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niamaggie · 3 years

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100 - Julie and the Phantoms Prompts

In honor of my favorite holiday and one of my more recent obsessions, I have been posting fic prompts over on the Julie and the Phantoms Discord server (https://discord.gg/2WC6GD23UT). Today I reached a milestone of 100 prompts and decided to masterpost them here.

Some of these are fluffy, but many are angsty/whumpy, but they’re all ones that have popped off in my brain in the last month or so. Many are of the guys and Julie, but they’re are prompts for pretty much every character. I’ve done my best to put triggers before the actual prompt, but if I’m missing any, please let me know.

These are free to use, however, I do ask that you tag me or send me a message if you decide to fill one since I would love to read it and add it to this list. <3

Prompt 1: *Triggers - Body Horror* The Phantoms feed off of Julie’s energy to stay corporeal. The more energy, the longer they can stay visible and the easier they can interact with everyone. At first, it’s really great. The guys get to meet everyone officially and things are looking up. But, Julie is having a harder time staying awake and keeping it together. She feels guilty since she loves how the guys are able to enjoy themselves. She doesn’t want to end that for them. Eventually, she can’t keep up anymore and tells them what’s going on. Queue cuddle time to recharge and talk it all out. They decide to slowly build up Julie’s abilities. Bonus: ALL THE CUDDLES

Prompt 2: What if Julie knew Caleb outside of the guys (maybe history with her mom)? What if she considered him family and didn’t realize he was the one causing issues with the guys? They run into each other when Caleb comes after the Orpheum performance expecting the band to take his deal. Julie: “Uncle Caleb?” “Julie?!”

Prompt 3: *Triggers - Nightmare* Julie has a night terror after the Orpheum performance, thinking the guys are gone. She runs into the studio and the guys are all there sleeping/napping. She breaks down, and just grabs onto them and won’t let go. They all cuddle her to calm her down, telling her they are still there. They all fall asleep on the couch.

Prompt 4: *Triggers - Child Neglect, Child Mental Abuse, & Anxiety* There’s more to Alex’s story with his family than what Luke said. They don’t just disapprove of him; they outright pretend he doesn’t exist. It gets to a point where he completely breaks down in the studio after having a bad practice day (the kind of day where nothing is going right). Being a ghost, is like what his family did to him, but on a much bigger scale. It’s much harder to deal with... Just want the band to comfort him, please?

Prompt 5: *Triggers - Mental Health* Reggie really, really wants to be able to interact with Julie’s family. Now that they can touch her, he shyly asks if they can officially meet them. “If that’s ok?” “It’s just they..” She beams and says, “ Of course.” Reggie just hugs her super tight with watery eyes.

Prompt 6: *Triggers - Murder* The hotdog’s weren’t rancid; they were poisoned. Why did someone want Sunset Curve dead? (Not Bobby/Trevor)

Prompt 7: With all the new found fame for “Julie and the Phantoms”, the band starts amassing quite a fan following. One particular “fan” thinks Julie doesn’t deserve/is good enough to be playing with them. They’re determined that she needs to go. #ProtectiveGhosts.

Prompt 8: Hanging out with the boys has some perks (especially since they can now touch). With practice, the guys can do a lot more than just poof away. So, they decide to use more ghostly tricks on Julie in their set/show. Julie phasing through the boys like in Bright, teleporting her to different areas of the stage, helping her with magical costume changes?

Prompt 9: Ray decides he needs to meet the boys, especially after that performance. If nothing else, he just wants to thank them for saving his daughter and his family. When he does meet them (and catches the little things they say about their families), he decides to officially/unofficially adopt them into the family. There is no way he can let any child (let alone these ones) think that no adult is in their corner.

Prompt 10: The boys being involved with Julie’s family. Simple things like helping set up the dinner table (spots for all of them and Julie’s mom) and talking about their day. Cue, Tia Victoria showing up and being condescending/rude to the family. So, the boys decide a little payback is in order. Meanwhile, the Molinas just sit there and are like “What are you talking about? We didn’t see/hear anything?”.. #TheBoysDon’tPutUpWithThat

Prompt 11: *Triggers - Physical Abuse* - Julie notices things are off with “Nick”. She can’t explain it, but she knows something isn’t right with him. He’s asking all sorts of questions about the Phantoms, asking who are they, how did you meet, how does it work, etc. Julie tries to brush him off with short answers, but, “Nick” is persistent and he wants what he wants. “Nick” eventually gets fed up with playing nice and grabs Julie’s arms hard enough to leave bruises. Julie gets away after a few moves (there’s no way that girl doesn’t have some killer martial arts moves). She shows up to practice with angry tears. The guys ask what’s wrong, but tells them it’s nothing and tries to start practice. Luke holds her arm and she hisses while taking a half step back. The guys are shocked when Luke pulls up her sleeve and they see the finger-shaped bruises. #ProtectiveGhosts #PissedOffGhosts

Prompt 12: *Triggers - Bullying* What if people did notice Julie talking to thin air? She’s shunned/bullied by everyone at school including Flynn (Julie never gets to sing “Flying Solo” to her). It gets so bad that she runs away after an exceptionally bad day. The boys try to convince her to go home, but she refuses. Feeling guilty, they decide to watch out for her. So, her new life a mix of epic shows at night with the guys, but the reality is she’s still homeless on the streets of LA. Eventually her dad and brother find her (and with some words from the boys about their own regrets), they all take her home.

Prompt 13: *Triggers - Bullying* One of Carrie’s dancers decides to pick on Julie about her mom, thinking it will put them in better standing with Carrie. Unfortunately for them, that type of “attack” on Julie was the one thing that Carrie won’t stand for. Because even if Carrie and Julie aren’t friends any more, they have a mutual/silent agreement that their moms are off limits. Carrie apologizes to Julie for the attack and says she knows better. They don’t magically end up best friends again, but they’re no longer enemies.

Prompt 14: *Triggers - Murder* The line in “fit to kill” from “You Got Nothing To Lose” stirs up some ideas because what if Caleb was responsible for the boys deaths? After all, he does seem fixated on them... Maybe he just wants them as more ghosts for his club or as a part of his house band? Maybe it’s more their potential? Either way, the boys ruined his plans by not showing up for 25 years… Good thing he had Willie keep an eye out for them… But then again, he did bargain with Willie for his freedom in exchange for theirs.

Prompt 15: *Triggers - Child Neglect & Abuse* What if Julie’s family were the opposite from cannon because they blame her for her mother’s death? … If only, Julie hadn’t needed a ride from voice lessons and a reckless driver was actually paying attention… Julie connects with the boys on another level since none of them have good families. They become each other’s found family instead.

Prompt 16: There are consequences for using the likenesses of the deceased. What happens when Julie and the Phantoms get CEASE & DESIST notices from the boys’ families? What do they do since they can’t play/preform?

Prompt 17: Julie and Flynn think it’s time that the boys got some new clothes and personal items. Queue ghostly shenanigans at the mall/stores with all three of them.

Prompt 18: Actual Witch Julie! She meant to summon her mom (also a witch), but accidently summoned the guys. Oops. She tries again using part of “Wake Up” lyrics to talk to her mom, but it doesn’t go anywhere… Julie’s best gift is her voice, good thing she’s working on her enchanting skills.

Prompt 19: *Triggers - Injury* Concussion – Julie has an accident and has some retrograde amnesia of the last few months, meaning she doesn’t remember meeting the guys. How do you explain to someone that you’re ghosts, but only you can see them unless you’re preforming together? “Like how?! That doesn’t make any sense?!” Just want the guys trying a couple of different ways to convince her, but Julie is being stubborn. Think first scene of them together, but more denial and more of “Stop talking to them. They’re not real. There’s no such thing as cute ghosts.”

Prompt 20: Comic Con?! Julie and the Phantoms go to Comic Con (either as guests or maybe as performers?). They’re all super excited, but Reggie can’t contain himself. How can he with all the costumes, the artists, and the actors. Hello?! “There’s so much to see!” Plus, how much mischief can they get into? 😉

Prompt 21: Rules/Boundaries – You know how Julie keeps mentioning boundaries and the guys keep breaking them? She decides to come up with a list to keep in the studio… Honestly, I would just like to see little moments where the guys keep breaking Julie’s rules. Could be a 5+1 fic, where most of them are comedic, but the last one is gut-wrenching?

Prompt 22: What if Julie was more physically connected to the guys? Like when she’s sick, they’re sick, etc. And what if they start showing signs of aging like their hair getting longer as months go by? What does that mean?

Prompt 23: Julie starts experiencing shooting chest pains. At first, she brushes it off, but they’re getting worse. During practice, she gets another one, only this time she can’t take in a breath. Can the boys help her?

Prompt 24: When the guys are “preforming” at Caleb’s club, Julie goes looking for them. When she finds them, she can tell they’re in trouble and decides to crash the party. She helps free the guys and everyone else from Caleb’s clutches with a musical number of her own. Without the other ghosts feeding his abilities, Caleb fades away into nothing.

Prompt 25: Birthdays – Would love to see everyone else’s birthday moments, but with Julie and the Molina family? Maybe a little angst since I don’t think Reggie or Alex’s family really celebrated theirs and here are the Molinas stepping up for some boys who are eternally 17?

Prompt 26: *Triggers - Body Horror, Human Remains, Murder* The guys are feeling pain again, but it’s all over, and it feels - different and wrong. It takes a few days to find out why. On the news, are their photos. They’re bodies are being exhumed as their deaths have been reopened as possible homicides.

Prompt 27: Band Life – Just a little cut scene where everyone is doing warm-ups. But, I really want to see the guys helping Alex stretch before (since apparently drummers can get terrible muscle aches/cramps).

Prompt 28: Holidays – Just imagine the guys’ first holidays with Julie’s family. All the usual cheesiness, but must include a trip to the mountains and a snowball fight.

Prompt 29: Sleepover – It’s late and the band decides to have a sleepover in the studio. After a bit, it turns very deep and emotional. It becomes a really eye-opening experience for Julie as she learns more about her bandmates and they her.

Prompt 30: *Triggers - Allergic Reaction* Food - The boys are very protective of what the Molina family eats. I’m talking they will throw out, reheat, overcook food if the food is at all questionable. One day, they throw out Julie’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich “because the jam looked off”. So, they make her a peanut butter and fluff one, too bad that they didn’t know Julie’s allergic to corn (which can also be used to make marshmallows).

Prompt 31: *Triggers - Cheating* The guys ask Julie what the situation is with Carrie and why she’s seems to be out to get her? Julie explains that they used to be best friends before Carrie’s mother cheated on her dad and Carrie caught her in the act. “After that, Carrie was gone from school one week and it was like her personality changed overnight into this plastic I’m-better-than-you robot. I tried talking to her, but she ignored me for months. Anytime I tried, she pretty much just harassed me to go away. Then my mom got sick and then she died. I just didn’t have the energy to keep trying.”

Prompt 32: Julie singing in Spanish and the guys being in awe.

Prompt 33: *Triggers - Death of a Parent & Grief* Rose’s death… How did she die? What were the Molinas like in the first year after her death?

Prompt 34: Something where the Julie is being interviewed and has to describe the guys and they her?

Luke – Contagious, Sensitive, Intense

Reggie – Lovable, Goofball, Questionable

Alex – Loyal, Emotional, Careful

Julie – Gifted, Fiery, Thoughtful

Prompt 35: Luke singing “Unsaid Emily” acoustically for a show (Julie did reach out to the Pattersons beforehand).

Prompt 36: *Triggers - Illness* Julie having to perform while she is seriously sick. The guys try to convince her to postpone, but she’s being stubborn. She continues the show until she literally collapses at the end of it. The guys are worried and take her home afterwards to recuperate.

Prompt 37: I really want a protective Flynn fic where she doesn’t trust the boys after they ditch Julie and her at the dance. She makes them work hard to make it up to them.

Prompt 38: *Triggers - Character Death* What if Rose was the one who found the guys after the rancid hotdogs and called 9-1-1?

Prompt 39: *Triggers - Injury* The jolts happen to Julie instead of the guys. Despite the guys being the ones cursed, every jolt is felt by Julie instead and she gets weaker and weaker. What better blackmail and incentive to the guys need to join Caleb’s club?

Prompt 40: *Triggers - Possession & Stalking* The guys notice possessed Nick stalking Julie at school and eventually her house/studio. #PhantomBodyguards

Prompt 41: *Triggers - Bullying* What if Carrie witnessed Flynn and Julie being bullied by another student? Something in her snaps and she rips the bully a new one before helping Flynn and Julie.

Prompt 42: With Julie’s help, Luke is able to track down Reggie’s and Alex’s families as a surprise/gift. He wants to give them the same closure that Julie gave to him.

Prompt 43: Role reversal – After a performance, Julie is the one to poof out.

Prompt 44: What if Julie was a medium (since birth) and was trying to talk to her mom, but can’t? Instead, she got the guys?

Prompt 45: *Triggers - Physical Child Abuse, Child Emotional Abuse, Child Mental Abuse, Child Neglect* The boys’ lives are a lot darker than canon. Reggies’s are physically abusive, Alex’s are emotionally/mentally abusive, Luke’s are neglectful/never around. 3+1 (Molina family being awesome).

Prompt 46: *Triggers - Suicidal Thoughts & Ideation* Reggie was suicidal before having found a family with Luke and Alex (and then Julie and her family). He looks back on where he was and where he is now. “I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.” And “All it takes is a beautiful fake smile to hide an injured soul and they will never notice how broken you really are.”– both Robin Williams

Prompt 47: Julie is the new student at school, but the guys are still ghosts. How would it play out if no one knew Julie before “Bright”?

Prompt 48: JATP are being interviewed (virtually) and the interviewer starts asking inappropriate questions about Julie and the guys’ relationship. Julie is clearly upset (as are the guys). It gets so bad, the guys decide to disconnect and refuse to continue. Afterwards, they cuddle Julie and talk about it.

Prompt 49: A lifer from Caleb’s club sees a JATP performance and are not happy to be paying for an exclusive ghost experience only to find it available for free. As time goes on, more and more lifers are refusing to go to Caleb’s club until it’s an actual “ghost town”.

Prompt 50: Bobby/Trevor is a lifer at Caleb’s club.

Prompt 51: *Triggers - Murder* Bobby/Trevor made a deal with a ghost in 1995. Help him become famous now and in return, he will join his ghost club after his death. Too bad Bobby/Trevor didn’t read the fine print. He didn’t just sell his soul.

Prompt 52: Battle of Wills – Julie goes to Caleb’s club and tricks him into letting the boys and Willie, by intimidating him with her “powers”. Something like, “If I can do this now as a lifer, I wonder what else could I do?” Caleb would then threaten her life and Julie would reply that she would just come back as an even more powerful ghost and make his afterlife a nightmare. Instead of his nightly parties, it’ll be nightly riots. Caleb eventually agrees to let the boys go in exchange that they (and Julie) never enter his club again. After being freed, they meet up back at the studio and the guys are in shock. They can’t believe she did that. Julie responds saying, she couldn’t just leave them behind. They’re her band, her family. Plus, it’s not like she has any actual powers that could take on Caleb… Or does she? #BADASSJULIE

Prompt 53: *Triggers - Murder & Body Horror* What if Caleb took more than souls? Turns out he drains the life of the living to run his club, and then takes your soul as part of his deal. The drain isn’t a part of the deal, but rather a consequence of going to the club itself. The more often you go to get answers about the other side, the closer you are to joining it.

Prompt 54: *Triggers - Murder* What if Julie was also a ghost? A terrified ghost who doesn’t remember how she died. Her mom is still alive and her family still lives in their house, but they’re more zombies than people. Julie can’t interact at all with them unless she’s playing with the guys. The guys try to help her remember as her family grieves. As time passes, Julie gets flashes of memory of her death or rather, her murder. She was killed in the studio by Bobby/Trevor after discovering he stole Sunset Curve’s songs. It isn’t the first time he’s killed…

Prompt 55: *Triggers - Death of a Parent & Grief* Before Julie played their CD and the guys appeared, changing her life forever, she was just a girl grieving for her mom. One day, something sparks her to laugh. A laugh that makes her feel so light, that’s she’s floating only to crash down to earth when she realizes her mom won’t ever laugh like that again… Julie refuses to laugh if her mother can’t… Just want something where someone tells Julie that it’s ok to laugh again.

Prompt 56: How did Alex and Luke find out about Jar Jar? 😉

Prompt 57: *Triggers - Bullying* Carrie’s getting harassed by someone and breaks down after a Dirty Candi number. Julie sees it (or maybe Alex spots it and tells her) and puts a stop to it and defends Carrie and her performance. It leads to Carrie sticking up for Julie a couple of days/weeks later, and it slowly leads back to a road of friendship.

Prompt 58: *Triggers - Possible Injury* (Before 1x9) In his excitement to catch ghosts, Carlos sets up a trap for the guys, but Julie gets caught in the crosshairs. Option A: She’s more annoyed then injured. Sibling hijinks ensues. Option B: She gets hurt and Carlos has to help her. Either way, the guys apologize for making her life harder and antagonizing Carlos.

Prompt 59: *Triggers - Injury* Julie gets a concussion at school (I’m thinking gym class). She’s extremely confused, which the nurse warns is normal but also gives her a list of protocols to follow. Julie gets home and can’t see the guys, but she can hear them. She doesn’t understand what’s going on and gets very frustrated with them and herself. As she starts to cry, she asks for her mom.

Prompt 60: *Triggers - Possession* You know how Flynn yells at demon and Carrie responds? What if Carrie was actually a demon? Think Buzzfeed Unsolved (fandom) head canon with Shane, a demon posing as a human, and Ryan, as the unsuspecting human.

Prompt 61: *Triggers - Medical Condition* Julie arrives home after school with a migraine that’s been building all day. Everything boils over when she steps into the kitchen and Ray’s cooking dinner. She heads right for him and seeks comfort. The guys are a bit lost, but are quiet as Ray whispers to Julie.

Prompt 62: *Triggers - Character Death & Missing Characters* What if the guys don’t actually know how they died? And what if, their bodies were never found and that they’re still considered “missing”? How would that change things?

Prompt 63: I can see this falling under Witch!Julie, but it doesn’t have to? Julie marked the boys by gifting them Dahlia pins (which they wear with pride) before they visit Caleb’s club. He goes to mark them on the night of the dance, but the stamp doesn’t “stick” and his other powers don’t work on them. He makes up some excuse, but he decides to investigate. He goes to the house and confronts Julie. He tries to pull on his usual bag of tricks, but they don’t work on her either. Caleb threatens her, “I’ll get them one way or another.” “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “Haven’t you heard, all bets on me?” “Yeah, the odds aren’t in your favor.” “Who do you think you are?!” “Julie Molina, from Julie and the Phantoms. You... obviously don’t get out much.” #FlusteredCaleb

Prompt 64: After a couple of weeks of constant late-night rehearsals, gigs, and studying for finals, Julie can’t keep her head up during band practice. She keeps nodding off at the piano, blinking rapidly, and shaking herself to try to stay awake. The guys stop playing after the nth time Julie slows down or misses a cue. They decide that it’s time for her to go to bed. They drag her to her room and with strict instructions to change, go to bed, and that she has to sleep in tomorrow until noon.

Prompt 65: Slang Exchange – Flynn and Julie teach the guys 2020’s slang while the guys teach them early 90’s slang. They each keep explaining more obscure and crazy words/phrases until it turns into a friendly competition of each era’s craziest terms.

Prompt 66: In Julie’s dance class, they’re given their mid-term or final exam where each person must preform 3 different styles of dance with a partner. Julie asks if the dances can be performed with people outside the class or even multiple someone’s and the teacher agrees as long as the person or persons are there on the day of the exam. Julie asks the guys to help her since they have such distinct body moves/styles. Examples: Hip-Hop, Rumba, Salsa, Waltz, Cha-Cha, Swing, Tap, Foxtrot, Jive, Tango, etc.

Prompt 67: *Triggers - Physical Child Abuse & Scarring* Julie walks into the studio after school and sees that only Reggie is there and he’s changing his shirt. It’s not an usual sight to have Luke or even Alex change shirts in front of her, but Reggie had always been a little shyer. When she sees his back, she now knows why. There are a lot of thick old scars near his spine. When she drops her bag in shock, Reggie gets spooked and poofs out. Julie then spends the next few hours anxiously waiting for him to come back. When Luke and Alex later poof in and see her distress, she explains what she saw. Luke and Alex exchange looks and Alex tells Luke to go talk to him while he explains things to Julie.

Prompt 68: Ever notice the amount of jewelry the guys have? I would just like to see the stories behind how they got them, particularly their necklaces? My head cannon is that the necklaces are gifts from each other over the years.

Prompt 69: *Triggers - Mental Health* Five times Julie can’t touch the boys when they needed comfort and the one time (and more), she can after the Orpheum show.

Prompt 70: *Triggers - Mental Health* After Julie can touch the guys and after Ray and Carlos know about them, the Molina family decides to surprise them with their first family meal. The guys are super happy, but a little worried. The last two times they ate, things didn’t end well (the hotdogs and Caleb’s club). The idea of being able to food or being able to eat, feels… tarnished?... #FamilyComfort

Prompt 71: JatP debuts a new song and they decide to switch things up, literally. One second everyone is in their normal position, the next everyone is playing a different instrument and killing it. For example, Alex on guitar, Julie on bass, Reggie on piano, Luke on drums.

Prompt 72: *Triggers - Death of a Spouse* Can we have a Ray and Rose moment like Amelia and Dr. Harvey from Casper (the scene with the red dress)? One where they tell each other how much they love and miss each other?

Prompt 73: *Triggers - Mental Health* During the day while Julie is at school, Luke is in Julie’s room. He knows he shouldn’t, but he’s been feeling off and being in her room makes him feel better. But, the more he looks over her pictures and reads through the writing on her desk (he learned his lesson about breaking her trust with looking in her dream box), the more he feels guilty when he can see all the good memories in them. He feels so guilty because it feels like everything wrong or that has gone wrong lately is his fault – running out on his parents, having the idea to eat the hotdogs, making Julie’s life difficult by making her lie to her family, needing to get revenge against Bobby/Trevor, which led them to Caleb and missing the dance, which breaks Julie’s trust, almost not making it to the Orpheum show… He just keeps spiraling until Alex and Reggie come looking for him.

Prompt 74: After that magic hug, Julie takes note of the guys Orpheum outfits.

Prompt 75: *Triggers - Mental Health* Empath!Julie. She feels things on a deeper level and can sense what other people are feeling. She channels her emotions through her music and it’s why it feels so alive. It’s why her family has been so worried about her not playing music for nearly a year. She was so shut down, they feared they would lose her too… When the guys show up, she isn’t ready to open herself up emotionally to them. It’s also why she can’t touch them. As time goes on and she opens a bit and she tries to touch them, it doesn’t work because she’s not strong enough yet. It’s only after “Stand Tall” that she allows herself to be vulnerable/strong enough at the same time that she can touch them.

Prompt 76: During “Perfect Harmony”, when Luke says, “Step into my world”, Julie actually steps into the ghost world. After that, she can see more than just the guys and now sees ghosts everywhere.

Prompt 77: *Triggers - Food Hoarding & Child Neglect* The guys were food starved before the hotdogs. Reggie’s family was poor and couldn’t afford enough good food at home. Luke didn’t have much money for food after running away from home nearly six months before he died. Alex wasn’t welcome at home, let alone the dinner table.

Prompt 78: *Triggers - Graphic Murder, Possession, Medical Condition, Possible Medical Disability* This one is gruesome and it’s based on a nightmare… Caleb possesses Nick a little earlier than cannon. He still goes over to the Molina’s with flowers and rings the doorbell. When Julie opens the door, he slashes her throat and then stabs her. He runs as Julie staggers with her hands on her throat and torso. Ray hears her struggles and rushes over, yelling for Carlos to call 9-1-1. The guys try to keep Julie calm and in the present. They follow the Molina’s to the hospital, where Julie is placed in a coma. She’ll live, but her ability to talk, let alone sing is unknown. Meanwhile, the police think it was a crazy fan because of the dropped flowers.

Prompt 79: *Triggers - Body Horror* What if Caleb’s stamp only caused the guys pain if they’re playing their instruments or preforming outside of his club? Being unable to perform is excruciating, but spending their afterlives as Caleb’s puppets isn’t enough/real either. Which leads to Luke’s words, “No music is worth making Julie, if we’re not making it with you.”

Prompt 80: *Triggers - Body Horror & Nightmares* Caleb haunts Julie’s nightmares and causes her to sleepwalk into danger. Think the nightmare scene in “Anastasia” where Anya nearly jumps off the ship thinking she’s jumping into a lake to see her family. Who/what does Julie see? Who/what wakes her?

Prompt 81: Halloween special! The Molina family are a bunch of werewolves. Can you imagine the craziness when the guys realize what they are? The questions they might ask (particularly with Alex’s “softer touch”)?

Prompt 82: *Triggers - Mental Health* Reggie’s biggest fear is being alone and the absolute worst thing you can do is ignore him. His parents used to do it all the time to punish him. So much that, he felt like a ghost long before he died. The only thing that kept him afloat were the guys, and now Julie with her family… After a bad day of flashbacks of his old life, all he wants is to be with his new family.

Prompt 83: *Triggers - Child Neglect, Child Mental Abuse, Child Emotional Abuse, Mental Health, & Anxiety* The feeling of not being enough, let alone good enough is something that haunts Alex constantly. He was a good kid, who had good grades, never talked back or caused trouble. He helped out around the house and did everything his parents asked of him… So, why wasn’t he enough for them?

Prompt 84: *Triggers - Mental Health* Julie comes home upset and runs into Alex. He stops her and talks to her. Over time, he calms her down enough to explain what happened. She does and he hugs her as he tells her that she can always come to him. After all, a big brother always looks after their little sister.

Prompt 85: *Triggers - Body Injury/Horror* Some thing a little different? What if the guys didn’t know how they died (or anything about their past really)? What if they only knew their music/instruments, their friendship, their first names, and not much else? It’s pretty much a foggy mist when they push too hard. Julie has to play detective to figure out who the guys were and what happened to them. She still loves music, but she’s not ready to play/sing quite yet. I just imagine Julie in the studio trying to piece together bits and pieces of information to dig into the mystery of who the guys were/are.

Prompt 86: Artist!Julie. She’s obviously a creative soul and I can just see her drawing the guys in their element. And also sketching them how she sees them in normal everyday activities in their afterlives.

Prompt 87: Julie walks in on the guys hanging out with her family. She realizes that the guys are more than family to just her. Her family is their family too and she loves them all the more for it. Later, she gives the guys extra hugs/cuddles.

Prompt 88: *Triggers - Stalking* After a gig, Julie is harassed outside by a creep. The guys poof to her wondering what the hold up is. They end up scaring the creep off by becoming visible and corporeal. The creep is terrified.

Prompt 89: Willie teaching Alex the choreography to “The Other Side of Hollywood”. As Alex opens up and allows himself to relax, he teaches Willie some dance moves.

Prompt 90: The guys help Julie and Flynn study for finals. Luke – English and Music Theory, Reggie – Calculus and Chemistry, Alex – Social Studies and History

Prompt 91: *Triggers - Mental Health* Reggie overhears Julie talking to Flynn on the phone about being a waste and thinks they’re talking about him… He’s obviously very upset and decides to leave, but not before leaving goodbye notes/gifts for everyone. It takes over a day for Luke and Alex to track him down and bring him home.

Prompt 92: *Triggers - Illness & Mental Health* Burnt Out!Julie. Suffering dehydration, exhaustion, and just feeling overwhelmed, Julie isn’t sure how much more she can take. The guys step up and force her to take a break. They may be ghosts (sorta), but she’s still human and she needs to rest.

Prompt 93: During a Molina family dinner, the guys are curious to what they’re having and Julie replies it’s ____, her mom’s favorite dish. The conversation stalls, and the guys offer up some of their favorite dishes (and least favorite) to help ease the tension.

Prompt 94: *Triggers - Racism/Sexism & Mental Health* Someone says something bad or gives a backhanded compliment to Julie about her looks, but compliments the guys. The guys are horrified/disgusted with that person.

Prompt 95: Family Game Night – The Molina family, Flynn, and 3 ghosts play classic board games (think Twister, Monopoly, Payday, Clue, Uno, Pictionary, Apples to Apples, Taboo, Jenga). I just keep imagining Alex with his “let someone with a softer touch” and being the most competitive one.

Prompt 96: *Triggers - Mental Health* Julie writes a song about missed opportunities in honor of the guys. The first time she plays it for them, the guys just break down. After that, they decide it needs to be part of their set list with an acoustic version.

Prompt 97: For a school project, Julie has to take a play and then write a song about it, however, they’re not allowed to say which play it is or name any characters. After the songs are presented, the class gets to guess what play it is for extra credit. She’s given Romeo and Juliet… And she knows exactly what to write about.

Prompt 98: Alex being introduced to Adam Lambert. That’s it, that’s the prompt.

Prompt 99: *Triggers - Mental Health* When Julie calls Luke out for only thinking about himself before walking away, her words hit a lot harder than in cannon. Luke poofs away and breaks down because he knows she’s right… Because all he can think about right now is how much he misses his parents… Just want more expansion from Luke’s POV.

Prompt 100: *Triggers - Possession & Injury* When Nick starts acting weird, Julie grabs his arm to get his attentions. She let’s go immediately because her hand feels like it’s on fire as Nick screams in pain. Something is not right… She realizes it’s not Nick and forces Caleb to release him. Julie and Caleb both feel the burning pain, but Caleb gives up first. He’s forgotten what actual pain felt like and vacates Nick’s body.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #jatpdaily #jatpsource #julie and the phantoms fics #julie and the phantoms fanfics #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie and the phantoms prompts #jatp fics #jatp fanfics #jatp fanfiction #japt prompts

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girlofmanyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Forbidden Spicy Gatorade Chronicles Chapter One

A/n: Ok, so the cult is getting stronger by the minute so if you haven’t been introduced yet, don’t be offended! I’ll try to go through everyone and introduce you in the next chapter. Erica (@the-never-ending-void) has asked not to be included in this fic.

Key:

Tater - @a-lonely-tatertot

Lynn - @lesbilynnette

Gray - @silver-snow

Lilah - @tribblemakingalicorn

Cadence - me

Ivy - @imaramennoodle

Molly - @molly-sencen

Farris - @everyonehasthoughts

Speens - @an-absolute-travesty

Holes - @holesinmyfalseconfidence

Connor - @linhammon-roll-bromance101

Panda - @worldwidepandamonium

Meg - @ultralazycreatorfan

Word count: 2,382

Warnings: If you’re reading this, you already know what’s about to pop off

Lilah poked Cadence’s shoulder who promptly rolled over. Lilah poked her several more times, a bit more aggressively. Grumbling Cadence sat up quickly and smacked her head on the top of the bunk bed. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. Her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, taking in the strangely black, purple, and gold aesthetic room.

“Why’d you wake me up?”

“You got a notification,” Lilah said, eyes wide open, handing her the phone, slowly walking out of their shared room.

Cadence furrowed her brows, unlocking the phone before calling out to her roommate. “Wait, how long have you been up?”

“OREOS!” she called back. “Where are the keys?”

“On the kitchen counter,” Cadence replied, checking her emails. 1 unread message from Gray, the AI developer who she made small talk with during lunch breaks.

Dear Cadence,

Good evening! There’s a new play coming out on Mainstreet, called The Facade, and I was approached by the team to create a promotional piece. I was hoping you could help, and we would split the rewards 50/50. The play is about a murder crime, which is plotted out in a series of intricate riddles. The plot twist: the lead detective was the murderer, and had been delaying her trial while she was pretending to gather evidence, and stealing from a suspect to gain enough money to flee. And her second in command was funding the plots without knowing that her boss was the mastermind behind it all.

Ok, now that my boss has read above the cut we can talk freely. The offer is real, and I WOULD like to split it 50/50, I just can’t stand talking all formal, y’know? Anyway, since you said you do animations and stuff as a side gig, I thought maybe you could make the animations, and I’ll edit and do the social networking? Idk, I’m just spitballing here, let me know what you think.

Also, Lilah directed me towards this email, she’s really good at tracking people down.

Sorry if I made any spelling mistakes, I haven’t slept in weeks,

Gray

“Huh,” Cadence huffed, glancing at the clock. 3 AM. She had time. So, grabbing her IPad, she opened Procreate and got to work. The Facade. Sounds interesting enough. But what to draw? A lock perhaps? A silhouette of the main character? Before she could decide, her phone buzzed again, a voice recording this time, from Lilah.

“Hey, so I just ran into two of the actresses from The Facade and they said they want to talk to you about it so you can create a better promotional vid, meet me at the local library, k bye.”

Cadence wished on a shooting star that at least an hour had passed by so the buses would be running. But how wrong she was. It was 3 AM. It was raining. And the library was at least a mile away.

“This should be fun,” she mumbled, grabbing her set of keys, her IPad, and a raincoat before jogging the mile it took to get to the library.

_______

By the time Cadence arrived her hair was drenched and she was so out of breath and tired she thought she was going to pass out. She looked for any sign of her roommate, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, she saw three people sitting at a table chatting freely and crying laughing. The librarian wasn’t fazed in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to be enjoying it, leaning over the library’s registry system, talking with them. Quickly Googling “The Facade,” Cadence confirmed that the two ladies were the actresses from the play. The other one offered occasional comments, mostly just watching the occurrences that went on. Social anxiety kicked in and told her to run in the other direction, but she really needed the money. She forced herself to approach them.

“Hey, I’m Cadence,” I introduce myself nervously. “Lilah said you wanted to speak to me about promoting your play?”

“Cadence! Lilah mentioned your animations, and we thought it’d be a new, eye-catching way to get our work out there,” the first one chirped. “I’m Molly, by the way. I play the detective’s second in command.”

“And I’m Ivy,” the other one greeted. “I play the lead.”

Cadence expected the third person to introduce themself next, but the librarian took the initiative. “Hello, fellow human, you may address me as SPEENS, I accept liver sacrifices.”

“They do that all the time,” the third person assured her. “Tater, by the way. I’m not in the play, I’m just working on a novel with Molly. We met up here to talk to good ‘ol Speens when these bit-”

“Language,” Molly warned.

“When these lovely individuals,” Tater corrected, “decided to make this a research sesh for the book. As if we needed more work. I’m free to fly wherever the wind takes me.”

“Amen to that, sibling,” Speens responded solemnly, pulling five wine glasses and vodka out from under the desk like a bartender. Cadence looked confused, but not against it. “Say, where’s the rest of the crew? Lynn, Gray, Farris, and the lot of them?”

“Farris doesn’t work on the set,” Ivy reminded her. “They’re an archaeologist. Holes makes the sets for us.”

Speens wrinkled their nose, seemingly in disgust. “And the others?”

“Well, if you can take a break, we can meet up with them at the theatre. Even Farris, since I heard their last trip was a bust,” Molly offered.

Without a second thought, Speens put up a sign that read “The Librarian is Out.”

“Do they-”

“All the time,” Ivy nodded. “It’s kinda their thing.”

“But, yeah, Farris and Connor tend to hang around the set,” Molly explained. “They don’t bother anyone, no one bothers them. They’re a bit older, kinda like the authority figures of the group.”

“If authority figures would let you make a dumba-”

“Tater,” Ivy nudged.

Tater changed their wording. “-unwise move in order to see what would happen.”

“They’re responsible for us without being responsible for us, if that makes sense,” Ivy commented. “Let’s get going though, before someone blows something up.” She shot a sideways glance at Speens, who put a hand up in surrender.

________

Ivy swung open the doors to the theatre and immediately had to duck for cover. “What the HELL, Connor?”

They were holding onto some theatre seats, zooming back and forth the row on rollerblades, occasionally losing balance and having to sit down. After a particularly messy turn-around, they decided to crawl over to the red carpeted steps and laid there for a moment. Farris was perched in a seat a row down, calming watching as Connor seemed to be having an existential crisis. Upon seeing Tater and Cadence, Farris got up, carefully stepping around Connor. “New kids?”

“Farris, this is Tater, and that’s Cadence,” Ivy helped. “They’re helping us promote the play.”

“Congratulations, you’re adopted,” they vowed, though Tater looked confused. “What? I don’t make the rules. Oh, wait, I’m supposed to be the responsible one…. Ok, so I make the rules, but they can be bent if the alternative’s interesting enough. Right, Connor?”

“Uh huh,” he called from the floor tiredly. If he hadn’t spoken, he would have been deemed dead.

“Lynn and the rest of the gang are in the back,” Farris informed them, pulling a skateboard from under their seat and helping Connor stand. Connor’s rollerblades flailed a bit as he struggled to get up, but his arm was slung around Farris’s shoulder, supporting him.

“DO A KICKFLIP,” Connor prompted, his words slurred.

“Are you kidding, I haven’t skateboarded since I was six, I need an actual skate park to practice that,” Farris recounted. “And how drunk are you?”

“Yes,” he responded, giggling in a hiccupy way. “Does anyone have more vodka?”

“I got you fam,” Speens said, pulling out a suitcase of alcohol from thin air.

“Anyways,” Ivy interjected, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I’ll go get the others, wait here.”

Ivy returned with Gray, Lynn, Holes, Panda, and Meg, and introduced them accordingly. “Gray works on the special effects, Lynn designed everyone’s costumes, Holes makes the set, Panda is a theatre critic, and Meg is our concept artist.”

