#worst part is I don’t know most of the lyrics so it’s mostly just the chorus over and over and over

[bestial4ngel]

Impulsively decided to start watching season 3 of the good fight because of michael sheen’s extremely unhinged character in it and now my brain will not stop playing the “roy cohn came to party” song on repeat

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[physicsgoblin]

Ugh so I am not happy with how my @inklings-challenge story is turning out. I like the idea, don't think it's executed the best and it's not done, but I want to publish some of it anyway. Maybe sharing some of it will help. This as been a great exercise so far for me though. Any feedback is appreciated.

I fully intend to rework this into something bigger. I've got other ideas...

Anyway. Here is part of Strange Gods.

Look, you won’t be hearing telling this story at any other time, but it’s a party and I’m a little drunk. You know how it is, after almost everyone’s gone home, it’s late August and the air’s warm but it’s almost midnight and it’s got that coolness in the air, plastic chairs are huddled around a dying fire and it’s only the friends that are closer than brothers. The heart’s nocturnal. I guess this is when it comes out.

So here we are and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you and I don’t care what you think. Well. I guess that’s not true. I don’t know if we did the right thing. But you’re not the one we have to answer to.

Since Brad brought you in with us, I guess you know we used to be a band. Strange Gods. Ever heard of it? Well, little before your time. We were never big. Mostly local shows and Metal Fests. Opened for some bigger names a couple times. We had fun, we had hair longer than our girlfriends’ and sometimes more makeup then them too. Mostly we were just guys in jeans and T-shirts with a passion for music. We fancied ourselves artists. My wife calls music “the art most like divinity”. Like how God could just speak and His words obeyed and music is a little like that. Ours was more like a sneeze than divine speech maybe but she loved it still. I still play for her, sometimes.

Oh the best part was the fans. The girls. You know how it is. You’re kinda weird in high school, a little awkward, but then you start strumming on a guitar, you say oh yeah I play drums in a band and suddenly you’re doing ok.

The worst part? The fans. We weren’t too big, but you’d get recognized every now and again. Sometimes it was all cool, just talking about music and shit. Other times people got a little weird. They thought oh, here’s someone famous, and then you’re almost not human to them anymore. But it was usually alright. And there was one in particular that I—none of us—will ever forget.

The kid was a local. Not much younger than us, but a hell of a lot more awkward. It was alright though. He wore these glasses and those kinds of shirts with full moons and yellow-eyed wolves scattered on the front and he’d sort of talk at the ground instead of at you and he loved the fact that a lot of our songs were based on local history and legend—half-hanged witches, wolves with a thirst for human flesh in winter, earth that won’t accept the dead—a lot of what you’d expect. Well this kid’s name was…I’ll call him Louis. Louis met us at Outer Realms (you know that pub on 114th?) after a very small gig, but we hadn’t been in Strange Gods for very long, so even small gigs were celebrated. Maybe we would have been more weirded out by this kid kinda staring and shyly shuffling up to us if we were sober but you know what, it was ok. Jason even let him have one of his guitar picks and we got him a beer, which he accepted enthusiastically but didn’t drink once. He said he loved having someone write songs about all the stories his dad told him as a kid. He said if we wanted more inspiration, he could help us. He collected stories, he said, the ones you whispered at sleepovers and summer camps, the ones that changed a little bit every time you told them, the ones almost nobody really believed. And we were like, hell yeah brother. That’s how Louis became our consultant for lyrics. Winter Walker, Thy Iron Refine, and Dance at the Bottom of the Sea all had songs with lyrics by him. But he never wanted credit, never wanted his name listed on the albums. He just seemed content to hang out at our house and tell us stories. Whenever we went on tour he would ask us to collect legends of the cities we visited. Brad told him he was welcome to join us but he just smiled at the ground and shook his head. He liked it here. Why would anyone ever want to leave?

Louis was friends with us for almost two years. He even spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with us since he didn’t have anyone else since his dad had died. He worked two part-time jobs, one at Seeny’s Pizza Arcade and one at the post office sorting letters, but most evenings and weekends he would come join us, sometimes bringing over a new boardgame all the way from Europe or a home-baked apple-pie (this guy could bake). Or he’d go on long walks wandering in the woods and fields outside town.

One day in November Louis didn’t show up for our usual Saturday night jam. We were working on the song Night Rite for the album that ended up being Seven Red Seeds and he was supposed to show up and work on lyrics with me and Jason. We were supposed to be filming a music video to go along with the new release and that was pretty exciting. But the kid never showed. We shrugged it off. After all, he was a bit of a loner. Besides us he didn’t seem to have any friends. He took long walks, sometimes after midnight.

Yeah. I’ll have to answer for not looking a little harder sooner.

Brad tried calling him Sunday with no pick-up. We drove down to the house that he rented from Mrs. Ozeki, but she said he want out on one of his little tramps at around 4pm yesterday, but she hadn’t heard him come in.

No, it’s alright. I’m fine, I’m just getting a little too sober I guess. I mean it’s not alright but it has to be.

We reported his disappearance after checking in with his work and learning he didn’t show up there either. The police investigated us, briefly. We were basically the only people he hung out with and maybe all the songs about murdered kings and lost whaling ships freaked them out a bit. Ultimately they ruled us out. They ruled almost everything out.

Brad, Jason, and I were all volunteers for when they swept the woods in long lines looking for scraps of clothing, his glasses, anything. I remember us all looking at each other, thinking the same thing, but Jason was the only one who said it out loud. He said, I don’t want to be the one to find his body.

The most they found when they swept the woods was his camera. Someone else had found it and we never got to see what exactly was on the film. Someone clearly has. The newspapers speculated about if it had held any clues, but any questions for the Sheriffs department was met with a “we do not believe the photographs from the victim’s camera hold any information about what led to his disappearance.” Yeah, bullshit. We heard stories around about most of the pictures just being of the few remaining winter robins, which Louis loved. And then everyone had a different version of what was on the last three. Some said close shots of a man in a red windbreaker. Some said blurry images of a great white wolf like the legends.

But the one that we all thought sounded the most real, was that of a field. You know the one near the old Pressfield cemetery? Photos of seemingly nothing but brown grass and gray skies but in the distance what looks like an enormous black bird flying near the ground. And over the last few photographs, the thing gets closer and closer, until the last picture is a smeared mess of Louis turning around, I guess to run. I don’t know for sure though. I pray to Christ I never do.

What we saw was enough.

In the end the case ran absolutely cold. They had nothing. If some psycho got him, he left no trace. If he got hurt and died of exposure, where was the body? If an animal got him, where was the blood and torn clothing? He sure as hell didn’t just ditch town out the blue.

We took a little time off from everything. It just didn’t feel right, you know, writing about death and ghost stories when our weird little friend had just become one. I’ll always wonder. If he thought, you know, this is fitting. To become what I have always chased. God I’m still drunk. Of course not. You don’t think about all the badness you write songs about until you can’t even bury someone’s son.

His uncle and a few cousins came down to collect his things and clear everything up. The oldest cousin met with us a few times, let us know that she was glad Louis had had some people here after his dad had passed away. She invited us to the little funeral they had at Salve Regina Church. Brad almost didn’t go. He gave in eventually but he sat in the back and didn’t stay afterward. No, I’d never been until then. There were moments, you know, moments where I forgot why we were there and the strange chants and the candles and the silence dropped over you like heavy night and bright day and I remember looking at the wrinkled man in black and gold and thinking, this is crazy and I think I’m wanting to be crazy too.

The priests shook our hands as we left and spoke to us about Louis and about how he would pray for us and ask the other Fathers to pray for us too. And they nodded and smiled gravely and the taller one, Father Nicholas, said, we will be happy to see you next Sunday. And Jason said we’d think about it.

Eventually we had to get going with life again. Things felt a little more somber. I mean really somber, not this adolescent misery we’d been playing with. We stopped going to Outer Realms after every work day, Brad flushed all our weed. It just felt cheap. Jason spent more time with his little sisters during his free time, Brad flew back to Chicago for a few days during Christmas to spend it with his parents. Me? I hung around. My future wife was here and that’s where I wanted to be.

It was mid-February when our producer started kicking us to get back into finishing our songs and making the music video that had been put on hold. And you know I guess without really discussing it, we knew what we wanted to do.

Dies Irae isn’t our most famous song, but I don’t care, it’s our best. When we talked it over with our producer, we drew a hard line: Pressfield cemetery. That old one where they found that kid’s camera? Yeah, that’s the one. We want it filmed there.

That’s what we said and that’s what we did. And yeah, old natures die hard, it was still over-the-top, it still had some goth-looking girls (one of whom eventually became my wife), and when we got there it was freezing and gray and brown-iced earth. It was still us and we hoped it would still be Louis.

We had a couple of days to film. On the first day Jason went for a little walk around the perimeter of the cemetery, fingers red from the cold as he held his cigarette, and when he came back around he looked a little jumpy. He said, I don’t like it here. Them birds are talking. Talking? Yeah talking. Well, laughing.

It felt weird being there again. There was a feeling in the air even from the film crew that had never been there before. One said it was bad luck to be walking around all these bodies and the only reason he was doing this was because he needed the money.

And it was weird to think that the gravestone that had Louis’s name carved into it was just a false monument.

On the third and last day it started pouring rain. Just pounding. You couldn’t hardly see a damned thing in front of you. It was the kinda rain that hurt when it hit you it was coming down so hard.

We were packing up, almost everyone had left, when Jason comes up to our pick-up and asks if we heard a weird noise. Weird noise? Well hell yeah, those girls were wild. No, he says, I ain’t kidding. Like a growl but more human. Like a scream, but more animal. Well, we kind of laugh at him, say it’s probably a cougar. And before Brad can make a joke about that—

There it is. It’s not a scream. It’s something that slices through the tombstones and rattles the eardrums so it was a sound—but of what I don’t know. I don’t know. Everyone got this look, this dead look like the world fell out beneath our feet. Nobody said a word. It sounded like it had come from somewhere in the middle of the cemetery. And there was a smell too. You know when it rains it mixes up the dirt and the plants and it just shocks you with the scent? It was like that, but as if the dirt was freshly dug and something rotten was unearthed.

