#tangled swedish

[bellnallart]

the best swedish fish are stolen

[artificialstardust]

Teach Me

Jolly Karlsson x Reader

Warnings: so much Swedish, praise, cum swallowing, slight oral fixation, blowjob, jolly teaching reader to suck him off, did I mention praise?, mentions of female masturbation, oral mentioned at the end (fem receiving), consent checks

You and Jolly laid on the couch, watching Harry Potter for the twentieth time. You were laying on him, head resting on his chest. His fingers had been tangled in your hair. Messaging your scalp, running through your hair. He’d lean down and press the occasional kiss to your forehead, enjoying the moment with you. As you laid there, you became stuck in your thoughts. Wondering what sounds he’d make as you pleasured him. He had touched you a few times before, but you've never really touched him in that way.

Jolly began to notice that something was wrong. Feeling you squirm against him slightly. “What’s wrong baby? Can’t get comfortable?” He asked concerned. He knew that if you laid in a certain position for too long your hips started to hurt a little.

“No it’s not that, just thinking” you confessed, trying to get yourself to settle down.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours? Hmm?” He asked, brushing your hair out of your face. You moved to where you were sitting in his lap, looking down at him below you. You played with the hem of his shirt, getting flustered about trying to say what was on your mind.

“I-“ you stared, huffing in frustration. A blush starting to cover your cheeks. You saw Jolly’s lips tick up a little at the corners, watching you intently.

“I wanna make you feel good, but I don’t know how to” you confessed, the volume in your voice low. Jolly smiled and looked at you, taking his hand to cup your face. He rubbed his thumb against your cheek.

“What do you mean by that baby? Being around you makes me feel good” he chuckles. He had an inkling as to what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it.

You blushed a little harder, realizing you’re going to have to say it. “I wanna suck you off” you murmur.

“M’sorry? I couldn’t hear you, say it again” he says smirking

“I want your cock in my mouth and I want you to teach me how to give you a blowjob” you say louder. A blush formed on your cheeks from the admission. Jolly's eyes darkened and a low groan came from his chest.

He traced his thumb across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly and he placed his thumb on your tongue, his index finger coming to rest under your chin, making you keep eye contact with him. "God I could get used to hearing filthy things come from you princess" he said in a low tone.

Jolly slowly pulled his thumb out of your mouth, dragging it down your bottom lip. He leaned up and pressed open mouthed kisses along your jawline, then finally pressing one to your lips. You let out a small whine as he did, feeling him smile into the kiss. Jolly pulled away and then held your face in his hands again. "Before we go any further, are you sure you want me to teach you? I need to know that you are" he said in a calm yet serious tone.

You smiled and him and let out a tiny giggle, you always appreciated that no matter what new experience the two of you had within your relationship, he always asked if you were sure. He even asked to kiss you and hold your hand for the first time. "I'm positive, I know we can stop at any point if I change my mind. I really want to make you feel good Joakim" you replied. He smiled and kissed you again sweetly.

"Thank you for trusting me princess," he gathered your hair and put it in a loose ponytail with the hair tie he kept on his wrist. "That will make it easier for you so you don't have to worry about pushing it out of your face. Now, do you want to stay here in the living room or do you want to do this upstairs in the bedroom?" he asked, wanting to know what you'd feel more comfortable with.

You thought about it for a minute. "I'm okay with staying here. I feel like it'll be easier for me" you reply with a smile starting to creep up on your face. He smiled back at you and gave you another sweet kiss.

"Okay," he grabbed one of the decorative pillows from the other side of the couch and placed it on the floor. "If your ready, go ahead and kneel on that pillow. It'll help your knees not be so sore after." Yet again, you appreciated his gesture to make sure you were taken care of. You took a breath to try and setting the oncoming nerves and moved off his lap. Jolly spread his legs to give you room as you kneeled on the pillow and made yourself comfortable.

"Okay, just to start out and to let your nerves settle a little bit, just run your hands up and down my thighs. You can use your nails if you want to, but its more just to kinda get things set into motion" he instructed. You nodded and said okay, then placed your hands on his thighs. You rubbed up front of them and grabbed them at the top, looking at him as you placed a kiss to the inside of his left knee. Jolly let out a small chuckle as he watched you intently. You dragged your hands back down before deciding to repeat your action to his inner thighs.

Jolly's breath hitched as your hands went to the top of his inner thighs, he closed his eyes as you dragged your nails down them. "You're doing good so far" he breathed out. "If you want to go another step further, you can touch me through my shorts." You took another breath and then dragged your hands up his inner thighs again. You eyed him through his shorts, seeing his dick start to get hard. You brough your hand up and gently rubbed your thumb across it, eliciting a small groan from him. The noise struck a surge of confidence in you, adding fire to the ache starting between your thighs. With a small smirk, you started palming him. Your other hand squeezing and dragging down his thigh. You could've swore you heard him choak back a moan.

"Okay" he groaned, scooting forward a little so he could slouch against the couch. "I'm going to pull my shorts off, okay?" he looked you in the eye waiting for a response. You said okay and he lifted his hips up. He hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pulled them down, leaving him in his boxers.

"Can you take those off too?" you asked. Your request took him by surprise, not expecting you to want to jump to that just yet, but he was proud of how much more comfortable you were becoming.

"Y-yeah I can do that" he smiled. He smirked and them looked at you again, "or do you wanna take them off me?" A blush spread across your cheeks, you couldn't tell if the feeling in your chest was excitement or nerves. Probably both if you were being honest. You nodded slowly and places your hands at the top of the waistband. Your fingertips hooked onto them, starting to pull them down slowly. Jolly lifted his hips to make it easier for you to slide them off. A big smile starting to form on his face. His dick bounced a little as the waistband slid over it. You dragged his boxers down the rest of the way until the pooled at his feet. Your eyes immediately went to his cock. Even half hard, he seemed big to you.

"When you're ready, rub your thumb across the tip. Then spit in your hand and stroke it a little bit. That should make me stiffen up completely" he breathed out. His eyes followed your hand as you reached up and gently rubbed your thumb over the tip. His eyes closed shut as he groaned a little bit. When he opened them, he saw you lick your thumb, then spit into your hand. Your eyes looking into his the entire time. His breath was caught in his throat, His breathing became heavier as you wrapped your hand around him, starting to stroke him softly. "You can grip it a little tighter than that baby" he told you. You increased your grip and kept stroking him slowly. You could feel him get harder in your hand. Jolly's breathing became heavier than before as he watched you, another small moan coming from him.

"Knulla prinsessa, your hand feels good" he groaned, giving you more confidence with what you were doing. He took another breath before speaking again. "Okay, that's good enough," you pulled your hand from him. "Do you feel comfortable enough to take me in your mouth?" he asked, looking you in the eye. You nodded and he shook his head and grabbed you by the jaw to look at him. "I need words älskling" he said lowly.

"Yes Joakim, I feel comfortable with it" you said clearly.

"Don't take it all in your mouth, it'll be too much for you at first. Start out by licking it and sucking on the tip. You can still use your hands too" he said. You nodded and took him back into your hand. Leaning up, you licked across his tip, earning you a growl. You smiled to yourself and moved your hand away from the underside of his cock. You placed a kiss at the base and then kitten licked your way up the underside of his shaft, enjoying your newfound effect on him. Jolly couldn't take his eyes off of you.

"Jävla helvete" he groaned as he leaned his head back against the couch. His hand coming up to rest on the side of your head. You took the tip of his cock into your mouth and started to suck on it gently, lulling your tongue against it. A deep moan coming from his chest. "That's fucking perfect prinsessa, just like that" the praise sending butterflies to your lower stomach, adding to the throb between your legs. He looked back down at you, his hand moving to rub your cheek with his thumb. The notion making you look up at him.

He groaned loudly at the sight of you with his cock in your mouth, blushing with a little drool starting to shine at the corners of your mouth. "Så jävla vackert" he smiled, that image of you becoming permanently embedded into his brain. "Try taking me a little deeper in your mouth baby. Use your hands to stroke what you don't fit in your mouth" he stops talking as a moan slips from him. "Take your time with it" he adds. With this given permission, you groan around his cock as you take another inch or two into your mouth. His tip resting in the back of your mouth.

You started to slowly bob your head a little bit, trying to find a good rhythm. You found yourself loving the weight of his cock in your mouth. Enjoying the sounds coming from him. You found yourself squeezing your thighs together in need of some stimulation. You eventually settled on a nice steady pace that wasn't too fast or too slow. Your hand coming up to stroke what isn't in your mouth. A louder moan coming from him.

"Little more prinsessa, I'm close" he groaned. The sight of you making him not last as long as he knows he could. His words egged you on, making you suck a little harder on him. The sudden change in intensity caused him to let out a strangled moan. Small whines and gasps following it. The sounds coming from him was like a song just for you that went right to your core.

You pulled off of him for a second, "give it to me baby, I want it." You took him back into your mouth as he looked at you with surprise. He wasn't expecting you to want him to cum in your mouth the first time, but he certainly wasn't mad about it. Another moan came from him as he laid his head against the couch again. His breathing became labored as you started stroking him faster as you sucked him off. Jolly was having to restrain himself from bucking his hips into your mouth.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum" he choked out. You hummed around him, your way of saying do it. His legs parted wider as he came in your mouth, his back arching off the couch. His moans turned into whines as his orgasm worked through him. You held his tip in his mouth as you lazily jerked him to help work him through it. His cum tasted salty and tangy on your tongue.

As he came out of it, he looked down at you and groaned, seeing a little but of his cum on your chin. He pulled you off of him and gathered it on his thumb. "Fan, det är en duktig tjej" he praised as you licked his thumb clean. You have no clue what the fuck he just said, but you wish you could play it on repeat. He pulls you up to sit on his lap.

"You did so fucking good baby. I'm so proud of you" he smiled, pressing multiple kisses to your face and lips. You giggled at the attention and praise, absolutely loving it. "So, what did you think of it?" he asked.

"I really enjoyed it, especially listening to you" you gushed. A slight blush formed on his cheeks from your words and he smiled at you. "I thought about touching myself as I did" you admitted.

"My girl get all needy from sucking me off did she?" he smirked. You blushed and nodded. Jolly placed his hand on your clothed pussy, feeling the damp spot on your panties. "Fuck, you're soaked and I haven't even touched you" he says lowly making you look away in embarrassment. He grabs you by the jaw and makes you look at him. "Guess I have to take care of your little issue then don't I?" he says smirking. You nod eagerly and he moves you so you're laying on the couch. "Now it's my turn to make you fall apart on my tongue."

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 1 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 3412

A/N: If you wanna be tagged for the next chapter - just let me know

Éléanor took a deep breath as she stepped out of her car, the crisp mountain air filling her lungs. Sweden was stunning at this time of year, with the snow-draped scenery stretching out before her like an untouched, pristine canvas. The snow shimmered under the midday sun, resembling a scattering of tiny jewels across the ground. Only delicate, winding animal tracks disrupted the thick, white layer that enveloped everything.

Tall, majestic pines loomed around her, their branches laden with snow, bending gently beneath its weight. Occasionally, a gust of wind would send a flurry of flakes tumbling from the branches. For a brief moment, Éléanor closed her eyes, enjoying the silence that enveloped her.

She focused on the sharp, icy air that bit at her cheeks and the gentle sound of snowflakes drifting down from the sky. A few flakes tangled in her hair, softly brushing her face before melting away. Éléanor smiled, savouring the tranquillity and the unmistakable chill of winter that she had missed so much.

With another deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked towards her little cabin, nestled among the towering pines. The wooden retreat, with its dark timber walls, stood in stark contrast to the snowy landscape. Frosted windows reflected the sun's soft glow, casting a warm, golden light across the snow-covered ground. Over the years, this place has become her sanctuary, where she returns every winter. No bustling café to manage, no customers to serve—just the stillness of nature and the quiet flow of her creativity.

She knew it would be bitterly cold inside, but her trusty fireplace would soon take care of that. Pulling her coat tighter around herself, Éléanor grabbed her bags from the back seat and took in the familiar sight of her cosy cabin.

The snow crunched under her boots as she trudged through the ankle-deep powder towards the front door, mentally noting that she would have to clear the path later.

With a push, she opened the door and sighed in relief.  Inside, the scent of aged pine wood welcomed her, and the warmth of the cabin sharply contrasted with the chill outside.

The place was small and rustic but perfect for her. A fireplace sat in the centre of the main room, with a plush armchair and a soft couch in front of it.  To the right was a small kitchen that always smelled faintly of fresh bread. In the far corner, large windows revealed a breathtaking view of the snow-covered mountains.

She set her luggage down by the door and took a moment to take it all in. A satisfied smile tugged at her lips.

She was home.

After shrugging off her coat and scarf, she unzipped her suitcase and carefully pulled out two of her most precious items. The first was her sketchbook, its well-worn cover filled with memories of past trips, sketches of café patrons and fleeting scenes from her travels. She held it fondly, flipping through a few pages to find her latest watercolour drawing—an old cathedral from back home in France, bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun. Smiling at the piece, she set the sketchbook gently on the small table by the window, a spot she knew she would spend countless hours by over the coming days.

Next, she reached into the suitcase and brought out a small, carefully wrapped container. Unwrapping it, she revealed her beloved sourdough starter, Jacques, alive and well, despite the journey.

“You made it, mon cher,” she whispered affectionately, holding the container close as if greeting an old friend. 

Jacques had been with her for years, travelling wherever she went, and every loaf of bread she baked carried a bit of home within it—he was an essential part of her café back home. She placed him on the kitchen counter and popped the lid off to let him breathe.

With Jacques settled and her sketchbook ready, Éléanor took the rest of her time to unpack, folding her clothes neatly into the cabin’s wooden dresser and laying out her art supplies.

Several days passed in peaceful solitude, just as Éléanor had wished.

Her mornings were spent sketching by the large window that overlooked the snowy forest; the light from the rising sun cast a golden glow over the snowy land, and she captured the way the rays shifted through the trees in delicate watercolour strokes. Afternoons were reserved for baking, as the enticing aroma of sourdough wafted through the cabin while she tried out various recipes, each loaf turning out more delicious than the last. In the evenings, she curled up by the fire with a good book, savouring the quiet and the crackle of the burning wood.

One evening, as she was tidying up after a long day of painting, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Wiping her hands on a towel, she picked it up and smiled as her best friend's name appeared on the screen.

“Bonsoir, ma chérie!” Virginie’s voice was bright and lively, a stark contrast to the quiet surrounding Éléanor. The sound of music and laughter echoed in the background. “Guess where I am!”

Éléanor chuckled, already knowing the answer. “In Spain, of course. How wild is it this time?”

“Wild!” Virginie exclaimed, nearly shouting over the noise. “I’m at this incredible party—everyone’s dancing and I’m halfway through my second bottle of wine! You should see it, Éléanor. How are you surviving up there in the mountains, all by yourself?”

Éléanor laughed, picturing her best friend surrounded by a whirlwind of music, people, and bright lights. “You know I prefer the quiet. Besides, the snow is beautiful, and I’ve got my art to keep me busy.”

“Sure, sure, your art,” Virginie teased. “Let me guess, you’re sitting there with your sketchbook, sipping tea like some brooding artist.”

“Not just that,” Éléanor said, her voice light. “I’ve been baking too. Jacques has been very productive.”

There was a long pause, and then Virginie’s voice came back, incredulous. “Oh my God. Don’t tell me you actually brought the damn sourdough starter with you!” Éléanor could practically hear the eye-roll over the phone. “You seriously dragged Jacques all the way to Sweden?”

Éléanor grinned. “Of course I did. I couldn’t leave him behind; he’d die.”

“Éléanor,” Virginie groaned, laughter bubbling in her voice. “You’re ridiculous. You brought a jar of bacteria to your winter getaway. No wonder you’re still single—you’re in a committed relationship with bread dough! You really need to get laid, ma belle.”

Éléanor burst out laughing. “Hey, Jacques and I are very happy together, thank you very much.”

“I’m serious! You’re too young to be cooped up in the mountains with Jacques. What you need is to be at this party with me, drinking wine and meeting someone who isn’t yeast-based.”

Éléanor shook her head, still smiling. “Maybe next year, Virginie. But you know I love it up here. The peace, the quiet—no distractions. Just me, my art, and my bread.”

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Virginie said dramatically. “But fine, if you want to keep having your mountain romance with Jacques, that’s on you. Just remember that I’m living my best life here! Next year, though, you’re coming with me. No more hiding away in the woods.”

“We’ll see,” Éléanor replied, though they both knew the answer. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Hm, I’ll take that as a maybe!” Virginie’s voice softened a little. “Don’t be too lonely, alright? I’ll be back in France soon, and we’ll catch up. Love you, ma belle.”

“Love you too, Virginie. Have fun!” Éléanor hung up, a fond smile lingering on her lips. Virginie’s energy was infectious, and their friendship balanced each other perfectly. While Virginie craved the buzz of parties and crowds, Éléanor preferred the stillness of moments like this—just her and the quiet comfort of the mountains.

She moved through her nighttime routine with the ease of familiarity. Brushing her teeth, washing her face, changing into warm pyjamas, and braiding her wild hair to keep it in check. She took one last look at her sketchbook, then at Jacques, making sure everything was in its place before heading to bed. The cabin was quiet; the silence was only broken by the distant howling of the wind outside.

As she drifted off to sleep, the peacefulness of the mountains surrounded her, a comforting embrace that lulled her into dreams of soft snow and watercolour landscapes.

In the dead of night, Éléanor stirred, hearing the faint crunch of tyres on the snow and the sound of a car engine rumbling outside. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding in the sudden silence that followed. It was rare to hear anything but the wind and the occasional call of an owl this far up in the mountains. Curious and slightly wary, she slipped out of bed and made her way to the window.

Pulling back the curtain just a fraction, she peered out into the dark night and noticed the soft glow of headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating the cabin beside hers.

A man stepped out of the car, tall and broad-shouldered, his face hidden beneath the shadows of the night.  He unloaded bags from the trunk with practised ease. Éléanor’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t expected company up here. Most people avoided the mountains in the depths of winter unless they had a specific reason to be there.

Éléanor watched him for a moment, her curiosity piqued. The neighbouring cabin was often vacant during the winter, so it was unusual to see anyone here, especially at this hour. He moved quickly and efficiently without much noise. Maybe he was just another quiet visitor, someone like her, seeking solitude.

With a quiet huff, she pulled back from the window and returned to bed. She wasn’t here to meet strangers. Seclusion was what she’d come for, and that’s what she intended to keep—no matter who had arrived next door.

Still, as she drifted back to sleep, a part of her wondered who he was and why he was here in the same remote corner of the world.

_____

The next morning, she woke to a bright, crisp day. The sunlight streamed through the large cabin windows, illuminating the fresh snowfall that blanketed the landscape outside. The snow glittered under the early light, creating a world that looked almost magical, untouched, and pure.

Still wrapped in the warmth of her bed, Éléanor let out a soft sigh, listening to the silence that filled the cabin. It was the kind of quiet she craved—no sounds of cars or people, just the occasional soft creak of the old wood settling and the gentle crackle of embers from the fireplace. She loved these mornings. The snow had a way of making everything feel slower and more peaceful.

Stretching lazily, she threw on a thick sweater and made her way to the kitchen, her bare feet padding against the cool wooden floors. The familiar sight of her sketchbook left open from the previous night’s work, caught her eye, and she smiled as she passed it. The half-finished watercolour of the mountains stood stark against the white paper, still waiting for the finishing details.

She filled the kettle with water and began preparing her usual morning tea, humming softly to herself. The cabin smelled faintly of pine and the lingering scent of sourdough bread from the previous day.

Just as the kettle started to whistle, a knock at the door interrupted the stillness. Éléanor frowned, glancing at the door in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Cautiously, she walked over to the front door and opened it, the rush of cold air making her tighten her sweater around herself. 

Standing on her porch was the man she had seen arriving last night—the one who had moved into the neighbouring cabin. He was bundled up against the cold, his thick jacket dusted with snow as his broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway. 

She noticed his striking face: a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight nose that gave him an effortlessly handsome look. Beneath the knitted hat that covered his ears, wisps of light brown hair peeked out, and a trace of stubble ran along his jawline, growing denser along his upper lip.

His breath puffed in small clouds as he smiled at her, his blue eyes catching the light of the morning sun. 

Éléanor blinked, momentarily distracted by how impossibly good-looking he was. He looked like someone who should have been on a magazine cover rather than standing on her snow-covered porch.

“Hey,” he greeted her with a smile that was equal parts charming and boyish. “I’m Patrick. I’m staying next door.”

His voice was smooth, deep, and easy, with a friendly tone that instantly made her feel at ease. Despite the cold air biting at her cheeks, Éléanor couldn’t help but feel warmth spreading through her.

She hadn’t expected him to introduce himself, let alone in person. His presence felt oddly natural, though, as if he belonged in this quiet landscape. Still, it took her a moment to respond.

“Hi,” she finally said, offering a small smile in return. “I’m Éléanor. Nice to meet you.”

Patrick’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was just shovelling the snow off my driveway,” he explained, nodding toward his cabin. “Figured I’d offer to do yours, too, since I’m already out here.”

Éléanor blinked, caught off guard by his offer. She wasn’t used to anyone offering to help in these parts—usually, everyone who came to the mountains was looking for the same solitude she was. But there was something in his demeanour that felt genuine and unassuming.

“Oh,” she hesitated, glancing at her snow-covered driveway. “That’s very kind of you, but you really don’t have to.”

Patrick interrupted with a light shrug. “It’s no trouble. It’s not like I have much else going on today.”

His easygoing nature and the relaxed way he stood there, his breath puffing in the cold air, made it hard for Éléanor to refuse. She smiled despite herself, her cheeks flushing—not just from the cold.

“Well, if you’re sure… then thank you,” she said softly.

He gave her a friendly nod and turned to walk back down her porch steps, heading towards his own cabin to grab a shovel. His movements were smooth and purposeful, and something about how he carried himself made it clear he was used to being in control. He moved with confidence but not arrogance—just a natural, effortless ease.

As he began shovelling, Éléanor couldn’t help but admire him from the warmth of her cabin. 

His strong arms worked steadily as he cleared the snow, his shoulders flexing under his jacket with each movement. She was mesmerised by the way the light played off his sharp features, the concentration on his face as he worked, and the quiet determination in his posture.

Unable to resist, she reached for her sketchbook. She pulled it towards her and settled by the window, the natural light casting soft shadows across the page.

Her fingers quickly flew across the page as she began sketching his form — his strong, defined lines against the snow, the contrast of his dark jacket against the bright white. She sketched him from different angles, flipping through the pages and trying to capture every detail: the way he held the shovel, the curve of his back, and even the way the sunlight glinted off the snow in front of him.

Soon enough, she added watercolours, bringing the scene to life with soft washes of blues and greys to reflect the snowy landscape and the warm hues of his complexion.

Before long, Patrick had finished, and the driveway was now clear of snow. Éléanor watched as he wiped the back of his hand across his brow, exhaling a puff of visible breath. She watched as he took a step back, admiring his work for a brief moment before glancing back toward her cabin.

Éléanor snapped her sketchbook shut, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. She had just spent the last hour drawing him without his knowledge, and she wasn’t sure how he would react if he knew. 

Deciding to thank him properly, Éléanor brewed a fresh pot of tea and poured two steaming mugs. She bundled herself up and stepped out onto the porch, her boots crunching on the freshly cleared snow.

“Patrick!” she called out, holding up one of the mugs. “I made you some tea. Thought you might want something warm after all that work.”

Patrick glanced up, a smile tugging at his lips. He wiped his hands on his jacket and made his way towards her. As he took the mug from her, their fingers brushed for a moment, and Éléanor felt a tiny, unexpected spark shoot through her. The casual intimacy of the touch caught her off guard, and she couldn’t help but steal a glance at his hands.

His hands, though warm from holding the mug, were still slightly reddened from the cold. They were large and strong, with well-defined knuckles and carefully groomed nails. Éléanor quickly looked away, hoping he had not noticed her lingering gaze.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of the tea. “Perfect timing.”

They sat down on the porch steps together, the steam from their mugs swirling into the cold air. The world around them was still and silent. The only sounds were the distant wind and the crunch of snow underfoot as the snow-capped mountains glistened under the sun.

“So,” Patrick started after a few sips, “what brings you up here? You live around here, or are you just visiting?”

Éléanor shook her head. “No, I’m from France originally. I run a café back home with my best friend, but I come here every winter to take a break…It’s kind of my personal retreat.”

Patrick raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely impressed. “France, huh? I would’ve guessed Europe from your accent, but I didn’t know where exactly.”

She chuckled softly, her cheeks warming. “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty noticeable.”

“Trust me, it’s not a bad thing,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers briefly, and the sincerity in his voice made her blush a little more. 

The sunlight caught his eyes as he spoke, making them an even brighter blue—like the sky on a perfect day, clear and inviting. Éléanor found herself momentarily lost in them, wondering how a man could have eyes like that, so sharp yet kind. 

“What about you?” she asked, turning the conversation back to him. “What brings you to these mountains?”

Patrick shrugged, taking another sip of tea. “Same as you, I guess. Needed to get away, clear my head. It’s hard to find this kind of quiet anywhere else.”

Éléanor found herself nodding along, appreciating the easy flow of conversation. Despite his rugged, handsome appearance, Patrick didn’t seem to have the air of someone looking to impress or be impressed. He was easygoing and comfortable in his own skin, and it put her at ease.

“So, what do you do when you’re not shovelling strangers’ driveways?” she asked, giving him a teasing smile.

Patrick chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “I’m in… entertainment, I guess you could say,” he said vaguely, his tone nonchalant.

Éléanor didn’t press further. She didn’t have much interest in prying into someone’s life, especially when she had come here for peace and solitude. For now, Patrick was simply a kind man who had helped her out—and, as it turned out, was excellent company.

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their tea and gazing out at the snowy landscape. Patrick’s broad shoulders were relaxed as he leaned back slightly, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the fabric of his jeans hugging the strong lines of his thighs.

As their conversation drifted back to light topics—the weather, the beauty of the mountains—Éléanor couldn’t help but wonder about the man sitting next to her. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of her memory, but she couldn’t quite place it.

But she let the thought slip away. For now, it didn’t matter. 

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, warming the porch ever so slightly, Éléanor realised just how much she was enjoying Patrick’s company.

“You know,” Éléanor said thoughtfully as she glanced over at Patrick, “I’m not used to having company up here. But… this is nice.”

Patrick looked at her, his expression softening. “Yeah. It is.”

[angellurgy2]

Wormom

new story time ^-^ trying out some weirder shit this time

content: worms and abusive mothering. thats all you need to know

_____________________________

doll’s mother is not a good person. she never was. since the day of her birth, her mother looked down at her with disgust. her father used to “joke” all the time about how she begged him to go into the nursery and switch doll with another baby. that was before he left too. not that he helped, his presence meant mom just had to dodge his gaze. go behind closed doors with her evil. though he wasn’t good in his paternal behaviour either, one of doll’s few comforts is knowing her father hated her mother too. it’s been just them for an infinitely long amount of time now, closely quarted, virile disgust insulated inside and left to stew. it swiftly became prey locked in with predator, like leaving a cat alone with a fish bowl, or letting a child wander into the tiger cage.

the marble kitchen island quakes as two boney white hands slam down in front of doll’s sunken face. mother screaches like a harpy. decades of cigarette smoke and opiate usage slowly abrading her insides have left her with an ever-present coalegenic grate to her voice that has haunted doll’s ears her entire life.

PAY ATTENTION

doll’s needed for something today, so says mother. her calloused and torched hands grasp fiendishly at the black sleeves of doll’s hoodie and pull her off of her seat, sending her crashing into the filthy linoleum floor. pathetic, vertigous doll. waste of a skeletal structure. her mom forces her back up onto her mushy patellas by her ragged hair.

HURRY UP

dirt is picked up along doll’s skin, musky carpet scraping into her. stains and dust and filth writhe up her body horribly.

* * *

a shiny porcelain bowl sits atop a black coffee table directly in front of doll’s eyes. she remembers picking that up from that weird swedish store with her, shortly after dad left taking all the good furniture with him. it was floor cereal for months before they had it. though table cereal wasn’t much better the way she made it.

doll’s face is hidden behind her shivering sleeves. mother forces them away. she grabs the bowl and places it on the floor by doll’s feet. her talons dig into doll’s tremoring shoulders. doll's on her knees, clenching her eyes.

no no no. no no no no no.

I MADE YOU MY FAVOURITE.

scaly fingers pry open her eyelids. the inside of the bowl isn’t clean like the outside, dirt ladens it’s walls. dozens of pink digits wriggle around each other inside. a thick living pasta, crawling for the bits of ground remnants. it’s almost hypnotic. doll can feel herself shaking uncontrollably. her vision spirals and blurs with scolecic tears.

EAT YOUR BREAKFAST.

doll won’t. a river flows down her face torching her eyes. she shakes her head finally managing to force the hydraulics controlling her will to do their job.

DIDN’T YOU WANT ME TO BE NICE? HOW ARE YOU ALWAYS SO UNGRATEFUL.

it’s voice burns with hot breath, searing and rotten like her teeth.

the doll pulls back, but extremities tangled through her long ungroomed hair keep her stuck, lest she rip it out. the voice gets closer. the sound of heavy haggard breathing flooding her senses. she would flail, if she had any fuel left inside of her.

please.

the hand pushes her in.

EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT EAT IT NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW

tubular pink slime glides across every inch of her soft face, coating her in greasy red worm juice. her lips remain closed until the food begins to search for other orifices. shut eyelids begin to feel probing tips, desperately trying to dig under the grass of her eyelashes and into the supple earth beneath. like rats in a bucket. then mother’s other hand reaches into view from the void behind. hands gripping the rubbery flesh inbetween her lips tight, pushing and pushing and pushing her sharp black nails stained yellow into her poor skin. doll can’t take it, her mother’s going to force her jaw open any second. she can’t take it she can’t take it she opens her mouth to scream STO P STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP PLEASE MOM (she almost bursts out into even more tears just calling her mom) NONO-

and her screams are stifled with a wave of annelid suffocation.

and they don’t stop wriggling inside her until the last one is left worming at the bottom of the bowl. she can feel every inch of their slothful slime dripped crawls down her pipes, hear their shrill dying screams as they melt in her acidic antechamber.

the brown worms atop doll’s head are pulled taught, back up into the air. juice and saliva drool down her quivering chin. mother picks the last surviving soldier out of the trough, dangling him above doll’s mouth, tantalizing her, her baby bird, unwanted but fed. all you are is a baby cuckoo, a brood parasite, locked in the nest with a ‘mother’ who knows exactly what you are. it only makes sense that she has treated you so.

mother slowly lowers the worm into doll’s tear pit of a mouth. its head or tail flails with reckless abandon, excited to be let loose into this dark, wet tunnel. back inside the dirtwomb.

it falls, and doll can tell it does enjoy it. almost as much as her mother.

[alwaysbeyondhope]

Oohhh Molly Sandén in Tangled?? I need to watch that dub now!

And 100% yes on Helen’s Anastasia. I just about died when I learned she dubbed one of my childhood favorites

Now that im on the topic…there is actually one disney movie where ALL the swedish songs and voice performances outdo the original. and that movie is tangled. You CANNOT invite Molly Sandén and then expect her not to outdo outshine outperformed. its kinda strange how much better that movie is in swedish compared to the english one

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 9/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

                Bradley doesn’t think he’s ever worked so hard in his life. He thought Leandro was a hard taskmaster, maybe Nonna edging him out a little. But this is insanity. Service finishes after midnight and then they’re expected to make the kitchen immaculate only to be back before six to start prep and set the dough to rise. Fresh bread every day. He’s so tired, and everyone speaks French, although the head chef does seem to take pity on him occasionally and repeat key instructions in Italian. Aside from everything he’s learning, another positive is Johan, who speaks flawless French and English. He offers to help Bradley with his French if he’ll help him learn Italian.

                He figures out that the Johan’s native tongue is Swedish around the time they exchange blowjobs and Bradley ends up with his first ever serious boyfriend. Johan specializes in seafood and shellfish, and Bradley finds out he’s paying for the privilege of being here. He wonders whether Leandro is paying for Bradley to be here and he’ll need to ask him, doesn’t like the idea of him putting himself out financially to send Bradley here, no matter how much he’s learning.

                He ends up spending eighteen months in Paris, only lasts one month after Johan moves on to London before he needs to go home to Leandro and Silvia. Then Leandro asks him to cook for them, shuts the restaurant and invites the entire family. He and Silvia both help prep and follow his direction and instructions and being in charge of the entire menu and trusted to feed his adopted family fills him with pride. It’s not perfect, there are definitely things he’d improve,  the timing for a few things is a little off, but Leandro nods with approval, toasts him with his favorite glass of red and Bradley feels like he could fly.

…            …            …

                He feels like Jake has been stalking him, watching with intent, eyes dark.

                “What?” he finally asks, gives in really, putting down the spoon he’d been using to stir and wipes his hands on his apron.

                “You ever cook in nothing but the apron?”

                “No, because I don’t want any health violations. But…”

                “At home? You could be persuaded?”

                He’s not in the habit of lying and he wants to see where Jake might want to take this.

                “Yeah. Given enough incentive…”

                “Hmm. Good to know. Turn the gas off…”

                He raises an eyebrow, can’t believe that Jake is… grabbing a cushion from one of the chairs and dropping to his knees. Holy shit.

                “Come on… make it safe and then let me suck you off. Ideally in nothing but the apron, if you’re looking at making me happy.”

                He rolls his eyes, but also he’s being offered a blowjob and nothing cooking is time sensitive so he dutifully turns everything off and puts it at the back, stripping off his t-shirt, then swearing when he tangles himself up in the strings. The whole time Jake just watches, clearly comfortable resting back on his heels, rubbing a hand over his own, still fully clothed, crotch.

                “You’re not getting naked as well?” Bradley asks, kicking off his shoes and pushing his jeans down, his cock already starting to chub up at the promise of Jake’s mouth on him, although the apron hides that at least. He feels a little silly but with the way Jake’s watching him he’s assuming he doesn’t look silly.

                “Nope.”

                “Oh. Okay.”

