#this sweater is literally a metaphor

[randomgumwrapper]

y’all help. as a graduation requirement i need to give a fifteen minute speech in front of the whole school and every idea i come up with leads to professing my love of my best friend from middle school who i’ve since grown apart from but still talk to sometimes. the only other idea i can think of involves stating explicitly how much i hate a specific teacher. which also involves professing my love for my friend. so.

[deva-arts]

Seraphina, a bit of a bird , a bit of a human . Maybe. But, my question. When she eats eggs, is it technically cannibalism?

Long answer: no. Short answer, no.

[swarmofabout1000bees]

I literally cannot stop thinking about this line from the book of bill:

Because he kinda did.

Although not physically, he did in a way metaphorically consume him. This kind of touches on topics I talked about in my last post but as they grew up and got older, Ford's identity started to absorb Stan's. From being seen as a "dumber, sweater version of Ford" to Stan faking his death and assuming Ford's identity while he is in the portal. This only gets worse when Ford returns. When Ford gets back, Stan can't assume his brother's identity anymore and he can't go back to his old identity since he's been legally dead for 30 years. At the end of weirdmageddon, Ford himself is the one to erase Stan's memories with his assistant's own invention. if that's not literally him consuming his brother, I don't know what is.

Ford is right, you can't just eat your twin but you can consume him slowly over a period of 60-ish years.

[xoblondie]

The Forbidden Fruit

TW : 18+, stalkerish, dark!Mattheo, religious undertones, non-con content, prey/predator metaphors etc. Nothing is actually explicit but it’s all intended (HEAVY symbolism).

Temptation.

The cardinal sin that ravaged through his body, mimicking his blood flow. Taunting him with every movement you made. A war was ravaging inside Mattheo’s mind and body. A fight for control of his actions as he observed your every move.

A fight he was currently loosing, as he watched you amongst the crowd of your peers, moving seamlessly amongst them. Like you weren’t the only thing plaguing his mind no matter what he did. He couldn’t escape your fingers he found himself wrapped around. And you were completely oblivious to his unholy intentions and his lingering stares.

To him, you were as pure as powdered snow; you were soft, delicate and easy to fall into. Creating a mixture that made his mouth water with the thought of you. You were an elixir that he found himself hooked on, like an addict chasing a high.

To you, he was dark and corrupted. With bloodied knuckles and his teeth bared to the world, you knew he was bad news for you. His violence had no place amongst your peace, even if he had a peculiar place within your heart.

But what he wanted, he always got and he knew you were too innocent of heart to ever understand his underlying intentions. You were a lamb caught by a timber wolf. Purity that would be forcefully taken by a predator, no matter how much you fought back. A lamb would never grow up and grow the pointed canines it needed to protect its wool. And like a predator he would lure you away from the safety of your herd, into his sharp fangs.

In the later hours of the night, in a large leather chair perched by a fireplace, he watched your soft locks frame your face, accentuating the natural pout to your plump lips. You read your book as if it were an ancient text, showing you the answer to all your life’s questions. Your oversized sweater and tiny shorts struggling to cover the tops of your exposed thighs as you sat amongst the faded leather. Silky skin pooling against the existence of the fabric, accentuating your plump hips. The sight driving his primal urges to cave into his temptations.

His lamb was oblivious and vulnerable to the fate before them, as he closed in.

Stalking his lonesome prey, he would pin you down before biting your neck, leaving a reddened ring of his mouths artwork. Creating art out of you, all while you attempt to fight his lapse of control. He would eat your heart out. Ripping into it like a rich pomegranate, just trying to get to the fruitful seeds hidden beneath. And he would ignore as the juice stained his hands a bloody red, showcasing his corrupt actions. He would rip apart your ribs just to taste every part of your being. Drinking up your blood like cherry wine and kissing your lips as if they were the last thing he would ever taste in this life. The way he loved you was sacrilegious, an unholy tribute to the gods above.

He was godless in his actions, with roughened love and a darkness behind his fiery eyes. He burnt for you and only you. And you were a moth to his light, sacrificing yourself to his ritual as he tore away what was once pure.

Falling for his temptation was never your plan, but you became more and more addicted to his drug with every hit. No god could save you from the starving wolf as it striked down its prey.

You were his forbidden fruit, the lust he could never control. He would be bound to your soul forever, alike Persephone to the underworld. For your beauty was worth the mess he made of you. Destroying your light, to fulfill his dark sins and desires.

A/N: im afraid I ate with this one. LITERALLY. this is definitely a different writing style than what I normally do but I’m in LOVE with how this turned out <3

[is-the-thing-actually-jewish]

are Hanukkah sweaters a Jewish thing? i've seen them before but 90% of the time, they're people trying to make christmas displays more "inclusive." so are they legit Jewish or no?

Rating: Capitalism.

Hanukkah sweaters are a prime example of what I previously characterized as "capitalism's tendency to tepidly repackage any Christmas symbols in literally or metaphorically blue-and-silver wrapping paper to appeal to a Jewish market." As the "ugly sweater" phenomenon has grown more popular, retailers saw an excellent opportunity to widen their market by having "Hanukkah" versions.

That said, there's a wide range of Hanukkah sweaters out there, some of which are more problematic than others. Ones that are literally just recolored Christmas designs with a couple Jewish-y things tacked on, like this "Shalom Gnome" design or this "Oy to the World" design are more problematic than enthusiastically tacky designed-from-the-beginning-to-be-Jewish ones. The former says "Hanukkah! It's Christmas for Jews! Jews! They're just Christians without Santa or Jesus!" while the latter says, "Oh, you're going to walk around with an eyesore sweater full of tinsel and actual little jingle bells as though anyone could possibly forget that it's Christmas season in this country? I see you, I see you, and I'm just going to casually wear this sweater with a menorah and candles that actually light up because Judaism rocks, that's why."

Then there's a whole genre of Hanukkah sweaters with, let's say, more adult content, and people's mileage may greatly vary on how they feel about them. Personally, I find the ones riffing off more secular aspects of the holiday to be largely harmless, such as this "You Spin Me Right Round, Baby" design with dreidels. On the other hand, while some may find it amusingly subversive, I find ones making fun of the religious part of the holiday (i.e., the actual hanukkiah/menorah) to be in poor taste at best. There are a plethora of "let's get lit" Hanukkah sweaters like this one that genuinely annoy me. (For one thing, Hanukkah isn't even a drinking holiday! If you want a drinking holiday, we actually have those but Hanukkah isn't it!) Ones like this that make it into a creepy pick-up line actively disgust me. And this "gelt digger" one is genuinely antisemetic, given the stereotypes about Jews and money.

I would be remiss not to mention what I personally think is the best of the Hanukkah sweater subgenres: animal puns. My fiance owns this Meowzel Tov sweater with a truly garish design. What does "mazel tov" have to do with Hanukkah, you may ask? Absolutely nothing, but hey, cats! Can't be upset about Jewish cats! Similarly, llamas? Not Jewish at all! But Happy Llamakka? Okay, cute pun, cute graphic, I'm reluctantly charmed. Your Menorasaurus would not be kosher for actual use as the candles are all different heights, but you know what, that actually makes me smile.

So, basically: If you get joy out of being loudly Jewish during a season where everything is yelling about Christianity all the time, go ahead and wear your ridiculous ugly sweater to the company party. Just take a close look at the design to make sure it's not actually full of Christmas trees, not pretending something extremely Christmas is Jewish because it's a pun now, doesn't use Charedi men as a cartoon stand-in for anyone Jewish, and doesn't makes being Jewish primarily about not being Christian.

In sum: RIP my browser history, I'm going to be getting such terrible ads for the next several weeks. Click the links at your own risk.

~Mod Leora

[screamforyani]

in the end, you’ll never escape

warnings: noncon, implied stalking

wc. 1.7k

a/n’s: pls stop putting drew’s photos through remini hell i can’t live like this anymore guys. also hi ik i died over here 👀

miles upon miles away from kildare, you were contentedly far from home. months ago, the distance wouldn’t have been as tempting. the outer banks and the life you’d made there were the only things you’d ever known. but when your home began to feel less and less like a safe haven, you were more keen to be anywhere else.

it wasn’t easy leaving behind your friends, god knew you missed them every fucking minute of every day, but you knew it was a good call. no danger could reach you here. to you, and to everyone involved, it was for the better.

well, except to maybe one person.

you could hear a familiar jingle rupture the air even all the way upstairs. your brows furrowed. you weren’t expecting any guests, and you knew that your parents couldn’t have been either, because they wouldn’t be back for hours.

there was a knock. not at the door, but at your heart. after so many months outside of the outer banks, it might’ve been ridiculous to still feel uneasy about being home by yourself, but the fear never quite ceased; it quietened. but those whispers could be loud if they so pleased.

calm down, you thought to yourself. would rafe bother to knock at the door?

but you knew that he would. as belligerent as you knew him to be in nature, rafe would always play nice to begin with. if needed, he would escalate things, and he was not afraid of taking things up another degree to get what he wanted. 

you knew it, because you had dealt with it firsthand. you had been underneath him while rafe stood atop, wielding his golden shovel as he tossed dirt upon your grave. metaphorically speaking, at least. rafe hadn’t literally tried to bury you alive, but you wouldn’t put it past him. 

you couldn’t put anything past him.

your heart thudded as you took your sweet time to pass the stairs, but it felt like you could only breathe after you took another step. you peaked through the windows, and blew out a breath of relief when the guy standing out there wasn’t your worst nightmare.

you unlocked the front door, pulling it open. 

