#love complete mess- love the acoustic even more

[calumthoodshands]

I ask no questions as your colours take their hold / As my darkness turns to gold inside

5SOS5 Track 1: Complete Mess

[residenthughes]

coming home - connor dewar

pairing: connor dewar x fem! reader

word count: 11k

tags/warning: friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of alcohol/drinking, minor swearing

summary: your entire life has entailed having connor by your side, no matter where the universe carves your paths. back home for the summer leading up to your final year of university, there's much to ponder - even your own feelings about your best friend.

notes: this is genuinely a labour of love, the longest fic i've written in a long time 😭 i wanted this to be short and sweet, but it's long and sweet and i don't know how to feel about that lmao. but (!!!) i am really proud/happy about how this has come together and i hope you all enjoy this fic just as much as i loved writing it 😇 this is mostly proofread, but it is 5 in the morning, so I'll return to this soon! (apologizes for any errors towards the end!) more dewey content shall be coming soon, hehe! much love! <333

(also! this is very much in celebration of dewey's first goal as a leaf, teehee! 😁💗⭐️)

Summer’s always your favourite time of the year. Tan lines, midnight drives, fireworks, the beach. So much sweetness is in the breezy summer air and you simply can’t get enough. You wouldn’t admit it, but your favourite part of the season is when one of your closest friends, Connor, comes up from his gruelling hockey season and returns to the slow and laid-back lifestyle of your small town. Having grown up next door neighbours the majority of your lives, you quickly became two peas in a pod, always together with laughter following closeby.

Your friendship is something you’ve always treasured, held in some reclusive and special part of your heart that only houses your fated connection. No matter how mundane your time together may be - Connor strumming his acoustic guitar and you reading as the citrus sunset dips into the horizon - it's all so memorable to you and nothing, as you’ve come to experience, can ever replace his place in your life. However, life is a constant cycle of change and that first dose came when you two were fourteen, too awkward for your own good and growing out of your bodies. Connor was selected to play in a high-level hockey league hours away from your hometown and as your fingertips buried themselves into his tear-soaked t-shirt, you swore nothing could compare to this pain. The absolute tear of your beating heart out of your raw chest that ached with every gasp. You were a mess, undeterred by your futile attempt to appear as nonchalant at your silly age, but the second Connor stood on your porch, luggage in hand and the sadest tinge in his sage eyes, you fell apart.

Despite the sheer anguish you experienced that crisp autumn day, you adjusted. Stayed in contact with your best friend and continued to build up your life in his absence. Completed all your teenage rites of passage - took some extracurriculars, went to prom (you wanted to ask Connor, but ultimately decided against it), graduated high school and started attending university in Calgary - nine hours away from home. So many things changed and some still stayed the same. Connor was still as hockey obsessed and through his diligent efforts, he’s achieved his dreams of playing in the NHL night after night. You were there for draft day and there for his first game, university be damned. As was Connor, in the stands during your high school graduation and any time you needed him, whether that was him sitting on the phone with you until four in the morning or meeting up with you halfway across two countries because he felt like it. There was always something so spectacular about you two, your stories detailed by destiny and hung amongst the stars. A divine creation that despite the odds, of paths that have taken you two elsewhere, always merged because that is simply how it’s meant to be.

And, so it is, your last summer before your final year and here you are, fingertips tapping against the wooden bar as your leg jerks in anticipation of a figure that will come through your hometown bar, Punch & Judy’s doors any minute now.

Your best friend, Charlotte, manages to interweave your antsy fingers in between hers, a nurturing smile across her smooth face. “He’ll get here, don’t worry.”

Your eyebrows quirk, your legs stopping all motion. “Who said anything about worrying?”

She rolls her eyes, unamused. “You know what I mean,”

Then, she goes on to untangle your fingers, leaning her crossed arms against the bar occupied by the usual mellow group of regulars, including your own bunch of friends. “Besides, you know him. Knowing you’re here, he’s tryna get here quicker than a New York minute.”

A funny feeling flips in the pits of your stomach, an immediate flush coating the apples of your cheeks as you clumsily grab at your cider bottle. Connor always poked fun at your inability to enjoy a cold one, resorting to fruity flavours of cider. “He’s a law-abiding citizen, he’ll wait for the greenlight even if it kills him.”

“If you say so,” Charlotte casts you a glance out of the corner of her eye, smugness tugging at the corners of her lips as she takes another swig of her beer. The bell signifying the main door opening sounds in the background. “Oh, look. Speak of the devil and he shall appear! Hey there, stranger!”

Suddenly, your attention is elsewhere, eyes pinned to the tall silhouette that struts through the doorway of the LED ridden bar, kind eyes and a kinder smile with his tousled hickory hair and hushed voice finding its way to your eardrums again after so long. It’s like coming home again, watching from afar as close friends fall into endless hugs, your reunion saved for last as you beam a closed mouthed smile, reproduced by your best friend who opens his arms for a hug that solely belongs to you. You fall into him instinctively, inhaling his soft woody scent as you bury yourself in his embrace, the pendulum of your life coming to a pause as your universe centres.

“Get a room, you two!” Connor’s brother, Quinn taunts from over your shoulder, eliciting an exaggerated sigh from you as you’re reluctantly reminded of the lame chirps he seems to be full of whenever you and Connor are together.

You ignore him, savouring the moment for what its momentarily worth before Connor’s pulling away, arms loosely wrapped around the circumference of your waist as he peers down at you with those same green eyes you’ve known your entire life.

“Hi.” you breathe, short and sweet.

He simpers, something coy in the lines of his smile as he replies back, “hi.”

It’s a simple greeting, but there’s so much more in those few syllables - the endless gravity of your shared experiences and fondest memories making their way back to each other. Your eyes linger for a minute longer, taking in each other’s presence that’s long been missed due to your busy schedules leading up to your summer break. You part ways and despite how fulfilled you are to have him here and see him after some time, there’s a small knack that nags at you - hollow and wanting as you venture to a booth nearby, squishing up in between Charlotte and another one of your guy friends, Owen Power, who like Connor has been busting his ass in the NHL and friends with you all for longer than you can remember. You all chatter amongst yourselves with Connor’s brother sitting across from you, a discussion brewing as Connor returns shortly after getting a drink at the bar, sliding beside his brother with a beer in hand.

“Come on, Connie. Help me out here, these guys have lost the plot.” His brother argues, an eye roll your response.

Connor looks between your group, a knit in his eyebrows. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re tryna say, get this - that dolphins are more dangerous than damn orcas. Can you believe that?” Quinn attests, expression pinched as he ruffles the curls of his bleached hair sticking out his snapback.

“Hey! We’re well within reason to be arguing with you. You on the other hand? I don’t think so.” Charlotte proclaims, an accusatory finger directed towards Quinn.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, Quinn. You’re severely underestimating how evil dolphins are,” concludes Owen, his hand raised as he pushes up his glasses on the bridge of his sunkissed nose.

Quinn guffaws, jaw slack as his eyes flicker between everyone’s faces in quick succession, clearly in disbelief. “Are you hearing this right now?”

“Look, Q - we’ve been over this,” you start, hands extending as if to make sense of your proposed point. “You’ve been fed dolphin propaganda. We’ve literally shown you so many resources about their heinous crimes. Take it or leave it.”

Quinn groans, elbowing his older brother who wordlessly listens to the ongoing conversation. “Bro! A little help would be nice.”

A brief pause follows his younger brother’s melodrama, Connor weighing out the arguments of a conversation he hadn’t been here for, his eyes flickering over towards yours fleetingly. An unexplained shiver runs down your spine, the action camouflaged poorly as you appear to distract yourself from the sensation, fingernails scratching against the lines of your neck as you look up at the ceiling.

“Hello?!” hollers Quinn.

You swear he loves to hear himself talk.

“They’re right,” Connor concludes, eyes set on you as he speaks before he takes a swig of his beer, focusing back onto his brother. “Personally, I think you’ve been taking one too many trips to Sea World.”

“The promised land of dolphin propaganda.” mentions Charlotte.

“This is ridiculous!” Quinn exclaims, sending a heavy elbow into his older brother’s arm, all of which barely gains any sort of response from him. “What happened to honour amongst bros, huh? They don’t have that in Minnesota or what?”

Connor scoffs lightly, his smile reading amused as his head turns towards his brother. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything you say.”

Quinn mumbles something under his breath, clearly displeased. “I forget you’re my harshest critic.”

Their double act entices the crowd, your circle of friends laughing amongst yourselves as Quinn folds his shoulders with his usual theatrics. No one buys into it, much less Connor who drapes his arm loosely around his brother’s squared shoulders, leaning in with a tickled pink smile that reflects within your own expression.

“You’re just mad I won’t kiss your ass.”

That earns him a shove off Quinn’s shoulders, sending him into a fit of laughter. Everyone chortles along, basking in the merriment of the moment before you’re delving into other non-controversial topics, indulging everyone in the bits and pieces of your lives they’ve missed and just like that, you're four drinks in and so sentimental it hurts. Owen suggests a walk around the town centre, a tradition you cannot help but all agree to as you all shimmy out of your respective booth, bidding Judy at the bar farewell as you file out of the establishment.

The cobalt sky dazzles with stars you’ve forgotten shine so bright here, the midday heat nowhere in sight as a cool breeze pushes you forwards. You linger behind Quinn as he impulsively hops onto Owen’s back, who stumbles at the sudden weight whilst Charlotte laughs at the unfolding scene. Nostalgia warms your heart at the sight, eyes half-closed and posture relaxing as the warm summer night holds you close and kisses your worries goodbye.

An arm drapes over your shoulders, your slow strides matching up with Connor’s as he looks to you, smile small and earnest as he playfully challenges, “Since when did you know about dolphin propaganda?”

You gasp, humour shaping your lips. “Well, you’ve been in my ear most of my life yapping about it, so…”

“Hey, I’m just saying - was I wrong?” the smirk on his face attests to his unwavering confidence and as you catch a whiff of his woody cologne, you roll your eyes in defeat, smile still on your lips.

“Considering you wore a shark tooth to school, I didn’t think so.”

You have to bite back the wide smile that fights to spread across your face, a few snickers here and there escaping before the loose ring around your shoulders closes in, Connor smushing your face inwards against the strength of his bicep. You can’t help but laugh throughout, swatting away his pesky grip that lasts no longer than a few seconds before all you hear is the echoes of your winded chuckles. In an effort to stabilise yourself from the momentary loss of oxygen, your hand seeks Connor’s, holding onto his larger and warmer as your feet hit the pavement in unison.

“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?”

You let your head fall to Connor’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his lower back as your steps sync with such ease. A lightness in your limbs and how perceptive you can be to the sounds of downtown - car horns, hushed chatter and the like - let you know there’s nowhere you’d rather be right now than here. Back at home, with your best friends and your partner in crime who you answer in the form of a hum.

-

Your first few days back in the Pas are slow and uneventful, most of your time spent decompressing from the taxing semester and unpacking your items, all of which you didn’t know just how much you possessed. In an effort to make the most of the sunshine and get out the house for reasons other than your part time job at the local diner, you sign up for community gardening activities and ask the groupchat if anyone wants to come along. Everyone appears to have plans, except for Connor, who in the early hours of the next morning, picks you up from your childhood home and drives into town where for the next few hours, you’re knee deep in dirt under the blaring sun as you plant various kinds of greenery to spotlight the natural beauty of your rustic town.

What is certain, when early afternoon pours in, painting the sky in shades of honey and tangerine, you’re exhausted beyond belief. You have no idea how Connor makes the drive home, yet he does and when you two collapse into the hammock in your family’s backyard, your lips are slack and echoing more yawns than you can contain.

“That was great and all, but that’s knocked me out,” Connor groans, limp body shuffling in the confinements of the cotton hammock hanging off one of the trees in your backyard. The same tree which holds the treehouse you and Connor partially lived in throughout your youth. “That was more tiring than hockey practice.”

You’re tired and easily distracted, your head perched up in a way that puts the treehouse in your direct eye-line. “Remember when we’d watch movies in that treehouse?”

A brief pause follows, occupied by the tranquil chirps and running water from the nearby bird bath. “Yeah, I’d always wanna watch Jaws but you wanted to watch Disney movies.”

You give him a laugh, shuffling yourself in order to get comfortable in the small space. Why did you two think this would work like it did ten years ago? The thought occurs to you, but you brush it off to save yourself additional mental load, making the adjustments to cater to some form of comfortability in the tiny space. Even if that means sacrificing your shared personal space as your body overlaps onto Connor’s strong and firm one.

“Says the guy who knows the all the songs in Lemonande Mouth,” you counter, “And, Let it Shine.”

Without missing a beat, in his sleepy voice, Connor replies with, “kissy kissy, Roxanne, did you miss me?”

Groaning despite the snickers slipping past your lips, you bury your head into Connor’s chest, refusing to hear the rest of his ramblings. “My girl is hotter than your girl, you know it! You know it.”

To get your point across, you unbury your head, wide eyes peering up at your best friend who’s so amused by this all, hair messy and smile stretching from ear to ear. A bright sight. “Can you not?”

“You’re just hating 'cause I sing better than you.” He follows that by sticking his tongue out at you, so mature for his age that you grant him the response of a heavy sigh and an averted gaze, settling back into the peace and serenity of your backyard.

However, the silence doesn’t last long before you’re speaking again.

“Your hair’s getting long,” you observe, fingertips dancing along Connor’s nape as you absently fiddle with the long strands of his hair, silky between your fingers. “You should let me cut it.”

“Name a time and place, and I’ll be there,” he mumbles sleepily against the crown of your head, soothing you further towards a serene sleep. “Unless you fuck it up. Then, I won’t forgive you.”

You give him the satisfaction of a laugh tucked away in your chest, the ghost of a smile dissipating as the aches of a hard work’s start to plunge their teeth into your flesh and bones, body like cement as you sink further into the comfort of the hammock, into the comfort of your calm summer afternoon.

“One of my friends from my team’s supposed to be coming up for a night or two,” Connor croaks, voice hoarse and the gentle breeze of the summer’s day pecking your skin in an act of love. “Think…you’ll all get along with him quite well.”

His point is punctuated by a tired yawn that proves to be contagious as you mirror the action moments after, eyes unbearably heavy as time moves slow like molasses, body further sinking against Connor’s. You don’t even stop yourself from falling asleep, only blinking away the exhausted sting in your eyes to answer your best friend.

“Can’t wait,” you mumble, adjusting your body against Connor as your limbs slot together like puzzle pieces, matched at every curve as slumber envelopes you two in a kind embrace. “It’ll be good - the visit…and the rest of summer.”

Your words trail in a drowsy daze, tone doused in sleepiness as your eyes can no longer keep themselves open, glimpses of hickory branches and pear leaves wishing you peace and serenity as you finally fall asleep.

-

Your shift at the local diner passes without as much traffic as expected, local patrons ordering their usual with a few tourists dropping by to try the culinary experience of your average but nostalgic diner food. Due to how quiet the establishment is - Mabel, your boss and long-time owner of the diner - lets you off early and with a hug, you scurry back to your family house to get ready for the night's events. After dozing off with Connor in the hammock out back, your mother softly awoke to you with a holler she’s used since the dawn of time.

“Up and at ‘em, kids. Dinner’s ready!” in the distance of your dreams, you hear your mother yell.

With drowsy film still coating your eyes, you and Connor manage to dislodge your limbs from one another, sleepy smiles and croaky chuckles exchanged as you amble inside your house and Connor stays for a filling homemade meal that everyone at the dining table fawns over. Connor hangs back as you venture into the kitchen to wash up, a tradition you two have forged, him washing the dishes and you drying them. Not much dialogue takes place between the two of you and there is no need. For all the instances where you believed the need for conversation, you appreciate this silence so much more - how there’s no urge to talk for the sake of talking and how much comfort there is with simply just being with Connor. After you’ve done the washing up and Connor’s hugged your mother goodbye, fist bumping your father hilariously enough, he’s climbing into his car and wishing you well.

“You sure you don’t need me to pick you up from Mabel’s?” coaxes Connor, the wiggle of his eyebrows offsetting the echoes of titters that leave your lips.

“I’m good, thanks. Need to shower and get ready, anyways,” a gentle gust of wind blows, fallen leaves scraping against the cement of your driveway. “We all know how long that takes.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Connor simpers, says like it’s the easiest thing in the world and like it doesn’t demand for the city of butterflies within you to soar beyond their ability.

You flash a strained smile, giving the top of Connor’s car a pat as your posture straightens and you step away from the vehicle. “Goodbye, Connor.”

“See you soon.” and just like that, he’s gone with the wind, taking a little piece of you with him.

It’s when you’re strolling your way back inside the house, halfway up the stairs to your bedroom that your mom gives you a gentle call, beckoning you back down the stairs to find her in the dimly lit living room, mahogany reading glasses hanging low on the bridge of her nose whilst the quiet snores of your father and his baseball game fill in the background noise.

She folds her newspaper, crinkles running up your spine as she addresses you. “So good to have Connie over, makes me miss him more when he’s away.”

Connor is like a son to her, the better part of your childhood glued at the hip whilst your parents cooed and awed at your loyalty to one another. He helps around the house with no complaint nor expectation of compensation, buys her favourite flowers every Mother’s day with an additional heartfelt gift come her birthday. He listens, he jokes and he cares. What more could she ask for?

“Can’t imagine how much more you miss him whilst you’re away.” she comments, throwing her denim clad leg over the other, directing all her attention to you, swaying between two feet with your hands behind your back, sceptical.

“Well, we try to meet up when we can, so it’s not too bad,” your hand goes to scratch the back of your neck, chin jutted as your head leans to the side. “…Is that why you called me down?”

Awkwardness rarely rears its head in your household built upon openness and unconditional love, which is why the unspoken truth your mother struggles to vocalise raises a red flag, your skin prickling as you fiddle with your hands behind your back.

She’s looking at you now, a maternal love in her eyes as she speaks up. “Maybe, I can’t really put my finger on it, really. I did, however, want to say that I hope you guys keep each other in your lives, however that may pan out in the future. There’s a special happiness in your eyes I want you two to be selfish with.”

It’s a small thing, she says. A snowflake amongst the pile of snow in the realms of your mind, but as you lay in bed later on that late afternoon, staring at the gold stars Connor helped hang up in your room, your mind wanders places it never conceptualised. Inserts Connor in places in your life where he hadn’t been previously - opposite you illuminated by a candle-lit dinner, dancing in a kitchen as you prepare breakfast and kiss each other in between, above your bare body as he holds you in the palm of his hand like you are the most precious thing the universe has gifted him. It’s a point in time that despite busying yourself with dipping your toes back into your hobbies - heck, even walking your next door neighbour’s golden retriever to clear your head - it never quite leaves you, awakening something deep and dormant in you that never goes away.

Snapping out of your syrupy daze, you adorn yourself in your finest line dance clothing, slipping on your gingerbread cowboy boots before you’re tying bows in the pigtails of your hair. Your mother yells down the stairs for you and you leave in a flash, kissing her goodbye as she drops you off at Punch and Judy’s, your jewellery clinking together as you walk through the main entrance.

Much like your first night back, the bar is illuminated in dim light and sharp LED lights of varying colours. Cowboy hats dominate the sea of customers, the building crowd of the bar dressed in shades of denim and tired leather cowboy boots. Knowing the others have already arrived, saving a spot at a nearby booth, you decide to make your way to the bar first, ordering your signature berries-flavoured cider, to which Punch (co-owner) makes quick work of, the cold beverage in your hands before you can blink.

“Beer not to your liking, sugar?” A smoky, mellow voice grabs your attention.

You spare a glance at the source of the gravel voice, eyes long lingering as they capture the image of a face that stirs a flip in the pits of your stomach. The man stood beside you braces his muscular arms against the hickory brown of the wooden bar, his sleepy chocolate eyes trained on yours as he takes a swig of his tequila flavoured Desperado beer. Locks of umber messily cascade along his face, unless tucked away in his vintage black cowboy hat that ties together the rugged cowboy look he presents with the sweet addition of his light stubble. To make things worse, he’s stupidly fit, his black t-shirt clinging to the curves of his muscles like second skin. If it were up to you, you’d-

“Like what you see?”

The smug comment snaps you out of your hazy olge, a pout forming upon your lips with an accompanying knit in your eyebrows. You make a point to angrily grab at your pint glass, ingesting a big gulp of the sugary alcohol whilst the rugged cowboy laughs to himself.

Even his laugh is attractive. Sick bastard.

“Coming from a man drinking a Desperado? Funny,” you have to laugh at whatever lame attempt of making conversation this man is pulling, Punch masking his misplaced laughter behind a cough as he polishes a pint glass. “How flirtatious you are.”

You admit, your latter remark is more bark than bite, a quick chirp that refuses to feed his ego yet grab his interest all at the same time. The ruse proves to work in your favour as the sexy cowboy gives another one of his huffed laughs, his body turned towards yours.

“Give me a chance, sugar. Just tryna start the night off right,” he counters, so brazenly confident in himself that you don’t know whether to laugh or shy away from his prying eyes. “Tequila beer and beautiful company - sounds about perfect to me.”

You react in a juxtaposition, eyes rolling and cheeks flushing as you divert your line of sight away from the handsome man flirting with you at your hometown bar. Perhaps, he’s some city folk travelling through the town, fancying himself a good time at Punch & Judy’s weekly hoedown Fridays, a little bit of flirting on the side to inflate his ego and keep his blood pumping. Whatever reason explains his presence, you are not one to complain. Your love life isn't very entertaining to put it mildly, so you're willing yourself not to get swept up in his caramel eyes.

Against the wishes of your quickening heart, you decide to give Mr. Handsome Traveller the time of day, body shifting as you face each other finally. “You don’t quit, don’t you?”

He cocks an eyebrow your way, something sneaky and sugary in the lines of his smile. A brief pause follows his actions, the soft rustic sounds of old town country murmuring from the jukebox nearby filling up in the space between your figures. It’s when he’s about to make yet another cocky comment that your conversation is put on pause.

Connor’s voice calls your name, head turning to find your best friend standing in between you and the Punch & Judy’s cowboy of the night, eyes wide and expectant as they shift back and forth in the middle of your standing figures.

“Dew, forget about Desperados tonight. The lady in bows will have your head otherwise.” Handsome Traveller nods his chin towards you, humour dancing in his smile as he snickers into his half-full glass.

Then, it dawns on you. Dew? One of the handful of nicknames Connor’s adopted over the course of his livelihood. So, they’re acquaintances? Or closer? Your eyes frantically search for social clues to point you in the right direction.

“The lady in bows is my best friend,” Connor explains, a bite to his words as his eyes glare a knowing look at Sexy Cowboy. He then goes on to face you, gaze softening almost immediately as his head tilts in his friends (?) direction. “This is Brandon, or Dewey One.”

Oh. Makes sense, you rationalise. This is Brandon, Connor’s close friend and teammate on his current team out in Minnesota, the one who gets into fights he can’t win on the ice whilst Connor trails nearby picking up his fallen gear. The one he told you a couple of days ago that was coming up to visit. And, of course you were flirting with him.

Of. Course.

“Dewey One?” you ask, minorly deflecting from your embarrassment and still genuinely curious.

Connor inhales, as if to speak but Brandon beats him to it.

“Brandon’s just fine,” he interjects, expression unassuming as Connor’s eyes put his visiting friend underneath a microscope. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Normally, you’d wrinkle your nose at the sometimes sleazy pet name Brandon casually calls you, except this time round you find it more amusing than cringe-worthy, which is how you find yourself grinning as you two exchange a handshake that testifies to how strong Brandon is. You clear your throat to stop the circus unfolding within you.

“Come on,” Connor gestures over to you to follow suit. “Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You call out an agreement over your shoulder as you go to grab your drink, the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as a close whisper brushes past your ears.

“I ain’t no quitter, sugar.”

-

The next couple of hours are spent packed into a crimson leather booth that peels at the ends, going from topic to topic over many a pints. Brandon fits so easily into your group, his infectious energy illuminating as he takes up space without regard, his confidence more enticing than suffocating. Everyone seems to be in good spirits as the alcohol keeps flowing and as you sit back, careful eyes watching your friends engage in conversation, you wish for this to be your forever for as long as you'd like for it to be.

A nudge against your shoulder turns your head, greeted by Connor’s sage eyes. “You ready for Judy’s Line Dance?”

His rhetorical question draws a laugh from you. “You say that like I don’t do this every time I come back.”

“Yeah, but if you were ready then, you would’ve brought your cowboy hat,” comments Connor, his veiny hands grasping gently at the ends of your braided pigtails accented with a bow. “What? Wanted to show off your pretty bows?”

