ask for this,” Morpheus gritted into him.

Hob closed his eyes as if struck, and before he could think better of it, he pressed a fleeting, comforting kiss to the man’s temple before pressing his head a bit more firmly to his Stranger’s. He ran his fingers a little deeper into his hair and closed his eyes with a heavy, heavy sigh as he felt Morpheus sag into him a little more at the tenderness.  

“I know,” he murmured and ran his other hand along the knobs of his aching spine. “But you’re here now. We both are. And we both have to make do with what we’ve been handed.”

After a while, Gadling began to pull away, and when it seemed Morpheus was going to let him go, he sat back on his heels and held his friend at arm’s length.

“Hey.” He ever so gently chucked his bruised chin, guiding him to meet his eyes. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me. If you really, truly want to go out that door, I won’t stop you.” God, but his eyes looked so tired…so worn through. “I mean, I will think you’re an idiot, and I will wait until you’re senseless on the ground again in whatever alley you pick next and then just bring you right back home to do this all over again,” he said as if it should be obvious, “but I won’t stop you. I’ll do this as many times as you need. I’ve got nothing but time.” He ran his hand up and down Morpheus’ good arm and tried to catch his eye again as, eventually, it slipped from his. “Can we go back upstairs, love?”

Morpheus shivered. There it was again.

Love.

He gave a weary nod, not quite meeting Gadling’s eye, and allowed the man to help him back to his feet. Hob pulled his friend’s good arm over his shoulders while his own slipped around that boney waist to help him on each wobbling step up the stairs.

When Hob looked up, Gwen was gone from the landing.

“Y’know,” he huffed as they made their slow ascent. “I was going to give you a hug back in 1889. When I said you were lonely.”

Morpheus swallowed and took a few breaths before answering.

“I suspected.”

There was a pause.

“Bit easier to run out of a pub than a flat, isn’t it?” The look Morpheus shot him from his bruise-swelling eyes could only be translated as oh fuck you, and Hob laughed, rubbing his thumb along his hip in comfort as they continued upward. “Come on, mate.”

When they reached home once more, Gwen was nowhere to be seen. The bed had been tidied and prepared once more for sleep, and the first aid kit had been laid out on the coffee table: a suture set, stack of gauze pads, roll of tape and tube of antibiotic ointment already set aside.

The door to their bedroom was closed once more, and once he’d gotten Morpheus squared away once more, settling him back in bed with his menagerie of wounds dressed anew and setting aside the now useless IV pole and pump, he retreated into the waiting, frosty dark. He changed his clothes in silence, and when he climbed into bed, he could tell plainly from the tension in Gwen’s weight upon her side of the mattress that she was wide awake.

“I’m really sorry, love,” he said after a time. “I know you have your big lecture tomorrow, and—”

Gwen rolled over.

“It’s fine.”

Hob turned after her.

“It’s not.” She said nothing, and her silence spoke volumes. Hob released a quiet sigh. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I love you.”

For a while, so long that Hob was sure she wasn’t going to say anything at all to him, Gwen was quiet.

“I know,” she finally whispered and pulled a second pillow over her silk-wrapped head. “Don’t forget to wake up early to clean up any blood he left on the stairs and in the foyer.”

Message received.

“…Yeah. Won’t forget.” Hob’s chest ached, and he turned away, adjusting his pillow at an angle so he could wrap his arms partially about it while still burying his head into its depths.

When sleep took him, he awoke in an idyllic field beneath a towering oak tree on a fine summer day. Morpheus laid beneath him, bloodied and broken, just as he laid in his living room now though without the care of stitches or slings, and he held Hob’s horrified eyes with a listless emptiness. The flowers wilted. The grasses died. And the ground turned to hard-packed permafrost that spread from his Stranger’s body like a mold, consuming him and all around them. Hob could only watch as the ice spread into his own flesh and bone where they touched and froze him into place like some sort of grotesque statue as he tried too late to pull away.

And once Morpheus’ chill robbed from him the last of his freedom, his Stranger’s hand slowly raised to his ice-carved features. His fingers brushed his cheeks like tiny daggers, caressing the line of his nose, his brows, following the path of his cheekbones to his jaw and finally his lips. Hob yearned to shudder but could not so much as blink or even breathe as his Stranger’s nails lengthened and their touch trailed down his neck, over his collarbones, to wait upon his chest.

Please, he wanted to beg— (please, yes? please, no?) Mercy.

And Hob howled in silence as Morpheus’s hand dug in, titanium fingers crushing his ribs, tearing through cartilage and flesh. He wanted at the least to close his eyes, to not see his own crimson spilling down Morpheus’ arm or the expression on his face as he dug. But he could not, and the icy grip pushed and groped ever further into him until it found what it sought.

It curled around his frantically beating heart…

His Stranger smiled that sly, mean smile of old.

…and then ripped.

Gadling could do nothing but stare with frozen eyes as his lifeblood poured in a crystallizing spatter atop his friend, and everywhere the scalding blood touched, Morpheus’ skin began to thaw. His dark head fell back in ecstasy, the color returning, the life glowing once more in his eyes as he clutched Hob’s still-beating heart in his hand.

Gadling felt himself grow colder. And colder. And colder….

And Morpheus moved, leaning up to him with a bloodstained mouth that pressed hungrily to his own, to his neck, and Dream’s voice of old purred against his ear like a starved cat presented with an endless feast.

“Thank you…” Those resonant tones amplified, and a voice Hob felt he should know yet could not recall having ever heard grinned in redoubled volume atop Morpheus’, “my love.”

The hands tore back into him, prying him apart to make a home, and Hob’s silence screamed and screamed.

Gwen dreamed of gardening. She tended the bountiful yard of a nice house back in North Carolina that she owned, where she was close to all her friends and family and never had to look at another talking animal or hear the title “of the Endless” ever again for the rest of her very long natural life.

In the living room, Morpheus watched the hearth’s embers dwindle to coal and did what he did most nights.

He lost himself in thought and bell jar silence and did not stray anywhere near the land of dreams. He released the effort it took to listen in this mortal plane, allowed the tightness in his neck to relax, and traded his tension headache for the dull constancy of a concussion and the throb of his pulse in his newly sutured forehead. His left eye was nearly bruised shut, and he adjusted the lay of the ice pack to the back of his head as he considered next steps.

His plan for a quick escape in the night had, obviously, failed, and at his current rate of recovery, it was a decreasingly viable plan overall. And in the light of Gadling’s rather melodramatic proclamation, it felt especially cruel to drag his weary body to the kitchen or the window and attempt to end things himself. His sister of course, would not come. But his demise would butt against her domain, would announce his commitment to his decision far more poignantly than any fragmented sentence he could gasp out, and that was his only intent.

But then, Gadling would have to clean up the results of his handiwork, or worse Guinevere. They would have to patch him together once more like that asinine children’s rhyme, knowing he would just do it again and again and again, and the cycle would continue. It was hardly kind or considerate, but then again, Morpheus had never pretended to be either.

…Perhaps he could hide a paring knife in the bathroom tonight. Then, at his next bath, he could take advantage of the privacy and the containment the tub provided and slit his wrists beneath the warm water. It would be easier for Gadling to clean. He would, ostensibly, just need to open the drain, douse the porcelain in bleach, and then—

“My, my,” someone crooned from the window bench. “I should call my dearest twin here for the mood in that mind.”

It was a subtle thing, the way Morpheus’ already flat expression turned to stone and his eyes to steel. But turn, they did, and when his battered skull pivoted upon his neck to glower at the entity that lounged in the moonlight—clad only in a long, flowing black robe of silk and lace and feather that spilled about their bared legs and down to the floor like ink—they only grinned back at him with a smile as sharp as knives.

“Hello, Morpheus,” Desire purred.

“What do you want?” he asked, and what had once been a disdainful demand in a life now passed was little more than a frightened whisper.

Desire laughed, cold and ringing and as playful as the bedroom, and laced their fingers together as they allowed their spine to bend, and they stretched their joined arms above their head toward the ground as they rolled languidly onto their back. The window seemed to grow with them, the bench transforming to a fainting couch and then a bed that they sprawled within. Their bare feet played at the glass, their toes painted red to match their lips, and left fogged footprints behind.

A throne for the reigning victor.

“What do you want is the better question,” they leered, upside-down, and rolled onto their stomach to rest their chin upon the cradle of their fingers. Their golden eyes gleamed like fire as they shifted from Morpheus’ carefully still frame to Hob’s bedroom door. Their grin widened from Cheshire cat to hungry wolf. “Or even better, what does he want.” They drew upright like a cobra, like a lion at the head of their pride, and pointed to Morpheus with a sharp-tipped finger in playful scold. “You hid him from me, brother, but no longer. Such delicious things are happening in that brain of his tonight and all of it mine.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Desire laughed at the piteous objection, and they swung their legs over the edge of the bed with a dancer’s brutal swiftness, sweeping to their feet. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

Desire was smaller than him. It was not by much, a couple inches perhaps, but for the entirety of their existences, they had always been forced to look slightly up at him. Here, now, they were the one who towered, and Morpheus could do little else but watch them come, their every move sultry and fluid and dangerous.

“No posturing?” they needled as they soon reached his bedside. “No threats of ending me or raining down ruin? Just one…” They mounted the bed and drew closer still, “pitiful…little…don’t?”

