#had it on loop for the past few weeks along with the singles

[thurnerstorms]

this band is the only thing keeping me sane rn

[covetyou]

the best of the world in the palm of our hands

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), pussy spanking, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (f receiving), cumplay, anal play (blink and you'll miss it), derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap, joel miller is a massive slut word count: 4.9k chapter summary: You find a way to pay your fathers debts

A/N: pussy spanking! lets go! you know the old saying, open mind open legs.

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song: damage gets done by Hozier

Your dad had been rationing his pain meds for months, barely taking one every two days now that the world had gone to shit and they were so much harder to come by - and so much more expensive as a result. Lean times were made leaner still by missed shifts and slow work, which meant for even fewer pills to ration out.

Eventually, you would listen, night after night, as he groaned and writhed in pain, meds long gone. Nights like that meant another missed shift, fewer ration cards, and the ever looming threat of debtors coming to collect on what was theirs.

That was the situation that had brought you here, to his door. Desperation, and a debt needing to be paid.

Your knock on the door sounds sharp in the silence of the hallway. You're in a "nicer" part of the QZ - the apartment block cleaner and less crammed full of bodies than others. Here there are fewer people to care, fewer people to see. Fewer people to hear you scream.

The door in front of you suddenly flies open and you wretch you head around, straightening your back. You'd told yourself you'd play it cool, but already you were failing.

Joel Miller, self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer, stands before you. He's tall and broad, taking up almost the entire doorway as he rests one hand on top of the frame. He ticks one hip to the side and tucks his fingers through his belt loops.

You'd seen him from a distance, people pointing with whispers of "that's him", but never up close. Flecks of gray dance around the scruff on his jaw, his dark brown eyes wrinkling as he assesses you. The firm expanse of him so much more intimidating from this distance, you square yourself before you speak.

"I -" you begin, but he immediately cuts you off.

"I don't do business in the hallway," he drawls. "This is business, right?" he quirks a dark eyebrow at you.

You nod, all words snatched from your brain. You'd never heard him before - his southern drawl sounding cocky as he sizes you up, standing meek and mild in the corridor.

"S'always business. Come in then, sweetheart," he says, barely moving his body from blocking the doorway for you to squeeze past him. You push yourself against the door frame as much as possible so you don't drag your body along his.

The living room of his apartment is bigger than the entire place you share with your father. As far as you can tell, Joel lives here alone.

The door slams shut behind you, and heavy footsteps walk past you. Joel picks up a bottle and a single glass, pouring himself two fingers of whisky before setting the bottle back down and taking a sip. You knew you would be vulnerable, coming here alone, but you hadn't taken into account feeling trapped.

"So, what y'here for?"

"M-my dad, he's -"

"I know who your dad is, sweetheart. Seen you together. He owes me. Ain't heard from him in a few weeks. I asked what you're here for, not about your dad."

"Yeah," you nod, trying to feign confidence, "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. He needs more medicine."

"What I gave him weren't medicine, it ain't fixin' shit. I gave him pain relief. That's it."

"Well, he needs more. He's out, and he's hurting, and he can't work - " you ramble, but he cuts you off again.

"Now, sweetheart," he raises a finger to stop you. "I don't see why I should be giving you, or him, anythin'. I owe you nothin', and from where I'm standing, you're the one who owes me. Two weeks worth, right?"

Your eyes go wide. You were hoping he'd make it easier than this - go easy on you because you were a girl and you were here alone. You were hoping to play on his heartstrings, but you were starting to realise that maybe he didn't have one.

His glass thunks down on the table.

He circles you like a predator circles its prey, looking you up and down, assessing for weakness. You stare straight ahead, unwavering as possible.

He stops in front of you, tall and foreboding, before tilting your chin up with a single finger.

"You got the cards for that?"

You shake your head no.

He clicks his tongue, smiles, and says, "That's a damn shame". You have a feeling he doesn't think that at all.

"Dad's been hurting too much, he can't work, we haven't been able to get the cards, I've been trying I - "

"Looks like you'll have to do then," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his broad chest as he leans back against his dining table. "Show me what you can pay me with."

You'd never done this before - well, that was a bit of a lie. You'd done something like this, once, before, with someone else, someone different, someone who probably couldn't hurt you in the ways the massive figure of Joel Miller could hurt you.

You take two small steps toward him, and move to lower to your knees - you'd heard men like him accepted this mode of "payment" all the time - but he grabs your arm in one giant hand before you can make your descent.

You balk at him, "Wha - "

"I don't want a half-hearted blow job, sweetheart," he licks his lips and his thick fingers tug at the hem of your too big t-shirt. "Why don't you take this off. Show me what you can pay me with."

The implication was clear - he didn't want anything you could give him, but you had plenty he could take. Your breath hitches, but you don't let yourself hesitate for long.

Swallowing thickly, you yank your t-shirt over your head and dump it on the floor beside you in one swift action. You're painfully aware that your bra is the least flattering thing you could possibly be wearing - it's soft and old and entirely shapeless, but you weren't expecting to be stripping off for him. You shouldn't even care what he thinks of you but it'd been so long since anyone had seen your bare skin that even this twisted exchange felt like you should've made more of an effort.

You stare directly ahead, not daring to meet his eyes as heat flares in your cheeks. He stalks back to the table and picks up his whisky. You watch him raise it to his lips before he notices you looking. You haven't moved.

He's on you in an instant, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks with force as he directs your eyes to his. The heat still burns through your face, but you feel it start to snake traitorously down your spine.

"I said, show me or do you want me to fuckin' rip the rest off you."

Nodding, you scramble to remove the rest of your clothing. It's not sexy, why fucking would it be, and you fumble with the buttons on your pants longer than you'd like, but eventually you're stood entirely nude for him in his apartment.

A puff of air huffs out if his nose and his face twitches as he appraises you like some kind of show cattle. You don't know if he likes what he sees, but that traitorous drip of warmth down your spine hopes that he does. You can trick yourself into thinking it's because he might go easier on you if he likes you, but the longer you stand there under his gaze the more you don't want him to go easy on you.

"You are a pretty thing," he says, rubbing the scruff of his beard. "I think you got just the thing I need to let your dad off the hook, don't you? Might even throw something else in to sweeten the deal if you're extra good." He strokes your hair, and you try to hold back a shudder of arousal. Maybe he'll think it's fear, and maybe it is. Maybe it's both.

"How's that sound?" he prompts as he laces his fingers through your hair and tugs.

You look at his face, his eyes are dark, darker than before, the way he's looking at you makes that traitorous drip into a flood. "Okay."

He wordlessly grunts as he tugs your hair some more and pushes you toward a door on the otherside of the room, making you walk ahead of him.

Even with his hand in your hair, guiding you, your feet move of their own accord. You want to object, refuse, but you can't. You want this. You want a man like Joel - big, protective, in control - to pay you any attention. Whatever the cost.

One final nudge of your head and you stumble into the room as he releases you.

His bedroom is sparse, as expected. Interior decor went to shit with the end of the world, and Joel didn't seem like the kind of man who would've cared about that before anyway.

You stand at the foot of his bed looking down at your toes as they bunch and un-bunch in the carpet. You hear him come in and close the door. If you weren't trapped before you definitely are now. You don't look up at him, you can't, so your eyes remain fixed at your feet when his step into view.

"You ready to get on the bed for me, sweetheart?" His hand strokes gently across the swell of your breast as he talks to you. It's the first time he's really touched you and the flood down your spine has now gathered into a slick pool between your legs.

You do as you're asked sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling even smaller now as he towers over you. You could have been 8 feet tall and still felt small and vulnerable in this moment, Joel Miller cascading above you fully clothed.

A large hand rests on your shoulder, a gentle pressure pushing you to fall back to the mattress below.

"You lay back now. Relax."

You try not to scoff but you can't help it.

"Ain't goin' to hurt you. What good would that do me. I like my customers alive."

You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself with your back flush to the mattress, looking at him as he still hulks above you. You can do this. He'll just... take what he wants. And you'll let him. Then you'll be on your way.

He's still standing above you as he directs you. "Good girl. Now open your legs for me. Lemme see."

You take another deep breathe, hold, and exhale, opening your legs for him just a fraction.

"I'm a patient man, sweetheart, but when I tell you to do something, you fuckin' do it," he growls as he kicks your legs open further. You spread them even wider, wanting to keep on his good side. You're completely exposed and bare for him now. Everything is on display and he still towers over you, looking down at your naked form on his bed.

"Fuckin' beautiful," you think you hear him mutter as he moves to a crouch between your spread thighs. You hold your breath, tensing and try not to clamp your legs shut at his inspection.

"I'm just lookin', sweetheart," Fingers rub calming circles over the softness of your thighs and your legs twitch.

"Keep your fuckin' legs spread," he says with a sharp slap to your thigh. Gasping at the shock, you push your legs to spread as wide as they can. You feel obscene, so open for him and his hand strokes the spot he'd just struck, soothing it.

You were beginning to see how this would go - do exactly as he said and he'd be gentle. Disobey, or be slow on the uptake (patient man my ass) and you'd soon feel the sting of punishment. The thought of that makes you clench around nothing, and you curse under your breath as it's surely now drawn attention to just how wet you are.

You stare up at his yellowed ceiling and hear a chuckle from between your legs - he definitely fucking knows. You don't dare to look down, you just want him to get on with it, until suddenly fingers come dangerously close to your sex and pull you apart, spreading your bare cunt even more for him.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing," he says to your pussy.

The fingers, his thumbs you realise, massage up and down the sides of you, avoiding any direct touch to your folds, but massaging the flesh in such a delicious way that you can't help but feel it right where you need it most.

Joel hums as he moves to his knees, getting closer to your spread cunt, still rubbing his thumbs up and down the sides of you, gradually moving closer and closer to the center of your sex until he's dragging the tips of both thumbs through your wetness and up to the sides of your clit.

You take another deep breath and try to muffle your whimpers with pursed lips, trying to hold back a moan.

"She's likin' that," you hear the amusement in his voice, "I wonder if she'll like this." He moves one of his slicked thumbs directly above your clit and begins to gently stroke. Your hips jerk, unsure if it's toward or away from the pressure of his thumb.

"Oh, she does," and he applies more pressure, circling torturously around your nub as his other hand continues to explore your folds in gentle strokes, parting your opening with two fingers occasionally to see the wetness gathering there, to see how ready for him you are.

"You ever touch yourself like this?" he's talking to you again now, not your cunt.

"N-no," you stutter, as his thumb keeps its languid pace on your clit.

"You don't touch yourself? Y'look well old enough to have done this before."

"No, I-I do, just... not. Not like this."

Joel hesitates for just a moment, fingers stilling, before continuing on. "You like it though." It's not a question. "Tell me how you touch yourself." That wasn't either.

"I don't - I. Fuck," you hiss. You try to relax your grip on the sheets, but his rough thumb on your clit is distractingly good. "I - rub," you pant out.

"With fingers?"

"No," you squeeze your eyes shut. You can't say you expected much from this visit, but telling a stranger how you get yourself off in the dark of the night definitely was not on your list.

"Againstapillow," you mumble, a soft moan being pulled from shortly after as he increases the frequency of his circles on your clit.

"So you're a sweet girl whose sweet pussy only knows soft things?" he hums in thought. "Anything ever been in here?" his index finger circles around your opening, slick now dribbling out of you and being spread around by his thick finger. You must glisten.

You gulp down a sigh. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're getting at."

"That's good," he chuckles. "Can't imagine you'd want your first to be like this. Of course a pretty little slut like you has had somethin' in here before." His finger circles more around your hole, barley dipping inside as his well practiced thumb swipes firmly over your swollen clit.

Two thick fingers suddenly plunge into your dripping cunt with ease, stretching you. You pull back with the shock, trying to shuffle up the bed and away at the sudden intrusion, pulling his fingers from you. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you down and pulling you back toward him.

"Did I say you could fuckin' move?" You shake your head. You didn't even mean to move. It felt good, it shouldn't feel fucking good, you were just surprised.

slap

You hear it before you feel it - a wide hand colliding bluntly with your exposed cunt, sending a sharp stinging, buzzing sensation straight back up your spine. You think your brain shuts off entirely for a second before you gasp for air.

"I know you wanna be good for me. You wanna do right by your sick old dad, right? Help him out of a tough spot?"

His entire palm engulfs your mound with ease, covering you completely as he massages his fingers side to side, easing the sting and jerking your clit in a way that has you rolling your hips and biting back a moan.

"Try getting away again and I'll give your worse than that," you push your pelvis toward him at his words. You really try not to be obvious in your disappointment, you want to be good, but you want it. You want worse. And you know he knows. "But be a good girl and I'll give you exactly what you want. That's why you're here, ain't it?"

Before you can answer he delivers several quick light smacks to your bare pussy. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough send the vibrations through you and straight to your struck clit. He removes his hand to look at your quickly reddening pussy before returning to smack you some more. You gasp, trying desperately to keep still and not moan at the building sensation he's pulling from you - you shouldn't be enjoying any of it at all, let alone this, but fuck you are. There's nothing violent about the way his hand is striking your naked cunt, the light slaps against you turning you on, zinging through you like a tuning fork being tapped on a hard edge.

You hear another laugh from between your legs.

"You've only been givin' it to her soft, sweetheart, when she's just crying out to have it rough."

He spanks your pussy again, this time you can't help the moan that escapes you, your back arching into his quick slap slap slap against your cunt. The speed of his palm slows, but the force increases, drawing obscene noises from you with each blow.

"Uh," the breath huffs out of you with each firm smack to your swollen cunt.

His hand pulls off of you and he spreads you wide again before a warm wet sensation draws up from your fluttering hole to your tender clit in a broad stroke. He's soothing your pussy with soft licks when he latches onto your clit and suckles gently before pulling back to look up at you.

"I like 'em pink like this," he mumbles around your clit, "You're bein' so good takin' it for me."

He's holding your thighs obscenely wide as his tongue lathes your clit, wrenching you open as you wiggle beneath him. You are so close, on the absolute precipice and moments from tipping over the edge, when he pulls from you completely, spreading your cunt open with an his thumbs for inspection once more. The man fucking loves looking at you.

"Look at her twitchin'. I think she likes being spread wide for me, look how wet she is." He dives in for another broad lick, slurping as he goes.

"It's just dripping outa you," he breathes. You feel the warm trickle of wetness drip its well worn path from your pussy and down between the cleft of your cheeks. His finger trails it, and you take in a sharp pull of air when the pad of his finger strokes your tight asshole, spreading your slick across it and causing your legs to twitch closed a fraction once again.

slap. You feel the sting and its aftershocks buzz through you before you hear it. "Keep 'em," slap, "fuckin'," slap, "open!" He soothes your pussy with his full hand again and you moan into him, fisting the sheets at your sides.

"Won't go there today. But don't think I'll be feelin' so generous next time." Next time. He rubs and squeezes your pussy, and you rock your hips into his palm, desperate for more anything.

"You likin' this?" he murmurs, his words almost sounds tender -

- Until another slap rings against your bare sodden skin.

"Answer me."

"Y-Yes!" you gasp out with the next spank to your oversensitive cunt. "Yes, please - I - fuck - please I need to -" slap slap slap slap

Your mind goes blank as a series of slaps are delivered straight to your pussy. A groan is pulled deep from your chest and you spread your legs more for him, pushing into his palm as it rains its gentle smacks down onto you.

"You're goin' to come, ain't you?" he growls out, his smacks getting quicker.

You nod frantically, so fucking close, you shouldn't be so close from this but you are. You're just about to beg for something more, anything more, when the smacks against your pussy get even quicker, and quicker, until he's rubbing frantically at your clit, so swollen from his attention that you practically scream at the sensitivity.

Your orgasm tears through you, drawing a deep guttural sound right from your belly. Your back arches, your dripping hole so neglected as it grips around nothing.

"Fuck," he grinds out from below you, stuffing two fingers quickly into your pussy to feel you grip around them as you rock through your orgasm. You can't see him do it, white blaring across your vision, but you hear the hiss of his breath as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

You whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, stroking himself with the slickness of you. He stands and presses himself between your legs, hot and heavy.

"You want it here?" he says, grinding the heft of his cock against your spent cunt. "'Cause you're making a mess, drippin' all over my sheets without me to plug you up." You're in a daze as you nod, still floating from the intensity of your orgasm as you stare dumbstruck at his rock hard length for the first time. It's so big.

It's too big.

"W-wait, it's too bi- "

"Fuckin' look. Watch as I fuck this into you sweetheart," he growls as he feeds the tip of his cock into you anyway, the solid width of him stretching more than you have ever been before, but your wetness letting him slide right in. He fucks the tip in and out, and you watch him do it.

In previous years you'd had nothing more than clumsy fumbles with men, some drunken, but most just uncaring one night stands with promises of more. There was never more. One way or another you were being used, but this time, and for the first time, you could call it what it was. There was no illusion of care here as Joel took what he wanted and made you watch.

And you liked that. You liked being used by him. You liked letting him do anything he wanted to you.

"I want you to watch her swallow me darlin'. Keep your eyes right there," he pushes his hips forward, the pressure of him filling you immense, and he groans as your cunt gives way to him and swallows him whole. "There she goes. Such a good little pussy for me."

"Keep lookin'," he groans again as he retreats from you only to fuck his full length back inside of you in one swift movement, "You look or I send you out of here jus' like this. See how the locals treat a naked slut in broad daylight."

Your cunt pulses with the threat, and Joel notices. He cocks his brows at you, still relentlessly fucking into you. "Oh, she likes that. You like bein' a slut, huh?"

Fuck yes, you want to scream, but instead you nod meekly, still watching him fuck you, obsessed with the sight of his cock disappearing into you over and over again.

"Good fuckin' girl."

Never once does he lean down to steal a kiss, or swipe his tongue across your bare nipple. You're naked for him but he does nothing with it except pound into your flesh, using your cunt to get himself off. His eyes flit between where he's disappearing into you and your eyes, watching with a sneer as they roll back into your head with each knock to your cervix.

"Fuu-uuck." He's hammering into you now, hips smoothly pounding your pelvis, when he grabs one of your arms and flips you onto your side, pushing your knee up so high it's practically by your ear. He slams back into the hilt again, rocking you back as you moan out wantonly around his cock.

From this angle his cock drags across you in ways you've never felt. You'd seen trees being felled as a kid, a wedge being hammered into a cut far too small to fit. You felt like you were being split, just like those trees.

"Ah - uh, I, Joel, please, I -" tears are in your eyes from how good it feels, the dull throb of the impact into your cervix melting your insides.

