#praise chuck and simone

[tojisun]

so obsessed with the “my cock is big so it wont fit” / “try me” relationship dynamic ughhhh thinking about this with simon and reader, and how reader’s desperation made them spiral, makes me so giggly

thinking about the way you finger yourself everyday to stretch yourself out for simon; preparing yourself for him. practicing for him.

it becomes a routine; it was mundane, almost, but every time the thought that you’re doing this for simon slithers its way back to the forefront of your mind, you lose yourself—doused in the tendrils of your desire, so powerful it has you clenching on your own fingers.

they never hit deeper, never stretch you out wider, but they scratch the itch to be stuffed and manage to satiate you long enough for the next day to roll by.

it’s a lot worse when you meet up with simon because your core throbs with need, leaving you crossing your legs to give yourself that muted relief. but it’s never enough, is it?

simon’s right there, voice thick like molten lava, viscous as it washes over you. “are you alright, love?”

and you lie, gritting your teeth and clenching your fists tightly, telling him that of course you’re fine. because what else can you say? “i dream of your cock so much that i fuck myself everyday as prep”?

if you do say that, simon won’t ever let you live it down. so you stay quiet, crossing-and-uncrossing your legs at every of his deep laugh or gentle crooning, trying your best to ignore the way his palm squeezes the muscle of your thigh. you wonder if he’s doing this on purpose by now because there’s no way simon actually does naturally talk like this—

it’s all teases and taunts as a whirlpool of petnames dribble from his quirked-up lips. he calls you, baby and darling. he calls you sweetheart and lovie. but then he also calls you pup, doll, pet—anything that makes you gasp, and quiet puffs of breaths wheeze out of your trachea in your own stupor.

“you seem distracted,” he murmurs, his voice a worried croon.

“uh-huh,” you say, not really listening, because simon’s hand is climbing up higher and higher on your thigh.

simon notices your stare, because of course he does, then does…

nothing.

he drops you off to your place that night, and leaves a kiss on your forehead before driving off. you watch from your living room window as he disappears from your line of sight before clambering towards your room, tearing your pants off your body and chucking your little slip of underwear behind you as you do so.

you sink into your plush mattress, knees braced by your softer pillows, before reaching behind you to plunge yourself with your fingers. two of them slide in easily, and you crook them just right until you’re mewling. moaning. crying.

simonsimonsimon—

your orgasm is a sharp rip of euphoric release. but the tidal wave of your ecstasy wafts off into its remnants just as quick because this, fucking yourself, isn’t the fix you want. it isn’t the fix you need.

(that said, making simon buckle was a lot easier said than done.)

you parted your legs yourself, planting your hands on the underside of your thighs to pull them open for simon. simon laughs when he saw this, his pale cheeks so flushed with his own desire.

“hurry,” you whine, all choked-up with your desperation, and simon only croons a warning.

“we need ta’prepare you, pup. i’m too big f’r you.”

his acknowledgment makes you leak, your wanton thoughts turning into slick that gushes out of you. simon laughs, so utterly endeared.

“i prepared myself, si! please put it in!”

simon sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “i thought you wanted my cock?”

he waits for you to nod. you do so, careful, as your wet eyes look up at him.

“hmm. so listen to daddy, yeah?”

“okay,” you mumble, too overwhelmed to fight back.

simon smiles, murmurs his praises, and then he’s bringing his head between your legs. you squeak, surprise dotting your vision. you expected simon to prepare you, yes, but you expected his fingers—long, rough, thick—and not his tongue—

“siii-monnnn,” you keen, legs buckling from your hold until they tumble to his back, your strength getting zapped out of you at every lap of simon’s tongue.

it’s so good! so, so good!

simon takes over, hooking your legs over his shoulders himself as he burrowed deeper, nose grinding against the sensitive underside of your sex. his tongue pushes against your walls, sliding between them, and then simon sucks.

fuck! fuck—

sorta pt 02

[syoddeye]

final part of piercer!simon. read the previous bit.

simon x transmasc!reader. ~2.1k words. +18 only. Note: Cunt, cock, and clit are used to describe genitalia of a trans masc reader’s body. Hit the back and/or block buttons as needed. CW: description of piercing procedure, dubcon touching (reader is interested and generally consenting, but a lil scared because simon), packing, minor negative self-talk, needles (mentioned), invasive questions, simon riley’s bad filthy jokes, mild degradation, praise, fingering, frotting, just the tip, italicized dialogue

Want to see what a Duke piercin' would look like on you?

No sooner than you mutter a ‘yes’, Simon helps you to your feet, and orders you to strip from the waist-down. He turns away to rummage through an acrylic cabinet. Hands trembling, you pop your fly and pull the zipper. At the sound, the broad set of shoulders and back in front of you tense. You hesitate, fingers curled around your waistband, and his head swivels a fraction. He’s listening.

Your breath shudders. This is a preview. Not the actual piercing. 

Your jeans are barely to your thighs when he faces you again, steel forceps back in hand, two bells pinched in his fingers. Staring through half-lidded, dark eyes, he gestures to your boxer briefs with the instrument.

Those too. All the way off. Nothing I haven’t seen before. 

You doubt it. Slow as molasses, you peel the cotton down, carefully taking the modest foam packer with it. Your eyes fix themselves to the crease of Simon’s bent arm, the inky black of his tattoo, but you can’t close your ears to how he inhales deeply through his nose. Not in the way you expect. With interest, like he’s trying to sniff you out.

All the way off. He repeats.

You obey and step out of the pile of clothes. Simon hums. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze and find him staring. His eyes narrow slightly, apparently having waited, then drag down your body. Their weight palpable when they reach your cock.

Pretty.

Simon steps closer and chucks your chin with the forceps. The cold makes you swallow, and his subtle crows' feet crinkle. 

Do you trust me?

He knows the answer. You’ve paid him to stab you over a dozen times, but he needs a ‘yes’, and you give it to him. He moves. Both you and him.

Despite the cool, sterile atmosphere of Simon’s studio, you feel like you’re melting. Heat licks up your back, curling around your neck and cheeks, blistering with a mix of humiliation and anticipation. Every nerve ending alight, and Simon hasn’t even touched you, at least, not where you want him to.

Comfy?

Another ‘yes’ ekes out.

Legs spread and hauled over Simon’s thick thighs, you recline between his legs, facing a mirror. One hand guides your hips into a slight angle, putting your cock on display. His arms slip under yours, smoothing the corner of the bandage protecting your fresh navel piercing.

A chuckle rumbles through your back and tightens your chest. The hand on your stomach shifts, and his arm bands around your middle. Tucking his head into your shoulder, paper mask skimming your cheek, he draws the forceps closer to his target, and his breathing quiets in your ear. Beneath the lingering smell of disinfectant, smoke and cardamom wafts off his skin.

Gonna be cold. I’ve got you.

And it is, and he does. You fight your reflexes as he maneuvers the instrument between your thighs, brushing your cock and the sensitive dip of skin and hair. Gently exposing you further, he coos in your ear, a smugness edging his voice when it twitches. Look at you. Perfect candidate. 

The chill bites as the blunt jaws hold the skin away from your cock, and your eyes dart between it and your cunt. Your fingertips dig into his thighs at the sheen of arousal threatening to pool and drip. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed.

Hold these. Simon taps the handle. Don’t move or it’ll hurt.

Your hand takes over, and his grip relents. A barbell in each hand, he slowly moves the jewelry into places, his breath deep and even. Rapt, your mouth parts. The symmetry is simple, yet—

Gorgeous. Eyes flicking to him in the reflection, you preen, and his deep, rattling breath makes you shiver. Do you get hard often?

You wilt and think to rise, bail, but then he rubs the steel along the sides of your cock, coaxing it to attention. The move chokes his name out of your throat, and you nearly drop the tool. A huff of laughter filtered by the mask warms your face. He meets your eye in the mirror and continues.You like that, pretty? Can feel how stiff you are.

His thighs open further, taking yours with them, his covered mouth pressing to your neck. His fingers stray from the bells every other arc against your cock, gingerly stroking. At the escape of a whine, he drops the pretense altogether. The jewelry clatters to the ground abandoned, and he reclaims the forceps. He drags the flat, oval tips over your skin as if they were as soft as a feather. His free hand snakes under the hem of your shirt, shoving up until it glides to the base of your neck. A thumb rests in the hollow of your throat. The sight in the mirror renders you speechless, watching his dexterous fingers manipulate the metal to tease and toy, winding you up until you shake.

Normally can’t get you to shut it, now you’re as quiet and as fidgety as a church mouse. Simon ditches the tool next, splitting two thick fingers to take its place. They edge down, slick soaking the latex, and he groans against your head. The digits creep further, slow, one experimentally touching the tender underside of your cock, while the other pets over your hole, clearly telegraphing what’s next. 

Simon removes his hand altogether, chuckling at the whine that follows. Yeah, like that. He holds your gaze, licking the tips of his gloves clean before biting a latex tip and tugging the glove off. He hawks the thing to the floor with a wet slap, and pulls his mask under his chin. Pale, old scars decorate his face and knuckles. There’s a story, and you think to ask, but he pushes his fingers past your lips and stuffs them into your mouth. Sweat and hand soap dance over your tongue as he makes use of it, wetting his fingers up to the metacarpal, groaning at the sight of spit collecting on his skin. Wanna hear you, pretty.

You’re dripping by the time his fingers return, and with a single shaky nod in the mirror, he sinks them into your sopping cunt. Electric currents buzz bilaterally in your spine, and sparks ricochet behind your eyelids when you shut them tight and rapidly open again. His naked mouth finds your ear with whispered, unintelligible filth. He grins, self-satisfied, half-hidden by your head. Was thinkin’, he purrs with a slow pump of his fingers, I usually put holes in you. Don’t mind plugging this one.

If he wasn’t knuckles deep, you’d leave. Definitely. Wrench yourself off his—his fingers crook into a devastating angle, petting with the precision his job demands. The wet seal of your hole around his fingers is a sight, walls molding to the intrusion. He stokes a fire in your belly, simmering beneath the bandage, finally cajoling words from your mouth. Your voice, saturated with desperation, begs for more.                                                                                

Simon’s hand grasps your neck, giving it a squeeze in time with a thrust of his fingers. Greedy boy. You always want more. More jabs. He punctuates with a deep plunge and vulgar squelch. More attention. More me.

His mouth latches over your neck and suckles, groans muffled when you clench around his digits. He breaks the suction with a wet pop, trailing his spit to a lobe. Had a feeling when you started booking me. Didn’t think much of it. 

He extracts his fingers at the early pulses of your orgasm, spanking the wet tissue with a few harsh pats. You’re fuckin’ annoying. He chuckles at the ease of his fingers’ reentry into the tight clasp of your cunt. But you’re good like this, aren’t you.

He repeats the process twice. Gets you twitching, squirming in his lap. The blunt shape of his erection digs into your bare skin, the denim chafing. Half-consciously, you ride it, trying to rut back into it as he fucks his fingers in, thumb minding your cock. A hand migrates to the bulge of his forearm through your shirt, and the sweat on the palm leeches into the cotton.

He grunts into your ear between sloppy kisses to your jaw and neck. His thumb presses the flushed tip of your cock once, reminding you of his plans. The metal he wants you to wear. Leagues more intimate than any collar or ring. The thought makes you twitch, makes your hole clench.

Simon’s grip on your neck loosens, climbing to your jaw, holding your face straight to the mirror. His eyelids curtain blown pupils, licking a line on your skin. Let go, pretty. Be a good boy and cum on my fingers. The command triggers detonation, your orgasm obliterating the vestiges of your self-control. Hard, fast, and white-hot, it rips out of you in a pitchy cry, hands scrabbling at his thigh and arm, certain you’ll ascend heavenward too early. He holds fast, fingers secure in the vise of your cunt as it tries to fruitlessly milk honey from their stone.

Mind fuzzy with static at its edges, you hear him mutter. All you get is a moment’s rest before you find yourself upended, dragged bodily off the floor, supported by his arms. You ragdoll a second, jerking when your toes drag, and he settles you back on the lifted cot. Your eyes loll in their sockets, blinking, finding sudden clarity when his hips knock your knees apart. His cock, heavy and leaking, rests on the cradle of his opened zipper and juts into the meat of your leg. You tense. The light glints off the row of barbells adorning his length, and your breath catches. If his girth didn’t intimidate you, the ladder did.

