#I feel like he’d play the clarinet or something

[mbav3rdseason]

Okay everyone, hear me out.

Billy in the school’s marching band 👀

[diazsdimples]

Inspiration Saturday!!

I did a bad thing and started a new fic, which will be known as the Musician AU. Basically, Eddie, Hen & Chim are all players in the L.A Philharmonic, Bobby is the conductor, and Buck joins them for one concert as a new hot shot cello soloist. Eddie immediately falls head over heels for the man and him and Buck fuck nasty in many many backstage rooms. This is gonna be a long snippet sorry, I'm scared it's too niche lmao

Tagged by @callmenewbie @wildlife4life @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998, thank you guys!

Eddie gets to his chair and takes a moment to fully appreciate that it’s his. He’s not played first horn for a while, let alone while being the principal, and he’s pretty hyped. He takes a moment to unpack his horn, slotting the slides carefully into place and pressing the valves up and down to make sure they don’t need any grease. He’s so focused on it that he doesn’t hear Hen sneaking up to his side, clarinet in hand, and almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks.

“So, have you seen our new soloist yet?” she asks, leaning casually against his music stand and Eddie lets out a startled yelp.

“Not yet” he responds once his heart rate has gone back to normal.

Hen picks at something in her teeth. “Apparently, he’s very good, Tracy and Jeff can’t stop talking about him. It’s getting on my nerves”.

“Makes sense that he’s good, you don’t solo with the L.A Phil if you’re shit” Eddie jokes and Hen sends him a flat look.

“You know what I mean” she responds dryly. “Was the youngest in his class at Juilliard and did a stint playing in New Zealand with the NZSO before moving back to New York and playing with the New York Phil”.

Eddie can’t help but be impressed; the New York Philharmonic isn’t easy to get into and from what he’s heard, the NZSO are no slouches either. “He must be alright then”.

“You talking about Wonder-Boy Buckley? More than alright from what I hear”. Chimney is slouching towards them, weaving his way through the chairs and music stands from where he usually sits as principal trumpet. “Cathy says he’s hot. You’d better not let him distract you, Eddie”.

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully at Chimney as he sets his music out on the stand. “I have excellent impulse control, thank you. Haven’t had a random hookup in almost a year, even though Joel’s been repeatedly trying to jump my bones”.

“He does that with everyone, don’t feel special” Chimney replies, and he pats Eddie on the back.

“Why do they call him Wonder-Boy Buckley by the way?” Eddie asks. “Buckley’s a weird name, isn’t it?”

“Buckley is his surname; his first name is Evan” Hen explains while Chimney blows into his trumpet to warm it up. “And he’s Wonder-Boy because he’s so young and hot”

Eddie scoffs at this. Wonder-Boy Buckley sounds like a bit of a prick, honestly.

“Ready for your big moment? First movement of the concerto has a pretty big horn solo, and Bobby is expecting big things from you”. Chimney is looking at him with big eyes and if Eddie didn’t know him better, he’d think the guy was actually concerned.

Eddie won’t lie, he is pretty nervous about it. The cello solo and the horn have a few moments in the piece where it’s just them playing and it’s damn high and fucking difficult. Eddie’s done it in concert before, but that was with a much more minor orchestra and not in front of an audience of 2000+ people. However, Chimney and Hen under no circumstances are allowed to know he’s nervous so he shrugs nonchalantly and says, “yeah, I’ve been practicing it loads and think I’ve got it all sorted. Unless the soloist is truly as hot as you say, I’m pretty sure nothing will throw me”.

It seems the gods are listening to Eddie and laughing at him, because at that very moment, an extremely attractive young man walks into the auditorium with a cello strapped to his back and all Eddie can think is fuck, he’s really fucking hot.

“Oh look, there he is” Chimney says, perking up and Hen’s eyes flit across the auditorium, coming to rest on the man and her jaw drops.

“Holy shit, he’s hot. And I like girls”

“How’s our resident dick-expert doing” Chimney nudges Eddie teasingly and Eddie’s currently making a conscious effort not to drool.

“Yeah he’s – uh – he’s not bad”.

Not bad? Eddie is convinced this is the hottest man he’s ever seen in his life. His muscles bulge as he swings the cello case off his back and sets it on the ground and he flicks his head up to talk to Bobby, his blond curls flouncing delightfully as he does so. Even from here, Eddie can see how his eyes are a piercing blue and he can’t help but notice the way they crinkle as he smiles at Bobby, flashing a set of perfect, white teeth. He’s got some sort of mark around his eyebrow, maybe a piercing? Eddie can’t quite tell from this distance but man, it’s got him feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hen and Chimney are sharing a knowing look and Eddie firmly ignores them, instead picking up his horn and beginning to blow some warm air into it. Terry, Amy, Sophie and Grant, his fellow horn players, have all turned up and are setting up, striking up idle conversation with one another as they wait for Bobby to give the order to tune up and start practicing. Hen pats Eddie on the back before returning to her chair and Chimney wiggles his eyebrows as he retreats, flicking his tongue around his mouthpiece suggestively.

(No pressure) tagging @theotherbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @fionaswhvre @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @fruitandbubbles @watchyourbuck @incorrect9-1-1 @knightlywonders @housewifebuck @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @disasterbuckdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @shitouttabuck @jeeyuns

[ghostradiodylan]

I'm on a four hour car drive, singing at the top of my lungs (terribly, I'm so congested right now, not gonna stop me though lol), and having quarry brainrot. Who among the counselors do you think can sing well and who do you think can play an instrument?

I looove this question and I have to admit I haven’t thought about it that much so this is gonna be kind of off the cuff, instinctive stuff and I’m sure I’ll refine my opinions if others chime in (please!).

It’s kind of weird we never get any campfire singalong action in the game when there’s a guitar in Chris’s bedroom and he mentions Kumbaya, but maybe they’re tired of that from camp by the time the plot line picks up.

Miles obviously is a musician and Dylan’s the music guy so I’d imagine he’s musically inclined in some way. I’ve seen headcanons that he plays guitar and I could see that but I lean more toward thinking he would have taken piano lessons when he was younger and moved on to keyboard and adding on techie stuff like the Mellotron and Moog synth. I think he loves dials and buttons and weird sounds and he can sing but he’d rather fuck around in the noise. Any instrument he plays is gonna get a bit sad if he loses his hand but maybe he’d get more into sampling and remixing and looping computer generated beats as a result.

I think it would be funny if Jacob had a surprisingly angelic singing voice that was completely uncoached and no one ever expected out of him, sort of like Finn from Glee (RIP) but less auto-tuned. I think he’d be an acoustic guitar guy for sure just for the romance of it. Anyway, here’s “Wonderwall.”

Actual footage of Jacob serenading Emma, feat Abi.

Kaitlyn does not strike me as particularly musical though I headcanon that she and Jacob slay karaoke together. She just kind of shouts into the mic like a 90s riot grrl and sings Alanis or Joan Jett and kills.

Abi is so high school marching band nerd coded to me and I feel like she’s a total flute/piccolo girlie or else clarinet/oboe. Or maybe she plays violin in the school orchestra. Something sweet. She’s good but too nervous to perform or audition in front of people very much so it’s just a hobby she shares with people she trusts.

Emma I think would have a perfectly nice mid range singing voice that she’d wish was better. She probably started her influencer career recording Taylor Swift covers for YouTube but she’s a much better actress and dancer than she is a singer. Not quite triple threat material but she believes in herself so she’s trying.

Ryan has such a unique voice that I can’t decide if he definitely can sing or if he’s practically tone deaf. I kind of lean toward the latter. I imagine he hates his singing voice and rarely sings even for fun but if Dylan catches him singing or humming he’s like smitten times one million about it. I could see Ryan playing drums though, I’d imagine he has a good sense of rhythm.

Max, on the other hand, cannot carry a tune but sings ALL THE TIME anyway. And Laura cringes but finds it endearing all the same. He probably plays the ukulele. He just seems like the type.

Laura was a choir kid for sure and probably got solos in school plays and Max was accompanying her on ukulele and playing unnamed roles or else he was painting backdrops or something. We know Siobahn can sing and I feel like that would carry through with Laura for sure. I imagine them doing elaborate musical routines together on car rides even with their vastly different musical abilities.

Nick reminds me of a bassist I know who is maybe the weirdest human being alive. So that’s where I see him. He can sing a little but it’s definitely a backing vocals voice. I feel like he’d be in a stoner jam band just fucking around, playing the same song for an hour while both the band and audience are too high to know the difference.

Chris Hackett obviously plays guitar and Travis accompanies him on harmonica. Bobby plays blowing air over the lip of a jug and also cowbell.

I LOVE THIS ASK EVERYONE TELL ME THOUGHTS!

[pepperonidk]

Same || l.jh

Pairing: Woozi x reader

Summary: Jihoon finally works himself up to say those three words… but all you can say is… same. (inspired by the song Same by Josie Dunne)

Warnings: food mentions

Word Count: 900

A/N: obsessed with this song and I couldn’t sleep… so here’s a fic from my notes app :)

masterlist

Jihoon resents the way his thoughts turn into a garbled mess right before his voice can find them. He loathes the way half of his words get lost on their way to find you. But most of all, Jihoon hates the way he can’t put three of the simplest words together — I+Love+You.

I can do this, he thinks to himself. He wants to go over it a few times in his head, to arrange the words in an orderly line, to guide them from his brain to his voice without losing a single one.

I love Coke Zero.

I love rainy nights.

I love playing the clarinet.

I… love… universal health care. NO. universal studios. NO. you…tube. YOU. I. LOVE. YOU.

three words, he reminds himself.

It isn’t until dinner one night, too cold to go out so pizza was the only viable option, that the words finally find themselves in the few inches that span the dining table between you. Jihoon watches them, like a cartoon bumblebee leaving the hive and landing on a soft flower and he feels the relief of a sigh follow right behind it.

“I love you,” he says.

“You love me?” you echo back, the bee returning to the hive.

“Y-yeah,” he stutters, not sure what to say next. “I do.”

“Oh,” you smile at him and now suddenly all the bees are going rampant. In his stomach. Aren’t you supposed to say it back, he thinks to himself. Why aren’t you saying it back? Did I do something wrong? Shit, have I—

“Same.” One word. You’re three words short, Jihoon thinks. The correct answer is ‘I love you too.’

“Same?” he asks instead.

“Yeah,” you replied with a wide grin. Despite his confusion, Jihoon feels his heart flutter at the sight. “Same.” This time, you drag the word out, letting it roll out of your mouth slowly like molasses. But Jihoon wants honey.

“But I said I love you,” Jihoon pouts, uncharacteristically of him he would argue. Nevertheless, it doesn’t affect the playful smile on your face as you reach for another slice of pizza.

“And I said ‘same,’” you retort. The innocence in your words is betrayed by the mischievous glint in your eyes, one that Jihoon was all too familiar with. Oh? Is this a challenge?

“Well, in that case,” Jihoon begins, his pout now replaced with a smug smirk, determined to get you to cave in. “I’ll repeat myself, since I’m not sure you heard me.”

He pauses briefly, long enough to see the longing in your eyes. Gotcha.

“I… love,” now it’s his turn to drag it out. “You…tube.” He watches your smile immediately flip into a pout. It’s almost enough to have him fall to his knees and immediately take it back, but Jihoon plays to win. He’d have all the time in the world to make it up to you this evening, but for now, he would play this little game for a little bit longer.