And like I said, you couldn’t hardly see. Just dark blotches where the graves were blinking in and out of sight between raindrops. We just stood there, watching, listening. My heart has never pounded harder. I saw those rumors in my mind of gray skies and something big flying towards you and those are the last pictures you ever take.

Finally nothing happens and we start looking at each other, feeling like of course it was just an animal prowling around. Gosh, you had us scared man. Let’s get the hell out, let’s get back to my place, I’m cooking alfredo and Brad’s got a couple of bottles from the producer’s vineyard. Sure it was nice of him to share. Yeah actually I did get that girl’s number, the one with the green eyes? Come on, get the heat on, I’m freezing.

And we’re driving away, the noise forgotten—except Jason keeps looking out the rear window, just quick little checks. I pretend not to notice. But he twitches a couple of times, opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but no. He keeps quiet. Eventually he stops looking and seems to relax.

I don’t stop though. And a couple of times through the sheets of rain and the obstruction of the trees, I wonder if I see something wet, dark, and shiny slinking along the road. But it’s impossible to tell.

I get up the next morning and find this thing slung across the back porch. The ground is still soaked from last night’s rain but it hasn’t managed to wash away the shear amount of blood that’s coating the concrete patio. And I need you to get this. It was so much blood. You could’ve splashed around it. My stomach almost couldn’t take it. My sense of smell certainly didn’t.

Brad and Jason got up because of the smell. They shuffled out like the dead awakened and found me staring at this thing on the porch. Jason started retching and I told him to puke in the sink. I wasn’t about to clean up this thing and then clean up after him. What the hell is it? Brad says. Who cares? It’s got to get off the porch. Looks like a malformed-newlyborn-mut or something. Maybe it got suckered by a car.

We dug it as deep as we could and it crossed my mind that, damn, maybe we shouldn’t have a thing that smells that bad, a thing that looks that rotted decomposing God knows what into the soil. And Brad didn’t say anything but I knew we were thinking the same thing. Something about it just feels wrong. Like we shouldn’t be touching it. Like we shouldn’t have even looked at it. It crossed my mind that maybe Father Nicholas could come over and do whatever it is priests do to make things clean.

The paws though, check those out. They kinda look like hands, thinking maybe it’s a raccoon but the bastards too big. Good lord, it looks almost rotten. Maybe something else dropped it off. On the porch? On my porch man? Get the hose too, we got to wash off the whole backyard after this. Get the shovel and help me out—of course we’re going to bury it, that’s just what you do. Something’ll dig it out of the trash if we chuck it in there. It looks sorry enough, that’s just what you do.

How big? Maybe about four feet long. It looked pathetic and disgusting and I didn’t tell Brad this but I almost was glad. Maybe that ain’t it. But it felt right that we had our shovels and we were digging a hole and we were going to lay this bloody pulp in it. Father Nicholas once told me about things being fitting. And I guess that’s what it was, fitting.

No, I didn’t, make that connection, between this thing and what we heard in Pressfield cemetery. Not yet. But you know how it is. You never think you’re going to get a story out of something while you’re in it.

The thing was buried and we scrubbed ourselves off and then moved on with our day. Jason seemed much quieter, but he’d been that way since Louis vanished. So maybe it was nothing.

During the night I drempt I was on a boat. It was a boat that my parents had taken me to once, on a family vacation to Main. It was white and blue and unlike that July day years ago, the sea was wine-red and wild with storm. The waves were flooding the deck and the red foam left behind looked like clumps of flesh. I was stumbling around, looking for my mom or my dad or anyone at all—but the deck was empty. I found the door that led down into the lower deck, and the wood was almost black. I put my hand against the icy door, about to push it open, but somehow through the crashing of the waves I heard a scratch, like a single long claw dragging from the top of the frame all the way down to the bottom. I pressed my ear to the door. I don’t think I was breathing. And I listened to the scratching go all the way back up and down, slowly, over and over again.

When I woke up, it was still dark and at first I was thinking I was still sleeping. The scratching sound was still ringing in my ears, and I sat up trying to shake it away. My stomach churned. The clock said 2:36 A.M. I turned my head to the small window that looked into the dark backyard and realized that the scratching noise was coming from that direction. A long, slow scratch from the top of the window to the bottom.

I wasn’t as scared as you’d think. Maybe I was still too asleep, maybe all my panic had been used up over the last few days but I found myself crawling over to the window and just—waiting. I couldn’t see jack. I hadn’t flicked on my lamp. I just waited until the scratching started over at the top and I followed it down the glass, trying to see something, anything. But all I could see was what looked like a glint of a knife and a clearly defined scratch down the middle of the pane. And that’s when it kicked in, me getting scared. Someone was dragging a Goddamn knife down my window.

The most sensible thing to do, or at least the most sensible thing my half-awake brain could think of to do, was go wake up Brad and get the rifles from underneath his bed. He was not happy. He told me I should quite drinking so much before bed, but eventually he got up, gun on his shoulder.

I kept the light off and nodded to my window. We held our breath listening. Brad got closer, looking out into the blackness. The scratching had stopped and I didn’t see anything outside. But Brad noticed the crack in the glass and suddenly looked very awake.

I’m going to go check outside, he said, and as he headed toward the back door, the one closest to my bedroom, there was a series of loud slams that sounded like a person jumping off the roof. At this point Jason was up, and he’s asking what the hell was going on and Brad told him there’s a wildcat clawing Steve’s window or some crap. I’m going to fire a shot up and scare it away.

But two things happened before Brad could slide open the back door. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but there was an familiar smell that had been growing steadily stronger, a rotten, turned-earth smell, and I couldn’t say anything except stop. Don’t open it, wait.

And Jason, stone still looking out the back window at the porch right behind the door, called out the same thing. Stop.

That’s not a cougar. You gotta look.

I’m telling you, we did look. And there was the slimy pink thing with long skinny limbs crouched in front of the back door. It looked like it had a fleshy cape on its back and it twitched as if in pain. We watched unmoving as one long claw flicked up, digging into the door, dragging it down slowly to the ground, and then repeating the act, slowly, slowly.

And you just knew, you just knew, this was the thing that wasn’t supposed to be here.

No, no way, Brad was saying, this is getting too weird. We buried this thing. We put it in the ground. And it crawled out. And we saw it. It was dead. We threw it in the hole and it got back up.

Jason was still watching the thing as it lay on the doorstep. We don’t know if it was actually dead, he said. He said it in a whisper. Well you didn’t bury it, says Brad.

***

[nirikeehan]

happy friday niri!!! for DADWC perhaps "And the veil tears and rages till her voices are remembered and his secrets can be told." from the tori amos lyrics for Cullen/Thalia?

Hi Jay, Happy Friday! I really leaned on the Vibes™ for this one.

Here is some post-Trespasser marital angst for my babies.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1113

CW: Some internalized ableism on Thalia's part

---

After the worst of it, he sits her down at the kitchen table and makes her tea. She stares at the varnished surface with the sort of desolation that comes when the sobs have run their course. She feels like a thin layer of ice, ready to crack. 

In her periphery she sees the jagged edges of her hair. They are blood red. They ought to be dripping. Cullen’s back is to her, the muscles of his shoulder blades defined through his thin shirt. The sunlight falls on him slanted, a cheery yellow, in this house that they have the audacity to call their own. 

“Does it look terrible?” Thalia’s voice is hoarse. 

“You could never look terrible,” Cullen says softly. Which isn’t what she asked. He hasn’t turned to face her. 

Thalia tugs fingers through the shorn hair at the back of her neck. She feels impossibly light and exposed. She might as well be naked. She shivers, wraps her one good arm around her torso, and hunches over. He’s standing at the counter, watching the water boil in the cook pot. His hand clutches the scissors he took from her. His knuckles shake. 

Thalia swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” She feels guilty, all of a sudden. Ashamed she’s put this burden on him, of all people, when he has so many of his own. 

“It’s all right.” Cullen sounds genuine, but tired. “You scared me, that’s all. I thought…” He trails off. 

You thought I’d cut more than hair. Thalia sniffles. She wipes at one eye, then the other. Her phantom arm feels useless at her side. “I was just… frustrated.” 

So much hair, so thick and so long. Barely manageable with two working hands. Impossible with one. 

Cullen turns, a teacup in each hand. How she envies him that. He places one before her. The tea leaves steeping smell of chamomile and lavender, a blend his sister gave them as part of a housewarming gift. Thalia focuses on the steam rising and not the worry lines at his forehead that have only deepened since they moved in. 

He sits across the table. His eyes are on her, warm brown in the afternoon light, but she can’t meet them. She glances to the counter; the scissors have vanished. He must have pocketed them, she realizes. He wants them well out of her reach.

Like I’m a danger. Her heart pounds in her ears. 

“I told you,” Cullen says, still so softly. “I would have taken care of your hair, if you’d wanted.” 

“It isn’t about that, Cullen,” Thalia snaps, too sharp. He flinches as if slapped. Now she feels worse.

“Then what is it about? Explain it to me.” Not even with an air of hurt. Infinite patience, he has. She’s learned this since marrying him. She’s been a nightmare to deal with, Thalia knows, and yet he’s taken it entirely in stride. Well, mostly. He’s treating her so delicately. Part of her wishes he would get rattled, needle her back. Do something. “I’m listening. I want to assist.”

Thalia chews her lip. It’s almost too rote, too practiced. She eyes him, tilting her head, trying to see past the bedhead that overtakes his hair most days, now that there’s no troops who need to see him perfectly groomed. He’s even grown a bit of a beard, mostly out of laziness. He claims he had a goatee in the past, but that’s impossible for her to picture. She tries to see him in an office, not at Skyhold but before that, in a city she’s never visited. It’s difficult. Everything she imagines about the Gallows looks like the Circle Tower in Ostwick, just more tropical. 

“Is this what you used to do with distraught mages back in Kirkwall?” Thalia asks. “Make them tea?” 

The question surprises him. He hesitates, lets out a nervous laugh. “Sometimes.” 

The admission feels like progress, somehow. He’s good at this. Good at dealing with hysterics from people like her. 

“Did it help?” Thalia pulls out the strainer, leaves it dripping on the table. Picks up the teacup carefully to take a sip. See? I’m trying too. 

“It depended. Too often I would listen and be unable to offer any solution to their problems.” Cullen raises his own cup, both sets of fingers grasping the rim. Jealousy blooms inside her once more, alongside as the desire to kiss each one. He sighs. “It was… taxing, when that happened.” 

“Is it taxing now?” Thalia asks quietly. “To have one for a wife?” 

“No.” He returns the cup to its saucer with a clang. “Do you truly think me so fickle?” 

“I don’t know.” Tears blur Thalia’s vision. The tea is too hot, bitter as she swallows. “You didn’t sign up for this when you married me, Cullen. I wouldn’t blame you if you… couldn’t…” Couldn’t love a cripple are the words on her tongue, burning worse than the tea, but she can’t bring herself to say them. 

“Hey.” He’s standing, circling the table now, kneeling beside her to envelope her in a hug. He kisses her temple. “Of course I ‘signed up’ for this, whatever that means.” 

Part of her wants to pull away, but she won’t allow herself. He must not see how broken she is. She’s deceiving him, somehow. She buries her face in the hollow of his neck, cheek scratched by stuffy facial hair. She inhales the scent of him and tries not to cry. “Are you sure?” 

“Of that, more than anything.” 

Thalia can feel the hum of his voice in his throat. She wants to believe him. She’s not sure she does, but there’s relief in hearing the words all the same. He doesn’t think she’s irreparably damaged. Hiding the scissors is just a precaution. Probably. 

She pulls back, leveling her gaze at him. “Tell me the truth. Does it look awful?” 

Cullen’s eyes stray from her face to her hair. His eyebrows raise, and he suppresses an anxious smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I think Mia knows of a barber in town who can even it out a bit. Unless you’d like to pioneer a new look, like Sera…” 

“Ugh.” Thalia pulls a face. “No thank you.”

They both laugh, a little uneasily. Cullen combs his fingers through her spiky locks. “It will be all right, with a little work. I promise you.”

She puts her good hand against his chest and curls it around the lacing of his shirt. The pain is still there, lurking beneath her ribcage, but she feels a pang of love for him that briefly outshines it. 

[jyndor]

okay so for the ts lyrics connections: cruel summer, willow, don’t blame me and cardigan (for jyn or cassian or rebelcaptain djsksk)

okay good choices ofc BTW I'm saving the most unhinged for last

willow - cassian's ship rolled into jyn's rough waters, and he cut through her surface like a knife. wherever she strays he follows, and they both certainly wrecked each other's plans. his train could take her home. I mean there's even a bait and switch that's a work of art (his betrayal on eadu; him believing her and raising an army for scarif). they even hold hands at the end in the rogue one cinematic universe tradition of hand-holding being how lovers communicate their love. willow is of course their song.

don't blame me - lol this is all cassian's feelings in the novelization tbh. like neither pity nor pragmatism could explain why she dominated his thoughts, and tbh I love the line I once was poison ivy but now I'm your daisy to describe how he's hurt so many (intentionally and unintentionally) and how with jyn he finally can do the best things he's ever done and be at peace (by standing up to go to scarif but also on a personal level, by being able to come back to someone he cares for and who needs him).

cardigan - this song always, always gives me jyn erso vibes. everyone assumes the worst of her (except cassian - mostly - and rogue one), assumes she knows nothing, has no politics. I'm sure she has felt like an old cardigan under someone's bed many times - always put second to the cause by her guardians. she assumes cassian will be like everyone else - leaving like a father (when she thinks he is killed by krennic like nearly everyone else she's loved) and running like water (ugh also cassian is a water sign, so much water symbolism with him) and he drew stars around her scars (started to help her heal from her traumas by showing up for her and earning her trust on jedha) so the betrayal on eadu has her bleeding. and she curses him for maybe not the longest time buttt

and then cassian tries to change the ending, saves her from feeling like that thrown away old cardigan under the rebellion's bed by standing in front of her and keeps coming back to her over and over again

and tbh lol they both haunt all MY what ifs.

cruel summer - this song is very much giving me like post-scarif yavin days clandestine hook ups where they both know they're just so for each other but it's like what are they even doing ~in these trying times? is it just the residual closeness of the mission, a la what doesn't kill me makes me want you more? they probably fall into bed amongst the celebrations after the battle of yavin, and they want to keep it to themselves but like are definitely not doing a good job of it

and ofc they're both not like great at this stuff in general so they're both waiting for the other to ~~~~cut to the bone, and I'm sure they both have their drunk crying moments, I DONT WANT TO KEEP SECRETS JUST TO KEEP YOU, I assume bodhi and bix and leia and melshi and kay and baze and tonc and sefla and brasso and han and vel are all V E R Y tired of the nonsense (chirrut has endless patience for them, cinta is too focused to be bothered)

and you know one of them finally screams it and the other looks up grinning like a devil and it's all good

of course that's the everybody lives au version. the film canon connections are still there, like they don't have the chance to try it because of these trying times, they're waiting for the other to cut to the bone until of course they realize they trust each other (especially jyn, which is part of why she reacts so strongly to cassian's betrayal on eadu), it is a cruel summer because they die on a fucking tropical beach watching the sunset

also LMAO I put it on because it's just such pop perfection and my cat is SO INTO IT like he's so happy rn

[metalprompts]

*      ―      IT WASN’T A PHASE, MOM !  ( PART ONE. )

a collection of lyrics taken from my mostly myspace era nostalgia playlist.  this one goes out to all the former emo kids.  some triggering content may appear.  as always, feel free to change and adjust anything as needed.

“ let’s just stop, drop everything.  forget each other’s name and just walk away. “

“ it’s like we never knew each other at all. “

“ this is probably the best, not to mention the worst, idea that i have ever had. “ 

“ can we please just walk away? “

“ it could be like we never knew each other at all. “

“ i’ve been hiding in this bed for weeks. “

“ my throats raw from screaming and i haven’t said a word. “

“ if your stomach feels weak, then my job here is done. “

“ i used to be love drunk but now i’m hungover. “

“ i’ll love you forever. but forever is over. “

“ we used to kiss all night, now it’s just a barfight. “

“ don’t worry, i’ll be gone when the morning comes. “

“ lying is your favorite passion. “

“ once you have me, you’ll always come back. “

“ i know you love to resist, but all it takes is one kiss. “

“ you just love to hate me. “

“ i just love to hate you. “

“ i’ll keep tossing rocks at your window. “

“ they’ll tear us apart if you give them the chance. “

“ don’t say we’re not meant to be. “

“ just sneak out and don’t tell a soul goodbye. “

“ they can change the locks, don’t let them change your mind. “

“ tell me something sweet to get me by. “

“ if you can wait ‘til i get home, then i swear to you that we can make this last. “

“ i just feel complete when you’re by my side. “

“ you know you can’t give me what i need, and even though you mean so much to me, i can’t wait through everything. “

“ don’t you dare say we can just be friends. “

“ look at the mess we made tonight. “

“ we’re not falling in love, we’re just falling apart. “

“ if only he know about the world without bullshit and the lies. “

“ they could’ve saved me but instead i’m here drowning in my own fucking mind. “

“ i’ll be damned if you’re the death of me. “

“ you need a doctor, baby? you scared? “

“ this isn’t over baby, don’t believe a word they said. “

“ what burns the most is that you lied right to my face, and still i hold your hand to set you free. “

“ what happened between us? what can i give to save us? “

“ being righteous isn’t quite enough. “

“ i don’t even know your name. “

“ give me all you’ve got, make this night worth my time. “

“ i can’t take another disappointment. “

“ we could sit around and cry, but frankly you’re not worth it anymore. “

“ the moral this time is: girls make boys cry and die. “

“ i hope he’s leaving you empty. “

“ stay for tonight, if you want to. “

“ how the hell did you ever pick me? “

“ they say that love is forever. your forever is all that i need. “

“ please stay as long as you need. “

“ can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but i swear that i will never leave. “

“ please stay forever with me. “

“ as long as you’re here with me, i know i’ll be okay. “

“ soon this will be just an awful memory. “

“ will i ever be able to sleep again? “

“ lie to me and tell me i’m dreaming. “

“ you will always be such a tragic part of me. “

“ will you please take a walk with me? we can count the stars and disappear. “

“ i wish you could see that you’re the only girl i’ve ever dreamed of. “

“ why are you doing this to me? “

“ i’m being chased by my imagination. “

“ tell me i’m forgiven, say you’ll always be mine. “

“ say that everything is over, tell me i’m fine. “

“ this is the part where you’re supposed to scream. “

“ love can be such lovely torture. “

[lynne-monstr]

Fic Writer Interview

i was tagged by the lovely @forerussake, thanks so much!! what a fun list of questions. alright, here goes

name/nicknames: lynne

fandoms: mostly the king’s avatar these days, though i lurk and read fic in others

two shots: i’m assuming this is a two part fic. i don’t think i’ve ever written any of those, at least not deliberately. I do have a two chapter fic but the chapter break was added specifically to integrate my big bang artist’s piece into the fic, it wasn’t originally by design.

fic - Five Times Yu Wenzhou Gets Stuff Thrown At His Head and the One Time He (Finally) Catches Something

most popular multi-chapter fic: haha well i write almost exclusively one-shots so there’s not much to choose from. 

and anyway, metrics are a finicky thing.

by kudos, Dressed for Sin (Shadowhunters) is the most popular. But that’s just because it’s the biggest fandom i’ve written multi-chapter fic in. By relative popularity within the fandom, this one would probably be pretty low on the list. But it’s one of my favorites because i got to write one of my favorite tropes: alternate first meetings.

fic - Dressed for Sin                                

Since it’s the end of the year i can indulge in a little navel gazing and say that my most popular fics overall were in leverage fandom, probably due to the size of the fandom at the time and writing What Fandom Wanted (ot3 with a focus on eliot, getting together fic with feelings).

