#Keith's voice singing this song is... something

[omg-hellgirl]

Mick Jagger and Keith Richards singing together "Far Away Eyes" in Texas, 1978.

[chemicalarospec]

why is Peter Capaldi in my autoplay from Feverfew, esoteric indie pop band (I always get a lot of random stuff I don't know -- like the middle song -- when playing from a Feverfew song)

yes that Peter Capaldi, I checked. he made a whole album.

[psychotic-nonsense]

It's happening again.

With Max, it's attempting new tricks on her skateboard. With Dustin, he takes apart and reassembles basic little trinkets. With Nancy, she rewrites old news articles. With Mike, he reorganizes the D&D dice box he's been carrying everywhere since Will left (and even after he came back). With the Sinclairs, it's spinning something - a basketball or pen or keychain or hair tie.

The loud music isn't uncommon, nor where it's coming from. But where the source is, and what kind of music it is, feels like something reserved for times like this.

Steve wasn't supposed to be out here, technically. He's on his lunch break, and he wanted a change of pace from the Family Video parking lot. He drove out to the edge of town - Keith doesn't give much of a damn how long their breaks are anymore - to find that cliff only he really knows how to get to. Helps that his Beemer is like a second heartbeat.

But on his way out, he hears the music.

How the hell Eddie got his van out this far into the woods, Steve's never gonna figure out. But there's loud ass music coming from it that's different to Eddie's usual type. More replicable, mainly, something that sounds like an actual song yet still has Eddie's whole screamy vibe. As Steve gets closer - having parked by the road just outside the woods - he can hear another voice singing along with their full chest.

That's when he realized what it is.

It's that violent restlessness. The buzzing feeling in, under, becoming every inch of your skin. Paralyzes you from doing anything substantial, yet everything else you try to do doesn't make the feeling fade. So you're stuck in a repetitive motion while stuck in place and it feels like exploding from the inside with nothing bursting out.

Most of The Party gets it bad nowadays, since the Upside Down was sealed away. Years of living on the brink of death to suddenly being plopped back into the mundane. Steve especially got it from the lack of sports, which worsened the Upside Down buzz.

Steve knocks on the van's back door, hoping it drowns out the music to not startle his friend too badly. He tries the door, which opens easily, and floods the woods with guitars and drums and voices.

Eddie doesn't startle, but neither does he move. He's laying down on the floor of the back, the precautionary blankets there all twisted up and scattered about in evidence of motion. One hand is tugging hard at the roots of his hair, the other snapping hard along with the music. One leg is bent up and bouncing, and his chest heaves in an attempt to keep up with Eddie's shout-along singing.

"Yeah, you said a single word,

But no one really heard,

Sometimes we scream alone!

It's always worse at night,

When darkness kills the light,

You're in the danger zone!"

It irks Steve in just the wrong way, seeing Eddie frozen like this. Gets him to leave the door open, walk around to the stereo sitting in the passenger seat, and hit the thing silent.

"What?" Eddie snaps immediately. The van rocks as he sits up.

Steve ignores him, just walking back around to the back to smack the side of the van. Noise will keep Eddie stable in this state. Eddie, who's staring at Steve with that adrenaline-fueled glare, jaw tense, sharp where he doesn't mean to be. Steve makes his words stern, to cut through the buzz no doubt rushing through Eddie's ears. "Up. I'm getting you out of here."

"'M fine," Eddie bites back, flopping straight back down with a bang he doesn't feel. One of his hands goes back to his hair.

Steve just reaches down to grab the end of one of those blankets, tugging hard. Eddie just moves an inch, but he flails like the bat tails are back around his ankle. He sits back up, eyeing Steve with a malice he can't mean. It's Eddie and he never does, not even when he's high on fight or flight.

Steve just nods to the outside world, repeating, "I mean it. Come on."

Eddie's jaw tenses just a bit more, before he rolls his eyes and scoots to hop out. Steve backs up, lets Eddie jump out of the van with too much motion, slam the doors shut and pat them in a goodbye both too hard, lets Eddie grip his leather jacket too tightly as he leads the two of them back to the Beemer. The snapping comes back a few minutes in, but Steve leaves it be.

Doesn't pick on Eddie not wiping his shoes, nor for slamming these doors shut or not buckling. The police has had more to worry about them than some unsafe driving. Steve just turns the radio up a bit too loud, leaves the snapping alone, and drives them along the edge of town.

He stops when they get to the junkyard. Doesn't say anything, just gets out and goes straight to the trunk. He hears Eddie follow him outside as Steve gets the not-nailed bat from the back, then slamming the trunk shut to keep Eddie's attention (no matter how much it and the slam prior hurt his soul).

Steve walks past Eddie into the heart of the junkyard. He spins the bat, scanning the ground, and finding an old can-looking thing. He picks it up, tossing it into the air a few times.

Then he tosses it once more, rears back, and hits the shit out of it.

The loud crinkling of metal and crack of wood creates an echo that slices through the residual buzz forming in Steve. He watches it fly haphazardly in the air, spinning randomly before landing on an old car, another echo to cut the buzz.

Eddie doesn't react verbally, but that's fine. Steve just finds something else - a piece of tire - and hits it too. Does the same to a crumpled sheet of metal, then another can-shaped thing. Feels the buzz get torn to pieces with every satisfying echo and vibration of conflicting action coursing through his veins on each hit.

When Steve finally turns to see Eddie's reaction, it's just the snapping fingers to really get his attention. Everything else about Eddie's body language says confused, curious, hungry.

His body still screams, and here it sees something that will listen.

So Steve holds the bat out by the barrel, handle to Eddie, and waves it at the junkyard around them. "Go ahead," he urges.

Eddie eyes it confused for a moment, but he eventually pushes off the side of the Beemer he was leaning against. Makes it to Steve with steps that still feel too hard, but takes the bat. Stares at it, spins it once to get the feel, but still hesitant.

Steve walks past him to retake that place on the Beemer. Eddie watches him go, still confused.

As Steve settles in, he motions again to the open empty junkyard. "Who's going to hear you?" he says.

'Only who you want to hear you,' goes unsaid.

Eddie blinks at Steve a few times more, then down at the bat. Spins it again, looks around. He spots something, stomps over to it, picks it up. A can. Tosses it up once, nearly doesn't catch it.

He looks around again, goes to a car beside him. Sits the can on the hood, steps back. Gets into a stance that feels at once natural and amateur, but Steve doesn't dare.

Because Eddie hits the can and it goes flying, with a crunch that gets Eddie to laugh a little.

Now he's really moving, looking around for something more. More metal, plastic, rubber, anything he can feasibly hit and some things he can't. It gets heavier, harder, doesn't go as far but that means the impact is in rather than out. Cuts through the buzz like nothing.

Soon Eddie takes off his leather jacket and really gets going. He's looking for glass and throwing it far and hard, feeling every shatter in his own insides. Grabs the bat again, starts hitting the vehicles, smashing the windows in further. Drops the bat again, finding unbreakable things and throwing them on the ground, on cars, against other smaller things. Looks like he's going ballistic but it's just the energy finally finding freedom and release in something.

Steve watches it all with prideful satisfaction.

Eddie digs through a pile of rubble, grabbing something evidently interesting. It's stuck, it's difficult, but that manic energy is nothing but insistent. Eddie eventually pulls it out, a rusted old metal chair far heavier than it seems. But Eddie just laughs at the challenge.

He picks up one end, and starts fucking spinning. One heel barely keeping him balanced, he spins and spins and spins. The chair gets lighter, his arms rise with the momentum. And finally, with a growl as cathartic as the destruction, Eddie throws the chair into a car, watching it shatter the glass and dent the metal in a loud bash of sound and noise and release.

This, it seems, is what finally curbs the buzzing. Eddie slumps over with the action, panting and laughing a little. He stumbles to the side, barely losing his footing in time to catch the side of that infamous bus and flop to the dirt beside it. He's panting and breathless and red in the face, but ultimately... satisfied.

Steve resigns himself to the bucket beside Eddie. Leans back against the rusted metal that saved his kids' lives, handing Eddie a water bottle from the storage in his trunk. Eddie takes it with an especially rough huff. Steve takes it as the thank you he knows it is.

Eddie gulps down a quarter of the bottle, spills another quarter on himself on accident. He leans his head back to stare at the sky, panting in relief.

"How... the hell did you know...?" he eventually gets out, still not looking at Steve.

Steve just stares at the patch of grass in the center of their little courtyard, forever greener from the cutlets that rotted there. Shrugs. "Just a hunch."

----------

2/4/25 Edit: Adding in some lyrics from "Breathless" by Dio (1984) thanks to the lovely suggestion by @finalmoondragon !!!!! Everything is the exact same as the original post the only difference is the lyrics :]

[spacebubblehomebase]

If I had a nickel for every time Keith David voiced a top hat wearing old-school smooth jazz gentleman who sings a catchy earworm of a song (that stands out from a line of other bangers from the same animated musical production) about him dealing with the devil, cards, souls, and people's flaws while boosting their morale up somehow as he plays his own power down to earn someone's trust and consent and later got screwed over by something green that turned their deals against them, *breathes in* I'll have two nickels...

Which isn't much, but it's weird that it happened twice.

His human version in my artstyle was based on Vivzie's own human Husk doodle design from the time of the pilot. Hope ya'll liked this one much better. That practice made such a difference, no? 😘 -Bubbly💙

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Loved You More

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader *no physical description* (one-shot)

Words: 1.4k+

Warnings: angsty and sad, mentions of loss, mentions of pregnancy / wanting children

Inspo song - Let Me Love You More Braxton Keith

Main Masterlist

It was falling apart around you, just as you had feared. You were fighting with Joel again, not because he had done anything wrong, but because of what he wouldn’t do.

He won't let you all the way in. He won't let you love him the way you know you can.

 It was the silence he wrapped around himself, the walls he built, keeping you at arm's length.

No matter how many intimate nights you shared or happy moments passed between you, he refused to let you all the way in. You knew he loved you; he told you every chance he got, and the warmth in his eyes affirmed it.

So why won’t he give himself to you fully?

“Joel, please,” you cried, tears tracing paths down your cheeks. “I told you that doesn’t matter anymore. I want you.”

It shattered Joel’s heart to hear the agony in your voice, but his resolve had crystallized into something unyielding. He took a deep breath, fighting the tremor in his chest.

He fights the urge to pull you into his chest and rub a soothing hand across your back.  “You can’t give up your dreams for me. You deserve a white wedding, a husband, kids, a bright, beautiful family. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Don’t deny it.”

