#thx astra

[dreamofbona]

FAVOURITE WJSN AND ENHA SONGS

U go first

oooh this is tough, i'll list my seven top faves by each group

WJSN: (in no particular order cuz i can't choose)

done (line distribution, lyrics, rap, incredible)

new me (seola vibes, lyrics, exy + bona rap/sing part)

stronger (yeonjung and dawon slayed this song)

plop plop (i'm a plop plop enthusiast it is a masterpiece so soothing)

as you wish (iconic, bring back pink bboya, beautiful lyrics and melody, and the last chorus holy shit)

tra-la (so so beautiful, so sentimental too)

easy (where do i even start - the vocals, the rap, the concepts, the choreo, masterpiece masterpiece masterpiece never gets old)

honorable mentions to smsy, secret, last dance, aura, literally their whole discography lol

ENHYPEN: (again no particular order cuz i can't choose)

blossom (so so pretty, the "i'm falling, falling for you" and the reference to the "hyphen")

go big or go home (MY JAM + jungwon's diamond ring always hits lol)

shout out (classic, song of the summer forever, the "my life without you is a misery" will always hit)

bills (so pretty, gorgeous stages, so soothing)

10 months (my first fave enha song, it's so cute and fun)

mixed up (justice for this song it is amazing, so underrated)

i need the light (i LOVE this song so much)

honorable mentions to criminal love, blockbuster, bite me, blessed-cursed, again their whole discography is amazing lol so

ty for this astra this was fun! what are your faves by the wujus and enha?

[brb-on-a-quest]

Bonjour, chérie ! What is Ad Astra?

Ad Astra is actually something that is (fairly) recent (last year? i think?) it started off as a serotonin project because I love the imagery of yk "real ship rules" but in space? we follow Captain Ravi and his little ship that can shipshift into small dragon that perches on his shoulder as he's trying to figure out what happened with his memories and trying to find the meaning of life at the same time. Also there's a small gremlin - questionably a child - named Aspera who insists on knowing things but will not divulge info :)

Let me give you the first section, and if it intrigues you, I have more on Ao3 posted here :)

To the average wanderer, the blinking stars are great guides for your travels across the astral sea. That’s wrong on two counts.  Stars, do not, in fact, blink. They don’t have any form of eyes or any kind of ocular sensors. They’re also horrible at giving directions.  Stars are decently okay at singing. It’s not very loud, but to experienced ears that have listened to the waves of the Planescape, it’s like listening to a white noise machine as you try and fall asleep at night: helps some people while driving others to the brink of insanity. Each star emits its own humming noise, a singular constant note, and within its galaxies, symphonies are created. Sometimes the notes just bleed together in a musical smoothie with every note ticking along to the same metronome, but sometimes it’s quite pleasant.  But then again, beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. Or belistener, if you will. 

[scottyfreaks]

grinds against his leg grinds against his leg grinds against his leg grinds against his leg grinds against his leg grinds against his leg grinds agai

[neathyingenue]

10 & 29 for Silvia :0?

- @zeebreezin

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

When Silvia and Roberto (her living dad) parted ways--right before Silvia went to the Neath and Roberto left for British Honduras--Silvia promised she'd come back to the Surface soon.

Now that she's died in the Neath, well, that promise will be harder to keep. Silvia is tormented by the possibility that the last thing she told her father was maybe untrue.

29. Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

Silvia's ideals are impossible to live up to. Just by virtue of owning a ship that her employees don't co-own, and buying multiple dresses, and researching instead of campaigning, she's a horrible person. There's a lot of dissonance of the cognitive variety floating around for her lol

[grapefruiters]

8. Game of the year?

14. Favorite book you read this year?

for 8, deffo tears of the kingdom, no question. it was my favorite and also i think the only new game i played this year 😭 but as an honorable mention (not from this year)! i just got and started hades yesterday! i’m already to the hydra LOL. i don’t play a wide variety of games but great year for gaming overall for me

and i answered 14 here! :)

[dreamofbona]

thanks for the tag astra!! this was so fun and fuzzy and warm!!

Orange; love as a home

You are the laughter bouncing off the walls of your friends apartment. Loving you is like loving a lifelong best friend. You naturally put people at ease, the warm summer breeze that sweeps through the screen door and carries the scent of freshly cut grass, heat, and a summer BBQ. Love is laughter, love is your medicine.

this is definitely me lol.

tagging: @mrsandypants @hello-flosch @bbybearcubbs @vizstars @minholing + anyone who'd like to join!

mutuals do this

[loveanddeepsecrets]

I don’t think this edit does justice in showing how much more comfortable he’s grown in expressing love (Astra can catch these hands). I’m not much of an editor and ig this is what happens when you want to get an idea out first lol.

