#originally this is supposed to be them as 'magnet' the song but i decided to reserve that for later laters

[dseval]

Crepictober Day 15: Hatsune Miku

Doing this while listening to World is Mine (by Ryo) hits different.

(im sorry if Cross is unrecognisable sksksks)

Actually, Cross isn't upset by Epic dragging him into this VIRTUAL☆IDOL photoshoot. I just tried drawing his face like that and it looks funny, so I kept it.

Epic was supposed to have a hood, but I'm low on brain juice so I can't figure anything out for that.

Crepictober 2024 prompt by @zuzuelectricbugaloo (thanks again for creating the prompts!)

Cross Sans by Jakei

Epic Sans by Yugogeer012

Ft. Hatsune Miku, the world is hers.

[pyroclastic727]

Owl House said fuck capitalism

So this episode was interesting. Lilith pretty much killed her sister. Why the fuck would she do that?

Even more interesting: why is Belos like that? How did Hooty put his head through one of those guards? Who the fuck is the Titan, and why does everyone like him? And how are these all tied together?

This episode was a metaphor for capitalism

...and another delicious step towards radicalizing the youth into dismantling this fucked-up neo-feudal system.

We’ll start with Belos. 

Emperor Belos is a weird name, don’t you think? We all thought it was spelled “Bellows,” but it wasn’t. In fact, it’s five letters, starts with Be, ends with os, and describes a megalomaniac emperor that restricts people’s freedom in order to accumulate wealth for himself.

Sound familiar?

Emperor Bezos Belos created capitalism. He saw the beauty of magic and decided to make himself the most powerful.

Belos created a system that destroys the masses and boosts his power.

 I’m dipping into fan theory a little, because the fan theory fits. We know that people get branded with coven magic that makes it so they can only specialize in one area. We know that Belos is the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles. We know that the excess magic, magic created by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

It’s the same system that many viewers see all the time. A job takes up all your day and tires you for the night, so you can only do one skill for the rest of your life. Jeff Bezos is the most powerful man in the United States. Excess money, money taken by restrictions, has to go somewhere.

The magic goes to Belos, like how the money goes to Bezos. Belos created capitalism, and he won it.

The guards aren’t real. 

Look, we’ve never seen their faces. They’re all the same. Why would you work so hard to get to the top, just to become a nameless, faceless killing machine?

Oh, also Hooty stuck his face through one. There is nothing under the armor.

Why? Well, it’s the same reason you see all those celebrities going around flaunting their wealth and bragging about how hard they worked. Like all those songs about how they grind every day and work harder than everyone else while you’re out clubbing, and that makes them dope. And then you take a closer look at them and see that they had a small loan of a million dollars fueling them, or an entire talent agency behind them, or their dad was a famous country star in the 80′s. 

They’re fake. They’re hollow. They’re a ploy created by the capitalist emperor to try to delude you into working harder. 

Let me put this into perspective. I guarantee that every single one of you has heard stuff like this: “Hard work makes you successful.” “I put in the work, and that’s why I’m successful.” “If you work hard enough, then you can be as successful as Mark Zuckerberg.” 

And unless you’re a robot or really lucky, I’m sure all of you have failed at this. Maybe they told you that hard work would make you good at math, so you spent 22 hours a week working on calculus, only to pass it by 3 percentage points and have it destroy your perfect 4.0 GPA. Maybe they told you that if you talked to people enough, then you would make friends, so you spent a lot of time talking to people, only to end up lonely and friendless. Maybe they told you that if you did well in school, you would get a good job, so you spent all your time working hard to be a good student, and then ended up in a soulless, dead-end job.

The guards are there to delude you. Look, who really gains from you being productive? The answer is the ruling class, the CEOs, the government, the bourgeoisie. It has always been that. All you get from working is a paycheck that lets you survive. They get a paycheck that lets them get rich. Just like Belos gets the magic and productivity of the specialized coven witches.

The guards are there to trick you. The truth is that nobody can join the Emperor’s Coven. It’s just there to make you think that hard work will make you successful. Then you spend your entire life working hard, trying to prove to the person in charge that you’re worthwhile. You give your whole life to the Coven, and they give you nothing. 

Magic is supposed to be something you pursue for fun. Being skilled at things, being good at something beautiful...that’s supposed to be something you do because you want to. But they took that and made it into a source of productivity. It doesn’t matter if you make good content. All people fucking care about is if you upload the day of premiere, if you make a lot of content quickly, if you maintain a million different conversations with strangers who expect you to be the most interesting person in the room. They don’t care how it hurts you. They don’t care how you crack from the stress. How you cry when you think no one can see you, and then you check your phone and someone can see you, someone did see you, and you have to put on your face and be the charming, magnetic person they want you to be. (oh by the way that’s why I wasn’t online much last week)

And it ruins it. Suddenly you can’t watch The Owl House without being stressed. You can’t make any content. You can’t make spells as powerfully as you want to. Your passion is replaced by perfectionism and insecurity, a voice telling you to keep being the best at what you do, or else they’ll forget you and let you die.

There’s also the Titan. 

So nobody has mentioned him before, because in addition to the Boiling Isles being a hellscape full of witchcraft and queerness, it’s also full of atheists. 

But suddenly we have people saying all this shit about him? Shit like, he gave witches the gift of magic, and then they learned to use it in a civilized manner, since being uncivilized was disrespectful?

I mean, first off, that’s fucking wrong. The island gives people magic. The island, which just so happened to be shaped like a titan-sized human. But the island/titan gives everyone all types of magic. Hell, even Luz gets to use magic, and she’s human. 

It sounds really fucking familiar. (tw for discussion of homophobia and colonialism and misogyny). It sounds like when the news is on and they show some Tr*mp supporter talking about how fetuses have more rights than people and it is their holy duty to take away a woman’s control over her body and force her through unbearable pain and into an 18-year commitment she didn’t want to make. It sounds like all the times people tried to say homosexuality should be illegal, citing a single line in a book written two thousand years ago and heavily edited by a European king. It sounds like all the times people said God wanted them to conquer, to own the entire earth, to force the other races into pain to support them.

This is that bullshit thing people do where they commit awful sins and justify it by citing the will of God. 

Or, it’s the Coven using religion as an excuse for evil.

Look, the Emperor’s Coven is clearly colonizer-coded. Saying that people’s original form of magic was wild (and showing a picture with the same joyous, rowdy energy of an 18th or 19th -century Black or indigenous party), and that it was God’s will for them to be “civilized?” Sounds like that thing that powerful white people did where they went and murdered people and forced them into their twisted capitalist system. God, gold, and glory, is what they said, because history books just love to omit the gore.

Lilith is passing the abuse cycle along. 

You know, like a good little colonizer. God I fucking hate her. She’s a MILF, in the sense that she’s a Mother I’d Like to Fling off a cliff. 

Ah, enough screaming about how much I want to drown Lilith in a tub of Hooty’s mucus. Let’s go into why I want to do that, and how she took the evils of capitalism and just...adopted those.

So, Lilith is sick and twisted for what she did to her sister. But, uhh, that’s the point. You see, there are so many other people out there like Lilith who would do the exact same thing, if given the chance. These are the people who do mean things when the teacher isn’t looking, and then act nice and try to frame you. These are the people who will hate you if you’re better than them. These are people who would do anything to bring you down, if you dare outperform them.

It’s greed, my friends. The mental illness that capitalism blesses us all with.

Lilith herself said it: she dedicated her entire life to the Coven. What she wanted was to be the best. And she almost was...except for her own sister. Someone who lived with her, annoyed her at home, bested her at school. Someone she could never beat, no matter how hard she worked. And her sister was younger than her, too! How insulting was that? Lilith wanted to be the best, and someone in her exact situation did better than her.

Lilith was insecure. And it consumed her.

But why? Why does insecurity consume her? I mean, no one can be motivated by insecurity forever. Well, not unless someone conditions it into you.

The lovely thing about the capitalist system is the morals it teaches you. Things like: “You’re only useful if you’re the best.” “Being school smart makes you smart, while being social smart or sports smart or creative smart or fandom smart is worthless.” “Your worth can be quantified by numbers and is based off arbitrary measures like your income or your grades.” Things that can and will drive us crazy if we let ourselves believe them.

And it did drive Lilith crazy. She got so twisted by a society that said being good at magic is her only worth. Look, Lilith used to be good at things, probably. She was good at sports. At times, she slips up and does an okay job of being Eda’s sister. She has a powerful presence when she’s in a room. And she’s wicked good at manipulating people. 

But that didn’t matter. Lilith bought into the lies. She let herself believe that magical skill was the only way to measure her worth. And since she needed to be the best, she hurt Eda for it.

The beautiful thing is, Eda didn’t buy that. "It’s my power, kid. And before you showed up, I spent my whole life wasting it.” Is what Eda said, as she used up the last of her power, the last of her life, to save Luz. In her final moments, she proved that she’s not like them. She’s stronger than them.

None of this matters. Not magical prowess. Not the hierarchy. Not the promise of joining the Coven and having more power than anyone else.

The only thing that matters to Eda is her family. Her real family. Her Luz, King, and Hooty. And by extension, Willow, Gus, and Amity. Those are Eda’s real reason for fighting, for dying: to protect them. Look, there’s no way she would’ve come out of that fight alive. She has a family, and her love for them is stronger than greed or jealousy or capitalism. 

Lilith never understood that. She thought the water of the womb was thicker than the blood of the covenant. Or, that the water of the womb and the blood of the covenant are stronger than the bonds of found family. She thought it didn’t matter if Eda loved, her, only if the Emperor loved her. Fucking bitch.

And now, a little something to worry about, before we go. Amity Blight. The girl who wanted to join the Emperor’s Coven more than anything, who dedicated her whole life to doing well in school, to being the best, to being perfect.

And then she met Luz. She fell for Luz. Now she’s in a tricky place, where habit and conditioning want her to join the Emperor’s Coven, but her heart wants her to do the impossible and destroy capitalism.

She wasn’t in this episode. Funny that being injured and unable to work ended up saving her from watching her future mother-in-law die. So she bought some time.

But Luz’s true mom is dead. This is the second mom she has lost, and she’s only fourteen. As powerful as King and Hooty are, Luz needs Amity. Luz needs Amity to support her and help her get back her mom.

So Amity has to make a choice. Fear and insecurity, or love and a high chance of death? 

She’ll probably choose death. Because that’s the message that this family-friendly show is giving us kids. Fuck capitalism. All you need in life is to do what makes you happy and be with the ones you love.

[aranarumei]

decided to be a little extra! since my url is aranarumei, for araki, nqrse, and meychan, i thought I'd pick covers/songs exclusively from them! so "ara" has araki's stuff, "naru" has nqrse's stuff, "mei" has meychan's stuff, and sometimes the other feature because that's part of why they're a trio lol. also i couldn't resist adding commentary because I'm Me

A: About me by ChouchouP

this is a cover by araki! I'm always so surprised by the view count on this cover... since I remember it when it came out, I suppose I never realized it gotten so popular. makes me feel really nostalgic

R: Reincarnation Apple by PinnochioP

another cover by araki! the way he chooses to sing the chorus gives me chills, it's so satisfyingly good

A: AGAIN by ARAKI

an original song from his first album! the actual track was written and composed by CrusherP, who people may best know from ECHO?

N: Nectar by Mafumafu feat. nqrse

the version I've chosen to link is nqrse's solo cover! I'm adhering to the "aranarumey only" bit I'm doing, ahah... this is a song I've not heard in a while, but since there's only so many songs that start with the letter N, I got to rediscover this

A: Animal by DECO*27

whoo! an aranarumey cover! I'm truly so glad they do covers together, because I think they've got such a perfect pairing of voices... but I'm incredibly biased ;)

R: ROKI by MikitoP

this is a cover by araki & nqrse, and it's sooo fun. so high energy

U: Utakata no Yoru by nqrse

an original song from nqrse! felt the list wouldn't be complete without getting one from each of them... the lyrics are by nqrse, but it's otherwise produced by Police Piccadilly (ah, and this one can actually be found on spotify!)

M: magnet by minato (RyuuseiP)

i am sooooo obsessed with this cover from meychan & nqrse. it's labelled as (KENKAI's Space Jazz Mix) and listen. i don't know exactly what that means but i DO love it. both singers just kill it so hard on one of my favorite songs.

E: ECHOPLEXY by Meychan

gotta get a meychan original here, too! sorry there's no music video for this one... (this one can also be found on spotify, though!)

I: Idol by YOASOBI

i remember hoping that aranarumey would cover this song when it first came out and... they did! just a bunch of fun. some people who listen to vocaloid might recognize Ayase of YOASOBI as a vocaloid producer, also!

as for who to tag... if anyone would like to add on, they may, but i'll tag @dirtbra1n @sunnnfish and @kagiura-akira?

PICK A SONG FOR EACH LETTER OF YOUR ULR

Dog Days Are Over • Florence + The Machine

Inner Smile • Texas

Smalltown Boy • Bronski Beat

Cry to Me • Solomon Burke

Our Last Summer • ABBA

Silver Springs • Fleetwood Mac

Changes • David Bowie

Ocean Drive • Lighthouse Family

Only Angel • Harry Styles

Bennie And The Jets • Elton John

I lost track of how many people tagged be in this and I haven’t kept track of who has already been tagged so I apologise if I tag someone who has already done it.

Tagging: @desolatewrath @johnwickb1tsch @imajinxnation @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @stvr-dust @sweetwolfcupcake @softcoresweetheart @satlun @littlemisslomax

[alinastracker]

hello my dear bonnie, if you're still taking prompts, can i suggest #47 👀 ?

LOVE THIS PROMPT!!! here you go my love<3

prompt: you’re casually seeing my roommate and think they’re in the shower when you strip down to join me and we end up screaming and my roommate thinks it’s the funniest thing and tries to set us up on a date

yikes at this going from a quick lil ficlet to 6.7k oof

would it be okay if i came home to you (explicit) (ao3)

Alina steps into the shower, wondering how the hell she ended up rooming with Zoya to begin with.

Don't get her wrong, she loves Zoya. But her raven-haired friend can be difficult, and she was supposed to have buffer. Originally, it was going to be her, Zoya, and Genya living together, until Genya backed out last minute to move in with her boyfriend David instead.

"I'm so sorry, but it just makes sense," Genya said to them over lunch one afternoon. "Besides, if things go how I think they will, you two will be on the same path that I'm on soon enough."

Zoya scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Alina had the same question, considering both of them were hopelessly single.

Genya just sipped her tea and said in a sing-song voice, "You'll see."

At first, living with Zoya was fine. They agreed easily on most apartment related things; splitting up chores, rules about not touching each other's food, a timely heads up before having friends or potential sexual partners over. Zoya could get nit picky about a few things, like the lecture she'd given her on the proper position of the toilet paper roll. It goes over, Starkov, understand? Under is for heathens and natural selection is coming for them. But otherwise, things had been fine.

Until Mal.

He was a part of the friend circle she had surrounded herself with since freshman year. But there was something about Mal that had drawn her to him in a way that was different from the rest of the group — different from anyone else she had ever met. He was like a drug, a magnet, the missing link that had her saying, where have you been my whole life, when you're meant to be here beside me? So quickly he had become her closet friend, and as much as their group liked to tease them, they both denied feeling anything beyond fierce friendship.

But Alina was such a liar.

Which makes it her own fault, really, for ending up in this situation. Zoya could, quite frankly, be a bitch — but she wouldn't have gone after Mal if Alina had just owned up to her feelings.

Though she really could have told her about it sooner.

Alina had been studying in the living room one night when a knock at the door startled her. Zoya hadn't mentioned having company, and neither of them had ordered food. Hesitantly, she rose and stood on her tiptoes to peek through the peephole. Then her face lit up, and she swung the door open. "Mal!"

Saints, he looked good. He appeared freshly showered, dressed in a silky green shirt and dark jeans. He had actually put effort into his hair for once, and he had a small gold hoop earring in his left ear.

"Hey, Lina," he said, something a little off with the smile he gave her. As he passed by to come inside, she could smell expensive cologne.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, butterflies in her stomach. Her head was already filling with wild fantasies. He wanted to surprise her, so he showed up without notice. He put effort into how he looked, because he wanted to impress her. He was going to reveal his true feelings for her, and she would revel in the fact that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Instead, Zoya entered the room and said, "He's here for me."

Mal had the decency to flush and offer a sheepish shrug. "I'm gonna grab some water," he said, and scuttled off to the kitchen. Of course, Mal had been here plenty of times before. He knew where everything was.

Alina had barely heard him though, Zoya's words repeating on a loop in her head. He's here for me. She knew what this meant, even as her mind tried to deny it. The room was spinning and she couldn't quite steady herself, like something had broken inside of her.

She swallowed, and as calmly as possible, said, "What happened to the heads up rule?"

Zoya arched a brow. "I texted you two hours ago."

Alina frowned and pulled out her phone. Sure enough, there was a text from Zoya. Got a guy coming over in a couple hours. She must have missed it, lost in her studies. But still, something in the text ignited anger in her chest.

"You could have said the guy was Mal."

Zoya shrugged, so frustratingly nonchalant. "What does it matter?"

It matters because I am so hopelessly in love with him, and you're supposed to be my friend, and now I have to blast music so I don't hear the sounds of you two fucking, she thought.

"He's my best friend," she said. "It's just a little weird, I guess."

"Don't worry, Starkov," Zoya said, turning toward the kitchen, probably to grab Mal so they could get the night started. "It won't affect anything between you two."

Alina waited until the two of them were tucked away in Zoya's room. Then she pulled on her old running shoes and slipped out — there was just no way she could be here, knowing what was happening in the room across from her own.

She ran with no destination in mind, pumping her little legs as hard as they could go, music pounding from her headphones. When she became too tired to go further, she checked her surroundings and sighed. Of course, her feet took her to one of her favorite places in the city.

It's not anything, really. A quiet street with an old abandoned building at the end of it. But on the building's brick wall is one of her favorite pieces of art. A mural of the sun, complex in its simplicity, using colors she had never seen used to express the sun before, yet perfectly capturing the feeling of a warm sunny day.

Alina leaned against the wall, slid down until she was sitting on the old, cracked sidewalk. Only then did she realize that she was crying. Turning off her music, she called Genya, and told her everything.

"You have to talk to Zoya," Genya said.

"No!" she said quickly. "I don't want her to feel bad. It's not her fault. And if Mal likes her — well, it's not like he's shown any interest in me. I'm not going to get in their way."

"Alina," Genya sighed.

"It's fine," she promised. "I just—" A sob escaped her throat, the pain overshadowing any coherent thought. It was not fine.

"Send me your location," Genya said, and Alina did.

She spent the night at Genya and David's that night, David promising he was more than okay with taking the couch so her and Genya could have the bed. Which was needed, because Alina had a lot more crying to do.

"Just don't tell Zoya," she said.

"Alina, I don't know."

"Promise, Genya. Please."

Finally, Genya sighed. "All right."

That was four months ago. Zoya had told her it wouldn't affect her close bond with Mal, but it had. Alina never invites Mal over anymore, too afraid that he'll come to watch a movie, sit on the couch beside her — much closer than most friends sit. They would point out everything terrible about it, because they loved to watch bad films together as they stuffed their faces with popcorn. Then the movie would end and Mal would say goodnight, but instead of leaving, he'd go to Zoya's room, and the popcorn they ate would sour in her stomach.

There were so many little changes, too. Like when they hung out as a group, and suddenly Alina was questioning every move she made around him. Was it still okay to playfully ruffle his hair, to sit close enough that their shoulders pressed together, to look at him like he personally hung the sun and the moon in the sky, all while Zoya was there to see? Was it wrong to look at his lips and fantasize about how they would feel against her own, pressed to her collarbone, sucking her most sensitive spots? Zoya and Mal were a casual thing, they had both said so. But still, the natural intimacy her friendship with Mal had built for the past two years suddenly felt wrong, and she hated it.

Needless to say, Alina has been looking into new rooming possibilities for next year. She can't do this anymore. Every time Mal comes over, she waits for them to lock themselves away in Zoya's room, and then she leaves. She runs to her sun, sometimes just sitting and letting her sad song playlist make her sadder, sometimes bringing her sketchbook to at least make art out of the pain.

But tonight she has a very rare opportunity — the apartment to herself. Only for a couple hours, but still. She has spent most of the time so far blaring music, and her neighbors probably hate her, but damn it, they can deal with it for a night.

She lets the music play as she takes a much needed shower. Sure, she could have gone the bath route, but she doesn't want to waste all her time getting clean. Alina has decided her hours alone should end with a much needed date with her vibrator and an Owen Gray video that she's going to watch without headphones.

Olivia Rodrigo's Brutal is pounding from her speaker, and though Alina's twenty-one, not seventeen, the lyrics hit all the same. She's so into the music, thinking about her life for the past four months, thinking about moving as soon as she possibly can, thinking yeah, it really is fucking brutal out here, that she does not notice the telltale signs of someone entering her apartment, and even more worrisome, someone entering the bathroom. Not until it's too late.

"Thought you were too cool for Olivia Rodrigo," a very male voice says, and then the shower curtain opens.

Screams fill the air from both of them. Alina's already holding her conditioner bottle, and on instinct, hurls it at the man's chest while her other hand reaches for her razor.

"Oi!"

Only then does her mind register that it's not a strange man come to sexually assault her, it's Mal. Her best friend. Her roommate's casual lover slash fuck buddy slash whatever. It's Mal, completely naked before her. She gets a quick glimpse of his cock, half-hard, before he curses and turns around.

It doesn't help that his backside is just as nice to look at. He's well toned, muscles flexing as he reaches to grab the clothes he must have just discarded. He bends, giving her the most sinful view of his ass, and Saints, her mind goes wild. She pictures him turning back around and pushing her against the wall, slamming inside of her. As he fucks her, she would reach around and grab that delicious ass of his, dig her fingers into the plump skin, and leave little half-moon indents.

Mal is apologizing over and over again — "I thought you were Zoya!" — as he gathers up his clothes and makes a beeline for the door. Alina finally snaps out of her filthy fantasy and slides the shower curtain closed with a shaky hand. She leans back against the tiled wall, breathing hard. Her heart is pounding like never before.

The song is winding down. Olivia is crooning, God I don't even know where to start.

Neither does Alina.

~

By the time she musters the courage to finish her shower and leave the bathroom, her robe clutched tightly around her, there’s no sign of Mal in the apartment. Zoya isn’t back yet, either.

With a sigh of relief, she flops onto her bed. Her previous plans were out the window now. Taking a breath, she goes over the facts in her head. 

One: Mal has now seen her completely naked. 

Two: she has now seen Mal completely naked. 

It was the wrong thing to think about, because now she’s picturing the smooth expanse of his skin, his perfectly tight ass, and the quick glimpse she had gotten of his—

Heat pools between her thighs. She’s positively aching, when she should be feeling horrified. She should absolutely not be reaching for her vibrator as she lets the images of Mal’s naked body settle in her mind. It’s wrong, because Mal is, at least somewhat, Zoya’s, and Zoya is her friend. Besides, it was Zoya that he had come looking for, Zoya that he wanted to fuck against the shower wall. 

But Alina does grab her vibrator, and as it buzzes her to multiple releases, she imagines Mal shoving her against the wall, pressing kisses to her neck, fucking her like it’s his sole reason for existing. Fucking her like she’s his, and he’s hers.

~

She doesn’t see Zoya until the next morning, passing out sometime after orgasm number three. Saints, if the memory of Mal’s bare skin had been enough to keep her going for three rounds, she wasn’t sure she could even handle actually being with him. 

When she walks into the kitchen, Zoya is sitting at their tiny excuse for a table. “Good morning,” Alina says as naturally as possible. 

Zoya only says, “Sit down, Starkov.”

It’s unnerving, how quickly can could take over her entire body. Saying nothing, still going for casual, Alina sits across from her. “What’s up?”

“That’s my question, actually.” Zoya arches a brow. “What happened with you and Mal last night?”

Shit, shit, shit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do. I know he stopped by before I got home. When I asked why he left, he got all weird and said something came up with Dubrov. But I know that’s a lie, because Dubrov was happily posting drunken stories last night. So obviously something happened when he was over.” Zoya sits back in her chair and stares her down, making her insides twist. “And since I don’t live with him, the only person I have to grill is you. So get talking.”

Alina sighs, knowing she isn’t strong enough to deny Zoya when she’s like this, and babbles out the story. Really, it wasn’t her fault. Mal was the one that walked in on her. It was just incredibly embarrassing for both of them. 

When she finishes, Zoya lets the information sink in, and then she laughs, harder than Alina has ever seen her laugh.

“Well I’m so glad this is funny to you,” she huffs, arms crossed over her chest.

“It is! I can only imagine your faces, shit.” Zoya wipes at her eyes. “Too bad you already know each other, that would make for one hell of a meet cute.” She pauses and says, “Well, it still could be your origin.”

Alina frowns. “Our origin?”

“You know, if you guys dated.”

She momentarily loses her breath. “What? No, you guys are a thing.”

Zoya rolls her eyes. “We’re fucking, Alina, that’s it. And actually, I was planning on cutting it off after last night.” She stands and pours herself what is at least her second up of coffee. “There’s someone else I’m interested in.”

“Someone else? Who?” Zoya says nothing. Alina pops up as it comes to her. “Oh! It’s that rich blond guy from the bar, isn’t it? The one that transferred here this semester. Nikolai or something, right?”

The tiniest blush spreads on Zoya’s face, and Alina squeals. “It is him! Saints, he’s attractive.”

“Yes, he is,” Zoya snaps. “And not bad for conversation, either.”

“Conversation?” She grins. “Why, Miss Nazyalensky, do you actually have feelings for this guy?”

Zoya scowls. “Shut it, Starkov.”

“Oh, you totally have feelings for him!”

“Keep it up and you will pay for this. I’m devising a plan as we speak.”

Alina just laughs. “Okay, Mrs. Whatever Nikolai’s Last Name Is.”

Under her breath, Zoya mutters, “Lantsov,” and stalks off with her coffee as Alina laughs harder. 

~

Zoya, apparently, hadn’t been kidding when she said she was devising a plan. 

When the weekend rolls around once again and Zoya texts the group chat they have with Genya about getting lunch, Alina jumps at the idea. She missed Genya, and it had been a hell of a week between juggling exams and thinking about her encounter with Mal. They haven’t spoken at all, and she had used her classes as an excuse to get out of any hang outs where he might show up. 

Zoya’s words from the morning after had been on her mind a lot, too. It still could be your origin. Could it? Was Mal even interested in her — and would he even want to try, after he’d had something with Zoya, or would it just be inevitably awkward?

Alina approaches the restaurant and sucks in a breath. She’s decided to finally tell Zoya about how she’s had feelings for Mal all this time, and maybe with her and Genya, the three of them can come up with what the hell Alina should do next. 

Zoya had texted five minutes ago saying she grabbed them a table in the restaurant’s outdoor patio, so she makes her way there. Only it’s not Zoya or even Genya waiting for her.

It’s Mal. 

He looks just as surprised to see her as she is to see him, and for a moment, she believes it really is some crazy coincidence. 

“Alina,” he says, standing. Neither of them can quite meet the other’s eye. “What are you doing here?”

Her hand is doing some nervous twitchy thing at her side, so she shoves it into the pocket of her dress. “I’m supposed to be meeting Zoya and Genya.”

Mal curses under his breath. “I’m supposed to be meeting Zoya, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Shaking her head and feeling incredibly stupid, Alina takes out her phone and fires off a text to Zoya, WHAT THE HELL????

The next message she receives comes from Zoya — only not in the text chat between the two of them, but rather a newly created group chat with the two of them and Mal. 

consider this the official end to our fuck-mance, oretsev. yalls little bathroom flash show was the perfect opportunity for a new beginning, because yes, i see the doe eyes you give alina when she’s not looking. you too, starkov. i’m sorry for getting in the way for so long. have a good date, no throwing bottles at each other xoxo

They finish reading at the same time, looking up from their phones, eyes meeting before flickering away again. 

Mal sighs. “I think I hate her.”

“I think I hate her, too.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Alina bites her lip. Because he doesn’t want to do this, she thinks. “Oh, well, I guess—”

Mal cuts her off. “But it might be a nice chance for us to talk.” Her head snaps up, and this time when their eyes meet, neither of them look away. He smiles shyly. “I missed you this week, Lina.”

Her smile matches his. “I missed you, too.” 

They sit, and after the waiter takes their order for drinks and an appetizer for them to share — a sample platter, both of them too indecisive for any singular thing — Mal starts to stutter out an apology. Alina stops him with a hand on his arm. He looks down at where her fingers brush against bare skin, and she wonders if he’s thinking about all the skin they’ve bared to each other now. She certainly is.

“You don’t need to apologize, Mal,” she promises. “It was an accident.”

He shakes his head. “Still, I can’t imagine how terrifying that was for you.”

“Well, it was,” she admits, then adds, “at first.”

“At first?”

She shrugs, but says nothing, thankful for their drinks arriving to save her from answering. Because the truth was she had been scared for maybe three seconds. Once she had realized it was Mal, she’d only felt desire.

With their awkward shower encounter out of the way, they fall into fairly easy conversation, complaining about exams and projects, annoying classmates and neighbors. Soon enough, they’re back to being themselves. Alina pulls out her phone to show Mal all the memes and TikToks she had wanted to send him this week, and he does the same. Hours fly by without their notice, and now the dinner crowd is filing in. 

“Oi, I think our waiter is silently praying for us to leave.”

She laughs, pulling out her wallet. “Definitely.”

Mal waves her off. “Let me get it,” he says, taking his own wallet out. “I mean, since this is apparently a date and all.”

Alina hesitates, a little flutter in her chest even though he’d said it teasingly. “Okay, fine. But I’ll get the tip.”

“Deal.”

When everything is paid for, they stand. Going home is the last thing she wants right now, and not just because Zoya will be there. 

Mal looks ready to pull her into one of their standard hugs, but pauses. “Do you want to come over? We can find something shitty to watch. Mikhael and Dubrov will be around, but I just really don’t want to see Zoya right now.”

Alina smiles, the flutter in her chest returning with vigor. “Yeah, okay.”

~

At Mal’s flat, they settle onto the sofa together, close enough that their shoulders brush. Mikhael and Dubrov tease them about looking like lovebirds, but otherwise surprisingly leave them be. She doesn’t mind their company — but admittedly, she was glad they stayed to their respective rooms tonight. Mal puts on an indie horror flick that’s so bad it’s good, and they laugh and joke with each other throughout, per usual. 

About halfway through the film, they share a knowingly look — their that foreshadowing is so obvious, RIP to that character in twenty minutes look — and sport matching grins. But when the moment passes, neither of them looks away. 

“Alina,” Mal says softly, and her breath hitches. Has he ever said her name with such longing before?

His eyes flicker down — to her lips. She thinks of Zoya’s text then, basically calling both of them out for having feelings for each other. And while neither of them had confirmed it, they hadn’t denied it either.

Her heart is beating so fast. She gives him the tiniest nod.

Mal understands, he always does, and then he’s leaning in. Their noses brush before their lips do, and it could be silly or awkward, but instead it’s a different kind of intimacy she hadn’t known she wanted.

“Alina,” he breathes once more, and then he kisses her, so softly at first, it’s barely anything. Her stomach is doing cartwheels regardless. She takes initiative, kissing him back. Still soft, still careful, afraid that whatever this is between them is something fragile, something that needs delicacy. In some ways, it is. Her closest friendship, blossoming into something more. 

Mal lets out the softest moan, and it snaps something between them. 

He pulls her closer, his hand on the back of her neck, and now Alina is the one moaning, fervor replacing the softness, the delicacy. It’s the kind of kiss she’s been fantasizing about, made even better from how obvious it is that they’ve both wanted this for a long time. A desperate kiss bursting with desire. 

Alina shifts closer until she’s practically straddling his lap. Mal brings one hand to rest on her lower back, the other curling into her hair. His lips move to her neck, trailing down until he reaches her collarbone, where he nips and sucks, undoubtedly leaving a mark. 

“Mal,” she sighs, her head tipped back from the feeling as her hips roll against his. He curses against her skin. Her hands move to the hem of his shirt, ready to pull it off. 

All of a sudden, Mal pulls away, stopping her hands with his own. “Alina, don’t.”

She blinks her eyes open. “Do you want to move to your room?”

Mal bites his lip and shakes his head.

Alina frowns, any warmth in her chest turning cold. She quickly returns to her own side of the couch. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted this.” Wanted me, she thinks but doesn’t say. Because he certainly had no issues with Zoya.

“I do!” he says quickly, taking her hand again and trying to pull her back. She holds her ground, pulls her hand out of his. “I do want this, Alina. Saints, I do. But this is technically our first date, right? I don’t want to do first date sex, not with you.”

Alina rolls her eyes, looking down and tugging at a loose thread on her dress. “Is this where you say something you think sounds respectful but really just puts down all the girls you have had first date sex with?”

“Alina, please look at me.”

Grudgingly, she does. 

“You’re different because you’re my best friend, and because I’ve been hooking up with our mutual friend.” She flinches, but Mal continues. “I don’t want you to think we have to have sex because of that. What I had with Zoya — it was good, and I care about Zoya, but it didn’t go beyond the physical. That’s all we wanted from each other. But that’s not all I want with you.”

Mal closes his eyes. Alina’s unconsciously holding her breath. He exhales and opens his eyes again, holding her gaze. “I want everything with you, Alina. I want your highs and your lows. I want to take you against the wall as much as I want to hold your hand.” He does so now, both of his hands around one of hers, and this time she doesn’t pull away. “And if you didn’t want to be physical? I’d still want you. I don’t want you to think there’s anything we have to do. That’s why I want to wait — even if I also want to take you to my room and pin you against my bed, too.”

“Oh,” she says, barely audible. Alina shakes her head, a little speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Was that too rom-com confessional?”

The tension breaks. She laughs and climbs onto his lap again, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You’re such a dork, but you’re the perfect dork. So we’ll wait.” She pauses and looks up at him with innocent eyes. “But will you kiss me again?”

Mal grins, pushes her down against the couch, and does just that. 

~

When she gets home, Zoya is waiting in the living room, reading a smutty romance book Genya had recommended. “Hey, how’d it go?” she asks, too casually to actually be casual. 

Alina ignores her and walks straight to her room. She’s decided to let Zoya sweat it out a bit for the weekend after her little stunt, even if it was successful. 

Though really, she didn’t think it would bother Zoya that much. Hard as steel Zoya, who never let anything get to her. But on Sunday, she bursts into Alina’s room, interrupting her studying. 

“Okay, I know you hate me now or whatever, but at least let me tell you that I’m sorry. I didn’t know how much you liked him, Alina. Not until Genya told me.”

Alina closes her book, frowning. “Genya told you?”

Zoya nods and sits at the end of her bed. “Recently, when I told her about Nikolai and that I was thinking about cutting things off with Mal. Don’t be mad at her, just be mad at me.” 

“Well—” she starts, but Zoya cuts her off. 

“And honestly? The worst part is, part of me did know. I saw the looks you gave each other, but I brushed them off because I was selfish and enjoying myself. I was a really, really shit friend to you, and I’m so sorry, Alina. You don’t have to forgive me, but I just—

Zoya stops mid-sentence, cut off by the laughter bubbling out of Alina. 

“Saints, I never thought I’d see the day that Zoya Nazyalensky grovels.” She shoots her a grin. “I accept your apology. And as much as I want to hate you for your meddling stunt, it worked, because we definitely spent the night making out. I just did the whole silent treatment to make you suffer a little.”

A moment passes — Zoya is completely still, too still — and then she grabs one of Alina’s pillows and smacks her with it. “You little rat!”

Alina only laughs harder, fighting off Zoya’s pillow attack with her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say sorry non-sarcastically! You did so well, Nazyalensky!”

“And you’ll never hear it again! You’ve lost apology privileges! 

Eventually, Alina moves into the living room to study, and Zoya joins her. When their brains need a break, Alina tells her about her date with Mal, and Zoya tells her about her own with Nikolai. If this is their new normal, Alina finds that she really likes it. 

~

The next week is outstandingly better than the previous. She’s back to talking to Mal each day, even more than before. Halfway through the week, he sends her a song with the message, This song made me think of you the first time I heard it, still does every time. It has her heart beating extra fast as she listens on her walk to class, not only because it’s incredibly sweet, but because Mal has played this song for her before, months and months ago, which means he’s felt this way the whole time. 

Early Saturday evening, Zoya announces that she’s spending the night at Nikolai’s. “He has his own apartment, so it just makes sense. I’ll be home in the morning, probably.”

Thank the Saints for rich boys. 

She texts Mal, and Zoya’s barely gone for ten minutes before he’s there. They make dinner together — well, Alina sits on the counter while Mal does the actual cooking, but he spends any down time kissing her, so she likes to think she was the moral support. They eat on the couch, watching their favorite trashy reality television, and play a few rounds of Mario Kart afterwards. Really, it’s just like how things were when they were simply best friends, except now Alina drapes her body over his as they watch their show, Mal’s thumb moving in slow circles on her ankle, and instead of talking or playing on their phones during ad breaks, they pick up where they left off in the kitchen, their lips pressed together in a blissful ease. 

They’re on their fifth game of Mario Kart, Alina in the lead, as she has been every round. She’s bragging about how she’s going to beat him again when suddenly her vision is blocked as Mal presses his lips to hers. 

Her surprise doesn’t stop her from dropping her controller and kissing back. She’s just getting into the kiss when Mal pulls away as quickly as he had started the kiss. He stands, and only then does she see he never dropped his controller. Picking up right where he left off, he steers Luigi towards the finish line. (“Who the hell picks Luigi?” Alina had asked him once. To which Mal responded, “It’s not fair people only care about his brother when he probably works just as hard at their plumbing business. It’s just like people only knowing Adam Levine and ignoring the rest of Maroon 5—” which led to a very cute rant that Alina spent less time listening to and more time staring at his lips while he was distracted.)

Alina fumbles for her controller, but it’s too late. Mal hasn’t come in first — some of the computers still beat him. But he’s beat her, which by the smirk on his face, was his only goal.

“You’re such a cheater!”

“It’s not cheating, it’s strategy.”

“I suppose you need your strategy, since you don’t have any skills.”

Mal raises a brow, a devious look in his eyes. “Is that so? Perhaps I should show you my skills, then.” He moves in front of her and kneels on the couch, a leg on either side of her body, essentially pinning her there, and kisses her again. 

Immediately, she can feel the difference from the strategy kiss and even the ones from earlier that night. He’s kissing with purpose, cradling her face with one hand, the other on her waist, and Alina is melting against him. She is putty in Mal’s hands, his to mold how he pleases. 

He’s holding himself so that his weight isn’t pressing down on her, but that’s exactly what she wants. Her hips buck up against his, and Mal pulls back to moan, “Fuck, Alina,” so she does it again.

“Please tell me we can have second date sex.”

Mal chuckles. “Are we even going to bother with the dating process?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“I don’t know. Do I need to ask you to be my girlfriend?”

Alina grins. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it.

“All right. Alina, my beauty, my beloved, will you bless me with the honor of calling you my girlfriend?”

Her grin widens, and giddy butterflies dance inside her chest. No, not butterflies — fireflies. She can feel their warmth and wouldn’t be surprised if she was glowing from their light. “Oh, I suppose.”

Mal laughs. “I can’t stand you,” he says, and kisses her again.

Alina returns the kiss for a moment before murmuring against his lips, “You don’t have to stand me, but now that you’re my boyfriend, can you fuck me?”

He practically growls as he says, “Saints, yes,” standing and lifting her with him. Mal brings them to her room, kissing her the whole way. He unceremoniously shoves her school books off of her bed, laying her down and crawling over her. “You don’t know how often I’ve imagined this,” he murmurs, lips on her throat. 

“Tell me,” she gasps.

“Every time I came over, Alina. Every time.”

A shiver runs down her spine. “Even when you were here to—”

“Especially then.”

She has no idea what to do with this information. Her head is empty of thought save for the screaming need for more of him, so she pulls his shirt over his head. This time, Mal doesn’t stop her. Her hands roam over all the places she’s been dying to touch; down his back, tracing along his spine, up over his stomach, fingers running along the muscles of his chest, brushing over a few scars he’s accumulated through the years.

“You’re so perfect,” she whispers. Smooth in some places, rougher in others, but so incredibly warm everywhere.

Mal tips her chin up, kisses her lips once, hard, and then another to her jaw, down her neck, her collarbone. Then he’s the one tossing her shirt aside, his lips continuing their decent. He’s pressing soft words into her skin as he kisses her — beauty, beloved, cherished, my heart —murmuring his love for her even as he brings her nipple between his teeth.

“Shit, Mal,” Alina breathes. Her hips keep bucking, far beyond her control. He chuckles, murmurs something along the lines of no patience, and quickens his pace. Soon enough, he’s got her undressed completely — which isn’t too unnerving after the shower incident. Any lingering nerves flee once his head is between her thighs. She’s suddenly very thankful Zoya isn’t home, because even though it’s never been a problem during sex before, she absolutely cannot control the noises she’s making — and she’s loud.

Mal returns to her with glistening lips. She kisses him and tastes herself, a thrill better than any rollercoaster. Her hands move to the waistband of his pants, giving a half-hearted tug. “Off.”

“So lazy,” he teases, unclasping the button on his jeans, tugging down the zipper. “I could always make you work for it.”

“Have mercy on me, Oretsev. I’m still recovering from the pleasures of your cocky mouth.”

He looks so proud of himself, she wants to kiss him just to wipe the smirk off of his face. “If you enjoyed my cocky mouth, just wait until you feel my—

“Do not finish that sentence.”

But then he’s pushing down his boxers, and all Alina can do is stare as the cock in question springs free. He’s fully hard this time around, and her thighs squeeze together at the sight. He watches her as she practically drools over his dick, his smirk becoming even, well, smirkier. She reaches out and curls her fingers around his length, giving him two quick strokes — both to clear the smirk from his face and because she so very much wants to touch him. 

“Fuck, Alina,” he hisses. He’s reaching for his jeans, probably to grab a condom from his pocket, but she grabs his hand.

“I’m on the pill, and I’ve been tested recently.” Of course, there’s still a slight risk. But it’s Mal — finally Mal — and she wants to feel every inch of him.

He pauses, then nods. “Okay.” Crawling over her, he takes one of her hands and intertwines their fingers. With his other hand, he grips his cock and drags the tip through her folds like the damn tease he is, eliciting needy mewling from her that he seems to enjoy. In her ear, he murmurs, “How do you want this, Alina?”

“I don’t want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

Mal chuckles softly, but the sound so close to her ear sends more shivers down her spine. “As you wish, moya solnishka.” My little sun.

She has only a brief moment to bask in the sweetness of his words before he’s slamming into her all in one go, anything sweet flying out the window. Mal keeps a steady rhythm while sucking on her neck, which is good, because all Alina can do is moan incoherently as her nails leave scratches down his back.

When he senses her getting close, Mal brings his finger to her clit, circling just right. “Saints!” she cries, and comes undone beneath him once again. But this time, she gets to watch him fall over the edge with her, his eyes so incredibly dark as he moans his release. He’s the only man she’s ever let come inside of her, and it feels very right that it’s Mal — she doesn’t want anyone else filling her like this, marking her in a sense as his spend drips down her thighs.

They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressed together, sweaty and sticky, but blissfully so. 

“So, is the sex still good on this side of the apartment?”

In answer, he dips his head and bites down on one of her tits.

“Shit, Malyen!”

“Ridiculous questions get ridiculous responses,” he teases, then wraps his arms around her, tucking his face into the crook of her shoulder. “You’re all I’ve wanted for two years, Alina, and this still beat my expectations.”

Smiling, she rests her chin against the top of his head. “Good. I would hate to have to start fucking in Zoya’s bed just because you like the airflow better there.”

“Smart ass,” Mal mutters, but he’s smiling. Then he says, "You know, this may not be my first time fucking in this apartment, but I’m still checking off a first tonight — of many, I hope.”

Alina rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m aware this is your first time fucking me in this apartment, dumb ass.”

"That’s not what I meant, rude ass.”

She frowns. “Then what did you mean?”

He squeezes her hip. “It’s my first time spending the night.”

Her heart does a little jump in her chest, and she doesn’t even have it in her to tease that she hasn’t actually asked him to stay yet. But stay he does, though he gets her off a few more times before they pass out for the night — definitely beating her vibrator. One time it’s with his fingers, so incredibly long that she knows all her fantasies will involve the slender digits now. Another is after Alina murmurs about how filthy she is and that she really ought to take a shower. 

Mal waits long enough to join her that she starts to worry he hadn’t understood her intent. But then she hears his footsteps, and the shower curtain opens. There’s no bottle throwing this time, though she can’t say the same for the screaming. He steps into the shower, kisses her slowly, sensually, then pushes her back until she shivers from the feeling of cold tile against her bare skin.

“I meant to ask, you do know you have mirrors in here, right?” Mal murmurs huskily into her ear. She’s too disoriented with want to understand until he says, “I saw you staring at my ass last time.”

Then he slams into her, and Alina no longer has to imagine how it feels to be fucked against the shower wall.

[honesthammie]

Te amo

I am working on a few of the other prompts and a part 2 to prompt 4 the soulmate au I just recently got another puppy and I still have uni work to do so I'm a bit behind schedule with these and I'm so sorry. Hopefully this little kinda songfic makes up for it.

13th doctor x female reader

Warnings: swearing as usual, fluffy, sad thoughts, twist the original songs meaning, long as fuck.

Probably terrible as its my first songfic

I don't know much Spanish so some of the examples later on are Google translated and I know it can be wrong so I do apologise for any mistranslations

This is based off Rhiannas song Te Amo but I'm switching it up a little. I dont why 13th doctor came into my head when I was listening to it but it gave me this lil oneshot idea so enjoy! The picture is not mine but the rainbow effect added is done by me! Same for the picture later on.

I've been travelling with this amazing alien for a whole year now. The adventures are always amazing if she's there! The others sometimes complain and say its boring, especially on a junk planet but to see her face light up with excitement makes my day and it well worth the dirt we cover ourselves on by the time we are done. And when she finds something that she thought was useful and it turns out, it's not her scrunch is amazing.

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm in love with this alien. I know, weird, a human and an alien together? But I can't help it! I'm completely besotted with her. If she even looks in my direction, my legs go to jelly and I get butterflies. I know, cheesy. But thats exactly how I feel around her. I barely want to touch her because I nearly fainted the last few times. And I fear she may pick up on how I'm distancing myself from her. I don't want to break her heart and leave, the thought of her look kills me as is so I'm trying to get her to kick me off.

It doesn't seem to be working though. I've been distancing myself since I found out about how I feel, which is now 6 months ago and she's trying to get me to be as close as I was with her.

I'll tell her. On one of our amazing adventures but I can't do it straight forward, it's making me sick with anxiety just thinking about it. I'll fancy it up, make her work it out. Whenever we are next to each other and the moment is right, I'll tell her in another language!

I finally get out of bed after I finished writing in my diary. I slip some comfy clothes on and head out to the TARDIS library and hope no one is there, especially her. I'll be distracted and right now, I need to concentrate. I wonder the warm halls, grateful that the TARDIS had considered my preferences. I think the TARDIS likes me more than the others because I talk to her and show her gratefulness for taking us somewhere amazing and I chat to her regularly and I try to involve her in my conversations. The others find it weird, except for the Doctor, she just smiles and joins in with me. Im still learning how to translate her but I think I've sort of got it.

I reach my hand forward and grab the aged bronze doorknob and open to the giant room. There were so many floors that an elevator had to be used to access some of them as the Doctor said "walking would literally take weeks to reach some floors". Thankfully the TARDIS organises them to make them easier to find. I looked forward and saw an interactive map in front of me. My hands touched the screen and many subjects and categories came up. Anything ranging from kiddie tales to straight up smut, I have a feeling either River or Missy are to blame for that addition.

I've never met them but the TARDIS showed me videos from her database and brought books to my attention about them. They both seem very dirty minded people so I'm not surprised those are there. I wonder if the Doctor has ever stumbled upon this section or is it for none Doctor eyes only? If she does know about them, has she ever read one? No, don't go there you stupid brain! She probably doesn't know!

I quickly stop that train of thought and catch my breath. I've never thought about those kinds of things about anyone before. Stupid Timelord, making me go all weird and think dirty things. Now my face is all red, I really hope I'm alone in here. I quickly focus back to the task at hand, finding a new language to learn. The TARDIS seemed to know where to go and blue arrows appeared, guiding me to the right section in what could be a maze.

As I walking, I felt excitement rise within me. What if she felt the same way? What if she was impressed by how far I wanted to go just to say those 3 words? Would her hazel honey eyes sparkle with delight? Would she scronch her nose in amazement?

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the language learning section and there were many alien languages but the TARDIS seemed to have a better idea of what would be perfect for me as a white hardback book fell off the 4th shelf onto the wooden floor. I picked it up and noticed how smooth the cover was and how old yet unused it looked. The white was a little off, almost a dull cream from ageing which made the gold writing harder to read. The title was simple:

Spanish basics and need to knows.

I did always find Spanish in school fun to learn, more than French or German anyway and I don't wanna stereotype this into a typical French is the language of romance. I never really found it romantic sounding compared to Spanish.

I picked up the book and quickly flicked through to the right page and took a note on my phone as to what the translation was and put the worn book away. I quietly thanked the TARDIS and rushed out of the library and back into my room where I could practice without getting caught.

A few weeks have passed since I picked up the new words and practiced them until I was confident and had the TARDIS' approval that I was saying it right. Today the Doctor wanted to take us to this party in the 18th century and we all decided to dress for the part once we landed.

Yaz was wearing a beautiful black and red ballroom gown, accented with little bows around the bottom and lace cuffs. She had her black hair curled into a ponytail. It was simple and cute, much like her style normally. Graham and Ryan wore similar suits but Graham wore green accents and Ryan wore yellow accents.

I let the TARDIS pick my dress. She picked a black and dark blue ballroom gown with blue roses on the bottom. It had black lace underneath and blue lace as the cuffs. The gown also seemed to glitter slightly in the light making me sparkle very subtly. I put my comfy boots on as you couldn't see my shoes as I walked anyway so why did it matter? With all the running we do, I'm not risking my ankles with heels, thank you very much. I had my (h/c) hair in (fave style). It suited my dress perfectly.

I nearly choked on oxygen when I saw how hot the Doctor looked in her suit. It took me a few moments to realise we match. We both blushed at the realisation. Of course the TARDIS makes us match! No wonder why she was more than eager to help me pick an outfit! Stupid sentient ship, shipping us already!

I quickly cleared my throat and complimented everyone on how amazing they looked but I just couldn't take my eyes off the Doctor for long. She was like a magnet for my eyes. Someone help before she realises!

"Don't we all look brilliant? Perfect for the party! 18th century Yorkshire to be exact! What a great century for you guys. Now then, this party is for Nobles and higher, as per usual in these times. Ryan, I suggest you keep in mind about any racist comments that may come out. But as long as you say your Graham's personal butler, you should be welcomed with little resistance. And Yaz, I want you to be (y/n)'s personal maid. That does mean you'll have to follow your so called "masters" around and do anything they ask unfortunately and Graham, (y/n), please act like the others around you and use them. Unfortunately this is the only way all 5 of us can join the party. You'll be fine as long as you bite your tongues. Now the Noble Edward Collins is the host so be sure to thank him for inviting you, even though you technically weren't. And try not to get too drunk, I know what you humans are like! Now follow me." The Doctor explained. I was going to tell the Doctor today, but I guess, I'll have to wait.

The Doctor opened the doors and we were in a cupboard under some gorgeous marble stairs. As we walked towards the party I noticed some family portraits along the walls. They were a very beautiful looking family. The mother had long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The father was buff, long brown hair and daring brown eyes. There were two children, a girl and a boy. The girl had long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, whilst the son had blonde hair and brown eyes. They also had a brown greyhound dog laying by the sons feet. The son must be the host, Edward. He looked not much older than 10 in the last painting but the daughter was no where to be found in the portrait and theu all looked mournful. Is she dead and is that the picture capturing the moment of grief? Why would anyone want that? It's so strange, even for this time period.

The Doctor held me and Yaz close, stopping us in our tracks. My heart was racing at the simple touch. But as soon as the touch was there, it was gone. "I hope its okay with you (y/n) but you're going to have to be married to someone."

My heart stopped for a moment and I nearly choked on air. "What? Why?"

"Because women like yourself would have been married as young as 13 or 14. Now your only choices are me and Graham. You can't choose Ryan as he's supposed to be a butler and you can't choose Yaz as she's your maid. The choice is yours, I just need to know wether or not I should refer to you as my darling wife or not?"

What. The. Fuck.

Why did her even calling me that l, turn me on? Obviously, I'm going to choose her but I'm going to have to perfect my reasoning here.

"As much as I love Graham, it's going to be awkward if I have to kiss him or anything because he's like my grandad! I guess you'll do Timelord. Come on then husband, we don't want to be late to the dancefloor!" I spoke clearly hoping she didn't notice how excited I actually was to have even a hint of a relationship with her. It may be fake but ill take anything when it comes to her.

We arrived at the welcome committee and handed our cards over, aka the psychic paper. We were going as Mr and Mrs (last name). The Doctor was holding my hand this entire time and it's driving me insane. I don't know if she can feel my racing pulse under her fingers but if she can I hope she puts it down to excitement! We walked down the most grandest staircase you would ever lay your eyes on.

First we walked around, greeting everyone as they came up to us or if she dragged me to someone she knew, but not personally. She was cute when she was fangirling over these people. Yaz found it annoying as she just wanted to party but I couldn't help it. The way her eyes shimmer with recognition was more beautiful than any galaxy she could ever take us. Sometimes her eyes flickered with admiration and it did make me have jealousy for just a moment before I remembered, I'm staying with her and they aren't .

As the party moved on we met the host Edward. He looked a lot different than in his paintings. He was around 20 years old now and his blonde hair was below his shoulders. He looked a lot like his father with his muscley build. And he was very charismatic which I did not like as he poured all his charm into the Doctor. Does everyone here know that he's gay or does he see through the Doctors disguise? Either way, it was rubbing me the wrong way. I quickly excused myself with Yaz and walked into the bathroom.

"I did not like him. I do not like this Edward guy. Something about him rubs me completely wrong. He's handsome but something is telling me he knows the Doctor isn't a man."

"I felt the same way. He knows something we don't. Before we go out there again, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Yaz asked. My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. She knows. The jig is up with Yaz. "How do you feel about her, honestly? One minute you 2 are inseparable, then you distance yourself and now you are a nervous wreck around her! I won't judge but I just want to make sure my theory is correct."

Shit. I guess I really was obvious. Does she know?

"If your theory is about me falling hopelessly in love with the Doctor then you'd be correct. I can't help it. I'm going to tell her how I feel without being completely stupid. I just need a right moment to say it." I spoke with a heavy sigh. Hopefully, Yaz can help create that moment thay I need. She nods her head and opens the door. We walk back to the Doctor and notice Edward has gone to other guests and she was talking to Graham. I looked around and saw Ryan flirting with a pretty lady near the food table. Why am I not surprised?

A few hours had passed and the Doctor seemed bored with standing and talking so I made a plan in my head. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dancefloor as the next song came on. I didn't quite know how to dance properly but I knew the basics if it. She has to lead and I simply follow suit. It took a few moments but I got the hang of it with the Doctors help. Soon we were dancing so gracefully underneath the most beautiful candelabra that lit up her face perfectly.

Her hair swayed to our perfect dance ever so gently. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and her lips were in a permanent smile. She even laughed a couple of times. Then as the music slowed down to a pace that was perfect, I grabbed her waist and looked her. My heart was going crazy and my legs were about to buckle but I had rehearsed my lines. I can do this.

"Hey Doc. Its been an amazing time with you but I can't continue this without being honest with you. But everytime I get close, I back down in fear. So I'm going to let you figure it out. Doctora te amo. Entiendo que si no sientes lo mismo y me iré si quieres. (Doctor i love you. i understand if you don't feel the same way and i'll leave if you want.)" I spoke with as much passion and intention as I could. I looked into her eyes and saw her confused and trying to work out what I said. I would find it cute if my heart was beating right out of my chest. "Well, I've had a great time but I'm fucking knackered. I'm calling it night. I'll be heading to the TARDIS if you need me."

"I'll come with ya. I'm knackered as well and we both need each other to undo the corsets and mine is starting to hurt a little bit. How we used to do this for a full day, everyday, is beyond my understanding. As beautiful as we look, I don't think its worth the pain this will bring in the morning." Yaz spoke with a slight mumble as proof of her mental state and finishing with a yawn. I chuckled at her state and walked back to the TARDIS with a small amount of chat along the way.

She is right though. These corsets really do hurt you after a while, I'm glad I chose not to wear heels or else I'll be fucked for in the morning. I would literally scream. I think the Doctor had the right idea in wearing a suit, no pain. I do feel bad for leaving her but I just need some space after basically admitting everything that's been built up within me for too damn long. Maybe I should tell Yaz how it went and maybe she can help determine if the Doctor is happy or not.

We walked back into the wardrobe room and I helped Yaz out of her corset. She immediately sighed in relief. She finished getting herself into comfy clothes and started to untie my ribbon.

"So did you tell her?"

"Sort of. I basically told her everything but in Spanish. I just hope it doesn't change anything, except in a positive way, of course! If she wants me gone, I've told her that it's fine and I understand. She's very socially awkward and as cute as I find it, it may not help me in this situation. Do you have any clues on how she may react once she figures it out?"

Yaz stopped untying my corset for a moment and placed 1 finger upon her chin in thought. Her eyes were almost shut and seemed almost completely black in the light. After what seemed like forever, she took her finger off her chin and beamed a toothy smile. Her eyes sparkled as she remembered something and seemed to gleam slightly menacingly. A smirk replaced her smile soon after.

"There's a few times she's shown affection towards you. And I mean romantic affection. She always chooses to hold your hand over anyone else's if given the choice. She always steps I'm front of you when an enemy threatens to kill us all or hurt us in anyway. When you go wandering around on your own, she's terrified thats she's lost you forever to an enemy we don't even know of!" Yaz starts explaining carefully as if she's worried on how to word it.

"Those are just friendly affec-"

"I wasn't done. I was warming up." Yaz interrupts me as I was about to go into a self deprecating speech on how I'm just a friend to everyone and never a lover. "She always looks to see your face on adventures because she secretly loves your reactions, bad or good. When the Master revealed himself, she looked straight at you for support on how she should react. When she came back from the Kasavin, she ran straight to you and made sure you were ok first before any of us. When we were in the Tsungra medical ship, the first person she asked for was you! Whilst she was unconscious on board the ship, she kept mumbling your name, over and over again. When she saw how gorgeous you looked today, I thought she'd take you right there on the spot! She fucking loves you (y/n)! You're just so unbelievably blind to it all!"

Yaz was almost red with rage. Did she really do all that, for me? The TARDIS mustve read my mind and seemed to hum positively in reply. If everything Yaz said is true then she'll be so happy about it and maybe we can be a thing! But then again, maybe losing so many in a similar position as me will turn her away. Maybe her soul is awry and she's asking why right now.

Once I had gotten changed I went to sleep almost straight away, I suppose all that dancing and social ques having tired me out more than I thought.

I woke up to a soft knock on my door. I rubbed my (e/c) eyes and told them I'd be a few minutes as I've only just woken up. It wasn't until I finished brushing my (h/c) hair that I remembered what happened yesterday. All the panic rushed within me at once and I nearly threw up. I took several deep breaths and opened the door.

"GRAHAM THANK FUCK ITS YOU!" I almost shouted at him. He looked a little bewildered for a moment before he seemed to remember what brought him here in the first place.

"Hello Love, I'm here because Doc wanted to speak with you privately in the library. She says that the TARDIS will guide you to her location. She seemed a little off after you and Yaz left. Did something happen? Is everything ok?" Graham asked cautiously. He must be so confused.

"Sort of. I'll explain more when I get back but what do you mean by "a little off"?"

"Well she seemed lost in all sense of the word. She kept muttering "Te Amo" all the time. She was all over the place aswell. She got me and Ryan back here not long after you guys. Something about not trusting Ryan to not get alcohol poisoning without her around. She hasn't really left the library since if I'm honest. She's been in there for 12 hours. I only know she wants you because she whattsapped me on my phone. Whatever is going on, please sort it out, she's starting to really worry me. She hasn't been the same since that Master guy came around." Graham spoke clearly, albeit confused. I nodded my head and walked in the opposite direction to him and hoped the TARDIS would take me there quicker than normal. I want to treat this like a plaster, rip it off in one go.

Sooner than I realised, I grabbed the all too familiar door knob of the library. I took a deep breath and walked in. A blue line appeared towards the interactive map. I awakened the console and I saw a black screen with a few words on it. It looked like a message with how it was presented.

Hello (y/n)! Don't walk until you calm. Breath deeply and try not to panic. I promise you, all will work out in the end. I see more than you realise and I know my thief better than anyone whoever stepped foot into my being. I know of her main problem about the situation. If she loves you, drink this. It won't hurt, she'll know what it is.

The TARDIS

I should have been surprised by this new knowledge that she could speak to me, in a way, but I've seen so much and I am so tender hooks so I didn't take much notice of it. I quickly sat down and tried to control my breathing. After about 5 or so minutes, I felt calm enough to finally meet up with her and hear what she has to say.

I followed the blue line carefully until I spotted her in a comfy room. She mustve gotten changed at some point as she was wearing her usual rainbow outfit, minus the jacket. She was sat on a deep purple sofa, legs curled into her body. Her shoes were on the carpeted floor underneath her, seemingly forgotten for the moment. There were many books surrounding us from many cultures and spieces. One wall had a cozy wood burning fireplace crackling within the silence that surrounded us.

Her face was scrunched within deep thought. Her eyes sparkling with an emotion that I couldn't quite put my finger on; hope, sorrow or excitement? Her lips had a small smirk gracing them and her teeth had bitten a small part of it. Her hands were holding a book in a way where I couldn't quite see what it was.

I didn't want to disturb her as she looked so ethereal with the warm glow of the fire highlighting her in the perfect way. Unfortunately, it's plaster time and I wanted this sorted sooner rather than later. I took a deep breath took in the picture for memory.

"Hey, Graham said you wanted to talk to me? Is everything ok?" I asked gently and as softly as I could so she was carefully brought out of her little world. I didn't want to scare her. She raised her eyes from her book for a moment and bookmarked the page she was at with a little TARDIS paperclip. She placed the book on the table at the side of her and patted the seat next to her.

As I sat down my nerves were through the roof. She gave nothing away as she stared at me for a minute, as if assessing something about me.

"Why are you so nervous? Calm down. You are right, It is to do with last night. You left pretty abruptly after basically confessing your feelings to me. I was so confused, not just about what you said but about myself and what I wanted to do about you." The Doctor spoke monotonously. Did she mean get rid of me? "I had to first of all, find out what you said, well done on learning a new language by the way, one even I'm not fluent at. I'm guessing the old girl had something to do with that idea. Not that, you aren't smart enough but you don't know what languages I do or don't know."

The Tardis seemed to chuckled at the accusation and I simply nodded my head. "I wanted to buy myself time and to impress you."

"You impressed me a long time ago Miss (l/n). That is just a cherry on top. After I figured out what you said, no thanks to my old friend here, I went through a lot of thinking. I've not been in many relationships and you know my history regarding the ones I have been in. You know, River and Missy? And I have such a bad past with it ending in nothing but tears for me. I always lose those I care for deeply." She spoke with tears spilling from her gorgeous eyes. I grabbed her face gently and wiped away the stray tears that managed to escape their home.

"That was when you were a man. You're a woman now, everything is so different. Relationships can be heartbreaking. I know what you're main problem is and the TARDIS has a solution to that. I just need you to tell me the truth. How do you feel about me? Do you want me to stay or not?" I stated holding the small shot glassed amount of liquid in my hand. The liquid was golden and sparkled slightly in the light. There were specks of orange and silver within it and it was as hot as a nice cup of (hot drink). Her eyes sparkled with hope and shock. Her lips were smiling wide. And she seemed to giggle at the sight of it. She held it for a moment as if examining it like a rare artefact, maybe it was. Either way, I trust her judgement and if she's happy about it, then so am I. Once she had analysed the drink, she practically leapt into my arms and pushed me down on my back. She smelled of custard creams and the TARDIS which was odd but completely her and I couldn't imagine her smelling any other way.

"That does solve our problem! What she has just given you is the rarest liquid in the universe seeing as only one thing in the entirety of space can produce it. That drink is known as the nectar of the chosen ones. It's rare as the race that used to make them has practically gone extinct. There's only 3 left in the known universe and you're living in one. That drink is the blood of the TARDIS. It grants you immortality if you drink it. It is said to resemble your favourite beverage no matter who you are. However, it only lasts 100 years and you must drink it every century or else your body clock will kick in and you will age and be as mortal as you are now." She speaks with a warning as we sit up holding holds.

"I have no problem with that. I would sacrifice everything if it meant I got to call you mine. Just please tell me and I'll drink it." I told her with adoration in my eyes.

She held me close and planted a soft and gentle kiss to my lips. It was short but it sent more fireworks than you can imagine through my body. I knew I had found her. She grabbed my waist and whispered next to my ear:

"Te Amo"

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 7, Number 3

Black Country, New Road

One of the funniest parts of Martin Amis’ Inside Story concerns an up-and-coming novelist, constantly asked at literary festivals to differentiate between his short stories and novels and just as consistently coming up with new ways to say that the short stories are, well, shorter.  Same deal with Dust.  These abbreviated reviews are, indeed, shorter than the full-lengths, but otherwise well worth reading.  And, hoo boy, are there a lot of them this time.  Contributors include Ian Mathers, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Patrick Masterson, Arthur Krumins, Eric McDowell, Justin Cober-Lake, Andrew Forell, Ray Garraty, Jonathan Shaw and Bryon Hayes.  

Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl — Eating Rose Petals (Projekt: Archive)

Eating Rose Petals by Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl

Aarktica’s Jon DeRosa and Black Tape for a Blue Girl’s Sam Rosenthal have known each other for a long time, but this release is the first time they’ve actually worked together. Rosenthal was so struck by the title song, one of the few from Aarktica’s 2019 release Mareación to feature DeRosa’s vocals, that with the latter’s permission and participation he created the almost 19-minute “Fleeting Rose Petals”, which features the original track backwards with wordless additional vocals from DeRosa, plus additional material by Rosenthal before and after it. The original (also included here, along with the closing “Valley of the Roses” which features Rosenthal further reworking the additional material from “Fleeting Rose Petals”) already felt like a single lambent moment in time suspended and held, and by reworking and reconfiguring that material over a full 37-minute span that effect is only intensified. 

Ian Mathers

 Altaat & Euter — Split (Ikuisuus)

split by Altaat / Euter

Two experimental drone outfits from Finland play extended abstract compositions on this split LP. Altaat’s sidelong “Palava Palaava” sounds like an orchestra tuning up in a wind tunnel as it splices long bowed tones with the rush and whir of large machinery. But however, chaotic that may sound, the actual effect is quite serene, the om of dissonant overtones melting into a white noise background of rattling, humming, whooshing mechanical sounds. Altaat’s Niko Karlsson and Miki Brunou, along with Jari Koho, subsume the noisy clatter of the post-industrial era into a dream-like, beckoning hiss. Euter, also a duo but not willing to give up personal names, works a less organically grounded sound, filling an expansive, echoey space with chortling, wobbling synth cadences, metallic clangs and staticky, between-stations blare. The long “Slowly Underwater,” unfolds in chilly surreality. You get the sense of vast metal furnaces blowing out corrosive chemical clouds, of mechanical sensors picking up and sending signals and of chittering, hurrying life amid ruins. (No, I’m not hearing anything especially watery.) “Magnetic Mammals,” which follows, is similarly machine-like and ominous, picking up vast, sirening sounds as if from a distance with bubbling bursts of radio interference in the foreground. Altaat’s side is certainly closer to conventional Western classical music, but Euter finds some intriguing, disquieting spaces. Makes you wonder what they’re putting in the water up there in reindeer land.

Jennifer Kelly

 Rrill Bell — Ballad of the External Life (Elevator Bath)

ballad of the external life by Rrill Bell ////// aka The Preterite

One of the challenges of early electronic music was its labor intensity; it could take months of recording, processing, card-punching and pondering to come up with a few minutes of music. But tools change, and with them, opportunities for access open up. The music of Rrill Bell, a German-based American musician, makes that lengthy process shake hands with instant performance. Originally trained as a percussionist, he works mainly with tapes, which he records, uses in performance, and in the course of performance, records over and re-uses again. But in concert, he tends to improvise with these materials, making split-second decisions that occasionally get preserved for potential re-visiting.  

If that sounds like a recipe for frenetic sonic action, it’s not. Mr. Bell’s tastes in original sounds tend towards bells and environmental captures, and he rarely crowds the mix. Tones squiggle and unspool, unidentifiable bumps appear and disappear, and birds chirp at the periphery. It’s easy to characterize this as ambient music, since a low-volume listen is pleasant but undemanding. But keep in mind that successful ambient music must be interesting as well as ignorable, and the dream-like sound walk of Ballad of the External Life still delivers.  

Bill Meyer

Black Country, New Road — For the First Time (Ninja Tune)

For the first time by Black Country, New Road

“Sunglasses” erupts out of a blare of feedback, a roar of guitar noise that splinters and disintegrates as you trace its melody. Synths sound like police sirens. It’s all very slow and ominous, and for a minute, all those Slint comparisons make sense. And then it resolves into something like an indie rock song, spoke-sung over thunderous drums by one Isaac Wood, he of the tremulous voice and the unreliable narrative, whose art song proclivities may bring bands like Wild Beasts to mind, though without the fey falsetto. The song is a marvel of bravado and doubt, working the soft seam between ordinary male adolescence and mental illness, and the sunglasses play a key part. Says Wood, “I am looking at you with my best eyes and I wish you could tell/I wish all my kids would stop dressing up like Richard Hell/I am locked away in a high-tech/Wraparound, translucent, blue-tinted fortress/And you cannot touch me.” (Also, later, “I am more than adequate/Leave Kanye out of it,” which strikes me as brilliant for reasons I can’t fathom.) The point is that there are startling, riveting lyrics here, of the sort that you could make a case for leaving it unadorned, but Black Country, New Road is not interested in simplicity. The rather large ensemble includes not just the regular rock instruments but saxophone, violin and synths, all knotted up in proggy complexities and paced by a drummer (Charlie Wayne) good enough to give Black Midi’s Morgan Simpson a run for his money (the two bands are aligned and friends and Black Midi gets a name check in one of the songs). Indeed, the opening track of this six-cut collection is aptly titled “Instrumental,” a whirling gypsy klezmer cubist fantasy that is, if anything, nervier and more complicated than the vocal tracks. This is exciting, volatile stuff that could go anywhere from here.

Jennifer Kelly

 Deniz Cuylan — No Such Thing As Free Will (Hush Hush)

No Such Thing As Free Will by Deniz Cuylan

Everything about Deniz Cuylan’s solo debut is understated. Six instrumental tracks running to just 27 minutes, released on the fittingly named Hush Hush Records, No Such Thing As Free Will seeks to evoke something subtle and universal out of minimal ingredients. There’s a robust architecture to this music, generating a sober, contemplative mood. Arpeggios on nylon-string classical guitar cycle around in precise arcs, gently bolstered by piano, clarinet and cello. The space in opener “Clearing” shyly invites the listener in; the record reaches a modest peak in the bright harmonics of “She Was Always Here” and the almost joyful elegance of “Flaneurs in Hakone”; then the music recedes into a melancholic fog on the closing title track. It’s telling, therefore, that Cuylan has worked as a soundtrack composer — his music feels complementary, receding modestly into life’s scenery rather than commanding the spotlight. 

Tim Clarke

 Arnold de Boer — Minimal Guitar (Makkum) 

MINIMAL GUITAR by arnolddeboer

Somedays you just don’t do what you’re supposed to do. At the end of the last summer, Arnold de Boer decided to extend his holiday by a day and take a walk around town. When he got back home, he sat down, picked up an instrument and listened to the music that came out of his fingers. The music was no more expected than the activity that preceded it. Instead of the rough, voltage-enhanced intricacy of the music he plays with The Ex or his one-man band, Zea, de Boer played a set of acoustic guitar solos. Neither ostentatious nor self-consciously rustic, de Boer’s playing tends to zero in on an idea and see where it wants to go. Each rhythmic pattern, decaying harmonic, or rap on the body proposes an idea, which de Boer either explores or restates with minimal variation. Ah, there’s that word. This isn’t a study in minimalism, but an appreciation of how little you need to do if the original idea is sound. 

Bill Meyer

Dusk + Blackdown — Rinse FM Mix January 28, 2021 (Rinse FM)

Rinse FM · Keysound (100% Keysound Production Mix) - 28 January 2021

I’m not sure there’s a place left on the internet better suited to explaining the rise of grime, dubstep and its attendant mutations than Martin Clark’s aging Blogspot under his Blackdown alias. From ground zero in London, Clark has been documenter, eyewitness and participant alike, a true lifer fully evidenced by his longtime partnership with Dan Frampton, aka Dusk, showcasing new music on their monthly Rinse radio show and Keysound Recordings record label. They’re an essential part of the culture, so it’s especially pleasant when they serve up some of their own riches. After the traditional December year-end roundup show, Dusk and Blackdown came roaring out of the gates in January with an all-Keysound broadcast in the middle of the night that features gobs of unreleased rollage over its two hours. It’s a nice reminder that though time may pass, URLs may cut out and memories may dim, some are still putting in the work one release, one radio show, one listen at a time. The sound is the key is right.

Patrick Masterson   

 EKG — 200 Years Of Electricals (Bandcamp) 

200 Years of Electricals by EKG (Ernst Karel & Kyle Bruckmann)

Most things don’t hold their value. Why should time be any different? So, if Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote 100 Years of Solitude in the 1960s, EKG might as well proclaim 200 Years Of Electricals in 2021. EKG is Kyle Bruckmann (double reeds, analog electronics, organ) and Ernst Karel (analog electronics, microphones). The duo first convened in the mid-1990s, when both men lived in Chicago, and Karel was mainly known as a trumpeter. They’ve carried on in sporadic fashion ever since, playing increasingly rare concerts as each man moved away from his original home base. They’ve turned snippets from these shows into subdued musical constructions, which they’ve issued on a number of compact discs over the years. For their first release in over a decade, the duo, who currently both live in the Bay area, have ditched the trumpet and the physical album format, and incorporated some of the field recordings that have become Karel’s main sound material in his solo work. But in other respects, this effort is every bit as concerned with iteration and inevitability as Marquez’ book. When you flip a switch, something hums. When you layer quiet sounds, they don’t necessarily get louder, but they do exert a stronger magnetism upon your ear. And you when spread your quietness over a vast stretch of silence, efforts to follow the sound inevitably do strange things to your sense of time. Wait, how many years have we been listening to that crackle? Why stop now?

Bill Meyer  

 Michael Feuerstack — Harmonize the Moon (Forward Music Group)

Harmonize the Moon by Michael Feuerstack

Montreal-based singer-songwriter Michael Feuerstack sweeps aside all extraneous fluff on his new album, Harmonize the Moon, zeroing in on precise finger-picked guitar parts, vivid lyrical imagery and a stark, affecting tone. He has a knack for smuggling blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments of understated wonder into traditional-sounding folk songs you’ll imagine you’ve heard somewhere before. Indeed, he wryly admits to recycling the past in the opening song: “I used to be a singer, bumping around in the astral plane / Picking up astral trash, to polish it up again.” Though the foundation of guitar and vocals carries most of the weight, there’s tasteful reinforcement from vocal harmonies, electric guitar, lap steel, bass and drums. Amid these clean, spare arrangements, some of the lines stop you in your tracks, like the following from “Too Kind”: “The world is broken mirrors, traps and triggers / And cold blood pools in the kindest eyes.” With 10 finely honed songs running to just over half an hour, everything is measured and rather lovely. (Beautiful cover art, too.) 

Tim Clarke

Michael and Peter Formanek — Dyads (Out Of Your Head Records) 

Dyads by Michael and Peter Formanek

Virtuoso bassist, stalwart sideman, solid bandleader, fearless improviser, intriguing composer — Michael Formanek is all of those things, but he’s also a cool dad. At least that’s what it looks like from the outside. Not only did he include his son, Peter, in his musical activities from an early age, giving the youngster a chance to sit in with the likes of Tim Berne and Jim Black. Upon Peter’s return home from college, he joined him in a working duo. Dyads is their first recording, and it is testimony to the merits of giving the kid first-hand experience in the family business. Peter, who plays tenor saxophone and clarinet, has learned the merits of having a bold tone, a flexible improvisational approach and a way with a tune. Their performances unfold with a combination of patience and pith, which permits the listener to savor the elegance with which each musician supports the other. 

Bill Meyer

 Chris Forsyth & the Solar Motel Band — Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 (No Quarter)

Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 by Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel Band

Chris Forsyth teams with Sunwatchers Peter Kerlin and Jason Robira at London’s Café OTO for expansive, incendiary jams that will remind you like a physical ache of what you’ve been missing in live music this awful year. “Dream in the Non-Dream” is a wide-horizon, endless vamp, driven ever forward by Kerlin and Robira in lock-sync, while Forsyth ratchets up tension with a car jack, then spins it off in wreckless, fiery abandon. “The First Ten Minutes of Cocksucker Blues” similarly balances rigor and open-ended-ness, marking off the measures with a hammering, repetitive cadence that becomes a mantra over time. There are also two Neil Young covers, both tending towards the electrified, Crazy Horse side of things, a slow by blistering “Don’t Be Denied” and a raucous “Barstool Blues” from Zuma. It’s all great stuff, and it might hold you for a month or two until we can all crowd up to the stage again.

Jennifer Kelly

 Alexander Hawkins — Togetherness Music (Intakt)

Togetherness Music by Alexander Hawkins

Whether you listen to him in duos with Evan Parker or Tomeka Reid, small bands like the Chicago/London Underground or Decoy, or leading his own ensembles, English keyboardist Alexander Hawkins accompanies and improvises with an astute perception of the situation’s requirements. The title Togetherness Music can be taken several ways. The six-part suite combines parts from two different commissioned pieces, and it brings together elements of free and conducted improvisation, scored chamber music, and some discrete electronic interventions. Passages showcasing Evan Parker’s intricate soprano saxophone lines and Mark Sanders’ kinetic percussion contrast and coexist with rich and patiently evolving string passages executed by the Riot Ensemble. This music feels less like a sum of differing approaches than the expression of a cohesive in which all Hawkins’ good ideas fit together. 

Bill Meyer

Russell Hoke — The Melancholy Traveller (Round Bale Recordings)

The Melancholy Traveler by Russell Hoke

This release follows up on the archival compilation A Voice From the Lonesome Playground from 2016 of Hoke’s material from small run releases of the 1980’s. With the new material here, Hoke delves into the unadulterated sound of voice and guitar or banjo, with mainly his own songs of loneliness and also the singularly bittersweet moments of existing as yourself, free and detached from society. Also covering two beautiful takes on Sandy Denny songs, which fit into the UK/US traditional direction of the rest. The album rests in the same delicate territory as other folkies such as Connie Converse, Jackson C. Frank, or even the more sedate songs of Daniel Johnston. What brings the album together is the expressiveness in any given moment of a song. The tact and execution consistently bring the emotion of the songwriting home.

Arthur Krumins  

 In Layers — Pliable (FMR) 

Pliable by In Layers

In Layers puts up a middle finger against anyone who thinks that European unity is a passed fancy. The quartet’s members come from Portugal, Iceland and Holland, and their collective experience encompasses Nordic music theatre, lyric free jazz and the tooth-powderingly loud trio, Cactus Truck. But the music they make doesn’t really sound like any of that. Guitarist Marcelo Dos Reis, drummer Onno Govaert, pianist Kristján Martinsson and trumpeter Luís Vicente improvise music that is spacious enough to frustrate viral transmission, but composed of elements hefty enough to tip a scale. There’s plenty of bravura playing, but the displays are subordinate to the music’s abstract cohesion. You won’t hum it, but you won’t forget it, either. 

Bill Meyer

 Just For the Record: Conversations With and About “Blue” Gene Tyranny

Composer, writer and pianist Robert Sheff, better known as “Blue” Gene Tyranny, collaborator with everyone from Iggy Pop to Robert Ashley, passed away at the end of 2020. Just before that, David Bernabo’s documentary about Tyranny’s life and work, and more generally about the avant garde world Tyranny was a vital part of, how much of it almost vanished and the ways it continues to be vibrant even today, was released. For a while Just For the Record was available to rent, but this year Bernabo made it available for free on UbuWeb Film. It’s a wonderful watch for anyone who’s a fan of “Blue” Gene’s work, for sure. The conversations with him are near the end of his life, but his evident joy in music and art and people shines through, and the conversations with Joan La Barbara, David Grubbs, Kyle Gann and others cast new light on both his history and work and importance and the group of artists that he worked with and around. There’s so much here you almost wish for a miniseries instead (one episode on reissue labels and blogs, one on Robert Ashley’s operas, one on Tyranny’s time as a Stooge…), but given how overlooked artists like “Blue” Gene Tyranny often are, it still feels like a gift to have what’s here.

Ian Mathers

Kariu Kenji — Sekai (Bruit Direct Disques) 

Sekai is a COVID-era exercise in circumstantial lemonade-making. Kariu Kenji’s band, OWKMJ, executes intricate, quick-changing jazz rock with aplomb. Stuck alone at home, he has made a solo record that never betrays his prodigious dexterity as a guitarist. Instead, Kenji has fashioned an album of low-key, keyboard-heavy bedroom pop. It is low key, almost to a fault, since you could easily miss the subtle fault lines between clean and distorted sounds, let alone the moments when he unobtrusively pulls the rhythmic rug out from under a song. The songs poetically render small memories and quietly absurd scenarios, which are considerately translated for the benefit of people who won’t understand Kenji’s all-Japanese crooning. 

Bill Meyer

 Kid Congo and the Pink Monkeybirds — Swing from the Sean Delear (In the Red)

Kid Congo Powers has been in more great bands than anyone I can think of — The Cramps and The Gun Club to start with, but also Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds, Divine Horsemen and, just last year, the Wolfmanhattan Project with Mick Collins and Bob Bert. That’s exalted company all round, and his latest, with Pink Monkeybirds, is no slouch alongside any of them. It begins with a vamping, churning, soul-funk-psychedelic “Sean DeLear,” which commemorates the recently deceased Bay Area punk-fashion icon in exultant, chandelier-swinging style.  All three side one cuts are bangers, spinning out Sam & Dave bass-and-drum foundations into dayglow garage extravaganzas, but the 14-minute b-side “He Walked In” takes things in another direction, slowing the pace down and letting the music smoulder, a trippy hippy flute weaving through heat-shimmered desert psychedelia. Like the opener, it’s an elegy, this time to Gun Club front man, Jeffrey Lee Pierce, a haunted surf rock dreamscape where spirits dwell.

Jennifer Kelly

 Katy Kirby — Cool Dry Place (Keeled Scales)

Cool Dry Place by Katy Kirby

Katy Kirby makes a stripped down, lofi pop that aspires to bigger things. Even low-key, acoustic strummed, bedroom ballads like “Eyelids” are always on the verge of busting out into flute-y, melismatic diva choruses. Even the tender “Cool Dry Place,” dreams of a big pop payoff and gets there in the end. And the single “Traffic!” is strung through with the tension between its muted, all-natural melody and the crescendoing climax that waits at the end. Here Kirby’s plain, wholesome voice gets threaded with fluttering autotune, not because she can’t hit the notes, but because that’s how big pop songs sound. This is the opposite of Katy Perry doing carpool karaoke. It’s acoustic, unadorned versions of songs that long for mainstream gloss and glamor.

Jennifer Kelly

 The Koreatown Oddity — “Breastmilk” b/w “My Name Is Dominique” (Stones Throw)

Breastmilk by The Koreatown Oddity

“I got the hook-up from my baby mama / While you fetish freaks get it off the black market.” If the cover art left any room for doubt, the lyrics soon make it clear that Dominique Purdy’s approach to the subject of his latest single is every bit as literal as it is cartoonish. While albums like last year’s Little Dominiques Nosebleed put the Koreatown Oddity’s powers as a storyteller on full display, the rapper’s rhetorical mode here is ostensibly argumentative, with appeals to the all-naturalness — and deliciousness — of his preferred “regimen”:“You looking at me like I’m a strange human / But you drinking cow’s milk — fuck is you doing?” In the space of just two and a half minutes, he also achieves a hilarious upending of a range of hip-hop tropes, from the objectification of women to the glorification of illicit substances, not to mention MC braggadocio. There may even be a comment on fatherhood in there, too, for anyone who really wants to go looking.  

The b-side of the 7” offers something different altogether, a stiff-legged but hypnotic beat beset by periodic electronic splatters and the somewhat manic refrain: “My name is Dominique and I’m a fresh musician.” Indeed.  

Eric McDowell

Bobby Lee — Origin Myths (Tompkins Square)

Origin Myths by Bobby Lee

A swamp-gassed shimmer hangs over Bobby Lee’s electric blues, as notes bloom and waver and subside like ghostly lights in a humid dusk. Bobby Lee, the man, lives in Sheffield, England, but his music dwells in some lysergic delta, in the south but not entirely of it or anywhere else. Listen to the way that notes flicker in the steady runs of “Broken Prayer Stick,” a regular cadence of them left to warp and wander in steamy sunshine. Or the way that sustained tones drift like seaweed in “Looking for Pine and Obsidian,” losing themselves in thickets of overtone and echo. Bobby Lee would likely find a kindred spirit in Tarotplane’s PJ Dorsey or in William Tyler in a transcendental mood. Like them, his blues drift towards revelation but very, very slowly.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Nashville Ambient Ensemble — Cerulean (Centripetal Force)

Thinking of Nashville doesn't typically bring to mind ambient music, nor does the image of pedal steel guitar typically suggest the work of an electronic composer. Nashville Ambient Ensemble, though, mixes those elements. What makes the group's debut album Cerulean feel special isn't its oddness — other acts, of course, do this sort of dreamy work — but that the Nashville elements remain so present. Pedal steel player Luke Schneider does much of the work to create that feel. The instrument itself has long since moved out of its traditional settings (a quick dip into the music of Susan Alcorn, for example, can prompt a fun rabbit trail of the guitar far removed from Western swing), but composer Michael Hix and this group enjoyably maintain the country signifiers even while moving into far spacier terrain. Some of the album pushes toward psychedelic swirls, but the ensemble restrains these gestures. As they head west out of Nashville, they resist simply playing a given genre with a gimmick. Cerulean isn't spaced out country, and it isn't twanged-up ambient. Instead, the group develops its own curious space.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Neutrals — "Personal Computing” b/w “In the Future” (Slumberland)

Personal Computing by neutrals

The clever punk lifers in Neutrals upload two incisive songs about technology here. The a-side, “Personal Technology,” bashes antically through a tale of a young man with an, ahem, very committed relationship with computer paraphernalia, amid crashing, Clash-like chords and rumbling bass and drums. As noted when Neutrals’ 2020 EP Rent/Your House pried Dusted’s Jonathan Shaw away from black metal mid-last year, the front-person Allan McNaughton retains a Glaswegian accent, despite decades stateside, which gives these two cuts a rough Northern post-punk glamor. But the obsession with last year’s state-of-the-art, the excruciating torture of “loading,” is all Silicon Valley, enjoying BDSM with its peripherals. The b-side takes a somewhat more expansive view of technology, asking a la Dan Melchior what happened to the flying cars we were promised. Both are sharp and stinging and utterly catchy. I’d call it old school except for its fascination with the new.

Jennifer Kelly

 Nun Gun — Mondo Decay (Algiers Recordings/Witty Books)

Mondo Decay is the audio component of a recent collaboration between Algiers’ multi-instrumentalist Lee Tesche and visual artist Brad Feuerheim (who drums on four of the tracks). The two bonded over a mutual love of 1970s Italian cannibal zombie films and their soundtracks. Joined by fellow Algiers member Ryan Mahan and a roster of guest vocalists including Mark Stewart (The Pop Group), ONO and Mourning [A] BLKstar, Tesche reconfigures the soundtracks to make explicit the connections between present conditions and the socio-political turmoil that informed the original films. Musically that means claustrophobic dub inflected industrial grind, hip-hop influenced cut-ups, mutant disco and plenty of noirish saxophone. Nun Gun emphasizes atmospheric atrophy and deliberate decay with great and pointed effect to create a terrifically dark soundtrack to accompany the book of Feuerheim’s bleak photographs of post-industrial malaise.

Andrew Forell  

 Oui Ennui — Virga​/​Recrudescence (self-released)

Virga/Recrudescence by Oui Ennui

In the words that accompany the release of Jonn Wallen’s second album of 2021, he says that “when rationalizing yet another synthesizer purchase, I've often remarked to myself, ‘Well why wouldn't I want that color? I'll have it.’” It’s that attachment to messing around with new toys, a mass of streaks of rain appearing to hang under a cloud and evaporating before reaching the ground (“Virga”), the recurrence of an undesirable condition (“Recrudescence”), and what seems to be a whole lot of Brian Eno (“Oblique Strategies”) that informs these two extended avant-garde digressions. “Virga” is a roaring 24-minute star birth that veers into plinking helicopter rotaries without warning at one point, while “Recrudescence” covers more ground both literal (it’s 39 minutes) and figurative (woodland creatures, Space Age percolations and various rhythms sprout up throughout). Likely better experienced at high volume in a small club setting, we’ll have to settle instead for our headphones barely handling another intriguing development in the ongoing Oui Ennui experiment. How long before DFA co-founder Jonathan Galkin stops lurking in his Bandcamp buys and starts offering him a deal, I wonder? 

Patrick Masterson 

 Payroll Giovanni \ Cardo — Another Day Another Dollar (BYLUG Entertainment)

At some point in his career, Payroll Giovanni switched from worker to boss. His new album with the producer Cardo is another chapter in the Boss of All Bosses saga. Songs on the CD approximate the language of business manuals and the cheap sloganeering of workers union reps. Work harder, save more, invest, save again — the usual tips handed down to the unfortunate few who didn’t make it like Payroll did. By the middle of the album, you start to feel like you are at a stakeholders meeting where the CEO went for rapping instead of a PowerPoint presentation. When the rapper fails, it’s hardly the producer’s fault, so Cardo just plays up to Payroll with lazy, muzak-ish beats. 

Ray Garraty

 Rio da Yung Og \ Nuez — Life of a Yung Og (Southern Giants/Ghetto Boyz)

Rio da Yung Og has been working with a lot of producers (and quite a few of them later got their fame because of it), but up until now he hasn’t released a collaboration with a single producer. His EP with Nuez came out of nowhere but it is a nice change of beats. Up to now, Rio has mostly recorded his raps with very bassy beats. Nuez provides a Southern vibe, more relaxed and less heavy on the bass, which allows to Rio shine. At this point it’s evident that Rio da Yung Og saves his best lines for his solo work (just compare this EP with simultaneously released Heatcheck EP, a collaborative work with artists of varying degrees of talent). In fact, the whole 21 minutes seem to be recorded in one single sleepless studio session with Rio freestyling his way through under the heavy influence of lean. This is Rio at his most desperate, just before his five-year bid in the federal pen. On “Whatchu Need” and “Last Call” (thanks to Nuez’s production) he sounds close to the early Scarface in a paranoid mode. 

Ray Garraty 

 Ben Roidl-Ward and Zachary Good — arb (Carrier) 

arb by Zachary Good and Ben Roidl-Ward

A decade back, bassoonist Ben Roidl-Ward and clarinetist Zachary Good were students at Oberlin College. The two friends formed a duo, The Arboretum, which performed new works. Nowadays they teach and perform separately, but share an apartment in Chicago. When the city got locked down and their gigs dried up, they revived the band, after a fashion. The six pieces on arb (named after that first project), which clocks in at just under half an hour, focus on a single musical phenomenon. Each musician plays sustained multiphonics (a technique whereby a horn player sings or hums a note while playing another) that are pitched close enough that their sounds interfere as well as blend with one another. The interactions can be dramatic; on “Guby,” the clarinet sounds like it is keying morse code into the fabric of the bassoon’s timbres. Listening to this music is a bit like staring at a heat mirage; the harder and longer you focus, the less certain you are of your own perceptions. 

Bill Meyer.

 Rotura — Estamos Fracasando (Self-released)

Estamos fracasando by Rotura

This new EP of melodic anarcho-punk from Barcelona is deceptively breezy stuff. Rotura’s guitars have some crunch and the rhythm section is tight — think Subhumans c. Rats meets Orange County in 1982. But the alto vocals of Silvia (no last names provided) are clean and tuneful, and there are seductive hooks galore. All the musical excitements and pleasures contrast with the intense reports of misery and struggle in the lyrics. “Pisadas (Confinament)” sounds like a COVID-period song, documenting the sound of footsteps resounding through a network of deserted streets and abandoned shops; “Sobrevivir”engages the manifold alienations and inhumanities that attend the refugee crisis in Europe’s Mediterranean nations. Upbeats subjects, those ain’t. But the music keeps your hips shaking and your head nodding. Rotura constructs lively sonic spaces in which to encounter some sharply political punk discourse. One of the EP’s best songs is “Palabras,” which sets to music a poem included in Svetlana Alexandrovna Alexievich’s The Unwomanly Face of War (1987); like much of that book, “Palabras” speaks in the voice of a female combat veteran of the Soviet Army, one who served in World War II. It’s a terrific song, from a very good punk record.

Jonathan Shaw

 Sahara — The Curse (Regain Records)

The Curse by Sahara

Argentine miscreants Sahara bill themselves as a “stoner doom” band, and one wonders why anybody would willingly self-apply a label so surpassingly stupid to music they made and presumably care about. The middle-schooler-with-a-magic-marker degree of technical polish on the art for the cassette’s j-card doubles down on the crispy-fried semiotics — but sort of lovably so. This reviewer was rather charmed. If you can penetrate the choking layers of weed smoke and unironic hesherdom to press play, you may be pleasantly surprised. Sahara’s songs don’t evoke Kyuss or Acid Witch nearly so much as Blue Cheer, and that’s a really good thing. It’s power-trio, bluesy-boogie music, played by dudes who cut their teeth on Master of Reality and No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith (with just a little Physical Graffiti in the mix, for the boogie). While no wheels are being reinvented (or competently balanced, for that matter), there’s a winning rawker quality to the enterprise, kicked up a notch or three by the unambiguously great time these guys are having playing the tunes. It won’t be for everyone: it sounds like it was recorded in someone’s Dad’s garage, and the songs have titles like “Altar of Sacrifice” and “The Curse (instrumental).” But if you love the fact that they included “(instrumental)” in parens, it could be for you. Buyer beware: when listening, you may find yourself suddenly craving a sheet of brownies. The entire sheet.  

Jonathan Shaw

 Bernard Santacruz / Michael Zerang — Cardinal Point (Fundacja Sluchaj)

Cardinal Point by Bernard Santacruz & Michael Zerang

French bassist Bernard Santacruz and Assyrian-American percussionist Michael Zerang have encountered each other in larger ensembles on either side of the ocean since the turn of the century, but it took them until the autumn of 2019 to record a distillation of their musical concord. Beyond their shared history, they are matched in depth of experience. Both were born in the latter half of the 1950s, and each has passed through a myriad of improvisational settings on their way to developing their respective styles. Santacruz is an economical player with a beautiful, rounded tone. Zerang can supply whatever rhythm you need, but whenever freed from time-keeping requirements, he gravitates to sounds that project the movement and friction required to make them. So, while this is a record made with drums and a double bass, it’s by no means a groove-bound affair; melodic fragments confront seething ruptures, and strings and skins knot together into thickets of texture. Each man maintains his individuality while they jointly solve the problems of collaborative music-making.

Bill Meyer   

 Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle — ILOG2 (Zarek)

ILOG2 by Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle

 These two German gentlemen lay down a bizarre yet intriguing hybrid of free jazz, hip hop and musique concrète on their sophomore effort as a duo. Schick is a serial collaborator who divides his time between turntablism and saxophone skronk. Steidle, on the other hand, is rooted in the free jazz world as a drummer. Together they conjure two distinct modes: ADHD-inspired percussion-and-noise workouts and atmospheric electronics-forward soundscapes. Between these two disparate personalities, the more aggressive one tends to dominate. It’s in this high-energy state that the duo dwells in the worlds of hip hop, jungle and free jazz. Steidle’s drumming is out in front, as he deftly throws himself around the kit with the enthusiasm of Lightning Bolt’s Brian Chippendale. Schick takes an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach to noise-making. His Bomb Squad-meets-Pierre Schaeffer method of weaving snippets of speech, instrumental passages, drones, and blasts of noise is the perfect foil for Steidle’s frenetic skin-pounding. Schick and Steidle tug at the outer limits of beat-making with their unusual blend of electro-acoustic sound, and while they let a slight touch of the ethereal temper their blaze, the sparks still fly. 

Bryon Hayes 

 John Tejada — Year Of The Living Dead (Kompakt)

Year Of The Living Dead by John Tejada

On Year Of The Living Dead, John Tejada chases the human through machines, seeking the traces of connection and shadows of loss blurred by the conditions we continue to live through. His minimal dub-inflected techno is immaculately produced and composed rather than constructed. Suffused with warmth and emotional depth, Tejada employs a sonic palette the elasticity of which makes his music generously expansive and resonant. Melancholy chord progressions, heartbeat percussion, a bottom end in turns ominous and cocooning.  The 4X4 structure provides a framework in which Tejada is free to focus on the granular aspects of tone, pitch, ebb and flow so that while on the surface his brand of microhouse may sound “all the same” there is both plenty of interest for home listeners and danceable beats for the more active. There’s no abrasion here, no confrontation, little to challenge but Tejada’s music moves along with the relentless soft power of molten molasses.

Andrew Forell

 Tree — Soul Trap (self-released)

SOUL TRAP by TREE

Tremaine Johnson is one of those heads who’s been around the block. He’s gotten that MTV airtime, he’s done records with Chris Crack and Vic Spencer, he’s outlasted a car company that sponsored one of his EPs, he’s performed at Pitchfork. But maybe more than anything, the Chicago rapper and producer wants to make sure he doesn’t forget his roots as the father of “soul trap” — and you don’t, either. Following steadily on from 2020’s abbreviated The Blue Tape and nearly two years on from his last proper full-length We Grown Now, Tree has lost none of his step as he rounds 40 years aboard this tainted orb exuding the confidence of a relaxed auteur rowing through verses and songs at his own pace; his sandpaper vocals sound at ease with his beats as he addresses negotiating parenthood, bills, the creation and maintenance of his art. Though these tracks had reportedly been sitting around for years before Soul Trap’s release, listening to this album only goes to serve the greater point that the man has a style out of step and time with his contemporaries. That’s worth more than remembering; it’s worth celebrating.

Patrick Masterson

 Dave Tucker / Pat Thomas / Thurston Moore / Mark Sanders — Educated Guess (577 Records) 

Hale, hearty, and steeped in the lore of a multitude of American underground art movements, Thurston Moore always seemed like a guy who was creatively rooted in his native soil. But he seems to have found solid footing since moving to England. On this record, he fits right into an improvising ensemble that is composed of Café Oto regulars. Keyboardist Pat Thomas, drummer Mark Sanders and guitarist and electronic musician Dave Tucker, who convened the quartet, are all long-standing members of London’s improvised music scene. But Moore, a punk from way back when, was probably quite tickled that Tucker played with the Fall for a brief spell in 1981. The sound they develop over the course of this set is pleasingly unbounded, with fragments of monster movie sound design and some jungle-style drum machine beats that could have been pulled from a pirate radio broadcast in 1994 sharing space with cavernous prepared piano, restless percussive exploration, and Moore sounding just like himself, but respectfully restrained when the moment demands. 

Bill Meyer

 Karima Walker — Waking the Dreaming Body (Keeled Scales)

Waking the Dreaming Body by Karima Walker

Karima Walker’s second album considers the full-ness of empty space. Her songs, if that’s what they are, arise out of soft, slow drones that fluctuate in a natural way, like tides or winds or aurora borealis. They incorporate natural desert sounds captured from near at hand as she locked down in Arizona, and they unfold in a sublimely gradual way as if, like the growth of plants, the movement of continents, the melting of snow, they cannot be rushed but must proceed on their own terms. She sings, a bit, in brief, dream-haunted phrases that seem as distant and unknowable as the organ tones that swell around her. “Reconstellated” best represents her eerie blend of human and electronic sounds, internal dialogue and the wide spaces of the natural world. She murmurs, “Sonoran sky plays a movie/Draw a line to the stars inside of me/Write it down, tell your friends/I know where I am but I can’t tell where I started,” against a blipping, percolating atmosphere. The title track is, by contrast, several orders folkier and more conventional, a gentle conjunction of acoustic guitar and Walker’s clear, trilling soprano, as she considers the way the ineffable intersects with the mundane. “Seems every morning starts the same way, waking the dreaming body,” she croons in this track near the end of the album, coming up into the daylight after a long nocturnal exploration.

Jennifer Kelly

 Whisker — Moon Mood (Husky Pants)

Moon Mood by Whisker

Bassist Andrew Scott Young and multi-instrumentalist Ben Billington are luminaries of Chicago’s experimental jazz and electronic scenes as members of Tiger Hatchery, soloists and collaborators with a range of local groups. In Moon Mood  the duo performs two lengthy improvisations for double bass and electronics. Young’s bass is to the fore, and his bow work is particularly expressive as he explores the registers of his instrument. Billington works a number of patches to interpolate all nature of blips and plinks and squelchy runs that respond to and interrogate the bass. The workouts are as much an investigation of sonic limits as a demonstration of the sympathetic interaction between natural and artificial sounds, if that is even a worthwhile dichotomy these days. Moon Mood is a fascinating conversation well worth eavesdropping on.  

Andrew Forell  

 Wode — Burn in Many Mirrors (20 Buck Spin)

Burn In Many Mirrors by Wode

The guys in Manchester-based band Wode play black metal, but they don’t wear corpsepaint or futz around with severed goat’s heads and candelabras. That’s a good thing, because their music has bombast aplenty. Any additional theatrics might send the project over into a species of irritating kitsch. When Wode’s music works — as it does on “Lunar Madness,” the first track on the band’s latest LP, Burn in Many Mirrors — it’s muscular stuff, with terrific momentum and gut-thudding energy. Throughout the song, vocalist Michael Czerwoniuk does his usual stuff, chewing the sonic scenery, plentiful groans and gurgles punctuating all his shouting. Even in the maximalist context of black metal vocals, he’s a handful. But on “Lunar Madness,” there’s enough interest and excitement generated by the rhythms and riffs to offset his histrionics. A couple songs on the record are shaped by oft-handled forms, and rely overmuch on Czerwoniuk’s outsized presence; upon listening to “Fire in the Hills,” you may find yourself flashing on the self-parodic antics of Jim Dandy Mangrum, or on metal heroics that were already tired on records like Bark at the Moon. That’s too bad. When Wode clicks as a unit, they can make compelling sounds. “Sulphuric Glow” moves at a dead run for nearly the entirety of its five minutes, and while Czerwoniuk’s vocal stylings are still a bit much, the riffs are fluid and furious. If he could just dial stuff back to 11, folks might be able hear the rest of the band. They’re pretty good.  

Jonathan Shaw

[one-leaf-grimoire]

crocodile tears

Chapter 1: in which marina has the worst day of her life

Hi! And welcome! Yes, I am publishing the first chapter of this fic on my Black Clover blog, I know it’s a little bizarre. Ahem. Anyway- I hope you guys will read this and enjoy it if you like jojo! I know there’s plenty of overlap between these two fandoms. DM or inbox me if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 

Synopsis: Marina considers herself to be a normal teenager, despite both being the daughter of a senator and the center of many bizarre happenings throughout her life. However, everything gets turned upside down when her whole family is kidnapped. In that moment of fear, something within her awakens. Little does she know, this power is called a Stand, and she has caught the eye of the worst person imaginable. Marina must learn to master her stand, and decide where her loyalties lie: with the man who saved her life or with her newfound friends?

Warnings: Violence, frightening scenes, language, and Dio being toxic lol

March 6th, 1988

Cool water enveloped her body. Everything was cloaked in a sea green haze.

She was laying on the bottom of the riverbed, staring up at the muted sun. A crocodile swam by, almost lazily. It did not notice her, and she didn't feel scared.

It was just a crocodile.

"Marina... Marina, wake up already!"

Something cold and clammy grasped the 17-year-old girl's foot. Marina let out a scream and quickly recoiled under the soft white linens on her bed. "Five more minutes, mom!"

Marina’s mother scowled at her only daughter. She was already dressed in long, light pants and a tropical looking shirt. An over-sized hat adorned her head atop dark brown hair, a few shades lighter than her only daughter's. "Marina, we have five minutes before the ship docks. Dad's already gone up to eat."

"Well, that's just Dad," the girl grumbled back, pulling the covers more tightly around her shoulders, as if this cocoon would keep her safe from her mother's impending wrath. "He gets up early every day, that shouldn't mean that we also have to be up at the crack of dawn."

"It's not the crack of dawn, it's nearly ten o'clock already. The ship is running a little early, so we'll have more time to explore Alexandria."

Marina's only reply was a grunt. Her mother sighed. "What is it with you this morning?" She shook her head and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be up on the top deck watching us dock. It's nice and warm outside, so dress accordingly. We'll see you in five minutes, or it's going to be a very long time before you get to go on another cruise, young lady." A few moments later, and the door shut.

Marina groaned and finally blinked her eyes open, immediately feeling the pounding pain of a migraine wash over her temple. Ouch... did I have a nightmare last night? Usually I sleep like a baby on these cruises.

Marina and her family had been on numerous cruises throughout her life. Her father, Mitchell Porosus was a state senator, and earned a comfortable paycheck, so the Porosus family was able to go on trips whenever congress was on a break. Marina wished her dad was around more, but overall the family dynamic was happy and harmonious. Marina had her 17th birthday recently, and this cruise was supposed to be a celebration of that. 

“You know what that means?” her father had told her that day. “You’re the same age as the Dancing Queen! You know, the song? Dancing Queeeen, young and sweeet, only seventeeen-”

Of course they were in public when they said that, so Marina was horribly embarrassed by her father’s terrible singing voice. For someone with a public reputation, he sure didn’t mind ruining it!

But in the end, it was sweet. Her father loved ABBA and Elton John, and Marina imagined that the two of them would dance to Dancing Queen or Tiny Dancer at her wedding.

Marina loved her dad and mom, and that was the reason why she finally dragged herself down from the bunkbed. From their room on the second level, she could see the dock inching closer and closer. With a yawn, Marina turned and walked into the bathroom, where she finally was able to look upon her tired face in the mirror. Her short, black hair was frizzled, but a few brush strokes later reverted it to its usual sleek form. Marina stretched her arms above her head, wincing a little as she heard her shoulders pop. Jeez, good thing I don’t have a swim meet today, my joints are all out of whack. Her blue-grey eyes, still bloodshot from a fitful sleep, harbored a major case of the dark circles. Nothing a little makeup couldn't fix.

A few minutes later, Marina was finally dressed in some high waisted jeans and a non-descript tank top. She had her trusty mirrored sunglasses on, yet the sunlight from the window was enough to make her eyes water. Leaving her room, she walked down the hallway, strutting with her hands deep in her pockets, her fingers running over the ID card given to her upon embarkation. Marina Porosus.

"Finally, there you are," her father greeted when she made it down to the gangway. "Ready to see Egypt?"

Her father was a tall man, with jet black hair like Marina's. While her mother's eyes were a warm brown, his were blue. He looked like your stereotypical senator, even if he didn’t act like it.”

"Do they even have any pyramids in this town?" Marina asked, a bit apathetically.

Her mother shook her head. "No pyramids, but there used to be a library here, the library of Alexandria!"

Marina raised an eyebrow. "Used to be? Well, what's here now?"

Her parents were at a loss for words. "Well, why don't we go see!" her father exclaimed optimistically, throwing his arms around his daughter and wife. 

For the first time that morning, Marina smiled. Even if it was just her parents and her, the three of them would have a good time.

Alexandria was lively place, full of noise and life. Most of it was centered around the port, where the single cruise ship was docked. It was like any other port Marina had visited, except the air was much more dry than the Caribbean. Even Italy was more humid. Marina walked behind her parents as they made their way farther inland. “There’s some ancient ruins I want to check out,” her father said excitedly. “And are you still curious about the Library of Alexandria, Marina?”

Marina shrugged. “Was I curious to begin with?”

“Yes!” her father asserted. “Anyway, there’s a museum all about it farther inland. The walk is a little long, but it’ll be fun!”

Marina sighed, shaking her head a little. She knew her father had enough money to rent a cab, but he was stubborn and insisted that walking “built character.” 

“Tarot card readings! Have your fortune told by the Tarot!”

For some reason, Marina’s feet stalled. Slowly, she stopped, then turned her head towards the source of the voice.

No... it wasn’t the voice that drew her there.

It was... something else.

Like magnetism. Gravity. Marina’s gaze fell upon a short, clocked figure, sitting at the mouth of an alley. The voice was feminine, wracked with age, but Marina couldn’t be sure. For a moment, she almost kept walking, but a moment of hesitation was all it took.

“Dad! Can I get my fortune told?”

Her parents stopped and looked back at her. Her father eyed the fortune teller suspiciously. “Ah, Marina, you don’t believe that stuff, do you?”

“So? It’ll still be fun.” Marina looked back over at the fortune teller. She still had that weird feeling, like that person was someone she knew. “Anyway, Tarot Card readings originated in ancient Egypt, so isn’t this a good experience to have while here?”

Well, her father couldn’t deny that. “Here-” He handed the cloaked figure a twenty dollar bill. “Will this suffice?”

“Certainly.” A deck of cards appeared from under the sleeve of their cloak, and instantly shuffled itself. They spread out across the makeshift table. A wrinkled hand gestured at the line. “Go ahead... pick three, my dear.”

Slowly, Marina reached down. With one finger, she slid one card forward, then another, and then a third. The fortune teller swept them up immediately and placed them face up. Marina’s eyes narrowed as she saw the pictures on the cards, but couldn’t read the writing on them. “So? What does it mean?”

With a soft chuckle, a withered finger pointed at the first. “This card represents your past... This is the Six of Wands card! Confidence, recognition, and success... you’ve known all three throughout your life.”

Marina gulped, shrugging a little. Maybe... but everyone’s had some sort of success in their life! That seems a little too broad.

“And this is the present-” They gestured at the middle card. “This is the Tower Card... it represents catastrophic change, and... awakening.”

Awakening? That’s interesting... I don’t know what that could be.

“Tell me...” Marina looked up to see an eye peering out from behind the hood. It narrowed curiously. “This card is one of the Major Arcana... it represents a milestone in your life. You must have noticed, then... even if you don’t know quite yet...”

Marina wasn’t sure she liked the way the fortune teller was spinning this. I haven’t noticed anything like that! “Okay... and the last card is the future?”

“Yes, yes...”

The fortune teller’s finger fell upon the face of the last card. Unlike the first two, it was reversed, facing away from Marina. “This card, when reversed, represents dissatisfaction, delays, and... an endless, fruitless search for closure.”

Marina felt a chill go down her neck.

“The World.”

The family left the fortune teller behind after that. Even as they searched farther inland, visiting temples and museums, Marina could not shake the slowly growing pit of dread in her stomach. 

A few hours later, it was almost time to get back on the ship. The problem was that the small family had made their way a little too far inland and were now in real danger of being left behind. 

"This is all your fault, dad!" Marina scolded as she jogged behind her parents. There was a taxi station nearby where they could get transport to the port. "You always geek out over this historical stuff and make us late to things!"

"Well, your mother wanted to get that hat from that store back there, too, so I'm not the only one to blame," he yelled back. "In any case, we can just hop on a taxi and-" His face fell, and the family skidded to a halt. The entire plaza was slammed, bumper to bumper traffic as far as they could see. "Mitchell, we're definitely going to miss the boat," her mom said quietly. Of course, Senator Porosus stayed enthusiastic, shaking his head. "No, we'll make it if we run."

Marina groaned as her father and mother started to run again. "Seriously?" It wasn't that Marina couldn't keep up; she had been swimming her entire life and had great stamina. It was just so damn hot out.

"If you hurry, we'll make it back in time for dinner," her mother encouraged, spurring Marina on into a true run.

With her dad leading the way, the trio raced down the street towards where they thought the port was. There were a lot of people walking on the sidewalks, but it wasn't hard to weave between them without disturbance. Marina craned her neck and, with a ton of relief, spied the top of their ship up ahead. "I can see it, Dad!" she exclaimed, already thinking about what she was going to eat for dinner tonight. "We're going to make it!"

"Here, let's cut through this road." He pointed at an alley that seemingly cut over to where the embarkation area was. "We can beat some of the line as well."

"Perfect!" Marina changed course and ran ahead of her parents and into the alleyway.

For a moment, the sounds of the busy streets died away, leaving only three pairs of footsteps slapping their way down the stone path. The buildings on either side were tall enough to block out the afternoon sun, leaving them in a comfortable chill.

Up ahead was a corner. Marina quickened her pace and turned into...

A dead end.

"Shit," her dad exclaimed, earning him a sharp kick in the shin from his wife. "Ah, excuse my french. Back luck, huh." He shrugged, ever optimistic. "Well, I guess we can double back and keep running."

"Yeah," Marina’s mom agreed.

Marina sighed. What a let down! Well, it wouldn't take too long to get back, at least, at this rate we’ll make in in time-

Marina turned around to see that five men, all armed with guns, had cornered them in the dead end.

"Look at this, just the man we were looking for!” one of them pointed at Marina’s dad. “This is the senator we were told to capture? He doesn’t look like much.”

“Don’t worry, this is him... Senator Porosus, a friend of yours sends this message:” one of the men grinned. “You’ve been in my way for too long, Mitch. It’s time for me to put the fear of God in you. Enjoy your extended stay in Egypt!”

“What? Who hired you?” Mitchell gulped and pulled his wife and daughter behind him. Marina felt her mom's cold hand clutch her arm. This time, she didn't try to shrug it off. “I’ve done nothing but get along with everyone. They all want to see me reach the top! I’m gonna be President one day-”

“We’ll see about that.” The man in charge raised his gun. “For now, come to our truck. We’ll make you and your family comfortable until someone generous pays your ransom.”

Oh no, they had a truck somewhere.

"Look... I don’t care what you do to me.” Senator Porosus said, his voice shaking a little. For someone in so much danger, he was staying pretty composed. “But leave my family out of it!”

“Mitchell-” Marina’s mother whispered, her grip on Marina loosening slightly. “Just do what they say, and-” She was cut off with a scream as one of the men yanked her away from her family.

Marina's eyes widened. Shit! This is actually happening- It was like a scene from a movie, some horrible, scary movie, and panic spiked through Marina’s veins. "MOM! DAD!" Someone grabbed Senator Porous as well, and now two more were advancing towards Marina.

"Don’t even try, you’re just going to get hurt!” one of the guys said with a twisted grin. Marina screamed and struggled anyway as her arms were twisted behind her body. 

No... NO!

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This was supposed to be their last stop before flying home, where Marina would finish up the year and enjoy the summer with her friends. But now-

Catastrophic change... and-

With one last burst of strength, Marina wrenched her arm away, freeing herself for a moment. She turned around, her eyes wide and crazed with adrenaline.

Awakening.

The gun leveled at her head was suddenly crunched into a flat piece of scrap metal. The man holding it didn’t have a moment to realize what had happened, because numerous spots of his arm suddenly burst with blood.

He opened his mouth to scream, stumbling back, but it was as if something was clamped down on his arm, hard. Bones crunched as he was suddenly wrenched to the side, and the movement sent him flying into the nearby brick wall.

Marina froze.

What- what on earth-

But then something hit her in the back of the head, hard, and she fell back down to the bottom of the river.

The crocodile continued to circle high above.

And that’s chapter one!!!! I hope you guys are intrigued 0.0 Please comment/inbox/etc if you have any theories or thoughts, I always appreciate them! I’ll probably post the next chapter on Friday. I changed a couple things to make the story flow better than it did when I first released it. Anyway, see you next time!

Also, did anyone catch the meaning of Marina’s last name? hehe...

[narcissasdaffodil]

"things you said under the stars and in the grass" for marisol and alecto? 🥺👉🏽👈🏽💙

Thanks so much for the ask! @thoracicorchid requested this one too, I hope both of you enjoy this! I find it difficult to keep Marilecto stuff short, so here’s a 1668 word oneshot. This one is definitely in LCBC verse, enjoy x

“It’s like a million little stars spelling out your name.”

Getting some time to properly relax in the Villa appears to be very difficult, especially in terms of alone time. The evenings were still so warm and she sits fiddling with a daisy and spins it in her fingers. She leans against a sun lounger and props up her back. Choosing to sit on the grass was probably weird, but oh well. You don’t mind being weird.

Everyone else is distracted by the party, so no one spots her sneak away. She slides off her leather jacket and looks up at the sky. She sets it safely on the sun lounger and feels the warm air.

Being able to see the stars was a rare occurrence for her. She lives in a tiny flat in London with her cat Sadie, and her flatmate, who moved recently. She’s been meaning to find someone to take her place, rent in London is pretty ridiculous.

She hums softly and traces Andromeda, Pisces and Pegasus in the air. She has learned the stars and constellations through years of self study, along with her twin sister Quinn having a considerable interest in astronomy and astrophysics, she even decided to choose astrophysics as a degree. She’s absorbed a lot of information since.

The rest of her surroundings falls away, she focuses entirely on the night sky above. Her ears pop, and the hustle and bustle of the party floats away, and leaves her in silence. She taps her leg and fills the silence with the soft sound of her own voice.

“Have a seat upon this branch of mine, it’s been a while honey I think I feel fine,” she relaxes into the song and lets it take her over. For so long she would only sing in private so to do this, to let herself free was bigger than most people could guess.

“Oh my my, oh my stars, everything you see is ours. Or it could be if you would try. I wish you would, I wish you might.”

Marisol sets her empty glass down on the counter and scans the group for Alecto. If she was anywhere, she’d be with Hope or Lucas. Marisol stretches on her tiptoes and moves through the crowd as she notices Lucas’ tall frame towards the outskirts. She ducks under someone’s arm, a finger sets her glasses slightly wonky on her face. She stops and adjusts them and mutters under her breath in the direction of a tipsy Bobby. He seriously can’t dance to save his life. It could be the alcohol and quite easily could have been worse. At least your glasses are still safe and on your face.

She makes her way over to Lucas before she can get sidetracked and before she loses the nerve and forgets her mission. Alecto’s so happy with him, she might eventually forget about you. But you want to maintain her friendship, it’s by far one of the healthiest you have had.

She taps Lucas on the arm, and when he turns towards her, she feels a lump in her throat that she has to try to speak past. An awkward silence lasts between them, nothing like the silences she has with Alecto, and Lucas is the one to break it.

“Marisol?” He looks at her quizzically, a question on his lips. She supposes it was strange, her talking to him of all people, but he was usually attached at the hip to Alecto so her first bet for who could find her.

“What do you need? If this is about whether or not I am interested in you, the answer is still very much no.” He continues.

Her cheeks flush red as she has a painful flashback. Of course trying to go for him before would bite you in the arse. Alecto maybe gave you permission, but you made an absolute fool of yourself.

“Um...no, I wasn’t going to ask that. I know you’re with Alecto, and you two are happy together and that’s fine... Completely fine. I was actually wondering if you’d seen where she went, you two are usually so close to one another, you’re practically attached at the hip.” Marisol winces slightly as she trips over her words, her voice wavers as she speaks. Being a mess around everyone you somewhat like is difficult. Especially when they’ve rejected you, twice now.

“My apologies then. I didn’t intend to assume anything, that was wrong of me,”

he winces slightly at his misstep, and gives her a sincere apology. “She just went for some time to herself, but she did tell me that if you come to find her, to let you know that she was by the loungers. So I’m passing that on.” He pats her shoulder awkwardly and looks at her with sympathy.

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” She makes a hasty exit before she can embarrass herself further and starts to make her way over to the sun loungers. She feels hot tears behind her eyes and blinks them back furiously. You’re not going to cry over this. You’re definitely not, you got upset the first time you got rejected by him. He did let you down gently though. You’re just so used to always being the bridesmaid, never the bride.

She hears Alecto before she sees her, and notices her gentle voice. She halts midstep and listens.

“If everything you’ve said to me has been true, then all my stars are leading me to you.”

She watches the song absorb Alecto, her emotions forgotten for a while. She looks really magical now, there in the starlight. And singing a song about stars of all things.

The silence returns to the area as Alecto finishes and Marisol makes her way over. She notices how Alecto sits on the grass and leans her back against the sun lounger, and finds herself questioning why the grass of all things. She sits down on the sun lounger, next to Alecto’s jacket and accidentally sits on Alecto’s spread out hair as she sits with her head leaned back on the sun lounger.

“Oww! Could you please stand up then move my hair out the way? Thank you.” Alecto sounds grumpy which sparks back Marisol’s tears from earlier. Marisol ducks her head as she stands up and gently moves Alecto’s hair aside before perching on the sun lounger. She curls up her legs and rests her chin on her knees and hides her face behind a curtain of hair.

“Hey. Look. If I was harsh earlier, I’m sorry. It just hurt having you sit on my hair.” Alecto sits up and climbs onto the sun lounger. She rests an arm around Marisol’s shoulders.

Marisol bites her lip, silent tears making their way down her cheeks. “It...it’s not your fault. Lucas got the wrong end of the stick earlier and thought I was flirting with him again. He did apologise for his misstep, but it hurt to...to be reminded of my failure there yet again. And Bobby is yet to apologise for the way he treated me during OP Nope, how he thought I’d instantly...risk my friendship with Hope, and with you to risk being the Villa’s most hated again. It was difficult enough the first time. It sounds so stupid...both things I’m upset about. You can laugh, if you like.”

Alecto moves Marisol’s hair from her face and lightly catches hold of her chin. Marisol finds herself unable to turn her head away from Alecto, her warm brown eyes are strangely magnetic.

“Mari, listen to me. I wouldn’t laugh. I’m serious about that. I mean, I just gave Bobby hell for the way he treated you and Hope, and me, but the way he treated me is less important. I have a stable relationship, something which both you and Hope are struggling with. I know being so alone before hurt you, so of course you wouldn’t risk it again. As for Lucas, he apologised for it, which is something positive there. I know that the first rejection hurt you, but you will eventually find someone just for you. Maybe even me. You just need to keep believing. You’ll be okay, I promise, and I’ll stay by your side too. You deserve the world, and I wish I could magic it up just to see you smile.” Alecto’s voice softens, but it still maintains strength. She reaches over and wipes Marisol’s tears with a finger.

“Thank you. You really don’t have to do this.” Marisol protests slightly, unable to believe she deserves Alecto’s kindness.

“Yes, I don’t have to. But I want to. That’s the difference. I don’t need a reason to want to cheer up my best friend, right?” She squeezes Marisol’s hand, and causes Marisol to look up at her. “Look up at the sky, and tell me what you see.”

Marisol tilts her head skywards, and studies the night sky through teary eyes. The tears blur her vision slightly, and she removes her glasses and wipes them, then returns to the sky.

“Stars and constellations. They’re pretty…” her voice turns wavery in wonder as she studies the sky.

“Your blood contains a lot of iron, specifically in the molecules of haemoglobin. The iron is the product of a massive star that blew up 8 billion years ago, which means you have stardust in your veins due to that star exploding. Everything on the Earth originated from stardust, including us. We have it floating through us today, at this very minute. We are made of stardust. Isn’t that magical?” As she speaks, Alecto becomes very animated, as she gestures with her hands as she speaks. Her eyes brighten, and Marisol can see sparks in them, very like stardust.

Marisol is unable to reply, just finds herself staring at Alecto in wonder.

“Which is why I’m so insistent that you’re magical, and wonderful. You contain stars within you, which are definitely magical and wonderful for sure.”

[notgonnarememberthis]

And Isn’t It Love?

Hello!! This is so far off brand but again, I blame Em. We got on a soft train and I couldn't help but write this. This is a companion piece to the story "Doesn't this have a name" (previously titled "Take it back" but I changed it after I realized I wanted these to be a series. The first involved Jessica realizing that she was in love with gil so I figured, why the hell not flip the script and write the opposite side of it? This is a HELL of a lot softer than the original but I still very much enjoyed writing it and I hope y'all like it to.

Gil is beginning to think that any case that comes across his desk is doomed to never be as simple as it appears first hand. If not the case itself, then keeping Bright within eyesight was enough to make more grey appear in his hair by the end of the day. Hell, keeping an eye on any of the Whitlys has stressed him out more than he’d like to admit.

Which is why it pained him to turn down Jessica’s invitation to be her date to the debutante of yet another New York socialite. The case got messy quickly and he didn’t have the time was his primary reason. Still he could see the guilt in her eyes, a long forgiven conversation still present in her mind. Truth be told it’s still present in his too.

Not because he holds anything against her. The thing is she’s absolutely right. He doesn’t do well in that world. He’s not a fan of small talk or any of the business that’s so wrapped in each one. Jessica, however, she thrives there. Watching her bounce effortlessly from person to person with a magnetic smile on her face is breathtaking.

And then her world fell apart.

Finally seeing her build her way back up again after so long drifting meaninglessly from place to place. It’s wonderful to see.

He hated that he had to miss it.

So when Malcolm, of all people, said he was too busy to go undercover at the debutante after they’d discovered that one of the suspects may attend the party, he grew a little suspicious. Even more so when after a long day at work he found Malcolm already inside his apartment with a tailor, of all things.

“I have a suit.”

“A suit.” Malcolm had scoffed. “This is a debutante you need more than a suit. And besides, don’t you want it to be a good surprise.”

Honestly they should’ve known better than thinking they could keep the new relationship a secret for long. Between Malcolm and Ainsley one of them would grow suspicious and fast. All it would take is a moment that is questionable to either of them. They’d immediately run and tell the other and their whole cover would be blown.

He fixes his tie for the hundredth time as he steps out of his car, the valet immediately extending his hand to take the keys. It took all of his willpower not to immediately turn him down. This was his third car in the past 2 years, he can’t help but be a little protective. He hands the younger man the keys with a polite grin before heading inside.

He’s almost immediately overwhelmed by the amount of people inside. Constant movement threatens to pull him into the waves of the motion and he suddenly feels awfully uncertain of this whole thing.

It’s for the case, he reminds himself, pushing head on into the chaos.

Finding her in the crowd is easy. He gravitates towards the sound of her laugh. It’s her flighty, fake one, but it pulls him to her all the same. He watches her from afar for a minute, unable to contain the smile on his face. Standing there in a deep green gown that probably costs more than his monthly paycheck, she looks absolutely in her element. As if the 20 years of isolation hadn’t even dented her.

The man she’s speaking to points in his direction, having caught him staring. The look on her face was absolutely worth every second of being poked and prodded the night before, and definitely worth the swarm of people brushing past him. The look of utter shock and a softness normally reserved only for Malcolm and Ainsley.

She doesn’t even say goodbye in her hurry to get to him. Her hands find his chest and he can almost see her mind connecting the dots. “What are you doing here?” She half shouts over the constant music and conversation of others. “I thought you had a case.”

He thinks about telling her the truth for a second, that he’s meant to be observing one of the patrons of the family. He doesn’t want to kill her excitement so he decides against it. “I wanted to surprise you.”

She shakes her head with a laugh. “You know I’m used to Malcolm skipping out on me, but I should’ve known something was up when Ainsley declined my invitation.” She leans forwards, kissing him lightly. “Thank you for coming.” Her soft tone barely carries over the music. His hand cups her face, his thumb stroking her cheek softly.

“Of course Jess.” She turns her head, placing a kiss on his palm.

Jessica takes his hand in hers pulling him across the room. “Come on, let’s dance.” He tries to put up an argument. He hasn’t danced in years, he’ll only step on her toes, but she doesn’t take no for an answer.

It’s far from the proper form, elegant movements swirling around them. Any time they bump awkwardly or he steps on her dress she lets out a laugh. A real one, one that makes him so bad about his lack of skills. He loosens up, allowing the movements to flow more naturally, less worried about the people around them and more of the woman in his arms.

And then he remembers why he’s supposed to be here. He glances around the room again, spying curly dark hair dipping through the crowd, he could’ve sworn… Then he spies Malcolm leaning against a bannister. The kid smiles at him flashing him a thumbs up.

He’d been set up.

“What are you looking at?” Jessica asks, turning her head to see. It’s too late, Malcolm has already disappeared into the crowd to actually look for the man that they needed to question. He shakes his head slightly.

“Shouldn’t you be socializing.” He half jokes, “Not everyday you get an invitation like this.”

“Please.” She half grins leaning in slightly. “This is hardly a debutante. They don’t even have canapés.” He rolls his eyes but her expression grows serious, if only for a moment. “I don’t care about them.” Her eyes flash over his shoulder, breaking eye contact with the weight of the confession. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here, with you.” His chest swells, a soft almost embarrassed smile crosses her face.

Catching her off guard, he gives her a spin. She shrieks surprised but to her credit, she falls into it naturally. She tosses her head back with a laugh as he pulls her back in. The moment is so small but it nearly knocks him off of his feet. He’s struck suddenly by the realization.

Love should frighten him. He’s loved and lost it all in such a short time. Much shorter than either he or Jackie deserved. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Jessica could ever even admit to being in love, not after all that’s happened to her. Love had hurt him, but it nearly buried her alive.

And yet she’s still here. Crashing clumsily into his chest and dissolving into uncontrollable laughter as they rock in place to the song. His own chuckles bubble beneath the surface as he holds her tightly.

Yes, he’s loved and he’s lost before. That’s why he’s not letting her go.

[aquaticalay]

Siren .Chapter One.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes fancies you, a singer who performs at a local bar every Monday and Friday night. After a few months of attending your gigs, Bucky finally got the chance to talk to you. One problem: you are New York's sonic screaming vigilante. And the avengers have been trying to figure out who you are for months. (Post-Endgame)

Warning/s for this chapter : cursing??? Is this even a warning anymore???

Warning/s for the series: cursing, violence, eventual smut (which you can skip)

Word count: 1700+ (a little short, but this chapter is more of an introduction)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel characters. The song I'm using in this chapter is 'Crowbar' by Frank Carter and the Rattlesnakes.

Note: I'M FINALLY BACK. I finally found the time to commit to another multichapter fanfic, which I posted the summary to nearly half a year ago. There were people who requested to be on the taglist already months ago, and I will tag them below. If you want to get off the taglist, just let me know! (No hard feelings, preferences change!) Anyway, I apologize for the long hiatus. The reason it took so long was that I wasn't happy with how the first plot outline turned out, so I had to re do it a couple of times and even tweak the original idea a bit until I was finally happy with the plot. That, and the last few months were hectic for me. I also apologize for reuploading this for the third time, but Tumblr did not show this in the tags.

Anyway, I will be posting a new chapter every two days. Let me know if you'd like to be on the taglist!

Something about punk was liberating. It was empowering. It gave freedom back to the people. Back to you. You could say whatever the fuck you wanted, wear whatever the fuck you wanted.

That's why you loved performing in New York's thriving underground scene.

You sang at bars weekly, usually just performing whenever you could get a gig, but a dive bar in Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, booked you twice a week. Mermaid's Tail was an all-ages inclusive bar you've been going to for as long as you can remember.

"We're on in 5 minutes," called Lando, pulling his bass strap over his head.

Lando has been your bestfriend throughout both your childhood and adulthood. He was also a member of your band, along with two other great friends you made along the way, Vince and Luna.

"Alright," you say, dramatically standing up from the speaker you were sitting on, a lopsided grin on your face, "let's get the party started!"

-

The stage wasn't big. Not at all. It just had a slightly elevated floor, and just enough space for Luna's drumkit and a few amps for the guitar and bass.

You head on stage, the crowd still hyped up from the ska band who played before you.

The crowd was as big as two hundred, and it was so diverse, as you liked it. People of all ages, all shades of melanin, and all backgrounds seem to enjoy the music. Some stay at the bar and enjoyed the booze.

You came on stage, a wireless microphone wrapped tightly around your fist like a baseball bat. As Vince started playing a slow and haunting guitar riff, you shouted into the microphone "How are we feeling, Mermaid's Tail?" You said, responded by a couple of enthusiastic 'woo's from the crowd.

"We are a couple of kids from Manhattan called the Submariners, here to play you a few songs. this one is called Crowbar!"

A few people who has been to one of your show recognized it and started to jump up and down. The song started quite slowly, a simple guitar riff, a low bassline, subtle drums and your voice almost a whisper.

"We all come from an explosion in the sky. One day there was nothing and the next there was life. And all the rivers and the mountains and the sun and the moon. And then all of a sudden there's a cloud of doom'

As soon as the chorus strikes, the drums became more complicated, and your voice louder to compliment the beat. The room simultaneously jumped, as if they know the rhythm by heart.

"It's a trap, and there's no comfort fitting in. A fake safety that no one believes in  And if it goes against who you think you are It's the death of happiness  Go and get the crowbar"

As the song progresses, the crowd became more elated. More energetic, more electric. As a result, you did, too.

"We all fell down from a tired dying star,Star dust on the breeze to fuckin' pick an avatar. From nothing into all and then the next thing to arrive is the terrifying fear of how you're supposed to live your life"

The beginning second chorus invited a welcomed chaos that the audience was enjoying, not caring about anything but the sounds that you make.

"People everywhere will try to bring you down. Those jealous motherfuckers they will try and take your crown"

The instrumentals quited down a bit, leaving room for your emotions, anger and rage, to seep out of your voice like honey.

"It's easier for them to put you in a box, Keep you safely locked away because they hate it when the boat's rocked. But fuck 'em all, they don't tell us who we are. So when they try and lock you up, go and get the fucking crowbar!"

You bent your vocal chords, intentionally making it crack, nearly screaming, like you were hiding in something you'd rather be showing to the world. Of course, this was not the full extent of your vocal chords, but any louder and everyone in the block would have their eardrums bleeding. Lucky for them, you knew your limits and controlled it well.

The last bit of the song, you sang freely, the crowd turning into a moshpit, eventually melting into a pot of adrenaline, sweat and excitement.

Finishing the song, you let out a sigh of relief and a chuckle, "You guys are a fiesty bunch, aren't you?"

As the crowd of 200 roared, you continued to the next song, and the next, and the next, until the gig was over.

One person caught you attention at the corner of your eye. The sharp-featured man sat at the bar with a drink, wearing a black jacket and gloves. His hair was black or brown, depending on the light, tied to a messy bun. His eyes, however, were somewhat still a mystery. He had aviator sunglasses on, though it wasn't that dark a shade. It dark enough so the color of his eyes were hidden, but light enough for you to see the movement of his pupils, where your very motion seemed to act like a magnet to his sight. Something that disturbed you was that he was always there when you were performing, downing unholy amounts of alchohol, but somehow he didn't flinch. His posture indicated that he was always sober. He was alert, never slouched, not even for one second. As much as you tried to ignore him, you couldn't shake off the paranoia.

As your show ended and the band head off the stage to the back room, Lando whispered in your ear discreetly, "Meeting in the back room. Now."

You nodded ever so slightly, and replied, "give me 10 minutes."

And with that, Lando, Vince, and Luna went one way, and you a seperate route.

-

You made your way through the crowd as a another band took the stage, a thumping rythm accompanying your movements.

You quickly spot the man on the bar. He looks like he was going to leave after finishing his drink, but you swift take a seat on the bar stool next to him. You signal to the bartender and ordered, "two beers!" You exclaimed, handing him a few bucks, "One for me, and one for the gentlemen. Keep the change."

You delicately glanced at the man, who only raised his eyebrow in fascination. Before neither of you could say anything, the bartender slid the bottles your way.

You grabbed it both, and handed one over to the man, who graciously accepted your offer.

You took a sip, then turned to face him, "And does the gentlemen have a name?"

He hestitated, but told you, "James."

"James," you said, a forced sweetness coming out of your voice. You did not bother to introduce yourself. You figured if that if he's seen you perform, he must know your name."You look familiar," you continued, "Have you been at the Mermaid's Tail before?"

"A couple of times," he admitted, taking a sip on his own.

You weren't stupid, nor ignorant. You knew it was more than a couple of times. More like a couple dozen times, but you knew better than to confront him directly. You had to coax his intentions out of him in order to get the truth.

"You like the music?" You asked, and he shrugged, easing into the conversation.You noticed the charm hidden behind his secretive demeanor. "I like the atmosphere."

You didn't know if you should believe what he said, but decided to go along with it. Nodding a little, you chugged the beer until it was half empty and pretended to lose balance on the stool, dropping the rest of the beer on the floor. You let yourself fall into James' arms, propping yourself up, pretending to regain balance. James gently helped you, while you trace every inch of his clothing, trying to find a wallet or a phone— anything that could give you a clue about his identity, but frustratingly, you can't seen to find any. He either forgot everything at home, or was smart enough not to put important things in places where he could get picked. You had a feeling it was most likely the latter than the former.

He helped you back to the bar stool, both his hands on your hips, steadying you. You were aware of the inconsistency on his left grip, as if it was somehow more certain than his right. Unfortunately, his gloves kept you from getting more information.

You forced a chuckle, "sorry," you said, "the adrenaline's still pumping. Y'know, after a gig."

"S'okay," he let out a smile as if your display of joy was contagious.

"Well," you said finally, "I think my friends are waiting for me. See you around, James?"

He nodded sincerely, "See you around."

Turning around, you could feel his eyes linger on you as you disappeared into the crowd.

-

"There she is!" Vince, rolling his eyes, when you entered the back room, "Finally!"

Vince was on a chair, Luna on the table, and Lando had his eyes glued to his laptop screen, which was on the same table Luna was sitting on.

"Done flirting with mr. sunglasses indoors?" Luna laughed, but you just took the joke lightly and shook your head. "His name is James. And there's something weird about him."

"Besides wearing sunglasses indoors?" Luna taunted the obvious with a cheeky smile, and Vince smacked her upside in the head playfully. "He is sketchy. He's been going to our gigs here for months."

"Maybe he likes music," Vince suggested, "Did you pick his pocket?" He asked, knowing that pickpocketting was your usual method of finding out who people are.

"I tried. Found nothing," you said, a hint of defeat in your voice.

"That is sketchy," Luna agreed.

"Will you shut up!" Lando complained, "I'm working here!"

"Geez," Luna said, getting up from a table, and grabbing a briefcase from a cupboard, "Someone's sensitive." She opened the briefcase, revealing a gun in it. It was a glock 19x, which she and Vince modified specifically for stealth and tactical shooting. "Did you bring the bullet rounds?" She asked Vince. He replied by tossing her two rounds, which she prepared for use. It was always this way. Luna and Vince were the weapon specialists, Lando the tech genius, and you? You did all the dirty work by yourself.

You didn't mind, though. In fact, it was addicting.

"Yes!" Lando suddenly exclaimed. He stood up and faced you, "Suit up, (Y/n)," he said, "I found another lead on our guy."

You smirked, knowing what to do.

After all, you and your misfit friends were musicians by night, a vigilante team by midnight.

-

Taglist:

@thejourneyneverendsx @ispepeagain @magykal-777 @sfxsucker  @justanothergirlwithdemons @ciochesono @allonszassbutt @hennessy0274-blog​ @chubby-dumplin @talk-geek-to-me @moli1497

Please let me know if I missed anyone!

[msjr0119]

The Greatest Show

“I wish for happiness like this forever.”

In this series all chapters are based on each song and quotes from ‘The Greatest Showman’

Characters belong to Pixelberry except MC - Amber Smith-Beaumont and Brett Parker

Warnings: Swearing, smut 🍋, gambling

Tags - using combined tagged list, if you want to be removed please let me know 👍🏼

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @cmestrella @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816 @gardeningourmet @twinkle-320

******

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas huh?” She said, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“It doesn’t have to? Where are you from? We could meet up again. I wish for happiness like this forever. You gave me the chance to be free, let loose.” Looking at him, she was unsure about what he meant by being free, but she didn’t have the time to question it. It wasn’t important.

“John, I have just started seeing someone back home, you know this. This was just a stupid one night stand. I drank too much.”

“We were both drunk. But you remembered everything right? Is your boyfriend as sexy as me though?” He winked at her, whilst flexing his pecs.

“Of course I remember! Some bits were blurry. But I remember. Don’t flatter yourself.” Standing up, he held her close to him- sharing one last lingering kiss.

“I hope our paths cross again Pocahontas.”

“Keep dreaming Prince Charming.” If only she knew.

“What’s your full name. I’ll find you on social media, we can keep in touch.” Quickly thinking of a surname, she knew they would never cross paths again.

“Marie Walker.”

*****

The night before

Everyone was on a high, ready to celebrate their friends twenty first birthday- deciding to go to Vegas they dread to think what mischief that they would get up to, but you’re only twenty one once.

Arriving at Caesar’s palace, they checked into their villa that they were sharing- the villa that nearly made them all bankrupt. Hoping to be successful with their gambling later on in the night, this would help them retrieve some of their money back.

“Okay, so we need fake names.” The friends all looked at each other confused as to why they would need a fake identity. “We are now known as; Marie, Mel, Kim, Elsie and Mitchell.”

“Okay, so I understand Elsie and Marie - family members names. I’m using my surname. But Mel and Kim?”

“Takin' chances, bold advance-e-es, Don't care if you think we're out of line.’ We sung Respectable at the karaoke bar the other night. Besides Mel and Kim were sisters like we are. We need fake names, in case there are any creeps or we get arrested or something.”

“Or married!” Mitchell said winking at the girls.

“Come on its my birthday! I need to get hammered!” Playing a few drinking games in the room, they were all instantly becoming gradually tipsy. Walking to the elevator, they all put their hands together- What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they all reminded each other in unison.

*****

Leo wandered around the slot area, throwing money away as quickly as he was he may as well of flushed it down the toilet. Every time he won, he placed it back into the machine. It became busier as the night drew in, the playboy prince kept declining incoming calls from Bastien- knowing it would only be a matter of time before he would catch up to him. Leo was gradually becoming more intoxicated- people watching whilst leaning against a machine- his focus lingered on all the women around him.

Nice ass.

Nice tits.

Nice lips.

Blonde- no avoid blondes, especially if they are like Madeleine- my future wife. Eurghh.

She’s curvy, but still okay looking.

Too tall.

Too small.

Too drunk.

Too boring.

Bride to be- what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas though.

Too young.

Too old. Way too old- cougar though.

Leo shook his head, even considered giving himself into Bastien- that was until a group of people walked closer towards him. His eyes lingered on towards the brunette, the red dress that she was wearing flaunted all of her assets. Plucking up some courage- not that he needed it, he decided to walk over to the group of friends.

“Hello beautiful. Do you want a drink?” She looked at him, their eyes locking- before she focused her gaze to her drink before back to him.

“I’m good thanks. Save your dollars, it’s my birthday so I’m sure I could get a few drinks free.”

“Happy birthday!” He said enthusiastically, ignoring the fact that she had rejected his offer.

“Thanks. See ya.”

“Wait!” She looked at him, knowing he was probably just a ‘creep’- undeniably he was a handsome man but she wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

“Hey.... Marie.... we are going to head to the tables... you coming?” Kim shouted from a distance.

“Yeah, I’m coming. See ya around.” Pulling her closer towards him, he wanted to get to know the stranger.

“I’ll tag along, Marie.. beautiful name.” Shrugging her shoulders she released herself from his presence- she followed her friends- Leo soon became their shadow. Smirking at her, stealing glances every so often she shook her head- this awkward situation would soon disappear as the drinks flowed she believed.

“So you know my name, what’s yours?” She asked, to be polite- now knowing that he was like super glue- insisting on sticking with them.

“John Smith.” Rolling her eyes, she let out a slight giggle.

“I bet it is.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Maybe? It’s just a generic human name that is used- like John Doe. I suppose that makes me Pocahontas then.”

“Well you can be my princess for tonight then?” Placing his arm around her waist, she felt his warm breath linger around her ear and neck.

“This isn’t some fairytale. This is Vegas baby. I’m celebrating my birthday with friends and you’re intruding.”

“Don’t you believe in fairytales?”

“No.”

“Ill tell you what, why don’t we both go over to the roulette table. If you win more I’ll leave you alone....”

“And if you win more?”

“Then you’re stuck with me all night.” Great. I don’t know how to play. It’s just fluke on the roulette. Right?

“Fine deal, I’ll let my friends know.”

Walking over to her friends, they knew exactly what was about to happen- all smirking at her then at the mysterious man.

“What?” Marie snapped at them.

“You’re going to ditch us... it’s written all over your face.”

“I need to win more on the roulette, he said he would leave us alone if I did.” Maybe she was being naive, or maybe he would genuinely leave them if she did win the bet- her friends all laughed in unison, the could already predict exactly how her birthday was going to end. It wasn’t going to end with them, like they originally planned.

“Of course he did. He isn’t leaving you at all- he’s providing you with ‘fuck me eyes’.... a certain man back home won’t be happy.”

“No he’s not- his flirting skills are atrocious. And regarding a certain man, we aren’t together officially yet. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But nothing is going to happen. I’ll ring you once I’ve got rid of him.”

*****

“Fuck!” Marie muttered to herself after an hour on the roulette table, knowing that she had now lost the bet- dramatically.

“So babe, I assume I won the bet then...” Sighing she knew this was a bad idea to begin with, now knowing that he would be acting all smug.

“You’d assume correct, stop smirking at me like that...”

“Like what? This?” He asked in a seductive tone of voice whilst placing his hands around her waist again. He continued smirking- her heart began fluttering, not knowing if it was due to the alcohol. Brushing a stray strand of her brunette hair behind her ear, she froze not knowing how to react- her breathing rapidly increased due to the handsome strangers touch. He leaned down claiming her lips taking the plunge. Wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand tangled through his hair as she pulled him closer- as if they were a magnet, attracted to each other immediately. His hands hovered at the sides of her tiny frame before gripping her hips, pulling them flush to him. Moaning into the kiss, she felt as if she was hypnotised- in some type of spell. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty as she had just started a relationship back home, but in this moment in time she felt lust and desire towards the stranger. Breaking the kiss, she looked at him feeling breathless- feeling his hardening length pressing on to her, she didn’t know what to expect for the rest of the night.

“You could carry on throwing your money down the drain, or there’s another option...”

“Oh... what would that be?”

“Ditch your friends and spend the night with me..” The angel on one shoulder was trying to convince her to not stray from her loyal friends, however the devil demanded that she gave in to temptation.

“What would you say if I ditch you instead?”

“That you’re a let down, I mean you’ve already kissed me... wouldn’t you like to experience the whole package?”

Guys I’m really sorry but have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning - please don’t respond. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’ll send an SOS if I need you. Love you all x

“Lead the way then John Smith... but....”

“But what?”

“I Erm... I’ve just sort of started seeing someone back home...” Grabbing her hand, he led her up to his room ignoring the information she had just provided him with- hoping that she wouldn’t back out due to this. In the elevator, they were alone- pressing the button, he then turned to her. Pushing her against the wall, his hands frantically roamed her body as he crashed his lips onto her- opening her mouth gasping for air he took the opportunity to place his tongue next to hers. Their tongues were dancing along with each other until the doors opened and other people entered, immediately letting go of her- he smirked at her- feeling frustrated as he would have carried on if they hadn’t been abruptly disturbed.

Opening the door, he welcomed her into his penthouse- her eyes widened at how a single man could afford this on his own.

“Help yourself to the mini bar, I’ll just get ready.” Nodding her head, she headed towards it- bending down scrutinising the options Leo became immediately distracted gawking at the view in front of him. Fuck she’s got a nice ass, why do I need to get ready? I’ve got a beautiful girl in my room. These thoughts kept roaming through his mind, usually he would open his bedroom door and immediately demand that for his date to get into bed, straight to business- he was known as the playboy prince after all.

“Hey, what did you choose to drink?” Turning to face him, she admired his toned muscled body and sparkly baby blues now that he had removed his shirt and glasses. “Erm... I’m ... undecided. Maybe you could help me?”

Walking over towards her, deep down he wanted her - not a drink. Caressing her cheek, she felt weak at the knees immediately. “Or we could decide to avoid the drink?” She barely whispered, into his ear. Leo’s hands gently roamed up and down her body, whilst placing gentle kisses on her bare skin that was on show- as she stood frozen hypnotised by his good looks. “You are beautiful, how about we take this over to the bed?” He asked confidently, knowing his charm had never failed him before. Gulping she agreed, carrying her over bridal style- he gently placed her onto the bed - feeling his erection against her immediately again as he hovered over her, she wanted him - there was no doubt about that. “I think you’re a bit overdressed Marie...”

“Maybe you could sort that out for me?” Standing her up at the edge of the bed, he unzipped her red dress- the material effortlessly fell to the ground, she was standing in front of him in her matching red lacy bra and thong which turned him on, not that he wasn’t already. Unclasping her bra, he cupped both breasts- before pushing her back on to the bed.

Marie arched her back, moaning quietly but loud enough for him to hear as his thumbs rubbed her nipples in gentle circles, whilst kissing her neck. His lips began to wander down from her neck, along her shoulders before taking one nipple into his mouth- flicking his tongue around it, before swapping to the other one. Once he had finished, his hands wanted to explore the rest of her body. Sliding down her petite body- reaching her inner thighs- he spread them open taking full control. Pushing her lace thong to the side- his fingers teased her at the entrance, even with a brief touch she was immediately damp. “So wet already baby. It must be my good looks.” He winked at her. “Of course it is, your ego could explode if you carry on talking like that.”

“Do you want me or not Marie? Because I could always back out if you carry on with this sarcasm...”

“Don’t you dare stop John, I’ve ditched my friends for you- so you better carry on....” Forcing a demanding kiss on to her lips, he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. Moving his thumb over her clit, she couldn’t contain her moans- these light touches soon changed as he plunged his fingers deep inside.

“You like that baby?” Ignoring him, she just nodded, removing his newly coated fingers- he licked them seductively in front of her, this gesture aroused her at once. Leo smirked knowing he was showing how to treat a girl with fantastic oral sex. Seeing her breathless already, he removed his fingers. Removing her lacy thong, he threw it- not really noticing which direction it landed in- kissing her inner thighs, he now replaced where his fingers previously were with his tongue instead.

“You taste so good.” He said before plunging his tongue deeper inside. “Fuck! Don’t stop please.” She screamed, as she dug her nails into his back leaving a slight mark. Removing his tongue, he placed his fingers there again giving her that bit more pleasure- smiling at her, her whole body was now trembling. Her fingers brushed over his chest, before arriving at the waistband of his jeans. Seeing the bulge- she bit her lip- their eyes focused on each other, showing his infamous smirk he stood up removing his jeans and boxers knowing that they were both thinking the same thing. Whilst he did this she sat up- watching him releasing his growing manhood. Fuck he’s going to break me in half with that. “Like what you see?” He asked noticing her gaze was down below, before giving him full eye contact. “I like what I see, but I’d prefer to touch and feel you...” Leo let out a sigh, as she wrapped her hand around his length- even though he loved her hand expertly stroking him, he didn’t know how much longer he would last. Licking her lips, she stroked his length, before taking it fully in her mouth.

“This feels amazing, but I believe you said you wanted to feel me as well...” Looking up at him fluttering her eyelashes, she did want him- but wanted to finish what she had started. Feeling his cock pulsate at every move- knowing she was pleasing him as he did her, she picked up her pace, before removing his cock. Laying her backwards he forcefully placed another passionate kiss on her lips. His firm muscled chest, was now pressed against her bare skin- separating her legs as if she was an expert gymnast, he thrust against her- teasing her at her wet entrance. Lining himself up, he didn’t think about the consequences- he was hoping that she was on contraception, as she didn’t stop him. Slowly pushing in, he heard her moan- pausing for a brief second allowing her walls to get used to him, he began with slow gentle thrusts. This slow yet steady pace soon turned powerful, every thrust hitting that specific spot. “Fuck.” She kept whimpering, was it worth ditching her friends- yes. In her mind this was the best sex she had received, but she wouldn’t admit that to the already confident stranger, if he asked she knew she would play it down. Her hands remained on his back, every thrust she would unknowingly scratch her nails deeper into his skin.

Arching her back, her legs felt like jelly- her whole body fluttered, hoping that this night would never end. Kissing her on the lips, he was ready to finish- not wanting to, he felt slightly embarrassed at how quickly this was occurring. Slowing his movements down, he gripped her hips tightly as he felt that sudden rush of semen, his warm seed soon exploded in her. Staying in that position, he rest his forehead against hers- sweat was now dripping from his forehead and down his body. Slipping his cock out of her, he gave one last thrust against her wet folds- the remainder of his cum was now mixed along with hers. Laying next to her, they were both breathless and remained silent, both fixating their eyes towards the ceiling. “Could your friends provide you with a fantastic birthday present like that?” He asked before turning to face her.

“Would be slightly weird if they could...” She laughed at him, before snuggling into his embrace still trying to catch their breath. “Four girls and one man- you never know... he could share you all.”

“I don’t think his girlfriend Lo- Kim would agree with Mitchell sharing us all...”

“Fair enough, so you’ve already technically cheated on your new boyfriend.... we could make the most of the night?” The cheeky grin that appeared on his face was too hard to ignore, not knowing if he was being sincere or just having a joke. Rolling onto to him, she straddled him- gripping on to her hips, she leaned down for another kiss- it was her new addiction- an addiction that she would never taste again. Why not? She thought. “I’ll take control this time.”

*****

Coming out of her trance, Maxwell noticed Amber wasn’t her usual self. Drake had left them with Leo to get some drinks.

“Ambs? What’s up?” Placing his hand around her, he knew her the best out of everyone- he could see she was worrying and over thinking.

“I’m Marie.” She responded looking out towards the horizon, not making eye contact with her brother but instead resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah I know you are, Amber Marie Smith-Beaumont. My baby sister.”

“No... I’m that Marie. Leo’s Marie. Leo’s Vegas one night stand. If Drake finds out, he’s gonna leave me.” Finally looking him, he believed she was pulling some practical joke- until he felt her take a long breath.

“What? Rewind... you went to Vegas... slept with Leo... neither of you have recognised each other?”

“I was twenty one, I’m sure I’ve got a few more wrinkles due to stress in those four years. He was wearing glasses, I was drunk. He was drunk. I remember it though. I went with Riley, Lola, Beth and Daniel. Lola insisted that we had fake names... he did a bet with me, then I ended up in his bed. Fuck.”

“Shit, you just need to sleep with Liam, Rashad, Neville, Connie and Godfrey- then you’ve done them all. Id say you’ve done a full house, but obviously it would be wrong if you slept with me and Bertrand. But it’s as close as a full house.” Cheekily grinning, he was having a joke until he felt her punch him in the shoulder.

“MAXWELL!”

“Sorry, Sorry.” Holding his hands up- he wished he had a white flag to surrender- he didn’t want a replay of what she did to Madeleines nose. Drake and Leo, joined the pair- Drake kissed Amber making her heart flutter instantly.

“Drake? Can I have a word in private?” Maxwell asked, seeing Drake become frustrated before eventually agreeing. I’ll be back soon beautiful. Leo laid next to Amber, admiring the beautiful view in front of them- remaining in silence, she knew she had to tell him the truth.

“So John Smith, had anymore Vegas flings?” Leo looked at her confused, before his eyes widened.

“Pocahontas?”

“Leo, please don’t tell Drake.”

“This is so fucking funny!” Hysterically laughing, she provided him with looks that could kill.

“It’s not funny Leo! I never thought I’d see you or should I say John, again.”

“No the whole situation isn’t funny, but you have to admit it was a good shag. The funny thing is you called yourself Marie Walker. Marie I assume after your mother. But now it’s funny because you used Walker as your surname. One of these days you could actually be a Walker.”

“How do you remember that?”

“I tried to find you, why did you use Walker? I thought that kiss you gave me in Lythikos was slightly familiar.”

“Because if I said Smith- Beaumont you’d find me straight away as my middle name is Marie. So technically I wasn’t lying unlike you. My mom always spoke about Jackson Walker, I panicked. A kiss is a kiss surely?”

“I had to lie, I was on the run from Bastien. Listen, as you said before what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Our secrets safe, although you do know where to find me if you want round three though.”

“If you wasn’t a Prince even though you’ve abdicated, I’d be tempted to punch you right now. Thank you for keeping this between us. Still friends Zimmer?”

“Of course suture. But the offer is still there- ya know if you get bored of Walker.” Hugging her, they both had closure and both eventually laughed at the awkward situation. She now realised why Olivia kept running to him- Leo was great in the sac, she couldn’t deny that and she would never admit that to anyone. But he wasn’t Drake. Her boyfriend.

“Hey baby.”

“Hey you. What did Maxwell want?”

“He gave me the protective brother lecture. Begging me to not hurt you or leave you- I wouldn’t do that anyway. I’d rather have this ‘lecture’ from him than Bertrand. Are you ready to go back to the palace?”

“Im ready for you.” One of these days you could actually be a Walker. Leo’s words kept repeating in her mind, placing a kiss on his lips, she melted into his embrace.

“C’mon then m’lady.”

*****

Arriving back at the palace, Amber wanted to go to her room first to collect some ‘sleepover essentials’. Opening her door, there was a box surrounded with holes and a ribbon in the middle of her bed. Peering in her mouth was agape believing this wasn’t reality- more like an hallucination, tears began pouring down her face.

“Jackson!” Opening the box eagerly, the puppy jumped out of the box- excited to see his mom.

“You have a pup? Called Jackson?”

“When I got him I couldn’t think of a name, my mom suggested Jackson. I think she had a crush on your father, the name kind of stuck with him.”

“Well who wouldn’t have a crush on a Walker? But how has he got here?” They both looked concerned at each other, in the back of her mind she just assumed that one of her friends sent him. Scrutinising the box, Drake found a note- passing it to Amber she read it out loud.

I think he’s missed his Mom, meet me in the ballroom. I’ll be waiting for you. Come alone X

[maximura]

The Black Swan Predicament

Okay. It’s taken me such a long time to write about this and I have pretty much had to delete what I’ve written three times over. I don’t know if it’s because I’m unreasonable, the song is just that polarising or I truly cannot get a good grasp on it. Maybe all three. 

1. First Impression. The MN Dance video came out and I remember that worldwide art project of theirs was announce just prior. It also came out when the World was literally on fire with my country burning, political shitstorms and the Coronavirus. An art project just sounded so utterly superficial, pretentious, indulgent and shallow at the time and that really coloured how I approached Black Swan. To put it bluntly: I barely made it 1 minute. I didn’t like it. The music. The dance performance. Nothing hit where it was supposed to. 

2. Second Try. I have my own opinions about BTS heavily promoting in the US (that’s a post for another time) but regardless, I gave Black Swan another try when they performed it on American TV. The stage was really beautiful but even seeing the guys do the choreo, nothing clicked with me. It’s like watching everyone else solve a puzzle that you only have missing pieces to. I did not get it. Jimin and Taehyung did stand out, I will say that much. I don’t really know what has happened, maybe it’s just personal perception, but Jungkook’s usual blinding magnetism wasn’t there. 

3. Third Try. The highly recommended 2Z rock cover pretty much changed my entire opinion on Black Swan. I was trying to figure out what I didn’t like about the original and suddenly it was apparent: Black Swan doesn’t sound like a song that belongs to BTS, the honest fame-weary lyrics and deeply human message felt undermined by the attempts to perfect it (the auto-tune, the low-fi production, the flat instrumentation, the lack of a climax, the lack of letting go), all which ironically just depersonalises the song. It took a rough and pitchy soft rock cover by some rookie group to make me realise that the song is actually good but the production killed it completely. It also made me realise that Black Swan sounds more like a 2Z song that a BTS song and that’s just wild. 

4. Production. Man. I could do a whole Ted Talk on this. It is so infuriating to me because I legitimately love the 2Z cover; I can vibe with it, it hits where it’s supposed to (drums/bass/guitar shredding when the chorus drops, vocals unfiltered and sounding human). I just do not understand who made the stupid decision to auto-tune BTS’s voices on Black Swan. I look for music that I can connect with. It’s a human experience. BTS built a whole damm concept on being relatable but all auto-tune does is makes them sound like disembodied computer generated idols and by extension, perfect faceless puppets programmed by a larger machine. There’s no way I can relate to that. Oh yeah, I see you rolling your eyes at me. If BTS want to get arty-interpretive with me, then you best believe I will art-interpret back right at them. 

5. Unless. This was all intentional, haha. Maybe this is all a part of their elaborate Art Pop/Social Experiment. I honestly wouldn’t it past them at all to be this convoluted. If they wanted me to think about everything three times over, then congratulations because this whole thing has been so frustrating haha. 

6. Perfect Blue. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person who thought of the Darren Aronofsky movie and that naturally led to thinking about Perfect Blue. Both protagonists in the movies bled in the pursuit of perfection and I’m not saying I want BTS to do that at all but if you’re going to go into a concept like this (the disillusionment of fame and death of creative passion) then damm, it would’ve been nice to see them go all in. They’re at the point in their career where they have insane amounts of influence and power and yet, disappointingly, I don’t feel like their musical releases lately have really capitalised on this at all. All I see is the safe route but that might not be all their doing. 

7. The Lyrics. Okay. I quite like the lyrics except for the insistence on using thang instead of thing. “Do Your Thing/What’s My Thing?” Is a really good line for this stage in their careers. In my head I can picture a massive faceless crowd yelling the former at them and them answering with the latter internally. The lyrics and song really does lend itself to psychological/horror concepts about fame. Shame we aren’t getting this. 

8. Taehyung. He would’ve just KILLED it if they ever decided to make a Black Swan MV based on either the movie or Perfect Blue. I’m experiencing something of a TaeNaissance. 

[smartguyreviewed]

1x5 - Don’t Do That Thing You Do

Original air date: April 16, 1997

Alright, Disney. We need to have a little talk.

I take a lot of shit from you in the name of nostalgia. You repay me by selling all of your DCOMs on iTunes but since they are DRM protected, you then make me have to buy third party software to remove said DRM just so I can watch these movies for my own personal viewing. If you’re worried about me selling and distributing copies of your movies to people who also wanna relive them good ‘ole days, stop. People will find a way to pirate your shit regardless and actually have more than what you release. Really, just stop.

You then removed all of the Smart Guy episodes from YouTube so that the only dregs of the show left are sped up, slowed down, or only take up a third of the video player due to copyright shit. You gave me considerable hope when I saw you’d be putting all the original shows and movies (minus In a Heartbeat. Minus The Jersey. Minus The Famous Jett Jackson. Minus Model Behavior. Minus My Date With the President’s Daughter.) on this shiny new channel of yours.

I know you have a problem with misordering episodes, making certain episodes season finales when they shouldn’t be and just not having any general sense of continuity. I am still baffled as to why this episode, episode number 5 is not included in the first season, which is already hella short at just 8 episodes. Disney, do you enjoy making me wonder why I even fuck with you? Once I get a .mp4 file of Johnny Tsunami and maaaaybe Can of Worms, I’m through with you forever.

This one is gonna be long because TJ really pissed me off in this episode. But if you actually read the above, I love you because I’m literally just whining.

In this episode, I will actually feel bad for Marcus. Yes, Marcus, teenage horndog, sexist Marcus will tug on my heartstrings and make me relate to him. I know I give him a lot of shit, but at the end of the day, he’s still a teenage boy. A dark-skinned teenage boy in a family full of gifted and/or capable light skinned people, at that. In this family, guess who is the odd one out, the black sheep? Marcus. Coincidence? I just couldn’t help but notice some things Yvette does (like pursue dance at one point) are encouraged while Marcus’s hobby (music, another art) is constantly shit on by Floyd who wants Marcus to be more book smart. Or how Yvette didn’t get into any trouble for not trying to stop TJ’s party just because Marcus, who is younger than her, was in charge? Just two examples, but you get the point. 

We begin the episode with TJ bothering the big kids while they’re trying to rehearse for the upcoming Battle of the Bands gig. The gang needs cash to continue banding, especially since Mo’s strings are caca. Marcus is certain they will win and as soon as he manifests positivity about his future, something bad happens. Their guitarist breaks his finger. 

Marcus is whining to pops about this little roadbloack when we see Yvette has invited Gabrielle Union back to her place to study in the kitchen. None of that learning crap will be happening right now though, because Floyd has made Gabs wet. She tells Yvette who delivers the most visceral reaction. But Yvette...your dad is hot. And it’s perfectly normal for friends to have crushes on your parents. And you also date older men! Yvette has her moments where I hate her and this is one of them. Instead of just dropping it and continuing to study, she actually throws her friend out! You would have thought Yvette was Floyd’s damn girlfriend, the way she was acting. 

Because every show needs a montage here and there, we are now jettisoned to the garage, where Marcus is auditioning for a new piano player. Spoiler alert: they all reek, except for one guy who clearly must have been on some type of psychedelic drug to audition for a high school R&B band during a federal pursuit. The others were straight duds, including the most aggressive polka musician ever who thought his accordion counted as a keyboard. 

Marcus is fucked. His goose is cooked. His dream is deferred. How the hell is he going to pull a new piano player out of his ass in time for BotB? He suddenly hears someone tickling the ivories and is beyond impressed...and then disappointed once he sees its TJ. Turns out the little guy knows all their songs and then proceeds to explain music in math terms and I pretty much feel the way Marcus does here.

I mean, really, it’s annoying to know that your freakishly intelligent brother is pretty much good at everything, including the thing that you love more than anything. You share a room with this person, you see this person every day at school and you now have to let him in your band because of circumstances.  I do like that Marcus includes the rest of the group in his decision making, even though they really don’t seem to care about its direction as long as they can have sex with all the groupies. 

So now its Mackadocious +TJ and Marcus is doling out the “kicks” to everyone except TJ. But TJ, homie, you just entered the band and your role is to just play the piano, since nobody else is around. This is not the time for you to be trying to get your Regina Spektor on. Play your part! TJ gets upset at this, but once Marcus threatens violence, he immediately goes back to his role.

B plot land is just Yvette pissed off that her friend finds her father attractive. They go to the BotB thing and she even cuts in front of them. Jeez Yvette, chill.

When her bestie leaves a voicemail directed more towards Floyd, although flattered, he has to let her down gently. Yadda yadda, Floyd is about to have that uncomfortable conversation but it’s fine because Gabby met some dude in a black trench coat and needs Yvette to style her hair like Halle Berry’s in the last month’s Essence. Yvette is happy that things are back to normal, at the expense of her lonely father who most likely reveled in that small amount of validation as quickly as it was snatched away from him. Poor Flody. 

Anyways, back to the main arc of the episode. It’s time for the BotB and TJ is still vying for that piano solo but Marcus isn’t budging. This will end well. Once they get far enough into the song, Marcus is about to do his solo. He’s probably thinking that finally, the spotlight will be on him for a change and he can feel like he’s doing something worthy of praise. But this is TJ we’re talking about, and he is a petty little asshole, so he immediately hijacks the show and begins with his piano solo. Marcus looks straight dumb trying to hop back into his own set. So now instead of being a dick and doing the solo he wasn’t supposed to do, he has now embarassed Marcus. His feelings about the situation can best be summed up here.

The next day at school, we see that TJ is still hogging all of the band’s attention. Marcus’s insane level of togetherness right now is commendable, seeing as TJ clearly has no remorse for what he’s done and is now rubbing it in their faces. Just Marcus, though. TJ is a little babe magnet and is now basically getting girls for Mo and Goose to have sex with. Everyone is getting what they want right now. Except Marcus. 

During a rehearsal, TJ moves on to insulting Marcus’s compositions and telling the band that they need something “else.” Marcus has had it and decides it’s time for TJ to go. TJ tries to save his ass by apologizing for something he’s clearly not sorry for after the fact, but the damage is done. Now we all know that TJ is totally one to accept defeat and move on so I’m sure nothing else will come of a rather amicable split.

Later, Kid from Kid n’ Play shows up and offers Mackadocious some moolah if they play again, but with TJ, seeing as Mackadocious has been unwillingly changed to The Band With the Cute Little Kid. Marcus, putting his dream over his desire to teach his little narcissist brother a lesson (just kidding, he wants the money) asks TJ back, but he’s strangely okay with staying out of it. Marcus then grabs TJ and threatens him, calling him a little twerp. This is still funny to me.

Floyd comes in and breaks up the fight and forces the siblings to hash out their differences in a healthy way. TJ says he wishes he could sing like Marcus. Marcus hates that TJ is good at everything. They both apologize to each other and Marcus even asks if TJ wants to rejoin the band and TJ is about to ruin this totally fine moment between them by revealing his evil plan.

After being kicked out of the band, TJ wanted to get even. Instead of just taking the L and moving on, he reached out to Kid and offered some tax code write offs in exchange for promising Mackadocious a lot of money to perform a bogus gig where nobody would show up. Yes, you read that right. TJ wanted to destroy Marcus’s life and possibly crush his spirit to the point where he’d never want to pursue music at all. All because he did something shitty and got punished accordingly. TJ is a petty little asshole. Floyd hears this and allows the beating to continue. Did I mention how much I love Floyd?

Stuff I noticed:

- TJ’s shirt. Where can I find this shirt? Seriously, it’s amazing.

- Oh hi, Christina Milian.

- When TJ is mentioning the name of the band’s fan site, he just says it’s ww.cutekid.com which makes no sense because that’s too general to refer to a band and also sounds like pedo bait. 

[coll2mitts]

#67 Muppets Most Wanted (2014)

"We're sorry, Kermit.  We're sorry we didn't notice you were missing.  We're sorry we didn't tell you often enough how much you mean to all of us.  We're sorry we ever took you for granted.  But, that’s never going to happen again...  Kermit, we convinced ourselves that evil frog was you because he gave us what we thought we wanted.  When what we really wanted... What we really needed... Was you, Kermit.  The actual, real you."

After The Muppets, I was fully prepared to eat my own shoes instead of watch this movie. My only motivation was the light at the end of the tunnel.  Much like the Genie at the end of Aladdin, I would have fulfilled my end of the bargain and finally be freed from having to watch any more Muppet movies ever again.  But something unlikely happened... They began The Muppets Most Wanted admitting their fans at the end of The Muppets were paid extras.  They were transparent about a sequel being a not-as-good cash grab.  The opening number was referential to the original sequel, The Great Muppet Caper, but the lyrics were self-aware, self-deprecating and peak Muppet.

I’ll even go on record as liking this movie a great deal.  I was able to forgive the product placement, the obligatory Disney references, the pop songs, and the 7000 cameos because this movie felt like... an apology?  Like they had watched the last movie and realized it was hollow, and the spirit of Kermit was steamrolled by their desperation to emotionally connect to the audience.  

True to Muppet fashion, their opening number states the stakes of the movie, Ricky Gervais (...ugh) approaches The Muppets with the idea of managing them during a World Tour.  Kermit, being a level-headed frog, is hesitant to sign with someone named Dominic Badguy, and doesn’t want to rush into something new without establishing a proper show beforehand.  Striking while the iron is hot with your new IP is not enough of a reason to rush out a project.

Kermit is eventually persuaded to hire Dominic, but books a series of smaller venues to ease them into the swing of things.

“Looks like they put the reviews up early!” “Yeah, or is that the suggestion box?”

The Muppets are disappointed by this, and are easily swayed by Dominic to bet big and rent extremely large venues under the assumption they will sell out their shows and make the money back.  Kermit is against this at first (voting for “just giving up” instead of “believing in themselves”), but he goes along with the group because he was outnumbered.  The content of the show is also a point of contention, as Kermit suggests they play to their strengths, because if the show isn’t successful, they might not have jobs after the tour.  This concern is also brushed off, as Dominic tells Gonzo sure, bulls running around the stage sounds like a great idea, the magnetic bomb-attractor vest will be a useful invention, and Miss Piggy should be singing 4 or 5 Celine Dion classics a night. 

While Kermit is disappointed, Dominic tells him to take a walk in East Berlin to clear his mind.  We then find out this is a setup to kidnap Kermit and send him to a Siberian Gulag so Dominic and the The Most Dangerous Frog in the World can schedule The Muppets to perform in venues directly next to museums that hold clues and trinkets that will assist them in stealing the Crown Jewels.

Much like The Great Muppet Caper, this movie revolves around case of mistaken identity between bad frog Constantine and good frog Kermit, with their only differentiating feature being a mole on Constantine’s face.  After Kermit is kidnapped, Constantine assumes his identity, and although Constantine has a Russian accent and speaks in Muppet one-liners, he’s covered his mole in green grease paint, so the cast has no idea anything is amiss.  

As artifacts go missing, Sam Eagle from the CIA and Jean Pierre Napoleon from Interpol are on the case!  They dislike each other at first, as everything Sam  Eagle does is comically overstated and American, while everything Jean Pierre does is comically understated and European.  They gradually come to respect each other, connect the dots, and determine The Muppets... are too stupid to perform a series of heists.

Meanwhile, Kermit is having a hard time acclimating to prison life.  Nadja, the prison warden, played Tina Fey (with a really terrible accent, which I can’t tell is supposed to be terrible as a gag, or it just is?) thwarts all his attempts to escape.  Kermit grows to accept he is stuck in the Gulag and his friends are not going to come and rescue him.  To distract him, Nadja puts him in charge of the annual lighthearted Gulag Review, and Kermit’s practice with wrangling the Muppets make him perfect for the job of wrangling hardened criminals, like The Prison King (Jemaine Clement), Big Papa (Ray Liotta) and Danny Trejo (Danny Trejo).

Walter is suspicious something strange is going on with their tour, because he seems to be the only Muppet with critical thinking skills.  He shadows Dominic and finds him bribing Robert Crawley to post good reviews of “The Muppet Show” and pay people to put butts in seats.  When Walter informs Fozzie, he laments they didn’t think of doing that before, but when Walter suggests that Constantine may have replaced Kermit...

They strike out to find Kermit so he can restore order to this entire debacle, but he’s now neck deep in Gulag Review rehearsals.  Even when his friends show up and convince him he needs to leave, Nadja is hesitant to let him go because she’s formed a mild attachment to him.

They stage a breakout during one of the Gulag Review musical numbers, which just happens to be about working in a coal mine, equip with pick axes that dig everyone out of the prison and to safety.

While they were gone, Miss Piggy begins to suspect something is off with “Kermit”, especially since he seemed OK with Fozzie and Walter leaving the show.  In an attempt to pacify her, “Kermit” escalates his affection toward her until it, of course, all culminates in a wedding between Bad Frog and Miss Piggy, even though the last time the Real Kermit spoke with her, they got in a massive fight about her obsession with planning a wedding when he hadn’t even proposed yet.  "Kermit” also books The Tower of London as the wedding venue, so Dominic can use the artifacts they’ve stolen to steal the Crown Jewels while everyone else is distracted.

The wedding does not go as planned, though, as Good Frog Kermit shows up and prevents Miss Piggy from marrying the wrong guy.  Upon being found out, Constantine decides to drop one more Muppet one-liner before blowing the place to smithereens.  Much like Chekhov’s gun, Professor Honeydew’s magnetic bomb-attractor vest aids the Muppets in discovering that Miss Piggy’s engagement ring IS the bomb, and Beaker, who is wearing the vest, is launched out the window, saving The Muppets and all their wedding guests.

Dominic and Constantine try to get away in a helicopter, but Piggy kicks the shit out of Constantine, because again, Piggy’s violence solves every problem in the Muppet universe.  With the bad guys captured, the Muppets apologize to Kermit for ignoring his concerns about the tour, and not noticing he was gone.  The decide to continue the tour, but first, they will play the Siberian Gulag as a favor to Nadja.

And the big climax at the end... fireworks.  In the shape of the Muppets.

The original songs are excellent again, because Bret McKenzie is excellent.  They do have a few non-original songs, but they aid the plot this time instead of just being included for whatever fucking reason (with one notable exception, as there is no excuse for “Moves like Jagger”).  The Gulag review auditions used these the best, because seeing a prison full of men sing “End of the Road” is fairly comical, and is only topped by the entire reenactment of A Chorus Line’s “I Hope I Get It”, including a costume change that involves “Gulag” crop-tops.

The best hybrid of pop references and original jams is “Something So Right”, which actually made me cry, until Celine Dion appeared and hammed it up.  Her diva energy in this movie was just perfect - I loved seeing her and Miss Piggy belt out a song while Rowlf was playing a grand piano.

Speaking of cameos, I feel like they service the movie a lot better than The Muppets.  Everyone outside of the celebrity guests on the tour were playing some sort of part, instead of just showing up and answering a phone and talking about how famous they are.  Josh Groban sang from inside a metal box several times, and you only see his face for maybe 2 seconds at the end of the movie, which make it clear he just wanted to be involved.  Seeing Ray Liotta and Danny Trejo singing and dancing so earnestly made me roll my eyes again at the thought of Sarah Silverman handing Amy Adams a menu and Selena Gomez telling Kermit doesn’t even know who the Muppets are.

The guests on stage were utilized well, with Christoph Waltz dancing the waltz in Berlin, Saoirse Ronan dancing a ballet in Dublin, and Salma Hayek, who is famously Mexican, getting run over by bulls in Madrid.  At least the Macarena is from Spain... lord help them.  

The Muppet spirit of Muppets Most Wanted is so drastically different than The Muppets to me, and I’m trying to pinpoint why that is.  Perhaps it was shifting the focus to the Muppets themselves in the story instead of attention being pulled to Walter and his brother and his brother’s girlfriend’s story arc.  Or maybe it was because the plot of this movie was referential to the previous Muppet movies, instead of reusing sections of the plot of the older movies to fill out the runtime.  Or maybe it was because this movie was fun, instead of the miserable time everyone in The Muppets was having, crushed under the weight of their potential failure.  Or maybe it was because they didn’t end this movie hoisting the Walt Disney puppet over their shoulders while an entire street of people cheer on their new corporate overlord.  Whatever it is, this movie is leaps and bounds better than the other.

This concludes Muppet Week!  I have consumed more Muppet content in the last few months than I have in my entire life.  The Muppets are cherished for a reason, with their ability to ride the line between comedy and emotional sincerity.  Their film catalog has increasingly skewed more family-friendly as time has gone on, and they certainly have leaned more toward comedy instead of Gonzo quietly singing about dreams on the side of the road.  I haven’t watched either reboot television show yet, and I need a break from Muppet content for a while, so I’ll hold off on my opinions there.   But, I love The Muppets, and I hope Disney continues to honor Jim Henson’s legacy with their work.

And with that, I’ll leave you with Kermit and Dolly Parton singing “Everyday People” on The Dolly Show, because I so badly wanted to include this somewhere and didn’t have the opportunity.

[permanentcrossfics]

Guy in a Bar // h.s.

“Oi! Where’re you going? We’re in the middle of something!”

Ignoring his friends’ indignant questions, he placed his cue stick back on the rack and slunk around the table towards the bar and you.

Up close, it was worse — you were worse — and for five whole seconds, his tongue twisted into a ball for the cat to bat at before he managed to ask, “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

Not his most original line, but the first thing he could get out before it was too late to talk and he made a fool of himself by standing there with nothing to say.

You looked at your drink and then back at him. “Tequila.”

The mischievous grin was the same as if you’d just told him you weren’t wearing any underwear, and he chortled.

“Straight?”

You kept your eyes on him, nodding a little and taking a slow sip without flinching. It was all he could do to keep from swaying, and he just about did when you followed up with, “Want some?”

Read now on Patreon // Tumblr // Wattpad

How had Harry wound up in this smoky dive bar? Someone or other had said someone else or other recommended it, and he’d had enough tequila by that point to say ok. The lighting was shit — truly abysmal, and he was glad he’d taken to wearing his glasses more often — which meant it was perfect. Liquor and lights could fool even the sharpest eyes, and each new hour of eleven, midnight, and one had his laugh louder and his muscles laxer. The jukebox probably didn’t have a song past 1982, and it was the sort of grungy scene he fancied himself feeling at home in.

Intent on the cue ball, his first scratch of the night had absolutely nothing to do with you walking in, friends in tow, chattering and giggling through your attempts to cram your way into spaces at the bar. No, of course not — it was just… his eyes had sort of wandered and done a double-take, and how was he supposed to see looking over the rims of his glasses?

(Of course, focusing on that — you — when he thrust his cue stick forward might’ve helped….)

The ball spun and bounced off several others without enough force to send them into any pockets, and he straightened up, smiling tight-lipped to snickers, guffaws, and jeers.

Magnetic. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he leaned on his back foot, cue stick in hand. Watching you grin at the bartender, he decided that was how he’d describe you. Magnetic. You’d shed your coat at some point, and now he could see you were wearing black — black on black on black — and his lips rolled between his teeth while he rolled his eyes up and down your body.

Desire ignited and extinguished in the same minute within him, and he smirked, the wistful thought that maybe in a different year, or different city, or different mindset he could and would. Maybe he wasn’t inebriated, but he wasn’t stone cold sober, either, and far beyond the point of being able to rationally evaluate the situation. Besides, he really didn’t do that anymore. Not for a long time by now, and he chalked it up to maturity and a healthy dose of what he liked to call caution.

“Your turn, bud.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he skirted around the table, choosing his shot with his back to you. Fool him once, shame on him, but fool him twice…. Lining it up, he was just about to take it when—

His knuckles tightened around his cue stick and his hair stood on end when that laugh erupted — mischievous, delighted, distracting, and all the paranoia of a nervous teenager that he was the cause.

“Hurry up, Harry.”

Shooting a glare, he jabbed the cue ball forward and stood when it ricocheted into a pocket.

“That’s what happens when you rush perfection,” he said to the merciless ribbings. He moved out of the way and back into the shadows, but when he looked at you again, he froze. Eyes locked on him, you blinked slowly, inquisitively, and he gripped the cue stick he was leaning on harder. Did you recognize him? Did you know him? Did you care? Were you unsettled by the guy in a bar wearing slacks that cost a couple thousand and a t-shirt who couldn’t stop looking at you every chance he got?

The slight, sultry smirk over the rim of your glass made the knot in his stomach release and warmth flooded through him. Whatever interest he’d tried to crocodile wrestle back into submission had worked its way out of his hold and was lunging at you, jaws snapping. He lifted his head higher and grinned halfway — a grin he’d seen thousands swoon and stammer over and he knew nine times out of ten could get him whatever way he chose to go.

The drink in your glass disappeared a little more when you tipped it towards your mouth, and you set it on the bar, cocking your head in a silent inquisition of, are you going to or not?

“Oi! Where’re you going? We’re in the middle of something!”

Ignoring his friends’ indignant questions, he placed his cue stick back on the rack and slunk around the table towards the bar and you.

Up close, it was worse — you were worse — and for five whole seconds, his tongue twisted into a ball for the cat to bat at before he managed to ask, “What’s that you’ve got in there?”

Not his most original line, but the first thing he could get out before it was too late to talk and he made a fool of himself by standing there with nothing to say.

You looked at your drink and then back at him. “Tequila.”

The mischievous grin was the same as if you’d just told him you weren’t wearing any underwear, and he chortled.

“Straight?”

You kept your eyes on him, nodding a little and taking a slow sip without flinching. It was all he could do to keep from swaying, and he just about did when you followed up with, “Want some?”

Hot. That was the hottest fucking thing he’d been asked in a long time, and he shouldn’t, but he reached for the glass anyway.

“Uh uh,” you said, pulling it out of his reach. Cheeks hot, he leaned back — had he misunderstood? Looking at him over your glass, you took another sip and swallowed before setting it on the bar and tapping your shining lips.

Sweet Lord, help him. This was going to be a wet dream when all was said and done, wasn’t it? Or maybe a set up by his mates, but the bait was too good not to take the chance. Ears ringing, he leaned forward and slid his palm over your cheek, hoping he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself.

Your mouth was soft and firm, a little sweet from the tequila with a burn that made his chapped lips sting. He suppressed a shudder when you draped your arms over his shoulders, delighting when you drew your open hands freely along behind his back. The pounding in his veins was reminiscent of his wilder youth, but better because he was old enough to act responsibly and save himself the panicked jitters. Tilting his head with a groan, he stepped closer, hands falling to your hips and mouth opening under the excuse of chasing more alcohol down your throat. The noise — deafening by this point —- faded from his ears with each stroke of his tongue and pass of your mouth, and he tensed momentarily when you pushed a hand into his hair but relaxed when you scratched his scalp.

Every time you made to slow the kisses, he pulled you back in, and every time you went with a sigh and a giggle. He’d be hard-pressed to remember the last time he’d been kissed, let alone well, and even more rare like this. This one was the kind of kiss that squeezed his balls just trying to dream it up — the kind that made his mind run at 90kph, the kind that had him sniffing the air with hope. Hell, standing there kneading your hips, if you both weren’t tucked into the corner by the bar — out of sight, but not quite invisible — he’d have tried to cop a feel over your shirt. Under, if he was lucky.

The thought alone was, apparently, enough to make him move his hand to your ribcage, and you broke sharply with a gasp when his thumb brushed the underside of your breast. He gulped and your chest heaved against his, both of you panting. Licking his lips, a quip about the good tequila died on his tongue when the track blaring from the jukebox switched.

“This is my song,” you said, barely audible above the din. “I have to--”

One of the friends you’d come with pulled your arm and you away from him, shooting him a skeptically coquettish look of their own. He straightened up, eyes following you through a rowdy group, so dizzy he might as well have downed half a bottle.

“Oi! Styles!”

His pack of mates wolf whistled and crowed, hardly distinguishable from the rest of the noise, and he teetered in their direction.

“Have to go to the toilet,” he said, shrinking from the claps on his back and the questions of whether or not he’d gotten shut down. “Have— I’ll be back.”

The music quieted when he shut the door, but when he pressed the button on the handle to lock it, it clicked weakly and popped right out. Shaking his head, he went to the small sink in the corner next to the rickety-looking toilet and a small, overflowing bin. The mirror above it was spotty and had a crack in it, but that probably didn’t matter much because the lighting was as shit in there as it was in the bar and even with his glasses it was hard to see. A metal box was attached to the wall and, unthinkingly, he flipped it open. A stack of condoms toppled out and he hastily fumbled them before stuffing them back and closing the door with a swear. Hunching over the sink, he drew a deep breath, trying to tamp out the feeling of blood draining from his head to his cock.

Focus, Harry. He turned the tap and ran his hands under the cold water before scrubbing his cheeks and eyes under his glasses. Focus on anyone and anything except the pretty girl out there who was reeling him in on an invisible line. Focus on anything but your hips, cause thinking of how he wanted to dig his hands in wasn’t helping. Focus on anything but how your tits had looked in that top. He dragged a hand down his face, stifling a low groan and knocking his glasses back up his nose with a single knuckle. Christ, he never should’ve had all that to drink, but with his lowered inhibitions, the devilish part of himself lazily drawled he’d be aching to get his dick wet however you were willing to give it to him no matter what he had or hadn’t had to drink. You were a good kisser, and he bet you’d kiss his cock even nicer.

“Oh, God….” Pinched and in pain, he was just about to cup himself when the door creaked open. Before he could snap, though, you stepped inside and shut it behind you, the brief swell in volume from the music outside quieted again, and you stared, each of you the deer in the other’s headlights.

“Didn’t lock the door,” you said.

“Doesn’t lock,” he said.

“Oh.”

Your back was flat against the flimsy wood and your eyes, wide and shining, were fastened on him. He could just make out the quick rise and fall of your shoulders under the dim light, and God that jumper looked good on you.

Who wound up closing the gap first he couldn’t say, but all he could think when your mouth was on his and your hand was pulling at his slacks was thank fucking Christ you wanted this, too. Fuck it. Fuck it, right? This was what places like this were for.

“M’Harry,” he mumbled into the kiss.

“Hi, Harry,” you whispered, squeaking when he spun you and pinned you to the sink with his hips.

Still kissing you, he reached blindly in the general direction of the busted condom dispenser until he caught the corner of the cover and flung it open.

“Wait!”

You pushed his chest and he blinked rapidly, a packet between his fore and middle fingers. Had he misinterpreted? Gotten too far ahead of himself? Before he could formulate an apology, though, you’d popped the button on your trousers open and tugged them and your underwear past your hips. You chortled and his mouth lifted at the corner ever so slightly before he gripped your face with both hands to kiss you, the condom packet still between his fingers.

“You gonna tell me your name?” he asked between kisses. You laughed but he shook his head. “Gotta give me summat,” he said. “Gotta give me that much. Know mine, don’t you?”

Not much of a challenge, maybe — everyone knew his.

Your lashes fluttered coyly but he held his ground. Gulping, you murmured it, shy for the first time all night — funny, considering you’d had no qualms getting your trousers down in front of him — and he nodded, tongue rolling in the shape of your consonants behind his teeth.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling you up by the backs of your thighs to perch you on the edge of the sink. “Good?”

You nodded with a sigh, ankles cuffed by the cuffs of your trousers but knees angled out to give him enough room to step in between them. Unlike the kiss at the bar, when Harry kissed you this time, his hands wandered — up your back, under your shirt, down your legs and between them, uttering a rushed, “Can I…?” before drawing his fingers over your cunt, exploring, touching, learning. Little wetter, he decided, pressing your clit with his forefinger, lips curling when he pulled a gasp from you. Awfully pretty sound, wasn’t it? And you were soft — his fingers were practically gliding, but he’d like you just a little wetter, for ego if nothing else.

“There we are,” he mumbled, kisses smacking between you. “Lemme….”

Wet, smooth, and hot — real fucking hot. That was how he’d think back on you when this was going through his head days from now and he was solo in his torture. Your cunt hugged his knuckles snugly with each stroke, and his mouth slowed on yours with his concentration on every twist that drew a new sound from you while you dug your fingers into his chest and shoulder.

“Harry….”

“D’you wanna?” he asked. “Now?”

You answered by pulling the condom out of his hand and tearing it open with a breathless smile, eyes rolling up when he curled his fingers purposefully. The joke was on him, though, when you finished the job you’d started on his slacks so you could slip your hand inside them palm his cock.

“Shit…!” Harry wheezed, vision swimming when you pulled him out, tugging from base to tip in one long, slow motion. Stamping his eyes shut, he felt you fit the rubber around his head and roll it down, both hands wrapping around him, and he groaned — a weak, pathetic sound in the back of his throat — when you squeezed slightly and his cock twitched in response.

“C’mere,” you whispered, tightening your knees around his hips and tilting your head up. Bending to kiss you, he grabbed the sink behind you on either side, shoulders tense when you gripped him more firmly and brought his cock right up to you. Even through the rubber your cunt was hot against his head, and you made the sweetest sound into his mouth when he pushed it forward.

“Ah, fuck….”

Just his head and you were already pulsing with the perfect amount of pressure. Gentle mumbles, whispers, and encouraging gasps passed between you and he smashed a kiss to your lips through your grin as you panted your way through every inch of him sliding in until he was up to his balls. Balls deep in the cunt of someone he didn’t know, and the thought alone had him huffing a laugh.

“S’all right?” he asked. You nodded, arms around his shoulders again and he shifted from foot to foot before holding your hips at the softest parts to steady you and pistoning his. Rough and quick, because he didn’t think he could deliver anything else and you wouldn’t accept it. Each thrust had you clawing him closer, crying out needlessly quiet — as if anyone outside could hear you with the music as loud as it was, and like they’d care or be surprised if they could — and his face was so close to yours his glasses cut into his face.

“Hang on…” he said. You whined, but he repeated, “Hang… hang on,” before pulling his glasses off. They landed with a clatter in the sink behind you, but he couldn’t even be bothered to hope the glass hadn’t cracked or popped out of the frames. Kissing him again, you dragged your fingers through his hair from his temple to the back of his head where you locked your fist in it.

“Shit… shit… shit you’re so… tight….”

“Yes...!” you moaned and he shook.

“Yeah?” Fingers drilling into your hips, he circled his pelvis against yours. “Feel it?” You nodded and he grunted when you dug your nails into his scalp. “Needed just a minute for me, didn’t you? To get me in?”

“Harry— fuck!”

Thumb on your clit, hand spread wide on your abdomen, he stroked insistently, losing his placement from how wet you were.

“Please—“

“Gimme a minute,” he said through labored breathing, pressing again and grinning when you let out a pitchy moan. “Gimme a… there you go….”

“Trying to make me cum f-first?” you stuttered in his ear and he ground his teeth.

“Something like that,” he wheezed and your faint laugh morphed into a cry when he circled faster. This wasn’t the time to take his time — the door didn’t lock and his mates, as well as yours, would be looking for each of you.

“Have to get back out there, don’t you?” he asked. Your face scrunched and he bent at the knees, nudging his cock deeper. “Did you want them to find you like this?”

You shuddered, cunt pulsing around him and torso pressed right against his, and his upper lip twitched.

“Shit!” he rasped between his teeth. “C’mon… c’mon, there you—“

Your head dropped to the crook of his neck and your breathing fell wet and fast on his skin as he picked up his rhythm again. Tighter than even before, it was almost difficult to bottom out the way he had been, and when you let out a pinched noise against his collarbone in response to his efforts, he sputtered. “S-sorry… sorry, so so-so—!”

His orgasm was a culmination of the evening. Of every increasingly frantic and heated kiss, of every one of your moans, of the sound of his name from your mouth, of the tequila on your tongue, and of the fact that this was the most reckless fuck he’d had in he couldn’t remember how long. Teeth bared and eyes closed, his jaw strained right when he felt the familiar burst followed by the jittery rush through his last erratic thrusts. “Jesus…!” He slumped and you gripped his shoulders tightly, holding him through his gasps and sponging kisses to his neck with the occasional nuzzle. It was you, though, who pushed him away with a firm hand, and he straightened up, stars still dancing in front of his eyes.

“Friends’ll be waiting,” you said, dazed and patting his chest. “Friends… we have to….”

Yeah, you did, and he did, too, but pulling out was excruciating. He’d just gotten in you, and he could feel his cock growing limp after being removed from your snug heat. Stepping back, he kept half an eye on you as you dropped from the sink and pulled your trousers back up over your wobbly knees while he peeled the condom off and knotted it at the top before tossing it into the sorry looking bin. He followed suit, then, fumbling with his belt and glad you were too preoccupied with examining your appearance in the mirror to notice how uncoordinated he was.

“Fuck….” You pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under the tap to wipe your smudged makeup away and he cleared his throat.

“Thanks for that….” His cheeks were hot but it only felt right to say something. In the mirror, he caught sight of your smirk and, emboldened, he added, “I’d like to buy you a drink. If you’re up for it.”

Buy a drink, buy an hour, buy a conversation, buy a chance.

Your hand slowed and you turned, eyes full of light and lips swollen, whatever makeup you’d put on significantly less intact. Again, you had him tongue-tied right when he’d like to be the suave wordsmith the internet fantasized about him being. He’d made you cum -- that had to count for something, right? And yet, when you pulled his glasses out of the sink and closed the short distance, all he could hear was his heart snare drumming. Harry stayed perfectly still when you unfolded his glasses and slid them back over his ears. You pushed them up his nose with a single finger and pressed your palm to his cheek before kissing him, but when he made to wrap his arms around you, you broke with a wet sound, and he swayed forward in the direction of your mouth. Hardly more than a hair’s breadth away from him, you smiled, eyes sensually warm.  

“I’ll see you, Harry,” you whispered.

You tossed the paper towel in the bin and opened the door, uttering a, “Someone’s in there,” to a person unseen before closing it behind you. Harry stood there, mouth hanging dumbly and hands limp and empty at his sides. This was what places like this were for, right?

He shook his head. “No,” he said, yanking the door handle and striding out into the noise.