“So, other than animation, is there anything else you bring to the table?” Molly asked.

“Well, I do glass art,” Cadence supplied. “It’s probably not relevant, but when it’s still really hot and glowy, which is when you can shape it, it looks like it would make a good snack. Hell, it almost looks like Gatorade. I can show a picture if you’d like.”

Cadence took her phone out and everyone crowded around to see.

“More like Powerade, Gatorade doesn’t come in that kind of blue,” Speens added.

“F O R B I D D E N S P I C Y G A T O R A D E,” Connor yelled, startling Farris.

“NO,” Holes countered, clearly distressed. “Do NOT drink molten glass. You’d die!”

“You call it death, I call it adventure,” Molly smirked. “I’m here for it. C’mon Holes, live a little.”

“Sis, how have you made it to adulthood thinking like that?” Lynn questioned, looking a bit scared.

“And I know how to live, I’m living right now!” Holes countered.

“Sure you are, nerd.” Molly rolled her eyes. “And how many near death experiences have you had, huh?”

“Near death- okay, first of all, I am not a nerd-”

“You kinda are,” Tater mumbled. Holes gasped, putting a hand over her heart as if they were betrayed. “What? You are. You make a living off of reading books.”

“Used to, friend,” Holes clarified. “I’m a freelance artist now. I picked up this gig because of these fools. And good thing too, because now you’re about to poison yourselves! Second of all, um, none?! How many have you had?”

Molly clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Five. Blended corn, acorns, eating soap, eating paper, and an intense game of dodgeball. I haven’t even peaked with these experiences yet.”

“Immortal until proven mortal,” Connor finished for her.

Meg stood next to Molly and held her shoulders. “This girl, she’s going places.”

“Meg, not you, too, I swear to god-”

“sLuRp,” Ivy joined in, grinning from ear to ear.

Holes was getting hysterical. “What the actual hell is going on? Lynn, help me out here.”

“The Gatorade is Forbidden for a reason, kids,” Lynn tried to reason.

Gray stood up with a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Where can we get it?”

“From the crunchy forbidden chocolate powder, of course,” Connor chimed in. Panda gave him a high-five while Holes became paler and paler from the cult forming in front of their eyes.

“This one speaks the truth,” Panda shrugged.

“Ok, what even is crunchy forbidden chocolate powder?”

“Sand, duh,” Connor said matter of factly. “Add some vodka, a martini, and some olives, and you got one heck of a slushie.”

“So that means there must be Forbidden Chewy Lettuce and Flavoured Forbidden Chewy Lettuce,” Tater went on. “Grass and flower petals. Cursed, but not wrong.”

“Ooh, and crackle air can be limestones and sodium carbonate, pies are dirt, bread is wood, and hard candy is metal,” Panda proclaimed.

“Fidget spinners are Forbidden Bagels, too,” Connor helped. “I should know, I tried the other day and cut my lip.”

Farris ignored the last part of Connor’s rant. “The variety pack, I like the sound of that.”

“Farris you’re supposed to look after us and you’re condoning this?!” Holes shouted.

Farris mounted his skateboard. “I’m not condoning anything. I’m enabling and hyping them up without joining in. That’s some big brain stuff.”

“This is why they control the brain cell,” Ivy nodded. “WAIT, ARE MY CHICKEN NUGGETS BURNING?!”

“Ives, you literally set a timer on the microwave backstage, you’re fine,” Tater reassured Ivy, holding her from running to check on her meal.

“Oh, like you know anything about microwaves,” Ivy argued. “You microwave ice cream.”

“It takes too long to soften, and I’m impatient,” Tater defended, turning to address Holes. “And it is eaten with a spoon.”

“Do not start this debate again- you know what, Panda, get ice cream from the mini-fridge, we’re settling this here and now,” Holes demanded.

“I think the real question is why is ice cream so hard,” Speens mentioned as Panda brought a tub of Haagen Daz ice cream. Holes used a fork to attempt to chisel out part of the snack. It wasn’t very successful.

“I think that’s just how Haagen Daz works,” Cadence observed.

Holes saw this as an opportunity to gain some momentum in the argument. “Not just this brand! All ice cream works like that!!!”

“No,” Panda objected. “Not Breyer’s. That stuff is always just right when you need it. Hashtag not sponsored.”

“Did you just break the fourth wall?” Lynn asked. “You know what, I don’t wanna know, just for the love of all that is good in this world please don’t drink the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade.”

“Too late,” Cadence said. “It’s easily accessible. Also, I’m calling E so we can recruit her.”

“Holes, I know you’re hiding it from us,” Molly speculated.

“What are you talking-”

“You’re keeping the Forbidden Spicy Gatorade all to yourself because you know of its power and you want it all to yourself.”

“I don’t HAVE the Gatorade, and I’m explicitly telling you it’s going to kill you if you drink it!”

As the bickering went on, Lynn slipped off to the vacant staff lounge to pull out her phone. There had to be a supplier somewhere who would give them this. She searched for a few minutes, and, after a few dead ends, she finally found an investor. “Cha-ching. Forbidden Incorporated is in business,” Lynn smiled to herself.

“Forbidden Incorporated, eh?” Farris asked from the doorway. Lynn froze and cursed herself for forgetting to lock the door. Now Farris knew of her plans. “Tell you what, I’ll keep your secret under one condition: We split the money 50/50, and get equal control over the decisions. So, deal?”

Lynn hesitated. She wasn’t sure she could trust Farris, but seeing as this was the only way to stop Holes from knowing just yet, she had no other choice. “Deal.”

_______

A/n: So that was fun and took entirely too long to write. I hope you enjoyed it and if you’re in the cult and I didn’t include you, reblog this and I’ll make a list. The next chapter might focus on a smaller group bc there are like thirteen characters here and I’m tired. Peace out!

#forbidden spicy gatorade

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sheepishlyshippingsheep · 5 years

Text

“So close”

Izuku and Ochako didn't know what came over them in that room when the brunette fell on the floor after slipping on that whole clutter. Izuku only wanted to help her up but when their eyes locked after hours of trying to avoid each other and pretending that none of them were present, something just clicked in them and brought them to the current situation on hand.

Eyes blinking and just looking at each other, their noses almost touch as Izuku inches closer aiming for her lips while Ochako awaits, almost not believing how his eyes are looking at her. The usual blushes and stutters are nowhere to be found, but maybe any other thoughts and questions do not matter when there is no one else in this room. No one but them.

None of the teens know what made the feelings they have been struggling to keep just spill in seconds, but somehow, weeks of not seeing each other prompted them to just give in to that voice that has been knocking to their consciousness for months that they have been ignoring.

Izuku halts, doubt suddenly spreading across his features, but Ochako makes sure to not let it get to him further as she cups his cheek and urges him. It's fine.

Without actual words leaving her mouth, he understands. Letting air leave his nostrils, he relaxes and inches closer, feeling her breathing pass to his mouth. He allows his fingers to touch her and dig to that thick short hair of hers, pads feeling the warmth of her scalp.

They drown into each other's gazes.

Closer.

And closer.

So close for their first kiss.

Until a thin line of light makes a pass in the darkness of the room and a loud and oh so familiar "What the fuck" fills their ears.

Too dazed from their shared moment, the two freeze but do not separate like their usual reactions and impulses. Their eyes, instead look at the opened door, to see a stunned (and somehow disgusted) Katsuki Bakugou.

"GET A FUCKING ROOM, YOU NERD!"

Another figure pops from behind, but contrary to the explosive reaction of the blond, his was casual. Shouto peeks with expression barely changing.

"They did get the room first."

"SHUT UP, HALF-AND-HALF BASTARD! SURE THEY GOT THE ROOM WE'RE ALL SUPPOSED TO MEET IN FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

“I think it is because we’re all late,” Shouto responds as Katsuki ignores him by screaming more.

"Eh!?" A bewildered female voice shrieks from behind the two lively lads. "Midori-kun is in that dark room with someone!? Who is it!? Is it Ochako!? Tell me it’s Ochako!"

"Now, now, let's go find another room to meet in, Ashido. Let Bakugou and Todoroki handle that," Eijirou comes in to pull Mina away by the shoulder first then by the wrist before she could let her dark eyes see the two figures inside the room.

Izuku and Ochako better thank him later.

END

---------

I was really busy irl since I attended a cosplay convention recently! But I think I can be back to my art and writing now ^o^

This whole thing was inspired by that beautiful color spread by Hori. IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I KNEW I HAD TO DO SOMETHING just like other artists <3 Hopefully am not that late to join the party.

Some bonus details/easter eggs I enjoyed adding LOL

(Who’d like to read this masterpiece? HAHAHA)

(And randomly adding my first ever IzuOcha fanfiction as a book here)

Truly enjoyed this (though the drabble came by as a random idea)

#IzuOcha #IzuOcha fanart #BNHA #IzuOcha fanfiction #Drabble #Miyo02 #long post #Izuku Midoriya #Ochako Uraraka #Katsuki Bakugou #Shouto Todoroki #Mina Ashido #Eijirou Kirishima

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lisatelramor · 4 years

Text

Contour

@peachsunset asked for a DNAngel fic for my 10yrs in fandom, so this is for you! ^_^ Hope Daisuke/Satoshi is ok!

***

It’s a bright summer day and Daisuke is spending it with Hiwatari Satoshi. For once there’s no tension in the air, no heist or rogue artwork hanging between them. It’s just a sunny day in the park with light filtering through green leaves and a picnic that Towa shoved into Daisuke’s hands when he said he was meeting up with a friend.

Satoshi looks relaxed and, well, Daisuke can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen him smile for real, but Satoshi isn’t unhappy right now. He might even be content which is a lot for him.

It has Daisuke itching for a pencil in his hand to capture that expression.

This isn’t the first time Daisuke’s felt it. He felt it the first time Satoshi smiled at him for real, felt it when he saw him asleep and the way the light had made him look ethereal. Even in the horrifying moments with Krad taking over, some subconscious part of him had caught Satoshi’s image and branded it into his mind, stark essays of emotions in split second memories.

Satoshi tips his head back, eyes closed, sun through the leaves dappling his profile with shadow and Daisuke aches with the need to create. With the need to capture Satoshi existing in peace because it’s proof that it’s possible and maybe even hope that Satoshi can have this sort of moment more.

It takes five whole minutes of sitting in companionable silence before Daisuke breaks. “Could I… draw you?”

Satoshi opens an eye. “Why?”

“I want to,” Daisuke says. “You’d make a good subject.”

Satoshi scoffs, but he hasn’t said no yet. “You’re never quite what I expect,” he says cryptically.

“Right now, the lighting is good,” Daisuke says, justifying, “and it’s a nice scene and you’re…”

“I’m?” Satoshi says, the edge of a smile on his lips like he can read Daisuke’s train of though and finds him amusing.

Daisuke looks away. “Is it okay?”

Satoshi hums. He isn’t quite as relaxed as a moment ago, but he still hasn’t said no and hasn’t walked away. “Do what you want.”

Thank goodness he carries a sketchbook around. Daisuke flips to a clean page and lets himself fall into the rhythm of sketching.

It’s not the first time he’s drawn a person in front of him. But usually it’s either a volunteer or doodles in the margin of his notes of Riku or Risa or Dark. It’s different to have someone he knows holding still for him so he can capture their image. Intimate. Daisuke maps the gentle curve of Satoshi’s face. The way his fine hair is in a bit of disarray from wind and the pale lines of his eyelashes against his cheek behind his glasses.

Satoshi is beautiful, and the whole world knows it, but the Satoshi here and now is something only Daisuke will get to see and keep. Well, and Dark, except Dark is sleeping, quiet at the back of Daisuke’s mind as he gives himself over to the part of himself that needs to create.

They’ve never talked about it in detail. With the kind of art Satoshi is capable of, he probably gets the same urge, but Daisuke’s never seen Satoshi even sketch a doodle in his notes. Daisuke has seen dozens of Hikari artworks before, but he still hasn’t the slightest idea what kind of artwork Satoshi would create.

Daisuke starts in on Satoshi’s body, adding place markers for folds of clothing and where the light is hitting versus shadow. Satoshi’s too thin, but it’s thin in a way that society praises and fails to realize is unhealthy, the kind of thin models have even if Satoshi’s only fifteen. It makes him look fragile and ephemeral but it also makes Daisuke worry.

They’re friends. It’s normal to worry if a friend is eating enough. There’s enough left over from the picnic that Daisuke can send it back with Satoshi and know he’ll have something healthy and filling for at least one meal.

Daisuke’s hands slow over details. The angle of Satoshi’s hand on the grass, the other in his lap. The overhead leaves and tree. The bento box and its double layers of food Towa worked so hard over.

Satoshi’s eyes open and he huffs a laugh.

“What?”

“You make interesting faces when you concentrate.”

Daisuke flushes. “That’s… I’m not trying to make faces at you.”

“Calm down, plenty of artists do it. Can I move?”

“Ah.” Daisuke looks down at his drawing, a more detailed sketch than he usually does. The details are vague in most places, sweeping lines and quick hatched shadow, but Satoshi’s face is captured in detail. “You can move,” he says.

Satoshi stretches. It’s not fair that Daisuke can see how his shoulders are getting broader and the peek of skin where his shirt rode up shows that Satoshi, for all that he’s bad at taking care of himself, at least takes some time to exercise.

This is usually the kind of moment where Dark pops up and does the mental equivalent of banishing the thought and high energy distraction.

Dark doesn’t pop up.

“May I see or do you not want to share it before you’re finished?” Satoshi asks with a nod toward the sketchbook.

There’s part of him that wants to slam the page shut because there’s surely something in the drawing that would tip Satoshi off to those times when Daisuke has his thoughts lean toward more than friendly things. But Satoshi rarely asks for anything, even simple things, so Daisuke holds it out.

“It’s not much,” he mumbles as Satoshi looks it over. “You could draw better.” With enough time Daisuke could get the lighting better, could make all of Satoshi feel alive on the page, not just capturing a sliver of the moment in his face and posture. But to get it right is more time and skill than Daisuke currently has.

Satoshi traces a finger along his sketched face. “I could draw better,” he agrees, “but all that means is that I have the basics and technique to catch what I want on a page.” He hands the drawing back. “That doesn’t mean your drawing isn’t good. The only one who could draw it is you.”

Daisuke’s heard about Satoshi’s ability to mimic styles and has the feeling that Satoshi could copy Daisuke’s drawing in its entirety with every flaw to perfection, but he appreciates the consideration.

“Your drawing’s too flattering,” Satoshi adds drily.

“…But…” Daisuke looks from the drawing to Satoshi. Perhaps a little flair was used in making Satoshi’s hair look extra fine, or too much attention to the arc of his neck. But it was pretty close to Satoshi in truth. Satoshi really is that pretty.

He wonders if Satoshi would react at all if he said that. Daisuke feels a twinge of guilt for playing the scenario out in his mind. A blush on Satoshi’s face, or a cold dismissive scoff. Daisuke isn’t sure which Satoshi he’d get, the one who is his friend or the one who desperately pretends he isn’t.

“Do you ever draw, Satoshi? For fun?” Daisuke asks. He pushes down the thoughts, the doubts.

Satoshi looks at Daisue’s sketchbook, something between longing and hatred in his eyes. “No”

“Oh. I guess you wouldn’t…” Not with how much Satoshi seems to hate being a Hikari.

“You should though,” Satoshi says. “Keep drawing. One day you could make something to rival a Hikari work."

For some that could be a goal. Create art with enough emotion that it is alive. For Daisuke who has seen the consequences of art created and forgotten or broken, lives gifted and harmed by their creators, that isn’t a goal he’ll ever seek. “This is enough,” Daisuke says, hand spread over his sketchbook. “I want to be enough to catch moments like this.”

Satoshi smiles one of his rare smiles. “You already are.”

#DNAngel #fanfiction #daisuke/satoshi #daisuke having artist feels #and other feels

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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

Change of Pace - 1 (October 2003 - 16 years ago)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language, NSFW

wc: 17.5k (we back, y’all)

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

Shawn has had a crush on Maya Lu ever since she was his tour guide for freshman orientation at the University of Toronto. It’s pathetic, really, that he’s stuck on the first pretty upperclassman to give him a smile. But he can’t help it. He’s addicted to the thought of her, addicted to the daydream of being with her, holding her hand, feeling her lips pressed to his, hearing her dreams late at night when she can’t sleep and needs to talk.

He doesn’t even know her. Not really. Their friendship is mainly confined to MySpace and the occasional nod if he’s lucky enough to pass her on campus. So yeah, it’s pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic.

He decides goes to her art show.

To be fair, it’s not just her show. He’s got a hand full of actual friends presenting their work, so it’s not like he’s a stalker. He’s just lucky. He’ll have an excuse to exchange more than a passing ‘Hi!’

He knows her work will be good because she’s always posting photos of her in progress pieces on Facebook and he loves them. Maybe he’s biased, but he’s always had a fairly artistic eye so he thinks his impression of her talent is pretty accurate.

“You look hot,” Ash comments from his bed as he rolls the sleeves of his crisply ironed button down above his elbows. “Almost hot enough for Maya.”

Shawn rolls his eyes at his best friend in the mirror. He sighs, “I need to look nice. It’s an art show. There’s gonna be hors d’oeurves and fancy cocktails.”

“And Maya.”

“And our other friends,” he grouses, turning to face Ash instead of the mirror. “I’m not going for Maya.”

Ash giggles and falls back onto the bed, holding her sidekick in the air as she starts texting. “Whatever you say, Mendes. Either way, you look hot and she’ll definitely notice you.”

He’s glad she’s too busy clicking at her phone to see the tips of his ears go red.

Shawn’s been in the art building before, but it feels like a whole new world at night, the lobby adorned with twinkle lights and cloth-covered tables topped by sprawling bouquets for people to gather around as they discuss the art and munch on canapes.

He’s early, too early maybe, because the crowd is extremely thin and he feels completely exposed. Mostly, the only people here right now are the artists. He’s on high alert for Maya, but he forces himself not to look for her. You don’t really know her, he reminds himself, and instead scans the room for one of his actual friends.

He spots Parker in the corner standing proudly in front of her life size unicorn sculpture, and Shawn makes a beeline for her.

“Is she for sale? I’ve been looking for something to ride to class,” he opens with, grinning down at his friend.

“He is absolutely not for sale. He’s not chattel,” she chides with a smirk, popping up onto her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. He pulls her close, lets himself find comfort in her familiarity for a moment before they separate.

“I would say thanks for coming,” Parker starts as she drops down onto her heels, “but I know you’re only here for Maya Lu.”

Jesus Christ. Is he really that transparent?

“You’re like, really obvious, baby,” she coos, as if reading his mind. Or maybe she just noticed the flash of panic across his face.

“I’m here for everyone,” he says, trying to ignore fluttering in his gut.

“Her pieces are right over there,” Parker says with a nod towards the wall just behind him, and the hair at the nape of his neck stands on end.

“And you’re right here,” he says, fighting the urge to turn around.

Parker laughs, shakes her head and grabs his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“C’mon, dude. You’ll never get anywhere if you’re scared to even look at her. Let’s go over there together.”

“Parker--”

“Shawn.”

“I’m not-- I was just gonna say hi later, you know, like--”

“Then why not say hi now, with me?”

Shawn opens his mouth. Closes it. Furrows his brows then rolls his eyes. Sighs.

“Fine, fuck. Let’s just-- do I look okay?”

“Hideous.”

“Oh, good. Perfect.”

Parker giggles, tugs his hand and heads for Maya. “C’mon, Mendes, she doesn’t bite. Well, maybe she does. You’ll have to find that out yourself.”

Shawn can’t argue, just flush bright red and stumble after her, his fingers curling into the back of her hand.

Maya stands with her hands on her hips overlooking her paintings on the wall. They’re clustered together in bunches -- the canvases tell different stories individually but when she groups them together like this they look like one painting split up between different canvases. That’s how she’s designed it.

But as she stands here studying them, she finds a million and one things she’d change. She sighs and taps her clunky heel against the ground, shaking her head.

She turns to Sasha, who’s eyeing the passed hors d'oeuvres like they’re a lover. She nudges her.

“This sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up, Maya.”

“No. No I won’t shut up because I suck and I can’t believe you never bothered to tell me.”

Sasha groans a belabored sigh. “God, please, let’s not do this again. We barely made it out of the spring show alive last year.”

He sees Maya before he sees any of her art. Her back is facing the room as she looks up at one of her pieces, and he wonders if she’s happy with the way it turned out. His gaze flicks up to it, but he’s too distracted by his heart pounding in his throat to really process what it looks like.

“Maya!” Parker squeals as they draw closer, “I love all of your pieces so much!”

Shawn fights the overwhelming urge to run away as Maya turns around.

Maya opens her mouth to argue when she hears Parker refute her before she can say anything. Sasha looks delighted. She elbows her before she can speak up.

“Thank you, Parker. I hate it. But what else is new?”

Parker brought a friend. Not just any friend. Parker brought the Cute Freshman (capitalized because that’s his formal title in Maya’s friend group). Maya feels a little better now. She likes having someone to flirt with at these things, especially when they look at her like that, like she made every piece of art in here and all of it is genius.

“Hi,” she says, tilting her head at him a little dangerously.

Maya Lu speaks to him. Parker doesn’t even have to make introductions.

He thinks he’s gonna die, right here, right now.

Oh god, Cute Freshman is so fucking cute.

He got the nickname by being tall and built and strong-jawed with the best head of hair she’s ever seen on anyone, but he kept the name by being completely adorable.

She loves running into him. He’s always good for a blushing smile or that little flappy wave he does with his big bear paw. Sometimes, when she’s really lucky, he’ll duck his head at her and look up through his eyelashes. He doesn’t even mean to, she can tell. It’s a natural response to being around her.

She loves it.

He sucks in a breath. “Hi,” he says with a crooked smile, then glances at her work hanging on the walls. He realizes, as he looks up at her pieces, that while each work can stand alone, they all fit together to create something truly fucking spectacular. He’s impressed. He knew she was good from Facebook, but this is something else.

“Parker’s right, this is— like, totally incredible.”

He seems to genuinely like what he sees (on the wall, that is), or he’s a really good liar. But she doubts it. He seems too wholesome to lie to her about this.

She glances over her shoulder and shrugs, “Thanks. It’s… it’s fine.”

Sasha snorts into a glass of champagne and shakes her head. Maya chuckles and wrinkles her nose.

He looks back at her, and trains his gaze on her forehead instead of scanning the length of her body, despite his baser urge to do just that.

“I’m Shawn,” he manages, sticking his hand out like someone’s dad or something.

He feels a flush spread from the tips of his ears down the back of his neck, but he doesn’t waver. He made his choice. Handshake it is.

He wants a handshake. Oh god, so cute.

Maya reaches out proudly and shakes his hand. “Hi, Shawn. I’m Maya. Thank you for coming tonight. Which artist is your favorite so far?”

Maybe she’s fishing for a compliment. She worked hard on these and has a sinking feeling in her gut about them. Maybe a compliment from an earnest, beautiful boy is what she needs right now.

Shawn has to pretend that the weight of her small hand doesn’t drive him absolutely insane. Her shake is confident, firm, and he loves that. He wants her to hold his hand like this forever. She doesn’t, obviously. But she does put him on the spot, and his cheeks feel warm as his heart stutters.

She probably shouldn’t get quite so much pleasure out of inflicting this awkwardness, especially since he already clearly has no idea how to act around her, but she can’t help it. She likes watching him squirm. She wonders how else she could make him squirm.

“Oh, um—“ he looks around the gallery. He hasn’t really checked out the other artists’ work, except for Parker’s unicorn. It’s cute and all, but not very personal, and he decides he can’t lie. He looks back down at her, pressing his lips together.

She watches his eyes shift around the room, scanning for something. He looks back at her and suddenly she regrets asking him. She doesn’t want his answer. She thinks maybe now he’s going to make her squirm.

“Well. You,” he finally says with a careful shrug of his shoulder.

And then he realizes what he’s just said, and what it sounds like.

“And I mean, I’m not— that’s not a line or anything. I promise,” he’s quick to amend, “I just really like this. It’s— well, I like how it’s beautiful but painful at the same time. And it feels really, like, honest, you know? Like maybe you’re trying to tell people something you’re not used to being open about. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just bullshitting.”

He laughs at himself, pushing his fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and tugging, his gaze dropping to her purple-painted toes.

Maya stares at his lips as they move and spill beautiful truths about her work. She clasps her hands behind her back and hopes her eyes don’t fall right out of her head. He looks so sincere.

She licks her lips and releases a breath all at once. “Well,” she coughs, “Ok then. I think I’ll keep you.”

She reaches out for his arm and tugs him forward while Parker and Sasha exchange a look. Maya curls her arm around his and starts leading him around the gallery slowly.

Apparently, he’s said the right thing. His chest puffs slightly, unconsciously. He likes her praise. He wants more.

She curls herself around his arm, tucks herself into his side like she belongs there and he swears he can’t breathe. He’s barely able to walk with her, but he manages it without tripping, thank God.

Maya likes the way he feels against her. He’s firm and tall and warm and he smells really nice. She hasn’t been this close to a guy without fucking him in a while. It feels… good.

“What made you want to come tonight?”

You. You, you, you.

It’s the honest answer he won’t admit to his friends and barely wants to admit to himself. It almost rolls right off his tongue for her, though.

He manages to stop himself. She’s clearly taken a liking to him, and he doesn’t want to fuck that up by sounding like a huge creep.

He glances at her. “Got a few friends in your program, and some of them managed to be impressive enough as frosh to get put in the show.”

He hopes that’s enough for her. That’s all he is, an incredibly supportive friend.

He uses the term ‘frosh’ which she decides to forgive him for because, well, he is one. And as much as she likes watching him wriggle awkwardly, she doesn’t want to bully him. Instead she nods intently.

“We have a great new crop this year,” she comments, glancing around the gallery. As insecure as she is about this particular installation, she is proud to see how many of her fellow art students have risen to the challenge.

She thinks it’s nice that he came here for his friends. She doesn’t have a lot of non-art program friends that would do that for her. Especially not the straight male kind.

“What, um, what got you into art? Or well, painting, I guess.”

He stumbles through asking her a personal question and it’s all she can do not to plant her lips on his cheek and giggle.

“I’ve been drawing since I could hold things. Painting came later, in high school. I had this one really amazing art teacher who just kept putting things in my hands and making me try things. It felt like a safe space where I wasn’t afraid to fail. That’s hard to find anywhere, especially in high school. She got me into sculpture, too, and some photography. But painting is… I dunno. It feels like the best part of me.”

She blinks. That was… startlingly honest. That wasn’t what she planned to tell him when he asked. It just… happened.

He doesn’t expect her to get carried away. He expects a perfunctory answer, like the kind he gives when people ask him about music and he’s tired of explaining himself.

Maya, however, is shockingly honest. He doesn’t say anything because he wants her to keep talking, keep sharing little bits of herself that maybe she doesn’t share with everyone. He’s selfish, but he wants it.

He wants her.

He pushes the thought away.

He doesn’t flinch or balk at her slight overshare, instead he seems to be leaning closer to her, like he wants more.

Interesting.

“That’s— Yeah, that’s really awesome. Sounds like me and music,” he offers, looking down at her.

He’s a musician. Of course he is. Maya figures you’re not even allowed to be as good looking as he is and not also be a model or an actor or a musician, something that gets you famous one day. So, musician? Yeah, that tracks.

Shawn notices a loose strand of hair caught against her cheekbone, while the rest of her tendrils are tucked neatly behind her ear. He stops without thinking, lifts his fingers to carefully brush the stray strand away from her face, tucking it back with the rest of her hair.

Before she can start to dive into it, finding she also wants to know more about him, he brushes his fingertips across her cheek and stares at her with the most beautiful focus. She goes absolutely silent. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath.

He drops his hand like he’s just touched fire, and he feels as though he might burst into flames.

“Sorry, shit. I should’ve asked first but— you had a fly away. Sorry.”

“That’s— that’s ok. I’m… I mean, it’s nice to have someone looking out for the hair,” she jokes, realizing he’s thrown her off her game. She swallows roughly and regroups.

She doesn’t look too upset he touched her without permission. Maybe a little startled, but not upset. He counts it as a win.

“What kind of music do you play? Or write?”

“Oh. Well, I guess my official genre would be indie or alternative. Like any other douchey white dude my age,” he laughs. Truth is, he doesn’t really feel like he has a genre. He just loves music. He’ll play anything, though there are definitely certain songs he’s more suited for than others.

She chokes out a surprised laugh at his “douchey white dude” comment. That sounds like the kind of thing she would’ve said in a snarky voice in her head. She’s glad he beat her to it.

She listens as they make their slow circuit. Maya’s already checked out the rest of the show. Actually, the program’s pretty small so she’s seen most of this work while it was in progress. She just doesn’t want to be staring at him the whole time he talks just because he’s pretty.

He wets his lips, continues, “But I’m all over the place, really. I’ll play anything my vocal chords can wrap around.”

She does look over while he’s wetting his lips and has to stop herself from making a strangled moaning noise.

He wants to know her favorite song, wants to learn it if he doesn’t already know it, and play it for her when they’re alone together. It’s an intoxicating fantasy.

He really wants it, like he does her.

“What sort of music do you listen to?” He asks in lieu of something creepy, like if she wants to come to his dorm for a private concert.

“I… oh, I like a lot of different stuff. I like some indie, some pop. Mostly… mostly I like cheesy 70s and 80s music. I was raised by hippies. “Hotel California” by The Eagles is like the equivalent of the Our Father in my family,” she confesses.

He wishes he had his guitar so badly right now. He knows Hotel California like the back of his hand. It’s one of his mum’s favorites. He’s guessing their parents are close in age, because he was raised on the 70s and 80s, too.

He smiles. He wants to impress her so fucking badly. She’s impressive herself. He just wants to be worthy of all the time she’s already wasted on him.

Maya tries not to look too closely at his fingers but one glance and it’s too late. They’re thick and strong and somehow elegant and nimble all at once. She feels a little light headed and definitely can’t blame it on the champagne she only had a few sips of.

“Great fucking song,” he rasps as they stop in front of a couple of paintings that her own put to shame. “I could play it for you some time. You know, if you’re into douchebags with acoustic guitars.”

Self-deprecation is one of the best ways to charm people, he’s found. He knows he’s talented --good with his fingers on the strings and good at carrying a melody-- so admitting his faults where he sees them makes people tolerate him a bit more than the guys who act like they’re God’s gift to music.

Shawn knows he’s not God’s gift to anything. He’s just a kid with a guitar and a decent falsetto.

She shouldn’t swoon at his admission that he also loves “Hotel California” because a lot of guys do and that doesn’t make them cool or worth her time. But… that song is special. Imagining Shawn playing it has her chest bubbling with anticipation.

She licks her lips and sighs, deciding to fall into it. Why the fuck not?

“I dunno about douchebags with acoustic guitars, but I’m starting to think I might be kinda into you.”

She smirks at her own line and lifts her eyes to his.

“Oh,” he coughs, eyebrows lifting. He didn’t expect her to say anything like that.

I might be kinda into you.

What does that mean? He’s not sure. Is she flirting with him? She sounds like she’s flirting, and she’s looking at him like she’s flirting, gazing up at him from under her lashes. His heart thrashes in his ribcage, makes him feel like he might spontaneously combust because never in a million years did he think that he would come here tonight and end up with Maya Lu curled into his side and looking at him like maybe she does want him to invite her to his dorm.

“You, ah, you’ll regret saying that when you decide you hate my Glenn Frey impression,” he says, because it’s safer than anything else bouncing around in his head.

Safer than, good, because I’m really into you. Safer than, let me show you how badly you fuck me up. Safer than, can I kiss you?

It’s the last one that he’s really afraid of blurting.

Carefully, he unwinds his arm from hers and takes a step back so he’s facing her straight on.

He goes all pink and squeaky after her not so subtle comment. She can’t stop grinning. She does, though, when he untangles from her and she wonders for a bleak moment if he’s about to bail out of fear or something. But then he does this golden retriever head tilt thing and asks her a question.

He slides his hands into his pockets and tilts his head. “How long do you have to be here?”

Maya stays cool, pursing her lips and glancing around the gallery. “I probably need to stay for fifteen more minutes before I can safely ditch. What did you have in mind?”

He has to speak through heart palpitations. She seems genuinely interested in bailing on this big deal gallery thing to hang out with him. A nobody freshman, who’s definitely not as cool as some of those senior photography guys. He wonders why she’s not planning to ditch with one of them, instead.

He won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Nothing fancy,” he muses, lifting his shoulder in a small shrug. “We could grab burgers or something. And then I was thinking that maybe I could get you to sing Hotel California for me if I played the accompaniment.”

He gives her a grin he knows girls love. He’s got a fifteen year old little sister whose friends adore this smile, who look at him like he lit the fucking sun whenever he flashes it. He’s not sure if it’s gonna work on a girl who’s not actually a teenager anymore, but it’s worth a shot.

Maya likes watching the cogs of his brain turn as he comes up with a suitable date idea on the fly. He does well suggesting a burger. It’s casual and filling and happens to be one of Maya’s favorite things.

The singing suggestion makes her laugh for two reasons, one because he would need to get her very drunk if he wanted to hear her sing, and two because it’s a clear suggestion he wants to bring her to his dorm.

She looks him up and down, nothing subtle about it. He’s gorgeous, every wholesome Canadian inch of him. She wonders if maybe he’s got a not so wholesome side.

She lands on his smile and almost goes weak at the knees. She giggles a little foolishly and nods.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Keep yourself busy for 15 while I make the rounds.”

He makes her laugh, so he thinks maybe he’s not so bad at this flirting-with-an-upperclassman thing. Or at pulling date ideas out of his ass.

He smiles, gives her a salute, “Sir, yes, sir.”

He ducks away before she can see the royal red blush that stains his cheeks. He goes from charmingly cool to incredibly stupid so fast, he might have given himself whiplash.

He just hopes Maya doesn’t change her mind. Maybe she’ll think he’s like, adorable or something. A-dork-able, as his kid sister would say.

He pretends to busy himself by looking at the rest of the art, but in truth, he’s watching her. He sneaks glances whenever she’s distracted by a friend or a professor, watches her talk with her hands and laugh with her head tilted to the side. She doesn’t smile at anyone like she did at him, though. Or at least he thinks. Maybe he’s making it up, but it’s a nice thought.

He winds up at the little minibar near the exit and sips on a coke. Parker sidles up to him when he’s watching Maya talk with who he thinks is a sculpting professor.

“You look like a stalker.”

He looks down at Parker, frowns. “No, I don’t. I’m drinking my pop.”

Parker giggles, orders white wine from the bartender. “Okay,” she says when she gets her drink, “then what are you doing? You two looked cozy for a while.”

“We’re gonna get burgers.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. She told me to wait for her.”

“Baby!” Parker squeals a little too loudly, and he winces. She hiccups a laugh and lowers her voice. “Baby, I knew she would dig you. Ash did too.”

“All right, all right. Just-- chill. You’re gonna jinx it.”

He’s not superstitious but he wants to be careful. He wants to really go somewhere with Maya Lu, and not just to the bedroom.

“Okay, okay, sheesh. I’m just saying. You’re a catch, kiddo.”

With a wink, Parker leaves his side, and he’s back to watching Maya charm everyone who looks her way.

Maya can feel his eyes on her. It’s not uncomfortable. She would think it would be, but it’s not. It’s kind of sweet, actually. He makes her feel so… desired.

She bounces around between cliques of art kids and says hi to professors, but her mind is elsewhere. It’s on the rest of her night as she wonders where it might take her with him.

At one point, she takes a glance over shoulder and sees him wide-eyed and embarrassed talking to Parker and she swears she’s never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

Plus, he’s been looking at her all night like she’s out of his league, so he’s likely to want to impress her. She lets the possibilities of that distract her until the fifteen minutes are up and she strolls across the room to fetch him, tugging at his arm and biting her lip.

He pretends to be distracted when she makes her way towards him, just so she doesn’t think he was being impatient or anything. Truth is, he would’ve gladly stood around watching her all night, if that’s what she wanted.

He feels a tug on his arm and he can’t stop the smile that pulls at his lips.

“You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

“If there are popsicles here, I want one before we leave,” he says without thinking, looking around the gallery as if actually in search of an icy treat. But then he remembers she doesn’t know him, isn’t used to his bullshit, so he gives her a wide, crooked smile he hopes indicates he doesn’t actually think there are any popsicles here.

He just wants to make her laugh again. It’s such a pretty laugh.

He’s definitely a doofus. She kinda loves it. Boys aren’t usually so dorky around her, or around any girls she knows. But Shawn is genuine, every bit of him. It makes her smile.

“Next gallery show I will make sure we have popsicles,” she chuckles, leaning into his touch a little.

He bites his lip and reaches carefully for the small of her back, tipping his head towards the door. “Let’s go, Picasso.”

Maya rolls her eyes, but doesn’t correct him. Instead, they head for the door.

The night is frigid, because it’s Toronto. She leans into him further as they begin to trudge to the burger place that’s just off campus.

The crisp sting of cold air has her tucking herself closer to his side, though he likes to think that maybe she just wants to be close to him. He should be so lucky.

“So where are you from?”

“Oh, uh, just Pickering. Like thirty minutes from here,” he says as he pulls his jacket off and holds it out for her.

“Cold?” he asks with a tilt of his head, but doesn’t wait for her to answer before he drapes the jacket around her shoulders, making sure to pull up the collar to protect her neck, too. It’s a moment that feels like it belongs in a movie, but he loves it. He loves the way his jacket practically swallows her whole, and he wonders if she’ll end up wearing it long enough for her scent to linger on the leather after she’s gone.

She wasn’t really angling to get his jacket but she’s not going to turn it down. He doesn’t really give her a choice, dropping it around her shoulders and tucking it up against her neck. It’s silly, really, because it’s fucking cold out and he’s going to get cold too. But… it’s so warm. And it smells like him. He smells nice.

Once he’s settled the jacket around her, she curls up against him again under the guise of keeping him warm if she can.

He clears his throat, looks back to the sidewalk ahead of them as he slips his hands in his pockets. He hums. “What about you? You don’t sound very Canadian, if you don’t mind me saying. I haven’t heard you apologize once tonight.”

She chuckles at his comment. “No, I’m from Toronto, actually. Allenby. But my parents are both American so I’m not as Canadian as I could be, eh?”

She’s so fucking cute. He could spend all day listening to her put on a fake Canadian accent. He could spend all day listening to her do anything. He could spend all day doing anything, as long as he got to be near her.

She winks up at him as they’re walking into the burger place. She stares up at the menu and pretends to deliberate even though she knows exactly what she wants -- double cheeseburger with everything on it, including jalapenos, plus a fried egg. Extra crispy fries. Maya doesn’t even consider changing it for the sake of looking dainty on a date. There’s no point in hiding her voracious appetite, she figures. It would come out eventually.

The wink she gives him nearly makes him trip over his own feet. He catches himself but stalls a bit, just staring at the back of her head while she examines the menu above them. He wants to wrap himself around her from behind and tuck his chin on top of her head, but that’s-- it’s just a pipe dream at this point. They’re not together, and this is barely a date. He can’t press into her like he’s already hers.

Instead, he stands behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body but with space between them. He glances at the menu for a moment, but he already knows what he’s getting.

Carefully, he cups one of her elbows to get her attention. His brow furrows as he looks down at her. “Know what you want? I’ll order for us.”

Maya hums, bobbing her head. “Double cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, ketchup, grilled onions, special sauce, jalapenos and a fried egg. Extra crispy fries.”

She turns on her heel to smirk up at him. “Can you handle that, cowboy?”

Looking up at him like this, standing here in her favorite burger joint with him in his nice shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with his spicy-minty leather jacket around her shoulders, she’s never felt more like a character in a teen movie. And she doesn’t hate it.

She wants to kiss him so bad.

He wants to kiss her so bad.

She’s looking up at him with a smirk on her lips and a glint in her eye. It’s take more willpower than it should for him to not press her into a wall and find a way to turn that little smirk into a gasp, right in the middle of the restaurant.

“You know, I don’t think there are any cowboys in Canada,” he teases with a gentle squeeze to her elbow, then leans down to purr in her ear, “But I can handle whatever you want, honey.”

He brushes past her then, letting his hand graze against the small of her back as he approaches the register to place their order.

Right there in Sammy’s, he’s got her.

She’s floored. He murmurs against her skin and she can feel the tickle of his warm breath turn her entire body to goosebumps. She snaps her jaw shut to keep from potentially moaning because, Jesus, she was not expecting that.

He decides to go the same route she does, double cheeseburger with everything plus onions and an egg, but he does mayo instead of ketchup and bacon instead of jalapenos. And he orders a chocolate malt with two straws, like the cheesy bastard he is. He’s never had a lady and the tramp moment, but he’s thinking maybe now’s his shot.

“C’mon,” he says when he turns back to her, curling his fingers around hers, “the corner booth is free.”

She doesn’t even hear him order, just watches him slide past her to go to the counter. She stares at his ass for as long as it takes to complete the order. When he turns back and takes her hand, she’s still a little dumbstruck.

Who knew he had it in him?

What else does he have in him?

They slide into a booth across from each other. Maya crosses her legs and leaves her foot resting against his calf with a smile.

“This is one of my happy places on campus,” she tells him, brushing her foot against his leg a little, testing the waters.

It’s a game now. She started with a jab, and he hit back. Now, she’s trying to fucking kill him. Her foot grazes the length of his calf and if he were two years younger, he’d be hard for her already. As it is, he has to tug on one of his pant legs under the table. Just in case.

He slides his leg forward until their knees are pressed together, but he plays it like he has no clue. He settles his forearms on the table and leans forward slightly, tilting his head.

Maya isn’t into games with guys, generally. She never likes feeling like she has to play with a version of herself to get somewhere with someone. But this kind of game? Yeah, this is fun. She sweeps her tongue over her front teeth as his knee settles against hers.

“I like the trivia nights,” he admits, even though his friends think it’s super dorky of him. Maybe Maya will think it’s cute or charming or something. Trivia is fun. He’s fun. He wants to get a chance to show her that.

“And, you know,” he continues, “the giant milkshakes.”

He smiles at her and decides he’d really like to hold her hand, would like to reach across the table and slip their fingers together so they’re connected in as many places as is appropriate in public. His fingers twitch against the table, but he doesn’t move.

It’s not his turn, anyway.

“I’m really good at trivia,” she comments, tilting her head the same way he is.

“Bet you’re smarter than me,” he notes with a wink.

Maya eyes the waitress as she brings over one of the giant milkshakes he mentions. She smiles. She loves milkshakes.

The waitress sets it down. Maya leans forward to draw one of the straws into her mouth. In doing so, the v-neck of her dress tugs down and Shawn gets a peek at what’s beneath. She blinks up at him as she sucks and backs away slowly, swallowing.

“You got my favorite flavor.”

She makes it really, really hard for him to not kiss her. Her smile draws him in, in a way he couldn’t have imagined before tonight. What was once a crush has turned into heavy infatuation that makes butterflies swirl in his gut.

He tries so fucking hard not to watch the collar of her dress slip down her chest. He wants to see her, wants to see everything, but he doesn’t want it like this, sneaking a peek from across the table like a peeping Tom.

He watches her lips around her straw instead, and it’s almost as intimate as looking at her body.

“Chocolate’s a given when it comes to milkshakes,” he murmurs with a smile, reaching for the second straw and taking a sip of his own, looking up at her from under his lashes as he does.

He’s got such long, pretty eyelashes. They lay against his cheeks beautifully. It’s always unfair when boys have such nice eyelashes, but Maya appreciates his.

She sits back and crosses her legs again between his knees. It’s casually intimate, not in a first date way, but in an ‘I’ve known and loved you for years’ way.

It doesn’t feel wrong.

He pulls back from the shake only to let the waitress place their burgers in front of them. He plucks a fry and dips it in the shake.

“And,” he says as he lets the excess ice cream drip from the end of the potato, “chocolate also goes the best with fries.”

She grins down at her burger and sighs. “I personally like coffee shakes the best with fries but people think I’m a freak for that.”

She dips a fry and crunches into it, looking over to see what he got — it’s almost identical to her burger. Her heart flutters.

His brows raise. Coffee. He’s never even thought to try that in shake form, to be honest. She’s definitely smarter than he is. He laughs.

“Yeah, you are a freak. But you’re also a complete genius. Next time, we’ll get coffee.”

He already has a mouthful of fries when he realizes what he’s said. Next time. As if she’s automatically going to want to see him again. He should be so lucky.

Then again, her long, crossed legs are tucked tightly between his thighs, and it’s not even like, some kind of foreplay.

It’s more like, Hi. I just wanted to be as close to you as I could get.

So maybe there is hope for a next time.

He calls her a genius and she giggles around her enormous bite of food. She almost doesn’t even pick up on his ‘next time’ slip. But he flinches a little when he realizes it.

She swallows and dips another fry, shrugging. “Yeah, we could do that next time. Or we could try that new sushi place off Seven Oaks.”

She wiggles her nose to keep from grinning at him like a goof because she’s taken two bites of this burger and definitely wants a second date.

The butterflies in his stomach go mad, and he’s so not hungry at all anymore. He can’t just not eat, though. It’s rude and also would probably be really weird and she’d ask him what’s wrong and he’d have to say, ‘Absolutely nothing, I just think I’m already falling in love with you.’

So he takes a bite of his burger.

They continue chatting and eating and she gets more comfortable with him with every bite. He’s sweet and funny but not in that annoying way when boys know they’re funny and work it too hard. He’s naturally likeable. She likes spending time with him. And he has great taste in burgers, so.

He doesn’t know what to do about the fact that she’s acting like his girlfriend, beside totally freak out. It’s too good to be true. The girl he’s been crushing on since orientation seems to actually dig him, and not just in that one night stand sex way.

Why waste time on a burger if you just want to fuck?

It’s not just the burger. It’s in the way she laughs at his jokes and the way she looks him dead in the eye, like they’ve been staring at each other for years. It’s in the way she says his name like he’s already her best friend.

It’s completely surreal.

They stand to leave and she takes his hand again because it feels natural. Once they’re outside, she tucks their entwined hands into a pocket of his jacket she’s still wearing.

“Where to?” she asks with a twinkle in her eye.

He pretends to think of where they should go, but he really just wants to be alone with her. He’s just not quite sure how to ask her back to his dorm in a non-pervy way.

His thumb traces her knuckles as he bites his lip and looks down at her. He turns to face her, brings his free hand to her hair and tucks the few strands that have fallen loose behind her ear.

“I just like talking to you,” he says with a shrug. “So anywhere we can keep doing that?”

Shawn is tender with her, she’s noticed. She didn’t think from the way he acted that he was only trying to get in her pants at any point since they’ve known each other, but now she’s very sure that’s not it for him. Especially as he holds her hand like this, like he’s not sure she’ll ever let him touch her again.

She wants to assure him she will.

The final moment, the one that seals the deal for her, is when he doesn’t immediately suggest his dorm because he’s clearly worried it would be an overstep. Truth is though, that’s where she wants to be with him.

She holds her breath as he tucks some hair behind her ear. She releases it in a slow exhale and squeezes his fingers in her pocket.

“Can we go to your place, please?”

His chest relaxes and his heart follows, though only slightly. He’s not sure his heart rate will ever be normal around her.

He wets his lips as he looks down at her, ready to nod when something stops him. He presses his thumb to the back of her hand and tilts his head, his tongue darting out to glide across his lower lip.

Maya expects him to whisk her off to his dorm quickly before she can think about changing her mind, but he doesn’t. He stands firm and stares at her like a puppy with his head cocked.

“Can I kiss you first? Please.”

He’s so polite about it. It’s very Canadian. And, she thinks, very Shawn.

“Yes you may.”

Thank God.

His lips twitch with a hint of a smile before he presses them together, nodding. “That’s great, it’s--”

He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and brings his hands to her neck, cupping her carefully as he brushes his thumbs along her jaw until they meet at her chin. Tilting her head back, he ducks down and gently presses his lips to hers.

Oh god, he’s perfect.

It’s the first conscious thought that runs through her head after the brain scramble of feeling his lips on hers.

It’s a great kiss. It’s truly good in every way -- his hands aren’t grabby, his lips are so soft, he’s gentle without being too careful.

She lifts her hands to rest on his forearms and tilts her head to kiss him back, stepping just a bit closer to him.

Maya leans into him in a way he couldn’t have predicted. She melts, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her deeper, one hand dropping from her neck so he can wrap his arm around her waist and pull her until she’s flush against him.

It’s a few hot seconds before they pull apart. She gasps a little unconsciously and hums under her breath.

He stops kissing her only because he needs to breathe. He takes a breath, eyes still closed, and drops his forehead gently against hers.

“Mm, um,” he chokes out a breathless laugh, “Thanks. Thank you.”

She makes him an idiot.

He thanks her for kissing him. Like, actually thanks her. It’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

“You’re welcome,” she replies breathlessly, nodding at him as she starts to chuckle.

After a moment, he pulls away from her, untangling their bodies except from where they’re joined hand in hand.

“My dorm’s this way. It’s Chestnut, not too far,” he says, pulling her along through the chilly night that’s doing absolutely nothing to calm the heat radiating throughout his entire body.

Maya hustles along beside him until they reach Chestnut. She bites her tongue against mentioning she’s been here before -- freshman year she was hooking up with a guy that lived on the third floor. But that’s not important now.

They make their way up the elevators and down the hallway to Shawn’s room.

He got pretty lucky, dorm-wise. It’s a suite style room, with two singles attached to a common area with a kitchenette. Besides that, his roommate, Brian, spends most of his time at his sophomore girlfriend’s off-campus apartment. So really, Shawn gets the whole suite to himself more often than not.

He knows Brian is gone tonight, so he doesn’t have to send him a ‘GET OUT’ text as he and Maya ride the elevator.

He extracts himself from Maya’s side only to unlock the door and push it open for her. He doesn’t worry about running in first and cleaning shit up, because he’s a pretty clean guy as it is. Plus, he has plenty of female friends and he knows they think boys are pretty gross, so. He tries his best to be the exception to that rule. His mum taught him well enough, anyway.

“After you,” he says with a slight smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Just, you know, make yourself at home.”

Shawn’s room is one of the cleaner boy’s dorms she’s ever been in. That bodes well, she thinks. She glances around with her hands clasped behind her back and realizes all of a sudden she’s nervous.

Not bad nervous, not run away nervous, but keyed up, like she’s a kettle full of steam. She just hopes she won’t start whistling as soon as he touches her again.

His room is warm and cozy, so she slips out of his jacket and places it on the chair, eyeing him to see what will happen next.

“Where’s that guitar of yours, pal?”

He flushes, glances behind him towards his room. He didn’t think she’d really want to hear him play. It feels a little… cheesy, you know? Like it’s just something he’s trying to do to get her panties off. Which is definitely not his angle. Well. He can’t pretend he doesn’t want her panties off, but that isn’t his only goal here. He wouldn’t even mind if they kept their clothes on all night, as long as she wanted to see him again.

He wants her to like him. And his guitar is part of that. So if she’s down, he is too.

“Just in my room,” he answers with a small smile. “You sit, I’ll go grab it.”

He nods towards the couch before falling back into his room. He toes his shoes off and tugs at his belt, removing it so he can relax a bit more. Though he’s not sure if that’ll be possible, what with Maya in his fucking room.

Shawn lights up when she mentions his guitar. As he hustles into his room, she sits on the edge of the sofa, bouncing her knee eagerly. She’s trying not to peek in and see his bedroom because it’ll probably just make her more nervous. Instead, she picks at her nails.

Shawn grabs his guitar off its stand and goes back to the common room, where Maya is perched on his sofa. He smiles and drapes the guitar strap over his shoulders before he sits down next to her.

He glances her way. “Any requests? Hotel California? Or something else?”

He comes back looking a little more comfy and she’s sure it has to do with the instrument in his hand. She smiles and pats the sofa beside her, kicking off her own shoes and sitting pretzel style, turned toward him.

She eyes the guitar, sees where it’s worn from his spending hours with it, plucking and strumming. It makes her smile to imagine what this guitar has seen and heard.

She makes herself comfortable next to him and he smiles at her as she beams at him. He could look at her smile forever, if she let him.

“Uhm… do you know She Will Be Loved?”

“Maroon 5, yeah? I love that song,” he says, looking down at his guitar and shifting his fingers on the neck of the guitar through the chords, just to make sure he’s got them sorted before he actually starts playing. He shoves his free hand into his pocket and finds a pick there, which is pretty typical for any given pair of pants he owns.

“I do a better piano cover of this,” he starts with a quirked smile, “But the guitar isn’t too bad.”

He doesn’t look at her when he starts playing, can’t look at her, because if he does he’ll get way too nervous. He’ll trip over chords and forget the lyrics. He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on the music, instead.

“Beauty queen of only 18, she had some trouble with herself…”

She’s just looking at his fingers as he starts to play, she doesn’t expect his voice to come out sounding like that.

Maya looks up from his pretty fingers and feels her smile drop in awe. His eyes are closed and his head is turned slightly away from her. It’s a mercy for them both, she thinks, as she tries to recover.

His voice is smooth and warm and well-practiced and somehow totally, beautifully Shawn. She leans closer unconsciously and licks her lips, bobbing her head a little as he continues.

It’s enchanting, sitting here like this with him as he plays one of her favorite songs. In some bleary, far off corner of her mind, she thinks this is probably the best first date she’s ever had, but she’s not thinking right now, just feeling.

Shawn’s eyes flutter open as he finishes singing, the last few chords of the song playing him out. He looks up to see Maya watching him, and he wonders if she did the entire time. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. He likes the way she looks at him.

He wets his lips and drops his fingers from the guitar to his knee, tilting his head.

“Hope I didn’t butcher one of your favorites,” he murmurs before lifting the strap and placing the guitar on the couch between them.

Maya blinks quickly when the song finishes. She sniffs gently, suddenly conscious of how intently she was watching him. When he looks up at her, he goes a little soft and shy and his reaction makes her decision for her.

“My falsetto isn’t exactly up to Adam Levine standards, but I think it’s getting there.”

He feels stuck now, sitting across from her on his couch. He has no other plans, besides wanting to grab her hand and pull her into him so he can kiss her again. He waits, with his heart lurching into his throat, for Maya to hopefully make the next move.

Maya tamps down a giggle and gently moves the guitar aside so there’s nothing left between them. She scoots in until her knees are touching his and places one hand on his as it rests on his knee and curls the other around his neck to scratch at the tiny curls that tickle him there.

She leans in until her eyes close, her nose brushes his, and she whispers, “Fuck Adam Levine.”

“Well, hopefully not--”

She kisses him with a smile on her lips.

He kisses her back easily, doesn’t even have to think about it. He just… melts. He melts into her, curling his fingers between hers, bringing his other hand to her hip so he can slide her a bit closer.

His hand wanders from her hip, to the small of her back, to her opposing hip so he can curl his arm around her waist. He holds her steadily and deepens the kiss, not as worried about being appropriate now that they’re safely tucked away in his suite. His tongue slips out and drags gently along her lower lip before he sucks at it, worrying the supple flesh with light nips of his teeth.

He kisses her like he knows exactly how she likes it. She goes with him when he beckons, threading fingers through his curls and gasping at the gentle attentions of his teeth. Maya loses herself a little, climbing almost into his lap to feel warmer, closer, even better as he makes her feel so good. She’s hungry for it.

He pulls away just to breathe, nose nudging hers. “You-- eh, you feel--” he breathes out a laugh, “Really good. That was really good.”

Really good is like, the understatement of the millennium, but he’s trying to avoid coming off as totally crazy. Even though that’s how she makes him feel. Totally and completely insane, in the absolute best way.

When he pulls back a little, she keeps her eyes shut and tugs teasingly at his hair, nodding at his clumsy but sweet assessment of the kiss.

“You feel… mhm, you feel good too.” Apparently the kiss melted both their brains.

He kisses along her cheek to her ear, mouthing at the shell as his nose grazes her hair.

He takes a breath. “Are you comfortable? I have a shirt you could wear.”

Maya’s breathing grows shallower as he finds his way to her ear, where she’s extra sensitive. His breath sets her whole body at a hum for him.

She swallows and takes a chance. “I don’t need a shirt if you’re going to take my clothes off.”

She gives him whiplash. He chokes against her ear and lets his forehead fall to her temple. He has to take a moment to breathe before he can look at her.

Slowly, he leans away from her so he can look her in the eye, his hand finding the back of her head, fingers slipping into her hair. He wets his lips. “Yeah? You-- That’s what you want?”

The seconds it takes him to inhale and lean back to look at Maya are some of the longest of her life. She looks down at his lips and back up. He’s looking at her like she just asked him if he wants a million dollars.

He figures it’s not something she’d accidentally say. But still. He needs to be sure he’s not dreaming. He needs to look her in the eye as she tells him it’s okay. He needs to know that she really does want him as badly as he wants her.

“Because we can just chill, you know, maybe watch The Office or something,” he offers, fingers scratching gently against her scalp and he studies her face.

He doesn’t really want to watch TV, but if that’s what she decides she wants, that’s what they’ll do.

And then, in the most Shawn-ish fashion, he offers a very vanilla, very sweet alternative. She can picture it, and it would be nice -- he’d get her a t-shirt to change into and would blush at all the leg she’s showing. They’d curl up under a blanket. Maybe he’d put his arms around her. They’d discuss their favorite episodes at length. It’s a great option.

It’s not the one she wants right now.

Maya leans in again, exhales slowly as she brushes the tip of her nose back and forth over his. “Maybe next time.”

She plants her hands on his shoulders and maneuvers herself into his lap to straddle him.

Next time. There’s that phrase again. He hopes to the God he doesn’t really believe in anymore that she’s not just playing with him. He wants next time so fucking badly, and this time isn’t even over yet.

His teeth sink into his lip as she slides into his lap, his hands immediately falling to her hips. He swallows, looks up at her from under his lashes as he pulls her flush against his thighs.

“You’re really fuckin’ beautiful, you know,” he murmurs, sliding one hand up her side until he can cup her ribcage, his thumb bracing her just beneath her breast. Slowly, he drops his head so he can dust kisses along her delicate collarbone, until he hits the strap of her dress. One hand slips to her ass as he nips at the fabric in his way, tugging it off of her shoulder before mouthing at her newly bared skin.

Maya smiles at his sweet comment and ducks her head a little. She manages to control the instinctive rolling of her hips as Shawn explores her clavicle and shoulder. His lips are soft but purposeful in their journey, wandering but not lost.

She presses back slightly into his hand when he dips it to cover her ass, wanting to feel just how big his hand is against her. She gasps breath around a gentle whimper of encouragement.

He wants to leave a mark, wants to leave evidence on her skin of their time together, of the way she makes him feel. His lips retrace their steps along her clavicle until he finds the base of her neck, flirting with the idea of sucking at her flesh until a bruise blooms beneath his teeth.

“How d’you like it?” he murmurs, gaze flicking up to her face as he lazily mouths at her throat. He hopes she knows what he’s getting at.

Shawn’s lips continue. Maya’s mouth is dry. Truthfully, she’s never let anyone give her a hickey before. In high school, she didn’t want to get caught with them. Now in college, she never wanted people knowing her business. But… there’s something in her fluttering gut that has her almost begging for one from him.

She perks up, peeking down at him and sinking her hand into his silky curls. “Want you to mark me.”

He groans, pressing his head into her hand and nodding. He nips at her skin, then soothes the reddening spot with his tongue.

“Okay, baby,” he murmurs, the pet name slipping out easily, as if he’s been calling her that for years.

Maya curls her fingers tight into his hair. The pet name makes her breath go short in her chest and she wriggles a little further up his lap, closer to him. She tips her head back and sighs, whispering his name under her breath.

He kisses her throat once, twice, then sucks her skin between his lips. He works her until she’s warm against his tongue. He releases her with a sucking ‘pop’ then nibbles her with his teeth until he’s satisfied with the red, splotchy mark that blossoms.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, and it’s so, so sexy. She wasn’t totally sure he would, given how blushy and sweet he’s been around her all night -- that doesn’t usually equate to confidence in the bedroom, but he’s proving her wrong with every firm purposeful nip and nibble.

God, he feels good. She blinks hard and realizes she’s said it out loud. Oh well. By the way she’s shifting in his lap, he probably knows how good she feels.

He pulls back, admires his work with a hum.

“Pretty,” he rasps, gaze flicking up to her flushed face. “Don’t think it’ll be too hard to cover down there, either.”

He pulls away with a wet noise that makes Maya’s thighs tighten against his. She lifts her fingers to trace where his mouth was and cracks a smile.

“I’m not hiding this one.”

A smile tugs his lips, but only for a moment. He dives back in to her neck, mouthing kisses along the column of her throat until he reaches her ear. “You wanna do me? Turnabout's fair play, and all that.”

Shawn’s hungry for more of her skin. She lets him have it willingly. His offer makes her bleary eyes open. She pulls away and looks him over, pink-cheeked, chest heaving, eyes wide and eager. She pinches his chin between her fingers and leans in, kissing him slowly. When she pulls away, she has a dangerous glint in her eye.

“Yeah,” she hums, leading a series of light kisses down his jaw to a spot under his ear that is so soft under her mouth she wants to plant a flag and call it hers. She flicks her tongue over it quickly and follows it with a nip before sucking his skin into her mouth.

Holy Shit.

“Holy shit,” he groans, his hips twitching as she latches on to one of his most sensitive spots. His hands fall to her ass so her can pull her closer, hold her tighter, even though they’re already pressed snugly together.

His cock is beyond hard in his slacks, pushing needily against his fly as his toes curl in his socks. She’s barely done anything and he feels like he might come. It’s always been his problem, getting too overwhelmed too quickly.

And with Maya it’s like, ten times worse.

“Fuck, sugar,” he groans as his head falls back against the couch, exposing even more of his neck for her while his fingers knead her round ass.

Maya nips a little harder than she means to when he grabs her ass and drags her until they’re chest to chest. She mewls into the mark she’s leaving him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, reveling in how broad and strong he feels. And how totally at her mercy he is.

From this close, she can feel the length of him straining in his pants and she gets a little carried away, sucking and mouthing and nipping at this one spot until he’s almost purple. She winces and kisses it tenderly, sitting back a little to grin sheepishly as he massages her ass with his long fingers.

“Sorry,” she giggles, “That’s gonna be there for a while.”

His fingers find his neck for a moment, pressing into the sensitive, bruising skin beneath his ear. He moans, low and husky, and shrugs a little.

“S’okay. I--” he clears his gravelly throat, “I like it. I like you.”

He’s proud of himself. Proud that he can have the prettiest, sexiest, most fucking incredible girl in the world squirming in his lap and still not come in his boxers. Talk about fucking embarrassing.

He needs more.

“Wanna make you come. Please.” he pants, eyes shut as she kisses his neck. He pushes one hand under her dress, fingertips teasing the hem of her thong where it clings to the curve of her hip.

She trails along to the territory of his throat when he croaks at her again. She coos a sound of approval and sits back again to look at him. She nods frantically, pressing her hands into his chest to show her urgency.

“Touch me. I wanna feel you,” she pleads, squirming in his lap as his fingers scrape over her bare skin.

The whine in her voice makes his cock throb, and he sinks his fingers deeper into the soft flesh of her ass. He nods, licking his lips as he wraps an arm around her waist and stands up, holding her tight as he makes his way to his bedroom.

“In here,” he murmurs against her lips while kissing her, pecking her lower lip before sucking it between his teeth.

Shawn has enough presence of mind to take her to his bedroom. She stumbles over his feet a little, giggling into his mouth and it’s a warm comfort amidst all this sexy novelty. She rises on her toes to continue kissing him properly. He tastes so fucking good. She thinks she might not be able to leave his pretty lips alone now.

Carefully, he lies her down on his bed, then stands to the side. He tilts his head as he studies her, studies the rise and fall of her chest and the way the mark on her throat is beginning to turn purple. He smiles, just a quick quirk of his lips.

Maya fights herself to release him as he stands up beside her. His eyes are warm and curious as they look her over. She doesn’t flinch or shy away from them. She presses her ass into the bed and sighs needily.

“Do you want to take off your dress for me?” he asks in a low voice, his fingers finding the buttons of his shirt. He deftly snaps them open, then lets the dress shirt fall from his shoulders to pool at his feet.

But he gives her something to do and she’s grateful. She sits up, nodding as she stares at him. She glances away to fiddle with the zipper under her arm. When she’s got it, she looks back up and her face goes blank.

“Oh, holy fuck.”

His chest is firm and broad, leading to a tapered waist. His abs are beautifully defined without being overdone. He has a light trail of hair leading into his pants. Maya wants to cry.

Instead, she releases a whimper and lifts her dress over her head, climbing onto her knees. In her tiny thong and strapless bra, she’s still too clothed.

He looks up at her exclamation. She’s scrambling out of her dress, dropping it to the floor, and then she’s naked.

Well, not really naked, but still naked enough for his hand to fall to his clothed cock as he exhales through his nose, his lower lip tucked beneath his teeth.

“You okay?” he asks after a moment of looking, lifting a knee and pressing it to the bed. His hand drops from his dick and he reaches for her cheek instead, tilting her head back.

Shawn leans down, presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek, then to her jaw, then her earlobe.

He clearly misunderstands her expression of shock and awe and it only endears him to her more. So does his grabbing at his cock when she drops her dress.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby,” he murmurs, carefully licking at the shell of her ear, loving the way it makes a shiver roll down her spine.

As he lifts up onto the bed to kiss her face tenderly and tongue at her ear, her heart begins to race.

“You’re… so hot,” she croaks. After a moment, she chuckles nervously.

“I mean, you’re more than hot. Obviously. You’re incredibly sweet and thoughtful and funny and you tell stories well and you’re very handy with a guitar but Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot. Like, Cute Freshman is not an appropriate nickname for you at all. You’re… you’re definitely Fucking Hot Freshman,” she babbles.

He feels his cheek heat, and he’s suddenly very nervous despite all of the praises she gives. He presses his face into her neck so he doesn’t have to look at her, or else he might combust. He knew-- He knows he’s good looking, knows he’s not shabby in the body department either, but he didn’t know-- well, he didn’t think Maya was going just as crazy over him as he is over her.

Now, he thinks, maybe she is.

Maya takes the opportunity to play with his hair again when he tucks his face in her neck and kisses her there again. The skin is tender, but he’s gentle. She hums from the back of her throat and keeps her fingers entangled in his curls.

Maya blinks. “And… I like it when you call me ‘baby.’”

His heart stutters in his chest, and all he really cares about, more than being called sweet or hot or anything, is that apparently, he’s giving her things she likes. He kisses her neck, a careful brush of his slick lips against her bruised skin.

“And I like calling you baby,” he murmurs before pulling away so he can look at her, now that his breathing is somewhat under control.

“But who’s calling me Cute Freshman?” he asks with a cheeky grin, because he couldn’t help but notice that slight slip of her tongue.

She grins. “Oh, me. For a few months now. Well, not just me. Me and a bunch of the junior art girls. You’re just so… cute. Whenever I see you on campus, you smile at me. It’s cute.”

Maybe she should be embarrassed to admit she had a nickname for him before they even really knew each other, but she doesn’t care. Plus, she’s sitting naked beneath him feeling all the testosterone-driven heat melting off him, so it’s a little late for embarrassment over nicknames.

His head reels. A bunch of the junior art girls? He’s curious about it, but not as curious about the sounds Maya might make when he makes her come. He doesn’t care about other girls enough to distract himself from her.

Maya smoothes a hand down his chest, admiring his soft skin over rippling muscle. She skims over his slacks and cups his cock, lifting an eyebrow.

“But like I said, you’re so much more than just cute.”

His gaze drops to her hand and he hisses when she finds his cock, head falling back slightly as his hips press forward.

“Uh huh,” he rasps, because he’s quickly losing the ability to articulate actual words.

Shawn goes all throaty and soft when she gets a hand on him, but she doesn’t want to push it and start stroking him right away. She wants this to last and he… kinda looks like he’s already trying not to bust a nut. She drags her hand up to the button of his slacks and pulls at it, just flirting with the idea of taking them off.

“You-- ah, you know why I always say hi?” he asks to distract himself, to stop an unfortunate event from occurring in his slacks before they’ve gotten a chance to do much of anything. He clears his throat, looks down at her as he continues, “You were my orientation tour guide. I--” I think I’m kinda sorta a little bit in love with you. “--I thought you were so pretty. And smart. And just, someone I wanted to know.”

He wants to tell her he has the biggest fucking crush on her in the world, but he doesn’t. Her hand on his cock won’t get him to admit it, even though it seems like a sure sign she’d be okay with it.

He has to keep some cards to himself. For now, at least.

She frowns. She… doesn’t remember seeing him. How is that possible?

“Really? Shit, I don’t remember. I mean, it was a long summer of tours, I guess.”

She pushes hair off his forehead and smiles bashfully. “I… would’ve thought I’d remember you.”

He doesn’t care that she doesn’t remember him. He doesn’t blame her. She probably met like, a hundred different kids over the summer. He was just a face in the crowd.

She felt like a beacon to him.

He’s too fucking sappy for his own good.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs with a smile. “I’m pretty sure I remembered well enough for the both of us.”

Maya’s getting a little impatient. She curls her fingers through his belt loops and tugs him forward as she lies back until he’s planted above her.

“Kiss me,” she whispers.

His chest heaves as he watches her tug at his belt loops, stumbling forward until he’s over her on the bed, knees cradling her hips on either side. He drops a hand down to the pillow beneath her head, back curling as he leans down.

“I really like kissing you,” he murmurs before he catches her lips. His free hand slips between them, fingers teasing along her collarbone, down her sternum, until he reaches the little bow at the center of her bra. He realizes after a moment that beneath the bow lies the clasp, and he sucks in a breath.

Carefully, flicks the clasp and her bra falls open, the cups slipping away from her breasts. He keeps kissing her, keeps his lips flush against her cheek so he doesn’t distract himself by looking, not until she lets him know it’s okay.

Having Shawn propped up over her like this is a little intoxicating. He smells nice, like spicy cologne and clean boy. And god, can he kiss.

Maya drags her hands up his sides, feeling how they flare out to thick, warm shoulder blades. She holds on to them and goes still beneath him as his fingers meet the clasp of her bra. He gets it open without issue, which makes her smile into his warm, soft mouth. She teases his tongue with hers and lifts her back off the bed enough to pull the bra out from under her and drop it off the side of the bed.

From this angle, she can feel the way his cock strains against his pants. Maya breaks away from the kiss long enough to slide her fingers down his chest, around his belly button to the button of his slacks, looking into his eyes when she pops it open and starts tugging them down.

“Do you wanna touch me?” she whispers.

He pulls his head from her neck when she starts teasing her fingers down his torso until she reaches his pants. Her eyes are wide, glossy when he looks at her, and he wonders if he looks just as equally fucked. Probably more so, if he’s being honest.

He bites his lip and nods, lets his hand fall to her ribcage so he can cup her just beneath her breast. “All over, baby. Fuck,” he breathes, leaning back down to bite at her jaw.

His thumb grazes the underside of her breast as he moves towards her nipple. He presses his face into her neck again and gently flicks the taut little peak. While mouthing at her throat, his hips drop and he presses his cock against her abdomen, slowly rutting against her.

“Feel so good, Maya,” he murmurs, kissing his way up to her ear and tugging at her nipple, giving it a little more attention than before.

Maya’s hungry hands come to a faltering stop around his hips when she feels his calloused thumb skim the underside of her breast. Her head tips to allow him access and she mewls gently, lifting a leg to wrap over his as he settles against her.

Maya’s nipples have always been so sensitive -- if he’d gone any further than the gentle flicking and tugging, she would’ve squirmed away uncomfortably. She knows he has no way of knowing that already, but it feels like he does. It feels like he just knows her. She arches into his touch, eyelids fluttering, hips rolling in time with his, nodding numbly.

“Yeah,” she breathes, “Feels like…”

She cuts herself off with a bite into her lower lip before she can say something ridiculous like “heaven” or “perfect.” She moans quietly instead.

She doesn’t finish her sentence and he doesn’t ask. He’s nervous to. He can fill in the blank in his mind, with something like, ‘Feels like I’m going crazy’ or even, ‘Feels like fucking heaven on earth.’

It’s nice, sometimes, to pretend.

“Where else?” he asks after a moment, finally ready to pull himself away from her neck, sitting back on his heels as he looks down at her. He swallows against a groan that threatens to spill from his lips. She’s gorgeous; flushed and arching beneath him, her dusky brown nipples taut, hopefully from his attention and not just the cool room.

“Where else do you wanna be touched, baby?”

He sits back and pants at her. Maya resists the urge to yank him back down on top of her because she misses his lips and fingers already. But it’s for a good cause.

Maya comes up on a forearm and watches him watch her. She sighs.

“Touch my pussy, Shawn. Please.” She drops back and lifts her hips, dragging her panties down her thighs, tossing them off the side of his bed.

“Shit,” he growls when she wiggles out of her panties and begs for him. It’s unbelievably sexy. Maya knows exactly what she wants and she’s not afraid of it. His cock throbs, but it’s not about him right now.

He swallows thickly as he lets his eyes wander down the length of her body, from her round tits to the soft curve of her stomach to her slick, spread thighs. He reaches for her knee just as he looks at her pussy, sucks in a breath at the sight of her.

Maya groans, eyelids fluttering as she finally gets the tiniest bit of relief from him sweeping his fingers down her stomach to spread her lips.

“Baby. Fuck, you’re pretty. And wet,” he growls, dropping his other hand to her cunt, pressing two fingers to her lips and spreading them wide.

He gets dirty fast and it takes Maya by surprise. She would’ve said she was expecting something a little more vanilla from him -- sweet missionary love making with whispered grunts and pretty words in her ear.

But this… this’ll work.

“You really this wet all for me?” he murmurs, eyes flicking up at her face as he massages her knee, tongue gliding slowly along his lower lip.

Maya spreads her legs further, needily. She chews on her lower lip and slides her hands up into her hair, nodding.

“God, yeah. Fuck, Shawn. So wet for you. All for you.”

She wonders if her dirty talk might be rusty, it’s been a while since she’s utilized it. But looking up at him while he’s looking at her like this, while he’s fucking touching her like this, she’s not worried. He may very well bring it out in her.

“You wanna make me feel good, baby?” she purrs.

He doesn’t know where his self control comes from, because she’s definitely trying to kill him. She spreads her legs, arches her back, grabs at her own hair like she’s absolutely desperate for him.

His hand goes to his cock again, because there’s only so much he can do.

“Yeah,” he rasps, slowly massages his fingers along her smooth, wet pussy lips. He avoids the tight clench of her entrance as well as her clit, curious to see how wet he can get her before he gives in and this is all over.

“I fuckin’ do, sugar. And I’m gonna— Gonna make you feel so good you’ll scream when you come all over my fingers,” he gets out in a growl, tugging at his cock as he spreads her lips wider and hangs his head so he can blow a sharp stream of air against her clit.

As she teases him, he teases her right back, and he knows exactly how. She hums and closes her eyes, focuses on the way his fingers feel as they stroke her, like they’re learning her and admiring her at the same time. She expected him to make quick work of her when he realized how wet she was, but he’s taking his time. Maya knows very well she’s worth the time, but most guys don’t realize that on the first date.

Her shiver at him calling her “sugar” again was followed quickly by a sharp gasp and the feeling that her entire body clenched hard for him all at once. She grabs at his hair and tugs, arching so hard off the bed that she almost knees him in the stomach but she’s out of control now. She squeals his name, feels herself drip onto his sheets below her.

“Jesus Christ, Shawn,” she pants, glancing down at him over her heaving chest. She’s beginning to realize he might end up being the best she’s ever had.

She whimpers at the idea and goes slack against the bed, ready to let him give it to her. “Please. Please touch me. Fuck me with your fingers.”

A slow, cocky grin splits his lips. She’s eager beneath him, responsive to him in a way he hasn’t seen before. He hasn’t even done much, but she says his name like a prayer.

The smile on his face has her on fucking fire. She’s almost delirious enough to look around her and make sure she’s not actively burning up.

He groans at her demanding pleas and drops down to kiss her, sucking at her bottom lip as his finger slip along her slit. Carefully, he nudges her dripping entrance with the calloused tip of his middle finger.

He nips at her before pulling away from her lips, then sits up straight again, head hung as he looks down at her.

“S’this what you like, baby?” he murmurs as he sinks the tip of his finger into her slick heat, hooking it slightly to press against her soft flesh. He’s not sure which angle is the best for her, but he’s gonna love taking his time to figure it out.

His kiss has her distracted again, sighing into his sweet mouth as he probes her wetness gently, exploring her, learning what gets her gasping. When he curls a finger inside her clenching walls, she moans, low and soft.

“Yeah,” she coos, “Yeah, I like that.”

Shawn doesn’t just thrust a finger inside and hope it gets the job done. He’s careful and meticulous, so gentle that she hangs on his every movement. She breathes heavily, looking between his hand and his face, pressing kisses into his cheeks and jaw every so often.

His free hand massages her inner thigh, slowly inching closer to her pussy with each press of his broad palm. Soon he’s close enough to stretch his fingers above her clit, teasing the neatly trimmed patch of curly hair there.

It’s fucking sexy, she’s so goddamn sexy.

He flirts with the notion of touching her clit. She lifts her hips to encourage him, but he smoothes through her patch of pubic hair to keep her on the edge.

“Feels so good,” she promises him, nodding as she wets her lips, “Need a little more, baby.”

He didn’t need her to tell him. He knows she needs more, knows he’s probably making her clit throb just as badly as his cock is. But that’s the best part.

He leans down, bites lightly at the apple of her cheek as he slips his fingers from her curls down to her spread lips, the tip of his index finger sitting just on top of her swollen clit. He taps her nub once, twice, then swirls his finger in a delicate, teasing circle, using her wetness for an easy glide.

Maya is trying not to get hysterical because that might be a little much for their first time doing anything sexual. He’s making it as difficult as he can to keep her from losing it and begging, wriggling her hips to get his finger in deeper.

She breathes through her nose and closes her eyes, yelping a little when he nibbles at her cheek. She giggles at his playfulness and tangles fingers in his hair to help steer him.

“Oh, yeah?” He purrs against her cheek, “Want my finger deeper in your pussy?”

He emphasizes his question with a flick to her clit, followed by a tight pinch between his forefinger and thumb.

His finger lingers around her clit, teasing her so gently her abdomen flutters. The sharp sensation of the flick and pinch sends her reeling.

“Ohmygod, oh my fucking god,” she croaks, nodding quickly, “Yeah. Deeper. Your fingers are so nice and long. I wanna feel them deeper.”

She doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed now. She’s laid it all out for him.

Shawn can’t hold out anymore; he gives her what she wants, sinks his finger deeper into her cunt, until he’s buried to the hilt.

He pulls back so he can watch himself play with her pussy. One finger circles her clit while he curls the other deep inside of her, before starting a slow rocking rhythm that has his knuckle grazing her sensitive walls.

As Shawn’s finger slides deeper, without much resistance due to how fucking wet she is, she exhales slowly, chest shuddering hard, chin tilting back with a quiet groan.

He’s working her up so good. He pays careful attention to each of her reactions, giving her exactly what she wants before she can show or tell him that she wants it. She’s high on him, rocking with each of his finger’s strokes, waiting for him to give her a little bit more.

“Shit,” he groans, “Look how wet you’re getting for me, sugar.”

He presses the front of his thigh against the inside of hers, spreading her legs wide so he can get a better angle to stroke her heat as he slips a second finger inside.

He tucks his fingers deep inside of her, then scrapes his thumb nail carefully over the sensitive nub of her clit, peeking out from under its hood.

Shawn spreads her legs further and looks down at her hungrily. He slips a second finger inside her easily, stretching her out, stroking her deeper. She swears under her breath and tucks her arms up under his pillow for something to hold onto as he tears her apart piece by piece.

With the sharp sensation on her clit, she bucks hard, hard enough his fingers almost slip out.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she begs, turning her flushed face into the pillow as she cries out for him, “Please, I’m so, so fucking close.”

He feels like sobbing as she whines and moans beneath him. She’s absolutely writhing for him, her wet cunt getting wetter with each flick of her hips and stroke of his fingers.

She’s particularly fond, it seems, of the rough scratch of his nail against her hard clit.

“Oh baby,” he coos, “You like it a little rough, huh?”

He swipes the roughened pad of his thumb across her clit before lifting his hand to give her a little spank, right on her perky nub.

She wants more, she gets more.

Maya flinches and gasps, “YES!”

Her clit throbs at his rough attentions. God, she’s definitely losing her fucking mind. And she’s definitely never had it this good, not from anyone.

He curls over her, kisses up the midline of her throat until he reaches her chin, then noses at her jaw. His fingers squelch as they pump in and out of her dripping, pink pussy.

“How’s that, Maya? God, you’re so gorgeous like this. I mean, shit, you’re always gorgeous but— Christ, can’t believe how good you feel on my fingers. So fucking good.”

Her cunt grips his fingers hard like she might not let him have them back. With every thrust he gives her, he gets her closer and closer. He murmurs quietly, kissing her inflamed skin nice and soft, and that’s what does it, more than the roughness or the careful attention to what she likes, it’s just… him.

“Shawn, I’m gonna come,” she pants, squeezing her eyes shut. Her toes curl against the bed and every muscle in her body tightens as it takes her. She gasps and roils against the sheets, holding onto it as long as she possibly can because Jesus, it’s so, so good. He’s so good.

She realizes she’s muttered that to him as she starts to come down with a goofy smile.

He’s never seen anything so breathtaking before. Her entire body clenches as her orgasm swells, and he’s mesmerized by the sound of her voice as she whines his praise.

He’s blushing, despite fucking her through it and blowing on her clit again. His cock twitches as he watches her drip all over his hand.

Her body relaxes around his fingers, her back relaxing into the bed as her orgasm begins to subside. He realizes his chest is heaving as he pulls his fingers from her pussy.

He looks from her flushed face to his wet fingers. He wants to taste her. He lifts his hand to his mouth and sucks at the tips of his fingers before cleaning the rest with long sweeps of his tongue.

“I think I’m gonna have to eat you out next time,” he murmurs as he sits back on his thighs. His cock aches at the thought.

“I mean, you know. If that’s okay with you like, consent wise and stuff. It’s whatever you want.” he says with a flush, eyes widening slightly.

Maya laughs cloudily, shaking her head at the look on his face when he tries to backtrack a little. She tilts her head at him.

“You can do whatever you want to me,” she hums, blinking sleepily.

After that performance, yeah, he’s got an all-access pass now. Maya shivers thinking about what he can do with his mouth after how worked up she got on his fingers.

Maya lifts her bare leg and wraps it around his back, urging him forward into her. Her hands reach to catch him as he lowers himself.

“C’mere,” she murmurs, looking for his mouth back on hers because it’s intoxicating and she wants to get him just as worked up as he did her.

She still wants him. He’s absolutely not complaining. He wasn’t going to ask if she didn’t offer, but this seems way more romantic than simple reciprocation. She actually wants him. Like it’d be an honor to make him feel as good as he made her.

He moans, soft and raspy, into her mouth as he rests on top of her, his cock rutting slowly against her belly.

She can taste herself on his tongue. It makes her arch into him, grip a little harder at the firm plane of his back as he rests over her, rocking against her gently, like he’s not sure she’s into it. She tightens the leg around his waist, squeezing him to give him permission.

“You—“ he pants against her lips, nudging at her nose with his. “I’m so fuckin’ hard for you. I hope that’s okay.”

He drops his lips to her jaw, nosing his way along her cheek as he pants into her skin. His cock twitches in his slacks and he swears he can feel her wetness seeping through the fabric.

Maybe he has a vivid imagination. He’s insanely hard, either way.

He breaks away to croak into her mouth. She bites her lower lip and groans gently at his honesty. She lies back, letting him explore her cheek and jaw tenderly as he grinds against her.

Maya sneaks a hand down to squeeze his ass, pushing at the fabric of his slacks to get him naked for her. She wants more of his flushed, pretty skin, wants to make him feel at least half as good as he did for her.

She gets frustrated by how tight his pants are. She grunts and sits up, almost knocking into his face as she does. She laughs and kisses him playfully, using both hands to shuck him out of his slacks and tip him onto his side.

He likes the way she handles him. Shuffles him out of his pants and pushes him down so she can have her way with him. Fuck. If this is how he dies, it’s a great way to go.

She straddles his hips, dropping to grind against him again, just for a little while, just to feel him, but by the look on his face, she can’t keep this up with him for long or he’s going to explode.

She presses her bare, wet pussy against his boxer-clad cock and rocks her hips, grinding into him like she wants him to explode. Shawn’s head falls back as he moans, his hands falling to her thighs to keep her tight against him.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Maya. You feel so fucking good like this.”

Maya gasps at the feeling of his hands sinking into the flesh of her thighs as she rocks into him. She plants her hands beside his head and struggles to regain her breath and her senses, but the noises he’s making and the shakiness in his voice as he praises her have her head spinning, have her all worked up again.

One naughty hand slips along her thigh towards her pussy. His thumb twirls through her pubic hair before slipping down to her swollen, sensitive clit. His hips buck so the head of his cock grinds against her clit while his thumb scratches lightly at the little hood.

“Oh god, ohmygod,” she swears. He’s touching her again. She’s got him on the edge of orgasm, about to lose his head, and he has the presence of mind to try to get her wet again.

God, she’s falling so hard for this kid.

“Could come like this,” he mutters, his voice fucked as he gazes up at her.

She leans forward until her lips drop to his cheek. She breathes softly, planting her hands beneath her so she can push herself up away from his lips that have her head all foggy and almost thinking, yeah, fucking let him come like this, grinding beneath me in his boxers.

She smiles gently, easing off his hips to his thighs, carefully pushing his boxers down his legs so she can finally get at him for real.

Maya drops a gentle fingertip to skate over his twitching cock as it rests wet and pink against his stomach.

“I wanna touch you,” she whispers, glancing up to his eyes for his permission.

He absolutely cannot argue with her. She can do whatever the fuck she wants with him.

His cock twitches as she grazes his shaft with her fingers. He drops his head back, lifts his hips and spreads his thighs.

“Yeah, please,” he nods, then looks down at her. “That sounds so— fuck— so good.”

Maya’s mouth waters a little when he spreads his thick, gorgeous thighs. She swallows a moan, trailing her fingertips down the inside of his left thigh, staring at him, admiring as he pants and fights to stay still for her.

He fists handfuls of duvet on either side of himself, biting his lips at he watches her. He’s not sure how long he’s gonna last, but he’s about to try his hardest not to be a mess before she really gets a chance to explore him.

“Do whatever you want to me,” he finally chokes, finding it easy to be so honest with her.

She smirks, watching him ball the duvet up in his fists. She makes a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat, dropping onto her forearms, brushing her lips over the sensitive tip of his throbbing cock. With just a gentle kiss, she pushes back up on her knees and wraps her fingers around his cock.

Her grip is reasonably tight. She licks her lips greedily, watching as she starts stroking him, long, slow, teasing strokes. She doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, but she kinda wants to hear him beg.

“How’s my hand feel?” she pants, grinning down at him.

She’s too fucking sexy for him. Too fucking charming and confident and a little too honest and a little too vulnerable and he loves every bit of it. It’s just her hand but it’s the best thing he’s ever had.

It’s her hand and he’s so fucking fucked.

He’s gonna call his mum in the morning and ask for love advice or something.

He really shouldn’t be thinking about mum.

Her voice draws his attention and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as his head tips back.

“Maya, sugar— yeah, Jesus, so good.” He lifts his head, blinking at her as he pants, wets his lips. “You’re perfect. I’m so—“ his shut, he gasps and flicks his hips, cock twitching in her hand, “I’m so fucking into you.”

She’s really loving making him fall apart. He’s out of himself, bucking his hips and muttering sweet love words that make her smile. She tightens her hand, wrinkles her nose at him affectionately.

She bites her lip, sinks onto her forearm so she’s hovering over him, her hand still stroking, a little harder, a little faster, as she lies over him, close enough that she can see everything in his eyes.

“I like that you call me ‘sugar’,” she murmurs, leaning in to lick at his lower lip.

Maya slows her hand steadily, swiping her thumb up over the ridge on the underside of the head of his cock. She squeezes him gently, nudges his nose with hers.

“I’ll be your sugar if you be my baby,” she whispers before planting her lips against his.

His hips roll a bit faster as her slick, deft fingers grip his cock tighter. He pants against her lips, fingers curling into her thighs.

A growl passes between their lips as she kisses him, one hand flying up to cup the back of her head. He kisses her and kisses, tries to say, yes, please, whatever you want, without having to actually say it.

His cock throbs, weeping at the tip and dripping all over her hand. He bends his legs, slides his heels up the bed as he starts to fuck up into the tight clench of her fist.

He whines into her mouth, bites at her lower lip as he leaks all over them both.

He falls headfirst into her kiss, exactly where she wants him, where she needs him. She kisses back just as fiercely, massaging his tongue with hers in the same rhythm that she strokes his throbbing cock.

She loves how wet he’s getting her. She doesn’t think she’s ever had anyone want her so badly, be so ready to please her, show her how much she’s doing for him. She thinks she could pretty easily get hooked on this. On him.

“Gonna— shit, gonna come, Maya, my god,” he growls, head dropping back.

Maya tightens her hand and pumps faster, her heart sprinting in her chest as she chases him toward his orgasm. His feet slide up the bed and he’s fucking her hand and she realizes she’s whispering to him, telling him to come hard for her, she’s so into him, too.

Maya sits back and bites her lip, waiting for him to fall.

Her words of encouragement set him on fire. He nods but can’t answer, just grunts and reaches for her waist, gripping her as he rocks his hips up, pushing the head of his cock through the circle of her fist.

Maya doubles down, pulses his cock in her hand when he’s close enough to coming that it’ll throw him over the edge.

“Fuck-- fuck,” he growls, turning his head and pressing it into the pillow as his cock twitches, balls tightening before he comes, releasing himself across his abdomen and onto her fingers. His hips rock through it, her tight, warm hand milking him for all he’s worth.

He pants hard, bucks into her fist, goes all breathy and pink when he comes, splattering hard onto his chest and her hand. Maya strokes him through it, humming gently.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” she whispers, watching his frantic hips slow to a roll. She’s mesmerized, watching him fuck her hand, watching his eyes come back from wherever he went.

He groans as his cock aches, dribbles what’s left of his orgasm onto his stomach as he finally collapses down onto the bed. His legs slip out in front of him, his chest heaving as he sucks in a deep breath.

After a moment, his hand falls from her hip and he reaches for her wrist instead, pulling her from his dick. He bites his lip, looks up at her, blinking blearily a couple of times.

“Gimme a minute and I can get you a washcloth,” he murmurs, sending her a lazy smile.

Maya smiles gently and lets him tug her hand away from his sensitive cock. She nods and slides down on her side next to him, gripping his rib cage for his attention.

“No rush,” she murmurs, brushing her nose over his tenderly before kissing him, feeling the swell of his plump lower lip between hers, tasting his tongue.

She curls into his side easily, doesn’t even care that they’re both covered in his spunk. She doesn’t care because she likes being next to him, he thinks. Wants. Hopes.

He doesn’t like getting his hopes up too much, but he can’t help but read into the little hints Maya gives him. This night hasn’t made anything about his crush on her easier. It’s just that much harder, if anything.

He hasn’t fallen for a girl like this, ever.

She’s lying naked on his dorm bed beside him and they’re all sticky and she can hear drunk college kids singing and screaming on the quad outside his window. She smiles and turns her face into his chest, feeling it in her nose as his heart beat starts to settle.

Eventually, the come drying on his stomach gets a little too sticky and he carefully extracts himself from her side to fetch a couple of wet cloths.

He wipes his stomach off as he makes his way back into his bedroom, climbing up on the bed and handing off the warmed rag he brought for her.

Maya’s prepared to hunt down her panties and hurry away through the cold back to her off-campus apartment but she’s hoping he’ll have her stay. She thinks he probably will.

“You can stay, if you want,” he says with a little smile, tossing his cloth into the hamper in the corner before settling back against the pillows.

He settles back into bed with his invitation. She tries not to blush or look too smug. She sits cross-legged on the bed and plays with his fingers.

“Point me to your t-shirts, Mendes.”

God, yes.

He was worried for a moment she’d start getting dressed and make up something about needing to sleep in her own bed.

But she doesn’t, and now he’s dying to see her draped in his clothing.

“Oh-- duh, yeah. Hold on,” he grins at her before crawling off the bed and going to his dresser. He digs through the middle drawer and pulls out an old, soft Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure t-shirt and brings it over to her.

Maya doesn’t know why she blushes when he stands and scrambles to his dresser for a shirt for her. But he’s got a really great ass and she wants to grab it and smack it and bite it and oh, he’s coming back, she should probably look back up at his face now.

“That’s a good soft one,” he says as he places it in front of her before slipping back into bed himself. He presses his lips together as he watches her change.

Maya clears her throat and smiles, dropping the big, cool shirt over her chest. He’s right. It is nice and soft. She turns her nose into her shoulder and smiles at the way it smells like fabric softener. She knows she’s smitten now -- she’s giggling at the mental image of him doing laundry and using fabric softener.

“S’cool if I sleep naked, though? Not like-- I mean, this is how I always sleep but I can put boxers on if you want.”

He doesn’t exactly know how to do this. Girls either leave or kick him out, and the last girlfriend he had was in high school, and there were definitely no sleepovers there. So sleeping with a girl, like actually sleeping, is a pretty new thing for him.

Maya settles back against the pillow and shakes her head. “Go ahead, be free in your own bed.”

“I think I want to see you again this week please,” she murmurs sleepily, eyes drooping as she curls up against his side.

Shawn settles further into bed as Maya nestles into his side. He’s tired, but his heart is still racing. If she can hear it, she doesn’t let on.

“You can see me whenever you want,” he replies after a moment, his voice a gentle murmur as he watches her heavy eyes fall shut. Her chest rises and falls steadily, and she’s asleep within moments.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, too busy watching Maya sleep or waking up to see if she’s there, if she’s real, and to make sure the whole thing wasn’t a vivid fever dream.

She’s still there when dawn arrives, early morning sunlight beginning to creep in through the window. In a groggy haze, Shawn curls himself around her warmth and wakes her up with teasing kisses along the column of her throat. She stirs after six kisses or so, and they don’t leave the bed until their stomachs begin to growl in unison.

He takes her out for waffles and coffee milkshakes. It’s the perfect Next Time.

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bubble-tea-bunny · 5 years

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a painted lady

[carol danvers x reader]

author’s note: i started watching iasip and it’s so funnyyy i love it so much. anyway, here’s something short and sweet for my girl carol. hope you enjoy <3

word count: 2,737

Spring announces its arrival with the melting of the snow and the crisp mornings which give way to a sunny afternoon and a gentle breeze not nearly as harsh as the winter gusts that makes cheeks flush and stings the sensitive skin. Warmer weather begins popping up on the forecast. The days grow longer. The flowers bloom. There are many telltale signs to the changing of the season, but this year, they’re joined by a rare spectacle that has become the main topic for news stations and strangers making small talk in the coffee shops or at bus stops.

Channel 2 is on mute, but Carol hasn’t bothered un-muting it or even looking at the screen, since the view outside the bedroom window is exactly the same. Butterflies flutter past the glass in great numbers, taking their time with the plants on the front lawn. The neighbors’ houses aren’t bound to be any different, nor would anywhere else in town really. Seeing butterflies isn’t out of the ordinary when spring is approaching, but what is out of the ordinary is just how many there are. They’re everywhere.

Carol catches the sight of orange wings with black bands on them, and speculates aloud. “Monarchs?” To an outside observer, it might appear as though she’s asking this to thin air.

“No. Painted ladies,” you respond from the ensuite bathroom. After you’ve combed the tangles out of your hair, you set the brush down and walk back into the bedroom. “A little smaller than monarchs.”

Carol hums in acknowledgment, and takes a few more seconds to study the bright swarm before she lets her hand drop and the curtain shifts back into place. She turns around and grins when she sees you across the room putting on your watch. You’re wearing your usual lip color today: a bold red shade that brings out your eyes. “You’re a painted lady.”

That color hadn’t always been a staple in your makeup routine, and Carol has the sneaking suspicion it had found its way there after she had mentioned how much she liked it on you the first time she saw you in it. You’d been so unsure of it then, but she genuinely liked it. While she had told you as much, she’s sure you also could tell by the sincerity in her voice and the earnestness on her face. Not that it’d be difficult for you pick up on what she is thinking. You read people like books and she’s your favorite novel, one you know from front cover to back.

Even at this distance, you notice her gaze lowering to your lips and you roll your eyes but you’re smiling too. “I guess I am.”

Carol had closed the gap between you as you made your comment, and she leans in close. You’re about to take a step back and tell her At least give it a minute! but it’s too late. She steals a kiss and laughs at your expression of playful incredulity.

“It hasn’t even dried down!” You reach up to wipe the bit of lipstick that had transferred to her mouth, then grab the compact on the dresser to check if you would have to re-apply any on yourself.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s what you say every day.”

“Well, it’s true.” She shrugs matter-of-factly.

And you can never even fake being irritated for too long. Once you’ve confirmed that your lipstick is finally completely dry and transfer-proof, you kiss her. This one lasts a little longer, and she meets you with equal enthusiasm. She smells the lavender perfume you wear—every morning, two small spritz, in the soft spots behind your ears. By now, she has your routine memorized, but that’s no surprise because you’re her favorite book too.

The butterflies are immortalized in a small piece you create for your art class. You wave it off as nothing special, but just as with every other instance Carol has had the opportunity to see your finished art sitting on the easel, oils still setting and your familiar signature with its trademark loops and elaborate flourishes (“My signature is not that fancy!”) tucked away in a corner, she shakes her head and says, “It’s amazing.”

You stand side by side, surveying the canvas like you’re in a museum studying a painting on the wall. You’re mulling it over, considering her compliment and staring at the butterflies and she’s right, you think. It’s not so bad at all. You can’t help smiling because of how supportive she is, has been, and would continue to be, for it’s in her nature to pick you up when you’re down, and a warmth bubbles in your chest.

“Thanks.”

Carol’s watched your artistic endeavors from the sidelines, which she has been happy to do. She doesn’t have much to complain about when she has the front row. As such, when you come home one day and ask if she’d help you with your newest project, her brows raise at the unexpected request.

“I don’t know how much help I can be, but sure. What is it?”

“I need a model.”

Her eyes light up and her grin is big. “How should I pose? Maybe something dramatic?” She rests her wait on one foot and juts out her hip, setting her hand on it and angling her head slightly downward so as to look up at you in mock seduction. “Or maybe something fancier?” She stands back up straight and reaches over to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, then holds it up as if scrutinizing it closely, her other arm folded neatly behind her back.

You laugh at the various poses she strikes, and she breaks character quickly, laughing as well. “No, nothing like that, although that would be pretty fun.” You take a deep breath as you calm down. “I’ll have to get back to you on pose ideas. I’m not really sure what mood I’m trying to go for here. The prompt was really vague.”

“But that’s good right? More open avenues.” Carol sets the apple back down and leans back against the counter with crossed arms.

“It is, but it can be overwhelming too… The key is just to let the inspiration come to me. If I try too hard to come up with ideas, I might just get more frustrated than anything else…”

While waiting for this inspiration, you fill your time with sketches, thumbnail drawings of people in motion and positioned this way and that. You also draw Carol quite a bit. It’s your warmup for when you move onto the real piece, and if she hadn’t noticed whenever you stared before, she definitely does now, catching your eyes as you look up at her then back down at your sketchbook.

You draw her over and over again, pages of your sketchbook filled with her face at different angles and wearing various expressions. Even if the drawings are hasty, the care behind each is apparent. You ache to understand every detail, the natural sway of her hair as she turns her head whenever you call her name; the crinkle of the corners of her eyes when she flashes you a wide smile; the high points of her cheeks that catch the sunlight just right. And Carol peers over your shoulder at these pictures and she knows exactly what you are trying to do and she understands that you don’t just see with your eyes. You see with your hands.

One slow morning you’re doing it again, sketchbook in your lap and pencil in hand. Carol’s still laying down, drifting in and out, her body trying to cling to the last bits of sleep but she can’t tune out the scribbling and scrawling and the erasing. She’s not mad about it though; she probably shouldn’t be trying to sleep this late into the day anyway. So she rolls onto her side and props herself up on her elbow to look at you better—you’re sitting cross-legged facing her, which means she can’t see the page.

“How many times is this now?” she asks to break the silence.

You glance up at her but don’t answer immediately, your eyes tracing the line of her jaw, which you then replicate on the paper. “I dunno. Haven’t been keeping count. But I need to make sure I get everything… perfect…” You trail off, enamored with your task.

The fact is, you don’t draw many people. Portraits aren’t your forte, and that’s the main reason you’ve had to draw Carol as many times as you have before you take out your paints. Still, she can’t resist teasing. “You’ve never drawn me before this, have you?”

“No…” More scribbling.

“This isn’t quite playing out like those romance movies where the artist draws their partner all the time.” She tries to sound disappointed, but it falls apart the moment you look at her with a raised brow, and she cracks a grin.

“Since when have you wanted one of those storybook romances?” you shoot back, playing along.

“Hm…” She purses her lips pretends to be deep in thought. “Ever since you started drawing me I guess. I have to admit, it’s flattering, and you make me look good.”

You chuckle. “While by this point I’m confident I could draw you from memory, drawing from reference is always better.” You grow quiet again, presumably putting the finishing touches on your newest study, then set it off to the side as you turn your attention back to Carol. “And for the record, I only draw what I observe, so if anything, you make you look good, not me.”

Carol’s not one for bashfulness, but there’s something about your tone and how you look at her that prompts her to avert her gaze as she suddenly finds the white bedsheets very interesting. She only ever reacts like this to compliments when they come from you because you’re the artist and you can find the beauty in everything so when you say that you found it in her, well, that’s the highest honor, isn’t it?

Her eyes slide back up and you’re grinning because you know what your words can do to her. You want her to love herself like she loves you. Plus, you won’t lie: you like having this power. Shy Carol is a rare sight (and a sight, she would tell you, is reserved solely for you).

Deciding the space between you is too great, you crawl forward into Carol’s bubble to kiss her and she welcomes you because really, her bubble’s got enough space for two.

When you paint, you tie your hair into a bun and use paintbrushes to hold it in place. Carol won’t admit it but she really likes when you do that. You also change into clothes you don’t care about getting dirty, like a ragged and flimsy shirt with loose threads and a pair of sweatpants with holes. They’re well-used and paint-stained, much like the plastic storage cabinets in your art room.

The designated art room of the house is organized chaos, but there’s a certain charm to it. It’s the physical manifestation of all the ideas you have in your head, and Carol feels privileged that she’s able to take a peek into your mind via the drawings taped to the walls and the sketchbooks stacked on the desk. It’s the room with the largest windows and she’s not surprised you’d created more butterfly paintings since the first one; you can see them all the time.

She’s seeing them right now from the glass sliding door leading to the backyard. It’s dark out, but a few painted ladies remain exploring, not yet ready to turn in for the night. Her cup of coffee has been empty for a few minutes now, and her attention only shifts when she hears your footsteps padding through the hallway.

“You okay?”

It’s late and the darkness always seems to warrant lowered voices. Your enquiry is gentle and fatigued, and Carol turns to look at you rubbing your eyes, an attempt to fight off sleep but that’s a losing battle.

“Yeah,” she replies, speaking quietly in turn. You join her in staring outside. “There’s been so many of those butterflies.” While the painted ladies have been around for a few weeks now, she, as well as many others in town, still like to reiterate the peculiarity of the occasion. The subject hasn’t gotten old, and it might not anytime soon. It’s too special to gloss over that easily.

You hum and smile sightly, and Carol spots it in the reflection on the glass. Then you tell her you’re going to clean up and go to bed. You sound faraway, evidence of sleep finally taking over, and she grins as she nods okay. She kisses you quickly and says good night.

As for her, she lingers for a short while before following your lead, taking her time washing her mug and setting it on the drying rack where it would be ready for the next day. One of your sketchbooks is on the dining table, so she picks it up and walks to your art room to return it. The only light on in the house is that in the bedroom, visible through the crack at the bottom of the door, but she needs none to find her way to her destination.

The moonlight pouring in from the windows is enough to illuminate the canvas sitting on the easel. After Carol sets the sketchbook down with the others, she walks over to inspect your current work in progress. It’s not finished, but you’ve completed enough of it that she recognizes herself staring back, and she understands that you don’t make paintings; you make mirrors.

This is your final draft, she realizes. It’s the culmination of all your studies, in which you’ve enshrined the planes of her face on paper and on canvas and in your mind because your soul will live forever and you carry the thought of her like a rabbit’s foot tucked into your pocket.

One of your sketchbooks is open on the desk next to the easel, and she picks it up so she can see the page more clearly. It’s from the morning you’d drawn her while in bed, the picture she hadn’t seen at the time. This is the reference you’re using. She’d been wondering why you hadn’t yet gotten back to her about pose ideas, or announced that you’d be starting the final piece so she’d better clear her Saturday to be your model. She just assumed you wanted more time to practice and to settle upon the perfect pose for the mood you wanted.

And the perfect pose, it would seem, was no pose at all. Carol’s posture in the drawing and the painting is relaxed, half her body concealed by the bedsheets she’d struggled to untangle herself from that morning (they’d just been so comfortable). She’s propping herself up on her elbow and the hand of her other arm rests atop the blankets. Her eyes stare directly ahead, like she’s watching the viewer, and even she’s unable to deny the sense of intimacy this affords. It makes the viewer an active participant rather than a mere observer, which appears to be your goal—you want the viewer in your shoes. You want them to feel what you feel.

Carol’s eyes switch back and forth from the sketchbook to the canvas, comparing the details. The painting is still missing a date and signature, but they’re present in the drawing, at the bottom and off to the side so as to be non-invasive. There’s a title too, in quotation marks: My Favorite Place. Her chest blooms with warmth and her lips curve in a fond smile. You want the viewer to feel at home.

There’s a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach, an inexplicable mix of heaviness like there’s something there and an airiness like she’s about to sprout wings and lift off from the ground. Her heart wrenches hard enough she swears it might shatter—for you, always for you. She loves you with every bone in her body and perhaps the town’s influx of extraordinary visitors these last few weeks has been her doing because every time she thinks of you, she gets butterflies.

#captain marvel x reader #captain marvel imagine #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers imagine #captain marvel #carol danvers #marvel imagine #bubble-tea-bunny

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mobius-prime · 4 years

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34. Special - Sonic & Knuckles

Previous / Table of Contents / Next

Is everyone ready for the Kenders-est issue yet? Not only did he have a hand in writing every story in this special, but he did the pencils for one of the stories for the first time. He's back to writing about his favorite character in the universe, Knuckles, and for the first time we're gonna be getting some backstory for him.

The issue begins with another intro page, characteristic of Penders-headed stories, which gives us a little more info on this canon's version of the Floating Island (not yet referred to as Angel Island). As mentioned before, the island is held aloft not by the Master Emerald but by a Chaos Emerald. The island is mentioned to be one of the very last places on Mobius to be untouched by the war raging below on the surface. The page also mentions that Knuckles' role as the island's guardian is passed down from generation to generation, a claim that I don't recall any other canons ever making (the games just refer to him as having this role with no knowledge of how he ended up with it), a detail which will be expanded upon later on, thanks to Kenders' neverending obsession with the echidnas.

Panic in the Sky!

Writers: Mike Kanterovich and Ken Penders Pencils: Art Mawhinney and Dave Manak Colors: Barry Grossman

The Floating Island, which apparently has always floated somewhere on the other side of the ocean, has started flying wildly off course, terrifying local Mobians and alerting the Freedom Fighters. No one has apparently ever heard of this thing before, but it's headed for Knothole, and considering all other massive things that head for Knothole tend to be deadly, that's not a good sign.

Of course, Sonic and Tails recognize this thing from their excursion onto it not that long ago, and fill everyone in, though why they didn't tell everyone all about their adventure and entanglement with Knuckles before now is beyond me (well, I know logically why - they needed an excuse to recap for the readers). Sonic and Tails decide to fly in to investigate, and thus we have our first showcase of Antoine being an accomplished pilot, which essentially makes half the entire cast pilots at this point. Also, the Floating Island has machine guns now!

Antoine flies them above the horizon line and out of danger, and they airdrop in only to immediately be attacked by several different bots, which the story is very unclear on whether they are from Robotnik or like, automated defense systems for the island or something. Sonic ends up going tumbling off a cliff, only for Knuckles to make his appearance and immediately try to murder him by stepping on his hand. What the hell, Knuckles?

Luckily, Tails is there to distract him, and after some brief fighting, Sonic is able to stop Knuckles from swinging his fists long enough to point out that the island has flown wildly off course, and that Knuckles is basically being a giant reactionary idiot. Seriously, Knuckles, how the hell did you somehow not notice your entire island being retrofitted into a giant fortress despite being its guardian? Talk about not doing your job.

Knuckles leads Sonic and Tails to the Chaos Chamber, where the Chaos Emerald sits. Interestingly, unlike the games where the Master Emerald need merely sit on the island to magically provide the lift to make it float, in the comics the Chaos Emerald actually provides literal power to a system that allows the island to defy gravity. However, an energy siphon has been installed to draw power towards Robotnik's guns and engines instead, so he can use the island as a method of obliterating Knothole. Again, despite being the island's guardian, Knuckles somehow noticed none of this. Robotnik's face appears and explains his plan to them over a screen, and then he makes an absolutely incredible facial expression on a backdrop of the ashes of civilization.

He doesn't even look like he's evilly laughing, he looks like he's taking an extremely painful dump or something. What the hell happened here, pencillers?

Anyway, Knuckles, ashamed by his failure, takes the emerald and shatters it, removing both Robotnik's power source and the source of the power keeping the island afloat. Robotnik chooses to abort rather than fall with it, thinking that he may still win the day after all.

I have to halt everything for a moment to discuss his claim right here, that the island is eight miles high. Now perhaps this is just a reference to the song Eight Miles High (I wasn't aware of it before now, but it popped up a lot while I was Googling information for this), but let's take him at his word and assume that the Floating Island really does hover at an altitude of eight miles (that's about thirteen kilometers for my non-American readers). That's approximately 42,000 feet in the air, which is the absolute maximum limit for modern commercial aircraft before the engines are no longer able to maintain lift. At that altitude, our planet's atmosphere is far too thin to breathe, and most people will suffer from hypoxia within seconds, and probably suffocate within a few minutes at most (for reference, Mt. Everest's peak is 29,000 feet above sea level, and even trained and prepared mountain climbers have to bring bottled oxygen and are at great risk of hypoxia and death at that kind of altitude). Now if we assume that Mobians have similar oxygen requirements to humans, and that Mobius' atmospheric conditions are similar to Earth's (two assumptions that are reasonable to make as later issues will reveal), absolutely no life should even exist on the Floating Island at all. Sonic and Tails would have suffocated within seconds of ever setting foot on it, and Knuckles wouldn't even be alive to watch them die, let alone attack them.

But whatever, it's a comic. We are dealing with a world where portals to alternate universes open and close on the regular, after all. Knuckles, once he's sure that Robotnik is gone, pulls out… another Chaos Emerald! Turns out he simply made a switch with a fake to fool Robotnik and then destroyed the fake, and thus replaces the real, unharmed emerald to halt the island's descent. Another quick bit of math - if we assume that the island's terminal velocity takes a little longer to reach than a human's (I have no idea how to calculate how fast something of that much mass would be able to fall, so I'm working on a lot of assumptions here) then we can say it would probably have taken nearly three and a half minutes to crash to earth had it been allowed to fall, yet the next panel shows it halting at what seems like a mere few hundred feet above the village - again, probably just for the dramatic effect, but I find it amusing that Knuckles might have waited almost three minutes playing chicken with Robotnik until he bailed, before replacing the real emerald.

With the day saved, Knuckles rejects Sonic's offer to join the Freedom Fighters, because he needs to pretend to be a lone wolf for a little while longer. Sonic and Tails return to tell the others what happened, and wonder what Knuckles will do in the future…

Fire Drill

Writer/Pencils: Ken Penders Colors: Freddy Mendez

…luckily, we don't need to wait long to find out, because every story in this issue is about Knuckles! This is the first story penciled by Penders himself, which is noteworthy, especially as he becomes a more frequent artist in later issues. Also to note is that Barry Grossman no longer has a monopoly on the coloring - we finally have someone new for the first time since the third freaking issue! Welcome to the party, Freddy!

While there's not a lot of plot to this story, it does contain some interesting tidbits. Knuckles is chilling on his island as normal, when a loud explosion startles him. He traces the explosion from the beach and follows footprints into the Sandopolis Zone ruins, believing the troublemaker to be Sonic and ready to throw hands once more. He faces several traps within the ruins, such as falling rocks, a tripwire-activated axe, and a sand trap, but things don't really get interesting until these few panels:

He mentions family for the first time - a father - which not even the games hint at. The way he speaks, we can assume his father hasn't been around for some time. However, this seems to follow what the intro page said about this duty being passed on between generations - clearly, his father was a guardian before him, but for whatever reason, he and the rest of the echidnas have disappeared…

Anyway, after facing a few more traps and trials, Knuckles emerges from the ruins to find that the footprints seem to lead off the edge of the island, and assumes that Sonic has had his fun and vacated the island. However, we the readers can see that that's not the case - a mysterious silhouette is the real troublemaker, and apparently, they were the one testing Knuckles… but why?

Lord of the Floating Island

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Harvey Mercadoocasio Colors: Freddy Mendez

This is really just a plot meant to establish what exactly Knuckles tends to do on an average day on his island. Knuckles is flying around - because he can just do that in the comics, I know he can usually glide in other media but he just straight up flies here - when the wind buffets him around and he spots a young kangaroo hopping around in fear. Unlike in other canons, the Floating Island is actually quite populated - Knuckles isn't alone there but acts as guardian of not only the Chaos Emerald, but all the island's Mobian inhabitants. He swoops down to pick the kangaroo up to protect it, and while they wait out the storm they spot what's causing it - a solar eclipse, because that's how eclipses work.

Interestingly, Knuckles refers to "the moon" rather than "one of the moons." I can't remember at this point whether Mobius having one hundred moons was retconned in later issues, but either this issue acts as the retcon, or else Knuckles is merely referring to only one moon that regularly causes the eclipse or something. In addition, we get to see the first appearance of the dingoes, which become regulars in later issues but for now are treated like some kind of mindless stampeding mob, despite them clearly being Mobians as well with shoes and gloves.

Anyway, in the end, the eclipse ends, the winds die down, and the kangaroo's mother finds him again, thanking Knuckles for his role as guardian. It really kind of acts like he's a one-man police force for the entire island, which I suppose isn't entirely inaccurate for this canon.

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #special - sonic and knuckles #era 1 the early years #writer: mike kanterovich #writer: ken penders #pencils: art mawhinney #pencils: dave manak #pencils: ken penders #pencils: harvey mercadoocasio #colors: barry grossman #colors: freddy mendez

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nexstrik · 5 years

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when i see you, my voice goes (1/6)

Summary: Evelynn and Ahri had been together for as long as anyone could remember. They always thought they never needed anyone else, and then then slowly learn how wrong they were.

A/N: Takes place from inception of the band to when POP/STAR blasts the charts, and a glimpse of what comes next. Ahri/Evelynn with eventual KDA-poly.

Rating: EXPLICIT.

You can read this story in chronological order on my blog You can also read this story on AO3

She didn't often call Evelynn.

They spoke every day, of course. Through texts and emails and silly snapchats. Near constantly, during every spare minute, Ahri could look at her phone and see Evelynn's name. In between modeling gigs and meetings with her marketing team, trying to get her fragrance line off the ground, trying to stay sane. The dusky twilight hours when smog hung low over the city, or in the crisp early morning when one or both of them should have been in bed.

Long distance coupled with the burden of their profession might have killed any other relationship. Not them. Pride held them together as much as devotion. They ran together like a pair of mated wolves. Nothing and no one else was big enough to take either of them down, or replace them.

"Gumiho." Evelynn's smoky voice purred in greeting. "Not that I don't love hearing your voice, but what time is it over there?"

Every conversation these days started with that question. Fifteen years later and Evelynn was still trying to mother her. "The sun's been up for thirty minutes." Ahri looked out her hotel room window, twirling a strand of hair around one finger. "Is this a good time to talk? What time is it for you?"

"Six in the afternoon."

"Oh, so you just woke up."

"Bitch." Evelynn said it as fondly as any other pet name, completely devoid of any bite. "Did you need something or are you wasting my mobile data just to insult me?"

Biting her lip, Ahri tried to find the words. As with everything else, she had practiced for this. But with Evelynn, things never went according to plan. That's what made this so difficult. Even if she objectively knew Evelynn would drop everything for her at a moment's notice, there was no way to soften what she was about to ask.

She didn't often call Evelynn, but she knew this wasn't a conversation she wanted to have over text.

"Do you remember..." She started, then stopped. Pacing her hotel room, Ahri felt like a caged animal. Shaking her head, she tried again. "Are you working on anything right now? Wait, dumb question. Of course you are."

That's why she was in New York, currently, while Ahri stayed in Seoul. While her public-facing persona suffered a blow, her career as a lyricist was still thriving in the shadows. But Evelynn didn't go out much these days, not anymore. Not even in a strange city. Not after what happened.

"Some sweet little thing needed to consult me for her new single." Evelynn's laugh was muted, something low in her chest that never fully managed to claw its way free. "But once I'm done with her, I'm all yours."

"You're always mine," she said softly. "Don't ever forget that."

"Of course. Silly me. As an apology I'll take you somewhere really nice...Maybe I can meet up with you in Italy again?"

"That sounds good, but I need you here."

Tension coiled through her words. "I'm not sure I'd be welcome back home."

"Of course you will." Ahri rubbed her forehead, and then bullied herself back on track. "Listen. Do you remember when we were thirteen and I told you one day we'd be in a group together?"

"Mmm." Her wife agreed. "Of course, baby. That promise kept me going for a long time."

"Do you still want that?" Ahri swallowed. "Because I want to do it. I have almost everything set up, all I need is a word from you."

She swore she heard Evelynn blink.

"...Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes?"

Evelynn's silences often spoke more than words could. Over the years Ahri had learned to translate them all, so in tune with Evelynn's idiosyncrasies that she could read her thoughts from nothing but a careless inhale.

Right now Evelynn was waiting for Ahri's claws to come out. This probably felt like a trap. Ahri was offering her nothing except a fantasy, and the promise of more pain and public scrutiny.

"Take your time. I don't need an answer right away," she said, to reassure her.

"Your solo career is just starting." As always, Evelynn was most comfortable bouncing the focus away from herself. She operated best that way, just out of frame. "Wouldn't you rather work on that than try to lift a new group out of thin air?"

It was a reasonable point, and Ahri hadn't expected Evelynn to agree to this without some coaxing. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little slighted. "I want to work with you."

For years, they had been inseparable. They had the same trauma, the same wounds. Ahri had wrestled the demons off of Evelynn's back, kept her clean for almost a decade now. Meanwhile Evelynn wielded the first needles that kickstarted Ahri's transition, pierced her skin while Ahri closed her eyes and wondered if she might faint. They'd shared fame, money, scandal, women.

They shared everything, except for this. While always closely linked, their musical careers never fully overlapped.

One last bastion— one thing separate.

Ahri was asking for more than she'd ever asked from anyone else.

She was asking her wife to tear it all down.

"I want this for you, Evelynn," she said at last, when it became clear Evelynn was still mulling it over. "I know how much it's hurting you, not being able to do what you love. And no, writing songs for tween idols in America doesn't satisfy you, so don't bother trying to lie."

Ahri heard a click on the other end, imagined Evelynn's jaw snapping shut in anger, how the tendons in her neck would stand out like steel cables.

"You want to be in front of a camera again, and not covered in blood this time. You want to sing and you want to be on stage." Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Ahri stared at herself in the mirror. She looked hungry, or so she thought. She felt hungry most days, for something more than what her restricted diet forbade. "If you're with me, and maybe two or three other girls, we can be a buffer."

Evelynn just sounded darkly amused. "You think you can dazzle the media enough to make them forget? They'll turn their eyes aside and pretend it never happened?"

"I can make them do whatever the fuck I want," Ahri countered. "And they'll turn their heads any direction I tell them to."

All this for a childhood promise? Maybe, maybe. Mostly it was for her wife, because she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get there. All she needed was a little time, and support.

They'd never worked professionally together because there was always the risk that this could break them. But the risk was worth the reward. Evelynn was an uncompromising artist, and Ahri trusted her with her life. It was time to put that trust to the test.

If this worked, they could be gods.

"Okay," Evelynn said.

Ahri went still, eyebrows shooting up. Getting to her feet again, she stepped forward like she could be closer to Evelynn somehow, feeling her there in that room though they were an ocean apart. "Okay?"

Not that she was displeased, but she'd been expecting a bit more fight than this.

"You know I can't say no to you, gumiho. I'll need eight days. Be ready to record." There was a rustle on the other end of the line, the sound of Evelynn rapidly flipping through sheaves of paper. "I have to go now. If this is going to happen I need to make a lot of other phone calls. Goodbye. I love you."

The line went dead in her hand. Staring at it, Ahri could only let the quiet morning overwhelm her.

Then she started laughing.

Three days later and Ahri was finally wrapping up the photoshoot for her new scent line. There was a relaxed air to the whole thing, something that felt almost like the last day of school. Placing a palm over her stomach, Ahri tried to share in some of that good mood, but she was too anxious.

"A quick break for lunch and then we'll start again, Foxy."

Perking up, Ahri gave her most dazzling smile to Kwag Sol-mi, the art director. She was a friendly butch woman, and Ahri found herself gravitating to her implicitly. It was just nice to have a kindred spirit in the crew. In different places, on different sets, others had often similarly gravitated to Ahri. Her status as one of Korea's few openly trans idols meant certain people felt free to be vulnerable with her.

It was a good feeling.

"Did you see where my water bottle went?" she wondered. While everyone else was eating lunch, she needed to make sure she didn't bloat up too much. "I just made some peppermint tea and now I can't find it."

Just one more shoot and I'll get something to eat, she promised herself, feeling Evelynn's looming, judging, protective presence even though her wife was nowhere near.

Sol-mi made a noise of thought. "Maybe in your dressing room?"

"I could have sworn I hid it behind your chair." Pulling her big fake fox tail up to her chest, Ahri hugged it tight just in case the mass of floof was hindering her vision somehow.

Then a cold metal edge smacked against the back of her head. Anger roused, Ahri flipped her hair over her shoulder before glaring back at whoever had touched her without permission.

It was her wife, with Ahri's aluminium water bottle held loosely in one hand.

"Evelynn!" All her irritation evaporated in an instant, her poisonous scowl shifting into a wide grin. Ahri threw herself at Evelynn, wrapping arms and legs around her with a shout. "What are you doing here?"

Stumbling back one step, Evelynn dropped the water bottle to hold her in place, both hands cupping her lower thighs. "Hey."

"Is that all you have to say?!"

One hand moved up. Grabbing Ahri's tail by the base, she gripped it in her fist before running a palm over the fake fur. "This is cute."

Resting her hands on Evelynn's shoulders, Ahri squeezed her legs tighter around her waist. "You weren't supposed to see it for at least another six months, along with the rest of the world." Then she remembered the very restricted guest list. "Wait a minute, how did you get on set?"

Her wife responded by tilting her head lower, letting reflective shades slip down her nose a bit. She winked, slowly, and provided no other answer.

Suddenly aware that she had just climbed Evelynn like a tree in front of the art director and half the crew, Ahri glanced around her and frowned. Wiggling out of her wife's arms, she landed on the floor with a click of her heels. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I have a perfume ad to finish."

Evelynn had a huge leather tote bag with her. She pulled a binder out of it, all business as she flipped through laminated pages. "Are you almost wrapped up, then?"

"The crew is on their lunch break right now," Sol-mi said, watching them with a raised brow.

"Good. I wanted to go over some new lyrics with you."

Every set of eyes in the room was already on them, but at those words it intensified. Ahri swore she saw the whole lighting crew lean in, whispering already. "Not here, Eve."

"It'll take just a second," Evelynn said. "Promise."

"Eve!" Glancing around her, Ahri grabbed her wife by the wrist and dragged her off set and towards the dressing rooms. She slammed the door shut behind them, feeling ready to puff up and hiss like a cat. "You told me eight days."

Unbothered, Evelynn just stood at the doorway, fighting a losing battle against her smile. She pulled her sunglasses free, hooking them on the v-neck of her dress. "I said be ready to record in eight days." She pushed the binder into Ahri's hands, before capturing her wrists so that she couldn't retreat. "Obviously I arrived sooner to see you."

A tendril of heat spread out from where Evelynn's nails scraped, right over her pulse. One simple truth that never changed— whenever Evelynn touched her, Ahri wanted to melt into a puddle. Struggling to maintain professionalism, she ignored it to flip through the binder instead, and wrinkled her nose at what she found.

It was all junk. Lyrics Evelynn had written for other bands, some of it ripped right from fansites.

"Is this a joke?"

"I needed to give you a convenient excuse to immediately drag me somewhere private."

Ahri snapped the binder shut. "And of course I fell right into your trap."

She glared up at Evelynn only to buckle under the heat of that gaze. Evelynn's eyes were famous, a honey-brown so light they shone gold in the right angle. Those eyes netted her a heap of trouble, the whole reason she hadn't set foot on Korean soil in three years.

There'd been a long-standing feud between Evelynn and a persistent 'journalist'. He hounded her in every space she carved out for herself. Online, in person, over the mail. No one ever did anything, and no one took it seriously until he decided to escalate, and she gave him the photo of his career.

With just snapshot from his phone, he tried to ruin her. In it, Evelynn was standing over him with his camera crushed in one hand, her famous eyes wrathful and expectant and blank all at once, his blood pouring down her face. She'd headbutted him so hard she'd broken his nose, and the yellow street lights haloed her like a fallen angel.

Public opinion shattered in one of three ways. Either you felt the creep got what he deserved, you thought she was a violent psycho who deserved to burn, or you repeatedly and eagerly requested that she headbutt you next.

It was the only scandal that gave Evelynn reason to pause. To assess herself, and wonder exactly who she was, and what kind of image she wanted to present to the world. As with everything, she refused to do this in half-measure. A self-imposed exile was so agonizingly on-brand for Evelynn, and Ahri hated every second of it. Even so, she'd never tried to change Evelynn's mind until now.

"So rude," Evelynn lamented. "I fly across the globe at your command and I'm greeted with accusations instead of kisses."

"You don't want a kiss."

Her grin turned razor sharp, gold eyes widening. "...You're right."

Instinctively Ahri found herself backing up a step.

"No, no, gumiho." Evelynn slunk closer, hips swaying, hypnotizing. Every move calculated. Even when Ahri closed her eyes the temptation was there, Evelynn burned into them like the flash of camera lights. "Don't run away from me."

Everyone else does, was left unspoken. Not you.

"I'm not."

But she was, more small steps backward until the edge of her vanity table hit the small of her back.

Warmth pooled over her hip, Evelynn's hand hot through the skin-tight fabric of her dress as she pulled her fake fox tail off. Evelynn kept a hard grip, like she wanted to sink inside her, grab her bones. "Then why do I feel like I'm hunting you down?"

Ahri stood up straighter, a little tremble running down her spine. It didn't escape Evelynn's notice; she tilted her head to the side and grinned.

In heels, they were almost matched. But Evelynn still seemed to tower over her, craning down from that great distance to nuzzle her face against Ahri's neck, inhaling deep. "It must be because every time I look at you I just want to eat you up."

"You make it," Ahri said, and hated how breathless she sounded, "Very hard to stay on track when I'm supposed to be working."

"They won't miss you," Evelynn promised her, standing close enough that Ahri could feel the vibration of every word in her chest. "Not as badly as I did."

You're the one who left, she wanted to snap, but that was terribly unfair. Evelynn wanted to disappear for a while, in order to focus on where exactly her career would go next. It wasn't as though they never saw each other, it was just...

It was just no one understood her like Evelynn. Some days she felt like a doll, limbs ripped apart with the sockets and joints exposed. She was just pieces. Skin. Eyes. Hair. Lips. Tits. The space of flesh between the hem of her dress and the top of her stockings.

That's where Evelynn was stroking her right then, coaxing her thighs apart. Her palm slid up, cupping Ahri between her legs, and she couldn't bite back a whimper.

Evelynn made her whole. From scalp to toes, everything finally connected together. A woman's body, a human body. Not everything cut up and ready to be sold. Not a magazine cover or a perfume ad or a music video.

When Evelynn touched her she felt alive. It was the perfect high, fleeting and immaculate.

Two fingers pressed against her, the only two with blunt fake nails. Evelynn stroked over her lips, and the indirect pressure on her clit made her cry out. Evelynn kissed her open mouth to steal the breath right from her lungs, the untrimmed claws on her other hand hooking under Ahri's thigh to spread her legs wider.

Even as she molded Ahri together, Evelynn was pulling her apart again. She unzipped Ahri's dress only just to hike it up past her hips, the stitches popping. Her breasts spilled out of her bra, half-unclasped. Evelynn undressed her wife by piecemeal, leaving Ahri disheveled and panting.

Makeup products clattered behind her, dropping onto the floor as Evelynn draped herself over Ahri, tongue hot in her mouth.

"Touch me," Ahri pleaded in a whisper, holding Evelynn's head in both arms. She forced her down, twisting and whining at the feeling of Evelynn's mouth on her skin. She'd stopped petting her clit but Ahri could still feel an echo of the touch, torturing her until she ached. "God, please. It hurts."

That made Evelynn draw back to look at her, both hands braced on the vanity. It wasn't unusual for Evelynn to be cold as ice with her lovers. The distant persona was a part of the game as much as it was a genuine wall she put up, afraid of the vulnerability intimacy brought.

With Ahri, she melted. Those gold eyes reflected every stray thought, nothing left to hide behind anymore. She wanted Ahri desperately. She loved her. But loving someone always meant opening yourself up to be hurt.

And so there was always something terrified in Evelynn when she let loose— when she allowed herself to want— a small beaten thing that flinched at every raised voice.

"Show me where."

Dipping her fingers into Ahri's mouth, Evelynn ordered her to wet them.

Ahri nipped, teeth chastising, her tongue leaving them dripping. She savored the sensation of being filled before pulling them between her legs. Working Evelynn's fingers just under the fabric of her underwear, Ahri kept their eyes locked, lips scant inches apart. Relief hit her as crisp and clear as spring water, the shock of it making her gasp again.

"Good?" Evelynn wondered, warm and smug.

Nodding quickly, Ahri kissed her hard enough to smear her lipstick. Evelynn took care of her, teasing her entrance in lengthy strokes before focusing her clit until she squirmed. Arousal built, so fast and hard Ahri's legs started shaking. She begged without sound, without words, bucking against Evelynn's hand.

Not ready to see her break yet, Evelynn pulled free. Ahri's cry of dismay was quickly hushed by another kiss, and a growled command as Evelynn finished undressing her. Left in just heels and stockings, Ahri braced herself on the vanity as Evelynn sank down to both knees.

"Oh, you're so pretty," Evelynn whispered, thumb brushing over sandy blonde curls. She pushed Ahri's lips apart, kissing her exposed clit. Lapping at her with the flat of her tongue, Evelynn sighed in satisfaction.

It was still good, just different. Ahri had to start the climb from the beginning, though it was easier with Evelynn's mouth leaving her wet as sin. She suckled at Ahri's lips, the press of teeth not biting, but close enough to make Ahri twitch every time. She knew just how to reach the edge of pain, the perfect threshold to make it feel like it should hurt, which made the resulting pleasure all the stronger.

Shaking, she made fists with her hands to keep from grabbing Evelynn's head and grinding against her tongue until she came. She wanted to feel this for as long as she could, the perfect harmony that Evelynn's attention always gave her.

Evelynn kept her eyes closed, in focus and in rapture. Lost in bliss, she stroked her hands over Ahri's thighs, forcing her legs open wider. She only stopped to whisper filthy sweet nothings into the air, her low rasp promising so much more. Her lips and chin shone bright in the lamp light, a string of spit clinging to her when she pulled back to finally make eye contact with Ahri again.

"Don't hold back," she paused long enough to say, before planting another long, loving kiss to Ahri's swollen clit. "You know what I want to hear."

Sealing her lips around Ahri's clit, her eyes crinkled in amusement at how her wife shouted. They were both far past the point where they cared if anyone heard them, if indeed Evelynn ever cared at all.

All it took was a few firm, rough strokes. Just a twist of fingers teasing her entrance, and Ahri was gone. She shook, each cry swallowed back on a gasp. When the light cleared from behind her eyes she found she was curled up around Evelynn again, arms and legs, both hands fisted in her hair and her face bracketed by Ahri's thighs.

Evelynn patiently bore it until Ahri relaxed, bit by bit. When she was free she shook her head, grinning with a laugh that sounded almost reluctant. "You get so cute when you're trying not to scream." She wiped her lips clean, licking her fingers idly as she stood up.

Ahri wanted to respond, but she was jelly-limbed and limp, and all she wanted to do was curl up on Evelynn's lap and fall asleep.

Instead, she let Evelynn pull her up to her feet and kiss her again.

"I'm home," Evelynn murmured, stroking a palm over the back of Ahri's head.

Ahri held her closer.

Then Evelynn started circling Ahri, putting her back together again. Meticulous in her own way, she fixed Ahri's clothing and makeup and hair, brushing out the worst of the just-fucked gnarls in her blonde tresses.

"There," Evelynn said, stepping back and popping the cap back on her lipstick. She admired her handiwork with an appreciative head-to-toe sweep, the kind that left Ahri feeling distinctly underdressed. "Now you're perfect."

Ahri glanced at herself in the mirror to double check, though of course she trusted Evelynn to make her look her best. They'd spent their entire lives practicing makeup on each other. "You're a magician," she declared, giving Evelynn a light kiss on the cheek to avoid any lipstick stains.

"That's why you married me." Evelynn made no attempt to hide her smug smile. Instead she shifted to stand behind Ahri, guiding her towards the door with both hands on her shoulders. "Now get out there! You have a photoshoot to finish."

She ushered Ahri out with a pert slap on the ass, making her squeak and flinch out of range.

In the wake of all that, Ahri thought she might be lethargic. Instead she worked like a woman on fire, possessed with more energy than she knew what to do with. Evelynn joined them on set a little later, staying just on the edge of Ahri's vision at all times.

Every pose melted effortless onto the lens, the shoot wrapping up an hour earlier than anyone projected. And every time Ahri thought she might start to flag, she saw a pair of golden eyes burning into her from the sidelines, swimming with adoration that bordered on worship.

She took it, fed off it. The end results flickered across Sol-mi's laptop one by one as they went over the photos together.

"Mmm." Evelynn wrapped her long arms around Ahri's torso, chin resting on her shoulder. "These look great. They're dripping with charisma."

"Do we have to say dripping?" Sol-mi wondered out loud, mumbling as she shut the laptop. "We can't think of any other word?"

She was only a little grouchy because Evelynn had clearly broken onto the set just to fuck her wife. But at the same time, she couldn't argue with the finished product. So she instead slid a stack of paper into Evelynn's hands.

Evelynn's voice dropped ten degrees. "....What... is this?"

"An NDA," Sol-mi and Ahri said at the same time.

"A what?"

Ahri crossed her arms, jutting one hip out, her tone imperious. "If you want in on my private photoshoots, you need to follow the same rules as everyone else. So sign them, or else you will hear from my lawyers."

"Seriously? I'm your wife!"

"Well, my lawyers could fix that, too."

"Gumiho!"

Evelynn sulked the entire drive home.

"You're so mean to me," she lamented, slumping in her seat as much as she could while driving. "And I'm nothing except the most perfect and caring spouse."

"It's just smart business practice, baby." Pulling her legs up under her, Ahri undid her heels and toed them off. She sighed in relief, wiggling her feet once they were free before turning back to her wife. "Don't tell me you're still mad."

"I don't like contracts being thrust at me without warning."

Reaching over, she trailed her nail over the curve of Evelynn's ear, smiling when she twitched away. "Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to go over the next one."

That piqued her interest. Evelynn tore her eyes from the road just for a moment, curiosity glinting gold-bright in her eyes.

"We start as soon as we get home. I have something to show you." She dropped her hand on Evelynn's lap, fingers tucking under the hem of her dress to touch warm flesh. Evelynn's hips shifted slightly, her body responding on instinct. "Right after I pay you back for that little stunt in my dressing room."

When Ahri touched her, she was already wet. A low exhale escaped her as Evelynn clutched the wheel tighter, eyes focused stalwartly ahead. The car engine hummed louder, Evelynn's tension translating to a lead foot. It seemed to surround them as if the noise came from Evelynn herself. A low rumble. Almost a purr, not quite a roar.

"Stop that," Evelynn muttered at last, between grit teeth, and Ahri withdrew. She sank back into her seat, dragging her tongue over the length of her fingers. "You're bad."

"If I don't get at you while you're distracted, you try to take over," Ahri complained, pulling her blonde hair over one shoulder so she could play with it. Idly she started working it into a braid, musing out loud. "I like being in charge sometimes, you know."

"Do I know. Sweetheart, the bedroom is the only place you aren't in charge."

Ahri's face scrunched up in a smirk, falsely sweet and childishly mean. So Evelynn reached over and flicked her nose.

"Ow!"

Past the guarded gate to their home, safe in the garage with the doors surrounding them, Evelynn clicked Ahri's seatbelt free and then bodily dragged the other woman onto her lap.

"Now, what did you want to show me?"

The two of them had never worked together professionally before, so Ahri was a little nervous at first. But it quickly fell into place alongside every other aspect of their life. They understood each other intuitively, often better than they understood themselves. Chattering about their plans took up most of their mornings. As they wrapped up their other obligations, and as Evelynn slowly reintegrated back into Korean society, they discovered something important.

They liked being coworkers.

Over breakfast, they went over more of their options. "I'm so glad we decided to do this." Ahri propped her elbows on the counter, wiggling on the bar stool. "What've you got for me today?"

Evelynn hummed in agreement. When she kissed her, she tasted like bitter black coffee. "Just listen."

Linking her phone to the wireless speakers in their kitchen, Evelynn searched through a few tracks before landing on the one she wanted. Pressing play, she savored her coffee with a pleased expression.

Ahri closed her eyes in concentration, frowning slightly. The melody was muted, but haunting. She wondered what exactly she was supposed to be listening for when the vocals started. The very first note stretched out like a violin chord, a low wail that vibrated through her entire body.

Buzzed, Ahri's eyes flew open to see Evelynn more smug than ever.

"Who is that?" she demanded, just a little breathless. She snatched up Evelynn's phone, reading that name out loud. "Kai'sa? How do we know her? How have I not heard her before now?"

"You might know her better from some of her choreography," Evelynn said. "That's where she's most comfortable. Musically she's resistant to being shackled down, so nobody's ever signed her on. She likes keeping it indie. But she's got a voice like—"

Ahri didn't let her finish. "Like an angel."

"Mmm. Usually. She can get brassy as an alto sax when she's in the mood."

Something about Evelynn's tight smile made Ahri do a double-take.

"Oh," Ahri said. "So we know her. Do you feel comfortable having a lover on the same team as your wife?"

"Ex-lover. If we excluded people I've slept with, we'd have nobody left in the business."

Ahri rolled her eyes. "Don't exaggerate."

Still, she could see why Evelynn had brought Kai'sa to her attention. The song itself wasn't to Ahri's taste; It was a little too blue and sweeping. But Kai'sa's operatic quality made her extremely attractive. Later that week they set up a meeting since Kai'sa was in town, only partly because Evelynn wanted to see her old friend.

"We need to make sure she meshes with our vibe. We're the opposite of indie, so she might not be on board."

"Just try not to fuck her unless we know contracts are off the table," Ahri said, with some amusement.

Evelynn's hand flew to her chest, gasping in shock. "I'd never fuck someone on their own contract! Give me some credit."

"That's not what I—" Ahri stopped at the sharp smile on Evelynn's face. "Hmm. Okay, you're negging me. That's fine."

Her wife moved around the counter, wrapping one arm around Ahri's waist. "Oh, sweetie. Do you not know what negging is? I don't think you know what that word means."

"I know when you're grating my nerves on purpose," she said, squeezing Evelynn's hand to let her know she was only joking.

"Well it's like my dad always used to say." Evelynn quickly swapped to English. "Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen."

"That's gross. You're gross."

Laughter, their usual biting back-and-forth, kept them distracted from their nerves. As things turned out, they needn't have worried.

Kai'sa had black hair when Ahri first met her. She walked into her living room after a quick shopping trip, not expecting to find a stranger on the couch. The meeting officially wasn't supposed to happen for another hour, and Evelynn hadn't warned her the other woman arrived early.

Stopping in her tracks, Ahri couldn't even muster up shock, much less anger at the intrusion.

The woman appeared asleep, eyes closed and cheek resting on one arm. With her legs curled up under her, dressed in all black leather and lace, Kai'sa looked a bit like a wandering, dreamy forest spirit. Sensing another presence in the room, or maybe feeling Ahri's stare, Kai'sa slowly opened her eyes. They were a shade of blue so intense Ahri mistook them for purple contacts.

"Oh!" Kai'sa smiled, shoulders hunching in apology. "Hi! You must be Ahri. Your wife let me in, sorry if I startled you."

"It's no problem," Ahri said, quickly connecting the voice to this face. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kai'sa."

"Me, too!"

When Kai'sa stood up, Ahri had to fight the urge to take a step back. She was tall, almost as tall as Evelynn in heels. Watching her was like watching a dark flower unfurl, every movement somehow graceful and transformative. Just getting to her feet netted a change, liquid almost, from a spindly-legged fawn curled up on her couch to something looming and large and covered in shadows.

Oh no, Ahri thought in distress. She's hot and nice.

A devastating combination.

"You like her," Evelynn crooned later that night.

"We need her for the band," Ahri said firmly.

"Yeah," Evelynn drifted closer in their bed. "But you like her. Want me to tell you what she's into?"

Normally, Ahri would have played along. There wasn't any point in pretending that Kai'sa wasn't her type, that she wasn't... devastatingly attractive. But Ahri pressed a finger to Evelynn's lips instead, forcing her to be serious. "We can't do this, Eve."

Falling silent, Evelynn kissed Ahri's finger, waiting for her to continue. They both lay on their side, facing each other. Occasionally Evelynn's leg snuck out, toes stroking over Ahri's calf to maintain contact.

"Bands have broken up over less. Best friends have become enemies, to say nothing of how messy a romance would be." Ahri kept her voice firm. "So we won't. Not even as a joke. Okay?"

Evelynn easily agreed. "Kai'sa is off limits. Should we add that to the contract?"

It was another joke, but Ahri still wasn't in the mood for it. It almost felt like an accusation, and she curled in on herself at the mere thought. "We're better than the shitty old men who signed us on, Eve. No dating clauses in our contracts." She spat the words out.

Again Evelynn agreed, taking both of Ahri's hands. Pushing them into fists, she brought them to her lips and kissed them in apology. "Then we'll just have to trust each other."

Ahri finally smiled. "Easy."

"Two more," Ahri said.

"One more," Evelynn responded.

"Five's a good number."

Evelynn just looked at her, hair bunched up on top of her head in a messy bun. They were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, the gym sweltering.

"One more," she said again.

Ahri smiled helplessly, one hand on her hip. "...One more."

Ahri knew who she wanted, but it would take some convincing to get Evelynn to consider it. Virality did not impress Evelynn. As she succinctly pointed out, people could go viral by literally eating shit. It took something stronger to sway their diva. As Kai'sa and Ahri tried to find their fourth, they knew only a true artist would please her.

"She's so picky," Kai'sa said, lounging casually on their couch once more. But this time she rested her head on Ahri's lap, affectionate and physical as a cat. "I love it."

When Kai'sa stretched, the hem of her shirt rode up a bit. Vicious marks kissed her pale skin; Ahri traced them with her fingernail, each one angry red and familiar. Evelynn had a flogger with a custom tongue, one that could leave the perfect imprint of a heart behind when wielded by an expert hand. "I see my wife left an impression on you."

"Yeah, she's inspiring."

"Not what I meant." Eyebrow cocked, Ahri pulled up Kai'sa's shirt a little more to press her thumb against a prominent bruise.

Kai'sa flinched, half-sitting up. "Huh? Oh! Uh, no, Eve and I aren't like that!" She turned red, smoothing her shirt back down. "I had a date with a new domme last night," she explained, flustered. "Evelynn supervised to make sure I was safe." Twisting on Ahri's lap, Kai'sa pressed her palms to her cheeks, squealing. "So she let me borrow her... you know. Her stuff."

Between the three of them, Ahri wasn't sure who promised to court the most controversy. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear: if this had started as an attempt to clean up Evelynn's reputation, it was no longer on that trajectory.

"All right," Evelynn declared, arriving in the room on silent feet only to loudly announce her presence right behind the couch. Squeaking in surprise, Kai'sa almost rolled off Ahri's lap onto the floor. "I'm here. Let me see the meme girl."

Ahri tilted her head back, frowning up at Evelynn. "You didn't watch the link I sent you?"

"I want to watch it on your phone," Evelynn said. "If I start sullying my search history with trending trash it'll mess up all my algorithms."

"She's not a meme," Kai'sa insisted. "She's viral, there's a difference."

"Oh, bokkie." Evelynn's voice dripped, sucrose and condescension. It was the only scrap of Afrikaans she'd bothered learning so far, mainly because it made Kai'sa light up every time, no matter the context. Leaning over the back of the couch, she reached down to stroke her fingers through Kai'sa's hair. "It's so cute how you think I care."

Reprimanding her because she knew Kai'sa wouldn't, Ahri lightly slapped Evelynn's wrist. Evelynn grinned, shaking her hand as if that really stung.

"Behave," she said, passing her phone over.

So Evelynn watched the music video. Ahri had already broken the repeat button, knew every angle by heart. She studied Evelynn instead, trying to decipher her thoughts. Her wife stood there with a hand over her mouth, poker face intact through the whole video.

When it was over, Kai'sa and Ahri exchanged a nervous look. Ahri had been the one to find this girl, this Akali. Something about her had inspired the same instant magnetic appeal she'd felt when she heard Kai'sa for the first time.

But would Evelynn agree?

After a long moment of thoughtful silence, Evelynn tapped the repeat button.

Success!

No commentary was offered, not until Evelynn had watched the video three times. Gently ushering Kai'sa off her lap, Ahri stood at Evelynn's elbow to watch the video herself.

It still thrilled her, the wordplay and clarity razor sharp. On screen, Akali sat surrounded by computer towers, lit only by the glow of a dozen monitors. In the semidarkness, surrounded by wires, the story unfolded visually and lyrically. She wasn't just an artist, she was a scientist, or an engineer. Each verse had as much information and layer to it as a microchip. Every aspect, no matter how minuscule, was carefully crafted and bolted together into something with more horsepower than a Ferrari.

Through it all Akali herself provided the human aspect. Sinew and blood and sweat. Organic in contrast to the machine, the beauty of the human body splayed out in contrast to its inescapable and unromantic biological reality.

Kai'sa had already chattered Ahri's ear off about the symbolism of the negative space and metaphor in the dancing, though Ahri personally thought Akali could use a little more finesse.

Evelynn finally put the video on loop. "Hmm."

"It's got two million views," Ahri couldn't help but point out.

"Mhm."

Ahri was getting impatient, pressing Evelynn for something less monosyllabic. "Do you not like her?"

That forced Evelynn to admit what they already knew. "I like her."

"You think she's a bad fit for the band?"

Evelynn finally tore her eyes away from the music video, blinking slow as if waking from a lengthy daydream. It continued playing in the background; heavy beats thundered, the pulse of something clawed and hungry. As she rapped, the muscles under Akali's naked skin rippled in the surreal blue glow of the computer monitors. Tattooed scales seemed to shift and writhe like the real thing, the dragon dancing on her shoulder blades. "I think she's perfect."

Kai'sa smiled quizzically. "So what's the problem?"

"Ahri's always been a vixen. And Kai'sa, you're my little doe," Evelynn said after a moment of thought. "I'm not sure I can handle a predator in my territory."

"Evelynn," Ahri said. "What exactly do you think a fox is?"

"You're domesticated."

"Play nice," Kai'sa demanded. She climbed over the back of the couch to join them, legs swinging like a butterfly knife. Taking the phone and setting it aside, she drew Evelynn closer in a hug. "Let's call up this Akali girl and talk to her. What do you say?"

"Hmm."

She stepped a little closer, Ahri and Evelynn with Kai'sa between them.

"Sounds like a plan," Evelynn said.

A flurry of emails were exchanged, but no phone calls. Not at first. The plan was to meet her in person before anything.

If pressed, Ahri would later admit she wanted to catch her off-guard.

None of them were expecting a Japanese-styled dojo. Ahri had to check the address a few times to make sure they were in the correct location; it looked like Akali's family home was connected to the building.

Twisting forward with her hands clutched behind her back, Kai'sa gave Ahri an almost coy smirk. "Maybe they're taking new students."

"If we're lucky," Evelynn said, one arm draped over her shoulders.

Inside, they were greeted by a graying man, an uncle, Akali's guardian. After a lot of flustered confusion heralded by the arrival of three very out-of-place popstars, they managed to ascertain Akali's location.

She was the sole person on the main floor at this hour. She bounced in a set of tight shorts and a sports bra and nothing else. Nothing except the wireless headphones in her ears, pulsing a beat that they could all hear and recognize even from a few yards away. The dragon tattoo identified her immediately, and something low simmered in Ahri's belly at the confirmation that it was real ink and not just body paint for the music video.

Akali was a vision. She carried herself with the kind of swagger that only practiced physical confidence could bring, equally at home on a stripper pole or at the weights section of a public gym. Shifting in place, Ahri struggled to remember why she'd come here as every flex of Akali's well-muscled body drove her to distraction.

"Oohh," Kai'sa said. "She's so cute. Like a fun-sized candy."

Ahri glanced sidelong at her, unable to resist. "So you want to eat her up?"

At least she wasn't the only one enjoying the show. As Akali slowly worked through her routine, the three of them watched, all equally fascinated.

But one of them was displeased.

"How long is she going to ignore us?" Evelynn muttered darkly, snapping Ahri out of it. "We came all this way to see her."

Ahri set a hand on her chest, keeping her from moving forward. "She doesn't know we're here, Eve. Look at her."

It was true. She hadn't turned her back once, too focused on her routine. Akali paused only to sinuously slide from side to side, humming along to the music in her ears. Even when she stopped to grab a training weapon, she swung it through the air with her back to the entrance.

"Well, we should let her know we're waiting."

"Really?" Kai'sa covered her grin with one hand. "I kind of want to see how long she'll stay oblivious."

Evelynn wasn't in the mood for games, oddly enough.

Instead she strode across the mat, before Ahri could stop her. Ahri winced, expecting there to be an accident as Akali swung her wooden weapon from side to side. It wasn't a sword as far as Ahri could tell, instead some kind of curved staff, but it was definitely made to hurt.

The next time Akali turned to swing, Evelynn caught the practice weapon in her bare hand.

They locked eyes.

Surprised, Akali retreated a step only for Evelynn to follow her. She leaned back; Evelynn craned forward. Even without heels she towered over the other girl, staring down at her with an intensity that almost seemed angry. The movement felt like fight but looked like a dance, and for a split second Ahri wasn't sure who was leading.

Akali froze. Her grip tightened on the weapon's handle, her mouth a thin, tight line.

Slowly, Evelynn tapped the side of her own face.

Getting the message, Akali took off her headphones. Agony's Embrace poured out, one of Evelynn's most popular singles. From Akali's perspective, this might well have felt like the real world and fantasy had collided, the music video spilling into reality.

With a sharp tug, Akali pulled the weapon free of Evelynn's grasp. "Don't do that again," she said. "This isn't a toy. If this hits you, it'll hurt."

"Do you promise?" Evelynn said.

Akali's brow furrowed.

Evelynn, behave!

Standing tall, Akali tapped her open palm with the blunt edge of her weapon. "You're... Siren?" Then she looked to the side, doing a double take at the sight of Ahri. "And Foxy's here too?"

The stage names were more well-known than their real ones. Beside Ahri, Kai'sa huffed in amusement, though she was used to getting overshadowed in the circles she frequented.

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything important," Ahri said. "But we thought we'd drop by for a personal visit. You seemed open to the idea in your emails."

Akali was shorter than Ahri had anticipated. The video had made her seem giant, a pillar of confidence. "Guess I wasn't actually expecting you to be real."

"Oh, we're real," Evelynn said. "What remains to be seen is if you are."

Crossing her arms, Akali leaned back a bit to regard Evelynn. "You're real funny, at least," she said, her smirk unsure if it wanted to land on confused or amused. All in all, she was taking this very well. She remained composed despite being half-naked and caught unaware.

Ahri was pleased.

...Until later that night, when it came time to draft up the contracts. She paced, and worried her lips, and drank too much tea until Evelynn finally took her by the arm and dragged her away from her office.

Thick trees surrounded their bedroom balcony, the metal railing warm from the balmy summer night. While Ahri brooded over the edge, Evelynn uncorked a bottle of wine for them, dry and white the way Ahri preferred it.

"Let's enjoy some alone time together," Evelynn said, the words a promise.

Turning to accept it, Ahri only took a single sip before she blurted out, "I think we're in trouble, Eve."

Evelynn poured herself a glass, uncaring, as if she hadn't heard. "Your diet allows a little wine now and again, doesn't it?"

"Evelynn."

Golden eyes finally darted away from the wine to focus on her. "What?"

"Things aren't going according to my plan."

To her credit, Evelynn didn't take this as another opportunity to tease Ahri. She could sense this was something too precarious for their usual humor, and dancing on a razor blade of trust wasn't a good idea right then. "Okay. Talk to me."

"I started this for you," Ahri said, distressed. "But somehow that goal got away from me."

"Well, I never really expected things to go according to plan?" Evelynn responded, a little cautiously. "They rarely do."

A single breeze stirred, hot and damp. It offered no relief from the hot summer night, just as Evelynn's words did little to lessen her worries. Ahri stayed stubbornly quiet, not liking the truth in the statement even if she loved the reassurance that Evelynn wasn't lying. Not even to spare her feelings.

"More importantly." Then, gentle, Evelynn hooked a finger under her chin and drew her gaze back up. "What makes you think I'm not enjoying every second of this?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"So you're nervous for no reason? That's just anxiety-brain talking, babe."

No, there was a reason. But it was messy, and not in the good way. "I don't know how I ever thought we wouldn't court controversy with this. We have two unknowns on our team and they're not exactly traditional."

"That's good," Evelynn said. "Unless you wanted to make something bland? Play around with mass appeal?"

She stood up straighter, almost in horror. "No!"

"Me, neither. So what's the problem? Why've you got cold feet all of a sudden?"

Because now it was real and not just a dream, and that meant it could break.

"I thought if I was just—" ( a good girl ) "If we were careful, maybe things wouldn't..." ( no one would want to hurt us ).

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That was going to happen regardless. Evelynn had few friends in the media. Even if that photographer deserved what he got, even if it was worth the lawsuit and the settlement, nobody was liable to forget it anytime soon. No one with a stake in keeping them pliable would forget that Evelynn refused to bend.

Calm as ever, Evelynn weathered it all with a shrug. "A married couple forming a group together was always going to garner a lot of attention, both negative and positive."

That was the worst part. Her naive hope, masqueraded by a bluster of confidence. The worst part was she really had believed what she told Evelynn all those weeks ago. She'd promised an environment where Evelynn could make her music with little scrutiny, and here was confirmation that Evelynn hadn't believed her for a second.

"Akali hasn't even confirmed whether she wants to join us or not," Evelynn went on. "So if you really want someone who'll get the cameras off me, someone polite and demure we can point to and hide behind and pretend we're normal with, we can do that."

"I don't."

"So..."

A stress headache was forming between her eyes, pulsing harder and harder with every passing second. "I know the second we go public we'd be under scrutiny. I just wanted you to feel protected when that inevitably happened," she said. "Whatever it took to make you come back home to me."

There it was.

Taken aback, Evelynn looked off-kilter. Her whole body language shifted, uneven and wide-eyed. Closing her eyes, Ahri took the wine glass and knocked it all back with a few quick gulps.

"Always thinking about me," Evelynn murmured, pouring her another glass at her insistence.

"This spiraled out of my control. I won't let that happen again."

Thankfully, Evelynn hadn't leapt to the worst possible conclusion, as Ahri feared she would. Instead Evelynn had recovered from her shock to swing right back into fond amusement. "Well there's your mistake, gumiho. Control is just an illusion."

"I can still control this," she insisted.

Merciful tonight, Evelynn sipped her own wine without arguing that point. "All right. But what's more important? Being safe? Not taking this risk, this opportunity? Quitting while we're ahead?"

She finished her first drink while Ahri nursed her second, wondering if it was worth breaking her diet for.

Stepping forward, Evelynn tucked her free hand on the back of Ahri's neck. She pulled Ahri to her chest, comforting her. "Or... taking all this raw energy and completely changing the landscape of the game?"

"You think we can do that?"

"I knew we could the moment you asked me to come back."

She had come back the moment Ahri asked, hadn't she? All it took was one phone call. All Ahri had to do was ask and Evelynn had sprinted back to her side. What more could Evelynn do to display her trust?

Suddenly, she felt even more foolish for needing Evelynn to soothe all her fears. Though Ahri fought it, a single furious tear slipped down her cheek before she roughly wiped it away. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Eve."

Evelynn's body shook with a laugh. "You big softie."

"Yes," she said, voice muffled when she pressed her face harder against Evelynn's chest.

Then she pulled her down, demanding a kiss. Evelynn happily obliged, taking their glasses in one hand and setting them aside. She pushed Ahri against the balcony door, and she almost sank down against the glass panes. But Evelynn insisted she stay upright, her hands fumbling the zipper to her skirt.

She tasted like dry white wine, all her sweetness made complex by bitter acidity. Full and flooding, filling her mouth and trailing down her lips. A wet line painted down her throat, heat buzzing through her.

She pushed up Evelynn's shirt, unclasping her bra to toy with her breasts unhindered. Sharp metal studs twisted between her knuckles, each tug making Evelynn whimper louder, and louder.

An echoing ache pounded between her own legs, every inch of her in agony for lack of being touched.

Ahri moved them to the bed, unable to keep steady for much longer. They stripped naked, all their favorite games tossed aside in the need of the moment. Ahri wanted touch, to feel all of Evelynn pressed up against her. She could have spent the whole night just kissing her, or licking her metal piercings until they shone from the attention.

Shifting closer, her breath stuttered when she reached between Evelynn's legs to feel liquid heat pooling around her fingers. "Ooh, you're so wet already. But I think we can make you wetter."

Bowing her head against Ahri's shoulder, Evelynn nodded, a pleased note rumbling in her chest. There was only so much of that should take before needing more. Fumbling in their bedside dresser, Ahri cracked open a bottle. Then, unable to resist, she let the contents drip onto Evelynn's bare stomach without any preamble.

She nearly leapt off the bed. "Shit!"

Ahri sat back on her heels, eyes narrowing in pleasure. "Oh no. Is it cold?" she asked innocently.

Evelynn wiped a palm over her stomach, leaving a shiny swipe of lube behind. "You know it is, get that shit-eating grin off your face."

But she then dipped lower, spreading it between her lips. Evelynn relaxed against the bed again as Ahri enjoyed the view, still sitting between her knees. After a murmured request, her hand joined Evelynn's. Careful not to get in her way, she let Evelynn focus on her clit while she teased her entrance.

After a hushed request, she went deeper. The resulting moan left her warm in the face, flushed and pleased with herself. She worked two fingers inside of Evelynn, tight heat constricting around her with every flutter of pleasure.

It was hard to resist falling apart under their combined effort. Evelynn tightened around her fingers, back arching up sharply. Ahri kept her grounded with a hand on her hip, enjoying the sight of a rare, genuine smile on Evelynn's face. It only lasted as long as the orgasm did, fading away with the aftershocks to be replacing with ragged gasping.

One more, Ahri thought, not letting Evelynn relax. She shoved Evelynn's hand away, replacing it with her mouth. Evelynn shifted again, writhing eagerly from overstimulation.

"Fffffuuuck," she hissed, making Ahri giggle. "You're so mean to me."

Because she was the only one who could get away with it. Call it a perk of marriage or their long-lasting friendship; either way, it was a right she exercised as often as she could. It was a flex of power, a reaffirmation.

And as much as Evelynn protested, she loved it.

Keeping one arm braced over Evelynn's stomach, she kept her from bucking too much as she focused on making her come again. She didn't know exactly what would work but she could guess, curling her fingers and searching until she made Evelynn moan hoarsely.

She felt Evelynn's orgasm, rippling over her hands and hammering against her tongue. She let Evelynn run wild, trying to stay with her and suck away every last shred of sensation she could steal. Satisfied only when Evelynn begged her to stop, Ahri sat back again, stroking her own breasts and using her wet fingers to touch herself.

At least until Evelynn yanked her back down onto the mattress, nose against the sheets. "Hey!"

Getting up to her elbows, she glared over her shoulder only to falter at the sight that greeted her. Evelynn seemed almost feral in the dark, face flushed and pupils blown from arousal. Pulling Ahri's hips up firmly but gently, she shuffled closer and landed a slap so hard it cracked the air.

Ahri bit her lip, bowing her head again to keep from shouting. "... Ow," she said instead, slowly, grinding it out.

"You've been asking for this," Evelynn said, spanking her again. This one was lighter, a tap on her other cheek.

"I have not."

Evelynn's breath was suddenly at her ear, her piercings two harsh spots of pressure on Ahri's shoulder blades. "Then tell me to stop."

She didn't say anything, but she knew the flush spreading down her spine spoke loud enough. Satisfied, Evelynn hit her again, but never as hard as that first time. It was a slow ascent to reach that level of intensity again. Each slap of flesh accompanied a muffled whimper as Ahri buried her face into the pillows.

By the end of it she was a trembling mess, the pillow wet from a mix of tears and the fabric clenched tightly between her teeth. She huffed out through her nose, every exhale labored.

It was worse when Evelynn stopped. Because then all the blood was rushing to her irritated skin, hot and aching as metal left in sunlight.

When she dared peek over her shoulder again, Evelynn laughed.

"What?" Evelynn murmured, stroking a hand over Ahri's spine. "You look like a sad little puppy." To prove her point, she stroked Ahri's head next, tousling her hair until she whined.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Ahri said, with her forehead pressed to the pillows again.

"Hmm. No." Ahri flinched, tensing up again when Evelynn merely pressed the flat of her hands on her sore cheeks. Then two fingers spread her open, slick on her sex as they moved to frame her clit. "You didn't."

"The driver is late."

Two weeks later and the three of them were waiting outside of Ahri and Evelynn's house for their ride, each of them wearing thick black sunglasses. Evelynn was fairly smoldering, deeply incensed at the insult of needing to be driven somewhere.

"This is why I drive myself," she continued, as Kai'sa consolingly patted her arm.

Ahri felt for her, but it couldn't be helped. "This guy just likes a certain measure of control, which means he has his driver pick us up."

"And we need him because..."

"Because we need to start getting aggressive with our online advertising." Ahri checked her phone again, searching for an email from Akali that still hadn't come. She remained just out of reach, slipping through the cracks of Ahri's grasp. "We're going to start working on a few singles and by the time we're done, the stage will be set to receive us."

"A nice fluffy landing pad!" Kai'sa agreed.

"Hrmm." Evelynn crossed her arms, but didn't argue anymore, she Ahri counted it a success.

"Trust me, Evelynn," she said, typing out a quick tweet to her public account. "This is going to explode in a very big way."

far more sweetsounding than a lyre golder than gold

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s fragments, entitled If Not, Winter

#when i see you #fanfiction #xeksplicit #KDA #LOL

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aurantia-ignis · 5 years

Note

L,M,N,O, & P :D

L: Your favorite fanartist/author gives you one request, what do you ask for?Do… I even have ONE favourite… ^^; I have a lot of favourite artists/writers from different series and with different styles, so what I ask for would depend on who offered me the request slot haha. Off the top of my head though…. For writing, I’d ask sad-goomy for either the superhero Lona AU or the GrimMara AU, and artpharos for the SoDa superhero AU. For art, I’d ask Miu for Lona with Silvally and an army of Rowlet family.M: A person who got you into a fandom and what fandom they pulled you in toMizu, or Atowaito on twitter, got me to watch Yes Precure 5/GoGo and it was a really fun watch! Also both artpharos and Sakami got me into Gundam Build Fighters and it’s such a shame barely anyone ever talks about it ;__; N: Your favorite fandom (for the people; not the thing you fangirl over)HmmmmMMmm! I think maybe a selective group of people from the Tales fandom ^^; To be honest I don’t really spend a lot of time talking to new people or strangers because I’m bad with building social links lol O: Choose a song at random, what ship does it remind you of?I picked up a playlist and shuffled, and it went to “The Time Has Come (Pikachu’s Goodbye)”Obviously it reminds me of Pikachu and Ash/Satoshi’s friendship LOL–Next shuffle was “Team which is the character theme of Taichi and Agumon from Digimon Adventure 02 so it’s another friendship piece HAHAHANext shuffle was Sakura Kiss (Piano). Being from Ouran, the first thing that pops to mind is my OTP of Haruhi/Tamaki. Although I preferred the art and humour style of the anime, it unfortunately ended way too early, and I followed the manga all the way to the end. Ouran is still one of my all-time favourite series, and definitely my favourite (reverse) harem series. And this ship here? I would go down with this ship. THANKFULLY IT’S CANON AND NO TRAGEDIES ARE INVOLVED. ;w;P: Invent a random AU for any fandom (we always need more ideas).Since you’re the one asking… Lonashipping it shall be => I used an AU prompt generator and this is what it gave me:

…which is hilarious. So let’s do it!

- Moon is a regular high school girl who is actually good at studying so maybeeee not so regular. She intends to become a vet one day due to her love for animals.- One day she comes across a strange small owl getting attacked by what looks like vicious hellhounds and she tries to chase them off. - The owl gives her a magical bracelet called a Z ring, and with the power of moonlight she transforms into Lunaala, a magical being with enhanced strength, speed, and defense. At this point Moon is screaming internally about how unscientific everything is because owls aren’t supposed to talk and magic isn’t real, but with the hellhounds trying to rip them apart she decides to magic battle first, chat later.- With the power of a crystal that the owl gives her, she defeats the hellhounds. The owl, who calls himself Rowlet, explains that they come from the magical Fairyland. Queen Lusamine of the Aether Kingdom has suddenly invaded the Luna Kingdom, imprisoning Princess Cresselia and bringing darkness to the land. - Rowlet was sent by Princess Cresselia to the human world to find someone who can inherit the powers of the legendary heroine Lunaala, to fight against Lusamine and her evil henchmen. Unfortunately, the hounds caught up to him when he reached Earth, and in the battle, the Z ring’s sources of power, Z-crystals, were scattered all over the earth. (actually just scattered in Moon’s hometown, because magical girl plots are always considerate of the fact that main charas are too poor to globe trot) - Rowlet asks Moon to fight for the Luna Kingdom and retrieve the Z-crystals, but like a sensible human being, she refuses, because she has School and Life to deal with. She returns the Z-ring to Rowlet and wishes him luck in finding another heroine. - Unfortunately due to the powers of plot, it appears that Z-crystals get tainted by negative human emotions, causing the human it comes into contact with to become a Monster of the Week villain. Moon couldn’t stand by and watch Rowlet and her townspeople get hurt, so she reluctantly puts on the Z-ring again. - Cue episodic structure of Bad Guy attacks using power of Z-crystal, Moon saves the day and retrieves the Z-crystal and gains new Z-move. - Of course Queen Lusamine realises that someone’s put a spoke in her wheel so she begins to send stronger henchmen down. This includes people from the Sol kingdom, brainwashed by Lusamine’s dark powers to fight for her. - Moon defeats every one of them until Lusamine sends this Dark Prince against her. Yeah, this is actually still a Lonashipping AU HAHAHA- The Dark Prince has a (star powered) Z-ring of his own and rides a powerful creature called Silvally. He weakens Moon and takes off with the Z-crystal she had been trying to retrieve. This happens a few times and Moon is getting seriously tired of being on the losing side, even though she hasn’t officially lost to him yet.- Obligatory break episode when Moon meets a random stranger called Gladion who looks somehow familiar. She buys him malasada and they talk and get along well enough. Gladion tells her that he has a younger sister, who is in grave danger, and his goal is to save her by finding something important. Moon shares with him her worries about having too many responsibilities heaped on her that she doesn’t feel ready to shoulder.- Neither of them realise who the other person is by the way- But when they do find out the drama is great- Moon is furious and accuses him of pretending to be friendly to get hold of her Z-ring. Gladion retorts that he had never thought of her as a friend. - Their biggest battle yet ends with Gladion seriously injured, but Silvally tries to protect him and Moon stops from delivering the final blow. Unlike the hellhounds which vanish into thin air, she can’t bring herself to kill either of them. Hellhounds arrive and carry Gladion off.- Back to episodic Z-crystal collection for a few eps. Moon is uneasy about why there has been no action from Lusamine. - Final Z-crystal collected. Return of the Dark Prince, in a brainwashed form similar to the other Sol kingdom folks. This time, his powers are enhanced dramatically and Moon struggles to fight him. But Gladion hesitates before the finishing blow, giving Rowlet the chance to rescue her. - The tables are turned and Gladion is defeated. They take the (moon powered) Z-crystals from him. Gladion blacks out and Moon takes him home. - Obligatory hide the strange man in the closet so parents won’t smell a rat- When he wakes, he tells her that Lusamine has both his sister and Silvally in her clutches. Moon suggests they work together to bring down Lusamine. - They travel to Fairyland together. - Ok I need to stop because this thing is getting too long and too detailed omg. Just random points from here- Rowlet’s true form is actually a powerful Decidueye. - Obviously Gladion and Lillie are both Lusamine’s children. Lusamine herself had actually been controlled by the Demon Lord Faba, who sought to rule over the whole of Fairyland. - The Sol Kingdom had fallen under Lusamine’s reign not too long after the Moon Kingdom fell.- One of the major final bosses is a huge monster Darkrai. She turns out to be Princess Cresselia. - Lusamine herself changes into a giant jellyfish monster for the final battle. - After they win, they banish the Demon Lord back into the demon realms.

#thank you for asking #holy crap this got out of hand oTL

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the-collectim · 5 years

Text

.:RP:. A Day at Suzume

Characters: Chuuya Miyahara (male Raen), An Yeung (male Duskwight)

Rating: General.

Origin Date: 24 Feb 2019

Fresh off business for the Suiren Temple’s opening, An Yeung has some steam to blow off. So he heads for a rather unassuming paper shop in the Rakuza district

Normal text = Chuuya

Italics = An Yeung

{ xxx } = hand signing

-----

It was another day at Suzume. The shop was in the Rakuza arts district to the north of Kugane, tucked away. There was just enough foot traffic for people to find the shop by chance but hidden away enough in a nook to lay quiet and unnoticed if needed. That was because it was property of the Azuma-gumi, one of the top three yakuza syndicates in the city. Innocuous as the paper and souvenir shop may seem, the men lingering outside the store playing go atop a crate were armed, tattoos hidden from sight.

Chuuya was hard at work in his room, the sliding doors open to the tiny garden in the back. There was no fear he would run. Where would he go? Besides there were always guards about. It was something the young man resigned himself to as just part of his life. He had no clients at the time and he sat at the large desk he did his work at, seated properly on the floor and taking a thin blade to pale paper, carving out intricate, razor-thin and precise shapes that looked as if they'd break with an ill-intended breath.

The red kimono sat low on his shoulders, another thing forced upon him that was routine. He was pretty. And his employers used that to make up for his other flaws. That and the long snow-white hair that as tied loosely back in a subtle, but elegant style.

An Yeung was flustered. His name was not shared with Lord Bai, but he was still very much a sworn brother. To be looked upon as lesser and regarded as such was a frustrating thing. He should have just talked freely rather than thinking to be mindful of fragile Doman sensibilities and egos. 'This humble one' his ass!

Walking up to the shop, Yeung just eyed the men playing their game of Go and went right by. Let them cause trouble, he'd gladly knock them right into their place. The jug of peach flavored rice wine swung on its rope in his hand as he went up the stairs and opened the door to the shop. The boots already being slipped out of as he balanced there from one leg to the next. He wouldn't prance all over the shop in the things he had been wearing all about the city and residential quarters for most the day. He wasn't that barbaric.

"Ge ge!" He called out as he made sure the boots were out of the way of the door.

The guards were used to the odd Elezen but they usually let him come and go. He bought things, after all. Though one did get up and follow after eyeing the wine and visible irritation of the dark-skinned man. They did have a job to protect their wares and that included the Raen hard at work.

Speaking of, he looked up from his design towards the sliding doors at the call. An Yeung? But he'd just visited not too long ago, it felt like. Or had it been? It was hard to keep track of time when one was a victim of routine. A click of his tongue and a small red panda scampered down from its cushion in the rafters. A fluffy cute lil thing, it had been trained from near-birth by Chuuya. It scampered over the paper doors, nudging at it and then having enough space to stick its head in the cap to open it up and peer up. Aka just stared up at man. Oh, he knew this one!

"Hello Aka." He gave a wave to the panda and squatted down a hand reaching out to rub the top of the red pandas head. A grin spread across his face from the moment he saw the critter to this very moment. The jug making a sloshing and blop sound as it rested down on the ground. "I'm sorry to have forgotten treats today! The stand was fresh out of yakitori when I went by."

The panda stood on its hind legs to enjoy the full motion of such pets! He was such a spoiled lil thing! Indeed he was sniffing for treats, paws out to grab at the guest's sleeve. Where is?

Meanwhile Chuuya was smiling, setting his tools down. Spotting the guard that had followed, he raised a hand in a comforting motion. He had no fear of An Yeung. Besides....as if they would be too far anyway. The yakuza made a face at that and nodded. He was winning his game, likely his partner already manipulated the board while he was away!

With that done, the Raen shifted properly to face the entryway, hands in his lap as he watched the attention lavished upon his furry friend.

After only a few more moments, An Yeung plucked up the critter in one arm as the jug hung from his other's wrist. His coppery eyes settling across the way to Chuuya whose desk he walked right over to before plopping right down on the spot. The Duskwight already at the pinnacle of height for his kind just leaned there and sat the wine down on the desk, careful of the work being done and kept the Panda in his lap to continue scritches.

"I'll bring treats next time! Unless you want a cup of wine~" He teased the red panda as he rubbed at its belly and looked over to Chuuya. "Aw...you could have left the guard. It's fun to test how much I can get away with around them."

Aka was perfectly content to skitter up that arm and drape himself about this tall tree's neck. Well-behaved, he was!

Chuuya shook his head with a small frown. No, not messing with the guards. And the dark red eyes looked to the wine in a bit of disapproval. Alcohol never did anyone any good. ‘{You're back in town already? The business has opened?}' he signed with a tilt of his head. He'd heard rumor of the Elezen poking about but he was never allowed to wander over into the residential districts to see things himself.

'{Things are smooth there.}' His signing, as always, was short even if it was smooth. "Though I've a lot to say to Lord Bai that he will likely enjoy." A heavy sigh left him and he leaned on the desk. His chin upon the heel of the hand, the other on top of the silk cover of the clay pot of brew, and a finger tapping at it as he looked over Chuuya's handiwork. "Granted if some stuffy Doman samurai thinks he'll just waltz out of his room for them, they got a surprise coming for them."

'{Samurai?}' The frown returned to his pale face. '{And Doman?}' True, Doman businesses were popping up here ever since refugees managed to make it across the Ruby Sea years and years ago before Hingashi closed its ports. But to hear of one causing issues? '{What did you do to anger them?}' was the instant assumption.

He stood at that, a practiced graceful gesture that would make a geisha proud. Chuuya needed to make some warm tea!

"I am an angel!" An Yeung declared; feigning hurt as finger tapped at the top of the jug. "The most humble of servants to the house of Bai, and I'd never slight my sworn brother's name so sloppily."

Really. He huffed a flop of that ginger-and-white hair out of his face only for it to fall back in place. The Duskwight not even wearing a pout, but instead a slight frown. Though his attention followed Chuuya's movements. Really the Raen was so neat and orderly.

"They were the ones that wouldn't let me read the letter they were handing me for Lord Bai, saying I had no right to it. Even after I showed them my white jade crest, and Atlas affirmed I was very much the most trusted right hand of the Lord Playwright!"

There was a small stove to the other end of the large room, purposely /away/ from all of his crafting materials. A portable crystal-powered thing that he detested still to this day. It never heated evenly. A pot was put on, water poured in from a pitcher on a stand. Now it would only take forever to heat up with its pitiful heat! But none of that irritation never showed as Chuuya padded back over, listening to his companion's gripes.

He sat back down, tucking the deep red cloth about his legs properly. '{Some are paranoid. I heard rumor that with the war over, there are those looking to falsify documents as former lords. Maybe they were afraid you were playing a game?}' Always one to give the benefit of the doubt.

"Pffft, like we of Nanxia would lower ourselves to such a point to pretend to be lords." An Yeung huffed at that. Though he moved to pull the covering off the jug and lifted it by the rope to take a drink. "That said the temple is coming along nicely, ge ge. It is a shame I couldn't show you it in person. When a Kami resides there it will be even more splendid."

The change of topic chosen so he didn't have to think about that insufferable samurai. Why was it when you put a sword in their hands they became so insufferable? A man with a blade was no better than a commoner. They all bled the same color red in the end, and breathed the same air. Ugh just thinking about it made him want to roll his eyes, but An Yeung resisted that temptation.

There was the slightest bit of disapproval on the Raen's face but he said nothing. Well...signed nothing. It wasn't his place to correct another. What to do... Ah. Turning a bit, he reached under the low desk for a small box. Opening it, he took out a piece of his work and handed it over. Once he'd heard the name of the place, he had to do something to commemorate it! It was all the artist could do to offer encouragement.

It was handed over properly with both hands, a small smile on his face.

An Yeung glanced over at the handiwork. That was a good enough distraction, and sure enough he licked wine from lips before taking it in hand to glance over. With his hands being careful in holding the piece, he at least couldn't drink from that jug so it was a good choice in distractions. Plus how could he not look at what Chuuya made? It would be downright criminal not to look and praise him!

"It's lovely work as always, Chuuya." He praised, the grin softening a bit. "I'm sure Lord Bai will love to see your work on display in Suiren Temple, and so will whatever Kami comes to rest there."

The praise meant more from someone that wasn't holding his chains and the Raen couldn't keep a smile off his lips, his tail swishing over the cushion behind him. '{No charge this time.}' He added, a little flip in his gestures giving off a vague feel of light teasing. The long thing hands paused before he continued. '{I'd love to do work for the Temple but there has to be a contract in place. And do you really want my work in a holy place?}'

"Why would your work not be fitting?" An Yeung inquired as he looked over towards Chuuya. Really it was remarkable, and he didn't think the Kami would care about such frivolous details like where it originated from. "Plus you know well enough Lord Bai will pay any fee you ask of his coffers for your work. Your work for the last play drew several people to his stage after all."

A light click of his tongue and he moved carefully to place the piece down and back into range for Chuuya to take back. His expression light as he noted to reaction to that praise. Ah it was good to see the Raen in better spirits.

"Maybe I'll have to kick your guards' backsides and spirit you off to see it one day." Kami knew the Duskwight had yet to have a good fight in ages. Biming kept out of trouble which left Yeung restless and bored. "That would be quite a trip to take indeed. Once we've Kami and a priest, that is."

Instant panic at the suggestion chased away and contentment, ever-fleeting. Eyes were wide and he waved his hands 'no.' To have the yakuza after An Yeung and they would know for sure of a new shrine opening and the name attached to it. They could all be killed, the place burned down. Or even worse, the soft power of threats to keep petitioners and students away! That would slowly suffocate any place.

Another wave of his hands in that no gesture. '{I can't do that, we both know it. Please don't say such things.}' He nodded to the doors. The guard may have left but still, ears were about.

"Aye..." The relenting word left him, but he did muse at the panic that came with the suggestion. It was always amusing to work up the other. His fingers moved to make for the jug again. "I wouldn't tempt tigers to act against small birds."

A private metaphor for Biming's work. The playwright didn't just write poems and plays, after all. He was a collector of Magpies as much as secrets. Though he was of the benevolent sort as long as someone didn't cross his path in the worst way. No that An Yeung had to regularly go out of his way to crush threats and problems for the reclusive lord.

"I should say such bold things more often if they get that kind of reaction!" he teased.

That seemed to only make the worry stay! If the Duskwight did say such things so much, it wouldn't take much to bar him from the shop. And to lose an acquaintance, his only one that wasn't simply a customer, would...be terribly lonely. Now that Chuuya had had a taste for such social things, it would be terrible to be deprived of them once more.

'{Just, please, watch what you say.}' With that, his hands fell to his lap, nervously wringing in the silk of the kimono.

An Yeung's orange gaze just watched him worry at that kimono silk, and he let out a relenting sigh before drinking down a measure of wine straight from the jug once more. It was back on the desk soon after. Those long dark fingers just resting over the lip of it. Though he was once more sitting there quite lazily, elbow on the desk, and chin in hand. His fluff of short cut hair barely hiding the violet tinged face from the wine.

"I shall, ge ge, I shall." He assured. "I'm only teasing you. Kami...there need be something they'll let you do! You can't be cooped up in this fancy cage...shop...thing...all the time."

Red eyes glanced out the window that let to that tiny yard, the wood of a building right there as well. There was no clear sky, just the scent of the ocean that managed to waft down these alleys. '{I can go for walks once a moon.}' His motions were more resigned, less with the energy from when An Yeung had first arrived. '{They are kind to allow me such an opportunity.}'

"You need see the sky and sea more than that." He let out a sigh and let eyes close.

To him it still made little sense why they would keep the Raen locked away like this. What was he? Some prized consort? An Yeung could almost believe such a thing to be frank. Especially as he looked over him.

"Let’s go see it tonight." One coppery eye opened to look to him. "The sky will be clear and the sea still. It will be perfect, and we can dodge your hounds."

The panic was back in an instant and he put a finger to his own lips. Shush, the motion read. There was no need to know signing for that! Then those fingers flew. '{I was already allotted my walk this moon. I went last sennight. I have to wait.}'

"And you didn't invite me? A shame..." Of course he dropped it, and instead opted to play dejected instead. His arms crossed over the desk and he rested his head there. "Ge ge, don't you want to go on walks with me?" He looked up to the Raen through the fluff of white-and-ginger hair. The glass beads just clacking together as the slightest turn of his head disturbed them. "I can show you where the best wine is sold in all of Kugane."

'{Thank you but I don't drink and you were out of town.}' Straight to the point yet polite. The Raen jumped as the pot whistled. About time! A slight bow of his head to excuse himself as he stood to tend to it. Two cups were all that he had, one for himself, one for a client. Doman black tea was put in orb-like steepers, placed in each delicate cup, and then the hot water added. Both were then put on a tray, as was proper, and he walked back over with small, controlled paces.

The tray was offered first to the guest, of course.

An Yeung sighed heavily at that response. What a curse his job was! Though it had been for good reason and cause, and Biming was interested in this particular investment. So he had no choice but to follow his sworn brother's obscure whims.

"I would be here in the strike of the kilin's hoof, if you called for me." He reasoned even if the scenario was impossible.

The Elezen lifted a hand from his crossed arms, and plucked up the cup. The thing tilted to let the infuser clatter against the ceramic piece of work. What a frustrating scenario. Watched here. Couldn't take him on walks. Didn't even touch wine. What could he do?

"Then I shall stay here the night before Lord Bai calls to drag me off again, and once that's done I shall camp out here until your next walk's allowance!"

A blink that left Chuuya just staring at the other man. Stay? The night? No, no that was impossible. He shook his head, the long hair framing his rather feminine features in the motion. Not allowed, no. His tail curled behind him at the thought.

"What? I'll sleep in the window, or at your step like a good gentleman." Though normally didn't a good gentleman take the couch? Well somethings were complex when one didn't own a couch to slumber on!

An Yeung moved to sit up. Nursing the tea like it may as well been even more wine, leaning his weight upon the arm while the other reached forward towards Chuuya. It was hard to resist the temptation to touch that hair. Maybe he already had a fair amount of wine in him? It wouldn't be beyond the monk to waltz about drinking when he had no immediate responsibilities. That or he just wanted to fluster the other further.

It was definitely that last option.

And it was quite successful. Chuuya recoiled quickly, the other cup in the tray spilling over. Fortunately the tray caught most of the liquid, only a few dots spotting the silk he wore. Now quite out of sorts he was quick to put the tray down on the desk and scampered over to the stove to grab a towel.

Did the masters not allow him to be touched either? An Yeung let out a sigh and just dropped the hand back to rest on the ground and leaned back into it. The tea cup tilted back as he took a long sip of it. Though he looked sideways to the red panda then.

"I keep getting rejected, Aka, whatever shall I do?" He lamented with great woe to the pet as if it was empathize with him or provide some insight.

The panda was a master at adjusting whenever An Yeung did, always finding some part of his body to perch on. Unlike his master, he was quite apt to cuddle against others. Big round eyes looked over at the voice, nose wiggling. As if he could provide an answer!

Towels fetched, Chuuya returned to mop the mess out of the tray. Firm presses of the rough woven fabric to the coppery-hued metal to soak up the hot tea. Careful not to let his fingers touch. If they were burned and he couldn't work, he would've caused damage to yakuza property.

"Ge ge, let me." An Yeung moved forward to take the towel. He was careful in how his pitch-dark fingers - lined with some spots of white from his freckled patterns - touched the other's hand to get that towel. "It is best you take care of your hands after all."

The Raen shook his head but a moment later, did pull his hands back. The threat of being in trouble was more than simply being rude to his guest. Nervous now, he clasped hands together near his stomach as he watched the cleanup. Why did he have to make a mess?

"I do apologize," he said lightly, "I'll be more mindful next time."

An Yeung's words were sincere at least. It didn't mean he'd outright avoid teasing him, but he would at least be more mindful now. The copper eyes just looking up to him as he dabbed the mess clean. Once done he offered his cup and what remained to him.

"Here take the rest of my tea."

A shake of the head though he did bow a bit in gratitude. That was his guest's tea. He wouldn't indulge. After holding the position a moment, he moved forward to take the clean tray and its contents. They would be washed and cleaned later by the help that stopped by in the morning and evenings.

An Yeung settled back once more and sighed. Though he glanced back towards the way the guards would be. What a pain! And he had missed out on the one walk for the moon. He finished off his cup and just sat it down after. For now he was just quiet and looked thoughtful.

With that set aside, Chuuya prepared himself another cup of tea. Fortunately there was enough hot water left in that tiny pot. He took his time, trying to calm his nerves. Anything that was out of routine always made him anxious. Especially with this man! It wouldn't take much provocation for the guards to kill a single man. And the fight that would break out as a result would leave plenty of damage to Suzume. What would happen afterwards?

A deep breath before the artist walked back over and sat on his cushion once more. Unsure of what to 'talk' about now, he simply sipped his tea.

Oh An Yeung would like to see them try. His fist was greater than a dozen of the henchmen any Yakuza could think to tire, and he was certain his stamina would hold out for many a night so sheer numbers alone wouldn't vex him. He chuckled at the thought. The sound rolling into a laugh, but at no particular one. Ah how he wished he could say such things out loud!

"Chuuya, come on. Let me stay here just to rest one evening. I don't wish to go to my Lord with sour news already." He said then in pleading tones, once more testing the waters as he plotted.

The sound of the laugh had those red eyes looking up from their gaze on the tatami floors. His expression easy enough to read, that uneasiness. With a small clink, he set the cup down on the desk next to his work. A small sigh before he answered. '{I can't. They patrol. They'll find you if you stay any in or on the property. I'm sorry.}'

An Yeung sighed. "Then at least permit me to nap for a spell? All but a bell, maybe two? I shan't disrupt your work."

Chuuya looked over to the chronometer on a small shelf nearby. Then he held up one finger. One. He had a client after that.

One bell? He smiled with that. This was a small victory at least! So he moved to rest down upon that desk as he had before, eyeing the Raen with a single copper hue. "Will you help me rest easier with a pat upon my head?"

A small noise of surprise and embarrassment left the mute at that. Pale cheeks, more devoid of scales than most of his kind, flushed pink and he shook his head in a most definite 'no!' In fact, he picked up his small blade again, intent on getting back to work!

At least he hadn't talked on the 'and call me a good boy' part! An Yeung just grinned a bit as he admired that blush. Really a flustered Chuuya was the best even if it cost his life one day.

Must concentrate. It was more difficult to do so in the presence of someone. Again, his poor routine! It was bells of working alone interspersed with client visits or tourists looking for souvenirs. Accepting a presence outside that was always...different. Not necessarily negative. It was just something out the ordinary. But he had work to do and with a deep breath, Chuuya continued to do so.

#chuuya miyahara #an yeung #roleplay

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bad-puns-and-even-worse-magic · 6 years

Note

where the avengers think that stephen is a witch because he owns a black cat?

a different introduction than what we get in canon as well as based off this art by @doobler (it was gonna be longer but i had to cut it off rip)

“When’s this guy coming, Tony?” Clint said,his voice never rising above the volume of an exhale. He spoke without usinghis lips and smiled at the Waiter leaning over to refill his glass. Once theman had left, Clint dropped the grin and leaned back in his chair.

The restaurant was a bright, open placewith curving white walls decorated by climbing lines of thin ivy. Each tablewas framed by small candle jars with twinkling lights and the patrons—couples,an elderly woman with her daughter, and a single man by himself—flipped throughthe menu or chatted over their plates.

“Tony,” Clint hissed.

“Relax,Katniss,” Sounding like he was currently on a yacht with a margarita in hishand, Tony hummed almost lazily over the comms. “You went in early to scout the place out, remember?”

With a roll of his eyes, Clint opened hismouth to respond when he heard different steps against the hardwood flooring.The waiters and waitresses wore rubber heels to soften their weight when theywalked around, keeping them almost silent. But this—

“Jonathan Casey, I presume?” The woman thatsat across from Clint wore a dress that looked like a t-shirt made of folded,bronze fabric. It stopped at the middle of her thighs leaving the rest of herlegs to be covered by high, black boots. Black eyeliner framed her almostbright hazel eyes and she folded her hands on the table between them. “My nameis Annabelle. I’m with the organization your… superior contacted.”

Clint pretended to choke on his water andoffered her a hand to shake. “Yes, yes,of course. Thank you for coming.”

She brushed her dark, highlighted hair overone shoulder and ignored his hand. Clint cleared his throat and reached for hiswater instead. The air felt heavy around him; thick despite the openness of therestaurant. His mouth was dry and it felt—it felt—

“What did you do to me?” Clint tried topush himself up out of the chair but the muscles in his arms weren’t working. Theimage of the woman shifted like a television screen losing its image and, for asecond, he saw too many eyes and too many teeth.

“Clint?”Tony didn’t sound so relaxed, his voice bordering on a hardness and worry thatonly he could pull off. “Clint? I’msending the others in. Hold tight.”

Nails that looked like claws that lookedlike nails tapped against the table cloth. “Don’t worry,” Annabelle said, hersmile wide and shark-like. “I’m sure I can leave something for your friends to find.”

Shit, Clint didn’t blink—couldn’t blink—and swallowed.

Something lithe and black jumped onto thetable, all bone and fur and the careful absence of light. Annabelle lurchedback, her eyes wide as the cat sat down on its haunches between her and Clint,tail curling across the white table cloth. There was a small, almost atomdepiction of a solar system hanging from a black and silver leather collar andthe sun pulsed with gentle, blue light.

“Move,creature,” Annabelle hissed, raising her hand as if to strike and the worldtilted again. The image of the woman falling away to something big and greenand insect-like that probably would have caused nightmares for months.

“None of that, now,” a man said to Clint’sleft, his voice brimming with amusement.

A pitcher of water was dumped overAnnabelle’s head and she shrieked,wrenching backwards as her false, human skin bubbled and popped, steam risingoff her and twisting around the ceiling. Her chair fell back against the floorand shattered—but no one else around them noticed, continuing to each and talkand laugh as if there wasn’t a creature twisting out of an illusion on thefloor in front of them.

Clint blinked as the man leaned into his eyeline; it was the gentleman that had been by himself at a table. He was wearinga dark shirt decorated with bone-white flowers that had the first three buttonsundone, revealing smooth, pale skin and a single iron pentagram that glowed redin the middle, simple white trousers, and had artistically fluffed up his blackhair, curling the silver flip of bangs. Facial hair was trimmed carefully,scars just under the collar were gently hidden, and his eyes.

His eyes were a mix of green and silverthat seemed almost too bright, lined as they were with black kohl.

(It was because they glowed, Clint realizedwhen shadows passed over the irises. Glowed like some Halloween trick butwithout the special effects.)

“Tried to do some sort of seduce spell onyou,” the man said and rolled his eyes at the hissing insect on the floor.Annabelle was gone, leaving nothing but a six legged fly-creature with a spiderface and a too large mouth to whither on the ground. “Hold still—”

Gentle, but trembling, fingers pressedagainst Clint’s forehead and pulled the thickness in the back of his throat andthe heaviness in his lungs out through his skin and nostrils. It burned likesneezing too hard into a bowl full of flour and something thick and smoke-likeand brown circled around the man’shand. He had pink scars along the pale flesh, creating jagged phalanges fromthe wrist to the nail.

The cat leaned forward to sniff at whateverit was before turning toxic lime eyes to Clint.

Clint who could breathe again and took a deepgasping lungful of air. “What the hell,”he managed after a moment, leaning partially over his seat—looking away fromthe now still body of the insect that had probably just tried to eat him, thank you.

“You had a run in with a Dynn—nasty things,”the man ran his fingers over the cat’s bluebottle fur and bones pushed into histouch with a chirruping purr. “Easy enough to get rid of with some salt andblessed water.”

“God,”Clint rubbed at his face and looked up at the gentleman who had just—probably—savedhis life.

The cat had moved from the table, climbedup the black shirt, and was now settled on a thin—almost too skinny—shoulder. Bothman and feline both had similar, easy smiles, as if everything that hadhappened was like finding a quarter on the ground.

“What are you?” Clint said, his voice stillcatching in the back of his throat. “A witch?”

The answer was spoken with a smirk.

“Something like that.”

#Doctor Strange #Clint Barton #Fabulist Tales #Anonymous

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my-heart-in-his-teeth · 5 years

Text

The Devil You Know: Part One (of 4)

Summary: A follow up to Mischief and the Maiden , Loki interferes with Elaina in the best ways. Contains both silliness and smut, consider yourself warned on both counts.

Author’s Note: I’m tagging those who took the time to write kind comments on my last work because they were awesome enough to do so and that’s what really encouraged me to write this one. I would’ve responded to each of them, but I can’t do so as THIS blog and it seems weird to do so as my completely unrelated main blog. Anyway, thank you!!

Should Tumblr Implode: I’m also here at : https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_heart_in_his_teeth/works

The party droned on for what felt like days.

Her tolerance for this amount of people had peaked and fallen so long ago that she couldn’t even remember when she began feeling plastic, nodding and smiling her way through conversations she couldn’t care less about with people she barely knew. Every time she escaped from one cluster of people, she was shepherded into another.

She had gotten comfortable with being uncomfortable in crowds, but this one was wearing her thin. The men all a matching set in tailcoats and ties, slicked back hair and martinis while the women shimmered in sequined dresses, jewels sparkling off their arms and spilling down their necks in long strings- even glittering from the feather adornments in their bobbed hair.

She was suddenly very aware of how underdressed she was. Glancing down at her faded black lounge pants and thin t-shirt which was altered so that it was missing the sleeves and open at the sides, allowing a view of her lace bralette beneath it, she crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously and backed away, almost bumping into an enormous champagne fountain.

“Jesus!” She gasped, looking up at the towering monstrosity flowing the fizzy drink down from a giant bottle a couple of hundred glasses up. The opulence of the people mirrored the endless ballroom they were in; so much gold on the white clothed tables and the sconces, while giant crystal chandeliers twinkled from above. She felt like an extra in The Great Gatsby.

Or The Shining.

Honestly, she didn’t care which as long as she could find the exit to the place. She excused herself awkwardly, dodging protesting arms and walking with purpose toward the other side of the vast room where she hoped the door was. Finally, she spotted a large archway above the growing sea of people, but her relief was short lived when she saw another lavish hall beyond it.

Her frustration fueled her and she pushed on. At last she saw a great, gilded double door at the top of an impossibly grand staircase. She walked faster, no longer caring how frantic she looked. She would make her apologies to...whoever tomorrow. Why couldn’t she remember whose party this was? And why had she agreed to come? She could figure that out tomorrow as well, for now all she cared about was the freedom just a hundred stairs away.

A hand lightly touched her shoulder and she glanced behind her to see the gentle, smiling face of Patrick Stewart. Suddenly it hit her, it was HIS party. She couldn’t have said no to Patrick Stewart, of course. Seeing that he was wearing his Star Trek uniform made her regret her outfit even more.

“Elaina! “ He said in his lovely British voice. “I’m so happy you were able to come. You did bring the artifact of course. I thought we could pass it around while you give the eulogy.”

She hadn’t remembered any artifact and had somehow not realized she was meant to give a eulogy or even who it was for. “ I....” she stammered. “I just need to get it from my car. She lied. She lied to PStew! But she urgently needed to be outside. Being outside would surely clear her head.

“Excellent!” He held her hand. His skin was very soft. “I cannot wait to hear of how you acquired this one. It is simply fascinating to me how you have been able to find all of these wonderful treasures. You must truly have a gift”

“Oh, I’m just very lucky.” She clasped her hand over his and wished she could remember how their friendship came to be, but her brain seemed to be shrinking into confusion by the second and she could only hope that no one noticed.

She knew she had to pretend everything was fine until she could figure this out, but she hoped he would understand if she ended up running away into the night screaming instead of giving a speech she hadn’t prepared to a crowd of what had to be hundreds of people. “You’ll just have to excuse me, while I pop outside to get it...”

“Of course!” He beamed. “Ah, but first I would love to introduce you to some friends of mine.” He nodded over her shoulder and she turned to see Benedict Cumberbatch walking up to them, a meek Martin Freeman on his arm looking adoringly up at his face.

A brief, but fierce, battle waged inside her before she firmly but politely said no and excused herself again. If she delved into whatever that was about, she knew she would never leave. She continued up the stairs that seemed to increase in number the closer she got to the top, running now, she pushed herself faster until finally she pushed the heavy door open and bolted outside, not stopping until she got to the street.

The cool night air felt good on her skin and now she focused on getting home. She didn’t remember if she’d brought her car. Wait...that’s right, she didn’t even OWN a car. Ahead, she saw a bus stop. Good enough. After sitting on the bench for a second, she realized that she had no clue where she was. Was it New York? It felt too foreign. She traveled so often now it was hard to keep up. Hopefully the bus driver could help her.

As soon as she had that thought she saw headlights in the distance. They were moving strangely, instead of steady and straight they sort of hopped. The reason for that was revealed when the thing came into view. It was a Catbus. It’s eyes were the headlights and when it stopped, the orange furry doors opened to reveal the soft seats inside of its body.

Elaina hesitated and the cat’s Cheshire smiling face turned towards her. She knew her Ghibli and that this bus could take her anywhere, but she thought better of it. “Uh, that’s okay. Nevermind. ” She told it. “I think I'll walk.” The Catbus meowed indifferently and continued on its way.

“Well now that,” A velvet voice spoke from beside her. “Was truly...special.”

She looked up at the figure that had stepped into view beside her. Pale and perfect with dark hair combed back and curling up slightly just above his shoulders. His eyebrows were raised toward the direction of the Catbus.

“I know someone who travels by cat- albeit in a comparatively mundane fashion.... ” He trailed off, then turned to her with a warm smile that reached his eyes and crinkled them at the corners. “Hello, Elaina.”

“Loki.” She said softly. Recognition was like a balm for her troubled head, soothing her back to her senses and lifting her heart in an instant.

She wanted to ask him if he was really there and not just another part of her yearning, stress- drunk subconscious, but she’d asked him that often enough over the years to know that he would never give her a straight answer. Even if he did, she could never really believe it.

“You know,” her own smile spread across her face. “When you said I’d dream about you, I thought the dreams would be more....”

“Enjoyable?” He turned to the grim, gray, building she’d just fled. It had not a single window and was so tall that the top of it disappeared into the night clouds. “But, come now.” He waved his hand toward it and the city street they stood on and shook his head. “You know this is not me.”

“No.” She sighed. “This is the sort of thing my asshole brain comes up with.”

“Well then, let’s slip into someplace a bit more comfortable.”

With that he took her by the shoulders and spun her around to face a couple of matching red, plush couches divided by a black lacquered coffee table inlaid with mother of pearl garden scene. A beautiful Persian rug sat on top of the hardwood floors of the seating area and photographs in various sized frames tastefully covered deep blue walls, dimly lit by the lights that ran along the ceiling.

I guess it doesn’t get much more comfortable than my own house, she thought. She had taken care to fill her home with things that had a story or meaning that was in some way personal to her so that whenever she returned to it after a long journey she would be wrapped in the stable familiarity of it all. Her home was very much her sanctuary.

“This wasn’t here before.” Loki was peering at the Klimt painting above the fireplace. “Who are these people?”

It was an unusual sight- he clad in a black high collared shirt, open at the neck in the shape of a V and over that a strange sort of jacket made of interwoven black leather and green cloth that reached down to his boots. Though not wearing a crown, he still looked every bit a mythological prince standing so casually in her in her living room.

“Umm, well I’m not sure actually.” She wondered if it had registered to him that it had been two years since he was last here. “It was painted about a hundred years before I was born. The image has very much has resonated with me lately. I even have this weird connection to the artist.”

“I see. And what “weird” connection do you have to a presumably dead artist?”

“Oh, I found an old portfolio of his sketches hidden in the pages of this coffee big table art book that my grandmother had.” She studied his profile carefully as she spoke looking for any reaction. “I mean, they were stamped with his signature and everything. It was a nearly impossible find, but quickly authenticated. “

His lips twitched upwards and he kept his eyes on the painting. “Hmm. How lucky.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve come into quite a bit of such “luck” over the last few years. ...since meeting you actually.” She added pointedly. “You know, I’ll buy a doll at a flea market in France that will turn out to be an antique Bisque or I’ll find a used book from a tiny shop in Italy that ends being a first edition Yeats- things like that.”

“Those things sound like they are probably very valuable to Midgardians.” He shrugged. “One should hope you were able to find some use for them.””

She clasped her hands in front of her and smiled knowingly at the floor. “And to think some guys just buy a girl flowers.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. This painting,” he said, changing the subject. “What about it so captured your attention, I wonder?”

“Well, it’s called ’Love’- did...did you just roll your eyes?”

His mouth smoothed out of its grin quickly. “Not at all.”

Each time he’d come to her, no matter how much time had passed, there wasn’t the awkwardness that often happens when lovers meet again. No pretending to be indifferent to their own feelings, no worrying how they might seem to each other or wondering where things might go this time. Everything seemed just as it had been that first night together, in a cabin that wasn’t really a cabin in a realm far, far away. For her part, she had no delusions about what may come of the time they spent together, she was just glad for it.

She paused to contemplate the couple frozen in the painting, forever locked in an embrace that would outlive them. The woman’s hand gripped at the man, her head upturned, eyes closed in anticipation of a kiss that would never come. Or perhaps the kiss was done and the embrace was at its end.

The man’s eyes were closed as well, but she thought he had a melancholy look to him. It seemed he could either be coming or going from her. There seemed to be a silent battle raging within each of them while a host of spirits looked on, perhaps amused at their fate.

“Does she love him?” He asked, circling behind her.

“Yes, that I’m certain of.”

“And do you think that wise?” His mouth was at her ear.

Without hesitation she answered. “No.”

His hand wrapped over hers and he led her to one of the couches, pulling her down into his lap as he sat. She could smell the leather of his clothes and beneath that the familiar heady scent of his skin. “Correct.” His fingers traced down her jawline stopping at her chin. “Sentimentality often leads to foolish choices.”

His eyes rested on her lips thoughtfully for a moment before he deftly took her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth cool on hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and her hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, fingers disappearing into the softness of his hair.

For a blissful moment there was nothing else in the world but that kiss, then he gently pulled back, gazing at her with contented green eyes. “You have been in love, Elaina.” His elbow folded on the back of the couch, his curled fist providing a rest for his head. “I needn’t warn you of that gnawing thing within your heart that has you so vexed.”

She felt her cheeks redden. It didn’t surprise her that he knew of her life, she sometimes comforted herself with the idea that he was maybe looking in at her from his castle in a magical floating city, but other times she rather hoped he wasn’t. Like the last year.

“We don’t get to choose about falling in love. It just happens.” She could hear the regret in her own voice and hated it. “At least that’s how it is for we Midgardians.”

“It’s all about control, my dear.” His hand rested on her hip. “There’s always something you can control even within the uncontrollable. If you feel an overpowering emotion, you can channel that power into something more...beneficial.”

“Such as?”

“Anything. A more personal passion. Art. Music. Jogging? Is that what it’s called? When you run pointlessly long and slow to get to nowhere? The point is that you can bask in the pleasurable aspect of the feeling, but assign the power of the chaos such a strong emotion creates to something else.” He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That way your mind can remain clear and no one unworthy will have power over you.”

She clasped his hand against her cheek and closed her eyes. There had been a man she had loved who was everything she wasn’t. Gregarious, charming, and successful, he just always seemed to have it together with never a hair out of place. Even his condo was constantly immaculate. He also was painfully gorgeous. And he actually loved her. Until he inexplicably didn’t.

She winced at the memory.

“I think you over- estimate my worth.” She said quietly.

He clicked his tongue and looked almost offended. “I do no such thing.” He said sharply. “You would do well to remember that. Tell me, who is this man would make you feel beneath him- you who has known the touch and favor of a god?”

“I don’t-I know I’m not beneath him...” she was flustered and now embarrassed. Having been the lover of the God of Mischief was one hell of a confidence boost, but she was never going to have the conceit that might have earned her. She doubted Loki could understand what it was like to be set aside by someone you cherished, to have to question what about you had made them decide you were not what they wanted.

“Perhaps,” he half smiled and traced his fingers over the patterns of lace on the sides of her bralette “You need a reminder.”

She held her breath, remembering every bit of what his masterful touch could do to her. There was a playful spark in his eyes for a just a moment before he kissed her again, this time firmly but briefly, then brought her hand to his lips and planted a kiss there as well.

“Soon.” He said with a wink and before she could question what he meant his face had dissolved into an unpleasant glow of light.

~~~

@roonyxx @carydorse @quoting-shakespeare-to-ducks @starscreamloki @glitt3rgaz3 @annievvv7 @holykryptonitekitten @silver-tongue-trickster

#loki #tom hiddleston #fanfiction #marvel #loki fanfic #writing #loki x ofc #cross posted

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joshbentley-blog1 · 5 years

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2018, A Year in Music

A year would not be complete without a list summarizing the sonic triumphs and escapades it saw birthed. Here are my thirty favorite albums from 2018. Enjoy.

30. Kurt Vile - Bottle It In

The singer-songwriter returned in 2018 with a follow up to his 2017 collaboration with Aussie rocker, Courtney Barnett. While I enjoyed Lotta Sea Lice plenty, I found its overarching themes to be a bit dry and the songwriting to be a bit lackluster from two experts such as Barnett and Vile. But Bottle It In is a return to form for the unique Vile. His drawl-y, laid back, groovy guitar cuts and folk-rooted storytelling is potent as ever. A truly beautiful entry into the artist’s discography, Bottle It In is a must-listen for any fan of folk rock and silky smooth songwriting.

Genre: Folk rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts: “Loading Zones,” “Yeah Bones,” “One Trick Ponies”

29. Neko Case - Hell-On

Neko Case’s storied career as an artist finds itself here, with 2018′s Hell-On. The album is a reflection on all that Case has experienced thus far, and its delivery is both introspective and cinematic. There are songs here that feel like a stream of consciousness, and others are a bit more straight forward. Still, it demands the attention of the listener, for there are things to pick up on with each listen. What Case, and Hell-On, deliver on the most is catchy and fun ballads that have run through my head like an infectious earworm since its release. “Last Lion of Albion,” “Bad Luck,” and “Curse of the I-5 Corridor,” are standouts in particular.

Genre: Singer-songwriter / folk pop / country pop

Standouts: “Last Lion of Albion,” “Bad Luck,” “Curse of the I-5 Corridor”

28. Car Seat Headrest - Twin Fantasy

I was, admittedly, not the biggest fan of Will Toledo and his project Car Seat Headrest when I first listened to Teens of Denial. I found his songwriting to be a bit uni-dimensional at times, and the sonic palette to a bit bland. But after re-visiting his works repeatedly, I’ve become a bigger stan of Toledo’s. It’s undeniable that his knack for melodies is unrivaled. And I’ve come to appreciate his songwriting more and more with each successive listen. His re-release of the cult Bandcamp hit, Twin Fantasy, is a true success though. The refurbished instrumentation and production is a welcome facelift to this Bandcamp classic. And the bodacious and bright new mixing brings new life into Toledo’s work. The support he has received from Matador Records has resulted in an improvement on all fronts, from the record’s origins. It’s a beautiful, and perhaps nostalgic for some, release from Will.

Genre: Indie rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts: “Bodys,” “Stop Smoking (We Love You),” “Sober to Death”

27. Vince Staples - FM!

It was released on 2 November 2018 but it feels like something straight out of the humid heat of July. Another entry into the short and succinct album list of 2018, FM! is short-lived at only 22 minutes. But the album has plenty to offer. Seamlessly flowing from track to track, Vince’s latest endeavor plays out more like a in-studio performance for a radio show (as can be heard by the short radio-esque skits played as outros and intros). The songs are braggadocious. Vince raps over silky smooth west coast hip-hop-inspired beats and punches with flows to match.

Genre: West coast hip-hop

Standouts: “Feels Like Summer,” “Outside!” “Don’t Get Chipped,” “FUN!”

26. Florence + the Machine - High As Hope

Florence Welch is a symbol of freedom for me. Her unrivaled passion for her craft, her presence on the stage evokes images of royalty, and her unimpeachable strength make her one of my favorite vocalists of all time. Her voice fills rooms, stadiums, and the ears of millions. A perfect example of this potency is 2015′s How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful; an album that was cinematic, wide in scope and sound, and an important leap for Florence’s artistic career. But this year’s High As Hope is much more intimate. One could even call it a step backwards for Florence, but I would respectfully disagree with this statement. For me, High As Hope is a logical step forward for Florence. Following a loud and explosive release in 2015, a cathartic climax I’m sure, it makes sense to hear Florence make her descent down an intimate and minimal road. And down this road we see Florence explore and make available her struggles with loneliness, depression, and a myriad of other demons. She trades the titanic orchestral sets for pianos, sparse percussion, and cuts through these thin veils with her meteoric voice. But at the end of the day (and the record), there is an air of hope. Hope drives this record, and it’s what drives Florence, and that is more than enough for me.

Genre: Chamber pop / art pop

Standouts: “Sky Full Of Song,” “Hunger,” “June,” “No Choir”

25. Mount Eerie - Now Only

Phil Elverum has endured more than one can even begin to dream of. 2017 saw Elverum face the loss of his wife, it saw him begin to face single fatherhood. From that turmoil came A Crow Looked At Me, a beautifully tragic album that gave us a close up look at Elverum’s grief and loss. That album was succinct, precise, and to the point. Now Only is much more a stream of consciousness, a rambling of sorts, and it plays out much like Elverum is writing an epilogue to A Crow in real time. The song structures are varied, and some draw on into the ten minute range. It takes effort to really let this album sink in and marinate, and once it does it pays dividends.

Genre: Singer-songwriter / indie folk

Standouts: “Tintin in Tibet,” “Distortion,” “Crow, Pt. 2″

24. U.S. Girls - In a Poem Unlimited

In a Poem Unlimited is a beautiful art pop record, filled with enveloping and gorgeous layers of instrumentation. It’s refined, it’s sharp, and its sound is unlike anything this year has seen. Art pop, folk pop, disco, soul, synth pop, and baroque pop are all genres that blend together and come through in U.S. Girl’s most refined piece yet. And if there’s anything that sticks out especially, it’s the record’s production. It is just so polished. Of course Meghan’s vocals are as cutting as ever, but it is the record’s beautiful construction that keeps me coming back to this one. Songs like “Velvet 4 Sale,” and “L-Over” are particular highlights for me. I recommend this to anyone who wants a diverse sounding record, or a record to just fall into.

Genre: Art pop / synth pop / psych pop

Standouts: “Velvet 4 Sale,” “Rosebud,” “L-Over,” “M.A.H.”

23. Jonny Greenwood - You Were Never Really Here (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

Radiohead lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood first grabbed my attention, when it came to his work aside from Radiohead, with his score for Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread last year. Gorgeous string arrangements and orchestral builds are swapped out for synthesizers and heavy percussive elements on this latest soundscape however. And while I loved Greenwood’s work with PTA, this latest project sees Greenwood using these tools expertly. His soundtrack is one of the best of this year, and it adds to the immersive world that Lynne Ramsay built in You Were Never Really Here. Dissonant and sharp guitars, thunderous and warping synths pierce your ears and create a sense of unease, matched when experienced while watching the film. And while some scores and/or soundtracks fail to stand on their own without their cinematic partners, Greenwood’s work here is more than enough on its own.

Genre: Film soundtrack / experimental

Standouts: “Tree Synthesizers,” “Sandy’s Necklace,” “Dark Streets (Reprise)”

22. Kali Uchis - Isolation

Colombian soul singer Kali Uchis made her full-length debut this year with Isolation. A diverse roster came together to collaborate on this project; the likes of Steve Lacy, Boosty Collins, Damon Albarn, Thundercat, and Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker appear on this record in some shape or form, and those are but a few to name. This amalgamation of artists and minds makes for a sonically diverse record, one that spans genres and emotions. And through it all Kali Uchis shines through as an up-and-coming talent. Still, there is plenty of room to grow, as the lyricism and songwriting on some tracks falls a bit flatter than others. But overall this record is so unique it stands above its contemporaries.

Genre: Neo-soul / contemporary R&B

Standouts: “Just A Stranger,” “In My Dreams,” “Feel Like A Fool”

21. Sons of Kemet - Your Queen Is a Reptile

London jazz unit, Sons of Kemet, delivered a revolutionary jazz record this year. Politically-fueled, unapologetically cultural, it is based in African music and African history yet brimming with ingenuity. Thunderous horns, bombastic drums and chaotic wind sections grow and pulse through this record. Broken up are these progressions by spoken word passages, which add depth and prose to the record. Your Queen Is a Reptile is surely a classic, and a definite listen for any jazz enthusiast.

Genre: Afro-jazz

Standouts: “My Queen Is Ada Eastman,” “My Queen Is Harriet Tubman,” “My Queen Is Angela Davis”

20. MGMT - Little Dark Age

Perhaps best known for their indie breakout hit Oracular Spectacular, with late-2000s anthems like “Kids,” “Time To Pretend,” and “Electric Feel,” MGMT was considered by some destined to fail to meet their success of 2007. Little Dark Age dispels these notions, with dark and gloomy pop cuts as well as a purposefully occult themes. MGMT never wanted to make mainstream pop music, and released Oracular Spectacular as an odd protest to such desires observed in their fans. This devotion to the subversions of mainstream pop followed them through their discography post-Oracular, but hits its peak here with Little Dark Age.

Genre: Gothic pop / synth pop / psych pop

Standouts: “Little Dark Age,” “When You Die,” “Me and Michael,” “She Works Out Too Much”

19. Adrianne Lenker - Abysskiss

Big Thief’s frontwoman, Adrianne Lenker, adds to her solo career with Abysskiss. Recorded within the approximate span of a week, the record has an air of urgency but is patient in its delivery. Lenker is reserved, yet determined in her delivery. The album is much like tramping on a trail or wandering through a city unknown. It winds, it hypnotizes. I found myself ensnared by Lenker’s finger-picking and her hauntingly beautiful voice. Fans of Big Thief will love this solo effort by Lenker, and I hope many others can find and appreciate its beauty in minimalism.

Genre: Folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts: “terminal paradise,” “womb,” “cradle”

18. Young Fathers - Cocoa Sugar

Scottish trio Young Fathers came out swinging with Cocoa Sugar. Blending a multitude of genres, Young Fathers have released their sharpest record to date. Its inclusion of neo-soul, conscious hip-hop, gospel, electronica, and R&B make for a sonic experience rivaled by few. The album builds and builds this chaotic wall of sound, finally reaching its release with tracks like “In My View,” and “Lord.” But the album is a engaging listen throughout.

Genre: Indietronica / neo-soul / art pop / experimental hip-hop / gospel

Standouts: “Fee Fi,” “In My View,” “Lord,” “Border Girl”

17. JPEGMAFIA - Veteran

DAMN PEGGY! 19 tracks. 47 minutes. This album slaps. Baltimore rapper/producer, JPEGMAFIA, has come out with one of the most experimental and abrasive rap albums of the century. Using sounds unnatural and inorganic to human ears, Peggy is creating songs unlike any of his contemporaries. It is difficult to put into words just how experimental and “out there” this album is. His songwriting is excellently woven into these instrumentals and samples, making for catchy cuts and oddly comedic one-liners. There is a real texture to these songs, and the dynamic swells of sound make for a transcendent and mind-numbing experience. Veteran isn’t just one of the most creative rap albums I’ve ever heard, it’s perhaps one of the best rap albums I’ve ever heard.

Genre: Experimental hip-hop

Standouts: “1539 N. Calvert,” “Thug Tears,” “Baby I’m Bleeding

16. Jon Hopkins - Singularity

In the same realm of immersive listens, I don’t think there is one album this year that can reach the same heights (both literally and figuratively) as Singularity. This album feels like the genesis of a brand new world, like the exploration of the unknown reaches past our galaxy. It’s an odyssey of sound, an insurmountable summit of synthesizers, strings, percussion and much, much more. The album opens with the title track, “Singularity,” which sets the stage for what the album is meant to accomplish. The winding synths and electric drum beats create an atmosphere similar to the cold and unforgiving nature of space. Seamlessly, the album bursts into the song “Emerald Rush,” which slows things down at first, allows the listener to breath and grab hold of their whereabouts. But this feeling of ease and calm is sliced by the thunderous and monolithic bass-heavy bursts at around the 1:33 mark. From there on out the song becomes a tribal experience. The drum beats creating an almost religious evocation, of a religion foreign to Earth. “Neon Pattern Drum,” continues this ethereal theme and the song is a sonic representation of its title. Once again, tribal synths and drums entrap the listener, banishing them to a realm of neon and galactic enterprise. Jon Hopkins has created something truly special with Singularity. Its atmosphere and reach are indescribable.

Genre: Ambient / tech house / IDM

Standouts: “Singularity,” “Emerald Rush,” “Neon Pattern Drum,” “Feel First Life,” “C O S M”

15. Julia Holter - Aviary

While JPEGMAFIA may have released the most experimental hip-hop album of 2018, I firmly believe that Julia Holter released the most experimental and dense album of 2018. Emphasis on “dense.” Let me repeat. This. Album. Is. Dense. Blending more genres than I can even think of, Aviary is layered and complex. Much like a tasting menu at a prestigious restaurant, Holter’s work demands patience and attention. But if you put in the time - for Pete’s sake this album is an hour and 30 minutes long - you will be rewarded. Holter crafts a universe of her own, and only she knows (or maybe doesn’t) how to traverse it, we are but left to helplessly follow in the hopes of finding our eventual way. And that’s what makes this album one of this year’s best. Julia doesn’t compromise here, and has the courage to craft an expansive and broad experience. In a year where succinct and short albums seemed to grab hold (e.g. Be the Cowboy), Aviary separates itself as a cacophonous cloud of grand and classical influences. Holter’s talents as a composer and multi-instrumentalist are present throughout the journey as well; she’s able to create a scape of her own, but one that reminds me of a futuristic world, one akin to that of the world of Blade Runner. The mixing draws up sour string arrangements and heavenly synths, her howling voice and earth-shattering basslines to great effect. She even sings in multiple languages, including: English, French and Latin. It’s mysterious. It’s frustrating. It’s painfully poetic. It’s a juggernaut of an album. But it is unapologetically beautiful in its own right.

Genre: Idk... to many (art pop / classical / avante garde)

Standouts: “I Shall Love 2,” “Colligere,” “Les Jeux to You,” “Words I Heard”

14. Big Red Machine - Big Red Machine

The works of Justin Vernon and Aaron Dessner are enough draw the attention of many indieheads. From Vernon’s ventures as Bon Iver and Volcano Choir, and Dessner being a member of the acclaimed rock outfit, The National, there are enough accolades between the two of them that any sort of joining of forces would result in a sure fire classic. And that’s exactly what Big Red Machine is, in the most un-classic way possible. Songs from the record have been floating around the Internet for some time now, with Vernon and Dessner playing some songs live at festivals like Eaux Claires. But it wasn’t until this year we formally received notice that a record would be surfacing. The self-titled debut is much more akin to the sound of 22, A Million or Sleep Well Beast. Fans of traditional National, or older Bon Iver, may be disappointed to find the album relies on synths and motherboards instead of solely guitars, drum and bass. But behind all of the bleeps and bloops are notes of the artists’ original sounds. “I Won’t Run From It,” sound like it could have appeared on Bon Iver, Bon Iver, and “Forest Green,” could have easily been on High Violet if Vernon’s vocals were traded in for Berninger’s. Big Red Machine is a leap forward for the two artists, and it marks a pivotal point in their careers, one should not miss out on this project.

Genre: Folktronica / indie rock

Standouts: “Forest Green,” “I Won’t Run From It,” “Hymnostic”

13. St. Vincent - MassEducation

A complete re-imagining of her own Masseduction, Anne Clark is always at the forefront of the music sphere. She’s an elite guitarist, a visionary songwriter, and a fashion icon on top of all that. To re-record, re-imagine, and re-produce your own album is already a bold task, but for Anne it must have just been a logical step forward for her. Where Masseduction was experimental, sour, and sharp-edged, full of futuristic progressions and dystopian engagements, MassEducation is not. It is slow, intimate, subdued and minimal. Featuring mainly piano and acoustic arrangements, Anne has created a beautifully classic sound.

Genre: Singer-songwriter / acoustic

Standouts: “Slow Disco,” “Smoking Section,” “Los Ageless,” “New York,” “Pills”

12. Ought - Room Inside the World

Montreal post-punk outfit, Ought, add to the post-punk front this year with Room Inside the World. An album that’s groovy and hypnotic, Ought have improved upon their works of past with this entry. Lead vocalist, Tim Darcy, has a unique voice that cuts through the colorful palette of guitars, keys, bass, and percussion. The record chugs along with a deliberate nonchalant vibe, up until the release during the album’s midway point in “Desire.” A strong contender for song of the year, “Desire” marks a pivotal point in the album. It takes the build up of the previous four tracks, and adds to it with its own two minute and forty second build up, crescendoing to a beautiful arrangement of Darcy’s own voice backed by an array of singers. Room Inside the World is a passionate piece, one that is even better when experienced live. A solid post-punk entry deserving of every listen.

Genre: Post-punk / art rock

Standouts: “Desire,” “Disgraced In America,” “Into the Sea,” “These 3 Things”

11. Against All Logic - 2012-2017

Nicolas Jaar’s debut project on the Other People label is a beautiful house record. Seriously, this album is a broad soundscape, utilizing horns, deep and guttural synth blares, percussive snaps, soul and R&B samples, and disco and funk flavors. The songs fade in and fade out beautifully, creating a sonic cityscape and sweaty, club atmosphere. Jaar opens with the stunning “This Old House Is All I Have,” a jammy and soulful house cut. Tracks like “Cityfade,” and “Some Kind of Game,” blend funk and disco seamlessly with the digital character of boiler room house. Where Hopkins uses Singularity to imagine a space-filled void, wrapping the listener in stars, comets and cosmic gas, Jaar opts for a more down-to-earth approach. Synthesizing an urban, concrete-jungle type of space, Jaar masterfully pulls the listener into the middle of New York streets, Berlin clubs, and French dance houses.

Genre: House / boiler room house

Standouts: “This Old House I Have,” “Cityfade,” “Rave on U,” “Some Kind of Game”

10. Father John Misty - God’s Favorite Customer

Father John Misty’s Pure Comedy (2017) was one of my favorite albums last year. No album so poignantly critiqued the state of affairs the country sees itself in, what the world sees itself in. No album so vividly expressed the frustration, sadness, hopelessness, and abandon that many of us - including myself - have felt since that fateful election of November 2016. But what strikes me so powerfully now, is the knowledge that J. Tillman wrote Pure Comedy well before the 2016 election cycle. Certainly, it was not difficult for anyone to picture the road we as a country were headed down, but for Tillman to so succinctly capture those emotions before we felt them, that is something truly special.

Gone were the intimate and personal ballads found on Fear Fun or I Love You, Honeybear. Pure Comedy opted for a more meta-analysis type of song structure, critiquing society as a whole and all the populations that inhabit it. It chose to express a different type of love, a love for mankind as a whole. It had a much broader array of instrumentation as well; strings, horns, orchestral units all culminated to form a cinematic, almost theatrical sound. These elements made for an expansive and full-breadthed listen. So when it was announced that Tillman would follow up this masterpiece of a project immediately in 2018 with God’s Favorite Customer, I was intrigued to see where he would take us.

Back are the familiar song structures and instrumental arrangements found in I Love You, Honeybear and Fear Fun, back is the personal and introspective songwriting. It is (in a sense) a return to form for Tillman, or rather, Father John Misty as a character. But now, there is a sense of discomfort and dismay in Misty’s voice and delivery. It is an exploration of turmoil and it is unfamiliar to us, since Misty often comes off as confident and saturated with cynicism. This darker road we’re led down opens us to the struggles of an artist trapped behind a character. While Tillman may not consider his moniker a trap all of the time, the lifestyle his art brings has certainly caused him his fair share of hardships. And it is this honesty that is so potent to me. A beautiful, beautiful addition to an already superb discography.

Many disregard Misty because of the veil he portrays so often. A veil of cynicism, pretentiousness and superiority. But what I think many fail to realize and account for is that the veil is just that: a veil. Any character or performance can run the well dry, but I believe Misty is only reaching his peak at this moment. What keeps me invested is knowing that behind that cynicism, Josh Tillman is a deeply caring, professional and upstanding artist. His continued philanthropy is a testament to this love. And perhaps that is why God’s Favorite Customer struck such a strong chord in me. Hearing that this man has faced some of his darkest times, and yet still finds the strength and courage to help others, it is inspiring. So while you are free to judge Father John Misty the character, I think Josh Tillman deserves more than a fair shake for having helped so many of us during such dark times.

Genre: Singer-songwriter / chamber pop / piano rock

Standouts: “Hangout at the Gallows,” “Mr. Tillman,” “Please Don’t Die,” “We’re Only People (And There’s Not Much Anyone Can Do About That)”

9. Mid-Air Thief - Crumbling

This album and artist are shrouded in mystery, as far as I can tell. There is not much I can find on Mid-Air Thief and his work that isn’t written in Korean. Regardless, one thing remains clear, Crumbling is perhaps the most gorgeously textured album I’ve ever heard. It mixes elements of folk, synth pop, glitch pop, and bedroom pop to create a warm and inviting sound unique to itself. At times the album sounds like something one would hear during a Studio Ghibli film, and at others it sounds like the soundtrack to a crisp autumn afternoon. Crumbling is bubbly, sincere and vulnerable. It sounds like looking through old photo albums, it sounds like walking through the park on a warm summer day, it sounds like sharing a meal with those you love. There’s no other projects I can really compare this album to for you, and ultimately I think that’s a good thing. You just have to listen to this one for yourself to truly understand what I am talking about.

Genre: Synth folk / synth pop / glitch folk

Standouts: I mean, the whole album... but “Why?” “Gameun Deut,” “Curve and Light,” and “Crumbling Together,” for sure.

8. Amen Dunes - Freedom

Much like hallucinating on psychedelics or living through a fever dream, Freedom is a euphoric and shimmery listen. The off-kilter structure of many songs, the groovy basslines and percussion, topped off by Damon McMahon’s sensual voice sends the listener into a trance. The album builds and builds, creating an ethereal sonic atmosphere, wrapping the listener like a ghostly blanket. It draws the listener in and traps them in a haze of memory, emotion and soul.

Genre: Psychedelic folk / folk rock

Standouts: “Blue Rose,” “Time,” “Miki Dora,” “Believe,” “Dracula,” “Freedom”

7. Parquet Courts - Wide Awake!

Politically-charged, funk-woven rock anthems are certainly not a dime a dozen. Smart, catchy post-punk cuts are not easy to execute, especially when trying to interject political themes and commentary on sociopolitical issues. But Parquet Courts, a Brooklyn-based indie rock collective, have certainly accomplished the seemingly impossible with Wide Awake! Providing perspective on violence, agency in the modern age, disparities in our modern economy. The lyrical focus on this album is superb, and there is a clear attention to the writing here. But the instrumentation is equally illustrative. Slick guitar riffs, funky bass lines, snappy percussion, and a myriad of effects keep the songs flowing with character. There’s also an amazing fusion of many genres. Funk, soul, garage rock, post-punk, and jangle pop can all be heard in some form or another on this record. No song sounds like its predecessor or successor, making Wide Awake! one of this year’s best.

Genre: Post-punk / indie rock

Standouts: “Violence,” “Mardi Gras Beads,” “Almost Had To Start A Fight/In and Out of Patience,” “Freebird II,” “Wide Awake,” “Tenderness”

6. Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer

Janelle Monae is an artist unlike any other. A musician, a model, an actor, a producer, and rapper, Monae’s talents and passions have combined to create unstoppable works. From her previous LPs, to her accolades for roles in films such as Moonlight, I was very much anticipating this latest release. It seems Monae is at her most adventurous right now, venturing out into modes and endeavors few other artists would dare explore. And she does so with such poise and strength on Dirty Computer. It is much more poppy and glossy than her previous works, but it is also conceptual and forward-thinking to a high degree. Exploring sexuality, love, individualism, and pride in all forms, the album is an exquisite listen. Songs like, “Screwed” and “Make Me Feel,” are overtly sexual, but backed by tangible passion and pride. Monae’s obvious inspiration from Prince is found on these songs as well, adding to the lust and mystery. The tracks “Django Jane,” and “Pynk” are infectious and inspiring anthems, preaching love for one’s self and hearkening to the struggles of being a minority in a tumultuous America. These are not the only songs with such impacts however. The entire project is a prideful piece of art, worthy of all the accolades it has received.

Genre: Contemporary R&B / synth funk / art pop

Standouts: “Screwed,” “Django Jane,” “Make Me Feel,” “Pynk,” “I Got The Juice,” “I Like That”

5. Mitski - Be The Cowboy

At her roots, Mitski is very much a punk icon. And what is more punk than the subversion of classic musical standards? Mitski opts for a much more brief and precise project with Be The Cowboy. At 14 songs and 32 minutes, it’s an album that sucks you in and spits you out in the matter of mere minutes. Songs average on the 2:30 length, leaving just enough to make you feel full but certainly not enough to leave you satisfied. And that intentional briefness is what kept me coming back to this album. The emotional climaxes that build are abruptly cut off, and I’m left feeling empty and yearning for more. The swells of love and loss keep you afloat for just a moment, only to drag you down and leave you gasping for breath. “Geyser,” opens the album, creating a sense of empowerment and vision. But I soon realized that Mitski is battling herself in this album. She is struggling to move on from the past, but more than certain that she has the power to do so. That’s what I think “Be the cowboy,” means. At least to a degree. That idea of capturing the symbolism and presence of the old gunslingers of the west. That idea of being strong willed and free flows throughout the project. Mitski is no longer apologizing for herself. She channels that energy of the cowboy and has created an album that speaks to the strength within us all.

Genre: Indie rock / art pop

Standouts: “Geyser,” “Old Friend,” “A Pearl,” “Lonesome Love,” “Me and My Husband,” “Nobody,” “Two Slow Dancers”

4. Lucy Dacus - Historian

Virginia native, Lucy Dacus, has had quite the year. From releasing her sophomore full length record, to joining forces with her contemporaries Phoebe Bridgers and Julien Baker, 2018 has proved to be a pivotal moment in the singer-songwriters career. And I couldn’t think of an artist more deserving of such success and praise. Dacus is so humble and soft spoken, it is a revelation when she belts out on tracks like “Night Shift.” Her presence on stage and on her latest album evoke such emotion and personality, making Historian one of my favorite albums of the decade. From a distance, many could label Dacus as your run-of-the-mill indie singer-songwriter. But from the moment the album kicks off, you realize this is something else entire. “Night Shift,” is a perfect example of Dacus’ mature writing and song structuring, with the songs building with emotion and boiling over after a certain point. Dacus’ soft voice becomes increasingly more powerful as songs go on, and fill the room with energy and emotion.

Delving into self love, loss and facing the inevitability of time, Dacus finds herself facing mortality and wisdom at the same time. There is a sense of growth on this album, especially when compared to her debut album. The crunchy guitar lines, the smooth drums and bass, emboldened by Dacus’ one of a kind voice hypnotize the listener. Songs vary in length beautifully as well. Dacus can easily write catchy singles like “Addictions,” but she is more than capable of (and perhaps better suited for) writing expansive and fluctuating ballads that creep towards the six, seven minute mark. Overall, there is a real comfort to this record, and an unparalleled presence that is sure to stand the test of time.

Genre: Indie rock / singer-songwriter

Standouts: “Night Shift,” “Addictions,” “The Shell,” “Nonbeliever,” “Yours & Mine,” “Timefighter,” “Next of Kin”

3. Haley Heynderickx - I Need To Start A Garden

Much like a garden, music is delicate and requires the utmost care to thrive and intrigue. If cared for properly though, the fruits of your labor will be bountiful. Portland-born singer-songwriter Haley Heynderickx understands this dilemma and explores its effects and roots on her debut album, I Need To Start A Garden.

Prior to her full-length debut, Heynderickx had released an EP in 2016 titled, Fish Eyes. The four song venture was bright with intimacy and care. It was like a collection of cacti and succulents, rough around the edges yet beautiful beyond compare. Featuring muted guitar tones, subtle ventures into nature and love, and not much else, the EP was a highlight for me in 2016. Haley’s voice is so pure and emotive, it’s evident her own stories are folded into the weaves of her music.

This is why I was so excited for her full length record this year. When the folk sphere has been dominated by acts such as Fleet Foxes, Bon Iver, and other giants for so long,it is refreshing to hear a new voice in the crowd.

I Need To Start A Garden opens with the somber, “No Face,” a song about self-reflection and self-doubt. And while accompanying tracks like “Show You a Body,” and “Worth It” carry heavy ethos and mystery, Haley isn’t afraid to mix in humor and on-the-nose self-deprecation. “The Bug Collector,” “Untitled God Song,” and “Oom Sha La La” mix up the pace and taste of the LP, trading subtle guitar lines for bright electric rhythms. Haley’s word play and writing talents are evident across the record, but I think these three tracks really display her knack for balancing her lyrics and her esteemed wordsmith-ing.

Much like a garden, music requires the maker to understand the mercurial nature of the process. It doesn’t just happen overnight. No artist better understands these frustrations than Haley. I Need To Start A Garden represents its namesake; its beauty hides behind a veil of minimalism, and its strengths are at times mistaken for faults. Haley’s folk roots give this album space and air to breath, and her ability to tell enchanting stories brings this album to life. If I Need To Start A Garden is any indication, Heynderickx will be back with perennial success.

Genre: Folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts: “No Face,” “The Bug Collector,” “Jo,” “Worth It,” “Untitled God Song,” “Oom Sha La La”

2. Boygenius - Boygenius EP

First and foremost, I understand that this collection of songs is technically an EP, not an LP. But I could not make a year-end list documenting all of the projects that I found transformative without including the Boygenius EP. Six intimate and simple songs, written and recorded in the span of a few weeks, including three of the most inspiring and talented individuals in music right now: Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus. The sheer brilliance of this EP is in its simplicity, as well as its spontaneity and the comfort it so easily provides.

The joining of these three musicians and songwriters has been labeled as indie music’s next ‘supergroup,’ and it is difficult to refute such a label when their debut project and respective tour made such a lasting impact on my life, and I’m sure the lives of many others. When it was announced that Bridgers, Dacus and Baker were collaborating on a project together, I had no idea that the fruits of their labor would arrive within the year. But I am oh so glad it did. These artists are not unfamiliar to me, nor are they to each other. Bridgers and Baker have toured together in the past, and Lucy joined forces with Baker for some shows this year as well. However, I had no idea what any sort of project from these three would sound like, let alone how it would impact me.

Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus all have such unique sounds and distinct approaches to music. Baker is often associated with minimalistic arrangements; her debut solo LP featured only her voice, a guitar, a looping rig, and a piano. While her arrangements have grown and been fleshed out a bit more on her sophomore release, her style is consistent. Focusing on emotional releases through the exploration of here darkest times, Baker builds her songs to cathartic releases. Dacus is similar, but often chooses to flesh out her storytelling a bit more, and opts for a fuller instrumentation (e.g. bass, drums, and a second guitar). Her songs drift and sway, hypnotizing the listener until her progressions ultimately erupt. Bridgers is perhaps the most varied in her sound. Using a baritone guitar, an acoustic, slide guitars, drums, bass and synths. Her debut album was a joy to listen to because it flipped conventional indie rock and indie folk on its head. It didn’t revolutionize the sound per se, but her songwriting and humor shine through like few other indie folk records do.

These elements from each artist come together beautifully on the EP. The way each artist is able to harmonize with each other, work off each other and build the others up is incredible. Some songs highlight a different artist in some way. “Me & My Dog,” is a ballad featuring Phoebe on lead vocals and guitar, “Stay Down,” is forwarded by Baker and “Bite The Hand” kicks the EP off with Lucy’s velvety and somber singing. But there are also cuts that serve as vehicles for the three artists’ talents to merge and blossom. “Souvenir,” and “Ketchum, ID” in particular include exquisite harmonies between the three artists and verses are traded back and forth among the singers. This sharing of material not only allows the listener to experience each artist individually, but in a way it is the sonic embodiment of what this EP is all about. It’s about sharing, loving yourself and each other, and not being afraid to find comfort in the shared anxieties that life throws at you.

Genre: Indie rock / indie folk / singer-songwriter

Standouts: The entire EP

1. IDLES - Joy as an Act of Resistance

I’ve discussed how volatile and fickle heavily-political projects can be in this day and age. It is easy for the project to drown itself in self-righteousness or to lose itself in its own tone deafness. Political narratives in music can also become jumbled and indigestible if done poorly. But this is not the case for Bristol punk outfit, IDLES, and their sophomore record here, Joy as an Act of Resistance.

Tackling UK-centric issues such as the Tory Party’s gaining grip on the nation as well as the recent Brexit controversies, Joy is very much rooted in the chaos and turmoil facing the UK today. However, the album’s messages can find relevance in the United States as well as a myriad of other countries. “Colossus,” the album’s opener, tackles toxic masculinity and its effects on the male mentality. “Never Fight A Man With A Perm,” continues this commentary with sour guitar licks and thunderous drums. Joe Talbot’s - the lead singer of IDLES - shout-like singing cuts through the mix to create a sense of urgency and resistance.

“I’m Scum” slows the record down a bit with rhythmic drums and subdued (for IDLES) instrumentation. It delves into the political and sociopolitical challenges that Britain is currently facing with its continued rise of the right wing party. Lines like, “I don’t care about the next James Bond. He kills for country, Queen and God. We don’t need another murderous toff,” and “This snowflake’s an avalanche,” deliver heavy social punches in such a vivid tone.

Joy’s political tone only continues to grow with “Danny Nedelko,” a ballad of sorts, praising immigrants and all the brilliance and love they bring to their newfound homes (where ever that may be). The song’s namesake is Talbot’s real-life best friend, Danny Nedelko, a Ukrainian immigrant to the United Kingdom. The track speaks on how every day immigrants bring immense value to their communities with lines like, “My blood brother is Malala. A Polish butcher, he’s Mo Farah.” Including the names of famous immigrants to the UK highlights just how one-sided and clouded many citizens’ views on immigrants are.

The album chugs along at breakneck pace, until “June,” the deeply emotional ode to Talbot’s daughter whose untimely passing proved to be a pivotal emotional moment in Talbot’s life. One that sprouted the genesis of this album, and one that will surely be held close for his entire lifetime.

Joy is a straightforward post-punk album with apt commentary that is applicable to any corner of the earth. But what makes this album my album of the year is its delivery of such commentary. Behind the chugging bass lines, the sharp and sour guitar lines, the pounding drums, and Talbot’s gruff voice is a message of love for one another. This juxtaposition only grows in effect with each repeated listen. From the outside looking in, it’s a rough-around-the-edges and jagged punk record. But once you peer deeper into the substance, it’s truly a representation of its title, a reaffirmation that joy is the simplest - and perhaps the most effective - form of resistance to those who work to spread hate and unrest.

Genre: Post-punk / art punk / hardcore punk

Standouts: “Colossus,” “Never Fight A Man With A Perm,” “Danny Nedelko,” “I’m Scum,” “June,” “Rottweiler,” “Television”

#aoty list #aoty #music review #music journalism #idles #father john misty #boygenius #phoebe bridgers #julien baker #mitski

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lighthouseroleplay · 5 years

Photo

ISABELLE ‘IZ’ PARK

( 21 , cis woman , she/her )

♪♫ currently listening ⧸⧸ stupid girl by garage

the bitterness of black tea, worn-in leather boots that stomp on the floor, killing every plant she owns but buying more just to try again. old t-shirts, the crunch of a popsicle on a warm day, neat, handwritten notes. the rattle of a windowpane as rain pours from dark clouds, a silver necklace with matching bracelet. evenings spent buried in history documentaries, stubborn frowns, flickering neon.

• moon started off as a lab partner your junior year; never much of a thought in your mind unless you were working on anatomy homework. you don’t mean to stumble upon your mother’s past, the future your father took on while forgetting all about you. he’s happy with his real family, his seemingly perfect daughter that you somehow happened to be paired up with in class. you can’t help but turn a cold shoulder to the girl you’ve paid only a little attention to for most of your life. as much as you want to let go of the bitterness, it hurts to think that she’s the one your father chose to care for.

• ackerman has been your closest friend for as long as you can remember. of course you heard the whispers about her family, the rumors about her that swirled through your small town, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care. she’s been by your side through everything, from first crushes to revelations about your family you never really expected. she softens your rough edges, brings caution when you’d rather throw it to the wind. even with her miles and miles away, she is a constant comforting presence in your life.

taken by v/sloth ⧸⧸ tiana tolstoi

tw: depression, cancer mention, attempted suicide

Y’know, you came out swinging, her mom said quietly, holding in a laugh. She dabbed a cotton swab soaked with iodine onto her daughter’s scraped knee and smiled at some far-off thought. Grandma had been the stern one. She’d seen the teacher’s note about “behavioral misconduct” and her wrinkled, fleshy face had gone hard. You’re too old for this, Isabelle Park. Brawling on the playground like I didn’t raise you better. Izzie had felt her eyes burning, but she’d been unable to find the words to explain what had happened: how some boys from her class had circled her like a pack of dogs and jeered, Where’s your dad? Where’s your dad? until she had felt that terrible shame bringing heat to her face, blood rushing behind her eyes, turning her sight dark. She had decked the biggest of them with a closed fist and left him crying in the dirt. Now, her mother applied the bandaids and smoothed the flyways at her temple. She kissed the cheek where tears were still drying. You weren’t a screamer, but I remember those tiny, tiny fists, swinging at anyone in reach. Izzie could see the memory that wasn’t even her’s: the tiny infant lifted up against the bright lights of the delivery room, batting the air as if to clear everyone away— the doctors, the nurses, even her own exhausted mother, watching in awe.

She isn’t sure when she realized that her mom wasn’t like other moms. She knew, as early as childhood awareness would allow, that her family wasn’t like other families. There was an absence in photographs and on parent signature forms where a father should have been, but that didn’t bother her; it wasn’t an ache she would feel until much later. Instead, Izzie grew up knowing mostly warmth and happiness in that run-down Victorian where the shingles slid off the roof every rainy season, and the gutters were constantly clogged with putrified leaves. She lived with her mother and her grandmother and the old, bristly fox terrier that her grandfather— long-dead before she was born— had left behind. Her grandmother was a fearsome pillar of a woman: stocky and broad-shouldered, her dark hair shot through with streaks of iron and pleated down her back. Nothing feeble about her; she seemed to grow more solid with each passing year, like an ancient oak. Often, she took Isabelle by the chin and turned her this way and that, saying, God broke the mold with you. But Izzie secretly liked to think God had re-used one of his favorite molds, the same one that he’d made her grandmother with. There was no one in the world she more reverently admired, no one she more fiercely wanted to become.

It was her mother who was the anomaly. She was different in a way that defied easy explanation; for many years, Grandma would not answer questions whenever Izzie ventured to ask them, instead ordering her to peel some more carrots in that clipped tone of voice that left no room for argument. But Izzie was an astute child. Nothing escaped her notice. She saw that her mother had a tendency to feel things in extremes; a soapy glass would slip from her grasp and pop into shards, and Izzie would watch her mother’s face crumple like cardboard left out in the rain, as if she’d just broken something irreplaceable. There were weeks of vegetative sadness, and dinners that Izzie and her grandmother ate alone because her mother refused to leave the darkened bedroom. Other times, she became sensitive and wild, highly reactive to the world around her. She’d throw fits at the blinking cashier who’d given her the wrong change, and snap unkindly at her daughter or her mother over minor grievances, making mountains out of molehills. Some days, though, she was transformed. The heavy clouds would shift; a burst of sunlight would bathe them all in warmth. Her mother would float into the kitchen and dole out kisses on the cheek, her face radiant with a pure, concentrated happiness— those were the times Izzie loved her the most. She loved her mother so hard in those episodes that later, she’d look back on them with a certain guilt, recognizing them for the mania that they were: her mom taking her out of school early, face flushed as if she’d been infused with someone else’s blood, taking her to the park to feed the ducks or to the aquarium three towns away. Always, she promised better adventures. Vacations to the redwood forests of California. Trips to see the mirrored skyscrapers of New York.

All throughout her childhood, Izzie was merely a spectator to the unpredictable moods her mother cycled through. She never paid much attention to how her grandmother handled them, the way she’d take her grown daughter into her arms like a child and coax her back from the brink with soft words meant only for her. Her grandmother was a good caretaker. She was the mast they could all lash themselves to in a storm. Because of her, they weathered each gale and came out on the other side, shuddering, shivering, but still whole. Izzie, meanwhile, had sprung up two inches above her classmates and stopped dealing black eyes to anyone who incurred her wrath. Instead, her anger had refined itself into a sharpened point; there was a condensed, dark kernel in the very center of her, and from it she began to cast a sort of furious solitude around herself, a shield that very few could penetrate. By late middle school, she wore only black. She found a pair of men’s Doc Martens at the thrift store and was thrilled by their thick-soled meanness, even if she had to double up her socks to compensate for the size. And she no longer went by Isabelle, or Izzie— it was Iz now, her elegant name shorn to a single brute syllable. It suited her. With that keen elfin face always watchful beneath eyebrows thin and arced like scythes, you could tell that she was a sharp one. She had edges to watch out for.

You might have an artist’s temperament, her grandmother noted one day, raising her eyebrows at the smudged ink sketches that Iz had scattered throughout her math notebook, which had been sent home with another exasperated note from her teacher. But not the talent. Her grandmother’s truths never concerned themselves with what they happened to destroy. Still, she was right; Iz was not an artist. She’d quit piano after a month, too impatient with her clumsy fingers, and her drawings, though painstakingly done, were flat and lifeless on the page. But while she didn’t have the ability to make art, Iz felt that she could still appreciate it. That had to count for something— she was desperate to distinguish herself from the small-town folk of Tennebrin Port in some way, convinced that their dull inner lives were nothing like her own bone-deep hunger for more. Movies in particular captivated her. When she had money, she spent it on DVD rentals or movie tickets. When she didn’t have money, she pestered the concession boys until one of them let her sneak in through the theater’s back door. Then she would creep from one back row to the next, watching movie after movie until all the enormous screens flickered to black, and only stopped doing this once the manager threatened to ban her. She consumed books and articles and Wikipedia pages with a voracious appetite, determined to know every little fact, to understand every intricacy of the film-making process. She began to worship her favorite directors; the walls of her bedroom became plastered with posters for Carpenter and Kubrick, Wong Kar-Wai, Fincher, Kurosawa. Once she started taking French classes in high school, she framed the poster for Jean Luc Godard’s Breathless above her bed.

When she thinks back on that summer, the summer that ushered in the worst year of her life, she remembers only pale, bled skies and unbroken heat, black flies stewing in the air, the briney smell of the ocean stinging her nostrils more sharply than ever before. Memories can change depending on what meaning we assign to them; even before Andrea Clare drowned, Iz remembers how that summer felt wrong, like a stagnant pool of water brewing disease. She had never known the girl that well— besides Angela, her friendships were limited to those she exchanged a few words with at lunch or in study hall, or those she negotiated with during the terse diplomacy of group projects. Iz would not disrespect a dead girl by pretending they’d ever been friends. But the looping footage of her death— and all the sound and sensation she came to associate with it— shifted something inside of her. She’d come to think of herself as an impenetrable fortress; she’d felt protected by the aloofness that kept her apart from the world. But as the days of July and August crawled by, with Tennebrin Port stunned into a stupor of grief, she was beginning to understand what death was and what it did. All of them on the shore shared in this terrible knowledge together; she wondered often about the others and how they were able to find space for it inside themselves, but never did she have the nerve to ask.

If Andrea’s death didn’t feel like an omen at the time, it certainly became one in retrospect. Her grandmother coughed blood into the sink one morning, as the leaves outside the window rustled in shades of copper and gold. Then came the quick raging of her cancer, an illness like a wild animal tearing through her body, and then she was gone, leaving only Iz and her mother behind in the old house, listening to the wind moan despondently through the attic. Iz took the death hard. She sank so deeply into herself that she emitted no light, becoming a hermit within her own body. Her grief made her turn teeth on well-meaning neighbors and teachers and classmates. She told Angela to fuck off so many times that the poor girl— her only real friend, the only one who understood the totality of her loss— finally did, and Iz wasn’t quite sure what to do with herself after that. Through that long, brutal winter, she’d come home from school and find her mother in bed as she’d been for weeks, her face swollen with tears, the ashtray by her bedside overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. Iz would linger in the doorway and watch the blue light of the TV bouncing off her mother’s vacant gaze; then she’d close the door, and feel the gulf between them widening each time she crept upstairs, ashamed, in the dark. There was no way across it. Without her grandmother, the remaining Park women were as separate as two ice floes on the black Arctic sea. Each was now alone in a way that was permanent.

In the blue-and-red strobe of the ambulance, Iz wore a mask of calm just as her grandmother had, so many times before, and spent a week with her mother in the hospital watching monitors zig-zag like seismographs measuring aftershocks. Then she brought her back to the drafty, creaking Victorian under strict orders to never leave her unsupervised. Difficult to do, considering she was still in high school. Neighbors stepped in to help when she finally broke down enough to ask. Friends squirreled her study notes and cheatsheets for all the classes she missed, but still her grades— never better than average— began a slow descent towards rock-bottom. Her dreams of college felt laughable now; all the possible outcomes, all the imagined opportunities, all of them dwindled to nothing. She saw a long, dark patch of life waiting for her like a mile of black ice up ahead. This would be it: she’d be her mother’s sole caretaker, managing medications and hiding the alcohol, forcing her outside for some fresh air, cooking meals that she wouldn’t eat, steadily accumulating resentments like tallymarks on a prison wall. On and on, ad infinitum, until maybe she too succumbed to whatever sleeping gene had made her mother this way. Then they’d both be rattling around this old house, as crazy as two cuckoos. The future was almost as comical as it was bleak.

Somewhere around this time, her partnership with Moon began. The girl was a perfect example of how kind life could be to those protected from its worst blows: she was pretty and popular, never at a shortage of friends, never at a shortage of admirers. Things seemed to come easily to her as a virtue of her privilege. Once, this might’ve prompted nothing more than an eye-roll from Iz— and maybe some snide comments to Angela about the bourgeoisie— but now, Moon’s easy, effortless existence confronted her on a daily basis with just how shitty her own circumstances had become. The contrast was as plain as night and day when they sat next to each other in class: Moon lovely and immaculate in her expensive sweater sets and designer-brand jeans, Iz pale and fatigued in her ratty Goodwill finds which only came in mismatched shades of black, her stomach curdling with a childish bitterness that couldn’t be helped. But it turned out that Moon was also unexpectedly kind; whenever Iz didn’t show up for class, or didn’t have the energy to complete her portion of a lab report, Moon would cover without needing to be asked. It was this— the sparing of her sensitive pride— that she was most grateful for. As winter thawed into a more merciful spring, a tentative friendship took root, and began to grow.

They’d met at the Has Bean to cram for finals, and ended up lingering long after their study group disbanded, notes pushed to the side and dregs of coffee growing cold. Once the sole barista began sweeping the floors and shooting them looks of increasing urgency, Iz offered Moon a ride home in her rust-flecked Pontiac; the girl declined, saying that her father was already on his way. They waited outside. April was raw this year, blustery and cold. The wind rattled all the empty branches on this quiet street. Mr. Moon pulled up in his sleek car and rolled down the passenger side window to call to his daughter; when he put his eyes on Iz, she felt their weight and raised her own. The gaze she met was unsettlingly dark, just like hers. He stared. She stared back. They looked at each other like two startled animals caught under the same porchlight. She saw the pointed features and almond eyes, the parts of her which had never belonged to her mother’s side of the family, the strange, subdued fear waking in Mr. Moon’s expression. Instantly, she felt sick. She turned away, leaving Moon to blink after her in confusion, and walked quickly down the street with her head ducked and her hands balled into fists in her pockets. Then she sat in her car without moving until dusk became dark. Her knuckles were blanched on the wheel; each successive shudder made her feel like she might shake apart. She knew, she knew. She knew whose face she’d just seen.

It would be another month before she approached him. She couldn’t ask her mother for fear of the domino effect that it might trigger, but the certainty she felt after that first encounter didn’t need confirmation. Mr. Moon, for his part, agreed willingly to meet with her and didn’t ask why. They sat across from each other in the vinyl booths of some roadside diner, a safe distance away from town, and he ordered a plate of fries she didn’t touch, a soda that went watery with the ice that melted in it. Coolly, she sipped a glass of tap and watched the emotions darting openly across his face; the worry, anxiety, fear, shame, guilt. He didn’t want her to tell Moon, of course. He was a reputable man in Tenebrin, and he had a family to protect. Hearing the word family, Iz felt the surge of sour, tainted groundwater welling up inside of her, bringing all her toxins to the surface. The spite in her voice could’ve killed any growing thing. I don’t give a shit about your family. The immensity of her rage shocked her; she’d sustained all this anger towards a man she’d never even met. It had existed deep inside of her all these years, enduring, building layer upon layer in a process so slow that she had never noticed the added weight— until now. This was the heavy, compressed anger underlying everything else; she’d reserved especially for her father, and she wanted him to feel its impact like a blow from her own fist. I’m not going to say anything, and not because I don’t think you deserve to have your life ruined, because you do. It’s because I want nothing to do with you or your shitty family. And because my mother doesn’t need more shit being talked about her in town. Mr. Moon cleared his throat. They lapsed into silence as a waitress cleared their cold food, after which Iz wasted no time in getting to real reason she’d arranged this meeting: holding him accountable for what he’d done— or rather, failed to do.

This was the plan that would take her where she needed to go: she would go to a liberal arts college, one with a decent film program, somewhere inland where she wouldn’t constantly smell salt on the air or hear the distant, dull roar of the waves to remind her of this place. Tennebrin had become unbearable after all that had happened here; she wanted to rip herself out of the ground like a plant, roots snapping. The school would still be within state, close enough to home to prevent the guilt of abandoning her mother— she’d come back for breaks and vacations, and in the meantime, he would pay for a live-in nurse and whatever other types of care her mother might need. And though she wasn’t asking him to put her through college, a stipend towards tuition seemed appropriate, didn’t it? She laid out her demands with flinty eyes, making it clear what the repercussions would be if he didn’t comply. Iz had intended for this to be a scene of blackmail straight out of a Scorsese flick; in the month leading up to this moment, she had indulged vicious daydreams of how it would play out, how he’d stammer through apologies only for her to cut him off mid-sentence, denying him any forgiveness, any absolution of guilt. But life lacked the satisfaction of movies. With his quiet, calm manner, Mr. Moon only nodded as he watched cars leaving the darkened parking lot, throwing their headlights against the window. When he looked at her again, near the end, there was something in his tired face that his eyes were fighting to explain. I just need you to know, I tried. I would have tried for longer. But your grandmother… He stopped because of whatever change had come over her expression. Iz let him continue speaking, trying to keep down the thing that was rising swiftly in her stomach, displacing her heart into her throat. What should have come as a surprise to her, didn’t— it made sense, the role that her grandmother had played in his departure. The woman had always had a way of seeing straight into the marrow of people; if she’d sensed weakness in this man, so handsome and well-groomed in his dark business suit, then she must have been right to make the choice she did. As Mr. Moon told the story, Iz heard the explanation in her grandmother’s hoarse voice: he didn’t have the stomach for it. So she had forced him out, in the best interest of her daughter and then unborn granddaughter. She had released him. And the people of Tenebrin Port, with their eyes averted, had let a veil fall over this event, this shattering of what could’ve been a family, and the town had moved on in the way that small towns do, carefully preserving the secrets of those living inside it.

The day of Andrea’s death is imprinted in her memory for reasons she understands, and some that she doesn’t, but Iz forced that entire chapter of her life closed when she graduated from Cecil Morgan and moved away from Tenebrin Port. Four years at Whitman College afforded her the distance to blunt that memory and so many others; she retained her acerbic wit, her dark sense of humor, her sometimes turbulent moods, but her sharp edges became sanded down and she discovered that being around people was not such a terrible thing after all, which in turn made her a much more tolerable presence. She excelled in her film classes and did passably in others, still very much governed by her own interests. She partied, experimented with boys and girls alike, left dents in a couple hearts, collected a few scratches on the hard exterior of her own. College gave her exactly what she’d always been after. Freedom. It was a sensation that outweighed any sense of guilt towards her mother, but even her mother seemed better in these last few years, cooking all the meals whenever Iz came home for holidays, her nurse more like a companion, her smiles genuine as she listened to the sanitized stories Iz told of friends and eccentric professors and annoying roommates. All in all, Isabelle Park was doing just fine when the dreams started. Their onset didn’t seem to coincide with any anniversary she could pinpoint— not Andrea’s death, nor her grandmother’s. At first they were murky and shapeless, hybrids of imagination and memory that didn’t leave much of themselves behind, but slowly, they gained definition. There was the beach, the pale rind of sand and the dark, glossy ocean. There was Alderman’s Point where the old lighthouse stood, looming and sinister. In the dream just as in the memory, lightening ripped open the sky; in its sudden ghostlight, there was Andrea Clare, resurrected without logic or warning. Bobbing in the surf, her mouth open in a scream that the gulls echoed as they wheeled around her, the waves lapping over her, choking her, then erasing her entirely. Each dream replayed her death with startling clarity. After the first couple of doozies, Iz started to borrow her roommate’s prescription Ambien. That did the trick nicely— she coasted all the way through finals on heavy, dreamless sleep, and began to believe that the night terrors would simply resolve themselves like the strange fluke they were, weaning herself off the pills once it seemed like enough time had passed. But a few days before she was set to come home for the summer— newly graduated, completely unemployed, and staring down the barrel of her future— she had the worst dream to date. Everything was the same, except for Andrea’s scream; this time it was her own mother’s voice that was screaming, and she was screaming her daughter’s name, over and over, begging for help.

#skel: all #park #park: skel #skel: closed

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