YouTube Credits: Business trip, Snowy Serenity , Instrumental

Credit me if you share outside the app pls thx :)

[lunarw0rks]

Old Bones | Chapter Four

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): strong language, PTSD themes, casualties of war, hostage situations, blood, gun violence, mentions of abuse, death, nightmares, mentions of scars/medical gore

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: thx for all the support so far!

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ GHOST MASTERLIST // have a request? ♡¸.•*' ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ prev. chapter | next chapter | ao3 ver. | playlist ꒦꒷ O.B MASTERLIST

Ad Astra

Simon might’ve been handling the situation well, but you, on the other hand, have been nauseous all morning. The sight of his reddened wounds, paired with the squelch of the blood that coated you, all replayed in a loop.

He comes back during sunrise, clothes covered in patches of dirt and scrapes from the previous night. Limping to the shower to wash off, he still looks at you like an alien from another planet, yet he’s the one disposing of a body before breakfast.

You look up from the paper plate below you—some stale muffin and a coffee you snagged from the lobby. He’s wearing fresh clothes again, probably on his last pair of those, and he’s changed the dressings himself, thank God.

“Where’d you take him?” Rather than eating it, you’re smushing crumbs of the stiff baked good in between your fingertips.

“Nowhere important. We’re leaving today.” As if he’s going to tell you that. He zips up his duffel, not before stuffing in the bourbon first, naturally.

You’ve packed up next, casing the room one more time to ensure you got everything. Once you’ve reached the kitchenette, you spot your ring, still laying where you’d thrown it the previous night. You scoop it up, rinsing off the crimson caked in the crevices. The thought of slipping it on again comes as quickly as it leaves—immediately.

The diamond is placed atop the tip you left for the maid. Hopefully, they’ll appreciate it, or pawn it, either way, it’s a piece of mind. Taking that ring off was one step closer to healing, but now being on the path for vengeance has manhandled you two steps back.

The town is several miles behind you now, and it’s back to silence. Not a peep from the radio, nor his mouth. Just the sound of the idled engine when he stops, the repetition of the blinker, and his sighs of discomfort when traffic becomes heavy. It’s half-tempting to reach into the glove box and start reading the owner’s manual, or start solving calculus problems to pass the time. At least when there was a body in the back, your mind was too packed to allow boredom.

“You seem to be healing well, at least.” You have to say something, or you’ll jump out of the moving vehicle yourself.

“I’ll be fine,” he sighs again, only looking briefly at you as you’ve stopped in the next lineup, with his blinker puttering again. “You did fine.” His voice carries the usual dryness, like his vocal cords alone fought on the battlefield.

The compliment is delivered with passivity, to say the least, but coming from him it’s better than being ignored.

“Yeah, well, I was scared shitless,” a compromising chuckle nearly comes, but the memories of kneeling in the gravel push it away. “I’ve never done anything like that before...”

His eyes return to the highway ahead of him as he passes the traffic jam, going quiet again. The crop fields have instead turned to muddy grass, with somehow less civilization than before. He digs into the center console and pulls out a stray cigarette, only cracking the driver’s window slightly when he lights up. The chin of his mask is pulled up now, just slightly above his mouth. After his first deep inhale, he holds the cig out to you.

“No thanks.” You reply flatly, only watching as he exhales the smoke through the small crack of the window. His hum of amusement, or more so shock that you rejected it is next. You already have hired guns after you, what’s some lung disease to add to it?

Simon’s eyes make their way to your hands again—where you’d failed to scrub the blood from under your fingernails, a rookie mistake. Then, how you’re still fiddling with the ring finger of your left, despite still not wearing it anymore—that nervous habit he noticed the first time he saw you. The slight indent on your ring finger, where the skin has remembered the wedding band you’d kept on for so long.

The ring in itself is a scar of its own, only it’s an internal one—unlike the several that riddle his own hands. Knives, splinters, discoloration, fingers with the indents of the stitches he’d gotten years ago.

The questions had been eating at you the entire ride since he forced you to reveal his name. “What are we going to do with him?” A man so desperate for carnage, yet he’s sitting there so calmly as if he’s on this road trip for leisure.