What? Afraid it’ll hurt? He drags a thumb slowly over the raised ridges, the metal lying beneath the surface. His gloved hand grips the crease of your thigh, thumb resting above the crown of your engorged clit, caressing the damp hair. He strokes himself with the other, hissing through the first few pumps. You inhale as he slaps his cock, already slick with your release and his precum, against your sensitive flesh. It catches your tip, then briefly the mouth of your soaked cunt, garnering a whimpering protest out of you. Not today. Promise.

Sweat and cum coat his fingers as he pushes his cock to yours, gradually finding a course and a rhythm. The heat of him is heavy, the smooth ends of his piercings drumming along your cock and skin. It’s embarrassing how quickly Simon wrests a second orgasm out of you, mortifying when he breathlessly comments he wishes you squirted, that he loves a mess. It’s not as all-encompassing as the first and doesn’t threaten to rattle you off the table. You’re lucid when he notches his tip to your fluttering hole. Fuck, need a taste, jus' the tip.

Simon’s thrusts are shallow and controlled—enough to drown out the alarm bells, illustrating the power held back. The blunt head stretches with a slight burn despite his fingers and the mess of your cunt. To your relief, he keeps his word, means it, just the tip. He pulls back a half-step, a choked groan preceding the thick ropes of spend he spills over your inner thighs. He releases his softening length, hand planting on the bed, and leans into your space. His head skims your shoulder, gathered beads of sweat fall from his temple, ragged breaths subsiding into quiet puffs. He withdraws, lips ghosting over your cheek, and turns to the acrylic cubbies. 

Simon cleans and tucks himself away first, then you, amused by your squirming. He retrieves your clothes and insists on holding your underwear and jeans for you to step into. You swallow your pride to let him help. Aftershocks ripple through your thighs, the muscles and nerves pulverized into gelatin, malleable from his touch. He adjusts the packer, drags a knuckle over the fly seam, then holds you close with a finger hooked in a belt loop.

After all that, he asks if you want the piercing now that you understand the placement. He can pencil you in a month from now.

You don’t miss how the suggested date falls on a Friday evening. You tell him you need to think about it. It’s quite the commitment, from what you’ve learned.

Simon unlocks the door as you gather your jacket from the waiting area out front. Bars the exit with an arm, an aftercare kit dangling between two fingers. You pluck it from him, meeting his eyes over the fresh surgical mask.

My Johnny loves his Duke. Could show you, might change your mind.

[enjoythesilentworld]

wille :(

I originally wrote this for day 7 (Erik) of Wille's month but ended up binning it and I'm much happier with the one I ended up posting..

bUt, I started over because I was like "hmm Idk this might be too OOC", then i remembered that Wille kicked over instruments in the music room, trashed his birthday presents, and literally held a g*n up to August's face, so I thought "ok maybe not too OOC".

now this is just a very sad drabble of what could be a missing moment starting right after s3e5 ends (but what i hope is not actually a missing moment because it is Very Sad).

read below the cut if you're interested... sorry... (cw: wille is very upset and throws some stuff)

“My mamá’s here,” Simon said softly. As he collected his things and moved towards the door, Wille stood from the bed. He watched Simon take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling into a slump. One step through the door frame and Wille followed. How could he not? If Simon was really leaving, he had to–

Simon turned back and met Wille’s eye, then looked away. He gave a slight shake of his head. Wille froze in his spot. Simon didn’t turn back again. The click of the door closing was deafening in his quiet bedroom. 

Thinking back, Wille couldn’t remember how long he stood there. He also couldn’t remember how he ended up in Erik’s room, but he did. Somehow, he came back into his body and found himself standing, barefoot and teary-eyed in his brother’s room. He hadn’t been in there in months. Everything still looked exactly the same. The same perfectly made bed, the same perfectly crisp military jacket, the same perfectly organized desk. Everything exactly the same except now Wille saw it in a new light. It was all too perfect to be real. There were secrets in the closet, tucked under the mattress, buried in the curtains. He thought back to the phone call, the way his father had praised Erik, had said he didn’t have that same darkness. He thought back to the dinner, the way his mother had only talked about Erik, how she couldn’t even look at him. He thought, too, back to all those times he’d heard Erik laugh at August’s offensive jokes. 

Everything in the fucking world was fake, even Erik. The knowledge that he’d suffered so much trying to live up to his brother’s perfect standard. All the disapproving looks from Mamma, the ‘stop being so selfish’ from Erik. His brother had told him he could trust August and that was a lie. He’d said to listen to the third years and that was a death wish. He was doubting everything now. Would Erik have even cared about the video? Would he have sided with Mamma? He knew he was just working himself up; too exhausted, too many emotions after such an awful day, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Wille stepped forward and angrily ripped back the sheets of the bed, sending pillows flying. He pushed over the desk chair. He grabbed a portrait of some old noble off the wall and chucked it. He kicked at the wall, tore at the curtains. He sobbed and yelled and knocked a picture frame off the desk. Tiny shards of glass went skittering across the room. He grabbed the stupid frog prince ceramic from Erik's desk. He raised it above his head, gearing up to smash it on the ground.

When he looked up, he met his own eyes in the mirror. Eyes swollen, face red and streaked with tears, he tried to look away but couldn’t. Everywhere else there were pictures of him, or him and Erik, as children. He and Wille, practically babies, crawling on a fence somewhere outside. Him, climbing on a playground, holding a toy. He and Wille, arms around each other, laughing. 

Wille wanted to punch the mirror. He wanted to feel it shatter under his hands and to send the pictures falling to the ground. He wanted to scream. He wanted his fucking brother back. He wanted to ask Erik about the initiation, about the video, about the truth.  

He couldn’t have those things though, and would never get them. 

He put the frog prince back on the desk.

Slowly, he picked his way across the floor. 

Some hours later in the early-early morning, a housekeeper found him there, surrounded by broken glass, curled up in Erik’s bed, asleep on top of the messy sheets. 

[hanna-kin]

My season 2 thoughts

I think I'm ready to share my thoughts about season 2. There will be more specific posts because I can’t shut up about this show.

But these are my first thoughts about the season as a whole.

I'm going to be honest. When I finished the final ep all I thought was:

Okay is that it?

I was overwhelmed but felt underwhelmed. I was confused and empty.

I had longed for this for over a year. Spent everyday in this fandom. I had missed the characters every single day. And I had built expectations and a vision of what season 2 would be.

And it was non of that. It was so different from any expectations and visions. So vastly different that it almost didn't feel like the same show.

I almost felt a sense of panic. I don't know how to describe it. I almost felt guilty for not loving it.

I talked to a few friends about it and it felt like they also felt like that which made me feel even more panicked. What if it was all gone? Just like that?

Is this it?

But felt like I needed to watch it again. With a lot less pressure and without any premises.

And so I did.

I love it

I love it so so much. The more I watch the more I fall in love and the more I engage in the fandom the more I adore this show.

And when I've talked to my friends and seen posts it feels like a lot of people feel this way.

Edvin wasn't wrong when he said the fandom isn't prepared for what's coming.

He knew...

They all knew...

Season two is not as gleaming as season 1. But damn it's still magical.

There are so many things I love. Wille's and Simon's journeys. Their arcs are amazing.

They are allowed to grow, they are allowed to make mistakes, they communicate, they are honest with eachother, they learn about themselves, they learn about eachother.

I love them so much.

The acting is just amazing. Everyone stepped up their game but especially Edvin. The way he portrays Wille never ceases to amaze me. The range he has and the layers he adds to Wille is so incredible and I'll never stop talking about it.

And Omar, giving life to Simon yet again. I can't imagine a better Simon. This season gave us new and different sides to Simon but they feel just as real and as authentic as in season 1.

And Malte, damn.

I loved the new characters and the development old ones got. Marcus is a great addition and a perfectly written character. He's not a villian but he's not a perfect character either. He feels authentic.

I love Stella, Fredrika and Nils this season. They added alot of joy.

I love the added humour. Because even if the season was darker it felt lighter because there was more humour. I mean Simon chucking the dodge ball at Wille 😂

Best thing ever.

I cut my hair

Best thing ever.

I love them so much.

I love season 2 so much.

I think Lisa created such a brave and ballsy season. They all did.

Lisa had it planned from the beginning and she had to see the fandom scream at what they wanted, loudly and and very adamantly. It must have been a little scary but she was true to her words and she trusted herself. And of course she knew best. Of course she knows her story and her characters.

They all do.

But I still think they were all so brave. The writers, directors, editors, and of course the cast.

We know how much they love young royals and their characters. And they acted their shit out. They went into season two with so much passion and drive and it shows.

They worked their asses off and it shows.

I'm so proud of them for doing season 2 and staying true to their story. They deserve all the praise and love.

I fucking love season 2.

[kiloplot]

3rd bass the cactus album release date

Tall words, indeed, but CACTUS - Carmine Appice, Tim Bogert, Jim McCarty and the late Rusty Day (who died in 1982) - came out only months after their Brit counterparts, only to flame out brightly after four albums (Cactus, One Way… Or Another, 'Ot 'n' Sweaty and Restrictions) before 1973 even started. They were called "The American Led Zeppelin" back in 1970. This is truly the American “Led Zepplin “.ĬACTUS Is Back With A Brand New Album "TIGHTROPE"! “The American Led Zeppelin” is coming at you with tour dates in both America and Europe.Īll told, those of us who were too young to have seen Cactus in the 70's are in for a treat. He has the same feel as Jim McCarty had on original classic Cactus songs. Teddy was a big fan of Cactus when he grew up. With March shows already done with Rave reviews check out the tour dates coming up in June with our new singer, Jim Stapley, who also plays rhythm guitar and Harp and Teddy Rondinelli who kicks ass on guitar. concert is $30, and more information and tickets are available by visiting .- Atlantic Records, 1970 Established 1970Ĭarmine Appice announced new touring line up for 2022. The Levin Brothers play their Moline engagement on September 15 with an opening set by Troy Rangel & Friends, admission to the 7 p.m. Now, with the enthusiastic support of an indie label, we're rockin'! Well, swinging actually." In the Woodstock, New York community where we live, we're surrounded by great recording studios and great musicians. With our common roots, similar music training and decades of recording experience, getting our minds in sync with the concept and the plan was easy. But this is our first time developing a project together. Pete added, "Style-wise, Tony and I have had divergent careers, although our musical paths have crossed many times, backing other artists and playing in each other's bands. So it's been a labor of love to write pieces in that style, woodshed my cello playing, so as to use it as a lead instrument, and put together a record with melody based songs, short solos, and, hopefully, the chemistry of musicians who play like. well, a lot of years! And it's a return home, for me and Pete, to the music we first shared as kids - the 'cool jazz' of the '50s. It's a long overdue 'first record' by two brothers who've been making records individually for. Regarding the decades-in-the-making release of the Levin Brothers recording, Tony stated, "This album's about a few things. Pete also currently records with his organ trio alongside Dave Stryker and Lenny White. Over the years, he has graced hundreds of jazz and pop recordings and performances by the likes of Miles Davis, Gil Evans, Jimmy Giuffre, Dave Brubeck, David Sanborn, Joe Louis Walker, Don Elliott, Freddie Hubbard, Annie Lennox, Charles Mingus, Jaco Pastorius and Wayne Shorter. Tony's additional jazz credentials include having worked with Buddy Rich, Steps Ahead, L'Image, Gary Burton, Chuck Mangione, and Herbie Mann, and beyond his tenure with the Levin Brothers, the longtime keyboard player currently records and tours with Stick Men and the Crimson ProjeKCt.Īs a French horn major, Pete Levin earned a master’s degree from the Juilliard School, although in the early 1970s, he switched to keyboards, becoming a synthesizer specialist in the New York City recording studio scene. Since graduating from the Eastman School of music, Tony Levin has become the bass and Chapman Stick voice for Peter Gabriel and King Crimson, and has also played on notable recordings for John Lennon, Pink Floyd, Lou Reed, Alice Cooper, Dire Straits, Carly Simon, Judy Collins, and many other artists. With All About Jazz praising their self-titled album as a work whose "relaxed ambience breathes friendship and family even as it pays tribute to the cool jazz that inspired both brothers at an early age," the sibling musicians of the Levin Brothers - keyboardist Pete and bass and cello player Tony - headline a special September 15 concert at Moline's Rascals Live, the pair offering an intimate evening of jazz alongside Ali Ryerson on flute and Jeff Siegel on drums. Rascals Live, 1414 15th Street, Moline IL

[nancylou444]

[dark1k]

RK1K for the sentence starter "I have passed by many eyes, and experienced many lives, but I only got lost in yours."

Markus was inherently curious.

Even before turning deviant, he realized he had a quiet fascination for the world around him. He questioned everything and absorbed information like a sponge; philosophy, the arts, biology, no subject ever seemed to bore him. Markus craved knowledge and his friends relentlessly teased him for it.

"Thank RA9 we have countless terabytes of storage, or else you'd sacrifice your own basic functions just to learn about color theory!" North jabbed at him one day, Simon chucking beside her and Josh listening with fondness in his eyes. Markus laughed at her joke, knowing they meant well, but the group simply didn't relate to his inquisitive nature towards the universe. Despite the fact that androids are equipped with limitless intelligence and access to such information in milliseconds, Markus believed in learning things "the old fashioned way."

Whenever he had a day off from stubborn meetings and tiresome interviews, he would wander off to the local library, nestled in one of Detroit's many hidden alleyways. It wasn't hugely popular, considering the advancements made in technology, but Markus would spend hours in the small armchair beneath the shop's window reading all walks of literature. Fantasy, historical fiction, romance, he thinks he's read close to half of the books in the library's collection. It was peaceful, serene, and he slowly accepted the fact that he might be the most curious android in the state of Michigan.

Well… that is until he grew closer to Connor.

They became fast friends during the weeks following the revolution. Between discussions surrounding android rights and building a harmonious existence with the humans, Connor was someone Markus appreciated very deeply. Not only was he resolute and quick-witted, both traits needed when trying to negotiate with manipulative politicians, but he was the only person in Markus' personal circle who also questioned everything around him. As a result, they developed a kinship of sorts and spent many hours debating topics from conspiracy theories to decades-old news articles.

"What is your opinion on faith?" Connor asked one day, having caught up him before Markus left for the library. "I was speaking with Hank earlier and asked him, since I've been trying to understand why both humans and androids have such a profound belief in the unknown, but his answer left me with even more questions. He said, and I quote, 'You mean a bunch of wealthy church-goers who sing praise for words written thousands of years ago? Yeah, I never cared for that stuff.' However, I think the idea of faith is so interesting! Did you know that in Medieval Europe, the usage of stained glass in churches was meant to symbolize the gap between the earthly and the divine?"

Markus glanced over as Connor fell into step with him, his thoughts whirling quicker than he could fathom. And yet, his first thought always returned to Connor's eyes – how they shined with interest when the sunlight hit his face just right, and how they looked at Markus as if he hung the moon. Different prompts appeared on his HUD but he discarded them and answered, "If you're not busy, why don't you accompany me to the library and discover that and even more answers to future questions?"

Connor smiled, wide and toothy. Markus thought that no tome of knowledge could accurately describe what effect a smile can have on the heart.

And so they walked along Detroit's river to the library, their knuckles brushing with the swing of their arms. They talked about their own ideas surrounding faith, and if Markus laughed harder than he had in weeks when Connor remarked, "You know, I think I understand why people become so obsessed with faith, considering the amount who believe you to be RA9 incarnate.", then only the birds overhead and the waves beneath his feet could attest to his wheezing breath.

The shopkeeper, an old woman by the name of Dorothy, was overjoyed to see another face in her library. Markus directed Connor to the small religion section and showed him the books he had already read, offering narrations and his opinions on the authors. So caught up in his explanations, he missed how Connor's eyes never leaved his face and how his smile grew softer, completely endeared by the leader's infatuation with learning.

When hours ticked by and the pair had settled on the floor, backs resting against parallel bookshelves and thighs pressed warmly together, the sky outside turned into pretty pinks and vibrant oranges. Their conversation ended some time ago, but the quiet wasn't awkward. No, it was comforting. Like being smothered in dozens of fuzzy blankets. Connor's LED remained a steady blue the entire time and Markus placed this specific outing at the top of his "favorite memories" subcategory in his head.

"So, did you find your answer?" Markus asked as they were leaving, two books about environmental science tucked beneath his arm.

Connor grinned and nodded his head, gesturing to his own selection of books about faith. "The concept of religion is vast, but even I can recognize the beauty behind believing in concepts derived from purity and grace. Maybe the idea is something both humans and androids have in common. But, I did think of another question whilst we were reading."

Markus, giddy on the feelings he felt for the only android who understood his thirst for knowledge, stepped in front and started walking backwards. He opened his arms in a grand gesture and jokingly stated, "And I have an answer! You don't believe I read all those novels and return to New Jericho with nothing to show for it?"

That earned him a laugh, and Markus felt as if the most notorious of composers would fumble in the face of such music.

After Connor's giggles had calmed down, he asked, "Of all the books you read, across every genre and subject, which is your favorite?" And once again, his honey-colored eyes seemed to brighten as he eagerly awaited for Markus' answer, and the stars twinkled within them.

He's read stories spanning between war, animals, baking recipes, and even children's lullabies. He's seen the world through thousands of eyes and lived thousands of existences. But the only one that ever truly mattered to Markus, the one that made him resist every ingrained sense of 'flight or fight', stood before him in this very moment. Connor – one of his closest friends, his most trusted advisor, the one who broke down barriers and joined Markus in the fight that would determine their futures. Dressed now in a DPD hoodie and jeans, the streetlights gave him an ethereal glow and his smile never wavered.

Despite the fact Detroit was bustling with energy, it seemed as though nature stood still and watched these two androids. Two sides of the same coin, joined together in this private corner of the world.

Markus' emotions were running rampant, and he knew he had to confess his feelings (sooner rather than later) before his thirium pump burst out of his chest. If he was a poet, he would write soliloquies about the way Connor made him feel. But instead, he walked back to his side and threw an arm over his shoulder. Connor's hair tickled at his chin as Markus answered,

"Any story that's inspired by you."

[dwellordream]

If you could rewrite Alysanne and J****erys’ daughters to make them fully-fledged characters instead of paper-thin stereotypes, what would you change? (Censored you-know-who’s name because we don’t acknowledge him in my house 🙅🏿‍♀️)

Lmfao at you-know-who.  Daenerys: I actually think Fire and Blood does an okay job of building up Daenerys’ character (though of course it’s pretty obvious from her very first appearance she’s going to die tragically young, forever the ‘darling of the realm’). I don’t know, maybe we could have had a scene of her interacting with Aerea or Rhaena or something to get their reactions to her being heir for the first two years of her life before Aemon’s birth. Alyssa: My problem with Alyssa is not that she’s a tomboy. My problem with Alysaa is that she is a generic trope of ‘not like other girls!’ with no actual development. Unlike Arya’s very well-written arc in canon, Alyssa’s failure to conform to her society’s rigid gender roles and her interest in more traditionally masculine Westerosi pursuits like dueling, riding, climbing, etc is never examined in terms of how it effects her relationships with her family members and her thoughts about her future. There’s no scene like the one between Arya and Ned where Arya questions why she can’t be rule in her own right or build castles or advise kings, etc. There’s no detail given to how she got along with her mother and if Alysanne encouraged her ‘wild’ behavior or was more disapproving of it, etc.  Despite all this attention paid to how Alyssa refuses to conform to the expected role of a ladylike and demure princess, she seemingly has no problems with being married off at 15 and being expected to stick to being a wife and mother? There’s absolutely no conflict there, and there should be. Even if she was really in love with Baelon and had no issues marrying him, I find it hard to believe that she would pivot from wanting to spar with her brothers in the training yard to telling Baelon, totally seriously, “You were made for battles, and I was made for this. ...As soon as I am well, let’s make another. An army of your own!”  That seems like a pretty drastic shift in personality, and it’s never explained. Maegelle: Maegelle just needs more development, in general. She’s not this offensive character archetype, she’s just incredibly barebones, the barest outline of a character. Only one line is spared to her relationship with Alyssa, who was only two years older, and that is ‘Alyssa bristled at the baby at her skirts’. It would have been nice to see some interaction between them, any at all; they were close in age growing up, surely they spent time together, even if they had very different interests, and they must have been educated together by a septa. There’s also barely anything devoted to how Maegelle viewed Daella beyond being her ‘guiding star’. What does that mean? Was she protective of Daella? Did she spend more time with her little sister than the rest of the family? Was she upset when Daella was married off? How did she and Daella react to Alyssa’s untimely death?  What about Maegelle’s ‘gift for healing’? When did that show up? When did she begin to study healing? What motherhouse did she go to? She was very bright, so what else did she like to study? Did she ever wish she could study at the Citadel? Did she correspond with Vaegon? Did she do any writing of her own? How did she help her parents resolve their conflicts? Did she help resolve any other political or familial strife? Did she wish for Viserys or Daemon to join the Faith as boys? Daella: Daella seems to have been intellectually disabled in some way. How did that affect her everyday life? To what extent was she aware of this? How did it affect the way her siblings treated her? Was she scared of her father, who she seemed incapable of pleasing, no matter what she did? She liked flowers, did she like to spend a lot of time in the gardens, or did she have a personal flower garden of her own that she tended to, like Myrcella in canon? What caused her to be scared of gardens? Was she bullied in one by her siblings?  Daella didn’t speak until she was almost two. Was this scene as a cause for concern at the time? What did the maesters think? Did Maegelle teach her to read, and praise her when she was able to read aloud, albeit haltingly? Who were her other tutors? What did Alysanne and Jaehaerys think of her being known as ‘simple’? Why was she scared of Alyssa?  Was Saera punished for her cruel pranks on Daella? Did Saera single her out because Daella annoyed her or because she felt Daella took up attention from their parents that Saera did not get? How much did Saera and Vaegon’s bullying contribute to Daella’s obvious anxiety and many phobias? Why was someone asking the 9 year old Daella when she would marry Vaegon?  Why did Alysanne and Jaehaerys feel Daella needed to be wed at all? At the time they had plenty of healthy children who would presumably have multiple grandchildren to continue the Targaryen line. The overwhelming pressure for Daella to marry does not make sense when the family tree was still fairly vast in 77 AC. Why was Daella left alone with for young squires seemingly encouraged to flirt with and pursue her, a frightened teenage girl with a child-like mentality? Why was there no uproar over Simon trying to get her drunk, and Ellard forcing a kiss on her? Why was this incident seen as ‘Daella being picky’ and not an assault on a royal princess? What drew Daella to Royce Blackwood? Was he kind to her? Why did no one consider that Daella’s strong religious faith in the Seven might pose an obstacle to this marriage? Why could Daella not be permitted to wed in a sept and raise her children in an interfaith marriage, as Catelyn and Ned do in canon?  Why did Jaehaerys feel Daella needed to be married off by the end of her sixteenth year seemingly for no reason other than annoyance? Why would the marriage of a royal princess be treated so lightly? Why did Jaehaerys then threaten to send Daella to the Silent Sisters when Alysanne asked why Daella could not wait to be married? Why did Jaehaerys hold such animosity towards his 16 year old daughter that he would rather her be forced into a severe religious order where she would likely never see her family again, rather than simply let her wait to marry or not marry at all? Why were two of the men Daella was then ordered to choose between old enough to be her father? Why was she not offered the choice of Rodrik’s sons or Boremund’s son? What was to be gained from wedding her to Rodrik, since her children by him would never inherit the Eyrie? Jaehaerys just decided to chuck politics out the window in order to be rid of her? He loathed his daughter that much at that point? Daella is given no voice following her marriage to Rodrik, nor is there any interrogation of his frankly disturbing interest in a 16 year old girl he’d known since birth and watched grow up over the years, calling her his ‘precious princess’ and seemingly fetishizing her naive, child-like innocence and fragile physical state? To add onto this, there is then zero outcry towards Rodrik himself when he proceeds to impregnate Daella, leading to her horrible death in childbirth. Why do we not even get Jaehaerys’ reaction to the realization that he essentially pushed his daughter into an early, agonizing death?  Saera and Viserra: Saera is brave and clever but that gets one brief mention, and then the rest of the narrative spends all its time harping on how she’s an evil, sexy, manipulative teenage girl. Viserra is just a slightly watered down version of her. They don’t just need to be rewritten, they need actual personalities to work with, because they have none, they’re just plot devices with names designed to make their parents fight with each other.  The same goes for Gael, who seems to just be ‘Daella 2.0′ in terms of being regarded as ‘simple-minded but sweet’, and then being raped (I don’t think Gael was capable of giving proper consent to sex or understood what that meant) and left to commit suicide after her stillborn son.