“delivery for…” the man said your name.

that was odd, considering you weren’t expecting a delivery either, but you cloaked your shock and accepted the box he handed you graciously, shutting the door behind yourself and locking it.

the second you were alone again, you raced to the kitchen to grab a knife. you needed to know what was in the box or it’d kill you. curiosity getting the better of you, you cut it open, pulling the gift out of the cardboard it had come to you in.

it was a sweater you’d been eyeing, an expensive one. sure, you were a kook by kildare standards, though in spite of all that you’d been through, your parents still hadn’t forgiven your past pogue-esque shenanigans and wanted you to work to be let off.

plus it wasn’t like you had a job. you guessed all your rambling combined with your suffering made them slacken, and your heart filled with warmth, happy to clear the tension between you and your parents even if only a little.

to be fair, you’d clearly been through… something, but they couldn’t piece it together, other than the fact that someone had been intimidating you, though that was only because it was glaringly obvious.

you couldn’t tell them. you wouldn’t even know how to start. and they wouldn’t understand, so you’d rather them be upset with you. sometimes it was just easier.

the doorbell rang again maybe an hour later, the sound startling you out of your own head. you paced downstairs, less hesitant than before. it was ridiculous to think that rafe would find you or be desperate enough to go after you when it would be easier to pick another girl on the island to break.

imagine your shock when you opened the front door and there he was. the devil himself.

every inch of you was frozen over, stiff. every muscle, every bone. “rafe?”

rafe chuckled. if you hadn’t known any better, you’d say he looked happy to see you, but there was always something darker. in your shock, you spluttered, “what are you doing here?”

“i can’t come visit my favorite girl?” rafe asked, pretending to be saddened, and oblivious.

your eyes flickered and you felt moisture instinctively gather at your lashes, though at least for now, you held it back. 

he looked a little different. his blue eyes still knew how to pierce the very heart of you, but his hair was significantly shorter. though in spite of your blurring vision (the side effect of tears or the lightheadedness, you couldn’t tell the difference), your whole body knew it was rafe and it paralyzed with total fear.

still, you tried to level your breathing. “you’re not supposed to be here.”

rafe didn’t seem to care, stepping closer and leaning into your ear to mutter, “we’ve done a lot of things we weren’t supposed to. haven’t we, baby?”

you recoiled, immediately drawing back. “if you don’t leave, i’ll tell my parents…”

“your parents?” rafe repeated, that familiar sly, shit-eating grin curled onto his lips. “your parents, they love me. what will they do? invite me over for dinner? fuck, baby, you really know how to strike fear into my heart.”

“i told them what you did!”

it was a lie, and you knew it. more importantly, rafe knew it. why would you bother? your parents failing to understand you aside, it would’ve only done more damage. your parents would forever loathe the camerons and you were perfectly content not being a blip on ward cameron’s radar. 

his son was already a handful.

rafe shook his head, pressing his lips together. “nah, no you didn’t. you wanna know how i know?”

your pulse quickened when he stepped closer again, already a foot inside of your house. this time, his lips brushed your ear, heightening the uneasy sensation that got louder with every thud of your breath. 

you were trapped in his arms, with nowhere to flee. something as simple as the slightest of touches between you and rafe sent a shiver down your spine. “because you’re too afraid. you’d rather keep the peace than let them in. now isn’t that right, babe?”

your eyes stung as you glanced up at him. you were always beneath him, never on top. “please, rafe. go home,” you begged.

rafe’s true anger finally started to peek through as he said none too kindly, “no. did you really think i was gonna just let you leave me? now we can really be together. no stupid pogues to get in our way.”

you cried out in shock when rafe got a hold of you, yanking you by the arm into your own house and shutting the door before dragging you upstairs. you had no idea how he knew where your bedroom was and you were too afraid to ask.

“rafe, stop,” you shouted. “rafe, you’re hurting me!”

rafe’s grip didn’t slacken until he pushed you into your room, and hissed, “you hurt me. you think i wanted to be on that island without you? you were the only thing that made shit feel worth it...”

you swallowed, lips trembling. 

“and then you just left. vanished. no goodbye, no nothing. you wanna know how that made me feel? like shit! like killing somebody,” rafe said, approaching you.

rafe had that look in his eye, that familiar, unpredictable glint he always got when he was up to no good. you tried to get away from him, tried to do anything to keep him at arm’s length, but he was quicker and reached for you again.

at this point, your heart was thumping in your ears and the tears were pouring down your face so hard, you could barely see. all you could hear was thunder. “rafe, please. i’m begging you. don’t do this.”

“don’t do what? don’t make you pay for what you did to me?” rafe asked, shoving you onto your bed. “nah. i’m gonna hurt you just like you hurt me.”

your eyes winced close as rafe started to rip the clothes from your body, but you didn’t fight back. it would only make it worse.

it hurt to breathe, inhale after exhale. your chest was taut with pain and terror and perhaps still shock, in disbelief that your measures to protect yourself had failed. but it was rafe. and whatever rafe wanted, he got. every fucking time without fail.

the irony was killing you. right now, you would’ve been a thousand times safer on the island than you were right now in a foreign place where you knew nobody and nobody knew you. though you knew that as long as rafe was breathing, you were never truly safe.

“that’s right, baby. don’t fight it,” rafe whispered, teasing his cock between your folds. the discomfort on your face was conspicuous, but you did nothing to make it stop. “i love that about you, you know. you don’t put up a fight. to you… it’s not worth it.”

rafe’s cock slammed into you, pushing in and out. he groaned, remembering everything he loved about your pussy. you gripped him, tight and vice-like, and the sounds that came from the very back of his throat were low and deep. 

“it’s always worth it to me, though. if you want something enough, you’ve gotta just take it. and all those people that don’t want you to have it? just watch them cry,” he added, not even looking at your face anymore. 

his eyes were between your legs, mesmerized as he tirelessly watched himself disappear inside of you again and again, as if he was under some kind of trance.

“cry me a fucking river,” rafe said, his other hand groping every part of your body it could touch. “you’ll get over it.”

your eyes narrowed, and you were overcome with the urge to smack him across the face, but you resisted. the last time you’d done it, in a situation way too similar to this one, he hadn’t hesitated to slap you back even harder. he was right; you didn’t think it was worth it.

to delay the inevitable was to prolong your own suffering. and in the end, you’d never escape.

[notquitecanon]

Look at you // Moonknight system x reader

Summary: Three words, three men. Crazy how it meant something so different coming from each of them. You cherish them all.

TW: Marvel's version of DID, sexual mentions through out, jake's section is just smut sorry I'm a whore, fingering, oral (f receiving), no use of Y/N, I don't think I mentioned specific pronouns but I used feminine descriptions of genitalia, terrible and overused Spanish. terrible and overused British slang. mentions of penetrative sex and male receiving oral. Marc is touch starved and self sabotaging but what's new? criminal overuse of italics I think that's everything worth mentioning?

I typed this up In like 30 minutes after the idea came to me. There are typos + I've never written for the moon boys before (idk how I literally never stop thinking about them) Anyways on with it:

Steven says it like he’s won a prize. His eyes light up with that amazing grin, and he holds his hands out to you like you are about to hand him whatever the archeology equivalent of a Nobel Prize is- except in this metaphor you’re also the trophy. He says it often- when he sees you in a new outfit or hair style for the first time, when he greets you after not seeing you for a couple days, when you step out of the steamy bathroom in a towel, when he’s had one too many pints at the pub and the light is hitting your eyes just right, when you kneel between his legs and look up at him. 

“Look at you!” His voice is somewhere between breathless and a growl, yet still chipper and awestruck. His eyes are roving over you as if he can’t find a favorite part about you, and he can’t- it’d be like comparing wonders of the world, “Darlin’, you look absolutely stunnin’!”  He inched closer, hands reaching out to you. You couldn't tell if it was a demand for you to close the distance or hesitation that you might not allow him to touch you. And while Steven could be fun to tease, you weren’t cruel… usually. His eyes still couldn't settle, but they kept flicking nervously- hopefully- back up to yours, “You didn’t do all this for me, did you, luv?”  “All for you, Steven.” You promised, taking his hand and placing it on your hip. His breath catches as he starts feeling the delicious fabric and he didn't wait for permission for his other hand to roam up to your hair. His eyes were still roaming, no the better word was analyzing you like you were the depiction of an ancient deity come to life. He nodded as his breath became heavy, and the sweet thing almost melted when you reach up and brush a curl from his face. He might have had wandering eyes but you had wandering hands, cupping his cheek then dragging down his neck, down his chest to the hem of that sweater you so often stole, and then underneath just to drag back up his bare chest.  “All for me, don’t know how lucked into you. Bit hard to believe, innit?” He rambled but you let him for only a moment. You playfully smacked his ribs under his shirt. It wasn’t hard to believe at all, you’d told him a thousand times just how lucky you were to have him. He breathed a laugh, shook his head, and apologized quietly. You smiled softly, reaching towards him to press a kiss to his jawline, then his cheek, and finally his lips.  When you pulled back, Steven surprisingly wasn’t still leaning into the contact like usual. This time his chocolate eyes start at your feet and rake up, painstakingly slow, “Look. at. you.”

Jake says it like he’s proving you wrong- he usually is. His smirk is as smug and irritating as it is thrilling, his eyes darken like a predator about to pounce, and his fingers flex like he’s focusing all his energy on not pouncing too quick. When something he picked out looks just right on you, when he sneaks up on you just enough to see you startle, when he makes a flush creep up your neck, when he pins you while teaching you self defense, when he pries out 'one last' orgasm after you were sure you couldn’t do it again. 