Joel brings one of his legs up beside you on the bed, the other planted firmly on the floor, giving himself leverage to fuck so deep and hard into you that the air is knocked out of you for a moment. When you can finally take another breath, you're screaming for him, your pussy creaming around him from the endless pounding.

The sloppy wet sounds of your cunt accepting his battering over and over are eventually taken overby moans being ripped from your throat. His belt rattles about his waist with each smack of his hips into yours, you can feel the metal of his buckle, bitingly cold against your skin.

"That's it - fuck - you just fuckin' take - it. You take this cock." You can feel his balls draw up and his cock twitch inside you as he gets close to bursting. He fucks you relentlessly anyway, desperately holding back as long as he can, until he can hold no more.

He drags his cock sharply from your used cunt, throwing you back onto your back on his mattress. His large hand grips his cock and he jerks it over you.

"Oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah," he's practically chanting as he jerks himself, letting out a deep stuttery groan when he finally comes, spurting hot cum all over your soft thighs, belly, chest.

He doesn't aim, he doesn't care where he gets it, the action more akin to a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory than anything else.

The only noise in the room when Joel's shoulders finally relax are your twin heavy breaths, punctuated by light whines that you just can't help. You're so overstimulated that when his hand comes down to your thigh, you don't realize that he's smearing his cum into you until he's rubbing it into your belly, spreading it across the peaks of your tits, up your neck and across your cheek.

He gives you a light tap on the face. "Look at me," he says, swiping a come coated finger across your lips. You're entirely fucked out, all you can do is look dumbly at him, totally cockdrunk.

"What do you say?"

"I... wha-..." you know what he means when he raises his eyebrows threateningly once again. "Th-thank you."

"That's right."

Suddenly he's yanking you up into a seated position and the blood rushes to your head. Another tug, the world spins, and you're on your feet, but you can barely trust your legs. He drags you from the room and before you know it your own clothes are in your arms, the remains of his come dribbling down your body.

"Get dressed," he stands with his arms crossed, looking at you, expectant.

You stare for a moment, totally lost in his dark eyes, before moving to get your clothes back on. You are still covered in his come, your pussy still buzzing from his spanking. At some point, he tucked his cock back into his pants. You didn't even notice, and you try to push down the disappointment of not getting to see it one last time.

Pulling your clothes back on with skin sticky from sweat and come isn't easy, but you eventually manage. When you stuff your feet into your shoes, he grabs you by the arm and drags you toward the door, unlatching it and pushing you toward the exit.

"I'll consider your debt paid," he murmurs into your hair from behind, pushing you out of his apartment a second later.

"Oh and, catch," he throws something to you but you miss, barely even turning in time at his words. It rattles as it hits the ground. Pills.

"Told you I'd give you something if you were good." Confirmation that you were good for him is all you need to feel another gush of wetness between your thighs. You feel like you could come again from his words and the rough feeling of your panties against your abused cunt.

"What do you say?" he asks again.

"Thank you."

He smirks before closing the door in your face.

You lick your lips as you walk away down the empty corridor tasting Joel Miller for the first time, pills in hand and debt paid.

He never even kissed you.

next part

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[blainesebastian]

expectant (ccg universe)

words: 1,844 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “how reader tells austin she is pregnant” warnings: none notes: other anon i got your request for disneyworld, etc. will be writing it, just might take a min. i’m leaving for a long weekend vacation, but will begin writing something for it when i get back :3 thanks everyone!  tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

Here’s the thing about plans—you enjoy having them but also realize that a lot of perfect surprises come along when you’re not restricting yourself to a step-by-step checklist. You’re not gonna lie to yourself that you’ve had a ten-year plan or even a five year one, that’s too far in advance, too many things can happen. You’ve known people with these stipulations, have watched them break themselves into small pieces to achieve goals that don’t even make sense anymore.

You’ve decided a long time ago that that wasn’t going to be you. There has to be flexibility or you’ll drive yourself crazy.

So when it comes to starting a family with Austin, it’s not something you both have mapped out exactly. You’ve talked about it plenty of times, that promise of eventually lingering like a pleasant breeze, just passing through.

Maybe that’s why it comes as such a shock when the third test comes back with the exact same notification: pregnant.

You stare at it a long moment, tapping your fingers against the sink. Well…you suppose that makes sense. The past week or so, you’ve been off and on with feeling funky. You just figured you were run-down from work, another script you’ve been working on, characterization just not clicking for you despite positive feedback from Austin and a few other writer friends you’ve met on sets. There’s always something you’ve been able to blame for feeling sickly—not enough sleep, too many drinks at the bar, staying up too late with a cup more caffeine than you usually do.

Apparently none of those things have been the culprit.

“Pregnant,” You whisper and that single word seizes you, closing around your ribcage, pushing the bones together—it suddenly feels very real.

--

Somehow a hundred plans come to mind along with nothing specific at all. There are so many things out there that catch your eye about telling your significant other that you’re pregnant. Some ideas range from adorable, to ridiculous, to overwhelming. There’s nothing wrong than just…showing him the pregnancy stick? But at the same time, you want more.

Next time you see him, when he comes home from work, you can just tell him…there’s no need to do anything fancy. Save that for the gender reveal, right? Even though you’re not about to overdo that either. Maybe cupcakes with different color icing on the inside.

Universe must be working against you though because an hour before Austin is due home, you can feel a migraine coming on. You can’t take your medication while pregnant and you feel like you barely make it into the bedroom before it completely takes your knees out. You squeeze your eyes shut, telling Siri to send a text to Austin just to keep him in the loop.

And that’s how he finds you, in bed, covers pulled up and over your head.

Austin comes into the bedroom quietly, moving to the blinds to pull them down. He then sits near your hip, his hand stroking along your side in patterned, even strokes. You move slowly, not wanting to make the pain any worse, like sharp shards behind your eyes. You let out a long breath, removing the sheets from over your head. Austin gives you a gentle smile, pushing your hair aside, his thumb rubbing a tense muscle at the back of your neck.

“You expired?” He teases with a whisper.

A soft chuckle rumbles in your chest and you shrug your one shoulder—kinda, maybe. Not completely. Your temples are pounding and the light, even dulled by the blinds being down, hurts your eyes. It’ll pass though. You’re not sure whether the nausea is from being pregnant or from your brain feeling like it’s being tapped with a hot poker. Your stomach does a full swoop, glancing up at Austin and…

Right, you were going to tell him. The words get stuck right in your throat, thick as molasses.

“Can I get you anythin’?” He asks, moving to circle his fingers at one of your temples, massaging. God—feels incredible. “Meds? Water?”

Your stomach does another flip and your fingers tighten their hold on the sheets you have pulled up to your chin, “Maybe some water, meds didn’t work.” And that’s happened before, if you don’t take them in time. You clear your throat, reaching for his wrist though when he goes to move, “Don’t go yet.”

You run your finger along the inside of his wrist, debating on words that crawl up into your mouth. You had nothing special planned, it didn’t matter how you told Austin the news. But…part of you keeps repeating not like this—not when you feel like you do, miserable and kinda sick and a pounding against your eardrums.

Austin hums lightly and moves to crawl in bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You sigh out, comfortable, allowing your eyes to close as you catch whiffs of his cologne as he draws you close.

You’re so close to telling him, almost—right here. “Austin.”

He shifts, his one leg slipping between yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your head so you know he heard you. He’s patient; quiet.

“Nothing,” You eventually say, shaking your head. “Nevermind.” Your head tips back slightly to look at him, “I’m glad you’re home.”

He smiles at you, brushing his nose against yours before squeezing around your hip.

--

A few days pass, not…exactly on purpose. But one thing happens after another, getting lost in the normalcy of time passing. You keep promising yourself that you’re gonna find a perfect moment, even though you know nothing like that is going to come. Tonight, tomorrow, next Tuesday, it doesn’t matter—you just have to tell him. You’re not sure why you’re so apprehensive about this…or well, maybe nervous is the better word.

Saying it outloud makes it real and while you assume you know how Austin is going to take the news, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still just a ‘guess’.

You turn into Jillian’s kitchen with a half empty fizzy juice in your hand, your best friend throwing a small get together that feels long overdue. It’s completely lowkey, comfortable, the gathering of close friends to drink (or not), eat a lot of food and play intense, silly games of cards. You’ve been mostly catching up with people, Austin offering you a drink once or twice, but you lie and tell him you’ve got a headache. He brushes his lips over your forehead and doesn’t press…which is good because you’re still formulating those words, teaching your mouth the syllables for I’m pregnant.

Jillian’s trying to talk Austin into a game of flip-cup and you have to bite down on your tongue because you love that game, you’re actually pretty decent at it?

“You can be on a team with Y/N,” Jillian grins, “I mean, that’s practically guaranteeing a win here.”

Austin laughs, mostly air leaving his nose. He looks over at you and gently shakes his head, refilling his own cup with beer.

“I’ll let you play with wine,” Jillian then starts in on you— “I know beer isn’t a good sell.”

Crinkling your nose, “I’ll play with water,” You offer, “Not interested in wine tonight.”

“Oh come on, you never turn down wine. It's like one of your five food groups," Jillian laughs, "What are you—pregnant?"

It comes out so simply that you don’t even think about schooling your expression, but it’s already too late. Austin glances over at you in amusement, a smirk on his lips, until…he gets a good look at your face. Gentle excitement, a tiny bit of uncertainty, fear—joy.

You realize right then you’re taking too long to say anything, your silence is becoming an answer.

You were so unsure of what your husband's reaction would be, it's been a distant plan but…so many of your passions and work are concrete. How does this fit? Can it fit? All those thoughts evaporate when Austin's mouth opens and closes and he takes a step towards you, reaching for one of your hands. His eyes glaze down your form like he's…looking for a difference that he can't see.

"Are you—" It's somehow more of a statement than a question and you let a soft laugh, eyes beginning to brim with tears.

"Yeah," You sniffle, just going for it, nodding, "Yes."

Jillian gasps into a loud exclamation and you—you pictured telling Austin in a completely different way. In a handful of different ways, but you realize that this is just as good as having a plan. His face is…something you'll never forget. Profound awe, love, nothing is better than that.

"What a great reason to turn down wine." Jillian amends with a grin and pours herself more as if to clink glasses with other people in support. She wanders over and squeezes you tightly before going into the other room and you don’t have to hear her to know that she’s telling everyone else.

You let her go, you’re completely focused on the person in front of you.

Austin cups your face, leaning in to kiss you a few times before he draws you into a tight hug. You close your eyes, pressing your face against his shoulder, breathing him in, allowing him to ground you with his arms firmly around your form.

There are slow eruptions in pockets of cheering from the other rooms and Austin pulls away just enough to gently grab onto your hand and tug you somewhere more private. A small balcony Jillian has, the glass door sliding shut able to drown out most of the sound. You wipe one of your cheeks and smile at your husband, Austin cupping both sides of your face again and kissing you.

Slow and intimate, your foreheads resting together afterwards.

“I haven’t known long,” You promise, knowing he’s happy but not wanting him to think you were trying to keep this secret from him. “There were so many different ways I wanted to tell you.”

Austin shakes his head, “I can’t think of any better way of finding out,” He smiles, glancing inside, “Though at the rate Jillian’s goin’, we might not have a chance to tell anyone else.” He says as another bout of cheering rings out.

You laugh lightly, curling your hair around your ear, “I’ll talk to her,” Making sure she won’t spill anything to your families. You love that she’s excited, however.

You’re smiling, fondly, looking over Austin’s face as an eruption of nervous butterflies kiss the inside of your stomach. You hold his gaze for a moment and he squeezes your hands, waiting.

You’re so incredibly happy but…at the same time, “I’m scared.” You admit in a soft whisper, swallowing over a lump of unsaid words in your throat.

Austin smiles a little, running his thumb along your cheekbone before he draws you close, “Me too. But whatever happens? We’ll figure it out together.”

Together, you repeat, pressing a kiss to his lips. A promise.

[hisuian-history-makers]

Infi-Map to Anywhere, Anywhen, and... Anywho?

—For the record, Danny and Sam wanted to say this was all Tucker’s fault. He just had to make a joke about them facing Phantoms of the Past.

While handing the Infi-Map back to Frostbite.

———————————————————————

They didn't expect it to react to a joke.

Once Mayor Fruit-Loop was iced, Tucker said something offhand about them being fully-fledged time travelers. The three had gone to a really dark future and now the distant past.

(Jazz kept saying he deflected by making jokes about what he went through.)

Phantoms of the Past. He couldn’t have said ghosts noooooo—it had to be the hero name.

Now they were in a castle that resembled Pariah’s Keep albeit wintery, with a Dan-looking Danny who had the Crown of Fire on his head.

Several Dannys, Sams, and Tuckers joined them on the castle grounds. There were a few other people that got dragged along but Danny was trying not to hyperventilate into fainting. A handful of his alternates(?) chatted with Dans.

Two versions didn’t even seem to be human! It hurt his brain looking at them. Alarmingly, a majority of the Dannys had the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage. The kingly outfits kinda hinted at why they even had those artifacts.

He swore he saw DC comic book characters alongside several alternates. Danny had trouble keeping track with so many people here.

—

Sam and Tucker weren’t doing much better.

Several versions appeared more ghostly than normal. They explained what being Liminal and having ecto-contamination meant. Like being a quarter ghost rather than the half Danny was.

Various Sams were part plant. The Tuckers had kept the odd past life abilities although their strength in them varied between timelines.

Danis, a majority who went by Ellie/Elle, made references to them being in a relationship with each other! Not just Sam dating Danny, Tucker dating Danny, them dating each other, but the three dating altogether! Each corresponding Jazzes tried to explain how preferences were pretty fluid amongst different timelines. So they shouldn’t think about it too hard.

To make matters more heartbreaking. The Dan-looking Danny who ruled as a King seemed pretty overjoyed despite the chaos. As it turned out—for him, the Zones natural portals shut off so it could focus on healing. Leaving him forced to be alone without his family indefinitely.

He had tried to leave. To open new portals.

(It never worked... His throne was hollow.)

This left Danny feeling unnerved because the possibility of being crowned Ghost King was pretty strong. That or being caught by the GIW and experimented on. His future sucked...

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

[Otherwise Canon! Danny, Sam, and Tucker meet some of the AU versions. Takes place in “Infinite Realms.” Infi-Map might be able to take them to someone specific. Anywhere, anywhen, anywho. Just say the name.]

Edit: Why is this my most popular post so far?

Edit 2: Seriously, why did this become my most popular post? In just a single freaking week! I posted this as a joke! A well thought out joke but a joke nonetheless.

Edit 3: It went past two hundred notes!

[blankdblank]

Flying Buckets

…

“The White Council has spoken…” Thranduil growled out, having been reading the letter that brought him here weeks ago to talk sense into his oldest friends and get aid to move upon his lost peak within the Southern half of his forest. Glorfindel seated along the wall flinched as he did to the pained squeak and thud in response to his hard kick of a bucket through the window opening on the far wall of his suite.

“Always, the face….” A muffled and defeated voice had the pair spring up to race outside and find a petite woman plopped ungracefully on her side clutching her face to a angered flop of her foot down into the tall grass she was weighing down.

“Madam,” the Elf King felt himself sighing in a hard drop to a knee at her side. Blood clear as day from the now broken nose that hindered the already frustrated Dwarf Company of Thorin Oakenshield who were dead set on waiting until their most injury riddled member was right as rain for the continuation of their journey. Of course that was after an internal investigation on where the Princes were at during that time to ensure like a mishap with the ponies the first week had not been behind another bloody nose and facial bruise for her they were glad to be cleared of. Elrond was shouted for and the King himself carried her to aid without care of the stains to his outer robes terrifying so many in his pacing path outside the Healers Wing.

“You owe me,” was mouthed by her to the Elf King who was not blamed by the Company who would have ammunition enough already to despise him for all eternity off past grievances and grudges. The same Elf King who in his entrapped state offered a deal of his own, together they would call for aid from Dain to rid his Southern Woodlands of the Necromancer and then he would gladly aid in march upon the mountain, where they could surely work his lost gems once the arkenstone was recovered into a new trade deal to rekindle the relationship between their kingdoms.

Quietly as she stole a moment to the side of the grand hall being prepped for the coronation in a few weeks time the one to whom the King owed a debt felt his statuesque silent figure come up on her left. Silent as ever with more grace than she could dream to scoff at beside her now sling donning self thanks to another thankfully face bruise free incident one of Dain’s men unintentionally set off. “I believe we have yet to discuss terms of my debt to you.”

Up at him with brilliantly clear eyes she peered at him for another stunning glimpse of the face he’d sooner ache to coat with kisses and murmured sentiments of adoration than ever bring a single speck of a bruise to. “I want one of those head things,” that had his brow tick upwards to the circle of her good hand drawing a sloppy loop around her head. “Like Arwen and Elrond wear,” that gained a nod from him and she added peering back at the hall making his heart sink lower to her words than it ever had when he’d unfortunately caused her harm. “Everyone else has a title, some relation to the King and they all have some fancy bits and bobs they bring up to be wearing at the coronation. I get to go, but family sits with family and, I’m not family.” Up at him she looked after patting her bunched sleeve to her cheek forcing a grin onto her pinkened face, with eyes still glimmering with hint of tears in them. “If you have to you could say I cried and made you feel bad.”

“That is a poor repayment.” An answer that had her look away mid nod in the rejection riddled tone to the answer she assumed to be given so she would not actually become a sobbing mess and actually stir up some real trouble for the Elf King. An uncommon gesture of comfort of a hand on her shoulder blade halted a swivel of her head to search for a quick escape linked to ample hiding places until she would calm down. “The adornment is customary for such an event, consider it granted however many styles you deem to ask for.” Sloppily she sniffled and raised her hand and bunched up sleeve again to hover in front of the lower half of her face and cheeks as best as she could. “For now consider a much more proper form of repayment and do excuse me. On the subject of your seating arrangement, I have to speak to Lord Celeborn on terms of adopting you into his kin.”

“What?!” She squeaked out, turning to find he was gone somehow and was bent on greatly improving the station upon which would grant him a much closer distance to your seat than he could imagine possible at the moment for a Western wilds familiar Ranger.

[laurenairay]

I never thought - P. Grubauer

Summary: Meeting Philipp Grubauer was the last thing Sera expected.

This is my entry for @wyattjohnston’s winter fic exchange 2024. I had the joy of writing for @knifeshoeboys – I really hope you like this Philipp Grubauer story, Nicole! I had a lot of fun creating this sweet piece from all of your prompts.

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: fluff, slight anxiety, mildly secret romance

Title from On Purpose by Sabrina Carpenter

~

Sera liked her routine. Monday to Friday she worked from 8.30am to 5pm as the receptionist in one of the biggest law firms in Seattle. Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, she went straight to the gym after work, cycling from the office, rotating her workouts between legs, arms, and core. Saturday mornings were back to the gym for a yoga class at 8am, before driving her car to the grocery store on the loop back to her apartment. It was predictable. It was safe. It was boring.