“Jihoon,” you whine. Okay, maybe he’d rather be making it up to you now. If anyone else knew how tightly you had him wound around your little finger, he would never hear the end of it. Although he loved to tease you, to pretend to be unbothered by anything, he would bend over backwards to do anything you asked.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Jihoon asks with feigned innocence.

“Just say it,” you reply with a huff.

Hook, line, and sinker. “Say what?” He returns sweetly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, which in turn he raised to his lips to pepper light teasing kisses against your knuckles.

“You know,” you begin, trying not to lose the silly game you had started. “What you said earlier.”

“Oh!” Jihoon remarked exaggeratedly. “I love YouTube?” He chuckles at the way you roll your eyes at him.

“No, before that,” you explain.

“Sorry, babe,” He shrugs, now lacing your fingers through his and leaning over the table to be closer to you. “You’re gonna have to refresh my memory.”

By now, Jihoon has you right where he wanted you and you were exactly where you wanted to be. So with a scoff and a tired smile, you give in, leaning in to meet Jihoon in the middle with a sweet kiss. “I love you,” you whisper.

“Oh do you?” Jihoon teases.

“Yes,” you can’t help but laugh as you pull away from him. “At least a little bit.” Now it’s Jihoon’s turn to pout as he stands from his chair. He turns away as if to walk out of the kitchen, but as soon as you call his name with a teasing laugh, you find yourself being pulled into his arms.

“Say it again,” he pouts against your hair.

“I love you,” you smile against his chest. You can feel him sigh in relief, and you can’t help but chuckle at the way it tickles your skin.

“I love you,” Jihoon echoes. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

In his mind, he can’t help but laugh at how nervous he was only minutes ago. As if he was keeping in a secret that only he had to keep. But now with the words out in the open he feels as though no three words could ever come to him easier than this. I love you.

taglist: @yksthings @2baddies1girl @alonelystarfish @coveyland @xuimhao @aikisbbq

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Light on the Darkside - Chapter Seventeen.

Huge thanks as ever to my little audience for your continued support of my story :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed.

Words - 3,551

Warnings - 18+ throughout. Topics cover depression, suicide and eating disorders. Minors DNI!

“They’re gonna think I’m shagging you in here, you know,” Steve spoke as 4am rolled around, listening to music playing quietly as he and Andrea lay side by side on his bed. 

She shrugged. “Hmm, the absence of sexy sounds might negate that.”  

“Oh, and I’d make you do all of ‘em. The entire fucking orchestra!” 

“Even the clarinet?” 

He threw his head back, laugh booming, that same laugh that had attracted her to him in the first place. “Especially the bloody clarinet!” 

She reached for him, stroking his face, marvelling at how lovely he was. On the inside of the slightly uncouth, very sexually free man lay a person of much greater depth, one whom she shared so many common interests with. God, it had hit her hard, just how much she liked him. It very much went the same for the man himself, too. 

“I meant it though, when I said I’d wait for you to be ready.” It was the tenth time he’d stated that emphatically in the last four hours. “I know I’m a man whore, I know. But with you, I wouldn’t be. Never fucking met a girl like you before, Ands.” 

Blushing, she hid her face behind her hand, laughing softly, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Nope, you ain’t doing that just for me. Not with the absolute flock of bloody women I saw checking you out tonight.” 

“I will, though. Just you see. You can’t have casual sex and nah, I don’t want it to be casual when you finally let me, so there you have it. Gone and got me attached to ya an’ all that.” He paused, leaning in close, nose touching hers. “Ya dickhead.” 

God, the sparkle of her laugh, Andrea poking him in the cheek with her fingernail before leaning to offer a soft kiss. Kissing was fine, just as long as that was all it was. Much to his surprise, he was fine with that, too.  

As he’d sat there talking to her, both becoming hugely excited that the things they were into were shared in passion by the other, his other rotation of women had flitted from his brain one by one. He should have been scared, that at twenty-two and after only knowing her for eleven hours, he was ready to hang up his very much single and ready to mingle status for her solely.  

He wasn’t, though. Not at all.  

Why? He’d found her.  

He didn’t tell her what he’d revealed to James and Ella either, that somehow he knew intrinsically that she was the girl he’d marry one day. He sensed he’d likely scare her off with such a rapid declaration, but he knew. He just knew, something deep within his soul was touched by the magic of hers, giving him a feeling of complete peace unlike any other girl he’d ever been with. And he hadn’t actually been with her yet in the physical sense.  

What was more? It wasn’t scary at all. He’d gone from twenty-two and unwilling to be tied down, to ‘yep, here she is. This one here. This is the girl’ in the space of an evening. He only felt sublimely peaceful about that, too. The fact he didn’t feel scared at all was what sealed it for him.  

“What are you grinning at?” she asked, her hand wandering to stroke the scruff where his short, dark beard flecked his neck. 

Looking down at her, he reached to rub the apple of her freckled cheek with his thumb, his smile widening even more. “You’ll see.” 

“Don’t you be getting any ideas!” 

He chuckled, resting his head down. “Furthest thing from my mind, honey.” And it honestly was. While they continued to cuddle and chat, things were certainly a lot less calm across the other side of the flat, James and Ella still enjoying themselves after a brief nap. 

The pace did not take on anything close to the raging desire that had bubbled up between them after that sleep, though, more a soft adagio, a slowly hummed symphony, James pausing to look down upon her, drinking in the moment, the soft blue of her eyes, his hands stroking her face and neck.  

The divine glide of his lips over her collarbones, those warm kisses tingling upon her skin had Ella feeling heady right from the start. Her hands toured his back, delighting in the play of such hard muscles, his own gliding down her sides as she arched against him, the prickle of his teeth at her nipple jolting her, lips sucking, tongue swirling.  

His mouth lowered, the press of his hands at her waist tightening, the circling of his tongue around her navel evoking a spread of heat to flush through her core. He lowered more, kisses sprinkled just above her pubic mound, gently biting where her neatly trimmed, blonde curls grew, growling, making her giggle. 

She anticipated his toying of her, her body jolting with need against each press of his lips. “Don’t you dare tease me.” She prodded his cheek, James biting her finger, sucking it into his mouth.  

He chuckled deeply. “I’m not.” That gravelly rumble, it made her heart skip several beats. “I’m enjoying you. Now, shut up and let me take my fucking time, innit.”   

Moving back up, he began leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses over her chest and down her sides, keenly watching her skin bounce, goosepimples summoned forth, the faintest of moans slipping from her parted lips. Just that alone had him waging battle against his own resolve, not to give in to the thirsty longing he harboured to wrap his mouth around her cunt and suck.    

He set his teeth against the rise of her hip, a sharp nip shocking her, the swirl of his tongue soothing, his lips gliding to her inner thigh. The scent of her was beyond comprehension to his burning senses, Eden stirred within him.   

He watched her while running his tongue up her thigh, the pleading in her eyes, the soft, lustful quakes of her heavenly body. Kissing his way back down again, he teased her slit with the quickest, briefest of licks, not even delving to the pink splendour within, mouth gliding up her other thigh.    

Heat trickled down her spine at the promise of where his mouth would settle, her pulse rapid, breathing escalated, his hands stroking her legs as his tongue toured the rise of her hip.  

“This is teasing, BFG.” 

He shrugged, moving his long curtain of hair until it splayed over his scratched up back, grinning smugly. “Be patient, little.” 

Pushing her legs further apart with a strong press of his hands, his mouth began to lower, not able to hold himself back. Each kiss from her hip to her pubic mound was placed slowly, agonisingly slow, little flicks of his tongue making her quiver, until he levelled with her sex and finally, took a long, languid lick.    

The noise she made caused his cock to throb, the softest of moans, kissing at her before his hands moved to spread her open, his tongue delving right in, the sensation knocking her sideways. He might have already had his mouth around the petals of her sex multiple times that night, but he was so damned good at it, it was like the first time every time.  

His tongue rolled a slow, firm circle around her bud, eyes opening, watching her as she viewed him, his lips wrapping to suck. The action had sparks crackling through her, the softest of exclamations leaving her mouth as her hips twitched. She felt like she was burning in water and drowning in fire, her head thudding back on the bed as her hands rooted into the silky midnight of his hair.  

His fingers held her spread, tongue circling at her opening, groaning at the taste of her silky arousal, dipping inside her, the heat of her core astounding to his senses. Another long drag from the flat of his tongue had her mewling, her back arching from the bed, heaven surging through her strongly.  

She keened against each lick, her muscles tensing as he began to focus in on her clit again, tongue swirling her little, potent bud, her moans escalating as glimmers shot through her, James chuckling gruffly as he witnessed her spiral. “Does that feel good, babe?”  

“I... oh... fuck!” she tremored. His sexual gifts lay very much with his mouth, as his girlfriend knew well by that point.  

He licked at her keenly, her clit swelling against the wet heat that drove cool fire throughout her, her body buzzing as her breaths escalated, his cheeks hollowing as she hissed out a moan.    

One hand gripped her thigh, the other moving to plunge two fingers inside of her, his response at the viscid clench a sharp bite at her inner thigh. Ella shook, her head spinning with the sheer eroticism of it, of him. His fingers curled and crooked, stroking her deftly, seeking her sweet spot and pressing hard when he found it, evoking a shrill cry.    

Those cries continued with every breath as he began to build her, the lightning bouncing beneath her skin as heat sizzled up her spine, her legs tensing. He worked his tongue against her faster, exorcising her release as she shook uncontrollably, her hands tugging at his hair. The heat of it snapped through her like a summer storm, tumbling through throbbing bliss as she came, left shaking in the wake of it.    

He took his time, returning his mouth to hers, trailing kisses all over her body, Ella still panting hard when his lips finally captured hers again, her hand gliding down his chest, the gentle drag of her fingernails making him shudder. When she closed her grasp around his cock, his chest tightened, groaning low, biting her nipple while she turned him onto his back. Moving astride him, she guided his cock to her, sinking down, her mouth dropping open.   

She was a little sex sore, but god, that did not mean she wanted to cease. He sat up beneath her, arms tightening around her as she slowly began to rock against him, hands flexing upon one another, tongues entwining when his lips returned to hers. 

She was spread wide around him, the aqueous clench of her cunt pulling him in, flexing softly, splitting her until she saw sparks. She hissed as he pushed up a little deeper into her, rutting her fully, moving his mouth to hers. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he whispered, one hand moving to stroke her cheek as their kisses deepened, both feeling as if they were riding the crest of a sun kissed, sparkling wave. 

His kisses were devouring, the stroking of his hands consuming, his hips rolling in perfect sync with hers, Ella feeling overcome by him, that moment, everything. How could a union so perfect exist? With him, it was beyond euphoria, gilded in nirvana, a rush of unstoppable glimmers.  

The rhythm, the roll, the heat of it, it bordered on almost intolerable. Her nipples were sucked on in turn, James moving to lay her on her back, driving into her hard, his hand clasping her jaw, turning her head to demand more kisses. He stole them from her lips thirstily, tongue swirling with hers, his groans barbarous, making her walls pulse around him, his cock dragging slowly.  

He held back the desire to pound her into the bed, to just enjoy the skitters of slow ebullience, but it slipped from him as he watched her, pulling her legs back against her chest. The sight of her cunt splayed, glistening and hot around the thick of him, those moans… how she had him fixated entirely, in just the way she softly moaned. Those sweet purrs were the catalyst to him speeding up each thrust, watching her mouth fall open, hand gently gripping her throat before feeding her his thumb, watching her suck it.    