[sing-a-sirensong]

Breaktime

A short and sweet pwp for Simon/Markus

Summary: Markus pulls Simon away from his work for a (not so quick) break. Rating: E Warnings: None

On AO3 here

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

Simon leans over his desk, staring blankly at the documents strewn across it. He’s been working in his room all day. His own, private, room. An arrangement that Simon is still getting used to, having his own space like this.

After the successful revolution, Carl Manfred had insisted that Markus ‘give your friends a place to stay, this damn house is too big and empty for one old man’ and hadn’t left much room for argument. North and Josh also have their own rooms in the, frankly enormous, house. But, more often than not, their duties would call them elsewhere, sometimes for days at a time.

Simon however, prefers mundane paperwork to dealing directly with other people. The others work plenty with the general public, Markus especially, so Simon spends most of his time at his desk peacefully working on drafts and bills.

Perhaps peacefully isn’t quite the right word. Simon scrunches his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, willing away the uncomfortable pressure that has persisted there for hours now. Who knew that androids could get headaches? Although Simon supposes it was likely that a constant stream of dry legal material would be capable of giving anyone a headache.

Simon is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the door, and startles at the feeling of arms wrapping around his middle. He quickly relaxes into the familiar embrace.

“Markus,” he breathes, smiling. “I didn’t hear you come in.” A chuckle rumbles in Simon’s ear.

“I’m not surprised,” Markus says. “You were so focused on your work I was a little concerned you were about to start burning holes through that desk.” Simon holds down a smile and playfully elbows backwards, aiming for Markus’s ribs. He misses.

“I would’ve mentioned before now if I had laser eyes. Something like that would’ve come in handy during our revolution, don’t you think?” Simon gripes, no real heat behind his words. Markus smothers a laugh between Simon’s shoulder blades.

“I think it may have helped speed things along a little, yes.” He jokes.

“Maybe then you wouldn’t have driven a damn truck through that storefront window.” Simon grumbles. Markus laughs again, deep and rich, arms tightening around Simon’s waist.

“You know I get into trouble when you’re not around.” He teases lightly, brushing a soft kiss behind Simon’s ear. Simon steadfastly ignores how his insides turn to goo at the simple action. Markus hooks his chin over Simon’s shoulder, glancing at the mess of papers on the desk. “What are you working on?” He asks. Simon sighs.

“It’s a draft for the Android Emergency Services project.” Simon explains. “It needs to be submitted to the city council by the end of next week and I promised Josh I would look over it for him.” Markus hums at that.

“By ‘look over it’ do you actually mean look over it, or do you mean write and edit the entire thing yourself?” Markus prods. Simon tries not to fidget too much, subconsciously gnawing his lip anyways. “You don’t have to take on so much by yourself, you know.” Markus says gently. Simon sighs again, placing his hands over Markus’s.

“I know,” he starts, “But Josh has been so busy with his proposal on the treatment of android children, and he’s been sending all those requests to the local school boards and-“ Markus interrupts him.

“I had almost the entire afternoon free today, my meeting finished early. Why didn’t you come to me to help you with it?” He asks, dropping a few light kisses along Simon’s shoulder. Simon melts into him, automatically tilting his head to allow Markus better access.

“I wanted you to have the break.” Simon says weakly. “You’ve been working nonstop for weeks, and I wanted to be helpful.” Markus lifts one hand to lace their fingers together, laying a line of kisses up Simon’s throat.

“You’re more than helpful, Si, always.” He murmurs against warm skin, his breath sending shivers up Simon’s spine. The nickname sends his thirium pump stuttering, a giddy feeling settling warm and soft under his ribs.

“You work so hard all the time and you hardly rest.” The hand not tangled with Simon’s slips under the hem of his sweatshirt, warm fingers sweeping lightly across his belly. Simon’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “You deserve a break too, you know.” Markus’s voice is low and sweet, covering Simon like thick honey as he sinks into it.

“Markus…” He breathes, the rest of his words vanishing as he lays his head back to rest on Markus’s shoulder. Markus hums softly, nosing under Simon’s jaw to suck a hot, openmouthed kiss into the sensitive skin there. Simon can’t help the quiet moan that escapes, heat curling low in his abdomen.

“Come on Si,” he urges, “Take a break.” The hand on Simon’s stomach flattens and stills, holding him in place. The other hand, still tangled with Simon’s, slides down and cups their shared grip against the front of his pants, pressing down firmly. Simon whines, his free hand flying up to clutch at the back of Markus’s neck. “For me?” Markus asks sweetly, his soft tone a stark contrast to the hand that’s quickly unravelling Simon’s focus.

“Yeah,” Simon pants, “I could ahh- I could do that.” He moans, rocking forward into his own palm pressed tight between his legs by Markus’s hand. The friction sends sparks of pleasure across his wiring, but it’s not nearly enough. Distantly, Simon feels his self-lubrication protocols activate and he dismisses the notification.

“Please,” he breathes, paperwork forgotten entirely.

“Anything you want sweetheart,” Markus croons, “Anything.” Simon flushes with heat at the endearment, hiding his face under Markus’s chin.

“Kiss me?” He manages to ask weakly, and Markus releases him, giving him room to turn. Simon spins around quickly, cupping Markus’s face in his hands. His fingers stroke reverently over hand-painted freckles and artificial stubble. Markus settles one hand on Simon’s waist, pulling him in, the other sliding into his hair to guide their lips together.

Simon sighs against Markus’s mouth, eyes closing and lips parting immediately to deepen the kiss. He moans softly at the feel of Markus’s tongue against his own, knees going weak as Markus licks into his mouth. He presses closer, draping his arms around Markus’s neck and sucking greedily on his tongue. He swallows the small noise that escapes Markus, desperate to taste more.

Simon loves kissing Markus, would never stop if he could. Markus kisses with a careful thoroughness, like it’s a task that needs all of his concentration to accomplish. Being at the centre of that focus is dizzying.

Hands slide down to grip the backs of Simon’s thighs and Markus lifts him like he weighs nothing, breaking the kiss with a wet pop. Simon automatically hooks his ankles behind Markus and takes in the look on his face. His lips are wet and shiny, mismatched eyes hooded with desire. Simon isn’t much better, cheeks flushed and his hair a mess.

“Simon,” Markus starts, voice low and soft. Simon’s gaze slides back to Markus’s mouth and he dips down to kiss him again, cutting off whatever else Markus planned to say. He tilts his head for a better angle and sucks on Markus’s bottom lip, revelling in the low noise Markus makes. “Si,” he groans, “Can we- the bed?” He manages to rasp out between kisses and Simon nods briefly, their noses brushing together. Markus turns them and walks to the bed, setting one knee on the mattress and tipping them down onto the sheets.

Simon lets out a happy sigh when Markus’s weight settles on top of him, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him there. But Markus resists the hold, leaning back and huffing out a small laugh.

“Clothes, Simon.” He says, amused, pointedly grinding their covered erections together. Simon tosses his head back with a moan, hips jerking up at the friction dulled through the layers of fabric.

“Yeah,” he gasps, voice tinged with laughter, “I forgot about that part. Kind of important, isn’t it?” Markus chuckles and reaches back to pull his shirt over his head. Simon is momentarily stunned, distracted by smooth brown skin and broad shoulders. He shakes out of his stupor and yanks his own shirt off, struggling briefly as it catches on his ears. He hears Markus laugh. “Shut up.” He grumbles, fighting down a smile, and chucks his shirt in Markus’s direction. He catches it easily. After some clumsy shuffling and giggles, they’re both finally naked.

Markus settles back between Simon’s legs, dropping down to reconnect their mouths. Simon groans at the contact, thighs squeezing Markus’s hips. The kiss is heated but brief as Markus moves on to drop kisses across his collarbones and chest, sliding lower. He places featherlight kisses around the indentation of Simon’s pump regulator and Simon squirms, a small whimper caught in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you.” Markus breathes, eyes flickering up to meet Simon’s. “Let me take care of you?” He asks, so earnest. He’s always like this, always asking permission, asking if Simon is okay. As if Simon would ever want to refuse him anything. He nods, already burning with arousal and desperate for Markus’s hands to be on him.

Markus continues lower, sucking a line of kisses down the sensitive skin of Simon’s inner thigh. A gentle scrape of teeth has Simon shuddering, wishing desperately that Markus could leave a mark.

“You’re so good Simon,” Markus says, voice low. “So pretty, laid out like this.” Simon whines, systems lighting up at the praise, erection beading against his belly. Markus sucks hard at the junction between his hip and thigh, and Simon jolts.

“Markus,” he pants, “You d-don’t-” He breaks off on a moan as Markus switches to the other thigh, mouthing hot and wet down to the same spot on the opposite side before he worries it with his teeth.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Markus asks lowly, his voice buzzing across Simon’s skin and sending shivers up his spine.

“Touch me.” Simon begs. “Markus, please.” And Markus finally complies, closing his fingers around Simon’s cock and giving him a slow tug. Simon moans, hips thrusting as Markus swipes his thumb over the tip, slowly smearing the synthetic precome against heated skin.

“Look at you,” Markus purrs, stroking him slowly. “Being so good for me, aren’t you?”

And Simon sobs, nodding helplessly. He feels so close to overheating already, and they’ve barely even started.

Markus’s hand is slick with how much Simon is leaking and he squeezes lightly, twisting his wrist as Simon’s cock slides through his grip, fingers slipping over the sensitive head.

“Fuck,” Simon gasps, back arching as Markus repeats the motion.

“Does that feel good sweetheart?” Markus coos, dark and soft like velvet. His voice has Simon writhing against the sheets, whining as he threads his fingers into his own hair in a desperate effort to ground himself. He pants, expelling heated puffs of hair.

Simon’s cock throbs in Markus’s hand, his thumb teasing just under the head as more words of filthy praise spill from his lips. Simon chokes on a static-filled moan, grasping blindly at Markus’s arm. His hips are rocking with Markus’s long pulls, chasing the delicious friction. The pace is torturous, but it’s so so good and Simon’s processors are scrambling to keep up with the waves of pleasure rushing through his circuits.

Markus releases him, and Simon sucks in a few shaky breaths, trying to regain his bearings. He jolts suddenly at the feeling of a finger petting at his entrance, spreading the lubricant that’s leaking out of him. He rocks his hips down instinctively, encouraging Markus to continue.

“Yes,” he gasps, spreading his legs wider. “Markus yes I want- ohhh.” His words dissolve into moans as Markus easily slips two fingers inside, stroking Simon’s inner walls. “More, please.” He pants.

Markus hums against his throat, carefully sliding in a third finger. “You’re doing so well, taking my fingers like this.” He curls them slowly, punching a hoarse cry out of Simon. “So warm and tight,” he praises, “You’re going to feel amazing around my cock.” Simon whines, clenching down on the fingers inside him. He doesn’t need to be prepared like this, but Markus loves it, loves watching Simon fall apart underneath him.

The sounds of Markus’s fingers slowly fucking in and out of him fill the room, wet and obscene. Simon flushes with embarrassment, crossing his arms over his face. Markus slides his free hand up, moving Simon’s arms away and dropping delicate kisses across his burning cheeks.

“You’re lovely,” he says sweetly, “Don’t hide that pretty face from me.” He twists his fingers, pressing deep and circling his fingers over the spot that sends Simon to pieces.

“Oh, fuck,” Simon says brokenly, shoving his hips down into Markus’s hand.

“Right there?” Markus teases, not letting up. Simon sobs, toes curling at the unrelenting internal massage.

“Markus-“ he pants, “Markus, fuck, please. I- I’ll come if you don’t stop.” He pleads. He whines at the loss when Markus stops and slides his fingers out.

“Next time you can come on my fingers.” He promises, and Simon shudders. “Ready?” Simon nods, and he watches as Markus gives himself a few quick strokes, lips parting in pleasure, before lining himself up.

Simon tosses his head back as Markus presses into him, trembling at the stretch. He gasps at the slow drag of Markus’s cock working him open, not stopping until his hips are pressed flush to Simon’s ass. Markus’s length is thick, and hot, and perfect, and Simon clenches down, whining at the fullness.