But at least she always knew what to expect.

It was just her luck that she couldn’t control the weather, really. Even more her luck that she’d left her umbrella in her car in stead of putting it in her gym bag – and that she’d parked on the other side of the parking lot. As Sera left the gym after her Saturday yoga class at the beginning of November, the rain was pouring down in sheets, and she knew without a doubt that she would get soaked to the bone, unable to shake the chill for hours. She could only imagine how badly the waves in her dark hair would be tangled after traipsing through this downpour.

But just as she was steeling herself to step out of the gym doors, she heard a groan of disbelief from behind her.

“Oh man, it’s really coming down, isn’t it?”

The light accent – definitely European – caught her attention, and she turned her head to see a tall handsome man smiling wryly at her. As her blue eyes locked with his hazel ones, she felt her breath hitch in her throat, and she couldn’t help herself from smiling back at him.

“Not a great start to the weekend, no,” she mused.

He barked out a laugh, making her stomach flutter with butterflies, even more so when he flashed a grin at her while he rooted in her his own gym bag. After only a breath, the sweetly-smiling man pulled out an umbrella with a triumphant ‘hah!’, making her laugh, earning another grin.

“I was not looking forward to walking all the way across the parking lot in this,” he said, grimacing as he wiggled the umbrella at the deluge outside.

“Yeah, I’m still trying to psych myself up to do that,” she said, grimacing in turn.

“Oh damn, I thought you were waiting for someone,” he admitted, “Did you want to share my umbrella with me?”

That sweet simple gesture, innocent and genuine, set her heart racing like nothing she could ever remember. How could she turn down such a kind offer from a gentleman?

“I’d like that, if it’s not too much trouble,” she said, smiling softly, “It’s not like I’ll take up much room.”

The man just laughed as she waved her hand between them, him clearly towering over her 5ft self.

“I’m Philipp, by the way,” he grinned.

Philipp. It suited him.

“Sera.”

~

Sera had never been one for surprises, or going with the flow. After most of her childhood spent watching her mother – her beloved hippie artist mother – drift along with no real direction, just seeing where the wind took the two of them, Sera had always craved control. Now that she was 30 years old and living on her own, Sera finally had it. True, she had mellowed out over the past few years, not needing everything to be excruciatingly perfect anymore, but that routine had always helped ease her anxieties.

Philipp Grubauer had been the biggest surprise she never knew she needed.

After that fateful meeting at the gym six weeks ago, the two of them having exchanged phone numbers with shy smiles as they stopped by her car, they’d spoke nearly every single day – and not just text messages either. Full-on phone calls, even down to facetiming each other while they each cooked dinner just to spend that low-maintenance time together, their schedules not always allowing face to face time so early on in getting to know each other.

And then there were the dates.

A dinner every week. Several coffee dates telling stories and giggling over lattes. Even a night out at the ballet, Sera never having seen The Nutcracker and Philipp insisting that he took her to enjoy the Christmas magic. She didn’t know where this man had been all her life, but if being single this long meant waiting for him? Well, the wait was definitely worth it.

Philipp was so easygoing, adapting to her obvious anxieties with ease as he went, but not just coasting along. He slotted into her routine perfectly, timings calls and dates around her typical timings and his own hockey schedule – even joining her in the gym for a yoga class, showcasing his extraordinary flexibility – but still encouraging her to try new things. He was funny, sweet, and genuinely interesting, and Sera found herself eagerly anticipating every moment they spent together. There was just one thing though – he had never ventured further than kissing her cheek and holding her hand.

Maybe it was just her anxieties talking. Maybe it was a European thing. Maybe he really was just that much of a gentleman. But if she didn’t say something soon, she felt like she was going to burst. Sera just liked him so much, and she didn’t want to ruin their blossoming relationship by stewing in her own head.

If only she could find the right moment.

Mid-December rolled around before Sera even realised it, her office Christmas party making her realise just how close to the holidays the year had come. Philipp had even woken her up with fresh pastries and coffee from the bakery down the street from her apartment, the two of them making plans for him to come over to hers for the first time for a chilled day, Sera knowing she would most likely have some form of hangover (and she had been right in that fact), but still wanting to see him while he had a free Saturday. She’d even forgone her usual Saturday yoga class, which, if nothing else, told her exactly her fast she was falling for him.

“You are a godsend, Philipp Grubauer,” she groaned, accepting the almond croissant from him with a smile.

He just grinned, sitting down next to her on the sofa in silence. Not only was this the first time that he was at her apartment, it was also the first time that they’d seen each other in loungewear, both in a sweatpants and sweater combination, something that made Sera smile at the direction their relationship was taking. It just felt right.

They talked about her office Christmas party, about his upcoming game in Nashville, about his teammates new babies, about her looking forward to a week’s break between Christmas and the New Year, all while eating their pastries and drinking their coffee. It was easy, and comfortable, and domestic, and yet it still sent electricity running through her veins like nothing ever had. What was it about Philipp that sent her into such a tizzy? Whatever it was though, she liked it. She really liked it.

“There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Philipp said, putting down his plate after a short silence.

“Oh?” Sera asked, putting down her own plate on the coffee table too.

“Would you come to my team christmas party with me?”

She inhaled sharply, lips parting in surprise, and Philipp quickly barrelled onwards with a wince.

“I know we’ve only known each other six weeks, but things have been going really well, right? And…I see a future between us, and normally I wouldn’t bring anyone to meet my teammates and their partners so soon, but…well, not that I’ve brought anyone in the years I’ve been in Seattle, but I would really like you to meet them? It's an informal thing really, at Belly's house, but all the guys will be there. Burky’s mostly house-trained now, and Larss will keep Dunner on a leash, and Yanni’s wife is an absolutely sweetheart, you’ll love her, and…”

“Yes.”

Philipp startled slightly at her interruption, before her simple answer registered, a wide smile spreading across his lips at Sera’s shy smile.

How could she not want to? The very fact that he wanted to bring her into such an important part of his life meant everything, she knew that. And he saw a future for them, just like she did? How could she want anything other than to meet his friends and colleagues?

Well, there was one thing she wanted too.

“You’ll come with me? You’ll meet them?” he asked hopefully, “I’m pretty sure they think I’m making you up at this point, with the amount that I talk about you but haven’t brought you to a game.”

At least he wasn’t keeping her a secret on purpose. That eased her nerves a little.

“I’d love to,” she said, laughing a little at his confession, “On one condition.”

“Of course, anything,” he nodded immediately.

A dangerous promise. But she needed to say something, just as her gut had been nagging her, or she really was going to explode.

“Kiss me?” she blurted, her heart racing.

Oh damn it.

That was not the way she wanted to say that.

What if he thought she was too forward? What if he thought she was being too much?

But Philipp didn’t even answer her with words. His hands reached out to cup her face gently, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in to kiss her as she asked. The moment that his lips touched hers, Sera let out a soft sigh, all but melting into his body, hands clutching at his biceps. His hands felt rough against her cheeks, hockey hands she knew, and the feeling of his beard brushing her skin only added to that. He smelled solely of a woodsy cologne, sharp in her nose and yet comforting all the same, suiting him perfectly. All she could taste was coffee and flaky pastry between their closed lips, her senses completely overwhelmed in the best way.

The moment lasted only seconds before he pulled away, cheeks as flushed as his mouth. She knew her own cheeks were flushed as well with the heat she felt, even more so as all she could think of was wanting more.

“I've been wanting to kiss you for weeks,” he said, voice uncharacteristically rough.

Sera made a noise she’d never heard before, a cross between a sigh and a moan, before she leaned in to kiss him again. How could she not?

[futurepastme]

Before the Dawn of Man in Castles Made of Sand

For the past year i've been trying to write my first fic and I barely even started at all, but from time to time I imagine a few scenes that might or not - probably not- be included on the main story and SOMETIMES I write them down anyway I can, as fast as I can. And sometimes I actually take the time to try writing something decent.

So here is a scene that I though of that supposedly is part of the fic I'm writing but will never happen: ≈2.5k words

Three hundred-ish years ago, the first King of Camelot, King Bruta, signed a very detailed peace treaty with the King of Essetir, Éamonn. It wasn’t a ‘now-we-are-buddies’ agreement or a ‘you’re-in-trouble-let-me-help’ agreement, no, it was a ‘keep-our-shit-to-ourselves’ agreement.

Bonded by blood magic, the treaty stated that as long as a descendant of both the original kings set on the throne of their respective kingdoms, no acts of war, military or otherwise, would be allowed between their kingdoms on penalty of the immediate interruption of the lives of the current rulers and all of their living relatives. 

A complete ending of the bloodline, with no one left to salvage it in any way.

The treaty was signed by both Kings and any living heirs they had, so as to make sure that the bloodline was completely bounded by the contract. 

The magic, though, had an expiration date. It was powerful, ancient magic, but as the seasons change and the days turn to night, magic, too, is frail against the will of time, and as it passes it would slowly fade into nothingness.

It was stated then at the bottom of the contract, just before the fancy signatures with the swirling loops, that when the time should come for the magic to disappear, both Kingdoms’ current rulers should reunite in a meeting for the reinforcement of the spell and a renewal of the contract. ♦

Some would say that Merlin ran out of time. Which was clearly an exaggeration seeing as he still has plenty of time left. No, really, he still had like, at least five hours before things really go to shit. That’s what he thought, anyway.

But some people, well, everybody but Merlin, would say that he ran out of time a week ago, when the announcement was made; or four days ago when the party was ready to leave and Merlin sat on his horse; or even yesterday when they were still outside of the Kingdom, camping for the night.

But no, he definitely still has a few hours. The party still wouldn't even be able to see the castle for another three, and they wouldn’t reach the lower town for another half hour after that.

Merlin was out of time.

He sat on his saddle, restlessly sweating his nerves out. If Arthur could see him, he would order him to stop, ask what is wrong and call him a girl, all in a single phrase. Arthur couldn't see him, though.

If this were a simple hunting trip, Merlin would be by his side, chattering his ears off and completely disregarding every royal protocol ever written in the history of mankind. But this was a Royal Camelot Party led by King Uther himself, which, of course meant that Merlin was far off the back riding along with the rest of the servants of the Royal Household. 

Which meant that he could barely even see Arthur’s stupid golden hair, let alone talk to him about anything.

So, the battle plan, now that he still had plenty of time was that he would avoid everything and everyone that has a mouth or ears or eyes, run for Arthur’s assigned chambers, tell him everything without crying at all and then pray that he could leave said chambers alive and sane. And with his heart unscathed. 

It is not every day you tell your master, friend and secret crush that not only your existence is illegal in his father’s kingdom, but you are actually royalty yourself. Royalty of the kingdom they were currently at.

So, Merlin was having a great day, and a stressless week.

And it only got better when the knights arrived.

A small party of seven men, dressed in armor very similar-looking to the ones from Camelot, the only apparent difference being the blue capes and the lack of a royal crest on the chest piece, slowly approached, led by an almost completely gray-haired knight with dark eyes and an almost charming smile.

“Welcome to Essetir, your Majesty, Your Highness. I’m Sir Griogair, we are here to safely escort your Majesty and your party to the gates of the keep.” Merlin hastily pulled his hood and sank lower on the saddle. 

Griogair was, in Merlin’s opinion, a slimy little man greedy with power, he has loathed the guy since the day he sat foot in Essetir, every hair on his body reacting with the man’s disgusting nature. But of course, ‘bad feeling’ wasn’t a good excuse not to knight the bravest looking guy his father had seen in years. Especially when you are only thirteen and don't know better yet.

He deserved credit, though, for Griogair was, at the time and still, a very handsome man with charms to spare. He had won over almost everyone in the keep within the week, was knighted within the month, and when Merlin left, he was one of the most high-ranked knights of the kingdom.

But now, for the looks of it, and from the few words he managed to hear all the way from the back, Griogair was not only a First Assembly Knight, and a Dragon Rider of the Kingdom, but has snatched for himself the position of War Mage.

That meant that not only the fucker had learnt magic, but it was skilled and powerful enough to be able to qualify for the position and now could use it freely on behalf of the kingdom. It also meant that, when in mission out of the keep, he would be responsible for dealing with the magical creatures and beings that lived within the borders of the kingdom, interfering as necessary.

Also, that meant that the bastard had clearly taken advantage of Merlin’s absence to ensure the one position Merlin could and would have stopped him from getting. 

Anger aside, Merlin took a second to recompose himself and to try to identify the other knights that came with Slimy Griogair. He knew his father wouldn’t send a bunch of low-ranking knights to deal with burn-innocents-at-a-pyre-for-fun Uther Pendrasshole and his entourage.

The three knights that rode on the left side of Slimy Griogair he couldn’t see. Actually, he barely couldn’t see the Snake himself, which he was equally parts glad and concerned.  

Of the other three knights that he could see, two he failed to recognize. 

But at the front, riding almost side by side with Griogair, he caught a glimpse of curly snow-white hair. Sir Llywelyn was by far his closest knight, 5 years older than himself, the man was a true friend and a fierce knight. 

Ending his quick inspection of his men, Merlin lowered his head further, letting the hood blind his vision fully and trusting his horse to follow the others. Friend or foe, Llywelyn or Griogair, it didn’t matter, Merlin had to get home unrecognized by either of them or the other knights.

♦

At this point in his life, one would think Merlin was used to things not going as planned. From magical creatures that appear from nowhere to bandit attacks, Merlin’s day never went as he expected since the day he decided to leave home and follow his magic to the great unknown. The great unknown that led to Camelot and to the unending headache that his life became.

You would think that somebody as powerful and as used to ambushes as Merlin would have been able to feel the approach of a huge flying magical creature, but he had better things to worry about then to be attacked by his own dragon.

The betrayal, honestly.

They had been on the road for another hour since his knights joined Camelot’s Party. Merlin still had his head down, but now his hooded cape had a small spell that kept his hoodie from falling unless he wanted it down.

He was bored. Not only far away from Arthur and from Leon, but he still had to ride at George’s side.

The man has been rambling on for hours about all that was known of Essetir culture and servants’ etiquette, which wasn’t much, but he somehow managed to stretch a 3 pages lost-through-time knowledge into a 40-minute-and-still-going monologue, and also somehow made it more boring than the grain reports.

It went down really fast

One second, he was on his horse, trying to not listen to George and still stay awake, and the other he was on the ground with an extremely heavy, horse-sized, white dragon licking his face.

The second that his brain took to understand the situation was enough to hell break loose.

Camelot’s knights stood on one side, weapons drawn, ready to kill the beast, while his knights tried to protect Aithusa.

There were shouts and threats from both sides, and stupid Griogair, instead of trying to appease the situation and take the unknown Camelot servant from under the huge magic creature that he should be responsible for, no, he was aggravating the situation even more.

He had to do something, now.

By the time he got back on his feet, both sides were ready to attack each other, Arthur’s arm raised slightly, ready for the first strike.

“Enough” he said, walking to put himself between Arthur and Griogair. His voice was loud and clear. A voice of command and power, a voice he hadn’t used in years. It was the strong voice of someone born to lead legions to war. Camelot’s knights relaxed a little, if by shock or relief he didn’t know, but they kept their stance as Arthur scanned him “I’m fine, no harm done.”

He turned fully toward his knights “Lower your weapons, now.”

The problem was, Merlin was still hooded and Griogair was still an asshole “Is this how Camelot’s servants speak with their superiors?” Stupid said, while grabbing Merlin by his clothes and suspending him in midair.

“Put my servant down. Now.” Arthur commanded, his voice dangerously low and calm.

“The boy might have harmed the dragon, until I say he didn’t, he stays in our custody” Griogair, the idiot that can’t read the room, said.

That’s also when Merlin decided to let his hoodie fall.

He heard a few shocked gasps, and felt more then saw his nights stand down and lower his weapons. But nothing would make him loose the amazing sight of Griogair’s shocked face as he began paling to death. “Put. Me. Down.” He said for Griogair’s ears only.

“Y-your Highness” He dropped Merlin like he burned his hands taking half a step back, Merlin would have fallen but right now he wasn’t the clumsy servant anymore, he was the Crown Prince Merlin Ambrosius of Essetir, trained in combat from a young age, and with a political situation on his hands that could lead to war.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I hadn’t realized we were graced with your illustrious presence” His head in a low bow, but his eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

“Sir Griogair”

“It is really good to have you back, Sire. The people start to talk, you see? Rumors about your death spread, but not me, Sire. I knew better, you see? I told them all; No one in the five Kingdoms have more skill or bravery or the complete…”

“Stop talking”

The amusement Merlin felt when he first saw Sir Griogair’s shocked face had slowly diminished and was long gone. Every second that he stood there, posture straight, facing his knights in his kingdom, with the feeling of the stares of another Royal Household burning his right side; the further away he was from the happy servant he was this morning, and now the phantom weight of his crown started pressing down on his head.

“I’m sure you are aware, Sir Griogair, of my reticence towards you when my father first started rising your rank within the knights”

“I’m sure I more than proved myself, Your Highness. The king himself knows; my position was more than des…”

“I’m not done” Merlin interrupted again. His posture as straight as possible, his head held high.

“I’m aware of the King’s feelings in regards of your person; and I’m sure you somehow proved yourself to him in many occasions, my father wouldn’t reward with higher ranks a man he deemed undeserving.” Griogair has stopped bowing, straightening his body and letting a smile that was meant to be charming form on his face.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin continued “I have yet to see the actions that would grant rewards such as your high ranks, and today you have, at my eyes, failed the crown and your kingdom.” His voice was loud enough to be heard by all of the Camelot’s entourage, even George and the other servants at the back.

“Your Highness, surely I can’t be blamed for the actions of a brainless…”

“What my dragon did is irrelevant, as a knight your actions reflect on the kingdom more than anything Aithusa could possibly do, you carry our colours and is responsible for the safety and well being of every living being inside our borders, not only our citizens and creatures, but our guests as well.”

“Sire! I…” He wasn’t smiling anymore; panic was back on his face.

“Unfortunately, your actions today can’t be left unpunished, and at the absence of the king, I’ll be the one to define such punishment; my decision here will be final and would only be overruled by the King himself.”

“Please… Sire!” He fell to his knees, grabbing the hems of Merlin’s cape.

“I hope you know, Sir Griogair, that despite my personal feelings towards you, I take no pleasure in punishing you, in fact, it saddens me deeply that today I have been proven right.” Merlin truly meant that, like it or hate it, the guy was still his knight, he was still his man. “You will be happy to know that, as Crown Prince, I have not the power to permanently remove your knighthood, as it was granted by the King, however I can suspend it.”