“Look at you, mi amor.” Jake teased, as if he wasn’t the reason you were the mess you had become. His strong arms were the only reason you weren’t boneless on the mattress as he held you up enough to see your reflection in corner mirror- you idly wondered if Steven and Marc were enjoying the show. Jake was grinning and his eyes are practically danced as they took in every last inch of your shaking body. If you had anymore control over your body (which you obviously don’t), you’d smack that smirk right off his smug face- and Jake would've probably liked it, the deviant, “Follame, dulce nina, lo haces tan facil.”  Unfortunately, you didn't have much control at that moment. That much was obvious to both of you (and probably your neighbors). In fact, all you had been able to manage between moans were breathy ‘pleases’ and screams of Jake’s name. Instead, you clung to him the best you could, leaving claw marks down his shoulders. Your knees had knocked back together, clamping his hand between your thighs- still too cock dumb to realize that was part of the problem. Trapping those evil but delicious fingers next to your throbbing core as you writhed through the most recent wave of pleasure. You hear Jake’s cool chuckle, but when you look at him- both of him… shit when did your eyes cross?- he’s still just watching you.  He is kind enough to wait until your eyes uncross edand your breathing to evened out before he swatted your thigh, just hard enough to make you gasp before you realized what he wanted. You couldn't even be embarrassed when he lifted it up and your slick almost shimmered on his hand in the low light.  Jake's grin was wolfish, clearly proud of his work as he rounded the corner of the bed. Leaning over you, his lips ghosted over your sweat dropped forehead and then your own swollen lips. His large hands took purchase at the soft flesh of your hips, squeezing as a warning before quickly, efficiently tugging you down to the foot of the bed where he took to his knees.  “One more for me.” It wasn’t a question or a request- a statement. You shook your head, but didn’t tell him to stop- you didn’t want him to stop but you genuinely didn’t think he could make you come again. From between your twitching thighs, he simply arced a brow. “Don’t believe me, princesa?” "Told you." Minutes later, he emerged victorious from the vice of your thighs, nose and chin practically dripping as he grinned up at you. Your fingers were still knotted in his curls as your chest heaved, stars dancing in your vision as you gasped or maybe you were screaming… you couldn’t tell. All you knew was Jake and the little circles he was rubbing on your knees with his thumb as you came back to Earth.  Jake’s dark eyes watched you like you were a living piece of art, voice rasping and zealous, yet still holding that annoyingly familiar ‘i told you so’ candor, “Dios mios, Look at you.” 

Marc says it like it just might save him. His eyes soften and his shoulders lose some tension, like the weight of the world (moon?) lessens when you’re around, and if you’re really lucky, you might catch a small, sweet, relieved smile. When you say such pretty things while he’s inside of you, when he comes home and your making enough dinner for two, when you open the curtains in the morning and the light shines in, when he looks up at you with his head on your lap and your fingers toying with his curls,  when you first wake up and the first thing you do is sleepily smile at him, and sometimes, most times, when he’s not even fronting when he’s watching as a fly on the wall as you are just as gentle and loving with Jake and Steven. 

“Look at you.” Marc whispered it, it was intimate, reverent. Like he hadn’t even meant to say it out loud. His head was in his lap and he’d been somewhere between half awake and mostly asleep for the better part of the afternoon. Jake had run the body ragged while he fronted, and now with Marc at the wheel all he wanted was to rest and be near you- not necessarily in that order. So, he didn’t argue nearly as much as usual when you simply pulled him onto the couch and pushed his had to you lap where you played with his dark curls until he went limp, sprawled over the overstuffed yet still too small couch Steven had chosen for the flat. It was comical how his long legs hung over the arm and back of the sofa, one arm draping over you and the other hanging off so his knuckles grazed the floor. But Marc knew how to be grateful, knew how to realize when he got more than the thought he deserved.  This was good. You were good. And he had known plenty of bad, so for the moment he’d soak up your good like a plant soaks up sunshine.  In between long blinks, he had watched you with soft eyes as you rotated from your latest book, scrolling on your phone, and whatever show you’d throw on the TV. Sometimes you were humming as you read or muttering comments about your show. Your free hand was twisting his curls, combing across his scalp, and occasionally gently drifting down to rub his back. God, you were a fucking angel. How could he not look at you?  “What about me?” You asked, quiet but bemused, magic fingers tracing from his hair to rest at his chin so you could see his eyes. Softer than usual. Your smile was reassuring, a promise this was real. A promise he was actually here. That he deserved to be. Marc sighed. He could wax poetic at you for the next four hours and not even cover his opening remarks on how grateful he was for you, why he didn’t deserve you, and what he’d do to keep you. But he also knew how upset it made you when he talked like that, so instead, he shook his head slightly, burrowing even closer into you if that were possibly before tugging you down to meet his lips briefly, “Someone’s feeling sentimental today. Everything alright?”  “Perfect, baby, perfect.” He promised, still openly staring. You shook your head, hiding behind your book, but Marc gently pushed the pages to the side, “How could I not be, just… look at you."

______

translations:

mi amor: my love

follame, dulce nina, lo haces tan facil: fuck me, sweet girl, you make it too easy

Princesa: Princess

Dios Mios: My God / Oh my God

I'm gonna be so real with y'all I know the Spanish words need the accent marks but consider the fact that I am dumb and can't figure that out yet. Did I put three gifs to distract y'all? yes. also he's pretty. sue me.

Anyways sorry if this sucked laugh out loud

the boys during this

[cookinguptales]

(via @goofygooberton)

tbh the one detail I want to talk about most is Guillermo taking off the cardigan that his grandmother gave him before he let Derek bite him.

Like -- him taking off his clothing before letting Derek bite him lends itself well to the sex/virginity metaphor I already talked about, but the fact that Guillermo specifically said that his grandmother got it for him... That opens up such a can of worms.

I want to come at this detail from a couple different angles, actually. That's how important I think it was. I think that the cardigan represents Guillermo's humanity, his family, and his slayer lineage. He wants to take it off -- but he also wants to protect it.

To start with, his humanity. Guillermo's sweaters have always kind of been a symbol of how... unvampiric he is. They're soft, they're cozy, they're not exactly fashionable. He stopped wearing them as often as he started delving into his slayer side and when he started being on more even footing with his vampiric family, but he's gone back to wearing them more often again.

I feel like Guillermo is often trying to Make A Point with his clothing, tbh. He wore smart, effective, professional (and attractive) clothing as a slayer. He wore flashy, expensive clothing to try and show off his power, money, and influence once he started embezzling from the club. But sweaters are his comfort clothes, and as he stops feeling the need to prove himself, he seems to revert back to what makes him most comfortable.

So him insisting on removing his sweater first, again, feels like Guillermo getting out of his comfort zone. It's him purposefully divorcing himself from his humanity before allowing Derek to turn him.

But... he still wants to keep those clothes safe. He still hasn't left humanity behind him all together.

Which brings me to the second point. Family. Guillermo very specifically brings up that this cardigan was given to him by his grandmother, the de facto head of the family. She loves him dearly, and, lbr, has been known to make not-so-subtle statements via her cardigans.

(Remember the rainbow cardigan at the family dinner? I sure do.)

Guillermo has really struggled with balancing his relationships with his family and his relationships with the vampires. He's in a very fragile place right now where he knows that his family is a danger to the vampires he loves (and vice-versa) and that they would not accept his choice to be a vampire. He literally told them what he wanted and saw it go to absolute shit. But they don't remember that now, so he's been able to maintain this tenuous peace between his two families.

But... has he really thought all this through? He's made the decision to become a vampire, and how will that affect his relationship with his family? The transformation doesn't seem to be working correctly, possibly because of his bloodline, but he's not quite human anymore, either. Is he far enough gone to set off their killing instinct? Hard to say, but I bet we'll find out.

So when Guillermo takes off a cardigan that his grandmother gave him to prevent it from getting stained with blood, it feels like he has chosen to distance himself from his family, but still desperately wants to hold onto what little relationship they might have left. He doesn't want their relationship to be permanently stained.

But I can only assume that his sweater, like every other inch of that room, probably got very bloody indeed.

So... is it a losing battle, trying to keep his relationship with his family safe and blood-free? Is it, like that sweater, doomed to destruction despite his best efforts?

Hard to say!

Finally... the whole slayer thing. The thing that's come between Guillermo, the vampires, and his family for all this time. Guillermo didn't want to be a slayer, but has come around to the realities of his bloodline. But he still doesn't want it to get in the way of his transformation. He removed the sweater that his vampire-slaying grandmother gave him before he was bitten, just like he's trying to remove his human bloodline altogether.

But... it's not so easy to get rid of your blood, is it? Even when you spray about 10 gallons of it all over the back room of a gas station. I think that blood is probably still interfering with the transformation, but I guess we'll get more information on that later.

The most interesting part of all this to me, though, is like... okay, so Guillermo's sweaters represent the parts of him that he wants to shed during this transformation, but that he simultaneously can't quite stand to let go of. But in the same episode, Nandor specifically asks Guillermo to wear a sweater.

Like sure, he calls it shitty -- but he doesn't want Guillermo to wear the flashy, expensive clothes that Guillermo wore to impress his family and boyfriend, or the neat lines of his professional slayer wear. He wants Guillermo at his most comfortable and his most himself. He wants Guillermo in a sweater, the nicest one he has. He wants Guillermo to be the nicest version of himself. He doesn't need Guillermo to take anything away from himself; he just wants to change him into the best version of what he already is.

The real question here for me now is... is this because Nandor is still uncomfortable thinking about Guillermo's transformation? Is that why he's still insisting on Guillermo wearing his sweaters? Or is it just that this is the version of Guillermo he likes best? The comfortable, sweet, soft version of him? The Guillermo that brushes his hair and pats his back and talks him down when he's scared?