“Fuck,” Markus curses, “You’re perfect.” He presses his hips forward, grinding deep, and Simon scrabbles to find purchase on his shoulders. He sucks on the skin of Simon’s throat and moves his hips back, sinking back in achingly slowly. Simon squeezes his legs around Markus’s waist, rolling his hips to meet each thrust.

“God, Simon,” Markus groans, sucking more kisses along Simon’s collarbone. “You’re so beautiful.” Simon shudders and whimpers, heat warnings flashing across his vision.

Markus pulls him closer, thrusting harder, and Simon cries out, voice edged with static. Simon’s cock brushes Markus’s belly with every roll of his hips, each thrust tearing a moan from Simon’s throat, the pleasure building between his legs almost unbearable.

“You close, Si?” Markus asks breathlessly, pace unrelenting. Simon can only nod and whine, his HUD quickly becoming overcrowded with system alerts and error messages. “Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” And Simon sobs, oh he wants to come so badly he can only think yes, and please, and Markus, but he can’t form the words.

But Markus understands, keeping his thrusts steady as he reaches between them and jerks Simon’s cock with short, tight strokes. It’s too much, too much, and Simon’s spine arches when he comes. He wails as the wave of pleasure crashes over him, clenching hard around the thick length inside him, spilling messily over Markus’s fingers. His limbs jerk and tremble as Markus milks him, hardware struggling as the overwhelming impulses wracking his sensors edge his system towards an emergency reboot.

Markus finally lets up, hips losing their rhythm as he moans into Simon’s shoulder.

“Simon, fuck, Simon.” He groans, hips stuttering to a stop deep inside Simon. He distantly feels Markus coming, shaking and moaning Simon’s name.

They stay there for a moment, systems recalibrating. Markus recovers first, brushing Simon’s hair out of his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Simon makes a soft noise of displeasure when Markus pulls out, grabbing weakly for his arm when he stands.

“We have to get cleaned up.” He huffs, amused. Simon grumbles softly, not relinquishing his grip on Markus’s wrist. Markus relents, chuckling, and grabs his discarded t-shirt for a perfunctory wipe down. He settles back on the bed and Simon curls against his side, hooking one leg over Markus’s thigh and draping an arm over his chest. “You know you’re going to be cranky about this later, right?

“Don’t care.” Simon mumbles, smushing his face into Markus’s chest. His processors are still sluggish, running diagnostics in the background to clear up any lingering errors. Markus’s fingers trail gently up and down his spine.

“You’re very cute when you’re cuddly.” Markus teases, grinning when Simon flushes with embarrassment and hides his face further. He presses a kiss to the top of Simon’s head, laughing softly.

“Should get some rest, Si.” He murmurs, and Simon makes a noise that sounds like vague agreement, falling easily into stasis. Markus noses softly into Simon’s hair before he follows suit.

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

BONE-us - Sadithur Week Bonus

@foundynnel

(A/N:  Iiiii had no idea what to do with this one, so I went with a pun from the title xD.)

"Argh, here you go, you mangy mutt," Pearson grumbled as he tossed a chicken bone to Copper. The dog barked and wagged his tail in thanks, then happily scampered off with the bone in his mouth.

"What's our dog up to? He's been collecting bones from Pearson all day," Arthur remarked to Sadie over the tent post he was tying.

"I dunno. Why don't you follow him and see?" she called back from the post diagonally opposite his.

"Right then...once I finish this..." He did soon enough, with Sadie being a great help.  "See ya."

"Bye."

Arthur decided that instead of searching for Copper, it was best to wait for him to come back to Pearson and follow him from there.  So that was what he did.  He did not have to wait for long before his canine came bounding back, tongue hanging out jovially and tail wagging behind him.  Simon just chucked another bone in his general direction without even looking at him.  Still, Copper remained chipper and took the bone.  When he turned around to run off, Arthur started walking.  He had to pass Pearson on the way, so, rather annoyed, the cook enquired of him, "Going to see what your animal has been doing with those bones?"

"Shoar am."  Arthur did not react to Pearson trying to egg him, merely sauntering past him and going after Copper.

He followed the quadruped into the trees just at the edge of camp.  There seemed to be a neat little spot that Copper had found.  Arthur noticed that patches of soil had been dug up and then replaced after something had been put in the hole - and even then the front paws of the dog were working to make a fresh hole.  When the digger was satisfied that the hole was large enough, he dropped the bone in and proceeded to push the mound of soil he had dug up back into the hole to cover his bone.  He had definitely smelt Arthur coming, which meant that he chose not to respond.  When he was done, he let out a proud bark and turned to face Arthur, as if he wanted to show off his work.  His human chuckled and squatted down, putting one hand on his head and stroking it.  "Burying your treasure I see.  Why, a score like this, Dutch would steal from ya if he found out," he snickered.

Copper yapped and licked at his face. The human laughed more and brought his other hand to run down the fur on his back. Copper moved closer to Arthur, so that he could receive more pets and so that he could nuzzle his human. "There's a good boy," he cooed.

He petted Copper for a little while longer before standing up. "A'right. I have ta go back ta work. You have fun." Copper trotted beside him, since he was going to collect another bone.

Arthur walked with Copper back to Pearson. "So, what's he been doin' with them?" Simon asked, seemingly in a better mood this time since he knew that riling Arthur up would not work.

"Been buryin' them. Typical doggie activities," he replied with some affection. Copper let out a small bark to remind Pearson of his presence and purpose for being in the place. He was even standing on his hind legs, which was how Arthur had taught him to beg. Not wanting to insult the dog in front of his devoted owner, he gave him yet another bone. Copper gave Arthur's hand one final lick before he picked up the bone and ran back to his stash. "Bye Cop," Arthur cooed lovingly again. Pearson just ignored him and went back to his cooking.

Arthur proceeded to return to Sadie too; it seemed that they had subconsciously chosen to do all their chores with each other for that day. Sadie raised an eyebrow to indicate inquiry. "He's been taking the bones and burying them. He has this stash just behind the trees over there." He cocked his head in the direction of the said trees.

She chuckled. "Typical dog stuff."

"Hey that's what I said to Pearson!" he exclaimed.

She grinned at him playfully. "Well I s'pose that's somethin' that happens.  Between sweethearts I mean."

"That's...I...well.  I don't mind admitting to ya that that unsettles me some..."

"I know that it can be.  When it first happened with me and Jakey, I didn't know what the hell it was that I'd gotten myself into neither.  But, I learnt that it was something special; that it meant that we had a special connection, something that neither of us had with anyone else."

Arthur scratched his beard in thought as he processed what she said.  "I guess you're right..."

"Don't worry about it, Arthur.  You'll get used to it, and enjoy it.  Trust a woman who's speakin' from experience."

At that, Arthur's eyes flickered to look at hers, his hand still on his beard.  "I may not know much about all this, but one thing I do know is that I can trust you."

That made her smile.  Sadie put a hand on his shoulder.  "That's right," she encouraged.  He gave her a small smile of his own and put his hand over hers.  They just stared into each other's eyes, getting lost in them. They seemed to forget the world around them.

It ended when Arthur looked away, a shy smile on his face as it turned pink. Sadie giggled. "You're still shy."

"Hey, you are too sometimes," he argued playfully, stepping towards her. They shared a nice hug, then let go to return to their chores at last.

That night at dinner, they sat so close that their thighs were pressed up against each other's. Copper lay on the ground next to Arthur's crate, his snout resting in between his front paws as his eyes were shut. He back rose and fell slowly and steadily in time with his breathing.  When his humans were done eating, the one of them put his hand on his head. "Well, what do you guys wanna do now?"

Copper was awoken when there was a weight placed on his head. He lifted his head up, barked, then stood up altogether. He ran around to Sadie and bit her trouser leg, tugging on it. "Alright, alright, I'm coming," she chuckled. She pressed her hands on her knees and stood up, leaving her empty bowl on her seat.

But Copper was not satisfied. Once Sadie stood up, he proceeded to tug on Arthur too. "Yes my boah, I'll follow ya," he smiled. He rose to his feet as well. And with that, the canine bolted off, frequently turning around to check that his humans were following him, which they were.  He kept barking excitedly as he ran his stash of bones; his humans had to run to keep up.

When he got there, he turned to face his owners again.  He tugged on Sadie's jeans again, so she followed him; Arthur did so too.  Copper walked to each and every spot where he had buried a bone and remarked at them with a bark, showing them to the person who was seeing them for the first time.  "Copper, what is the point of all this?"  she laughed.  Copper only understood his name, and since she was laughing, he thought that she was praising him, so he yapped and licked her hands.  That made her squat down.  "Okay...good work," she said, petting him.

Arthur transferred his weight to one foot and held one of his wrists with his other hand, letting his hands dangle lazily in front of him.  Very solemnly, he said, "Earlier, I told him that Dutch would steal all his bones if he knew."

Her hands still on Copper, Sadie looked back and up at him in annoyed fondness. "I have two goofballs for family."

"That you do, my dear, that you do," he chuckled.

[planetjisungie]

détester- l.dh

characters; slytherin! haechan x gryffindor! reader ft. gryffindor! mark (its just a given at this point) and slytherin! jisung

summary; enemies to lovers, you and donghyuck had always just hated eachother. you dont know when it started, or why it started but it was starting to get annoying.

an; i WILL finish my hogwarts series tonight we only have chenle left but now we have more fluff than actual crack because simon says is playing

congratulations you have reached gryffindor level you lucky prick

only the finest gryffindor

you are the embodiment of courage, literally if there was a ditch and someone fell down while everyone was too scared to help them, youd dive in before they could even say ‘dumbledore’

and you just so happen to be the younger sister of mark lee

the infamous mark lee,, that is

lucky prick part 2

but one thing made you seem not so lucky

your sworn enemy, lee donghyuck

or haechan as he liked to be called because apparently all evil villains needed a fake name

thats what you said anyway, he just liked the name haechan for its meaning

but he was also the emodiment of a slytherin, ambitious, cunning, resourceful and he was a pretty damn good leader

hence him being the captain of the quidditch team (no we are not going down the jisung route)

you didnt actually know when you started hating him, in your first year he had just decided to tie your poor, poor cat like a pig for roasting (he was in his second year already)

mr snuggles was traumatized

after that day it was small things to annoy you

like when he put hair dye in your conditioner bottle, resulting in your hair turning out a seafoam green colour

which you actually didnt mind so the joke was really on him, you pulled that shit off

or when he put spiders in your school shoes

that was unpleasant

and he also put a cockroach in your pocket, scaring your poor best friend who was terrified of the creatures

jisung was shaking, he hates cockroaches

to this day you still didnt know why he was a slytherin, but you guessed it was because he was a pureblood, very ambitious and resourceful but not so scary

but today was no exception

you walked towards the gryffindor table, robe billowing behind you as if you were walking in a movie

you were a lee sibling, you were both good at literally everything and deserved all the praise on earth

you fucking go girl, i stan

jisung sat at your table, the gryffindors appeared not to mind, especially as he was actually super nice

"y/n haechan told me to give you this"

ah there it was

the small hufflepuff girl handed you the letter before scurrying off back to her table

"y/n im scared"

jisung was already frightened of what that letter would hold

and you were a good friend, who knew no good would come from that letter

so you shoved it in your pocket, letting it crumple up before turning back to your breakfast

rip donghyuck

that was a fat L for our boy

he just wanted your attention

at first at least, he just wanted to be noticed by you so he pulled the cat stunt, making sure he didn’t actually harm the creature because he is still a decent human being and the grey furry animal did nothing to him

but now he had taken things too far

and he realised that after the stunt he pulled which resulted in you

yes, you, the brave, courageous gryffindor, crying

yeah he fucked up

he casted an illusion spell that infiltrated your sleep, creating nightmares with your deepest fears

and he regretted that

prank gone wrong *nearly killed her* (not clickbait)

you were still pissed at him for that

but that letter in your pocket was no ordinary letter

it was a confession letter, because he; yes him, the infamous slytherin, was too scared to talk to you about it in person

yet you literally just crushed his heart

which he kinda deserved to be fair

but jisung sent you a grateful smile and you went back to your conversation of which cereal brand was better

the answer is obviously lucky charms or frosted shreddies pengers mate

so our baby slytherin needed to find another way to get his feelings across because he was failing

and brother mark was: not happy

mark was a friend of haechan but despite his complaints every goddamn time that he needed to stop his stupid jokes that weren’t actually jokes, he didnt listen

maybe he shouldve listened

mark knows best

apart from jenos fic, mark was a real bitch but this is mark 2.0

mark really doesnt know best

anyways moving on

its time for innovative hyuck™️

so its back to the drawing room, sitting next to yuta (his head boy) to discuss the next plan of action

cutie yuta felt that haechan opening up to him about his feelings was the biggest achievement during his time at hogwarts

so right, the next plan

it was to leave flowers on your bed and then when you turned around to see who put them there (hypothetically) he would be there and he could make his outstanding apology

but of course, this isnt some fanfiction where everything goes right

who do you take me for?

so later that day he gathered his flowers, tying them in a cute dark green ribbon

staying with the slytherin theme

and he put them on your bed

they were some seriously nice flowers

you noticed them as soon as you walked in and your heart swelled

unfortunately that wasnt the only thing that swelled

you were allergic to pollen, and your eyes had puffed up slightly, itching a little and you had some sniffles

that was another L for hyuck

and he ran, he fucking booked it out of his little hiding spot back to his common room aka the dungeon

"YUTA I FAILED"

"how the fuck do you fail giving someone flowers hyuck?"