Morpheus struggled as far back as he could in his newly injured state, balking before Desire’s advances until he was pressed to the sofa’s back; his head turned away, and his eyes cast to the floor as he tried to calm. Desire loomed above him, straddling his legs, and leaned down as they peered at their fallen brother’s sad state. “Well,” they purred after a time, sneering. “I suppose that’s all you can manage right now, isn’t it? Tch…”

Morpheus jumped as Desire’s nails caressed their way up his throat to hook him by the underside of his jaw and drag his head to face them.

“Look at you,” they chided with a pouting frown that spread all too easily into another cruel smile. “The things you do to yourself.”

He swallowed and swore their nails drew blood. “Desire,” he hoarsely whispered, only just keeping himself from outright pleading, and they rolled their eyes with a groan.

They released their hold in a put-upon flick of their wrist and picked at his hair next as his head tipped with a pained wince.

“I’ll leave him be…” they sighed, and they waited until they saw the flash of relief in Morpheus’ swollen eyes before allowing another mischievous smirk to curl their painted lips. Their hand returned to his jaw in a clamping flash that dug their nails into his hollow cheeks and had him startling with a grunt of pain. “For now. But you’ll have to do something for me first.”

Morpheus thought of Desire’s talons sunk into Gadling’s mind and body, thought of the man’s gluttony at the mercy of their destructive cruelty, and set his jaw against Desire’s grip.

“Name it,” he growled, for a moment the Morpheus of old.

Desire’s smile turned victorious. They leaned close, holding him in place by the jaw as their lips neared his ear. Their breath was hot on his skin, their scent overwhelming, and Morpheus braced himself for their price as they whispered….

“Fucking…eat.”

His mind grated, ground, and utterly broke.

“What,” he said. The blindsided word hardly registered as a question, and Desire looked directly into his eyes, still holding him in that throttling grip.

“I am tired of your rotted bones haunting my halls like some kind of putrid ghost,” they snapped, and Morpheus could only stare in utter bewilderment. “Start eating. Start drinking. Start sleeping. Start fantasizing. I don’t care what order you do it in, but you better start doing it tonight, because if you don’t—”

Morpheus’ voice strengthened even as his ability to comprehend what was happening with this conversation unspooled like a runaway ball of yarn.

“What,” he repeated, and Desire swatted him upside the head.

“Hunger is just a facet of desire, you shit. All of this,” they gestured to his mess of a body, “is you being arrogant enough to think you can self-immolate your way back into our big sister’s good graces. But guess what, my lord? Death’s not listening. My twin has had her fill. You’ve been knocking about in the wrong kingdom, and I have had it. I—”

They caught themselves with a deep, composing breath, and when they resumed, it was at their usual cadence.

“Start eating. Start sleeping,” they ordered, and their tone, too, began to soften until it returned to their natural, predatory purr. “Or else…” Their eyes slid from their brother’s to something off to their right, and they turned his head with them to look to Gadling’s bedroom door. “…I make all your appetites uncontrollable.”

 …They wouldn’t.

“You’d just absolutely shatter loyal little Guinevere’s heart. Hell, maybe the rest of her, too,” Desire continued and bit by bit released their grip on Morpheus’ jaw as they watched him somehow pale further beneath the fresh bruises and wounds. “As you well know, you always get what you want when it comes to lust…or you destroy what stands in your way to get it.” Desire was no longer touching him, but still his head stayed turned, his eyes transfixed on the heavy door and the people who slumbered innocently on beyond it. “And Gadling…” They laughed and slipped from the bed to peruse the kitchen, lingering at the fruit bowl. “Oh, that one would bow for you so fast it embarrasses even me,” they leered and made their selection, “and we both know that you never leave much behind once you’ve satisfied the hunt.”

He thought of Gwen helping him down the hall to the bathroom and guiding him through therapy exercises. He thought of Gadling tending his wounds and studiously tracking each one’s healing. He thought of their endless patience and kindness, and Gadling’s kiss seared his temple in the cooling night, his arms firm about him as he relentlessly pursued his own destruction.

Desire wouldn’t, he begged.

But Desire would. He knew they would, and they would laugh the whole while, delighting in their destruction and cruelty as this flat tore itself apart. He turned from Gadling’s room and looked up at his sibling beside him as they returned, hiding something behind them all the way. And as they read in his eyes the resignation and hatred, they knew they had won.

They presented a banana from behind their back with the single most juvenile smirk on their face. After a moment, Morpheus snatched it from them, and their expression sobered to something that was almost grim approval as, glaring all the way, he ate the entire thing.

“About time.”

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - January Podfic

New this year, I’ll be sharing a list of podfic I listened to throughout the previous month on the last day of the month. I’m a few days late this month, but here’s the fic I loved to listen to this month. 

[Podfic] Nor An Evil Tongue Bewitch by M_Samro 

The thing about kisses is that they always come at the end of the story.

Steve's life has had an awful lot of endings.

I wish I could explain the way I love this fic, how lyrical and lovely it is?? M_Samro does an amazing job with the podfic, highly recommend.

[Podfic] The Sound Silence Makes by seleneaurora

“We need exactly what we don’t have,” Tony observed, annoyed and tired. He started to giggle and couldn’t stop himself. “Power.”

He cast a glance back at the door, sealed shut behind him, and he didn’t foresee the cavalry charging through anytime soon with a generator and a bomb kit. Tony took a deep breath and asked, “How much reserve power does the suit have, J?”

“The suit is currently running on the arc reactor, sir. You have approximately one hour of power remaining before the reactor reaches critical levels.”

Team dynamics are everything, and the way that Tony is just--his usual self-sacrificial idiot self is perfection.

[Podfic] In All the World by kalakirya

In a world where Sentinels, people with five heightened senses, bond mentally and spiritually with Guides, people gifted with empathetic powers, Tony Stark has spent thirty-three years overwhelmed by the emotions of those around him and running from his own. Sentinel Steve Rogers wakes up sixty years out of his own time and struggles to deal with the massive amount of new sensory input while trying to find his footing in a New York very different from the one he knew. When they finally find each other, how will their bond change them?

I've never watched the media Sentinel AUs are based off of, but I adore them, and this one is excellent, and the podfic is just--perfect.

Hide Your Love Away, by Sineala, (podfic) by cookiemom6067 

Tony has suspected for a long time that the soulmark on his chest matches Steve's -- but he's never told Steve about it. And then it's too late to tell Steve anything at all ever again. In the wake of Steve's death, the Skrull invasion, and Norman Osborn's rise to power, the identity of his soulmate is just one of the many things Tony cuts out of his memory forever.

When Tony returns to consciousness, he's forced to deal with the aftermath of a war he no longer remembers fighting, not to mention a Steve Rogers who can barely stand to be in the same room with him. Surely the last thing Tony could ever need in his life is more amnesia. But that's what he gets. And Tony's new missing memory just might be the key to finding out the truth of his soulmark... as well as his chance to make things right once and for all.

SOULMATE AU. One of my favorites, which is saying something. The narration for @sineala work is amazing.

[podfic] Degrees of Separation by plingo_kat, reena_jenkins

Oh god, what if Jarvis infected Dummy with, with emotions. Jesus Christ.

I honestly expected this to be fluffier than it was. And somehow I haven't actually read the fic? Which startled me. Oops.

[Podfic] Scars and Stitches by Cathalinareads (Cathalinaheart)

When Tony shows up to SHIELD to be fitted with the Iron Man armor, Steve, the original Iron Man, is there to help him out.

I have a huge soft spot for Bullet Points and this fic is just--so good. Iron Man Steve is so dear to me.

[Podfic] Straight on till Morning by Sineala by M_Samro

This is a podfic for the amazing masterpiece that is Sineala's "Straight on till Morning" which is summarized thusly:

Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive.

But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything.

I'm gonna be honest. This is one of my favorite fics ever. Not just in the Stevetony fandom, like. Ever. As a fic, it's practically perfect (which is a feat considering my adoration for Star Trek) and the podfic somehow makes it even BETTER. The narration and production M_Samro brings to it is truly amazing, and I always cry through certain parts of the podfic. I chattered about the podfic on Twitter while I listened and the outpouring of love for this fic and podfic made me ridiculously happy.

[magicshopaholic]

Trials and Temptation (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: You and Taehyung see each other for the first time in two weeks. Meanwhile, Jungkook finally gets something off his chest.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst, minor smut

Word count: 9.3 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, mentions of car crashes, allusions to sex, making out

A/N: I have reached a point in my life where I just don't proof read anymore, apparently. Still, hope you all like this one. It's been a while, but hopefully it's worth it. Set two weeks after Zandvoort.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @faearchives @margopinkerton @purpleseoul7 @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “madness” by muse

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

Dilara’s limbs feel like lead in the best possible way.

She feels around for her phone, trying to move her hand as little as possible. Barely opening her eyes, she checks the screen to discover she’s been asleep for thirteen hours, meaning she’s missed dinner and breakfast.

She doesn’t regret it, though. She needed this sleep. Flying weekly from the Netherlands to Russia, to Italy and now to Singapore, with two entire race weekends and a third one beginning has brought her body to its breaking point. 

But she has no choice now; it’s Thursday and the PR is always overdone in Singapore. The buffet is probably closed but the executive lounge is sure to be stocked with food even now. With a mighty effort, she slides out of bed and washes her face, choosing to head to the fancy executive lounge in the Hilton in shorts, a long-sleeved shirt and flip flops.

The lounge is mostly empty, which is expected. She sees the buffet at the end of the fancy room, a tempting sight against Singapore’s swanky landscape - and already surrounded by a few others. Her heart doesn’t have time to race in anticipation, because Yoongi spots her almost immediately.