“Nothing nice, and nothing you need to know about.”

Somehow, the thought of that isn’t as comforting as you thought. Cal was a hideous memory, but still a memory nonetheless. It’s not Stockholm syndrome or forgiveness for what he’s done, it’s the plausibility of someone you spent years with being snuffed out.

“He’s still my husband, Simon, I think I have a right to know.” You’re speaking in offense, yet the only emotion you feel is conflict.

Simon scoffs as if you’ve just insulted him personally. “Still your husband, huh? Should I turn around right now, and bring you back home, then? Hm?”

“I suppose you’ll go running into his arms, ‘n get scooped off into the sunset, then?” He tosses the cig out the window, and pulls down his mask again, still shaking his head.

You can’t stand it—the way he makes you sound like a delusional schoolgirl. It’s quite clear, you go home, and you’re in the ground somewhere before you can unpack. “I’m not an idiot. Do you think I’m expecting a warm welcome from him?”

“You’re not thinking at all, that’s your problem.” There’s that insufferable prick again, the one hiding beneath the half-assed attempts to act like a human being.

“Who are you to tell me what I’m thinking, you arrogant prick?” You turn to face him, despite being confined by the seat belt. “You have no clue what this is like for me,” you’ve twisted back again, this time facing your torso to the window now. If you look at him any longer, that idea you had about leaping out of the moving truck might come true.

His fury dissolves again, and now his cinnamon irises have flooded with the echoes of his past. He did understand. Simon understood every bit of it—the urge to kick and scream, and most of all the desire to self-protect when faced with disapproval.

You’ve practically ripped a page straight from his book, responding exactly how he would’ve if it was him in the passenger seat feeling provoked—like a wounded animal snarling because it’s been licking its own wounds for too long.

—

You’re nearly face-first into the dashboard when he punches on the brakes, not bothering to brace you, despite you dozing off in the seat next to him. This time, it’s not an apocalyptic town, it’s a bigger city surrounding you—an apartment complex somewhere on the outskirts. Nicer than yours, surely, and with tighter security.

It’s nightfall, meaning you slept through most of the day—also obvious because of the kink in your neck from the awkward scrunch your body was in for several hours.

“We’ll be hidden here.” Simon’s tone is reassuring as you’re peering up at the tall building. The place is decent inside, and more modern than your own.

Yet another place to hide, all while the law could be tailing you here. A body left behind, a duffel of weapons, and an ex-soldier doing mercenary work without authorization; how much worse could this look from the outside?

It seems the further you’re running, the closer Cal is to find you, in spite of how well Simon cleaned up the messes.

—

It’s a repeat of the first night he arrived—unable to sleep, and looking up at the stars. The roof gives a much more pleasing view, much improved compared to the window back home, which was full of chips and caked in dust.

Now, you could see the stars glimmer, how they were covered and uncovered by the passing dark clouds. If the noise from the city were to cease, the sight would be all the more peaceful. There was no interesting conversation down those stairs, where Simon had been glued to his laptop, probably digging up information on Cal—something that still contested your convictions. Up here, the breeze was freeing, and the smell of the rain overshadowed that of the bloodshed.

“Bloody cold out here.” His voice airs, fizzling out into the cloud of noise pollution.

You hadn’t noticed the bite of the wind, despite subconsciously tucking your knees up for warmth. He was only making conversation, probably because you’ve been more of a leech than a partner. Despite your lack of response, he sits beside you on the edge, roping his legs through two gaps in the railing.

The crinkle of a  paper draws your attention again, and the next thing you know it’s placed beside you, only he’s keeping his hand down to prevent it from blowing away.

“Nearest whereabouts, vehicle, and associates.” Above it all is his latest photo, smiling like a sleaze behind his executive desk—ripped from some article Simon dug up about his newest promotion.

His last line is delivered with more forethought, a stark contrast from what he said in the car. “Figured you deserved to know.”

“Put it away.” You whisper, sliding the paper back to him. Despite the wear on Cal’s face, that damn smile still remains spine-chilling.

The paper is folded again, and you only meet his eyes when the crinkling stops. You’d rather stare at Simon’s lack of face than look at another photo of him. There’s a stillness again, whilst you’re in the stars again, and he’s still eyeing you.

He’s returned to his feet now, and he’s rubbing his calloused hands together for warmth. “I’ll leave you to it.”

You can’t leave it at this, not after he’s found Cal’s whereabouts. You’re following him with your eyes, until he’s reached the door back to the inside of the complex, and you’re to your feet before you’ve rehearsed the words.

“I am thinking, Simon. That’s my problem.” His fingers stop as they’re about to turn the knob, and he’s now facing you.

“I know.” Aside from his gruffness, he speaks like someone who’s known the insides and outs of you for a century. You’re the closest thing to a picture of himself right now.

His patience is off-beat, and uncanny to him, only because it’s been buried beneath decades of his own pain. He could claw at himself, try to stop himself from giving you comfort all he wanted, but he’s been losing that fight since the supermarket.

You can’t comprehend why, or how, but you’ve embraced him—and he hasn’t resisted yet. His hand finds its way to the back of your head, giving it a tight hold, all while you’re snaking one arm around his uninjured side. You suppose it's been so long since you’ve been gratified, that’s the logical way of it.

The embrace only lingers for a few moments, his hand remands on your shoulder, peering down at your troubled expression. “We’re going to find him, and then you’ll be out of my hair, doing all the thinking you want. Understood?”

—

“7-1. Ghost, how copy?”

“Hostiles are not secured yet, Sir. Moving toward target building.” His boots thundered through the sand below him, coating all of his protective gear. He’s forced to ignore the chaos in the village around him, and only focus on the target. The woman screaming bloody murder, the crying disoriented children, and ensuing explosions in the distance.

Simon bashes the door and it comes to a crash, splinters of wood sent flying. Inside, is the target—one of the high-ranking Al-Qatala lieutenants. Inside the decaying homestead, he’s holding his family hostage, all while Simon and his Task Force are entirely focused on the intel, rather than the pleading faces of horror knelt in the cement—the true reality of war, all in a line, execution-style before him.

He’s posted behind one of the pieces of furniture, battling every urge to unload on the devil. Their pleads have overshadowed every comm, every bullet, every explosion, all in a language he can’t comprehend.

“Do not intervene. Secure the target and only the target. We need him alive.” Finally, he catches a piece of the radio transmission, quite literally ripping his finger from the trigger of his rifle. Simon knows himself; when a negotiation has become too personal, familiar enough that he may disobey direct orders.

He’s the lone soldier in there with the rest of him doing recon on the operation. Every bit of his being is telling him to take the risk, to make up some story of self-defense—but the hostages are too close to the danger zone. He wouldn’t forgive himself if his own stray bullet compromised their lives.

“Give yourself up,” Simon shouts, mounting himself on the cover, yet his finger still remains off the trigger. “Now!” He bellows, wincing as his crosshairs fall on the wailing woman, covered in scrapes and bruises, while her husband, the captor, his knuckles bleed.

The captor goes on a speech, something about how kind the SAS will be to him when he’s in custody—he’ll be sleeping like a king as long as he’s giving them actionable intel.

All whilst his wife and children will be left behind in this war torn country, picking up the wreckage his squad left behind as a morbid parting gift—rubble, remains, chunks of their heirlooms. He was right. So right about that aspect Simon wanted to choke the life out of him, or beat him bloody with his bare hands—give the fucker a taste of his own medicine, only without any teeth left.

The lieutenant raises his gun, and yet Simon is powerless. Unless he fires on a foreign soldier, he can kill any one of his hostages, and be snoozing in that cozy cell by the end of the day.

Another gargle in a language Simon can’t understand, and she’s down. The distraught woman, wife, mother, now nothing more than a martyr of warfare.

Lifeless, more bloody than before, and slumped at her spouse’s feet, all while that morbid grin is still written on his face. All while Simon could do nothing to stop it.

That flashback visits him often, always resulting in hands overtaken by tremors, and wide eyes, as if he was back there again. This time, he’s not in bed, he’s still in front of his laptop at the table, having passed out after hours of research.

Cal’s expression; the deadened eyes, familiar devilish smile, the entirety of it staring back at him, causing him to slam the screen shut. After that dream, the feeling of wrath has returned. Not only for the Al Qatala lieutenant, but Cal as well. Too personal, too painful, and awfully familiar, especially with you here.

He finishes off his glass, letting the bitter burn coat his throat slowly as the tremor subsides. He now knows he’s not there anymore, not in cover behind the furniture watching a hostage situation.

He has to move, or he’ll risk smashing the electronic to pieces. The echoes of that woman’s tear-stained cheeks contrasted with yours in the supermarket, and then flashes of her bloodied corpse distorting into yours, with Cal standing over it.

His silent steps carry him to the living room. He has to check, or he won’t get back to work anytime soon. When he reaches the couch, you’re curled up, slumbering peacefully—a stark difference to what his flashbacks tried to convince him off.

Simon lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly as he convinces himself this is the real reality, this is the spot he’s standing in, not that awful place.

He locates the small quilt kept inside the ottoman, gently draping it on your sleeping frame. He studies the scene for a few minutes, eyeing the rise and fall of your chest pushing through the blanket. Once he’s satisfied, and sure with his consciousness, he returns to his spot at the kitchen table.

He’s greeted with the intel on Cal again, flicking his eyes over to your peaceful sleep, and the sight of the devil before him, in comparison to you, is only unearthing that rage he felt in the hostage room. He couldn’t save that woman, but he’ll be damned if he makes that mistake again. No superiors, no comms, no bureaucracy to follow like a sheep again—his own two hands, that’s what he’ll use this time. No mistakes.

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011 @stunkbiggu @bi-witch-bxtch

[sleepdeprived-idiotlol]

guys go interact with @the-mimic-collective and @astra-oc

they are my side blogs (both oc rps)

astra is my spaceverse oc (thx to @pennyroyald for introducing me to that)

the mimic collective if a group of my ocs who are connected as described in pinned post.

im to scared to start any interactions 😅

[azzurra-astra]

thx for taking the time for the answers, I just like to get a feel for cool OCs I like. I have more but I wanna wait till I see the updated stuff, I got two more for you though and that’s uhm, are you for or against anybody making fanart of your OCs, like Palmira or your alien? And do you do some nsf.w? like have another side blog of it or something? (I wouldn’t mind seeing of your alien, I won’t lie, sorrryyyyy)

I died, thanks.

Also thank you for thinking they’re cool, but in exchange I’m gonna think you’re nuts. I’m gonna answer any other stray questions I might get with the update because she’s been under visual reconstruction. She’s still gonna be thicc, but her hair is going to be more cohesive since I feel her bangs are too soft and shapeless. You’ll also get to see her other outfits.

No, I’m not gun shy of fan art of my OCs, though I will blatantly consider anybody who’d draw any of my idiots completely fucking bonkers.

Also no I’m not gonna post any NSFW on here, I’m not ward to it but it’s just not a fixation or focus of mine, and no, no side blogs for it exist. If I ever did make a side blog of it, I’d probably call it Azzurra Asstra instead of Astra, or some shit. Also thanks for finding Cassini hot, holy shit.

[dreamofbona]

NEW ME IS THAT BITCH AND UR A QUEEN FOR HAVING DONE AS UR FAVE THAT SONG IS ELITE

But here are my faves

WJSN

1. Full Moon : just. Yes.

2. BADABOOM : Dayoungs lines in this have me reeling

3. LAST SEQUENCE : I will never no bust a move to this, for this is the song that got me into wjsn

4. Last dance : EXYS rap. That's it.

5. Pantomime ( queendom version ) : nothing tops this version, ok well maybe if there were a certain dawonce for this performance then yes.

SPECIAL MENTIONS : save me save you, Unnatural, stronger ( by yeonjung and dawon ) , done, Tra la, luckitty cat, butterfly, our garden, let me in, cantabile, la la love, star, ujung, yalla, memories, aura, don't touch, new me.

ENHYPEN

1. Bite me : everybody say thank you heeseung for being responsible for this masterpiece

2. Karma : I DONT GIVE A WHAAAAAT

3. Attention please : the lyrics are so cute ngl, maybe I might try my hand at writing a story based on these lyrics hehehehe

4. Given Taken: the intro is so magical

5. Future perfect : gives me that I can conquer this world energy

SPECIAL MENTIONS : Fever,sacrifice, chaconne, fate, foreshadow, shout out, paradoxx invasion, Flicker, let me in ( 20 cube), always, forget me not, one and only criminal love, one in a billion

the taste >>> full moon and badaboom are bops they always hit! but I feel like u summed up how amazing their music is like so many bops and the honorable mentions like they just make such good music.

also you should totally write a song based on attention please! lmk if u do cuz I’ll read it! and again enha make bops love seeing a fellow future perfect enthusiast! enha just make such good music!

[talktomeinclexa]

15 and 34 plz & thx

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

Oh no, it's like asking someone to choose their favorite child. That's just plain mean 😅 It depends on the mood; I guess. Sometimes I love the shorter fics I wrote, and sometimes I'm super proud of the long, historical ones I managed to finish. But overall, I guess Mend the Heart You Broke might be my favorite. It's a not too long modern AU I did recently and the first time I felt I could call myself a writer. It's not perfect, of course, but it feels like my style stopped plateauing and got better. Plus it's a good mix of angst and fluff and a Clexa family story which I'm a sucker for!

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

Great question! Not much, now that I think about it. Some places I went to figure in my stories, such as Palawan in Will You Be My Robinson? but other than that? Tough question.

I guess my love for history and fairy tales is a primary source of inspiration. Ad Astra Per Aspera and the two Pirates AU definitely come from there. I also have a sort of Shrek-inspired AU in the works right now. These are becoming a staple for me.

Also, I don't know if I would have written Our Revolution if I weren't French. Thinking of that chapter of our history, the Parisian streets... in some ways, it was more personal than other stories.

Thanks for asking 😊

[skydoesthings]

thx gamer :D

its So Far Away by Martin Garrix, David Guetta, Jamie Scott and Romy Dia (THOSE WERE SO MANY ARTISTS TO TYPE OUT I WAS IN MISERYYYYY)

tags TELL ME. 69TH 😎😎😎😎

@aggressivenesswhilecrying @lady-astras @starinthegarden @blue-gears @neoflames @skythealmighty @sseaborgium @toomanyfandomsorkinafs @bunnyloverqueen

knowing what my #1 spotify song has become predictable (its august by taylor swift) BUT my #21 is Looking For Somebody (To Love)

im tagging:

@ohcaroline @medeas-chariot @heavenfalls @backgroundagent3 @footprint-in-the-snow @eyeofthemoose @rawrkittenpurr @malewifebillcage @gendryastarkers

to tell me their #21, then pick another random number between 2-100 and tag other people to post theirs and pick another number

[lovevalley45]

Prompt: Behrad finally getting that selfie with Astra, please?

Of all the things the Legends had encountered, an intergalactic bowling alley had to be in Behrad’s top ten coolest locals.

Buddy, the proprietor, had been all too happy but to allow them to hang out there for the evening as a reward for their friends defeating the Pin Killers. And, as an added plus, free snacks.

He was on his way to hit up the snack bar when he noticed Astra already there, waiting as Buddy grabbed her another beer. From here, he could see the back of her bowling shirt.

Damn. He almost wished he’d been taken just to get one of those of his own.

Behrad leaned against the counter next to her. “Nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” she deadpanned. Astra glanced at his own button down. “Though it does seem right that it’d be your style.”

He beamed just as Buddy set down her beer. “Another round of onion rings for you?” he asked Behrad.

“Yes, please.”

Astra didn’t budge as Buddy left them alone again, merely cracking open her beer. “Too bad you didn’t wear one of your louder shirts. You would have fit right in.”

Behrad adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment.” He took his phone out of his pocket. “You know what this calls for?”

“What?” She saw the phone in his hand. “Are you gonna make me take a picture of you again?”

“No,” he told her. “Usually selfies are Zari’s thing, but Flannel Zari is here right now, so I have to do the selfie-taking now.”

Setting her beer back down on the counter, she said, “Fine. Just this once.”

He raised the camera up to get them both. From the snack bar, he could just get enough of the design above the lanes to make it clear exactly where they were. Behrad grinned, but he managed to get a picture of Astra pretending (and failing) to seem annoyed with him, a smile creeping across his face.

She leaned over his phone to see the photo. “Zari would be impressed.”

“Eh, I learned from the best,” he said, putting his phone back away as Buddy placed the onion rings in front of him. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Buddy said.

He elbowed Astra. “Wanna go one on one? There’s plenty of lanes to go around.”

She picked up her beer and headed toward one of the empty tables. “Or I could just watch you bowl.”

“That works too,” Behrad said, snatching up his onion rings.

This bowling alley might actually be able to make it to his top five.

[grapefruiters]

music ask: your woman by white town

couldn’t listen all the way through | not my thing | it’s okay | kinda catchy | ok i really like this | downloading immediately | already in my library

omg astra our tastes r SO in sync. i’ve known this song for five or six years but got RLLY into it in 2020ish. i really like it because of the hook 🎺🎺 BWAAA bwaa bwa BWA bwa bwa BWAA bwa and also whatever kind of non-cishetness is happening in the lyrics which tbh i’ve never really analyzed <3 thx for it :)

[salva]

Astra: *calls Alex by her full name*

Me: