#it's just that what I'm making is a song instead of something tangible

[sometimesanalice]

Leave a Light On {vol. i}

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all! This will be a 2-part series.)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s. 

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy. 

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.  

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you’d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.  

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[delulujuls]

snackin' | gr63, lh44

i know halloween was a little ago but i came across this one imagine where george was a vampire and i couldnt stop myself from writing something with him in this role too. so sharpen ur teefs and bon appetit!

summary: the night of drunk confessions turned to be a little bit more surprising that expected

warnings: not too much of explaining this unusual condition, nothing too visual and gory tho

pairing: george russell x fem!mercdriver x lewis hamilton

"C'mon, play it again, please!"

Y/N wiped tears from her cheeks, feeling her stomach ache from laughter.

"You definitely rap better than you drive, mate" George said, taking a sip of wine and glancing at Lewis with feigned seriousness.

Lewis sighed, shaking his head and played again the song in which he managed to make an appearance.

As soon as the part with him appeared, Y/N and George took his phone, using the displayed lyrics and tried to rap along with the song, eliciting a smile from Lewis.

"You guys are too predictable."

"Come on, Lewis, live performance! For the most loyal fans!"

Y/N directed the wine bottle towards him as if it were a microphone. Hamilton couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He took the bottle from her and took a sip before leaning towards her phone, rapping once again, which of course was met with cheers and applause from his friends.

It was an early Saturday evening and the three friends were spending it together in a hotel room. The weather outside was cold and rainy, so instead of conquering the city, the Mercedes drivers decided to spend the pre-race evening in each other's company and with perfectly chilled wine.

When the song ended, Y/N handed the phone back to the man and sighed heavily, taking her glass.

"I have to admit, that was quite surprising."

"Believe me, I was shocked too when you said you couldn't tie your shoes until you were fourteen" Lewis replied, glancing at her.

"I agree, I thought you were at least a bit smarter than a goldfish" George added, earning a playful punch in the side.

"I'm curious with what you will shine, Georgie boy" she replied, raising an eyebrow. Silence fell for a moment as two pairs of eyes focused on the guy.

George pretended to ponder, but since the topic of confessions began, he knew exactly what he wanted to finally tell his friends. It was something slightly more serious than taking a part in a song or a belated ability to tie shoelaces.

He looked at his friends, at their slightly alcohol-distracted gazes and faint smiles playing on their faces. He knew these people for a long time; they were very close to him and he knew he could come to them with anything. So, he decided it was high time to be honest with them. Because that's what friends do, right?

"I'm a vampire" George threw this fact into the air as if they were discussing the weather.

Both Lewis and Y/N snorted, not taking his words seriously.

"Yeah, and Lewis is an eight-time world champion."

"Hey, cut it out" Lewis pointed a finger at her "But yeah man, that's a bullshit"

"In this matter, you're predictable too."

George sighed, taking another sip from his glass. He wasn't surprised by their reaction in any way though.

"No, no, go on, we're all ears. I'm just curioius why did you bring up such a topic in this state? I guess none of us is drunk after two bottles of wine, right?" Y/N said, pouring more wine into her glass.

"I'm saying this completely sober. I want to get it off my chest and know that I have no secrets from you" he admitted, looking at them. Both Lewis and Y/N became a bit more serious. Not that they believed in the nonsense he was currently saying, but the smiles disappeared from their faces.

"What do you mean by saying you're a vampire?" the girl asked, looking at him more focused.

George knew that no matter what he said, his words wouldn't replace any tangible actions.

"Can you take the bandage off your hand?" Russell asked, nodding towards her bandaged hand, which covered an unfortunate cut from a metal band she got on the track the previous day.

Y/N looked at him and remained motionless for a moment. After a few seconds, however, she began to unwind her bandage. When she finished, George reached out to her. She hesitantly handed him her hand. He gently grabbed the bandage and peeled it off, revealing a sizable, still fresh cut.

George closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling how his lungs filled with the sweet scent of the girl's blood. As his fangs shifted into feeding mode, he simply smiled. Upon seeing his teeth, Y/N quickly withdrew her hand and covered her mouth with her hands.

"Oh, fuck me."

Lewis was in shock no less than the girl, but neither of them moved an inch from the bed.

"Are you kidding us, right?"

Y/N struggled to shift her gaze from his teeth to his eyes and just as she doubted her friend's words for a moment, seeing his darkened irises made her realize that he probably wasn't joking.

"Talking about being a vampire is a pretty lame joke and frankly I think I could afford something better" George replied and finished his drink.

"Besides, I don't even know why I would bother fooling you with something like that."

The remaining two sat in shock, unsure of what to say. They weren't even sure if George was joking, but they could admit he had a point - why would he joke about this in the first place?

"Okay, let's assume you're actually a vampire," Y/N began, grabbing the bottle and not bothering to pour its contents into her glass. "Then why do you function normally in the sun? You eat and drink normal things too, right?"

"I admit, I thought it would be like that and at first I was scared shitless," George replied, reaching for the glass she filled. "But what you mentioned is total myths. Basically, everything I knew about vampires turned out to be total bullshit."

"What do you mean by that?"

Lewis furrowed his brow, listening attentively.

"I can function normally during the day; I just have to remember sunscreen because I can easily burn. I'm a bit more sensitive to sunlight, so most of the time I need to wear sungl-"

"No, that's bullshit, you wear them because you roar after every race, not because you're a vampire," Y/N shook her head, taking another sip of alcohol.

"I won't insist that it's different, but oversensitivity to light also plays a role in this," George explained. He was ready to dispel any doubts his friends had, just to make them feel comfortable and to ensure that their relationship didn't deteriorate.

"What about eating? You still eat everything normally, even right now we're drinking together" Lewis interjected, taking a sip from his glass.

"Yeah, that's another myth. I can eat and drink normal human food, but it doesn't satisfy my hunger. I can eat and eat and I'm still like a bottomless pit," he admitted "Once, Alex and I recorded a stream where we had a bet on who could eat more at McDonald's. I don't think I need to tell you who won."

"So, you eat only to-"

"To avoid raising any suspicions, yes" George nodded. He knew that the tougher part of the story was yet to come.

"So, how do you satisfy your hunger? I guess not with protein bars, right?" Y/N asked rhetorically.

"That's no longer a myth, I feed like all those pop-culture-created vampires" George explained.

"Do you kill people?" Lewis asked quietly. Not because he was afraid, but because he was worried about his friend. He knew that the only one in danger was George because he would never harm anyone. Not as a human, not as a vampire either.

George laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't kill people. Unless you count killing them with my looks, but that's a different story."

"So, what does this... process look like?" Y/N looked at him. Neither of them registered the moment when this conversation stopped being perceived as a joke and became one of the most serious conversations they've ever had.

"It looks like in the movies, but it's less dramatic. I don't know about other... ones of my kind, but I think I look fairly neat afterward."

"So, people are like walking Capri Suns for you?"

George laughed at his friend's original comparison and nodded.

"Yeah, that's more or less how it looks."

"And now? Are you hungry?"

Lewis asked. He was surprisingly calm and not worried, all he was just curious.

"Today is still fine, but I know I'll have to snack on something after the race tomorrow."

"Who do you feed on? How does it even happen? And most importantly, who knows about all this?" Y/N had too many questions and with each passing second more emerged, making the situation not any easier. "Holy shit, our friend is a vampire."

"You met Carmen, right?" George asked, to which both friends nodded. "She's my feeder, if I can call it that directly. The whole facade of a relationship is a pretty good and strong cover, as you can tell."

"Are you telling me that you're not a couple? Are you kidding?"

Y/N was even more shocked than hearing that his dear friend was a bloodsucker.

"Wow, you took this more seriously than the fact that a literal vampire is sitting next to you."

George pretended to be outraged, but continued anyway.

"Carmen is very close to me and is a wonderful person, but our relationship is more of an exchange transaction."

"Goddamn, it's just getting better and better."

Lewis laughed and reached for more wine, knowing that more alcohol would be useful for this conversation.

"So, Carmen is your walking Capri Sun, not bad."

Y/N sighed and handed Lewis her glass, grabbing the hotel phone and ordering a few more bottles of wine. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

The conversation among friends on this rather unusual topic flowed freely; it probably looked the same as if George had admitted that he sometimes talks in his sleep or that he kissed his cousin at the aunt's wedding. The friends accepted this news much better than George expected. He was genuinely happy that their reaction didn't foreshadow the end of their friendship.

"I'm convinced that Lewis tastes like chocolate milk."

Y/N declared, pointing with the glass she held towards Lewis. The trio was already quite drunk, but nothing indicated that they would part ways soon.

"I'm not sure how racially sensitive that was," Hamilton also took a sip from his glass.

"I think in both cases you'd be tasty. You guys have a good diet so nothing suggests it could be otherwise," George admitted, lying on his side and propping himself up with his hand.

"If you want, I can be your Capri Sun" the girl offered, looking at her friend.

"That's probably the most wholesome thing you've said to me lately."

George giggled, genuinely touched.

"I'm here for you too, George" Lewis said, looking at him. "And I do really hope that I taste like chocolate milk."

[bismuth-209]

thoughts on the series 14 finale?

oh man. i loved this season. i really did. and for it to just end like this..

i think there's a good chance the Doctor is lying about some things because not everything adds up

like. Death times Death equals life was corny and i didn't love it but i'm willing to accept that's how it genuinely resolved. i have some doubts about the effectiveness of death by time vortex when that didn't kill him before.

but whatever. keep the option open for Sutekh 3 if you want and otherwise maintain that killed him

sure

BUT RUBY'S MUM?

okay. so. Sutekh pretty much instakilled the whole earth. i'm guessing by the scene on that other planet that it doesn't have to affect a whole planet at once but considering everyone we saw in London died pretty instantly and the tardis has landed in the UK around the 2020s a LOT i . i think Louise Miller dead as a doornail OR he's kept her alive / she managed to not die because people were,, curious about her? and in that case. i feel he would've been able to tell who she was .

they imply Ruby's bio mum is alive right? SO WHY DOESN'T HE KNOW WHO SHE IS . why does he keep the doctor and ruby alive to figure it out

other things that make NO fucking sense if Louise Miller, regular human woman, is Ruby's mum:

her walking straight and upright and all of that when dropping Ruby off as a FIFTEEN year old who probably had zero medical assistance GIVING BIRTH about 10 hours prior

her having a cape instead of like. a regular hoodie or whatever. maybe she was going through a goth phase

the doctor was THERE when she was pointing. they do like a line about "well why was she pointing at you" "she wasn't pointing at me, she was pointing at the sign" okay but like. it's not like he was invisible though

YOU KNOW WHAT WASN'T THERE IN ANY OF THE PREVIOUS SHOTS OF THE SCENE? the fucking sign!! it MATERIALISED when the doctor said it was there

there is, of course, no way for anyone, save for maybe the Doctor, who was there, to know that she "pointed at the sign" to name her baby Ruby. and the Doctor clearly didn't catch on

the snow!! the snow materializing

the song in Ruby's heart thing that the Maestro is confused by

the memory changing

the doctor crying in the opening scene to church on ruby road when he knows who the mum is, but later not crying when he doesn't know who she is

the ambulance being unable to find any relatives for Ruby even though her parents did give DNA samples in 2046 (although maybe the ambulance was looking for currently alive relatives in which case, fair)

other things that make no sense that aren't directly related to Ruby's mum situation

"the one who waits is almost here" says the maestro. yea he's on a street a couple blocks away. kinda just sitting there though

metal becoming rare and precious in a post-death world. like, i would understand if wood and wool and such were deteriorating on account of having been alive or something . but metal? why would it be difficult to find metal?? the scene slapped though

why was the time window only responsive to Ruby, as well as colonel Chidozie only responding to her

the tardis being there at the church a second time but invisible?

Sutekh letting himself be dragged along with the rope

the stuff with Mrs Flood didn't make sense either but that's forgiven on account of they didn't pretend that made sense

i really hope there's more to some of what was "resolved" this episode because this ending felt cheap and kinda like .

so i like the message of "it's actually the unimportant that are important" but it felt kinda insulting to pull that after the whole season has been saying Ruby's bio mum and Ruby were important and unique, not just like. in the minds of the Doctor and Ruby but also tangibly in the world around them, like with the snow.

the reunion scene with Ruby and Louise was adorable though. it almost made me okay with the whole thing

[evenmorecrows]

(Nice Dream) - 1.1k ( Aug 4th: Dreams )

In a car, body, world that is not his, Johnny dreams.

Written for @silverv-week! Would you believe I wrote this months and months ago, when the prompts were first released, and I still haven't finished the main fic the V in this belongs to? Whoops!

Anyway, this is supposed to take place after the Temperance ending, and before the fic that I'm still working on, so it's at least not missing too much context. I cannot say the same for what I wrote for the August 10th prompt, haha.

Fic title from Radiohead's song (Nice Dream), of course.

The world feels fuzzy- warm. He's in Night City, but it's empty. No irritating buzz of chatter on the sidewalks, no ads blaring from screens almost as big as the building they were slapped onto. The LED lights aren't searingly bright like they usually are, all of them emitting a soft, fading halo. He's walking, and it feels like moving through waist-high mud, but for whatever reason, he can't find it in himself to care. He stops outside of a megabuilding, which one was this again? Something pulls him inside, past the unmanned ramen cart, into the elevator, some red string of fate. Something compels him to press a particular floor, and something compels him to wait there till the doors ding open. The scenery blurs in his head- and then he's in front of an apartment door. H10. He stands there, his hand hovers, like he's reaching for a knob. He knows it's empty, it has to be empty. After all, he's wearing it's last tenant's corpse like a fucking coat. But with the door closed, he thinks, what if? V could still be alive, behind this door, for as long as it stayed closed. Johnny could be the specter he was always meant to be, should've been, haunting this hallway until there's no hallway to haunt anymore.

His hesitation, however, doesn't stop the door from automatically sliding open. It doesn't occur to him that it should've slid open the second he stepped in front- not when a shock of blue-purple hair catches his eye on the other side of the room. For a moment he is destabilized, stands there in the doorway like a gonk. It doesn't make sense, but does it matter? Nothing fucking makes sense in Night City- that's how he ended up as a parasitic little chip in the first place, in the neck of one of the best people Night City's ever shat out. V's standing there, looking out the window beside his bed- Johnny remembers their first night, smashing his head against it- nausea rips through him at the memory- before he looks over his shoulder, having heard the hiss of the door. He turns to lean against the window sill, and he smiles warm and brighter than the sun itself, it takes Johnny's breath away. "Hey Johnny. Didn't think you'd be back so soon." Back? He takes a few tentative steps forward, eyes always on V- if he looks away, the other might vanish into thin air, his brain tells him. "What-" His voice is gravelly, hoarse. It warbles and distorts off the walls. He clears his throat, "What're you doin' here, V? You're... You should be..." He can't bring himself to voice it, his tongue sits leaden in his mouth even thinking about it. He hovers now, in front of V, too scared to touch him in case he's made of smoke and ash, another person Johnny's burned down. "I live here, duh. You feelin' alright?" His face pinches, and he comes closer, reaches out a hand to Johnny's forehead, and Johnny squeezes his eyes shut, scared, so fucking scared, that the second V makes contact, he'll just collapse into dust, disappear back into cyberspace, leave him alone again with what it cost to still be alive-

But the feeling of the back of a hand graces his head, and he opens his eyes, and V's still there, looking even more worried. "You feel fine, but... Maybe you should lay down. Actin' a bit weird." So close, so tangible, and Johnny's never yearned for anyone's touch more, so it's no surprise when he crushes him into a hug instead, V letting out an 'oof' with the force of it, but quickly wrapping his arms tight around him, one traveling up his back, cradling the back of his head. The rage, the unease, that awful fucking pit of depression- none of it exists, not in his arms. He wants to say, 'I missed you', and 'Don't leave me', and 'You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, will ever happen to me.', but his throat constricts around the words. That mushy shit just isn’t how Johnny Silverhand rolls. "Hey, hey. It's alright. We got all the time in the world." He says, rubbing soothing circles into his back. "You're doin' good, real good. But listen, alright? You can't keep boggin' yourself down like this, can't keep usin' me to deny yourself a life. You know why I gave mine to you." I love you, he means. They shared a brain, after all. Not much either could hide, only things they didn't acknowledge. "V-" He croaks. Somethings not right, his surroundings shift and twist, less of a place and more of a concept. He tries to cling to V, impossibly tighter, like if he holds on hard enough he won't fade away. It doesn't work. V melts right through his fingers. His eyes open to the roof of V's his car, his eyes streaming. Of course it was a fucking dream. That's the only place V can exist now, he should have known. He sits up in the backseat, scrubs at his eyes, caught between wishing he could've slept forever and never sleeping again. He shouldn't fucking be here, it should be V, in his body, living his life goddammit! It's not. Fucking. Fair. And there's jack shit he can do about it.

In his frustration, he lashes out, smashing his fist into the passenger seat headrest, which startles Nibbles, who was apparently sleeping up front. "... Shit." He takes a breath- better yet, he gets out, has a cigarette. Calms his nerves. He's currently in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, which means the light pollution isn't god awful, and the air smells clean. He can actually see the stars. It's a nice backdrop, all things considered. Tomorrow, he keeps driving, or tonight maybe, depending on how he feels when he gets back in the car. He doesn't have a real destination in mind; all his old contacts are still in Night City. He just knows he has to keep moving, like a shark pushing water through its gills. If he stopped, he figures he'd do one of three things; drink himself to death, fuck himself to death, or waste away in a bed till death was his only option forward. And as much as the guilt ate him alive, burned him from the inside out, he wants to at least make an effort to live, for what V gave him. It'd feel like spitting in his face to throw it all away because he was, what, too sad? Fuck that. One foot in front of the other. He gives a weary sigh, puts out his cigarette, and gets back in the car.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

You don't know when you fell asleep or how but that's largely unimportant, what is important is the contents of your dream. For as long as you can remember, you've been having basically the same nightmare every night with the occasional slight variation.

A city in ruin, streets empty and weed-choked. There you were in the center of it all, surrounded by destruction that you could do nothing to stop. Not the end of the world, but the End-of-Everything, the Mother of all Cataclysms.

The sky turned into a green-gold mirror, broken, reflecting everything that ever was and everything that would ever be within shards of Dreams that fell like verdant rain and distorted the landscape around you as they crashed haphazardly to the ground like glass meteors, shattering on impact. 

Before you normally stood a Nameless Thing, many headed and serpentine. 

But not tonight.

Tonight you're somewhere different, somewhere neat and clean with smooth tables covered in half completed board games and mindless crayon scribbles barely confined to their papers.

Black walls and bowling alley carpet full of triangles and zigzags, no ceiling though, just void. A stranger sits perched on a nearby armchair, sipping tea and humming a familiar song under his breath.

His skin is a darker brown than yours, the top half of his face obscured by large circular purple shades, kinky-curly-bedhead-spikey yellow hair sticks out from underneath the brim of his top hat. Instead of a tie, a well behaved atlas moth sits at the hollow of his throat, the human eyes on its wings blinking wetly.

"Y'got a name kid?" Says the stranger without moving his mouth, he drops a handful of dream pearls into his cup and watches the spoon stir itself.

"... Jack." You glance around like a cornered animal looking for a way out before it has to resort to violence.

"Jack? You look more like a [nickname], can I call you [nickname]?" The stranger asks, taking a sip of his tea, a singular yellow eye glows at you from behind the lenses of his shades.

The sound [nickname] makes isn't a word, or really a sound? It's the absence of both, but hollowed out from... something both tangible and intangible so you're left hearing the shape of where something Was.

"No, and how the fuck are you doing that with your mouth?" Your skin itches like there's something underneath it.

He's suddenly in front of you now; floating a few feet off the ground, cane in his hands, cup hovering where he left it. The moth at his throat looks at you with something like pity, something like sorrow, and something like jealousy in its horrible eyes.

The stranger just smiles at your question, golden fangs and yellow stained teeth glistening with wetness that might be spit but probably isn't. "[Nickname] you of all people should know how I think."

"Who are you?" Your skin crawls, inside and out of the dream. Hackles raised as you edge away from the stranger without meaning to, he offers a hand to shake in a way that SHOULD have be friendly but most certainly was not.

"Most folks call me Bill, but you can call me Zilch, your friendly neighborhood oneriophage."

You look at his hand like it might jump off his wrist and bite you, Zilch waggles his fingers bonelessly and changes the colors of his claws as if that will tempt you into touching him.

"You're a Cipher."

"That I am! In fact I'm the resident Cipher of this misbegotten corner of the multiverse, nice to meetcha kid." He wiggles his fingers again.

"What do you want?"

"Bold of you to assume I want anything other than to stop by and say hi." Another smile

"You're a bad liar Zilch."

"Well... at least I CAN lie!"

"What do you want?" Your eyes narrow.

"I'm bored and you look fun to play with, so how's about I help you with your boy trouble?" Zilch waves his hand and a pixelated version of your husbeast idles on his palm before vanishing.

"I don't make deals with demons."

"I mean, you MARRIED a demon and marriage is very much a legally binding deal between two consenting individuals." Zilch gives you a Look over the rims of his shades. "You're cute and all, but I'm not planning on taking an arrow to the knee any time soon so let's just shake on it and get this over with."

"Let me clarify," your ears flick with annoyance. "I don't and WON'T make deals with YOU, any alts of you, or you adjacent entities."

Zilch pretends to swoon, growing another set of arms just to clutch them to his chest as if he'd been shot there. "Oh [nickname] you WOUND me! I'm not like those other Bills and deep down you know that..."

"Do I?" You say, deadpan.

"You do! I know you do! Believe me, I just wanna help." Zilch bats his luscious yellow lashes for emphasis. "Sometimes I wish someone could have shown up and miraculously saved my relationship like this, then maybe Sixer would still be with me." A single pitch black tear rolls down his cheek as he sniffles.

"I'll pass."

"C'mooooon, it doesn't have to be a full deal, how about just a little widdle pinkie promise?" Zilch holds out his hand again, pinkie extended and other fingers curled.

"I said no."

"D'aww, someone thinks they've got a choice." He tilts his head, the corners of his smile stretching so far they disappear into the corners of where his eyes should be. "I'm gonna give the people what they want, whether you like it or not." Zilch taps his cane once on the ground and the floor beneath you vanishes.

You reach up without meaning to, and Zilch grabs your hand as if trying to save you; your joined hands wreathed in blue flame, your skin melting away like wax, the metal beneath it starting to glow with the heat. Zilch takes off his shades with an extra hand and grins down at you, the entire right side of his face is made of teeth and eyes and abyss that chatters and whispers and cries.

"It's showtime!"

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

The connection between Izzy and Buttons in S2

Guys, I just realised something about the connection between Izzy and Buttons that could actually explain why Izzy had to die in a way that affirms the show's internal logic instead of actively contradicting it.

So, OFMD has always had a very... interesting relationship with reality. On the surface, it *is* based in reality, of course. As intentionally historically inaccurate as it is, it's still based in real life history. It's not fantasy. And yet, it's always lived in that weird liminal space between reality and fantasy. I would argue that a liberal use of huge intentional anachronisms such as singing a 20th century song in an 18th century show counts as a fantasy element. And death being treated as essentially nonexistent for characters who aren't villains, to the point where it deliberately makes fun of all real life biology and physics laws to make the characters practically unkillable so physical threats can safely be used for non-lethal drama or comedy, that's also a fantasy element. Even things like dream sequences and hallucinations (both ghosts and near death experiences) can also be said to blur the lines between reality and fantasy.

Still, in S1 all of those elements were still used in a way that had plausible deniability. Was it in any way realistic that a character could recreationally stab himself in the guts dozens of times and apparently it was totally safe and risk-free and resulted in nothing more than a scratch as long as you kept to the left side? Of course not. But it's possible to ignore it and let it slide if you try hard enough. It's still not a tangible proof of anything magical.

But what happens in S2? A man turns into a bird. Literally. This could easily have been left intentionally ambiguous, but it wasn't. It happened for real. Buttons got a book of transmogrification, found the right vessel, and bam. He's a seagull now. The first real, tangible act of magic in the book.

Narratively, the purpose of that moment was to make Ed believe that people are capable of change. Including himself. And it doesn't seem like there's anything more to it. But what does this actually mean for the internal logic of the show? It upsets the balance. A show that only had a certain level of subtle magical realism suddenly got a very tangible act of magic. What if OFMD world works just like any typical fantasy world? Meaning that there is such a thing as a certain balance that has to be maintained. So if Buttons got some "extra magic"... This meant that an equal amount of magic had to be taken away from somewhere else, in order to balance out the scales.

Now, who could be said to have an extraordinary amount of OFMD magic this season? None other than Izzy hands. The guy survived not one, not two, but THREE "fake death" experiences. He was now officially part of the unkillable Muppet cast. He even managed to utilise his new wooden leg - which, while adorable and maybe well made, is surely not very well ergonomically suited to replace a real leg - and regain his swordsmanship skills, and by episode 8 he barely had a limp anymore. And wasn't his performance just pure magic? Not just the massive anachronism but the way he had it in himself to sing a song like that in the first place, dressed in beautiful drag? The way he seemed to have such a massive amount of perfect character growth in such a short amount of time?

Well, this is what I'm saying: Izzy had to die as a consequence of Buttons becoming a bird. Izzy was the character whose OFMD magic got taken away to compensate. He lost the absurdist comedy style OFMD armour that he and every other character had this season. So of course he got killed by some stupid stray bullet that injured him offscreen, the way you'd see happen in real life, or in "serious" shows like Black Sails or Game of Thrones. And in his left side, to boot. Because the magic no longer applies. Of course getting shot in the left side of your stomach would be just about as lethal on average. And that's how we got that completely serious and dramatic deathbed scene too. Because that's what happens in real life or "realistic" TV shows. That's what happens when that little bit of subtle magic is lost.

[skunkes]

You probably get this asked a lot but do you have any particular things you keep in mind when writing in your journal? I started recently and it's been great but I find that Only recapping my day gets to be a bit tedious (esp when I don't go outside much lol) so I was curious what you do to keep motivated with it ! Ur sticker layouts are always so cutes btw I'm very inspired by them ^_^💖

Yeah! I mainly journal for Memory Keeping as i have a weird obsession with wanting to keep track of anything/everything, so i just think of what future cheye would want to know, instead of just recapping day.

Makes me really sad bc in college all i had energy to write was like "ate x went to class went to mailroom went to class 2 had x for dinner 1 am now goodnight" and its like. What about. The whole rest of it!! What did u do who did you talk to when was it that you saw a raccoon irl for the first time!!! Were you stressing over assignments?? Which and why!!! I have 0 tangible, meaningful, memories of what happened now. Just sterile clinical ones. :(

I do track things consistently like my rating for the day, the time i woke up and the time i go to bed, what i ate, if i cried, along wit other personal stats (i like the numbers!). Sometimes I also dont Do anything in a day so i just focus on other things, like taking the opportunity to write about feelings a little bit, so future cheye Knows the state of mind i was in on a given day, or maybe talk about how I bought something and am excited to wear/use it

Not much happened today so I wrote about and included how my dad described the plot of to, and showed me, some scenes of The Untouchables 1987 today because a song always reminds him of that movie...

yesterday I wrote about how my sister and I are planning on trying some pillsbury cocoa rolls on thursday, since we couldn't today, and that I am Excited.

I don't know, its small things that I feel I'd appreciate in the future even if they seem silly or pointless right now...(and also good for keeping track of personal growth, as Im hoping I at one point get to pinpoint where my complaints about Not Wanting to Drive fade away from the entries. Ykwim?)

ITS KIND OF LIKE THAT ONE POST ON HERE...like "if you see this tag one delight from your day no matter how small". You ""force"" yourself to come up with something to pad the entry with, and I think it's small things like that that will be really telling of your time here, in the future ^_^ time capsule of the old you

like. Did you see something insanely funny? Did your best friend say something weird... Did the internet platforms you browse all rally over a war criminal dying... Is it still rainy and chilly like it was yesterday? Are you excited for your birthday even if its many months away... What series did you start rewatching? Did u get scared by a shadow while walking your dog...idk! Anything, everything

[heartshapedgreen]

i feel like many of you would enjoy writing or whatever form of creation if there wasn't too much emphasis on... the creation itself. maybe this is personal to me but everything i do - making playlists, writing, drawing, whatever - is an extension of my maladaptive daydreams and various complex worlds inside my head.

i have a document full of notes for a high fantasy world with a magic system, and i already learned from experimentation that i just cannot ever enjoy writing something that complex so there is like. 0.0001% chance i'll actually turn it into something tangible. is it still fun to think about all by myself? yes!!! and it's kind of difficult to put into... any medium, really, because what my brain can do, reality (+ my body) just can't. i would need to learn to read cuneiform + french & german for archaeology records (cause the worldbuilding has a lot to do with ancient near east history, one of my special interests) and maybe even write the story in three different languages, for all the intricate concepts that can only exist within those languages, to truly get what's in my mind across.

but instead i'm just going to talk to my multilingual/history nerd friends about it, make playlists i can listen to so i can think about it alone while listening to a song. not even think about the story itself but just drown myself in linguistics and the idea that what exists in one language doesn't in another. and folk magic. and formation of spirituality. like... it doesn't have to be about the story itself, and it doesn't need to have a concrete form to exist as a story too. sometimes a world or storyline you create in your head is less about the story itself and more about what it emerged from.

[firefly--bright]

Sight.

jean kirstein x gender neutral!reader, modern au

inspired by this song :)

summary : jean's eyes were always a sight to behold

warnings : use of the word "eyes" way too much

a/n : i should be studying history but this is what happens when i listen to one too many bollywood songs and yearn a bit too much. enjoy :)

taglist : @mrsnobodynobody

✿ main masterlist is in the navigation pinned on my profile! ✿ enter my taglist ✿ requests are open! ✿ engagement is deeply appreciated! ✿

jeans eyes were always something you found yourself looking at unintentionally. in the middle of a conversation about him telling you of the many antics Sasha and connie had partaken in that day, you found yourself not being able to pull away from his eyes.

and you couldn't blame yourself either; you'd seen many other people being incapable of pulling away from his gaze while talking to him. everyone thought jean was a heartthrob for a reason.

but what you never noticed in his eyes was the love they held for you.

everyday would be the same - he would sit beside you in your class or in the library on on your couch and you'd play with the same line you had of being in between friendship and something more. his eyes would either be locked with yours or on his books or on his notes or on the screen playing a dumb rom-com infront of you. (jean denied ever liking them even though you knew it made his hopeless romantic heart pound with yearning).

and when jean paused the movie or took a break, his eyes would find yours again, waiting intently for him to start talking just to look into his many hues.

his unfairly long lashes blinked with liveliness that was only shown towards you. they framed his eyes perfectly; just like the skin around them. they looked like something a great sculptor would use as a reference, only for the carvings to come out pale in comparison of the real ones. and as his stories or the recollection of his day would end, yours would start.

his eyes said more than his words or hands could. even while being a creative (his art was something your own eyes would amaze upon), his art could never make his feelings and emotions as tangible and real as his eyes did. you didn't know if it was just you or if everyone could read him so openly like this, but you could tell when a compliment would actually be heard or if he would shake it away with a cocky smile. you could tell because you were the one giving him those sweet coments, because only someone as close to him could see something he did and find it endearing instead of annoying or overused. his eyes would widen slightly and blink a little when he comprehended your rare and specific compliments, but he would recover quickly with a shake of the head and a scoff. ("i knew that already" he would say. he didn't know that already. you could tell.) and just as happy as you'd seen his eyes, they would also be the ones to blink back his stubborn tears when his crush kissed that brunette with a much different pair of sea green eyes than his brown ones.

you'd see his eyes then, as he rushed away from them and towards the balcony, how he tried to conceal his real feelings in order to protect himself. but he couldn't hide from you, and when you made your way to him and lay your hand on his back, his eyes blinked the silent tears into existence.

"i feel like I'm always the second choice." he said. his gaze was directed towards the city down below.

"not to me." you said.

his teary gaze now locked into yours - sincere and concerned and warm.

the corner of them wrinkled. he sniffled as quietly as he could, not letting you see how much you won him over. but you could tell.

you were sure some painter had looked into his soul and decided to transfer all it's feelings into his vision. he'd argue they were nothing special but you never told him how much they were. they were small, the skin around them wrinkled with all the years spent smiling under the sun, a little rugged. but the colours and the intensity of them was much more than special.

in the sun they'd be different. in the summer they'd be a brilliant pot of honey, almost a halo gold. they'd squint under it's harshness and he would grumble about the heat but his eyes remained the shade you adored.

in the winter they'd be darker under the cloudy skies. almost the same as them in the rain, this time a little darker. they were like barks of the trees in the forest you found yourself lost in, and it didn't help that his left eye had some green specks that his right eye lacked. you were sure they held a world in there, you were sure there were planets that looked exactly like his pupils, swirls of light browns and dark greens.

why wouldn't anyone swoon over the honeyed words that matched the sweeter gaze he held? if they were in your position and looking into his eyes while he pleaded with you about the ingredients of the cookies, how could you refuse his sight? how could you deny that yes, sprinkles might taste good baked into the cookie than sprinkled on top?

(they didn't. the sugar in the sprinkles melted and made a goopy mess around the cookies, but it was worth it because sweet was still sweet and the pair of you stayed up late at night on a sugar rush talking nonsence that noone would understand.)

and you knew it was cheesy to think this, to know that even if you didn't believe in a god or in a higher being, you'd still thank them for the one thing you had seen more times in your life than your own reflection - jean's eyes.

you rested your head on your fist and resisted the urge to yawn as the professor droned on about the different perspectives and their importance in drawing and how to improve upon them. a passive aggressive lecture, since he kept mentioning that some of his students knew nothing about the horizon line and drew with no importance to the reality of the spaces.

jean supressed a long and exhausted sigh. he'd known this topic since he was ten, and how someone could fuck it up in a university lecture baffled and bored him. if only he wasn't suffering from a major art block, he'd draw his way out of this boredom that clung to him.

his shoulders slumped forward as he gazed towards you, arms crossed over his chest, ready to whisper a snarky comment in your ear that you were sure to laugh at, but he stopped midway. his eyes widened as he saw you.

drenched in the afternoon sunlight from behind you (you insisted on sitting near the large windows, not wanting the florescent lights to illuminate you), the lower half of your face was covered by a closed fist, he could almost feel the warmth of your hands against his. your cheeks were highlighted by the gold from outside. but the real sight were your eyes.

he'd seen into your eyes countless times. the times you tried to hide your emotions from him, claiming you didn't want to bother him and the times you were too exhausted to do so, the times you wiped away your tears from the corner of your eyes after laughing a bit too hard, hell, even the times your eyes remained closed with your cheeks pressed against your forearms as you napped while procrastinating and your eyelids fluttered sleepily. none of those times could compared to this.

jean was close enough to you, his plastic chair next to yours, your shaking knee rubbing against his. he could see the outline of the sun's harsh glare softened through the rim of your pupils. your gaze was bored yet it retained the life in them that only you possessed, the liveliness that he grew so used to loving. your slow blinks made him see your lashes bathed in sunlight as well, and if he wasn't sure about his love for you before, then he was sure of it now.

through your eyes, he saw his own. through your eyes, he saw his melt away into almost nothing but the warmth that you provided him with. and in that warmth, a surge of inspiration found him a new muse that helped him rid his art block- your eyes.

when he walked you home that night, with a promise of an ice cream later, he saw your eyes sparkle under the streetlights, and he swore that he'd seen the same look in his dreams somewhere. he swore that his daydreams of living a comfortable life (one that his father failed to provide him with) would only work with the rythm of your heart against his, of your eyes looking at his and of your hands grazing his own.

when he went to his own dorm that night with a wide smile and an empty ice cream cup in his hands, finding marco waiting up for him, slumped over his book and a half eaten bagel, his freckled friend said only one thing to him with the roll of his own eyes, "finally you realise it."

jean wondered how marco knew what he knew, but he didn't question it. marco usually knew what jean would take years to figure out. thankfully this time, it didn't take him years.

a panicked frenzy followed the next couple of weeks as jean found himself constantly wiping his sweaty palms on his pants if you leaned in a bit too close. he found himself averting your attentive gaze as you listened to him stumble over his words. had you always been this pretty? had your eyes always looked at his like that or was he going crazy?

and a few weeks turned into two months and jean figured he had enough. he wasn't always the best with words, always thinking too much and saying too little and hoping too hard. but for once, he knew he didn't have to be good with his words.

sat on your bed, waiting for the pizza to arrive, his eyes searched yours intently. no words were spoken. they didn't need to be. for once, jean found out that you could see him the same way he saw you - infinitely and understanding.

his breath hitched when you smiled, your eyes showing the happiness and warmth your lips couldn't portray. how could anyone not fall for this?

but the bell rung with a harshness that ruined the moment jean thought he had intricately created and your sight was broken from his as you scrambled to get the door. jean tried not to show the disappointment and desperation in his eyes, but you could tell because yours showed the same.

the next week, however, jean had vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to create the same moment and improve upon it.

but the moment was not created, not again. his car parked infront of a mall where you were to meet sasha and mikasa and shop for historia's birthday party - her own rite of passage. and there they were again, your damn eyes that shone under the same sun that made him realise his rapid heartbeat.

you looked at him from the passanger seat, unclasping your seatbelt. yet you refused to leave. you looked at his eyes, softened at the corners, as they looked at yours like you were the only thing worth looking at. you found the paths to all your questions there, any that you were unsure of since a week ago, and his found the courage to look at your face, your lips and your nose and your eyes as he leaned in, erasing the distance between your bodies. his eyes didn't close like you expected them to and therein lay a question for you to answer. your heart picked up it's pace, the noon sun slanting it's rays as if to only frame his eyes and they once again turned into clear rivers in the forest. you leaned in, giving him the answer he was looking for.

your noses clashed and his lips chased yours. you could feel his lashes flutter against your cheek as he tilted his head. they were soft and less chaped than yours and your hands reached his cheeks, fingers resting on his jaw.

and when he pulled away and his eyes opened and bore into yours, you felt a part of yourself mend.

he looked into your haze and he swore he saw nothing but you, nothing but the dew on the flowers you pointed to him the one time you went on a hike with your friends. you smiled and he swore you'd breathed directly onto his beating heart.

he smiled.

you were sure the stars would be shy under his gaze.

you smiled.

--

he was sure you were one of the stars he had naively wished upon as a kid.

(his wish came true.)

[thefringespod]

We're gonna do something a little different this #AudioDramaSunday! This week was one where music was my go-to rather than podcasts so instead of episode reviews, I'm gonna do a track-by-track breakdown of all of the music released so far for The Grotto as I had it on repeat

Starting off with Hush which is the first song on the album and also the show's theme. It's got a brilliant beat to it accompanied by these bursts of vocals that crescendo into a harshness that's excellent. The HUSH gives me chill every time. I'm fully obsessed with this song

The next track is the first instrumental. Dejected feels like the music you would find in a cave. It's creeping and wet and a little haunting before the softness of the piano and the beat hit. This song has a heartbeat to it that feels tangible in the best way

Buried Alive has some of my favorite lyrics Athan has written. There's just something about the way he sings "Maybe I would be happier buried alive" that chills me to the core. Also something you'll notice is Athan likes vocal modulation a lot and it always works so well

Matt's (Usually) Confused is very aptly titled. It starts soft and slowly builds to become more all encompassing, feeling like Matt's racing thoughts as it does so

I Will Follow You Into the Dark fucks me up (positive) "Love of mine, you will die, and I'll be close behind" like Athan how am I meant to recover from that? This song as a depth to it that can be felt, like it's carving its way into a deep cave and submerging itself in the dark

I absolutely adore Emily's Theme! There's something about it that brings the word "fleeting" to mind, like Emily is running through the music and making her way out through the song itself

Which leads us to Stumble Into You and holy fuck yall Lyssa Jay has a lovely voice. Yes I'm biased because I love Lyssa but I'm also RIGHT! This song makes me a little feral, especially where Lyssa and Athan meet in the song its beautifully done

We're at the first cover on the album! This is literally the only version of Ghost of You I will listen to, Athan brings a life to this song that punches to the lyrics way more effectively than the original version does

It's Cryptic in the Grotto is another very well named song because it sure can be cryptic in this godsdamned Grotto. The whispering of it all leaves me unsettled in the best way before opening into this plucky instrumental I'm obsessed with

Looking for Answers is so Orpheus and Eurydice coded that it drives me insane. "I still feel you behind me. Your breath is slow. I'm terrified I'll end up alone." Athan you can't do this to me. There's also a lovely fast bit in this with lyrics ricocheting through the verse

Athan's cover of Hurt might actually be my favorite version of this song I'm sorry except I'm not. It suits Athan's range so well and has this almost gravely texture to it that makes me feel like I'm going feral. Everything about it is deep and dark and wonderful

Coping is NOT aptly named. You know what Matt ISNT doing? Coping. He's not coping AT ALL. It's a beautiful song and it also has some of my favorite Athan lyrics but it's from an episode called Coping and let me tell yall Matt is not making good choices in this show

If You Could See Me Now breaks my heart in the best way. The idea of trying to make someone proud while knowing that you're disappointing yourself so you're not making them proud kills me. The instrumental/electronic portions of this song are incredible

Hush (Acoustic) is wonderful and light and I cannot hear it without thinking of the episode 4 credits which make me want to shake Athan (affectionate)

There is a cover of Chasing Cars (one of my favorite songs of all time) performed by the Fringes' very own @taytayheyhey (one of my favorite people) and it became my most played song of the year *so fast* Its a wonderful and almost haunting cover of one of the songs of all time

Last song! Waiting Room also breaks my heart open in my chest because Athan did lyrics too good. "If you were a waiting room, I'd never see a doctor I'd just sit there with my first aid kit and bleed" circles through my brain at all times and I'll never forgive Athan for it

Everyone should listen to The Grotto because it kicks ass And you can check out the whole album on bandcamp https://thegrottopod.bandcamp.com/album/the-grotto-season-1-part-1. Athan said it should be on Spotify soon as well

In terms of shows I actually listened to this week, I listened to the new eps of @tellnotalespod , @woebegonepod , and @camlannpod which were all incredible as always

Here on the Fringes you can access episode 21 right now by visiting patreon.com/PineTreePods! This episode is very dear to my heart and I can't wait to share it with y'all

Thats all for this week! Please check out The Grotto if you haven't already (and not just because my friends are there it really does kick ass) Should be back in the swing of podcasts this week so expect a regular ADS post next week :)

[hotchs-bitch]

Fluffy Feb Day 25- Gift

Warnings: established relationship, some lying & insecurity, this is a little angsty and I'm sorry it's just because men are stupid, thoughts of infidelity (not like that, calm down), wedding vows, reassurance

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 1915

A/N: Bonus points if you can figure out what Taylor Swift song I was listening to when I wrote this

On the day of your fourth anniversary with Aaron, you wake up excited. You can hardly believe that it’s been four years since you married the perfect man; four years that you’ve taken on life together.

You’re in the mood to celebrate- maybe make him breakfast, or go out to dinner and a movie tonight after you exchange gifts- but the universe has other plans. “Good morning, honey!” Aaron calls out when he hears the bedroom door open. 

It sounds like he’s moving around the kitchen- maybe he’s beat you to the breakfast idea- and you’re just starting to open your mouth, the ‘Ha-‘ of ‘Happy anniversary’ on its way out when he says, “I’ve got to get going. I’ve got an early meeting with Strauss. Have a good day, okay?”

On the day of your fourth anniversary, your husband gives you a kiss on the cheek and hardly a second glance before he’s out the door. Great. Your excitement has mostly deflated now, and you busy yourself with getting ready for work. At least you can still go out to dinner and celebrate then, right?

You’re mostly excited to exchange gifts. You’ve managed to find an antique coin collection- one of Aaron’s favourites from his childhood (he’s complained more than once about how if he had just found one last penny he would have had the whole set)- and his favourite Scotch. His gifts always blow yours out of the water, though. He’s thoughtful and observant, a lethal combination.

Your excitement for dinner and gifts wanes down to nothing when he texts you that afternoon.

Aaron: I need to stay late and figure out these budget cuts. Not sure when I’ll be home, don’t wait up.

You aren’t quite sure how to respond. Has he forgotten your anniversary completely? It’s so unlike him, but so is this behaviour. He always tries to be around during special events. Finally, you text back after re-reading your text three times to make sure it won’t come across as annoyed.

Me: Okay. I love you

Aaron: I love you too. Don’t forget to eat.

And you don’t hear from him again that day. 

The next day, you wake up early. Aaron is snoring in bed next to you, his alarm not set to go off for nearly an hour. You’re sleepy, but you’ve officially got the jump on some late anniversary celebrations. As quietly as possible, you creep into the kitchen and start to prepare breakfast wraps for the two of you.

The eggs are sizzling in the pan when Aaron emerges from the bedroom, wearing a suit and a face full of guilt. “It smells great in here, honey.” He pulls you in for a quick kiss, and when he pulls away he still looks guilty.

Finally, he’s figured out that he missed your anniversary. Or so you think. “I’m really sorry to do this- breakfast looks delicious,” he murmurs, and there’s a familiar twist in your gut when you realize what he’s about to say. “I’ve got to get to work right away. This budget issue, it’s just impossible to get ahead of.”

“Oh.” The lump in your throat feels tangible, makes it hard to breathe, so you inhale deeply and avert your gaze. “You should get going.”

“Thanks for thinking of me, though.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple as he fills up a coffee traveller. “I’ll cook for us this weekend, or something.”

The door closes behind him, and it’s like a nail in the coffin. He forgot.

That day, he sends a similar text to the one from last night. He’ll be home late, he’s so sorry, and it’s so predictable that you don’t text back. Instead, you call Emily that night to complain about how her job is costing you your husband’s presence. 

“He’s been too busy trying to figure out this stupid budget that he forgot about our anniversary! I mean, what does that say for us? Or our future kid’s birthdays?” You complain.

Emily whistles under her breath. “Another budget issue already? Him and Strauss just finalized this year’s financial restrictions last week,” she comments. It’s so casual that she obviously doesn’t realize what she’s implying until she hears your sharp intake of breath.

You don’t know how to feel now; either the BAU is so screwed that Aaron will be in budget meetings for the rest of his life, or he’s lying to you. “What if he’s cheating on me?” You blurt out.

“Hey. Hey, keep your head on straight. He thinks you hung the sun,” Emily reminds you firmly. “Hotch doesn’t have an unfaithful bone in his body.”

It’s too much, too overwhelming; you’re too far gone to listen to her, and that’s when you hear a key turn in the door down the hallway. “I need to go,” you mumble, and then you hang up on your friend even as she tries to protest. You can apologize later.

By the time Aaron turns the corner into the living room, your eyes have blurred with tears. They make it so that you can’t see the broad smile on his face, or the parcel tucked into his arm that he sets aside with his briefcase. 

Or the smile being wiped away as soon as he sees your face. “Sweetheart? Honey, what’s wrong?” He asks.

“Are you cheating on me?” You demand more than ask, and he visibly blanches.

To say that Aaron looks blown away by your accusation is an understatement. He looks hurt, and shocked, and concerned. Concern is what radiates off of him when he rushes over to you, gathering you in his arms even when you make a half-assed attempt to push him off.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, and you jerk your head away to avoid making eye contact. A tear spills over at the motion, and he wipes it away with a hand that gently guides you to look at him. “Hey. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t even answer the question!” You’ve got no idea where this is coming from. There’s never been a single indication of Aaron cheating, even with the long hours and time away from home. You’re spiraling now, and he’s the only person who can help when you get like this, but it’s all his fault.

“No,” he says firmly, his tone erasing any trace of doubt in the air. “I’m not cheating on you. I don’t… What's going on? Why would you think that? I wouldn’t- I could never…”

“Emily told me the budget thing was resolved a week ago.” As though you can save a shred of dignity, you wipe furiously at your cheeks to erase any evidence of tears. “You lied to me. I’ve barely seen you this week, and you forgot our anniversary, and- And you lied!”

This is the big point, and you both know it. Aaron has never lied to you, and you’ve always been honest with him. If he’s lying now, staying away from home when he doesn’t need to, what changed?

When you meet his eyes again, he looks upset like you’ve never seen him. The weight of your accusation has rattled him, you can tell. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this,” he whispers, holding you a little closer. “I would never cheat on you. I’m crazy about you, come on.”

The reassurance helps a little, one side of your mouth lifting before it drops just as quickly. “You lied to me.”

“I know I did. I felt terrible about it, you have to believe me.” He lets you go, then goes to retrieve the parcel you’ve hardly noticed until now. “It’s- Your anniversary gift came late. And I didn’t want you to think I didn’t get you anything, because you always give me the perfect gifts.”

Your eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of what he’s telling you now. “You forgot our anniversary.” Whether you’re reminding him or yourself, you aren’t sure.

“I would never forget it,” he vows, walking back to the couch with the brown paper package in one hand. “I was just… I don’t know. I was an idiot. I thought that if you thought I was busy with work, we could push back on celebrating until it arrived, and you wouldn’t know.”

“I wouldn’t know? You didn’t even acknowledge it yesterday!” Your voice raises, and Aaron pushes the package into your hands.

He sighs at that, a self-decreprating sound that hurts you as much as it hurts him. “I messed up. I know I did. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care, or didn’t get you something, and it backfired. I’m so sorry, honey.” The remorse on his face is real, written into every line and shining in his eyes. “I’ll never lie to you again, I promise. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

As though your hands have a mind of their own, you open the paper packaging without responding to him. “What is this?” 

“Pull it out,” he encourages, and the picture frame inside the packaging slides out into your hands when he pulls the paper.

“Oh…” You breathe out, taking in the image in the oak frame that matches the rest of your furniture. “This is…”

Words fail you; None can describe the gift. It’s a framed picture of you and Aaron on your wedding day, his arms around you while you both beam at the camera. The picture is cropped within the frame, and the words surrounding it look familiar.

“They’re our vows.” He breaks the silence tentatively. “I know I made a mistake. I never want you to think that I could so much as look at someone else. You’re all I’ve ever needed.”

Now, the tears blurring your vision are from some twist of happiness and relief. The vows have been tucked away since the wedding, out of sight, even though the promises you’ve made to love and support one another unconditionally have been realized every day.

It’s in writing, and when you look closely you realize that it’s in Aaron’s writing. He’s handwritten the vows for this, copied them all down. Every promise to love each other through the good and the bad, every pledge to be faithful in sickness and health and when work and life gets in the way, every assurance that you love each other more than you could ever bear to love anyone else; he wrote them all down, copied them out, because they’re still true. Truer than ever, maybe.

You cover Aaron’s hand with your own as he speaks again. “I am… devoted to you. I would worship the ground you walk on, if you would let me. And I vow to never lie to you again.”

When you turn your head and capture his lips in a kiss, you’re reminded of your wedding day. The spirit behind each promise you had made, and the love in your heart that’s only ever grown and flourished in the last four years.

“I love you,” you whisper, and it doesn’t feel like enough, but neither did the original vows when you said them. There are no words, nothing in any language you could learn that could begin to explain what he means to you.

The words that you’ve got in front of you will have to do.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in his. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

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Fluffy Feb tags: @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb @iammirrorball @hausofwhores @allthefandomstogether @myweepingangel @hotched @spacecowboyhotch @chibsytelford @honeybrowne @formulapierre @nd264 @hotchnerxnegan1017 (send me a dm or ask to be tagged!)

[bmodiwrites]

⭐️

Oh, a dealer's choice one! This is exciting. I actually just got my ST Big Bang fic back from the beta & I'm pretty stoked to finally share it. Since I can't, not quite yet, at least, I'll give you guys a little sneak peak!

Eddie’s more than impressed by Steve’s skill long before he steps to the front of the stage for his solo. It’s easy to see that the band’s conductor went out of his way to pick songs that showed off the array of interesting tunes Steve can create with his fingers pressing down on the strings. While Eddie’s never been one for organized teams and clubs like band, he can clearly understand the music being produced is of good quality and worth listening to. He’s not dense enough to brush aside the beauty of everyone on stage coming together to create something that doesn’t immediately make Eddie want to gauge out his eyes.

He can’t stop himself from staring at Steve, though. Most of the time that he plays, Steve doesn’t actually look at the sheet music. His eyes are closed as he leans into the stem of his guitar and feels the music. Eddie’s convinced it’s as much of a visceral experience as it is a tangible one. Steve seems to be melding himself into the music that’s brought forth when he strikes the pick and squeezes the right strings. The sight is both overwhelming and entirely too sexy for its own good.

No one should look that good playing Christmas music at a high school concert.

Steve does, though.

He continues to look better and better with each passing song. Eddie finds himself liking the reckless abandon in which Steve plays the guitar. He always meant to pick up the habit himself, so Eddie is even more interested to watch the easy way that Steve moves and shifts with the instrument in his hands. He wonders briefly if Steve would be able to teach him to play so smoothly like that.

It’s a pipe dream that Eddie recognizes and quickly brushes off to the side.

When the stage clears and Steve steps up to a lone microphone at the center of the stage, Eddie’s brain is too jumbled and overwhelmed to think straight, anyway. Instead, he’s drawn to Steve like a homing beacon. It takes all the energy within him not to stand up and drift closer to the stage where Steve fumbles through an introduction to the solo he’s so lucky to be playing. Between the boy’s sheer talent and the adorable way Steve works the crowd, Eddie’s totally overcome.

Then, as Eddie reaches his point of no return, Steve starts to play.

At the time, Eddie was much too distracted to listen to what Steve actually had to say during his introduction. He caught the cute laugh and the nervous smile but failed to hear the name of the song. Of course, Eddie recognizes the opening notes of ‘O Holy Night’ right from the start. It’s his mother’s favorite Christmas carol, the only one that Eddie allows himself to listen to throughout the season. It touches his soul the way his mom no longer can. The fact that Steve is playing it says more than Eddie’s willing to digest right now.

Eddie forgets about the throbbing want that’s been growing since he first laid eyes on Steve up on the stage. It’s quickly replaced with sharp focus. He holds his breath and closes his eyes to let each of the notes cascade over him, listening closely. Every drag of Steve’s fingers brings forth another beautiful bar of a song that means so much to Eddie.

It’s silly to think that a song can bring people together but Eddie’s convinced – he can’t just let the opportunity to get to know Steve, to actually spend time with him, pass by without a fight anymore. As the song comes to an end, a plan begins to form in the back of Eddie’s mind. The idea he brushed aside earlier comes tumbling back to him with a lot more merit than before.

I find myself wanting to talk about this part more than ever because it's the foundational scene of this entire fic! When I first signed up for the big bang, I had no idea where I wanted to go. Then, I heard Carlo's Song by Noah Kahan and the scene above manifested in my brain. For some reason, I immediately thought of a verse where Eddie looks up with awe at Steve playing, instead of the opposite we usually get. It's kind of cool to have something like that happen, because I usually have to string my ideas together piece by piece. Not with this one, though - it dropped into my lap and I ran away with it as fast as I possibly could.

All of that is to say that I'm super excited for my entry to drop and for you all to read it! Thanks for the ask, pal - I really appreciate it (and you <3)

Fanfic Writers: Director's Cut - send your asks here!

[septembersghost]

The parallels between ootw and tvfn is also a very intriguing and seems almost intentional. Like if tvfn was written first why would she use those parallels to describe a guy who was polar opposite to jake. If jake introduced her to Polaroids or had Polaroid memories with him I think Taylor somehow would have sneaked those references at least in the short film.She even showed the guitar he gave her. She made CIWYW lyric video cover Polaroid and mentioned it in NYD because she and joe shared some fondness for it.

Take me away to you//take me home . I also read an article were Julien brunnetta(?) said harry was adamant about calling iicf 'if I could fly ' instead of 'for your eyes only.' Also on the childish thing,wasn't 1d releasing tvfn style pop music in their first two albums. It looks like she is trying to link him with pop like the way she used 'guitar' works for dear john.

But who knows.......maybe we're wrong maybe not. Its not like Taylor would come and say tvfn is about jake/harry/connor. I think it's ok to have different opinions on art unless you are crossing the line

I think it's ok to have different opinions on art unless you are crossing the line agree, and most of us (and everyone i've discussed music with here on my blog, i appreciate you all very much!) do tackle these concepts and subjects with genuine care for her, and respectfully, i think. we're not wildly spinning or fabricating, we're just having fun looking at the known information and the lyrical pictures she paints, and wondering about why she chooses to depict certain situations in specific ways!

part of analysis is laying pieces out and deciding for ourselves where they fit and how they tell the story. and as i've said, we also then make them completely our own with personal meaning! that's the magic of it all, it's her story however she intended it, and then it's part of us and our memories too. <3

(i'm only putting these under cuts because i talk a lot lol)

this is kind of topic adjacent, but it's very warm to me how she's reclaimed and reconnected to things, both on her own, and with joe and the love they've built and that healing process. the rep polaroids are so special.

the typewriter reference is such a powerful metaphor in the atw short film, the fact that he would give her an instrument that she then uses to write the story down, and to make it hers and her legacy, and i love how that connects directly to the guitar. little lived-in flourishes like that are part of what makes it affecting.

it's definitely interesting that there's no mention of polaroids specifically elsewhere on red (or photographs even? *except* the photo album on the counter where he's a little kid with glasses). there are so many other tangible pieces - lockets and keychains and handwritten notes and scarves. but it's like she keeps the pictures in her own mind. which, for me, also speaks quite a bit to maroon, the bruise of it, and the way she looks back at that.

"for your eyes only" is a famous song by sheena easton from a james bond movie of the same title, i always just though maybe there was a conflict! but you're right: "Songwriter Julian Bunetta talked to Rolling Stone about hearing If I Could Fly for the first time, stating "I remember when Harry first played it to me. That one I didn't write, but I remember when I first heard it. We were in Westlake Studio for a week. I kept asking why he wanted to call it 'If I Could Fly.' It's a great song, so it doesn't really matter what it's called, does it?" it's something i personally love about that song, that its title is its first line, and that while it isn't repeated, it shifts the meaning in a way. because the center isn't the intimacy shared with the other person - for their eyes only - it's the longing to go back to them. (full disclosure, if i could fly is, like, my second favorite song of their entire catalog, so i have Feelings.) it makes that lyric poignant and particularly vital - which is exactly why the similar one caught my attention in the very first night.

it does intrigue me that there seem to be links between tvfn and ootw, and of course taylor does repeat themes that aren't connected, or take on different meaning in new situations, so i don't want to make random parallels between completely unrelated things (unlike some genius annotators haha), BUT it's a case where i find it quite magnetic emotionally, because either that's intended, or she entirely reframed her experiences from one to the other. both are interesting to consider!

i think it's a pretty common opinion that hygtg itself is a nod to 1D's early music stylistically, and while tvfn is very tayloresque, sonically it wouldn't be out of place alongside tracks on take me home. message in a bottle definitely would too, it's classic pop of the early 2010s (complimentary!). like i said, it's just such a sweet pop song and she wasn't really pointing that type of innocent reminiscence at jg, everything with him is more mature and emotionally loaded. we for sure could be wrong on this one, but it doesn't make the connections less curious!

[skirtsandsweaters]

me reinventing the wheel in 4k. this was doesn't accurately describe me anymore as it was written years ago. there's some insufferable melodrama but i did genuinely feel that way at many points in my life so it gets to stay. there's a gem or two past the melodrama. if u don't find any, then i never said anything.

---

cold sorrow :( shivering sadness :( so alone and so over it that you're sad then numb then sad :( misery so freezing that you lose your limbs and cry about it but there's no end to the tears :( endless unhappiness :( just upset forever eternally

KNOWLEDGE IS A SERVICE: why do we have to pay for knowledge? why isn't it free? knowledge is free, accessing all there is to know is virtually possible should you try. we pay for the (((labour))) that goes into compiling, collecting, translating, and modifying the knowledge of the world into consumable pieces like research papers and classroom curriculums.

BRIGHT TILES NEED A LOT OF BLEACH: horror but the scary people are those who aren't disfigured because their untouched state speaks to the amounts of violence and scheming they've done to stay that way. the baddies are those unaffected, the protags, or the status quo is being hurt

MUSIC AND REPETITION: i call my favourite songs "good" regardless of their objective quality because they make me feel good. they make me feel good because i am familiar with them and my brain releases endorphins for pattern recognition. since i know them front to back they are sure to make me feel good or comfortable. this causes me to stick to a few songs and be hesitant or wary of trying new music because i don't want that penalization from my brain for not recognizing the patterns of new music when all i'm looking for is easy dopamine and "comfort"

UNINTENTIONALLY DETRIMENTAL ADVICE IN Horror MOVIES: it's common for horror text to have unaware people suggest that those haunted by demons should face them, not knowing that they'll end up hurting themselves more

NO TWO WORDS MEAN THE SAME THING: rhymes but doesn't repeat, similar package, different meaning, do the same ((way)) i do but not the same ((thing)) i do

STORM: cold front meets warm front creates storms - mom's worldview meets other people's worldview causes chaos (in general), feelings of cornered prey, lashing out (both in her), instability (in general)

FALLING FOR ETERNITY: is there a place where it's always stormy? (every year has its december --> what if it's always december)

DISCONNECTION FROM OBSESSION: a lost soul is someone who is obsessed with something that disconnects them from life

THE MIND: the element of a person that enables them to be aware of the world and their experiences, to think, and to feel; the faculty of consciousness and thought.

JOYFUL SUFFERING: the grace of that cross changes the Cyrenean's heart and from the compulsory task, it becomes a privilege and joy.

CALL OF THE VOID: L'appel du vide

GHOST/GOES: solid ghost, so it goes (---> so it goes as in so light and barely tangible, oh "there it goes" as expected, leaving quickly and easily. --> solid ghost as in you're human and corporeal and take up space and are visible but it feels as if you aren't any of those things, like a wallflower, a living ghost :) )

- Voice so low / Sneaking around, so it goes / I always try my best to listen

- Pacing around, watching my feet / Batteries drain, I get the memo / "I think that I might have to let you go" (reminds me of Noah)

BACKWARDS ECHO: repeats what will be said instead what has been said.

VICTIM BLAMING: We take to victim-blaming because we are problem-solving people who want to feel secure. We view a crime as something that happened, like a natural disaster, because we can't control or understand the actions of the assailant, instead of something that was done to someone by someone. We don't see any efficient or immediate way to have stopped the crime on the wrongdoer's end so we blame the victim, ask them what they did wrong, how they could have gotten out of it, because we want to assure ourselves that it will not happen to us. We view crimes like sexual assault and shootings as comparative to running down the stairs without looking where you're going.

HUMAN VALUE: " Our true value lies in the core experience of being a conscious being who feels and perceives.” In other words, rather than making our self-worth contingent on categories such as academic success, appearance, or popularity, we must value ourselves solely for the fact that we are human beings and accept that failure is part of the human experience. "

SWEARING: using swear words in descriptions to avoid intimacy or vulnerability - as a distraction

COLOUR: older and younger generations tend to see (identify, name, call) colours differently - pink and red, green and yellow, brown and orange - education, personal relationship with colour, circumstances could be factors

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary152

2/13-14/2024

tuesday - wednesday

hopefully i will recover soon.

but i should have called out, i am like, in serious pain rn, it makes me feel like, i can't do anything, like i can't make music rn, i can't do anything, i just hurt, feels like fire and stuff in my back and on my skin, very tender, i need to sleep like now basically. so not a lot to say, basically working overextended me, and as soon as i got home i basically just kind of have fallen apart in terms of functioning, i can't cook, and idk what to eat, and i am so hungry, or was, when i got home, i was so hungry it felt like i had to puke, i've eaten some snacks but nothing tangible, standing hurts, moving hurts. my body feels really prisonlike rn, everything is hurting as much as it can, or maybe not, not as much as it can, just way more than it should.

anyway, outside of that, here's something good, someone in a server, this woman who knows a lot of whitebelt bands and stuff, she dug this up, today, and the whole yt channel had a bunch of songs off this, so i made it a playlist so people can listen easier. it's really good, great whitebelt, makes me very happy to hear it:

this has the playlist if you go to it. i really love both of their screams, i need to scream like that a bit more on the album i think. i also like how everything sounds, not as crisp as i'm trying to make things, but maybe i can find a better way to get this sound, i think my saturation idea can help w/ this, at least.

another thing, here's me from work:

wish i were cuter or something but there i am, suffering.

or, not or something, i jsut wish i were cuter and prettier. i look weird and pensive. but that's just cuz of pain probably... i hope.

this album is pretty instructive, in some ways, honestly, like the 2nd song, there's this synth that sounds like a guitar, it has that quality not cuz it's super bright, but cuz it's weirdly sharp and dim. gotta go there for squelchy scrape-y stuff i suppose. i am excited to hear the bigger problem songs, and see what i can do thinking in that direction.

i do just feel like an awful mess rn, i hate being sick, i shouldn't have to ever get sick. what did i do wrong. i don't deserve this . .. god, please take this away.

earlier today i sneezed and felt like my bladder exploded but as i think back on that, i wish i had the presence of mind to imagine the ways that might be a pleasant feeling or something, to imagine it as my gf stabbing me in my belly or something. instead i was just like, confused by all the suffering. the whole shift felt like i was on benadryl and trying to sleep. it was pretty easy though.

anyways i need to freaking sleep and i hope tomorrow my sinus pressure fuckup stuff goes away and i can at least mix without my ears feeling funny. i am in hell . i need to sleep, so

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 11 December 1952

Well, we are getting towards Christmas. Will we see Christmas music? Will we heck. Apparently that is not yet how we roll in 1952. Not for another week. That said, the first song (of only two) is good solid party banger.

Come A-Long A-Love - Kay Starr (Peaked at No 1)

I already knew this song, I already like it, but re-listening in the context of all of last week's soupy ballads really gives this a special something. It's fast! It's catchy! It's got metaphors, but they're actually good!

Kay Starr also has some serious pipes. I love her voice here, there are so many little technical things that are good about it, from the slight growl on some of the "Comes along a love" refrain, to the vibrato on the penultimate words of some lines, to the way she drops down onto some of the notes. Somebody who properly does singing could probably tell you more technically what those are - I just enjoy it.

Her voice isn't quite like the other female voices we've heard. It's not trained like Vera Lynn's, and it's not got that restrained, sexy smoulder of Jo Stafford. Doris Day maybe comes closest, but it's not the same thing. She's almost giving Al Martino a run for his money, but it's better - more lively, more vibrant, more tongue in cheek.

It's a song about the feeling of being in love, sung from Kay Starr to some man, so it's distanced from having to be about her being in love, and I think that makes it work? If she was singing about herself, she couldn't be as eloquent, or she'd have to be sappier, but this can be her observing the effects of love on a third party, and it lets her get specific about it without falling into cliché or lameness.

At the same time, it's just super jazzy - the excitement of falling in love is tangible in the music itself, with these brassy stabs at the end of lines, and a bassline that doesn't let up underpinning it all.

And - contrary to almost every other romantic song yet - the description of being in love is neither cliché nor lame! It's apparently by Al Sherman, a Tin Pan Alley songwriter, and to be fair, I could see this doing well on broadway. It's also got a tune stolen from Rossini. A fine pedigree.

I want to quote half of this song. I love the catalogue of effects, how when you're in love "every dream you had becomes ignited", "though you never sang you're always singing", "chimes you never heard began a-ringing", "you sparkle and you bubble, see each bluebird double", "petty things no longer phase you", "you discover things that just amaze you". It's a fabulous description of feeling on top of the world in ways you haven't felt before.

The best and quirkiest effect, though? "Night and day your heart is highland flinging". Such a clever, fun line!

And then the line that sums all of them up: "You just began to live". Which is what all that is, isn't it?

And Kay just sounds so cheeky on the "look out, you gotta whole lotta trouble" line. Like, yes, love is great, but this man is in over his head.

It doesn't overstay its welcome or slow down at the end either. Instead, we get two lines that change the rhythm and speed into an ending that actually makes me think of Bobby Darin's Mack the Knife. I'm not sure if that stands up to musical scrutiny, but in terms of vibe, at least.

Strongly recommend everybody to listen to this one. Catchy, likeable, stylish, kind of cute.

Zing a Little Zong - Bing Crosby and Jane Wyman (10)

Will I write an essay on this one, too? No, but it's cute, still.

The title already tells you that it's going to be cutesy and probably a bit novelty. In fact, it's our first novelty number. It makes them sound like they're from Somerset, but no, they're just Americans being silly (zilly?)

It starts with a spoken countdown, which is always good in my book. "A-one, a-two" and then some scatting - you can't do much better than that.

Basically, he loves her and she makes him want to sing - and then the song metaphor gets pushed and pushed and pushed, with her suggesting that they could get up side by side and "we could a very clever bit of close harmony", which is an oblique double entendre, but it is definitely suggesting... something.

Some unexpected lyrics, probably to keep the Z quirk alive. I don't think anybody predicted that the lyric "We're not by the Zuider Zee" was coming. This, combined with the mentions of Wiener Schnitzel and noodles and strudel and "let's dutch it up a little" made me think this would be from a film about Europe, but apparently not?

It is from a film, but it's a musical comedy about a vaudeville performer from New York. It's called Just for You, and it involves Bing's screen son falling for Bing's girlfriend (Jane Wyman) while his daughter ends up in night court with their governess and then goes to finishing school (?). Films from this period are clearly just built different.

Both performers are good, and have understood the assignment, peppering the song with little "ooh"s and "oh no"s and phrases like "you're a dolly and a dilly". It's quirky and cute, and doesn't outstay its welcome, or drag. It has charmed me more than I thought it would, in a harmless old-fashioned way. It feels like something my grandad would sing around his house.

Just two songs today, and they were both great! I think I much prefer faster songs. They're just a lot more forgiving - a bad fast song is at least over fast, a bad slow song really drags. And neither of these were bad songs, either, which is a win. Give either a listen, and you will probably not be disappointed!

Favourite song of the bunch: Comes A-Long A-Love