He thumbs the ends of your hair, engrossed in the strands and its feel and for some reason, the casual intimacy of the moment inflates something in your chest, a balloon about to burst as you forcibly breathe in and out, clearing your throat afterwards. “They're my favourite accessories.”

Connor huffs, corners of his lips lifting gingerly as he continues his motions with his hands whilst your body remains rigid with the exception of your racing heart and crimsoning cheeks.

Your mother has definitely planted a seed you cannot unroot.

“Yeah, you’re almost always wearing them in your BeReal. posts. They’re real cute.”

For a fact you know so well, Connor’s confession comes as a pleasant surprise, one that shallows your breaths and quickens your pulse. It makes you reflect back on before, when all was platonic and the comment wouldn’t have made you bat an eyelash. Now, your skin tingles and you’re struggling to find the words to encapsulate your affection past your dry mouth. So, like many others in your position, you settle for a safe reply.

“Aren’t you a charmer?” you roll your eyes, brushing off his grasp because you might combat otherwise, projecting your attention ahead of you to come face-to-face with Brandon, who despite the engaging conversation he shares with Owen, his eyes skirt over to you.

You look away, even more flustered than before.

It’s just your luck when you hear Judy’s tap incessantly against an old microphone that you have something else to hold your focus, eyes brimming with glee as she announces the dances for the night and their updated partner songs. Last time you were here, they were still playing their beloved country hits and you danced along thanks to the amounts of alcohol you consumed, but their new playlist of pop hits within the past decade or so, you’re more motivated than ever to tear apart the dance floor.

“If you ain’t shy to do a little two step, please make your way to the dancefloor please.” Judy grins into her mic, tipping her cowboy hat as patrons make their way over to the illuminated space.

Connor makes way for you to exit the booth, your boots hitting the ground as you iron out any kinks in your outfit. Amidst your actions, you catch other movements out of the corner of your eyes, to which you find Connor playing with the ends of your bow this time round. There’s always been something so sweet and tender about him - in the way clouds are amongst a blue sky, in the way laughter spills over so easily in the presence of a found family and in how harmonies make you feel as if you're floating. But, it’s never been like this before, this intense and vivd. In a way that rids you of all thought and scares you beyond your deepest fears all at once. You’re still finding your footing in this new territory, a plain that speaks to the existence of your feelings but has no road nor destination. It’s a simple plain you seek to find some end to, picking up clues along the way that predetermine what the future holds. At the beginning, the animosity scared you pale and grey. Now, the end is what grasps your fear in a fierce chokehold. To pry yourself from the jaws of unhinged anxiety, you allow yourself to relax, to seep into the present and take it for what it's worth because the end is unknown and you’re not there yet. Not by any measure of time, you hope.

“Kick butt out there, rockstar.” His big smile deepens the soft lines of his face, a pure display of pride in his features as he gives you a pat on the back and gives way for you to shine.

It’s small, insignificant in the grand scale of things, but your smile deepens too and you nearly float to the dancefloor, adrenaline rushing through your body as the DJ prepares the upcoming music.

As you settle in line, you feel a light pressure lay upon the crown of your head, eyes darting to find Charlotte in the line next to you, giving you a wink before she faces forwards, thumbs slotted through the loops of her flare jeans. Her straw cowboy hat no longer, you reach up to find said object upon your head and with a chuckle behind your hand, your thumbs hang on your belt loops and let the music guide you.

It’s only when you’ve done your first turn that you realise that Brandon has also decided to join the line dance, huffs of amusement sounding from you as he glides and slides with a confidence dusted with his normal dash of comedy.

When Judy announces it's time for the partner dance, it’s your cue to catch your breath as you plan to evacuate the dancefloor. As mentioned earlier by Charlotte, the pretty sandy brown haired man who’d bought her a drink earlier in the night circles his arms around her waist as she gives him a smitten grin. You beam at the endearing sight, about to make your way towards your booth but are stopped in your tracks as a calloused hand clasps around your wrist.

Brandon’s expression is more sheepish than you’ve ever seen, his eyes distracted as they wander away from you. You raise an eyebrow.

“Who says the night has to end here, sugar?” His voice trembles partially, its edge lost in the coyness lining his smile as he finally looks at you with a dazzle of hope in his eyes.

A momentary pause delays your response, the moment used to turn the cogs in your head and sneak a glance back at your booth, where Connor was last you saw him, eyes trained on you as he simply watches the interaction. Under the weight of his gaze, a creeping sense of embarrassment climbs up your back, scolding the skin. You’re about to give your reply when the music starts up and Brandon speaks again.

“Put this desperado out of his misery and allow me this one dance?”

It’s so cheesy, maybe even idiotic - the words he proposes to you but he’s trying and that’s what appeals to you most, warms your heart and sways your response as you send him a nod that has Brandon cheesing ear to ear, his hand leading the way as you two fall in line.

You haven’t had much experience line dancing with a partner, the closest experience to this being a night you barely remember, happily back sliding with a fifty year old local in your college town bar who wanted to feel young again. Regardless of the fact, there’s no time to mull it over as the music already starts and your fingers are interlocking, matching up with the rest of the duos as you dance, cowboy boots stomping as you make a scene.

In all the commotion of heavy stops and ongoing thumps of Rihanna’s ‘S&M’, Brandon manages to catch your attention, mirroring your movements to a tee.

“You and Connor don’t do this much, do you?” he queries.

“You kidding me? Connie has two left feet, I’d be left for dead if it wasn’t for Charlotte.” You yell over the blaring upbeat country music, arms extended as Brandon glides you further away from his figure.

“Good thing I’m here tonight.” jesters Brandon, and you laugh along because you’re tipsy and having a lot more fun than you imagined.

Despite your familiarity with the dance routine you two execute to a tee, you’re caught off guard when Brandon brings you inwards, bracing you against his hard chest before his arm circles around the circumference of your lower back, holding you steady as he dips your body slightly. Your foot is kicked out, your (Charlotte’s) straw hat’s fallen to the scuffed dancefloor and you’ve just had the wind knocked straight out of you, eyes feverishly searching for answers as the bar falls to a hush.

You’re looking in each other’s eyes now, chest heaving and high off the adrenaline pumping through your veins from all that dancing. All time ceases to exist and it’s just two of you, sharing laboured breaths and looking for any cues for how this will end. It appears as if you’re in your own head at this point, combing through a thousand possibilities all at once to respond however you see fit. Thankfully for you, Brandon breaks the silence.

“One night and one night only.”

The sentence sends shivers down your spine and you’re pretty sure Brandon feels you quiver in his arms as he gives a brief chuckle, hauling you up onto your two feet and bringing you back to reality. You don’t really find their footing after that.

The rest of your time at Punch & Judy’s passes by in a flash, more pints being consumed over your group’s loud chatter as the night stretches on. Charlotte and her blue eyed companion indulge in another dance before he’s whisking her back to the bar and paying for everyone’s next set of drinks - bless his heart. He introduces himself as Jack, a new face in town and as he and the boys exchange pleasantries, the wild eyed non-verbal dialogue you engage in pieces together Charlotte’s sentiment and if it isn’t enough, when Jack makes his departure, she gives him a kiss on the cheek and bides him a coy farewell, a promise to meet in the next coming days on her tongue. One thing is certain, when Jack makes his exit from the bar, the door shutting behind him, you’re yelling and shaking each other’s shoulders in glee, stupidly happy and sharing that with one another.

Your table has their last drinks and before you know it, you’re being squeezed into the back of Owen’s pickup truck, sandwiched between Charlotte and Connor whilst Owen and Brandon sit up front. Over the murmured sounds of slow alternative music, you get bits and pieces of their conversation, the two excitedly talking about their shared love for Legos and the most they’ve splurged on one set. You shake your head with a laugh, going to share your merriment with Charlotte, only to find her soundly asleep, a light snore bypassing her punch pink lips.

“How you holdin’ up, champ?” Connor’s low voice draws you in, a slight head turn in his direction. “Don’t think I’ve seen you dance like that since we were ten and begging our parents to have a sleepover.”

The image is so vivid in your brain, two wide eyed kids that held hands as they begged and pleaded to have a sleepover, only for their polite request to be refused. Taking matters into your own hands, you dragged your parents’ big hands into the living room, where in front of them and an oblivious Connor, turned on MTV and danced to some popular song of the time. Lucky for you, it worked. Unluckily, Connor would hold that over your head forever onwards.

You’re cringing into your hand, face mangled in discomfort as you wish away the reality of you doing that away. “One of us had to convince them. Plus, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I can’t argue with that,” Connor laughs behind a fist before his hand falls to his side, a moment of quiet between you two. “You and Brandon seem to be hitting it off.”

A single eyebrow raises to express your confusion, perplexed frown prominent not because of his statement which is completely true, but because there’s an edge to his voice - something unfamiliar and cold in the way he says his words - a tone you’ve yet to hear, even after all these years. Uncertain how to proceed, you choose to be cautious about the matter, selecting your words carefully.

“He’s nice,” you state, because Brandon is but something in you twists uncomfortably, feels the recognizable pangs of embarrassment as you’re subjected to uttering this out loud. Or rather, in front of Connor. A betrayal of some sorts. “You were right about him fitting right in with us.”

There’s a strange shift in the air in the backseat of the car, the once peaceful quiet now becoming increasingly heavy and awkward as your words hang in the air like knives. Connor absorbs your words, stare averted as he watches his fingers fiddle with the lock of the door on the windowsill. You run your palms against the material of your denim shorts because you don’t know what to do with them otherwise.

It’s only when you’ve scratched the back of your neck, eyes stiffly roaming the interior of the car that Connor replies. “Yeah..I guess I just didn’t know how well.”

You’re about to ask him what he means by that, going to press him but Owen’s suddenly shut off the truck, his blinding interior lights turning on and him killing the ignition, alerting you of your arrival. Connor climbs out before your vision reverts back to normal, so you put the matter on pause and softly wake up Charlotte who sheepishly wipes away dried drool at the corner of her lips and climbs out the pick-up with you. You’re about to shut the door behind you, though someone beats you to it.

“I got it.” Brandon’s husky voice sounds from behind you, the slam of the door following.

You send an appreciative smile his way, perhaps a bit of timidity mixed in there too, turning to include Charlotte in any possible conversation to come, only to find her halfway up the porch stairs of Connor’s house.

How is it always the two of you left alone?

“Let’s head in, it’s chilly out here.” suggests Brandon, you falling in line with his request as the beginnings of goosebump dot your arms, the roughness of your skin hitting an all time high as Brandon’s large hand falls to the small of your back, guiding you up the stairs into the cosy and quaint house.

Hums of conversation lead from the back porch of Connor’s house, the presence of your friends known as you wordlessly navigate your way through the halls of Connor’s house, hallways and framed pictures you’ve committed to memory. When you’ve made your way to the kitchen, you find Owen nursing a cool bottled water, hair tousled and cheeks dusted in pink.

“There you two are,” announces Owen, fingers threading through the waves of his brown hair. “Everyone’s out back - apparently, Quinn’s out back too.”

You waste no time beelining for the backyard, the sudden weight of your reality dawning on you the second you stepped through Connor’s doorway, a cold shower of water easing you out of the mirage you’ve impulsively floated in. Once you’re outside, the cool air sinking into your skin, you spying the usual suspects - Quinn, Charlotte and Connor gathered together around a fire Quinn boasts about making. His glee is short lived.

“That boy scouts training finally coming in handy, huh?” Charlotte banters, a suppressed smirk sneaking amongst her features as she takes a seat in one of the camping chairs surrounding the fire.

“You laugh now but when you need someone to tie an impossible knot and survive off the land, don’t come running to me.” responds Quinn, taking a swig of his beer as Charlotte holds her hands up in surrender, laughing regardless.

You’re about to turn on your heels to head back inside, retrieving a beverage of your own, but a familiar call of your name is stopping you in your tracks.

“I’ve got your cider here,” alerts Connor, expression indifferent as he approaches you to hand off a can of your favourite berry cider and a bottle of water. “Blankets are on the chairs too.”

It’s embarrassing how much you want to melt into this man’s arms right now. Nonetheless, for reasons you know all too well, you express your gratitude in a toothy grin that he mirrors with a closed mouth, pulling you down into the camping chair beside his.

Soon enough, Brandon and Owen are sitting round the fire too and your night ends like this, light-hearted discussions under the stars as the heat from the open flame soothes your heavy eyelids closed. Whilst you’re mildly awake, you don’t miss the glances you and Bradon trade over the sandstone fire, loaded questions in his eyes. Had this been any other occasion, any other person not linked to Connor, any other reality where your current feelings didn’t exist for Connor, then there would be no questions asked, blossoms of wine doting both your necks come tomorrow morning. Alias, these were not the conditions and simply lounged in your camping chair, hoping Brandon didn’t look your way every time Connor’s hand would play with the bows in your hair.

-

Arm hanging out of his shiny porcelain white pick-up truck, Brandon squints as the rays from the blistering sun reflect into his eyes. Having said their goodbyes earlier, Connor and Brandon dab each other up with good-natured smiles before Brandon throws his focus over to you, standing with a bit more awkwardness than you’d like.

“Take care, Lady in bows,” Brandon says, a well-mannered nod sent your way with a closed mouth smile. “Don’t give Dewey a hard time. He’ll come round.”

For a split second, you’re eyeing him as if his face contains all the answers, but when he gives you that knowing look, the same one Charlotte and your mother give you any time Connor’s name is mentioned - you know. Know all too well and blush as a result, head snapping behind you to see if Connor’s within earshot. Thankfully, he’s in the middle of chatting with his brother, hands in his pocket as Quinn points off into the distance. You circle back to Brandon, the apples of his cheeks clear as day as he snickers like he’s been told a secret.

It’s as if this best kept secret brings you infinitely closer, your walls falling as you begin to bare the depth of your sentiment surrounding Connor. There’s no more beating around the bush, so you lower your head as you kick at the rocks at your feet. “You think so?”

You hate how small your voice comes out, meek and questioning everything known to man. It’s unfamiliar and not to mention, uncomfortable in every aspect of the word. Alias, Brandon sees you - catches the vulnerability you’ve shared with him and embraces you with a kindness that ushers a relieved sigh from you as he responds back.

“I’d bet my NASA Space Shuttle lego set on it.” Brandon banters, smirk soft and small.

So, he’s serious. Very serious, it seems because you know how treasured the item is to him. You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding.

“Thanks, Brandon,” you breath, coyness coating your cheeks as your hands fall behind your back, your fingers tangling. “Don’t go fighting no alligators.”

“We can only hope,” Brandon gives his side-door a smack, rounding up everyone’s attention. “I’m hitting the road, fellas. Enjoy the fair for me, yeah?”

A chorus of agreements go off from behind you before Brandon gives one more salute, speeding off into the canary yellow sun. The small crowd outside Connor’s house disperses and regroups again later on that day, refreshed and ready to attend the local fair held every summer and the highlight of the year.

The fair lives up to its expectations, grand and joyful with a variety of rides ranging from teacups to a catapult-like ride that swings back and forth and then upside down. You’re distracted by all the colours, the sights and sounds that you’re so oblivious to what goes on right before you, until your vision is shrouded in black and your face is submerged in fluff.

Retracting, you blink your eyes to adjust to the change in lighting, lips parting as you stare at the massive latte-coloured teddy bear that Connor presents to you, the rest of your friends nearby taking their turns at the darts board way ahead of them.

He must see you struggle to find the words, his grin infectious as he jests, “I think I’ve finally out-conned the concessionaires.”

You must look like an idiot, or a deer in the headlights as Charlotte jokes, disbelief strikingly apparent on your face as you reach for the souvenirs, the fluffy animal so cosy in your arms and melting your heart into a big puddle of goo. “Thank you, Con.”

“Don’t mention it.” a smile plays tenderly on his lips, the sheer kindness he captures in his sage eyes enough to make your pulse race and head spin.

After the thoughtful gesture, your high spirits cannot be tamed as you indulge in every little thing your heart desires - laughing a little harder, smiling a little wider and stuffing your cheeks full of hearty food that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. Charlotte basks in your glee, speaking of a glow you radiate as she snaps photos of your stuffed cheeks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she hands you your teddy bear once your food is finished. You don’t reply, exchanging words through your glances as you make your way towards the second bit of rides the boys want to try.

“Wait, isn’t that…?”

As Quinn’s voice trails off into the distance, you find yourself turning in the exact direction where he directs your view, eyes landing on a pair of figures - one being Connor and the other being, Amelia, Connor’s ex-girlfriend from high school and most notably, his last girlfriend. Her waves of blond hair glisten in the sunshine, something like a Renaissance painting. Her smile bright and wide as she greets Connor with an enthusiastic hug, a hug you feel lasts longer than necessary.

They then go on to immerse themselves in conversation, and for the life of you, you can’t look away - pry your jealous eyes away nor dry swallow this bitter pill because she’s still so into him. Hands familiar and all over him, leaning in when she gets the chance and beaming like she’s won the lottery. In all fairness, her life’s been such a tale - excelling academically, incredibly driven in all sports and other extracurricular activities that garnered her attention. And such a kind spirit too, always there to help no questions asked that it made you physically sick that you could foster any ill feelings towards her, because she’s such a light and maybe Connor would see that too. As he did when they were together.

You’re too busy losing yourself in a sea of self pity that you don’t notice Charlotte's attempts to snag your attention nor other things at first, your illegitimate fears getting the best of you but as your posture stoops, your eyes floating everywhere around the busy fair that it pauses on Connor’s figure. Once immersed in conversation, he appears distracted, indifferent somehow as his attention wanders, wanders over to you as his line of sight floats over to you from time to time as the conversation stretches on. At first, you think it’s your mind playing tricks on you, feeding into delusions that’ll soothe your pity party, but at some point, he holds your gaze, giving Amelia a pat on the back before he’s jogging over to where your friendship group is, not even uttering a word as he slots himself between you and Owen.

“What was that about?” Quinn just has to ask.

“Oh, Amelia just wanted to catch up,” he sounds distracted, his mind elsewhere but you don’t dare to indulge, your sight directed elsewhere as you grip onto the plush teddy bear as if it were a lifeline. “She says hi, by the way.”

You don’t do much listening after that, tuning out all the colours and sounds of the fair as you ride the highs and lows of what your life has become.

-

A sense of urgency plagues you from that day forth, a hurriedness in your actions as your anxieties get the better of you, going from lounging around in day old pyjamas covered in crumbs and mystery stains to getting a head start on your master’s personal statement and running every errand you’ve been procrastinating. Your parents swear you’ve become a different person - venturing outside the house before noon to visit the bank to change your address or go get your car serviced. Perhaps seeing Connor with Amelia was the jump start you needed to stop relishing in instant gratification, distracting yourself from facing any sort of music that pertained to the future and all its question marks. You still hang out with the others, more so Charlotte as you spend a few afternoons at the lake with one another, feet dangling into the water as she updates you on her adventures with Jack.

It’s the first time someone’s pursued her with such sincerity and charm that she’s hesitant about his authenticity. And yet from the sounds of it, Jack doesn’t mind one bit and shows his patience as they get to know each other, the smitten man taking your best friend on dates that further solidify their connection. You couldn’t be any happier for your best friend, this kind of treatment a long time coming, all of which you express just to see her blush and dive into the cold lake water to avoid further talks. You chase after her, teasing her mercilessly as the thoughts still linger at the back of your mind - your own sentiment with regards to Connor and what has come from the change of heart.

Emotional anguish and so much fear you’re not sure what to do with yourself. It takes a week of mulling things over, his missing presence due to off-season hockey training for you to make up your mind, peeling into his driveway and hiding your apprehension behind a strained smile as he greets you at the door. You preoccupy every bit of silence with running chatter, because you don’t want to hear yourself think, a multitude of topics discussed over vodka pasta you make together before you’re finding your way into his bedroom, the early evening sky greeting you as he flicks on his buttermilk bedside lamp.

He brings out his guitar, the same one you gifted Connor two years ago at the height of his newly-found hobby and plucks the strings, creating a melody you compel yourself to relax into, somehow ending up sandwiched in between him and the guitar as he directs your fingers to play one of your favourite songs, just because.

Apparently, your shaky hands don’t make for good playing material.

“You’re shaking like a leaf, you cold or something?” notes Connor, his looming presence over your body sending you into overdrive, your skin feverish and mind imploding from overwork.

“This is different.” you annouce, because it is. Unlike times before, it didn’t mean as much to be alone in his bedroom with him, getting glimpses into the life he’s lived and who he is as a person through all his possessions. You could handle the casual intimacy - the soft spoken whispers, the unprovoked kindness, the skin to skin contact that didn’t send your heart into a series of flutters. Now, all you can do is bat an eyelash, many at that, and this you must make known. For the selfish reasons you can think of.

“What d’ya mean?” he mumbles, clearly distracted and known the wiser to his breath fanning over your neck, goosebumps rising against your skin as your body grows rigid against his.

So acutely aware of your proximity, of the bursting feelings that thud at the confinement of your chest, your thoughts scatter like glass. “This, Connor. Being like this…with you.”

That strikes a chord with Connor, his motions ceasing altogether as his hands drop from the guitar and you’re forced to face the music. Sink your teeth into this undeniable truth that’s followed you all these years and you’ve been too blind to see. Confront the holy truth that maybe there was more divine work intertwined in your story with Connor, that maybe the universe wrote you two as one heart as opposed to two. That, as the summer days ticked by, the sun seeping into your skin, your love grew for Connor like molasse - slow and thick and palpable that once you were aware of its existence, that’s all that consumed you. Coated in his syrupy love, an endless desire.

You’re facing your best friend in spite of the hellish screams in your mind to play this off as some random mood swing, a joke even, because laughter follows you two everywhere, right? But, you know. Know better than anybody else that Connor knows you, like the back of his hand. Sees right through any charade you may jester him with, so any attempts to divert the conversation are as pointless as anything. Your confession starts and ends here.

A flicker of concern mixes in the dark of his eyes, hands clasped together with a crease in between his eyebrows. “I don’t follow.”

A full body sigh draws out of you, shoulders sagging and back curving, your hands casting aside the acoustic guitar with caution. You’re back to staring at each other, in the silence of the night, caged in between four walls that burn your eyes white as you once again grapple with your innumerable feelings and the finality of it all - this longing.

“Don’t you think,” you croak, question in your eyes as you look up at Connor, stifling any rise in emotion within you. “-this summer has been different?”

His sage eyes cast away, pink lips settling into a pout as he racks his brain for whatever answer you may be looking for. “No? Maybe? I don’t know.”

He adds on, looking back at you as he leans closer without fault. “Is this because it’s your last summer before you graduate?”

Connor’s got a point. When you’re trying to kid yourself into not having romantic feelings for your childhood best friend, your mind wanders to places where it has more control. Plans for after college, what modules you’ll be taking, what societies you want to join, what last things you’d like to cross off your list before you’re forced into full fledged adulthood. It’s a thought that lingers ever so presently at the back of your mind, like background music stuck on loop, but ultimately, Connor has missed his mark and you tell him so.

“Partially, but,” you wet your lips, struggling to find the words again as the burn against your cheeks proves to be insufferable. “This is what’s been on my mind more than anything else.”

Your point is accentuated by your single finger gesturing between the two of you, a poor attempt at best to foster some sort of confession of your romantic feelings. Because it's so scary, lending these thoughts your voice because they become much more real, spoken aloud for his ears to hear and his heart to see. For his heart to feel and what then? What awaits you once your confession reaches his ears? The unknown is scary, chilling to the bone and you wish to shroud yourself from it as long as there’s daylight.

There’s a beat before you hear Connor’s voice again. “What about us?”

Hearing him vocalise those three words makes the moment so real, so vividly intense that it sends chills down your spine and slows your laboured breath, the thump of your heart all you can hear aside from the ticking clock against Connor’s bedside table. It ticks and ticks, signifying the curtain call to your summer long charade.

“Connor, I..” It’s as if the magnitude of your feelings have manifested into some beast, with razor-like fangs and sharp claws that slash at the confinements of your chest, the words of love dying on the tip of your tongue as the moments hangs over your head like a gauntlet. You’ve never been so scared before, driven nearly to tears as your desperate hands grip at the material of your hoodie to ground yourself in some sort of way whilst you try to push yourself. To see this through until the very end and leave the destination unknown.