“You’re enough, Joel,” you insisted, desperation clawing at your words. “I don’t need anything else.”

“That may be true now,” he sighed, sorrow etched deep into his features, “but what happens when you wake up one day and realize you want more? When it’s too late? You’ll resent me for taking those dreams away.”

“Then why!” Your voice rises, breaking. “Why did you let it go this far? Why don’t you want a life with me?”

“I do!” he admitted, anguish cracking his voice. “But I’ve done this before. I had a wife and a daughter, and when I lost it all, I nearly lost myself. Hell, I damn near didn’t make it. I don’t have it in me to be the man you need. Not anymore.”

“So, this is it?” you whimpered, the weight of finality hanging heavy in the air.

“This is it.” And with that, he turned, leaving a gaping void where hope had once lived, and he didn’t look back.

You sink to the cold, hard floor, sobbing until the tears dry, leaving behind only a hollow ache.

---

Two nights before, Joel decided he had to leave you. It was after watching your face at his niece's kindergarten graduation.

He saw how you beamed with joy and cheered for the little girl walking across the stage just as loud as her parents, Tommy and Maria. After the ceremony, you scooped her into your arms for a bear hug and looked at her precious face with love and longing, and Joel knew what had to be done.

Being a mother has always been your dream, and he knew it was meant for you. Joel had seen it in your gentle hands, how you braided hair and made flower crowns, how your voice soothed children to sleep, the perfect sweet tenor for singing lullabies and tucking babies into bed. You were born to nurture, to love, but he couldn’t give you the family you deserved.

He knew you'd be a perfect mother, but being a father was no longer in the cards for him. Of course, he's still a father; he will always be deep down. The love for his daughter Sarah and the void it left in him when she passed is exactly why he can't bring himself to go through it again.

Protecting her was his job, and he failed.

He'd had a wife then and failed at that, too. He hadn’t been enough for her to stay.

He didn't want to fail you too. So instead of dragging you with him in a lonely existence where he knew he wouldn’t allow himself to give you kids or marry you, he decided to let you go.

 He loves you enough that he can't be selfish with you. He loves you more than he loves himself, so he sets you free. It is his final act of mercy. It is a bittersweet gift to free you from a future of sorrow.

He can't be everything you need, and he doesn't want to rob you of what you've always wanted.

Although you might never forgive him, he hopes you will understand.

He prays that one day, you will see that to love you more, he had to set you free.

---

6 years later.

Joel wakes in his empty home, the silence echoing around him like it always does. After a restless night and an early morning cup of coffee, he drives into town to load up on supplies for the job site he’s heading to this week.

Joel drives his pickup truck downtown with the windows rolled down, enjoying the cool brush of the autumn air against his skin and basking in the sun's warmth.

He parks on the curb outside the hardware store downtown and exits his vehicle, shutting and locking his door behind him. He stretches his tired bones in the warm sun and breathes in the fresh air. Today felt good, which is rare for him. But the day is beautiful, and he is determined to enjoy it, to try to allow happiness, no matter how small, a place in his life.

But then, a doorbell jingles from across the street, pulling his attention in that direction, and time seems to halt. He sees you—for the first time in years. His heart constricts painfully in his chest.

Over the years, he’s heard about you, your engagement, and your wedding, too. It hurt, damn, it hurt, but it's why he left you in the first place. To give you that chance, and now that he can see it all worked out for you, he's glad he made that choice.

He watches as two children, your children, exit a café across the street, bursting out the door, laughter dancing in the air. You follow behind, a baby cradled in your arms, your face alight with a joy he had never been able to give you. And there was your husband, a man younger and more suited for you, guiding you with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

Joel feels as if he were shattering all over again, a specter haunting a life he could never reclaim. He stands frozen, unable to look away. You were everything he had wanted for you, everything he had sacrificed for.

He left you crying that day, heartbroken, and without a proper goodbye. He's sure you hate him. He's sure you don't want to think about him ever again.

But then you look up. Your bright and happy eyes meet Joel's sorrowful ones, and your gazes lock. For a heartbeat, the world stands still; the pain of the past swirls between you, breathing life into the connection he had severed so long ago.

But despite the past, you smile at him, an acknowledgment that pierces through the years of silence and heartache.

You smile at him because now you know why he did it. Why he left you and never looked back. He was right, and he was a good man—a great one.

He set you free because he loved you more; you just didn't know it until now.

You have a happy family, a white picket fence, and an adoring husband, all because Joel gifted it to you. All because he was strong enough to break your heart.

So you smile at him across the street, the man you once loved more than anything in the world. Somewhere deep down, you probably always will.

Thank you, your eyes seemed to say. I understand now.

He smiles back, a bittersweet gesture filled with love, longing, and resolution.

He knows he shoudln’t linger, so with one last nod, Joel turns away and walks into the hardware store, leaving you behind for good, leaving you to live the life he wished for you. A life without him.

As Joel steps away, the ache that settled deep into his bones years ago seems to lighten just a fraction because today is proof that he had made the right decision. He loved you more than himself. He loved you more than you had ever known.

He loved you enough to let you go. And even if he has to spend the rest of his years missing you, at least he knows you're happy.

[chaoticace2005]

Top Hazbin Hotel Songs so far: (order not super relevant because I jump a lot between my favorites so it’s hard to have a definitive ranking.)

(Note: ALL the songs were bops. There wasn’t a single one I disliked. I’m just going off which ones hit me the hardest and are now living in my head.)

1. Stayed Gone- this song is just so fucking catchy. The quick talking of Vox at the beginning is great- displaying confidence while also clearly overcompensating. The music is pretty repetitive at first but in a comforting way, being simple in terms of number of instruments. And then Al comes in and changes it up. I love the way these two argue- Al just roasting the hell out of Vox was great. The rivalry between these two is great and so entertaining to watch.

2. Loser Baby- so cute. Keith David’s voice was amazing. Loved Angel and Husk’s chemistry. Angel’s shock/annoyance at Husk at first is hilarious. Also songs like that and Crooked (from Helluva Boss) really are saying something’s we really don’t hear often enough: that things are a mess sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Both songs acknowledge the messy parts of the characters and both say “I see that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.” Plus it being in the same episode as Poison? Their messages complimented each other well and kind of closed the story for it.

3. Poison- Blake Roman is just- wow. No words. When this song came out a couple weeks ago I had it on repeat obsessively. We get to see Angel’s internal thoughts- his self-blaming for all the shit that’s happening, and how hopeless he feels. The emotion poured into this is astounding. It was amazing as a stand-alone song, and then the way the show integrated it in episode 4 made it hit even harder. It’s definitely A LOT- but sometimes that’s what makes such hard hitting songs, being so personal.

4. Hell is Forever- Alex Brightman killed it as always. I listened to this one on repeat dozens of times. It’s so insanely catchy. The rock(?) music that comes in to cut Charlie off? Also this song nails in the fact even more than Adam SUCKS. And while this is happening we are delivered the logic behind the angel’s choices- explicitly saying “yeah we don’t care. Murder is fun :)” AND are given the information about major conflict of season- that the extermination day for moved up.

5. Respectless- got brain worms from this. The way Velvette dropped in and changed the whole genre of the song was A W E S O M E. Her and Carmilla both SLAPPED. Also the line “I’m the backbone of the Vees” was just- I just loved the energy of the song. Major Six vibes. I’d love Lilli Cooper to sing more in the show!

[metamorphicmuse]

War-Time Love (Based on a True Story)

Here's a real letter which was written by a World War 2 veteran to his lost lover, a fellow soldier. While rarely documented, this attestation to love among soldiers stands out as a tender, if impossible, reminder that it did occur. I've imagined they must have been part of the Special Services Branch based on historical details. The letter is a real artifact. The images are imagined but no less real.

Dear Dave:

This is in memory of an anniversary–the anniversary of October 27th, 1943, when I first heard you singing in North Africa. That song brings memories of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Memories of a GI show troop–curtains made from barrage balloons–spotlights made from cocoa cans–rehearsals that ran late into the evenings–and a handsome boy with a wonderful tenor voice. Opening night at a theater in Canastel–perhaps too much muscatel, and someone who understood. Exciting days playing in the beautiful and stately Municipal Opera House in Oran–a misunderstanding–an understanding in the wings just before opening chorus.

Drinks at “Coq d’or”–dinner at the “Auberge”–a ring and promise given. The show for 1st Armoured–muscatel, scotch, wine–someone who had to be carried from the truck and put to bed in his tent. A night of pouring rain and two very soaked GIs beneath a solitary tree on an African plain. A borrowed French convertible–a warm sulphur spring, the cool Mediterranean, and a picnic of “rations” and hot cokes. Two lieutenants who were smart enough to know the score, but not smart enough to realize that we wanted to be alone. A screw-ball piano player – competition – miserable days and lonely nights. The cold, windy night we crawled through the window of a GI theater and fell asleep on a cot backstage, locked in each other’s arms– the shock when we awoke and realized that miraculously we hadn’t been discovered. A fast drive to a cliff above the sea–pictures taken, and a stop amid the purple grapes and cool leaves of a vineyard.

The happiness when told we were going home–and the misery when we learned that we would not be going together. Fond goodbyes on a secluded beach beneath the star-studded velvet of an African night, and the tears that would not be stopped as I stood atop the sea-wall and watched your convoy disappear over the horizon.

We vowed we’d be together again “back home,” but fate knew better–you never got there. And so, Dave, I hope that where ever you are these memories are as precious to you as they are to me.

Goodnight, sleep well my love.

Brian Keith

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

~~What follows below is my imagined story of these two lovers, with the names changed to protect the dignity of the dead.~~

As Time Goes By

Nathan had never expected to be here.

One week ago, he was just another soldier in the North African campaign—following orders, keeping his head down, surviving. His uniform was dust-streaked, his boots worn, his days spent waiting. Then someone heard him singing. Just a quiet song in the barracks, something to fill the empty space between letters from home and the next long march. But it was enough. A lieutenant pulled him aside, asked a few questions, and by the next morning, his papers were signed. He was being transferred.

Now, he stood beneath a makeshift spotlight, on a stage stitched together from sandbags and salvaged wood, dressed in the same uniform but with a different purpose. The GI show was a ragtag affair—curtains made from barrage balloons, footlights crafted from tin cans and spare bulbs. Soldiers filled the seats, some smoking, some waiting, some already half-drunk.