“Fuck me harder, please.” she breathed, licking the tip of his thumb, her eyes a blaze of lust and everything that was sin-drenched beauty. Her words shot right to his hips, and he did as she demanded. He fucked her so hard, she screamed, the pleasure of it daggering, her insides crammed so full of his thick cock, every nerve ending alight with sizzling pleasure. 

“Fuck, you look so fucking pretty when you’re getting shagged ragged.” His eyes closed tightly as he felt a wave of utter bliss lap against his spine, rolling through him as he came deep within her, knocked sideways by the force of his orgasm, grinning as he leaned to kiss her.  

She couldn’t answer for wailing, James winking at her through a very satisfied smirk, loving how much she was thriving on it.  

The twitches of his cock took her there, sent her to the edges of euphoria, her nails dragging his chest, the rumble of his groan causing her insides to throb. He slowed a little, kissing her ankle, giving her long, more contained strokes, his thumb moving to begin rubbing pure sparks of pleasure at her clit, Ella completely lost to the rapture of his fuck.   

“James, you’re... still hard?” 

He looked down at his cock and then back at her with a wink. “It happens sometimes, I can come and keep going. Don’t complain, innit.” 

Complain? Oh, no. Never.  

After a few moments of slowness, power and speed drove him wildly once more, her soaking walls flexing around him, his thumb rubbing with more purpose as her flutters became harder on his cock. His eyes never left her as she came again, her body arching off the bed, consumed by a bonfire of pleasure. He slowed to allow her to recover, moving to begin kissing her neck, his hands running through her glossy, blonde tresses, the little quivers of her body against him scintillating beyond words.    

The pleasure kept prickling at her, biting, sharp, his cock daggering her a little quicker again, mouth moving to indulge upon her throat, his teeth leaving red crescents from soft bites, his groan deep. He arrowed her with all-in, all-out thrusts, a slight rotation of his hips making her soar through endless constellations as her still sensitive walls were split wide around him.    

“I think you need to get on your back,” she suggested, James’s eyebrow arching curiously.    

“Nah. I like having you pinned.” She had ammunition for such a notion.  

“Oh, don’t want to watch my tits bounce while I ride you into the bed then, no?” He knew he was being played, but he was willing to let her. Clutching her body to his, he turned over, Ella pushing herself up and sinking down further, the depth of him incredible.    

He expected her to be frenzied as she leaned down to kiss him, her hands touring his chest, squeezing his nipples, her mouth moving to his neck and pecs before she straightened again. Instead, she began by giving him deliciously teasing alternation, riding him rapidly one minute to slow right down the next, delighting in the thick head of his cock dragging her creamy heat slowly. How she fucked him was simply mind-melting, sparks crackling, making his heart thunder, his groans causing her insides pulse with desire.  

He rolled his hips up, rutting her deep, pulling her down to share heated, syrupy kisses as he trawled her cunt, her slick muscles twitching around him as he stroked her breasts, pinching her nipples into stiffened peaks. He’d never fail to feel proud of her, that he was part of the reason why she now loved her body and had confidence in it instead of hating something so beautiful.  

She rode him with a hard grind, her nails stroking his chest as he gripped her hips, loving the view of her atop him. A soft gasp spilled from her throat as he moved his hand, thumb at her clit again, groaning gutturally as she moved against him in the most sexual serpentine he could remember experiencing with a woman. Lord, she was good.    

They both began to climb the ladder leading to nirvana, ascending, glowing, moving determinedly as they chased their releases. Sweat gleamed their bodies, Ella’s voice breaking a howling cry as he propelled himself up into her faster, his fingers at her hip digging in hard as he felt himself towed headlong into bliss.  

He groaned wantonly as his cock twitched, his thumb frantic at her clit, wanting to take her with him into the realms of utter beauty. Nerve endings throbbed until it was upon them both, glimmering rays rising, his sunlight illuminating her horizon as she cried out uncontrollably. Each clench milked the release from his spasming cock, filling her with cum, his growl all gravel, eyes closed, breathless, swimming in ecstasy as she collapsed atop his chest.    

They were asleep within ten minutes, Ella waking up with a sizeable hangover at just gone half past ten the following morning, still on top of her boyfriend beneath the covers. The room was freezing, a very bleary James rubbing his face as he stirred, muttering something about tea as she pulled on fresh knickers and one of her big sweaters, leaning to kiss him.  

“I’ll be back with it in a minute.” 

“Nah, I’ll be with you in a sec. Gonna need a fat joint to smoke. Head is fucking ruined. Ugh. I ain’t getting drunk again.” She could believe he likely meant it, too. It was no mere idle threat from the size of his hangover.  

Leaving the bedroom, she clicked the boiler into life, the November cold very much felt in the flat when the heating went off. Filling the kettle, she looked over to the sofa to see Snedders beneath blankets, his soft snores filling the space, coming round the side of where the counter ended to check on her sleeping guest. 

The airbed was vacant of Andrea.  

Bolting back to the bedroom, she pointed through the doorway, eyes wide as a naked James was pulling himself into his jeans. “We have a situation! A big time situation of the Andrea not being on the airbed type!” 

He closed his eyes with a small groan, his laugh rumbling. “He’s a bad lad.”  

“He’s a fucking man whore!” she cried, moving from the room again just as Steve’s bedroom door opened, the man himself walking out casually, still in last night’s clothes.  

“Alright, Ells,” he chirped, taking two mugs and beginning to decant coffee and sugar into them. “Surprised you can stand up with the fucking nailing Jim was giving you through the small hours.” 

“Innit,” her boyfriend smirked, heaving himself up to sit on counter. 

“Less of my sex life! You’ve been in there with my friend all night!” she charged him with, pointing at him sternly. 

“Yeah, I have. Proper fucking knackered, too.” 

“Steve!” she growled, smacking him between the shoulder blades. 

“Oi, calm it, Greenhall! Ain’t what you’re imagining. We stayed up talking, just talking, until about eight. She’s quality, your mate.” Folding his arms, he then arched an eyebrow. “That’s all we did, ask her yourself.”  

“He isn’t lying, Ella,” Andrea called. “He was the perfect gentleman. Well, as much as he’s capable of being."  

James’s face was a picture of confused. “You’ve had a woman in there all night and you didn’t shag her brains out?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Steve?” 

He laughed, pouring water into the mugs, adding milk to Andrea’s and giving them a quick stir. “See you two later.” With that chirp delivered, he made his way back into his bedroom, something Andrea muttered making him guffaw with laughter. Ella and James could only share perplexed looks.  

“But he's... and she... and...” she stated, gesturing with her hand at Steve’s now closed again bedroom door. 

“I think we’re still asleep, babe, because nah. Ain’t no way he wasn’t bouncing her on his dick for half the fucking night. That’s top grade suspicious behaviour, innit?” James spoke, rubbing a heavily ringed hand down his face with a slight groan. “We got any paracetamol? Fucking need some. My head hurts. Total bullshit, this hangover crap.” 

She was mid-way back from fetching the pack from the bathroom when the phone began to ring, racing to grab it so it didn’t wake Snedders from his slumber. 

“Hello?” 

“Ella, it’s Carole. Is my son there?” 

Her stomach dropped instantly, walking with the cordless phone and handing it over to James. “It’s your mum.” 

Taking it from her, he had two simple words. “Fuck off.” Clicking the button, he placed it down, shaking his head. “She needs to understand I’m done with her shit.” 

Ella could hardly blame him for that, returning the phone to the base unit, seeing it begin to ring again. “If it ends in two one two eight, it’s her again.” James called to her, Ella checking the display to see that it did, cancelling the call.  

Carole tried another four times that day, being hung up on every single time. Those calls continued to persist over the next week, every time the same. From James’s standpoint, he was truly done with her nonsense. His mother, though, was nothing but a very adamant woman. 

[streettealee]

Jem Carstairs & Yin fen

TW: discussions of chronic illness, prescription drugs, and pain

So, you can laugh at me, but I have this box beside my bed. It’s... maybe the size of a tissue box? Slightly thinner, a smidge taller, at least compared to the tissue boxes I’m used to. Anyway, it holds this medication I have to take nightly (I have others to take during the day as well, but they’re stored elsewhere). Basically, the box holds several sachets full of granules - they’re tiny, mostly white looking, at least until they’re mixed with water because then I think they look slightly on the pinker side of white. Sitting here, turning to reach for my box on my bedside table full of sand-like stuff that I have to take in order to, basically, function day-to-day, I realised it reminded me of Jem Carstairs. Obviously, his drug is more harmful than any good, and he can’t live without it whereas I could - with a lot of struggle, but I could, and it’s non-addictive. 

This is part of something that always touched my heart about Jem though. TSC is not... I’m not going to say it’s the greatest source of representation for everything, because it’s really not, but I will say that learning about him when I was 16 and reading The Infernal Devices was really comforting. When you’ve been dealing with chronic illness since about the age of 10, you carry that weight with you. You feel it some days more than others. You wonder what it’s like to be normal. To be able to go about your day not needing to worry about the time you take your meds, the pain keeping you from regular activities, the way certain meds and the nature of your condition triggers other long-term problems that you also need to keep on top of with yet more meds.

It was cruel, but I used to get a lot of jokes about how, if I were a racehorse, I’d be put down (racehorsing was kind of a Thing where I used to live and there’d be all sorts of discourse going on about it, just as an aside). And we know of several times in TID where Jem was dying and some thought that Tessa and Will should not waste their time being bound to him (also, obviously, cruel). 

I get where Jem was coming from, funnily enough, when he says he’d rather burn brightly for those he loves for a shorter amount of time than live a half-life. When I’m in a bad health period, I do become reduced to a half-life if I don’t have medication. I have spent the entirety of my teenage years - allegedly important and life impactful years - struggling to live a full life like many others my age. I used to be the protective older sister, the shield for all my siblings. I was fiery, stubborn, argumentative, and kind of aggressively loyal even to those who did not always deserve it. But after the accident that allowed for my condition to evolve, I was weak. Not just in body but also mind, eventually. I was tired all the time. Couldn’t sleep either because of the pain or the pain meds that kept me up. Pain was like a second thing, a second being, inhabiting my body and pulsing and taking up space and reducing my ability to exist in a moment beyond it. On my better days, it’s more like a heavy weight on my shoulders that tires me out but isn’t necessarily keeping me armchair-bound. Nevertheless, I stopped being able to do everything by myself for a time, to take care of myself and others around me. Suddenly, they needed to take care of me. Help me change shirts, do my hair, carry things, and even write sometimes.

I couldn’t participate in sports. I turned to music. Clarinet was not easy because of the nature of my problem being focused primarily (at the time) in my shoulder and arm, but it gave me something. It was a little lonely, because no one else played the music I did (music classes were always full of pop and I was learning things like the national anthem, Waltzing Matilda, and some classics). Sure, I got transposed music that occasionally allowed me to play things like Imagine Dragons (did you ever think Believer could be played on clarinet? I committed to it). Hallelujah was a dear favourite, and a rare song I felt I could play with deep emotion. I learned an instrument and nearly played in an orchestra (on bass clarinet, admittedly, because they were a person short and I was able to adjust to the instrument more easily on short notice), until The Pandemic. These days? I can only really play the national anthem and simpler pieces. It’s been so long since I’ve properly and consistently practiced. Anyway, we got slightly off-topic.

Music felt like the one thing I could do most days (sometimes the pain got bad enough that I couldn’t practice as often in a week as I wanted). That, and reading and watching movies. I didn’t have the brain space while in pain to do well in school for a while. I couldn’t concentrate in classes. I still can never get out of my head a time when a guy I genuinely had a major crush on (for years) asked me to dance and I had to decline because I was in too much pain to trust myself to do it well or comfortably. So, a lot of time was spent just listening to people idly and not taking much in, as well as reading from screens on the days that books hurt too much to hold (you’d be surprised how much that affects my arm and shoulder), and watching far too many movies and shows. I developed a lot of different interests than the people around me. When I sketched, I drew attention (sorry, pun was unintended but I’ll leave it there), but outside of that? It was a struggle to keep up with them. I felt like I was missing out all the time. On life. 

Jem Carstairs felt like someone had looked at my quiet, pain-tensed body and peered through to the tired, raging spirit still underneath that couldn’t get out for the longest time, and said, “You are not alone with this. Here is a young man who plays the violin and suffers day in and day out.” Some people would look at him and treat him as if he were already dead. In my lifetime, I’ve been treated like I’m not even there, just faded into the furniture, gone. Not a lot of people want to be friends with the depressed chronically ill kid who struggles with a pain from an ailment they can’t even see. That’s why I always loved the Tessas and Wills of my life, the others that didn’t treat me any less because I could not live the way they did. And I love Jem for finally being someone in fiction I can relate to.

Sometimes, it’s not about which character has the closest personality and similarities to me. Sometimes it’s just one character who has just one key thing that connects deeply with an experience of ours that isn’t common which gives us comfort. For me, that’s Jem Carstairs and his yin fen box. My meds often make me feel ill but let me function better than I would otherwise. I have some in a box on my bedside table. And I have people who understand my limits, but do not act as if I cannot be human. It’s really nice to see that part of me reflected. 

[wooismyuniverse]

his muse ch. 2

pairing: collegeau!lee jihoon x reader

genre: slice of life, fluff, strangers to best friends to lovers

word count: 2k

after settling in music classes for about a month, it’s safe to say that this major is something not everyone can commit to. (y/n) is struggling just to find a nap or break time to get through her day.

luckily, she had her friends that would brighten up those days. it became an everyday routine for her to sit at the lunch table with jihoon, seungkwan, and some of the other non-music majors. she had almost every classes with jihoon and seungkwan and they were sitting together like glue. sometimes, the teachers would have to make group projects just to split up the cliques in class.

throughout this time, she was still getting to know her shy friend. she’s determined to crack the shell from him, and she could tell that he’s slowly opening up to her.

seungkwan had to rush out of the lunch break today. he said something about a rehearsal for his upcoming performance. it was just (y/n) and jihoon at their usual lunch table together.

“so, what made you want to choose composition?” (y/n) asked. jihoon thought about it as he was eating his sandwich. he has been doing it his whole life, it’s almost like his passion.

he grew up playing clarinet, but with his small figure, he felt that he reached his limit in it. so he transitioned to singing and fell in love with it too, which is why he chose vocal for his primary instrument. he self-taught himself piano along the way to sing with his chords, which made it his secondary instrument.

“there was one day where i was visiting wonwoo’s apartment. i needed to use his macbook, and was curious to see a music-making app. ever since then, i was hooked.” he smiles at the thought of when he first found out about that app. if he didn’t make that decision, he wouldn’t know what he’d be doing instead.

“wow, you must really be thankful for wonwoo for accidentally creating your passion.” she chuckles. jihoon chuckles with her as he feels his ears turning red.

“what about you? why did you pursue in music performance?” he asks her.

she hums, looking ahead as she started to think.

“ambitious, isn’t it? i could have done something more productive with music, like education or therapy to make some sort of money. but performing… it’s like my entire life. i just love playing music in front of people. the nervousness before i start to play— i love that each day, i’m constantly learning something new about music.”

as she was telling her story to jihoon, he couldn’t help but be entranced in her bright smile. her eyes are sparkling and her tone oozes with passion. he couldn’t help but admire that about her. he feels like he found someone who is just as passionate as him. it’s touching in a way to find someone who empathizes with him. his lips instinctively start to curl up while listening to her.

she noticed that he was staring at her and sheepishly stops. “sorry. i’m rambling, aren’t i?”

“no, no. keep going! i love listening to your stories.” he shakes his head. she smiles at him for the nth time before continuing. because of how engaging their conversation was, they turned their lunch break into skipping guitar class together. they could use a break, anyway.

months go by, and (y/n) would always pick up jihoon from his apartment and they would go to classes together. they admittedly call each other best friends now. despite their differences in personalities (bright vs. shy), they stick together like glue.

if jihoon had a problem with his composition, (y/n) would help him all night trying to figure it out with him. if (y/n) struggled to interpret a certain section of her piece she’s playing, jihoon would help her in the same way. when focusing in music, they work together in harmony. this didn’t go unnoticed by everyone else, though. particularly her roommates have been nosy.

“so,” jeonghan starts as (y/n) is sprawled on their shared couch. she’s flipping through the tv channels like there’s no tomorrow. “you and jihoon, huh?”

she raises an eyebrow at him, finally finding the channel she wanted. “what about us?”

“i’m just saying. you two have been super close ever since that bowling night,” jeonghan’s eyebrows wiggle at her teasingly. she stares at him back, unamused.

“yeah? i mean, we’re like in the same classes everyday. he’s a really nice guy.”

“he’s just nice, and nothing more?” joshua perks up from his eavesdropping. he walked out of his room to go to the kitchen. (y/n) groans in annoyance at her roommates.

“you too? guys, we’re really just friends!”

“it took us months for him to open up to us like that.”

“yeah, and he got close with you really quickly,” joshua opens the fridge. “if anything, we think he has the hots for you.” (y/n) shakes her head in denial.

“there’s no way. he wouldn’t like me like that..”

“why not?” jeonghan furrows his eyebrows. “you’re objectively smart, hard-working, and pretty. what more does a man need?”

“gee, coming from you, it sounds kind of offensive to me.” (y/n) deadpans, to which joshua starts cackling.

“you’re not exactly denying it either. i’d give it a shot with him. he hasn’t dated in years, and neither have you.”

that statement left (y/n) in her own zone for weeks. so what if he does like her? she’s too busy with school to even think about a relationship anyways. just thinking about it made her head hurt and she decides to sleep it off.

usually after music theory classes, it was coffee break time. jihoon and (y/n) had a head start to go to the famous campus cafe, light a flame. the cafe is known for handsome workers and the manager, chwe hansol. to be fair, they already are friends with him and don’t bat an eye towards the fangirls who would visit everyday just to see the workers.

“hey, ya’ll,” hansol greets them as he was cleaning one of his mugs. “you both look extra tired today. the usual?”

“yep,” (y/n) says, emphasizing the “p” sound with her lips. “busy today?”

hansol shrugs. “a little bit. since it’s almost finals week, i’d assume it’ll get worse soon.”

“don’t even bring that up,” jihoon groans, causing hansol to chuckle. (y/n) sheepishly grins at him.

“exactly why we’re here today, too. practice has been killing us.”

“put an extra shot in my drink, will ya?” jihoon could barely open his eyes as he asks, to which hansol shrugs off and does what is requested.

they paid for their drinks and hansol made it for them quickly, and they sat down in one of the booths. shortly after, seungkwan arrives to the cafe.

“your favorite boo is here!” he sits down across from (y/n) and jihoon with his iced americano.

“boo, it’s the morning. you’re excited for two reasons,” she crosses her arms over the table. “one, you just had the best rehearsal today.”

“or two, this is your second iced americano of the day,” jihoon finishes for (y/n).

“is it much if i say both?” seungkwan’s eyes widened at how exactly they could match how he’s feeling today. this caused all three of us to laugh down the halls of the cade. it took a second for seungkwan to see how baggy their eyes were today.

“speak for yourself, you both look awful- no offense.”

she shrugs. “none taken. barely could sleep because i was practicing for my recital. you’re coming, right?” she eyes him as he nervously laughs.

“right.. when was it again?”

“boo.” (y/n) glares at him.

“okay! i was joking! yes, i’m definitely going,” he made sure to confirm the date before putting it in his calendar. “are you accompanying for her, ji?”

“of course i am,” jihoon takes a sip of his coffee and sighs. “you should come to my solo recital too. it’s recital season already.”

“yeah.. the time when all hell breaks loose in the music building,” seungkwan chuckles.

as the time passed, more people started to fill up the table. some of the non major friends have time to come during our gap and would come as well. seokmin and soonyoung came ten minutes later and decided to chat.

“well if it isn’t the music majors!” seokmin shouts and sits down next to seungkwan. soonyoung squeezes into their row as well. “how are things going for finals?”

“awful,” jihoon deadpans. (y/n) chuckles at seokmin who starts to pout at jihoon’s straightforward answer.

“what about you? any big theatre acts or musicals coming up soon?” she asks seokmin. he immediately brightens up at the question.

“of course! we’re going to perform hamilton in two weeks!” seokmin gives them a thumbs up. “you all should come, i’m playing burr’s part so it’s going to be crazy!”

the others congratulate him for his big part on the musical. seungkwan puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes it for support.

“minghao and i are also doing a dance duet real soon too!” soonyoung took this opportunity to promote his events as well. being able to meet up with the svt crew felt really nice is what (y/n) came to a conclusion to. they get to have their time to shine and promote the events that they’re working on. she could tell that everyone is ridiculously working hard on them, so watching is the least she could do for them.

as everyone finishes drinking their coffees, they start to bid each other farewells.

finals week was not going so hot for jihoon. he already is sleep deprived from the late night producing, and on top of that, he needs to study for his classes. he slowly feels his health deteriorating as the days go on, and he just wishes that the week would be over.

(y/n) could sense how tired he really is when he kept messing up on their rehearsal together. her recital is also in a couple of days, but the rehearsal wasn’t going as well as they hoped for.

“shit, i’m sorry,” jihoon curses after playing the rhythm wrong on the piano. “i’m letting you down, aren’t i?”

“not at all,” she stares at him, concerned. “let’s take a break, i think we need it.” to which he hesitantly nods. she put her violin back in her case before sitting next to him in front of the piano. they were silent for a few minutes before she speaks up first.

“are you okay?” it’s a simple question, but something that jihoon hasn’t been asking himself lately. he realizes this as he roughly sighs in frustration and stretches.

“honestly.. no. it’s bad enough that i have to cram for classes, but if i can’t even accompany you for your recital, i just feel useless.” she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“jihoon… we all feel this way. it’s inevitable,” she smiles sadly to him. “music.. it’s beautiful but it’s also time consuming. if we can’t put in the effort now, then we won’t be able to persevere in the future. i know it’s hard now, but we just need to push through these weeks. i promise that it’ll get better.”

he stares at the piano keys as he listens to her. he silently nods, processing her words. he knows that she’s right. she’s always right. at the end of the day, nothing will matter if there is no effort made.

“that being said, don’t push yourself too hard either. i’ve had burnouts before, and i never want that to happen to you. that in itself will kill our purpose in why we’re doing this today.” she says. he couldn’t help but look back at her again. everything she says, it’s almost addicting to him. these words of wisdom, filled with empathy and experience, is what has been picking him back up to place.

“i know how hard-working you are. and i’ll always be there for you. tell you what, when we get through this week, i’ll treat you out to dinner! how does that sound?” she gives his shoulder a squeeze. he smiles for the first time at her today. a lovely sight for (y/n) to see, to which she widely grins back.