“We’ve been friends our entire lives. I don’t know anything beyond being with you and I never wanted to, and I feel like that means so much more than it did years ago,” his eyes are on you, undivided attention served on a silver platter that you turn away from, for its sincerity and shine. “Maybe, I did know deep down inside what I know now all those years ago. Like when I cried and begged for you not to leave the Pas. Or when you held my hand any chance you got when we were kids, or anytime you smiled at me really that let me know I always liked you. Maybe, even love you - I don’t know. But, what I do know is that I just couldn’t leave for Calgary without letting you know. Even if that means…”

You don’t have the heart to utter your next words, a dagger to the heart at even the possibility of losing your best friend and partner in crime. Perhaps, it isn’t worth saying - this whole grand love confession because this is a risk you’re not ready to face. However, despite your thundering heart against your bruised chest and however many times you’re second guessing yourself here, the weight lifted from your words is undeniable. An unspoken truth that had been set free, that needed to be set free - whatever the fallout may be.

A snicker snaps you out of your deep seated fears, your scattered daze settling on the view before you, one you had least expected. Connor, eyes cast away from yours as he huffs into his hands, a laugh you’re undecided where it derives from.

“…Are you laughing at me right now?” You feel awful for even asking such a ridiculous question. At the same time, you’ve just been as vulnerable as you’ve ever been in your entire life - some hesitancy is to be expected.

At your question, Connor’s huffs of delight cease and stares at you at alarm, realising his mistake. “God, no. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“You used to rub dirt on me, and now you're proclaiming your love for me,” an airy laugh puffs out of his moving chest, a mixture of disbelief and amusement painted amongst his chiselled features. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

He seems…happy? Relieved? You’re not really sure, but what you at least find peace in is that there’s no sunken look about him, no expression worn that conveys disappointment and hurt because that’s all you’d have to see to know where his heart lies.

“Good or bad?” you ask.

His eyes bounce back to yours, those same olive eyes you’ve spent years looking into, glimmer with a sparkle that you’ve yet to see and robs you of rational thinking as your heartbeat picks up the pace.

“Good,” he whispers, like it’s a secret for just the two of you - one that is small and fragile, but so special and cherished that it makes your heart squeeze. “Because, there’s no one else I’d rather be with. Not by a long shot.”

You swear you could cry, burst like a dam and drown in your tears that overflow with such joy and relief because this is it for you. So right and settled, being where you’ve always meant to be - so loved and treasured by the one person who knows you better than yourself, someone who’s seen you at your most awkward and at your worst, and loves you because he has. Because he’s seen it all and wants to spend the remainder of his life doing so, a conscious choice he makes everyday because he loves you and you love him.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up like this, limbs curled up in your lover’s lap as he cups your cheeks, rough thumb caressing the skin as his love shines through his gaze that blows his iris’ out of view. He looks so beautiful like this, unabashed and vulnerable, secure in love and what destiny holds for you. He looks at you as if you colour his skies and spin his world round and just like that, you lose yourself in him. Thread your fingers through his strands of umber brown and kiss him like you mean it. Kiss him long and hard, and with everything you have because it’s long overdue, so needed that you melt into him, lips overlapping as you taste destiny on his tongue.

The story of you and him, a tale as old as time.

[wolfytae-exe]

okay hear me OUT. beomgyu teaching an inexperienced reader how to give head and like.. reader is a natural omg 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Lawd- Stop I just got a whole plot from this alone🤭 Ima try my best to do this justice.

Genre: smut , Fluff

Pairings: Boyfriend!Beomgyu, CelibateAfab!Reader

Warnings: Oral (bg receiving), praise heavy, reader gets a little cock hungry, First time, dry humping, Handjob

Note: unedited like always 💀, the readers celibacy only umbrellas sexual intercourse and sexual acts like oral or handjobs.

Summary: in which you surprise your boyfriend with news about your abstinence.

Beomgyu is the best boyfriend you could ever ask for. You’ve been dating Beomgyu for 2 years now and not once has he begged you for anything sexual. You told him the moment you guys had your first kiss that you were completely abstinence and he gave you a warm smile and told you he was perfectly fine with it.

You were scared the lack of sex would ruin your relationship but Beomgyu showed you how patient and how loving he could be without it. You knew deep down he wanted you more than what you allowed him but he never complained, never even made a sly comment or asked for any help when he would get horny.

Beomgyu was the sweetest boy you could have ever ended up loving and you had decided months prior to March 13th, that you were going to reward him with the gift of your abstinence.

It was currently the end of Beomgyu’s birthday party, not much people had attended besides his 4 friends, and his parents who took a 3 hour subway ride from Daegu for the special day. The now 22 year olds parents had left first, wanting to get home at a reasonable time, his 4 friends, however, had decided to stay a bit longer, wanting nothing more than to tease your boyfriend about becoming old.

You were in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess you had created when you made Beomgyu his birthday dinner while the boys hung out in the living area, opening up presents they had gotten the birthday boy.

“OH MY GOD!” You heard your amazing boyfriend squeal from the open area. “Honey I have a new guitar!” Beomgyu continued over the smacks of his socked feet on the hard wood as he sped walked his way got the kitchen.

You were currently wiping down the counter but paused as he lifted the blue and white acoustic guitar up above his head with sparkling doe eyes. You eyed Beomgyu with adoration, a smile stretching onto your face as he set the guitar down to give you a small kiss on the cheek. He always avoided your lips after finding out about your celibacy, not wanting to push your boundaries.

“Thank you for this special day, Y/N.” He whispered softly before pulling you into a hug, truly happy with the day. “Of course, Gyu.” You uttered back as you ran your fingers through the hairs on the nape of his neck softly, earning a small loving hum on his end.

Soft things like this was what let you both know how strong your guys’ love was for each other. He pulled off after a bit with sparkly eyes as he went back to the other side of the counter where his newly bought guitar laid, and picked it up. You watched as he made his way back over to his 4 friends who went and teased him for being so soft.

You went back to your dishes and listened to them as Beomgyu began to strum the guitar while Taehyun sung lyrics to the sound. It was peaceful and calm for the rest of the night.

It’s was about an hour or so later now and Beomgyu’s friend had left about 30 minutes ago. Your head rested on Beomgyus lap while he played with your hair and watched TV. You both decided to rewatch ‘Strong Girl Do Bong Soon’ since it was one of the things that brought you both together, but from how late it was you were beginning to get restless with how close it was reaching midnight.

“Hey.. Beomgyu?” You spoke over the TV and peered up at him. “Yes, Honey?” Beomgyu gave you his attention almost immediately, pausing the K-drama so he could hear you better. Your heart was beating hard, you were ready but of so nervous.

Your boyfriend must have noticed your tenseness because he stopped working his fingers over your hair. “Is everything okay?”, You could hear his voice laced with concern as he lifted his hand from you, letting you sit yourself up. You gave him a firm nod before placing a shaky hand on his thigh.

Your boyfriend seemed more shocked and concerned the moment you moved your hand. “What are you doing?” He muttered as you tried to fight the shy blush that threatened to spread over your cheeks.

“I’m ready now.” You whispered softly, too shy to say it any louder.

Beomgyu heard you, however, a gasp coming out almost comically loud. “Are you sure? I know how much your celibacy means to you.” He made it known, not wanting you to regret your decision. “I’m sure, I want you to break my celibacy.” You said a bit louder, a normal speaking voice as you eyed him through your eyelashes.

Beomgyu’s breath was caught in this throat, the thought of you finally letting him love on you more than he ever has had his heart racing and a smile spreading on his face.

“Then let’s go to the bedroom.” He spoke softly before standing up and pulling you up with him.

You were excited, finally you knew you found the love of your life and you knew you were never going to regret this decision.

Was this supposed to be this awkward? You and your boyfriend were now sitting next to each other on your shared bed in silence. Beomgyu seemed too nervous to make a move on you, not wanting you to regret giving the opportunity to him. You were nervous you were pushing him to do something he was no longer comfortable doing with you.

“Gyu, dear.” You spoke, breaking the long silence and his focus on the carpet by your bedroom door. “Hm?” He hummed, lifting his attention to you. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can stay abstinent if you aren’t comfortable with this.” You turned your body towards him. That was enough to make Beomgyus eyes widen.

“No of course not, I want this too! I just never really thought I’d have this moment with you.” He mutters the last part before scooting closer to you. Slowly he leaned his face to yours. “Y/N, can I kiss you?” He asked softly against you lips. Your face was hot, the feeling of his lips right over yours giving you butterflies like all those years ago.

With a hand placed on your heart to keep it from completely beating out your chest you muttered your words of consent. “yes.” And with that Beomgyu was caressing your cheek before cupping your jaw and pulling you in. The kiss was soft, slow, and sensual, Beomgyu was taking his time with you as you tried to follow his rhythm, your lips melded together, moving as one as he let a tongue dart over your bottom lip.

You let a small hun escape before opening your mouth a bit, he followed, the now open mouthed kiss started to make your stomach turn, the anxiety causing you to tremble as his tongue moved into your mouth. Your hands moved to his shoulder, trying to keep yourself grounded while he licked and sucked at your tongue.

Eventually he pulled away with a pant, catching his breath as he eyed your swollen wet lips. “Was that okay?” He panted as he resisted the urge to go back in. You could only nod before you were making a move back, planting a kiss onto his lips a couple times before starting the make out session again.

Your hands slowly relaxed, pulling him in for more. You were beginning to get lost in him, the kiss grew messy and heated fast as climbed onto his lap to get a better angle into the kiss. You could feel his hands begin to roam, finally growing comfortable with the acts he was committing with you.

His hands found purchase on your hips, keeping you still on his lap before rutting you down on him, the feeling left you startled, you clit which never gotten disturbed unless you heard Beomgyu having his fill on pleasure before bed, throbbed at the feeling of his surprisingly hard cock rubbing so foreignly against it.

You pulled off, gasping a moan as you chased for him to do it again. Beomgyu simply smiled as he dragged you against him once again. “Gyu-“ You panted as you practically pushed against his hands, dry humping against him embarrassingly. “Baby if you make yourself cum, I won’t be able to show you how much I love you.” Beomgyu chuckled before placing open mouth kisses on your neck, sucking hickeys as he let you rut against him the a bitch in heat.

Your underwear stuck to you under your shorts as the throbbing in your clit intensified, at some point it was too much and you stopped, whimpering at the uncontrollable angry pulses coming from your heat. “Honey you should take it slow.” Beomgyu hummed, he didn’t really feel anything in your rutting due to his jeans blocking your self-indulging activities.

You let out a small “okay..” before climbing off his lap. Beomgyu smiled at your fucked out expression before grabbing a pillow and throwing it at your feet. “I’ll show you how to give me some pleasure okay?” He asked and unzipped his jeans once you nodded, getting onto your knees when you realized where this was going.

Beomgyu pulled his jeans off and tossed it onto the floor without a second thought. He scooted himself off the bed a bit and you sat yourself up, your face level with his crotch now. “Wanna make me feel good baby?” he asked with a whisker smile as he pet you on the top of your head. You let out a whine, watching his hard cock through his boxers, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good.

“Go ahead.” Beomgyu spoke before resting a hand behind him to keep him steady as he leaned back. He wanted to see what your first move would be. Your hands fell straight to his boxers, looking up to see if it was okay as you palmed his balls lightly. When he let out a hum, fighting the want to buck into your hand you took it as a sign to keep going.

Slowly your hands were replaced with small kisses, you fought the thought of pushing your face into him and just sniffing him until it made your nose bleed, he smelt so good. Beomgyu’s underwear was wet by time you pulled away spots of saliva staining the outline of his cock has he held his lips in between his teeth.

More impatient than him, you pulled his boxers off, flinching when he cock sprung from the fabric and almost smacked you in the face. Beomgyu could help but snicker, finding you nothing but cute. You pouted, embarrassed, but Beomgyu simply leaned in. “I’ll help you.” He muttered before grabbing your hand. You let him direct you. Watching as he made you fist his cock, holding him at the base.

Beomgyu then wrapped his hand against yours. “Look at our hands, Honey.” He spoke louder before dragging both your hands up to his wet tip and back down, coating your hand and his cock in pre-cum. “fuck”, You heard him gasp before moving a bit faster, you were flustered, He was fucking himself with your hand, driving himself mad with the way your fingers closed in on his tip.

“T-The tip-“ He panted to you before letting go, wanting you to explore his body on your own. You allowed your hands to move, staying on his tip as you rotated your wrist a bit. You were unsure of your movements until you heard your boyfriend let out a guttural moan, the sound going straight to your cunt.

Your hands quickened and slowed, moving in a pattern. Beomgyu was honestly pretty shocked with how good you were making him feel. He couldn’t help but sink his teeth into his bottom lip to reduce his moans to whimpers, unable to keep fully quiet, especially when you stopped all movements and leaned into his hard cock, planting a small kiss on his red leaking tip.

Without a second thought Beomgyus hand moved to your head, running his fingers through your hair gently. “Please…” He begged under his breath at the feeling of your face so close to him.

You peeked up at him through your eyelashes. Was he always this beautiful? “Dunno how.” You muttered softly before moving back into his hand, face moving farther from his cock reluctantly.

“I can show you.” He panted, leaning back now. “You can start slow, a few licks. You think you can lick my cock, doll?” He asked, attempting to not buck in your hand that never left his cock. You gave a feverish nod before leaning back in, licking hesitantly at his tip. The salty taste had you go back in, more sure of your actions now.

“Fuck, just like that Honey, you’re so good to me.” Beomgyu panted as you warmed up to sucking on his cock, keeping him in between your lips away from you teeth. Beomgyu was astonished, he’s had blowjobs before but, this was so much more overwhelming than the ones he’s had, granted that was in college and late highschool but that’s besides the point.

Beomgyu could help but buck into your mouth as your tongue pressed flat over his shaft, causing you to gag over him. Your throat closed over him before allowing him to slip back out for you to cough. Tears sprung into your eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

“I’m sorry-“ Beomgyu panted before leaning closer and checking on you. “I didn’t hurt you right?” He asked, nerves racking him silently. “I’m okay.” You whispered, throat clenching if you spoke a bit louder. With a clear of your throat you pushed your hand against his abdomen and pushed him to lean back onto his hands before going back down on him.

Beomgyu couldn’t help but let out a moan at the feeling of your tongue digging into his slit before you took him deep into your mouth. Almost like brushing your tongue in the morning you paused half way and focused on breathing through your nose.

The moment your breathing felt normal you moved, pushing down with your tongue flattened around his cock until you felt him nearing the back of your throat. You peeked up at him as he grabbed your hair, fighting the urge to pulling your head up and down his cock.

His eyes were half open, mouth opened with his teeth clenched as he sucked in shallow breaths. You let out a hum, pleased with yourself for making him this way. Beomgyus mouth fell completely open as he cussed. “Fuck- do that again- please Honey, feels good.” He begged, fingers burrowed into your scalp.

You obliged, humming as you bobbed your head up and down. Quickly you got a reaction. Moans and groans reaching your ears as you kept your hand on his abdomen, keeping him in his spot while you pulled his arousal out of him. His cock twitched as he noticed the spit running over your cheek and chin.

You pulled off with a gasp, using your hand to keep the pleasure going over his tip. “So good- Y/N oh- oh god.” Your boyfriend rambled, racked with pleasure. You were happy you could give him the pleasure he longed from you for so long. Your patient, loving boyfriend, even in this situation he’s praising you.

You began to plant kisses on his inner thigh, still jerking him off. Your kisses melted into his skin as you dragged up to his cock again, licking a long stripe from his balls to the tip before taking him whole again.

“Please- close- Im close Y/N” beomgyu panted with a whimper to your name. You happily kept going, hollowing your cheeks and sucking until you felt his abdomen constrict and his cock twitch. Beomgyu was quick to pull you off before cumming with a raspy groan. Cum spurting out in long creamy white strings before coating his lower abdomen and thighs.

You watched in awe as his arousal shook through him, leaving him whimpering and gasping. You rubbed you thighs together in need, wanting nothing more than to feel the same pleasure he did. With a small whine you crawled up onto the bed, planting a kiss to his lips.

Beomgyu chased you lips slightly, getting another peck out of you before a breathy “I love you” Left his lips. You were soaking wet, your heat begging for him. “I love you too” You uttered back as you’re stripped off your shorts and underwear. Slowly you crawled onto his lap, rutting down on his thighs. You were too scared to put his dick in you so humping would have to work for now.

Baby steps, you told yourself as you humped against him with your wet cunt. His cum mixed with your arousal which caused a nice slick feeling over your cunt, letting you feel nothing but pleasure the whole time until you eventually shook with it. You were going to stop again, overwhelmed with the feeling like before but Beomgyus hands snapped to your waste. “Chase it, Honey. You can’t stop you got to catch it.” He spoke softly to you.

You let out a whine, feeling too sensitive to keep going. “Gotta stop- too much-“ You panted, trying to hold through either way. “Look at me.” He whispered, grinding you down harder. Your eyes peered open to his, your eyes glistening at the overstimulation. “You’re okay, I got you.” He reassured before tensing his leg under you.

Your face fell into his shoulder, nodding into it before practically screaming in pleasure, the build up of your orgasm ripping through you hard. Your thighs squeezed around his as he continued to ride you through the pleasure. The slickness double with the mixture of your juices and cum.

Once the pleasure subsided you whimpered, feeling tired and over sensitive. “Good girl, you did it.” Your boyfriend whispered praise into your ear before laying you down onto the bed. “I’ll be right back, don’t fall asleep just yet.” He spoke before planting a kiss on your forehead and walking off to the bathroom.

You were dizzy, your ears still ringing and your limbs tingled. You felt happy. With your celibacy broken you just knew your sex life was in good hands with the one you loved, maybe you both would take it to the next level and try vaginal.

“Okay, Im here Honey. I’m going to clean you off” Beomgyu spoke a bit loud, now clean and in a change of clothes. You just hummed as he began to wipe you down, cleaning the mixed cum from your folds and the spit from your hands and face.

“My beautiful girl” He muttered, watching as you drifted to sleep. “I love you” He continued before tucking you under the sheets. With one last kiss to the cheek he walked off to clean the living room and washcloth.

“I love you too” Came from the covers.

[zmb1eslut]

Masterlist

Luke Castellan singing a birthday song for Dionysus!reader.

gn!reader but the song talks in fem.

warnings: swearing.

Agreed, birthday parties were the second worst kind of parties, just after baby showers, and just as long as they're yours. But even the worst party was still a party and dam you loved those.

Maybe a bit of the attention too.

So it kinda sucked that after putting on your special person suit you got to face a normal routine where no one cared more than the occasional "happy birthday". It was just going to be normal thursday.

Except for Luke, apparently. He entered the dining pavilion at exactly 8:12 AM while you were just sitting down with your breakfast. He had a microphone, connected to a sort of boombox that he just left somewhere in the floor when Charlie came with a guitar and handed it to him.

Saturday mornin' jumped outta bed.

You instantly cringed. Luke didn't even knew how to play guitar (He learnt those chords just for you).

And put my best suit

He even looked so smug about it, looking down at his literally every day clothes.

Got in my car and raced like a jet.

Fuck, he made eye contact with you. You instantly turned around to the side, finding your father on the process, who seemed rather annoyed with the live show. But slowly you couldn't help but look again at his dorky act.

All the way to you.

No. Stop. Stay the fuck there. He was literally walking straight to you. Charlie following him now with the boombox and everyone looking, not quite making fun of him, not quite impressed about it all.

He put his hand on the Dionysus table, and then it dawned on you.

Knocked on your door with heart on my hand.

He wasn't walking towards you.

To ask you a question.

Your godly parent wished, for a moment, he had perished more than centuries ago, afar from the torturous instances that immortality day to day proved to offer.

He groaned and drowned his face on both his palms.

'Cause I know you are an old fashioned man.

There was something about a shameless idiot being able to have such a characteristically attractive smirk on him while performing the most humiliating act of his life, and taking you on his ride with no agreement of sny sort.

Oh, shit. Please don't.

He got on the fucking table.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?

You could no longer fight it, you started to smile. You could no longer pretend you weren't listening to this song when you were 12, envy of the fact someone loved that way, maybe even hoping to be understood some day. You couldn't pretend you never felt as special as being completely socially annihilated by the cutest swordsman on camp.

Say yes. Say yes, 'cause I need to know.

He was actually really playing into the teenage pop-rockstar choreography and expression, as if it wasn't a terribly sung acoustic cover.

You say I'll never get your blessing 'til the day I die.

Maybe you also loved knowing his reputation was way to good for your father to actually be able to took it out on him and give him a lesson for ruining his morning.

Tough luck my friend but the answer is no!

Some people started to laugh, some people started to cheer him.

Until he stopped, and crouched to give the guitar to Charlie, who handed him the microphone.

"I couldn't learn the chorus for the life of me"

And he played the karaoke version.

Why you gotta be so rude?

Don't you know I'm human too?

Why you gotta be so rude?

I'm gonna marry her anyway.

It was funny in a way because Luke was... not even your boyfriend, or friend for that matter, just a sort of a pleasant stranger. He just greeted you sometimes, helped you a bit on your archery class. He'll sometimes tie your shoes when you didn't wanna bend down, or gave you notes when you were rehearsing for a play. Probably the closer you ever got were those times he would just purposefully mess up your hair when you were chatting with your friends and maybe that one time he... Oh.

I hate to do this, you leave no choice, can’t live without you.

And that's when he finally stopped bothering Mister D, right before looking at you and freezing you on a childish emotion.

Love me or hate me, we will be both standin’ at that altar.

It didn't felt much like a threat. Not even when he pulled you a little closer.

Or we will run away to another galaxy, you know.

Can we? fucking brown eyes taking the best of you.

You know that I am so in love with you, I'll go anywhere you go.

And you realized that's not even how the song goes, before he twirled you around.

Can I just be honest? Have a speck of your time?

Say yes. Say yes. Promise I'll be good.

'Cause really I feel you takin every bit of my mind.

And I must say, I think that it's love.

And he stopped singing, the music kept running for a couple counts more before Charlie turned it off. You were just looking at each other, him being considerably more nervous than you, though he did tried to hide it and you not quite so.

Your silence went for too long and he had to break it first.

"Happy birthday?"

And that made you laugh before you caught him on a giddy hug of excitement. He looked at Charlie from over your shoulder, he couldn't believe that shit actually worked.

[mahuhumaling]

JATP Season 2 Wishlist

that i wrote in my notes app back in:

and realized i never posted it here? tbf i'm rarely on tumblr. but because i really miss them rn i want to share my ✨ brainrot ✨ that i had back when i thought they were getting a renewal.

Carrie Wilson

she was my biggest flaw in Season 1. I wish her "redemption arc" is fleshed out more in Season 2; give her either more context & backstory to validate her reason for unnecessarily antagonizing Julie, or screentime to properly address how she's just projecting an emotion completely different into bitterness and anger into Julie's recovery

show particularly her earlier dynamic w/ Flynn and Julie? Maybe as Flynn calls her out, we'd get flashback glimpses prior to Rose's death (maybe even Double Trouble temporarily being Triple Threat 👉🏽👈🏽)

for some reason i'm picturing a scene where she's in her dance studio (she has one in their mansion, of course) practicing some of her Dirty Candy routine when she keeps messing up and not in the right mindset to keep dancing. i feel like the best (maybe easiest but whatever) way to guide the audience into her artist mind is to make her be a perfectionist. in frustration, she blows up for a minute before slumping onto the ground and reminisces her fun times with Julie & Flynn

also when you have her develop, please don't make her lose her femininity and the bubblegum pop music, it's great

Old Songs Resurfacing

it'll prove how detailed & thorough you are as a screenwriter if you pay off the songs mentioned in Season 1 in passing to be actual songs in Season 2

Unreleased: Get Lost, Long Weekend, Crooked Teeth, My Name is Luke, and if that riff from the scene in EP. 5 that spurred on the Bobby reveal isn't from one of these songs, add that too

Demo Album: Late Last Night, Lakeside Reflection, In Your Starlight

Willex

imagine your queer couple gets to have their first kiss first than your het main couple, not only will that settle Madi & Charlie's statements about being uncomfortable in doing a kissing scene and maintaining the priority of Juke's emotional over physical relationship, it would also make an powerful statement

Reggie's Character Arc

i know that he initially had an arc that involved a romance with Flynn but because of the ages of who they casted, they scrapped it and didn't have time to rewrite the scripts for him as filming neared, so they have time to adapt to how jeremy portrayed him for season 2: a lovable dork who craves familial love

since there's a possibility that lifers can now see the boys, maybe some found family trope for Reggie and Ray Molina?

he has pretty much formed a parasocial relationship with him at this point

so why not instead of a love interest, Reggie can have his character arc develop & we see his family before thru flashbacks and paralleling those in the current times because he sees Ray as a father figure

picture this: it's raining, Bobby opens the garage door to the sound of knocking, the boys find Reggie soaking wet and out of breath when he tries to say he doesn't know where else to go then the boys immediately figure out another fight in the Peters household happened. Reggie tries to talk again when Alex (because even though they're the airhead-sarcastic duo, they know they love each other) runs up to hug him and tells the other he doesn't have to say anything

cut to a freshly showered Reggie, quietly watching tv with Bobby, Luke, and Alex in the garage, eating whatever

also a solo acoustic country song, pls. just to make him happy

The Aftermath of the Deaths

for both the boys and Rose

we get parallels about how Bobby dealt with trauma and grief to Julie

like, the reason why the clothes are still in there (are to have costume changes for the boys) is because Bobby immediately moved out of the house (therefore also the garage) and left the clothes there because he couldn't bear to burn it, or visit the boys' houses to break the news to their families and return the clothes, or donate it somewhere so he just...left it. it would make for a more solid reason (for costume changes) and an emotional context as to how Bobby really tried to forget them because it was "easier."

it would also make sense why Carrie and Julie ended up friends. Rose probably was there for Bobby when they discovered what happened at the alleyway, so they stayed friends over the years and had their respective families but still kept in touch, (bonus points if absolutely nothing romantic happened between them! yay to normalizing platonic male-female relationships) and why Rose would immediately think of Bobby's three late bandmates to send for Julie when she was on her deathbed

Bobby never really "moved on" (because grief is a really complex thing). it's showed that he has a therapist and everything, and this could definitely have some aftereffects on his daughter. Carrie growing up seeing her father be this amazing rockstar but a negligent father and only showing love in ways she doesn't need (like riches and fame and connections to the music industry) because he's actually a really lonely man on the inside and no one can see that except for Bobby's spouse and Carrie. it'd explain why Carrie is spoiled, and other negative character traits that Carrie has on the surface

it's even why Bobby changed his name to Trevor: 1) Bobby is so closely associated to Sunset Curve and it's an absolute pain to be reminded of that every day, 2) it's a stage name and artists really do get that

More Worldbuilding

they already had some pretty creative concepts/ideas in the first season, so why not expand/expound on them a bit more

the instruments are attached to their souls that's why the boys at first can only touch them, like how Willie's skateboard and helmet are attached to him

which is why when they attach themselves to the world of the present, they gather up energy and focus on touching tangible things like the picture frame

this may follow the logic toward the end where they are finally able to touch Julie because she has become attached to their souls. emotionally.