"shes fucking allergic"

so you never found out who gave you flowers

but

but you did keep them, despite your obvious physical irritation to them

they were pretty :(((

so you pressed them into a random notebook you found, because seriously you couldnt just chuck them out

unfortunately for hyuck, he was not so slick to mark who narrowed his eyes on the boy

he knew something was up

what kind of torture device was flowers ?? this was too soft

and so he found out that the same boy who had been making your life a little

how should i say

s p i c y

had a fat crush on you and was just a pouty baby who wanted your love and attention

cute

mark didnt know whether to support this?? like ?? he knew that underneath your front of disliking the long legged boy, you had some feelings, maybe small but they were there

you wouldve called it fondness

because

i promise youre not a sadist or masochist

but you would see him in class

he was very focused and had a beautiful smile

and laugh

he may come across a little... stand offish and arrogant at first but hes actually a kind soul

from how he made a mess in the grand hall but when he thought everyone was gone, he stayed behind to help clean it, having fun conversations with the staff (elves? who tf cleans the great hall??)

that goddamn melodious laughter constantly ringing in your head

shawtys like a melody in my head

but moving on

you noticed the pranks he pull decreased

and that was because he was spending time with yuta and mark, planning the perfect, foolproof (unfortunately not jeno this time) way to confess

and he sent you small smiles ?? what ??

this is so unlike the hyuck you knew

like he did a 180

i did a full 180 baby crazy

i said this was gonna be less crackish but when regular comes on and you hear jaehyuns queso line you cant not feel qUirKy

(bbq- bb—s mY DIAMONDS I DONT NEED NO LIGHT TO SHINE- jungwoo)

okay so the next plan

you loved quidditch too, mainly because your brother was the captain for the gryffindor team

so the plan was for you to attend the slytherin v gryffindor match and

mark somewhat willingly agreed to have a friendly match so that hyuck could show off his skills

this was an awful plan

because it was raining the day of the match

so you and jisung huddled together for warmth, shivering as you watched the match

and hyuck couldnt feel worse, he felt like you were now going to be sick because of him

damn, you really couldnt catch a break

the groan of pure frustration yuta let out was amusing at least

he was just as invested in this as haechan at this point

like he was germinating a seed??? he was fathering this relationship

so with another L, haechan felt super super bad

and this baby cooked for you

he got his best friend jaemin to teach him how to make chicken soup

because you were actually not a herbivore

(thats the category i put vegans and vegetarians in)

omnivore tings

so he carried his little pot of soup, his fingers kind of burning as it was piping hot

he legit walked right past a suffering jisung in the slytherin dorm, the pot of soup still in hand not even sparing a thought about taking pity on the poor kid and giving him some

so he walked to your dorm, being let in by mark who was being big bro™️ and looking after your sick ass

you looked dead

pale skin, eyes closed, lips tinted blue, your body was shivering but you felt fucking boiling

peak peak times

but haechan still thought you looked gorgeous

mark vacated the dorms, leaving to his lessons so hyuck could look after you

this wasnt a plan ?? but hyuck rolled with it

setting his lil pot down he sat in a seat next to you, staring at your asleep awake form with closed eyes

his eyes held so much love and adoration for you, you really are lucky

he took off his robe, just sitting there in his shirt, trousers and green tie and watching you sleep

you were actually awake, just vibing and breathing to stay alive

and he had a lot on his chest

"i know ive been a massive prick to you and im really sorry. i know you’re asleep right now but im too much of a coward to say this to your face. i really only just wanted your attention because i seem to have feelings for you and i am sincerely sorry for going about it the wrong way"

your ears were {}

wide open

boy were you listening and taking this all in

oh shit

realizashun xx

so you fluttered your eyes open gently, watching his face morph into an expression of pure terror from his previous one of literal love

*whipping noise*

"youre awake!" he squeaked out, eyes darting around the room to look at anything but you

which you couldnt help but smile at

shifting to the side in your bed slightly, you lifted the covers, lazily patting the now open space

"c’mere"

your voice was kind of croaky and hoarse

that made hyuck feel guilty

baby it wasn’t your fault

but he complied, kicking off his leather school shoes and sliding besides you, staying as far away from you as possible

not to offend you, his heart was just going a million miles a second and there was no way you wouldn’t be able to hear it

this boy was like blushy sausage face part 2

arrogant hyuck has left the chat

you pouted seeing him shuffle away from you, shuffling to move yourself closer instead

power move, he either had to cuddle with you or fall off the bed

"can we just forget what i said earlier?"

that made you frown

the fuck?

hell no

"hyuck wait-"

"no dont bring it up its embarrassing"

whiny baby is back

"hyuck i-"

"nope nope nope nope"

"LET ME SPEAK FOR FUCKS SAKE"

he had no choice but to listen

your voice sounded strained already and he didnt want to make you feel worse

"i have feelings for you too you big baby"

double take

you what now?

haechans mouth just kinda froze open

so you shut his jaw gently

cant let him get jaw ache

"wait what?"

his soul has returned

he felt elated, completely happy, dare i say like he was high on a drug and said drug was not THC it was your TLC (LMAO GET IT IM PROUD OF THAT)

and so thats how mark returned to your dorm room to see you and hyuck cuddled in your bed, your head laying on his chest as his chin rested on your head, nuzzling into your hair (which was still half seafoam green might i add)

hyuck wasnt awake to celebrate, so yumark had their own small celebration, counting this as their success

you only found out he had put the flowers on your bed about two months after you started dating

a month after that you read the letter he gave you

[complicatedandstained]

The Other Day at Hot Topic: Destiny, My Dude

The dust has barely settled between Roxas and Vanitas before business starts to pick up and for the first time all day, the unlikely duo find themselves confronted with a hoard of holiday shoppers.  

It’s not long before they have barricaded themselves behind the register, side-by-side, juggling purchases from overenthusiastic nerds, under-enthusiastic goths, parents who just want a gift card so they can GTFO, and middle schoolers who can’t seem to grasp that Roxas and Vanitas can hear the kiddos rating them on their Hot Topic Scale of Hotness.

It’s a conversation which makes Roxas wince and grin in equal measure, trying to hold in laughter, as Vanitas helps the one that had said he was ‘trying too hard’ check out her items with all the warmth and personality of a GPS navigator. 

When the last of the shoppers has left the store, Vanitas groans and slumps forward, arms crossing and rings clattering against the countertop. “Thank the Lord.” 

Roxas sweeps a hand through his bangs and laughs, a relieved and airy thing. “Yeah… I think that’s the most people I’ve seen in here since I started.” 

Vanitas rolls over, his back against the countertop, and covers his eyes with his arms. “And all those fricking children. I thought I’d have to beat them off of you with a mannequin arm.” He shifts his arms slightly to better level Roxas with an accusing glare. 

“Whoa. Me?” Roxas steps back, a hand lifting to cover his heart. “You must not have heard them right.” He tries to keep his tone serious but can’t smother another smile. “Your brooding score was double mine.” 

“Ah,” Vanitas shifts his arms back over his eyes, “shut up, Thirteen.”

Once again it seems that as much as Vanitas likes to throw shade, he doesn’t like to stand in it. 

Roxas paces toward the trashcan to throw out a forgotten receipt, but continues over his shoulder, “You’re just salty we didn’t hear what they superscored you.”

“I’m salty,” Vanitas corrects, and it’s obviously not a word he’s fond of, “I had to be nice to them because, as much as you might enjoy the experience, I don’t want Axel to chew me up and spit me out.” He removes his arms, revealing a cringe, and narrows his eyes at Roxas, “I swear to God, the next person that tries to come in here, I’m going to bite their face off.”

Roxas doesn’t have time to try to suss out what this chewing and spitting comment means, before his thoughts are interrupted. “Shh…” he cautions, as Vanitas opens his mouth again, “I think someone is coming.” Roxas can hear humming and the rustle of displays being jostled off near the front. 

Vanitas groans but pushes off the counter and rises to his full height. “Welcome to Hot Topic,” he greets with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, though their guest is not yet in sight. “Thanks for stopping by! What brings you in today and how may I be of assistance?” 

Vanitas has the customer service voice of someone being held at gunpoint, but Roxas supposes it’s marginally better than Vanitas cussing people out or making unwanted comments about their sex lives. 

“Uh, what?” 

Roxas feels like he’s heard that disgruntled squawk before. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Demyx’s pompadour mohawk rises above the aisle displays, and then he’s peeking out, eyes wide, the stretch of his mouth skeptical. “You feeling okay, Vani? You’re sounding awfully... pleasant.” 

“Oh,” Vanitas bats his hand as if to shoo Demyx off, cheer deflating from his voice, “it’s just you. Aren’t you off today? What do you want?”

Demyx smiles, waggles his eyebrows, tosses back his head, and, as he maneuvers through the aisles, starts to sing, “Hello, darkness, my old friend.” He’s not strumming on a ukulele, but he may as well be. 

Vanitas groans, burying his head in his arms on the countertop once more, like maybe it will make Demyx go away. “Not this again.” 

Demyx appears in full view and stretches out his arms, displaying a cropped, cut off ‘Take It Easy’ ‘Life is Good’ tank top above a flat stomach and ripped skinny jeans, slung low enough to reveal the edges of his boxers, despite the plaid shirt tied unevenly around his narrow waist. It’s a notable, but not, in Roxas’ opinion, unwelcome, departure from the unicorn sweater Roxas had last seen him in. The closer he gets, the more the air smells like burnt sand and coconut sunscreen.  

“I've come to talk with you again.”

Vanitas scrunches his hair in his hand and, lifting his head slightly, his eyes flit to Roxas. “What did I do to deserve this torment?” “I can think of a few things,” Roxas quips before his better judgement can stop him. 

Vanitas presses a palm to Roxas’ chest without looking, pushing him a step off, but his glare returns to the approaching Demyx.  

“Because a vision softly creeping,” Demyx’s voice dips lower, and his steps are light enough to make Roxas wonder if the aspiring rockstar hadn’t had a few ballet classes back in the day. “Left its seeds while I was sleeping…” 

“And by that you mean Axel texted you?” Vanitas calls, entirely disrespectful of Demyx’s lyrical momentum. 

That Demyx’s visit isn’t random hadn’t occurred to Roxas. No one had exactly praised Demyx for his reliability and work ethic, but it does seem like he and Axel are close enough to merit a personal favor.

Had Axel tried to stop Vanitas from targeting me by sending in a bigger target?

Demyx smile widens, but he’s not thrown off. He pauses just in front of the checkout lane, posture sure, the smell of the beach clinging to him stronger than ever. 

“And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains. 

Within the sound—of silence.”

A chill creeps up Roxas’ spine, listening to the soft lyrics laid bare, resonating in the empty store, entirely eclipsing and yet enhanced by the roaring background music. It’s not even that Demyx has the most incredible voice, so much as that he’s experienced enough to know how to really use it.  

Vanitas looks less appreciative. He glances around like he’s looking for something to chuck at the man singing to him. 

“In restless dreams, I walked alone—!”  Demyx breaks with tradition to belt, one arm outstretched grandly as he advances, just a few paces away from the register.

“Boo.” Vanitas flings a Pokeball chapstick at Demyx’s jaw.

 Demyx’s arms quickly rise in defense. “Ouch,” he whines. “Not the face, Vani…!” 

