#songs I won't write

[b-lysia]

🖤 Just an egirl who thinks she's Socrates, doing; "⛓️💋🗡️🐦‍⬛🕸️🌹💦 Socialist Feminism." Welcome to another eye in the storm that is our world today.

THERE'S POEMS HERE, AND maybe music eventually. (I've gotta figure out a more serviceable mic set up, because blanket over my head and mic... Ain't it)

My professional nouns are: Fae/faer/faers or she/her if you're boring. I'm pretty though, so while we live under Patriarchy, either one is just as accurate.

Tags~

🗡️ #oddwords original poetry tag. Most stuff will get the normal tags anyway in hopes it breaches containment, but this tag is mine and I like it because it's cool.

🗡️ #egirl philosopher hottakes and "not essays." If I do proper research for anything or reference other writers I'll make more of a to do about it, but you can expect mostly just 2-3 paragraph "think pieces" here. This tag will still take you to a few posts, but I remembered that I made this blog FOR poetry, maybe lyrics & covers, not for political ranting. So don't expect to see much more of that here. But you can always read the old ones to get a better idea of what sorta person I am.

🗡️ #echoes is for when my voice is in a post. I might perform a poem, spit, or sing

🗡️ #songs I won't write lyrics, usually without music or voice. I usually think of them while I'm out grocery shopping

There's no reblog tag because they're too rare here.

I actually forgot this picture was still here. Idk wtf I was on leaving this up o(￣┰￣*)ゞ Have a black Maka Albarn redraw, (I don't remember the artist, please tell me; I'm sorry.)

Disclaimers n such under the cut 🗡️

I frequently touch on "heavy/dark" topics in my prose, because it's rare I find myself inspired to pen a verse over something "happy." I write poetry to share my heart as just as much as I shroud it, so heavy ideas'll frequently be layered under flowery prose, but I'm not censoring myself anymore than tumblr demands I do. If you're the type of person who "needs" a profanity filter unironically, you should probably work on that, but I'm not shrinking my space for you.

Positions/Major ideas and things to assume from me (so far):

I am a "lesbian(link)," an atheist(link), and I vibe with gender abolition and the performance theory of gender over the misuse of idpol. Saying that to say- I see gender as merely the qualia of patriarchy, and thus both inseparable from it, and detestable. But if we must use a form of gender at all, let its basis be founded in one's actions, not nebulous misunderstandings of biology or vibes.

TLDR: Trans people are my friends, not "radfems" (pathetic handmaidens). I like making erotic art\porn, and my customers aren't bad people for buying what I make either. Anyone who's worried about me being exploited as a sex object should be more concerned about capitalism, because I'd be a public hole if we lived in a socialist utopia; fuck all the way off you crypto conservative, self-righteous, anxiety ridden prudes; I hate your guts, and I'm 10 toes on that. Experience death by radical personal growth through introspection, or via a burnt pastry shower if this bothers you. I don't care which.

That's all. Thanks for reading 💋

[humbuns]

clair de lune

[cubbyhole-for-flea-bee]

Once the theatre monkey discovers angsty broadway musicals its all over y'all

or: I got a new personal project I'm workin' on! I'm at the first pass on the animatic rn! I forgot that 'generate matte' is a thing you can do in SB Pro for a whole hour!! I'm suffering!!!

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Title: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Synopsis: The door doesn't lock, and he still wants you to let him in.

For Horrorfest request: trying to hide from a wolfman but the door wont close

Word count: 600ish

notes: yandere, non-graphic mentions of violence, implications of possible sexual assault

“Oh, please.” The words bubble from your chapped lips like a prayer. A desperate one, the kind you would whisper like a mantra as a child, eyes squeezed shut, on those nights that you were suddenly sure you wouldn’t wake up. 

Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-keep. 

If-I-should-die-before-I-wake-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-take.

But there’s no use praying to the wolfman on the other side of the door.

No use at all. 