More Creative Collaboration

i believe in the principle that when a story is finally released/published/told to the world, the world shares it. this is also visible in film/tv where when the scripts are finished and actors receive them, the story becomes part of theirs to work on. which means that they have some sort of autonomy over their characters' motivations, a chance to be heard of their ideas and pitches, and why some certain scenes wouldn't work, etc etc. it doesn't just become the director's story nor the screenwriters'.

the actors' ideas such as Perfect Harmony and their solos from Nothing to Lose are great because they let them in. they took risks, and it paid off incredibly well. more of that please. have them be a part of the writing process, (also the story), but never forget what made the music production great in the first place. be coherent and don't be like others that let too many hands work on one piece—it will lose its sound, its identity.

Julie Knowing

that Nick is possessed by Caleb. ohmygOD. hear me out.

the same S1 ending will play somewhere in 2x01, but it will be revealed that Julie was watching through the window the entire time and when she opens the door to receive the flowers, that last look she gives him is actually her scheming.

determined to get Nick back, imagine The Promised Neverland's level of mindgames Julie could play with Caleb because we already know our girl's smart

Free Willie Willie's Freedom

since the boys feel indebted to Willie's help, they insist on helping him too with getting rid of Caleb's stamp

maybe through his connection with Alex? or maybe Willie's family or friends who are still lifers (which is unlikely but either way). he needs to be saved !!

Song Sequences Ideas

juke counter melody duet like Rini's "Even When/The Best Part," Shane & Mitchie's "Wouldn't Change a Thing," or dodie & Jon Cozart's "a love song/a non love song"

emotional carrie ballad paired with lyrical hiphop choreo

willex song - i absolutely have no idea where this could go directionally but maybe alex on an acoustic guitar with a really soft sweet tune

reprises of S1 songs but in the complete opposite of their original style (the fandom's lonelier All Eyes on Me version, i see u)

nick guitar solo - just because Sacha actually plays, idk how it'd fit in to the plot yet but hey

Nothing to Lose (Reprise) - back in the '90s, a producer manipulates Bobby to sign a record deal to become a star but on one condition: disassociate himself with Sunset Curve, to which he first declines until he slowly gets persuaded. (sort of like Todrick Hall's So Lucky to Be You meets Lyn Lapid's Producer Man)

"So how about it, Bobby Shaw? Do we have a deal?"

"Trevor."

"I'm sorry?"

"Call me Trevor Wilson."

i'm pretty sure someone made an animatic with this idea too but i cannot for the life of me find it !!

7. Season 2 starts the same way as Season 1 does before the opening song plays

Black screen that reads a text "Hollywood 1995"

a pan down to the Orpheum's overhead sign that reads "SUNSET CURVE SOLD OUT"

cut to the interior with Rose finishing up her cleaning when a stage manager calls out: "Sunset Curve!" to which Bobby abruptly stops his pacing back and forth to look up. he and Rose look at each other. music swells until...

cut to him running onto the alleyway, "are they still not finished eating? those gluttons are dead to me i swear—" he cuts off his own words when he sees the boys getting dragged onto stretchers. but we, the audience, don't see it. just a close up of bobby as the ambulance lights reflects his face. rose comes up behind him, still clutching their t-shirt.

[i honestly have no idea if Bobby should get on stage because it just proves Luke's theory of The Orpheum's opening bands eventually becoming big & successful so it'll explain the Trevor Wilson fame even though at first he only did it for the boys, or if he shouldn't because according to the article Julie googled he ran away immediately after they were pronounced in the scene] but either way, this is how the opening starts.

then it progresses to Rose and Bobby respectively having children so they could parallel each other blah blah

8. Julie plays a simple song on the piano while the guys watch her in awe

Storytelling through Props

let's dive deep into Rose's luggage/suitcase and use the props to head for Julie's emotional attachment with them

they already did it with the wardrobe: Rose wears the black leather vest in the pilot while Julie wears the same thing in EP 6

add depth to the characters' relationships like us finding out Julie's multilayered necklace is actually a gift from Carrie or something

SOYON ANN YOU'RE A GIFT FROM GOD. Bobby's necklace is present in both young and old!him

**Rose in flashback scenes should be wearing clothes we've already seen Julie in Season 1 just for greater effect.

The Bobby Conflict

definitely needs to be brought up again by Season 2; they only discarded somewhere in the middle because more pressing matters like the boys' existence blipping away was pushed to the forefront of the story

however, The Bobby Conflict changes. it'll be cleared up that he was offered a record deal as a solo artist by a manipulative producer. and given that the poor boy is only 17 (too, maybe), he agrees. what he doesn't know is the contract's fine print: giving up Sunset Curve's royalties

that information clears it up to the audience and the band, so the conflict becomes this: Bobby's Survivor's Guilt. god wouldn't that be so good tackling that in a kids'/family show.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

Your post apocalyptic Hobie thing may have sparked my dormant need to write a fic about him

Penny for your thoughts? More hc’s??

These are just the ones that pop into my head right away so they might not be 'brilliant' but -

Hobie is no doubt a master of booby traps. His base his and stops are covered in them.

Nothing too dangerous, but things like trip wires connected to strung-up cans that make noise, cages that cage in zombies or intruders, etc.

It shows off his engineering skill, and it's just one of the many precautious he has around - wouldn't want anyone sneaking up on him right?

Post-Apoc Hobie plays an acoustic guitar, because electric guitars require amps and electricity. But his acoustic guitar is just as beat up and sticker-covered.

LOVES canned beans (because they're popular in Britain lol)

Loves taking in stray animals that aren't zombified.

This included his coup full of messenger pigeons, that helps him communicate with other survivors.

He also repairs old radios, and tries to air broadcasts with he can, contacting other survivors.

He collects old CDs and Vinyls he finds at stores. They take up precious energy from the generator, but it reminds him of a time when things hadn't gone to complete shit.

He squatted in Buckingham Palace at one point, tearing up all the expensive stuff and turning it into things he could use for survival (and also messing with the dead royals' shit)

He has A LOT of rock climbing equipment, like chalk and hooks and rope, to help him climb over the destruction

Like, he's REALLY good at 'urban rock climbing'

There were state sanctioned underground bunkers for police, military, and their friends. Eventuall, even these got zombified at one point -

He met Post-Apoc!Gwen in one of these bunkers. Her dad had become zombified, and he had came to her rescue.

He's great at first aid - that came before the whole shitshow, back when he helped protestors that protested the human trials that would turn into the science-lab-mishap that started the whole apocalypse.

He makes his punk jewlery out of found things - like soda tabs, scrap metal, etc.

He openly feels bad about killing zombies, and he'll reveal this - only if he's close with you. He still recognizes they were once humans. He doesn't enjoy it that much - though it can be cathartic

He will always take any book he can. He stook piles them, says that they're worth saving for the future generations.

He also does this with medicine, breaking into labs and old colleges in hopes of finding old samples and a potential cure'

These are just random ones I have off the top of my head - they may not be much, but yeah :))))

I LOVE HIM

[earthstellar]

it is time to be old on the internet: TFP Ratchet's hatred of 2010 era human tech is hilarious

every time Ratchet complains about shitty human technology in TFP, it's so funny to me, that shit is so good

because, I mean, I grew up with the first computer in my house being a fucking Tandy 1000, which to be fair wasn't exactly the hottest model even then, but still LMAO

the first modem I ever messed with as a kid was the wood box phone receiver type, the acoustic coupler ones, which was my dad's, and he only had it because his job at a local university meant he could borrow one from their tech lab (so we didn't technically own it)

if I remember correctly, the one we had ran at 300 baud, which was fucking amazing for such a set up at the time. slightly later AOL dial up looked like lightning speed compared to that shit.

my first chat rooms were BBS/Usenet (whenever I could connect) and IRC chats. now everyone has Discord and I still don't understand how that shit works lmao but that's more of a me problem and less of an age problem, I think

we got dial up (in the "modern" sense of it being AOL dial up service with the infamous hell noises) in my household in 1994, back when it was pretty much a brand new thing (at least for AOL), and I remember the Eternal September Usenet rush, lmao

imagine if TFP took place in the 80s/90s, oh my god

(I'm assuming TFP takes place in roughly 2010 because that's when the show premiered, and Miko has some kind of Razr-inspired flip phone, so if we assume it's supposed to be based on the first model of Razr, then at the earliest that places the show in 2004)

Ratchet would have gone completely insane with old school internet capable consumer level human tech

Ratchet: "How do I look at photos on this monitor?"

80s Raf: "what"

Ratchet: "what"

oh god now I want an 80s/90s TFP AU so fucking bad. imagine 80s Raf. it's so good

oh god, IMAGINE 90s RAF. just getting traumatised by terrifying shitty mid-90s FMV horror games. this poor boy. but imagine his hype when the PS1 would come out in the USA in 1995. the hype would be so fucking real. lmao

also for those of you who are Younger and Blessed With Good Internet From An Early Age, if you want a good idea of old school internet shit, go ahead and watch WarGames (1983) and look up 2600 Magazine and Mondo 2000 if you don't already know about those.

(personally I consider WarGames and Hackers (1995) to be the two best simultaneously dumbest and best movie depictions of computer bullshit in their respective eras, although Hackers was more of a thing that informed cyber culture after it released rather than reflecting actual hacker culture as it was at that exact time but anyway, please watch them if you have not seen them already, you will love this shit lmao)

I assume almost all of you already know about this stuff, but just in case, I want to mention it. those two movies are really good. lol

anyway, Ratchet dealing with early internet. early shitty human tech. or at least the 90s shit. imagine Ratchet having to listen to the fucking dial up screeching. the kids having to look through geocities webrings to see if any images of the bots had been leaked on any conspiracy websites. just 10/10 lmaooo

"I hate talking to machines" Ratchet, buddy, you have NO IDEA how bad it could have been!!!

anyway I'm old, I guess that's the point of this post LOL

[cowboysandpilots]

Selling Your Childhood for a Guitar.

(This is based on a Boy Meets World episode because I've been rewatching and I forgot how much I love them. ❤️)

One thing that Eddie has always been good at is getting in trouble. He couldn't sit still and couldn't keep himself from talking back to teachers or cops or... anyone really. It wasn't just when he was a teenager, either.

It's not like he tries to mess stuff up; it's just that he doesn't always think things through. Like, when he was eleven, Eddie tried to make some extra money to buy his very first guitar. It would just be a cheap acoustic, but Eddie knew it would be a good starter, and at least he could learn to play with Jeff and Gareth. He asked the neighbour in the trailer just across from theirs if they had any jobs Eddie could do for a little extra cash. Luckily for him, they said they had these new, well, new to them, wooden shutters that could use a fresh coat of paint. Eddie started right away; he had his eyes on a secondhand acoustic that would run up about $100; it was still a lot for an 11-year-old kid, but Eddie had always been determined; he even borrows Wayne's paint sprayer so he can get it done faster.

He sets each of the shutters up against the trailer and gets to work, spraying each of them as evenly as he can, even going the extra mile to add two coats more coats. The neighbour comes out to inspect Eddie's work once he's all done, and Wayne makes his way out of their trailer just a few moments later.

After the neighbour is done inspecting the shutters, he smiles down at Eddie. "Well, Mr. Munson, I must confess, I'm pleasantly surprised. Your first foray into the workforce is a rousing success. You completed your task ahead of schedule, and with a modicum of skill."

Eddie makes a face as the man starts counting out his money. He doesn't understand half the words the old guy says, and Eddie thinks he uses way too many big words to be living here, but Wayne saves him from saying anything that might get his money taken back by walking out with a smile.

"Kid did okay, huh?"

Eddie grins proudly up at his uncle with the money clutched in a tight fist. "Three coats, like you said…and they don't even stick or anything. See, Wayne, this work stuff is a piece of cake. Nothing to it. I may just start up my own business."

Wayne must admit that he's pretty proud of his boy for all that he did; it's short-lived, however, when he pulls the shutters one by one away from the trailer and sees that the paint has gone through them and striped their home a sickly green colour.

"Well, got to go. First band practice is gonna be starting, starting real soon. Gotta go. See ya." He starts to walk away, but Wayne turns and holds onto the back of his shirt, gently pulling him back. Eddie looks a little sheepish. "I'm not getting that guitar today, am I?"

It takes Eddie days of painting, and he's still not done covering the mess he made. He's never been more tired or missed out on more fun in his entire eleven years, and he doesn't stop himself from falling back into the grass with an overexaggerated groan. He stays like that until Wayne makes his way out to check on him.

"What's going on, son?"

"Overworked, stress-related injury." Eddie sighs dramatically, and Wayne has to hold back his chuckle as he helps the boy up. "Shutter marks still showed after one coat. Had to borrow from Jeff's allowance to buy paint for a second coat. I worked two days, painted sixteen shutters and a trailer. Know how much money I made? I owe eight bucks." He sighs, utterly defeated.

Wayne rustles the kid's buzzcut and smiles. "Welcome to adulthood, kid. Now, why don't you go play with your friends?"

"I can't. I never made enough for that guitar."

Wayne just smiles again and dips into the trailer before coming back out, holding a child guitar by the neck, watching the way Eddie's eyes light up. It was the exact one he had wanted from the shop. "I bet you can still make it with a few hours before dinner if you run."

Eddie immediately reaches for the guitar but then catches a glimpse at their ruined trailer again. "Isn't it my responsibility to fix the trailer? I wrecked it."

Wayne's face softens. "I think your first responsibility is to stay eleven years old as long as you can."

—

(Hi, I'm glad you made it here. I would really appreciate it if you could hit reblog and maybe think about supporting me on Kofi? It would mean a lot. Thanks for reading 🥰)

[sweepseven]

Cirque du Soleil Alegría In a New Light review

So far the kindest thing I've done for myself in 2024 was go all the way to London to see this show. What a lovely, desperately needed reset. No need to linger on the preamble because team: this show continues to be damn near perfect. It felt like a true gift to be there. There are three total changes I would make if it were to suit me perfectly. Just three. That's insane. For comparison I love Ka with all my heart but I'd make probably fifty changes if given the opportunity. The three I'd make are:

Less clown time (though I swear the reason is different from my usual clown complaints)

Replace duo adagio

Reinstate Valsajoïa, the single greatest original song Cirque has produced since probably 2016. Possibly even 2008.

So let's talk about those three, and also the other one million reasons this is Cirque's greatest show in nearly 20 years.

Preshow animation: My friend and I had a time getting to Royal Albert Hall on time so I didn't get to soak in everything to quite the extent that I prefer to before a show starts, but the moment I walked in my guess that this show in this setting was the most perfect pair imaginable was validated. I don't think I'm even being biased because it's so recent - I genuinely think the only set that could maybe suit this theatre better is Quidam. The crown of the stage disappeared into the darkness above, creating an astounding sense of immersion and scale, and even the iconic mushroom acoustic diffusers look like they belonged to the set. The rigging was a delight to see too - I'm always fascinated by how they adapt the rigging to adjust for the lack of pylons. It wasn't as cozy as a Grand Chapiteau, of course, but the audience is so dense and extends so high, and the entire setting is so elegant, that the size and scope were a perfect match.

The animation itself was Fleur messing around with the Old Birds. Pretty unremarkable. He didn't shout Alegria! like in the original show, but then again I'm not sure I remember him doing it back in 2019 either. Bring it baaaack, it's iconiiiic.

Opening: Gonna confess up front that I was in tears for the duration of Mirko. The current singer duo, Sarah Menesse and Cassía Raquel, are incredible in every way. I'll talk more about them further down but it bears stating now that I was in shambles within the first five seconds. Details I never want to forget: the silhouette of the Nymphs' wings behind the curtain; the sharp, prim, yet commanding presence of the White Singer on the right side. I was completely taken by her in four notes.

Acro poles: This was a strong act five years ago and I think it's only grown tighter with time! This show wastes no time on ceremony and dives right into the action, which is a fun contrast between the old and new versions. The original made a grand show of parading and presenting the different factions. Here it's more bam here are the Aristocrats, bam here are the Bronx real quick, now everyone out of the way, we're getting right to it. Where the original was the story of forcibly overthrowing an old order, this one respects the structure of the past while willingly - if cautiously - making way for the future. This act does a very good job of illustrating that. The Aristocrats look like a fun, if slightly catty bunch! You almost want to be one... until you meet the Bronx.

Cyr wheel: I completely forgot Rinalto Vera is back for this act. I had only just recovered from Mirko and then this fucking song starts and I'm beside myself all over again. This is the kind of thing that makes me hold onto faith that the old Cirque is still in there somewhere - this, the musical refs to La Nouba in Drawn to Life... they know how to respect their old shows! When they bother, they do it beautifully! I only wish they treated their new creations with the same respect and care they pay to their golden era.

Anyway Ghislain Ramage is the only person I want to see on a cyr wheel ever again. I saw him work magic in Kooza and that was without the deliberate weight that comes from a non-rotational act. Something about him seems impossible - like he's too tall to be that lithe and fluid, or that you couldn't possibly evoke so much emotion from a cyr wheel act. He does. Every moment of it was mesmerizing.

It's the nitpickiest thing I could possibly say, but I do think something is lost in not having this act performed by an Old Bird or Aristocrat. Though since the mirror imagery of the original wasn't brought over to IANL, I suppose it's not completely necessary. Still. That was an element that really brought an inimitable quality to the original act and I wished there was an analog in this version. It could very well have made it the best act in the entire show. Yes, the entire show, which is crazy because you already know how I feel about.......

Duo trapeze: Fuck me, people. This act. It's a wonder I can be relied upon to behave rationally because it. is. utter. perfection. The only thing that holds me in my seat is the fear that if I move or blink I'll miss a split-second. I forgot the White Singer was onstage because I was too busy watching. That is fucking unheard of. My hands were clasped over my heart. I was beaming in awe the entire time. No other artist has had the particular effect Nicolai Kuntz has on me. Fucking this?? That relaxed, cross-legged on a goddamn trapeze gazing in admiration? That is shit designed to kill me. That is fucking lethal.

Anyway the skill level in this act is exquisite from both Nicolai and Roxane - another perfect act that has somehow grown more perfect with time. And what I love most about it is that though although they're a duo, although the song is called Querer, although the entire point is that they're impossibly aligned, it still feels just shy of romantic. The love being expressed here is not specifically for one another, but for flight itself, and the joy of sharing it with someone who understands. I might be projecting, since this act feels like a live illustration of my personal love for trapeze, but they have never seemed like lovers to me. More perfectly kindred spirits, and it serves the act beautifully.

Fire knife dance: Excellent! Impossibly high energy! The crowd adored it! We had one drop, which I've never seen in a fire act, but the artist handled it with fun and grace. There is nothing negative to be said for this act, but I can't not mention how exceptional Tuione Tovo was. Holding that against this artist feels like a teacher never giving A+s because "there's always something better." But there really was something undefinable in Tuione's energy and smile that isn't quite here.

Aerial straps: How many times can I say "a perfect act has become yet more perfect"? I've seen a lot of straps acts, people. Like, too many. I have immense respect for the discipline so it's not hard to impress me, but it's quite difficult to surprise me. There is a drop to ankles in this act that surprised me. I gasped. This act looks at every other romantic straps duo act and says "ok amateurs." The little smooch had the audience in raptures. The snow is used to better effect than the world deserves. It's just exquisite.

Hoops: I know Elena Lev is the queen, but I think this artist might actually be better! And she's so young! She's got her whole career ahead of her! This is probably the best hoops act Cirque has going for it right now, and that's really saying something. She does the "spin like fifteen hoops" thing better than I think I've ever seen anyone do it. Her control over her apparatus is unmatched.

Powertrack: OOO-EE! POWERTRAAAAACK. Top five act in the show right here, and it would earn that position through energy alone. And it's got a fuck ton going on for it besides. Every trick is massive. Every one is executed with fierce, tangible joy. Fleur has an excellent highlight moment that's indicative of a character adjustment in the new version (see below) that I really loved. I wanted to see Lucie Colebeck's triple bad (the first and so far only female triple tuck in Cirque history!!) but it was performed by another artist tonight. Still amazing. Watching this act makes you feel like you can run a marathon.

Duo adagio: The one and only let down of the whole show. I just do not like these Nymphs. I don't like their wings, I never have, and I can't believe Cirque is so opposed to returning to something just a notch closer to the luxurious feathers of the original. Their wings feel like a symbol of their overall impact on the show: kinda just there and we don't really know why. This act was the same. And it's a goddamn shame because Cassía's Vai Vedrai is power made musical. Slotting this act so late in the show makes it feel like a rotational act and it's just not fair to the artists or the song, probably the second most famous in Alegria's history. Last time I got handbalancing in instead and it was a gorgeous story of an Angel supported by a Bronx that was reiterated in high bar. Any sort of connection to the broader show is unfortunately missing in this act, which seems to only exist to remind you that the Nymphs are characters. I'd prefer to see this replaced with a return to the slow, luxurious contortion style of the 90s. Or imagine Dralion's ballet on lights here!! Or ribbon manipulation from the early days. Maybe a little too similar to hoops, but don't forget this is the show that has swinging trapeze and aerials traps and...

Flying trapeze: My light, my love, my delight. The Flying Tunizianis are immaculate. This is perfect flying trapeze act construction imo: some swings to let the audience know what's happening, an easy trick or two (planches) to prime them, then flips and twists galore to show what the fuck it's really all about. And! Importantly! A pause in the middle with a few styles and splits to bring back some grace and remind you trapeze is more than just guessing what the fuck you just saw. It is so, so good. For myriad stupid reasons I haven't flown in a month, and I'm so excited and inspired to get back at it after seeing this act. iirc the biggest tricks were triples and a double double (or full out? it all happened so fast!!). Either way, difficulty level second only to Mystere and I would argue better act composition overall.

However. I felt the removal of Valsajoïa acutely. It was nice to hear a little Icare, but if we didn't need it for aerial high bar's comeback, we certainly don't need it here. I suppose they were going for a more "daring" sound, but tbh I don't think it does a lot to enhance the act further, especially with the way the Tunizianis have choreographed it. The result isn't as graceful nor as impactful, even with the (tragic! teasing!) snatches of Valsapena and Valsajoïa still left in there.

I spent the whole act praying for some kind of suicide dismount and the very last was a reverse one and lost my fucking mind. My inspiration trick, my signature, my beloved!!! I gotta learn a reverse one bad.