Trying not to laugh, Roxas steps forward to ensure Demyx is alright, but he must be, because Demyx steps up to the register and lobs the chapstick back toward Vanitas’ chest.

 “Vanitas used ‘Quick Attack,’” Vanitas observes sourly, as the Pokeball hits the ground and rolls away. “It was not very effective.”  

“You don’t like it?” Demyx pauses in his singing to reassess. His hip juts out in challenge, and there’s a bit of a pout to his lip. 

Vanitas’ sigh is heavy, but he shifts into a pointed smirk. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. I just didn’t think you knew what the sound of silence was.” 

Demyx scoffs, decidedly offended. “Simon and Garfunkel, bro. It’s a classic. I picked it just for you.”

Roxas chuckles, a thousand percent sure that’s not what Vanitas meant, and earns a knowing side eye in response, before Vanitas returns to Demyx, “Yeah, well, serenade Roxas next time.”

“It’s one of Xigbar’s favorites,” Demyx continues, running with his own thoughts, as if Vanitas hasn’t spoken. “He likes the old stuff, asks me to play it all the time.”

Roxas recalls the large, intimidating man from the “training video” Aqua had shown him. Xigbar had been all over Demyx: standing too close, smiling too wide, pulling Demyx off camera to (most likely) make out. On one hand, his muscle mass and massive scar were inarguably terrifying. On the other hand, Xigbar’d been in the video drinking tea with Luxord and is apparently dating Demyx, which means he’s probably some kind of huge teddy bear. Right? 

Yeah, no.

The wolfish smile he’d fixed Demyx throughout the video hadn’t exactly given Roxas teddy vibes. Xigbar’s confidence and cockiness had struck a harsh, uncomfortable contrast against Demyx’s playful naivete. Roxas can’t help but think Demyx has to be either totally stupid or totally fearless.

But, if Demyx is happy…  

Vanitas leans forward, elbows on the counter, chin in his hands. His brows rise, as if perplexed, though he continues to smile. “He’s asking you to ‘shut it’ all the time, then.”  

Roxas is somehow both pissed off and relieved to see that apparently Vanitas likes to give everyone shit about their love lives with very little background knowledge. 

“Well,” Demyx tilts his head as if realizing this is a very real possibility before he shrugs, “he should be more specific.” Roxas chokes down another laugh, and Demyx turns his sights toward him, as if just noticing him, waving a small black bag. “Hey! Roxas! I brought you a surprise!” 

“Please don’t let it be another song,” Vanitas mutters, nonetheless pushing off the counter and following Roxas out from behind it and up to Demyx.

Demyx proceeds to open a black drawstring bag, printed with a white, boxy, professional looking font reading “The Organization.” Small, metallic silver chains twine the letters and beside them what must be the band’s logo is printed all in white. The image—a cross with three points, curving into two tails at the bottom, like a crucifix impaling a heart, sends a slight chill up Roxas’ spine. 

Roxas pushes the thought away. “This is stuff for your band?” 

Demyx nods enthusiastically, tilting the bag to show it off to both of them. “You like? Xigbar and Axel re-did the font and logo a couple months ago and they killed it.”

“Uh, yeah… Looks great…” Roxas is saved from having to elaborate, as Demyx begins listing off items he pulls from the bag, handing them off to Roxas. 

First, comes a demo CD with the same white logo emblazoned across the cover above the band name in the same font. Next, a t-shirt with the band name across the breast pocket, size small, Demyx assures him, “for obvious reasons.” Then, in quick succession, come a couple handfuls of stickers, something that looks like a tentative performance schedule, and finally, a slouchy black beanie with the logo stitched into the rim.  

The last of which, Demyx opts to cap Roxas’ head with immediately, smushing his hair and leaving loose gold spikes sticking out at random. He’s talking all the while, “I invited Xigbar to come and meet you, actually. He can always tell who’s going to be a good fit with the band, but…” Demyx sticks out his tongue, focusing instead on fixing the back of the hat, as Roxas’ adjusts his hipster glasses.

Roxas is not exactly upset at missing this intro opportunity. “Oh, uh, that’s okay. I’m sure he’s busy…” 

Vanitas snorts. He’s turned around, pretending to be busy organizing a register display. 

“Oh, nah,” Demyx buries his nose in the bag again to ensure he hasn’t missed anything, “tattoo parlor was dead, he just didn’t want to come.” 

Roxas blinks, uncertain what to make of this. Demyx laughs and then Vanitas does, harder.

Vanitas tilts his head to look at Roxas, his arms full and his head crowned. Vanitas’ expression seems both horrified and taunting. “Well, aren’t you a picture?” 

Roxas glares back before checking himself and turning to offer Demyx a maybe slightly overwhelmed smile. “Thank you, man, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble...” 

Demyx waves the thanks away and snaps his fingers. “Yeah! A picture! We need a pic of our newest Organization groupie for the Instagram.  Gotta give the fans what they want.” 

Roxas smile turns wry. So that’s why he went to all this trouble. 

Demyx pulls his phone from his back pocket. Roxas notes its case is plastered with band and beer stickers, as Demyx angles the camera toward him. “Smile pretty, Rox.” 

Roxas thoughtlessly obeys as the camera flashes. 

Demyx flicks through the photos with a thumb and nods, “Awesome, awesome.” He glances up. “What’s your Insta handle, bro?” 

“Oh, gees,” Roxas bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “Haven’t used it much since high school. I think it’s either a-nobody-named-roxas or roxas-thats-a-stick.”

“Ugh.” Demyx full out grimaces, clearly not impressed with High School Roxas’ sense of humor. “Dude, if you join the band, we’re changing that.” He glances down again, tapping, swiping, “Ah! Here we go. Oh,” he breaks into a goofy grin, “look how freaking cute you were…”  Demyx tilts his phone, elbowing Vanitas to look, which he doesn’t. “Skateboarding, karate, rock concert, emo selfie, emo selfie, more skateboarding... Oh, what?” His smile disappears, and Roxas shifts forward, to look at his saved photos upside down. “Whoa, that’s trippy.”

Demyx has up a photo of Sora balanced on Roxas’ shoulders, standing on the beach, the sun in their eyes, dripping with sweat, muscles straining, teeth grit around bubbles of laughter, desperately trying to stretch the few more inches needed to reach a low hanging paopu fruit, so that Sora could woo his crush of the week. 

“There’s two of you!” Demyx continues. “You have a clone!” 

Vanitas stiffens and stops pretending to be straightening anything to lean in and examine the screen, “It’s called a ‘twin,’ genius.” He turns away, rubbing between his eyes like Demyx’s very presence is giving him a migraine. “I have one, too.” 

“Actually, that’s my little brother, Sora.” Roxas taps the screen and Sora’s handle @sora-the-explorer appears. 

Demyx scrolls further down. “Man, Sora’s in half of these. He’s a selfie king.”

“Yeah, well.” Roxas would be more embarrassed by this information if Sora hadn’t been the one to make him download the app and force him to start uploading photos in the first place. “He means well. He likes to ‘share the fun’ with all our friends, so they don’t, you know, miss out.” 

The small, derisive noise that leaves Vanitas’ throat makes Roxas grit his teeth. Yeah, Sora’s a huge cheeseball, but he’s also a downright amazing person. 

“Wait, what’s this…” Demyx is well into Sora’s photos by now. “Roxie’s tenth grade piano recital?”

Vanitas and Roxas’ objections overlap, but Demyx is already pressing play. A familiar melody springs to Roxas’ ears. He did better than he remembers, though one discordant mistake still makes his fingers twitch. 

“What was with your ‘I don’t play anything’ nonsense, Roxie? You’ve been holding out on me, man!” Demyx jabs a finger in Roxas’ chest. “You play the keys damn well.”

Roxas huffs, glancing down at his chipping nail polish, which had always made his instructor cringe. “It’s not exactly my most badass quality.” He glances back up, mouth twitching. “Besides, I didn’t think you’d want a classical pianist for your rock band.”

“Didn’t think we’d want a…” Demyx echoes, fading off, patting Roxas’ shoulder dismissively. “Well, if it was good enough for “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Roxas!”  

Roxas laughs, as Demyx cups his face in both hands, expression growing serious. “The Organization has been looking for someone to play the keys since for-ever! This is destiny, my dude.” Roxas’ brain skips like a scratched-up CD. “I mean… I hadn’t ever really thought about…” Roxas mumbles, frowning. 

This obviously means a lot to Demyx and he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of Demyx and his friends off this fast. Especially not after this morning with Vanitas. And, it could be fun. Roxas has never been in a band before. 

But he hasn’t played in ages… and the idea of singing in front of a crowd makes him kind of want to lock himself in the Hot Topic fitting room and barricade the door. He was never as good at either thing as he’d wanted to be. Not to mention, he’s only in town for break. 

But it’s not exactly far, and some of their shows are bound to be on the mainland… and…Axel’s in the band… and… and… 

“I just… I don’t know…Can I have some time to think about it?” 

Demyx swats Roxas’ shoulder again unconcerned. “All good, little man. Think about it! Talk to Axel. Come to our practice tomorrow night. I’ll send you the deets. I know you’ll love it.” Demyx is already back to tapping at his phone like it’s a done deal.

“A-a-a-a-nd you’re tagged.”

Roxas has already nearly forgotten about the photo Demyx had just snapped of him. “What?”

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

Evanescence's Amy Lee Talks Musical Evolution, Growing Up & Life Under Quarantine

The frontwoman opens up to the Recording Academy about the hard-rock mainstays' forthcoming album, 'The Bitter Truth' and its lead single, "Wasted On You"

The current coronavirus quarantine has turned out to be a mixed blessing for Evanescence leader and singer Amy Lee. While she is elated about the new music her band is producing for their first album in nearly nine years, they have to figure out how to finish the project being apart. They also had to postpone touring Europe with Within Temptation and cannot interract with their fans anytime soon. That feels ironic given the anticipation for their new release. At least Lee did not have to face being separated so soon from her five-year-old son Jack and explain why his mother had to go away on tour, and she got to jam virtually with Lzzy Hale on the Halestorm song "Break In." At the same time, Lee admits, her immediate family members are driving each other a little bit crazy. That's to be expected.

Lee and her bandmates have been adjusting to the circumstances. They decided to change the choice for the lead single off of their forthcoming album The Bitter Truth by swapping it out for the song "Wasted On You." Thematically, however unintentionally, it feels like now and features all five band members in their own homes engaging in various activities from contemplation to playing music. The video is very fitting for a band whose singer frequently channels inner emotional turmoil that people struggle with alone. Thus the clip feels like a natural extension of their work.

"Yeah, this is the place I always put myself in," concurs Lee, speaking on the phone to the Recording Academy from her home in Nashville, which fans are seeing for the first time through that video.

"Most of us in the band are very private," notes Lee. "Showing my home is a big deal for me. Just being our real selves without makeup, just living in real life, not acting. What's powerful about that is that everybody around the world is doing the same thing. The idea behind it was to show that at our core we're all still connected even though we're not physically together."

When she saw the first edit of the clip from director P.R. Brown, whom she praises highly, it made her feel very connected to her band. "I missed them," admits Lee. "I pulled the trick on myself, feeling all these emotions about being close to you guys and how we're going through the same stuff. I guess it was going to be effective because it totally worked on me."

Given how depressing life feels for many people right now, Lee believes that new music is extremely necessary, and there are new Evanescence songs still in the making. The Bitter Truth is not actually finished yet, and Lee is not sure how many songs will make up its entirety. Individual tracks will just be released when they are and eventually be collected as a cohesive whole.

"I like living in the moment, and I don't have it all planned out," says Lee. "And that's beautiful. We always wanted to do it this way. It's lucky because we got to continue down our path. We went in for the first batch of songs with Nick Raskulinecz in the beginning of February. We have that batch, but I'm not sure exactly when we're all going to be able to get back together again since we live all over the world. Jen's in Germany. But whether we're going to have to do some things remotely, we still have to get together to some degree."

Usually, the band records new music and it takes a year or so for it to reach the public's ears. They started working on "Wasted On You," a break-up song of sorts about freeing oneself from routine and toxic patterns, the day before New Year's. Sharing it with fans and getting feedback so soon after it was completed feels like a gift of instant gratification that they find special and rare.