The knights started moving behind Griogair, getting into formation. Two lines with three men each, positioned by rank in a way that put Merlin and Griogair at the center. It was the same position they took when somebody was knighted.

With everybody settled in their positions, Merlin twisted his wrist and raised his finger pointing towards Griogair’s chest.

Now, everybody from the Camelot Entourage has at least once seen a knighting ceremony, and surely, most have seen how it goes when such knighthood is removed. However, none of them has ever seen one to the likes of Essetir’s

As a Kingdom with magic at its throne, Essetir’s knighthood works differently.

The king doesn’t simply stand in a pretty room, says some inspiring words, wave around a fancy sword an BAM! you’re a knight, you may rise.

In summary, the knights are essentially bound, to the crown and to each other, by magic. It isn’t the type of bound that forcefully traps them without escape; they can choose to leave if they so desire. No, the bound is connection. It is brotherhood.

When Merlin twisted his wrist, it activated the bound. Only the King and his direct heir could activate the bound in such a way.

On every Essetir Knight’s, at the right side almost on their shoulders, now set a fist-sized symbol, a shield shaped blue light, with the Ambrosius crest. The same shield now also appeared on Merlin, except his was big enough to cover his chest completely.

The pretty crests weren’t the most impressive thing, though. For when Merling flicked his wrist, his clothes, too, changed. As the Crown Prince of Essetir, the activation of the bound by his hand is considered a matter of state; and as such, his clothes must reflect his position and his rank. That is why now, at the middle of the forest stood a Merlin in expensive looking clothing, a cape matching the ones of the knights, and most importantly, a silver circlet with blue and green gemstones.

End English not my first language

[sweeteastart]

💫KHOCWEEK 2023💫

Day 4 - Alternative Universe

@khoc-week

Mikana

Blue Island AU

Welp, it got dark all of a sudden.

So, to explain this piece a bit : I've been working on an AU for quite while now named Blue Island. To put it simply it's a kinda a remix of magical girls and kh together with a tad or realism as you can see. Designing the magical girls clothes all the while keeping the spirit of each character original ones was tough but gratifying !

For this piece I really wanted to illustrate the vibe of "oh we are in trouble. Huge trouble". In this AU, Sora, Riku and Kairi are pushed into this new world of being protectors of light without much training sooo... Let's just say the first few fights aren't pretty. I hope it's not too graphic I tried to keep it down

Myrti

Vampire AU

They looked at each other without really seeing. Eyes locked yet blind. Deep inside, numerous feelings were eating at both of the woman. Old, crumbled up memories crashed against each other in a silent cacophony.

Myrti was out of words. Out of ways to express everything. Larxene was too full of questions. All of them rushing to her head all at once, making it impossible to ask any. So they continued to look at the other. Like a stranger. Like a lover. Like a foe.

Everything rang true yet one was oblivious to the truth and the other refused to give it. And the blond vampire, truly, deeply wanted answers. To put reasons being the angry and vengeful actions of Myrti. To have a sentence -even a single word- to respond to the numerous "why" that had kept repeating in her head over the last years.

She opened her mouth. To say it. Say her piece. Or maybe just something. Anything. Anything that could break the silence and hatred. But the young woman before her didn't let her. With neither words nor action. Only her eyes.

The blond didn't remember the before. Before being Larxene, she was nothing -or at least that's what her inexistent memories told her-. Before being a vampire, for her, she didn't exist as a human. All this time, she reasoned herself.

"why care about it ? I don't remember it anyways."

Surely if she had been loved, if she had been cared about, someone would have looked for her... And no one came.

Looking back, it sure was a stupid way to think. A way of coping. Of not regretting. Of not staying stuck in the eternal loop of searching for the ghosts of those she didn't know about. Really, all she ever did was blinding herself. Turning away and running the furthest away from any possible problems.

Sure, she lived to the fullest. A life of excess and joy, the life of a creature of the night. She did as she wanted without a care and never did she regretted it. Not for a second. Not until she met her.

All along, she knew. She knew they were entangled one way or another. There was this pull, this mysterious invisible thread that always lead her back to Myrti. Yet she didn't question it. She didn't question the hate. The bitterness. The plain and obvious hurt. The blond covered her eyes. She played dumb. Just as she ignored the clear consequences of her past actions -even if she didn't remember them-, she also decided to not acknowledge her eyes.

The eyes she now gazed into. Full of pain, agonising loathing and regrets. She saw it. She saw for the first time the full extent of it. From the flamming hate... to the burning love. The care. Even the affection she tried to deny seeing in the other vampire.

Myrthi both loved her and hated her. One as destructive as the other. Both consuming her in every actions she took until now. And Larxene knew. Understood. She had to accept : she was the catalyst of all of it.

And that's it for today ! I hope it was nice to look and read ! Today's is pretty grim/angsty but zhwt can I say ? That's my jam !

[alstroemeriadissonance]

Conversations in Winter (NSFW)

Part of Entrapped series. Other works include: Pt 01 Layers| Pt 02 House Call | Pt 03 Invitation | Pt 04 Hot Summer | Pt 05 Straddling, Mounting, Riding | By the Fireplace | The Third Option

Takes place directly after Vyn's Snowfallen card "Aimed at Your Heart". Rosa struggles to give Vyn her answer after one of his offhanded actions deeply disturbs her.

A late night heartfelt conversation that turns spicy

(I'm sorry for not posting as much these days. Real life happened but hopefully the situation changs very soon!)

Faint, tentative footsteps echoed across the dimly-lit hallways, the thump-ing sounds almost rendered inaudible by the carpet dampening her footfalls. 

Tempestuous cries of cruel winter drowned out whatever noise she made, as she traversed the pathways barely illuminated by faux sconce fixtures.

Only a single wall separated Rosa from the fierce blizzard. 

And the blizzard, in turn, cut Rosa off from the rest of the world, leaving her in this palatial manor alone, but not quite .

The row of French windows that lined the hallway showed nothing but the swirling of white. White that blotted out the abyssal black sky of past two in the morning; white that brought along with it merciless cold barely held back by the fortified walls of the manor.

Faint tendrils of cold seeped into her bones, and she merely wrapped her arms around herself in pointless reflex.

Yet none of these mattered, for at this moment Rosa was too preoccupied with the turbulent thoughts swirling inside her head to notice any of them. The roaring of winter outside did not seem to reach her as she aimlessly explored the narrow paths; what filled her ears instead was the frantic beating of her heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The lord of the manor was still waiting for her answer.

Rosa, frozen in indecision like a deer in headlights, had decided to put off giving her answer and retire to her bedroom earlier that midnight.

Yet sleep did not come for her. Instead his request—spoken in his smooth, dulcet tones—looped over and over and over in her mind, keeping her awake for the entire two hours ever since she laid down her head upon the rose-scented pillow, waiting in futility for sleep to claim her. 

And so two in the morning found her meandering in the bleak darkness from hallway to hallway, desperately trying to calm her restless nerves perhaps, or to chance upon an epiphany.

He wanted…He wanted…

He asked for a kiss. It was a silly request, really, for they have kissed several times already, sometimes stolen, each time even better than the last. 

No, he was clearly asking for something more. The way his eyes looked at her as he asked for that favor made it undeniable.

He said he did not want to pressure her into making hasty decisions; yet with the same breath also asked for a 'kiss', while they were both quite conveniently trapped in this little piece of luxurious comfort for more than a week.

Alone, save for his bodyguard and a few household staff.

Was she ready to give all of herself to him? Rosa wasn't naive, even she herself knew the implications, whether intentional or not.

Rosa cupped her hands and blew hot breath over her shivering fingers, sending her mind drifting through fragments of memories; of how his warm breath would fan her cheeks as he laughed, before taking her lips with his… 

She did not need a mirror to know how much she blushed at the sweet memory; heat practically radiated from her face. 

Keep it together, Rosa!

As she furiously rubbed her cheeks to stamp out the distracting thought, a shadow crept into the periphery of her vision only to disappear into the adjacent passageway as she turned her full attention towards it. 

Undaunted, Rosa strode towards the blind corner where the shadow vanished, only to be greeted by nothing but an unassuming light fixture that bleakly illuminated the grandfather clock standing directly underneath.

"Um…hello?" Rosa called out, not wanting to unintentionally ignore—or scare—any of the staff tending to the manor. 

Only the howling winds outside gave their reply.

Strange…

She suddenly felt as if she was being stalked; that someone was closely watching her every move. Gooseflesh bloomed all over the skin of her exposed forearms; something that even the intense Svart cold failed to achieve.

Could it be Ogier ? Yet that did not make sense. Vyn's assistant and bodyguard had no reason to sneak around her; if anything he would probably put on his kindest smile and ask her if anything was bothering her. 

The grandfather clock suddenly sounded off an eerie chime, interrupting her thoughts yet ultimately corroborating her foreboding. It was already three in the morning. The witching hour . Rosa idly wondered if such superstitions had any hold in a heavily religious and traditional nation such as Svart.

She let out a sigh, and her feet resumed their journey. 

Superstitions were merely things to respect or observe, and nothing to fear.

Eventually she reached the end of the maze of hallways, the terminus marked by a heavy gilded door left ajar. The golden glow spilling out of the narrow gap speared through the dreariness of the hallway; the faint clink -ing of metal against delicate porcelain from behind the door quite inviting.

Someone was having either tea or coffee; there was little doubt that the sound was of a small spoon stirring the drink inside a cup. 

Was Vyn still awake?

Carefully, yet without much thought Rosa pushed the door open, the drawn-out metallic creaking sound violently displacing the pleasant silence of the warmly-lit room. 

"Fancy seeing you here, my love. At such a late hour. Are you having trouble sleeping?" Warm, gentle words calmed her, before Rosa could berate herself for being too careless in an unfamiliar place.

The lord of the manor stood next to a French window; the view no different from those lining the hallway. Cold pane of glass displayed the same bleak landscape of the blackness of night, rubbed out by the white of fierce winter blizzards. 

A fireplace installed by the far corner of the elegantly-outfitted drawing room lent a cozy warmth to the room gilded with gold and fleur-de-lis, the crackling of flames a soothing music that drowned out the dolorous wailing outside. 

He really is so easy on the eyes, no matter what he’s wearing, Warmth suffused her cheeks as she laid her eyes on him. Not even wearing a sleeping robe could diminish Vyn's noble bearing; he still looked every inch the aristocrat, skilled hunter, and scholar that he actually was.

In his right hand was a ceramic teacup steaming with a fragrant infusion; his other hand resting upon the windowsill. 

He seemed to be waiting for a certain someone to find their way here.

As to who that someone was…

His lips curved into a smile after he noticed her staring at him: his gentle expression bore nothing that could hint at any sign of impatience stemming from her indecision over his request; instead his golden eyes—now much brighter with the flames caught in his irises—held nothing for her but thoughtful consideration.

"Do you want me to prepare you some warm milk with honey?" 

"What, to help me sleep?" Rosa flashed a twisted smile as she crossed her arms. 

"Yes. Of course. Unless…" His grin grew wider. "... you would like to do something else that would require you to be awake?" 

An impish grin. 

How delightful.

"Dr. Richter, you once taught me that honesty is amply rewarded. Whatever happened to that?"

A few moments of silence passed between them. It was then that Rosa took the chance to really look at him: slightly tousled moonlight hair as if he too, spent the last few hours trying to sleep, only to finally give up. 

He had a more relaxed gait as he walked—loped—over to an ornate table to set aside the cup that he was holding.

Then he chuckled, in that quiet yet ever so slightly menacing tone. "Ah. Nothing gets past you." The shifting shadows cast by the crackling fireplace flame shifted Vyn Richter—or rather Vilhelm Richard Albert de Haspran—into someone else: his features now sharper, the glint in his eyes even colder . 

To Rosa's eyes it seemed that the shadows had morphed his appearance to that of the cold, standoffish man who dealt with adversity efficiently and without much afterthought; the man who only appeared during NXX operations, or whenever Vilhelm de Haspran was called to duty.

Still himself, yet not quite the same man who had offered to help her sleep with a glass of milk only a few moments ago. An all too palpable shiver ran down Rosa's spine, only to be forgotten as their gazes—gold against peridot—locked onto each other. 

"You never cease to take me by surprise, my rose," he whispered, his eyes not leaving hers, a predator tracking his prey. "Well? Your answer?" His voice runs sweetly, now; low, sensuous, and ever so slightly threatening. "I can wait, if you are still undecided, my pet. I would like to think of myself a patient man. I can wait forever, as long as it is for you." 

"I…" Rosa's voice faltered; she had long angsted over whether or not to say what had been in her mind ever since he propositioned her. 

She finally mouthed the dreaded words: "I think it's unfair." 

"Hm?" Vyn blinked, her assertion seemingly out of left field, his curiosity piqued. "Whatever do you think is unfair?"

Silence prevailed once again, and the ticking of the grandfather clock overlaid with the wailing of winter outside the window spoke for Rosa instead: each ticking told of how long she dithered about her final answer, and the winds eloquently expressed her own turbulent desires, willing to be acknowledged yet being stamped out by a certain fear…  

Vyn shook his head at the sight of his love all too obviously torn apart over something . He opened his arms towards her, wordlessly beckoning her to his embrace. "Come to me," came his tender order. "I shall not do anything inappropriate, if that is your concern." 

The man never lied, but there was a certain dangerous glint in his eyes that gave her pause. 

Despite this Rosa ignored her gut feeling—this was Vyn, after all—and eventually stepped into his orbit, letting his arms pull her close, close enough for her to appreciate the little delightful things that mark his presence: A subtle woodsy scent overlaid with jasmine. His steady, unshaken heartbeat. The coolness of his skin, as she pressed her cheek against his firm chest exposed between the parted lapels of his robe. 

She breathed in his scent deeply, and found herself burying her face in the crook of his neck to partake even more. 

This is dangerous. 

Lips brushed his Adam's apple, perhaps involuntary—or maybe subconsciously deliberate? Rosa could no longer tell the motives behind her actions anymore, but regardless her lips lingered where they were on his skin.

He chuckled at this unexpected show of intimacy. His hands slid up her arms, then gently gripped her shoulders as Vyn slowly led her to the windowsill. The same strong hands—and sinewy arms—suddenly gathered her by the waist. "Up you go," he murmured as he lifted her up to the upholstered window seat, letting her settle down on the soft leather draped with a fur throw blanket. 

"What is unfair?" Vyn repeated the question, his sharp gaze now looking up at her, carefully studying her for any minute movements, or tells. His arms coiled around her waist as he pressed his body against her legs dangling off the edge of the elevated seat. 

He effectively caged her in his embrace, and Rosa could not help but notice how he showed no remorse for it. "These cold nights are long, Rosa, I wish for your companionship during these nights, and more ." He looked up at her with love, tinged with something else underneath the shadows. "Am I not allowed to be selfish?" 

A certain fear gripped her heart, yet it was not of the man right in front of her, so caught up in his own desires. 

It was the fear of something else entirely, and it shook her to the core.

"The way you're cornering me. I thought you would wait for my answer?" Her voice quivered, and her hands slightly trembled. Rosa tried to hide her shaky palms but he quickly took them, entwining his long, slender fingers with her delicate own. 

His hands felt cold, and smooth. 

Rosa wondered if she were dealing with a vampire. 

"Yes, and I am waiting, even right this very moment." Vyn's voice is soft, as if he is trying to entice her into the darkness. "See? My hands are holding yours, and I shall not touch you inappropriately." His smile dripped with dark honey. 

The flames shifted, casting a full shadow over his face for a split second. The small, devious grin that Rosa thought she saw might as well have been the trick of the light. 

"Remember, my darling, that honesty is amply rewarded, as you dared remind me earlier." His thumbs gently rubbed the knuckles of both her hands. "Tell me. Are you afraid of me? Or of the idea of spending several long winter nights alone with me?" 

A slight sense of burgeoning panic sank into the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t ready to have this kind of talk. Not yet. Not when she still hasn’t sorted out her thoughts on the matter, so much that she couldn’t sleep and started wandering the hallways like a ghost to calm herself down.

Vyn, however, seemed oblivious to what was eating her inside, and kept on stroking her knuckle while trapping her between himself and the high windowseat. Lingering warmth from the pads of his thumb imprinted onto the back of her hands; Rosa fancied that each tender swipe of his thumb across the back of her hand held a secret meaning.

They were mere touches on her hand, but each glide upon her skin—and the way he looked at her—were heavy with a certain message.

Rosa gulped nervously. "No." She shook her head. "I've always wanted to spend time with you." 

The fingers of Vyn's left hand now caressed her right wrist—bereft of any ornament—fingertips lightly massaging the skin over her radial artery. "Ah. I wish I could have seen more of you wearing the emerald bracelet," he murmured absently. "It truly belongs only to you, and you alone…" His grip upon her naked wrist slowly tightened. "Do you not like it, after all?"

Rosa blinked, surprised that her usually thoughtful and observant lover would have such an inaccurate take of her predicament. "I love it Vyn, I thought that was clear after everything that happened yesterday." Her left hand squeezed his. "It is a beautiful gift, both in form and meaning. "

"So what is troubling you?" 

"It's…" She shook her head. "It's rather hard to put my fear into words." Rosa's words came quietly, but for Vyn's ears they might as well have been shouted into the mountaintops. 

Vyn almost flinched.

"Ah, so were you overwhelmed with the promise of giving you my entire being and all that it entails? Is that it?" Vyn's eyes misted over with such complicated emotions. "That does make sense of your indecisive behavior after the talk we had during dinner."

"No, that's not it. It's…" She dug her nails into her palms, utterly desperate to grasp the right words and frustrated that they still eluded her. "It's rather hard to explain, Vyn…"

"Do you wish to be with someone of a more… common background?" He hazarded. It was the most logical conclusion. 

Occam's famous razor prevailed most of the time, after all.

The smile on his face withered, as if somewhat chagrined.

"No!" She shook her head firmly. "Damn it, Vyn, this is precisely why I didn't want to have this talk—are you actually telling me you'd be willing to leave Svart's future to fate if I said yes, I wish you weren't a high-ranking nobleman?"

The answer came too quickly for Rosa's liking. "Yes," Vyn said, without any hesitation. "Not once did anyone else care about my simple wishes and needs, Rosa, and it is only fair that I should have the freedom to cast away and reject all unfair expectations placed upon my shoulders." A pause. "But…I would have to admit that I am pleased to know that you are against the very idea. For while I find the entire affair unsavory, I do have my own plans, and a future that can only come into fruition with my own hands."

Rosa, overcome by the weight of the conversation—and the utterly vulnerable position it dragged her into—could only sigh. She didn’t have anything else left to say, yet her heart heaved with such intricate, convoluted emotions that needed to be let out.