Finale: What is there left to say? It's brief, it's gorgeous, it's effective: just like the transition from opening to acro pole, the transition from flying trapeze to finale is quick and honest, and the whole thing is over before you know it. It feels like a real thank you for joining the cast in the journey of the show. A joyous, magical feeling.

Music: I leaned back and scrubbed my face with my hands just now. That's what it's like trying to summarize what the fuck was going on vocally and instrumentally in this show.

It. Was. Splendid. I was utterly convinced that no one could do an IANL White Singer like Irene Lombard, and then here's comes Sarah with a flavor and characterization all her own. Where Irene was an angel, Sarah was a witch. She was sharp, she annunciated, every note was a call to action that drove the plot forward. Some songs were her strength (like Mirko), and some I prefer Irene (like Querer). At all times both singers' presences were impossible to ignore, and for a show with such a reputation for well-recognized, highly awarded music, the legacy is not lost.

This is also a very mobile band, which I always love. Accordion and cello parade around at times, sometimes even to emphasize character arcs (like the accordion following one clown after he's cast out of court to highlight his sorrow to both comical and emotional effect). Drums have a fantastic, well deserved Kooza-esque highlight moment during fire knife dance. Though you don't see them every moment, there's no point in the show that you can miss the fact that the music is live. They've struck an exceptional balance between highlighted and unobtrusive.

If anyone would like a recording of this performance's audio, drop me an ask and I'll be glad to share.

Clowns: My primary critique. Listen: they are so good. But I think Cirque noticed that and responded by giving them too much time. Their every act is strong but maybe 2-3 minutes too long, and it has the effect of pulling focus from the theme of the show and settling it on their shoulders instead. The result weakens both: they are not highlighted enough to carry a show like the Luzia clown main character does, and they take up too much time for the audience to realize they are meant to be one story among many.

Taken as they are though, the clown acts really are excellent. They are not tedious in the moment, only when held up against the broader landscape of the show. Their relationship still feels a little transgressive in a beautiful, comforting, validating way. Muted though the love story is, something about that adds to the honesty as much as the bravery. It deserves a ton of praise for that. Everyone in the room was fully invested in them. Snowstorm was beautiful and the music does so much to enhance the storytelling they give us.

(I did not remember the extended gun cleaning/masturbation gag from 2019 but that was the only part where I was like okay, let's move it along, boys.)

Misc.

Fleur doesn't seem like much of a bad guy anymore, and though I miss his old ornery edge, I'm not bothered by his current phase. He helps paint a picture not of a broken kingdom, but of a confused one, which leaves room for collaboration and acceptance reinforced by acts like acro pole and powertrack. There is room for both regimes in this new future. When it comes time to hand the crystal over to the White Singer, he does so without an ounce of reluctance or apprehension. It's a gesture of "let's do this together," not "you take the lead." It's very warm and effective.

Le Bal isn't quite as fun as it was in 2019. It wasn't positioned as a joking funeral march but rather just further hijinks between Fleur and the Old Birds. Like the lack of mirrors in cyr wheel, this wasn't a detriment to the show as it exists today, but it was a simplification of something that was once a little more dynamic.

Overall: As always I am exhausted just writing this. I beg you: see Alegria. Travel as far and as long as you can to make it happen. It is worth it. I live in fear that it'll never come back to do a full and proper North American tour (NYC deserves it, god damn it, it's been over six years), but if it never does, I'll know I made every effort, and I'll know it paid off in droves.

[certifiedtrashmouth]

I’m a sucker for Wayne and Eddie content since we never got to see them interact in the show 😩. Can we see something about Wayne and Eddie decorating the trailer? I feel like it would be modest but so perfect for them. Maybe they go out and have a bonding trip to pick the perfect little tree? I believe in your vision. ✨

i love you so much for this request dear god. we really were robbed in the show. also p.s. i hope this is okay i really just ran with what came to mind

the first saturday of december (eddie munson and wayne munson)

warnings: mentions of child abuse

“Boy, don’t you dare take down any of my hats!”

“But then I can hang the garland from the nails! We won’t have to put up any new hooks!” 

“We do not need any garland on that wall, Edward Munson. Put the hat back.” 

The Munson’s trailer living room was messily littered with an array of holiday decorations. Ropes of garland were draped over the back of the couch, boxes of ornaments open on top of the coffee table, and a tangled ball of lights were currently in Wayne’s hands as he attempted to sort them out. 

Between Wayne’s busy schedule and Eddie’s occupation of his eccentric hobbies, the Munson men were usually chronic procrastinators. Their schedules had always been opposing; Wayne would work the graveyard shifts at the plant while Eddie spent his days between ditching class and planning D&D campaigns. They were two ships in the night, constantly drifting past each other with small nods and tired smiles. Sometimes, they’d go a whole week without speaking once, having never even caught sight of each other. 

But the first Saturday of every December always changed that. That first Saturday, Wayne always requested off from work and Eddie always kept his schedule strictly free. The first Saturday of December was always for the Munson men - for bonding, for decorating, and for plenty of arguing in good fun. 

“It’ll look festive. C’mon, old man,” Eddie poked fun at his uncle as he lifted one of the older garlands, striped in red and white like a candy cane, wrapping the thinned out material like a scarf around his neck. 

“Stop that. You’re going to strangle yourself,” Wayne scolded as he glanced up briefly, taking in his nephew’s antics before undoing another knot in the lights in his hand. 

He already had his old rickety ladder set up outside the trailer, ready for him to climb up level with the roof and string the lights. He just had to get them into a string once more rather than this mess that resembled a tumbleweed. 

Eddie finally put down the garland, making his way to cause trouble with the ornaments. And Wayne continued to chastise him, to warn him not to break any of the small collection he’s managed to accumulate in his years of raising Eddie, even though the sight of his nephew being so carefree made his heart grow three sizes. 

There’s one ornament in particular that Eddie knew better than to even joke about dropping. He could pretend to fumble with the red bulbs, he could drop the handmade snowflakes made of popsicle sticks through the air before catching them, but there was one ornament that he would never bring into the antics; a small picture frame with a light blue train across the bottom, the words baby’s first christmas in white lifted script across the top, and a picture fit snugly in it of a boy with a toothy grin. With a wild mess of hair that was finally growing out of a buzzcut. In the boy’s lap, he’s gleefully holding an acoustic six-string guitar that completely swallows up his body. 

Eddie at the ripe age of 12. The first Christmas he had spent as Wayne’s boy. 

Younger Eddie had put the ornament in the cart during a shopping trip during the holiday season as a joke. He had blabbered on about them just leaving the random baby photo that came in the frame in it, how it could be an inside joke between him and his uncle. Something to remember their first Christmas together.

The shopping trip had occurred right after Eddie had finally begun to warm up to Wayne. He had finally realized that he was safe, that his father wasn’t coming back and that the man before him wasn’t going to hurt him. It had been a perilous journey to get there, Eddie frequently acting out and getting in trouble, but after one too many nights of the cops bringing home a smug Eddie who had been caught up in trouble one way or another, Wayne had lost it.

He hadn’t lost it in a screaming-and-punishment way. He had lost it in a scarily quiet, buried disappointment way. He had sat Eddie down at the dining table, taking his place in the old creaking chair across from him, and just looked at him with tired eyes.The staring contest stretched out for several minutes before Wayne had heaved a sigh. 

“Listen, kid. I get it. It’s hard. But this,” Wayne had paused, waving his hand between himself and Eddie, “This can’t keep happening. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but it isn’t working, whatever it is. You’re stuck with me, I’m stuck with you. Let’s try to just… make it as painless as possible, yeah?” 

Wayne didn’t know that Eddie had been seeing how far he could push him. He kept waiting for the day he lashed out like his father; the day he’d hit him, the day he’d start drinking and forget about the bruises he’d leave on Eddie’s arms or the cigarettes he’d put out on his chest. 

Wayne never did. He never lifted a single hand to the boy. And that night, when he tried to level with him, it made Eddie realize he never would. 

So Eddie had started behaving just in time for Christmas. The late night rides from Chief Hopper stopped, and the boy would even grace Wayne with his presence over TV dinners while watching whatever was playing on one of the few cable channels they had. 

Painless as possible, that’s what they had made it. 

But as Wayne looks over at his nephew, now eighteen and still giving the world Hell when he could, he knew it had become so much more than that. 

He loved that kid, and that kid loved him. 

Eddie placed the ornament on one of the branches of the modest tree they’d picked up this morning. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but it was enough for them. It always had been, and it always would be, when it was just the two of them against the world. 

“Say boy,” Wayne piped up, tossing down the lights and deciding to go to the kitchen to make them hot chocolate, “You got any new records to play that won’t make my ears bleed?” 

Eddie whipped around from where he stood, fighting with an ornament to get it to stay on one of the lower branches. He grinned widely, his uncle returning a small smile, before he pursed his lips thoughtfully and went bounding into his room for a moment. 

When Eddie came sprinting back into the room, Wayne was surprised to see the album he had chosen. It wasn’t one of his usual metal bands that Wayne would complain about.

“Where in the world did you get that?” Wayne choked out, fighting back laughter at his boy.

Eddie turned to look at him over his shoulder after lowering the needle onto the record he’d carefully placed on the turntable in their living room, “Was ‘sposed to be your gift this year. But might as well enjoy it together, yeah? I’ll just have to get you another gift, old man.” 

Wayne couldn’t help but smile at his boy as Do Right Woman, Do Right Man crackles out of the speakers. 

The first Saturday of December. A day for just the Munson men, their questionable taste in Christmas decorations, and Willie Nelson.

[finniestoncrane]

Also, if it's allowed, I'm curious about the blind date option.

My ideal date would be a movie night at home with lots of snacks and booze, but if we had to go out, a trip to the museum or the zoo would be amazing. I love games, and I usually have a puzzle book in my bag when I'm out. I'm introverted and have low self-esteem, so I usually have a tough time starting conversations. But if you talk to me about something I REALLY like, it's hard to get me to shut up.

And uuuuh, I like to sing and play the ukulele, I like to read fantasy novels and murder mysteries, and if I had all the money in the world, I would spend it all on Legos. I hope that's enough info!

💜 blind date 💜 the kitchen is now closed! 🔞minors dni🔞 • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie1500 (to follow or to block) a/n: i feel like this was obvious, but it just suited you too well ;-;💚

"Hi! Welcome to the Vill-Inn! Your guest is waiting for you. Charming fella! He's the short man dressed to the nines over by the window."

You're barely even at the table before Oswald Cobblepot is rushing out of his seat to introduce himself, taking your hand and placing a kiss to the back before pulling out your chair and making sure you're tucked in comfortably at the table. It's a lot for a first impression, which worries him, until you explain that you're introverted, and prefer simpler dates indoors, or somewhere... fun.

"If you like fun, and you enjoy my company this evening, then I would be more than happy to accompany you to the Zoo or the Museum. I have connections with both. I can get us in to the areas the regular shmucks will never see."

He winks, then is suddenly aware that he might be coming on too strong. But his eyes light up again when you tell him that if tonight goes well, you'd be so happy to meet again for another date. He's punching the air under the table. Because for all that he looks like a fancy little gentleman on the outside, he's a complete dork inside.

Which is evident when you mention that you love fantasy novels and murder mysteries. The two of you have an instant back and forth going, discussing your favourite characters and plots, and which covers suited the series better and don't you just hate it when they use the TV adaptation on the cover of the book?

"You light up the room when you speak about something you love."

Each of his compliments over the evening have taken you by complete surprise. it's the way he delivers them. So matter-of-fact, but lilting. Deeply romantic, and a little bit old fashioned in the way he's trying to woo you, which is completely endearing.

He just seems to see the best in you, even though he's only just met you. But his adoration knows no bounds. When you mention your ukelele and your singing, he's quick to offer you a spot at his nightclub.

"An acoustic evening set, perhaps? Anything to see you sparkling under the spotlight."

Your brushing him off, but there's no point in pretending that Oswald hasn't charmed you into a giggling, blushing mess. There's definitely going to be a second date. And a third. And a fourth. And... quite a few more if he can keep this up.

[folkimplosionmusic]

Tim Buckley

Martin Aston, MOJO, July 1995

IN 1965, THE LOS ANGELES MAGAZINE CHEETAH dubbed three emerging singer-songwriters – Jackson Browne, Steve Noonan, and Tim Buckley – 'The Orange County Three'.

Browne progressed towards a comfortably feted stardom which endures to this day Noonan vanished into the ether after one album. And somewhere between their two paths drifted the late Tim Buckley. Between rabid adulation and ignoble obscurity, between legendary status and the losers' list, his is a fixed position, like a star that shines fiercely in the night sky but in space was extinguished eons ago.

Twenty years after his death on June 29, 1975, diehard disciples complain of the mismanagement of Tim Buckley's legacy. Here was a man whose recordings remain extraordinary cross-pollinations of folk-rock, folk-jazz, the avant-garde and all points in between. They are, in the words of Lillian Roxon's famed 1969 Rock Encyclopaedia, "easily the most beautiful in the new music, beautifully produced and arranged, always managing to be wildly passionate and pure at the same time". A shame, then, that they are still to be posthumously rewarded with a decent CD reissue campaign.

"When an artist finally comes through all this mess, you hear a pure voice," said Tim Buckley three months before he died. "We're in the habit of emulating those voices when they're dead."

TIMOTHY CHARLES BUCKLEY III WAS BORN IN AMSTERDAM, New York on Valentine's Day, 1947, his family uprooting westwards a decade later to Anaheim, home of Disneyland and strip malls. He grew up with music. Grandma dug Billie Holiday and Bessie Smith, mom adored Sinatra and Garland. Timothy Charles III himself leaned towards the gnarled county of Johnny Cash and Hank Williams, the lonesome sound of the singing cowboys. The kid even taught himself to play the banjo.

Larry Beckett, the Buena Vista high school friend who added erudite lyrics to Buckley melodies over the years, recalls how schoolboy Tim always wanted to sing. Buckley had learnt how to use his perfect pitch from crooners like Nat 'King' Cole and Johnny Mathis but chose to exercise his range by screaming at buses and imitating the sound of trumpets. His voice set sail for the edge early

Jim Fielder, Tim's other best buddy at school, recalls first hearing the Buckley voice. "One hesitates to get flowery but the words 'gift from God' sprung to mind," he says. "He had an incredible range of four octaves, always in tune, with a great vibrato he had complete control over. You don't normally hear that stuff from a 17-year-old."

Recruited by C&W combo Princess Ramona & The Cherokee Riders, Buckley played guitar in a yellow hummingbird shirt and turquoise hat. The Princess soon saw that Timmy's heart wasn't in country – his nascent love of Miles Davis and John Coltrane testified to that – so suggested he turn instead to the burgeoning folk scene. Despite an intuitive gift for its melodic nuances, 'folk-rock' was a tag that would later irk him. Buckley was always cynical about how the business worked. "You hear what they want you to play when you're breaking into the business," he told Sounds in 1972, "and you show 'em what you've got."

With Fielder on bass and lyricist Beckett on drums they formed two bands, the Top 40-oriented Bohemians and the more esoteric, acoustic Harlequin 3, who would mix in poetry and freely ad-lib from Ken Nordine's Word Jazz monologues.

Buckley quickly won great notices in LA, and the 'Orange County Three' accolade only heightened the interest of the music business. Mothers Of Invention drummer Jimmy Carl Black was impressed enough to suggest a meeting with Herb Cohen, a manager with a curiously dual reputation for unswerving breadheadedness and courageous work with mavericks from Lenny Bruce and the Mothers to Captain Beefheart and Wild Man Fischer. Instantly smitten – "there was no question that Tim had something unique" – Cohen sent a demo to Jac Holzman at Elektra, home of folk-rocking excellence.

"I must have listened to it twice a day for a week," said Holzman. "Whenever anything was getting me down, I'd run for Buckley. He was exactly the kind of artist with whom we wanted to grow – young and in the process of developing, extraordinarily gifted and so untyped that there existed no formula or pattern to which anyone would be committed."

Buckley in turn told Zigzag that he respected Holzman because he believed Jac only signed multi-talented acts who made each album an individual statement. Yet Buckley's self-titled debut album in 1966 was also his most generic. "I was only 19," Buckley later recalled in Changes magazine, "and going into the studio was like Disneyland. I'd do anything anybody said." The beat-guitar chime of Lee Underwood and the songs' baroque dressings were blood-related to The Byrds, par for the folk-rock course. "Naive, stiff, quaky and innocent, but a ticket into the marketplace," was Underwood's verdict. But you can discern what Cohen and Holzman had so clearly appraised: above all, that soaring counter-tenor voice and remarkable melodic gift.

The follow-up, Goodbye & Hello (1967), was tainted less by convention than by overambition. Producer Jerry Yester probably saw the chance to drape Buckley's ravishing voice in all the soft-rock flourishes at his disposal, while Beckett's convoluted wordplay was just the wrong side of pretentious. Buckley had radically outgrown the first album's high-school origins, his voice now adopting the languid resonances of his Greenwich Village folk idol Fred Neil on the aching ballads 'Once I Was' and 'Morning Glory'.

"Me and Tim hung around in Greenwich Village during the 1960s," recalls the reclusive songsmith of 'Everybody's Talkin'' and 'Dolphins'. "Tim was completely immersed in the music 24 hours a day He ate, drank and breathed music. I would not be at all surprised to learn that Tim worked on chord progressions and melody lines in his dreams, he was that committed to the art form."

In the Neil vein, Buckley's bristling 'I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain' is a six-minute epistle to his already estranged wife Mary Guibert and son Jeffrey Scott (better known now as Jeff Buckley).

"The marriage was a disaster," says Jim Fielder. "Mary was full of life and talent, a classical pianist and Tim's equal. But the pregnancy made it go sour, as neither of them was ready for it. To Tim it was draining his creative force, and Mary wasn't willing to take the chance on his career, putting it to him like, Settle down and raise a baby or we're through. That kind of showdown."

In the climax to 'I Never Asked To Be Your Mountain', Buckley yelped, pleaded, even shrieked "Baby, pleeeaEEESSE!"), the first evidence of the places his pain would take him. Honesty was the key. When Buckley and Beckett played it autobiographical – exquisitely vulnerable, naive yet insightful – the results were stunning. When they played to the gallery it sounded forced. Of the title track's anti-Vietnam tract, Buckley said, "I just hate the motherfucker. It's like, 'OK motherfuckers, you want a protest song, here it is'. They were bugging the hell out of me so I figured, just this once, and then I wouldn't have to do it again.

"Talking about war is futile," he reckoned. "What can you say about it? You want it to end but you know it won't. Fear is a limited subject but love isn't. I ain't talking about sunsets 'n' trees, I'm involved with America...but the people in America, not the politics. All I can see is the injustice."

Elektra's Jac Holzman, however, felt positive: a poster of Buckley loomed large over Sunset Strip. "As we got deeper into 1967 and Vietnam," Holzman observed, "the combined effect of his words, his music, his passion, his persona struck a particular resonance. To some extent he was the bright side of people's tortured souls, and maybe of his own tortured soul. He could express anguish that wasn't negative."

Goodbye & Hello reached 171 on the Billboard chart, but Buckley wasn't in the mood to consolidate. Instead, when Tonight Show guest host Alan King made fun of his hair, the singer retorted, "You know, it's really surprising, I always thought you were a piece of cardboard." On another outing he refused to lip-synch to 'Pleasant Street' and walked out.

WITH HINDSIGHT, UNDERWOOD TRACES Buckley's depressive tendencies to his father who "suffered a head injury in the Second World War and from then on his insecurities and rage made life miserable for Tim. He saw Tim's beauty, and called him a faggot and beat him up. He looked at Tim's talent and said he'd never make it. His mother didn't help: she'd tell him he'd die young because that's what poets always did. So he grew up deeply hurt and feeling inadequate, yet driven by this extraordinary musical talent that possessed him." The result, Underwood ventures, "gave Tim a deep-seated fear of success...he wanted people to love him but, as they did, he pushed them away".

"Long after his death," says Beckett, "I realised that there were very few songs he wrote that didn't have the word 'home' in them. It seemed like he felt homeless, and nothing would restore it. He seemed OK in high school, maybe a little wild, but he got increasingly neurotic. He'd almost welcome a negative comment that would reaffirm his feelings."

When, in 1970, Jerry Yester's wife Judy Henske poked fun at the line "I'm as puzzled as the oyster" in the majestic 'Song To The Siren', Buckley instantly dropped the song from the set. "He took the smallest criticism to heart," says Larry Beckett, "so that he couldn't even perform a song which he admitted was one of his all-time favourites!"

Another incident stands out from this period. Tim's choirboy looks and froth of curls had attracted a Love Generation-style teenybop following. At a show at New York's Philharmonic Hall, his most prestigious to date, various objects were thrown on stage, a red carnation among them. Buckley stooped down, picked it up and proceeded to chew the petals and spit them out.

"He was very vulnerable and emotional," says Beckett's ex-wife Manda. "It made him terribly attractive to everybody of both sexes. People just sort of swooned around him because he was so sweet. I think that frightened him. He was difficult to deal with because he was scared of his power over people. He almost seemed to reject his audiences for loving him so much. He wasn't mature enough to accept that kind of attention."

Tim would also embroider the truth. At school he'd lied about playing C&W bars, while Larry Beckett remembers dubious boasts of female conquests. Buckley also claimed to have played guitar on The Byrds' first album, which Roger McGuinn always denied. "Tim liked to feed the legend," Beckett recalls with a wry chuckle. "He was quite amoral – if a lie gave a laugh or strengthened his mystique, that was fine. But his music was always honest."

"If someone dared him to do something, he'd do it," recalls British bassist Danny Thompson, who accompanied Buckley on his 1968 UK visit. "This free spirit was what most people saw, but I also saw a bit of a loner. Unlike most people who get into drugs, he wasn't a sad junkie figure. He was more of a naughty boy who said, 'OK, I'll have a go, I'll drink that'."

If he admired Hendrix and Hardin and Havens, Buckley frequently railed against the rock establishment. "All people see is velvet pants and long, blond hair," he fumed. 'A perfect person with spangles and flowered shirts – that's vibrations to them."

"He viewed the blues-oriented rock of the day as white thievery and an emotional sham," says Underwood. "He criticised musicians who spent three weeks learning Clapton licks, when Mingus had spent his whole life living his music.

Retreating to his home base in Venice, LA, Buckley and Underwood took time out to immerse themselves in the music of the East Coast jazz titans. Miles, Coltrane, Monk, Mingus and Ornette Coleman all provided inspiration as rehearsals slowly metamorphosed into jam sessions. The day before playing New York's prestigious Fillmore East theatre, Buckley asked vibraphonist David Friedman to rehearse for the show. Seven hours without sheet music later, a new sound was born.

With Happy/Sad (1969), Buckley began to arc away from the underground culture that had launched him. New York photographer Joe Stevens, a good friend of Buckley's at the time, recalls the singer's suspicious attitude towards the forthcoming Woodstock festival. "He said, Are you really going? Oh man, it's going to be awful.' Yet we used to hang out on a friend's farm which was like a scaled-down Woodstock, with hippy girls walking around, weird food, drugs, freedom and trees."

Although Jerry Yester was again involved, Happy/Sad was the polar opposite to Goodbye & Hello's crowded ambition: spacious, supple, a sea of possibilities. The line-up was just vibraphone, string bass, acoustic 12-string and gently rippling electric guitar. "The Modern Jazz Quartet Of Folk," enthused vibraphonist David Friedman. "Heart music," Buckley offered, and Elektra used his words in the ads like a manifesto. Happy/Sad's only real comparison is Astral Weeks, a similarly symmetrical, fluid work that revels in its lack of boundaries while possessing a unique tension.

"The trick of writing," Buckley felt, "is to make it sound like it's all happening for the first time. So you feel it's everybody's idea."

Van Morrison, Laura Nyro and John Martyn were also melting the walls between rock, blues, folk and jazz; at 22, Buckley was the youngest of the bunch. He'd also caught the jazz bug the hardest. Yester revealed that the band resisted second takes, while 'Strange Feeling' was bravely anchored to the bass line of Miles Davis's 'All Blues' before Buckley's voice set sail, caressing and cajoling.

"Being with Tim was like going out with an English professor," recalls Bob Duffy, Buckley's tour manager at the time. "He was very serious and almost stodgy, exactly the opposite of what you'd think a rock star would be. He wasn't in the music business to get laid. If one of the guys in the band came up and mentioned women, 13 of them would run out of the room, except for Tim who just sat there, guitar in hand, almost like he was teaching himself the songs again even though he'd played these songs 200 times, because he wanted the show to be as musically performed as possible. I saw incredible shows that he got depressed about, and wouldn't talk to anyone afterwards – he was very Zappa-like in that demanding way, but he was one of the sanest people on that level that I worked with."