If I was going to list my Most Popular (TM) fic based on my vibes for relative fandom popularity I’d probably say the de-aged ywz fic. I wouldn’t say it’s a popular fic overall, but in terms of what i’ve written, i feel like it’s the multi-chapter that’s gotten the deepest engagement. lol maybe because it’s the longest.

fic - Means of Transportation

lol that was a lot of words for someone who has written prob less than 10 multi-chapter fics but the year is ending and is there a better time to be self-indulgent?

actual worst part of writing: when i know exactly what i want but i just can’t get the words right. either because i don’t know exactly how to shape the plot or because the vibes are off or because i just can’t wrangle the dialogue or characterization. knowing what i want and being unable to get there is incredibly frustrating.

how do you choose your titles: I cry.

(okay, i actually do have a document where i keep snippets of lyrics and poetry but tbh they rarely come in handy. a lot of times i just blindly google lyrics to songs on my spotify playlists and hope for the best. my favorite is when i can snip a piece of narrative or dialogue to use as a title but oof the stars really have to align for that to work)

do you outline?: if the fic is longer than a scene or two, yes. it’s very helpful to know where the story is going. i also color code my outlines as I write (green, orange, red for written, in progress, and haven’t started writing yet) so i can get a quick view of where i am.

sometimes my outlines start as rambles and end up as real writing and then i can copy-paste that part of the outline into the actual fic and that is very satisfying.

callouts @ me: write that stupid, self-indulgent, silly idea!! it doesn’t have to be good, it doesn’t have to be a complete idea, it doesn’t have to be anything but fun. also, don’t feel bad about writing fifty thousand fics for the same pairing, you’re not here to be well-rounded, you’re here to have fun.

best writing traits: when i’m determined and in the midst of a project, i can be very good at sitting down regularly and doing 500 words of writing a day. which is wonderful for making progress. also i often get compliments about my characterization and humor in my fic, which i work very hard at.

spicy tangential opinion: i’m sure i have many of them but as usual, when i am asked to list them, they all *poof* into thin air. I have a not-so-spicy opinion that I hate 97% of epithets I come across and would like to throw “the smaller male” into the sun.

tagging: @glorious-spoon, @junemermaid, @afincf-tirwer, @tehfanglyfish, @beatperfume, @undead-robins, @gingersnapwolves, @la-muerta, @vampirenaomi, @dirty-corza

[desertsquiet]

Album of the month - January 2023: Sunshine Boy (Sessions & Demos) - Townes Van Zandt

The first month of 2023 has felt, at times, like the culmination of one of the worst prolonged emotional and psychological states I’ve ever experienced, one that started around the middle of November. I don’t think I’m completely out of it as of right now - actually, not at all - but I can only hope those negative peaks are starting to subside or at least become less in number. At the end of December/beginning of January, I did not feel like I had anything to look forward to for the new year. Nor anything to be proud of for 2022. Being on social media and seeing people (rightly) being proud of their accomplishments or expressing whatever they were looking forward to only angered me and sent me into an awful negative spiral, because I couldn’t have been in a more vastly different place at that moment. The real optimism for the many changes that were about to come into my life I had experienced just a couple of months prior completely gone. Vanished. Like it never existed. For the first ten days of January I was still on my winter break and I kept on being as moody and miserable as ever, having just had the final proof that no matter the setting, my mental state did not change or improve in the slightest. That I was the problem, not the place or the people around me. Which made me feel even worse. About the only part of my life that didn’t feel like it was crumbling down this month was my relationship/connection to music. It didn’t offer a magical solution to my problems, but it was a very strong presence and very often the only refuge from the literal hell my brain has become. In many ways it felt like it came to my rescue, by sending me new tracks and albums I could latch on to and form new, much needed connections with. There were so many and I am grateful to each and every one of them, but at the same time I knew what album I would be writing about in this post exactly 10 minutes into it.

A collection of studio sessions/alternative takes (Disc 1) and demos (Disc 2) from 1971-1972, “Sunshine Boy” allows you the incredible privilege of peaking into an atmosphere that is not quite a live nor a studio dimension, but something in between the two. A sweet middle spot that I shouldn’t be surprised to find out fits him so well, after all. But boy if it does. I don’t even know how to describe it properly, not sure if I have the words. I am however pretty sure that it’s already one of my absolute favorite, and absolutely one of the most precious Townes recordings I can think of. Disc 1 of this is just such a pleasure to hear. He sounds so good. He sounds so confident, relaxed, in the moment, enjoying every second of it. He sounds happy. He has a talented group of musicians around him and what comes through the most, more than almost anywhere else, is his love of performing with other people and constantly feeding off each other’s energy and creativity. There’s also an edge to many of these performances that he doesn’t show very often. While still mostly acoustic, the set is a lot more uptempo than usual, with the drummer especially asserting his presence in a way that rarely happens in his music but that, here, seems to work perfectly, aggressive bluesy rhytmn guitar playing at all times and other instruments that often play a percussive role. And the two excursions into downright electric territory are absolutely to die for: such a pity that an original as cool as Sunshine Boy did not make it on any of his studio albums from that period, but it was definitely NOT for lack of quality and oh my gosh, I’m sorry but this is the best version of Who Do You Love he ever did. I’m obsessed with it. He’s also just playing around with his own songs a lot, lyrically and melodically. Whether it’s because they’re still not “finished” and he’s still experimenting to see what works better or just because he’s in such a relaxed mental place that improvising comes very naturally, the result is so cool to hear. As for Disc 2…well. I always say that some of his songs are so gentle and quiet, and the subject matter is so personal, that they almost feel *too* private and intimate. Like sometimes you even forget that you’re listening with headphones and not in the same room with him as he sings directly to you. One of those is Greensboro Woman, without a doubt. Now imagine what levels of intimacy the demo version of that song can reach. I’m not even gonna try to find the words to describe that. So I’ll just say that the entire second half of this album is something very dangerous for me and that’s naturally why I’ve been listening to it non stop for a month. I do just also want to point out how cute his cover of ‘Old Paint’ is and how great the other unreleased original ‘Diamond Heel Blues’ is. I love his blues songs and his blues guitar playing and I’m always thrilled to have more of it. I think I’ve talked enough so that’s it. I guess I enjoyed this one. Just a little bit.

[characternerdocs]

Tagged by: @icybreaths

Name: Eri Lorewright, you can refer to me as either! (or Eeri, like Eerie, Lol)

Star Sign: Cancer ♋

Height: 5' 7

Middle name: [REDACTED] cause I’m uncomfy revealing it as it’s really gendered, and I’d like to be a non-binary enigma.

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?

This is Home - Cavetown

Lonely Dance- Set it Off

Everything at Once - Lenka

Bubblegum Bitch - Marinana & the Diamonds

Poison Within from Headless 

Kill the Beast by Aurelio Voltaire

Ever had a poem or song written about you: Not that I am aware

When was the last time you played air guitar: Prolly a week, two weeks ago. And most definitely to Pick up the Pace by The Play Plays

Who is your celebrity crush?: Less of a crush, more gender envy for Scott Shpeley. He is the singer in the Play Plays and plays Edgar Allan in Catalyst’s musical Nevermore

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: Velcro, the hate the ripping sound. It makes my spin itchy. I love the sound of keys hitting against one another

Do you believe in ghosts?: Yes, though I don’t feel like I have any legit experiences. Others that I know have some stories. Other than that though I think building I work in is haunted. I repeatedly have the feeling someone was walked into the room while my back’s to the door, but when I look, no one is there.

How about aliens: Yeah, I figure if we can exist on our planet, why can’t other life exist on another planet?

Do you drive?: Yes, and once I was even licensed to drive a forklift!

If so have you ever crashed: Thankfully not.

What was the last book you read?: The Drowning Girls, it’s actually a play though by Beth Graham and Daniela Vlaskalic

Do you like the smell of gasoline: Eeh... sorta?

What was the last movie you saw?: 7 Women and a Murder

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: I don’t know. Mostly it’s all minor stupid things. Like once I crushed a cone incense with my thumb only to find it had just burned out and severely burn my finger. I was trying to declog the dermal we use at work to 3-hole punch paper when it slipped and I punched a perfect circle into my index and thumb.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: Yes, It’s the Nevermore musical. I Love EVERYTHING ABOUT IT! I cannot rationally explain it. but the costumes and props being made primary out of masking tape, sticks, and landscaping fabric give Catalyst’s production such a unique and darkly quirky feel. It’s a part fact, part fiction telling of Edgar Allan Poe’s life birth to death, using lines and themes from his own stories and poems as the lyrics and lines. Which as a life time Poe fan myself is a fun little easter egg hunt to identify what is being referenced. The music is SO powerful, it just rattles round in my head all the time now, especially Dream within a Dream.  The setup and narrative style of the show had once of the best pay off I could have imagined; no spoilers but it was great. The cast is FANTASTIC! I love Scott Shpeley and I want to be his version of Poe, because honestly Nevermore’s Poe is just Goth boy Heath and I love that. But also I love Beth Graham, who yes wrote the play the Drowning Girls, but she is super funny and a great character actor. She plays three roles in Nevermore, including Fanny Allan, who I love, best mom. But Beth Graham does a great job of giving all three of her characters distinct voices. Love love love. The amount of love and creativity that has gone into this show is incredible. And I know that my passion and love for this show is crossing the line into unhinged, but E. A. Poe said it best, “I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”    

[darkisrising]

fic writer interview tag game

Name/nickname: DarkIsRising/Dark

Fandoms: In this incarnation Star Wars and Teen Wolf mostly

Two shots?: Sure! I have a few of those. 

Most-popular multi-chapter fic: Most most MOST popular is an Our Flag Means Death fic “Cleave the Pin” which I think I just happened to write at the right time or something. I never expected it to get as much attention as it did, especially since I used a kind of strange style for Stede by using parentheses that, while I was writing, I kept thinking ‘ohhhh nooo, no one is going to like thiiiiiis.’ For my main fandoms, the most popular are Tribute (Teen Wolf, Steter) which took me fourteen months to write and In other words (Star Wars, BobaDinLuke, and a sequel to The best is yet to come so there’s one of my two-shots) which took eight months to write. Honestly it’s a wonder anyone stuck around that long, because there were massive gaps in posting since I kept writing myself into a corner that I needed to write and discard chapter after chapter before I finally settled on the ones I posted.