" I hate, and I love. ” Lost for words, much less having the ability to advocate for herself, she could do nothing but the next best thing to express her feelings: reciting the only piece of poetry that stuck to her memory from university, and one that resonated the most with her current state of mind. " And if you ask me now, I do not know— "

"... I only feel it, and I am torn in two. " Vyn finished the poem for her. "Catullus. Interesting man, a wretched, obsessive lover." He brought one of her hands to his lips, pale pink ribbons ghosting her knuckle, before giving it a chaste kiss. "Quite familiar, is he not?"

"If the someone I have in mind would tell me to…" Rosa cleared her throat. "Open my legs to hundreds of men after a lover's quarrel." Her lips cracked into a smile, despite herself.

"He would not dare," Vyn carefully yet firmly pulled her hand down, forcing Rosa to bend down towards him, bringing her face close to his. "He would rather shoot his own head and feed his miserable self to the beasts," he murmured against her lips.

A moist warmth pressed against Rosa's mouth; Vyn had closed his eyes and taken her kiss. The fluttering silver of his long lashes filled her vision before she, too, closed her eyes and further deepened the kiss with soft nibbling of his lower lip, before shyly slipping her tongue into his mouth.

"Mmm…" A delighted hum rose from his throat; his hands now slowly stroked her back, his fingertips trailing faint tendrils of electricity across her skin with his light, almost teasing touches. Their breaths intermingled with their soft moans and barely-spoken words of affection as hands wandered beyond what was appropriate between a man and a woman.

His mouth disengaged from hers with a muffled pop sound. "The jam from dinner was indeed sweet, but as it turns out…" He ran the tip of his tongue over her lips, then grinned quite wickedly as he withdrew. "It got in the way of appreciating just how sweet your kisses are, my beloved."

"Well, you went and took your kiss…are you still waiting for my answer?"

Rosa flashed him a wan smile. There was still something unresolved between them, but she wasn’t ready to bring her grievances to the table, and risk ruining what they have in the process. It was a cowardly choice to make, but Rosa, too, was selfish.

Despite the doubts weighing her down, Rosa rather liked being ensconced in Vyn’s arms—ignoring that he was doing so to twist her arm, so to speak, to give into his desire and all that it entails—trapped between his all-consuming obsession and the cruel winter beyond the glass window behind her.

"Did you really think I was only asking for a kiss, poppet?" A hand casually slipped over her hip; his thumb absently tracing concentric circles in the tender flesh of her inner thigh, just a few inches shy of her entrance. "I thought you to be more…perceptive." 

"Really now, Vilhelm de Haspran, resorting to low key barbs?"

" Albert . You better get used to calling me by that name." 

"All right then, Albert," Rosa said offhandedly, then immediately realized the implications of calling him by that name. A hand rose to her lips. "Oh. Um."

"Very few people have the privilege to call me so intimately." Vyn pretended that he didn't notice her realizing the significance of the gesture only right at that very moment. "You are one of them."

His hand on her thigh stopped moving, but it stayed there, resting upon her soft flesh; the heat on his palm seeping through the fabric of her nightgown. 

"...Thank you, Albert." Rosa leaned down once again, this time planting a kiss on his forehead. Yet the chasteness of her gesture did not diminish the different kind of warmth that exuded from his palm that nestled a little too comfortably on her inner thigh. "...what exactly are you doing?" 

"Softening you up for my little interrogation." He did not bother hiding his intentions; the way his thumb slid up to finger the edge of her panties through her nightgown, and how his other hand stroked her back—slowly, and sensually, deliberately sending sparks of tiny little pleasures where he made light contact—proved how serious he actually was.

"I hope this is working for you?" He teased Rosa, elated that his magic worked so well, his success marked by the small, sweet-sounding moans escaping her lips, and the delightful squirming of her thighs. 

"... You have no idea what you're doing," Rosa murmured quietly, acutely aware of her rapidly heating skin. Yet the words did not reach him; they were drowned out by the violent shrieking of winter winds, strong enough to slightly rattle the glass behind her. 

"Hm? Speak a little louder for me, pet?" Both of his hands now cupped her cheeks, tenderly pulling her face to his. He put his lips next to her ear. "What did you say just now?" Even the movement of his lips against her ear was maddening, and Rosa knew the contact was deliberate. She bit her lip, willfully ignoring the slight dampness on the crotch of her panties.

"..." Rosa said nothing; the way Vyn's fingers still played with the lace edging of her silk underwear threw off the rhythm of her breathing. Her body’s response seemed to amuse him; he now lightly brushed the pad of his finger against the fabric covering her slit. 

The shuddering of her thighs made him sigh in delight. "I think you are ready for a few questions." There was an amused lilt to his tone, if not a little dark. He slid his lips down from the lobe of her ear, down to the tender junction where her neck met the shoulder. "So you hate, and you love," he said, lips planting small kisses down her shoulder. "That was more than a hint. What do you hate? "

Rosa gave him an odd look as he carried out his tiny, yet maddening ministrations. "I hate…" she began, then stilled her tongue. 

Did she even deserve someone like him worrying for her? Vyn had given her no reason to doubt herself, and had told her a thousand and one reasons why she is worth his affection—but there was no easy way to gloss over the fact that Vilhelm was not only a self possessed person, he was the symbol of change against an oppressive ideology. 

She never forgot that detail, no matter how much Vyn tried to downplay it; even during her rare times together with him that particular knowledge hung over her head like a sword, threatening to cut their ties to each other at any time when his duty called for him to take certain action.

Like a political marriage, for instance.

Was she good enough to stand beside someone like him? If she asked him, she knew he would say yes , but…

“You hate…?” He prompted once again. He pulled the fur throw blanket over her shoulders, and wrapped it around her body. “I will not let you go, Rosa, until you have been truly honest with me.” There was not a trace of mirth on his face. “Not after you had brazenly accused me of not being truthful earlier.”

His hands slipped inside the fur coat, and slowly crept up along her abdomen.

“Wait, V–Albert,” she quickly corrected herself, only to let out another moan as he pulled the wide neckline of her nightgown all the way down to her elbows, leaving her chest naked underneath the blanket. “Y-you said you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate!”

“And I said no lie, Rosa.” A trail of kisses ran from the base of her neck and back up to her ear. “Is petting not an appropriate activity between lovers, especially on cold, lonely nights such as tonight?” There it was, once again, his low, melodious tone flowing down her ears directly to her loins. “Keep in mind, beloved, that I will let you decide if you want to receive some…” An accidental brush of his fingers on her stiff nipple. “...relief.”

Rosa whimpered. Problems can be solved later. 

Maybe after…after…

“ Someone is not being as truthful in more ways than one, despite what she said earlier.” He ran his hands all over her shivering body naked underneath the fur blanket, while deliberately avoiding her breasts. “Again, Rosa. What is it that you hate about me ?”

No, I don’t hate you.

“...I��m afraid that I’m not worthy of you.”

I hate myself.

Vyn immediately stopped. 

The magic of the moment, irretrievably lost. Gone was the passionate magic of the crackling flames, and in their place, a sobering cold that flooded the drawing room. He pulled away from the heated embrace; Vyn now regarded his lover solemnly in an effort to address her fears .

“Despite all my assurances,” he began, but with more tenderness than reproach. He pulled out his hands from underneath the fur blanket, and held her— properly , this time—with his arms loosely wrapped around her waist. “Why do you still think that you are not worthy of me?”

Rosa took a deep breath, both to steel herself and to brush away the cobwebs of lust fogging her mind. “The usual concerns. I have no political value whatsoever. A cultural outsider. And…” She wrung her hands underneath the blanket. “I’ve always thought that…that your love for me is getting in the way of certain things…”

Vyn narrowed his eyes. They already had this talk before; to hear her voice out the same anxieties that he had thought were already put to rest was worrisome indeed.

“Has someone been poisoning your mind, Rosa?” It was the wrong way to phrase the question—especially given his chosen career—but the idea of certain entities actively driving a wedge between him and the only one he ever cared about in an attempt to control him was not at all farfetched, given the political climate. He needed to ask the questions directly, and deal with the matter with absolute urgency.

If that was the case, anyway.

Rosa shook her head. “No, Albert. Actually…” Her voice trailed off into indecision, yet again.

“Please, Rosa,” Vyn sounded as if he was almost begging . “Tell me.”

Rosa carefully looked down at him from her elevated perch by the window, and could only see a man carefully put together, yet on the verge of falling apart.

The epiphany that she sought the moment she decided to give up chasing sleep, only to wander the hallways earlier, finally dawned upon her: He, too, was troubled by something that occurred during—or sometime around—dinner. His insistence on hearing her answer to his request, if she would let him kiss her, or not, was a mere ruse to suss out something else entirely.

“Rosa?” His poker face obscured his expression from view, but the way he prodded her for any response was enough to tell her that he was almost desperate.

“Fine,” she finally relented. “But please, understand that the problem lies with me only.” She looked at Vyn, who now waited for her to speak her mind. “I’m sorry I lied to you for sometime now,” she said as she fidgeted in her seat. “No, I’m still having a hard time swallowing the differences between our lives, Albert. But I still keep trying, because I love you.”

“I sense a ‘but’ there, Rosa,” Vyn said quietly. “Would you tell me what it is?”

She nodded. “I was fine with it, really. Figured it was only a matter of learning your customs, and watching you, mostly. But…” She fell silent, mulling if she really should tell him; she feared the truth behind it . Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, really; it was nothing but a mere offhanded task that he gave to Ogier…

But she decided to trust the man holding onto her, and she leapt off the edge and into the great uncertainty.

“But everything changed when you told Ogier to control the spread of our footage from yesterday’s competition. That’s…that’s when I finally realized…” Rosa took a deep breath. “I may be getting in the way of…of…”

“Of?” Vyn’s voice was controlled, but she could tell that he was almost agitated. “You, getting in the way of…?”

Finally exasperated, Rosa threw up her hands. The sudden gesture shrugged the fur blanket off her shoulders, letting it pool around her thighs and exposing her naked torso in the process .“Oh, I don’t know…political matters? Things bigger than I am? That our relationship has to be hidden from public view?” She covered her breasts with her arms in reflex, and she looked away in embarrassment. “So…yes. That is why I’m now very reluctant about things and, I don’t know, Albert…I don’t even know if I still have the right to call you that, now that you know what’s been in my mind for so long. I believe you deserve someone else who can readily support you in these matters, even if…I…” 

She was finally able to voice out—or admit, also to herself—what troubled her so much, but it only brought her misery. Her lower lip trembled. “...I love you, really. But I don’t think I…” 

The words stopped coming, the rest of the message delivered by the teardrops running down her cheeks.

“So…it was my fault after all.” Vyn said, utterly mortified by his lack of foresight. He was being careless, and took for granted how easily Rosa could pick up on odd, suspicious behaviors around her. It was one of her talents, and yet he may have grown too complacent, too comfortable, to realize that his own actions may still provoke certain responses from her, as she would do with other people. “Rosa, shh , come here, let me explain…”

He carefully wrapped the fur blanket over her shoulders once again, before gathering her into his arms. “I apologize, Rosa,” he said as he laid her on the sofa, holding her close to him to share each other’s bodily warmth. “Are you comfortable, my love?”

Rosa nodded quietly, then sniffled. 

“I am sorry,” Vyn apologized once again, enveloping her in his embrace, placing his chin on the top of her head. “The foremost intention behind why I had Ogier control the spread of the footage was to maintain the integrity of my identity as Vilhelm M.” He sought out one of her hands from within the blanket, and held it tight. “But…I do admit that my plans are not quite ready to have you exposed to the world as my chosen betrothed. Not yet.” 

Rosa froze in his arms for a moment, then let out a deep sigh. “That was what I was afraid of.” She tried to pull her hand away from his hold, but he would not let go. “Albert, please …I don’t want to influence you into making unwise decisions. I am already happy and honored that you feel this way for me—”

“The only unwise decision I would be making is if I let you go based on those unfounded fears.” Vyn’s voice sounded oddly lifeless, and mechanical. “I have made several concessions throughout my life out of duty, Rosa, not because of want nor the allure of prestige—but the moment they dare force upon me a bride who is not you, they will regret doing so . Each and every one of them. I say this as fact, and not as a mere threat. Do you understand what I am trying to say?”

She said nothing in reply, quietly holding on to his hand instead, feeling its weight in her palm. His hand felt heavy, weighed down by responsibility he did not quite ask for.

He shifted on the sofa, gently nudging Rosa to turn around and look at him. “Look at me, love,” he whispered, smoothing away her tears. “As much as I would like to play the part of an understanding gentleman, I could not find it in myself to say ‘if you do not want to stay with me, you may leave if you so wish’, because you are the only one I ever wanted my entire life, Rosa, and I cannot imagine how life would be without you.” He took her face in his hands, and kissed the lone tear still rolling down her cheek. “If we did not meet, if you have never stepped into my study that one day…” He pursed his lips, carefully thinking of what to say next. “Let me put it this way: I would have turned out to be quite unlikeable.”

His words, simple and succinct, struck her heart like a lightning bolt. She knew what he meant. She knew what Vyn Richter was capable of; but with the power afforded to Vilhelm de Haspran…

Rosa shivered, and without knowing it she clung to the lapels of his robe, her mind too preoccupied with the idea of being in a world where her Vyn did not exist. 

“But we are both here.” A tender kiss upon her brow. “Is there anything that matters more than what we have right now?” His face—wearing nothing but his longing for her—descended upon hers, eclipsing the golden light of the room with brushes of dark silver before she let herself drown once again in his ardent, heartfelt kissing.

Time flew by unnoticed as they shared warmth and physical expressions of love to one another. None of them heard the ticking of the grandfather clock, nor of the ominous-sounding chimes that marked the fourth hour of the morning; the only other sounds filling the room were of whispered pledges of love, mixed in with sighs and sweet, wet kisses.

By the time Rosa pulled away to compose herself, her blanket and nightgown were already discarded by the foot of the sofa, as was Vyn’s sleeping robe. 

“My darling, my Rosa,” Vyn breathed, his eyes transfixed upon the beauty straddling him on the sofa, her hips quite dangerously close to his. “Please, kiss me more.” A flush of color colored his face down to his chest; together with the faint sheen of moisture over their bodies these were indelible evidences how much he wanted her. “Or is there anything else that you need to—hahh, gods, if you do that—”

Her hips slid downwards, leaving a trace of wetness down his abdomen until the tip of something poked the small of her back. Rosa willfully ignored it, for the meantime. “Yes, Albert, there is something else…” her voice was low, and cadenced, as if she was about to tell a terrible secret, or relay bad news. “I…I am afraid to tell you this, even if we’re already in this kind of relationship.”

A shadow crossed her hooded olive eyes. From Vyn’s vantage point she looked every bit the temptress: shadow and light from the fireplace playing upon her skin, accentuating her soft curves; yet her face—her eyes—were that of a predator. “It made my problem considerably worse, you see…”

“Please, tell me.” Vyn bit his lip, fighting with all his being the very instinct to just take Rosa and rut into her as hard as her could. “We have come so far together, Rosa, there is no point having reservations around each other.”

“Fine.” She planted her palms onto his chest, and leaned down to whisper, “Despite my reservations earlier, I…” A pause. “I want you so much, Albert. I’ve never wanted a man this much, even I’m scared of myself.” Her breath shuddered and told of an unbearable want, barely suppressed. “I was afraid you’d be disgusted with me.”

A hiss escaped through his lips, yet Vyn kept his hands to himself. “There is nothing wrong, much less disgusting, with lusting after a man, my pet, especially if the man is reciprocating.” He spoke in a more casual, conversational tone, like he would when addressing a patient. But his hungry eyes told a different story. “So you want me as a man. Show me, then, just how—oh, damn it—”

Having received his explicit permission, Rosa did not bother letting him finish; her absolute thirst , hidden, and secretly tended to for almost a year, completely overwhelmed her and dictated her movements. A delicate hand grasped his cock that had been poking at her derriere for quite some time now; she smiled in a twisted delight as she felt it twitch in her hand. “I so wanted to do this so much—the daydreams were quite distracting—” She shimmied a bit lower to align the glans to her throbbing heat. 

Loud moans reverberated against the walls embellished in forest green paisley; so much that Rosa thought she saw a shadow cross the corner nearest the door, disappearing with a nigh-inaudible click .

“ Already , pet?” Vyn huffed, his hands pawing at her breasts, “Do you not wish for us to linger and —ahh… ” He threw his head back deeper into the throw pillows, relishing the sensation of his lady love quite eagerly bouncing on his cock. Finally, he thought as he grasped her waist to hold Rosa in place above his hips, thrusting hard and fast into her cunt. Finally. He earned the long-awaited pay off of his chase , even if it did not turn out the way he had envisioned it in his mind. 

The end still justified the means, even the accidental ones. 

“Nggh—Albert, that’s…yes…!” Rosa rocked her hips in time with his, now riding him in earnest. 

Vyn opened his eyes to the wonderfully debauched sight of his beloved using him to pleasure herself; her breasts and hair bouncing with each lewd—yet beautiful—movement. “You are doing good, Rosa, do not be afraid to take what is yours,” he whispered, his voice now low and unmistakably lascivious. “Learn to let loose your arrow when you want to.”

He was nearing, and the way her thighs started to tense up he knew that she, too, was about to reach her climax. “Please, Albert…ngh,” Rosa gritted her teeth, one hand slipping between their bodies to rub her clit. “Be quiet. I just want to enjoy this, I…” She bit her lip. Almost there . “I was convinced our relationship won’t last and this wouldn’t—”

“Shush, poppet,” Vyn interrupted her, shifting his position underneath her just enough to let him suck on her breast. “Mmm…I am sorry, but it seems your daydreams will have new material to distract you with.” He chuckled, until his laughter quickly changed into helpless moans the moment he felt her inner walls clench around his cock. “ Fuck ,” he groaned, followed with a string of words Rosa could not quite follow.

Orgasm came violently for both of them, and as he plunged deep into her and shot his hot, dripping semen inside her cunt Vyn pulled her down for the deepest, most erotic kiss they have ever shared during the course of their romantic relationship: tongue sliding against tongue, lips red and raw and almost bleeding.

Eventually they had to pull away, gasping for air. “Wear your emerald bracelet for me, Rosa. Wear it as often as you can.” Tongue trailed the length of her collarbone. “I want people to see who you are pledged to.” The journey of his tongue across her clavicle ended with a small nip on her shoulder.

“Hey, stop that!” Rosa had to let out a small laugh. “Well…that’s certainly a change of heart. Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Vyn said, his tone rather sulky. He held her close to him, unwilling to let go. “My father has already given us his blessing. That alone should suffice.”

Rosa blinked at the knowledge that Eirik had so readily supported his son’s decision. Yet there were other players on the board that needed consideration. “But you mentioned…The Church…”

“We needed to deal with them for quite some time now. The ‘when’ matters not in the grand scheme of things. Let me—us—handle them.” He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply. “Do not fret about such insignificant matters.”

“Mm.” Rosa chewed on her lower lip, her mind percolating a certain thought. “There is one thing I’d like to know, though.”

“Ask away.” His hand traveled down to the sweet moist flesh between her thighs, fingers lightly teasing her slit. “What is it?”

“Hey…” Rosa squirmed on top of him, but all it did was to accidentally insert a finger inside her. “Oh god, Albert. What are you doing?”

“Poking at the embers to start the flame again,” came the matter-of-fact answer, still fondling her, slipping a second finger inside her hole. “Now. Your question?”

“ Mnh—hahh —” Her hips started to grind against his hand; his thumb strummed her clit, while his index and middle fingers moved inside her. “God…” she gritted her teeth, then asked anyway, “Why me? Why go through all the— nngh —trouble?”

“ Heh. ” Vyn grinned as he sat up and laid Rosa down on the upholstery, taking care to prop her back with pillows. “Why indeed?” A brief moment of silence followed; he knelt between her legs, parting her thighs just enough to make room for him. Loud huffs of shallow breathing and occasional wet sounds broke the silence; he had started to pleasure her using his mouth with gusto: tongue running along the length of her slit; his lips sucking on her stiff clitoris until her flesh throbbed in wet arousal once again.

“Wait, Vyn, it’s too much, I haven’t…” She tried to wrest away from his hold, but his arms had locked around her thighs and all she could do was squirm. After several sweet, torturous minutes—or seconds? Rosa could not tell anymore—Vyn emerged from between her legs, licking his lips clean of her juice mixed with traces of his own cum. “Honey upon my lips…You are quite ready now, pet.” 

He pulled her ass to the edge of the sofa, parting her legs even wider. “The moment I laid eyes upon you was the first time I have truly ever wanted, sweet Rosa, and I do not want to forget this sweet pain of desire,” he said, finally remembering to answer her question. Vyn knelt upright, rubbing her wet slit with the tip of his jutting cock as he continued, “And I will never stop desiring you. Time and time again you have proven me wrong on so many things, I am now resigned to knowing I could never fully own you.” He sighed in longing, loving eyes trained upon her as he prepared to enter her once more. “There will always be something about you out of my arrow’s reach, my love, and that is perfect. ”

With that, he drove his entire length inside her with a single snap of his hips. “ Hnngh , hahaha, yes… ” 

“Damn it, Albert, that is too much for someone like— nngh —me to handle— oh god! ”

“That is fine, take your time, I will guide you all throughout.” He started moving, slowly for now, making sure that his entire length ran inside her with every push and pull of his hips. “You now own my entire being, and soon enough I will lay the entire world at your feet." He leaned forward slightly, taking both her hands, pinning them onto the sofa. “But for now…”

Their fingers entwined, and Vyn had Rosa, his rarest, most cherished instrument, singing and performing only for him, and him alone. 

Singing enchanting songs that easily tune out the sad, bitter waiting of winter outside.  

[bikepackinguk]

Day Forty-four

The midges were trying to make themselves known last night as the wind died down, but with the tent all setup for a beautiful view I was safe and sound and allowed myself a bit of a lie in after all the work yesterday, and knowing the elevation profile for today!

Up and off, it's a twisty up-and-down road past Loch Shieldag and around the rest of Loch Shieldag before emerging from the trees on to the small bay at Ardheslaig.

It's a stiff climb up from here around the side of some sheer cliffs, with an amazing view over Loch Torridon.

Around the corner of the cliffs, we start on a looping, rolling road along the rest of the north side of the peninsula. I'd been anticipating a lot of hard work here, but the road gifts some lovely cruises downhill and the turns aren't so sharp that the momentum is allowed to be used to charge up the next climbs, making progress quite enjoyable through the moorlands with Lewis and Harris in the distance.

Passing Fearnmore, it's a swing south to be greeted with a lovely view of the islands of Rona and Raasey over the water, with Skye rising up behind them.

Following on the road southward, the end of Raasey is invisible behind a torrential downpour that is heavy enough to be opaque. The wind though, after days of tough headwinds, jas finally turned to a favourable tailwind, and I catch onky a very fine drizzle as I pass it by around Applecross Sands.

Rounding the south corner is a great view across to the rest of the coast and the bay with the river Applecross flowing out from the mountainsides, which is cruised over as we roll into Applecross village, where I get to see a stag grazing by the road not giving a single care about passersby!

Having a good sit whilst cooking dinner yesterday at Shieldag helped provide me with a bit of centering. For much of this adventure, I'd taken a lot of enjoyment in ploughing through the miles, but the constant hills here put a hard limit on that, and I think I had allowed it to subconsciously intrude on the enjoyment of the journey. Which is foolish, and required a slight shift in perspective.

So, given the amount of climbing over the last few days, and with a mighty ascent coming up after Applecross, I've had a good early finish to the day and booked into a cheap campsite here for a couple of nights for a bit of R&R, which the muscles will surely appreciate! And it's with much love to the irreplaceable @annatrekkie for a generous tip for this stay!

I have to say, Applecross Campsite is outstanding considering how affordable it is. After pitching up I've had a lovely steaming hot shower in onenof the best toilet & shower blocks I've encountered in years of camping - they even have grey water reclamation!

It's also the first time in quite a while that I've been able to have a good look at myself in a big mirror, and damn. Six weeks of cycling has certainly had its effects - whilst my hands have been callousing up, I've definitely been getting leaner and even have the top of a six pack starting to emerge. And the legs have never looked better.

I'm currently treating myself to a nice sit by the waterside enjoying a pint of the excellent local ale, and may even go for a good fish & chips before retiring and having a very chill and relaxing day tomorrow.

Back on Sunday!

[russell-crowe]

just some text thinking under the cut (with a little tw for themes such as depression and suicidal thoughts)

2013 is my lost year. it was the year i turned sixteen, which i presumed would be a delightful circumstance. but instead i spent the period between october 2012 and july 2013 in the dark. i did not attend school, i did not leave my room, i did not leave my bed, i did not take care of myself, i was being utterly self destructive.

for years i have not really acknowledged 2013, as it was simply a black hole in my life. in fact, i barely remember anything of my life from before summer 2013. there are just a handful of things, like the smell that hits my nose when i am hit with the memory of a video game i used to play at a friends house.

but lately, 2013 is showing up. first it was the mentalist popping up - a show i do not directly associate with my lost year, but one that is moreso linked with a life that got destroyed by my own self destruct. i lost the routine of watching it every tuesday on tv. i lost the friend i discussed it with. but that show is one of the few things that made it across the dark gap that is 2013.

then now i am back into les mis, hugh jackman and russell crowe, which is something that had its very roots in my dark period. it was in my darkest period that i fell in love with their work and watched through everything, and it was one of the few times i invited my mom into my locked up world, as we would sometimes watch some of these films.

i do not feel bitter towards any of it, but it does bring back the vivid memory of one particular night that i would like to discuss. my parents moved out of my childhood home this summer, and that was the first time this memory flickered in my brain in years. but now it is kinda on a loop.

it happened as i was watching 'a beautiful mind'. i had never in my life been triggered, but as i watched this film i well and truly felt an emotional response that to this day i cannot explain. i know the movie is flawed as a biographical work, but watching john in his truth, being unconciously self destructive and witnessing the response of the people around him... i do not know which precise scene it was, as i have not dared to rewatch the film, but at one point his despair and mental state unlocked something in my brain.

for the first time in my life, age fifteen, i felt the unexplainable need to open my door, walk to my balcony and jump. realistically it would harm me, but likely not kill me, but at the time i felt overwhelmed with the intention to end my life.

it sounds like a silly cause, but something about that film unlocked every single experience, thought and emotion that was hidden under a veil of darkness from depression and suddenly made it crash into me like a great wave, intended to take me along and drown me.

i do not remember how i managed to calm myself down or how, a day later, i willed myself to watch it. i only remember the distinct feeling of emotions rushing through me and the magnetic feeling i felt towards my balcony.

but here comes the rest - somehow, 'a beautiful mind' became a kind of reset point in my brain. seeing the ending with john realizing his situation and overcoming it through this change in his brain (idk how to explain it, because again i have not watched this in 9 years)... it lifted something from me. because at the time therapy was not helping, medicine was not helping. and seeing him be the change in himself, somehow flipped a switch in me to... want to change.

i would not say i owe my life to russell crowe nor this role, but there is this whole 'this actor is a part of my being, whether i like it or not' that i have had to face during some intervals in my past years and well... weeks. and perhaps the older i get, the more i realize this. and the more i realize that this lost year wil also always be a part of me.

while i am at it, the road to recovery and becoming the person i am right now is largely shaped by my great uncle (my grandpas brother) inviting me to stay over at his place in virginia for a month and me meeting his lesbian daughter, which got me to start my transitioning period in the fall of that same year and cut my hair. it is also shaped by me clinging to U2 at the time, which despite of what your opinions are on them, is a band that discusses themes like hope, love and standing up for your loved ones and people in need. i have been a little teenage wanker with anger issues, but the light from them is still a core value that even though i do not associate with them directly, i still appreciate.

(that is also probably the reason why, when i go to their concerts, they manage to hit me emotionally right in my very core)

idk where i was going with this but i guess there are some Heavy Themes kinda orbiting my brain right now. i would say i am proud of who i am becoming right now and i am happy - episodes of depression happen vewer and vewer, but this is something that i will apparently need to give a better place for it to find peace.

(and i am still debating whether it is worth watching a beautiful mind again and whether it will make things better or worse jdjdjd)

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me”

Choice-era, PG-ish, late queued crosspost // also on ao3 // look y’all I cleared 50 ficlets for them, HOW.

She is unprepared for the sadness.

She is unprepared for so many things, for the range of emotions she has learned to feel these past few years and how much it turns out she enjoys most of them. Her public presentation remains calm and delicate and distant, but her internal life has blossomed and beneath her carefully maintained layers of ice it turns out she is a burning fire and-

Jessica is unprepared, in the weeks that will later feel like the last calm before the storm, when she is not alone in her body but no one else has reason to know. She was never supposed to be this vulnerable – never supposed to do any of this as she has – and all of those contradictions be damned, she cannot imagine any other life.

She is still prone to wandering, more purposefully now than when she had first come here and not trusted anyone’s attempts at showing her around. She found her hiding places by accident and cultivated them, made sure the right people knew where to look for her in case of emergency but also understood why she might need quiet. If the reputation that gave her was not quite what was intended with her placement… eccentricity is tolerated better on the more stable planets, and at least she’s been visibly harmless, at least she hasn’t gotten blamed for any major decisions her partner has made, at least-

That’s all about to change. Her body is a timebomb, a matter of weeks if not days before she discloses what she has done and right now she is bracing herself for the consequences. Her partner will be supportive – she has done the only real thing he has ever asked her for, and she has been here long enough to see what kind of man he is, the depth of loyalty that has somehow been attributed to her and helped her see that she loves the same way. The rest of the world…

For her lover, it will be minor scandal, something that will fade over time once it becomes apparent that their son is normal enough. For her, most likely, it will be damnation.

She fell in love and committed a single act that might be enough to break the world. She doesn’t know. She paces along the beach, the cold air and the twirl of her skirt enough to keep her in a body she already feels herself disconnecting from. There are no absolutes, she has convinced herself of this over these past few years, she knows what she has done is against protocol but she does not know by how much or why or how that might impact the fate of the known world and-

She herself is neither savior nor martyr, she knows this even now, but she is no mere vessel either. What she has done – and oh how easily she disconnects herself from her actions, already defense mechanisms forming and this too she was unprepared for – was of her own desire above all else. She was created to preserve and entwine bloodlines, she knows this, she is nothing special in that way. Her partner talked pretty in the quiet of night with his hands on her and made her believe him, and if he too is damned it will be more by association than anything else, and-

At some point the emotional loops overwhelm her, the sadness and the anger of it all, the cosmic insignificance of her little life and this was how she decided to defy it, and her control slips. There is less shame in crying if she is alone, if no one sees her lose composure, and it feels right to get out of her head and into her body, to fully let herself feel every conflicted thing within her. It will be easier when she keeps fewer secrets, she comforts herself as she kneels on the ground and still carefully arranges her skirts for minimal damage, as she allows the sounds she cannot control to do no more than concern a flock of nearby birds. It will be easier when her partner knows, after he makes enough promises to let her sleep through the night and after the accusations start to go over his head, after-

It is strange sometimes how paths cross, how thinking of a person seems to cause them to appear. Jessica knows that is not the true explanation, but it is still a comfort as she hears familiar footsteps and heartbeat, as she turns her head and wants to hate herself for how much affection she has learned to feel. Tolerance, she had once been taught, was the ideal outcome of a placement. What is within her heart is deeper and more pleasant, and-

To his credit, her partner does not say anything about her visible state of distress. She has made a point not to manipulate him by the methods she once expected she would have to use to survive, and the acclimation that has occurred instead has been more natural, a proper result of desire and domestic routine. His curiosity has not faded as she’d hoped, but at least he’s quieter about it now, at least-

She still sees the worry in his eyes as he kneels down next to her, the understanding that she is in no mood for conversation but she will tolerate being touched. This too is acclimation, the discovery over time that her body can be pleasant, can be-

Familiar hands around hers do not stop the crying. She’s not sure anything could.

She loves him so much and it’s already ruined her, loves how he makes his heart clear and at the same time is so effortlessly casual about it. There are certainly other things he should be attending to right now, she is well aware, at least some of the infinite paperwork that power entails, but instead he is here with her and she is convinced there is no higher priority on his mind right now. The little patterns he traces on her skin, the acceptance of her lack of eye contact, the tension that feels more like worry than anything else and-

“Kiss me,” she breathes. The sadness and fear have not passed, may never pass, but she needs to give something, she needs-

Her partner leans in with adequate caution, soft collision and the things they have to be cautious about saying. She knows his body like her own – that was supposed to be the point of her, once – and she suspects he has come to see her the same way, each an extension of the other, how easily they entwine and-

“You worry me,” he murmurs when they breathe, and it might as well be the grand declaration of love she doubts she’ll ever actually get.

“I’ll try not to.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he counters, almost a laugh and skies he makes her warm sometimes. “I know you don’t…”

“I was never meant to be difficult. I don’t-“

“Don’t apologize for things you didn’t do.”

“What I have done is more than enough.” Two weeks, perhaps, until she is not alone in understanding the full weight of that statement. For now it is as close as she wants to come to disclosure, for now-

He kisses her again, soft as ever, and then little feathery kisses across her face and at least she is loved, that will be the refrain when her world catches fire, at least she has been loved, at least-

“You make things better,” he murmurs. “Screw the rest.”

How little he knows. How much more she loves him for it.

[omsdoortodoor]

OMS Door to Door Challenge departure date minus 7 weeks

Ian’s week

“Cycling throws up plenty of obstacles, unknown territory, high-speed split-second considerations. Where to next? What’s around the corner? Who cares? You’re flying!” Cadel Evans.

I managed to get one more ride in before leaving France, 1,500 feet climb in six miles up to the car park at L’Artigue to meet Jane and my cousins who were visiting for a walk up to some waterfalls.

Back in the UK I’ve been out a couple of times, the first around the Culm Valley, a distance of twenty-one miles where I came face to face with a herd of cows being driven along the road at Sampford Arundel. The rest of the ride was uneventful!

My next ride was a combination of the Uplowman loop but via Willand & Halberton, I did note that a few of my friends were sat outside the Staple Cross Inn as I went past, I was very tempted to stop but knew that Jane wanted some help with the gardening and thought that I ought not to!

Having bought back bike No1 from France, it’s the first time The Stable has been together.

Monday saw me back in the gym, the weather was rubbish so I spent forty minutes on a spinning bike followed by another forty minutes on the resistance weight machines concentrating on my legs but also back & stomach.

Wednesday was ‘get Celeste ready for MOT day’ a good clean plus a check of all lights etc so she should be ok for Monday.

My last ride of the week was a combination of the Culm Valley and Uplowman loops, twenty-six miles in dry sunny weather, the Staple Cross was closed when I went passed, I think I was ten minutes too early for opening time, I would have been temped on this occasion to stop for a swift pint.

I’m off on a ‘Boys Cycling Weekend’ on Friday with a group of friends, I will report back on the weekend’s events next time!

Jane's week

The Truth Mirror

So having spent a month away in France, my physical preparation routine has been less regular.  I did a fair bit of Pilates, online with Sarah Grey, where we concentrated on my balance and strength (I now use 5kg hand weights regularly).  Meditation took a bit of a step backwards.  I did some good walks as well, but perhaps not as much as I would have liked due to being away and general socialising.  I’m not complaining mind you. What had completely gone by the by were my daily foot exercises. 

Now I’m back in the UK meditation is happening daily, my OMS diet is back where it was, Pilates continues to be the regular exercise that it was.  But I just hadn’t been doing my foot exercises.

The reason is not because I can’t be bothered or because I am bored.  It’s because my routine has changed, and my usual foot exercise slot is no longer there.  What I have learnt about myself since following the OMS programme is that if I don’t make something a habit, then it does not happen regularly.  It’s as simple as that.

In my Pilates session with Sarah, I told her that I hadn’t been doing my foot exercises.  And she replied “But you need them for your challenge.  It’s part of your preparation”.  She didn’t say this in criticising or nagging way.  When I tried to bluster, she said “You said it yourself in your blog, that you needed it for your training.  I’m just repeating back to you what your said”. 

And guess what? – she was absolutely right!

It was like having a Truth Mirror held up in front of me.  What Sarah said was exactly what I needed to hear.  I need these exercises as part of my training. I made that decision.  I have to do them.  So Foot Exercises are back in my routine.  Thank you Sarah.

Thank you to everyone who has donated to our challenge so far. We are totally humbled by the support everyone is giving us and grateful for every single donation.

We hope you're enjoying this blog. If you would like to see the routes Ian cycling or if you would like to help us to help people with MS by donating the link is below.

Thank you

Jane & Ian

[sabiekay]

Aaa thanks for tagging me @theharrowing! I'm gonna dig to see if I have 3 WIPs to post, but I definitely have 3 fics done for this challenge! Some of these snippits might be kinda long whoooooops

No Pressure tag list (do it if you want to, don't feel obligated to play!) @candlewaxandp0lar0ids , @suga-kookiemonster , and @writtenwhalien, anyone else who feels like it!

rules: post 3 snippets from published work, and 3 from your wips

*3 Published*

Microcosmos

Throughout the entire trip to the nature reserve, amongst the small talk and laughter, all you could think of was how aware you were of your feelings. Ever since you admitted them to Hoseok a week ago it was like the floodgates had opened now that they had a name to it. And it was making it hard to just act normal. Every interaction was a balancing act of trying not to pretend things were different. Was your crush too obvious? Did Jungkook know? Why couldn’t you just act normal, like you had been for the past several weeks? Your brain was an endless loop of trying to play it cool. If he could read minds, all he would hear in yours was that meme song “don’t be suspicious” over and over again. Jungkook, for his part, was clearly having a blast singing along to the radio. It really wasn’t fair how talented he was – he could draw, paint, and he had a beautiful singing voice? This had to be proof that God played favorites. In between singing and bopping to the songs, you two sipped on the cold brew coffees Jungkook had brought so you could stay awake for the meteor shower. Being the passenger allowed you to look at the beautiful landscape changing outside the car. Now that you were fully away from the city, you could see trees and fields surrounding you instead of tall buildings and neon lights. The sun was setting around you, causing the world to glimmer in shades of green and gold. It was breathtaking. You glanced over at Jungkook as he bopped along to the radio and tapped his fingertips lightly against the wheel, the golden light hitting him the perfect way. It was warm enough outside for him to just wear a t shirt with a pair of jeans, which meant his tattoos were nearly on full display – and a distraction. Your eyes kept glancing up and down at the full artistry that covered his entire right arm. You wanted to hear all about them, the stories and reasons for each one; how they all fit together to tell a story…maybe even trace them with your fingers, especially the veins popping out from his hand gripping the wheel and then….nope. Nope. You were shutting that down right now. You had to survive this trip without dying of thirst for the poor guy. Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.

The Season

“Is this your first gala then? Are you new to the Season?” Your curiosity got the better of you as you took the furthest seat you could away from the man. You may be having a conversation, but years of training were a hard habit to break. He shook his head, then took a heavy breath as he looked toward the glittering manor. “I stopped going a few years ago, but my mother kept begging me until I ran out of excuses. So here I am, back into the fray.” He gestured out from the empty garden, the only audience being you, the flowers, and the willow tree. It was calm and quiet outside, far away from the crowds. He laughed darkly, shaking his head as he stared straight ahead. “Every single news article, all the social media posts, everyone gushes about how glamorous it must be, how powerful everyone is. It’s all so fake. No one inside that ballroom really cares about their so-called friends, it’s only what favors that person can do for them. What their alliance can bring to the table. I join the conversation and all anyone can talk about is who my father is, what my brother does. How lucky I should feel to be a part of that legacy. I mean, sometimes I don’t think they even know my full name!” “So what is your full name?” You blurted out before deciding to just own up to it; you faced him full on, looking right at him. He stared at you in barely hidden disbelief, then smiled softly. “Seokjin. I’m…” he paused, as if contemplating what he was going to say next. “I’m Kim Seokjin. Nice to meet you.” Your brain was screaming at you as you tried not to freak out on someone you just met. Here you were, a mere lady’s maid, chatting casually to the 2nd son of Grand Minister Kim, one of the most powerful men in all of Erharan. Even back home in Auteris people knew of his family. Grand Minister Kim was one of the 3 Grand Ministers that made up the Leaders of State in Erharan. The Grand Ministers were the top of the top officials, who listened to the requests of the lower ranked legislative ministers to bring forth new laws for the country. But it was the Grand Ministers who enacted them, who were the true rulers – they were considered the same as kings and emperors of other countries. And that was just one half of his family pedigree. His mother came from the illustrious Jang family, the owners and founders of Jang Technologies, the leading solar technology company in the world. Their products basically brought Erharan and the rest of the world to the modern age, making it the industrial powerhouse it was today. If it could be run on solar power, it most likely came from Jang Tech. It was bad enough you were talking to a guest at all, let alone someone from such a prominent background. His family had inherited the role of Grand Minister for generations. They would probably continue passing down that title long after you and Seokjin were gone. You were stunned you didn’t even recognize him. But as you looked at Seokjin, the depths of his eyes searching for any type of connection, you recognized how difficult his life might be. How in this moment all he might need was a friend to talk to. And so, you decided tonight his family background didn’t matter. You could be his friend for the evening, pretend the differences in your social status wouldn’t cause a scandal. If anyone asked, you could just say you were doing your job – you were meant to serve the upper class, after all. If a nobleman asked you to sit and chat, who were you to say no? “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you too.” 

(Blank) For The Holidays

No, the most devastating part was that Off-Work Yoongi was dangerous. He wore a black fitted turtleneck sweater with dark blue jeans, and black wire framed glasses. His dark brown hair was swept back, exposing his forehead to make him look more handsome than he already was. You were used to Coffee Bee Yoongi, who wore the required uniform and baseball cap that nearly hid his features, or wearing a beanie that caused his hair to frame his face. But this? This was too much. Suddenly all the feelings you had when you first met him come rushing back the instant he turned to face you. Of course you had a small crush on him when he first started working at The Coffee Bee. You were about 90% sure everyone did. Yoongi was downright stunning; him being hard-working and silently caring was a bonus that had already thrown him into Ideal Boyfriend territory. But the idea of dating a coworker was just too messy for you to get over. You were afraid of what would happen if you were rejected, or if you started dating your coworker and broke up, or if you two had gone on a date and it just wasn’t a good time. Things would be awkward and your life was already off kilter without throwing that into the mix. So you just pushed down the feelings, locked them in a box in the back of your mind, and decided to ignore it altogether. But seeing Yoongi in that outfit (especially with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows), focused on cooking a nice dinner, was too hot and domestic for you to handle. And without realizing it he shot straight up past being a simple work crush, beyond ‘Would Be A Good Boyfriend’, and into ‘Perfect Husband’ material. You had to remind yourself that he didn’t even ask you here as a date. This was a friend party. A Christmas party for friends. You could be friends, right? “Hey Y/N. I’m glad you could make it,” Yoongi said brightly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. You nodded with one in return, stomping down your resurrected romantic feelings so you could just chill for an evening.

*3 WIPs*

Another Life

With a sigh, you tried to think back to every single moment that led you here. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t know how I got here? For the past day or so I’ve had a headache, and some sort of vertigo take over every time I laid down. I went to bed early so I could go to prompt care in the morning. Then suddenly I’m here, and it’s apparently not a dream and then there’s glowing fists in my face. Don’t know what else to tell you.” He paused, taking your story in. More thinking, more pacing, muttering, and shaking his head. You just stood there frozen – not like you had anywhere else to go. But if there was a small chance of him having any answers for where you were, you needed to stay put.   Finally, he walked back toward to, reaching toward your wrist. “You need to come with me right now.” You threw your arm back, moving further away from the man. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what is going on. Where exactly are we? How do I know this isn’t some plot to kidnap me or lead me off to some hidden dungeon?” He groaned deeply, rubbing his palm against his face. “Saints and stars above, we don’t have time for this. And if we’re being technical, you are the intruder in the royal palace, so perhaps you should rethink your accusations. But if it will make you move faster, fine.” He sighed and slightly shook his head. “You are in the kingdom of Kalmarys, specifically the grand royal palace of King Rolftan and his heir, Princess Melyanna. My name is Jimin, a Royal Mage and Captain of Princess Melyanna’s personal guard. And if what I suspect is true, the High Mage needs to be aware of your presence right now. Does that answer your questions?”   “…wait, royal mage? As in magic? You can do magic?” Jimin stared at you, an eyebrow raised. “Do you not have magic where you’re from? Who hasn’t heard of the Royal Mages?” You crossed your arms in return, looking more at the floor than at the man. “Well, up until a few minutes ago I thought magic wasn’t even real, so….” A shocked cough escaped Jimin’s lips. He opened his mouth, then closed it before shaking his head and reached for your wrist again. He mumbled something indecipherable to himself, half pulling you to the other side of the room.

Dream A Little Dream

Rice. The first word of your day, the only image in your mind when you woke up. Not a face, or a phrase. Just a bowl of plain white rice. With a sigh, you opened the faded journal on your night stand to add it to the list. Legend says that when the heavens deem your heart ready to be with your soulmate, the God of Love himself will place clues in your dreams each night so you can find them. The first image that lingers in your mind when you wake up brings you one step closer to your perfect match. It could be weeks, it could be months. But either way, you will find your soulmate. It certainly worked for your parents – your Literature professor father dreamt of fish, vast oceans, bright colors. Your mother, a marine biologist, dreamt of libraries, poems, and bottles of ink. When they met as college students, they said it was like magic swirled around them as they held hands after putting the clues together. You never had any reason to doubt soulmates existed when you could see proof every single day around you. But maybe Eros was just screwing with you because for the past few nights, all your soulmate dreams were of the same plain bowl of rice. Last week you dreamt of empty walls. Your journal was filled with documentation of the most mundane, puzzling clues that left you with more questions than answers. 2 months of soulmate dreams surmounting to “Yes queen give us nothing.” And look, it’s not like you were lonely. You’re not! It’s just…a little frustrating to see everyone in your family so in love, the ever-growing collection of Save The Dates and baby shower invites taking over the fridge. Your social media formulated to showcase how nearly all of your friends easily found their soulmates already. While the closest action you’ve gotten recently was reading a spicy novel while eating takeout pizza. It would be nice to be able to cook for more than one person, or feel the warmth of another body cuddling yours while watching (and judging) home renovation tv shows. You would even settle for dates that didn’t fizzle out after the second or third time, once it was abundantly clear you were not going to work out - even before getting into the soulmate dreams. You didn’t even have someone to point out cute puppies to when taking a walk in the park! ….okay, maybe you were a little lonely.

After The End of All Things

“Mom, what’s going on? What happened?” you insisted quietly, trying not to wake the child sleeping next to you. “The last ship…they changed the departure time again. It’s now leaving at 4 am today.” Your eyes fell at the old clock next to the bed – 1:30. If you hurried, ran along the empty backroads, you could make it to the docks in time. But only if you left now. You darted out of bed in a flash, trying to race against the clock to pack what you could. You guiltily hoped that others like you – the ones who couldn’t afford tickets at the base price – hadn’t heard the new bumped up time frame yet. Less people at the docks meant more of a chance for your family to win the Day Of ticket lottery, where you’d earn a spot on the ship for a discounted price. If you couldn’t pay the amount at the time of selection, you could sign a waiver to work off the remaining balance. It was the only chance, the last hope, for people of your status to get onto the ships. The lottery only selected 100 people per departure, with hundreds of entries being the standard. Since this was the last ship, you’d be shocked if the entries were less than 1,000. You started opening drawers in the family dresser, moving quickly to just grab whatever items you found first. But then you noticed your mother walking slowly, eerily so, with a backpack in each hand. Only two. You froze in your spot as your eyes blinked rapidly, holding back the forming tears. You shook your head as you realized what was going on. “I can’t leave you,” you cried, reaching out to your mother. “It’s the only way, Y/N. Take your niece and go. You don’t have much time.” She set down the backpacks at your feet and grabbed your shaking hands. “You can still come with us! The odds of the lottery will be better with 3 of us, you know that! They have the family clause if Anna is selected since she’s too young to work. We can still stay together.” With a gentle squeeze and a deep sigh, your mother walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed an envelope. Her eyes were glassy as she placed it in your hands. You held your breath as you opened it, revealing some money and a pair of tickets. Your eyes widened and your hands shook as the light spilling in from the window emphasized the embossed, iridescent logo of the Global Space Command. You couldn’t ask how she got those tickets. You didn’t want to. Some things were better left unsaid. You looked back at your mother to find tears running down her face. If you weren’t in shock, you’d probably feel your own tears doing the same. “You and Anna deserve a better life. To get away from here. This world is dying, and you two have a chance to start over. Promise me you’ll survive. And live.”

.....dang, I guess I do have a few WIPs, huh? LOLOLOLOL

[ra-tutubixi]

The Wheel Ever-turning: A new system for Mesoamerican date conversions

Mesoamerican timekeeping has for a long time been a subject of ardent discourse between different strains of academia. Time and time again, a new correlation comes along from newer and finer studies on what few attested dates we have for certain, and we build on top of past ideas. Today, I present to you not just a correlation, but an interactive tool to satisfy all (or at least some of) your meso time needs.

Link to the tool: https://cornlands.neocities.org/tools/mesoconv

The Long Count, and other design choices

There must always exist constraints for any and all projects. For us, this manifests as selecting bases and pathways to get from point A to point B in whatever way it seems most efficient.

I first came into acquaintance with the Long Count as correlated by Thompson, who in turn built on top of Martínez and Goodman. Collectively known as GMT, their work offers a great deal of joy to any world-builder and aficionado alike. Their correlation, however, is most often stated as pegged to the Proleptic Gregorian Calendar, an extension of the widely-spread system that manages dates predating its introduction.

The Long Count offers an interestingly early epoch of April 1st, -8239. It is an incredibly elegant system that allows one to pinpoint the exact number of days between two events, regardless of hurdles such as irregular earth days and tidal slowing. There is a slight problem, though.

I began this project perhaps one or two years ago, with a rudimentary Gregorian-Long Count convertor. I was quite less versed in calendarics, let alone coding, although I managed to conduct myself well-enough to produce such a tool. The script used for that project first translated the Gregorian year into a Holocene year, mostly for ease of counting and leap-accounting, and summed an aggregate of days for the corresponding month — which had been calculated by hand — and then multiplied the delta of time between the epoch and the year preceding the input times 365. The leaps were then counted with the Gregorian conditions, (d % 4 == 0 && d % 100 != 0) || d % 400 == 0, but it checked Every Single Year with a while loop. Inefficient as all hell, but effective. Finally, input days were subtracted by 1 and added to the count.

Last week, I returned to the project with a little more knowledge and more pencil and paper to calculate whatever would be needed. I managed to slash the code by a third through making a few things more algorithmic: the number of leaps was first calculated in the julian way (d % 4 == 0), then fine-tuned with the second and third gregorian conditions, subtracting the matches for the former and re-adding those that fit the latter. The formula now stood as (((x - (x % 4)) / 4) + ((x - (x % 400)) / 400) - ((x - (x % 100)) / 100)), though since this counts all leap years since Holocene epoch, one needs to subtract the number of leaps from HEpoch through LCEpoch, 427.

Months were another reduction, as two methods were now used. If the month is lesser than April, each will get the corresponding aggregate day reduction, plus the leap day if applicable to the year and month (February and January). For months after April, I got lazy and merely added a while loop which would check if the month preceding the input was a 31 or 30-day one. April itself is not checked, since only month days need be added in its case.

These both produce a single integer, the days between LCEpoch and the input. This is to become the base for the rest of my calendar tools.

Finally, both versions implement another while loop and what amounts to a switch, which will check if a piktun, b'ak'tun, k'atun, tun or winal can be removed from said integer, and will increment the corresponding position by one. Remaining k'ins are merely added to their counter if applicable.

The LC is not quite as homogenous as one would think, though, and has an irregularity past the first 13th b'ak'tun: it immediately jumps to piktun 1, b'ak'tun 1, instead of resetting itself to b'ak'tun 0. This was also accounted for with a conditional before the loop that will similarly raise the b'ak'tun to 1 if it detects that there is a piktun completed. I infer that the next piktun will begin similarly as the current one did, with a b'ak'tun 1 instead of 0.

The Short Round, i.e. the Count of Days

I decided to hard-code an epoch corresponding to the Long Count, to merely use more sums and modulos to quickly calculate day numbers and signs. This, little did I know, initiated a cascade of issues.

Firstly, the matter of the epoch. Though we have the date 8 koatl as a peg to Nov. 8, 1519, this second date is written in the Julian calendar. For compatibility, this date was translated into a Gregorian one (Nov. 18). The count from LCEpoch through Nov. 18, 1519 (sans leaps for a reason explained below), was obtained with a modified version of the initial LC function, and through the use of modulo 13 and 20 I obtained, respectively, the day number and sign corresponding to it, by receding one sign per unit overshooting each operator. The finalized date comes out as 4 death.

The tool will first multiply the delta of years from LCEpoch by 365, then proceed with the addition/subtraction of the months, and finally the addition of remaining days (again, without leaps). It will then calculate its modulos 13 and 20 and fetch the correct sign.

Both the (Central) Nawa & Yühü SRs seem to have the same epoch, though they do have a slight discrepancy on leap years, as the end of the Dupa and the Nemontemi aren't quite the same. This distance opens at one at the end of the former, and closes itself back up at the end of the latter.

The Classic Maya SR has a specific discrepancy of 217 days relative to the Central-International SR. This was obtained from the 13.0.0.0.0 epoch (Aug. 11, -3114), said to be 4 Ajaw 8 Kumk'u. LCEpoch in terms of the Maya SR would be 12 Akb'al.

The Zaa SR is named Biye, and is offset by 94 days from the C-I SR. The LCEpoch would be Bilainaa (7-Milpa) in this Round.

The Long Round, i.e. the Count of Years

Most freely-available convertors (and calendaric descriptions) posit that Mesoamericans did not have leap days, and that the Long Round fell prey, slowly and inexorably, to the inverse phenomenon of that which befell the Julian calendar.

A simple observation, common across all regions, would disprove such a notion: the calendar followed the seasons. It is more than naïve to suppose that a whole civilization, spanning several millennia and with a noted knack for observing the skies and patterns on the earth, would not have noticed this.

Though the position of a leap day (or moon, as some have argued wrongly) has been the subject of much discussion, Ochoa's work has led us to trace it to the tail-end of the Dead Days, those finalizing each year, and particularly as falling on every Flint year. Given that both rounds need to match up every 52 years, and that the two most secure dates (those being, the arrival of Cortez and the mall of Tenochtitlan) seemingly "skipped over" a day in both the Short and Long round, we have assumed that these "Deader Days" were skipped by the former, and the tool will simply display an N/A on such occasions, returning to a regularized count at the beginning of the year.

The epoch year was, again, calculated with modulos 13 and 20, which resulted in the pair 7 Rabbit. The moon and day were simply counted back from the one secure date we have (2 Quecholli - Nov. 19), resulting in the 11th day of the 2nd moon (Tlakaxipewalistli).

Cyclicality is a well-known quality of the Mesoamerican calendar. There is, however, a system sort of akin to the Long Count of the Maya and Isthmian areas too: the Eninanwixui. Translatable as "the Nightfall Count," one Anwixui corresponds with a cycle of 52 years, and 100 of these cycles correspond to a unit in the Thebe, the "hundred-collar." The length of the smaller cycle corresponds to the smallest of the periods used to calculate eclipses, using a 52-54-56-year-succession rule: while in the years befalling the middle rule an equivalent eclipse will occur, those under the first and third rules will vary.

We have two anchors for the cycle, these being the years 1456 and 1508. Assuming that its epoch and that of the Long Count aren't too far apart, -8239 would be within 0T.0a (0 Thebe, 0 anwixui), being the 22nd year within such first T.A-Cycle. Its epoch would therefore be -8261. This appears to be unique to the Yühü calendar, though the Hem'i Antämatsits'i perhaps hints at a possible Nawatl name for three such Anwixui, "kōāpantli." Given that this last hypothesis relies on a bit of interpretative reading (moreso than the average codex experience), the tool will not implement this latter name.

Coding this section took very many reworkings, though I am proud to announce it successful. The tool will begin its count on the epoch year per the Holocene calendar (to more easily account for leap years), and cycle through the raw day number input: first it will check if years can be added to its count, then months, then days. The function will account for leap days when skipping over the Dead Days. I'm sure you could do something formulaic with the Anwixui and stuff, but I decided it was a tad too complex to develop an algorithm for the scope of this project. If I shall ever implement reverse-conversions, that will probably be somewhere at top priority.

The Yühü LR has two names, as it is recognized to have two separate (albeit interdependent) parts: the Eninabenje̠ya is the count of years proper, while the Eninabeningo is the month+day count; the latter one was called Eninabenzänä in Mamëni (Tollan-Xikokotitlan). The LCEpoch is the same year, albeit such begins 18 days earlier than in the Nawa LR (making the LCEpoch date 20 Ants'ä'yo).

The Maya LR has an offset of 185 days relative to the Central-International LR. Again, this is from the epoch; the initial day here would come out as Year 6 Lamat, Sak' moon, day 16.

The Zaa LR is known as the Iza. It has an epoch slightly earlier than the Nawa-Yühü calendar, about 7 or 8 days. LCEpoch corresponds to Year Yoochina (5-Deer), Wistao moon, day 8. This calendar is particularly notable for holding two "short moons" instead of only one: the Kichola resemble the Dead Days the most, but after it comes a remarkably short period, only two days long (or three on leap years) called the Keainij. I cannot hope tho provide a gloss of either term, nor their connotations, only noting that because of precedent, it's highly likely that the Biye stopped whenever there existed a third Keainij day.

Potential future expansions

Though already quite complex and, dare I say, interregional, it is still very much in its infancy. A list of things I's like to add follows, and suggestions are always welcome, as well as contributions.

Trecenas and ruling deities

Lords of Night

Lunar and 819-derived Series

Short Count

Julian-Gregorian equivalencies, if for practicality

Numbers in the International Style, not the Unicode imitation I forced in

A Glyph aside the current Moon and Year-Sign, and Short Count. Maybe above/below LC too.

MORE LANGUAGES!! (+Teoti glyphs?)

LC-to-everything conversions, directly

Alternate names (regional variances and otherwise by-names)

Day, period, year and moon semic charges

Comments and such

The calendars don't match up perfectly, as we have repeatedly mentioned. The Maya Short Round can be said to be 217 days ahead of the Yühü-Nawa one, while the Long Round is instead 185. This should perhaps be of little surprise, given how fluid culture and conventions tend to be in the region, but it is nevertheless remarkable, whatwith the well-integrated trade networks and just the immediate resemblances of both calendaric sets when compared side-to-side. Such situation may be an echo from times long past yet present, as the Maya area is historically more of its own "bubble" in terms of culture, with varying degrees of synchronicity. Indeed, the Gulf Lowlands and the Chiapanec Corridor were its stronger nexus to the rest of Mesoamerica for long, and what should we find in these regions but "habitones," peoples and regions whose habitus could be placed in a gradient of relatedness to both sides of the Isthmus.

Such discrepancies occur even within what could be called Central Mesoamerica, the birthplace of an on-the-nose-nym'd International Style.

I tried to add the Short Count but failed, becoming prey of much despair in the process, in part because its existence is noted but seldom explained in full, and in part because quite often it is used for discourse and academic invalidation of surviving traditions.

I also tried to add the Mixtec Rounds, but couldn't quite find much info on the LR. I'm not about to half-ass smth, but ig if it gets enough requests (if any lol) I'll try n make a draft version of only the SR in the same style as the draft LC thingy.

I had to do some last-minute extra debugging bc, of course, I forgot that our year and the Nawa year begin at slightly different times. Somehow I didn't think to check the MANY notes I had on the topic, but reading an old post of mine elsewhere made me remember. It's all done now, and the code is slightly improved so that things don't break on some odd days.

Bibliography

Thomas Chanier (2015): The Mayan Long Count Calendar

The Aztecs did not need a leap year: Introducing the Nuttall-Ochoa model for the Aztec Calendar (2017-04-26), published in "Nawatl Scholar."

Anales de Cuauhtitlan

David Charles Wright-Carr (2005): Los otomíes: cultura, lengua y escritura, Volumes First and Second. – Hem'i Antämatsits'i (Análisis y transcripción de D.C. Wright-Carr)

Codex en Croix [sic.], copie dans la Bibliothèque Nationale de France (avec le nom "Album. Cruz", n.class. "Mexicain 90(2)").

Geraldine Patrick-Encina (2011): El calendario hñahñu: un análisis epistémico y semántico para establecer su estructura

Rossana Quiroz Ennis (2016): Eclipse Count, Calculation or Prediction According to the Huichapan Codex

J. Eric Thompson (1935): Maya Chronology: the correlation question

Howard F. Cline and Mary W. Cline (1975): Ancient and Colonial Zapotec and Mixtec Calendars: A Revisionist View

Maestros de la Región Ya'a/I'ya, Florentino Ambrosio, Ricardo Ambrosio, Eleazar Bautista, Marta Cruz, Gaudencio Fentánez y Manuel Ríos (2019): Bene’ wesedl, bene’ ya’a – maestros de la sierra: lectura intercultural de los días zapotecos en el corpus de Lachewize

José Alcina Franch (1996): Calendarios zapotecos prehispánicos según documentos de los siglos XVI y XVII

[newmusickarl]

5-9’s Album of the Month Podcast – Episode 3 Out Now!

The latest episode of the 5-9 Album of the Month Podcast is now available and, if I do say so myself, it may just be the best yet. As ever I join 5-9 Editor Andrew Belt and Check This Out’s Kiley Larsen to review five high profile album releases from the past month in music, and ultimately name one as our Album of the Month at the end of the discussion. With some divided opinions between us this month, which one reigned supreme?

For a stacked March, the five albums we dove into were:

Fantasy by M83 (Poll winner, thanks to everyone who voted!)

The Record by Boygenius

LIES by LIES

Rides On by The Nude Party

Praise A Lord Who Chews But Which Does Not Consume; (Or Simply, Hot Between Worlds) by Yves Tumor

If you want to listen to this latest episode simply click the link below, but also be sure to follow 5-9 Blog on Instagram and Twitter for more news and polls relating to the podcast, along with other great content like film reviews, sports articles and more.

Listen to the March 2023 episode here

Album & EP Recommendations

Lies by LIES

If you’ve been following me on social media these past few weeks, it is no secret that I am an enormous fan of the self-titled debut from American Football side project, LIES. On this month’s podcast, you can also hear me gush over the album and just how much I have been blown away listening to Mike and Nate Kinsella’s symphonic and frequently dazzling new opus.

When it came to writing the review however, I was really struggling to sum up my thoughts on this record, along with how special and moving I have found it. Thankfully though, my partner in writing and fellow Mike Kinsella super fan, Kiley Larsen, did find the words. Reading his wonderful review on this record, it captured its greatness so perfectly that I had to share it here this week. Take a look:

“LIES’ debut album, Lies, was born from writing sessions that were supposed to be the fourth American Football album. Since the project was born out of the pandemic, it started with Nate Kinsella sharing short synthesizer loops he’d created during the early days of the pandemic. The poppier edges didn’t fit with the American Football “sound,” and Mike recalls telling Nate, “I want to be in that band.”

The result is the Kinsellas at their most intricate yet accessible. “Blemishes” sets the mission statement for the project, as it starts with bubbly vocal samples before building into a rich conclusion that throws in everything but the studio kitchen sink. “Echoes” and “Corbeau” are a few of the many reasons why Lies should be revisited repeatedly, with new intricacies to absorb with each fresh listen. The latter was an excellent choice as the project’s first single last year - it wouldn’t be out of place on any of the Owen records, yet the lethargic loops and low-lying fuzz throughout demonstrate that any great artists such as the Kinsellas are constantly experimenting with their musical voice, even after almost thirty years of recording.

Lies reaches a midpoint peak with “Camera Chimera,” a brooding groover that recalls Depeche Mode through pulsing bass and delayed guitar washes before the stunningly sublime “Summer Somewhere” reaches new sonic territory for a Kinsella project. “No Shame” is one that I initially wrote off, as it does take a bit to get going, but in an album full of soaring orchestral summits, the last few minutes are beyond captivating. The final run of “Rouge Vermouth,” “Knife,” “Sympathetic Eyes,” and “Merely” will please anyone who appreciates Owen’s more subdued moments and is well worth the time to spend listening to on a good set of headphones.

The first quarter of the year has delivered a robust slate of records, but Lies by LIES may just top the list - a much-welcomed exception to break the cycle for all of the anticipated albums that have fizzled out once released. Earlier American Football and Owen albums may hold a special place in the heart. Still, Mike and Nate Kinsella deserve praise for continuing to grow and releasing something so distinctive from the rest of their catalogs.”

Read Kiley Larsen’s full review here

Read the Kinsellas’ own track-by-track guide to their debut here

Listen to Lies’ monumental debut here

Blondshell by Blondshell

Another incredible self-titled debut that has lit me up in the last month is this amazing record from LA-based rockstar-in-the-making, Sabrina Teitelbaum. Hugely accomplished for her first outing, it’s a sharp 32-minute listen packed with big choruses and some truly epic guitar work. Here’s what 5-9 editor Andrew Belt had to say in his brilliant review:

“The nine tracks on her debut album capture uncomplicated rock tracks which could have been recorded live. Uncomplicated does not mean not compelling, however. Fusing influences from the likes of Nirvana, The Cranberries and Anna Burch, Teitelbaum wears her heart on her sleeve as she chronicles a difficult couple of years which spawned Blondshell.

The self-titled record bursts to life with ‘Veronica Mars’ – a two-minute, verse/chorus/guitar solo blast with the TV show referred to in the title causing Teitelbaum to reflect on its impact on her when watching at an early age. Singing ‘Logan’s a dick, I’m learning that’s hot’, Teitelbaum laments the mixed messaging the show could provide to young minds, with the rock track melting away at the end via a red-hot unhinged, high-pitched guitar solo.

The sound throughout is cohesive with Yves Tumor-producer, Yves Rothman, teasing out something quite impressive from Teitelbaum as Blondshell. Confessional, edgy, compelling, Blondshell is an accomplished offering belying its debut album status.”

Read Andrew Belt’s full review here

Listen here

VOID ETERNAL by nothing, nowhere.

Watching the evolution of Joe Mulherin’s nothing, nowhere project over the last eight years has been fascinating to witness. Gaining prominence and a legion of cult followers in his early days for his unique blend of hip-hop, R&B, pop punk and emo, his 2021 album Trauma Factory saw Mulherin deliver arguably his most accessible collection of tracks to date, whilst simultaneously providing the perfect soundtrack to that bleak, mostly locked down year.

In amongst his traditional blend of sounds there was death, one of the album’s singles that suggested Mulherin may be edging towards a heavier, more anthemic direction. Now on his latest effort VOID ETERNAL, this step into heavy music has come to full fruition with Mulherin delivering his most in-your-face record yet.

Frequently channelling Linkin Park, the more ambient elements of his sound take a back seat this time around, replaced instead with loud, thrashing riffs and vocals that are noticeably harsher and more aggressive. The result is a bigger and bolder sound, with Joe even pulling in genre heavyweights such as Silverstein, Underoath, Static Dress and Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz for some impactful guest features.

Like all his previous work, there’s never a dull moment with anthems like VEN0M, CYAN1DE and M1SERY_SYNDROME sitting nicely amongst the powerful metal moments like ANX13TY, PSYCHO_PSYCHIATRY and F0RTUNE_TELLER. For longtime fans there is still the Joe of old here too, with closing track MEMORY_FRACTURE bringing some of his more familiar sonic textures to the table.

Overall, this is a seismic, face-melting leap into heavier and even angstier territory for Mulherin, with VOID ETERNAL marking arguably his most ambitious work to date. Whilst the noisier cuts and screamo vocals scattered across here won’t be to everyone’s taste, I personally welcome this dramatic direction change, as it feels like the natural next step for Joe’s chameleonic sound. So, if you are looking for something loud beyond the new Metallica record that has just dropped, I recommend giving this one a spin.

Listen here

The Estate Sale by Tyler, The Creator

We may be a few years on from its release, but it seems American rapper Tyler, The Creator is not ready to leave his Call Me When You Get Lost era just yet. Released off the back of his coming-of-age masterpiece Flower Boy and the sonic experimentation of 2019’s Igor, Call Me If You Get Lost was the sound of Tyler in razor-sharp lyrical form whilst also mostly handling production duties himself. It resulted in another widely praised release from Tyler, and yet it seems we only got half the story first time around.

With The Estate Sale, Tyler gifts fans eight more songs recorded during the Call Me… sessions, including brilliant recent single Dogtooth. Safe to say if you were a fan of that record then you’ll likely enjoy what’s presented on The Estate Sale, which more than delivers as a bonus EP, even featuring a couple of blockbuster collabs with the likes of Vince Staples and A$AP Rocky too. Also if you missed Call Me… first time around, The Estate Sale offers a good reason to dive in and explore.

Listen here

Songs From The Roundhouse by Deaf Havana

And on the live albums front this week, brothers Matty and James Veck-Gilodi returned back from the brink of extinction last year, delivering their excellent sixth studio album and their first as a duo - The Present Is A Foreign Land. Given the brothers’ recent history and the path it took to get made, it felt like a triumphant return for one of Britain’s most underrated bands. An album that was as heartbreakingly personal as it was anthemic, it granted Deaf Havana a new lease of life.

This was further cemented on their recent UK tour, which felt like a huge victory lap for Deaf Havana following their resurgence. Culminating in a huge show at London’s Roundhouse, this performance has now thankfully been captured on this thrilling new live recording. An hour plus set including all their greatest moments, it’s a must-hear for fans and a good introduction for those not already familiar with Deaf Havana’s output.

Listen here

Also worth checking out: How Many Dreams? By DMA’s, Jesus At The Gay Bar by Cub Sport, Good Time/Hard Time by Teleman, No Highs by Tim Hecker, Paragon Songs by whenyoung

Tracks of the Week

Your Mind Is Not Your Friend by The National featuring Phoebe Bridgers

I admitted in my last roundup that up until recently I’d not been completely sold on The National’s singles leading into their upcoming new album, First Two Pages of Frankenstein. Although recent single Eucalyptus was a positive step in raising my hype-o-meter, this latest track now feels like a small step backwards. The collaborations billed for this record had me intrigued, with songs alongside Taylor Swift and Sufjan Stevens still yet to be revealed, but sadly Phoebe Bridgers featuring as nothing more than a backing vocalist on this song has left me slightly underwhelmed.

The song itself is decent enough, but again doesn’t get me excited to the same level as I’ve become accustomed to when it comes to new music from The National. Maybe they have just set the standard too high with their previous efforts! Thankfully though the video is worth your time, a zany look at an imaginary friendship featuring Matt Berninger’s brother Tom and a cameo from Phoebe herself.

Watch the video here

To be honest by Christine and the Queens

Late last year, French alt-pop sensation Christine and the Queens released his live recorded third album, Redcar les adorables étoiles (prologue), the title for which suggested another album was on the horizon and that this one would be the main event. Sure enough, Paranoïa, Angels, True Love has been announced for a June release and will be a 20-song epic split across three distinct parts. Not only that, but the tracklist has revealed collaborations with the likes of 070 Shake, Mike Dean and Madonna are all included.

Alongside the announcement, the first taste of the new album, To be honest, has also been unveiled. Centred on Chris’ vocals, it’s a gorgeously atmospheric and synth-soaked ballad that suggests another album full of beauty and splendour is on the way.

Listen here

Weak In Your Light by Nation of Language

Another artist prepping their new album, American indie-pop outfit Nation of Language have this week announced their third studio album, Strange Disciple, is due this September. Following excellent recent single Sole Obsession, the band have now revealed the record’s opening track which is already for me one of their best to date. Bouncing along on a playful synth beat, Ian Richard Devaney’s impassioned vocals are the star of the show on this one.

Listen here

Chemical by Post Malone

Post Malone has never been an artist restricted to a particular genre, with the singer-songwriter mixing elements of rap, R&B and grunge to create his unique sound. Whilst pop has also been part of his sonic make-up before, new single Chemical is arguably his biggest foray into the genre yet with its noticeably upbeat melody and catchy chorus. An interesting direction change for the megastar.

Listen here

Welcome To My House by Yonaka

Now seemingly a trio after the mysterious departure of drummer Robert Mason, Brighton-based rockers Yonaka have recently released thunderous new single, Welcome To My House. Fuelled by pulsating electronics, glossy production and a hugely anthemic chorus, it’s one of their biggest tracks yet. Arenas at the ready? I think so.

Listen here

When I’m With You by Nimmo featuring St. Panther

I have been listening to electronic duo Nimmo since 2015 and in that time, I have yet to hear them release a bad song. How they are not the biggest dance act in the country I will never know, as latest single When I’m With You is another sure-fire banger to add to their arsenal of many. If you’re looking for a song to get you amped-up for the summer, this is the one.

Listen here

Orange County / Beach Justice by Swim Deep

Speaking of summer, my final recommendation this week is for the ultimate summer album. 10 years ago, Brummie indie darlings Swim Deep released their magnificent debut, Where The Heaven Are We, an album I still reach for whenever I see even the slightest glimpse of sunshine. With the anniversary imminent, there has never been a better time to spin this record if you haven’t up till now.

Also as part of these celebrations for the album officially being a decade old, the band have recently remastered two of the album’s early B-Sides which, despite their age, sound as fresh as ever.

Listen here

Also worth checking out: A Crooked Melody by Holding Absence,Don’t Leave Me Behind by Swim School, No Room by Bollards

REMINDER: If you use Apple Music, you can also keep up-to-date with all my favourite 2023 tracks through my Best of 2023 playlist. Constantly updated throughout the year with songs I enjoy, it is then finalised into a Top 100 Songs of the Year in December.Add the playlist to your library here