As its very title acknowledged, despite Happy/Sad's sun-splashed backdrop, musical invention and lyrical joie de vivre, its mood was acutely introspective. Critic Simon Reynolds has described it as "a poignant premonition of loss, of an inevitable autumn..."

Lyrics had clearly shifted to a secondary, supportive role. Larry Beckett says he was politely informed that the singer would pen the lyrics alone. "He was moving toward a jazz sound, so to have wild poetry all over the map, you'd miss the jazz. But it was my feeling too that Tim felt his success was due to my lyrics rather than his music, so he wanted to see how well he'd do alone. He tended to believe the worst about himself..."

"It was very hard for me to write songs after Goodbye & Hello, because most of the bases were touched," Buckley admitted. "That was the end of my apprenticeship for writing songs. Whatever I wrote after that wasn't adolescent, which means it isn't easy because you can't repeat yourself. The way Jac [Holzman] had set it up you were supposed to move artistically, but the way the business is you're not. You're supposed to repeat what you do, so there's a dichotomy there. People like a certain type of thing at a certain time, and it's very hard to progress.

In another interview Tim said, "I can see where I'm heading, and it will probably be further and further from what people expected of me."

"He was very friendly and open to ideas, not a prima donna or a hypocrite," recalls John Balkin, who played bass with Buckley in 1969-70. "There was no drugs, sex and rock'n'roll in relation to him as an artist, not like Joplin and Hendrix, getting stoned before or during a gig. He felt stifled and frustrated by the boundaries that be, trying to stretch as an artist but making a living too. I remember Herbie Cohen saying, 'Go drive a truck then'..."

PROGRESSION WAS NOW BUCKLEY'S WATCH-word. Dream Letter, recorded in 1968 at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall, was already more diffuse than Happy/ Sad, lacking the pulse of Carter CC Collins's congas. The budget couldn't afford him or bassist John Miller, so Pentangle's Danny Thompson was drafted in to play an intuitively supportive – and barely rehearsed – role.

"I got a call asking me to turn up and rehearse everything at once," recalls Thompson. "He refused to get into a routine of singing 'the song'. We did a TV show, and when it came to doing it live Tim said, 'Let's do another song', which we'd never rehearsed. It was two minutes longer than our time slot, and the producer was putting his finger across his throat, and Tim looked at him with a puzzled expression and carried on, like art and music was far more important than any of this rubbish that surrounds it. He was fearless."

Clive Selwood, who ran the UK branch of Elektra records, recalls the same episode: "Tim had got a slot on the Julie Felix Show on BBC. He turned up to rehearsals with Danny Thompson an hour late; he shuffled in, nodded when introduced to the producer, unsheathed his guitar, and they launched into an extemporisation of one of his songs that lasted over an hour. The producer and Felix watched open-mouthed, not daring to interrupt. The most exhaustingly magical performance I have ever witnessed – and all to an audience of three. When it was done, Tim slapped his guitar in the case, said 'OK?' to the producer, and departed."

A year later after a heady bout of touring, including the Fillmore East's opening night alongside BB King, Buckley's muse was flying high. In 1968 he'd sounded enraptured, a wayward choirboy testing the limits of a new-found sound, but the voice of 1969 scatted and scorched, twisting and ascending like a wreath of smoke. The music mixed blues, jazz and ballads, throwing in calypso, even cooking on the verge of funk. A key Buckley moment arrived at the climax of a simmering 14-minute 'Gypsy Woman' (from Happy/Sad), when he yelled, "Oh, cast a spell on Timmy!", like an exorcism in reverse. Few singers craved possession so hungrily.

A little-known artefact from this period is his soundtrack music for the film Changes, directed by Hall Bartlett who later went on to helm Jonathan Livingston Seagull. A live set from the Troubadour, finally released two years ago, previewed material that surfaced on Lorca (1970). The album was named after the murdered Spanish poet, whose simultaneously violent and tender poetics Buckley was vocally mirroring. On the song 'Lorca' itself, and on 'Anonymous Proposition' and 'Driftin',' Buckley floats and stings over a languid blue-note haze – crooning and stretching half-tones over shapeless stanzas.

"We never had any music to read from," bassist John Balkin remembers. "We just noodled through and went for it, just finding the right note or coming off a note and making it right." Buckley regarded the title track as "my identity as a unique singer; as an original voice."

The timing wasn't great. Now tuning into such mellow songsmiths as James Taylor, the Love Generation was in no mood to follow in Buckley's wayward footsteps, any more than Buckley had kowtowed to Elektra's craving for old-style troubadour charm. As Holzman says, "he was making music for himself at that point...which is fine, except for the problem of finding enough people to listen to it."

"An artist has a responsibility to know what's gone down and what's going on in his field, not to copy but to be aware," the creator responded. "Only that way can he strengthen his own perception and ability"

Around this time Holzman was poised to sell Elektra, which upset Buckley Although major label offers were on the table – "a lot of bread, which makes me feel really good" – he decided that money wasn't the issue: "That's not where I'm at. I can live on a low budget." After some deliberation he signed to Straight, a Warners-distributed label formed by Herb Cohen and Frank Zappa. "It would be better for me to stay with one man who had taken care of me," he said. "No matter what anyone thinks of Herbie, he's a great dude." But he capitulated to Cohen's demand to record a more accessible record: aptly named, Blue Afternoon (1969) is a collection of narcotic folk-torch ballads.

"Tim always wrote about love and suffering in all their manifestations," says Lee Underwood. "He felt that underneath love was fear, fear of love and success and attention and responsibility" In the album's centrepiece, 'Blue Melody', Buckley keens: "There ain't no wealth that can buy my pride/There ain't no pain that can cleanse my soul/No, just a blue melody/Sailing far away from me." In 'So Lonely', he confessed that "Nobody comes around here no more". In press material for the album, Buckley said the songs had been written for Marlene Dietrich.

Blue Afternoon beat Lorca to the shops by a month. With two albums vying for attention, his already diminished sales potential was halved. (Lorca didn't even chart). Buckley never commercially-minded, was still looking forward. "When I did Blue Afternoon, I had just about finished writing set songs," he told Zigzag. "I had to stretch out a little bit...the next [album] is mostly dealing in time signatures."

Has any troubadour ever stretched out quite as Buckley did on 1970's Starsailor? Buckley's third album in a year in the words of bassist John Balkin, was "a whole different genre". Balkin, who ran a free improvisation group with Buzz and Bunk Gardner of the Mothers, had introduced Buckley to opera singer Cathy Berberian's interpretations of songs by Luciano Berio, inspiring the ever-restless Buckley to new heights. Over throbbing rhythms and atonal dynamics, the Gardners' blowing was matched by Buckley's gymnastic yodels and screams: one moment he sounded like an autistic child, the next like Tarzan. Everything peaked on the title song, with its 16 tracks of vocal overdubs. Larry Beckett, recalled to add impressionistic poetry to expressionistic music, also had a field day: to wit, the likes of "Behold the healing festival/complete for an instant/the dance figure pure constellation." Indeed.

"For the 'Starsailor' track itself," recalls Balkin, "we wanted things like Timmy's voice moving and circling the room, coming over the top like a horn section, like another instrument, not like five separate voices. His range was incredible. He could get down with the bass part and be up again in a split second."

Fiercely beautiful, Starsailor is a unique masterpiece. Aside from 'Song To The Siren', the album was the epitome of uneasy listening. "Sometimes you're writing and you know that you're not going to fit," Buckley responded. "But you do it because it's your heart and soul and you gotta say it. When you play a chord, you're dating yourself...the fewer chords you play, the less likely you are to get conditioned, and the more you can reveal of what you are."

If Starsailor came close to Coltrane's 'sheets of sound', it was hard not to see it as commercial suicide. Attempts to reproduce Starsailor live didn't help. "The shows Tim booked himself after Starsailor were total free improvisation, vocal gymnastics time," recalls Balkin. "I can still see him onstage, his head down, snoring. There was one episode of barking at the audience too. After one show, Frank Zappa said we sounded good, and he wasn't one who easily handed out compliments."

"BUCKLEY YODELLING BAFFLES AUDIENCE," ran a Rolling Stone headline. As Herb Cohen says today, "he was changing too drastically, playing material that audiences weren't necessarily coming to hear and that was beyond the realm of their capability"..."An instrumentalist can be understood doing just about anything, but people are really geared to something coming out of the mouth being words," a resentful Buckley said in a subsequent press release. "I use my voice as an instrument when I'm performing live. The most shocking thing I've ever seen people come up against, beside a performer taking off his clothes, is dealing with someone who doesn't sing words. If I had my way, words wouldn't mean a thing."

Buckley was driven into deep depression by Starsailor's failure. Straight wouldn't provide tour support, the old band had fragmented because there was so little work for them, and Buckley was reduced to booking his own shows in small clubs. At last he shared the bitter, neglected status of his jazz idols. Underwood confirms that in order to take the sting away, Buckley dabbled in barbiturates and heroin. When Buckley prefaced 'I Don't Need It To Rain' on the Troubadour album by saying, "This one's called Give Smack A Chance", it was a dangerous joke. "He was mocking the peace movement, the whole Beatles mentality of the day" says Underwood.

At least his personal life had improved. He'd re-married, bought a house in upmarket Laguna Beach (subsequently painted black to outrage the neighbours), and effectively gone to ground. "I'd been going strong since 1966 and really needed a rest," was Buckley's explanation. "I hadn't caught up with any living." He also inherited his wife Judy's seven-year-old son Taylor.

Judy doesn't recall any drug abuse. Nor does she remember Tim driving a cab, chaffeuring Sly Stone or studying ethnomusicology at UCLA, as the singer often claimed at the time. Instead, she recalls Tim reading voraciously catching up with his favourite Latin American writers at the UCLA library and channelling his creative urges into acting.

The unreleased 1971 cult film Why? Starring OJ Simpson was shot during this period. "It was their first film but both Tim and OJ were incredible actors. The camera loved them," remembers co-star Linda Gillen. "Tim had this James Dean quality He's so handsome in the movie and yet such a mess! You know those Brat Pack kind of films, where people play prefabricated rebels who see themselves as kinda bad but they have a PR taking care of business? Well, Tim was the real deal. He didn't give a fuck how he looked or dressed. He had no hidden agenda. He had an incredible naivety.

"We used to improvise in the film. Tim's character talks to the effect that you can't commit suicide. You can't amend your feelings for other people; you have to find that thing that's good in you and keep that alive. A lot of the group had been onto my character about taking heroin but Tim would always be the sympathetic one. But that was Tim. He'd understand where they were coming from, why they would do what they did.

"On set, I used to hum to myself to fight off boredom and Tim would pick up on what I was humming, like 'Miss Otis Regrets', and we'd end up harmonising together" she continues. "I loved Fred Neil, and asked if he knew 'Dolphins', which he sung for me. He'd say 'They got to Fred Neil, don't let it happen to you'. He'd talk in this strange, paranoid, ominous way, about 'the man'. That night, we went to buy Fred's album and bypassed Tim's on the way! He never hustled his records to me; he wasn't a self-promoter.

"I wondered why Tim was working on this schleppy movie, because I knew people like Roger McGuinn who were making millions, and he said, very silently 'I need the money'. We were only earning $420 a week on the film, and I said, is that all the money you have right now? and he said, 'No, I'm getting a song covered,' which I think was 'Gypsy Woman' which Neil Diamond was going to do."

Meanwhile, the comic plot of his unfilmed screenplay Fully Air-Conditioned Inside was based on a struggling musician who blows up an audience calling for old songs and makes his escape tucked beneath the wings of a vulture, singing 'My Way'...

WHEN AN ALBUM FINALLY EMERGED IN 1972, Buckley had once again avoided covering familiar ground. Greetings From LA was a seriously funky amalgam of rock and soul. His youthful verve might have gone, but his wondrous holler whipped things along. "After Starsailor, I decided to re-evaluate, and I decided the way to come back was to be funkier than everybody," he boasted. But would radio stations play a record as shocking lyrically as Starsailor had been musically?

Judy was the new muse ('An exceptionally beautiful woman, provocative and witty too," says Underwood) and the album was drenched in lust. In a year when David Bowie made sex a refrigeratedly alien concept, Buckley wrote a set of linked songs in a sultry New Orleans populated by a constellation of pimps, whores and hustlers. "I went down to the meat rack tavern," was the album's opening line; and it closed on, "I'm looking for a street corner girl/And she's gonna beat me, whip me, spank me, make it all right again..."

Buckley explained his reasoning to Chrissie Hynde when she interviewed him for the NME in 1974. "I realised all the sex idols in rock weren't saying anything sexy – not Jagger or [Jim] Morrison. Nor had I learned anything sexually from a rock song. So I decided to make it human and not so mysterious."

Producer Hal Willner who subsequently organised the Tribute To Tim Buckley show at St Anne's Church, Brooklyn, remembers the singer at this time. "I saw Buckley live four times, including two of the best performances I've ever seen. He was everything someone could look for in music, totally transcendent. The first time took 100 per cent of my attention, like taking some sort of pill. You'd expect it from guys like Pharoah Sanders and Sun Ra, but that's a very rare feeling to get in rock. Another time he opened for Zappa in his Grand Wazoo period, and the audience was incredibly rude to him, booing and heckling. But he handled it beautifully just carrying on, talking sarcastically, trying to get them to blow pot smoke on the stage. He was a genius in every sense. He should be seen on the same level as Edith Piaf and Miles Davis."

"Rock'n'roll was meant to be body music," Buckley stated in Downbeat magazine. But diehard fans wanted to know why he was now singing rock'n'roll. "His last albums were dictated somewhat by business considerations," says Lee Underwood, "but few understood they were also dictated by major music considerations. Where else could he go after Starsailor's intellectual heights except to its opposite, to white funk dance music, rooted in sexuality? At least Tim's R&B was honest, unlike the over-rehearsed stuff that pretends to be spontaneous. Greetings is still one of the best rock'n'roll albums ever to come down the pike. Throughout his career, he constantly asked and answered a question that can be terrifying, which is, Where do we go from here? People criticised him during Lorca and Starsailor and wanted him to play rock'n'roll, but when he did they said he sold out."

True compromise was far more detectable on 1974's album Sefronia, released by Cohen and Zappa's new DiscReet label under the Warner Brothers umbrella. "Everyone was second guessing where he should go next," says his old friend Donna Young, "and Tim started listening to what other people thought."

Some new-found literary acumen was displayed on the title track, a ballad as lush as the album's reading of Fred Neil's 'Dolphins'. But five of the songs were covers, including the sappy MOR duet 'I Know I'd Recognise Your Face', while pale retreads of Greetings' honeyed funk served as filler. Guitarist Joe Falsia was now in the Tonto role, Underwood having stepped down to deal with his drug addiction. Herbie Cohen was obviously calling the shots. "Some of those songs were beautiful but you have to get through Herb's idea of what is commercial," says Underwood.

As commercial compromises go, Sefronia was terrific – radio-friendly and lyrically approachable – but Buckley knew the score. "If I write too much music, it loses, as happened on Sefronia. Y'know, it gets stale." In reference to the folk-rock era, he observed that "the comradeship is just not there any more, and it affects the music." His boisterous barrelhouse sound was showcased at 1974's Knebworth Festival in Britain, where Buckley opened a bill that included Van Morrison, The Doobie Brothers and The Allman Brothers Band. It was his first UK show since 1968, and few knew who he was.

Photographer Joe Stevens reacquainted himself with Tim at a DiscReet launch in London: "He was sitting at a table signing autographs, which I couldn't have imagined him doing before. When he saw me he said, 'Come on, let's get out of here,' before they'd even said, 'Ladies'n'gentlemen, Tim Buckley!' We hit the street, took some photos, then took a taxi back to my place. He spent two days curled around my TV set, cooing at my girlfriend. We got calls from Warners accusing me of kidnapping their artist! You could see what had happened to him. The youth had gone out of his face, and his smile would break into a frown as soon as it had finished."

Look At The Fool (1975), with its frazzled, Tijuana-soul feel, was purer Buckley again, but the songwriting meandered badly – 'Wanda Lu' remains one of the most ignominious final songs of any brilliant career. "It just seemed that the more down he became, the more desperate he sounded," his sister Kathleen told Musician magazine. "The work of a man desperately trying to connect with an audience that has deserted him," pronounced Melody Maker. The photo on the back cover caught Buckley with a quizzical, defeated expression. Look at the fool, indeed. Honest to the end.

In 1974, Buckley wrote to Lee Underwood: "You are what you are, you know what you are, and there are no words for loneliness – black, bitter, aching loneliness that gnaws the roots of silence in the night..."

"Tim felt he'd given everything to no avail," says Underwood. "He was even suicidal for a short while because he felt there was no place left to go, emotionally speaking. He was gaining new audiences and improving his singing within conventional song forms, but comments that he'd sold out made him feel terrible. He never understood his fear of success, and remained divided and tormented to the end. I urged him to take therapy shortly before his death, when he was feeling very bitter, to the point of suicide, but he said, 'Lose the anger, lose the music'."

"We saw a lot of him over the years as disillusionment set in," says Clive Selwood, who, inspired by Buckley's session for BBC's John Peel Show, later founded the Strange Fruit label and its Peel Sessions. "When we first met he spent his leisure time cycling across Venice Beach, guzzling a six-pack. When we last met, he was carrying a gun, in fear of the reactionary side of American life, who despised his long hair. He said, 'If you're carrying a gun, you stand a chance'."

"He continually took chances with his life," adds Larry Beckett. "He'd drive like a maniac risking accidents. For a couple of years he drank a lot and took downers to the point where it nearly killed him, but he'd always escape. Then he got into this romantic heroin-taking thing. Then his luck ran out." Buckley's most revered idols were Fred Neil – who chose anonymity rather than exploit the success of 'Everybody's Talkin'' – and Miles Davis, both icons and both junkies. "He lived on the edge, creatively and psychologically" says Lee Underwood. "He treated drugs as tools, to feel or think things through in more intense ways. To explore."

One planned exploration was a musical adaptation of Joseph Conrad's novel Out Of The Islands and a screenplay of Thomas Wolfe's You Can't Go Home Again. Of more immediate consequence, Buckley had won the part of Woody Guthrie in Hal Ashby's film Bound For Glory. The role might have restored him to public consciousness as well as financial independence, but in the end it went instead to David Carradine.

Buckley was still up for playing live. After a short tour culminating in a sold-out show at an l,800-capacity venue in Dallas, the band partied on the way home, as was customary An inebriated Tim proceeded to his good friend Richard Keeling's house in order to score some heroin.

As Underwood tells it, Keeling, in flagrante delicto and unwilling to be disturbed, argued with Buckley: "Finally in frustration, Richard put a quantity of heroin on a mirror and thrust it at Tim, saying, 'Go ahead, take it all', like a challenge. As was his way, Tim sniffed the lot. Whenever he was threatened or told what to do, he rebelled."

Staggering and lurching around the house, Buckley had to be taken home, where Judy Buckley laid him on the floor with a pillow. She then put him to bed, thinking he would recover; when she checked later, he'd turned an ominous shade of blue. The paramedics were called but it was too late. Tim Buckley was dead.

"I remember Herb saying Tim had died, and we all just sat there," recalls Bob Duffy, Buckley's old tour manager. "It wasn't expected but it was like watching a movie, and that was its natural ending."

"It was painful to listen to his records after he died," says Linda Gillen. "I remember how vibrant he was. He had that same lost alienation as friends who had committed suicide. He was smart, wonderful, mean nasty, kind, racist, and a loyal friend, all kinds of contradictions. A true original."

"When he died, I took a week off," remembers Joe Stevens. "He was special – an innocent in an animal machine."

IN 1983, IVO WATTS-RUSSELL of the 4AD label had the inspired notion to marry the vaporous drama of the Cocteau Twins to Buckley's 'Song To The Siren'. Punk's Stalinist purge was over, and the result was a haunting highlight of post-New Wave rock, launching both This Mortal Coil and Buckley's posthumous reputation.

Before he died, Buckley had been planning a live LP spanning the various phases of his career. Sixteen years later Dream Letter was released to great acclaim. "Nobody would have listened before," reckons Herb Cohen. "Things have their own cycle, usually close to 20 years. You have to wait."

"He knowingly compromised his fierce artistic ideals, but his gut feeling was that he'd get more freedom later," says Larry Beckett. "If he'd gone into hiding for 10 years, no end of labels would have recorded anything he wanted. Things do come around."

"He was one of the great ballad singers of all time, up there with Mathis and Sinatra," believes Lee Underwood. "He would have pulled out of his youthful confusion, expanded his musical scope to include great popular and jazz songs. Tim Buckley didn't say 'I am this, I am that'. He said, 'I am all of these things'."

© Martin Aston, 1995

[bijouxcarys]

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘

Masterlist

𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟑

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. Fuck, what if I’ve done it wrong? What if I’ve convinced myself I’m doing something completely different to what I’m supposed to be doing? Do I have enough to buy some more pasta? What if I’ve been completely reckless with the money? Emma will never forgive me. She’ll move out. And Brian will see what an incompetent, disorganized mess I am and leave me. How long until my pen runs out? Should I invest in some new ones? Wait, my paper isn’t stacked straight, let me—Shut up, Maria, don’t be so stupid. Have I eaten? Should I eat? Look at yourself, you’re a mess, there’s nothing wrong with skipping a meal or two. Or three. You don’t have time to focus on anything else, you dumb piece of s—

“Here you go, love. No milk and three sugars, like always.” Brian settled a mug of coffee on my desk, shutting the bedroom door behind him with his foot. He had purple socks on and I grilled him on his choice when he first arrived, even though I thought they were the cutest things in the world.

I chewed on my lower lip again, the metallic taste from before coming through sooner and stronger. I mumbled a short ‘thanks’ to Brian, who settled on my bed behind me. We were at the flat, as you can tell, and Emma was down at Sinclair Road. It became a thing at this point: the only time Emma and I saw each other was whenever we both had a coursework class at Imperial or when we all got together every now and then. Brian practically lived at the flat.

He’d leave parts of his wardrobe behind after staying over a few nights, so he had some stuff to come back to. His odd piece of jewellery hung up amongst my own. His shoes sat neatly besides mine in the hallway and his coat fused with my denim jacket. Ingredients for his own vegetarian concoctions in the fridge. He even kept his wooden acoustic perched against the corner walls of my bedroom. No agreement, no planning. It just happened.

I took a visual detour, setting my eyes on the steaming mug of coffee. There were three sugars in there. I needed all the sugar and caffeine I could get. The thing with me is that if I am in the mood to work on something, I need to do as much of that thing as possible because I don’t know when the next time that I’ll have the motivation will be. But that also led to a tendency to obsess over said thing. In this case, that thing was my coursework. I started to remind myself of Brian when he would constantly stress and work over his thesis for his PhD.

I gulped down a quarter of the steaming hot coffee, not grimacing once at the burn it sent to my tongue and down my throat. When I went back to writing, the ache forming again in my right wrist, I felt an uncomfortable shiver travel up my spine and vulnerability took over me. I glanced to the side of me. “Stop watching me, Brian.” I couldn’t see him, but I just knew he was watching over me as I worked. And it made me nervous.

“I’m not.”

I scrunched up my eyebrows, turning in my seat and noticing that he was, in fact, perched at the headboard of my bed, his eyes focussed on a music magazine on his lap. I sighed to myself, angry at my brain for distracting me with something that didn’t exist.

“Sorry…” I mumbled, turning back to my work.

I can’t remember exactly how many minutes passed of me frantically writing, occasionally getting frustrated with my lack of care to count how many words I’d done and grimacing at the thought of me having to count them after I’d finished. But the thought of me finishing this dissertation seemed like something that could only be achieved in a dream.

My name being called out from just beside me drew me out of my busy-minded daze. I didn’t look at Brian, though, and I looked back over at my mind-maps I’d made back in October.

“Maria, darling, you’re overworking yourself, aren’t you?” Even though he was right beside me, he sounded like he was stood down the hallway, talking to me. Everything was so distant. “I’m a bit lonely over here, love.”

“I have to get this finished soon.” I didn’t. “I’ve been putting this off for too long.” I hadn’t. “I’m calm about it, don’t worry.” I wasn’t.

“I have an idea.” Brian said, shuffling closer to where I was sat, taking the pen out of my hand and settling it on the table. He pulled me up by my wrist and set himself down on the chair. Before I could question him though, he gently brought me down to sit on his lap, his chin resting on my shoulder. “This way you can do your work and I don’t feel abandoned.” His last point struck a chord in my heart, but the way he chuckled afterwards let me know he wasn’t genuinely hurt by it.