Actual worst part of writing: I have this thing where I’ll want to write, I’ll know exactly what I want to write, I’ll have everything lined up... but I just can’t. Like it feels like my brain is a bone and socket joint without cartilage that’s just grinding and grinding and grinding. Some days I can fake my way through it by writing a sentence or two at a time, poking around the internet, and then coming back to write a couple sentences more. Some days I just have to walk away entirely because it’s just not happening.

How you choose your titles: mostly song lyrics. I don’t really stress titles, and will choose random shit. Honestly, I barely even notice titles of books or fics I read, so I deprioritize them on my own stuff... though I have learned that there are a LOT of people out there that DO care what something is called and will even skip over fics based on titles alone so I’m trying to care more but it just doesn’t come naturally. 

Do you outline? Ish. When I get an idea I write out in a doc of word vomit everything i know about the story, from beggining to end, and as I write I add to that doc or change stuff around if I’ve gone in a new direction but I’ll usually have certain plot points I’m trying to get to no matter how off course I veer. That’s when the delays happen, when I veer too far and I have to decide if I want to cut the plot point that’s been in my doc for forever loose (and is usually a load bearing plot point, it’ll mean a bunch of other stuff cant happen once it goes) or if I need to somehow bring the veering back in line.

Ideas you probably won't get around to, but wouldn't it be nice: I had a quiobi set in The Good Place universe that I remember feeling really clever for how it worked.

Callouts @ me: Changing chapter counts as we go. It fluctuates wildly as I post and readers call me out on it ALL the time. Sure I could change it to ? but that feels like admiting the story got the better of me. 

Best writing traits: I think I give good character. 

Spicy tangential opinion: As a reader you’re only one good fic away from turning a squick or a nope trope/fandom/pairing into something you’re actively reading. That’s why I’ve really stopped saying that there’s stuff I won’t read. I’ve been humbled by good writing too many times to have any pride left. Anything I’ve shied away from in the past, in the right hands, can work.  Thanks @tessiete for the tag. I’ll tag... @andthepeople @furiosophie @bunnywest @bronze-lorica but absolutely zero pressure in playing

[gaybosposts]

The Maybe Man Album Review

The fifth and most recent AJR album of this certainly unique band. But I’m gonna be honest. This is their best album to date. It still has mostly the same problems from every previous album, except it’s toned down. Let’s start… AJR fans, Beware of negativity.

1. Maybe Man

The lyrics are absolutely shit. They ain’t metaphors. And if they are, they’re very shit metaphors. But really, each part of this song is supposed to be referencing another song from this album. So if that is what this song is trying to do, then it raises it up for me a little. But the beat drop is the most memorable part of this song. This is definitely better than OK Overture. 3.5/10.

2. Touchy Feely Fool

The clapping is not as good as it thinks it sounds. Some of the lyrics feel random and I just don’t really feel with the song. But the lyrics “I’m better off a stick, I’m better off a stone. I’m better off a jerk, I’m better off alone. I’m better not feeling stress or feeling bliss. I won’t feel much, at least I won’t be feeling this.”. This is a good lyric, just not in a good song. 2/10.

3. Yes, I’m a Mess

This is on the same level as Touchy Feely Fool except, the lyrics are completely shit. No good lyrics at all. The beat is forgettable and I do not care for this one. Did you know that Jack (lead singer), is a mess with a S on his chest? Yeah… 1/10.

4. The Dumb Song

Finally, a decent song. The beat is nice and the lyrics for the most part don’t fuck it up too much. Except for one thing, if you are a full grown ass adult who doesn’t know how to work a microwave. You are dumb. Make your own lunch. 5/10.

5. Inertia

The song holds itself together until Jack pulls out the fucking horrible auto tune. I don’t like that part. But everything else about the song is good. 5/10.

6. Turning Out Pt. iii

I didn’t care for the previous two. I’m not going to care for this one. Except! There’s one lyric that basically says that if we were married at 85, the rest of us lives wouldn’t be sound so scary. Which at first I thought was a relatable line. Then I remembered that I don’t have to worry about that right now. So yeah… 1/10.

7. Hole in the Bottom of My Brain

The first half was good, then Jack started singing about how when you get money and be famous, the hole in your head goes away. Yeah, like I’ll ever be famous. So I might as well kms then if I have to be famous and get money to be happy. 1/10.

8. The DJ Is Crying for Help

The only good part of the song is the bridge. The rest is not good. The lyrics are not good. Everything (except the bridge) is terrible. 2/10.

9. I Won’t

This is as bad as the previous one. I’m not going to spend any more time on this song. 2/10.

10. Steve’s Going to London

May be my favourite song from the album. The beat is the best part of the whole song, the verses and choruses are really good too. But the only bad thing about this song is the bridge. The bridge kinda ruins the vibe of the song a bit. Like, you really think writing a song about an election in Tucson is a good idea? Also, yes, Kendrick is most definitely better than AJR without a doubt. Why I bring up the best rapper ever in a conversation about the worst band ever? Because he gets mentioned in the song! I enjoy most of this song. 6/10.

11. God Is Really Real

I don’t know how to talk about this song… I just wanna say, I hope the AJR brothers are doing okay. For more context, Their dad was terminally ill and had passed away July of last year. I only remembered just now that it’s nearly their dad’s birthday. Most of their songs are super fun and loud and a lot sounding. But this is the first time they genuinely made a down to earth song and sang about a serious topic. Is the song actually good? Sadly, no. But it’s fucking bone chilling to listen to the lyrics as this song was released before their dad passed away. I hope they are doing okay now. I’m not going to give a score for this one because I feel so conflicted about giving a very serious song like this a low score. So no score for this one.

12. 2085

This was more emotional than God Is Really Real. I’m sorry. I find that song more devastating than this song. Remember when I said Steve’s Going to London was my favourite off this album? Yeah, I think this one is my actual favourite. It’s super emotional and I’m so fucking surprised by this. I didn’t think an AJR song of all things would get me emotional. The lyrics on this are probably the best lyrics AJR has ever written. This song is also two songs. First song being 2085, and the second being Maybe Man Pt II. It’s so good. I love it. I’m giving this AJR’s first and probably only… 8/10.

Overall: As an album, this is average. But there’s no 0/10’s on this one. So I’m proud of them. I wouldn’t actually listen to the album from start to finish any time soon. But I would actually put one or two of these songs on a playlist. I wanted this to be the album where it would be their first 8/10 album. But no. It’s a 5/10.

And that’s it for all of the AJR albums from Living Room to The Maybe Man. If you were hurt by my opinions. Don’t be. If you like AJR, I’m happy for you. But these are my personal feelings and opinions on AJR as a whole. I don’t like their music. But if you do, good for you 😊. So if you have any questions for me or if you feel to correct me on anything, feel free to. I’m going to go back to sleep now. Goodnight, AJR fans and/or haters.

[nobodyfamousposts]

Agreed. And on that note, I think the worst part is the pointlessness of it all.

I wanted to like Asha. I even felt she had a point about how there’s no reason for Magnifico to be holding onto wishes he never intends to grant so there’s no reason NOT just give them back. But that’s just it: there is no reason he has to grant or even keep these wishes in the first place.

The guy—among other things:

Defeated some seriously bad guys.

Formed his own safe haven.

Let a bunch of strangers come to live in his safe haven with no question or requirements.

”Let’s them stay for free” AND “doesn’t even charge them rent” which I’m taking to mean that not only is the housing market pretty awesome but that there are no taxes either. Which makes it sound like a really great place to live with no poverty or homelessness, but would also have to mean that he’s bearing the brunt of managing at all and making it work so that there wouldn’t be.

Doesn’t draft people into positions they don’t want or force them to serve him in ways they’re not comfortable with.

Runs the kingdom and keeps the people safe and happy.

So when I’m hearing that oh yeah btw he’s ALSO offering to grant people’s most inane wishes on top of everything he’s already doing for them, I have to wonder what the point is—both for the character and the story. Because he really doesn’t seem to be getting anything out of it. He’s not misusing the wishes until AFTER Asha starts her rebellion, so all of them were pretty much just glorified ornaments in his study for all the use they were. And Magnifico himself has no noted goals other than to protect his kingdom and try to make everyone happy.

Sure, he has a character flaw of an ego. But you know what? For a guy who is making his own kingdom and doesn’t require anything from anyone coming to live there but is still managing them carefully and keeping them all safe, I think he’s earned a bit of an ego. Especially since him being a bit full of himself led him to doing mostly good things instead of trying to harm others or bring them down. And he actually isn’t misusing his magic or the wishes.

Even his villain song doesn’t make sense in this regard, because despite what the lyrics suggest he is using his own power to help people. And he isn’t helping one person by stealing from another like the song suggests, so it’s not like anyone is being made to suffer for the kingdom’s happiness. There is no monkey’s paw rule to the wishes or being in the kingdom, no give-and-take, no real sacrifice. The only downside shown is with situations like Simon’s depression atloss of motivation, and since it wasn’t really explored, that seems like an issue Magnifico genuinely wasn’t aware of and might actually have tried to help fix had he known.

The worst thing he’s intentionally doing is…NOT giving everyone what they wish for. And after a wish-focused movie like The Princess and The Frog where the moral is that you need to put in the effort for what you wish and that what you wish may not be what’s best for you, Wish’s setup seems incredibly shallow and immature.

The fact that the entire storyline of the movie is meant to make him the bad guy BECAUSE of all the extra things he’s doing for people with no personal benefit rather than in spite of it only does more to make Asha and the rest of the kingdom look incredibly entitled and demanding. It’s little wonder that so many are mistaking Asha’s stance in the film as a blanket immature and ignorant “grant everyone’s wishes” instead of the actual stance of “give the wishes back”. Ignoring 1) that Magnifico didn’t HAVE to grant ANY wishes in the first place and 2) that giving their wishes to him was a willing CHOICE on their part. A choice that in and of itself feels pretty selfish since they were relying on him to grant their wishes for them, instead of even trying to fulfill them themselves.