Does he want Guillermo to keep wearing his sweaters because he, like Guillermo, associates them with his humanity? Or is it because he associates them with Guillermo's happiness? Does he want Guillermo to be the best version of himself while still being "shitty", aka human? Or does he want Guillermo to feel comfortable at his birthday dinner even if Nandor personally thinks the sweaters are ugly?

God. Nandor.

Ahhhh fuck, this all makes me feral. lmao. I am not emotionally prepared for this season.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Little ideas for Dandy and Doe(Goat Papa and Mama)

Dandy: wow... your eyes are like sapphires, gee! Heh, that's pretty corny though huh?

Doe: oh no, not at all... Anyone would like it

their theme as Die with a smile

Dandy: everyone's(morph) always asking, Dandy how'd you bag that baddie? How'd you bag that baddie? I didn't bag shit! Doe picked me up and threw me over her shoulders (metaphorically or literally, either way is funny), and I've been here ever since, And I have no plans of getting down!

Dandy:

Doe:

Ahaha! (Dandy is head over hooves for Doe, Doe is head over heels for him, and now Dandy has a wife, Doe has a husband, and they both have three partners who are powerful mutants and are the other loves of their lives!)

Dandy is very sweet, a bit country, very charming, and is very gentle and likes to spoil others (he also let's himself be spoiled). He gets really rough and tough in battle or during missions, and is super strong, has sharp horns, has a very thick skull, and can pick up and haul Logan.

Doe is beautiful and cunning. Don't mess with her sunshine ball of light husband, their amazing weather goddess partner, their charming mimic partner, or their fluffy growly partner. She can and will end someone. She's doting, can pack a punch, wears all kinds of dresses and sweaters, and is very happy when she finds out she' and her partners are going to finally have a baby.

(Yes, those five tried for a kid for, like, several years. They finally get one, and then once Dandy and Doe are gone, so too is the baby, it seems...) (except surprise, it's Reader, who followed/was kidnapped by Sabretooth, and ended up stuck with him)

Dandy, when he finds out he's about to be a dad, starts crying. He sobs, he wails, and he starts trying to think of baby names. Doe is more collected, but ends up also crying and sobbing, and they both hold each other and start trying to think of a color for the nursery. Logan, Morph, and Storm also end up crying. Logan is quicker to shrug it off, bit is so very pleased, Morph is bawling and already attached, and Storm is starting to drag all of them out to start shopping for baby stuff.

(What are Reader's few possessions or possesion they kept from when they were still with their mom, Mama Goat/Doe? Do they have anything from their dad, Papa Goat/Dandy?)

[hazyange1s]

the process of detonation (g.w. x f!mc)

summary: Garreth has a bit of a crisis when the reality of growing up starts to hit hard. While trying to overcome self-doubt and bottle up the explosion waiting to happen, she’s there to show him that there’s nothing wrong with a little chaos.

tags: allusions to adhd, alcohol use, seventh year, awkwardness and fluff, literal fireworks, too many food metaphors?, friends to lovers, gryffindor!reader, garreth is an ace at pining, beater!Garreth because yes obviously, the “wearing his sweater” trope, seniors and their existential crises, mc only referred to by she/her pronouns

word count: 5.6 k

rating: T

a/n: my entry for @garrethweasleyfest ! the prompt I used was “explosion” (kind of got inspired by explode - mother mother)

read on ao3

Garreth wasn’t all that good at really explaining the inner workings of his mind, but perhaps he could give it a go.

He might be biased, but in a way; he thought people could be compared to potions. They’re messy, complex, and each have their own set of ingredients that make them what they are — and change how they react. Some people have a little extra rose petals to them, some a sprinkle of stardust, and others are just…pure poison.

In Garreth’s case, his brewing tended to say a lot about his own concoction of self.

Of course, for most of his life, he never really considered that there might be something fundamentally wrong with whatever recipe God or whoever had used to create him. It wasn’t until seventh year when he was finally considered a grown wizard that Garreth began to suspect… and to wonder if there was any leaf or powder out there that could be thrown in to stabilize him.

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In Garreth’s defense, he had a lot on his mind that day.

Between his growing stack of homework assignments, early morning Quidditch practices three days a week, and the NEWT study group he’d been strong-armed into joining by Natsai and his Aunt, it was a wonder he had any working brain cells left at all. And that didn’t even count the time he spent on his own, er… creative projects.

So it wasn’t all that surprising that he’d accidentally broken a golden rule of potion-making in his sleepy endeavor at a cure for ague. Not once as his knife rocked against the cutting board did he consider that everybody else was flattening the blades and pressing down instead, and the rest of his friends were too oblivious to, either.

“— But then, he tried to kiss me! No request, no warning, nothing! One second I’m mid-conversation about centaurs’ rights, and the next his tongue is two inches from my face! All of that time wasted when I could have been doing any of the million other; more important things I have going on!”

Oddly enough, hearing about his friend’s failed attempts at courting (which were rather numerous) was the best part of his day so far.

Garreth nodded along politely, offering a vague “mhmm” and “you can’t be serious” at appropriate intervals, gaze flickering between his workstation and the witch in the midst of a passionate rant while turning her ladle idly in her own cauldron. He’d never been good at strictly keeping his eyes on his own work, and it was that much harder with her directly beside him; her vest unbuttoned and cheeks fairy floss pink from the vapors surrounding them.

She gave a resounding huff, dropping the ladle to rest her elbows on the textbook open in front of her. “All that is to say; I’ve come to the conclusion that men are incorrigible.”

“Sounds fairly accurate,” Garreth snorted. He gently nudged her off of the book (they often shared his, as it was filled with helpful notes) to double check a measurement.

Even if some little voice whispered that reasonable was boring and she should keep her — ahem — mind open to other possibilities, he dutifully ignored it.

“Although, we’re not all pigs, you know. Some of us have a spot of…well. Class, I suppose.” He grumbled.

“I hope you’re not referring to yourself,” her laughter rang out like the peal of a bell. “You’re a lot of things, Garreth, but you’re not exactly the epitome of a gentleman.”

His face pinched, and again she chuckled, which was a small consolation.

It stung because it was true. Garreth wasn’t exactly a rake by most standards, but he flirted with too many witches and wizards and had snogged half that number besides to be much else. He was a terrible dancer, didn’t have a fortune to inherit (even if he had been the eldest Weasley), and flaunted most rules and regulations.

So, no, he wasn’t winning any awards in Witch Weekly for Bachelor of the Year.

To spite her, he did the gentlemanly thing and conceded, albeit not so gracefully. “I’m only trying to say…you shouldn’t lump us all in with a few bad apples. I certainly wouldn’t have disappointed you like that.”

“How comforting to know. I’m still sticking with my hypothesis, but thanks for trying.”

Well, now he was thinking about how he would kiss her, if given the chance.

(This was purely for scientific reasons, of course.)

Garreth, eager to salvage what remained of his pride, readied another reply as he sprinkled the flakes of dittany into his lightly smoking cauldron. It would have been a good one, too, if not for —

“Garreth!”

There was only a hair of a second between her shouting his name in warning and what was possibly one of his most impressive explosions to date. Even though she lunged for him, she was too late to stop the blast from sending him reeling backwards with a hand over his burning-hot face and a very unbecoming cry of surprise.

Having expected him to be closer, she stumbled in her attempt at pushing him out of the way, and thus they collided like two atoms — tumbling to the stone floor in a jumble of limbs and hissed curses.

“Come on, seriously, Garreth?” Sebastian groaned from an adjacent potions station. He, along with a few others who’d been close to the blast, were coughing and waving away billowing clouds of smoke.

Natty sighed. “That’ll be another ten points from Gryffindor.”

But their protestations fell to the wayside once he was peering up at the sheepish face of his savior; no more than a few inches away. Within kissing distance, even.

Wait. What?

“Fuck. Ow. Sorry,” she groaned, trying to untangle their aching limbs as she lay half-splayed across Garreth’s chest.

It was then that his traitorous mind started paying attention to how warm she was, how bright that ring of pure gold in her eyes was, how infuriatingly good the blend of mallowsweet and smoke clinging to her like a second skin smelled…

Shiiiiittt. Shit, shit, shit.

“No, it’s, uh, it’s my fault. Totally my fault, I wasn’t, er…paying attention,” he panted. The wind had been thoroughly knocked out of him — and it wasn’t just because her elbow had struck him right in the stomach when they’d fallen.

When she managed to sort herself out and hastily climb to her feet, that stinging feeling from before returned, and Garreth didn’t notice the developing bruise on his tailbone one bit.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“Oh, er, I think so,” he stood up, legs wobbling like a newborn thestral, and dusted off his robes. “My pride took the biggest blow. Though I suppose I should count myself lucky I had the Hero of Hogwarts to save me.”

He waggled his brows, and her jaw went slack before she was doubled over in a fit of raucous laughter.

“What?! It wasn’t that funny.“

“No, you —“ she can hardly get the words out between breathless giggles. “Garreth, your eyebrows.”

Reaching up, his fingers found the ridge just above his eyes — where, indeed, great chunks of what was once thick ginger hair are missing. “Bollocks. That’s the third time in six months.”

The unfortunate loss of his eyebrows (and dignity) became yesterday’s news when she traversed the newly formed space between them to rub what he assumed was soot off of his nose, still chuckling to herself. He resisted the urge to brush away the wayward hairs sticking to her forehead in kind.

“I’ll give you this — you’re definitely not most men,” she grinned.

It was probably an insult, but all Garreth heard was a ringing endorsement. Against the odds, he cracked a lopsided smile of his own.

Maybe he’d even call it a victory.

Professor Sharp waved his wand, and the thick fumes disappeared, allowing them all a good glimpse of his signature long-suffering scowl.

“Ten points from Gryffindor. Shocking, I know,” the ex-Auror sighed, resigned. “And I expect that cauldron to be replaced within the fortnight.”

Well. A bittersweet victory, to be sure.

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Everything tumbled downhill from there.

In the spirit of further self-reflection, Garreth knew that their unceremonious meeting on the dirty floor of the Potions classroom wasn’t some hit-him-over-the-head moment of recognition — even if most of his revelations came in that form. This one had been creeping up on him since fifth year, like a wily sort of poison; disguised with a sweet scent to throw him off.

But just how massively fucked was he, you may ask?

That became clear one rainy afternoon. Not just any rainy afternoon, mind you, because those were a galleon a dozen during autumn in the Scottish Highlands; but the afternoon of their first Quidditch game of the year against Slytherin.

Which didn’t help the fact that his head was already so not in the game.

It started out well enough, with Gryffindor managing to make several goals in a row that had their swaths of supporters in the stands crowing with pride. Garreth did his best to keep up as he weaved and dodged and looped around the field, trying to focus solely on the hunt for Bludgers. Of course, this required him to pay equally close attention to his teammates lest they fall victim to one of the bloodthirsty balls.

One teammate in particular more than the others, perhaps.

Flying was made all the more difficult by the sheets of icy rain pelting his face. Not even the goggles – with the assistance of an Impervious Charm – were helping him distinguish much more than vague blobs of color streaking through the cloudy sky. This, he justified, was why he started to miss more swings than he made and almost dropped his bat (twice). It wasn’t Garreth’s fault the elements were working against them.

Despite that, they were still forty points up when the conniving snakes switched tactics and started going after Gryffindors’ three female Chasers. Natty was an expert at evasion, and Nellie tended to fly high to avoid them… but not her.

She always had to be in the bloody thick of it, didn’t she?

It might have been annoying, if it wasn’t so damn impressive. Garreth couldn’t help but admire the way she moved; how she’d feint and crack a little smile each time someone fell for the trick. The way her red sweater clung, dripping, from her frame and strands of hair curled around her wet forehead were particularly distracting, too.

For the first time in his career, Garreth found himself wishing he was in the crowd – just so he could watch her.

Sebastian tossed the Quaffle to Imelda over Natty’s head – only for his face to contort with rage when it was snatched from the air between them. Garreth whooped proudly when she took off towards the goal posts. The first Bludger was hot on her tail, but so was he, maneuvering between her and the ball. He spent the next few minutes as her guardian until having to turn tail at the last minute to rescue Lucan.

The next events happened so quickly he couldn’t quite recall much but this: a familiar, feminine cry of alarm from behind him, the brown blur of a Bludger streaking towards him, and the reverberation in his arm when his bat connected with it. There was a thunderous crack, and then another scream.

What he’d meant to do was send it towards any of the three Slytherins trying to overtake her, but instead…

Garreth’s entire world narrowed down to the moment when she just barely managed to duck out of the Bludger’s path. He’d come to a screeching halt on his broom, hovering mere feet away from her with his eyes wide as saucers behind his foggy goggles, something sinking inside him as the Slytherins flew off with the Quaffle. The stadium erupted into cheers for them seconds later.

“What the hell was that?” She panted, her indignant scowl apparent even through the downpour. “You almost took my bloody head off, Garreth!”

“It — it was an accident. And you’re fine, right, so no harm, no foul?” He had to shout to be heard over the spectators and the wind.

“An inch to the left and I wouldn’t have been fine at all! I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you need to get it together!”

“I just –”

She sped off so fast the resulting wind made him shiver. Either Garreth was simply losing his touch, or there was something seriously wrong with him lately. Cursing to himself, he shook off the chill her anger had left him with and the shame that followed, and threw himself back into the game comforted by the knowledge that he’d be able to get roaring drunk at the after party.

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Drunk might be an understatement, actually.

By the time the party was in full swing, Garreth had already downed more than his share of the sneakily procured liquor (courtesy of yours truly, Sirona’s unrelenting generosity, and several bribes to the house elves in the kitchens). Someone had enchanted a few of the lamps to change color occasionally, throwing red and green and blue lights around Gryffindor’s common room, which teemed with House members in Quidditch jumpers and all other manner of memorabilia. Even little Doge and Dumbledore had emerged briefly to shyly congratulate the team.

Not even the jubilant music pouring from the gramophone or the well-earned laughter of the partygoers could drown out what was going on inside Garreth’s head.

He’d never embarrassed himself so profoundly at a match before. Quidditch, like potion-making, was one of the few areas Garreth excelled in, and he couldn’t even do that right. Ever since school had started up again, he’d been a mess. Exploding cauldrons, racking up more detentions than ever, always saying the wrong thing…

It was seventh year, for Merlin’s sake, and he was a grown wizard now. But while everyone else was coming into themselves, it seemed like he was just coming apart.

So instead of enjoying the victory, Garreth had taken to drowning his sorrows in drink while watching from the sidelines; neck-deep in an early quarter life crisis while slumped in one of the armchairs. Leander found him there eventually, his freckled face a mask of concern as he leaned against the wall beside him.

“What’s with the sour face?” Leander raised a brow. “We just beat Slytherin! I thought you’d be dancing on the tables or something.”

“I’m not really in the dancing mood. Go on, I’ll live vicariously through you.” Garreth grumbled.

“As much as everyone would probably love to see that, I’d rather find out what’s got your wand all knotted up.”

Garreth sighed, raking the hand not currently clutching a glass of Firewhiskey through his still-damp curls. “You saw what happened, Lee. The team’s probably pissed at me for being a massive disappointment, especially…”

He gestured vaguely to the hero of the hour (the hero of every hour of every day as far as he was concerned, and she’d earned the title several times over) across the room. She was talking with Natty, Nellie, and Cressida by the fireplace, her smile brighter than the flames’ glow that lit her from behind. A clawed hand squeezed at his heart.

“Oh, that? That was…I mean, you made a minor miscalculation. Most of them have forgotten already, I reckon.” Leander’s eyes darted to the side — as they always did when he was lying horribly.

“A minor miscalculation that could have led to the untimely death of one of my best friends.”

“You’re being even more dramatic than usual…are you tossed already?”

”I dunno, mum; am I?”

There was a quiet rumble around him, like thunder. At first he thought it was just his stomach informing him of how much he’d indeed had to drink, but then a fat drop of rain landed on his nose.

Leander’s big, dark eyes rolled to the ceiling, and he dragged Garreth onto his slightly unsteady feet with an arm in his. “Alright, you’re being bloody insufferable, and you’ve quite literally got a dark cloud hanging over you. Come on, up you get — go talk to her and apologize.”

“No, Lee, please!” Garreth whined. “I’ve suffered enough humiliation today.”

”Don’t be a coward, you’ll be fine.”

The taller boy weaved through the crowd easily, pulling a stumbling Garreth along beside him until they came face-to-face with the very group of girls he had been avoiding all night. They all went quiet immediately — which was not a good sign.

Garreth scratched the back of his head, glancing between Leander and the witch with the suspicious scowl in front of him, feeling for all the world like he’d never been less of a Gryffindor than in that moment. Surely the alcohol was supposed to help with these things, right?

”Er…would you like to dance?” He blurted.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. But having to talk to her at all in his clumsy state seemed even more daunting with all eyes on him, and getting her alone was a simple solution.

“You sure you’ll be able to without tripping over your feet?” Nellie snorted.

“‘M perfectly cohabitated — uh, coordinated, I mean,” Garreth argued.

Natty shook her head, hiding her laughter behind a hand. “Oh, dear.”

His favorite witch turned a familiar shade of pink, and for a moment Garreth feared that she’d laugh in his face, but eventually she sighed and handed her bottle of Butterbeer to Natty.

“If you step on my toes, I’ll jinx you,” she warned, leading him to the center of the room where groups of friends and cozy couples were scattered to dance to the magically amplified music (it was a miracle none of the professors had come to complain about it, really).

“No promises.”

Garreth wrestled with what to do when they got there. Was he supposed to take her hand? Her waist? Or, rather, should he keep it friendly and avoid touching her at all? The latter option seemed much less risky, and yet he found himself longing to feel her hand in his and the heat of her body. He’d been hooked ever since that day in Potions.

Deciding it would be better to keep his distance for now, Garreth went with swaying awkwardly on the spot instead, but she had other ideas — her hand sought out his, and she threw him into a dizzying little turn that evoked both laughter and a slight wave of nausea.

“Oh, are you leading?” He chuckled, suddenly thankful for the ballroom lessons they’d all received the year prior as he mimicked her move, twirling her playfully with ease that surprised even him.

“That might be safer,” she said. “Although you’re not doing half bad so far.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Garreth grinned proudly.

He spent the better part of five minutes praying he wouldn’t step on her toes while simultaneously working up the courage to acknowledge the erupment in the room. And, because the universe didn’t like to make anything easy for him, Garreth had to compete with the little flutters in his stomach that beat their furious wings each time she laughed or squeezed his hand.

Merlin, just pull your wand out of your ass.

“Hey, so, about earlier. You know, during the game… you’re right, I wasn’t…I don’t know where my head’s been lately. I didn’t mean to muck things up.”

His breath held until she shrugged, her easy smile fading into something edged with concern. “Don’t worry about it. We won, and my head’s still attached to my body, so no hard feelings.”

She drew back, the impish grin back as she spun him again — which wasn’t very easy considering he had to duck under her arm. The room seemed to be moving with him, and Garreth had to right himself as subtly as possible when he came to a stop as colors that didn’t belong to the lights danced in his vision.

“You alright?” She chuckled, her hands braced on his biceps to steady him. “I think Nellie might have had a point about you tripping.”

“No, no, I’m good, just waiting for the room to stop spinning so I can look at you again.”

That hadn’t quite come out right. In place of the eye roll he was expecting, she giggled, adding fuel to his liquid confidence.

“Gods, you’re cute when you laugh,” Garreth found himself saying. He realized she was leading him away from the crowd, and soon he sank into a squashy cushion beside her. “I mean, you’re a bit blurry right now, but…still cute.”

“Okay, what’s gotten into you lately? Not that I mind the flirting… but you’ve been a right mess for weeks. I don’t think I’ve seen you this drunk before; not even when you saw your OWL results.”

A low groan rumbled in the back of his throat. “I’m peachy, pinkie promise.” Did she just say she didn’t mind his flirting?

Giggling at how absurd the words sounded together, he stuck his pinkie out to her and waited. “Come on, these are sacred!”

She did actually roll her eyes this time, but then her smallest finger hooked around his, and it didn’t pull away even when they were certainly exceeding the normal amount of time for a handshake. Garreth could smell the sweetness of Butterbeer on her breath.

It wasn’t enough to convince her, though. “Are you stressed about NEWTs? Who am I kidding, everyone and their grandmothers are. But if it’s really getting to you, then —“

Apparently, she wasn’t giving up, so Garreth sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch.

“Yes, I’m a bit strung out over the exams that will decide our entire career, what d’you think? I’m not going to have a fit over it.”

“Sorry,” her hands raised in surrender. “Just trying to figure out why you haven’t quite been yourself since the term started because I bloody care.”

“I would argue that blowing things up and making stupid decisions is very much on brand for me.”

Releasing a heavy sigh (more like an impatient huff, really), she wrested her pinkie from his, leaving Garreth more than a bit disappointed. But then again, what had he expected? That she’d sit there and hold his hand?

He hadn’t earned that. Somehow, he had earned her friendship from the very first day of their fifth year, but in no way did he reserve the right to even hope of something more. She was, well… extraordinary, and Garreth was an extraordinary disaster.

Maybe it was time he rectified that.

“Wait,” he tugged pathetically on her sleeve when she rose from the couch. “Sit with me for a little bit longer? I might need someone to Accio a rubbish bin over here soon.”

To his great relief, she sat down again, shaking her head to disguise a little chuckle. “You’re something else, y’know?”

”I’ve been told once or twice.”

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Bonfire Nights had been sparse the past couple of years around Hogwarts, as many of the residents had feared drawing attention to themselves with the looming threat of Ashwinders and goblins and the like. This year, Garreth had had the pleasure of seeing pyres built weeks beforehand, and by the end of October Zonko’s had sold out of Filibuster’s Fireworks.

As night settled over the Highlands, bonfires began to flare to life all along the rolling hills, appearing like flaming stars from the view at the castle. Garreth, alongside a group of fellow seventh years carrying sparklers and mini-fireworks, spent the brisk walk to the hill above Hogsmeade village lost in uncharacteristic melancholy. He’d never been the sort to reminisce; preferring to live in the here and now whenever possible, but for some reason the knowledge that this would be his last Bonfire Night at Hogwarts made it all a bit bittersweet (the flavor of the month, it seemed).

They drank hot chocolate in ceramic mugs provided by Sirona, surrounded by the body heat of the villages’ residents as they talked and laughed and chased their children away from the forest at the edge of the plateau. Hogsmeade’s lights had been dimmed for the occasion, glowing softly below them to allow the six foot pyre they gathered around to shine.

“I can’t believe next month is Christmas already,” Leander was saying between greedy sips of the drink cupped in his blue-tinged hands. “Then it’ll be the New Year, then Spring Break, and before we know it we’ll be taking our NEWTs and graduating…”

“Breathe, Lee,” Garreth chuckled. At least he wasn’t the only one getting hit with the terrifying reality of time all at once.

”I know, is it not amazing? The last few years have gone by so quickly. I will miss this place come summer, though,” Natty sighed wistfully.

Nellie snorted. “Speak for yourself. If I never have to open a textbook again after school is over, it’ll be too soon.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Leander?” His favorite Gryffindor (don’t tell Nats or Leander) joined their little circle, her frame wrapped in a thick red scarf and one of his old Christmas sweaters she’d stolen from him in fifth year and never given back — not that he minded, as it didn’t fit him anymore and looked far better on her, anyway.

The lanky redhead grumbled a reply, “Easy for you to say. Half of my job will be desk work.”

“No shame in that,” she shrugged. “Garreth’s going to be behind a cauldron, after all.”

“Hey, Potioneers do other things besides just… brew. I’ll still forage for my own ingredients, travel to sell them… hell, one day, I might just have my own shop.” Garreth said with pride.

“So long as you don’t blow it up,” her cheeks dimpled when she smiled.

As if on cue, a loud boom shook the ground beneath them. Everyone’s eyes shot to the sky, cheers swelling amongst the crowd as the first firework exploded in a shower of golden sparks, dissolving back towards the earth like falling stars. Despite all their talk of the future, Garreth felt like a first-year again as a smile broke out on his slightly chapped lips, apparently not immune to the childlike wonder the fireworks always seemed to bring.

The next one was even louder and brighter. Garreth nearly jumped out of his skin when an iron grip closed around his arm and a body pressed into his left side. She had buried her face in his shoulder, too, and a warm feeling unrelated to the cocoa spread from his stomach.

“Aww, is the big, bad Gryffindor afraid of fireworks?” he teased, trying not to enjoy the smell of her shampoo or the color in her cheeks too much as she looked up at him sheepishly.

“Shut up!” The shivering witch hissed. “Am not. I’m just…cold, and you’re a damn furnace, as usual.”

“Oh, you’re cold,” Garreth pouted just for the drama of it. Then, before he could convince himself it was a bad idea, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her closer still. “I suppose I’ll have to keep you warm, then.”

”And they say chivalry is dead.”

She flinched after the third blast, leading him to rub her shoulder in a subtle attempt at comfort, his heart thumping almost as loud as the fireworks now going off in quick succession when she curled into him. It was then that his Neanderthal brain concluded why she might have been so terrified; after fighting in a bloody war just two years ago.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be. I don’t mind.” At all. Garreth laughed to himself and set down his mug in the grass so he could cover the ear she didn’t have pressed to his chest with his hand.

“You know, you’re really sweet when you want to be,” he thought he heard her say over the explosions echoing throughout the valleys.

He lowered his head to speak into the ear closest to him, lips brushing the flyaways from her hair, rubbing her arm again when he noticed her shiver. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold; can’t have everyone think I’ve gone soft.”

Truth be told, his limbs always felt like melted taffy around her — he was practically a puddle at her feet.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Eventually, her head lifted partially from his shoulder, and with a sidelong glance he caught her peering up at the sky with a look best described as wonder. Each burst of sparks was reflected in her wide eyes, and Garreth felt tiny pricks of electricity along every nerve in his body at the sight.

“So, um…” he scrambled for something to say so he wouldn’t think about how close her lips would be if she turned to the side a bit. “Are you still going to write to me after school’s over? Or will you forget all about us little people when you’re off traveling the world in search of ancient relics and having daring adventures?”

“Of course I’m going to write, you moonmind,” she looked up at him, then, and his hand fell from the side of her head. “And I’ll come visit, too, so I can see that shop of yours.”

Perhaps she was just humoring him, but Garreth found nothing but sincerity in her soft smile, and his own crooked grin widened at the thought that she might be one of the first to genuinely believe in him.

“What’s got you so pensive all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, absentmindedly playing with the frayed edges of her cashmere scarf. “Maybe it’s just the old age catching up to me. It pairs well with my bum hip, I think.”

”Come on, I’m serious. I won’t tell anyone and ruin your sterling reputation, I swear.”

“I don’t know,” Garreth let out a sigh, his breath clouding in the air between them. “Just realized how much I’m gonna miss you.”

“And here I thought you’d be sick of my face after seeing it every day for three years,” her eyes darted away from him to watch a spray of green and red fill the starry sky. She wasn’t shaking anymore.

Never, he almost said. Garreth knew, as he gazed hopelessly at her perfect profile, that he would never be tired of her face — well, of all of her, really. In fact, he wouldn’t mind seeing her every day for the rest of his life.

“If you’re going to miss me so desperately… Perhaps you could join me on one of my so-called ‘daring adventures’ sometime; on the off chance Pippin gives you a holiday.”

His brows shot up as she met his stare. “Really? You’d want me to tag along?”

Their classmates and the villagers burst into raucous whistles and hollering as the finale began, fireworks filling the air with the smell of gunpowder and a rainbow of light that flashed on everyone’s uplifted faces. Garreth held her tightly lest she start to panic again, but the witch in his arms just laughed jubilantly at the crowd’s infectious excitement, nodding in response to his question.

“Sure. Never know when you might need a talented Potioneer to back you up. Fair warning that we’re bound to run into some trouble now and again, naturally.”

The thump of his heart became something wild and frantic, beating away beneath the hand she’d placed on his chest until he feared it, too, would simply explode. Gods, if they weren’t careful, he would wind up doing something massively stupid… or massively genius, depending on the results.

“As long as you’re there, I say bring it on,” Garreth beamed.

He could hardly believe his luck. She’d asked him to accompany her on her travels! That had to mean something, right?

Only one way to find out for sure…

“And would it be…er, just the two of us, or would Sebastian and Ominis and the rest of the crew be joining as well?”