Nathan exhaled, shifting slightly under the warmth of the light. His heart pounded. It wasn’t the audience that made him nervous—he’d sung before, in another life, in school productions and local revues. It was him - Matthew.

Nathan had only been in the troupe a few days, but he knew exactly who Matthew was. Everyone did. He was the leading man, the showrunner, the one who kept things moving, cracking jokes between acts, slipping effortlessly into character when the stage needed him. Matthew owned this world.

And yet—Nathan had felt his gaze on him all evening.

It had started the first day he arrived, during rehearsals. Matthew, watching. Matthew, teasing him—just a little, just enough. Trying to figure him out. But tonight was different. Tonight, Matthew sat in the front row, expression unreadable, arms crossed over his chest, eyes locked on Nathan as if he were waiting for something.

Nathan closed his eyes, took a breath. And he sang.

*You must remember this, a kiss is still a kiss…*

His rich tenor voice lifted through the dimly lit theater, wrapping around the men in the audience, filling the spaces between them, touching something unspoken. The song wasn’t new, but it was fresh in their minds—the war had seen to that. Casablanca had only come out last year, and everyone had felt something in it, even if they didn’t say it aloud.

But for Nathan, and maybe for Matthew too, it was something more. They had grown up knowing that love stories didn’t belong to them. They had spent their youth on stages where the romances they played were never theirs to keep. They had studied love, rehearsed it, recited it in iambic pentameter, and pressed their lips to women in the dim glow of theater lights, knowing it was all just an illusion.

And yet, here they were. In uniform. In a war zone. Listening to a love song that felt like it belonged to them for the first time.

Nathan didn’t see the audience anymore. Didn’t see the dim glow of cigarettes or the quiet, reflective faces of men thinking of sweethearts back home.

He only saw Matthew.

Matthew, who had been caught off guard. Matthew, who had spent weeks running this show, calling the shots, knowing exactly what to expec5—until now. Because Matthew hadn’t expected Nathan. Hadn’t expected this voice, this moment, this feeling curling inside him like something dangerous and real.

The lyrics rolled over him, soft and certain.

*The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by…*

Nathan let the final note hang in the air before stepping back from the microphone, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

The applause came—steady, appreciative, a welcome break from war. But Matthew didn’t clap. He just sat there, staring at Nathan, eyes shadowed, expression unreadable.

And Nathan? Nathan finally understood.

He had never been the leading man before.

But tonight?

Tonight, Matthew had looked at him like he was.

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

A Series of Almosts

Things progressed as they usually do.

A glance, held a second too long before Nathan turned back to adjusting the microphone stand. A casual joke at mess, Matthew’s voice pitched just a little lower than usual, meant only for Nathan’s ears. A brush of fingertips when one passed the other a prop backstage, neither lingering but both aware.

A small but meaningful liberty—the kind afforded to soldiers whose jobs weren’t measured in miles marched or rifles fired. It was never much. But in a place where nothing belonged to them, these moments were their own.

Until the night they almost had too much.

They had minutes—maybe less. Matthew had pulled Nathan into the stockroom under the guise of looking for spare canvas, the pretense so thin it may as well have been an open invitation for trouble. The dim light made it easier to forget they were still in uniform, still in the war, still being watched even when no one was there to see.

Nathan was the first to falter. “You know this is a bad idea,” he murmured.

Matthew, standing close enough that their breaths mingled, barely smirked. “That never stopped us before.”

Nathan swallowed. He didn’t move away. Matthew lifted a hand, slow enough to let Nathan stop him. He didn’t. His fingers brushed over Nathan’s sleeve, tracing the place where their hands had met a dozen times before—only this time, neither of them was passing a prop or adjusting a collar or making an excuse. This time, Nathan let him.

This time—The door creaked.

Nathan barely had time to move before two lieutenants stepped inside, both of them carrying the casual air of men who weren’t looking for anything but had already found exactly what they expected.

“Ah, there you are,” the first said, too cheerful, too pointed. He didn’t bother asking why they were here.

Matthew straightened just a little too fast, stepping back to grab a crate, as if this had been nothing at all. “Sir.”

The second lieutenant didn’t even glance at the crates. Instead, he leaned against the nearest shelf and sighed, as if settling in for a long, excruciatingly dull conversation. “You know,” he started, “I was just saying the other day—logistics out here are a damn mess. I mean, supply routes, requisition forms, the whole thing. Just a nightmare, really.”

Nathan stood completely still.

The other lieutenant made a noise of agreement, shaking his head. “And don’t even get me started on fuel rations. God, the paperwork.”

Matthew nodded along, expression perfectly neutral, but Nathan could see the tightness in his jaw.

Neither lieutenant was looking at them anymore. They didn’t have to. The message was clear.

We see you. We won’t say anything. But don’t be stupid.

After droning on about the various papers to be pored over before the night shift, the first lieutenant clapped his hands together, as if that thrilling conversation had settled all matters of logistics and rationing for the evening. “Well. I think we’ve spent enough time on that.”

His gaze flicked to Matthew, then Nathan. Pointed. Brief. Final.

Then he turned for the door. The second lieutenant followed, but not before muttering something under his breath—too soft for Nathan to catch, but it made Matthew’s jaw twitch.

Then they were alone again. The air had changed. Nathan exhaled, forcing himself to look anywhere but at Matthew. His hands were shaking, so he grabbed the nearest crate and made himself useful. Matthew, beside him, did the same.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to. They had been given a warning.

They had also been given a choice. And the next time—when they had another moment, when there was another quiet place, when fate gave them the smallest sliver of privacy again—

Nathan knew exactly what choice he was going to make.

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

A Quiet Favor

The base was quiet.

No rehearsals, no performances, no last-minute scrambling to set up a stage. Just soldiers moving through their routines, mail being sorted, the distant sound of a radio crackling out big band music from someone’s tent. No show tonight. No show tomorrow.

Matthew leaned against the doorway of the officer’s quarters, one boot resting against the wooden frame. He had spent just enough time building an easy rapport with Lieutenant Calloway—the kind of officer who liked things running smoothly and saw no reason to make a problem where there wasn’t one.

“The base is quiet today,” Calloway muttered, signing off on a requisition form.

“That it is,” Matthew agreed, casual as ever.

Calloway sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t a bad officer. He was a man who appreciated the things that kept his soldiers from losing their damn minds, and the Special Services troupe had been doing just that—keeping spirits up, making the long weeks a little more bearable.

Matthew and Nathan? They were the best part of the show. Nathan had that voice—the one that made men pause mid-drink, made them lean forward without realizing it, made them forget where they were for just a moment. And Matthew? Matthew made it all work. He was the one who made Calloway laugh even when he didn’t want to.

Were they inseparable? Yes. Did Calloway care? Not even a little.

He exhaled, looked up, and smirked. “Let me guess. You want to get off base for a few hours.”

Matthew grinned. “Could be nice to stretch our legs.”

Calloway eyed him, then flicked his gaze toward the motor pool. The captured French convertible sat under the shade of a canvas tarp, a sleek little thing in dire need of a proper wash. It had been one of many vehicles left behind when the Vichy forces surrendered—now a “general-use” car for errands and, occasionally, small liberties.

“Lunch at the coast,” Calloway said, voice dry, as if he already knew the excuse Matthew was about to offer.

Matthew tilted his head. “Something like that.”

A pause. The lieutenant tapped his fingers against the desk, then sighed. “Take the convertible.”

Matthew barely held back a smirk. “Obliged.”

Calloway pointed at him with the end of his pen. “Back before sundown. I don’t want to have to explain why my best performers disappeared into the goddamn Mediterranean.”

Matthew gave him an easy salute. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nathan was waiting by the barracks, already knowing, already anticipating. He straightened when he saw Matthew approaching, a faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We got it?” Nathan asked.

Matthew tossed him the keys. “We got it.”

And just like that—They weren’t soldiers. They weren’t performers.

For one afternoon, they were just two men with a borrowed car and the open road ahead of them.

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

A Stolen Afternoon

The road curved, dipping toward the coastline, the sea stretching wide before them—deep, endless blue, sunlight glinting off the waves like scattered gold.

Nathan slowed the convertible as they neared a small cove, a secluded stretch of beach where the sand sloped gently into the water. The wind carried the scent of salt and warm earth, the air thick with the kind of quiet only found far from war.

Matthew grinned before the car even stopped moving. “Come on,” he said, already reaching for the door handle. Nathan barely had time to cut the engine before Matthew was out, boots crunching against the sand as he stepped onto the beach, hands on his hips like he was staking a claim on the entire Mediterranean.

Nathan shook his head, smirking as he climbed out, stretching his arms above his head. The sun felt different here—hotter, brighter, like it had never known war, never known uniforms or rules or anything beyond this moment.

Matthew turned back toward him, then glanced at the waves, then back at him. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “That the water’s probably freezing?”

Matthew’s grin widened as he hastily untied his boots. “Only one way to find out.” And then he bolted.

Nathan laughed, kicking off his boots before running after him, sand shifting beneath his feet as they raced toward the shore. Matthew hit the water first, letting out a startled yelp as the icy Mediterranean crashed around his ankles.

“Jesus—that’s cold.”

Nathan skidded to a stop just as the waves rolled over his own feet, hissing between his teeth at the shock of it. The heat of the sun had lied—the water was sharp and biting, enough to make his skin prickle.

Matthew groaned dramatically, running a hand through his wet hair. “That’s it. I’m staying right here. No deeper.”

Nathan snorted. “Coward.”

“Smart,” Matthew corrected, stepping back to stand beside him.

For a moment, they just breathed it in. The war felt impossibly far away. There were no uniforms here, no lieutenants watching, no stockrooms with creaking doors. Just the rhythmic pull and retreat of the waves, the soft laughter of gulls, and the sound of their own breathing blending with the tide. Nathan started to lose himself in thought, and Matthew edged closer to rest his forehead on Nathan's.

Another cold wave crashed at their knees. Matthew sighed. “I’m starving.”

Nathan shook his head with a small smile. “We’re on a beach in the Mediterranean, and you’re thinking about food.”

“I can appreciate both.”

With that, they waded back onto the warm sand, settling near the car, where their makeshift meal was waiting—ration tins and two bottles of Coke, still lukewarm from the heat of the day.

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

Nothing

Nathan cracked his open, the fizz hissing softly in the still air. He took a sip, grimacing. “Tastes awful.”

“Yep,” Matthew agreed, doing the same. He lifted his bottle slightly. “To stolen afternoons.”