All he does is raise his eyebrows in surprise and wave before the men around him spot her, too. She mumbles out a “hey” as they approach her, relieved smiles on their faces. Dilara can hear the sleep in her own voice and knows her face looks dull and puffy as hell. Still, it feels better than she can remember to see them and for a moment, she's worried her emotion will show in her expression.

"It's good to see you, Dilara," says Namjoon, hugging her and patting her back.

"Thanks," she replies, relieved. "I'm glad it's -"

Before she can finish her sentence, Jungkook emerges from behind Namjoon, knocking Jimin over on his other side, and hugs her as well. He's silent but his arms are tight around her shoulders, and once she's over the momentary surprise, Dilara gently pats his back and waits until he lets her go.

"Hey, JK," she murmurs as he slowly steps back. As though it's like a magnetic pull, her gaze finds Taehyung over his shoulder, head lowered and keeping a respectful distance. 

Their eyes meet and her heart jolts at the expression on his face.

The crash had been unexpected for everyone. The entire team had been taken off guard; for the best car on the grid to spin out the way it did and hit a barrier hard enough to break it, it had brought the entire circuit to a standstill. John, her engineer, had been muttering into the radio: “Dilara, you okay? Respond, please. Dilara, are you okay?”, over and over on a loop, voice getting tighter and tighter with every passing second of silence, followed by Christian’s voice. Dilara. Let us know you’re okay, please.

Of course, she didn’t know this at the time. The impact had been so strong that her earphones had slipped out of her ears and she’d heard nothing. Without any response from her, she could only imagine that everyone was assuming the worst. Her ears had been ringing, her head spinning, the only sound she could make out being the one of her tyres crashing into the barrier. 

The race was red flagged and the medical car had picked her up from the crash site. Despite the fact that she was walking, albeit slowly, she was taken straight to the medical room and checked out while the stewards fixed the barriers. 

The first person Dilara spoke to when she was handed her phone was her mother, her voice shaking with relief when she heard her daughter’s voice through the phone. Her stepfather was next, followed by Chris and Fred, followed by Lexie, followed by Mick Schumacher who’d run over from the Ferrari garage to check if she was okay.

The race was done and the car was totalled - there was nothing that could be done about that. The Red Bull travel team had pushed her flight from that evening to the next afternoon, giving her the rest of the day to heal before travelling. 

Her team helped her get back to the garage, her press officer helped her through the post-race interviews, her friends helped her back to the hotel, and the hotel staff in Tuscany went over and above to ensure that she was taken care of until she checked out the next day.

It made Dilara feel ungrateful, that despite the support she had, part of her attention was constantly on her phone, waiting for one call only. 

Yoongi messaged her right after the crash; it was clear that he didn’t care about whatever limbo she and Taehyung were in, choosing to only ask if she was okay and to let him know if she needed anything. Towards the evening, it seemed even Jimin couldn’t resist checking in and dropping her voice note, sounding distinctly as though he was whispering.

It was a mild sort of relief she wasn’t a fan of: they didn’t forget. Dilara knew why Taehyung wasn’t calling her, but it didn’t stop her from waiting for it all the same. Fortunately, by the time her mind started tending towards more dangerous scenarios, the week began and she had to fly out to Singapore for the last race in this triple header. The weekend after that would be free, and the weekend after that would be Suzuka, Japan - Red Bull’s last race in partnership with BTS.

Taehyung’s hair is black again, falling into his eyes, curling at the nape of his neck in the Singapore humidity. The ash blond from before - from before - is gone, leaving him looking like he did the first time they met. Dilara wonders briefly if this was deliberate on his part.

When it seems clear that he’s waiting for her to decide what to do, she makes her way towards him slowly, noting from the corner of her eye how the others awkwardly disperse. She notices the flicker in his eyes as she approaches him, of restrained relief. He swallows and his toes press into the soles of his slippers, as though stopping himself from moving forward.

The smell of lotion is what was missing in that medical room in Tuscany; Dilara knows it now. Taehyung swallows and she raises her arms halfway, nodding slightly and taking another step towards him, wrapping her arms around his waist and feeling him envelope her instantly. 

It’s tight, bordering on uncomfortable, but she lets it continue. It’s desperate, just like it is for everyone who watches someone they care about crash a speeding car during a race. It’s not unexpected, and when he silently lowers his head onto her shoulder, face tilted and lips pressed to the collar of her t-shirt, she squeezes him tighter.

“‘M ‘kay,” she mutters into his collarbone, hearing her voice muffled against his skin. “I’m here.”

—

Singapore is hot and humid. The drivers will be expected to take an ice bath on Saturday and Sunday, an event that will usually be photographed for PR. Dilara isn’t particularly looking forward to it, especially since she knows it’ll be similar to last year: a hot tub filled with ice, and all four drivers from Red Bull and AlphaTauri shivering inside it for shits and giggles.

She prefers the pool - more when the executive pool is reserved just for selected guests. The view of the city is spectacular from this height; she moves her legs slowly behind her in the water as she peers out over the infinity pool, feeling the cool water across her shoulder blades.

Dilara turns when someone else joins in; she waves to Jungkook, who waves back before slipping off his T-shirt and gracefully diving into the water. He does an entire lap around the pool before slowly breast stroking his way towards her and joining her at the edge.

“It’s so hot,” he comments, smoothing back his wet hair and standing to his full height. The water reaches somewhere around his pecs, droplets of water gleaming on his honey coloured chest and shoulders. 

Dilara looks away quickly. “Better than Russia, though. But still,” she agrees, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. “This race is going to be hell.”

“I can imagine.”

He can’t, really, but that’s okay; she appreciates the sentiment. Jungkook’s always taken the most interest in racing; not in her racing career, but racing in general. The fact that he might be the only one to know just how hard she crashed in Italy and how bad it could’ve gotten isn’t lost on her.

“When did you guys get here?” 

“Last night.” Jungkook slides down into the water all the way to his neck and turns around so his back is against the wall. “Most of them flew from Seoul so it wasn’t that bad. Only me, Namjoon hyung and Taehyung hyung stayed in Europe.”

Dilara frowns, resting her elbows on the edge. “Why? You guys had almost two weeks off. Didn’t you want to go home?”

“We didn’t have it off,” he clarifies, snorting a little. “Suga hyung was in the studio the whole time and Hobi hyung and Jimin were filming for a commercial. Namjoon hyung had to go to the studio, too, but I think he rescheduled it. Wanted to stay with Kaya for a little longer.”

“And you and Taehyung tagged along? Third wheels much?”

“No! We went to Paris for a few days and only went to Amsterdam at the end of the week. We watched the race with them,” he adds.

“Uh-huh. What did you think?” She smirks a little from behind the sunglasses. “Was it all the entertainment the sport promises?”

Jungkook gives her a look. “Not funny.”

Dilara’s smile fades. “Sorry.” She turns around and leans back against the wall like him, noticing how much longer his legs are under the water. “Where are the others?”

“Others?”

“Yes, all six of them.”

He chortles. “They should be up here soon.” He barely gets the words out of his mouth before Namjoon and Hoseok enter the pool area from inside, both of them wearing sunglasses like her, in swimming trunks and thin T-shirts. 

Dilara and Jungkook watch the rest of them arrive in relative silence, snorting in unison when Seokjin brings a gigantic inflatable duck with him. Jimin whips off his shirt as well and winks at her before heading to the bar for a drink.

Taehyung is the last to arrive, his face hidden behind huge sunglasses. She can still tell when he spots her; he pauses momentarily and raises a hand halfway in a wave before joining Jimin at the bar.

Dilara swallows, her heart jolting slightly. Her eyes follow him as he seemingly scans the menu, his hands loose in the pockets of his shorts. His black hair looks bright against the thin white T-shirt; despite herself, she imagines what it would be like to run her hands through it.

Next to her, Jungkook clears his throat conspicuously.

“Have you two…”

“No.”

He nods while she looks down at the water, trying to ignore her disappointment at his unenthused greeting.

“Do you want to…?”

“I don’t know.” Dilara exhales. “He seems… busy, anyway,” she adds, glancing at him, now seemingly discussing the menu with Jimin.

Jungkook follows her gaze and bites his lip. “Understood.” He leans forward and pushes himself into the water. “Got your back.”

She frowns. “What does that mean?”

But Jungkook has swum away. She watches in mild confusion as he glides diagonally across the pool like a shark and emerges almost soundlessly, dripping from head to toe. Then, with a yell in what can only be Korean, he barrels towards Jimin, who shrieks, as he pushes him and they both get thrown into the water.

There’s an outbreak of guffaws, followed by Jimin sputtering and complaining and Jungkook laughing loudly. In the confusion, Dilara swims over to the same spot that Jungkook had and climbs out, quietly joining Taehyung who’s now at the self-service counter next to the bar. A chilled water tank rests on it, with slices of brightly coloured fruit floating inside it.

Taehyung turns to her and his grin fades slightly, but he doesn’t look unhappy. He takes his sunglasses off the same time she does, swiping his hair out of his eyes the same time she lets hers out of its bun, ropes of wet hair falling loose around one shoulder.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hey.” His gaze flickers down her simple red one-piece before meeting hers again. He holds it for a few seconds and then looks away, fiddling with the nozzle of the water cooler. “How are you?”

It takes Dilara a moment to process his words. I’m just swell, thanks. “Um… I’m okay. You?” she asks after a moment.

“Same.” He gives her a hint of a smile, polite. Formal. Then, as though he can’t resist, his gaze focused on his glass under the nozzle, he speaks again. “Are you okay? Did you… did you get hurt?”