Her eyes sparkled with recognition. “That depends on how you would feel about us traveling alone.”

”Would it be rather selfish of me to say that I’d love to have you to myself for a bit?”

“Probably…” her breath warmed his cheeks, though they were already burning hotter than a cauldron flame as Garreth became hypnotized by the way her teeth worried at her reddened lower lip. “But then I’d have to admit that I’m selfish, too.”

Now, that was a sign.

The last round of fireworks were utterly deafening, so Garreth had to lean in once again until the cold tips of their noses brushed to say, “Could I be even more of a self-serving bastard and ask you for one more thing?”

”Yes, you can — and yes to anything you want,” her lashes fluttered as her gaze dropped down to his slightly parted mouth.

“Anything?”

Garreth wasn’t one to ignore an opportunity when it arose. He took it and ran, gently placing his hand beneath her chin at the same moment his eyes slid shut and their lips brushed together with such a delicate touch that he shuddered. Then she took the lead, deepening the kiss with a wispy little sigh that had him weak at the knees and left him unable to form any solid thought but for how fucking incredible she tasted with the remnants of rich chocolate on her tongue.

When the two of them disconnected, the last sparks were fading from the sky, but they lived on in Garreth’s veins, popping and crackling like Fizzing Whizbees.

“See?” He murmured while still trying to catch his breath. “Didn’t disappoint you, did I?”

Her laughter bubbled up between them, brighter than any display. “You never disappoint, Garreth Weasley.”

Garreth had wondered before if he’d been made wrong; like one of his failed experiments with just a splash too much of the wrong thing. But perhaps — especially with someone like her to help keep him stable — some of the best things could come from the unpredictable and the unexpected.

He didn’t exactly find the missing ingredient…it had been there all along.

[punkeropercyjackson]

When Gwen went to visit Miles,she thought to put on Hobie's sweater first and the patches on it are implied to be Gwen's,not Hobie's(he lets her personalize his clothes)

Miles accidentally forced Gwen to get a haircut and Gwen kept the sideshave as she grew out her hair and she also choose to dye it pink,the color Hobie turns when he's happiest around the people he loves the most,and he might've been the one who convinced her to get that color/style specificially

In the comics,Hobie was a Gwen Stacy fanboy and she's that cool slightly older girl it's easy for most boys to get a crush on.And in the movies,Gwen looks up to Hobie Brown and he's that cool slightly older boy it's easy for most girls to get a crush on

Gwen said 'Oh,you would love him!' about Hobie and 'That's different' in a noticably flustered tone when Miles compared their dynamic to his and Gwen's in response and Pavitr slyly commented Miles wouldn't know about Hobie twice and Hobie himself said 'Gwendy,how much have you told him?' with no actual clearups on what he meant and 'A couple dozen' when Miles asked how many missions they'd been on together and Gwen got flustered again and tried to deny the full extent of her closeness to Hobie.Hobie knew exactly what he was implying,both him and Miles,and he was bragging,not to make Miles jealous as confirmed by the crew wasn't his intent at all in the Gwen and Miles deal,but out of love for Gwen and pride over their relathionship status

'Self-Love',the 'Gwen love ballad',has the lyrics drink too much,think too much,thoughts drownin' me(havin' a laugh at a pub with the mandem),you don't know love you just show love stop doubtin' me(VERY indictive of what Hobie's attitude towards Gwen must've been like as their friendship started forming and no doubt Hobie has his own insecurities and trauma Gwen smothers him in adoration and care and respect to help him heal considering how unashamedly and openly she loves him to other people's faces and being 'starry-eyed' at him in a concept),cuff me told the truth to him he don't trust me(literally Hobie making reverse racism real on George's ass when he forced him to give Gwen the watch he made her and even to leave her his love note with it),hate to see yeah woah money scheme yeah woah(it's a metaphor for capitalism),live and questionable(i'm not a role model),love hangin' out say you hate it now(how tight Gwen and Hobie are away from prying eyes vs Gwen's denial denial denial over it to not be teased by her cheeky ahh friends)

A pastel punk trans girl vigilante Variant of thee character that's characterized by being fridged for a male superheroes development and a normie nerd girl back when they're alive that's doomed to the same fate almost every time,except when she's a Ghost,our Gwen,and an afropunk adultified troubled but good kid with a mantle that typically belongs to a white man he did his own cooler spin on Variant of an obscure supervillain.They weren't this important to eachother,much less love interests,in any other story before and they weren't sure how things went,even with themselves,but they were just happy to be with eachother because they need eachother and always rushed to be there first and always still do

Gwen is watercolors style and Hobie is a diy zine but they're both basically human mood rings.They both had a scene of being enraged at an authority figure they know is corrupted better than anyone else as they turned a deep blue and of teaching Miles to relax his hands to better use his powers too and he's gotta look out for his drummer,who doubles as his vocalist as seen in another concept because Spider(wo)man can do both and he hates labels but he loves Gwendy so maybe 'my girlfriend' can be something he wants to label her as and she steals his chucks and leaves her toothbrush and sweaters at his place(sleepy snuggling and nonsexual intimacy levels are high)and he's more her home than Spider Society ever was

In every other universe,Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.And since in every other universe it dosen't end well,Gwen couldn't let herself fall for Miles.But Hobie Brown's not Spiderman,he's SpiderPUNK so Gwen never resisted falling for him because she never thought to and couldn't hold back how much she loves and wants him so she fell harder and he fell just as hardcore and at the same time as her,no holding back or fallout.How deep their connection goes is up to them,not any Canon Events.Gwen choose Hobie over canon and he saved her before anyone else did.He may not believe in consistency but he believes in her and she knows he's a good guy even though he's not 'supposed' to be

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

truly no hate to merino or merino lovers but am so so tired of where am at, wool yarn either merino or unidentified wool, (n maybe small selection of shetland for fair isle sweater)

crying (metaphorical but abt to be literal) look at yarn that 100% rambouillet or targee or cormo or BFL from smaller mills or small farms or indie dyers n salivating bc want them. want them so bad want so many want them now!!!!!!

didn’t realize how lucky when was at US (was just beginning learn different breed wool n am slow at that) so missed out opportunity in hoard n now don’t have opportunity anymore :(((((((

[transmascutena]

i just realized that the red sweater utena wears in ep 37 looks to be the same one that anthy knitted her in the cowbell ep… what do you think they meant by that??

this is something i didn't realize until i was multiple rewatches in and saw someone else point it out, it's subtle but super interesting. i've seen some people say that the sweaters look different in various small ways and so it's not the same, but i choose to believe it is because i think it has thematic significance if that's the case. i think it's another thing meant to draw a connection between utena and nanami's arcs within the show, as is the cow episode as a whole.

the cowbell can be seen as parallel to a lot of things: utena's uniform ("a cowbell is for cows" vs "a boy's uniform is for boys" and societal expectations of what is acceptable to wear), the earrings utena is gifted, or in this case the sweater. both the cowbell and the sweater are gifts from anthy, and both are used in nanami and utena's "transformations"; nanami's literal one into a cow, and utena's metaphorical one into a princess (see akio's "that outfit definitely suits you" line in episode 37.) many people have talked about nanami's cow transformation as a grooming metaphor, and i think this parallel just makes it clearer. and really show's anthy's part in it all.

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Young Royals Characters as Short 'n' Sweet Songs

this post came to me in a dream but I can't not do it now, so buckle up. No audios for Please Please Please or Espresso because you know exactly which songs those are and you do not need the sample lol.

Taste - Simon

oh I leave quite an impression - In fact he does. you're wondering why half his clothes went missing, my body's where they're at - shout out Simon wearing Wilhelm's blue/green sweater in season 3, shout out the stolen orange sweater in season 2. you'll just have to taste me when he's kissing you - that whole thing where Wilhelm literally told Felice he kissed her to see if it was like kissing Simon. I've been there, done that once or twice - he in fact broke up and got back together with Wilhelm five times.

Please, Please, Please - Sara

Whatever devil's inside you, don't let him out tonight - she in fact dated the worst person on the planet. And please, pleasе, please, Don't bring me to tеars when I just did my makeup so nice - it's giving the valentines dance, it's giving the shooting range scene, it's giving the third year's dinner. I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker - Sara, I'm gonna hold your hand when I say this... And we could live so happily if no one knows that you're with me - they kept their relationship a secret for a reason and she had the common sense to think twice about going public at the valentines ball.

Good Graces - Wilhelm

I won't give a fuck about you - Wilhelm doesn't give a fuck about anyone but Simon When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel - he is in fact the most bashful little guy around his boyfriend. Boy, it's not that complicated, you should stay in my good graces - we have many examples of why that is a good idea, see the difference between how he treats Felice and how he treats August 'Cause no one's more amazin' at turnin' lovin' into hatred - every single member of his family feels this line on a personal level.

Sharpest Tool - Felice

I know you're not the sharpest tool in the shed, we had sex, I met your best friends then a bird flies by and you forget - remember that brief relationship with August? Yeah... that. we were goin' right, then you took a left, left me with a lot of shit to second-guess - she thinks about Sara when she hears this line. You know it, I know it, her friends know it, the bus driver knows it. Everyone knows. Seems like overnight, I'm just the bitch you hate now - literally how everyone treated her after those Wilhelm rumors went around. Or when the school got shut down and for some reason everyone blamed her? Fuck everyone else leave Felice alone.