Nathan met his gaze, watching the way the sun lit Matthew’s profile, the way the light made everything golden and unreal, a moment slipping between reality and something else entirely.

“To stolen afternoons,” he murmured, lifting his own bottle in return. They clinked them together gently, letting the sound vanish into the waves.

The sun sat higher now, warming the sand beneath them, casting light over their skin, their uniforms, their discarded boots beside the car.

Nathan had leaned back, hands pressed into the sand behind him, his bottle of cola resting half-finished beside his knee. He was still gazing out at the Mediterranean, watching the waves roll in, slow and steady. Matthew had finished eating a few minutes ago, but he hadn’t moved.

He was watching Nathan. Had been for a while.

Nathan must have felt it because, after a long silence, he sighed and let his head tilt toward him, his expression unreadable. “What?” he asked, though his voice lacked curiosity.

Matthew smirked, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

Nathan held his gaze for a second longer before exhaling through his nose. He stretched his legs out, letting his bare toes dig into the warm sand, his body easing further into relaxation.

Matthew shifted, leaning back on one arm while his free hand absently traced lines in the sand between them.

It wasn’t nothing. It was everything.

It was the weight of a stolen afternoon, of borrowed time, of knowing what he wanted and not knowing if he’d ever have it again.

Matthew cleared his throat. “You’re quiet.”

Nathan made a soft, noncommittal sound. “Mm.”

Matthew tilted his head. “Thinking?”

Nathan smirked, glancing at him. “Not everything is thinking, you know.”

“Mm.” Matthew mocked his answer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “So what is this, then?”

Nathan exhaled, tilting his face toward the sky. “Existing.”

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

A Test

Matthew watched him for another long moment. The sea breeze shifted Nathan’s hair, and the way the sunlight caught on his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, the curve of his throat as he breathed—

Matthew’s fingers twitched against the sand. He sat up.

Nathan barely moved, only watching as Matthew shifted onto his knees, brushing sand from his trousers. The tension was there, but it wasn’t sharp. It was slow. Heavy.

The kind that sank into your bones and made you feel alive in a way you couldn’t explain.

Nathan didn’t move, didn’t speak as Matthew reached for his wrist.

A test. A question.

Nathan let him.

Matthew traced his thumb over the inside of his wrist, slow, deliberate. Felt the warmth of his pulse beneath his fingertips.

Nathan exhaled through his nose, his lips parting slightly.

Matthew watched his mouth.

Nathan swallowed. “We should—”

“I know.” Matthew’s voice was quiet, but sure.

His fingers slid higher, barely brushing over Nathan’s palm, and Nathan let him.

The tide pulled in.

Nathan’s breath hitched as Matthew leaned in, close enough that he could see the sunlight reflecting in Matthew’s eyes, catching in the lighter strands of his hair.

They weren’t careless.

They weren’t reckless.

They were just here.

Matthew let the moment sit, let it breathe, watching Nathan watching him, feeling the way Nathan’s fingers curled slightly, barely resisting, barely holding back.

The waves lapped at the shore.

Nathan licked his lips.

Matthew made a choice. He didn’t kiss him. Not yet.

But he leaned in, until their foreheads touched, until the sun-warmed space between them was gone, until Nathan sighed—deep, surrendering, wanting.

And then—finally—Nathan lifted his hand, resting it lightly against Matthew’s jaw.

An answer.

A yes.

And this time, Matthew took it.

Nathan didn’t move at first. Not away. Not closer. His fingers rested lightly against Matthew’s jaw, as if testing the weight of his own decision—of his own want. Matthew let him.

The Mediterranean air was warm against their skin, the waves rolling in, the sand shifting beneath them. It was safe here. As safe as the world would ever allow.

Nathan inhaled, slow, steady. Matthew could feel the breath against his lips, the barest quiver of hesitation between them.

Then—Nathan closed the distance.

It was careful. Measured. Deliberate.

A kiss like something discovered, not taken.

Like something they had been waiting to find.

Matthew exhaled against his mouth, leaning into it, feeling Nathan—really feeling him—without the weight of war, of uniforms, of fear pressing between them.

For one afternoon, they were only this.

Matthew's fingers curled against Nathan’s wrist, holding him there as their lips met again—slow, savoring, as if learning the shape of something they weren’t allowed to name.

Nathan sighed against him, his thumb barely brushing against Matthew’s cheekbone, and something in Matthew’s chest cracked wide open.

They didn’t rush. Not this. They let the moment linger, let it settle, let it exist in a way neither of them had ever been allowed to exist before.

And when Nathan finally broke away, it was with a breathless sort of laughter, forehead still pressed against Matthew’s, eyes half-lidded in the golden sunlight.

“God,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, his lips barely brushing against Matthew’s again. “We’re idiots.”

Matthew grinned, breath still uneven. “Biggest ones in the damn war.”

Nathan exhaled, a small smile curving at the corner of his mouth. But his fingers lingered against Matthew’s jaw, as if committing the moment to memory.

Matthew knew they couldn’t stay here forever. Knew that the sun would lower, and the car would have to return to base, and that this moment—this impossible, stolen, sacred moment—would have to end.

But not yet.

Not yet.

Matthew shifted, pressing one more kiss to the corner of Nathan’s mouth.

Then, just as deliberately as before, Nathan pulled him down into the sand, where the waves rolled in and the world disappeared.

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

How Long Do They Have?

Long enough to breathe.

Long enough to linger.

Long enough for Nathan to keep his forehead against Matthew’s, their breath still uneven, their bodies still tangled, their fingers still grasping for something neither of them wanted to let go of.

Long enough for Matthew to let out a quiet, shaky laugh—a sound of wonder, of disbelief, of something unspoken but deeply felt.

Long enough for Nathan to trace the edge of Matthew’s jaw, his thumb skimming the damp skin at his temple, his lips parting as if to say something—but not saying it.

Long enough to not need words.

Long enough for Matthew to close his eyes, to sigh as Nathan shifted against him, as the heat of the sun and the warmth of each other blurred into one.

Long enough to memorize this.

Because there would not be another afternoon like this. They both knew it.

Nathan could feel it in the way Matthew’s fingers curled, but never fully grasped—never fully held him in place. Matthew could feel it in the way Nathan’s breath caught, but never turned into words—never became something permanent.

They had minutes. Maybe longer. But the sun was inching toward its descent.

And Nathan—who had spent his whole life waiting—did not want to wait for the moment this would end.

So they did not move. They only breathed. They only existed in the space they had made for each other.

Because they had made this, together. And if all they had left was his fading golden hour—then they would not waste a second of it.

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

The Cooldown

The sun hangs lower now, stretching golden fingers across the sand, spilling light over them in a quiet benediction.

The afternoon wind shifts, cool against their warmed skin, stirring the waves into a gentle call.

Nathan’s fingers flex, brushing against Matthew’s knuckles, and then he exhales, stretching. He turns his head toward the sea, as if remembering where they are, as if remembering that the moment is still theirs.

Matthew watches him for a beat longer. Still memorizing. Still holding on.

But then— Nathan tilts his head back toward him, a slow, contented smile on his lips.

"Come on," he murmurs, his voice still drowsy, still wrapped in warmth. "The water’s waiting."

And just like that—he is reaching first this time.

Nathan rises, shaking off the last remnants of stillness, of surrender, of rest, of love settled deep in his bones

Matthew exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head as he watches him go. But he follows. Of course, he follows.

They leave their uniforms folded in the sand, wading into the Mediterranean with the same ease, the same inevitability that brought them to each other.

Nathan moves first, stepping forward until the waves lap at his ribs, his head tilting back as the water cools the last traces of fire from his skin.

Matthew watches, standing just behind, before a smirk pulls at his lips and—with one decisive motion—he splashes him.

They push, pull, tumble, weightless in the salt and the sun, until breathless gasps turn to easy floating, until the playfulness settles into something quieter, something softer.

And for a while, there is nothing but the lull of waves, the endless stretch of the horizon, the feeling of existing completely, entirely, within a moment that cannot be taken from them.

The war will call them back soon.

The car will carry them away from this place, this day, this version of themselves that exists only here, in this golden light, in this fleeting, eternal afternoon.

But not yet. Not while the sea still welcomes them. Not while their bodies are still weightless in the salt and the sun.

Not while they still belong to this moment.

And so they go, to wash themselves clean, to cool the fire on their skin, to step together into the waves, knowing that no matter what happens next—

They were here.

This was real.

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

The Ring, The Promise, The Memory of the Sea

They return to base regretfully.

The drive back is quieter than the drive there, the air thicker, heavier, full of something unspoken. The road winds ahead, dust curling behind them, the scent of salt still clinging to their skin. They do not rush, but they do not linger.

The world is waiting for them again. By the time they arrive, the golden hour has faded into the cool edge of twilight. The moment has passed, but the weight of it remains.

Lieutenant Calloway watches them approach, standing near the barracks, arms folded. He doesn’t look annoyed. He doesn’t look surprised. "How was the swim?"

Matthew, ever quick, ever the showman, gives a casual smirk. “Good, sir. Refreshing.”

Nathan glances at him—just a flicker, just a beat—before nodding. "Yeah. It was good."

Lieutenant Calloway looks at them both. He sees more than sun-kissed skin. He sees more than wet hair and salt-streaked arms.

He sees the change in them.

The way they stand just a little closer. The way their voices are too steady, too careful. The way they look at each other without looking at all.

But Lieutenant Calloway is no fool. He does not ask what he already knows.

Instead, he exhales, gives a short nod, and mutters, "Good. Glad you made it back before dark - barely. Get some rest. Big show coming up."

And just like that—the world returns.

The normalcy.

The routine.

The performance of daily life.

Nathan sings again. Matthew charms a crowd again. Their days resume, full of staged laughter, careful movements, rehearsed lines.

But the sea has not left them. The rising and the falling of the tide still pull at them.

It stays in Nathan’s voice, in the way he sings just a little differently now, in the way Matthew hears something new in every note.

It stays in the weight of their gazes, the brushes of their hands when passing a prop, the slow, lingering minutes before sleep takes them at night.

And then, one night, after a show, Matthew finds his chance.

The world is quieter in the wings, where the only light is the glow from the stage beyond. The last soldier lingers off, laughing in the distance. Nathan is rolling up a spare cord when Matthew catches his wrist, tugs him back into the shadows.

Nathan stills, looking at him, questioning. He sees something raw in Matthew's eyes, something full of urgency.

And then—Matthew presses something into his palm.

A ring.

Cheap. Small. Nothing. Everything.

Nathan exhales a soft laugh, looking down at it, laughing, touched. “What the hell is this?”

Matthew doesn’t laugh. He watches him—serious, steady, certain.

"I mean it," Matthew says, voice low, voice careful. "After the war. We'll find each other."

Nathan blinks, his fingers curling around it instinctively. He swallows, tries for something easy, something light, but it doesn’t come. Because Matthew means it.

Nathan doesn’t say yes. He doesn’t say, I promise.

Because promises in war are fragile things.

But he slips the ring onto his finger. And Matthew sees that for what it is.

A vow. An answer.

A quiet yes when the world does not allow them to speak it aloud.

Nathan keeps it. Wears it.

And within a few weeks, he is gone. His unit is called to a new front.

Because that is how war is.

Because the world does not stop for love.

Matthew watches him leave. Nathan does not look back.

But Matthew knows— That Nathan carries the sea with him now.

That Nathan carries that day with him now.

That Nathan carries him with him now.

And somewhere, in the folds of a uniform, against the skin of his hand, the ring remains.

A promise.

A memory.

A hope that, one day, the sea will bring them back to each other.

[here-comes-the-moose]

Songs I Think The (Adult) Members Of The Bad Batch Would Sing At Karaoke And How Drunk I Think They Would Be

Hunter

“Living On A Prayer” (because of that one tweet about how karaoke is all about watching drunk Keith fighting for his life through that song)

Drunk. More than tipsy but not wasted.

Wrecker

“Let’s Get It On” but specifically with sound effects that make his voice wavy (I saw this on TikTok and it’s him)

Not even tipsy, basically completely sober he’s just here for a good time

Tech

“Rapture” (I don’t know the song just gave me the vibes of something he would enjoy and know all the words to)

More drunk than Hunter but not wasted

Crosshair

The ten-minute version of “All Too Well” (I joked about this once and then it really stuck and became a thing in my Bad Batch lore/headcanons; he just has a lot of feelings)

Completely trashed. Utterly white girl wasted. He had to be shown the video by his brothers because he did not remember any of it.

Echo

“Sway” (only the Dean Martin version because I don’t like Michael Buble for some reason and I don’t know why I just like to think of Echo singing Dean Martin or Frank Sinatra for some reason)

Drunk. Just drunk since I don’t think he can get wasted (he’s just built different)

[jollmaster]

Do you have any voice claims for the cast? Jsut asking! Sorry to bother you

all is okay, don't worry ✨

I don't have big claims about VA, because I think they basically did their best, especially in songs; maybe I didn't like Stephanie Beatriz's work, because she sounds a bit disinterested (Stephanie can do a great job, I remember her voicing and singing in Encanto)

my other complaints have more to do with change of VA: Edward Bosco as Alastor sounded more authentic (because of intonation and voice), Husk with Keith David's deep voice sounds like a something wrong (Keith is great, but husky soaked variant was wonderful for Husk as a character), Angel in series sounds less cocky and confident (pilot Angel, not that I love you, but I miss you), Zestial doesn't sound like a character from another era (he hadn't voice and dialogues in pilot, the issue is not the comparison, but quality of text)

to summarize, my main complaint is that I like the previous voice cast more, haha

[dearsnow]

hi!! can i just request any two-bit fluff...like jus domestic warm fuzzy fluff ..maybe slight silliness...feel free to write whatever

AND YET

- you happen upon your very noisy “roommate” cooking away in the middle of the night (two-bit mathews x gn!reader, domestic fluff, lowkey so cute)

word count: 687

a/n - asther fulfilling a request??? within a reasonable time????? the world is turning upside down, y’all 🫡 i hope you enjoy 😭

“Keith, seriously?” Your voice is hoarse, a desperate whisper that borders on a shout. It is 2:42 AM, and your recently-moved-in, much-loved but forever annoying boyfriend is making a four course meal in your kitchen.

Surprisingly, this is the first time you have ever seen him cook more than microwaveable meals and the occasional pack of instant ramen. He looks up at you, clad in pajamas, fuzzy socks, and a shit-eating grin. “What, I was hungry!”

“You’re gonna be hungry when I kick you out.” You mutter. “Couldn’t you at least be quiet about it? I heard pots and pans and humming through our very thin bedroom walls.”

“You can’t kick me out, I’m too fun.” He smiles. He puts a lid on his pan of frying bacon and turns off the heat. “You love me. Admit it.”

You scoff, but when he takes your hands in his, your heart skips a beat.

“You looooooove meeeeee,” he sings, “c’mon, just say it.”

“I would love you so much more if you didn’t wake me up so early on a work day.” You say, trying desperately to hide the fact that the corners of your mouth are turning up. Like always, though, somehow he notices. It’s like every almost-smile from you is a win, one more thing to keep him going before he runs out of energy and crashes into bed, legs entwined with yours and mouth slightly open.

He spins you around, still humming a song you don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It wouldn’t surprise you if he had just made it up. “I love you, and you love me. That’s why you’re dancing instead of yelling.” You laugh. You’re supposed to be angry with him, but the tension between your eyebrows dissipates when you look at his smiling face. If Two-Bit had just one talent, it would be switching your mood to happy. No matter what, no matter how annoying he is sometimes, you’re happiest when you’re with him.

“Yeah, I love you,” you gasp as he dips you so close to the floor you can feel the cold tile sucking in your heat, “and I love that you can make me laugh,” he pulls you back up, “but really, what are you doing making all this food at such an ungodly hour?”

He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head against your neck. He leads you in a few steps, his warmth smoothing the goosebumps on your arms. “I wanted to do something nice for once. You’re always making me breakfast, and you leave earlier than me, so I thought I’d make a bit of food that you can just heat up when ‘m dead asleep.”

“Really?” You move back to stare at him, eyes soft in the dim kitchen lighting. “That’s… that’s really sweet, Two. Thank you.” If you were being honest, you thought he barely noticed you taking care of him in that way. You figured that it’s just something that comes with dating someone who seems like they could burn water.

“Nah, it’s nothin’.” He turns his head, a blush creeping up his neck towards the apples of his cheeks. “I just want you to know I appreciate what you do. This whole ‘me movin’ in’ thing put a whole lotta stress on your shoulders, so some domestic effort from me couldn’t hurt. I’ll at least try be quieter next time, though.” He raises his eyebrows and presses a quick kiss to the back of your hand. You can feel your own cheeks heating up. “I don’t want you ruining the surprise again, hm?”

“Yeah, it sounded like an elephant was training to be a chef in here.” You tease. He laughs, the sound ringing in your ears like a sweet bell. It’s a sound you don’t think you could ever get tired of.

He slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. He would drop anything to have you pressed against him at all hours of the day.

“And yet you still love me.”

You grin at him. “And yet, my love, I won’t ever stop.”

[omniuravity]

I'm gonna rate all the songs in Hazbin Hotel in order from my least favorite to my favorite.

@bloodypeachblog @fatgumsurpremacy-remastered

12. It Starts With Sorry (Episode 2)

This song isn't bad, I just hate how sappy it is. It doesn't help that it's in the same episode as Stayed Gone which is one of my favorites.

11. Whatever It Takes (Episode 3)

Again, I don't hate it I just don't think it's as strong as the rest of the songs. I personally wasn't a fan of the songs in Episode 3, they just weren't as strong as the rest.

10. Welcome To Heaven (Episode 6)

It's not nearly as strong as the other song in the episode. It's pretty good though and reminds me of Happy Day In Hell, which I think was the point.

9. You Didn't Know (Episode 6)

This song is super emotional, but it has way too many story beats within the song and takes me for a ride. It is a powerful song towards the end, but idk it just doesn't hit as hard.

8. Happy Day In Hell (Episode 1)

It's a pretty good first song for the show. I'm just not a fan 🤷🏻‍♀️

7. Respectless (Episode 3)

It sounds like something I'd hear on the radio, which sometimes work but I just wasn't a fan. The only reason this song is so high is because I like Velvette's singing voice.

6. Hell's Greatest Dad (Episode 5)

This episode has two strong songs, and this one is definitely one of my favorites. I love the banter between Lucifer and Alastor. Personally the only thing I dislike about this song is Mimzy's entrance at the end, but I suppose it ends the song.

5. Hell Is Forever (Episode 1)

I love that it's a reprise of Happy Day In Hell, but also Alex Brightman is great at rock musical theatre. It's honestly just a bop. Guitar solo, fuck yeah!

4. Poison (Episode 4)

In my opinion this song is like Addict the sequel. This song is so passionate and strong that it just has to be one of my favorites. This is a reflection of not only Angel Dust as a character, but also the industry he works in.

3. Stayed Gone (Episode 2)

It's so good! It's a double villain song (even though Alastor is technically a protagonist). I am a sucker for a good villain song. Also, as someone who is studying music the A B B A format works really well for me. It's also super jazzy which fits both Vox and Alastor.

2. More Than Anything (Episode 5)

This song made me cry. This song is a testament to Lucifer as a character, as well as his love for his daughter. I am a SUCKER for emotional songs, and this one hit me in the gut.

1. Loser, Baby (Episode 4)

I LOVE Keith David's singing voice especially since I grew up with Princess and the Frog. Not only that, but it's a good start to the slow burn that HuskerDust is supposed to be. I also love that Husk calling "baby" is derogatory and as the song progresses it becomes friendly and loving.

[irkimatsu]

I hope The con is still going well for you! You can answer this when you get back if that's easiest for you (Go have your fun!!) I'm back with another albeit much less horny request. Maybe it's that I need Keith David to lull me to sleep, maybe it's that I know deep in my heart of hearts that Husk had a Frank Sinatra Vinyl collection in his life, who knows. But I wanna see something cute and fluffy with Husk and music, maybe like Dancing around his room to My Funny Valentine, or Somethin' Stupid. Just cheesy fluff for his❤️

I'm so sorry for how long this took, but I want you to know that this prompt has been consuming my brain ever since I first saw it. I've never heard "Somethin' Stupid" before, so I went and looked it up, and oh my god I love that song for Husk. I just had to write something! Here's some fluff with Husk singing to Reader, there's dancing and confessions and god he's so cute I love him so much~

(If you've never heard the song before, I recommend you listen along once Husk starts singing it! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_t2gNCXYbY)

You may not be sure of the specifics of Husk’s feelings for you, but however deep they go, you’re grateful for the time he spends with you.

On this evening, the two of you retreated to his bedroom after dinner, to have a drink and some conversation before it’s time for him to open the bar again. You don’t often join him here, but you’ve never for an instant suspected his intentions whenever he invites you. You’re sure that he simply enjoys having one-on-one time with someone without having to worry about others asking him to serve them drinks, and that’s all.

Would you mind if his intentions ever went further than that? You try not to think about that too hard, for fear that your hopes won’t align with his.

For now, you’re happy to sit and chat with him, sipping the sweetly sour red wine he’s poured and listening to the record he’s chosen to play. He seems to have a story for every song on the record, from concerts he’s attended all over the world, to the inspirations for his own performances, to unrelated memories he just happens to associate with the playing songs for reasons even he’s not sure of.

You love every story he has to tell, but your interest is most piqued whenever he speaks of his days in various bands. You may not know what he looked like when he was alive, but you can still see him so clearly on a brightly lit Vegas stage, fingers gliding over the saxophone that he describes with just as much wistful passion that he would use for a past lover. You can see him lowering the saxophone from his lips to start singing, all irritated gravel drained from his voice as it flows through the air, warm like honey, deep timbre filling an emptiness in your gut that you didn’t realize was there before now.

“I’d love to hear you sing more,” you say as he finishes another story about his life as a performer, clearly fond of the days he spent on a stage. “You’ve got a great voice.”

“More?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow. “When have you ever heard me singing at all?”

“You sing all the time when you’re working behind the bar,” you say. “I don’t even think you notice it.”

Husk coughs slightly on the sip he was taking of his wine, but manages to swallow it down with no further incident. “Shit… you’re right, half the time I don’t notice. Cleaning glasses is just so damn tedious, you know? I gotta pass time somehow, and if I’ve got a song stuck in my head I just-”

“You don’t need to explain,” you interrupt. “With a voice like yours, you can sing any time you want. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to hear it… I know I like hearing it.”

Husk hums thoughtfully as he takes another sip of wine. Is it just you, or are his cheeks faintly flushing from your compliment? Maybe you’re hoping for too much.

After draining his glass and gently setting it back on the table, he lifts himself up from his chair with a grunt. Without explaining himself, he heads to the box of records by the record player and starts flipping through them.

“I could… sing right now, if you want,” he offers, not looking up from the box. “I don’t get to perform much for other people anymore.”

“I’d like that,” you say as you try not to read too much into the gesture. Husk singing to you… for you… you’re sure it doesn’t mean anything and that he’s just showing off, and yet…

“Ah, here we go,” he says as he lifts a sleeve from the box. With great care, he removes the currently playing record and slips it into its own sleeve, then withdraws the new record and settles it in place. After he lowers the needle, gentle guitar strings begin emanating from the player. A few seconds into the song, he begins to sing, and you realize that there are no vocals on the record; the only voice you hear is his.

“I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend the evening with me…”

As he sings, he approaches you, feet stepping and tail swishing in rhythm with the song. He stops in front of you, and as the next line begins, he holds his paw out to you with a small smile.

“And if we go some place to dance, I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me…”

“Who says that I wouldn’t?” you say as you take his hand. He chuckles softly as he pulls you to your feet and resumes singing.

“Then afterwards, we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two…”

As he sings, he takes your other hand and holds both of them at chest level, his palms pressed against yours, firm claws and silky fur holding your hands in place.

“And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”

Your heart gives a single heavy beat at those words. You can’t read too much into it, shouldn’t read too much into it- it’s not his song, he’s singing it but he didn’t write it-

But then why did he choose this song to sing for you-

Before you can spend too much time worrying about it, his claws begin skimming down your bare arms.

“I can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before…”

They trail up to where your shirt sleeves begin, then take their rest on your shoulders.

“And though it’s just a line to you, for me, it’s true, and never seemed so right before…”

Where are you supposed to put your own hands now? You end up settling them on his hips, and his wings lightly flutter in response, his expression glowing at your touch.

“I practice every day to find some clever lines to say, to make the meaning come true…”

Either one of you could pull the other closer and close the agonizing inches-wide gap between you, but you, at least, can’t find the nerve to make that move. You settle for swaying with him, allowing him to set the pace as he sings.

“But then I think I’ll wait until the evening gets late and I’m alone with you…”

Has he always been this handsome? You may have acknowledged your attraction to him months ago, but in that moment, you see him in an even brighter light than you ever have before. His golden irises shimmer as he stares at you with lidded eyes, his pupils blown wide; he hasn’t taken his gaze off you since the moment he took your hand. His mouth is curved into a small smile, and his sharp fangs do nothing to demean just how soft his expression is as he sings to you.

“The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and oh, the night’s so blue…”

He shifts his arms so that they’re under your own, palms rested on your back, and finally takes the chance to pull you closer, your chest flush with his.

“And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”

You slide your hands from his hips to the small of his back so you can pull him closer in turn, your waists now touching.. He gasps slightly, his smile gone in favor of a look of surprise, and he stops singing. Did you distract him?

“Sorry, I-”

“Shh,” he says simply before returning to silence, swaying you in time with the music. Has the room always been this warm? No, it’s not the room- it’s him, now pressed closer to you than you ever thought possible. The smile’s returned to his features now, his gaze boring so deeply into you that no force in Hell could draw it away. He’s wearing the same cologne he always does, a woody scent that blends so right with the scents of whiskey and tobacco that always cling to his fur. You’ve always associated that scent with Husk, and standing here surrounded by that fragrance is where you’ve belonged for such a long time but never had a chance to be before now.

“The time is right, your perfume fills my head, the stars get red, and oh, the night’s so blue…”

He’s finally started singing again, his voice wavering more than it had the last time he sang that line. You probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t busy tuning every one of your senses into him to the exclusion of all else.

“And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like ‘I love you’...”

His breathing is slightly heavier, and you could swear you see a tear beginning to form in the corner of his eye.

“I love you… I love you…”

“I love you,” you respond in tandem with him, and before you can think, you’re pressing your mouth to his. The kiss is so fleeting, giving you barely enough time to savor the softness of his lips or the taste of wine on his breath. His eyes are wide open as you withdraw, still unable to pull away from you.

“I love you,” he sings one more time as the music fades, and follows it with a kiss of his own. His mouth is so gentle against yours as he turns his head to slot your lips together. He doesn’t move his mouth, content enough with the simple contact, though his claws do slightly grip at your shirt. His hot breaths ease into your mouth in a steady rhythm, neither of you moving an inch. Another instrumental has begun to play from the gramophone, but Husk shows no interest in singing along to it. You’re okay with that; as much as you love his voice, him continuing to sing would mean him breaking the kiss.

He makes a surprised, cattish noise as you comb your fingers through the fur on his cheeks and pull him in more firmly, but makes no move to break away from you. Warmth, scent, softness, taste; every one of your senses pleads so desperately for this moment to never end, to be permitted to indulge in him for the rest of your afterlife.

But eventually, he finally withdraws, much too soon for your heart’s liking but at a great relief to your lungs. He laughs nervously as he jerks back out of your grasp, lifting his paws off of you and drawing them closer to himself, out of your reach.

“Sorry,” he says, still trying to laugh. “Got carried away-”

You silence him by grabbing his cheeks and kissing him again, this one much more brief.

“Don’t apologize,” you say before kissing him once more. He still keeps his hands to himself, but he allows himself to enjoy the kiss for as long as you’re willing to give it.

“...I picked that song for a reason,” he admits when you finally break the kiss. “I’ve been… wanting to say something for a while.” He lifts a paw and gently caresses your cheek. “It’s just… been so long, you know? Since I’ve been with somebody. And usually when I’m with somebody, it…” He averts his eyes from you, his ears slightly drooped in shame. “...I’m not easy to handle. Never was, and I’m especially not now.” He laughs derisively. “So it really is stupid of me to think I should say I… well…” He trails off, apparently unable to get the words out when he can’t hide them in a performance.

“You should say stupid things more often,” you assure him as you wrap your arms around his neck and peck him on the nose. “I said it back, didn’t I?”

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?” Husk asks.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he laughs. The energy between the two of you is electrifying, you’re so sure he’s about to kiss you again-

Instead, he yelps in pain and jerks away from you.

“Husk?! Are you okay?!”

“It wasn’t you,” he assures you as he gently rubs at his throat. Despite the gentle tone he’s trying to use with you, you can tell by the way his ears have flattened that he’s pissed. “Just time for me to reopen the bar, that’s all.” His volume lowers as he grumbles to himself. “Someone’s gonna throw a fit if he doesn’t get his fuckin’ rye…”

“I wish we could have spent more time together,” you say. “You could have sang more… and we never finished the wine…”

“How about we pick this up later, after the bar’s closed for the night?” he says. “I wouldn’t mind having you up here more often.” He’s smiling again; it’s not a large one, but it seems you’re able to get his mind off his stressors, if only for a moment.

“It’s a date,” you say, returning his smile. You share a final kiss, much too short for your liking, and let him get back to his work.

You wonder what other “stupid” things he’ll have to tell you later.

[the-badger-mole]

Night on the Town: Part 2

For the first hour after the rest of Vivi and Heather’s friends began arriving, it was easy enough to avoid talking to Mya. Vivi had managed to get Heather alone and quickly explain what was happening, and now Heather was introducing the sisters as the Diaz girls. Jude, for her part was doing her best to keep away from Mya without making it too obvious that’s what she was doing. Cardan stuck by her as if he’d been tethered to her, but he probably would’ve done that regardless. It was going well until the party bus arrived.

The bus was the waiting in the parking lot. From the outside, it was a black, non-descript shuttle van like the ones used to take people to and from the airport or a hotel. Inside, though it was like a mini club. It was illuminated in purple, with mini disco balls throwing a rainbow of colors along the walls. The seats were plush couches along the sides and the back of the bus. The wall that sectioned off the bus from the driver was taken up by a TV screen that was already open to a karaoke screen. There was a bucket full of soda, water and an assortment of canned cocktails from the brand that Heather and Vivi liked. The whole group excitedly oo’d and aw’d  over their ride for the evening as they piled in. Cardan, especially was fascinated by the party bus and even Jude was distracted by taking it in. That is why neither of them noticed Mya settling in beside her until it was too late to discreetly change seats.

“So, things seem to be pretty serious between your sister and my cousin,” Mya said, smiling a bit too widely at Jude. “Terrance and I are really excited to get to know her.” Jude glanced at Terrance was seemed to be more interested in getting to know one of Heather’s friends from school, a pretty young woman with short cropped hair and bronzy skin.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen Vivi so happy,” Jude said. “I’m really glad she met Heather.”

“Speaking of meeting, how did you two meet?” Mya gestured to Jude and Cardan.

“Um…at school,” Jude said simply. “We were in the same class.”

“Oh, so high school sweethearts, then? That’s nice.”

“Something like that,” Jude chuckled nervously. Cardan raised his brows in amusement, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Why’d you get married so soon? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Was it soon to get married?” Cardan asked airily. He put an arm around Jude’s shoulders and twirled a lock of her hair. “I always thought with this sort of thing when you know you’re supposed to act.”

“Not everyone is so impulsive, my love,” Jude said with a teasing smile.

“There was nothing impulsive about it,” Cardan retorted. “I thought long and hard before I asked you to marry me.”

“That’s sweet!” exclaimed another of Heather’s guests, a woman who’d been introduced as Josie. “What made you decide you wanted to marry her?”

“I wanted her to trust me,” Cardan said with a shrug. “It worked.”

“What does that mean?” Mya asked, leaning forward.

“Nothing,” Jude answered quickly. “It’s an inside joke.”

“Uh-huh.” Mya studied them both closely. Cardan met her gaze with a smirk as he drew Jude closer to him. “Your parents were alright with it? My parents would’ve killed me if I tried to get married right out of high school.”

“My dad wasn’t thrilled,” Jude admitted.

“My father is dead, so his opinion didn’t matter,” Cardan snorted. An awkward silence fell over the group. Heather whispered something to Vivi, and a moment later, Vivi grabbed one of the karaoke mics from the holder by the TV.

“It’s karaoke time, guys!” Vivi declared. “Jude, they have that Hilary Duff song you were obsessed with when we were kids.” She leaned forward and held the mic to her sister. Jude laughed and pushed her hand away.

“You don’t have any drinks strong enough to get me to sing for an audience,” she said.

“Which is a shame,” Cardan murmured. “You have a lovely voice.”  

“Alright, then Terrance!” Heather turned to her cousin. “I know you’ve been dying to show off. They’ve got Keith Sweat. It’s my birthday. I demand someone serenade me.”

“Well, since it’s your birthday,” Terrance chuckled gleefully and took the microphone from Vivi. “Put on Twisted. Heather and Mya, you’re on backup vocals.” Vivi happily obliged. After Terrance was done, Josie chose the next song. Soon the bus was ringing with the cacophony of a group of singers with more enthusiasm than talent. Mya’s questioning was effectively ended when Heather pulled her up towards the front with her to sing a duet, causing the seating to shift. Vivi ended up taking her place. Jude squeezed her sister’s hand gratefully.

Since the visit where Cardan gave a gas station clerk roughly a month’s salary in gold, Vivi had taken it upon herself to give him a crash course in the value of money. They’d had another discussion the night before and came to the conclusion that the entire evening could be more than paid for with three or four gold coins. Cardan had brought a purse with at least fifteen. He paid their dinner bill with one, and with another two, he would give their waitress a very generous tip.

During dinner, Heather and Vivi sat as a buffer between Jude and Mya. It didn’t stop Mya from trying to pry.

“What does your dad do?” she asked, directing her question to both sisters.

“Military,” Vivi said shortly.

“Cool!” Mya said, ignoring Vivi’s tone. “Half of my Dad’s side of the family is in the military. Which branch is he in?”

“Dang, girl!” Heather snapped. “Are you writing a book? Let them eat in peace!” An odd look crossed Mya’s face. She murmured something unintelligible before taking a long sip of her drink. After a few minutes, she was drawn into conversation with Josie and Ben, a friend of Heather’s from school. Jude and Cardan’s attention were claimed by others.

 As the meal drew on, Mya spoke less and less. She had her phone out and was focused on the screen. Every so often, she would look up at Jude or Vivi, but mostly her eyes landed on Jude. Both sisters pretended not to notice as not to cause tension during Heather’s celebration, but Cardan had no such reservations. He met Mya’s eye with a glower of his own and he kept his arm protectively draped over the back of Jude’s chair. At one point, Heather kicked her cousin’s chair and hissed something at her. Mya blushed and went back to her phone.

Before the meal ended, and everyone got back onto the waiting party bus, Jude stepped away to use the restroom. Cardan and Vivi were discussing the payment of the bill, and Heather was deep in conversation with Terrance about the nightlife in Portland versus New York and Philly. No one else thought anything of it when Mya got up a few minutes after Jude and followed her to the bathroom.

“Oh, hey!” Mya greeted her brightly. Jude raised her brows and continued scrubbing her hands beneath the faucet. “I just came to wash my hands. I got burger grease all over them.”

“Hm…” Jude nodded her head and shook the water from her hands. She motioned to the row of sinks and went to get a towel. Mya cleared her throat and moved towards the soap dispenser.

“It was really generous of you and your husband to pay for dinner. Thanks for that.”

“It was Cardan’s idea,” Jude told her. “As a birthday gift to Heather.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“We like Heather,” Jude shrugged. “And she’s been so great about our brother having to stay with them for a while.”

“Oh, yeah!” Mya’s face lit up and Jude was conscious of having made a misstep somehow. “Did something happen with your parents?”

“Nothing major,” Jude shrugged. “Just a little family drama that we thought it was best to keep Oak out of for now.”

“You know, I’ve volunteered with kids from abusive homes,” Mya started.

“It’s nothing like that,” Jude cut her off sharply. Mya winced.

“I’m sorry if I struck a nerve. I didn’t mean anything by it. Heather mentioned that Vivi’s dad adopted you and your other sister.”

“What about it?” Jude’s face hardened.

“Nothing. Nothing. I just meant that there must have been a lot of love in your house growing up. A lot of kids don’t get adopted at that age. What were you, 7? 8?” Jude didn’t respond to that. She tossed the paper towel in the trash and headed for the door.

“Is your last name Duarte?” Mya asked as Jude’s hand brushed the doorknob. “Your maiden name, I mean.” Jude glanced back and looked Mya dead in the eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s Diaz.”

Part 1, Part 2, Finale

@imaginelovewrite I got inspired to continue the story. Yay!

[lillypad910]

Can I request a oneshot where reader gives Keith a spoon full of salt (like this https://youtube.com/shorts/cWHPVXMZdBQ?feature=share4 ) as a prank, but he just say that everything is ok just because he doesn't want to hurt reader feelings? And then even If this was just a silly prank reader realizes that Keith loves and cares about them so much?

Thank you for my first request!! I hope I did this justice! I knew exactly what the spoon of salt prank was before even looking at the clip and I’m so happy to get to write it with a character! You didn’t specify a gender so I didn’t use any pronouns so it’s completely gender neutral! Thank you again!!

Keith Kogane x Gn!Reader

Word count: 463

Short but sweet!

You were in the kitchen on the Castle of Lions, Hunk stood next to you as you both prepared the meal for the rest of the paladins. You had gotten tired of that green food goo a while ago, so you and Hunk decided to try something new, to experiment a bit.

As you stirred the bowl of soup in the pot, an idea struck you. “Hunk,” you turn towards your larger friend, “hear me out.”

It took no time at all once your shared your devious prank with Hunk, before the spoon was covered in salt and dipped into the soup to cover the evidence.

Walking out of the kitchen with a spoon in hand, carefully, you made your way into the lounge area where the other paladins were sitting. Lance, Allura, and Pidge were all grouped together, talking about who knows what, voices giggling to themselves as they minded their own business.

Keith and Shiro were sitting on the other side, talking about the black lion. You walk over a bright smile on your face. “Keith?” You stop by the two and Keith looks up at you. “Yeah?” He looks at you, eyes happy to see you. “Would you try this for me? I’m trying to decide if it’s good.” You give him your best sing song voice, eyes glittering with hope.

Without batting an eye, Keith nods, “Sure,” he opens his mouth and you put the spoon closer to him for him to swallow the scoop. Almost instantly a reaction occurs as his nose slightly scrunches up. “Is it good?” You ask, trying not to laugh and break your cover. His lips pinch as he swallows, eyes twitching. “Yeah, babe, it’s-“ He smacks his lips, obviously struggling from the sudden lack of water in his mouth, “it’s good.”

“Do you think it’s needs more salt?” “No!” He practically cuts you off before correcting himself, “no, babe, it’s perfect just how it is. I’m sure everyone will like it.” He smiles at you, just happy to see your cute little smile get bigger.

It was at this moment you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling. You knew he was saying it was good just to make you feel good about it, not because he actually liked it.

His head tilts at your laughter. “Everything ok? Did I say something funny?” He asks. “No, no, you didn’t.” You try to stop your giggles before pulling him into a hug by his shoulders. “You’re too sweet, Keith.”

You knew Keith cared about you, but you didn’t know how deep that care went. If it was Lance with the spoon, he would have told him it was the grossest thing he’d ever eaten, but he didn’t. Because it was you, and that makes you happy.

[hockeylovincountrygirl16]

The time line

12 years old first meeting Ashleys pov)

my dad took me on a dad and daughter vacation to st.lewis for a hockey game many people might think as a young girl I'd rather do something big and fancy but not me I'd rather just be with my dad and I love hockey so it's a win win for me. Right now dad told me to go get something from the consession stand when I bumped into someone.