“that sounds perfect.”

they finished off that rehearsal within twenty minutes with no regrets.

pt. 1 | pt. 3 |

a/n: slice of life is harder than i thought, honestly! if there are any scenarios that you would love with jihoon in this au, please let me know! i am open for ideas~

[jelly-fish-wishes]

So I had the idea of a Mario and Luigi game called Musical Mayhem. Where they’re sought out to help a Music Kingdom who’s never needed a leader, beat a bad guy who’s taken over the place. But things work differently there and their usual skills won’t do the job alone. They need to learn to fight fire with fire, aka music. There are different parts to the kingdom based off different types of instruments and the bros have got to master each one.

For strings Mario gets a guitar, and our boy Luigi I’m thinking gets a violin. For percussion maybe a snare drum for Mario and a tambourine for Luigi. For winds, saxophone for Mario (it only feels natural) and clarinet for Luigi. Finally for synth, electric guitar for Mario and Keytar for Luigi.

Thoughts? I mean which of the instruments I’ve selected work for Lou the most? I think he’d look cute playing anyone of them. But you?

Bro bro BRO the musical nerd in me is gonna go INSANE FOR THIS

STRINGS

Mario - Bass Cello (i see him as a jazzy fella)

Luigi - Ukulele (soft and cute)

Winds

Mario - Flute (Consider how much flute you hear in almost all of the Mario games, or something like it)

Luigi - Clarinet (I FREAKING AGREE. Luigi's Mansion has clarinets all over the place for him, same with the film during his flashback moment. It just fits him too perfectly)

Percussion

Mario - Steel Drum (enough said)

Luigi - Vibraphone (it also pairs with a clarinet nicely. Also....Dimentio lol)

Misc. Instruments

Mario - Saxophone, acoustic guitar, accordion, maracas

Luigi - hand pan, kalimba, lyre, dulcimer, toy piano

Mario is kinda hard for me, but LUIGI, OH MAN, the entire woodwind ensemble fits him tbh

[depressedhatakekakashi]

Hmmm… what about a band/orchestra type au? (Im currently traveling down memory lane and I miss being in marching band…)

I can see Gai doing color guard (flags) because it’s different and fun. And even though he’s a guy and gets made fun of for it, he’s really good at it and becomes the Color Guard Captain. (Since he’s a taijutsu master, I feel like he knows how to move his body, but the finer points of playing an instrument and walking might be lost on him.)

Asuma plays the saxophone. It’s not a trumpet, but can be 100% as annoying and obnoxious. Is told multiple times to stop improvising and play what’s written.

Yamato normally plays the oboe, but when marching, he’s on the drum line. Probably playing bells.

Itachi plays the clarinet. He was the first one in his class to not squeak.

Ebisu might be a trumpet player. They’re obnoxious (I can say that because my brother was one 😉).

Anko probably plays the Tuba. For the shock value.

Shizune I can see on snare drum.

I’m not sure what to put Kakashi and Kurenai. Instruments I’m missing: Flute, Trombone (best instrument, don’t @me), bass drum, cymbals, baritone, drum major, conductor.

Oh i love this. As an ex-band geek i fully support going down memory lane! Even if you do insult me by giving my instrument to Itachi 🥲🥲🥲

Anyways

Gai getting to be the showy one who moves around a lot and has a blast with the music seems perfect for him. He’d really enjoy the chance to move around and play with the flag and screw all of the haters they mean nothing to him

As someone who is married to a sax player, ya… ya Asuma is unfortunately the right call here 😭😭😭

Yamato switches it up depending on who’s leading. There’s three conductors. The teacher/band leader (Danzo), the Principle sometimes swoops in to do it (Tsunade) and sometimes Kakashi takes over the job because he does like learning and Tsunade wants him to take over so it’s a student lead thing. If it’s Danzo he plays the Oboe. Simple, eligant and Danzo’s an arse who demands certain people play certain instruments. If it’s Tsunade he plays the triangle. Doesn’t stand out, supports the rest of the band without doing a whole lot, but is very much there. If Kakashi’s leading Yamato gets the bass drum because that’s what he loves and is really good at (did i make a name connection, yes leave me alone XD)

Perfection got Ebisu XD

Anko WOULD. She wants to make a show of herself and be controversial and this certainly works for her (danzo hates it)

Kurenai i think would make a great person for cymbals. The cymbal’s can be something that really calls out to listeners and catches their attention and really wakes them up and surprises them. She loves it

Kakashi is a flute player and conductor in training (he’s actually already very good at it Danzo just refuses to step down). He has been playing flute since he was little and picked up his mother’s old flute and decided to try it out. Seeing how determined his son was, Sakumo decides to get him lessons. By the time he joins the band he’s top tier and Danzo wishes he could convince Kakashi to go pro but it’s simply not something Kakashi is interested in and Danzo HATES it

[7arami]

Over the Gotham Wall

Over the Garden Wall x DC

Lowkey surprised there isn’t any OtGW x DC content, or at least i haven’t been able to find it. Anywayssssss...

Okay so I’ve been thinking of Wirt, Greg, and Jason Funderburker (the frog of course) ending up on the shore of Gotham rather than back at their home town. Now Wirt and Greg are doing their best to navigate threw a much different but just as crazy environment. 

To make things more interesting what if at the last minute the beast transfers his essence from the lantern into Wirt. It’d be hard if Wirt had to deal with those giant wooden antlers that Beast!Wirt is usually depicted with in Gotham. So I’m thinking that Wirt’s beast side will flare up in times of extreme emotion. For example, Wirt, Greg, and Kitty are wondering around Gotham city, still soaked after fishing themselves out the harbor. They try to take a quick rest and try to make sense of everything. But, of course, because this is Gotham someone tries to mug them. This cause Wirt to panic, and leads to his beast side flaring up. Before Wirt even realizes his eyes are beginning to glow a vibrant blue, yellow, and red, an intricate formation of copper antlers sprout from his head, and Edelwood roots sprout from the ground capturing the mugger in a solid wooden cage. Wirt, absolutely terrified over what just happened, takes Greg and Greg Jr. and books it out of there. As he runs out of the alley he notices his antlers begin to wilt away and his eyes start to dim. That doesn’t stop him from running. The whole time Greg, perfect and wonderful Greg, is absolutely amazed over what he just witnessed. Wirt finally stops collapsing on the ground gasping for air after running full speed for quite awhile. The group find themselves in a park, luckily no one is around so they decide to settle there for now.

Basically I’m thinking of a very protective Beast!Wirt and the perfect angle Greg trying to find their way home while Gotham city and her inhabitants just make that as difficult as possible.

Now for a little extra sprinkle of drama maybe the bats begin to notice random bursts of an unknown wood that leaks of oil and reeks of magic.

Also I’m just thinking about Wirt getting depressed and going all old poet, and as he paces around roots of edelwood begin to sprout from the ground. Or one of the bats confront him (could be under the mask or as a civilian) and Wirt being the anxious worm he is begins to panic. This causes Wirt’s eyes to flare up again creating more suspicion.

I also think it would be cool if Wirt tries to call home only for the number to not exist or for it to be transferred to some random person, or maybe when he checks a map he notices that Gotham resides in the same place there town is suppose to be. They can’t even find their town on the map at all.

I have more ideas for this, hopefully I’ll add on to it later on.

Edit: okay so i just thought of this: what if because the beast transfered his essence into Wirt, Wirt now begins to here the beast's voice. And like the beast could reside within Wirts shadow. He could be whispering over Wirt's shoulder egging him on. And only Wirt is aware of his presence, or maybe Greg can also see him, whichever ends up being more fun.

Oh just thought of something else, I could totally see the gang taking advantage of Dr. Cucumber’s alluring pipes and becoming street performers to make some money. I feel it would be more Greg and Dr. Cucumber and Wirt is just observing, I mainly say that because he is a clarinetist and he doesn’t have a clarinet to play. Anyways I think it would be funny if somehow Damian came across and just became absolutely enraptured by Dr. Cucumber. Even becoming jealous of Greg and his pet frog. I think this could lead to some funny interactions between the gang and Damian.

Damian: Is this your frog?

Greg: Yup! His name is Dr. Cucumber! Greatest singer to croak and if he had fingernails he’d be rocking at the guitar! Traveled across the unknown and blessed the ears of many animals! He’s a star!       ｡*ﾟ✲*☆(๑òᆺó๑)｡*ﾟ✲*☆       

Damian: Uh yes, your frog is indeed quite talented. How much for him?

Greg: How dare you sir! Dr. Cucumber can not be bought he is a free soul!       ಠ_ಠ

Damian: I’ll give you $500, that’s more than plenty for a common frog.

Wirt: Woah wai-

Greg: How dare you, Dr. Cucumber is not a common frog! He is one of a kind!

Damian *growing increasingly frustrated* : Seriously, it’s just a frog. Fine! I’ll give you a thousand dollars.

Greg: He is not just a frog! Take your blood money elsewhere!

Damian: Blood money?!

Wirt: Okay look he really cares about this frog, I don’t think you’ll be able to separate them, sorry kid!

Damian *now extremely salty* : Don’t call me kid! I could incapacitate you in under 5 seconds if I wanted to!

Wirt: Oh no! Devil child! C’mon Greg we’re leaving.

This could lead to Damian becoming much more aware of the gangs presence during patrol and gaining suspicion of their weird habits.

I could totally see Damian pulling a Veruca Salt and telling daddy bruce he wants a frog, but not just any frog, that frog.

[nickeverdeen]

Hi! I was wondering if you’re still doing matchups? If you are, then I hope you don’t mind doing mine! I’m hoping for one for Harry Potter with male characters. My pronouns are she/her.

Appearance wise, I’m a short left-handed girl, standing at 4’11 3/4 or 152 cm. I have dyed Camilla rose (closest color name I could find on Google lol) hair and dark brown eyes. I’m a Sun Capricorn, Moon Virgo, and Rising Leo with a personality of an ISFP. I am straight (leaning towards greyaromatic), but according to every single one of my friends who thought (some are still convinced) that I’m a lesbian that I give off very gay vibes. No matter how loud I get, I’m 100% an introvert. I don’t mind silence, I love it at times, which sometimes creates first impressions of me as a nice, polite, and quiet girl, so when they see me being mean to my friends, they get so surprised.

My entire humor consists of the classical “Your Mom” jokes, exposing my friends, bullying, and lying/gaslighting. I also love exerting my right to say ‘no’ since a lot of people don’t like saying it and I love gaslighting the hell of my friends. Although, I do lie about some things because I don’t want to be seen as weak or ignorant or easily exploitable, which leads to me acting like a know-it-all at times.

Despite that, I have a blunt personality which also stems from saying no a lot. My friends describe it as the humbling kind. l tend to be more blunt for emotional things, like calling them out if they went too far on someone else, but if any of those things were directed at me, I tend to be silent. I don’t like talking about myself a lot to my friends and even my parents. I’m about blunt with talking about vulgar things, sometimes sexual stuff but only if my friends bring it up first, and it doesn’t help that I curse a lot. I also love being a bad influence, trying to convince my friends to do stupid things with me. Generally I don’t stress which is weird to both me and my friends. A very important test could be happening in the next hour and I’d be out here making jokes and playing around while my friends are stressing out of their mind.

Hobbies! I play the piano, violin, guitar, clarinet, and just recently the kalimba! Despite all of this, I’m planning on dropping my music lessons in a few months. I’ll be sad to drop especially the piano which I’ve been playing for over 10 years now, but I was never that passionate for music as it was something I forced to keep going by my parents. The other instruments, I’ve picked up within the last 3-5 years. Music’s always been and will be my friend, but it’ll just be on the back burner for now. I’ve gotten new hobbies instead, like drawing and writing!

I see

Your Harry Potter match is…

Ronald Weasley

First of all: height jokes

When Ron’s feeling really playful, he’d rest his arm on your head teasingly

As soon as you got mean to your friends, Ron was really suprised thinking they maybe did something?

After a while he realized it

He doesn’t care that you give off gay vibes, he loves the whole of you

At first he wasn’t really into the all “your mom” joke thing

After a while he’d definetly warm up and start using it too

Maybe way too much

Ron mainly likes the fact that you can stand up for yourself and say “no”

At first he thought you were like Hermione in the first year: know-it-all

It didn’t take him long to realize thag the “know-it-all” thing is not the real whole you

Does his best to comfort you if you’re feeling stressed

Even though you don’t like to talk about yourself, he’d definetly brag about you and show how amazing you are off to Harry, Hermione and definetly his family

Ron is a trouble-maker, so if you ever wanna do something stupid, count him in

When you’re in public he likes to hold your hand

If Ron gets jealous he’d probably put his arm on your lower back

Even though it seems to him kinda weird that you don’t stress, he’s glad that you don’t

Ron prefers if you wouldn’t stress at all instead of stressing all the time

Asking each other for help with homework

He’d mostly ask you

Playing piano? He’d ask you to teach him how to play

He’d try his best, but still fail

Mad at your parents for forcing you to do something you don’t wanna

Ron is amazed by how many instruments you play

He’d like to see your drawing if you’d let him, sometimes

Molly loves you!

If you’re ever meeting up with his family they will probably tell you about all the stupid and embarrassing things Ron did when he was a kid

No matter what, Ron us really supportive and caring

Does some silly magic to cheer you up if you’re ever feeling down

Cheek kisses

————————————————————

[feralwritings]

three's company

part one

word count: 2k

masterpost | part two

“Hey kiddo,” she said as Dustin approached, sliding off the hood of her car, “Steve had to work late. You’re stuck with me.” 

She took in the elation on his face, his jittery energy, “Good game, I take it?”

“It was amazing!” Dustin exclaimed, launching into a thorough explanation of the latest Hellfire Club meeting, and how, against all odds, with their backs against the wall, they’d managed to scrape a win against the big bad that they’d been building towards the entire campaign. 

“And then Erica rolled a nat 20, and so we beat Vecna’s ass- I mean, we buried that motherfu-“

“Jesus, Dustin,” said an approaching voice. She hadn’t realized how long Dustin had been regaling her with the night's events, but by now, most of the cars were gone and there was a stillness to the air as the last few stragglers dwindled away, “You still here?”

“Eddie!” Dustin grinned, turning to face the approaching man, “Tell her how awesome it was.” 

Eddie looked at her, an orange glow flashing across his inquisitive eyes as he lit his cigarette. 

“It was awesome,” he deadpanned, shooting a sarcastic grin at Dustin as he visibly deflated from Eddie’s lack of enthusiasm. 

“No! I mean tell her about Vecna and the nat 20 and the cultists-“

“It seems like she’s got the rundown, buddy.” 

“I do,” she said, grasping the top of Dustin’s head and shaking it affectionately, “Come on, Dusty, gotta get you home, yeah? You have a long week of bothering Steve at work ahead of you, you should be well rested.” 

Dustin sighed, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and marching to the car, waving to Eddie as he did so. She watched him go, laughing softly to herself. It made her heart feel a little heavy, and a little sore that he still possessed this innocent enthusiasm for things, even after everything he’d been through. 

“Dustin never mentioned he had a sister,” Eddie said, and her attention snapped back to him in an instant. His hair was frizzy, shining like strands of fiber optic under the orange street lamp above them. 

“Oh, I’m not his sister,” she laughed, “Just a…” how could she possibly describe her relationship to Dustin and the kids? It’s not like they would’ve traveled in similar circles, given the fact that she was five years older than them, and she couldn’t very well say that they’ve survived a few run-ins with an alternate dimension together, “Family friend, I guess.” 

“Ah,” he nodded, taking a drag, “I think he’s mentioned you a couple times, but I guess I just…didn’t register it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said softly, toeing the ground with her shoe, “He doesn’t talk about any of us nearly as much as he talks about-“

“Steve.” They said in unison, cracking a mutual smile. 

Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but the sound of a horn cracked through the night air, and they both whipped around to glare at Dustin in the passenger seat, who was trying to play it off like he didn’t do anything at all.

She found it within her to smile, “I better get him home. It was nice to officially meet you.”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, you too. Hopefully I’ll see you around.”

She nodded, waving awkwardly as she walked to the car door, pulling it open. 

As she started the engine, she watched his silhouette fade into the darkness, and she felt a strange turn in her stomach, something that felt a little good and a little bad all at once. 

“He’s cool, isn’t he?” Dustin said admiringly, and she was brought back to reality with a sharp bump.

“Yeah,” she nodded, putting the car into gear, “He’s cool.” 

“Eddie, these are my friends,” Dustin said, his voice shaking, his hands stretched placatingly in front of him, “You know Robin, from band!”

Her eyes snapped to Robin as she mimed playing a clarinet. Her body was as tight as piano wire, and she felt that twist in her stomach again, seeing Eddie’s eyes, animalistic, wild, cornered. 

“This is my friend Max, the one who never wants to play DnD, and this is _, you met her last night when she picked me up, remember?”

There was no trace of recognition in Eddie’s eyes as they flashed to the three of them in turn, and he only seemed to recognize Dustin and Steve, the latter of whom he still had pinned to the wall, bottle held to his neck. 

“Eddie, we’re on your side,” Dustin said, “I swear on my mother. Right, guys?” 

There were general murmurs of agreement to this emphatic statement, and Eddie took his eyes off Dustin, and looked into Steve’ in s face. Steve gazed at Eddie pleadingly, a little desperate, and something in Eddie relaxed minutely, and he released Steve, moving away to sink down the wall. 

Steve found a large crate to collapse onto, and as Robin bent over him, making sure he was okay, Dustin moved forward, crouching in front of Eddie. 

The hand that was holding the broken bottle was still shaking, and when Dustin tried to take it, Eddie twitched it out of his reach. 

“Okay,” Dustin spoke softly, and it struck her as how easily this seemed to come to Dustin, and she wondered, somewhere in the deep recesses of her panicked brain where he learned how to calm someone down like this. Maybe he wasn’t so innocent after all. 

Robin's smooth, husky voice cut through her musings, “We wanna know what happened.”

Eddie sniffled, “You won’t believe me.”

“Try us,” said Max. 

After Eddie’s tearful recollection of Chrissy’s violent death, and the realization that the Upside Down has decided to rear its ugly head once again, the group decided to take their leave, to figure out how to help Eddie, and what to do now that they had to face this monster, once again. 

As the group filed out of the boathouse, she hovered near the door, glancing over her shoulder. She took in Eddie’s diminished frame, the way he looked so small and so scared, and she knew, right then, that she couldn't leave him to deal with this on his own. 

“Hey, I’m gonna stay with him.” She said, “Go figure out what the cops are saying, and come back.”

Four sets of eyes turned on her, each one surprised, and in Steve’s cause, anxious. 

“Just go,” she insisted, eyes on Steve, “We’ll be fine.” 

Steve glanced at Robin, and then tossed her his car keys, “Go get the car started, I’ll be right there.”

Robin nodded, steering Dustin and Max away by the back of their necks. 

“What?” She asked as he pulled her out of the door and to the side of the boathouse, “Steve, what?”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He said, crossing his arms. His hazel eyes were dark, and she rolled her own, heat angrily rising in her neck. 

“Oh, please,” She spat, “You know I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?”

Suddenly, she knew what he was thinking. His jaw flexed, and his knuckles grew white against his biceps.

“This is not like last time.” She glared at him, “Do you really think that he should be left alone right now? You heard what he said about Chrissy. Can't you see that he’s fucking terrified?” 

Steve softened a bit at that, “Just…be careful, okay? Use the supercomm we left if you need me- us. If you need us.”

“You be careful. You better let Nance know what’s going on.” 

Steve nodded, grasping her shoulder briefly before heading back towards the main house. 

She took a minute to compose herself, breathing deeply before ducking back into the boathouse. 

Eddie was right where they left him, and she made no attempt to approach him, sitting cross legged on the crate Steve had sat on earlier. 

“If you can,” she said into the silence, “you should try and get some sleep.” 

He turned to look at her, incredulity seeping from his features, “Sleep?” He croaked. 

“I know,” she nodded a little, “it seems like a stupid suggestion. But your adrenaline is gonna run out at some point, and you’re going to crash. Might as well try to ease out of it.”

He turned away, and she understood, but couldn’t quite repress the sting of his rejection. 

A few minutes passed in silence, and she listened to the gentle sound of waves on the nearby shore, and the soft bumps and creaks of the old metal boathouse. 

“If I sleep,” Eddie spoke softly, and her attention turned back to him in an instant, “Will you…” he hesitated, not looking at her, “Will you wake me up if I start to…”

“Yeah, I’ll wake you up. I promise.” She gave him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. 

He nodded, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. He shrugged off his vest and jacket, and curled against the wall, bunching up his jacket underneath his head. 

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she whispered, and he nodded, closing his eyes. 

She pulled out her Walkman and turned on some music, low enough to not wake Eddie but just enough to fill the silence. 

“So,” Eddie asks, pursing his lips. He was playing with a loose thread on his jeans, and wasn’t looking at her, “What’s the deal with you and Harrington?”

Her head snapped up at that, cheeks blooming with warmth at the implication he was posing. She felt exposed. 

“Nothing,” she forced out, trying to keep her voice level. 

Eddie dared a glance at her then, and it was full of a knowing sort of pity that made her blood boil. 

“There’s nothing going on between Steve and I.” She said firmly, “Nothing has ever really happened between us.” 

Her assertiveness gave way to a wistfulness in the last few syllables of the sentence, and she knew that Eddie heard it as she had meant it, but she also knew that Eddie could see right through her. It was a very disarming quality of his. 

“Shut up,” she said.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied.

A few moments passed in silence. He continued to pick at the thread on his jeans and she continued to look anywhere but at him. 

“I only ask,” he began, and she nearly flinched, “because he seems to care a lot about you.”

She scoffed, “What gives you that impression?”

“He didn’t want to leave you alone with me.”

She sighed, deflating a little bit, “You heard that?”

“Yeah.” He said, resigned.

She took a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, “It’s not that he…he doesn’t care about me like that, it’s just… he’s under the impression that I can’t take care of myself. He’s not - it’s not like that.”

Eddie looked at her, long and hard and calculating. She stared right back, defiant at first but eventually fading into some sort of resigned sadness. 

“But you…” he began, glancing away from her and then back again, like his eyes, which had previously been unable to gaze upon her, were suddenly incapable of doing anything else, “You wish it was? Like that.”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, “Maybe I used to. You go through the shit we’ve gone through together and you…you come out of it changed. Things are different. The way you see things is different. But Steve…he doesn’t…”

She looked down at the floor, “He doesn’t like girls like me.”

That sentiment hung in the air for a minute or so, and when she finally chanced a glance at Eddie, he was looking at her in a way that she couldn’t ever recall being looked at before. 

“I think that girls like you are just fine,” he said softly, “More people should like girls like you.”