As it is, it feels equivalent of going to a casino and demanding everyone’s money back because they’re mildly inconvenienced when those people CHOSE to go there and spend their money on a CHANCE of getting more. Except the casino in this case is donating all their proceeds to charity and the worst it’s doing is being a bit smug and annoying about it.

Yes I just rewatched Wish and it was a lot worse than my first viewing noticing even worse dialogue and more wacky plot details

Nah bc why are the songs the way they are

The cringe popped more if that makes sense

[quindolyn]

hi can i request the maurauders going to see the reader do a musical like heathers or mean girls and they are just confused and turned on bc they didn't expect it to be this dirty (can lead to smut or not). luv you and hope you are taking care of yourself, if not go get something to eat, drink some water, take a nap, or do somthing you enjoy. or dont not trying to be pushy :)

Creature of the Night || Poly!Marauders

Word Count: 3029 (excluding song lyrics)

A/N: I think I liked how this turned out? I didn’t make it smut but it’s certainly suggestive, I went with Rocky Horror, I know that the musicals mentioned in the request are more modern but I fucking love Rocky Horror and I think it works with the request. When I first read this request I smiled so much because I love live theater, I don’t perform as much as I used to because as I progress with my education I’m focusing more on the stuff I can use to pad my resumes for college and stuff but I still love going to see productions. One of the worst parts of the pandemic for me has been not being able to go see shows, I miss it so much.

Warnings: theatre enthusiast reader, erections, suggestive material, song lyrics, slight teasing, wearing very little clothing in front of an audience, I believe that that is it

Masterlist

500 follower celebration

antici-

The magic of the stage was second to none. Sure, Hogwarts may have had witches and wizards, subjects like Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ghosts that spent their time meandering about the halls but there was always a part of you that looked forward to the summer between your years at Hogwarts. Because no matter how magical Hogwarts was, the theater always made you feel completely and utterly alive. 

Every summer since the one after your first year at what all of your muggle friends thought to be a very prestigious boarding school up in Scotland, you’d taken part in your local youth theater’s productions. Your parents both being muggles thought that it would be a great way for you to be able to stay in touch with your muggle origins. 

The first year you’d been far too nervous to actually audition for a role, the very thought causing bile to churn in your stomach and threaten to make you sick all over your kitchen floor when your father first pitched the idea. So instead you’d done costumes and it was the most wonderful experience of your life. 

Who needed drugs when you had live theater? The hustle and bustle behind the scenes was electrifying but after two summers of costuming, of quick changes in the wings, learning how to use the ancient sewing machines they stored in the depths of the storage rooms, and pulling pieces for the actors to try on you decided that you wanted to try something more.

The moment you had stepped onto the stage it was like you’d come to life and you cursed yourself for not taking the risk earlier. You belonged on the stage, with the harsh stage lights on you and pounds of makeup plastered onto your face you could feel the magic thrumming through your veins and it was addicting.

If it was possible, you were even more excited to perform this summer, the previous school year you’d finally gotten together with your long time best friends the Marauders, turning them from friends to your boyfriends.

When your mother had sent word of the production being put on this summer you’d squealed while seated next to James and across from Remus, who had Sirius hanging off of his side. After explaining to them, mostly Sirius and James really, just what live theater was their first reaction was to ask if they could come see you perform.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to be cast,” You had explained gently, not wanting to get their hopes up in case you weren’t cast this year.

“Bull shit of course you’re going to be the cast,” Sirius had contested through a mouthful of jam and toast, waving his hand theatrically through the air, watching him that day was not the first time you’d considered how the way he acted often reminded you of an over enthusiastic theatre major.

Remus, the only one with any knowledge on muggle theatre had snorted, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist to pull him closer to his body, “She’s not going to be the cast Pads, she’s going to be casted,” He’d corrected gently, pressing a kiss into his long, dark tresses.

“Whatever,” The smaller boy had grumbled, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Which brought you to where you were right now, five minutes to curtain touching up your make up in the mirror of the shared make-up room.

“Hey (L/N),” One of your cast mates called settling into the makeup chair next to you as she plucked a tube of dark red lipstick from the small canary colored makeup bag she had previously abandoned on the counter, “Your boyfriends coming tonight?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, they are,” You responded, applying mascara to your lashes.

“Excited to meet them, that photo you showed us,” She smiled, fanning her face with her hand, “Smoking,” She smiled, making eye contact with you in the mirror.

Rolling your eyes you ignored her comment, “It’s five minutes to curtain, you’re just now doing your make-up?” You chuckled, noticing her black face.

“Oh, shove it,” She laughed as you pushed yourself from your chair, traipsing out of the room, giving her the middle finger on your way out.

“Break a leg!” She called after you as the door latched shut.

You weren’t usually this nervous before a performance but knowing that your three boyfriends were sitting out there somewhere in the audience had you pacing back and forth backstage wondering what they were going to think of the whole production.

“Rocky Horror?” Sirius’ confusion evident in his voice as he plopped down in his seat next to Remus, throwing his arm around the werewolf’s shoulders, drumming his fingers on his clothed shoulder hidden behind his knitted cardigan.

“Yeah,” James collapsed into his chair on the other side of Remus, tucking one leg under his body, “No clue what it’s about but I’m sure our angel will be wonderful. Can you guys see her?” He straightened himself up in his seat, craning his neck in attempts to catch a glimpse of you.

Remus being the only one with any ties to the muggle world knew a bit about the show and had to do his very best to suppress a smirk from overtaking his face as he knew exactly what he and your other two boyfriends were getting themselves into. 

“Just hush up you two, the show’s gonna start any moment,” He scolded, patting his large, scarred hand on James’ thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Rem,” Sirius whined, puckering his lips and closing his eyes, signaling to his boyfriend that he wanted a kiss.

“My needy baby,” He crooned, leaning in to connect his lips with Sirius’ in a quick liplock before pulling back, allowing Sirius to drop his forehead to smear against his shoulder.

“That’s mean,” Sirius murmured discontentedly.

“Poor baby Pads,” James cooed mockingly.

“Both of you,” Remus hissed as the lights in the theatre dimmed, “The show’s about to start, be good for me and be quiet yeah?”

Their response came in their silence as the crowd started settling down and the music from the orchestra pit began a voice coming from somewhere out of sight as it was played through the speakers,

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand”

Not 20 minutes into the show all three of them were as hard as rocks, James had already made Remus check the playbill for the name of the character you were playing, not being able to remember what you’d told them as all of his concentration was focused on a certain place.

Janet Weiss.

Remus couldn’t remember either, but he was almost certain that’s the name he could make out in the dark theatre, printed next to a picture of your smiling face.

When you’d stripped down to your underwear the boys could barely focus on the plot line of the show, only being able to watch the way your bare skin shone under the harsh light of the spotlights. Watching as sweat glistened on your skin, making you shine as you moved about the stage. 

Enchanted by the melodic cadence of your voice they all felt a certain jealousy burning deep in the pits on their stomachs at the thought that there were dozens of other people packed into that theater, all observing you in your vulnerable state of under dress. Only they got to see you like that.

Sirius missed much of the first act glaring at members of the audience who he deemed as looking at you for too long for his liking, but if you were being honest a 4th year smiling at you in the hallway was sometimes too long for his liking.

It wasn’t like any of them had never seen you naked before, in fact they’d all seen you naked more than their fair share of times but something about you on that stage in a white bra with a matching slip was driving them all crazy.

Especially Remus, whose ultimate weakness was seeing you in anything white which was one of the reasons you’d been so excited to invite them in the first place, knowing that they would be horny messes the entire time.

On stage you did your very best not to look out into the audience looking for them, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to stop a ginormous grin from forming on your face and you couldn’t afford to break character. Not if you wanted the night to go your way.

As the opening notes to “Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me”, rose from the orchestra pit you had trouble stopping a small smirk from pulling at your lips as you opened them, inhaling deeply before singing the first words of the song,

“I was feeling done in, couldn't win

I'd only ever kissed before”

Despite yourself you caught a glimpse of long dark hair in the audience, quickly taking a glance at Sirius’ face, eyes glazed over in lust, legs shifting uncomfortably with his mouth hanging wide open. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed another raven-haired boy’s mouth dropping as you shrugged off of your robe

“I thought there’s no use getting, into heavy petting

It only leads to trouble and, seat wetting

Now all I want to know, is how to go

I've tasted blood and I want more”

It was impossible to miss the way Remus’ jaw clenched as you laid your palm against Rocky’s chest, he was being played by your good friends who’d been working with the same theatre company as you since forever, he was like a brother to you. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t lay it on extra thick tonight with your boyfriends in the audience.

Tracing a dainty finger down Rocky’s chest you pushed your body against his singing out the next lyrics of the song,

“I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance”

You turned you and your cast mate so that looking over his shoulder you were able to meet Remus’ eye, sending him a quick wink before focusing back in on Rocky.

“Toucha, toucha, toucha, touch me

I wanna be dirty

Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me

Creature of the night”

Pressing your back up against Rocky’s chest you guided his hands with yours to your breasts, squeezing them as you followed the choreography you knew by heart.

You ripped your slip from your body with the help of Rocky leaving you in only your white bra, matching panties and a pair of small heels as you paraded around stage, belting the suggestive lyrics into the theater.

“Then if anything grows, while you pose

I'll oil you up and rub you down (down, down, down)

And that’s just one small fraction, of the main attraction

You need a friendly hand, oh i need action”

You smirked, thinking about all of the action you’d be on the receiving end of later that night as you sunk to your knees in front of Rocky, your hands grasping his thighs. Deciding to tease them perhaps a little more than necessary as you went through the number, curling your leg around his and pressing your bodies together so that there was no space between your two questionably clothed bodies.

As the number was brought to a close it was impossible for you to ignore the excitement bubbling up inside of you as you continued your way through the show you kept throwing glances at your boyfriends, always finding their eyes already trained on you. More often than not, on some body part other than your face.

If your boyfriends thought that they had a bit of a problem before that song they were in a terrible predicament now.