“In the crash?” She notices him wince slightly. “No… not really. They checked for a concussion and stuff, but… all okay.”

“Good.” Taehyung nods, glancing at her. “Because… well, I heard that when something like that happens, they don’t show the driver on camera until they know the driver is okay. And they didn’t show you for a while,” he mutters, looking at the ground.

Dilara frowns. “You were watching,” she states, realising only now that she can’t actually picture him watching two and a half hours worth of a race.

“Yeah, I was,” he answers, sounding a bit confused at her statement. 

A memory tugs at her heart. Another crash, less dangerous than this one. A cloudy, grey afternoon on the paddock in Suzuka. I think I’ll be worried every single weekend from now on.

That had been less than forty-eight hours after they’d met. She’d been a bit cold towards him that day, annoyed at the thought of being a one-night stand who was being ignored. It seems ridiculous in hindsight.

“My earphones came off,” she explains, reaching for a cup so she can give her hands something to do. “So I couldn’t hear the team. How long was I off camera?” she asks, curious.

He’s still not looking at her properly, as though she’s going to blind him if he stares at her too long. “A few minutes,” he murmurs. “But I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks.”

There’s another moment of strange, awkward silence. “And I’m sorry about the race, too,” he adds, as though it’s another bullet point he’d rehearsed and almost forgotten.

“Right. It’s okay. My main competition in the points right now is Charles and his engine failed so he couldn’t finish his race either,” she explains. “So it didn’t really make a difference.”

“That’s good.”

When he doesn’t say anymore, Dilara nods slowly, at a loss for anything more to say. 

The crash scared him. He was scared. That would explain the careful distance he’s maintaining- except, it wouldn’t. This is not scared Taehyung; scared Taehyung would start losing his cool even faster, his emotions bubbling up to the surface. But there’s none of that here. She thinks of the way he’d hugged her this morning, held her so close to him - that was scared Taehyung, or the closest to it that she’s seen so far.. 

Since then, however, it’s like he’s doing everything in his power to maintain a distance, one that’s just growing further and further.

Dilara licks her lips and glances up at him, watching him sip at his drink. Finally, she shakes her head.

“How come you didn’t call me?” she asks, unable to keep it in any longer.

Taehyung frowns and whips around to look at her, his eyes wide. “You - you told me not to -”

“No, I know,” she says quickly. “I know what I said. I just… I kind of expected you to do it anyway,” she remarks, realising it’s true. Most of her had no faith that he’d do what she asked, his own needs sure to overpower her wishes eventually.

He looks a bit doubtful. “Sorry?”

She cracks a small smile. “Don’t be. How did you restrain yourself, though?” When she notices the small frown, she amends her question. “How did you stop yourself?”

“Oh, uh…” Taehyung rubs the back of his neck, slender fingers gliding through his thick hair. “I mean, you asked me not to.” He shrugs lamely but then sighs. “I thought about it,” he admits. “After the - after the crash. But I didn’t want to make it worse… and Kaya agreed, too. She said I should give you space if you asked for it.”

Dilara struggles to picture it: Taehyung, Jungkook, Namjoon and Namjoon’s girlfriend, all watching the race, seeing her crash into the barriers and the race getting red flagged. Taehyung debating whether to call her; did he ask Namjoon for his advice, which prompted Kaya to give hers? Did they guess?

“You told her?” she asks, for lack of anything else to say.

“Not really… I guess Namjoon hyung did.”

She isn’t surprised, neither does she really care. She supposes it should make her happy, that he did what she wanted, but all she can feel is something akin to disappointment, especially when she looks up and sees him still standing a careful four feet away from her, as though afraid to get too close.

Dilara takes a step closer to him but before she can say anything, Taehyung places his empty glass down. “I’m going to swim for a bit,” he says quickly, shuffling backwards. “You can join us, if you want.”

If you want. It had seemed like fun before, being around friendly faces after two weeks of travelling mostly alone. But with Taehyung seeming so uncaring about it, inviting her just to be polite - suddenly she wants to be anywhere but here.

—

The next day is Friday, Free Practice day. Yet, nothing changes. She continues seeing him around, in the hotel, in the paddock, in the restaurant - and Taehyung continues acknowledging her from a distance and exchanging careful, guarded words when he has to. It’s confusing, but it’s also filling her with a sense of dread she can’t place.

Dilara doesn’t know if the other guys have noticed this weird change in dynamic; if they have, they aren’t reacting to it. Given Singapore’s real estate scenario, all of them are put up in a hotel this time in separate suites. The group has three, as far as she knows, and she has her own. For the first time since this PR stunt began, she finds herself wishing they were still living in the same house.

The weather is just unbearable. After the first awkward encounter at the pool, Dilara throws caution to the wind and starts heading out there for a quick dip whenever she can. She runs into Jungkook a couple of times, once into Namjoon - and once into Taehyung on her way back.

Their hotel rooms are on the executive floor, meaning no one but them has access to it. On Friday night, after a long day of free practice, debriefs with the team, the pre-race press conference and some PR, Dilara sneaks away for a late night swim. She doesn’t have the energy for more than a couple of laps, spending most of her time floating on her back.

She doesn’t even bother showering in the changing rooms. Pulling on a pair of shorts over her swimsuit and slipping into her flip flops, she heads back to her room, barely noticing the droplets of water from her hair dotting the carpeted floor. When she’s almost at her suite, the door opposite her own swings open and Taehyung emerges, adjusting a headband on his head when he sees her.

“Hi,” she says after a moment.

Taehyung looks almost like a deer caught in headlights. His eyes flicker and he glances up and down the corridor before giving her a formal smile and a nod. “Hey.”

Dilara tries not to grit her teeth too obviously. She stares at him and silently lowers her hands from where she’d been holding a towel to her chest, exposing the bikini top she’d specifically worn because she’d known she’d be alone at the pool. Leaning back against the wall, she holds his gaze.

Taehyung tries, really tries, to keep his eyes trained on hers, but eventually he breaks, swallowing as he takes in her appearance. 

“Are you going out somewhere?” she asks.

It takes him a moment. “I - no. I mean, kind of. I think I left something in the car so I’m going to my manager’s room to check if he found it or…” He trails off. “You?”

“Went for a swim.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.” Dilara nonchalantly sweeps her hair over one shoulder, stretching her side as she does so. “It was nice. Quiet. But you know -” she shrugs “- still public. Anyone could have come out there.”

She’s being extremely obvious now, but it seems to be a situation that demands it. She watches Taehyung nod jerkily and bite his lip, his gaze still lingering low on her torso before struggling upwards to her face. He is unbelievably handsome; her heart stutters when his eyes snap up to meet hers, dark and knowing.

“And it’s better than the ice bath tomorrow. I’m not really looking forward to sharing a tub with Max and those guys,” she adds casually, subtly watching him for his reaction and feeling her stomach sink slightly when he displays none.

“Might help with the heat,” he offers vaguely, looking at the ground now. “You should - you should get some rest. For tomorrow.”

Dilara stares. “Tomorrow is Qualifying. Not the race.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Still.” He takes a deliberate step back, hands in his pockets, and she notices only then how much closer they’d gravitated towards each other. “It’s late. I - have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. Do you want to -”

“Jungkook hasn’t either, I think,” he interrupts. “Or Yoongi. I think they have ramen in their room, too.” He points in the general direction of the corridor. “I should go.”

She nods, too frustrated to talk. With no interest in having dinner with Yoongi or Jungkook, she watches him strut down the corridor and turn in the direction of the elevator, out of sight. 

On Saturday morning, Dilara gets ready for the final round of Free Practice before Qualifying in the evening. It’s hot, as usual, but she can’t focus on that right now. The fact that she has roughly eight hours until Qualifying is weighing on her; in eight hours, the expectation from her will be to drive her fastest around the circuit, to push the car to its limit and beyond.

She’d done exactly that in Tuscany and her brakes had failed. Granted, it was the only time in ages that the Red Bull had ever been faulty to this extent, but it had still happened to her. A more flimsy barrier, a hotter track, a differently designed car - that’s all it would’ve taken for the crash to have been far more serious.

Dilara stares at the seat, feeling her mouth go dry. Climbing into the car, being strapped to the seat… she’d managed Free Practice yesterday, but today seems like a whole different ball game. Fully aware of the mechanics and team members milling around her, however, she rolls back her shoulders and brings her hair to the front to braid it, hoping to delay the process of getting into the car.

She wishes Lexie were here. The team was supportive of her recovery throughout, but this is different. They’re still the team and she’s the driver; after all the work they’ve put in all year, she owes them a good race no matter what. Lexie would’ve been here for her, for Dilara, with the race being the second priority.

Dilara looks up across the garage at where BTS will be seated during the race tomorrow, possibly during Qualifying as well. Taehyung might have been here for her only, but she can’t see him anywhere right now. He wasn’t there after the crash, and he isn’t here now - and Dilara has never been more aware of his absence. It scares her more than it should, but it’s not something she should be worrying about on a race weekend.

Taking a deep breath, she steps into the car.

—

“Fifteen minutes to the interview!” 

“Copy!” Dilara waves to Vicki before stepping into her changing room, relieved to be out of the heat for a few minutes. She lets her hair out of its ponytail, curling wildly in the humidity and shakes it out for some of the air conditioning to hit her scalp.

It’s pre-Qualifying interviews in a few minutes; usually she’d be out there in full race gear, ready for the pictures and the drivers’ parade after. But in this heat, she can’t imagine a single driver would be in their overalls. Lewis had shown up in a tank top last time; in an effort not to pass out from a heat stroke, Dilara makes the executive decision to wear half her team overalls with a sports bra, thin and white.

She jumps when she hears a knock on her door. “Come in,” she calls, frowning, which turns into shock when the knob turns and Kim Taehyung slips inside, immediately locking the door behind him.

“Oh, my God - how did you get in here?” she gasps as he tentatively enters the cramped changing room. “Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so.” He tosses his hair out of his eyes, walking up to stand in front of her and still keeping a deliberate four feet between them. “I just wanted to say…” He trails off, swallowing and looking around the room.

Dilara’s heart hammers, partly from the shock and partly from the scent of his lotion in such close quarters. His thin button-down, white and loose, makes him look like a character from a period film. His hair is darker than ever and perfectly soft and fluffy, apparently unaffected by the humidity. She clears her throat.

“Yeah?”

“Just… good luck.” Taehyung nods awkwardly and seemingly turns to leave but then stops. “And… don’t do what you did last time.”

“What do you mean?” It takes her a moment to understand what he’s referring to. “Wait, you’re talking about the crash? I didn’t do anything - Lando Norris blocked me and I locked up and then my brakes -”

“Fine,” he interrupts her, taking a step forward. “Just… don’t do that again. Don’t let that happen again. Please,” he adds tightly.

It’s not her ideal form of a confessional, but with whatever is going on with him right now, she supposes it’s the best she’s going to get. She places her hands on her hips, surveying him critically.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

The same disappointment she’d been feeling all weekend threatens to take over but she knows she can’t afford emotions like that before racing. So she simply shrugs. “Fine. I’ll do my best not to crash into a barrier and destroy my car. Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes and turning away when he grabs her wrist.

“Wait, Lara, are you -” He scoffs slightly. “Are you angry with me?”

She raises her eyebrows, noting how he instantly drops her wrist. “Why would I be angry?”

Taehyung tilts his head and gives her a look, and she can almost hear him say I can tell, you know. “I just came to wish you good luck.”

“Great.” She takes a step forward towards him. “Anything else?”

“No. That’s it.”

Dilara could shake him. The sinking feeling is returning and she has to get rid of it in a few minutes or it could ruin her entire Qualifying. Vaguely recalling the last time they were in her changing room together, she steps up towards him and kisses him.

Taehyung seems surprised for a fraction of a second before his entire facade seemingly crumbles; he kisses her back instantly, holding her face and walking her back until she feels the wall. 

Finally, she thinks reaching up and pulling him closer by the shirt, feeling his slender torso against hers. It’s fast and messy; their hands roam across each other boldly and Dilara tries to breathe in as much of him as she can, desperate to retain this version of him that she knew was here this whole time.

She squeezes her eyes shut as his lips move across her jaw and down her neck, remembering that she has about seven minutes at best before she has to be at her pre-Qualifying interview. It’s too hard to focus on anything else right now, though; she runs a hand through Taehyung’s hair, feeling his arms tight around her. Her core tingles pleasurably as he goes lower and she moans, feeling him make his way down her chest and suck on her nipple.

Dilara realises a moment too late and gasps the same time that he pulls away with a jerk, as though electrocuted. They stare at each other for a second, their expressions identical ones of horror before she looks down to see the most incriminating spot on her white sports bra, right in the open for everyone to see.

“What - what did you do?” she stammers, glaring up at him. “I have to be on camera in five minutes!”

Taehyung’s still staring at it in shock, but his crisis seems to be wholly different. He swears softly in Korean and takes several steps back, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry.” He swallows and meets her eyes, and his face shutters over into the same smooth expression he’s had on all weekend. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, more formal this time. “Good luck tonight. And… be careful.”

Dilara watches him leave, waiting for the sinking disappointment again. But it never comes, which she’s glad for because it’s not an emotion that helps her in a race. The ideal one would be her love for racing, or her need to win. Any of those are preferable to disappointment or heartbreak.

But anger works just as well, too.

—

The debrief after Qualifying feels like the longest one Dilara has ever attended, even though her phone says it’s only been about forty-five minutes. She gets through it in a daze; for once, she has no feedback on the car. It worked perfectly well, she drove perfectly well and her result was satisfactory for everyone. No, this session is focused on Max and some inane aspect of track limits that he’s been complaining about since before Qualifying ended.

Dilara has nothing useful to contribute to this discussion, so the moment she gets an out, she takes it. Her car drops her back to the hotel and she takes the elevator straight to the executive floor, but doesn’t go to her own suite. Instead, she knocks on the door opposite it, noticing how her hand trembles just a little bit.

Her phone pings then and she sees an Instagram message from Lexie: a picture of herself from the paddock half an hour ago, wearing a black sports bra and cotton shorts, with a striped open shirt over it - the exact same thing she’s wearing right now. Under the picture is a message from her friend: Everything okay? Thought you’d be celebrating P3!

It’s a testament to their friendship that even though it’s a picture of her smiling, Lexie can still tell when it’s fake. Dilara locks the phone when she hears footsteps behind the door, making a mental note to reply to Lexie later; right now, she needs to hold on to the anger that got her to P3.

The door swings open to reveal Jungkook, in a sleeveless black t-shirt and shorts, holding a chilled water bottle. “Hey, Dilara!” he exclaims, a smile instantly appearing on his tired face; her guess is he’s just returned from the gym. “Congratulations on P3!”

“Thanks.” For some reason, the room is completely dark, save for a colourful lamp throwing shadows on the walls. It takes a few moments for her gaze to find Taehyung behind him at the mini bar, who doesn’t look too surprised to see her here. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

He says nothing, simply looking towards the living room where Jimin is sprawled on the couch, sitting in front of the TV.

“Dilara, hey! Wanna join -” 

But he cuts off abruptly, possibly at the sight of her expression. For a few seconds, no one moves. Dilara’s eyes flicker from Taehyung to Jungkook, hoping at least one of them will make the next move. It seems to be Jungkook’s cue.

“Right. Gotcha.” He strides into the room and beckons Jimin to get up. There’s some whining and complaining in Korean, but a few seconds later, Jungkook and Jimin brush past her to exit the room, the latter in a chokehold of sorts.

Dilara steps inside and waits for the door to swing shut behind her, turning to lock it for good measure. She walks slowly towards the living room; there’s an open bottle of whiskey on the coffee table and the TV screen is frozen on a dark shot of a Billie Eilish music video. 

“You guys don’t believe in using lights?” 

“Jungkook got a new lamp,” is all Taehyung offers in explanation. She turns to see him approaching her gingerly and stopping at the edge of the room; it makes her blood boil. “Congrats on P3. You drove really well.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I should’ve crashed. It seems to be the only way to get you to act like a real person.”

A shadow passes over his face. “Don’t ever say that.”

“It’s true.” When he says nothing, she scoffs. “I can’t believe you did that. I had no time to change - I was just lucky I had a black bra in my changing room or I would’ve had to wear that damn race suit for the drivers’ parade. I would’ve overheated before Qualifying even began! Do you care at all -”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t plan -”

“Then why did you even come into my changing room?” she demands, walking over to him and pushing him back by the shoulders. “Was it just to tell me to be careful? Are you serious?” 

“I came to -” But he breaks off, his gaze falling to the ground again. “I came to wish you good luck.”

“Bullshit.”

There’s a look in his eyes, one of agreement and pleading. “I’m sorry I got carried away. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you,” he says quietly.

It takes everything in her not to scream. But that would be pointless. So far, only one thing seems to have worked in bringing forth the Taehyung she knows from behind this robotic stranger; without another thought, she kisses him again.

Dilara doesn’t wait for him to take the lead this time. The anger, the frustration, the confusion - and most of all, that dangerous, dreaded disappointment - takes over and she pushes him backwards on the sofa, taking off her shirt and straddling him. Taehyung doesn’t even seem surprised this time; his hands are already on her hips, pulling her closer so she feels his bulge underneath her.

It’s that same desperation again; it’s as though the outward, uncaring persona has been shed like a snake’s skin, revealing everything he truly wants to say. He’d said part of it back in the changing room and he’s saying the rest of it now. He doesn’t seem to mind in the least that she’s in control; all he seems concerned with is keeping her close, his lips on hers and his body reacting accordingly.

Their clothes are off in minutes - everything but the black sports bra. Pushing his shoulders back into the back of the sofa, mouths only inches apart as they breathe heavily, she slides onto him, groaning at the feel of him after so long. Taehyung grunts into her neck as she begins moving, trying with each second to find those blissful few moments where it’s just him and her, and none of the mess they’ve left in their wake.

The aftermath is worse. Sitting side by side on the sofa, half-clothed, in the dark and shadowy room, Dilara drops her head back on the sofa.

“How does this happen?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes. “How does this happen every time? I’m angry with you and ten minutes later -” She breaks off and turns to him, his silhouette perfectly angular. “This isn’t normal, right? A normal person wouldn’t do this. How - how are you making me do this?”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, knowing he’s not meant to. He lets her get it out before exhaling. “Do you want a drink?” he asks softly.

It’s back. The distance, the tone - it’s back. But Dilara is too tired. “Yes, please.” She watches him as he leans forward and makes her a drink, complete with a pile of ice cubes before handing it to her. She takes a sip and winces.

“Sorry. We’ve only opened the whiskey so far. Do you want wine instead?”

“I don’t want anything. What do you want, Tae?” she asks him instead, standing up and going around the table. Not caring that she’s just in her underwear, she kneels directly opposite him. “You’re acting like you can barely stand me - except for when we fuck.” She tilts her head when he still doesn’t look at her. “Is that all you need from me now?”

Taehyung doesn’t take the bait. “You wanted space, Dilara,” he says. His tone is the opposite of hers; no sharpness, just plain and calm. “I’m just doing what you asked.”

Yes, you are. But this isn’t the way. He’s not just giving her what she wants - there’s something else there, too. She knows it, she could feel it in the way he backed away from her in her changing room earlier today, even in the way he held her a few minutes ago, as though savouring her for the last time.

Dilara sighs, biting her lip. All the anger she was holding onto has disappeared; the sinking feeling is all that’s left. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

The silence is loud. Then, Taehyung sits back as well. “Yeah, you do.”

Yeah, she does. She knows what he wants; despite his restraint, his distance, his guardedness, he’d let it slip earlier today when he’d snuck into her changing room, an hour after she was filmed in an ice bath with her Red Bull teammates. Dilara knew when she was being marked; unfortunately, Kim Taehyung couldn’t just give her a hickey like a normal person. No, his way was a step further as usual, but the message was just as clear.

“No, I don’t. So tell me.”

“I can’t, Lara,” he mutters, and his voice strains just a little bit. “It would be too selfish of me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Taehyung finally looks up at her. His eyes look so soft in the dim lights, so unlike the blazing, laser-gaze he usually fixes her with. Then his eyes flicker to the floor, and he swallows.

“I want another chance. With you.” He takes a deep breath and continues. “I know I hurt you, but I want to try again. I want to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

He doesn’t say it like it’s something he’s asking her for. He says it like it’s a pipe dream, like he’s a child who’s asked what he wants to be when he grows up. An astronaut. A chef. Your boyfriend, again.

The sinking feeling, the dreadful disappointment that’s been following her all weekend - it suddenly makes sense. It’s not just about giving her space and it’s not about his fear over her crash. His distance is so much deeper than that.

Dilara scoffs, feeling her face start to sting. “Oh, God. You’re giving up.”

“Excuse me?”

She stands up, clutching the glass of whiskey. “I can’t believe you,” she mutters, shaking her head. “After everything that’s happened, after all we’ve been through, you’re just giving up? I told you not to call me, I told you to give me space - you got your feelings so damn hurt by that that you decided it’s just not worth it anymore?”

“I didn’t -”

“No, that’s not fair!” she exclaims. “You don’t get to do that, okay? This is - everything that’s happened is because of you! You did this to us, you’re the reason we’re here, so you don’t get to just give up!” She slams the glass on the wooden table and turns away when she sees him stand up as well.

“You don’t think I know that?” His deep voice takes her off guard, but she’s relieved. This is the loudest she’s heard him all weekend. “You don’t think I know that this is all my fault? I know I did this - and I’m still screwing it up! Even now, I’m still hurting you, so…” He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m done. I’m just going to do what you want. Whatever you want.”

“Really.” She scoffs and folds her hands across her chest. “Whatever I want?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “You want space? I’ll stay away from you as long as you want. You want to take it slow? You want to just fuck once a year when we’re in the same country? Done,” he states, his voice trembling. “I’ll do it.”

Dilara stares at him. His shoulders are broader than she remembers, and she relives for a moment how they felt earlier this week when he’d been transparent about his relief at seeing her alive and okay. 

“But that’s not what you want,” she reminds him. “You want to -”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he interrupts her, stepping closer to her. “That’s what I’m saying. Every time I do what I want, I end up hurting you and pushing you away. So it’s not about me anymore - I’ll do whatever you want to -”

“Then help me!” she implores. “Help me hate you more!” Dilara sniffs, turning away from his stunned expression. “And if you can’t do that… at least don’t be a coward. You don’t get to give up.”

She brushes past him to get to her clothes, strewn next to the sofa. As she pulls them on, she glances through her hair at Taehyung, boxers on and nothing else, with his head in his hands, looking defeated. The rest of the room looks remarkably the same; she remembers Jimin sitting on that sofa a half hour before she and Taehyung had sex on it, and she cringes.

“Lara, I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he says as she moves to leave. “It’s not fair.”

Dilara has no response to this. The last three weeks have been immeasurably useful in helping her realise how she still feels about him, but none of it matters if he’s no longer in the game. It occurs to her only now how much she was counting on him fighting for it; without that, it’s too overwhelming for her alone, like being in the middle of a car crash without a single person to pull her out.

“You should call for a turn-down service,” she tells him, gesturing to the sofa. “Before those guys get back.”

He nods. “Good luck for tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Tae.” She steps out of the room and closes the door behind her, immediately gulping in bag loads of air. The first sob takes her by surprise. Her knees give way and she slides down with her back against the door, all with the knowledge that her own suite is just across the corridor. 

—

Sunday is all about the race. BTS is gone most of the day for PR that she’s not involved in, so Dilara takes the opportunity to ensure she has a clear head for the race. Last night involved a lot of introspection, a lot of crying and a lot of debriefing with Lexie, whom Dilara realises she misses the most. Even two continents away, Lexie’s primary focus was to help Dilara work through everything she needed to until she could compartmentalise it for the duration of the race.

It works, somewhat. Dilara goes for her interviews, her PR and the drivers’ parade with as much focus as she can and finally climbs into her for the race, adrenaline rushing through her veins and her focus singular. Taehyung’s good luck text (Good luck for today. Be careful. You’ll do great.) runs in her mind when she releases the clutch at the starting light.

Her flight to London isn’t until tomorrow morning, so after the race, Dilara heads back to her hotel and to the suite opposite her own. Jungkook opens the door and immediately welcomes her in.

“Good race,” he says as she slips in past him, noting a bowl of potato chips on the coffee table and a video game controller next to it. On the screen, a game of FIFA is paused.

“Thanks. Where’s everybody else?” she asks.

“Filming. I got sent back.” He rolls his eyes self-consciously when she frowns. “Had a bit of a heat stroke, so they told me to come back and rest.”

Dilara freezes. “What? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he huffs, falling into the sofa and motioning for her to join him. “It wasn’t a big deal. I just got a bit de- basically, I need to drink a lot of water. That’s it.”

“Huh.” She raises her eyebrows. “You got dehydrated in Singapore? Rookie mistake.”

Jungkook shrugs, a little defensively. “I’m fine. You want to play?” he asks, changing the subject.

She considers it for a moment but then shakes her head. “No, I’m too tired. You go ahead.”

“Come on, one game.”

“Fine.”

They play a game, a half-hearted one where Jungkook wins but fortunately doesn’t gloat. Much.

“You need practice,” he advises her when they’re done. “You’re making small mistakes.”

She flicks his forehead which he tries to dodge. “I’m exhausted. Racing in Singapore is no joke.”

“I believe you,” he says easily, ruffling her hair. “By the way,” he begins, “Taehyung has been acting a little… weird today. Did you two talk or something?”

Dilara sighs, knowing this would come up. “Or something,” she mutters. “If he was being a pain today, I apologise.”

“He wasn’t a pain. He was just quiet,” he clarifies. “I’m just asking because when you came here last night, it looked like you were about to kill him.”

Oh, right. She supposes it would’ve looked like that, out of context, to someone who didn’t know what transpired in her changing room. “Well, at least that didn’t happen.” A moment passes where Jungkook doesn’t say anything, and she sighs again. “He wants to get back together.”

Jungkook nods expectantly; this is clearly not a surprise to him. “What did you say?”

“Oh. Well -” She shrugs uncertainly. “I don’t remember actually. The topic kind of strayed.” She rubs a hand over her face. “It’s… not an easy topic. Or an easy decision. I mean,” she adds after a moment, mostly to herself, “he didn’t call me last weekend.”

He frowns at her. “I thought you told him not to -”

“Yes, my God, I know,” she says loudly, rolling her eyes. “He was doing what I wanted - big whoop for him. “I’m not complaining, I’m just… surprised.”

“Do you remember Austin last year?” Jungkook asks after a few moments. “When those guys were on a live and you, me and Jimin got really drunk while waiting for them?”

Dilara chuckles tiredly. “Of course. I haven’t had tequila since. Don’t think I ever will,” she adds, grateful for the change in subject. “We were so wasted.”

“We were,” he agrees, leaning back on the couch and placing his feet on the edge of the coffee table. “Do you remember when we snuck out to the chocolate shop in the lobby and bought those two huge boxes of -”

“Truffles! Yes!” she remembers suddenly, her memories of that night fairly hazy. “And we brought it upstairs in a… I want to say a pillowcase?”

“It was my hoodie. We wanted to hide it for some reason - who knows. Oh, do you remember you ran into someone at the shop? Yeah, it was this guy and he said you hadn’t seen each other in a while,” he recounts, seemingly not noticing Dilara’s smile fade. “I think he was - did he say he was your ex?”

A little unsure as to why he’s chosen to bring this up, she nods slowly. “Yeah. Kyle. Not a good break-up.”

“Yeah, I think you told me that, too, when we came back up to the room. Oh, remember how -” He chuckles, sounding a bit forced “- remember how when we were back you said you needed closure once and for all and you wanted to call him? I had to wrestle you for your phone because you were so drunk and I kept it on top of a shelf so you wouldn’t be able to reach it?” He grins at Dilara, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

She stares at him, her heart pounding. She does remember it, unfortunately, just as she remembers her relief the next morning and how she’d quietly asked Jungkook to return her phone to her, hoping with all her heart that this would stay between them. It would’ve been a terrible way to kick off her relationship with Taehyung; fortunately, Jungkook had never brought it up. Until now.

He’s no longer smiling; he’s biting his lip and looking at his feet, as though worried he’s crossed a line.

“I get it,” she says quietly. “I got really drunk and almost did something that could jeopardise my relationship, but lucky for me, I had you to stop me. Taehyung didn’t. Right?”

Jungkook doesn’t meet her eyes; but he looks a little less nervous, now that his point has been made.

“Do you think I don’t know what I’m capable of?” she asks. “Do you think I don’t know, after all this time, that he made a mistake? I’m not unreasonable - he had a lot to drink and he did something really, really stupid. I know that.”

It’s the first time she’s said it out loud and it’s cathartic. Her chest feels lighter; it doesn’t make her situation any easier, but at least it’s out there. It’s not just swimming in her mind anymore, keeping her up at night.

“I know,” she says slowly, “that he won’t cheat on me again. I think he’s learnt his lesson. I think I could put him in a sauna with Jennie - and literally any other girl - and ply him with all the alcohol in the world, and he wouldn’t cheat on me again. He cheated on me - but he’s not a cheater.”

Jungkook finally looks at her, frowning. “Then why -”

“Because he didn’t tell me,” she argues. “He messed up and he didn’t tell me because he was, what? Afraid of me? I told him things in twenty-four hours of knowing him that I haven’t told people I’ve known for years, and he’d done the same! I thought we could tell each other anything - even the worst, most shameful things. But he didn’t tell me,” she repeats.

He nods sympathetically, and Dilara finds herself being glad he isn’t defending his friend.

“He was afraid of me,” she repeats, shaking her head. “You know what it made me feel like? Like I was one of those wives or girlfriends in those dude-bro, frat boy, Seth Rogen movies where the guys are so afraid of them and go to these insane lengths to hide things from them, because they’re afraid they’ll have to sleep on the couch,” she says in disgust. 

“I… don’t think he was afraid of you,” ventures Jungkook, sounding hesitant. “I think he was afraid of hurting you.”

“Fine,” she agrees. “Let’s say he was. What’s stopping him from being too afraid to hurt me again? If he ever messes up again,” she says, feeling like they’re finally reaching the crux of the issue, “how do I trust that he’ll tell me? He tried, this time, didn’t he? He was too late, but he tried. If he does something like this again, especially after everything I’ve put him through…” She sniffles. “I don’t think he’ll tell me at all.”

Silence greets this statement, and Dilara drops her face into her hands before sitting straight and taking a deep breath. She doesn’t want to cry in front of Jungkook; despite the level of comfort between them, she feels he’d still be the most uncomfortable around a crying girl.

“I’ll tell you.”

Dilara frowns, wondering if she’s heard him wrong. “What?”

“I’ll tell you,” he repeats, turning sideways on the couch so he’s facing her. “Look, he’s not going to mess up again. He’s not stupid - he won’t do it. And if he does,” he allows, shrugging, “he’ll tell you the truth. You said it yourself, he’s learnt his lesson. But,” he continues, gently nudging her shoulder with the back of his hand, “if he doesn’t, I’ll tell you.”

“JK -”

“I’m serious. I’ll do it.” He shrugs. “I won’t need to, but if I do, I will.”

“Jungkook.” Dilara tilts her head. “He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my friend, too,” he says simply. 

“I -” She can’t argue with that; it would be too mean. “It doesn’t really solve my problem. I need to trust him.”

“And you can,” he insists. “This is just like a… what’s it called in English? Like when you have a back-up kind of thing -”

“Insurance.”

“Yes!” He claps his hands, making her jump. “Sorry. But, yes. This is just your insurance, kind of. If it ever happens again and he doesn’t tell you, then you know for sure that he’s a dick. And that you can just -” He makes a vague gesture “- move on.”

It’s a very Jungkook proposal. Impractical as it is, it’s the most convincing argument anyone has made so far. Dilara doesn’t know whether to be comforted or amused.

“Are you doing this for me or for Taehyung?”

“Can’t it be both?”

She narrows her eyes. “Cop-out.” When he grins, she rolls her eyes. “You would really do that to him? Betray his trust?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide and she can practically see the dilemma in his brain. “I - well, it’s not really betraying him if he’s betraying you…? Right? I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I should’ve done that this year. Just… just told you.”

Dilara nods thoughtfully, searching for the grudge she was holding but unable to find it anymore. “It’s a big commitment,” she says seriously, relieved to see him smile again. “Sure you can live up to it?”

“Hey, I told you,” he says, turning back and sitting normally again. “I got your back.”

“Yeah, about that. Do all of those involve Jimin getting assaulted in some way? Because if yes, then I’m going to have to decline.”

“Assault? I barely touched him. He’s just so weak.”

“He is so weak. I swear, last year I pulled him into the elevator or something and he screamed like I’d ripped off his arm or something.”

“Jimin hyung is strong in the gym and on stage,” states Jungkook with an air of finality. “Other than that, he usually needs me or Namjoon hyung to help him out.”

“Weak.”

“So weak.”

Dilara grins, glad she chose to come over. Truth be told, she didn’t have a plan. She’d been hoping to talk to Taehyung and wing it from there, but nothing ever went according to plan for them. The possibility that he might have given up on them seems much less likely now, despite his efforts to still keep his distance all day and leave the ball in her court.

She looks over at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through the different games on the Xbox for something they can play together. Jungkook hasn’t given up; for now, maybe that’s enough.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

[vaguely-human-man]

Being queer and at least somewhat politically active/aware in the south rn is so surreal. Like. Wake up, check the group chat to discover the newest horrific ordinance our local gov is trying to implement. Arrange plans for people to go speak against it. Listen to your friend vent about almost getting arrested for trying to verbally defend themselves against a council person who openly misgendered and belittled them. Read the newest notes about safety and security. Go to a weekly meeting and play card games and drink coffee and register everyone to vote.

Remind each other over and over. Do not engage. Do not get angry. Just keep smiling. Be polite, do not debate. Just say what you have to say. Show who you are to the best of your ability. Try to show these people that we're human too. Do not show fear, aggression, or anything resembling what you actually feel right now. It will get us nowhere.

Focus on the arguments they'll actually listen to. Focus on the money. The time. The feasibility. They've already decided we aren't human so ask a different question. Who's gonna check everyone's ID before they use the bathroom? Are you really gonna make every business with only one bathroom build a second one to comply with the ridiculously specific language written here? Is this decision based on any actual statistics about trans people being predators? Do you expect citizens to police their fellow people? What is this really about?

Lose anyway. Console each other with snacks and show-and-tell while discussing how to turn this failure into momentum. Start talking about it to everyone you know. The first article hits in less than 24 hours. Queer orgs in other parts of the state are offering support and lawyers.

You're all different ages ranging from early 20s to late 40s. You all have day jobs, volunteer work, and families. You are some of the most politically informed people alive whether you want to be or not. None of you want to be doing this. You want game nights without an undercurrent of tension, you want festivals and parades without always keeping your ears tuned for gunfire. But instead you spend meeting nights strategizing, organizing, working to weave support networks at every opportunity. Do you need a ride to vote? Did everyone check their registration? Who's bringing food, who's covering the vegan and dairy-free option? Is everyone up to date on their Covid vax? Who's going to the action two towns over, who needs coaching on how to go about it? Who needs a ride? Here's the latest laws we should be aware of. Here's a meme about how angry we all are.

And the council person says 'I love you. I respect you. But I don't want you in the bathroom with my grandkids."

And the group chat says 'Dont go to this business, they called me a slur'

And your mother says 'youre overreacting'

And your world gets narrower. Your friends get more tired. More and more resource packets get compiled. Where to get healthcare- trans or general. Where to get help for college, employment, housing. Where to get therapy. Where to get a haircut.

Time marches on. The walls feel like they're closing in. You hold them back together with all your might.

You scream. Together. Often, intentionally. Take genuine time to yell out your frustrations before going back to work.

You fall in love over and over with the people around you. Listen to their hopes and their dreams, watch the way their fire ignites when we make genuine steps forward. Watch how it dims when we go backward.

Keep going. Wake up. Eat anything you can manage to swallow. Reach a hand out to your siblings. Hold them close. Take a walk in the fresh air to try and feel better. Keep going. Keep going. Keep fighting. Take a deep breath, hold on to hope with both hands like it's the only thing that can save you because it is. Keep going.

And it's just that. Over and over again, with no clear end in sight. But dammit. You and your bunch of misfits are gonna bring about that end with your bare hands if it kills you.

[chase-roper]

Mr. Klaw: A Song, a Memory, and a Talking Claw

Dive into the whimsical world of 'Mr. Klaw,' a raw and eccentric TMBG gem that sparks vivid memories and playful imagination.

Kiss Me, Son of Blog is the only newsletter bold enough to write about every song by They Might Be Giants. Check out The Archives to read about the songs we’ve already covered and Subscribe today to join hundreds of other fans to start receiving your free weekly posts right to your inbox.

Someone is sitting in a large, red chair facing away from you. The back of the chair is quilted velvet and impossibly high—blocking the inhabitant from your view. On the right arm of the chair, something insidious gleams: a metal claw, tapping its fingers impatiently, scheming.

“So, you’ve finally found me?” A voice cackles from beyond the chair. “Tell me,” the voice continues slowly as you approach the velvety seat. “Are you ready to meet, the famous—”

You grab the backrest of the chair and spin it around to face you. Your jaw drops, not at the body belonging to the voice and claw, but instead at the empty seat.