She gave him a watery little smile, and sighed, “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

[lovetorn]

iced caramel macchiato [dream's version]

dream x reader — coffee shop!au

summary: enemies? to lovers? or maybe dream just plays hard to get lmaoooo

word count: 1.7k+

warnings: swearing? sometimes.

a/n: my harry fic rewritten for dream :] i just changed the pov and some lines but its basically the same asdfghjk enjoy ig <3

Service has been slow. So slow, that you’re sure your head will roll off your neck from the number of times you’ve looked at the clock behind you. The copper hands of the round object tick obnoxiously, making you bring a hand up to your temple to rub firmly.

Closing your eyes, you loll your head back to stare at the grainy ceiling in hopes that the bell above the glass door would chime. You move your head back to stare blankly at the door before you run your hands over the brown apron on your hips, the fabric harsh against your fingers.

You then bend down to lean your head on your palm in a bored manner while you watch the countless pedestrians walk past the coffee shop. Just one customer, please!

The light reflecting off of the glass is giving you a headache, but you still stare. In your state of utter boredom, anything would be exciting.

Your gaze shifts to the painting on the right wall when the glass door opens and a man stalks in. He is mumbling lowly into his phone, telling someone named George that he doesn’t know why Sapnap isn’t answering. You silently cheer at the sight of a customer, pleased to be productive on this slow workday.

The man has his light hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck and he looks borderline intimidating to you—maybe it’s his height, or perhaps it’s his cold stare. He scans the shop before he stalks towards the counter.

You’re slightly concerned at the sound of him not knowing where someone is, thinking that he will simply move off to the side to finish his call before ordering; but he doesn’t.

You seethe slightly at the blatant disrespect of the man. How are you supposed to catch a person’s order in between a string of conversation they’re having with someone else about something completely different? You don’t understand how someone can be that rude.

But nonetheless, the man stands there talking aimlessly before glancing up at you with an uninterested look on his face. You furrow your brows at him before your eyes flicker back to the cash register in front of you. You choose to pick at your chipped nail polish before the man decides to pause his phone call to order. But, the clearing of his throat catches you off guard and then you’re met the man’s hard stare.

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what I want?”

Your eyebrows fly to your hairline as you stutter, “W-What?”

The man huffs as he switches his weight to his other foot and swaps his phone to his other ear, his eyes wide with irritation. He waves his hand in front of your face as you stand in shock at his rudeness. The man rolls his eyes before speaking to the person on the phone again. You reach over to pluck a plastic cup from the stack and grab a Sharpie pen, ready for his choice. However, you’ve soon got a death grip on the cup as he carries on talking to the person on the line.

“A cold caramel whatever.” You catch what he mumbles before he continues whispering into his phone. You grumble bitterly to yourself that it isn’t an order. But, not wanting to have to interact with him any longer, you ask for his name.

“Clay.”

And with that, he steps to the side, laughing into his device. You stand in disbelief holding the black Sharpie marker in your hand. How can his demeanour shift so quickly? Pulling yourself together, you scribble quickly, ‘C-… Cray’? You cock your head at the spelling but shrug one shoulder and slide it towards the metal bench next to you.

When the barista at the other end of the bench calls ‘Cray’, the man either isn’t paying attention or doesn’t care because he takes his drink and leaves; not even sparing a glance at you, who had misspelt his name.

The next day’s rush is far more fast-paced. The chatter of people around the coffee shop makes it near impossible to hear the orders of customers at the counter—but it is the way you like it. The more customers, the faster the day goes. And at this pace, you swear your shift is almost over.

As you finish taking the order of a young girl, your mood instantly dims when the girl moves to the side. Head down, Clay stands in front of you typing on his phone, murmuring his order to you. You tilt your head as you huff. The plain disrespect, again.

“Excuse me?” You say while leaning closer to him.

He gives a quick glance towards you before sighing, “A caramel cold, no cream.” His irritated expression makes you stare blankly at him.

His bleak response earns a quick eyebrow raise from you, who struggles to understand his order, but grabs a cup anyway and scribbles ‘Cole’ on the side along with a whole bunch of jumble on ‘caramel cold’. You assume he means the same drink as yesterday. And as the same as yesterday, his hair is pulled back, leaving his forehead bare and the crease in between his brows evident. Why does he always look so angry?

—

Over the next few weeks, you had continually and deliberately gotten Clay’s name wrong. You had become quite creative with ridiculous nicknames when he ordered his boring ‘cold caramel’ drink and think he deserves it from how rude he was to you. As much as you disliked the man, you found fun in getting his name wrong.

Cloud, Clam, Cleo, and even clarinet. At this point, the barista at the other end of the counter could yell ‘cabbage’ and he’d just accept it.

You had the luck of not running into him anywhere outside of the coffee shop, saving yourself the embarrassment of confessing why you write his name like that on the cups. But you can’t help it, you hate when people are distracted whilst they order; as well as arsehole men who wave their hand in front of your face when you’re simply waiting for them to finish their call to tell you their order.

No matter how much you despised it, Clay never failed to walk into the shop without being on his phone in some way. And he never once looked at you when he walked out with his drink, only sparing you a glance when ordering. You just didn’t understand this man!

It’s Friday and it’s raining. The dark clouds hang in the sky like a bad smell and you can’t shake the feeling in your gut. It is 15 minutes to closing time and Clay hasn’t walked in today. A weird sense of disappointment washes over you as you gaze out of the glass door.

The bell chimed for the last time that day at 5:55 pm and as you wrote down the abbreviations of a latte on the top of a white coffee lid, you felt sadness. It was subtle but it was there. And you didn’t know why it sat at the bottom of your stomach for so long, but it wasn’t pleasant.

As you reach to close up the register, the bell at the door rings. Your head shoots up from looking at the numbers on the buttons and is met with Clay—with no phone in sight. As much as you were looking forward to writing down a new nickname for him, your thought process is interrupted.

Clay looks at you, straight in the eye, and smiles. You stand in confusion, the black sharpie dangling from your fingertips as he leans on the counter. The cup in your hands is close to falling on the floor when he nods towards it.

“Iced caramel. And get my name right this time.”

You feel your cheeks heat before you scrunch your nose in distaste, “So you did notice.”

The man hums in confirmation before he reaches over the register to snatch the cup from your grasp. “Of course I did. I’m gonna show you how to spell it right.”

You’re quick to bite back the urge to comment that you know how to spell his fucking name but you patiently wait for him to return the cup.

He hands the cup back to you, holding it teasingly above your head before he drops it onto the counter. You catch the cup before it rolls onto the floor and become confused at the scribble of numbers on the cup instead. You lift your head to meet his gaze when you see his lips drawn into a large grin. Your features soften as you give him a soft closed-lipped smile. You turn your head to look towards the menu behind you, the numbers next to the orders catching your attention.

“Are these all of the orders you want?” You ask. You furrow your eyebrows while you look back down at the cup. Oh.

Clay bites back a giggle and shakes his head at your expression. “It’s my number.”

As shocked as you are, you manage to keep your grip on the cup, despite it nearly falling from your hand again.

“W-Why?” You mumble, face flushing at the thought of Clay even thinking about you in that way.

Clay makes a smug face, shrugs, and then spins around before walking back towards the door. You stand frozen; like literally stuck in your spot as you watch Clay glance over his shoulder.

“This place closes in 5 right? I’ll wait outside while you finish up and we’ll go get dinner together.”

His statement lingers even after he leaves. You still hold the plastic cup in your hand as you stare at the spot he was last in. Your heartbeat is in your ears as you finally blink. No… I can’t, he’s—. You shift your eyes down to the cup and the haphazard writing and feel as your heart skip a beat.

And as soon as you step out of the shop, the rain patters lightly on the pavement and you spot his figure leaning against the side of the bookshop next door—typing on his phone. You scoff out a laugh as you begin approaching him. Clay lifts his head at the sound of someone nearing and smiles when he sees you.

“Ready?” He asks, offering you his elbow. You roll your eyes at his gesture, nod and place your hand on his bicep.

No matter what happened in the past, you’re willing to see where this goes… with Cray— I mean Clay.

[doshi-sukiru]

Kakavege Week! (part 2)

Day 2: Alternate Universe

This does have a bit of graphic description in case you don’t want to read some parts! I’ll tell you when it comes and when to skip. 

---------------------------------------

Vegeta hummed quietly as he fiddled with the wires in the corner, ignoring the sounds of struggle behind him. When he found a matching pair, he slowly adjusted the sliced wires back into place. The sparks didn't feel like anything to the former prince. If he had still been human at least.

More struggling was heard, and Vegeta sighed. "Goku, stop it." He turned and stared at Goku, frowning. "You can't get out those straps, I told you that."

Goku watched in fear as the angel demon went back to work, humming that god awful tune. It wasn't that the prince couldn't sing, no, he sang like a nightingale. It was the song he sung . . . 

"Do you remember that song, Goku?" Vegeta stood up and kicked the metal plate into place, dusting his hands and turning his face to the taller man. "You used to play the clarinet with it-" He chuckled and shook his head. "Oh, that was so long ago, wasn't it?"

Goku wanted to say something, anything, to answer the angel demon's question. Alas, he was made without a voice in the past, so it came to no surprise that he would be born with one now. Vegeta walked over to the table the taller male was strapped to, and flipped the switch beside it. The light flickered over Goku's body, but soon stayed still and shown over his inky body.

Goku looked at the former prince once the light returned, and his eyes widened in horror.

(Graphic description is written here, skip down until you see bold writing again)

Vegeta, who was once famous for his beauty and singing voice, now loomed over him with his halo digging into his skull. His left side of his face was immensely disfigured, the dark, black, murky ink slowly leaking out of his eye. There were cuts too, and a few poured ink down his once porcelain face from the large wounds, while small scratches decorated the rest of the space. His cheek was torn open, revealing Vegeta's glistening teeth in the faint light, along with the inky gums that held them in place. Goku squeezed his eyes shut and looked away immediately. God, why didn't Bulma grab him sooner?

(Graphic description is done, continue!)

"Goku~," Vegeta caressed the man's cheek with his gloved hand and slowly made him face the prince again. "Why are looking away from me? You know who I am."

Vegeta narrowed his eyes and snarled as best as he could with his destroyed mouth. The hand that lay on the man's cheek now grabbed his face harshly. "Do you hate my face? Do you think I'm hideous?"

Goku shook his head quickly. No, he could never think like that. He was afraid of him. Afraid he'd become just as disfigured if he, too, stayed here longer.

Vegeta let go of his face and raised an eyebrow. "Don't lie to me, Goku." He grabbed an axe that lay beside the table, raising it and placing it on his shoulder. "I hate liars."

Muffled thumping could be heard outside, and black ink slowly seeped through the closed door. Vegeta clicked his tongue and turned off the light, sparing Goku the sight. The former prince gently placed the axe back down and sat on the table, his body looming over the wolf man. "I hate you . . ." He whispered.

Goku felt hands on his face again, and stared at the small angel demon above him through the dark. "All you did was stand in the corner and play your tunes, and yet . . ." He watched as Vegeta came closer. The muffled sounds of running came closer, the ink spread some more. "You became beautiful. You . . . you stole my beauty."

This was new. The prince never did this before. Was it the ink?

"Goku." Vegeta whispered as he tilted the other's head forward, kissing his forehead. "I didn't take you to kill you." The prince listened again for more noise outside his room. The ink demon had avoided them again, but he left his ink behind as always. A parting gift that bothered Vegeta every time he saw it.

Goku was confused. Vegeta said he was "perfect" and he "needed him" before he destroyed the elevator. He saw his former versions of himself, he heard Vegeta talk about using them to his benefit, how they were all failures. How none of them could make him perfect, and this one would.

But if it wasn't for beauty he wanted Goku for, what did he want him for?

"I know who you are, Goku." The angel demon stood up again and turned the light on again, blinding the dog-man underneath for a second. "And I don't mean 'Goku the musical wolf'. No, that was a stupid name."

Vegeta grabbed a scalpel that lay nearby and checked if it was still sharp. What was the prince talking about-? "I know you're in there, Kakarot."

Goku froze, and stared at Vegeta in shock. That- . . . that was a name he had not heard in decades. "I know it's you in there, just as you know it's Vegeta in me. The real one."

The angel demon placed the blade on Goku's neck, not doing anything yet. "I know you think I want you dead, what with those bodies out there and my words. But-"

Vegeta looked into Goku's eyes, and he could see the human in the destroyed, inky mess that stood before him. "I just want you back. I want you to talk to me again, like how you always used to when we were recording in the past."

Goku's eyes softened and smiled. He opened his mouth and tried speaking. His lips moved, but no sound came forth. As always. 

Vegeta smiled. "Close your mouth, Kakarot. Go to sleep, I'll be finished here soon, and you and I will have the longest conversation you could ever have.”

Goku nodded and forced his body to rest, which didn't take much force considering he watched over Bulma for a few nights, making sure she was alright before she woke up.

Vegeta kept his gaze over Goku as he fell asleep. He sighed, and gently dug his scalpel into his lover's neck. Not too deep, he didn't want to kill him, but not too thin, he needed to fix the voice box inside the throat.

As the angel demon worked quietly, he begun to hum the same song again. He didn't know when it became a habit, but he always found himself singing that song. It was the only song he and Kakarot got to play together.

"Oh, for you darling," he sung quietly, the words slipping out smoothly from his disfigured mouth. "I'd travel to the lighter side of hell. All for you, all for you~" He pursed his lips as he made careful incisions and tweaked with Goku’s larynx. 

When Vegeta finished, he nodded at his work and cleaned his hands quickly with an old rag he found years back. The blood in his lover's body was becoming ink too, and he couldn't handle another transformation again. He'd come too close for perfection.

He grabbed a sewing needle he picked up in the dressing room - no one had to wear costumes in this rust bucket, it was just there because Joey wanted it - and a piece of string, and stitched Goku's throat back together.

"If it made you happy, I'd take your sins and travel to the lighter side of hell~" He took the towel and patted around Goku's throat to soak up the blood and ink. "All for you, all for you~" Vegeta threw the rag somewhere and opened a side door and grabbed the table inside it.

He dragged it out quickly, before grabbing a pair of electric clips he found hidden in the lower floors. He attached each one to the circular stands that dug into his monster's shoulders, and attached the ends to an old battery supply. The monster looked similar to Vegeta’s lover, but this one died too soon by the ink demon. Foolish, just like the rest of them.

The moment the wires made contact with the monster, sparks flew from the wires and it screamed from it's deep, ink-filled throat. Vegeta watched as it writhed and shook. "Just one more thing to do before you and I get to be together forever, Kakarot."

The prince looked at his lover, who slept soundly. He smiled softly before taking off the clips and releasing the monster out of his room. It knew where to go, Vegeta had told it beforehand. "I just need to get rid of the woman who ruined us, and then I'll be back. Promise." Vegeta quickly made his way towards his lover and kissed his cheek, catching Goku's small smile in his sleep. "She couldn't hurt me if she tried."

If only he knew it would be the last kiss they ever shared. 

[blackstarising]

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

[haledamage]

Save Some Light For Me

prompt - a kiss between furrowed brows to try and comfort. Qora/Arcann

well, I didn’t get this finished on Valentine’s Day, but I was determined that someone would get a kiss this week, at least!

---

Qora woke with a gasp, fear and adrenaline flooding her body as familiar dark laughter continued to echo in her mind. She forced herself to stay still and slow her breathing instead of giving in to the instinct to dive out of bed and reach for a weapon. As if the monster in her dreams could be intimidated so easily.

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

She wasn’t the only person awake. She could feel Theron in the War Room, his aura muted as always but not completely obscure. He felt like music playing through a wall, loud enough to catch the broad strokes but never letting her in on the little details. He was working, of course; he was always working. 

Lana was awake too, her presence clear and smooth and mellow like a clarinet. She was working too, though she was doing so from her bedroom. As if that would make her less of a workaholic than their resident spymaster.

Deep breath in. And out. Another wave of fear hit her, and it was only then that Qora realized the nightmare that woke her wasn’t her own. 

Arcann’s resonance in the Force reminded her of a cello, mournful and powerful, able to shift effortlessly from warm and gentle to dark and violent. Currently, he leaned more toward the latter, or at least closer to it than he'd been since Voss.

It didn't take much to figure out why his nightmares felt so much like hers, even after years of practice learning the difference. There was only one spectre that still haunted them both.

That was the impetus that finally got her moving, and she slipped into the hallway as quietly as possible. She hadn’t been to Arcann’s room more than once or twice, but his pain was such a beacon she could have found her way with her eyes closed.

The door opened just as she raised her hand to knock. “Mother, you don’t--” he cut himself off, eyes widening when he realized his guest was not the person he was apparently expecting. “Commander. Is something wrong?”

“You tell me.” Qora smiled, trying to look as comforting and harmless as possible. She’d never been very good at it, but it seemed to relax him a little. “I… could sense your distress. I wanted to make sure you were alright. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”

In reply, he simply took a step backwards so he no longer blocked the door. “Would you like to come in?”

She took the invitation before he could change his mind.

His room was more plain than she might once have expected from a man who had been Emperor. It contained only the bare necessities, simple but quality furniture, favoring whites and yellows and the occasional dark blue. But here and there, signs of him making a home here. A ceramic kettle in the kitchen. A piece of a breastplate and a disassembled lightsaber on the table. A stack of books by the bed. While he clearly didn't share his mother's love of luxury, he'd made the space feel comfortable. Cozy, even.

Arcann dropped down on one corner of a cream-colored sofa and slumped forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor instead of his late night guest. His tension would be obvious even if she couldn’t sense it pouring off him in waves, durasteel willpower the only thing keeping him from pacing in an attempt to burn it off.

Qora quickly scanned the length of the couch, trying to decide her strategy here, before ultimately claiming the seat right next to him. He didn’t need space right now; he needed a friend.

This close, she could see how tired he was, feel the frayed edges of his control. Tonight’s nightmare must have just been the most recent in a series, if the shadows under his eyes  and the slight tremble in his hand were any indication. She had the unexpected urge to hug him, to offer herself as a safe place to rest until he could stitch himself back together, but she pushed the thought away. She doubted such a gesture would be welcome.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Qora didn't bother pretending she didn't know what he'd been dreaming about. It wasn't the first time they'd shared a dream - just the first time since he'd joined the Alliance. It had been long enough that she’d started to think the Voss healing ritual had broken that part of their bond.

Arcann was silent for so long that she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Even when he finally spoke, his voice was so quiet she had to lean closer to hear him. “Every time I think I’m getting better, Valkorian manages to undo it. Even the memory of him is enough to drag all those old feelings back to the surface. Like as soon as I start to catch my breath, he’s there to push me back underwater.” He clenched his cybernetic hand into a fist, hard enough to make the joints creak. “How do you cope with it?”

“I have friends who are willing to shoulder part of the weight, if I need it.” And a few especially meddlesome ones, like Lana and Theron, that had a habit of taking more than their share. “It helps.”

“I couldn’t possibly burden anyone else with this. I know Senya wants to help, but…” he closed his eyes, regret curling through his aura like smoke, “I’ve put her through enough.”

“I’ll take it.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but once the words were out she didn’t try to take it back. It wasn’t a hug, but it would do.

“What?” He finally looked up at her, pale eyes beseeching.

“I’ll carry it for you for a while. At least long enough for you to catch your breath.” She laughed to herself, and thankfully it only sounded a little bitter. “When... in my old life, I was called the Emperor’s Wrath. I see no reason why I can’t repurpose that for you. I can be angry enough for both of us.” And Arcann certainly deserved her aid more than his father ever had, but she refrained from saying so.

“I am no longer Emperor,” he said firmly.

“And I’m no longer Sith.” Qora finally gave in to the desire to reach out to him, curling her hand around the back of his head in an attempt to both comfort and anchor him. His relief washed over her like a cool breeze as soon as her skin touched his. “And we are no longer alone. You could have friends here. You just have to meet them halfway.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With it, he finally seemed to reach some semblance of peace once more. “Thank you. I will… consider what you’ve said.”

"If you’re looking for a place to start, try Vette. She has a history of worming her way into the reluctant hearts of loners." Before she thought too much about it, she leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead, right between his furrowed brows. Surprise did an excellent job of chasing away his frown. "There. All better."

He chuckled, so softly she could barely hear it. “Just like that?”

“Just like that. That’s what my sister always did.” She smiled wistfully at the memory. Siro had been the younger of them, but she was born a mother hen. “I'm afraid most of my knowledge of comforting people comes from her.”

"I didn’t know you had a sister."

"I used to. Her name was Siro." Qora looked down at her cybernetic hand, staring at the metal palm like there were answers hidden in its circuits. "We were separated, when my Force sensitivity was discovered. I don’t know what happened to her after that."

"Will you tell me about her?" he asked gently. He seemed genuinely curious, but he knew better than most how fraught of a subject family could be.

"Another time," she promised. There was no way she could talk about it right now without getting upset, and she wasn't about to burden him with that. "When emotions aren’t running so high."

"As you wish." There was obviously more Arcann wanted to say, but he was kind enough not to pry. Instead, he changed the subject entirely. “You should get some rest, Commander. You have more important things to concern yourself about than my bad dreams.”

“I don’t mind losing a little sleep for you.” She’d been losing sleep over him for years now, in one way or another. At least this time it was her choice. Even so, Qora knew a dismissal when she heard one. “But I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” 

She took his offered hand and let him help to her feet, and he walked with her to the door. So chivalrous, she thought playfully. His bashful smile told her clearly that he’d heard it.

She paused just after stepping through the door, waving nonchalantly. “Good night, Arcann.”

He nodded his head, almost but not quite a bow. “Good night.”

“Sweet dreams,” she called before the door closed.

His quiet laughter followed her into the hall, and kept her warm on the trek back to her room.

“Thank you.” She didn’t feel Senya’s presence until she stepped out of the shadows, halfway between Arcann’s room and Qora’s. If Arcann was a cello, his mother was a viola; stately and somber, reserved until suddenly she wasn’t. “For being patient with him. The things his father taught him…” she shook her head, but thankfully didn’t elaborate, “some wounds take longer to heal than others. I’m glad you’ve… taken an interest in him, despite what you’ve been through.”

Qora glanced back down the hall toward Arcann’s room. She could still sense him, quieter but always there at the edge of her hearing. He felt calmer now, or at least less distraught. She hoped her visit had helped. “Some people are worth waiting for.” She shook herself out of her thoughts and turned her attention back to the other woman, who was watching her strangely, eyes sharp and bright in the gloom. She gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Good night, Senya.”

Senya replied with a knowing smile, squeezing her hand before heading back toward her own room. “Good night, Qora.”

The rest of the night was blissfully dreamless.