His breath is loud; you imagine how hot it must be against the door. What it must smell like: primal, like the rest of him. He pants in great short huffs from the running he did–the chasing, more like.

Chasing you from the hiking trail all the way into your little cabin (he burst through the front door, broke the lock clean off); down the hall, into what had been your bedroom for the past week.

Only there was no lock on the door–it won’t even close all the way, thanks to the faulty hinges. And there’s nothing heavy enough to put in front of it, nothing you’re strong enough to drag.

Nothing at all you could do but brace your shoulder against it, even though you saw the wolfman break the heavy lock on the thick front door of the cabin like it was nothing. 

So you know, without a hint of a doubt–

The only reason he’s not inside right now is because he’s waiting for you to open up, like a good little thing, like Red Riding Hood smiling brightly at grandmother before she gets oh-so-close enough to see the points of her sharp teeth. 

“Open the door,” he says, in a voice that is not very sweet. “Open the door, and let me in.”

There’s a sound against the wood. Scratching. A claw–his claw, he has no hands but paws with nails so sharp you’re sure they will gut you easily–dragging down the wood.

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is press your shoulder feebly against the door, knowing he’s on the other side, knowing all it would take is a shove to have you on the floor and the door swinging off its loose hinges.

How did he find you? How long had he followed you? It all falls into place, here, on the other side of the door. The unusual footprints around the cabin. The ripped up flowers left at your door, topped with a dead mouse. The sounds in the woods--the snapping, the breath you thought had been a fox or perhaps, a lumbering raccoon.

It was him, and now--

“Open the door,” he says to your silence. Louder and lower, and you catch the sound of spittle in it. He won’t be patient for much longer. You have to make a choice.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it. 

He can, too. 

“Open the door,” he says, for the final time. “Or I’ll–”

Huff-and-puff-and-blow-your-house-in.

“Please don’t,” you squeak out, sounding like the prey that you are. “I’ll–-I’ll open it.”

It takes longer than you expect to force your body to move away from the door. It doesn’t want to move. It knows what’s going to happen, even as your brain whirs and whirs and tries to guess. 

He could eat you. Tear you to pieces, gobble you down like dinner. He could–he could–but oh, you know, there are worse things than being eaten.

Worse things are what you think about when he pushes the door, which half-falls off the broken hinges, and stands in the now-empty frame. 

He smiles, and his teeth are very sharp. 

[binthm]

in which angel dust and husk ask lucifer about his type considering lilith isn't around anymore and regret asking him that

edit: AHHHHH NOOO I JUST REALIZED I FORGOT THE STRIPES ON ANGEL'S BLAZER</3 y'all just pretend that one got lost in the wash and he had to wear a discount one 😔

[cherrywhite]

Okay some of these I had written down before chapter 43 but I finally found the time to sit down and make a bingo sheet for the last few episodes. Ranging from Legitimate Predictions to Things I Want to Happen to You Know What? Sure 🤠

Template if anyone wants to make one of their own:

[marlynnofmany]

Singing and Other Noises

If you have to clean the bathroom on a multi-species spaceship, you can at least take the opportunity to annoy your coworkers with some high volume space shanties. The acoustics of most bathrooms I’ve been in are great, and this one was no exception.

“If you find snacks in high places, adhesive eyes making faces…” I sang, passing the sanitation wand over the floor. “Someone gives thanks to the void, and knives to the droid … Then you might have some humans onboard, onboard, you might have some humans onboard!”

Paint laughed in the hallway. “I don’t think anyone would miss the fact that we have a human onboard.” When I leaned out to grin at her, she continued, “You’re very loud.”

“This is the perfect place to sing!” I said, leaning back and switching to a different song. “You’ll hear us singing loud and proud, in halls and hulls and ventilation chutes. You’ll know us by our range and joy, and we sing better than you!” It echoed nicely.

Paint was shaking her lizardy head. “Are there any quiet human songs?”