"I'm so sorry" a males voice said

" it's okay it's my fault" I said

As I looked up I saw percing but welcoming blue eyes and an extended hand which I gladly took

" I'm matthew but you can call me matt" the boy said smiling

" I'm ashley" I said

" well that's a really pretty name" he said and I blushed

For a few minutes we were walking around talking I stopped at the consession stand to get my dad and I each a drink and we just talked

" MATTHEW" a voice yelled and we turned and Matthew groaned

"what Braden" matthew asked annoyed

" moms looking for you" the boy Braden said

" well go back and tell her I'll be back in a second I'm just gonna walk her back to her seat" Matt said as he gestured to me

The boy nodded and walked off

" I'm sorry about him I'm the eldest and he's the middle child most annoying part of my life" Matt said and I giggled

" you think one brothers bad try having three" I said and he looked mortified

" you have three brothers" he said and I nodded

Once we were at my seat he stopped me

" do you have a phone" he asked and I smiled nodding handing him my phone and he typed in his number

"What was that for" I asked

" text me or call me" he said and I smiled nodding

16 years old comfort Matt's pov)

I was sitting in my room and I had my computer up getting ready to call Ashley when her icon popped up and i answered

" hey a" I was cut off by a sob

"ashy what's wrong" I asked worried

" I'm adopted matty " she sobbed and my heart shattered hearing her cry I noticed her breathing picking up and I quickly thought of something

" hey babe what's three things you can hear"

" you, my brothers playing Chel, and my music" " good now three things you can feel"

" my hoodie my blanket and my stuffed cow"

" three things you can smell"

" my candle perfume and dinner" " great are you feeling better" I asked and she nodded " yea" she said " good" I said

After a few hours we hung up because we had school tomorrow and I fell asleep thinking about the girl who's my best firend and the love of my life

17 years old blake Shelton concert matts pov) today ashley and I are going to a blake Shelton concert with her mom butbright now we're standing almost to the front I have ashley in my arms than honey bee came on and after few minutes it was time for the chorus and i smiled and started singing as I turned ashley

" you'll bey soft and sweet I'll be your strong and steady you'll be my glass of wine I'll be your shot of whiskey you'll be my sunny day I'll be you shady tree you'll be my honeysuckle I'll be your honey be" I always sing that verse to her and kissed her head as we swayed to the song

" I love you honey bee" I said and she squeezed my hand. What we didn't know is that her mom took a bunch of pictures of us

19 years old Matt's draft ashleys pov)I was sitting next to matthew at his draft he had begged me to come over the years I've become an important part in matthews life and Chantel and Keith asked me to join for matthews sake and here I am sitting next to a nervous wreck matthew as held my hand

" Matty calm down your okay " I said with a little laugh

" your not the one about to be drafted ash" he said and I giggled

" I know but you have me with you every single step of the way" I said kissing His cheek and he kissed my head. After an hour the draftbstarted with the Toronto maple leafs and they selected Austin matthews. It was now the Calgary flames turn

" it's with great pleasure that we announced that our 2016 first round pick from the memorial cup champion London knights Matthew tkachuk "

matthew grinned getting up hugging his family than turned to me and hugged me kissing my head

" you did it Matty your in the big leagues" I said as I let him go and he walked down to the plate form

July 2023 brady's wedding reception matts pov) I was sitting next to my brothers when matthew came up to me " wanna dance" he asked and I smiled nodding he held his hand out and we walked to the dance floor " let's say this is our make for prom" he said and I laughed after a few minutes brady slapped bradys shoulder separating us " so when am I gonna be a best man" he asked causing me to giggle "get out of here" Matt said shoving brady away and I was laughing to where I laid my head was in matthews chest. After a few minutes I was taking shots with tyranwheb gimme more by Britney spears came on " you should go give my brother a show" she said referring to mathew" I'm not drunk enough " I said " okay you need to grow a pear and tell Matty how you feel cause I wanna be a brides maid but seriouslygo he'll like it " she said dragging me to matthew and pushing me at him

[kaizoku-musume]

Mayday Hayday Gift Exchange

I had the absolute pleasure of participating in this years' Ikeseries gift exchange hosted by @olivermorningstar and @lorei-writes, and I got the wonderful @tulipsaisle for my giftee. She has a wonderful OC that was fun to write about and I hope I did her justice. Thank you all for the opportunity to join in on this amazing experience!

Fox Fashion

Shiloh scratched the tabby cat’s back, taking a break from running her stall at the day’s slow peak. It was so heartwarming for her attention to be rewarded with purring delight and affectionate head bumps.

Paying attention to the cat also had the added benefit of Shiloh being able to ignore Nokto Klein.

“Shi-loooooh,” Nokto sing-songed as though he’d not been yapping for the past five minutes about his latest conquest at some ball he just attended. Couldn’t he have picked a more interesting topic? It’s not like Nokto wasn’t a great storyteller: the way he could draw in a crowd as he utilized his honey-smooth voice and descriptive embellishments was near unparalleled, but he so often wasted his talents by telling tales no one wanted to hear, least of all Shiloh.

“Did you hear something, Minou?” Shiloh cooed at the cat, “All I heard was the wind. If only it would blow its hot air somewhere else, huh?”

“Come now, I’m sure there are better ways for me to put my mouth to use than just blowing air, hmmm?” Nokto purred. Shiloh clucked her tongue and turned her face away so he couldn’t see her red cheeks. She always struggled to think up a good comeback when he toed the line of vulgarity like that.

“Be honest, dear,” Nokto said, angling his body to try and catch a peek of her face, “is a cat you see every day really more interesting than a prince specifically stopping by to visit you?”

“Oh, of course not,” Shiloh waved Nokto off. She took a small toy mouse out of the pocket of her dress (it was worth  making friends with the best seamstress in town) and tossed it on the ground for Minou to play with. “If Licht were to stop by, I’d be happy to sit him down for some tea and snacks.”

“Just Licht?” Nokto prompted.

“Well, there’s also Leon, Jin, Yves,” Shiloh counted on her fingers as she listed everyone aside from Nokto, “I heard Prince Keith is a good conversationalist and knows a lot about flowers, I wouldn’t mind picking his brain about them, and there’s-”

“I think I get it,” Nokto said dryly, “so foxes rank pretty low under cats with you.” He reached out to boop Minou’s nose, causing the cat to scrunch her face adorably. “What am I going to have to do to make you change your mind?”

Shiloh raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Do you really think you can compare with Minou’s gentle sweetness? Her precious curled feetsies?”

“I don’t think any human can compare to that,” Nokto admitted. That was suspicious. Usually he didn’t give up so-

“But I can show you a different kind of pleasure that’s just as delightful.”

-soon. “Unless you’re talking about the pleasure of silence, I’m not interested,” Shiloh said, dusting her dress as she stood up, ready to refocus on her shop.

Nokto laughed and said, “I’ll get you to admit my charms one day, Miss Hayes.”

* * *

“Ugh!” Shiloh groaned as she fanned herself with her hand, “Why can’t spring last longer?” Maybe she should upgrade from an outdoor stall to a shopfront-then she’d have more than just shade to protect herself.

At least she wasn’t suffering alone. Nokto had shown up minutes ago, having heard the same thing from Celine, the seamstress, about a surprise showing up around now. And Nokto wasn’t any better in the heat than she was. “I can easily say this isn’t my preferred method of working up a sweat,” he agreed, asking for the second time, “Are you sure you don’t want to close up and go to a cafe? I’d never imply you were anything other than a delight to look at, but you’re turning a shade of red that even I normally can’t get out of you.”

“No thanks,” Shiloh stood her ground, though there was a part of her that couldn’t deny being tempted, “but if you can’t handle it, I won’t think less of you for needing to escape to safety.”

“Such a kind offer. But I’m not callous enough to leave you out here all by yourself. Why, what if you were to feel faint under the-” Nokto sputtered a bit when Shiloh frantically shushed at him to be quiet, flapping her hands in his face. She’d just spotted Celine’s surprise trot around the corner.

“Oh. My. God!!!” she shrieked, taking in the sight of Minou in the most adorable little getup Shiloh had ever seen. Never in a million years would Shiloh ever imagine she’d see Minou in a dress, but here she was, watching the tabby proudly prance over to her, wearing a tiny, flowery-there were roses! And junipers!-green sundress, perfectly sized and aimed at making Shiloh lose her mind with cuteness overload.

“Well, that’s certainly something,” Nokto observed over Shiloh’s gushing, “That must have been a struggle, to wrangle a cat into that outfit.”

“It’s worth it,” Shiloh declared in awe, “she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. And such a good idea! How many people would jump on the idea of outfits for their pets? Celine could start a whole line of clothing for pets-the fabric and labour costs would be much lower, too. Oh, she’s brilliant!” 

Nokto watched on as Shiloh began muttering about the process of the fashion industry and how it can accommodate Celine’s project. “This is what gets you going, is it?” he chuckled in amusement, “Regular clothes just aren’t enough for you anymore so now you need a tiny version to get excited over?”

Shiloh cut off her rambling, a hand on her hip as she addressed Nokto, “When a new line drops, I’ll be all too happy to talk your ear off about it. Don’t for one second think I’ve given up one of my big loves in life. But come on!” she gestured toward Minou, who was in the middle of grooming herself, “I challenge you to find anything cuter than a cat in a dress.”

“Sounds like a tough challenge,” Nokto said, a sudden gleam in his eyes, “what do I get if I win?”

That didn’t sound good at all. Shiloh eyed Nokto warily, wondering what the tricky fox was up to. But it wasn’t like she could take it back-withdrawing now would just make it look like she thought Nokto could actually do it. She would have to face this head on. “If you can succeed, I’ll take you up on one of your non-sexual! invitations.”

Nokto’s grin made her immediately regret her words. “Sounds like a deal. I hope you keep to your word.”

Ah, great. Shiloh blamed her poor decision on the awful heat.

* * *

Well, today was the day. Nokto had messaged Shiloh to let her know he was ready to show her something cuter, and Shiloh could only hope that he came up with something perverted; it would be a pain to deal with, but at least she lose and be dragged along on whatever plan he had up his sleeves. All Shiloh could do was count down the minutes until the time Nokto promised to arrive, her eyes boring holes at the street corner he should come down.

She’d wracked her brain, trying to think of every possibility available, but when Nokto finally rounded that corner, she realized nothing could prepare her. Shiloh slapped her palm over her mouth to stop herself from bursting out laughing at the sight before her.

“Well?” Nokto twirled for her, the hem of the dress he wore flaring out with the motion, “What do you think?”

“Wh-why?” Shiloh wheezed behind her hand, still struggling not to laugh despite the realization that the dress actually looked good on Nokto. He’d gotten it tailored to his measurements and picked a colour that went well with his skin tone, so he was clearly taking it seriously . . . kinda. Nokto hadn’t passed up the opportunity to be as, well, slutty as possible: the dress was a slinky little number, the neckline was cut as low as physically possible, and there was a slit along his right thigh nearly to the waist, revealing pantyhose of all things! Why was he like this?!

Nokto struck a couple of unnecessarily sexy poses, “Because it’s clear that the only thing cuter than a cat in a dress is a fox in a dress, wouldn’t you say?”

Shiloh had a lot she wanted to say, such as “but you’re not an actual fox” and “then why didn’t you wear a cute dress?”, but none of that mattered more than telling him, “There’s no way this counts.” Nokto just smirked, like he was prepared to debate this all day if he had to, and Shiloh knew, with a dawning sort of horror, that she’d sealed her fate the moment she set up that condition.

Maybe she could still get something out of it if she convinced Nokto to wear a dress to whatever party he wanted to drag her to-at least that would give her something positive to look forward to in the face of her crushing defeat.