“—the FAMOUS MR. KLAW?!”

The claw remains on the armrest, now curled into a fist. Your nemesis is not a person at all, but something no one has seen… a talking claaaaAWWWW.

This Inspector Gadget intro-inspired scene is what my mind conjures when I listen to “Mr. Klaw,” a quirky and raw track from They Might Be Giants' compilation album Miscellaneous T. It’s a song with a sound and feel so unique, it transports me not just to the imagined lair of a talking claw, but to moments of nostalgia, imagination, and the essence of TMBG’s early work.

The B-Sides and Beyond

Beyond the sinister metal disembodied claw of my imagination, ‘Mr. Klaw’ is a song that also brings other vivid memories to mind; those of even rarer, lesser known songs by the band. ‘Mainstream U.S.A.1’ and ‘The Big Big Whoredom’2. Those are two tracks I first heard as part of TMBG’s anthology collection “Then: The Early Years” - an entombment of the first two albums, Miscellaneous T, and other singles like the two I mentioned that had previously not been released.

In “Mainstream” and “Whoredom,” a messy, raw guitar strum dominates—giving both tracks an unpolished, gritty flare. “Mr. Klaw” shares this sound, courtesy of John Linnell taking over guitar duties from the more experienced John Flansburgh. By putting Linnell behind those six strings, the band achieves a deliberately imperfect and intriguing style—a hallmark of their experimental creativity.

Inspector Gadget Mornings

More than TMBG’s early catalog, “Mr. Klaw” evokes a core childhood memory: Saturday mornings spent downstairs with a bowl of cereal. As a kid of 5 or 6, I’d wake up early while my parents slept, grab the cereal bowl my mom had prepared the night before, and pour milk from a small plastic cup (because a full carton was too heavy for me). The family footstool doubled as a cereal tray, and the living room TV became my portal to Saturday morning cartoon bliss.

One staple of those morning shows was Inspector Gadget, where the villainous Dr. Claw remained a mysterious, shadowy figure with a menacing metal hand. The visual of Dr. Claw, endlessly scheming from his chair, is the source of the imagery I associate with “Mr. Klaw.” Yet, the song’s nostalgic pull doesn’t end with a cartoon claw; it reminds me of those mornings spent learning independence—and the thrill of discovering pop-culture that defined my childhood.

Lyrical Parallels: Mr. Ed Vs. Mr. Klaw!

On the surface, “Mr. Klaw” has more in common with the 1960s talking horse Mr. Ed than it does with Inspector Gadget. Consider the lyrics:

Mr. Ed:

“A horse is a horse, of course, of course,

and no one can talk to a horse of course,

That is, of course, unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.”

Mr. Klaw:

“A claw is a claw, and nobody has seen a talking claw,

nobody has seen a talking claw,

unless that claw is the famous Mr. Klaw.”

Whether intentional or not, the parallel adds another layer to the band’s ability for blending absurdity and pop culture references. It’s a sly nod to the bizarre, like a lyrical wink that fans like me can’t help but appreciate.

A Raw Gem with a Twist

“Mr. Klaw” might be an odd little number, but its rawness and messy guitar riff make it an unforgettable part of the early TMBG catalog. It’s a song that offers a unique sound while invoking nostalgia while creating imagined worlds.

Listening to this song, I’m reminded that the real magic of the song is its ability to turn even the strangest of images—a talking claw, a scheming nemesis—into something as familiar and comforting as childhood itself.

[aflyingcontradiction]

Tagged by @ante--meridiem - thank you! I always appreciate it!

Currently reading: The Casual Vacancy by JKR. Yes, yes, I'm well aware. But I'm decluttering my bookshelf right now, where it's been gathering dust since I first read it in 2013, and all the books are getting one more read before I make choices about them. For what it's worth, I'm still enjoying her writing reasonably well, but it's going on the to-go pile after.

Currently watching: I now have - let me count - six different combinations of people that I watch stuff with. I would need a spreadsheet to answer this question properly. But the shows I've watched most recently are Carnivale (a somewhat eerie show from the early 2000s about a carnival in Great Depression America - would recommend!), Carol & The End of The World (a ... "pre-apocalyptic" animated show that does some really interesting shit with its premise), Twisted Metal (a post-apocalyptic comedy that is cheesy as fuck but I'm enjoying it a lot so far because all the tropes are right up my alley), We own this city (a show about police corruption and brutality in the US that really demands you actually pay attention cause it features multiple interweaving timelines and it took me a while to understand what was happening, but it's really good) and the latest season of True Detective (which is also, admittedly, rather cheese-covered but the spooky parts and the mystery seem to actually work really well for me).

Currently obsessed with: You know, I think I might be between obsessions at the moment. Or maybe just not enough headspace right now.

Last song listened to: Honest answer? Some completely forgettable song from my Spotify weekly recommendations. Last song I actually REMEMBER listening to was Storm to Weather by Grace Petrie (also I just discovered her the other week and not only do I find her voice swoon-worthy, her discography is also a combination of genuinely unique-sounding love songs, political songs mostly about the UK and songs about the queer experience and it's all well worth listening to!)

Tagging @lovethatcoat, @abhumanaex0, @octopuscato, @soryualeksi and @bakomglaset

[starscelly]

9 people i’d like to get to know better

tagged by @sadmoooose @avengedearth and @eliooliver83 <3 <3 sorry i kept forgetting to actually do this fjkdsfksj

last song: actively listening to le le low by hot hot heat uhhh courtesy of my discover weekly i think? maybe? idk!

favorite color: oooooo. i do loooove all shades of green even the nasty gross ones. and a green pink combo is always to die for so . Them <3

currently watching: just been keeping up with d20's fantasy high junior year tbh im not really watching any Show shows rn. i have been absolutely tearing through silly bad horror movies recently tho f. follow me on letterboxd

spicy/savory/sweet: i am a savory/salty food freak

relationship status: im in a long term toxic relationship with adobe photoshop 2021... please respect our privacy..

current obsessions: believe it or not. hockey. stars. always. but i have also been a freak abt fedorov and the russian five as a whole recently.... reading books even. so insanely inch resting.

tagging: @veryconfusedunlabeledguy @saltandpepperbox @stickypucky @puckmaidens @icecoldversace @gusbuses @stillfertile and um. not 9 but im p sure some have been tagged or done it already so sakjdsakj apolocheese if so <3

[chorusfm]

Neon Trees Announce New Album

Neon Trees will release Sink Your Teeth on September 20th. Track Listing * Favorite Daze * Secret * Bad Dreams * Recover * Heaven * El Diablo * Past Life * Paper Cuts * Cruel Intentions * Acting * Leave * Losing My Head RIAA Multi-Platinum alt-rock band Neon Trees today announced their fifth studio album, Sink Your Teeth, their first in four years and first on Round Hill Records. Last week, the band shared “Bad Dreams,” an energetic electro-rock single, the third to be revealed from the album. “‘Bad Dreams’ is about escapism and the idea that in your head, or in the fantasy, you can be (or be with) anyone, you can do anything and go anywhere,” says lead singer Tyler Glenn.    “Growing up closeted and not coming out til I was 30, I often felt like my only outlet sexually or romantically was in my head.    “I wanted to capture the sensation of carnal desire, the weirdness and sometimes absurdity of dreams, and how submitting to the ‘bad’ can sometimes feel oh so good, especially when it’s only ‘just a dream.’” Written over the course of three years, Sink Your Teeth offers an opportunity for longtime fans to return and for new fans to discover the band for the first time—proverbially sinking their teeth into the music. It also evokes a sense of bite and rawness in the music and lyrics that is compellingly relatable. For Glenn, the songs reflect a state of mind felt by many in a post pandemic, chronically online digital age, where the uneasiness and anxiety of modern love and modern life are more potent than ever. Like all of Neon Trees’ work, the album reveals a balance between the dark and the light. “The question was, how do I capture that energy and that feeling of anxiety, but not make it solely about a period of time in our lives or make people only reflect on that when they listen?” Glenn says of the album. “The songs do contain some of the anxiety and existential crisis I was feeling at the start of the decade, but there’s also a thread of hope. It’s not wrapped neatly in a bow at the end, but there’s still a hopefulness.” Starting on July 20, Neon Trees will hit the road with 311 and AWOL Nation as part of 311’s “Unity Tour.” A full list of dates is included below. Neon Trees began a rapid ascent from the Provo, Utah alt-indie scene to the forefront of popular culture fueled by their debut album Habits. Its lead single “Animal” scored a double-platinum certification from the RIAA and took home “Top Alternative Song” at the Billboard Music Awards. Success continued for the band with their sophomore album, Picture Show and its hit single, the 5x platinum “Everybody Talks.” The subsequent release Pop Psychology, bowed at #1 on the Billboard Top Rock Albums Chart and produced another hit, “Sleeping With A Friend.” In 2020, Neon Trees returned with their fourth studio album, I Can Feel You Forgetting Me, featuring the single, “Used to Like” which landed at #1 on the current Alternative chart. In addition to chart success, the multi-format band has amassed 1 billion streams and recently logged over 40 million views on TikTok, while garnering acclaim from Rolling Stone, Entertainment Weekly, and USA Today. Their live performance continues to electrify with over a decade of countless sold-out shows, marquee festival performances as well as appearances on “Good Morning America,” “Today,” “Jimmy Kimmel Live!,” “America’s Got Talent,” and “LIVE! With Kelly.” --- Please consider becoming a member so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/news/neon-trees-announce-new-album/