“Oh sure,” I said, looking for spots I’d missed. “Calm melodies for a relaxing afternoon, lullabies to soothe babies to sleep, plenty of those. They’re just not as fun. I like the ones where you can really feel your lungs vibrate, you know?”

Paint was giving me that cocked-head look that said she wasn’t entirely sure what I was talking about, but didn’t feel like saying so. “Right. I think that one made the floor vibrate too.”

“Oh, you should meet an opera singer. They can shatter glass.”

“What!” Paint stepped closer, switching her tail. “You are making that up.”

“No, really!” I said. “It’s very impressive. A rare talent for sure.” I got to my feet and emptied the sanitation wand into the trash chute. “My voice is nothing special. Pretty good, I like to think, but no kind of superstar. Still, singing is fun.”

Paint seemed to be having trouble coming up with a compliment. “Your voice is very… clear? Low? Is that a good thing?”

“I like to think so.” I put the wand away and washed my hands. “I can sing the low notes easier than high, which is great, because I enjoy them more. I think that makes me an alto? Contralto? Something like that. Not a soprano, at any rate.”

Even with her orange scales, Paint’s expression was a distinct mask of polite blankness. She nodded, hands clasped together.

“Not much for singing, I take it?” I asked.

Paint exhaled and dropped her hands. “I just don’t see the appeal,” she admitted. “It’s only talking! In a distorted voice!”

I switched off the light and joined her in the hall with a head bob of agreement. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Some of it’s fast and good to dance to, though.”

She pointed at me in excitement. “The dancing does make sense! That’s fun! But I just cannot understand the noises that go with it.”

I shrugged. “Eh, don’t worry too much about it. There’s bound to be lots of things that any given species does that makes no sense to others.”

“Like those shiny rocks you insisted on keeping?”

“Hey, that’s not just me,” I protested. “Zhee and Trrili both wanted some too. And you’ve still got those smelly seed-things that you liked so much.”

Paint raised her snout in pride. “They remain beautiful. Coals, Eggskin, and Captain Sunlight will agree with me!”

“And those are all the Heatseekers on the ship, which is exactly my point.”

A high-pitched noise that I’d been barely aware of grew louder, drifting down the hallway all faint and screechy. I had no idea what it was, and judging by Paint’s expression, neither did she.

“Is that metal scraping?” I wondered.

“I don’t think so,” Paint said.

The sound continued, changing in tone like an alien violin. I turned in place, trying to locate it. “Is that music?”

Paint rubbed her earhole. “It’s unpleasant.”

“C’mon, let’s make sure it’s not actually a problem of some kind.”

“Yes,” Paint said with a sigh. “Ignoring a mechanical failure because we passed it off as horrible music is not something I want on my record.”

I started off down the hallway. “I think it’s this way.”

Ready as I was for a long and mysterious hunt for the quiet shrieking, I was almost disappointed to find it coming from the third door we reached. This was the door to Coals and Trrili’s translation workroom. It was shut. I hesitated over the opening panel, then knocked instead.

The noise stopped.

When the door slid open, it was to a vision of exoskeletoned nightmares, shiny black and red, with pincher arms, mandibles, and a pair of antennae angled into a very irritated expression.

“Hi Trrili,” I said. “Everything okay in there?”

Paint added, “We heard a noise—”

The door shut in our faces. After a moment, the screechy serenade resumed.

I blinked. “Rude.”

Paint had her hands over her earholes. “What is it??”

“Probably not a machine failure,” I said, wincing as the noise approached nails-on-chalkboard levels. “Let’s go ask Zhee.”

We walked very quickly away, and found Zhee outside the kitchen talking to Eggskin. The sound was faint here, but still audible.

“Hey Zhee,” I said cheerfully. “Can you tell us what in the seven spherical black holes Trrili is doing right now?”

Zhee threw his own purple pincher arms in the air. “Butchering a classic,” he exclaimed. “I’ve told her that she’s got the middle part backwards, but she insists it’s a regional variant!”

I glanced at Eggskin, who was just shaking their scaly head. “So it is music, then.”

Zhee folded his pinchers with a flare of antennae. “There’s a skreeking competition at Basal Station,” he said. “She’s under the impression that the judges there will enjoy regional variants that are wrong.”

“I see,” I said, wondering if I should ask the obvious question.

Paint beat me to it. “What’s skreeking?”

“Leg-singing,” Zhee said. “You know.” He moved a hind leg in a way that made a brief screech.

I knew I was staring, but it was either that or burst out laughing, and that was rarely complimentary. You’d think I’d get used to discovering ways that my alien crewmates resembled Earth animals, but you’d be very wrong.

Paint let out a gusty sigh. “I don’t understand that kind of singing either,” she said. “This makes even less sense than the other one!”

“Remember, there’s always dancing,” I told her. “And if it makes you feel better, I have no idea how to dance to the noise Trrili’s making.”

Zhee hissed quietly. “No one could dance to that. Not without tripping over every other limb.”

Eggskin spoke up. “Well, I’m certainly not going to try. Would you three like to help me settle on the primary meal for tonight’s dinner?”

I smiled. “Oh, I’m sure we won’t disagree on anything there.”

~~~

Keen eyes might recognize the shanty lyrics from a couple older posts. I even used one song in The First Time Traveler to Survive, which is a different storyverse entirely, but it's too much fun to leave there. I'm going to say humans invented it twice, and no one's going to stop me!

Anyways, this is the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[spineless-lobster]

Achilles as soon as patroclus steps foot into phthia

[wrongcaitlyn]

hey guys! so. i really really really hate to do this, but i've been thinking it over for the past few weeks and i've decided that i'm going to take a short hiatus from tyt. and by SHORT i mean that i will 100% no doubt be returning to this on the first sunday of january (jan 5), and will only be taking november and december off!!

reasons for this are quite a lot, both for the benefit of the dear reader verse and my personal life! just to briefly summarize:

college app's. i really need to prioritize these, and though i'll definitely be finished by early november, it will be taking up a lot of my time

arcane. this seems like a silly reason, but i'm an editor as well as a fic writer, and i just know that the arcane s2 release will consume my brain. i want to allow myself to fully enjoy the season release and not stress about also writing a fic so that i can edit to my heart's content :)

both of those are happening in november, but in december i will be having finals and will leave for a trip for two weeks!! as we all know (*cough* my summer vacation) i am not the best at balancing both writing and vacation, and again, i don't want to stress myself out too much on what is meant to be a vacation

other fics! i still have two unfinished fics, and i'd like to finally get those done instead of having them lingering over my head for another five months lmao

but the main reason is for the overall quality of dear reader and its upcoming one-shots!!! a whole lot of stuff is about to go down in the upcoming chapters, including several one-shots that detail other parts of the universe. according to my outline, in the next five chapters of tgol, i will also be posting 4-5 one-shots in the dear reader series (yes, two of those include the pollen lore!). i want to be able to do those stories justice, and the one-shots do tend to take a longer time to write than the tgol chapters just because i'm usually writing from new pov's and outlining a whole lot of extra plot (especially in those pollen one-shots - they're going into a completely different time period and i want to be able to confidently say i've put enough time and effort into them to be proud of them! i've been hyping the pollen lore up for quite a while now and i want to do them justice!!)

so yes. that's quite a lengthy explanation lmao but i'm justifying it to myself as well because of how much i adore tgol and don't ever want to accidentally abandon it <3 rest assured that i will be using the two months to hopefully get ahead of my outline and ensure a concrete posting schedule when i return! but for now, i will obvi still be active on here (as well as insta and tiktok, if you guys are interested in arcane content) to answer asks and ramble about tyt!!!

[liloslittlethings]

niam sing Natalie and the other boys are impressed

(tmh brisbane 10/19/13)

[toxintouch]

how do you think the lis would respond if mc sheepishly asked if they could fondle their tiddies? (even mhin, even though i KNOW they'd shank a bitch.)

Here ya go, Anon!! :3 They pronouns & non-specific language/MC used. Suggestive, but no other warnings.

AIS:

Pretends he doesn’t hear them.

“Hmm?”  He holds a hand to his ear, a toothy little smirk on his face, his scarred eyebrow raised.  The way he’s making direct eye contact is an unmistakable challenge.

“You wanna what now, Sparrow?” 

He knows exactly what MC said and they can tell.  He just wants to see if they'll say it again.  They didn’t sound so sure about whatever that request was just now…

His smirk grows when– (if?? But c’mon he’s so clearly saying yes, please) –

His smirk grows when they don’t back down.  He spreads his arms out in invitation, haori splaying open.

He’s patient for as long as he can stand once they get their hands on him but it isn’t long before he finds himself grabbing them by the wrists, pulling them closer.  Pressing his palms against the back of their hands to encourage them to make full, firm contact.  Haven’t they been warned?  He’s awfully greedy.

(And: if he purposely presses their touch against his heart for a moment, no one needs to know but him.)

VERE:

He gives them a blank look– a look unsettlingly similar to his hungry, flat eyed stare.  Though, it’s gone in an instant–so quick they might even be able to convince themself that they imagined it.  One blink and his entire expression is different, his tail swishing elegantly and with a flourish that can only be described as pleased.

“Well,” he purrs, “aren’t you just adorable?  I did tell you to ask next time you wanted to touch…  Very well then.  I’ll reward your ability to follow simple instructions.”  He relaxes luxuriously into the cushions of the divan that he’s resting on.  “Come along, then.  Fondle to your heart's content.  Don’t leave me waiting.”  He beckons to them with a crooked finger, tempting them closer, a haunting echo of their first meeting. 

Survival instincts be damned…he did give them permission…

He breathes a chuckle out as they touch him, his mouth hot against their ear as he buries a grin into their neck.

In the space of another breath, he’s flipped the two of them, leaving them pinned against the divan.

“You didn't think you were getting a single thing for free from me anymore, did you?  Tut tut.  After you treated my generosity so callously before?  From now on, I’ll be expecting payment in kind.  Quid pro quo, darling.”

KURAS:

He looks at them, eyes crinkled with amusement.  “Am I to take it that your interest is academic?  Studying anatomy, perhaps?  I do have a few select texts I could offer you which you might find quite beneficial.”

The embarrassed look on their face seems to amuse him further, the corners of his lips tugging up as he takes in their expression.

“Of course, the benefits of a more hands-on method of scholarship should not be overlooked.”  He takes pity on them, beckoning them over as he takes a seat on the doctor’s stool, right next to the cot where they first met him.  He neatly removes his coat, folding it and laying it to rest beside him.  Despite their fears, he doesn’t start listing out the anatomical names for things as they lay their hands on him.  His eyes slip shut as they rest their hands on his  shoulders–he’s still so tall, even sitting on the low stool–sliding their hands down, admiring the sturdy form and shape of him.

His own hands come up, clutching around their waist with surprising strength.  His eyes are bright and intense as he looks up at them.  They expect him to say something but he merely squeezes them–Possessively?–

Like he might be able to trap them in this moment with him forever, through will alone.

He closes his eyes again; his grip loosens. His self-control back is back in its necessary place, and he finds himself repentant.

“Forgive me.  You are quite endearing.  I simply find you…difficult to resist.”  He admits.

MHIN:

You are so correct anon.  Shanked immediately.  But MC bonks their head into Mhin’s chest on their way to the ground, so…  Achievement Unlocked? Or, for MC’s sake, I’ll assume that they have earned a level of trust/intimacy with Mhin that makes Mhin a lil' less likely to get stabby.

Mhin’s eyebrows furrow as Mhin crosses their arms, physically creating distance between MC and their…

Mhin’s cheeks go a little red as they realize how obvious their body language is, their pale eyes darting to the side as they worry about what other things they’ve accidentally telegraphed to MC. How many of Mhin's true thoughts and feelings are they privy to...?  Shaking themself mentally, they quickly snap out of it, pinning MC with a pointed glare.

“If you value your life at all, you’ll never ask me that again.”  Mhin marches away.  “Staying at the Wet Wick–around Leander–has ruined your brain.  You need to get out of that place while you still have some grey matter left.”

. . .

Later, escorting MC back to said Wet Wick, ducking through the lesser known and narrower streets after a long day of following dead ends together, Mhin finds the thought ruining their own brain.  It must be the heat of MC pressed against them in the alleyway, the comforting, all-consuming scent of them, the memory of MC’s flushed face while they were asking Mhin’s permission...  MC’s much braver than them, Mhin thinks bitterly, so much more willing to let themself have what they want, despite their cursed hands.  Mhin sighs, stopping abruptly.  Turning.  Pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Look–you can–”

Mhin feels themself blushing all the way down to their chest.  They open their mouth and close it a couple of times, attempting to articulate what they want.  They make a noise of aggravated frustration.  Carefully–very carefully, and very slowly, so that MC knows exactly what they are doing, they reach for the bandaged hands at MC’s side.  They rest MC’s hands lightly on their chest, shivering as they feel the brush of fingers against their clothed ribs, thumbs pressing into their sternum.  They bite down a noise that would surely make them perish where they stand.  Stars above, how long since–

“...Does your heart always beat this fast, Mhin?”

“Quiet.”  They snap.

Wow Mhin.  Right there in the alleyway huh?  Well ok then. I see what ur about.

LEANDER:

The two of them are alone in the room at the Wet Wick, just sitting together innocently on the bed when MC asks.

Well–they try to ask.

He hears them start the question and his coat and shirt (and tiddie belt) are coming off before they can even finish.  He gives them a quiet chuckle, blushing as his shirt(s) get caught at his shoulders. 

Though the perfect way it frames his boobs might convince them he did it on purpose…

“You meant skin to skin, right?”  He laughs again, leaning back on his hands and looking entirely too appetizing–is he arching his back a little more than necessary? 

“I don’t mind at all! Though, if you could help me with…”  His eyes crinkle as he smiles at them, head tilted like a puppy, waiting expectantly.

They get up from the bed to help him discard his remaining topmost layers of clothing, standing above him in order to better assist.  His eyes are pinned to theirs the moment the fabric barrier is fully cast aside.  “I…can’t say this is a bad view,” he admits, eyes roving along their form, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  Then, more sincerely: “I’m glad that you asked me for this.  Don’t be afraid to touch, all right?  Nothing bad will happen to me, promise. Remember: whatever you want.”

They find themself feeling along the edges of his scar, tracing the line of it across his pectoral…  His breath catching when they accidentally scratch him a little with their nails (MC is just a little clumsy–that was completely unintentionally, really) is dangerously addictive.

“Ah... Anywhere else you’d like to touch?  It would be a shame to waste this opportunity…”

If they're feeling shy, he could offer a few suggestions.  He really, really wants to help in any way he can. :)

BONUS!ELYON:   “You can, but I will have to charge.”

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[plusultraetc]

WIP Folder Game

TYSM @bfire92 & @bloody-bee-tea for tagging me!! sorry I'm a little late 😭 I've actually tried this ask game in the past, but it's been several months and at the rate I accumulate new wips, I have plenty to talk about lol. plus (ultra), I remember it being a lot of fun!

my mission for the week between Christmas and New Year's is to answer most if not all of the asks in my inbox and drag myself out of my writing depression by any means necessary :')

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

in the interest of not posting another fifteen titles, I gave myself some self-imposed restrictions--nothing that was asked about last time, and no super au-ish stuff (so, no fantasy/Star Wars/role swap, etc). that leaves us with:

conquer my vertigo

do my best to get it right

hold on and feel i belong

like money on a bad bet

practice all your worst mistakes

start again from the beginning

take all the courage you have left

the world was figured out

time makes you bolder

training montage

no-pressure tagging @machiroads @blinkeasy @karliahs @kyurilin @starlightbelle @poppy5991 @ifyougoillfollow @aromanticannibal @velwynn @pennultimateslugfriend and any other writers I missed who feel like participating!!

bonus stuff (what songs the titles come from & a look back on the fics from the first round) under the read more <3

"You Told The Drunks I Knew Karate," Zoey Van Goey

"I will be able to make toast for her in the mornings. I will do my best to get it right." - Everything Leads to You, Nina LaCour

"I'm Still Here," John Rzeznik (yeah it's the song from Treasure Planet 🪐)

"I Lost a Friend," FINNEAS

"Tulsa's Last Magician," Willi Carlisle

"Son," Sleeping at Last

"Little Lion Man," Mumford & Sons

"You Are Enough," Sleeping at Last

"Landslide," Fleetwood Mac

"Training Montage," The Mountain Goats

[intheorangebedroom]

More than a feeling

Summary: you like to sing. Frankie likes it too. Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader. Rating: Explicit fluff 🔞  Word count: 570ish A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡

One thing for certain, an absolute, indisputable fact, is that Frankie loves to hear you sing. 

Sometimes, a classic rock tune you like comes out on the crackling grocery store speakers, and you start singing along out loud, completely unabashed, as you browse the aisles with him. He downright puffs up his chest with pride. Bites down a dimpled smile, he doesn't always know why. You make him so fucking soft… Nobody else needs to know that. 

On Sunday mornings, when he’s cooking breakfast while you’re showering, he tunes in to that radio station you like, and if he’s lucky enough, a song will come out that’ll propel you out of the bedroom halfway through dressing. You’ll dance into the living-room, wearing only his t-shirt, your panties and a sock, hollering over the music and playing air drums, a show that’s not even for his benefit but for your sole enjoyment. But he’ll be damned if that’s not the kind of moment he lives for.

Most often, you quietly hum, absentmindedly, going about the house, doing your stuff. He’ll immediately perk up his ears, pausing whatever it is he’s doing, and just listen. Gaze drifting, a smile tugging the corner of his plush lips. Shoulders dropping from the perpetual tension that pulls them taut. You’re the only one who can do that to him. 

You’re not always on tune, far from it. You don’t always remember the lyrics, not precisely, but your singing voice triggers something in him. Something warm and heavy, something that lives and thrives. A feeling that blooms inside his chest, the sensation fringing on pain, with the way his heart swells, tight against his ribcage. 

It’s the cheerful testimony to what he provides you with -a sense of safety. 

It’s the expression of what you give him in return -your trust. 

But the real treat is when you’re driving together, sitting side by side on the bench seat of his old truck. In the cozy warmth of the cab. Moving through the world, but remote from it, tucked away together, time suspended, irrelevant. That’s when he likes it best.

The music wrapping around the two of you, slightly distorted by the antique cassette player, it sounds like a bike ride after homework, like the last summer sunset, like endless afternoons and his whole life before him. Like a time when he didn’t know you yet but was already looking for you. Like a hopeful sensation after waking from a bittersweet dream. 

He’ll steal sideways glances in your direction as you sing your lungs out, practically dancing in your seat, or tapping your thumbs on the wheel, if you’re driving. 

He’ll relish the moment. Before it turns into something else, something that’s even more, when the whole of your life together becomes greater than the sum of all of its parts.

When he’s finally inside you. When you’re writhing in his hold, melting under his touch. When your taste’s on his tongue and the scent of you heady, when your tight, dripping cunt flutters along his cock. When your throat thrums under his lips and your voice fills his ears, replacing all his thoughts, resonating through his entire fucking chest as you moan and keen and plead. 

Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. 

His name tumbling from your lips, cried out or whispered, as he coaxes release after release from your trembling body. That’s his favourite song of yours. That’s the one he’ll never tire of hearing you sing.

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

Every song I've heard today made me think of him...

Lol idk why

(this last gif is just for me because... 😏🤭)

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 11

I had an absolute blast with this prompt and I've been looking forward to it for a while. I should've gone and bought some wine so I could write being IDed from experience though. Unrealistic writing 😮😮😮

Convenience Store

Each item was set neatly on the conveyor belt.

A roll of duct tape. Kleenex. Air freshener. Trash bags. Zipties. Rubbing alcohol. Superglue. A bottle of merlot. Disinfectant. Sponges. Latex gloves. A wrist brace. Ibuprofen. A hammer. And a bar of chocolate.

A bright beep sounded as the cashier scanned each one.

“Doing some home improvement?” They smiled, placing the superglue onto the other side of the conveyor where one of their customers, the shorter of the two, was busy bagging with their head down. The other stacked the empty shopping basket with the others and pulled out their wallet.

“Definitely an improvement project,” they nodded back with a knowing look. “The whole thing just needs to be demolished and rebuilt at this point.”

“Oh I hear you. A pipe burst in my basement just last month and my spouse had to stop me from tearing the whole thing down then and there.” The cashier scanned the wine and paused. “Your ID please, Mx.?”

They flashed it with a toothy grin. 

“I’m flattered!”

“Just doing my job. Thank you.” They typed something into the system and picked up the next item. A few items later, a snort broke their calm demeanor.

“Hm?”

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry Mx! Just had a funny thought.” The cashier scanned the hammer. 

“Do share! Lord knows we could use the humor.” They elbowed their partner who smiled meekly and nodded along, balancing with a crutch under their arm. 

“Well, sometimes home improvement supplies look a lot like premeditated murder supplies,” they giggled, and the taller one broke out into raucous laughter. The shorter just shook their head. “Sorry, I meant no offense.”

Realizing they were being addressed, they fixed the sullen expression across their face.

“Ah, none taken! I’ve just had a tough day, what with this shithead and all.” A playful poke to their partner who just laughed again.

“You’re in for it when we get home!” They stuck out their tongue.

The other went back to catch the items they’d missed in that time, slipping the chocolate bar in their pocket. 

“Alright, cash or card?”

“Card please.”

“Your receipt?” 

“Sure, why not.”

“Perfect. Have a good one!” 

“You too!”

The taller one took most of the bags, but the other still managed to carry one. They were almost out the door when a voice shouted out.

“Oh! Excuse me, I think you forgot one of your items!” The cashier held up the hammer, and the couple turned around. Neither came forward to claim it, but with a nudge and a whisper, the shorter allowed the cashier to drop it into their bag. “Can’t do any demolition without that, can you?” 

“Absolutely not, I’m glad we didn’t forget it!” The other didn’t say a word, struggling to lift the bag now, and then the two were gone. 

.

“Interesting what you choose to forget, darling.” A hissing whisper in their ear, so different from the friendly persona they put on in public.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re implying,” they averted their eyes as the trunk of the car opened. Fuck. 

Their captor’s foot landed on their broken ankle and they had to suppress a scream.

“I let you have one good leg for today. Don’t let me regret it.” The bag was taken right out of their hand. “In.”

They crutched up to the passenger door but a clearing of the throat stopped them.

“Childlock doesn’t work on that seat.”

Somehow, climbing into the back was more humiliating after that comment. The door was slammed shut before they could do so themself, and they felt the car shake with how hard the trunk was slammed. A horrible indicator of what was to come.

“I behaved around the store,” they grumbled when the doors locked and the engine turned on. 

“And then you fuckin’ ruined it.” 

“Black and white thinking much…” 

A fist flew against the passenger headrest and they were suddenly grateful to be flinching in the backseat.

“I’m buying a car with blacked out windows. That way, next time, I can throttle you in the backseat.”