“You’re cute when you’re needy.” I absently picked my pen up again, finding comfort on Brian’s lap as I continued writing.

Whilst it seems lovely, our current position, I couldn’t help but fear that Brian was reading everything I was writing, judging every little word. Which, of course, wasn’t true at all; a man of his intellect just intimidated me at times. Out of pure anxiety, I found the foot that rested on the carpet tapping away at the floor subconsciously.

“How long have you been working on this?” Brian’s voice cut through the tension, his fingers delicately brushing aside strands of hair that had fallen across my neck. He must have sensed my mounting unease.

“What time is it now?” I asked, attempting to divert my attention from the overwhelming pressure.

“Four in the afternoon,” he replied.

“Seven hours? Almost?” I muttered, the weight of exhaustion evident in my voice.

“Christ, Maria, you need a break,” Brian pleaded, his concern palpable.

“I can’t afford a break, Bri,” I retorted, my desperation mounting as I leaned forward on his lap, resting my elbows on the desk. “If I stop now, I’ll lose the momentum, and who knows when I’ll find the drive to accomplish this much again? I have to push myself and get as much done as possible.”

“You’re pushing yourself to the brink, my love,” Brian’s voice filled with worry, his hands finding their way to my waist, applying a gentle squeeze as his lips hovered beside my ear. “You have to stop at some point.”

I met his gaze with a defiant look, furrowing my brows. “Stop? You think I’m overworking?”

Brian’s soft lips grazed the sensitive skin beneath my ear, a cunning move that always managed to weaken my resolve. Yet, I refused to surrender so easily. “I know what you’re trying to do,” I warned, my voice trembling slightly.

Ignoring my protest, he persisted, his words laced with a mixture of truth and seduction. “You’re overworking yourself, my beautiful Maria,” he murmured, his lips now pressing against my exposed skin. The pen in my hand gradually slipped from my grasp, my focus wavering. “You know I’m right.”

My eyes shifted to the side, torn between resistance and yielding to his persuasive touch. “Maybe,” I hummed in response, shaking my head to fend off the rising desires. But his lips, now in full contact with my skin, weakened my resolve, causing my grip on the pen to loosen, inch by inch. “Bri… I know what you’re doing.”

In the face of temptation, my words fell on deaf ears as his hands continued their gentle exploration, tracing patterns across my waist. The proximity of his soft lips and the intensity of his touch overwhelmed me, consuming my thoughts until resistance became futile.

The hands that were gripped around my waist lowered to my hips, digging his fingertips into the soft denim-clad flesh. He pulled on my shirt and untucked it from my jeans, a fresh coolness working its way up my back just before it was replaced with the warmth of Brian’s hands. They travelled round to my stomach as I sat up fully on his lap and he stroked my skin under my shirt with such tenderness. The words on my paper were becoming blurry and I couldn’t focus on anything else but Brian’s long fingers dancing along just under my bra.

Releasing my pen, I leaned back against him, acutely aware of the smug grin spreading across his face. “You’re such an arsehole,” I muttered, a mixture of frustration and arousal dancing in my voice. He chuckled in response, the sound vibrating against my skin as his hands embarked on an achingly slow ascent. Adjusting his seated position, he parted his legs, inviting mine to follow suit. A gasp caught in my throat when one of his sizable hands enclosed my bra-clad breast, while the other teasingly toyed with the waistband of my jeans.

“Are you going to take a break now?” His voice, a seductive whisper, caressed my ear. I nodded, finally surrendering to the undeniable need for rest. Every glance away from the paper brought a wave of dizziness, and the slightest pause left my hand in agonizing cramps. “Good. Do you remember on your birthday…? You called me something different.”

Furrowing my eyebrows, I wondered why he chose this particular moment for a conversation, his hand still exerting pressure on my chest. “Yes, I remember…” I replied with a nervous laugh, my mind drifting to the memory of Freddie’s cryptic comment. Brian motioned for me to rise from his lap, guiding me by the hand towards the bed. Standing beside it, his hands found their place on either side of my neck as he leaned down, connecting his lips with mine. Breaking the kiss, he murmured against my skin, his warm breath sending shivers down my spine. “I want to hear you say it again.”

With gentle force, he eased me backward onto the bed, my head sinking into the plush mattress. Brian loomed above me, cupping one of my cheeks in his hand, his touch both tender and possessive. And then, he uttered those words that ignited a spark within me, unravelling a once-hidden desire. “I can make all that stress go away… All you have to do is say it again…”

A shaky breath escaped my lips, memories of that fateful night flooding back with undeniable clarity. It dawned on me why Freddie had found amusement in the idea of Brian and I embracing a daddy kink. How audibly did I voice my longing that night? I moistened my lips, locking my gaze with his, pupils dilated with unrestrained lust. With a nod of agreement, tingles and shivers cascaded through my body, yielding to the intoxicating allure of submission. Brian’s grin widened, and he promptly buried his face in the crook of my neck, leaving a trail of bruising kisses along my fevered skin. Uncertain of what to do with my hands, they found solace on the bed, positioned on either side of me, surrendering to the impending wave of ecstasy.

Brian withdrew momentarily, his eyes fixed upon my submissive form, his fingers teasingly playing with the buttons before meticulously unfastening them. His hands firmly grasped my waist, guiding his hips between my legs, ensnaring me completely within his grasp. His lips trailed a scorching path down my chest, between the valley of my breasts, and continued their descent towards my abdomen. Meanwhile, his hands skilfully toyed with the zipper and button of my jeans, struggling to free me from their confines. I couldn’t help but giggle, reaching down to assist him. With a lift of my hips, he expertly slid my jeans off, a cool sensation caressing the space between my legs—a tell-tale sign of my escalating arousal. The passage of time only intensified the wetness that steadily pooled within me.

“God, you truly are the most stunning creature in existence,” Brian whispered huskily, rising to his feet and towering above me. Propping myself up on my elbows, I drank in the sight of him as he discarded his shirt, revealing a slightly toned and slender physique. The way his tousled hair framed his head, creating a divine silhouette, enthralled me. Sensing my wandering gaze roaming over his body, he leaned forward, balancing on his hands, his tantalising presence hovering above me. He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips, intermittently pausing to murmur declarations of love and admiration for my beauty. This exquisite ritual continued for what felt like an eternity before he lowered himself onto his knees at the foot of the bed. Grasping my hips, he positioned me at the edge, my legs draped over his shoulders.

Brian was a master of teasing. While he was the epitome of sweetness in our everyday interactions, behind closed doors, within his realm of comfort, he transformed into the most alluring being in the universe. He observed every subtle reaction that made me squirm, whimper, and shiver, meticulously crafting a symphony that elicited all three responses simultaneously. With his head poised tantalisingly close to my throbbing core, my discarded underwear forgotten somewhere in the room, his scorching breath tantalized every inch except for where I yearned for him.

He bestowed gentle nibbles and kisses upon my thighs, legs, and every inch except for my most sensitive spot.

“Please…” I whispered, my voice trembling with desperation. Brian raised his head to meet my gaze.

“Please what, angel?”

Initially, I couldn’t discern whether he wanted me to voice my desires or if he longed for that forbidden name that we held dear beneath the surface. But the mischievous smile playing on his lips gave me the answer. Biting down on my lip, I reached down, entwining my fingers in his curls. I brushed aside stray locks, ensuring both his eyes were on display. Fluttering my eyelashes, I tilted my head to the side, peering down at him. “Please, Daddy.”

Brian’s throat constricted, his heavy-lidded eyes drooping ever so slightly at my words. “Anything for you, my love.” He lowered his head, and a tidal wave of pleasure consumed my entire being. Collapsing onto the bed, my head sinking into the soft sheets, I relished in the sensation of Brian’s skilled tongue working its magic. An airy moan escaped my lips as I surrendered to the slow and deliberate caresses, his tongue tracing tantalizing patterns around my aching bundle of nerves, rendering me helpless to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over me.

I felt Brian’s hand searching for mine, our fingers intertwining as his actions grew increasingly frenzied. His mouth became a voracious suction cup, and I was the helpless victim of his insatiable hunger. Simultaneously, his other hand ventured down my thigh, and a frown tugged at my lips when he momentarily withdrew his mouth. His intense gaze fixated on his own actions as he trailed his middle finger through the slick wetness he had created, applying pressure to my swollen clit, causing a shiver of pleasure to surge through me. Without delay, he plunged the long digit past my entrance, eliciting a sharp inhalation from me. Pushing myself up on my elbows once again, I observed his every move as he inserted his ring finger alongside the first, both digits gliding effortlessly in and out of me. His eyes flickered up to meet mine as I involuntarily released a louder moan than before. I squeezed his hand tightly in mine as he resumed his attentions to my throbbing clit, a smug smirk adorning his face.

The next few minutes were a sublime symphony of ecstasy. My legs dangled weakly over his shoulders, while his fingers thrust into me at an exhilarating pace. Furrowing my brow, I bit down on my lip forcefully, reaching out with my free hand to grip his hair gently, tugging at the roots. My hips involuntarily lifted in response, and a chorus of unfiltered whimpers and moans spilled from my lips.

“Fuck, Bri, don’t stop. I’m so close,” I moaned, surrendering to the pleasure and allowing him to take control. Collapsing onto the mattress once again, I arched my back, granting Brian the perfect angle to release his hold on my hand and hook his arm beneath my quivering form, immobilizing me so that I had no choice but to succumb to the overwhelming waves of pleasure. He withdrew his face just enough for me to hear him speak, all the while his fingers relentlessly continued their assault.

“Yeah? You’re close?” he mumbled against my sensitive core. “You going to cum for me?” With that, he returned to assaulting my throbbing clit, knowing full well the effect his words had on me.

“Yeah…” I whimpered, my chest rising and falling rapidly as my breath quickened. “Please, oh my God, it feels so good, Daddy…” The words flowed effortlessly from my lips, a surge of raw desire propelling them forward. Brian growled in response, sending intoxicating vibrations through my most sensitive area, intensifying the pleasure building within me. Then, my orgasm crashed over me like an avalanche, every nerve ending electrified. I clung to the bedsheets for dear life, desperately prolonging my moment of euphoria. My eyes rolled back, my jaw slackened, and Brian supported me through the overwhelming waves of pleasure, his fingers curling inside me before gently withdrawing. As he peppered my body with tender kisses on his way back up, I revelled in the aftermath of my release.

I fluttered my eyes open, greeted by the sight of Brian’s adoring gaze, his eyes fixed on me as if he were savouring my recovery with a mixture of amusement and affection. Unwavering, he slid his two fingers into his mouth, cleaning them up with a low grunt of satisfaction at the taste.

“You taste like heaven, angel,” he murmured, leaning down to press a sloppy, urgent kiss to my lips. Our tongues intertwined, a mingling of our essences igniting a fiery exchange of passion. I could taste myself on his tongue, fuelling my desire as I reciprocated the fervour of the kiss, my withered hand finding its way to the back of his neck, ensuring his presence remained locked in place.

A surge of excitement pulsed through me as he settled his hips above mine, his hardness straining against the velvety fabric of his trousers. I whimpered into his mouth, eliciting a chuckle from him as he reluctantly pulled away, his lips glistening. He licked them and surveyed me, his gaze ravenous. “Move up a bit, Ria. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he suggested, gesturing towards the pillows at the head of the bed. I complied, shuffling myself up until my head rested between the plush cushions.

“You know I can adjust myself if I’m uncomfortable, right?” I half-joked, smirking up at him as he shed his trousers, his bulge now even more prominent through his briefs. In an attempt to alleviate the ache between my thighs, I pressed my legs together, seeking any semblance of relief until he filled me once more. Meanwhile, he teasingly drew out the anticipation as he playfully removed his underwear.

I struggled to stifle the moan that escaped my lips when his throbbing length was finally set free, springing up against his stomach. Blushing with embarrassment at my unfiltered desire, I couldn’t deny the way it seemed to fuel Brian’s own lust. He wrapped his hand around his arousal, languidly stroking it as his eyes roamed over my body.

“Brian, stop it…” I almost growled, my core pulsating with renewed longing. “Please…”

He chuckled under his breath, then knelt on the bed before me. Still keeping my legs pressed together, my desperation no longer concealed, I watched as he used his free hand to part my thighs, the friction between them becoming unbearable.

“I didn’t realize I had riled you up so much, sweetheart. I suppose I should do something to remedy that, shouldn’t I?” His words were rhetorical, making me pout and nod, my hips instinctively shifting upward, pleading for his touch. “So needy, aren’t we? What kind of boyfriend would I be to leave my girlfriend—fuck—high and dry?” His teasing tone drove me to the brink of madness, his words stirring a frenzy of desire within me that I had never known possible.

“Please…” I moaned once more, the need for him overwhelming me. “I need to feel you inside me again.” My plea only seemed to satisfy him further. Leaning over me, one hand still gripping his cock, he ran it along my wetness, gathering enough moisture to act as a lubricant. Sensing his approach, I slipped two of my fingers into my mouth, sucking on them before swiftly finding my clit, desperate to relieve the initial stretch of his size. It was a ritual that calmed my muscles and allowed me to fully embrace him. This continued until he bottomed out, at which point I withdrew my hand, surrendering completely to his control.

He closed his eyes, resting his head on my shoulder, my blouse still clinging to my body. His hot breath tickled my neck as he tilted his head to the side, initiating a tantalisingly steady rhythm of thrusts. I held him close, relishing the closeness we shared at this deeply intimate level. In that moment, an abundance of love and affection flowed between us, as we continued our slow, passionate lovemaking. Words became unnecessary, replaced by the symphony of our moans and gasps, each sound conveying more than words ever could.

“As much as I love you…” I began, giggling softly. “And as much as I adore your gentle touch… I’m going to need you to pick up the pace a little.” Uncertainty coloured my words, and Brian lifted his head, his expression registering a hint of confusion as he halted his movements. “You haven’t done anything wrong, it’s just… I, um…” I averted my gaze, overcome with embarrassment once again.

“What is it? You can tell me anything, Ria. You know I won’t judge you,” he reassured me, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.

“Okay. The thing is, I really like it when you’re rough. It’s a side of you that only I get to see, and I absolutely love it.” As I explained, Brian’s eyes darkened, a prominent smirk gracing his face. He appeared both amused and relieved, and I sensed that we were on the same page. My heart fluttered with delight, and I smiled, biting my lip gently. “Please, Daddy.”

His eagerness surged as he propelled himself upward, my words triggering an explosion of desire within him. “My, my, what have I done to you, darling? To think I believed you were an innocent succubus, oblivious to your own powers,” he growled, swiftly lifting my legs to rest on his waist, assuming a new position that would allow him to penetrate me from a different angle. “I think I may have irreversibly corrupted you, love.”

I gazed up at him, my thick lashes framing a mischievous smirk. “You’re the only one I want to be corrupted by,” I whispered seductively, purposefully clenching around him, relishing in the way he momentarily buckled but maintained his dominant hold over me. “Now, please, shut up and fuck me. I need it so bad, Daddy.”

My plea was swiftly silenced by a harsh thrust that stole my breath and made me gasp in surprise. One of Brian’s hands rose next to my head, gripping the pillow for support, while his other hand pushed my bent leg up against my chest. He sank deeper into me, the intense pressure of his cock hitting the depths of my core evoking a moan that reverberated from my throat. His hips withdrew and then ruthlessly slammed back into me, transforming our lovemaking into a fast-paced journey. His thrusts gained speed, becoming increasingly shallow.

The sensation of his pulsing flesh rubbing against the walls of my tightness caused my back to arch painfully, and my head fell back into the pillows. “Fucking Christ,” I cursed, my jaw clenched as I punctuated the expletive with an obnoxiously loud moan.

“That’s right, baby,” Brian half-whispered, his voice breathless amid his savage thrusts. “I want everyone in this building to know you’re experiencing the best shag of your life. God, you’re so unbelievably tight…”

“Fuck!” I yelped when his free hand roughly pulled down my bra, fully exposing my breasts to him. His fingertips dug into my side, pulling me closer with every thrust. “My God, you’re so fucking big…” I squealed as he began hitting my sweet spot with precision. “Oh, fuck, right there, don’t stop…”

“Oh, is that the spot? You dirty girl,” he grunted, running his hand over my chest and briefly squeezing one of my breasts. “Practically begging me to ravage you. I love hearing you whimper. Ah, shit…” His thrusts grew relentless, the lewd sound of our skin slapping together filling the room. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that no one would be home to interrupt our passionate encounter.

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold on, Ria,” he warned, lowering his body so he rested on his elbow, his forehead pressing against mine. I met his gaze, my own voice heightening with each passing moment. The depth of my submission caused my walls to tighten even more. I realized I enjoyed this sense of helplessness whenever Brian took control, buried deep inside me.

“I love you so much,” I confessed, my voice filled with raw emotion. As my words spilled out, my mind soared in a realm of unrestrained desire, and Brian moaned loudly in response. He dipped his head to place bruising kisses on my chest, leaving marks on my breasts and any reachable skin in his current position. My vision started to blur, and my back arched once again. The more I yearned for release, the closer it drew.

I clung to Brian’s arm, my fingernails digging into his skin. “God, don’t stop. I’m going to come, Bri,” I whispered through irregular breaths, my voice laced with urgency and need.

“Do it.” He ordered, looking up at me and increasing the speed of his thrusts again, his main goal to get us both off with a spectacular finale. “Go on, love, cum for me. I want to hear those beautiful sounds of yours. I love when you cum, you always look so pretty.” His words lacked breath, but I could tell he was adamant to give me a damn good orgasm. He looked over me with satisfaction when I pressed my head back into the pillows, my mouth hanging open again and a high-pitched whine cascaded from my throat, not holding anything back. I convulsed and pulsed around the rapid actions of his length inside me and I did indeed cum with such intensity that even my hearing became debilitated momentarily.

I involuntarily twitched and whimpered at the sensitivity as Brian chased his own high. “Daddy…” I moaned out, not entirely calling out for anything in particular. I guess I was just trying to return the favour the best I could.

“Oh fuck, I love you, I love you so fucking much.” His voice lowered dangerously as his hips stilled inside me, holding onto me tightly as he shot his thick load inside me and it was one of those times where I was relieved to remember I was on the pill. I never was good at keeping track of when to take pills and since birth control pills were so highly demanding in terms of time, it stressed me out. But since I started being intimate with Brian, it encouraged me to keep up with it and it was for a good cause. I couldn’t bear the idea of not being able to feel every texture of my boyfriend’s manhood.

We were both knackered, so to speak.

The intoxicating euphoria of our passionate encounter began to subside, and Brian slowly lifted his head, shifting to lean on his side as he gently disentangled himself from our intimate connection. His arm remained draped protectively over me, a comforting presence in the aftermath.

With a softer voice, the man I had witnessed just a few minutes ago transformed, replaced by a tender and concerned partner. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you’re feeling less stressed now,” he inquired, his gaze filled with genuine care.

Fixing my bra for comfort, I let out a breathy laugh and tilted my head upwards, bestowing him with a smile brimming with genuine happiness. “A little, yeah. It’s crazy how you managed to bring me to a state where the stress became bearable,” I expressed gratefully. He reciprocated the smile, attentively listening to my words. “So, thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, silly,” he chuckled, leaning down to press a soothing kiss to my lips. The intensity of the moment threatened to consume us once again, but our desires were interrupted by the ringing phone in the hallway. Whimpering and groaning in disappointment, I reluctantly tore myself away from Brian, slipping on my underwear and making my way out of the bedroom, my walk slightly unsteady from the lingering effects of our encounter.

I swiftly picked up the phone before it could divert to the answering machine, leaning against the wall as I engaged in the conversation. From my vantage point, I could see Brian settling himself comfortably in the bedroom.

“Hello?” I greeted, my voice laced with anticipation.

“Maria, love, it’s Mum.”

Instantly, I straightened up from my relaxed position on the wall, fully focused on the other end of the line. “Oh, hello. Is everything okay? What was that letter about? Why couldn’t I—”

“Maria, be quiet for a second while I explain,” she interjected, taking a deep breath. “Damn it, I’m not sure this is news I should be giving you over the phone. It’s… It’s about your father.”

My stomach sank, and a wave of nausea swept over me. “Dad? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s okay, love. But we need to talk to you about something very important. It’s not a conversation we should be having over the phone.” A pause filled the air, thick with tension. “We need you to come home for a bit, so we can tell you in person.”

“What?” I exclaimed, my raised voice catching Brian’s attention from the other room. Concern gleamed in his eyes as he sat up, observing me closely. “I can’t just drop everything and come home. I have commitments here, Mum. It’s not that easy!”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me, Maria Brennan. You’re not that old that I can’t bend you over my knee and slap your arse. I raised you better than that,” she scolded, invoking an eye roll from me.

“Mother, I am twenty-three. Speaking of which, I don’t remember receiving any birthday messages from you. Not even Dad. Chris had to call me and do it for you.”

“Is that really important right now, dear? There are more pressing matters to attend to,” she retorted dismissively.

I clenched my jaw, feeling the stress that Brian had managed to alleviate seeping back in. “When do you want me to come?”

“Next week.”

“Shit, Mum!”

“Watch your language! I thought London would teach you some manners, but apparently not. We want you here a week from Friday, and that’s the end of it. And please, try to look presentable.” Before I could respond, the line went dead. Unable to contain my frustration any longer, I angrily slammed the telephone against the cradle before letting it hang from the wall cord. I pressed my forehead against the wall, covering my face with my hands, and let out a frustrated scream. When I finally lifted my head, I noticed Brian standing in the hallway.

“I hate my mother. I fucking hate her,” I vented, my voice filled with exasperation and anger.

“Strong words, love. What happened?” Brian stepped forward, his hand gently stroking my hair in a comforting gesture.

“They have something important to tell me and want me to go back there so they can explain it. I don’t understand why they couldn’t just tell me over the bloody phone! When did they start caring so much where the fuck I am?!” I ranted, feeling the stress mounting again.

“Let me come with you,” Brian offered. But I scoffed and headed towards the kitchen area, where I filled up a glass of water to calm my nerves.

“No, I’m serious. I don’t want you to face this alone. Please, Ria… Let me help you. I’ll feel like the worst boyfriend in the world if I let you go through this mental pain alone again,” Brian pleaded, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

His passionate plea didn’t take long to convince me. Normally, I would be hesitant and worried about imposing on him, but his genuine desire to support me overwhelmed any doubts. “Fine… Okay… But there’s one more thing,” I added, raising my eyebrows to emphasize my point.

Brian cocked his head to the side, curious. “Hm?”

“I’ve talked to her about you. I told her that we’re together. Back when I visited for Christmas,” I confessed, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

“You did?” Pride laced his voice, sending warm butterflies fluttering through my stomach.

“I did…” I confirmed, my voice trailing off.

“What did she say? Is it as bad as you thought?” he inquired, his expression shifting from anticipation to concern.

I let out an uncomfortable laugh, memories of that dreadful Christmas trip flooding my mind. “Worse, now that I think about it.”

His face dropped, his worry deepening. “Why?”

“She hates you,” I revealed, the weight of those words hanging in the air between us.

Roger

“So… You’re meeting the parents tomorrow, are you?” I casually remarked, looking up from my notebook and catching Brian’s attention. He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my comment. “What?”

“Emma told me,” I explained, shrugging nonchalantly and returning to doodling on the notebook in my lap, my feet propped up on the coffee table. With Freddie at Mary’s place more often these days, it was a rare moment of solitude for Brian and me in the house. The girls were together at the flat, leaving us with a chance to have a proper conversation, which oddly felt awkward.

Brian hummed in response, his focus returning to his book. “Does she often share personal stuff about my girlfriend with you?”

“Don’t start, mate, seriously,” I sighed, rolling my eyes at his question.

“I’m not starting anything. You don’t see how nervous Maria gets about telling anyone anything. You don’t witness the frequent panic attacks she has. You don’t see the pain she’s in because of your own girlfriend. So, don’t ‘don’t start’ me, Rog,” Brian retorted, his tone tinged with frustration.

“Okay, you need to calm down and stop being so bitchy. I know Emma can be a lot, but it’s not my responsibility to fix that!” I huffed, tossing my pen and paper onto the table and storming into the kitchen to grab a bottle from the fridge. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I’m trying to have a conversation with someone without being scared of saying the wrong thing—”

“What do you mean ‘scared’?” Brian’s voice cut through the tension, causing me to freeze. Leaning against the doorframe, I met his gaze, his full attention now fixed on me instead of his book. “You know, just… It’s silly stuff, Bri. You’ve already admitted that Emma can be a handful.” I dismissed it, settling back into the plush chair and avoiding eye contact, desperately trying to focus on anything else.

“Roger,” Brian began, sighing and straightening himself up on the sofa. If looks could kill, I would be six feet under. “Don’t tiptoe around anything anymore. Our lives are getting harder. We’re making an album together. We’ve both dropped out of university. We need to start being completely honest with each other. All of us.”

As much as I hated to admit it, Brian was absolutely right. I took a deep breath, steeling myself to share something vulnerable. “If I tell you something… Do you promise it will stay between us? No more discussing it. Just so somebody knows.”

He nodded, a mix of confusion and concern reflecting in his scrunched-up eyes. “Listen. We may fight like two schoolgirls, but I am your best friend. And as far as I’m concerned, you’re not getting rid of me that easy. You can tell me anything. Just tell me.”

I won’t lie, Brian’s promises and words warmed my heart. For the first time in a long time, I felt a connection that went beyond physical pleasure. I had used those encounters to mask the lack of emotional depth in my life, but it was always Brian who reminded me of the importance of genuine friendship.

“Okay, you know what? I’ll just say it.” I took a deep swig of beer, trying to gather the courage to voice my truth. Avoiding eye contact with Brian, I continued, my words stumbling out. “Emma… she has a tendency to get violent when I express opinions she disagrees with.” My voice cracked, betraying the emotional weight of my confession. “I do love her, Brian, I really do. She’s the first person I’ve ever felt this way about. But commitment… it’s not something I’m comfortable with. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she always deflects.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I struggled to compose myself. “I’ve been trying to change for her—I even tried to grow out some facial hair because she said I looked too feminine. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Finally, I mustered the courage to look at Brian, finding his undivided attention focused on me and the words I was pouring out. His concern was palpable.

“What do you mean by violent?” he asked, his voice low, filled with a mix of anger and annoyance.

“She hits me, Brian,” I whispered, the weight of the truth hanging heavily in the air. “It’s not the worst, but it’s… it’s not right.”

Brian’s voice hardened. “Silly or not, nobody should be hitting anyone. Does she realize how horrible she’s being?”

I struggled to find an excuse for Emma’s behaviour. “Oh yes, she apologizes afterward. She’s just stressed, I guess.”

“Don’t make excuses for her, Rog,” Brian’s tone grew stern. “Maria is under immense stress too, but you don’t see her hitting me or tearing me down. I’m on the edge of exhaustion most days, but I would never lay a hand on her. You know why? Because it’s not normal, it’s not okay.”

I nodded, the reality sinking in. “I know, I know… But it’s been happening less lately. So maybe… maybe she’s learning. I love her so much. I don’t want to lose her.”

Brian’s gaze held a mix of contemplation and acceptance. He shook his head, rising from the sofa and grabbing an empty glass to put away in the kitchen. Looking at me, he warned, “Be careful, Rog. I’m heading to bed. I have a long couple of days ahead of me…” As he walked past me, he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder.

Alone in the room, I was confronted with the harsh reality of my situation. It was clear that I needed to take control of my life and make some difficult choices.

Brian

I lay on my bed, the weight of my thoughts bearing down on me. The room was cloaked in darkness, with only a faint ray of light from the streetlamp outside casting a dim glow. Resting one hand behind my head and the other on my stomach, I stared into the elusive illumination, lost in contemplation of my conversation with Roger.

Memories of Roger’s past relationships flashed through my mind. I had witnessed him in this vulnerable state before, back when we first became friends. His ex-girlfriend had been far from kind, and I could sense him teetering on the edge once again, succumbing to his self-destructive tendencies when life overwhelmed him. It was no secret that Roger had a promiscuous streak, always seeking solace in casual encounters and a reputation to uphold, but it seemed to intensify during moments of emotional turmoil. And that’s precisely what he was going through now.

On the other end of my concerns, there was my own girlfriend, Maria. The prospect of meeting her family the following day both excited and terrified me. Usually, things were not as daunting as they seemed, but in Maria’s case, I couldn’t help but feel that her warnings were justified. Perhaps there was a slim chance that her parents would genuinely like me if given the opportunity to get to know me, but the odds were stacked against me, particularly when it came to her mother. Linda. I repeated her name in my mind, but for some inexplicable reason, I kept wanting to say Lindsey. Maria’s anxieties had subtly rubbed off on me, and the weight of her worries began to weigh on my eyelids as exhaustion seeped into my bones.

The following day, Maria arrived early, but her mood was far from pleasant. She joined me in bed, but there was no rest to be found. Fidgeting, she seemed disconnected from our conversation, hyperaware of the ticking clock. With Freddie still at Mary’s place, Roger stepped in to help us load the car with the things we needed for the day.

To my surprise, Maria and Roger had been getting along better lately, forming an unexpected friendship. However, amidst the chaos of our current situation, Maria’s frustrations with Roger resurfaced in the form of passive-aggressive comments. I had to step in and remind him that she didn’t mean it, that her emotions were running high.

As we finally settled into the car, the gravity of the situation became palpable. The abstract thoughts from the early morning hours solidified into a tangible reality. Maria remained silent, and my nerves grew more intense as the prospect of meeting her family loomed closer. Roger leaned in through the open window, his voice laden with concern, seeking to offer some form of solace or reassurance.

“This is a significant step for a relationship,” he remarked, glancing over the steering wheel and taking in all the trinkets and decorations I had adorned the car with. “Try to see it as a positive thing, despite the stress,” he added, his gaze shifting past me to Maria. She sat slumped in the passenger seat, her arm resting on the open window, her vacant gaze fixed on the world outside. Roger appeared to be searching for the right words to comfort or amuse her, but I knew all too well that his attempts would likely end in a sarcastic remark that she would take too personally in her fragile state. So, I intervened with a shake of my head, warning him silently not to go down that path.

After about an hour on the road, we merged onto the motorway, and Maria had uttered no more than ten words. She had dressed casually, donning cotton trousers and a simple shirt, with minimal to no makeup. I observed every nuance of her, and it was impossible not to notice the stark contrast in her demeanour. Now, I’m not one to enforce any particular standard or image, but it was clear that something was amiss, that she was behaving unusually.

However, what I did notice was that she had stopped fidgeting. She sat there, gazing out the window in silence. “How are you feeling, love?” I asked softly, my eyes flickering to the side momentarily to check on her while keeping my focus on the road ahead.

“I don’t know… I’m just nervous,” she replied, her fingers fidgeting and picking at the skin around her nails. I let out a quiet sigh and shifted one hand from the wheel, interlacing my fingers with hers, and placing our conjoined hands on her thigh as I continued driving. She began tracing her fingertips over the faint veins and knuckles of my hand. “I’ve never brought anyone home before. Except Emma, and they loved her,” she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. “My mum already hates you. Plus, she doesn’t even know you’re coming,” she added, muttering the last part.

My eyes widened, my grip on the steering wheel tightening. “Maria, won’t that make things worse?”

“No, because if I told her, she’d go on and on for hours about why you shouldn’t come. And then I’d get too stressed and end up going alone because my thoughts would become a mess, Brian. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to do things on a whim. I enjoy taking risks in the unhealthiest way possible,” she explained.

It broke my heart to witness her constant overthinking. I knew she couldn’t control it; it was an integral part of her anxiety. But that knowledge didn’t diminish the fact that I felt utterly helpless in fixing it. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be alright. We don’t even have to stay that long, do we? We just need to endure enough time for your parents to have their say, and then we can make our exit.” The silence that followed my attempt at reassurance made me uneasy, and I began to worry that I had said something wrong.

“Hm?” I shook her hand lightly, noticing that she had spaced out again. She blinked a few times and focused her gaze on me once more.

“I know we don’t have to stay that long. And it won’t be anywhere near as bad as Christmas. I’m really happy you’re coming with me, Bri, I’m just… I’m scared that you won’t see me the same once you see where I come from,” Maria confessed, her voice laced with vulnerability.

I shook my head vehemently, furrowing my eyebrows in disbelief. “Absolutely not, my love. I see you for who you are, and I love you. Your family or hometown doesn’t define you in any way. I fell in love with you, not your background,” I reassured her, a smile creeping onto my face as I maintained my focus on the road. The reminder that Maria was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with warmed my heart, even if I lacked the courage to get down on one knee just yet.

“Not that I’m ungrateful for you or anything, but can we stop talking about this now? I think I just need to… distract myself for now. Deal with stuff when it comes to it, I guess…” Maria’s voice trailed off, a hint of determination seeping through her words.

“That’s the mindset we need to have, sweetheart. As long as you remind yourself that I’m here and I won’t let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll fuck them up,” I added playfully, attempting to lighten the mood. And it worked. Maria giggled at my words, her laughter bringing a momentary respite from the tension.

I was taken aback when Maria began shuffling in her seat, leaning closer to me as I drove. “I love you so much,” she murmured, her lips finding my jaw in a gentle kiss.

By the time we reached West Yorkshire, it was noon, perhaps around three in the afternoon. Maria’s family expected her to arrive by four, and she reminded me of the time. “Well, we won’t get there at all if you don’t tell me where we’re going, love.”

Maria’s hometown was in the outskirts of Leeds, a rural and opulent area familiar to anyone reading this. Not to generalise, but Maria seemed to embody the Yorkshire stereotype when we first met—down-to-earth, unrefined, and not afraid to lace every sentence with a curse word. From what I had gathered about her mother, she was the complete opposite, always adhering to a middle-class narrative. Maria despised that.

Up until this point, both of us had managed to calm down. Maria had showcased her incredible singing talents once again as we played the radio, belting out the lyrics to Aretha Franklin and Led Zeppelin. However, as the radio continued to play, our joy and laughter gradually subsided, replaced by a thick blanket of anxiety that hung in the air.

“Turn this corner up here,” Maria directed, pointing to the upcoming turn. We found ourselves in an immaculate neighbourhood, consisting of no more than five houses, all sprawled out to accommodate the vast stretches of land that accompanied them. Maria’s house stood at the very end of the street, pristine and proper. “Can we just sit outside for a minute?”

“Of course,” I responded, my voice betraying an equal measure of nervousness. We did as she requested, parking in the driveway behind a rather nice car.

“Before we actually go, Brian, I just want to warn you again…” Maria unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face me, her eyes filled with apprehension. “My mum has a tendency to judge… very easily. She might say things or act in a certain way toward you, and it might hurt you, I don’t know. But all I ask is that you still see me as the person you met in London, not the person I’ll pretend to be up here.” She took my hand in hers, her fingers playfully intertwining with mine. “She says hurtful things to me all the time. I’ve learned that it’s better to ignore it as best as you can.”

I sighed, shaking my head. “It’s fine, darling.” With my free hand, I reached out and gently brushed her hair away from her face. “I’ll be the respectful Southern gent that I am. And based on what you’ve told me, your brother will be willing to engage in conversation, so I’ll strike up a chat with him if I have to.”

“Chris?” she asked, bursting into laughter. “You’d be lucky to get him to shut the fuck up.”

There she was, that spark of Maria’s fiery spirit that I cherished.

Maria

I straightened my posture, pulling my hand away from Brian’s and taking a deep breath. I glanced at my front door, steeling myself for what lay ahead. “Let’s just get this over with,” I said, mustering a soft smile for Brian before we both stepped out of the car. I marvelled at how Brian had managed to drive without any pit stops, his determination yielding satisfying results. The fresh air felt different here in the North compared to London. One thing I preferred about the North was the cleaner and fresher air, devoid of the overpowering pollution.

The house appeared surprisingly unchanged from a few months ago, which was a shock considering my parents’ penchant for whimsical redecorating rather than strategic design choices. Brian had our bags in his hands as he followed me, deftly closing the door with his elbow. I would have helped him if my mind hadn’t been preoccupied with mental survival.

As I called for my mum, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. This time, her response came from the direction of the kitchen. “Maria, chicken, we saw you pull in! I didn’t realize you had a ca—” My mum emerged from the kitchen, her sentence abruptly cut off as her eyes landed on the tall, curly-haired guitarist standing beside me, exuding an air of awkwardness. “Is this the man-friend?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest and shifting her weight to one foot.

“Yes,” I replied quietly, guiding Brian towards the staircase. I turned to face my mum as we ascended. “We’ll put our bags in my room, and then we can talk.”

The glare my mum shot at me sent a shiver down my spine. Even at twenty-three, she still managed to scare the hell out of me. She had a hold over me, and given enough time, she could make me do anything.

“Yes. We will talk,” she spat, her eyes fixated on us as we made our way upstairs.

I rolled my eyes, half-expecting my mum to race after us, ready to pounce. But I caught up with Brian at the top of the stairs, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry. I just thought it would be better to get up here first before things kick off.” I led him down the spacious hallway, not giving him a chance to question the photos adorning the walls or the multitude of certificates displayed in dark walnut cabinets.

We reached the door to my old room. “Here we are.”

“Is your mum really that bad?” Brian’s voice dropped to a hushed tone, leaning closer to me as if sharing a confidential secret. “Worse.”

“How bad?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“Fucking demented.”

[grandsonoflightike]

Kid Icarus: Time Of Rebellion - Chapter 2:  Dark Pit Reveals His Feelings For Phosphora and Phosphora Returns Them

David The Writer:  Welcme back to Kid Icarus: Time To Rebellion.  This chapter is called “Dark Pit Revels His Feelings For Phosphora and Phosphora Returns Them”.  

Viridi: You mean Dark Pit loves Phosphora and Phosphora loves him back?

Dark Pit: Yeah I do Love Him but I didn’t know Phosphora loves me back?

Phosphora: I do. If I can’t have Pit, I will have his Mirror Image. That means Pit only likes me then.

Palutena: Yeah.

Pit: …

Dark Pit:  Why is Pit’s Line just 3 periods?  He is never that quiet.

Palutena: Could it be that his body is possessed?

Viridi: I only care when I learn The Truth Of Palutena’s Relationship to Pit And Dark Pit and This third Mysterious Angel.

David The Writer: It will surprise you a lot.

Pit: Yes… It will…

Viridi: What the-?

Dark Pit: He seems to be able to response when it involves Viridi.

Palutena: By the way Viridi, who do you love?

Viridi: Do you really not know that I am betrothed to the New God Of Order?

Palutena: No, I didn’t.  *Thinks* Then she is Betrothed to Pit, my son. *Then says* But is there someone who isn’t that who already exists?

Viridi: I won’t reveal that.

David The Writer: By The way Palutena, Only the readers heard that thought.

Pit: Viridi… Dont give up on love….

Viridi: I have to because I am betrothed.

Dark Pit: Why does it look like you don’t age by the way?

Phosphora: I also wonder that.

Viridi: That is because I forced myself to be stuck at this age to wait for the New God Of Order.

Phosphora:  All Kid Icarus Characters © Nintendo.  The Forces of Rebellion © tAll3Shyguy On DA or tAll3Shyguy Skull Land On Fan-Fiction or Banger-Universe-YouTubers on YouTube or @Skulkerman On Tumblr or tAll3Shyguy_Skull_Land On Archive Of Our Own or DavidTWr On Nintendo Network or Skulkerman On PSN or KalligLegacy On Discord.

David The Writer: Thanks For the Disclaimer, Phosphora.  Background Song is So Cold (Acoustic) by Breaking Benjamin.

Dark Pit and Phosphora: What?!

David The Writer: This is a lemon.

Viridi: That makes this even more interesting.

David The Writer: Argh. Now On with the Story.

Kid Icarus: Time Of Rebellion Chapter 2:  Dark Pit Reveals His Feelings For Phosphora and Phosphora Returns Them

The Forces of The Heavens Are battling the Forces Of Rebellion but with each one of the Forces of The Heavens’ Soldiers who fall they rise again as A Forces of Rebellion Soldier. The Forces of Nature won’t risk their forces against this.  This is even more annoying to Phosphora because Pit is the enemy and Viridi won’t act.  Dark Pit is also annoying her because he doesn’t help her to convince Viridi to act against Pit.

All Dark Pit says to it is “I won’t agree to battle Pit unless I know the reason why Pit is rebelling.”

Viridi couldn't believe Phosphora's Wants to stop Pit Without knowing the full story. Phosphora is carefree but not disobedient so Viridi knows she would do anything without Viridi's Say So. This did exclude one thing to get her way towards the army's Movement: Seduction On One Of The Officers.

"Who could she possibly seduce though?" Viridi thought, Forgetting completely about Dark Pit.

That night during Dinner, Phosphora was finished with it first and she left the mess hall and headed towards the Room Of Dark Pit.  Once there, she stripped to her bra and Underwear. Dark Pit enters his room in the domain, and is surprised to Phosphora Stripped down to her Undergarments waiting for him.

Dark Pit, Blushing, says "You think you can seduce me to side with you on attacking Pit?"

"Ah how did you know?" Phosphora asks, upset.

Dark Pit Says, Still Blushing, "Viridi told me you would try it, just like you do with all humanoid officers.  I say humanoid because even you wouldn't do it with something that isn't humanoid."

“Ah man.” Phosphora Says, still Upset. 

"Though I just want to know the truth behind why he would ruin his and My Relationship towards Lady Palutena. Through I don’t know what that is.” Dark Pit says

Phosphora gets a idea so she says “Dark Pit, you might be able to find out if you get together.”

"I would only get together with you if you truly meant your Feelings for me.” Dark Pit says, Once Again Blushing.

"Well then, you’re in luck. You are the one I love truly.  If I Mk bkimcan’t have Pit, then I want you.” Phosphora says.

"Ah I see. Who do you think wants Pit, Phosphora?  Answer that last Question.” Dark Pit says.Phosphora

"Viridi does. It is why she didn’t go send her forces to help Palutena when Palutena mentioned Palutena’s and Pit’s Relationship. The problem is She is Betrothed To The God Of Order.” Phosphora says.

"I see.” Dark Pit says.

“I just have to ask one thing: You said His and Your relationship towards Palutena.  Does that mean it isn’t lovers?” Phosphora asks.

“Yeah I know it also involves me for some reason because of Pit’s and my Connection we have?” Dark Pit Says.

"Are your feelings the same?" Phosphora asks.

"No, they're opposite except with Lady Palutena but Pit blocks the full story.  I also can't read his mind at all now." Dark Pit says "Shall we start now, Phosphora?"

Phosphora looks at him and he is down to undergarments and she gets all steamy.  She likes him so much for being in love with her that she might give up trying to get favor by seducing.  He was serious because he got on top of her and started to kiss her.   She couldn’t believe it they were really kissing and that he really did mean his feelings.  His tongue demanded entrance and she thought if she might as well return them so she let his tongue in.  This meant their kiss turned passionate.   Soon enough his lips left hers and he kissed to her ear, nibbled on it and then head down her neck to her chest.  She arched herself upward to allow him to remove her bra and he did remove it.  He then starts to lick one and massage the other.

“Oh, Dark Pit.” Phosphora moaned softly so Viridi wouldn’t hear.  Through Viridi could tell this was happening because through Nature she could see everything and Viridi saw this and smiled at the new couple.

Phosphora’s underwear then came off by dark pit and Phosphora Removed Dark Pit’s Underwear.  Dark Pit began Licking her Butt and Phosphora began sucking her dick.  They stopped before either could cum.

“Are You sure you’re up for this, Phoshora?” Dark Pit asks

Phospora smiles at his concern and answers "Yes."

Dark Pit enters her Pussy and It was her first time.  This surprised Dark Pit but now she knew she was so flirtatious.  She wanted to find that special someone and it turned out to be him. He started pushing and she pushes too, making their skin fap to each other.  Viridi help but masturabate now but, everytime Phosphora said Dark Pit's Name, Viridi said Pit's Name. Viridi loved Pit but she is betrothed to the God of Order.  Viridi couldn't believe she let herself fall for Pit.  She really wanted to know why Palutena thought Pit would never betray.

A voice in a stone prison thought "It won't be long before My Prison is destroyed."

That stone prison was deep under the Reset Bomb Forest but who put it there?

Viridi thinks "I can't believe I am doing this.  That prison must be reveling with corruption from my thoughts for Pit, the one who isn't the God of Order."

Viridi then realizes something.

"Is Pit's actions thanks to Corruption?" Viridi says.

Dark Pit and Phosphora then stop and Viridi does too.  Something tells Viridi that she should listen to Dark Pit's Words if he sides with Phosphora.

TBC...

[coffeebanana]

from silverrae (ao3)

i was also listening to some sad/soft songs as i read that lyrically made me like omg this is perfect for this fic and i thought i’d share in a separate post in case you don’t feel like publishing it! ok here.

oblivion - bastille

i cant breathe - bea miller

i found (acoustic) - amber run

crosses - josé gonzález

you’re somebody else - flora cash

6/10 - dodie

jesus christ - brand new

glitter in the air - p!nk

you - keaton henson

the scientist - coldplay

listen before i go - billie eilish

[re: say something] omg thank you this is so cool!! love the idea of someone associating my writing with other art forms aaaah

i'm definitely familiar with at least half these songs, and i'm excited to listen to the rest!

"i can't breathe" in particular works SO WELL i can't believe i didn't think of that before and akjsdkjfsb i LOVE "i found". like. the line that goes "if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind" MESSES ME UP IN THE BEST WAY and that works so well for adrien in say something. that idea that you CANNOT logic your way out of some things no matter how hard you try and sometimes going over it too much actually just makes you go a little crazy and aksjfksjb it's gold. (my INTP brain that likes to overanalyze things but cannot ever make a decision vibes so hard with the concept).

gonna be going through this list to add more things to my say something playlist for sure! (it's actually one of only two fics i even HAVE a playlist for--the other being an unpublished wip actually--because normally i get too distracted if i try to pick songs for a fic playlist. like, i overanalyze if the song REALLY encapsulates the fic to a degree where it distracts me from actually writing 😂. so i can really only do it for longer fics that i spend a LOT of time churning around in my head. i'll probably share it when the fic is complete, but i might be able to be bribed to share it sooner if anyone asks ahaha)

thanks so much for this ask!! 💜

[animezinglife]

I was tagged by @indynerdgirl. :)

Nickname: I actually have quite a few related to my name (but won’t share them here as they indicate too much about both my first and last name).

Sign: Taurus

Height: 5′ 4"

Last thing I googled: “Sauron actor Rings of Power.” The one good thing to come from this show is the fact the guy looks like one of my original characters, so I wanted the name for a Pinterest character board.

Song stuck in my head: Honestly, none currently. I’ve had CoffeeHouse on for the brief periods I have listened to music today. Soft acoustic indie.

Number of followers: A little over 3,800 on this blog. Between this and a couple more streamlined fandom-specific blogs, around 45k.

Amount of sleep: Never enough.

Lucky number: Don’t really have one, but 2?

Dream job: Wandering bestselling author, hobbyist photographer, and guest lecturer. 

Wearing: ...[very] oversized men’s sweatpants I’ve had entirely too long and an also oversized pajama t-shirt from a local restaurant/bar. I like to keep my evening wear sophisticated.

Movies/books that summarize you: That’s really tough. Music would be easier. Instead of giving specific examples, I’d say books that quietly tell a story, may not obviously always have a lot happening, and where the protagonist is a careful observer. Books where the protagonist has some connection to nature, loves books and art, and is perfectly content to just sit outside under a tree on a summer day. Books that ponder questions of life and time, while highly valuing love (family, friends, romance, etc.).

Favorite song currently? I don’t have any one favorite.

Aesthetic: Quiet, cozy, natural light, and lots of natural and earthy green elements. Soft breeze, natural sounds like the wind, birds chirping, or water from the lake washing against the shore. Not having to always be “doing” something or filling the room or your surroundings with noise. If it’s any indication, the room I’m currently sitting in is lit only by lamplight, I’m on my white sofa with clean lines and no real detail, and right beside my head is a painting of green, sage, and beige leaves. Everything’s a little understated; muted.

Favorite author: J.R.R. Tolkien and Emily Henry (obviously, for dramatically different reasons and types of reading).

Random fun fact: I have the completely useless skill of being able to write quickly with both hands at the same time. Now, a lot of people can do that by using a mirror technique, except I can actually write in two different fonts and, if I desire, flip one or the other upside down with the same or different fonts (for example, one cursive and one print). It’s one of those “party tricks” that has no real value but really messes with people’s heads, especially if they’ve never tried it themselves. I can draw that way as well, though only the same mirrored image in both hands. 

I’m drawing all kinds of blanks tonight, but I appreciate the tag!

No pressure tags (and tagging the first few who show up in my activity feed): @the-gotheltic-rowan, @rebelnurse, @kieyoukie, @10-96dispatcher, @onodakun, @wristwatch-tan-line, @stride-armin