Coincidence - Marcus (stop booing I'm right)

Now her name comes up once, then it comes up twice -Marcus was in fact the one to bring up Wilhelm's name both once and twice. Last week, you didn't have any doubts, this week, you're holdin' space for her tongue in your mouth - Did someone say Valentines Ball? No? Just me? What a surprise, your phone just died, your car drove itself from L.A. to [his] thighs - lmao Simon claimed his phone died multiple times in order to dodge Marcus. To the point that Marcus went to Rosh and Ayub who then had to pretend they didn't know Simon was going to hook up with his ex. Oh wow, you just broke up again - oh I just know Marcus felt vindicated when Wilmon kept being on again off again after that 💀

Bed Chem - Wilmon (need I explain? No, but I'm going to anyway)

got me scrollin' like out of breath - Wilhelm stalking Simon's instagram... How you pick me up, pull 'em down, turn me 'round oh, it just makes sense - Simon in the hallway scene fr How you talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things - throwback to when Wilhelm dropped like a whole poem full of metaphors over the phone to Simon while high out of his mind. Where art thou? Why not uponeth me? - literally Simon at any given time. that boy is feral.

Espresso - Fredrika (could be Simon too but I'm trying not to repeat)

I can't relate to desperation - Season 2 Fredrika for sure. Season 3 Fredrika took that statement back. And I got this one boy and he won't stop calling - that "one boy" is actually Stella and her poem. he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger - again, "he" is just Stella staring at her from across the room. My twisted humor make him laugh so often - throwback to when she stated she would be the surrogate for wilmon's royal baby.

Dumb and Poetic - Wilmon (I know I just said I wasn't going to repeat but this is my blog so sue me)

You're so dumb and poetic, it's just what I fall for, I like the aesthetic - Wilhelm and Simon are in fact both dumb and poetic. Both of them. Shoutout football field scene, shoutout Simon's song, shout out the Jubilee speech, shoutout Wille's song. You're so sad there's no communication, but, baby, you put us in this situation - every single music room scene in which they fight about something that could have been avoided by a singular conversation. Just 'cause you act like one doesn't make you a man - because they're not men. They're teenage boys and literally everyone in their lives just decided to forget that for some reason.

Slim Pickins - Nils (also Felice but I'm trying not to repeat)

Guess I'll end this life alone, I am not dramatic, these are just the thoughts that pass right through me - Nils is actually very dramatic, but he also probably thought this many times while he was in the closet. All the douchebags in my phone - in his grindr era Oh, it's slim pickings, if I can't have the one I love I guess it's you that I'll be kissin' - .... *cough* Vincent *cough* I'll just keep on moanin' and bitchin' - Nils 24/7 is bitching about something. He can't not complain about something. "Good job on coming out but it was dumb" BITCH JUST SAY YOU'RE PROUD FOR ONCE.

Juno - Stella

You make me wanna make you fall in love - good old fashioned pop love song seems fitting for Stella. Especially this line, because she is absolutely trying her damnedest to make Fredrika fall in love. late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you - "I scream your name every day, I whisper your name every night" - a real, canonical thing Stella wrote about Fredrika. Can't help mysеlf, hormones are high - that time she danced with Rosh and then pulled a 180 like a month later?

Lie To Girls - literally any girl in this entire fucking show

I'll go for lyrical examples to, but literally every girl in this show was treated so bad. The moms, the main girls, the side girls, the extra girls. Like, some of them were bad people, but they were still treated so bad.

No, don't say it was just an isolated incident that happened once - Felice when August tried to get back at her by kissing her best friend, then going on to date that best friend, and take that best friend's virginity. I've never seen an ugly truth that I can't bend - Sara looking at August. We love to read the cold, hard facts and swear they're incorrect - Linda. We love to mistake butterflies for cardiac arrest - Kristina. Girls will cry and girls will lie and girls will do it 'til they die for you - Stella, Fredrika, Madison, the background older girls, Sara, Felice, August's mom, Felice's mom, Kristina and Linda, the Headmistress, the replacement headmistress. I could go on. I won't, but I could.

Don't Smile - August

Don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over - he cried a lot when he realized it was over with Sara. I think I counted him crying like six times in season three alone. My heart is heavy now, it's like a hundred pounds - and now he also has the weight of the monarchy on his shoulders.

__

So.... that was that. Let me know if you want me to do other albums like this lmao. I don't know why I thought of this.

[likeadevils]

Hi bestie, do you have any ideas what fortnight is about, like the context of that song? Ever since April I cannot seem to be able to figure it out no matter how hard I try. It seems to be about Matty, but is she talkinga bout their kate 2014 situation or 2022( or whenever they began to reconnect/2023 and the aftermath of his leaving? But then what are the husbands lines about, I kinda see it as Joe lines, but then how does it all fit?

you’ve pretty much got it! this is what taylor has to say about it— this part especially has to do with your question: “Fortnight, I've always imagined that it took place in this American town where the American Dream you thought would happen to you didn't, right? You ended up not with the person that you loved, and now you have to just live with that every day, wondering what would've been, maybe seeing them out, and that's a pretty tragic concept, really. So I was just writing from that perspective.”

so on one hand, it’s fictionalized. in terms of literal life events, it seems to be a dramatization of where she was in 2022/early 2023– she felt trapped in a loveless relationship with joe, and was hung up on matty, who drifted in and out of her life. but then there’s little flashes of later events— “no one here is to blame, but what about your quiet treason?” and “i took the miracle move on drug, the effects were temporary” both seem to reference the 2023 situation. and i think that’s intentional— it’s about both situations at once, how she felt stuck in a listless, loveless situation no matter what she did.

i also like reading it as a reflection of her relationship with joe. in this reading, fortnight becomes less a literal 14 days, and more metaphorical— a fort night. later in the album she describes that relationship as “a moment of warm sun” and associates him with cages, locks, and jails. she’s also described reputation (the album) as a bunker, and mentions “building forts under covers”. while they were locked away, they were forever, but that would evaporate into “quiet resentment” and “silent dinners”— the kind of relationship where conversations sound like asking about the weather and commenting on her sweater, all while presenting as a happy, good neighbors. it’s a bit more convoluted, but i think it also serves as a good introduction to how a 6 year long relationship and a fling you had a decade ago can feel like the same thing.

all that to say, the song’s main purpose is an introduction to upcoming album. a good opening track catches you up on what has happened, and gets you ready for what’s to come. it was written fairly late in the process, and she is intentionally tying in concepts that come up again later the album; she name drops florida, and specifically mentions previewing themes of “fatalism, longing, pining away, lost dreams” in the link above. another major theme in the album is layering different people experiences over each other to emphasize the cycles she was stuck in, and fortnight definitely introduces that concept

[the1975attheirverybest]

A/N: promptober day 8. Fallen off track on this. Sorry.

Prompt: stress relief

Warnings: smut …adjacent?

———

Matty stared at the ashtray full of cigarettes butts as he added one more to the overflowing pile, using it to draw random patterns in the ash. The door opened in front of him. She walked in silently; slowly moving towards him and hovering over his shoulder.

“Hey, you." She whispered in his ear, placing her hands, gently, on both of his shoulders.

Matty hummed to acknowledge her presence, zoned out as his eyes fixated on the ashtray.

“What’re you up to, sitting here all by yourself?”

“Thinkin ‘bout tomorrows show….if I wanna make any alterations or additions, or something.”

“Is that why you look so…” her hands gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. Judging by the way that his eyes instantly closed for a moment, she could tell that he enjoyed it.

“I ‘look so’ what?” Matty raised his head to meet her eyes.

“Stressed. You look stressed.”

“Hmm”

“I think I know what you need though,” a hint of a knowing smile in her voice.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, yeah, Christ, that feels good.”

She giggled. “Your shoulders are probably fucked from the way that you get into fights with your pillows at night.”

“It’s the guitar strap is what’s fucking up my neck.”

“Mhm….you carry the weight of the world on your Sounders. Literally and metaphorically.” Her hands slid upwards to massage his neck, Matty melting into her. “I’ll make it better.” Her flinched at the feeling of her lips on the side of his neck. “Gosh, Matty. How come you’re so… so, pretty, hmm? Your neck.” She peppered it with kisses, “so kissable.”

Matty snapped out of the seductive surrender that had overwhelmed him for an instant. “We- can’t. What if someone comes in? They’re not supposed to know. Remember?”

“No one’s here it’s just us, Matty.” Her lips kissed and bit at his skin once again.

“What do you mean ‘it’s just us’?! I told everyone that we had to meet about-“

“Shushhhhh.” She silenced him by kissing his mouth. “The three musketeers are out at a pumpkin patch.”

“Fuckin-“

“Not sure where Adam is. George is having a FaceTime date with Charli so he went back to the hotel.” Her hands ran through his hair, scratching his head softly in an attempt to get him back in the mood.

“So….it’s just us, huh?” He finally smiled.

“Mhm…”

“Okay, good. Let me just finish this one thing…”

“No, no” she whined. “Take a break. Rest is good for you.” She rounded his chair and went to stand in front of him, slowly shedding her clothes. “No sense in wearing this coat indoors, right?” A sly smile dancing on her lips. “Too warm for this sweater too…”

“Maybe if you help me decide if we could do another Notes track-“

“Matty! I’m trying to seduce you here!” She tossed her boots to the side, throwing her skirt in his face.

Matty chuckled, blinded by the fabric of her skirt. He peeled it off of him, setting it down on the table and slowly pulling himself out of his seat.

“My bad…carry on.” It sounded more like a dare than an invitation.

He towered over her, his hands finding her hips and pulling her into him.

“Finally” she mumbled before kissing him. “Your mouth tastes like cigarettes.”

“Oh…sorry…”

“Don’t be. I like it.”

“Well, then,” Matty’s right hand delicately snaked around her back, finding the clasp of her bra and unhooking it effortlessly. “About that stress relief…”