                Then Jake’s shuffling closer, tugging him away from the stove top and then the cold line of the bench is pressing into his lower back, Jake’s hands are running down his legs from hip to knee, where his fingers catch the hem of the apron and then he’s lifting it up and ducking under and his cock is suddenly encased in warm sucking heat. It’s odd, not being able to see Jake, but it makes him focus a little more on what he’s feeling and his eyes slip closed as Jake’s fingers stroke over his balls.

                In the four days since they’ve started hooking up they’ve figured out quite a lot about how to get each other off, how to drag it out but also how to make each other come as fast and as hard as possible. Right now Jake is pulling out all the stops, like he wants Bradley to come as quickly as possible and he knows that means that he’s already angling to make this the first of whatever this session is turning into. He’s got no reason to hold back, lets himself feel the dig of Jake’s fingers on his hips as he urges Bradley into fucking his mouth, the sloppy sucking heat of his mouth, the fingers on his balls and then the pressure of a knuckle on his perinium and then the brush of a finger over his asshole, Jake’s fingers now digging into his ass cheek and he groans and just lets himself shake and shudder as his orgasm washes through him.

                Jake doesn’t swallow, is clearly ready with a tissue or something to spit into and Bradley just rests against the bench and sucks in deep calming breaths. Jake’s head pops back into view and he looks pleased with himself and Bradley lowers himself to his knees, forcing Jake to shuffle back so they’re pressed together, their knees sharing the tiny cushion, thighs pressed together and he presses his mouth to Jake’s, kisses him and can taste himself. He can feel Jake’s hands roaming over his back and chest, the strings of the apron pulling tight when his hands stretch it tight.

                “God I love how red you get,” Jake says, and Bradley can feel the words, Jake’s breath on his skin and he shivers, is glad Jake apparently likes his uncontrollable flush when he’s aroused. Or angry. Or exercises.

                “Yeah?”

                “Mmm. Wanna mark you up…”

                “Yeah, okay…” Bradley agrees easily. No-one to see him except for Jake himself, hears the low groan Jake makes and he can feel his erection pressing against him. “Want –” Bradley pulls away, just enough to ask, but Jake is already chasing him, crushing their mouths together before he can get another word out, keeps kissing him deep and sloppy and breathless.

                “All I want,” Jake says, “is to get my cock into you. If you aren’t too sore.”

                Bradley groans, because that’s actually a consideration right now. God he wants it though, it might not hurt, but it’ll definitely ache. He doesn’t want to pass it up though, and he knows it’ll be a good kind of ache.

                “Yeah, yeah. Come on…”

                He kisses Bradley again, his hand brushing over his cock and his entire body jerks, a little over sensitive, but he knows Jake’s very goal orientated.

                “Mmm. Come on. Bedroom.”

                He already knew Jake was good in bed, has a skillset or interests that maybe align with his own. Can feel Jake deliberately starting the bank the fire of arousal in him, making his insides feel like molten rock, burning him up and weighing him down. Jake undoes the ties of the apron and drops it to the floor before undressing himself, his eyes not leaving Bradley’s and then he’s backing them both toward the bed, stripping the thin cotton blanket and sheet back.

                “Come on, on your stomach…”

                He chews on his lips but he does it, feels Jake almost immediately at his back, pressing kisses across his shoulder and neck as he puts his arms under his head and hides his face, lets himself focus on the slow drag of Jake’s fingers over his back and ass.

                “Mmm. Gorgeous. There you are…”

                Bradley feels oddly exposed, can hardly believe this is only their fourth day together, that Jake can apparently read him so easily. Just trusting him so implicitly and giving up control. Give it to someone who knows what they’re doing, someone competent and a bit of an asshole. Willing to take the reins without being a dick about it. Well, too much of a dick. The right type of dick. He moans, his mind starting to feel a little hazy as he feels the press of Jake just pinning him to the bed, not forcefully, but more like a comfort. He doesn’t think he’s gone more than twelve hours without Jake fucking him since Saturday night.

                He hears the tearing of foil, can feel Jake shifting around on the bed and he shifts, giving him room between his spread legs. Instead of being encouraged he hears Jake tutting and then his legs are being tugged back so that they’re together again and he flexes his hips again, doesn’t quite know what he’s asking, what he needs.

                “Yeah, you’ve got a gorgeous ass, don’t need to show it off…”

                Oh. He hadn’t thought of that. Then Jake is murmuring perfect under his breath and his knees are pressing on the outside of his thighs.

                “Shouldn’t be too uncomfortable like this, plus I just get to hold you where I want you…” Jake says, like he knows it’s exactly what Bradley wants and needs to hear right now, as he palms his ass cheeks and spreads him open. Bradley keeps his head down, grinds his cock against the mattress helplessly, hears the squelch of lube and Jake leans over him, the head of his cock poking against Bradley’s hole, Jake’s fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, and he wonders if this is what Jake meant by marking up, his fingers hard enough to bruise. He grinds against the mattress again, but there’s not enough of anything to get him going.

                “I’ll take care of you. After. My turn now…”

                Bradley groans, feels the press and slide of Jake’s thumb as it catches on the rim and spreads and pushes lube into him, he’s not loose but he’s not tight either. Then Jake leans in, hard press this time, pushes all the way in, bottoms out in the space of one breath and Bradley keens, shoves himself back and maybe gets an inch. It’s not deep, but it doesn’t need to be, it feels all encompassing, Jake over him and in him and pressing him down and not being able to move or see. The press and grind into his already aching body has him feeling it everywhere, his stomach, balls, beating a sharp tattoo in his chest and he groans again.

                “You okay?”

                “Yeah. Yeah. So okay. So good… don’t you dare fucking stop.”

                “I got you sweetheart.”

CHAPTER TEN - AN INTERLUDE

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: July 12/24

Happy Friday, gang! Hope y'all had a great week and are as happy as I am to start the weekend! Check out these fics and be sure to give all the authors some love!

RECENT MFLs

The Möbelaffär by topsyturvy_turtely (T, 2,676 w., 1 Ch. || IKEA, Developing Relationship, Shopping, Gay Sherlock, Bisexual John, Fluff, First Kiss / Time) – möbelaffär. Noun. Swedish. Meaning 'furniture store'. Prompt: doing a chore around the house. Part 29 of turtely's OTP challenge

Letting Go by SilentAuror (E, 11,075, 1 Ch. || Romance, Shyness, Porn With Feels, Kissing, Rimming) – Sherlock has a hard time letting go in sex, despite John's best efforts... (TRANSLATIONS: Русский)

Explicit by 7PercentSolution (M, 12,071+ w., 5/6 Ch. || Discussions About Sex, First Time, Masturbation, Sex in Exchange for Drugs, Victor Trevor, Autistic Sherlock, Communication Deficits, Gay and Bisexual Orientations, Mycroft as a Sex Counsellor, Pining Without Purpose, Oblivious John, Five and One) – “Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Five times Sherlock tries but fails to avoid talking about sex, and one time when he succeeds but shouldn’t have. Each of the stories relates to one of the times in my universe when sex became a topic of conversation. Part 6 of Ex Files

Across The Watsonverse by FruitViking, happyeverafter72 & teaspoonnebula (T, 18,017+ w., 6/? Ch. || WIP || Doctor Who Fusion || Time Lord John, Time Travel, Hurt/Comfort, Regeneration) – Dr Watson is a Time Lord, and reality is a tangled web. A series of 'What if' stories which don't quite fit into the established continuity of the main 'Watson is a Time Lord' series. Part 5 of Watson Is A Time Lord Series

RECENT LOKIUS BOOKMARK

there's much more to you than that by RunnyYolk (T, 7,072 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || S1 Divergence, Alternating POV, Protective Mobius, Hurt Loki, Pre-Relationship, Introspection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Mobius, Trust Issues, Catharsis, Injury Recovery, Internal Conflict, Flashbacks, Implied / Referenced Torture, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Hospitals, Developing Friendship) – "So. Can we take pruning Loki permanently off the table now?" The distant look of concern that had started to build in Ravonna's gaze, no doubt from shifting gears to thinking about all the work left to do, drops at his question. She groans. "Mobius—" "What more does he have to do to prove himself, Ravonna? If he had wanted to betray the TVA, he had ample opportunity. But he didn't. Actually, he's shaping up to be a pretty good analyst." Part 2 of where the edge began

[m3gahet]

WAIT HEAR ME OUT- PLS

That boat scene in Tangled when Rapunzel and Flint (Eugene) saw the lights and Rapunzel had flowers in her hair but make it Florida man arrested for fist fighting a crocodile in the local zoo x Swedish Meatballs (Nategaar)

You think the Tlm anon knew they’d kick start a Nategaar does Disney day?

Also just put skwis in a dress day but that could be every day with me

[thefallennightmare]

Fika-Joakim 'Jolly' Karlsson teaser:

Blinking up at him, I was rooted to the ground, spinning while standing straight. Dizzy in my blood and my soul. I was breathing like I was Icarus when he finally felt the air between his wax wings as he flew towards the sun like I’d been inhaling a special kind of oxygen you could only find in the clouds. I was trying to keep myself from breaking the spell between us to ask him what he said in Swedish. 

With his hand still caressing my cheek, Jolly leaned in so carefully all while breathing but yet not breathing. Our hearts beat between us and he was so close now, I could almost feel the softness of his lips. While our first kiss seemed to have a rushed start, it was as if Jolly wanted to enjoy the build-up; and take his time with me. 

I couldn’t feel my legs, my fingers, or the cold emptiness of this room because all I felt was Jolly everywhere, filling everything in and around me. Then all at once, Jolly’s lips were on mine, softer than anything I’d ever known. My hands found his chest, grasping his necklace between my fingers while one hand tangled in my hair and the other grazed up the bare skin of my thigh.

His lips were soft like the first snowfall of the season. They tasted like biting into cotton candy for the first time and the explosion of sweetness filling your mouth; so effortlessly sweet. I felt weightless while floating in the water when his tongue slipped between my lips and I moaned as our kiss deepened. Slowly, Jolly backed me up towards his bed and when I felt the edge of it smack against the back of my knees, the two of us fell into a heap of tangled limbs and tongues. 

I'm still working on this piece of art! I'm hoping to have it posted before this Sunday!

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @sammyjoeee @somewhere-diamond @concreteemo @ladispo0p @to-be-written @lilmonster218 @whenthesummerdies @lizzieseveride @blackveilomens @malice-ov-mercy @lma1986 @klutzy-kay24 @baddestomens @cncohshit @jilliemiw86

[stahl-herz]

Trick or treat!

Send an ask with "Trick or treat!" to the writer who reblogged this & you could: sneak-peek at a WIP!

YES! Thank you for sending an ask! This may be late, but I'm gonna give a piece of the story I've been working on since April. It's called 'How much change does a Ripple Make?'. I put it under a 'read more' because it's long. It was also very hard to decide what part of this I would put here. There was a lot of scenes in this work that I'd wanted to show. But, I decided to show a part of what I'm currently working on.

“I had a rooster in my throat*.” I glance at Ctirad, whose eyebrow seems to be twitching slightly. “So, Ctirad,” I slightly exaggerate the soft ‘T’ sound at the beginning at his name, “I want to write my will. And,” I turn my gaze to Henning, “to also enact Switzerland’s Inheritance laws.”

Henning’s puzzled frown lasts only a moment before he opens his mouth.

“And yes, I want to enact both of them. I know that I’m not co-ruling with anyone at the moment, but,” I shrug, “it could change someday.”

Henning shut his mouth and quickly glanced around the room before looking at me again.

“B-but you don’t have an heir right now-?”

“Do you plan on getting married or have a fiancé-?”

Henning and Ctirad briefly glance at each other, then Ctirad gestures for Henning to continue. Henning straightens his posture and clears his throat.

“You don’t have an heir at the moment that you know of?” He states, but I can clearly hear the hidden question.

“No, I haven’t been with anyone since-“ Blanka’s name is on my lips and I have to swallow the bitter taste that enters my mouth. “-since her.” I take a breath and give both of them a warning look. I know that they have apologies ready to spill from their lips for merely bringing her memory up- intentionally or not. I’ve talked about her more than enough in the last few days. And I don’t want to think of her any more at the moment. I clear my throat and try to convince myself that the heat on my face is from the room temperature. “I want to keep some of my sperm in a safe so I can still have children in case I die or can’t perform my duties as King, permanently or temporarily.”

“Speaking of children,” Ctirad interrupted, “are you sure you don’t have any?” he asked cautiously.

“No,” I bite back a sigh of frustration. “the only descendants I have are four to five times great-grandsons and great-granddaughters. I’m not married or have a fiancé in mind…” I frown as the knot of emotions in my chest seems to simultaneously get even more tangled and loosen. “But,” I take a short breath and look Ctirad in the eye. “I think it’s time I move on from her ghost.”

Ctirad flinched slightly and made an aborted movement to turn in his seat to Henning. No doubt to ask if his ears were working right. And… I can’t really blame them for being shocked. I’ve been ‘mourning’ Blanka’s death for thirty years. To a human, that’s an impossible amount of time to grieve. Even some of the other Royals were surprised that I was still grieving after ten years. She controlled me and my life when she was alive. And I thought when she died that I’d been freed! But… her ghost clung to me- blinded me! Like a shroud, she enveloped my body and clouded my mind and eyes... I’m sick of her ghost controlling me. I just… regret not doing this earlier. Why didn’t I do this five or ten years ago?

I shake my head of those thoughts and try to focus on the current conversation.

“-have anyone in mind?” Ctirad asked.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I asked if you had anyone in mind? Since you’ve decided to move on from mourning…” Ctirad made an aborted movement towards his tie. “…her death.” He forced his hand to stay on the arm of the splinter-worn chair.

*I have a rooster in my throat = In Swedish, the phrase would be “jag har en tupp i halsen”, or ‘I have a cock (rooster) in my throat.' I’m sorry, but I’m not writing ‘cock’ in this without explaining the intention.

[kendrasaunders]

matthias naming his dog troublemaker (trassel's literal meaning big tangle/state of confusion in swedish) vs hanne naming his horse belligerence (helmut meaning helmet like a protector, from hellmuth, fighting/battle spirit in german). they are the most annoying people i know

[dustedmagazine]

Dust, Volume 10, Number 7

Obsessed with Congo Funk in this month's dust

Without getting too deep into American electoral politics, let’s just say that we’ve been distracted lately.  We’ve been mired in the slough of despair, frantic in our bargaining with god and lately, a feeling fresh breeze of optimism—it’s been so long, we hardly recognized it.  But despite all that, the records keep coming, and we do our best to deal with them, not always with a fulsome 300-400 word review, but sometimes briefly, as here, in another edition of Dust.  This month, we cover the run of it, from fictional characters that somehow participate in bands, to guitarists on synth holiday to vintage Swedish death metal reissued and more.  Participants this time out include Jennifer Kelly, Byron Hayes, Bill Meyer, Jonathan Shaw, Christian Carey, Andrew Forell, Roz Milner and Ian Mathers. 

Apifera — Keep the Outside Open (Stones Throw)

Four Israeli jazzmen take a jaunt through psychedelic rock and prog, incorporating trippy vocals and squalling synth runs into a space-age fusion.  The musicians— Nitai Hershkovits on keyboards, the beatmaker (and evident link to Stones Throw) Yuvi Havkin, drummer Amir Bresler and guitarist Yonatan Albalak—have spent their careers crossing jazz with funk, hip hop and rock.   Here they push it even further with vocal tracks that hardly sound like jazz at all.  Trippy “Iris Is Neil,” for instance, delivers the title phrase in a keening vocal chant, as explosions of percussion go off like firecrackers on a string.  Squiggles of synth, arcs of electric guitar reach for the epic, but in a manner more like Yes or ELP than Return to Forever.  “Lucky Zoe” delves further into psychedelic pop, its wavery keyboards framing fanciful whimsies a la “Lucy in the Sky.”  “Theodor Marmalade” thumps a funky beat behind flourishes of keys and vocal narratives about desert fauna.  “Don’t you want to see the floating lights?” the cut inquires, and yes, I can just about make out strange, glowing objects in the sky. The instrumental pieces have a more conventionally jazzy feel; “I Love ECM” makes it case with light-fingered syncopations on rims and cymbals, liquid loops of bass and ice-chilled runs of electric keyboard.  “Sera Sam,” at the end, brings on the trumpeter Avishai Cohen for a lyrical turn.   

Jennifer Kelly

Majesty Crush — Butterflies Don’t Go Away

(Numero Group)

Butterflies Don't Go Away by Majesty Crush

A double LP or digital download from Detroit’s own Majesty Crush, the motor city’s answer to the sounds coming out on 4AD. With dreamy vocals by David Stroughter about being an obsessive fan or about bad relationships and a rhythm section kicking up a swirl of noise around him, Majesty Crush brings to mind about a dozen English bands without feeling particularly in debt to any specific group. Occasionally the guitar makes a really cool, almost crunchy sound, but mostly the music moves in the fog, blanketing the vocals in layers of distortion. They lack the fey lyricism of the Cocteau Twins or the dreamy harmonies of Lush but guitarist Michel Segal holds his own against Kevin Shields’s sheets of sound. Meanwhile, they invoke David Hinckley on “No. 1 Fan,” wake up with a bottle and a cigar in hand on “Brand” and dip into ambient spaces on three small interludes. The first half is made of their lone album Love 15, while sides three and four contain an early EP and singles, putting pretty much their entire catalog into one handy set. These Detroit guys seem unjustly forgotten, but thankfully Numero’s made their music easy to find.

Roz Milner

Dennis Callaci & Heimito Künst — First Light (Pass Without Trace)

Heimito Künst is one of many characters in Chilean novelist Roberto Bolaño’s The Savage Detectives, a tangled multi-narrative epic. The enigmatic Italian musician who produced the sounds underpinning First Light has adopted Heimito Künst as his pseudonym, likely in reference to the knotty soundscapes he builds from organs, synths and field recordings. On paper, Dennis Callaci’s lyrics and vocals seem like an odd pairing for Künst’s oblique audio collages. Callaci is half of the long-running lo-fi pop project Refrigerator and has helmed the Shrimper label for over three decades. His signature mid-range nasal utterances, more spoken than sung, populate the extraterrestrial ecosystems of Künst like strange seedlings peeping up from beneath loamy soil. First Light serves as a bridge between the mysterious and the familiar, another worthy entry in Callaci’s discography and a port of entry into an unknown artist’s body of work. 

Bryon Hayes

Buck Curran — The Long Distance (Eiderdown/Obsolete)

Buck Curran is a guitar devotee. He’s a fluent player, a custodian of historic instruments, a chronicler of esteemed players and a compiler of albums that pay tribute to others. But sometimes a guy just needs a change of pace; enter The Long Distance. Mostly competed in a single night, it’s Curran’s holiday from the guitar. Instead, he plays analog synthesizer, layering sweeping tones and helicopter-rotor cadences into something rather like a lost Tangerine Dream album. Curran explains in the album notes that each piece is connected to a memory of a person or place, which may explain the melodies’ intimations of yearning and melancholy. But if you’re not Curran, they might evoke other associations; this music could easily be repurposed for film soundtracks.

Bill Meyer

Rhodri Davies — Telyn Wrachïod (Amgen)

Back in the mid-20th century, kids motorized their bikes with clothes pins and playing cards. The customization might not have yielded much additional propulsion, but the sound was cool. It turns out that they were simply following in the footsteps of 16th century Welsh harpists, who attached brays (slips of wood) to their strings to get a loud, buzzing sound. Rhodri Davies has explored the harp’s options in all manner of settings — Fluxus happenings, minimalist compositions, rock bands, free improv ensembles, the list goes on. Recently he’s commissioned speculative recreations of instruments from centuries ago, which he then uses to play the sort of short, wheels-within-wheels pieces that he formerly played with instruments amplified to a Konono No. 1-level of distortion.  On Telyn Wrachïod he turns to the bray harp, which sounds rather like a cross between a banjo and a sitar. Each of its 12 tracks is spiky but so engrossing that you might find yourself hitting repeat a few times before you move on to the next one.

Bill Meyer

Desultory — Darkness Falls (The Early Years) (Darkness Shall Rise)

The repackaging and re-release of underground metal’s extensive archive of hyper-obscure demos and records continues apace. Darkness Falls (The Early Years) collects three demos from Swedish death metal outfit Desultory, originally independently issued on cassettes between 1990 and 1992. The record’s principal interest is its documentation of the sonic flexibility that informed the term “death metal” in the early 1990s; there’s just as much lightning thrash in these songs as there is moldering morbidity, especially the four engaging tracks on the band’s first demo, From Beyond (1990). The title track is especially pleasurable, in its sprinting, bludgeoning fashion — and this reviewer notes the added benefit of the title’s reference to an excellent H. P. Lovecraft story (is that you, Cthulhu?). Swedeath completists take heed. For the rest of us, it’s a fun release, and of some historical interest. Its relative necessity is open to debate — but hey, we didn’t really need that reissue version of Pig Destroyer’s Painter of Dead Girls on “black ice with metallic silver glitter” vinyl, either. Maybe Darkness Shall Rise should get some points for only releasing four different product versions of Darkness Falls….

Jonathan Shaw

Devouring the Guilt — Not To Want To Say (Kettle Hole)

Devouring The Guilt is a Chicago-associated (meaning two members live there and one moved away but remains connected) improvising trio. The line-up is pretty classic — Gerrit Hatcher on tenor sax, Eli Namay on bass, Bill Harris on drums. And so are the trio’s roots. Hatcher summons a burly tone, steers mostly clear of extended techniques, and gives occasional nods to free jazz heroes like Archie Shepp, Frank Wright and Frank Lowe. These familiar parameters establish a framework to display their collective originality, which lies in the personal vernacular they’ve fashioned. Namay is an alternately pithy and seething presence, plucking spare, structure-defining figures or bowing a maelstrom of woody sound. Harris pushes back against expectations that the drums should push the music forward by punctuating his clearly articulated attack with lots of negative space. Hatcher situates lyricism in long, understated tones and vigorously masticated phases, but also navigates unpredictably through the tight corners and sudden gaps that the other two set up.

Bill Meyer

Carol Genetti / Peter Maunu — Gleaners (Amalgam)

No matter how you approach it, Gleaners will stretch your mind. Just what are Carol Genetti (voice, electronics) and Peter Maunu (guitar, violin, mandolin) gleaning? Not other people’s music, that’s for sure. Maybe the languages of long-extinct species, confidences exchanged between dusty appliances that come to life after the staff leaves the thrift shop, ideas about what instruments might sound like if you see them in pictures. Even when Maunu resorts to rock-ish fuzztones or Genetti exhales an unspooling coo, their co-creations are resolutely sui generis.  Their partnership has been honed through years of regular performance, often with other Chicago-based musicians, which likely explains the brisk confidence that this resolutely abstract music exudes. Genetti is a ceramic artist as well as a musician, and the physical manifestation of this album comes in two forms. She made ten one-of-a-kind clay cases that you can mount on a wall; the regular CDs come in a folio adorned with close-ups of the art edition.

Bill Meyer

Dave Douglas — GIFTS (Greenleaf Music)

GIFTS by Dave Douglas

With sizzling guitar lines and a frontline horn duo of Douglas and James Brandon Lewis, you’d think it would be easy for this to be a mere blowing session. But it’s not. The music is frequently introspective and has a very ECM kind of ambience: it has this wide-angle sonic clarity where each instrument has room to breathe and let their notes slowly linger. The suite of Strayhorn songs in the middle doesn’t feel tired, either. Rafiq Bhatia’s chugging guitar keeps “Take the A Train” moving while Douglas and Lewis move in sync for the theme. When they stretch out, they’re sometimes playing against each other but always seem like they’re on the same page. Meanwhile Bhatia’s playing draws on Bill Frisell, making up for the lack of a low end with well-placed chords and sonic textures. These four make the music their own and it’s one of the year's most rewarding jazz records. 

Roz Milner

Samara Lubelski & Marcia Bassett — Indexical/Rhizome (Relative Pitch)

Samara Lubelski and Marcia Bassett are both well-established members of the U.S. scene that engendered the moniker “new weird America” back in the early aughts. Both have CVs that stretch on for miles. Lubelski is best known as a star in the MV&EE solar system, while Bassett churns out murkier sound pools in a variety of projects, such as Double Leopards and Hototogisu. The pair have a long-standing partnership unfurling phosphorescent drone webs through guitar and violin. This is their eighth recording, and it presents two extended string seances that coax electric spirit whisps from unseen worlds. “Indexical” is the lengthier of the pair and features zoned out but controlled guitar howl from Bassett alongside Lubelski’s rapid bowing. The undulations intertwine to become a radiant lattice of sound. Alien timbres infect “Rhizome,” which sways between a noise-drone wall of sound and hushed electronic whispers. Both are live recordings, showing off the raw magic that this pair of string sirens can conjure.

Bryon Hayes

Joe McPhee With Ken Vandermark — Musings Of A Bahamian Son (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

Joe McPhee’s been toting folders full of poems and brief musings to gigs for years, but in recent years they’ve assumed an increasingly prominent place in his performances. Now, he’s finally put 28 of them on record, punctuated with nine short soprano sax/clarinet interludes that he improvised with Ken Vandermark. Oppression gets defied, history acknowledged, but most of all, love gets its due. McPhee muses about folks from the neighborhood, jazz heroes that inspired him, old friends now gone, and the balm and galvanization imparted by music itself. Abstract but tender, the interludes amplify this sentiment, showing by example how much appreciation for life and fellowship can be invested in a few tones.

Bill Meyer

Kate Nash — 9 Sad Symphonies (Kill Rock Stars)

On 9 Sad Symphonies, Kate Nash leans into her musical theater background, with skillfully crafted arrangements that incorporate classical orchestrations reminiscent of the film musicals from the 1930s-1950s.  As on most of her albums, she tweaks her sound and musical partners, here working with producer Frederik Thaae. There is a sauciness to her lyrics, which even go so far as describing lunch breaks in toilets. All is not a lark. Nash seeks to exorcize personal demons on “Vampyre” and “My Bile '' is a bracing assessment of a broken relationship. 9 Sad Symphonies may have a bucolic surface, but the singer-songwriter ventures down dark pathways where stars of the Silver Screen would have likely feared to go.

Christian Carey

Occulta Veritas — Irreducible Fear of the Sublime (I, Voidhanger)

Occulta Veritas plays an avant-garde variety of black metal, long on complexity and idiosyncratic compositional sensibilities. It’s abrasive and disorienting, and not especially fun to listen to — which yes, that’s the point, but there’s a huge amount of this sort of thing circulating through the metal underground at any given point, and deliberately distancing music from listeners’ parameters for pleasure can be a tough prospect in that oversaturated context. For this reviewer, the record’s engagement with the theoretical concepts of Jacques Lacan (big-deal psychoanalyst, post-structural Daddy and important player in France’s academic politics of the mid-20th century) helps Irreducible Fear of the Sublime stand out. It’s pretty great that one of the songs is called “Metonimia,” since Lacan’s projection of metonymy along a diachronic axis of spatio-temporal relations fits the music’s tortured snarls and chaotic, off-kilter arrangements. The utterances want to go somewhere, but the structures those utterances are trapped in make meaningful progress a near impossibility. It would be even better to have a lyric sheet, to get more than just the tantalizing engagements with Lacan provided in song titles (“The Mirror Stage,” “Bound to Incompleteness” and so on). There’s an overheated quality to the record that’s additionally compelling: This is your brain; this is your brain on Lacan. But it would be useful to know what specific ideas accompany specific sounds and turns in the music’s syntax. Or is it all just sound and fury, signifying nothing?

Jonathan Shaw

J. Pavone String Ensemble

Reverse Bloom by Jessica Pavone

The current edition of Jessia Pavone’s String Ensemble is reduced to essentials. There are just three players including Pavone, who plays viola, Aimée Niemann on violin, and Abby Swidler switching between those two instruments. The language is likewise paired down on Reverse Bloom. The first two pieces (of four) emphasize long tones that hiss and sigh at a deliberate pace, evoking an uneasy state. “Obstructed Current” pushes against the prevailing vibe with jolting, energetic phrases that move joltingly out of synch. The closing piece, “Embers Slumber,” likewise explores contrasting elements, which resolve by settling into a deliberate, belly-breathing rhythm. The album charts a course towards a grounded state that’s not so much a happy ending as a sonic enactment of the honest word that gets you through.

Bill Meyer

Keith Rowe / Gerard Lebik — Dry Mountain (Inexhaustible Editions)

Dry Mountain by Keith Rowe / Gerard Lebik

Despite having his name on the spine, Keith Rowe did not play on this record. However, he did originate the process of sound (re)imagining that it presents, and his cover image of a wiggling digit raises the question — how deep does a fingerprint go? The score of Dry Mountain originated from the imprint Rowe’s gear left on a sheet of paper. Rowe and Gerard Lebik interpreted that score and then handed a recording of their performance to three visual artists, who created their own scores based on what they heard. These scores were then played by the group of electronics, string, and percussion players heard on this album while listeners drew responses to the music, which they then handed to the musicians, who played them on the spot. The further you get from the first piece heard, the further the music gets from Rowe’s sound world; in a reversal of Alvin Lucier’s I Am Sitting In A Room, the music gets segmented and defined.

Bill Meyer

D. Sablu — No True Silence  (Yes We Cannibal)

No True Silence by D.SABLU

D. Sablu is a New Orleans punk lifer, late of Casual Burns and Feverish, but forced (or inspired or motivated) by COVID to strike out on his own.  No True Silence is Sablu’s first full-length, and it’s a killer, a slaughterhouse frenzy of punk /garage/ hardcore and a little metal, all chopped up with chainsaws and spraying all over the walls.  Indeed, you’ll have to stand well back from the player when you first put the record on, because it leads with “Bomber Stomp,” a two-minute assault of lumbering, heavy punk that sways noticeably as it comes down on the ones and twos.  Sablu lets off a howl near the end that raises the hairs on my neck, because it’s so sulfurous and tortured.  “69 Forever” lights a new wave hook on fire with a blowtorch; it’s catchy as hell but blows you back with sheer volume and aggression.  The brief “World Peace” is pure, adrenalized chaos, drums galloping wildly, guitars flaring, bass buzzing and Sablu screaming “World pee-eeea-eace!” like a banshee.  Fun stuff.  Turn it up.

Jennifer Kelly

Mark Sims — Take Me Faster (Carousel Horse Records, Old 3-C Label Group, Anyway)

Take Me Faster by Mark Sims

Deindustrialization has hollowed out the Midwest’s economy, leaving shuttered factories and empty main streets all across the central American states.  Mark Sims, a bricklayer when he’s not performing, sings with the soft, wry melancholy of a man left behind by tectonic shifts, finding solace in well-turned melodies and plain-spoken turns of phrase.  It was fashionable half a decade ago to interview Ohioans in diners about their economic circumstances; Take Me Faster provides the same sort of snapshot of dislocation and disappearing opportunity.

For instance, in “Hold On To Me,” the narrator is driving long-distance to a job somewhere, trying to find a song on the radio and thinking about home.   “Money comes and goes so quickly/I could work a million hours/and still be broke when I die,” Sims confides, against a radiant lattice of picking. The song is unassuming, and kind of perfect, a distillation of the struggle to stay connected and human in a low-wage high-uncertainty economy.

The songs are simply arranged, a mesh of Sims’ dusky, resonant voice and acoustic guitar, mostly, with a little synth in the background for texture.  And yet, this is more than enough, as on the haunting “I’m Always by Your Side,” where Sims’  voice lifts up through the sadness, fluttering soulfully in the upper registers before drifting back to earth.  These songs don’t pull any tricks or do any somersaults, but they’re satisfying all the same. 

Jennifer Kelly

Jason Stein / Marilyn Crispell / Damon Smith / Adam Shead — Spi-raling Horn (Balance Point Acoustics/Irritable Mystic)

spi-raling horn by Jason Stein, Marilyn Crispell, Damon Smith, Adam Shead

The trio of Shead, Stein, and Smith first convened with the former two’s duo shared a bill with Smith. They recognized in each other a common aesthetic intent, a shared wish to improvise within a particular set of parameters; there’s no predetermined material, but a collective intention not to be confined to jazz. They’ve all listened closely to the great 20th century European free improvisers, and part of what they’ve taken from them is an intent to fashion their own language. There’s no soloing here, although occasionally someone will drop out if that’s what the music requires. And when they invite a fourth musician into the action, they participate as an equal contributor, not a featured guest. Marilyn Crispell’s associations with musicians as disparate as Barry Guy, Anthony Braxton and Joe Lovano reveal her to be an artist similarly concerned with fluent exchange, not ego-boosting display. But she’s also a stern bringer of velocity and complexity on this recording, which is the studio half of a single brief encounter which took place in Chicago in the middle of 2023. Dense assertion, abrasive texture, and bursting co-existence cohere into a seven-part sequence of collaborative invention.

Bill Meyer

SUSS — Birds & Beasts (Northern Spy)

Birds & Beasts by SUSS

Gorgeous hovering tones of pedal steel, guitar (with e bow), keyboards and synths coalesce in these cuts, each a glowing, vibrating meditation on the beauty and fragility of the natural world.  SUSS, from New York City, explores many of the same haunted textures as Chuck Johnson and Pan*American, letting sustained notes linger in shimmering layers of slow-moving sound.  “Overstory” encases picked acoustic notes in a translucent amber of pedal steel arcs and violin, letting the sound grow as slowly—and as enormously—as old growth forest.  “Flight” follows a more pronounced rhythm than other cuts, its steady pulse of strumming beating like wings on a long trip south.  The disc is not all sunshine, however.  “Prey” lurks in ominous buzzes and hums of feedback, building threat into dark-toned dissonance and animal screeches into wails of guitar.  The long closer, “Migration,” pulls taut with anticipation, its beat like a metronome, its melody unfurling in the wheeze of harmonica and the shifting twang of pedal steel.  SUSS often gets tagged as cosmic country, but which country?  Unearthly, luminous and beautiful. 

Jennifer Kelly

Their Divine Nerve — Return of the Lamb (Staalplaat)

The Return of the Lamb by Their Divine Nerve

Dmytro Fedorenko and Jeff Surak have been collaborating for about 20 years now, but this first album as Their Divine Nerve appears to be the first time the self-described “Ukrainian-American noise duo” have collaborated on record at length. But right from the churning, thumping 14+ minute opener “The Infinity Book” here it’s clear that their long association has led to a certain sympatico comfort with each other. Whether on the more overtly aggressive shredding (not guitar riffs, actual shredding) of “Glowing Skulls” or the more pensive, droning likes of “Dignityphobia,” here the pair have arranged a rich, expansive (71 minutes on CD, plus about another half hour in bonus material on digital) feast for anyone looking to add some variety to their noise diet. By the time the CD thunders and shudders to a half with “Civilization Was Never Civilized” the listener may not know anything more about the titular lamb, but it’s clear its return is momentous indeed.

Ian Mathers

Various Artists — Congo Funk: Sound Madness From The Shores Of The Mighty Congo River (Kinshasa/Brazzaville 1969-1982) (Analog Africa)

Congo Funk! - Sound Madness From The Shores Of The Mighty Congo River (Kinshasa/Brazzaville 1969-1982) (Analog Africa No. 38) by Analog Africa

Mobutu Sese Seko was a murderous tyrant, but he changed African music forever when he invited James Brown to play Zaire 74,  the three-day musical festival put on alongside George Forman and Muhammed Ali’s epic Rumble in the Jungle.  American funk transformed an already vibrant musical scene like a chemical catalyst setting off an explosion of electrified, psychedelic soul in Kinshasa and Brazzaville.  Congo Funk! collects 14 incendiary cuts from the 1970s and 1980s — culling from an original haul of over 2000 sounds — not a dud in the bunch and more than a couple of revelations.  M.B.T’s eponymous “M.B.T.’s Sound” is one of the best on this two-disc set, all brassy swagger and intricate polyrhythmic percussion, as is Orchestre National du Congo’s full-throated celebration “Ah Congo!” with its wild call and response, feral sax play and unhinged drumming.  Lolo et L'Orchestre O.K. Jazz’s “Lolo Soulfire,” sets up a Stax-like groove and lives in it, slouching and swaggering like Booker T in a fever.  Fire.

Jennifer Kelly

Ricki Weidenhof — Church (We Be Friends)

Church by Ricki Weidenhof

A member of Pittsburgh avant-collagists Sneeze Awfull, Ricki Weidenhof examines a life of religious ambivalence and search for identity on their solo album Church. Working through a range of styles that illustrate and amplify those themes, Weidenhof produces an emotionally rich and sometimes challenging fractal mosaic. The wonderfully titled suite “Raptured in Formal Violence” contrasts liturgical solemnity and a babel of religious voices with jittering house to capture that mixture of dread and ecstasy the Church so often induces. At the other of the scale “Dreary Field” is an Arthur Russell inspired idyll of acoustic guitar and cello as Weidenhof singsof the past “I finished that game of hide and seek long ago/Only it was still at play/I remember the last place I had hidden.” “Extinction Meditation” begins in a similar vein, the religious and personal entwined with vivid imagery, before a chaos of multi-tracked vocals, distorted beats, and razor strings. A powerful, heartfelt record that deserves a wide audience.

Andrew Forell

Wormed — Omegon (Season of Mist)

OMEGON by Wormed

It’s hard to say anything meaningful about Wormed — pretty much everything about the band is absurd, or at least verging on it. To identify some key elements of the absurdity: the “vocals” of Jose Luis Rey Sanchez (appearing on Omegon, as always, under the appropriately throaty appellation Phlegeton — Sanchez is likely referring to the mythic river, but all I can think of is phlegm…), for whom the unappetizing term “throat fart” might have been coined; the sheer nuttiness of the band’s tech death wankery, which the band has actually moderated a wee bit for Omegon; the fact that Wormed have been at it since 1999, mostly developing a continuous narrative of a fictional cosmos, full of conflict among evil extraterrestrial forces, multiple timelines and a protagonist named Krigshu (some song titles from this record are indicative: “Aetheric Transdimensionalization,” “Gravitational Servo Matrix,” “Virtual Teratogensis”). You figure it out. Beyond the music — more tech than slam, but still seeking some sort of apotheosis of that quality death metal freaks name “brutality” — what’s most engaging about Wormed is the band’s ability to sustain the absurdity and to seem absolute serious about it. Maybe that makes the Spanish band especially well-suited to our times. Or maybe we just haven’t gotten the joke yet.

Jonathan Shaw

[callsign-magnolia]

I Hope You Dance // Ch. 47

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

A/N: This is cross posted to my Wattpad, so if this seems familiar that is why!

TW: Mental abuse, emotional abuse, slight physical abuse, death and loss.

Description: When Caila meets Rooster, sparks fly. But, she's already married, to a man who she thought loved her, and won't let her go. Rooster will fight for her, he just has to convince Caila to fight for herself.

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter 46 | Masterlist

The next morning Rooster and I slept in, seeing as we kept each other up until the early morning hours. But when we woke up, we still couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves. “Fuck, Bradley!” I cried out as I straddled him, his cock brushing that one spot inside me as he thrust up into me. “God you take me so well, pretty girl. Taking me like a good girl.” I moaned at his words, my slick coating my thighs and his as he fucked me. My nails were digging into his chest as he hissed in pain. I leaned down, my lips molding to his as his arms wrapped around me, his thrusts speeding me up. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” I cried out. “Cum for me mags. Come on.” The knot is my stomach was pulling tighter and tighter. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum on my cock for me.” His hips were slamming into mine, his words spurring me onto until I was crying out, cumming on his cock and shaking. He chased his own high after I finished, making tears stream down my cheeks from the overstimulation. “Fuck, Mags!” He grunted, one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping my ass. “God you feel so good! Fucking take it!” He said before moaning loudly, cumming into the condom and laying back on his pillow breathing hard.

He grinned at me, pulling me down into his chest before placing a kiss to the crown of my head. “God, I love you.” He said, running his hands through my hair. I giggled, resting my hand on his chest and resting my chin on my hand. “I love you too, Roo.” He smiled at me, his thumb rubbing across my cheek. “What time do you have to meet your mom?” He asked. “Eleven-thirty.” He hummed. “Think we got time for one more round?” I grinned, sitting up as he followed me. Pushing me onto my back before hovering over me. “I think we can make time.” I whispered before pulling his lips down to mine. After we wore each other out, we didn’t realize we fell back asleep until I woke up, looking at the clock to see ten forty-five. “Shit!” I yelled, launching out of bed and startling Rooster. “What?!” He asked as I rushed into the bathroom. “I still need a shower! I’m gonna be so late!” I yelled as I slammed the door shut, cutting on the water and grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste. I quickly showered, and brushed my teeth while I rinsed the soap off my body. Once I was out, I rushed to dry off before stepping out of the bathroom and rushing to the dresser. I yanked out some yoga pants and a tank top. I got dressed and slid on some tennis shoes before pulling my wet hair into a bun and rushing downstairs.

I grabbed my purse before looking at the rack we keep our keys on, but they were gone. “Fuck! Where are my keys?” I turned but Bradley stood there with a cup full of iced coffee and my keys. “What would I do without you?” I asked before standing on my toes and kissing him quickly. “You’d still be searching for your keys.” He said as he opened the front door for me. “I love you and I will see you when we get to the stadium.” He said, pulling me into one last kiss. “I love you too!” I yelled as I rushed to the jeep. Once inside I backed out of the driveway and headed for the stadium. I sped around the building, pulling int next to mom’s tour bus before grabbing the pass mom gave me and getting out. No one stopped me as I rushed back to the dressing rooms to set my stuff down. I got to mom’s dressing room and swung the door open, she was tying her shoes on the couch when I walked in. “You’re late.” She scolded. “And your hair is wet.” Olga, mom’s stylist said as she walked in behind me, her Swedish accent thick behind me. “Yes, I know. We fell back asleep so I barely managed to shower before rushing here.”

“What could you have been doing that you couldn’t be up by ten o’clock? You’re in the navy! You’re up at like four a.m. every morning!” She exasperated. “Fucking, Regina! They were fucking!” My cheeks burned as Olga yelled out the answer from behind me. “Oh my god. I did not need to know that.” She said before walking past me and out the door. “She seems to forget that when her and your dad got together, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.” I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. Olga has been with my mom since she started touring in the eighties. They’re also close friends and have been since before Jameson was born. “What? I walked in on them a time or two. On accident of course. Dressing rooms seemed to be their thing-“ “Olga, I love you but just like mama, I didn’t need to know that.” She rolled her eyes. “So sensitive.” She remarked. “Same old Olga.” She smiled at me, kissing my cheek. “Go rehearse and when you are done, I will make you look… not so messy anymore.” She waved me off and I chuckled as I walked out of the dressing room and down the stadium hallways to the stage. Once there mom was talking with her lead guitarist. Once she saw me, she walked over, holding out a microphone. “Ready to rehearse?” I nodded, taking the mic. “Hey, mom.” I stopped her. “I’m really sorry I was late.” She shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t ever recall you being late for things. I just wish Olga didn’t blurt out what she did, because I definitely didn’t need to know that.” I nodded. “I know.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Let’s go and practice. I’m so excited to have you up here.” I smiled and nodded, following her down to the end of the stage.

“Hold still!” Olga yelled, gripping my cheeks to hold my head still. “I’m sorry.” I said through squished cheeks. Soon she let go, grabbing the purple nude lipstick from the counter. “Pucker.” If there was one thing I learned, growing up, was if any staff on the tour told you to do something, you did it and Olga was no exception. She finished my lipstick and stepped back. “Beautiful. Stand up.” I stood and she fluffed the curls in my hair. “Okay, now get changed. Regina will want you in about thirty-minutes.” She stepped out and I grabbed the rhinestone covered bustier from the hanger. If there was one thing my mom was known for when on stage, was her presence and her outfits. Once I got the bustier clipped together, I grabbed the black high waisted skirt and draped the thin rhinestone belts across it. My nerves had my hands shaking and I wasn’t sure how I was going to do this. It’s been a while since I’ve been on stage, and I haven’t done it since my very public divorce. I gave myself another once over in the mirror before walking out, my heels clicking as I made my way down the halls. I high pitch horn sounded behind me, making me jump. “Need a ride?” I smiled as Mark rolled up in a golf cart. “Absolutely.” I ran around to the other side, climbing in.

~~~

“Where’s Magnolia? I thought she’d be here?” Hangman yelled over the roar of the crowd and the music. I shrugged, burying my hands in my pockets as we stood in a separate section by the stage. “I don’t know. But I was hoping she’d come out here. I wanted to enjoy this with her.” I looked around, hoping I could catch sight of my fiancé but no luck. Regina was finishing her first song, the thunderous cheers booming around us. “So, I have a friend in the crowd tonight and her birthday is coming up.” She paused as the crowd cheered. “And just like me, she is a big Guns N’ Roses fan. So I decided to perform one of my favorite songs tonight for her.” “Me?!” Penny yelled as Mav pointed at her. “Yes, you!” Penny is fun-loving, but mostly calm. So to see her squealing and jumping up and down was a sight. “Mom! Calm down!” Amelia yelled as she grabbed her arm. “Rooster!” Phoenix called from down our line. She was pointing up on stage, back towards the band. “Look!” I glanced up as the opening chords to ‘Welcome to The Jungle’ blasted through the speakers. The lights went up and the big screen showed the main stage, but I didn’t need it to know it was Magnolia on the lift. Cheers erupted around us as she made her way down the stage towards her mom, guitar in hand. My eyes were fixed on her, I wasn’t able to look away. The rhinestone covered top, that short skirt and the boots that made her legs look like they went on for miles. If I wasn’t careful, I would get a hard on right here and now.

A smile lit up her face as she played the guitar. It was a side of her I don’t always get to see. “Is that why she’s been playing guitar more often the last few weeks?” Phoenix asked from next to me and I shrugged. “I guess. I didn’t know she was doing this.” I was surprised, but I was happy to see her face light up the way it did. The song closed out and the floor shook with applause and cheers. I joined in, screaming as she waved out to the crowd. Her head whipped around, curls flying around her face as her eyes searched the crowd. Once they landed on me, she smiled, winking at me before blowing a kiss my way. I smiled at her, winking back. “Who wants to hear her do one of her own songs?” Regina asked, the crowd screaming as Caila looked at her with wide eyes. “Come on. You can’t tell them no now!” I was worried, seeing as she looked nervous. “Okay.” She agreed and Regina ran up the stage, grabbing something from one of the stagehands. I smiled, recognizing the black fringe jacket and white Stetson. Once she had that on, Regina whispered in her ear before going backstage. Caila adjusted the mic stand as she looked out at the sea of people. “Wow, okay I didn’t expect this. Um, I was also informed of what song to perform. This one is called ‘Closer To You’. I wrote it while my fiancé-“ She was cut off by more thunderous cheers in response to the term. “Thank you. Um, we’re both in the navy and we were separated for a while because of deployments. I wrote this after I came home but he was still gone.” I paid close attention to the song. Watching as she stood up there, looking like a literal angel in the lights.

 “We can cut the headlights out when there ain't no one else around Kill the space in between, slide across that leather seat Heart to heart, face to face, you know all I wanna do Is get closer, closer, closer to you Closer to you.”

The chorus told me everything I needed to know. “Thank you, San Diego!” She said before walking off stage, her mother replacing her. “I think that’s my favorite song of hers. What did y’all think?” We all cheered before Regina started her next song. “CAILA!” Rita screamed from the opposite end. I watched as she pulled Mags into a hug, chatting her ear off before everyone else swarmed her. I tried to push through, but it was no use, so I just backed away, watching the show. But it wasn’t long until I felt a small hand wrap around my arm. “Hi honey.” She was quiet but I could pick up her voice in the loudest of crowds. I looked down at her, smiling widely. “Hi, pretty girl.” She grinned at me, her free hand reaching up and wrapping around my neck, pulling me into a kiss. “How’d you like the song?” She pulled away just long enough to whisper the question against my lips. I couldn’t help but grin against her lips, my hands falling to her waist to pull her flush against my body. “I loved it. Did you write that for me?” She nodded, pulling back just enough to look at me. “I did.” Her arms went around my neck, our bodies warm against each other’s. “I just wanna be close to you, Roo.” The grin never left my face as she looked up at me. “I’m always keeping you with me, pretty girl.”

~~~

I kept my body pressed against Rooster’s as we watched the rest of the show whether that be me pressed against my side, or my back against his chest as his arms were wrapped around my waist. “San Diego, I have had a blast with you, but sadly, time is running out. So, I want to leave you with one last song, it’s a personal favorite of mine. Let’s throw it back to the year two-thousand, and… I Hope You Dance.” I’ll never get used to the sounds of clapping roaring over everything else. It shook the ground beneath my feet, causing Rooster to pull me closer. The opening chords started, and Rooster let me go. I was about to turn and ask him what was wrong when he spun me around, one hand falling to my waist as his left hand grabbed my right. My left hand rested on his chest as he smiled at me, resting his forehead on mine. “You know, I searched and searched for this song but never found it.” I giggled as he stared into my eyes. “How? You could’ve looked at Mama’s discography.” His eyes widened. “In six years, I never thought to do that.”

I leaned up, kissing his nose before wrapping my arms around his neck. “That’s okay. You don’t have to search for it anymore.” He nodded, his hand coming up and resting on my cheek. “Because I have you.” I raised a brow. “I was gonna say because I know the song and the artist but, what you said works too.” He threw his head back laughing and it took him a second to catch his breath, but he pulled me close when he did. I took my hat off, resting it on his head so I could lay my head on his chest as he swayed us side to side. I took a deep breath, his cologne surrounding me as his heart was beating in my ear. I thought back to the last time we were at one of mom’s shows together. It was when we were in Virginia, and he showed up. I told him he wasn’t good enough and was so cruel to him. “Rooster?” I asked, his hand rubbing my back as he kissed my head. “Yeah, pretty girl?” He answered. “I love you. So much, Rooster.” He hummed as his lips rested against the crown of my head. “Oh, I love you more than words can describe, Magnolia.”

Once the concert was over, we all made our way backstage and hung out for a while. Rooster held onto JJ who was dead asleep on his shoulder. Little man had a blast watching the show, and Penny was still ecstatic about the song for her. But finally, we were all exhausted and went our separate ways. “What time do we have to meet the photographer tomorrow?” Rooster asked as we walked through the front door. “Noon.” I grumbled, feeling dead on my feet. He chuckled, following me upstairs, still in my outfit from the show. Once upstairs I immediately sat down, kicking off my boots before laying back on the bed. “I forgot how exhausting performing can be.” I mumbled as Rooster chuckled, slipping off his shirt. I laid there with my eyes closed, trying to find the motivation to move. I could hear Bradley rustling around, but he startled me when he climbed up my body. I opened my eyes, looking up at him as he straddled me. “So this is what it’s like in this position.” I giggled as he opened something next to me. He rubbed something on my face, and I realized he was taking my makeup off. “You’re so good to me.” I mumbled as he gently worked to get all the makeup off. Once he was done, he got up before coming back and setting something next to me. “Your solution is in there. But you have to take your contacts out yourself.” I giggled again, taking out my contacts before he put the caps on the case and putting it back in the bathroom. “Now my favorite part.” He said before he reached behind me. “This is more intricate than a normal bra. You can’t work your magic with this one.” He smirked. “Watch me.” He attempted to snap the clasps open, but was unsuccessful. “Here.” I managed to roll onto my front, allowing him access to the million and one clasps on the bustier. Once unclasped I sat up and he slid it off, carefully laying it in the floor. I tucked my arms under my head, closing my eyes again. But I smirked when I felt his soft lips placing gentle kisses along my shoulder.

“You’re keeping all this, right.” I hummed in agreement as he worked his way down my back till he got to the waist band of my skirt. “I absolutely loved seeing you on stage. But I think this is my favorite part of the night.” I giggled as he placed a kiss in the center of my back before slowly dragging down the zipper. “I knew you only wanted to get in my pants.” He chuckled, resting his forehead on my back. “I’m trying to be all sweet and you keep making me laugh.” I sat up, turning my head back to look over my shoulder. “Guess I’m doing my job then.” He smiled, gently pulling the skirt down my legs and unclasping the rhinestone belts. I squealed as he hauled me up to the head of the bed, pulling the covers down before enveloping us in them. “God I love you.” He said as he hovered over me, his forehead resting against mine. “I love you too, Roo.” His lips molded against mine as he kissed me, my hands running up his biceps as they held him up. He pulled away, trailing kisses along my cheek and down my neck. “You know, we just got that video camera.” I hummed as his lips ran across my chest, taking one of my nipples in his mouth, making me moan. My eyes were closed and I was struggling to stay awake. “We could put that to good use.” His lips trailed along my belly, his tongue dipping into my navel as he went across it. I was fighting to stay awake, but his soft kisses and hushed whispers slowly lulled me to sleep.

The next day I was redoing my curls after I finished my makeup. “What shoes do you want?” Rooster asked as he laced up his own boots. “The white block heels in the floor of the closet.” He nodded and went to get them. I set my curling iron down and fluffed my hair. “How do I look?” I asked as I walked out of the bathroom. He smiled at me from the closet doorway, looking over my body. “You look,” He said as he came over, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Fucking ethereal.” He leaned down, kissing me gently. “But I’m still mad at you for last night.” I groaned as I sat in the chair next to the closet. “How many times do I have to apologize for that?” I groaned. “I’ll let you know when you’ve groveled enough.” I glared at him as he crouched down, slipping my shoes on my feet. He clasped them together around my ankle. “But I still love you, so I won’t make you beg for forgiveness too much more.” He sat up, kissing me again. “I love you too.” He helped me up and I brushed out my dress. It was powder blue, with puffy sleeves on the shoulders but it was backless. Rooster had on one of his signature Hawaiian shirts. It was white with powder blue flowers. I told him to wear whatever, but he wanted to somewhat match. He had on washed out jeans that clung to his thighs. “We’re finally doing these pictures, I’m so excited.” He said as he lifted me up, carrying me out of the bedroom. He put me down and we went downstairs and found the girls staring out the back door. “Y’all can go out later. You’ve had baths and you need to stay pretty for your pictures.” I said as I leaned down, kissing Dahlia’s head. I grabbed some waters from the fridge and set them on the counter just as the doorbell went off.

I walked into the living room, seeing Rooster holding the door open for Nina, our photographer. “Hi! Thank you so much for coming and doing this.” I greeted as she walked in. “My pleasure. I love this house by the way.” She said as she looked around. “Thank you. We just renovated.” Rooster said as he came over, wrapping his arm around my waist. “But I can’t help but notice the hole in the wall there, and the one in the ceiling up there.” I bit my lip. We haven’t had a chance to patch the holes yet but the officers did remove the bullets from the walls. “We had a break in back in March.” She nodded and dropped the subject. “Well I’m glad everything is okay. Now, I would love to get some shots of you two on the staircase. You have many family photos, and other wedding photos. So I think that’d make a cute one. Could I see the rest of the house?” I nodded and we took her on a tour of the house. Once we were back in the kitchen she nodded. “This entire house seems to embody you as a couple. I think we’re gonna get some good shots in here.” For the first round she had us take a few pictures in the living room floor, which the dogs bombarded. We had to calm them down so they would lie on the floor with us. Then we moved to the couch, where Nina caught some beautiful pictures of us. One was Rooster laying back against the couch, my back to his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. We did a few on the staircase, my favorite had to be when he dipped me, holding my one leg up.

“Okay, Rooster take off your shoes and get on the bed. He raised a brow but did as she said, sitting on the bed and scooting back. “Okay, you take yours off and get up there, facing him.” I unbuckled my heels, climbing up onto the bed with him. He grinned at me as I crawled towards him before sitting down with my legs in front of me. He smiled down at me as I tossed some of my hair over my shoulder. “Hey, pretty girl.” He whispered, leaning closer. “Hi honey.” I whispered back as he rested his forehead on mine. “You look beautiful.” I couldn’t fight the grin on my face as he lifted his had to cup my cheek. “These are going to be so perfect!” Nina squealed as Rooster kissed me. We took a few of us cuddling, him laying on his side as I laid back against him before we went back downstairs. “Is that a piano?” She asked as she led us to the kitchen. “It is.” I answered and she turned to me. “Do you play?”  I shook my head, pointing behind me. “He does.”

“Okay.” She grabbed Bradley by the sleeve of his shirt, gently pulling him over to the piano. “Sit and lay something romantic.” He just chuckled and did as she said. “Okay. Now go up behind him and wrap your arms around him or kiss his cheek or something.” I grinned, walking over and wrapped my arms around his shoulders as he played something soft and slow. I closed my eyes, gently pressing my lips to his temple for a few seconds before pulling away. “Do I dare?” He asked with a shit eating grin. “Oh… you do dare.” I whispered back. Before I knew it, he hit the familiar notes. “You shake my nerves, and you rattle my brain!” We took off, belting out the song together as I danced around him before joining him on the bench. We laughed as we finished, sharing another kiss. “Wow! You guys were so good!” Nina yelled excitedly. “Thank you!” I replied as we stood from the bench. “On to the kitchen!” She said, marching that way. We took a few cute ones in there. One of rooster lifting me on to the counter, him standing between my legs. She even got some cute shots of my ring on the white and black granite countertop. Then we moved outside with the dogs and took some cute little family photos, but I think my favorites were the ones of Rooster and I lounging on the porch swing. I was nestled between his legs and even though we were posing, I felt so safe and relaxed. “Okay, to the beach!” She yelled, jogging through the gate and out to the sand. “I really like her energy.” I said as we kicked off our shoes and followed her. Once on the beach Dahlia took off in a run as Sadie tried to keep her paws off the sand as much as possible. “Aw, come here.” Bradley cooed, lifting her off the ground and into his arms.

“Okay, just take a walk down the beach and pretend I’m not here.” Nina yelled and we just laughed and did as she asked. Rooster held Sadie in one arm and held my hand with the other as Dahlia ran ahead. “I’m excited to see these once she’s done with them.” I said as we walked. “Me too.” I narrowed my eyes up at him, staring intensely. “So… are you going to give me any hint on what this super special date is?” He just laughed, smiling down at me. “Nope. It’s a surprise, pretty girl.” I threw my head back groaning before Nina called us back. We took a few more pictures with the dogs before we sent them inside. “Okay, just walk along the water.” We did as she asked and after a few paces she stopped us. “Okay, give her a spin.” Rooster took my hand, spinning me slowly before he pulled me in, dipping me as the surf came in. “Perfect!” I couldn’t help but grin and throw my arms around his neck as he pulled me back up. “Can I see the ring?” I nodded, slipping my ring off and handing it to her. She walked back, placing my ring gently in the sand, using her finger to trace a heart around it. She took a few more pictures of it, even pulling out some scrabble letters and writing out love, using my ring as the ‘O’. “Okay.” She said as she handed my ring back to me. “How do you feel about getting wet?” We nodded, looking at each other. “Sounds fun!” I said and she nodded. “Bradley, sit down in the surf.” He did as she asked and he just gave me a dopey grin as he looked up at me. “Alright. Straddle his lap.” She was so straightforward. I love it. I bounced over, tossing my leg over his before slowly dropping myself down onto his lap. His hands latched onto my hips, pulling me close to him as our noses brushed together.

“Now…. Kiss!” We laughed and kissed as she said it. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close. My own hands drifting to his hair. There was a fire in this kiss, one that made me feel like flames were licking my core. “Please don’t forget I’m here.” Nina said, making me laugh in the middle of the kiss. “Okay, now, walk out into the water and Bradley, I need you to lift her till her legs wrap around your waist.” He nodded, standing with me in his arms. “Or don’t even put her down. That works too.” He walked right out into the water, waves crashing against us making me squeal. She walked a little closer but not too far that the camera could be damaged. “Okay, turn so I can see your side profiles.” He did as she asked, smirking at me. “No funny business until she’s done.” “I make no promises.” I narrowed my eyes at him as a wave gently crashed into us. “Kiss! Do something cute!” He kissed me again, pulling me as close as he could get me. I smiled into the kiss, grinding my core against him. “Stop it.” He said as he pulled away. “I’m not doing anything!” I exclaimed. “You’re being a little-“ He was cut off as a wave crashed into us. I squealed as we were officially soaked from head to toe. “What were you saying?” He opened his mouth as another wave crashed into us, taking us under. The water wasn’t too deep, but I was a little disoriented as the wave rolled over me. Soon I managed to get my head out of the water, gasping as I flipped my hair out of my face. “Are you okay?” Nina asked, reaching her hand out for me to take.

I accepted her hand, pulling myself out of the water. “Where’s-“ I was looking for Bradley when he popped up a foot away from where I was. “Damn. Didn’t think I would ever get back up.” He said as he stood, making his way over. “You look like a drowned cat.” He said as he looked at me. I smacked his chest, gasping. “How dare you!” He laughed, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me. “Good thing I love cats. And you!” I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest as he held me. “Oh, c’mon honey. I was just joking.” I continued to pout until he wrapped my legs around his waist, leaning over. “I love you, pretty girl. I didn’t mean it.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore, smiling before I grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. “I just wanted to hear you beg.” He laughed before putting me on my feet. “Well, good thing I got all the photos I needed before you two were almost washed away with the tide.” Nina joked. “So, we’re all done here?” Rooster asked and she nodded. “Awesome! Let’s get back inside so I can give you your check and we can shower and get ready for our date.” I said and Rooster shook his head. “Don’t bother showering.” Rooster said as we made our way back to the house. We managed to dry off enough to go inside and I gave Nina her check. “I’m really confident in these, so would you mind if I used them on my website?” I shook my head. “Not at all. Go for it.” She nodded. “And of course, if you want to use me as a wedding photographer, I have another person who works with me and she’s a videographer. I love using her for weddings because we can get shots of the bride and groom in the aisle.” We nodded. “We’ll keep that in mind.” She nodded before I walked her out. “Now,” Rooster said as I closed the door. “You need to change into a bathing suit and a coverup.” I raised an eyebrow. “We just got out of the water, and you wanna go get back in it?” He shook his head. “Not quite.”

Twenty minutes later we were in the bronco, and Rooster’s large hand was resting on my thigh, slowly pushing my dress up higher and higher. “How much longer?” I asked as I adjusted the blindfold on my eyes. “We’re pulling in now.” He said and soon he came around, helping me out of the bronco. “Careful.” He said as he walked ahead of me, holding my hand as the other hand rested on my elbow. “Step. Step.” Once I was on solid ground, I could tell there was wood beneath my feet. “Stop.” I did as he said, and he yanked the blindfold from my eyes. “Watch the braid!” I yelled as I ran my hand over my wet hair. I looked in front of me, seeing a white sailing yacht. ‘What’s this?” I asked and he grinned, taking my hand. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He took my hand helping me up onto the boat before joining me. “Penny let me borrow her boat. You can set our bag down there.” I went down into the cabin, setting our bag on one of the cushions, spotting a basket sitting on the small table space. I grabbed it, walking back up. “Did Penny also leave us a basket with champagne, fancy cheese, crackers and chocolate?” He chuckled. “Yes. There’s another basket down there but I’ll pull that out in a little while.” I nodded, putting the basket in a safe place. I went back to the cockpit, smiling as Rooster pulled in the last rope. “And we’re off.” I took the wheel as he opened the sails. Once they were open, he took the wheel from me and sailed us out of the harbor.

Rooster was sailing to a cove about an hour out and I had the time of my life as I stood by him, the boat tilting and water splashing up as we made our way through the ocean. Once we were there, I helped him drop anchor and he closed the sails. “Okay, you go sit on deck.” I did as he asked as he went down to the cabin. I stretched my legs out in front of me, leaning back on my hands as the sun hit my face. “Okay!” I looked back as Rooster came over, a wild grin on his face as he carried a picnic basket and the bottle of champagne. “We have dinner and champagne.” He pulled out some plates and a few other items. Caprese pasta salad, fruit, some veggies, reuben sandwiches and a charcuterie board. “Did you really pack everything for a charcuterie board?” He nodded as he set it all up. “Sure did.” Once the food was set out, he grabbed two plastic champagne flutes and poured our glasses. “Okay, I love this. But why is this a super special date?” I asked and he smirked, sitting up and grabbing my hand. I thought he was going to hold it until he snatched the ring from my finger. “Hey!” He held it away from me then sat up till he was on one knee. “Magnolia. I know, I’ve already proposed. But I wanted to do it again, the way I had planned it the first time. You are everything to me. You are what my world spins around and the reason I get up every day. I spent a long time alone, and I don’t want that anymore. I want to spend the rest of my life by your side, reminding you everyday how much I love you. So, Caila Motley, will you marry me?” A few tears trailed down my cheeks just like they did five months ago, and I laughed as he stared down at me. I sat up on my knees, grabbing his face and kissing him sweetly. “Of course, I will marry you.”

He chuckled, placing the ring back on my finger. “You’re not gonna ask me if I’m sure this time?” I sat back, eyes wide. “Are you not sure?” He shook his head, chuckling. “This is the one decision I’ve never questioned. I know this is what I want for the rest of my life.” He kissed me again before we sat back down, scooting closer together. “Is this how you were originally gonna propose?” He nodded as he handed me my plate. “It was. But I knew when I was able to meet you for Christmas, I couldn’t wait. If anything happened to me, I wanted to know that you knew how much I love you.” I smiled, kissing him again. “I love you too, Roo.” With that we dug into the food, enjoying everything he packed. “This is so good. You should cook more often.” He just chuckled, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “Why would I when everything you make is so amazing?” I hummed, looking over at him. “Well, you’re not wrong.” I said and he laughed. We finished the food and drank half the champagne before Rooster stood from his spot, slipping his shirt off, the fabric landing in a heap next to me. “What are you doing?” I asked, watching as he slipped off his shoes as well. “We’re in the middle of the water. I’m going for a swim.” He said as he stood on the rails of the bow, before doing a backflip off it and landing in the water. “Come on, Mags! Don’t keep me waiting!” He yelled. I looked over the side, seeing him wading in the water. I grabbed the bottom of my dress and started to lift it. I caught sight of my thighs, and I realized something. I had gained more weight than I had thought in my time away from work while I was healing.

I hadn’t noticed it till now, because every time before Bradley saw me naked or in a bathing suit, there was a distraction. But now, sitting here alone I could clearly see the cellulite on my thighs, and I just felt heavier today. “Um, I actually think I’m gonna sit up here and tan while the sun is still high!” I called back, deciding to lay back on the deck, allowing the sun to warm my skin. I grew comfortable in the heat, until I felt the boat rock slightly. I heard Rooster padding over, and soon a large shadow blocked the sun. “You know, I’d believe the whole tanning bit more if you took your dress off and you didn’t just have a spray tan.” I pulled my sunglasses down my nose, peering up at him. “Maybe I just want to tan my legs.” He chuckled, crouching down next to me, dripping water over my legs. “What’s really going on?” He asked and I shrugged. “Nothing.” He smirked, leaning over me, caging me in. “I know what this is.” I bit my lip, knowing he probably did know. “The same thing happened when you were grounded during your divorce. You’ve gained weight, so you don’t feel beautiful.” I sat up quickly, our heads almost colliding. “Have I gained that much?” He shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to your weight. I just know you are still the beautiful woman I love, and I’ll be damned if you think less of yourself.”

I looked down at my thighs, my hands resting on them. “I just…” I took a deep breath, the salty air warming my body. “It’s hard. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to maintain a weight that’s acceptable within the navy and it’s so hard. I can eat healthy and still push the limit. The only way I can keep my weight down is when I’m in the gym every day and since being out of work and recovering I haven’t been I was only back a week before we took this week off.” I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on them. “I haven’t been able to consistently fly since the accident. Every time I turn around, I’m out of work for some reason. It’s so infuriating because I either can’t work out because of an injury, or I’m having to take care of something that takes all of my time.” A few tears gathered in my eyes from frustration. “It’s not just about how I look. If I gain too much weight, then I can’t fly. And I have fought to damn hard for my job just to let it go over something like that.” Rooster took his thumb, wiping the tears away from my eye as we sat there. He took my hand in his, rubbing his thumb along my knuckles. “I know how scary it can be to have your job on the line. Any other person would tell you, ‘Fuck what the navy thinks.’ But I guess that’s the beauty of having someone who understands. We’ve worked our asses off to get where we are in our careers, and to lose it over something as small as a single pound is almost… soul crushing.” I sniffled, as I wiped more tears away. “But in this moment, it’s not about your career, Mags.” Fuck, I was hoping to throw him off. “What’s going through your head?” He asked as he pushed some hair away from my face. “I don’t really wanna take my dress off.” He smiled at me as he placed his free hand on my thigh. “And why is that?”

“I’m afraid what you’ll think when you see me without it.” He chuckled, almost looking surprised. “Honey, I’ve seen you in nothing. How is this any different?” I huffed, laying back in frustration. “All those times it’s been heat of the moment. We’ve been so… lost in each other that you don’t really take the time to look over my body and take in all the little details. But here, I’m just worried you’ll finally notice all my flaws.” He sighed, looking at me. “Let me start this next sentence with, I love you and I think you’re perfect.” I raised a brow at him as he chuckled. “Are you societies standard of perfect? No. Have I ever dated a girl like you, looks and personality wise? No. But that’s what makes you so perfect to me.” I know he meant well but I wasn’t sure if I should feel a little insulted. “I love you, Mags. I want you to know how special you are to me, and I need you to understand that.” He leaned over me, lowering himself to kiss my lips. ”Are you gonna let me show you?” I bit my lip, nodding. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He placed his knee between my legs, pushing up till he was brushing against my core. I moaned, running my hands across his sea salt-soaked shoulders. “Come on, let’s get this off.” He sat up, pulling me with him as he gently gathered my dress in his hands, pulling it off me. “Goddamn.” He groaned, looking down at me. I had on a retro style bikini, the top was green, and the bottoms were high waisted, and white with palm leaves on it. “Come here.”

He hauled me to my feet, his arms wrapping around me as his lips devoured mine. I smiled into the kiss, my fingers finding their way into his hair. I felt him grow hard against my abdomen and I smirked, running my hand down his chest until I dipped behind his waist band, gripping his cock firmly. “You’re asking for it.” He muttered against my lips. “I really am.” I responded but yelped when I felt him pop the band of my bikini top. Immediately my boobs fell out the bottom of my top, his hands running up and over one of them before he pulled the top over my head and tossed it behind us. “Roo.” I moaned as he bent down, taking one of my nipples in his mouth, his tongue running over it, bringing it to a peak. “Oh fuck.” I whined as he tugged me closer. I pumped him in my hand a few times as he groaned against me. He stood up, kissing me hard. “Come here.” He pulled me over to the railing, pressing me against it as he started kissing my neck. “Get them off.” I mumbled, reaching behind me and shoving his swim trunks down his legs.

“I fucking love when you’re needy.” He groaned out. He grabbed my bottoms, pushing them down my own legs before kicking my feet farther apart. “You want it, pretty girl?” I could feel him hard against my ass and I moaned as his hands came up, gripping my breasts in his large hands. “Yeah.” I sighed out, my head falling back to his shoulder. “Mm, gonna have to do better than that if you want me to fuck you.” It was like my brain glitched, and I could hardly think straight. “Please, Bradley.” He chuckled in my ear, lips finding their place behind it.  “Oh, come on, Mags. Try a little harder for me.” I moaned as he pressed himself against me. “Bradley. I need you. Need you inside me.” He chuckled, one hand letting go of my boob pushing against my back and bending me over the railing. “Oh, Mags. I’ll give you whatever you want, honey.” I felt his tip press against my entrance, slowly slipping in. I moaned as he slid in, inch by inch until finally he bottomed out, leaning over me and placing kisses along my back. “You feel like heaven, Mags. I could spend the rest of my life buried in your pretty pussy.” I moaned as he pulled back before slamming back into me. “Oh, fuck.” I moaned as he found a rhythm. “Bradley.” He smirked against my back, his left hand coming up and wrapping around my neck. I gasped as he leaned back, rolling his hips into me. “Bradley! Yes!” I moaned as his hips slammed into me, the sound of skin slapping surrounding the world around us.

“You feel so good, Mags.” He groaned in my ear. “Fuck.” Suddenly he stopped and I whined. “I don’t have a condom on.” He said, panting with his head resting on the back of my shoulder. “I’m on birth control, remember.” His head shot up and I could feel him staring at me. “Just please, fuck me, Roo. Need to feel you inside me honey.” I stood, leaning back against him. His hand tightened around my neck and the other wrapped around my waist. Suddenly he started pounding into me, little gasps and moans escaping me. “Gonna cum on my cock, pretty girl?” I nodded, a high-pitched moan escaping me.  “Yeah, that’s it. Come on, Mags. Cum for me, honey.” The tightening in my core snapped and my orgasm hit me. “Fuck! Yes! Yes! Bradley, don’t stop!” I screamed out, as he continued to thrust into me. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, Mags.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Cum inside me.” He moaned, not slowing down at all. “You sure?” I nodded. “Fill me up, Roo. Want to be full of you.” My brain was hazy, not coherent as to what I was saying. “I can’t wait till we’re married. Gonna keep you full of me, gonna have my babies.” He reached down, fingers finding my clit which sent me tumbling towards my second orgasm as his own hit. “Oh, fuck Mags! That’s it, pretty girl! Take it!” My legs started shaking in pleasure as he buried himself deep inside me, his forehead resting on my back. “WOO!” My head snapped up seeing a boat full of frat guys slowly sailing past, a few with phones in their hands and pointed straight at us. “Oh my god, Bradley!” I called. “NICE TITS!” I covered myself as Bradley slipped out of me, his hands fell to my waist, and he moved me behind him.

“Get dressed.” He demanded and I did, slipping my bikini bottoms back on as I grabbed my top. Bradley had his bottoms on, and I turned to him. “I need help with my top.” He came over, tying my top before I turned to him. “I can’t believe that happened.” I said as I laid my head on his chest. “Maybe the middle of the cove wasn’t the best place for sex.” I nodded against him as he wrapped his arms around me. “Do you think they actually took pictures?” I asked and he shook his head. “Nah. They’re just some pervs trying to get a closer look at the action.” I let out the breath I was holding. “I hope you’re right.” He chuckled, holding me out at arm’s length. “I know something that will make you feel better.” I looked up at him expectantly. But I squealed as he leaned down, grabbing me and tossing me over his shoulder. “Bradley!” I yelled as he climbed up on the bow. “If you drop me headfirst on this deck, I swear to god!” He just laughed. “Plug your nose!” He yelled before jumping off the bow and into the deep blue water.

We swam for a few hours and as the sun started setting, we crawled back on the boat, deciding to air dry for awhile before we headed back. “You know what would make this say even better?” I asked him and he smiled at me. “I didn’t think it could get any better, but I’m up for suggestions.” I got up, walking down to the cabin and grabbing my phone. I came back up, smiling at him as I scrolled through my music. “What’s that grin for?” I clicked on the song I wanted and set my phone down. I walked over, holding my hand out to him. “Dance with me?” He just grinned, taking my hand and standing before pulling me flush against him. “What song is this?” He asked, looking down at me. “When You Say Nothing At All.” I laid my head on his shoulder as one of his hands rested on my waist, his other holding my right hand as he spun us around. “Hey Roo?” I asked and he buried his face in my hair. “Yeah?” I smiled. “We get married in seven months.” He picked his head up, smiling down at me as I looked up at him. “Oh, I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Bradshaw.” He said before spinning me around, dipping me as I squealed.

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Taglist: @mak-32 @rosiahills22 @dhwanishah09 @genius2050 @callsign-athena

[doormatty3]

Blizzards and Beef Stew - Chapter 6 (Patrick Wilson x FOC)

Masterlist Ao3

Blizzards and Beef Stew Masterlink

Summary

[Patrick Wilson x Original Female Character] [Patrick Wilson x Original Character] Éléanor had always adored winter: its snow, its crisp air. But what she treasured most was retreating to her cosy cabin in the Swedish mountains. There, she could bake, sketch, and enjoy the solitude, far from the noise of the world. At least, that’s how it used to be—until a new neighbour arrived. Patrick Wilson was tall, charming, and with a smile that seemed to melt the coldest days. As they struck up a friendship, Éléanor found herself drawn to him, even though he remained oddly secretive about his last name and evasive about his work. But when a fierce snowstorm trapped them both, it became clear that Patrick might just be the warmth she needed in more ways than one. OR: Patrick uses his body to warm up Éléanor in the snowy mountains.

Wordcount: 5581

Éléanor woke up slowly, the soft light of morning filtering through the windows, casting a gentle glow across the room. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, before remembering where she was—Patrick’s couch, wrapped up in his blankets, the memory of last night still fresh in her mind. A mix of emotions stirred within her: contentment from the quiet intimacy they’d shared, a hint of embarrassment from how things had played out, and something deeper that left her feeling warm and a little vulnerable.

The storm still raged outside, the wind howling softly, but it wasn’t as brutal as the night before. Snow had piled up high around the cabin, turning the world outside into a quiet, white wilderness. Éléanor’s gaze drifted to the couch beside her, where Patrick still slept, his broad chest rising and falling with each breath.

For a moment, she let herself look at him—really look. 

His shirtless body was sprawled comfortably under the blanket, and her eyes traced the lines of his muscles, now highlighted by the morning light creeping through the window. His chest was broader than she’d really noticed before, the pale skin dusted with a light covering of chest hair, something she hadn’t noticed in the dark last night. It curled softly, catching the flicker of firelight, giving him a rugged, masculine edge that made her pulse quicken.

His face was relaxed and peaceful, a stark contrast to the tension he’d carried last night. His lips were slightly parted, and his dark lashes cast faint shadows against his skin. Watching him like this, she felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blankets or the fire.

His stubble had grown more noticeable, the coarse hairs along his jawline now thicker, and a shadow of a moustache was forming, giving him an almost roguish appearance. Flecks of grey dotted his sideburns, and as the light hit his face, it gave him a certain maturity that contrasted with his boyish grin. 

She found it hard to tear her eyes away—so she didn’t.

Her eyes trailed down his body, taking in his flat, defined stomach and the curve of his hips. His boxers clung to him, riding low on his waist, leaving little to the imagination. The blanket had slipped just enough to reveal the curve of his muscular thighs, and Éléanor’s face flushed as she caught herself staring.

God, he was so attractive.

With a deep breath, she slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him. 

The wooden floor was cold under her feet as she padded towards the small kitchen, grabbing his sweater that lay discarded on the floor and pulling it over her head. 

She wanted to keep busy, to distract herself from the tangle of emotions still swirling inside her. Pulling Patrick’s pullover tighter around her, she began to rummage through what little they had left, trying to piece together some kind of breakfast. Eggs, a few slices of bread, some cheese—it wasn’t much, but it would do.

As she stood by the counter, cracking the eggs into a bowl and slicing up the bread, her thoughts drifted back to the events of the night before. The way Patrick had panicked, the way they’d calmed each other down afterwards, cuddling in the firelight. She couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way they’d handled it. It could have been awkward—embarrassing even—but instead, it had made her feel closer to him in a way she hadn’t expected.

As she mixed the eggs in a bowl, trying to figure out how to cook it without a stove, she heard a soft shuffle behind her. Before she could turn around, Patrick’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her gently back against his chest.

She melted into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body pressing against her back. His chest hair brushed against the back of her neck as he leaned down, his chin resting on her head and his breath against her.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, vibrating against her skin. The sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Éléanor smiled, leaning back into him, enjoying the easy warmth between them. “Morning,” she replied softly, turning her head slightly to glance at him. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his hair tousled from sleep, but there was a soft smile playing at his lips.

He tightened his arms around her just slightly, pulling her closer. “What are you doing?” he asked and stifled a yawn.

“Trying to make breakfast with what little we have,” she said with a soft laugh. “But the stove doesn’t work, and I have no idea how to cook this without it.”

Patrick chuckled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “We’ll figure something out.” His gaze dropped to the bowl in her hands and then flicked back up with a crooked smile. “Or, we could just stick to bread and cheese. A low-maintenance breakfast.”

Éléanor laughed, the sound light and easy, and she felt the tension from the previous night fully dissolve. She caught herself blushing slightly, a bit embarrassed she hadn’t thought of that simple solution first. The eggs were wasted now, a casualty of their morning scramble, but she found she didn’t really mind.

“Honestly, that’s probably the best idea I’ve heard all morning,” she admitted, glancing over at the loaf of crusty bread and the wedge of cheese sitting on the counter. The simplicity of it, the way the fire crackled in the background, made her feel at ease. She let out a small sigh, comforted by the idea that life didn’t have to be perfect to be good.

Patrick’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth. “See? It’s the small things,” he said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so natural, so effortlessly caring, that it sent a tiny flutter through her chest.

She set the bowl down on the counter, the broken eggs an afterthought now, and reached for a knife to slice into the cheese. “Next time, I’m sticking to the basics,” she joked, her voice touched with a playful self-mockery and lingering embarrassment.

Patrick’s deep, warm laugh filled the small kitchen, wrapping around her like a favourite blanket. “No need to overthink it,” he said, his eyes finding hers, their familiar sparkle comforting. “It’s not really about the eggs or anything. It’s about mornings like this.”

A soft pause settled between them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a burning log. His gaze drifted down, a playful smirk forming as he tilted his head. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he remarked, his voice low and teasing. The brush of his lips against the side of her neck caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Éléanor felt the warmth rise in her cheeks, and she couldn’t help but grin as she turned just enough to catch his eyes. “You didn’t exactly leave me much choice,” she shot back, the humour in her voice softening the air between them. “You were hogging all the blankets.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he nuzzled closer. “Fair enough,” he admitted, his breath warm and unwavering. The nearness was intoxicating, a blend of comfort and tension that made her pulse quicken.

For a moment, they simply stood there, wrapped in the golden glow of the morning sun filtering through the window. His hands rested gently on her waist, and fingers splayed as if to anchor them both at that moment. She could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her back. It was an odd mix of domesticity and heat, standing there in his oversized pullover while he held her, both of them pretending that the night before hadn’t changed everything.

Reluctantly, Patrick let his arms fall, stepping away with a small sigh as he moved towards the table where he stretched, his body unfolding in a way that drew her eyes once more. His boxers clung to him, highlighting the sculpted muscles of his thighs and the curve of his back in a way that had her biting her lip. She couldn’t help but notice the way they fit snugly over his ass—tight, firm, and perfectly shaped.

His back muscles rippled as he reached for the ceiling, the light catching on the ridges of his shoulders and the faint sheen of sweat that lingered from the warmth of the room.

Éléanor’s pulse quickened as she watched him, a smile tugging at her lips before she turned to grab the simple breakfast supplies. Patrick brought the bread and cheese from the counter and placed them on the small, weathered table. She followed, carrying two mismatched mugs of instant coffee—more than enough given the circumstances of the power outage.

Patrick leaned over to stoke the fire, the crackle growing stronger as new flames licked at the logs. The warm glow cast long, shifting shadows that danced across the cabin walls, contrasting with the cold, pearly light outside. Snowflakes continued to drift steadily down, adding to the thick blanket that muted all sound beyond the walls.

They settled into the nook beside the fire, knees touching beneath the table, sharing the kind of comfortable silence that spoke more than words could. The flickering light played on their faces, illuminating the curve of Patrick’s smile as he passed her a piece of bread. Their fingers brushed, and a warm spark passed between them.

“So... the storm’s still going,” Patrick finally said, glancing out the window, his eyes following the swirling snow that danced in chaotic patterns against the glass—a sea of white that refused to calm. “Looks like it’s not letting up anytime soon,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Could be worse,” Éléanor said with a teasing grin, her tone light, though her heart beat just a little faster. “We have food, warmth... and decent company.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, a smirk curving his lips in response. “Decent? That’s all I get?”

“Well,” she said, the blush rising to her cheeks as she held his gaze, her pulse fluttering under his scrutiny. “I didn’t want to inflate your ego too much.”

He laughed softly, the sound low and rich, the kind that made her stomach flip. Leaning back in his chair, he looked relaxed, but there was an unmistakable spark in his eyes, a playful warmth that drew her in. “More than decent,” he corrected, his voice dipping into a tone that was both teasing and sincere.

Éléanor took another sip of coffee, cradling the warm mug in her hands as she glanced out the window at the snow piling higher in an attempt to stop the fluttering in her chest. “You know … This is probably the most basic breakfast I’ve made in years,” Éléanor said, smiling over the rim of her mug as she took a sip of coffee.

Patrick’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Hey, it’s perfect,” he said, the simplicity of the moment not lost on him. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”

The fire’s warmth settled around them, casting a golden glow that made the cabin feel cocooned from the storm. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable; it was heavy with unsaid things, a shared realisation that the world outside had ceased to matter for now.

“I guess we’re lucky we even have this,” Éléanor said softly, her voice trailing as she looked back at him, their faces close enough to feel the heat radiating between them. “It could’ve been much worse.”

Patrick nodded, but his eyes lingered on her, darkening with an emotion that made the room feel warmer still. “Yeah,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m glad it’s you I’m stuck here with. You’re... pretty decent company .” The playful curve of his lips softened, revealing a sincerity that wrapped around her like a blanket.

He leaned forward, the movement deliberate, and brushed his fingers across her hand. The touch sent a spark through her, lingering even as he set her empty mug aside with care. When he turned back to her, his expression had shifted, eyes intense, as if he were trying to memorise every detail.

Patrick’s hand lifted, moving slowly until it cupped her cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of her jaw with a tenderness that left her breathless. Éléanor leaned into his touch, her heartbeat thundering in her chest as their eyes met, the distance between them shrinking with every second.

Neither of them spoke.

Patrick moved first, leaning in and closing the small space between them. When their lips met, it was as if a spark had lit a fuse. 

Éléanor’s hand slid up to the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer with an unspoken plea. He responded in kind, his arm wrapping around her waist with a sure but tender touch.

In a seamless motion, they rose together, the movement natural and instinctive, their lips never breaking contact. Patrick guided her backwards, steps slow and steady but charged with intent as they made their way towards the couch. 

Éléanor’s heart pounded in her chest, her body alive with sensation. Every brush of Patrick’s lips, every touch of his hand on her skin, sent sparks of warmth coursing through her, making her pulse race. 

Patrick gently eased her down onto the couch, his body hovering over hers as their kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, more desperate. 

The space between them seemed to evaporate as his hands moved over her back, tracing her curves with a mix of tenderness and raw need. His touch was everywhere —gentle but commanding, igniting a fire that blazed hotter with each passing second.

Éléanor’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, craving more. She felt like she was burning from the inside, her skin tingling with a fierce energy, like that fuse they had lit had finally exploded. 

There was nothing else—just him.

They broke the kiss for just a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. Patrick’s hands were still on her waist, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin, the simple touch sending waves of heat through her, stoking the fire that was already burning inside her.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, husky, each word a quiet rumble that made her heart race. His breath was warm against her lips, his question lingering between them.

Éléanor smiled, her heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and certainty. She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb grazing the stubble along his jaw as she looked into his eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady, filled with the surety she felt at that moment. “I’m sure.”

With that, Patrick’s lips were on hers again, the kiss deeper this time, more confident. His hand slid under her sweater, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth, arching her back as she pressed herself closer to him, her body responding to his every touch.

Patrick slowly began to lift the fabric, his hands warm and steady. Éléanor shifted beneath him, helping him peel it away, her skin instantly exposed to the cool air of the cabin, leaving her in only her panties. 

But before she could feel the cold, Patrick was there, his hands on her bare waist, his mouth covering hers in another slow, deep kiss. Before he lowered himself, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His lips moved with a deliberate slowness, trailing down the sensitive skin of her neck and over her chest, each kiss drawing a soft gasp from Éléanor.

She let her hands wander across his broad shoulders, feeling the strength in him as he held her close, his body warm against hers. His lips brushed over the swell of her breasts, his breath teasing against her skin before he dipped his head lower, leaving a trail of heated kisses as he moved down her body.

The firelight flickered, casting golden shadows across the room, making the moment feel all the more intimate, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Patrick’s hands traced the curve of her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed just above the waistband of her panties, his breath warm against her skin. Éléanor’s breath hitched as his lips lingered there, his touch sending waves of pleasure through her. 

He kissed his way back up, capturing her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss that left her breathless, his hands roaming over her sides. Then, with a smooth, almost teasing motion, he tugged at her underwear again before sliding them down and tossing them aside.

 She felt the cold air on her overheated, exposed skin, and her nerves thrummed in arousal.

Éléanor’s hands slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her palms, her fingers grazing the elastic of his boxers. She felt his hard cock through the thin layer of fabric and was desperate to feel him, to continue what they had started yesterday. 

So she pushed his boxers down, leaving them both completely exposed, their bodies pressed together, skin against skin. 

Patrick looked down at Éléanor in the soft morning light, his features softened by the glow filtering through the windows. The shadows from the slowly burning fire danced across his sharp jawline, but it was the intensity in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered at that moment, that made Éléanor feel like she was melting beneath him.

His chest, broad and strong, rose and fell with steady breaths, but the tension in his muscles betrayed the restraint he was barely holding onto. 

Éléanor’s eyes dropped to his body, taking in the sight of him, her breath catching in her throat. He was perfect—every inch of him strong and toned, his cock hard and thick, standing proudly against his abdomen. She reached out, her hand wrapping around him, her fingers brushing over his length. Patrick let out a low groan, his hips pushing forward slightly into her hand as he closed his eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation.

But he didn’t let her linger there long. 

His fingers traced lightly over her skin, starting at her collarbone and slowly moving downward, exploring her curves as if committing every inch of her to memory. Éléanor shivered at the warmth of his touch, her body responding to the slow burn of his attention before her mind could even catch up. 

His hands, big and slightly rough, slid over her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Patrick’s mouth followed, placing soft kisses along her collarbone, then lower, his lips brushing over her chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Éléanor arched into him, her breath coming faster as his lips closed around her nipple, his hand still gently kneading the other breast. 

The sensation was overwhelming—his warmth against the cool air of the cabin, the firelight flickering beside them, and the intimacy of his touch sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Éléanor’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, her body instinctively moving with his as he kissed and touched her with growing intensity. His hands roamed lower, brushing over her stomach and down to her hips, and then, with a firm but gentle grip, he guided her legs apart. The warmth of his fingers, firm but gentle, made her hips lift involuntarily, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Without a word, he slid his hand between her legs, his fingers finding her cunt wet. 

He paused for just a second, letting the sensation sink in for both of them. “Éléanor,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his fingers brushing over her sex with a soft touch, barely parting the netherlips but enough to feel her wetness. 

Patrick’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and a low groan rumbled from his chest as he watched Éléanor gasping and her body trembling under his touch.

He slipped two of his thick, strong fingers into her cunt, pressing them in deep and curling them just enough to find that sensitive spot within her, the one that made her back arch and her breath catch in her throat. 

Éléanor moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body reacting to every movement he made. The way his fingers curled inside her and the steady pressure he applied sent wave after wave of desire through her.

Patrick watched her closely, his gaze locked on her face as he continued to finger her with that perfect rhythm, his thumb now brushing over her clit in slow, firm circles. The pleasure was instantaneous, sharp, her hips instinctively lifting to meet his hand. Éléanor moaned into his mouth, her body trembling as he played her like an instrument he knew too well.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Patrick groaned, his voice barely a whisper, full of awe and lust. His thumb pressed against her clit again, his fingers moving in rhythm with the growing tension between them. Éléanor’s body responded instantly, tightening around him, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter, nails digging into his skin as she urged him on.

 “Patrick…” she gasped, barely able to form words, her hips grinding against his hand as her body moved in sync with his. His fingers pumped inside her, slow but steady, the high building with each thrust. She felt his cock, hard and hot, pressing against her thigh as his thumb continued its relentless work on her clit, sending her closer and closer to the edge.

He could feel it too—the way her body tensed and quivered beneath him, the growing wetness that coated his fingers as he stroked her deeply, curling his fingers inside her just to hear that sweet gasp leave her lips. The sensation of her slick heat gripping him made his cock ache with need, and the way her body responded to his touch only heightened his arousal.

Éléanor’s hips bucked against his hand, her moans growing louder as she felt herself teetering on the brink. Patrick’s fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing firmly against her clit, sending her spiralling into a frenzy of pleasure. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she clung to him, her body trembling under the overwhelming sensation.

Éléanor’s hand shot up, tangling in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her lips moved urgently against his, her breath hot and uneven as she kissed him deeply, swallowing his groans of pleasure. She was so close, her body strung tight, every nerve on fire as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

And then he stopped.

He withdrew his fingers slightly, his thumb easing its pressure, leaving her right at the precipice but holding her there, not letting her fall. Éléanor let out a frustrated gasp, her body aching for release as she looked up at him in confusion. 

He cupped her face with his now damp fingers, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he kissed her again, softer this time, more controlled. “Not yet,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire but laced with restraint. He was holding back, savouring every moment, wanting to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible.

Éléanor’s body throbbed with need, every nerve alight with the desire for more, but as Patrick kissed her again, slower, deeper, she melted into him, letting herself get lost in the heat of the moment.

He started to move his fingers inside her again, slow and teasing.

She needed more, her hips rolling against his hand as she sought relief from the unbearable tension building inside her. But Patrick was in control now, his lips ghosting over her neck, the soft, teasing brush of his mouth making her moan with frustration and desire.

“Patrick, please…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, breathless with need.

He lifted his head, his dark, hungry eyes meeting hers. 

A smile played at the corner of his lips, and he kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, letting her feel the heat of him. His free hand traced up her side, his fingers brushing over her bare breast, teasing the sensitive skin. Éléanor gasped into his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple again, making it peak under his touch.

Her body responded to every move he made, a slow, torturous build of pleasure that had her squirming beneath him. Patrick broke the kiss, his lips moving to her jawline, trailing hot kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. He paused at her breast, his tongue flicking over her nipple before he took it into his mouth, sucking gently.

Éléanor cried out, her back arching, her body pressing closer to him as the sensation of his mouth on her breast and his fingers inside her drove her crazy. The combination of his touch, his lips, and the deliberate, slow pace was overwhelming, every nerve in her body alive and burning for him.

Patrick’s fingers curled inside her again, pressing against that spot deep within her, his thumb rubbing slow circles over her clit. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing as the pleasure surged through her in waves. She could feel the edge approaching again, that delicious tightness in her core building, but Patrick kept her on the brink again .

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back up to her lips, and she kissed him with a fierce intensity, her frustration and desire pouring into the kiss. Patrick groaned into her mouth, his own need evident as he pressed his hips against her, his hard cock rubbing against her thigh, spreading precum on her skin.

“Patrick… I need you,” Éléanor murmured, her voice a breathless plea against his lips, her desperation raw and unguarded.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand still working her slowly. His eyes darkened at her words, the intensity in them almost too much to bear. He kissed her again, rougher this time, before pulling his hand away, leaving her empty and aching for more.

Patrick’s fingers paused for a moment as he looked into Éléanor’s eyes, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. He pulled back slightly, the desire still strong between them, but his gaze softened, filled with a mix of hunger and care.

“I should grab a condom,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, breaking the tension just enough to pull them both back to reality, and the memory of last night flickered in his eyes.

Éléanor nodded, her chest still rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “Yes… please,” she whispered, her body already aching for him to return, the intensity of the moment too much to wait.

Patrick reached for his wallet on the side table, his mouth curving in a small, knowing smile as he pulled out the condom, seemingly having placed it there sometime after last night, perhaps in a mix of preparation and nerves.

Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist as she spoke softly, “Let me…”

Patrick shook his head gently, his thumb grazing her knuckles as he held her gaze, his expression soft yet resolute. His eyes stayed on hers as he shook his head, his voice low and soothing. “No, it’s fine—I’ll do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together if you touch my dick now.”

She watched as his fingers deftly tore open the small packet, the tearing sound loud in the quiet room. His fingers brushed her thigh as he rolled the condom over his hard cock. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sight of him making her thighs clench together in anticipation.

Patrick leaned forward again, his body pressing into hers, the warmth of his skin seeping into her. His lips found hers, slow and deliberate. His hand, rough yet gentle, slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist before his fingers brushed over the sensitive skin between her legs.

Éléanor gasped into his mouth, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch as his fingers explored her wet sex once more. He teased her, his thumb circling her clit with agonising slowness while his fingers slipped inside her, stretching her just enough to remind her of how much she needed him. 

“You’re so perfect like this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down her spine. Every inch of her body responded to him, the heat between them growing unbearable, her need for him nearly overwhelming.

Patrick could feel it, too, the way her body clenched around his fingers, her slick heat making his head spin. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating between them, as he moved his hand to guide his cock to her entrance. 

She moaned into his mouth, her body trembling with need. Patrick’s cock brushed against her again, the condom in place, and this time there was no hesitation—not like last night. His hand gripped her thigh, pulling her leg up to wrap around his waist as he slowly pushed inside her.

Éléanor’s sharp intake of breath echoed in the room as her body responded to the delicious stretch, her nails digging into his back as she pulled him closer. Patrick’s heart raced, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control, the feeling of her slick heat surrounding him inch by inch.

The sensation of him filling her, stretching her slowly, was everything she had been craving and everything she didn’t know she was craving. 

“God… you feel incredible,” he breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed deeper, his cock sinking into her with slow, measured thrusts. He could feel every pulse of her body, every tremor as her walls gripped him tighter.

Her body responded instantly, arching up to meet him, desperate for more. But Patrick moved with deliberate care, easing into her slowly. Filling her inch by inch until he was fully inside her. He groaned against her neck, his breath ragged as he held himself still for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.

Éléanor’s hips rolled instinctively, urging him deeper, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Patrick, move,” she whispered, her voice laced with need as her legs wrapped around his waist. She was losing herself in the feeling of him, the fullness, the weight, the stretch.

He started slow, his thrusts gentle but deep, each one sending ripples of pleasure through them both. Patrick could feel the way her body responded to him, the soft moans escaping her lips driving him wild. 

As his pace quickened, he kissed her again, hard and desperate. His hands roamed over her body, one cupping her breast, kneading gently, while the other slipped between them, his fingers finding her clit again.

Éléanor gasped loudly, her body trembling beneath him as he worked her with expert precision, his cock moving in sync with his fingers. Every thrust, every touch, brought her closer to the edge, and Patrick could feel her body tightening around him, her breath coming faster, her moans louder.

He couldn’t hold back anymore, the pressure inside him building as he lost himself in the moment. 

His hips moved with a deep, driving rhythm, each thrust intensifying as his fingers circled her clit with relentless precision. Éléanor’s breath hitched, her gasps quickening as her body arched beneath him, her soft cries filling the room.

“Patrick… I—I’m so close,” she whispered, her voice laced with desperate need, her body tightening around him as she felt the pressure mounting, ready to break.

Patrick groaned in response, his own control fraying as his movements became more urgent, his fingers working her with precision. He kissed her again, his lips crashing against hers as the tension in her body snapped with a particularly rough flick of his finger on her clit. 

Éléanor’s orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body arching off the couch as her walls clenched around him. She gasped his name, her voice trembling with the intensity of her release, her fingers gripping his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Patrick followed her, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final deep thrust, he groaned her name, his body shuddering as he came, the condom filling with his cum. His body collapsed against hers, both of them breathless and spent.

For a few moments, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was their soft, shared breaths and the crackling of the fire nearby. Patrick slowly pulled out, carefully removing the condom and tossing it aside before settling back down beside her.

They lay in a comfortable silence, their bodies entwined as the room slowly settled around them. The soft, golden morning light spilt in through the windows, warming the space as they stayed close, wrapped in each other’s presence. Patrick’s fingers traced gentle, soothing patterns on her arm, and Éléanor let herself sink into the comfort of his steady heartbeat beneath her hand.

She felt like she could stay here forever, wrapped in this quiet, unhurried happiness.

[gay-edwardian]

Iconic ABBA costume poll

Right. Kinda what it says on the tin. Pick your favourite or whichever you think is the best, don't worry too much about it. There are so many great/iconic outfits, I know I didn't get them all, I even left out some of my personal faves.

Photos for reference and some fun facts (if I know any) beneath the cut.

Mamma Mia

Fun facts:

The jumpsuit Agnetha's wearing helped her win the accolade "sexiest bottom in pop music," I title that would haunt her for years.

Owe Sandström, who designed the outfits, said the following about Frida's skirt: "This is truly mother-of-pearl sliced into thin slices, and it was just like the rooftop of a carousel. And I asked her, 'Frida, don't move too much because they would be stretching out and, well, expose perhaps a little bit too much?' I can tell you, she was spinning like a spinning wheel definitely all the time" Source

Waterloo

Fun Facts:

According to the photo book Frida saw a jacket in a shop window that "had chains and sequins and looked butch. I took Agnetha to see it and then the others. That jacket was the prototype for the Waterloo costumes."

Poor Björn could barely sit down in his pants because of how tight they were

Ring Ring

Wildflowers

Fun Facts:

These outfits were designed by Owe Sandström. Each of the four members has a different flower (some sources say specifically Swedish Wildflowers). According to the Web Shop, Agnetha has the hundkäx or cow parsley, Björn wears the columbine flower, Benny has a fictional heart-leafed flower (to reflect his  talent, creativity, and knowledge), and Frida's is (apparently) a kind of weed when seen under a microscope (however it may just be cornflower or some other type of wildflower)

Gold/White (Europe/Australia Tour)

I could've gone looking for a high-ish-quality, in-colour lineup that included the boys. But I didn't feel like digging for too long. Sorry. Take two pictures of the girls instead

Fun Facts:

Frida's shorts were shorter in Australia than they were in Europe for... reasons?

There was a costume change! There were multiple costume changes because they had hats and scarves and capes that they took on and off through the shows, but towards the end of each performance Frida and Agnetha would change into matching costumes and wigs for The Girl With the Golden Hair. One time while dancing, their wigs got tangled together and when they moved apart, Agnetha's wig came off.

Watch this performance of Why Did It Have To Be Me from the movie. It's not a fun fact or anything, Frida just does a really good job at. Everything in it. She totally steals the scene.

Blue Suits

Cat Dresses

Fun Facts:

Longer versions of the cat dresses were necessary for places that didn't like the fact that the normal versions were very. very short

The dresses happened because Frida reminded Owe Sandströrm of his cat, they "were both beautiful and a little wild"

Velvet Jumpsuits

Fun Facts:

They're wearing these in the Dancing Queen music video. It's hard to see because it's dark, but they are

Pink & Purple Suits

Ok so Björn's in blue, it's purple-adjacent

Live At Wembley

Fun Facts:

In the ABBA Official Photo Book, Frida says that "My favourite [outfit] was a body stocking with a little dress cut diagonally. I thought I was elegant and sexy in it." I don't know if it's these outfits, but it might be!

All-White Ensemble (no not that one, the other one)

They had a lot of all-white looks. These are the ones on the album cover for Arrival