Remus caught Sirius on multiple occasions trying to move the hand that he was holding to grope at his crotch as he tried to buck up into his boyfriend’s hand. And much to his own dismay, Remus would pull his hand away, thinking it probably wasn’t the best idea to give his boyfriend a hand job in a crowded theater. Knowing that he wouldn’t have to worry about James touching himself because he would never dream of disobeying him, Remus divided his attention between you on the stage and keeping Sirius in check.

Each of the boys were counting down the seconds until the show came to an end and they could get out of there and relieve some of their tension.  As the curtains were pulled closed they all breathed a sigh of relief before they reopened, leaving all three of them bewildered and slightly annoyed, even more so when they noticed everyone around them standing as they applauded the actors.

Remus forced both of them up when you rushed to the front of the stage, curtsying as the crowd went wild, your boyfriends most notably. As you took your bow you blew a kiss to your boyfriends taking note of the uncomfortable way they all stood, trying to adjust their erections to make them less noticeable while simultaneously applauding you.

As you cleared the stage after curtain call you took your time, doddling towards the dressing rooms where you had left the clothes you’d arrived at the theater in along with a special outfit you’d brought for after the show. Usually you were one of the first actors to clear the theater after a show but tonight you took your time. Hanging up your costume with more care than anyone really should treat any garment with and certainly more than what it needed. 

You smirked mischievously as you pulled the you’d brought outfit from your bag and shimmied it up your legs before slipping the delicate straps up your shoulders. You glimpsed yourself in the mirror, the red satin of the dress clinging to your curves in an attractive manner, short enough to display miles of legs and low cut enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage and perhaps a sighting of the matching red bra you were wearing beneath it.

Slinging the back of your black heels over the heel of your feet you snatched your purse from the armchair in your dressing room before striding out to go meet your boyfriends in the lobby, where you’d told them to wait for you.

Their heads all turned as they heard the clacking of your heels against the tile of the floor, “Boys,” You greeted as they unabashedly took in your new appearance.

As he most often was, Remus was the first one to collect himself, “Puppy, you were wonderful,” He praised, walking to meet you as you approached him, leaning down to smear a kiss against your cheek, “You did amazing up there, so proud of you,” He threw his arm around your waist as you walked towards Sirius and James.

“We got something for you,” He explained, his grip on your waist tightening, “Jamie give it to her, yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” The smaller boy grinned, remembering the bouquet he held cradled in his arms as he handed it over to you, “Here you go angel.”

“Thank you Jamie,” You said as you took it from him, closing your eyes as you buried your nose in the sweet smelling flora. As you opened your eyes you made eye contact with Sirius, who stood across from you, practically drooling as he took in your appearance without any shame, “They smell wonderful.”

“You okay Si?” You asked, looking up through your eyelashes, batting them innocently.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you did up there to us (Y/N/N),” Remus whispered in your ear, pressing his nose into your temple.

“You guys are the ones who wanted to come,” You lilted, rubbing one of the velvety petals between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.

“Could’ve warned us,” James mumbled, his eyes not leaving your thighs as he licked his lips, if it were anyone else you would’ve been uncomfortable but you couldn’t help but feel flattered whenever any of them ogled you. 

“And what’s with the dress Pup?” Sirius nodded his head appreciatively towards your dress, obviously admiring the way it hung on your body.

“What, you don’t like it?” You asked with fake hurt in your voice, knowing that he more than liked it, he fucking loved it. 

“S’not that,” Remus mumbled, nosing at your jugular, “Just that whole show, got us a little bit worked up. We didn’t expect it to be so sexual Puppy,” He nodded towards James and that’s when you noticed the erection he was still sporting. 

“Got us really worked up, can we go home now?” James asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to distract himself from his little problem.

“Jamie,” You whined, smiling wickedly, “I wanted to celebrate, I was thinking we could go eat somewhere, I was thinking maybe Thai food?”

You watched as Sirius ground his teeth, conflicted between needing to get home and not wanting to deny you from what you wanted. 

“Having fun teasing us Bunny?” Remus asked you with a sly smirk, knowing exactly what you were doing.

“M’not teasing,” You insisted, turning indignantly to your other boyfriend.

“Sure you aren’t,” He chuckled, “Thai sounds great (Y/N), wanna talk with you about the show,” The idea of teasing Sirius and James even longer was very appealing to Remus and he was ready to make the sacrifice of being teased himself, knowing that he’d be able to get back at you later that night.

“But-” James began.

“You wanna argue with me Jamie?” Remus challenged, raising a singular eyebrow.

“No,” He moped, “Of course not.”

“Good,” Remus said, nodding his head approvingly, “We wouldn’t wanna deny our Princess would we?”

James shook his head, eyes pleading, desperately seeking Remus’ approval.

“Pads?” Remus challenged, turning his attention to the other raven haired man.

“What? Oh um, of course not,” He agreed distractedly, dragging his eyes from your form to meet Remus’, his reluctance evident in his voice.

“Good,” Remus said pointedly, his eyes cold, daring Sirius to question him. When he didn’t the werewolf continued, “Let’s get going then, there’s a nice little restaurant a couple blocks away yeah?”

As you all hummed your consent you made your way to the exit, “Ten galleons if you can make James cum in his pants at dinner,” Remus whispered in your ear quietly enough so that  James and Sirius trailing behind you wouldn’t be able to hear you, you could hear the smirk in his voice as you exited the theatre.

“Deal.” This was going to be fun, you considered that you might have to invite them to come see the show again.

-pation

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[heyyyharry]

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

.

.

.

Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

.

.

.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

[riallasheng]

Thank you @goldensmilingbird​ for giving me the list!  (Hope this is the right one, Anon ^_^ )

30 questions, so under cut.

Due to RL stuff, I honestly have not written much this year, so I’ll just be doing ‘in general’ for the most part

1) Haven’t written much this year, although when I’m in the groove and have time, I can hit several thousand words and the like

2) Technically none, as the only thing I posted this year was two chapters from an old fic I found while going through drives and the like (while I polished it up a bit, most of it’s from 98).  This year has been the worst, but the last several years have been very hard on me, leaving little time for online things or fandom things

3) Hm.   Tough one.   I don’t really have a work I’m proudest of?  I’m very proud of The Collector, given it’s 22 years old but still holds up well.  I’m VERY proud of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy given the twist I managed with it.  I’m proud of A Cure for Boredom simply because it was a lot of fun and I still get comments of people loving it even now

4) Uh.  Actually, not sure, lemme check real quick. ... Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.  Just shy of 18k hits

5) Um... all of them?  I’m always suprised by how much feedback I get, even though I THRIVE on comments, esp discussions...  I’m always amazed at any and all feedback I get ^^

6) As the Wyrm Turns  (Trust is a close second)

7) Don’t use song lyrics, even back in the 90s and 00s I didn’t use lyric fics much ^^

8) Pairing?  Phones and Marina, Troy and Atlanta, Alan and TinTin, Scott and Penelope.  Those are the pairings in As The Worm Turns.  I tend to focus on ALL relationship types, not just romantic though

9) Hrm....   Gonna go with Phones and Marina, as I really like their dynamics

10) Trust probably, Fair a close second

11) Monghost, as it’s incomplete due to RL getting insane and me honestly getting tired of Miraculous and thus not being very driven to complete it (MOSTLY it is real life stuff and me losing my outline and wip files due to my computer dying)   Teeeeeeeechnically As the Wyrm Turns since it’s also incomplete and it’s like 25+ years between when I last worked on it and now XD

12) Soooooooooo many WIP

13) Gonna go with longest work on AO3.   tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: just shy of 117k words

14) Fair is my shortest work on AO3, having only ~570 words

15) Several WIP, but Monghost is the big one, followed by As The Wyrm Turns.  Plus any other OLD fics that I might find and be able to post

16) I don’t know how to check what my tags are, let alone what my most common extra tag ^^;;

17) I don’t tend to have a favorite character to write, I usually love writing all of them ^^;;  

18) Characters that I dislike give me the most grief, as I have a firm rule that I must not hate sink or attack characters I dislike and instead must write them to the best of my ability and try to keep them IC.  If I can’t do that, I will simply not write the character / will have a way to not have them present.  So as a result cahracters I dislike but don’t hate are the ones I have the most trouble with

19) Romance wise, not much I want to focus on, really.   I’m hoping to focus on friendships and family relationships in Monghost and As the Wyrm Turns

20) Hmmmm...  Probably The Collector as it’s a favorite of mine, but I honestly reread ALL my works very often

21) This year?  Just 3 kudos. In total, just shy of 3.5k

22) This year I got ~5 comments in total. fic with the most comments is Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy with nearly 400 comments from readers

23) The only collabrative work I’ve done was Fair, and that’s only a technically as it was actually a gift work for a friend of mine ^^

24) Haven’t done gifts in a LONG time, mostly due to RL stuff

25) Nah, sadly no gifts for me...  ever actually (well, one friend did some fanart for a scene in Monghost that I let them read early that hasn’t even HAPPENED yet?  But no, I’ve never gotten fanart or gift fics or the like for anything I’ve made

26) General is my most common cat.  

27) Varise widely.  Instrumentals, songs, noises, sometimes nothing at all

28) Sadly, only got one thing out this year.  Don’t really have a fav of my entire works though

29) As above, so below ^^;;

30) Biggest Surprise was in Tinker, Tailor, Soldier Spy.  Still SUPER proud of that

AO3 wrapped! All 30 challenge!!

I... um.

...

I haven't been on tumblr much these last few weeks and must hve missed a new meme

What's AO3 wrapped?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Vampire Chris and jake get stranded in the middle of nowhere one night. Maybe a car crash or something. As they walk back the sun starts to rise.

CW: Car crash, bruising, seatbelt burn, vampire whumpee, caretaker turned whumpee

The moment of the crash is gone.

He opens his eyes to the aftermath.

Jake blinks, the world spinning, and his head drops back against the headrest of the driver's seat. The world is still lurching, sickeningly, in circles around him. Something is ticking, the engine maybe, slowly cooling down and shit, at least it's not on fire.

The air bag has a smear of terrible vibrant red against its pillowy white as it slowly deflates, and all he can do is stare at it until he realizes the blood must be his own.