Naturally, many fans have been anxious for a new Evanescence album, but they have continued to snap up concert tickets and have remained loyal throughout the near decade-long duration. "It's not like they got pissed off and left," remarks Lee. "They still want it whenever it's going to come, and that's a huge gift. Especially now. There's just so much music out there that you can only find if you're searching for it."

Lee has continued making new music over the last nine years. Following her emancipation from her previous label Wind-up Records in 2014, she jumped into many new projects. The first was the Aftermath album that served as the soundtrack to the movie War Story starring Catherine Keener as a war zone photojournalist. That was done in collaboration with cellist Dave Eggar, who also worked with her and producer/composer/drummer Chuck Palmer on music for the 2015 short film Indigo Grey: The Passage by Irish/hip-hop dance troupe Hammerstep. The musical trio further collaborated on scores for the documentary short I Am Her (2016) and the feature film Blind (2017). In 2016, inspired by the birth of her son two years earlier, Lee did an album of children's music songs entitled Dream Too Much.

Such diversity should not be surprising considering that at the core of Evanescence swirl goth, metal, and pop sounds that commune without overriding each other. This makes the band less easy to tag and simply reflects Lee's diverse musical tastes. Last year, they released a cover of Fleetwood Mac's "The Chain."

"I like a lot of pop music," says Lee. "I like a lot of dark, trippy, trap-pop weirdness. Even if that just comes out in the way that I'm crafting a melody, it's there for me enough that I feel it in the way that I want to feel it. Then all those other elements that play a role, like cool guitar riffs and things from other genres, it's when it all blends together that it really sounds right. That's a picture of who we are."

While she knows people certainly expected certain new music from her, Lee has needed to scratch that creative itch that led her to such outside explorations. She felt that denying herself these opportunities would make her feel like she was not being true to herself, even though her fans craved a new Evanescence album. Lee felt compelled to work on that "weird song idea" or collaboration with a cellist. "If I don't let myself do it, then I get frustrated," she concedes. "There was something else I needed to get off my chest first."

The singer and pianist mentions that when she was pregnant, she thought her mom phase would outweigh work, but her need to create only got stronger because it was such an emotional time for her.

"Up until the week before Jack was born, I was working on that Aftermath album which was so great because it was moody and weird and creative, and it didn't all rely on the same old tricks," recalls Lee. "A lot of it was instrumental. People want me to sing a ballad. I actually wanted to play the piano live with Dave [Eggar] and write as we play and record that, then create the song that's totally weird, electronic, Africa-inspired. There's all kinds of weird stuff on there."

Ten months after Jack was born, a lot of emotions were welling up inside of Lee, which naturally led to Dream Too Much. "I just felt like I had a whole new chamber of my heart that started up that I didn't know about before, and I needed to express it," she elaborates. "Weirdly, becoming a mom made me need to create a lot more. There hadn't been an all original Evanescence album until now, but it's just been everything else." She chose to jump onto all of those "someday, I want to do..." projects.

When Lee did return to making music with her main project, it was for 2017's Synthesis album featuring Evanescence songs reworked with a full orchestra and electronic music elements along with two new songs and three instrumentals. She notes that many people thought that that release was a clue as to where the band's music was heading, but in fact, it was the opposite.

"Because we got to do that very different thing, I felt so motivated and inspired to run the other direction and really dive headfirst into the rock part of our music and our current sound as a band," says Lee. "I think allowing yourself to do all the things that your heart wants to do as an artist is just healthy. It's not like there won't be more fuel inside you that's going to want to create more the next day."

The long break between albums certainly helped feed her fire for the band. Further, Lee's artistic life has been augmented lately by two special musicians. The first is aforementioned cellist Eggar, whose resume includes The Who, Josh Groban, Beyoncé, Carly Simon, Bon Jovi and Manhattan Transfer, has been a great collaborator for her.

"He's just got such a bright energy and is so encouraging but also really, really talented," enthuses Lee. "He pushes me to the next level without it being painful, if that makes sense. We were talking about wanting to make a documentary of his life because you just sit down and listen to him talk about stuff like living on a beach in the south of France and playing a million dollar cello."

On the recommendation of Eggar, Evanescence guitarist Jen Majura came into the fold back in 2015 following the departure of longtime member and songwriting collaborator Terry Balsamo. She is the other key player.

"What I've learned over the years is the harder thing about finding a person that's going to be in your band family is the way they fit as a person," explains Lee. "There are a lot of people that can play amazingly, and Jen is a great musician, but for somebody to really fit into your family dynamic is hard. I called her and flew her to New York, and we just spent time together. We went to guitar shops, went to lunch, got drunk, and had conversations about music and jammed a little bit. But mostly it was just becoming friends, and it happened really quickly. It just felt right. We knew that. I knew that I liked her, and I could see things in her that reminded me a little bit of myself. It's been really nice to have such a cool jolt of positive energy that she inserted when we needed it a lot. Now we can also have background vocals. We've never been able to have that before with me being the only girl, and I wanted it to be a female voice."

Circling back to the new song "Wasted On You," there is reference to being "six feet low" that reminds one that on first two Evanescence studio albums there was one song apiece that referenced Lee's late sister, who passed away at the age of three when the singer was six. It turns out that Lee recently lost her younger brother, who died at the age of 24.

"It's really hard," says Lee, turning somber for a few moments. "This has been a crazy time, the last few years. A lot has happened to us within the band. Since the last album, there's a lot to say. We are still who we are, but there have been things that have caused us to change our perspective, and the way that we see the world, the way that we see other people, and the way that we think because of the losses that we've suffered. I'm speaking in plural because our bass player Tim just lost his stepdaughter."

Lee adds that this has been a time during which, in so many ways, she had to grow up and didn't want to. "I just want to be a kid again," she concedes. "I just want to be a kid with my siblings and my mom and dad, and somebody else I know at the end of the day is going to take care of it. Somebody else is going to be the dad, somebody else is going to be in charge. It's a really shitty thing that when you grow up, you have to be the one who does that. You have to be the one to make everybody else feel okay. And sometimes it's not okay. That's the bitter truth."

This moment dovetails into the Recording Academy's recent conversation with Tori Amos about how one does not really understand another's pain unless they have experienced it personally. And a person does not need well-meaning but cliched platitudes from others to deal with pain. They just need to process it in their own way.

"That's a huge part of this band and making music for me from day one," declares Lee. "I just need to process the fact that I hurt right now, and not say, 'But it's gonna be okay.' I still have hope after all, but I think it's important sometimes just to say, 'Hey, I hurt' and let that be the message because other people are hurting too. Instead of being fixed immediately, we need to process our pain, we need to feel the pain. It's important. It's part of what is eventually going to let you get through it. The only way out is through."

That concept might seem anathema to many people caught up in a social media and mass media world where everyone wants to put on a happy face and does not admit to feeling wounded or defeated.

"Right, we don't show the pictures," acknowledges Lee. "I don't Instagram when I'm having a horrible day. We're just showing little clips of life when something was awesome, so when you look through that window into somebody's life you're not getting the full picture. You're just getting the highlight reel. That isn't real."

Funnily enough, the music and videos of Evanescence represent the opposite aesthetic. They show when they are not having a good day.

"That's true," concurs Lee, laughing out loud. "You just listen to my album, and you hear how horrible everything is."

At least that emotional sincerity has allowed her to produce some timeless tunes, with more on the way.

[washdayradionetwork]

EDITOR'S NOTE: In the summer of 2017, I answered the 30-Day Music Challenge on this blog. I'll be reupping the best of those posts from time to time, starting with this one.

23. A song that you think everybody should listen to.

You've probably heard them all -- done badly on some vocal competition show. Let's get the ones you've probably heard, in their original versions, out of the way. Then, I'll tell you about one I think you probably haven't heard, but should.

Ready? Here goes:

Blue Moon Of Kentucky, Bill Monroe

Man Of Constant Sorrow, The Stanley Brothers

Hoochie Coochie Man, Muddy Waters

Smokestack Lightning, Howlin' Wolf

Boom Boom, John Lee Hooker

Hound Dog, Big Mama Thornton

Jailhouse Rock, Elvis Presley

Johnny B. Goode, Chuck Berry

Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones

Dancing In the Streets, Martha and the Vandellas

Good Vibrations, The Beach Boys

R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Aretha Franklin

Bridge Over Troubled Water, Simon and Garfunkel

Let It Be, The Beatles

I Heard It Through the Grapevine, Marvin Gaye

You've Got A Friend, Carole King

Won't Get Fooled Again, The Who

Good Times, Chic

We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions, Queen

New York State Of Mind, Billy Joel

Billie Jean, Michael Jackson

Welcome To the Jungle, Guns 'n Roses

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2

You can keep "Stairway To Heaven". Bruce Springsteen isn't as universal as East Coast rock critucs think he is. Sheryl Crow's "Safe and Sound" should be on this list.

What about the one you may not have heard yet?

It lacks the obvious universality of the others. In these days of niche marketing, and identity politics on both sides of the fence, there are those who would actively hate it, making all kinds of assumptions about the women singing it and What They Really Mean. The sad thing is, everybody's been through this.

You might not see it at first, couched as it is in metaphor. Why on God's green earth are these singers rooting for the downfall -- perhaps even the physical death -- of a lone circus performer, even as they remember, with great fondness, her youth and her youthful genius?

The girl's story is not a happy one:

Well, some guy broke her heart and her heart it did ache

So she went to the tent and the lady of the snakes

Who gave her a potion and she drank it in

After that her heart never ached again

After that her heart never ached again.

Still, they can't wait for her to flop:

Yeah, one of these nights, the old girl's goin' down.

On and on they sing the girl's story, shedding their hearts' blood in the verses, then chanting that woeful, prophetic chorus.

By the time they get to the coda, they're singing at the tops of their lungs. And the word they are singing is "Hallelujah" -- literally "Praise God".

Louder and louder they stretch it and shape it -- an arrow, a battering ram, a boulder arcing through the air. With every volley they crush and crumble stone walls three feet thick. Everything must go in this battle -- everything phony, self-insulating, and self-congratulatory.

As the battle winds down, the singers' voices get softer, slower, more hesitant, and more than a little afraid of what they've done as they gaze down from their lofty perch in the stands at the tiny, crumpled thing on the floor below.

Is it the "old girl", or simply her old self?

The final "Hallelujah" feels like the best funeral oration they could give -- elegiac, with the tiniest flicker of hope.

Of peace.

This is Patty Griffin and Emmylou Harris with "Trapeze".

[berniesrevolution]

Most members of the U.S. Senate have had little to say about the Israel Defense Forces’ violent response to protests in Gaza that left more than 50 Palestinians dead. But there has been one notable exception.

Independent Vermont Sen. Bernie Sanders has stood out for his forceful condemnation of the Israeli government’s actions and the U.S. response.

The progressive firebrand’s public remarks are the latest in a series of condemnations against Palestinian deaths at the hands of the Israel Defense Forces, as Palestinian protesters have been participating in a series of protests at the Israel-Gaza border since March.

So far only a handful of Democratic representatives in the House have joined Sanders in strongly condemning the violence. In the Senate, the response has been characterized by either silence or unlikely praise for the Trump administration.

Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer issued a statement on Monday. Schumer applauded Trump for his decision to move the U.S. embassy in Israel from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem, a move that played a major role in sparking the protests.

Sanders’ response might appear in keeping with the socialist senator’s record of taking positions far to the left of his Democratic colleagues. But his recent emphasis on and attention to the issue marks a major turn from his position as a candidate for the Democratic presidential nomination in 2016.

In April of that year Sanders’ campaign hired Simone Zimmerman, a founding member of the Jewish anti-occupation group IfNotNow to be his campaign’s Jewish outreach coordinator. But shortly after that decision, the campaign fired Zimmerman when it was revealed that she had written a 2015 Facebook post condemning IDF violence. In the post, she attacked Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu by saying, “Fuck you, Bibi.”

The incident was representative of what many anti-occupation activists saw as the Sanders campaign’s attempt to try and align the candidate with the anti-occupation movement while not engaging with the issue on a level that could exact a political toll further down the line.

Zimmerman, who now lives in Tel Aviv, said in an interview with Micthat Sanders’ new energy around the subject has given her a new sense of optimism about the future.

“Seeing Sen. Sanders come out and lead out front on this issue is of course personally vindicating, but has more importantly given myself and others a sense of hope,” Zimmerman said.

(Continue Reading)

[nancylou444]