One hand comes up to touch at his forehead, and his fingers come away wet and red, too. What he'd thought was sweat is a head wound, bleeding down one side, tickling his cheekbone and jaw. It stings, a little.

The pain seems distant, somehow, like it's being held at arm's length. As if he's looking at his pain from a distance further than he can close.

"Ch-... Chris, you okay, buddy?" He turns, and the passenger seat is empty. The air bag deployed on that side, but there's no blood.

The door is standing open, dome light still on. It takes a long few moments of staring before he can understand that the door is open because Chris forced it open, closed his hands on the metal and squeezed until it bent beneath his strength and let him out.

Jake's body aches as he shifts forwards, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt. All the pain is filtering into his senses, piece by piece as if he can only understand a wound once he sees it.

He can't remember the crash.

They were at a four-way stop, listening to some of the terrible pop music Chris loves about the modern world, and Jake had pulled through. They were laughing at some lyric that Jake had had to explain, that had made the little vampire boy flush a little at the definition.

Then there were headlights blinding him, overtaking everything. Chris had yelled something and Jake had yelled something and then-

The moment is gone.

So is the entire back half of his car.

He turns around with a hiss to stare right out a giant gaping hole where his backseat should be into the cool, clear night.

Parts of his car are strewn haphazardly across the road and the grassy ditch he's come to a stop in. As he looks, he can see the frame of a door, crumbled metal that must be his trunk, a tire. Another tire. The bumper on the ground. Glass and metal everywhere.

The stop signs at the fourway are all standing totally untouched, except for one bent at a hard angle, leaning like a man fighting a strong wind.

The sweater he'd been wearing when he got in the car - removed and tossed carelessly in the backseat to pick up later - is hanging off the bent stop sign.

It's fucking spotlessly clean still.

He blinks.

Blinks some more.

What the fuck?

He'd driven Chris up into the hills to go star-gazing, making the most of Chris's bubbly energy that only comes out at night and his classes being canceled tomorrow because of some issue with the campus water supply. This is countryside up here, with houses miles and miles apart. Remnants of old orchards and homesteads, still kept by the descendants of the men and women who traveled out here. Nobody drives out this way this late. It could be morning before someone finds him.

His phone. He can call for help.

Jake looks around, but his phone is nowhere to be seen. He digs around the footwell, what he can touch of it, and there's nothing. Nothing nothing nothing.

His windshield is shattered, open to the outside, and he wonders if his phone flew out of it. It was on the dash, wasn't it? On Chris's side...

Shit.

It could be anywhere in the grass, and he's a fucking moron who keeps his phone on silent or vibrate 24 hours a day. He'll never hear it out here.

First things first, then.

He settles for trying to open his door.

It's been crunched, just a little. Enough that it won't swing out, and he has to throw his shoulder against it, grunting in pain, again and again until finally it nudges just enough for him to fall onto shattered tiny squares of safety glass on the ground. A water bottle is lying there. It's Dasani.

He hates Dasani water, but it'd been free at the gas station they'd stopped at if he bought a bag of chips, so...

Oh, right. His car is full of fucking gasoline.

He groans, scrambling away from the vehicle, trying to remember what a safe distance will be if his car catches on fire or fucking explodes in the middle of the night. At least if it explodes it'll get someone's attention, right?

Shit, he's going to throw up.

Jake lays there, waiting for his stomach to settle, and then crawls again. He makes it up to the road, to the rough asphalt and the gravel that lines the side. The little pebbles sting his palms, rub dirt and dust into the cuts, but he ignores it.

He makes it to the road, twenty feet or so from his car, and then... then he just lays down.

"Chris..." He can barely think. Where has the little vampire gone? Why isn't he here, creeping out of the treeline to ask if Jake's all right? Did he run? Maybe he has Jake's phone. Maybe there was no signal and he's gone to try and find some, to make a call.

Maybe...

Fuck, it hurts to think.

Even just taking a deep breath hurts - something's wrong with his ribs. Bruised or broken. When he pulls his shirt up, he can see the seatbelt burn starting to deepen in color, a diagonal stripe from shoulder to hip written in bright red darkening to burgundy bruising, soon to turn purple and black. If he hadn't been wearing a heavy shirt it'd have torn his skin open. One side of his neck is rubbed raw, he can tell when he touches it and has to pull his fingers away at the spike of pain.

There are spots of dark on his pale shirt, blood seeping through or dripping from his forehead.

But, shit. It could be worse. Looking at the back half of his car, it seems like a goddamn miracle that it isn't.

Jake pulls his legs under him and tries to stand up.

His right leg just won't fucking do it.

Rather than take his weight, it buckles with a spike of pain so bad Jake cries out and collapses back onto the road.

As if it were a dam breaking, all the adrenaline holding off the worst of the pain seems to wear away at once.

Everything hurts, suddenly, a sickening wash of pain breaking against him like he's nothing but a shell to be worn to sand. He aches when he breathes, when he doesn't. A cough makes him whimper as his ribs creak and crack. His head throbs, his hands sting, his leg is swelling even as he looks at it, a broken bone. Definitely a broken bone.

"Jesus Christ," He groans, rolling onto his side, his face pressing into gravel and safety glass.

Nat won't notice they're not home until morning.

No one's going to know he's out here until after sunrise, until he's not up to get ready for class and Chris isn't curled up in the closet to sleep in his nest of blankets and pillows. No one's going to know what happened, and where the everloving fuck did his phone go?

Time passes. He doesn't know how much.

Maybe Chris figured they can't protect him and took the fuck off. Maybe he's going to find somewhere new to crash, some new people to care for him. Maybe he's hunting.

Who the fuck knows?

He comes and goes, in and out of consciousness.

He can't stand, and sort of scooting and crawling around does nothing to help him figure out where his cell phone has gone. No one else drives by on this mostly-abandoned country road, and it was a stroke of seriously bad luck the asshole who hit them and ran was there at all.

Asshole was probably drunk, driving back from the bar, trying to use the backroads to avoid the goddamn cops.

Bad. Fucking. Luck.

Jake wonders if the asshole will even remember hitting his car in the morning, or if he'll wake up and discover the front of his vehicle all fucked up and have no idea how it happened.

He thinks he might pass clean out for a while.

That can't be good.

His head hurts worse when he wakes up.

He raises his head slowly at the sound of a distant rumble, an ancient truck engine coming closer. It takes more effort than he ever imagined just to get himself up to sitting, ready to wave down whoever it is - whatever fucking angel is on this road at what has to be 3 or 4 in the morning by now.

"Please," He whispers, dry lips scraping against each other. "Please, please don't run m'over... please..."

Headlights wash over the scene of the crash, fading everything to nearly black-and-white. Jake raises a hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly, as the blue-and-white Ford comes to an idling stop.

A door swings open with a creak and then slams shut again, boots crunching on the glass and debris on the road. Jake raises his eyes to see an old man in worn jeans and a grayish t-shirt staring down at him. "Well, I'll be damned," The man says, his voice low, a little rough around the edges. His hair's dark, but speckled with silver that's visible even in the night air. "You all right, son?"

Jake slowly looks back at his wrecked, ruined car, then back up at the man. "I'm pretty clearly not," He answers, then winces at his rudeness. "Sorry. I mean... no."

"That's all right. We all of us get a little more honest when we're bleeding from the skull. I'm gonna bet you aren't a natural brunette and I'm looking at a big old ton of blood there. What happened?"

"Guy ran the stop sign, hit me... drove off."

"Well, damn. What're you doin' up this way this late at night?"

"Would you... y'believe me if I said... star-gazin'?"

The man chuckles, but it's a low sound, and he moves closer. He pulls a heavy old cell phone out of his pocket - one of those goddamn flip phones that never dies or gets destroyed. It's like Captain Fucking America. Jake has to hold back a half-hysterical laugh.

"Hm, I might. It happens from time to time. Y'didn't come with a young lady, did you?" The man looks over the scene of the crash, searching for more people.

"No, no... just... jus'... I'm just here." He thinks of Chris, the open passenger door, the total lack of a vampire nearby. Is he hiding in the woods? If he's seen, or found out, he'll be hauled back off to be locked up somewhere, milked for venom for pharmaceutical drugs, treated like an animal. They can't admit he was here, he can't be seen. He must be hiding.

That's it.

Chris must just be hiding...

"Please, man, I-I can't find my phone to call for help-"

"I got you, son. I'll make the call. Likely your phone's just buried in the grass somewhere, we'll figure it out. You stay put right where you are, you don't want to move around and make any of it worse."

"Yes, sir." Jake stays where he is while the old man makes the call to 911, feeding him details when he asks, staring off into space when he doesn't.

They can pick Chris up when he and Nat come to get his stuff from the wreck tomorrow. They'll get him then. It'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

The old man hangs up and heads back to his truck, pulling out a battered old first aid kit. "You're lucky I believe in ghosts, you know."

"What? Why? Am I dead?" Jake looks down at his hands. They're scratched and bleeding, and he's pretty sure dead people don't bleed like that.

"No, son, no. But I wouldn't be out here if I didn't."

Jake blinks. "I... I don't follow."

"Well, had a little ghost show up at my bedroom window and refuse to shut up until I drove out here. Redheaded boy. Kept calling for a medic. Felt like I was back in the war for a minute before I realized it was him."

"Which... which war?"

The man fixes him with a stare as he crouches, old knees cracking as he does, in front of Jake. He opens the box and takes out some gauze and adhesive, antibiotic cream, something else Jake doesn't recognize. "You need medics in every kind of war there is, son. It doesn't matter which one. I've fought in two. But this boy called for a medic like he's seen the need for 'em before and didn't have time to save someone. Some kind of old ghost walkin' these roads saw you and made sure I knew."

Jake exhales, almost a laugh, and feels tears burn hot in his eyes. He realizes he's going to cry from sheer relief and exhaustion and pain, and he's not sure he can stop.

A ghost in the window means...

Chris left and ran for help.

"Thank you," he whispers, and he's not really talking to the old man at all.

-

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @astrobly @newandfiguringitout @pretty-face-breaker @endless-whump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump