#oh--and i've spotted a typo!

[riley1cannon]

💧Rain - What's the most emotional scene you've ever written?

Okay, this was a hard one. After looking through several of my fics, though, and weighing one against the other, I'm going with this one from Eternities Still Unsaid:

Now, it had to be now, Ramses knew, but even as he started toward her, he froze in place as the Countess took dead aim on Nefret.

“Look at this way,” her words were addressed to Ramses, “at least she’ll go quickly.”

“No!” But even as the protest rose and burst from his throat, the Countess squeezed the trigger. Flame erupted from the barrel, noise and the smell of gunpowder filled the small space--and Nefret gave a cry and began to crumple to the ground

Ramses caught her, held her close without hesitation, unable to do anything but watch as the Countess backed out of the room and began to close the door. “Go after her!” Nefret urged, trying to push him away. “Ramses--”

“I can’t. I...can’t...” Leave you.

He read that knowledge in the Countess’s eyes, just before the door slammed shut. He heard the click of a lock, and then nothing, nothing but Nefret’s rapid breaths and the cries of pain she tried to stifle.

“Shh, shh,” he breathed out as he cradled her with the utmost care.

“Another shirt ruined.” Nefret spoke the words with an attempt at wry humor.

Ramses held her closer. “Mother will be quite cross with you.”

“Yes.” Nefret bit her lip, burrowed into him, one hand gripping the nape of his neck. “And she’ll give me instructions on the avoidance of getting shot whilst facing down a madwoman.” Her voice caught on the last syllable and she couldn’t quite suppress a cry of pain. “Ramses...”

“Shh,” he whispered again, against her hair, stroking it. “Mother and Father have worked everything out already, I’m sure of it. They’re charging to our rescue even now.” It could even be true, he thought, desperate to believe it for Nefret’s sake.

“Yes, of course.” Nefret sniffed and gave a little nod. “I’m sure you’re right. Only...”

“What? What is it?” He sat back a bit, terrified at the blood that spread out in a crimson splash across her coat and soaked the shirt beneath.

“It does hurt a bit.”

I'm choosing it because it's subtle, I think, understated. If you don't know the context for what's going on here, it might look like a fairly routine hurt/comfort scenario. If you are up on your Amelia Peabody mysteries, and familiar with Ramses and Nefret's relationship, then there is quite a lot (so the author hopes anyway) going on between the lines.

Thanks for the ask!

#amelia peabody #ramses emerson/nefret forth #oh--and i've spotted a typo!

[likeadevils]

1989 Timeline

This is a very long post that puts all the songs on 1989 in order of Taylor creating them. I’ve also included a few other songs she worked on while writing 1989 and quotes from Taylor and her collaborators talking about her process

Of all the albums in Taylor's discography, I think this is the one that improves the most when you listen to it in order. All of those things Taylor was talking about in the promo for this album-- how this is an album of her coming into her own, figuring out her values, learning to stand on her own two feet-- it all clicks into place. Listening to it in order has made me cry on more than one occasion, and it's also the thing that made me start this whole crazy process of figuring out the dates she wrote each song.

If you don't want to read the whole post, check out this playlist of the album in order or this playlist of her entire discography.

I’ve also added this color coded scale of how sure I am of the date: 

Confirmed: There is some type of official source for the date

Inferring: Nobody has officially said “This is when we wrote it,” but all available evidence points to that date

Speculation: This date is based on guesswork and is highly likely to change, or, all that is known is the general season.

Unknown: All that is known is the year (from the US Copyright Offices)

Without further ado...

Oct 6, 2012: Taylor seems to have been in a studio in London (Note: I have no idea where this photo comes from and I can not find a place that specifies if this is a music studio or radio interview.)

This Love: Oct 17, 2012 (Confirmed)

October 19, 2012: Taylor mentions wanting to work with Imogen Heap, prompting Imogen to get in touch with Taylor

Time Interview: Who’d be your dream collaboration, especially now that you’re taking more musical risks? Let me think. Imogen Heap! She’s amazing. Taylor: Someone asked me in an interview "Who would you like to work with?" and I said Imogen Heap. I get an email to my management, sent like "Imogen just saw that Taylor just said an interview that she would like to work together" She said "Why don't you come out to my studio." Imogen: I got a phone call [in 2014] saying Taylor Swift was in London, she'd love to work with me and the only date she could do (between 4 sold out 02 arenas!) was the day after we got back, Sunday. It was both unexpected and not at the same time as I'd heard Taylor was a fan a while back via this Time magazine piece but somehow didn't think it would actually happen.

Fall 2012: Taylor possibly writes a song with Harry Styles and Jacknife Lee (her producer for The Last Time)

“It was out of my field of expertise and interest, but I was intrigued and my girls were thrilled. Taylor was nice and very professional. She knew what she wanted and there was no fucking about. She was seeing Harry Styles at the time, so he came to Topanga on her recommendation. She wrote a few songs with him, and it was the same thing – quick. But this time it was more directed by the management and label. They were after something specific. I wanted more acoustic and gentle, almost Americana, and they wanted bombast. They got what they wanted, and that was the extent of my foray into teen-pop territory. It was fun.”

All You Had to Do Was Stay: Jan 10, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor is photographed outside Conway, and then tweets "Back in the studio. Uh oh..." Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording All You Had To Do Was Stay. Taylor: I had a dream that my ex showed up at my door, knocked at my door, and I opened it up, and I was about ready to launch into the perfect thing to say [...], Instead, all that would come out of my mouth was that high-pitched chorus of people singing, 'Stay!'...and then you go to say something else, and it's just like 'Stay! Stay! Stay!' And I woke up, I was like 'Oh, that was mortifying. But that's kind of a cool vocal part.'

January 11, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside Conway again

How You Get The Girl: Jan 15, 2013 (Confirmed)

Taylor posts a picture of her playing a guitar in the studio, captioned "Somewhere in LA..". Later, Taylor confirmed that she was recording How You Get The Girl. Given what was going on in her personal life, she likely wrote this sometime in the fall/winter of 2012, but all we know for sure is the date she recorded it.

February 9, 2013: Tweets "Grammy rehearsals last night, studio today, who knows what tonight holds! (I do. Laying around watching TV and eating candy.)"

March 6, 2013: Taylor is photographed outside a studio in LA

March 23, 2013: Posts a picture of her playing guitar captioned "Pre show. Columbia, South Carolina"

I Wish You Would: May 28, 2013 (Inferring)

Taylor is photographed out for lunch in Rhode Island with Lena Dunham (and likely Jack Antonoff, who was Lena's boyfriend but not as famous at the time) on May 27 before leaving for her show in Phoenix, Arizona the next day Jack:  "We were hanging out at her house in Rhode Island and we were talking about John Hughes movies, and a lot of the music that inspired [them], and just this general culture of sound in that time period that was really larger-than-life in an anthemic, positive way. These songs could be at the end of films that were really, really beautiful and said a lot. That actually ended up being a song called 'I Wish You Would' which is going to be on her album. We first worked on that song together and realised we kind of have a good thing. Taylor: “This is a song I did with Jack Antonoff, and Jack is one of my friends and so we were hanging out and he pulled out his phone and goes "I made this amazing track the other day. It's so cool, I love these guitar sounds." And he played it for me and immediately I could hear this finished song in my head, and I just said "Please, please let me have that. Let me play with it, like send it to me" And so he sent it to me and I was on tour and this was me playing the track on my laptop recording me singing the vocal into my phone and it ended up being a song called "I Wish You Would", because Jack wrote back and said "I love that".”

June 7, 2013: At the CMA fest, Taylor is asked if she's started writing for her next album yet

“It's starting, all the anxiety is starting and when the anxiety starts, then the writing happens right afterward, usually. Um, so, yeah, I basically... I like to, I like to write for about two years before I'm finished with an album because I... at this point I kind of know that whenever I write in the first year is going to get thrown away, because, I'm going to like it, but it's going to sound a little bit like the last project I had, and the second year usually ends up sounding like the next project. So I think at this point, at this point I feel like staying the same is the easy way to go but it's not the way that I want to go, creatively. I think you need to challenge yourself, I think you need to change up your influences, I think you need to be inspired by different things that you've been inspired by before, and, uh, y'know, It's harder to call people you don't know, and it's harder to think of topics you haven't covered and think of new ways to say old emotions that everyone feels, but, that's the goal at this point."

June 20-21, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

July 15, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview to Rolling Stone

“The floodgates just opened the last couple weeks,” she says of the songwriting process. “I’m getting to that point where I’m irritating to be around because I’ll be with you for half the conversation and then the second half of the conversation I’m clearly editing the second verse of whatever I’m writing in my head.” “I really loved collaborating [on Red],” she says. “You work with a lot of different people and you find the people you have this dream connection with in the studio. I know those people and I know the ones I want to go back to. But I also have a really long list of the people I admire and I would really love to go and contact. So that’s kind of where that is.” “I think that the idea of having a different approach to every single one of my albums is so exciting to me. I never want to make the same record twice. Why do it? What’s the point? It’s so overwhelming that when you’re starting a project there are such endless possibilities if you’re willing to evolve and experiment. If you’re willing to become a different version of yourself, you can really go anywhere with it. And that’s kind of where I am. The kind of the laboratory experimental stage of really catching onto a new thing that I’m liking.”

July 18, 2013: Taylor unfollows the three backup dancers that left her tour for Katy's, meaning Bad Blood was likely written sometime between July and November 2013.

Sweeter Than Fiction: Summer 2013 (Speculation)

Taylor wrote this one over email, and then it was recorded in New York (partially in Jack's living room, partially in an actual studio)

August 25, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez hang out at the VMAs, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

August 25, 2013: Taylor gives a brief interview on the VMAs red carpet

"But I think [songwriting is] about to start to kick into full gear. I'm about to go into the studio. It's about to get really intense."

Out Of The Woods: September 14 2013 (Inferring)

On September 14, Fun cancelled their show. Taylor was likely either flying to or from Charlottesville, where she had a show for the Red Tour. Jack: "When I did the track for Out of the Woods, which is a Taylor song that I'm really proud of, there was some issue at a venue and our show was canceled that night and I didn't have my stuff, I had left it on the bus, so I only had these old samples on what was on my laptop, and caught up that 'oh oh'' thing, and I only had one drum kit on there, and these dumb little things [sometimes turn into a great song]" Jack: "So 'Out Of The Woods' was the third thing we worked on together, and probably the easiest. I sent her the track for it, and she sent back a voice note with the verse and chorus in what felt like five seconds. And it was just perfect. It's eerie how similar it is to what the final product is." Taylor: "This is a track that Jack Antonoff sent me, and I was actually on a plane, I got it and I got on a plane and I'm listening to it, and I'm just like listening to it and mumbling melodies cause the song came to me immediately like, in full [...] I think what I should start by playing you, is when I got the track, what I sent him like an hour later, and it is, me.. um, me singing what came to me, which ended up being the finished version of the song, or at least really close to it."

September 20, 2013: In a brief interview with USA Today, Taylor says she plans to work on her next album between the next few legs of the Red Tour

"I’ll be in the studio, figuring out what comes next. I really like to take two years to make a record, and I’ve been writing and doing stuff for the last year. This is kind of the year that it goes into overdrive, and it’s all I think about and I become obsessive over it and I’m hard to talk to"

September 22, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to New York Magazine where she talks about her plans for TS5

These days, Swift is thinking a lot about her next record. While on the Red tour, she’d been writing songs and stockpiling ideas: reams of lyrics, thousands of voice memos in her iPhone [...] she plans to spend much of 2014 writing and recording the new album, a prospect she finds exhilarating and terrifying. “I worry about everything. Some days I wake up in a mind-set of, like, ‘Okay, it’s been a good run.’ By afternoon, I could have a change of mood and feel like anything is possible and I can’t wait to make this kind of music I’ve never made before. And then by evening, I could be terrified of the whole thing again. And then at night, I’ll write a song before bed.” Swift hopes to collaborate with new songwriters and producers. But she planned to begin, she said, by heading back into the studio with Max Martin and Shellback. “I want to go in with Max and Johan first, just to figure out what the bone structure of this record is going to be. “I have a lot of things to draw from emotionally at the moment. But I have to draw from them with a different perspective than on Red. I can’t say the same things over and over, you know? I mean, I think it’s just all the more important that I don’t ever allow myself to coast. At the same time, there’s a mistake that I see artists make when they’re on their fourth or fifth record, and they think innovation is more important than solid songwriting. The most terrible letdown as a listener for me is when I’m listening to a song and I see what they were trying to do. Like, where there’s a dance break that doesn’t make any sense, there’s a rap that shouldn’t be there, there’s like a beat change that’s, like, the coolest, hippest thing this six months—but it has nothing to do with the feeling, it has nothing to do with the emotion, it has nothing to do with the lyric. I never want to put things in songs just because that might make them popular, like, on the more rhythmic stations or in dance clubs. I really don’t want a compilation of sounds. I just need them to be songs.”

September 28-October 5, 2013: Taylor and Selena Gomez are in the same city, and Taylor potentially writes Wildest Dreams.

October 12, 2013: Taylor gives an interview to the Associated Press

Swift: I think the goal for the next album is to continue to change, and never change in the same way twice [...] How do I write these figurative diary entries in ways that I’ve never written them before and to a sonic backdrop that I’ve never explored before? It’s my fifth album, which is crazy to think about, but I think what I’m noticing about it so far is it’s definitely taking a different turn than anything I’ve done before. AP: You said recently you’ve been working on songs for the new album for about six months. What can you tell us about what you have planned? Swift: It’s too early to tell who are going to be my predominant collaborators, but I do know that my absolute dream collaborators were Shellback and Max Martin on the last project. I’ve never been so challenged as a songwriter. I’ve never learned so much. I’ve never just been so excited to show up to the studio every day, just because you never know what we’re going to put together. I’ll bring in ideas and they’ll take such a different turn than where I thought they were going to go, and that level of unexpected spontaneity is something that really thrills me in the process of making music. ... What if we did this? What if we made it weirder? What if we took it darker? I love people who have endless strange and exciting ideas about where music can go."

October 14, 2013: At the NSAI, Taylor talks about reinventing herself for different albums

"I’m making my 5th record now, so I think you have to change things up, you have to explore different corners of music as much as you can. Cause I really, it’s been a big goal of mine to never make two albums that sounded the same. I really want my fans to be able to be like "Oh that song? Clearly that's from the Fearless album", "No that one, that one was from Red" and so I’m in the process of doing that thing all over again for my 5th album and it’s amazing to be in the studio and to be songwriting again, and be honored for songwriting tonight"

Blank Space: October 26, 2013 (Inferring)

It looks like she’s wearing the same outfit in this behind the scenes footage and these candids Taylor: "I was going into write with Max Martin and Shellback, who are two of the primary collaborators on 1989, and I... was preparing all these things, and I, I think Blank Space was like the third thing I played them, and they just stopped and they were like "NO, this is the first thing we're working on today." [...] I had the idea for the chorus and I had the hook, but a lot of the verse was gibberish." Taylor (On what song took her the least amount of time to write): "Blank space, cause I'd written a lot of the lines down already in the year preceding the session"

October 29, 2013: Tweets "Sitting in the studio writing the next album (!!!!) and wanted to thank you for the American Music Award nominations!"

November 1 : While promoting Keds, Taylor is asked about her next album

"What I go through is going to be the story that I tell. I think lyrically, I always try to tell my fans exactly what’s happened to me in the last two years, and that’s the thing they can expect. Everything else, they won’t be able to expect. Having been in the studio with this one, I’m just like… oh, this is going to be fun"

Bad Blood: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

The backup dancer drama seems to have kicked off in mid-July. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

New Romantics: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Unfortunately, Taylor doesn't really talk about this song. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Wildest Dreams: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Selena reportedly told a fan she was there when Taylor wrote this, and I've noted above all the times Selena could have been with Taylor in 2013 (Here's my personal ranking of how likely each date is). Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013.

Wonderland: Fall 2013 (Speculation)

Another one Taylor just doesn't talk about all that often. Given that it's produced by Max Martin and Shellback, and Taylor was in the studio with them pretty much non-stop from October-November, we can assume that it was recorded sometime in the Fall of 2013

Nov 20, 2013: Taylor posted "While in the studio, I came to the realization that my bangs are long enough to use as a sleep mask on long flights. Then I remembered I don't ever use sleep masks on flights. So really, I just need a haircut"

November 25, 2013: Taylor and Scott Borchetta have a meeting to talk about her plans for TS5 and are both asked about the next album at the AMAs

Taylor: “We got a lot already. There are probably seven or eight [songs] that I know I want on the record. It’s really ahead of schedule for me. I’m just stoked because it’s already evolved into a new sound, and that’s all I wanted. And I would have taken two years to make that happen, but it just kind of happened naturally, so that’s all I could really ask for.” Scott Borchetta: "Well earlier today we got together and she played me seven new songs, and she’s just on fire. The level of desire and passion that she has just to keep getting better, she’s an artist that just really never wants to just say ‘Well okay this is good enough’. It’s always gotta be better. She’s in amazing creative place right now." By the end of November, Taylor had likely recorded This Love, All You Had To Do Was Stay, How You Get The Girl, I Wish You Would, Out Of The Woods, Blank Space, Bad Blood, New Romantics, Wildest Dreams, and Wonderland. That’s 10 songs total, 5 of which were likely recorded in the past two months, and 7 that had been made since Taylor and Jack had their conversation about 80s music in May.

Dec 21, 2013: Taylor briefly talks to Billboard about TS5

"I’m really loving collaboration right now [...] I see it as a bit of an apprenticeship. I want to be around people who love writing songs and have done it for years. Every time I’m in a studio I’m learning, like how to build a drum track, and getting a new perspective on things. It’s so thrilling to keep learning on your fifth album. As soon as [an album] comes out I’m figuring out what the next one will be. It’s gotten to the point where each one is a reinvention, which is what I like best. I like it when it sounds new and people don’t know where you’re going to go next."

Say Don't Go: Jan 1, 2014 (Confirmed)

Diane Warren: Warren, who typically writes on her own, says the two of them “sat down and wrote the song […] from scratch” during the last few days of 2013. She remembers being impressed with how specific Swift was with her lyricism and how considerate she was about how her fans might receive it. “She was very particular about how she said certain things. It was a really interesting experience. She gets her audience [...] She’s deeply aware of how her fans want to hear something. I can’t explain it, but that’s probably why she’s the biggest fucking star in the world.” Several days after writing the song together, they got into Warren’s office to record a demo, where Swift played it on her acoustic guitar. “We demoed it on New Year’s Day. And I’m a workaholic, and that’s fine for me,” she says. “But I remember being impressed that she did, too. Everybody’s on vacation, but she showed up.”

You Are In Love: Jan 2014 (Inferring)

This song is copyrighted for 2014. Taylor has said a few times that Clean, Shake It Off, and Style were the last songs written for the album, meaning You Are In Love was likely completed in January or early February. Given Taylor's busy schedule in late January and early February, I'd guess this was written at some point in early January. Furthermore, I'd guess it was sometime after the 9th, when she returned from looking at house in New York.

I Know Places: Jan 22, 2014 (Confirmed)

Taylor: "I sent this voice memo to Ryan Tedder because I'd always wanted to work with him, and finally we scheduled some studio time. So I always wanna be prepared, I wanted to send him the idea that I was working on before we went into the studio just in case he wrote back and said "I can't stand that, I wanna work on something else, think of something else" So I just sat down with the piano, put my phone on top of the piano and just kind of explained to him where I wanted to go with the song, how I saw the melody sitting in and we ended up recording the song the next day and it ended up being on the record called "I Know Places" So this was the voice memo that I sent to him the night before we ended up finishing the song"

Welcome To New York: Jan 23, 2014 (Confirmed)

Ryan Tedder: "I thought we were going to walk in and start something from scratch because that's what I was used to. Then she calls me and says, 'Is it cool if I already have an idea?' I said, 'Sure.' She said, 'I have this song, I'm obsessed with New York and I just moved there, I want to write an ode to New York because no one's done it in a long time.' And then she sent me a voice memo. She's like, 'I want it to sound like 1980s.' So the next day I brought in a Juno-106, which is a very 1980s keyboard and I literally programmed that entire song right in front of her. It was very much on the fly, and that song was done in about three hours. And I did the rest of the production I think later that week. I was in Switzerland on a tour bus, and I did four versions of 'Welcome to New York,' one of which I liked personally more, but the thing about artists is they become very obsessed with the demo. She was in love with the demo so no matter how hard I fought, she brought it back to the demo, so really what you hear is what I did on the first day."

January 26 2014: Dianne Warren says that she recently wrote a song with Taylor

"I worked with Taylor Swift on a great song [...] I'm excited about the [song] that we did, it's pretty cool Dianne in 2016: “I know [Swift] likes it, so hopefully it will see the light of day. I know she really likes the song. She didn’t want me to give it away, so hopefully that means she wants it.”

January 26 2014: Taylor loses Album of the Year at the Grammy's to Daft Punk. She tells a few different stories about what the rest of the night looked like for her-- in some she goes home alone, in some she has some friends over-- but in all of them, this is the night where she decides that she's gonna name the album 1989, and she's not going to let her label tell her to put any country songs on it.

Clean: Feb 9, 2014 (Confirmed)

According to Imogen Heap's blog post, Taylor had the first verse and chorus by the time they got into the studio, and then wrote the second verse and bridge during the session. Taylor's part was wrapped up in 9 hours, ending at 8pm, while Imogen stayed up until 4am because she didn't want to stop working on it. Taylor: ""Shake It Off" and "Clean" were the last two things we wrote for the record, so it shows you where I ended up mentally. “Clean” I wrote as I was walking out of Liberty in London. Someone I used to date— it hit me that I’d been in the same city as him for two weeks and I hadn’t thought about it. When it did hit me, it was like, ‘Oh, I hope he’s doing well’. And nothing else. [...] The first thought that came to my mind was – I’m finally clean." Imogen Heap: I was really writing the tiniest amount just to help her do what she does. I put some noises to [“Clean”], played various instruments on it, including drums, and anytime she expressed she liked something I was doing, I did it more. It was a really fun day. She recorded all her vocals [for “Clean”] during that one session. She did two takes, and the second take was it. We always thought she would probably re-record it, because we thought it can’t possibly be that easy. But after we lived with it for a few months, we felt it was great.

February 15, 2014: Taylor posts "It was a studio Valentines Day with Max and Johan!"

Shake It Off: Feb 15, 2014 (Confirmed)

Lover Diaries (From Feb 22): "This week I’ve been in the studio with Max and Johan every day and it has been the most creatively successful and fulfilling time. The first day, Johan just made a really up tempo drum beat because we decided we needed something UP and light. We worked at it for a few hours before I just started singing “shake it off, shake it off.” And then the best way I know how to describe it is that the chorus just fell out of the sky. It ended up being this song about doing your own thing even though haters are gonna hate, and you just have to dance to your own beat. We all went home and I wrote the first and second verses and brought them in the next day. We wrote this chanty cheer leader bridge that I absolutely LOVE. We spent all day doing vocals and the next day recording background vocals. I think it’ll end up being the first single and Max said it’s his favorite song he’s ever been a part of." Taylor: "The problem was, I had all these lyrics, and I didnt have, like... writing session was coming up and I'm just like "I'm not getting a melody, I'm dead, I don't know what I'm gonna do." The thought terrified me, so I just sorta sulked into the studio and I was like "Guys, I have like an idea but its like, lyric, but I... and I know the vibe I want-- I want it to start off and the second the song starts, I want it to be the song where like, if it's played at a wedding, and there's this one girl who hasn't danced all night at the reception, all her friends come over to her and there like "You have to dance, come on, you have to dance on this one!". That's what I wanted. So I was like "Shellback, can you just go to the drum kit and try to play that?" Taylor: "There's one thing that I've always said to Max, is like "I don't like horns" I just always had a thing about it, I was always like weirdly scared of it, or intimidated by horns, I don't know what it was? It's a weird, like, nerdy studio fear of mine. I was like "No, no horns!" and I don't.. I don't even know, I don't have a reason for it, I love songs that have horns on them, I was just like "I don't think I can pull off horns." Strange. But, he goes over to the mellotron and he starts playing this horn sound. I'm like "What are you doing. Don't do that." and he's like, "No, I think this is cool" and I'm like "No it's not cool, and where are your chorus chords, because, that, you're just playing three chords over and over again and I can't make a chorus out of them, why don't you go to like a chorus chord that starts off the chorus, where is the one, like why don't you go--" and then there was this moment, where I thought of the whole chorus, and it's over the chords that I had just told him are not "chorus chords", which is a ridiculous thing to say."

February 18, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering Conway Studios

Style: Feb 19, 2014 (Confirmed)

Niklas Ljungfelt (guitarist): I played on “Style,” a song I started with Ali Payami for ourselves. He was playing it for Max Martin at his studio; Taylor overheard it and loved it. She and Max wrote new lyrics. But I recorded the guitar on it before it was a Taylor song. It was an instrumental. I didn’t have a clue that Taylor would sing on it. The inspiration came from Daft Punk and funky electronic music. Taylor: I'm pretty sure after we finished this one I knew the record was done. Shake It Off and Style were the last two songs to be written for 1989.

March 2014: Taylor's interview with Glamour is published (likely conducted two months beforehand)

TS: Working on this album has been unbelievable [...] I'm already in love with it. It's so different. CL: What's the new sound? TS: On Red I did three songs with Max Martin Shellback [...] I think we'll be doing a lot more than three songs together on the next album [Laughs].

March 26, 2014: Taylor is photographed entering a music studio in New York

May 30, 2014: Taylor writes in her diary:

So a crazy story unfolded in the last 24 hours. Last night, I had this vivid dream where the photo I’d chosen for the album cover wasn’t good enough, intriguing enough, artful enough. It woke me up. I couldn’t shake it and it stayed with me all day. Because that nagging feeling I’d been pushing back for weeks was now confirmed in my gut … It wasn’t good enough. I went to the venue, mind racing, wondering if I’d have to do an entirely new photo shoot … I got to my dressing room with newer versions of the “cover.” I looked at it and felt nothing. The team pulled up this new scanned file of the Polaroids we had taken during the shoot. I saw within 10 seconds. The shot. The cover. It’s a Polaroid of me sitting against a beige wall with a blue seagull swear shirt on. You can see my red lips, but the photo cuts off my eyes. From some reason unknown to me, it’s the most intriguing photo I’ve seen. I think it’s the mystery of not seeing my eyes. Maybe it just looks effortlessly cool. The craziest moment came when something caught my eye. The cover photo is photo 13. I kid you not.

August 23, 2014: Taylor is photographed walking out of a studio in LA (Note: I can not find a place that specifies if this is a recording studio, dance, photography, radio, or television studio.)

Now That We Don't Talk: Summer 2014 (Speculation)

Seeing as Taylor said she didn't have time to figure out the production, I imagine this came fairly late in the process. Taylor has a habit of adding songs right up to the deadline-- with Folklore and Evermore, she added multiple songs a week before the album came out. The latest she added songs to albums while signed to Big Machine was September, though (both Forever & Always and So It Goes...), so I assume that's the absolute latest she could've added a song. Taylor: "Now That We Don’t Talk” is one of my favorite songs that was left behind, it was so hard to leave it behind, but I think we wrote it a little bit towards the end of the process and we couldn’t get the production right at the time. But we had tons of time to perfect the production this time and figure out what we wanted this song to sound like. I think it’s the shortest song I’ve ever had, but I think it packs a punch, I think it really goes in. For the short amount of time we have, I think it makes its point.

And that's all for this timeline! Check out my others:

TIMELINES: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights PLAYLISTS: debut • fearless • speak now • red • 1989 • rep • lover • folklore • evermore • midnights • entire discography GENERAL: tag

#txt* #timeline* #taylor swift #OH MY GOD ITS OUT ITS OUT ITS OUT I'VE BEEN RESEARCHING THIS FOR THREE YEARS AND IT'S DONE #!!!!! #as always let me know if you want further sourcing on anything/if you spot a typo or something

[myysaints]

Hi there! I have this silly idea where yuki is y/n (established - actress,singer etc) biggest fan and when lando and y/n officially confirmed their relationship, yuki on his quest to make sure that max will treat y/n right. Lando (borderline amused and annoyed) still try to prove himself to yuki bcs y/n is very fond of him (and provide great entertainment for her). I know this quite ridiculous and would understand if you declined it :)

°˖ ⊹ ꒰ LN4 ꒱ TREAT HER RIGHT─ LANDO NORRIS

LANDO NORRIS x f!singer!reader

genre — fluff

notes — thank you so much for the request! it was not at all ridiculous, i absolutely love this dynamic between lando and yuki !!! ik your request mentioned max, not sure if that was a typo? hopefully i got it right by going with lando :> hope u enjoy this one !!! xx (edit: LOL just realised i called u anon when your user is there TT so sorry bout that!!!)

landonorris

Liked by yourusername, yukitsunoda0511, danielricciardo, and 7,118,249 others

🏷  yourusername

landonorris   the sweetest melody i've ever known ❤️

view all 3,741,822 comments

danielricciardo   congrats lovebirds 🎉🕊

yourusername   miss you already :(

yourusername   don't mind me, just appreciating the sweetest boy ever... ❤️❤️❤️

yourusername   can't wait to see you soon !!!

yourusername   gonna write a whole album about how much i love u

landonorris   I'd love that

mclaren   Can't wait to see you in the paddock, yourusername ;)

Liked by yourusername, landonorris

If Lando had known this would happen, he’d have never made that Instagram post.

“YOU’RE DATING WHO?!”

The Japanese driver in front of him whirls around in his seat, eyes wide and mouth hung open in askance.

It’s rare that Yuki speaks to Lando; after all, their language and cultural barrier makes conversation difficult. But this is an entirely different situation altogether.

Lando grins sheepishly, casting a look towards Charles, who stands beside him. The Monegasque merely chuckles, leaning forward in his seat to peer at Yuki.

“So, do you know Y/N?” Charles asks with a cheeky smile.

“Do I know Y/N?!” Yuki is practically leaping out of his seat, his excitement causing the other drivers in the area to glance back at the commotion. “Of course I do! She’s the best singer of all time! I always listen to her songs!”

“Oh, are we talking about Y/N L/N?” Pierre, passing by, cuts in, “Yuki loves her. Has a huge crush on her and everything.”

Lando spreads his palms out, grinning. “Guess I’ll have to keep Yuki away from her when she comes to the paddock, hmm?”

The way Yuki’s eyes light up in glee doesn’t go unnoticed, the Alpha Tauri driver’s face breaking out into an uncontrollable grin.

“You’re bringing her! When? Where?!”

“Calm down, mate,” Lando laughs, leaning back in his seat. His heart flutters at the thought of you in McLaren colours, proudly representing him and his team in the paddock, for the world to see. He clears his throat, trying to stop the furious reddening of his cheeks. “You’ll see her at Suzuka. No rush.. I know my girlfriend's quite the catch - but so am I, right?”

At this, Yuki seemingly goes quiet.

Lando raises an eyebrow. “Yuki…? You okay there?”

A moment of silence passes before Yuki gets up, motioning for Lando to follow him. With a wary look towards an equally-confused Charles and Pierre, who both only shrug in response, Lando follows Yuki towards a quieter corner.

Once they reach a secluded spot, Yuki’s eyes darken, his smile dropping instantly. The shift in atmosphere is undeniable. Lando's never seen Yuki this serious, not even after the Spanish Grand Prix. In all honesty: It scares him.

“Lando,” Yuki says, his voice steeled and brows furrowed. “I like you. I think you’re funny, and you’re a good driver-”

“Hey, thanks man,” he jokes. The attempt at keeping the mood light, however, doesn’t work in the slightest.

“-But, look, listen, if you ever think of hurting her-”

“Sorry, are we talking about Y/N?” Lando’s head tilts in confusion.

“Yes, Y/N. If you ever hurt her,” Yuki continues, ignoring the shocked look on Lando’s face. “If you ever try to hurt her, just know that I will never forgive you. Ever. Do you understand?”

“I-” Lando shakes his head, his cheeks going pink. How do you even respond to that? “-Well, yeah, mate, of course. I only want the best for her. Really, I do.”

“Okay, good. 'Cause I’ll be watching you.” Yuki straightens up, a satisfied smile on his face. “Well, I’ll see you around, then! I will look forward to Suzuka.”

And, with a playful punch to the arm, Yuki is off, leaving Lando stunned at what just happened.

So, when Suzuka rolls around, true to his word, Lando shows up to the paddock with you on his arm.

The sight has Yuki running over instantly, a large bashful smile on his face as he greets you enthusiastically.

“Hi! You must be Yuki,” you smile softly, quietly amused at his enthusiasm. “Lando’s told me all about you.”

That was true - Immediately after Lando’s little… altercation, as one might call it, with Yuki, he’d texted you in a frantic hurry. It was, in all honesty, endearing, and incredibly funny. You’d teased Lando about it relentlessly in the days after. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t used the Alpha Tauri driver’s words as leverage; referencing Yuki’s threat to get Lando to pick up some cupcakes, to let you pick the movie for date nights, and so on.

Lando hums in response, watching with an amused smile as Yuki almost trips over his feet trying to shake your hand. “Y/N, this is Yuki. And Yuki, this is… Well, you already know who she is.”

Yuki’s eyes are blown wide in amazement as he shakes your hand, his grip firm and his smile bright. “Wow, it’s so cool that you’re here! I love your new song, it’s already one of my favourites!”

You share a smile with Lando, who squeezes your side in a playful ‘I-told-you-so’ motion.

“Thank you so much, Yuki, that’s so sweet of you! Tell you what - If you let Lando past in the race, I’ll send you a signed copy of my new album, free of charge, before it even drops. How 'bout that?”

Yuki lets out a loud laugh, shaking his head. "No way! Maybe if Lando lets me through in quali today."

You exchange a grin with your boyfriend, who shakes his head in amusement.

"Alright, it was great seeing you, Yuki. Good luck out there," Lando fist bumps the smaller driver, who waves at you before departing with a pep in his step.

Lando's hand finds yours as you walk back to the McLaren motorhome.

"So, that was Yuki..."

"Yep," he nods in response, popping the 'p'. "What'd you think of him?"

You smile cheekily. "You sure it was him who threatened you that time? He seems so sweet!"

Lando scoffs, shaking his head despite the amused smirk that sneaks up on his face. "You haven't seen him when he's angry. He's a menace on the track, I'll tell you that."

The bright laugh that leaves your lips makes Lando's heart skip a beat, heat rising to his face at the look of joy you send his way. You never cease to make his heart flutter.

"Well, finish in the points, and maybe I'll put in a good word to Yuki then, hmm?"

"Alright, muppet. You can count on that."

"Well..."

You're lying on the bed in Lando's hotel room, his trophy sitting tall and proud on the dresser in front of you.

It's been a crazy past 24 hours. In just this one day, you've witnessed perhaps one of the greatest drives of Lando's career, and at your first ever race, on top of that.

Lando wraps you in his arms, flipping the both of you around so that you lie atop his chest.

You smile he gazes up at you, his chest rising and falling to the steady beating of his heart. You feel so at home in these moments, the in-between spaces of time where you have him all to yourself; no races to win, no cameras to look out for. Just you and him, and the spaces in between your fingers.

You laugh softly as he nudges his face into your neck. "Well, what?"

"Well, you still gotta thank Yuki," he replies, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck. "He let me by on the second last lap. Probably would've lost out on P3 if not for that."

You chuckle, instinctively reaching a hand up to play with his curls. Lando hums lowly, leaning into your touch.

"Thought you were scared of him?" you tease, a playful smile toying on your lips.

"Well, yeah," he mutters out, his tone of voice cheeky, a smile pressed against your skin. "Gotta stay on his good side."

That elicits a giggle from you, and he pulls away from your touch to look up at your smiling face. He cups a hand around your face and pulls you down into a kiss, the two of you breathless when you resurface for air.

"I'll send him a signed CD later," you mumble, leaning back down for another searing kiss. "But I don't wanna think 'bout him right now."

An appreciative hum leaves Lando's lips. "Why not?" he teases, pulling away with a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Your reply has his breath caught in his throat.

"'Cause all I wanna think about is you."

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#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris insta au #lando norris one shot #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic #꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🏁] formula 1

[kadwrites]

entanglement | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; your fate is now sealed

warnings ; arranged marriage trope, slow burn? , typos (english isn't my first language) , tommy being the babygirl that he is.

a/n ; i have beef with this secretary idk why. thank you guys for the support! id love to know what you guys think of this part<333

-

you look out the window as he drives, trying to ignore the awkwardness between you two. your heart is almost beating out of your chest.

he glances at you as he drives, "who were the friends ya had over?"

you turn to look at him "huh?", it seems like no matter how often you talk to him, his voice still makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up

"the friends, the company ya had over this mornin' , who were they?" he repeats, a little slower this time

"oh my friends madeline and fiona, why?"

"do they know about this?" he glances at you again

"of course they do" you look at him even when he looks away, your mind starts to wander "are you... ashamed ?" you try not to sound too offended.

his brows pinch together in confusion, and you see it from his side profile "what?"

"of this, of me." you're still staring at him "is that why you don't want people to know about this? 'cause you're ashamed?"

"why would i be ashamed ?"

"i don't know, tommy. why would you?" your attitude seeped into your words , unfortunately.

"i'm not" he adds with a small chuckle

"is it cause my dad is a farmer?"

he turns to look at you for a second, with an almost amused expression "i don't care that your dad is a farmer."

"then why are you so secretive about it?" you ask again, casually. you needed to know why

"i just didn't think ya would want anyone to know, i'm giving ya chance to reconsider this before anything official 'appens."

you raise a brow at him "so this isn't official then?"

"i meant an engagement party, a public announcement. an entanglement that everyone will know about that ya wouldn't be able to escape."

"ya still think i'm being forced into this..." your voice is soft ,its almost a whisper as you connected the dots, your eyes roaming his face.

he doesn't respond back, he just takes a breath and keeps on driving.

"my father gave me a way out of this," you speak again, "i've had multiple chances to end this... entanglement or whatever the fuck ya want to call it. but i didnt take them."

"why not?" he asks almost immediately after, his eyes on you again

"because i didnt want to."

his eyes go back to the road , the rest of the drive is silent and you don't mind it. frankly you didn't know what other uncomfortable conversations you'd have if either one of you spoke again.

you don't wait for him to open the passenger door, you do it yourself. you two walk in and you groan internally, resisting the overwhelming desire to roll your eyes at the sight of the blonde secretary. her eyes lit up when she spots him and you could see her practically deflate as she saw you walk in with him.

"good mornin' , mr shleby." her voice is sweet, overly sweet you think you might gag at the sound of it.

he doesn't acknowledge her as he walks towards his office but only stops to turn, waiting for you to catch up. you walk and you both enter the office through the glass door, he leans down to whisper in your ear , not too close but close enough to make the air around you feel non-existent as you hold your breath.

"i'm still not fucking 'er , by the way."

it wasn't just the hairs on the back of your neck that stood, your whole body was now covered in goosebumps. you hold back the shudder that almost escaped you. he wasn't even that close but the sound of his voice, so near. the proximity, he's standing so close to you. you can almost physically feel the secretary staring, as if she wanted you to drop dead on the spot.

you let out a small chuckle, you hope that it masked the reaction that his words caused "you're not?" you don't move though, you're too scared. maybe you didn't want to ruin the moment

"i'm not."

you nod as you lean back and look at him, your nod is slow "i believe you" you say softly before taking a seat on that same chair

he takes his coat off and hangs it, then walks and heads for his chair "your only condition to our marriage is for your parents to be financially supported, correct?"

you nod again "correct."

he rereads a paper that he grabbed , before handing it to you "you wanted it in writing."

you hesitate before grabbing the paper yourself, your eyes skim through the black ink. you lick your lips as you see the word 'marriage' and see both of your names and then see his signature on the bottom. and an empty spot for your signature, he hands you a pen

"ya still 'ave one more chance."

your eyes snap up at him, before you grab the pen, you put the paper back on the desk and then sign it.

"and now i don't"

you two don't take your eyes off eachother, as you both acknowledged what just happened, that your fate was now sealed

"an engagement party is in order now, aye?"

you huff a small laugh "yeah, and it'll be fucking grand."

-

taglist ; @tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator , @theshelbyslimited , @illuminwtesz , @goldensunflowe-r , @gruffle1 ,

#kadwrites #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby fanfiction #thomas shelby fanfiction

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Ignore Me

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc wants you to ignore him.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Let's file this under, we don't have time to unpack that.

Warnings: reader has tattoos, swearing, p in v sex, cream pie, vaginal fingering, Marc wanting to be ignored during sex as a kink, Marc saying some self-deprecating things about himself as a kink, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2130

“What’s this one for?” Marc lightly tapped the tattoo on your bicep with the tip of his nose and snuggled a little closer to you in bed, his chest against your back. 

“Oh, that one?” 

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips to the spot before he rubbed his cheek against you. 

“That one gives me the ability to tell the future.” You say playfully. 

Marc snorts, “oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“Steven says that’s bullshit.” 

You turn to look him in the face over your shoulder. “No way Steven would say that.”

“What? He swears all the time?” Marc grins. 

“Yeah,” you can’t help but smile back, breaking your pretend outrage, “that’s true, but he’d say ‘that’s shit’, bullshit is too American.” 

Marc chuckles and snakes his hand down to pinch your side a little, just enough to make you laugh and squirm. His other arm holds you tight against his body. “How would you like some American in you?” 

You laugh harder. “Marc, that’s terrible.” 

“You love it.” He kisses the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and purposefully bites down gently. Hard enough to make you squirm again and push back against his hardening cock. 

“So,” he mumbles in your ear, “you gonna tell me the meaning behind this one or…?”

“Is that a threat Spectre?”

He grins again against your shoulder. 

“I think you’re not actually interested in what it means.” You tease, purposefully scooting forward a little when he tries to grind against your backside. 

Marc’s fingers twitch around you, his left hand going to your hip to hold you still, but you wiggle away from him. 

“I think you’re preoccupied with something else.” 

“What?” He tries his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifts closer to you again and you bend back, bowing outward so that he still can’t rut against you. 

“Oh really?” You tease. 

He growls playfully at you, pulling you back towards him with a gentle, but firm strength, until you are flush against his chest. 

He silences your next teasing retort by swiftly sneaking his hand down the front of your pyjamas.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice hitching up at the end as he lightly pinches your clit. You press back against him, your legs instinctively inching wider. 

“Oh, so now you wanna be close, huh?” 

You give him a look over your shoulder accompanied by a frustrated grunt that earns you a chuckle and a kiss on the nape of your neck. 

He rolls your clit slowly between his thumb and forefinger, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you keening and rocking back against his aching cock. 

Marc gasps, letting out a low grumbily moan as you press against his sensitive tip. Precum is smearing against his stomach and soaking a wet patch into his boxers. 

Despite how you push back against him, your movements starting to border on frantic as heat begins to build and build in your stomach, he keeps up his languid, tortuous pace. Often, he likes it best like this. Slow and drawn out to almost the point of pain until the dam breaks. Makes it feel like he’s useful, like he’s doing a good job. Frantically trying to hold himself together, gripping onto the last pieces of his self-control until pleasure pulls him down into blissful mindlessness. 

He dips the tip of his forefinger lower, just teasing at your entrance before sliding back up as he muffles his moans at your wetness into your bare shoulder. 

But it seems you have other ideas. 

You turn your head, just enough to give him a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, the glide of your lips on his own quickly pulls a desperate moan from his chest. You hook your fingers into your waistband and pull your pyjamas down, kicking them off the last bit of the way. 

He growls as you press back against him and sneak your hand back to stroke him twice over his boxers, revelling in his little whimpered shiver, before you slide under the material and eagerly run your fingers over his hard, velvet length. 

His grip tightens on your waist for a moment before he moves closer, plunging two fingers inside of you in one quick motion. 

You gasp in surprise as he strokes your walls, pleasure blossoming along your spine. 

Marc moans against your shoulder, nipping and biting softly at your skin as he muffles himself. “So wet… fuck…” He bucks mindlessly against you for a second, focusing completely on the feel of you squeezing around his thick fingers and your little whimpered groans as you press your face into the pillow. 

His caress is dizzying, maddening as he purposefully goes the smallest fraction slower than what you want, what you need. Obsessed with seeing you writhe and beg for him. 

“Marc, please,” You buck up against him, grabbing hold of his arm to try to keep him at the angle that makes you see stars. 

He groans low, lightheadedness washing over him as you beg and his dick twitches. “Baby, please can we…” He bites his lip, screwing his eyes closed and he swallows down what he wants to say, hoping you were too caught up in your own pleasure to have heard him. 

But even as your hips move and breathing hitches you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “What do you need?” 

He sinks his teeth into his lip harder and shakes his head ever so slightly. 

“Marc,” the low, desperate edge to your voice makes him whine. 

“Can you ignore me?” He blurts out, heat rising to his cheeks and blistering his skin. 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

You slow your hips, halting his hand's movements and Marc wants to go find a ditch to bury himself in, but your sweet voice makes him open his eyes. 

“Ignore you?” There’s no judgement, but he still hides his face and presses his forehead against your back. 

“Hmmm.” 

“Sweetheart,” you stroke his hair. “Tell me please.” 

He breathes a heavy sigh against your skin before blurting out. “Can you ignore me while I fuck you for as long as you can?” 

You smile, “you’d like that?” 

There’s a little spark of hope in his chest that makes his dick throb. “Yes.” He whispers. 

“Okay. How do you want me?” 

Marc moves quicker than you thought possible and you almost laugh at his eagerness, but stop yourself from fear that he would take it the wrong way. 

He carefully positions you on the bed, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips to prop them up slightly. He leans over you for a second, softly placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them slightly. A shiver of anticipation runs up your spine. 

But he quickly stops, leaning to the side and taking your book off the bedside table. “Could you, erm, read this? Or pretend to read it?” 

The uncertainty in his voice is so sweet, gentle, like a fine dusting of snow. You nod as you take the book out of his hands and turn to a random, previously read, page. 

“Thank you,” he mutters and kisses your shoulder blade before trailing down your back and pressing his lips against every tattoo he can reach. 

Marc waits for a moment apprehensively, just watching you read, taking in the way you have propped yourself up a little so that you can easily hold the book, before he pulls off his boxers and takes himself in hand. 

He tries to be as quiet as moves between your legs, spreading them over so slightly wider as he slowly runs his hand along his dick and just teases at his slit with the tip of his thumb. But he can’t stop his breath from hitching as he sees your arousal shining in the weak light. 

He swallows and inches forward on his knees, gradually leaning down to run the head of his cock through your soaking folds. 

He feels your shiver, the way your muscles instinctively clench around him, but you stay silent, your eyes glued to the words on the page even though for the life of you, you can’t focus on what you are seeing.

Carefully Marc notches his fat tip at your entrance, breathing through his nose as he painstakingly slowly pushes inside. 

Your walls squeeze around him, pulling him further in and welcoming him home. And he can’t stop the gasp of pleasure that tumbles out of his lips. He grabs your hip, just to steady himself, just to focus as the pleasure twists so tightly in his stomach. 

He glances at the back of your head for a second, biting down hard on his bottom lip to control himself as he bottoms out. 

You turn the page and carry on pretending to read. 

Marc whines, his arousal making him lightheaded and can’t resist any longer. He slowly pulls out before pushing himself back in, leaning down so that his right hand rests on the mattress while his left still holds your hip. 

The pace is moderate, at first. The only sounds are the slick wetness as he steadily fucks you, punctuated by his little gasps and moans that he tries so hard to swallow down. 

He changes the angle on each trust, trying to find the perfect spot. 

Your grip tightens on the book as he hits it, your thighs clenching, back arching ever so slightly. But you bite your teeth together and manage somehow to stop your cry of pleasure. 

Marc shivers as your body reacts but you don’t, a low and pathetic whine grumbling out from his throat as he increases his thrusts and focuses on that spot. On hitting it perfectly every time. He can feel you shake, the smallest shift as you push back against him ever so slightly, trying to stop yourself from going too far. All to indulge him. And his resolve snaps. 

He moans loudly, thrusting up into you hard and moving your thighs further apart so he can watch himself disappearing into your tight, wet heat. 

“Oh fuck, fuck,” he can’t stop himself now, can’t help the words from spilling out. “Fuck, you don’t even know I’m here, do you? Don’t even care that I’m fucking you, because,” he gasps as you clench around him, “because I’m so small you can’t even tell,” he starts thrusting rapidly, pounding into you and you see stars, “can’t even,” he moans loudly, his voice dissolving into a whiney needy breathy mess, and for some reason a sharp spark of arousal slides along your skin. “I can’t even make you cum, I can’t-”

You moan loudly, your pretence of reading the book abandoned as you can’t hold back any longer as he continuously hits so perfectly deep. The force of his thrusts rock you against the pillow under your hips, dragging your clit across the cotton and making you scream. 

“Oh shit!” Marc’s grip on you tightens, his eyes rolling back in his head as you clench and gush around him, your orgasm being ripped ruthlessly from your bones as he fucks you perfectly. 

“Baby, fuck,” he cums inside, filling you up to the brim. His hips keep moving, fucking you through your orgasm even as overstimulation prickles along his skin and makes him whine. 

It’s only when you reach back and grab his hand, pulling him towards you that he finally stops and collapses on top of you. 

He quickly goes to move to the side, but you squeeze his hand. “Stay here.” 

“I’m not squashing you am I?” 

You shake your head. “Feels comfy.” 

He chuckles and kisses your cheek. You can still tell he’s leaning slightly on his left arm and leg, not wanting to put his whole weight on you. 

A little awkwardly you manage to coax him into relaxing on top of you. 

“Was that…” he swallows nervously as he traces the tattoo on your ribs. “I hope that was okay for you…”

You smile. “I didn’t know your dick was so small I couldn’t even feel you.”

He groans a little and buries his head into your neck, but he’s chuckling.

You pause for only a second before you continue. “I liked it.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, I liked that you were all whiney.” 

He snorts. 

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Liked what?” He asks.

“Being ignored.” 

“Oh… I don’t know.” He pauses. “It’s just… it’s like I can’t control anything, that what I do doesn’t matter so I just have to let go?” 

You nod and squeeze his hand. 

“Would you… be up for doing it again maybe?” 

You turn just enough so that you can kiss his face. “Of course.” 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[flw3rrr]

Ruined by me, known forever

Paring: Billy the kid x fem!reader

18+ Mdni NSFW

Warnings: Smut, Cursing, Choking (not hard), Blood, PnV (wrap it up yall), Oral (Fem receiving ) short Alcohol usage, cream pie, degrading, whore shaming. (please be free to let me know if anything else is needed to be added💖) No description of reader

(I've never written full on smut only like shorts so this should be a fun way to learn, NOT PROOFREAD sorry for any typos)

word count: 2.3k

Summary: You've known Billy for quite a while. Knowing him best, and him knowing you. You've both seemed to have something deep within you both, desperately seeking to know one another's feelings. Until Billy hears your father had put you in an arranged marriage with some wealthy man. leading him to Take you to bed.

Billy was walking down the dirt road, face all bloody after a fight in the saloon. His face was all sore, possibly even with a broken nose on the side. The fight started after someone tried framing Billy as cheating during a game of poker, which led to a messy fight.

Walking down, the crickets made their common noise. stinging feeling around his jaw after being punched to the point of blacking out. Getting up onto his horse, Billy had only one thing on his mind to ease this aching pain he felt. He wanted to see you. wanting to feel the warmth of your body and hear your sweet voice, which he so much admired.

He got up on his horse and began to start his journey to your house. It wasn't far, but it took some time to arrive, just in time for him to gain a bit of his consciousness back. In order to see you, it had been some time since you both were with each other. Billy had been busy with his own things involving Jesse and his gang. doing whatever work needed to be done, getting money, or getting beaten the shit out of over the smallest things.

As for you, you just did whatever society lets women do. It wasn't much, of course. There were book clubs reading silly romance books, doing embroidery on the side, or some parties you were luckily invited to. But nowadays, life doesn't offer much; the only thing that was set for women was marriage, becoming a school teacher, or, if you were brave enough, becoming an outlaw.

Just then, Billy sees the faint house across the horizon. The only light to be seen was the one around the house. porch lights on and near the farm house that carried the horses. As the minutes passed and he got closer, he could feel his desire grow more and more. the desire to see you and to hold you in his arms.

Leaving his horse in a hidden spot away from eyes who may see his horse, those eyes being your father, who didn't really like Billy and wanted him to be as far away from you as possible, but that never worked out as you both found a way to be within another's company. Enjoying every little moment, even if it was a quick hello or a wave across the dirt road from the small town. Nothing really happened between you both, like romance or something. but you both could feel the thick tension between you both. A little stare into one another's eye for a hot moment, but nothing went as far as you both quietly prayed for.

Seeing the outline of your body through the lace curtains, he threw a tiny rock at the wall, gaining your attention. He couldn't knock at the door; if he wanted to, your father would hear and possibly come with a shotgun, leaving Billy with a hole through his head. No, he didn't want to risk that, especially if you would have to see it. So while waiting, you opened your curtains along with the window, looking down at Billy. Gasping at the sight of him seeing his bloody face almost dry up, looking more ruined than ever.

“Billy, Oh my god what has happened to you?” you uttered out. Looking in a state of shock and concern.  

Billy looked at you as he sighed, moving his neck around in discomfort. "Just some silly fight. No reason to be worried," he groaned as he started to climb up to your window. Meeting you face-to-face and giving you a quick peck on your cheek before moving you out of the way carefully before he sat on your bed, inhaling as he relaxed. As you hurried out of your bedroom quickly, returning with a wet rag, taking his face with your hand, and carefully dabbing it over the blood. Hissing as it stung, you let out a quiet apology. His blue eyes were looking into yours as you tried to be as careful as possible not to hurt him anymore.

"Well, you know how I feel when you get injured like this. breaks me every time. You know how I feel about you. when seeing you like this." Stopping your actions as you looked at him for a moment, silence loomed over both of you, the heat outside looming in. "I know, but both of us know we can't stop what happens," he said softly. Glancing at your ring finger as you continue working on cleaning him. A shiny engagement ring sits, looking as if it were expensive. and it possibly was.

Leaning up, Billy takes your left hand into his, looking at it, staring deeply, then looking back up at you with confusion all over his face. "whats this?" looking at you intensely. You stayed quiet. Ashamed to come forth about your recent engagement Your father had put you up with. It was to some young fellow man your age who was in the business and had money. He saw it as an opportunity to gain more money for both sides. "Uhm, Billy, I'm engaged. It wasn't my choice; it was my father's. I didn't want it, but he said I had to go through with it." You uttered out, looking at him ashamed. It hurt you deeply knowing your heart belonged to Billy and Billy only, yet he didn't know that.

Looking at you with Sympathy, then back down to the ring that sat there, looking back at him, mocking him Then back to you. "Do you love him?" He asked. He seemed heartbroken. Some would take it as if he felt upset that he'd be losing a friend, but no, he would lose someone he loved. You let out a huff, shaking your head. "Are you mad? Of course I don't, because I know he would not love me. It is not fair that I was put into this thing." Looking at him, quite offended that he'd ask you such a silly question. "Listen," he stuttered, trying to find his words and the correct way to word them out. "I'm not really sure how to say this, but I'd be damned to see you marrying another man. I just cannot stand the thought of you loving someone who's not me."

Becoming stunned by what you hear, your heart starts to beat faster than ever. wondering if your ears heard what you heard, or just deceiving you. Billy looks at you with desperation. Taking his hand to cradle your cheek, he looks into your eyes, filled with desire. "Billy, you know we can't," you whispered, feeling the heat and tension grow thicker. "I know, but I can tell from the way you look at me that some days you feel the way I do." Slowly moving your hand up, you wrap your hand around his wrists, looking at him, frowning but sighing. "Billy, please..." you beg. wishing him to give you the memory you'll keep in your head forever.

"As long as you agree, I'll give you whatever you want. I'll make sure I'm known forever. That way, you'll know who was the one who took your innocence." His finger is grazing across your lip. Looking at you with an intense look of burning desire Getting tired of waiting, you slam your lips against his. His tongue is fighting against yours as he guides you to straddle him. his hand

moving to your waist, holding them tightly as you place your arms around his neck, pushing the kiss deeper and deeper. A moan slips from your mouth, leaving Billy to gain more motivation, flipping you over the bed, the skirt of your nightgown lifting up as he holds himself above you. His hand slid down, pushing the skirt up more, revealing nothing underneath.

Smirking to himself, he moves his hand to slide down your folds. Letting out a soft cry of pleasure, "I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already soaking for me, hm? Who knew you were a dirty thing?" He let out a huff before slowly lowering his head down to your core. Holding yourself up on your elbows, you watch him as his mouth lands on your folds. Your head is falling back immediately, and you are putting your hand around your mouth to silence any sound that may appear. "No, don't. I want to hear from you. I need to," Billy said as he began to suck onto your clit area. Your hand is immediately grabbing onto this hair.

The pleasure was intensified by the second, as he moved his tongue around your folds. Your moans fill his ears, and he feels himself getting harder by the second of your cries of pleasure. Feeling the heat and intense bliss of ecstasy slowly building up. "Billy im..." You said, Barely able to get a word out of you gripping onto his hair more as he began to slide his tongue more quickly against you, guiding to your release. "Let go for me, Cum for me," he said. The vibration of his voice reached your slick folds, finally making your cum around his face. 

Out of breath, you watched him lean up. The glow of your orgasm on his face was sticky and wet. He kisses you deeply, tasting yourself on his lips. Moaning into the kiss, you feel his hardness against you, grinding into You slowly, letting a deep groan out. Pulling away from the kiss, you look at him, desperately wanting to feel him inside you. "Please, I need you so bad." You whined. never thinking you'd be begging like this one day in your life. "What was that? I couldn't hear you that well." Billy smirked to himself, loving the way you begged. Rolling your eyes, you huff up the courage and speak out. "I want you to fuck me, Billy. I love you so much that I need it now or I believe I may die," you say, the blush appearing on your face.

Your words left Billy completely astonished, never thinking such words would come out of your mouth, yet they did. Quickly undoing his belt and pulling his pants down, he revealed his hard-throbbing cock. He slowly pulled you closer to him, pulling your nightgown Off exposing your breasts. Leaning down, he sucked on your breast as his other hand worked on massaging the other. Letting out another cry of moans, you tried to discreetly try to control not to awaken someone. His hands guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. Feeling him rub himself against through your soaking folds

lining himself to your entrance, looking at you once again, fully looking if you are ready and still wish to go through with this. Giving him a nod, he slowly slides in. You tightly squeeze around him, making his head throw back, biting his lip, and groaning. slowly bottoming fully out, waiting for you to adjust fully. Once you give him the sign, he starts to thrust into you hard. You let out a loud cry, praying your parents didn't hear such a dirty sound come out of you. "Yeah, take that like the dirty whore you are," his words filled up with arousal and sexual desire. Your back arches as his degrading words bring some type of feeling in you. Enjoyment? Yes, you absolutely loved it. 

His hand wrapped around your neck tightly, not tight to the point where you weren't able to breathe. No, it was at the perfect tightness. "Fuck, Oh my god... right there." You sob out as tears fall from your eyes. It was the most pleasure you felt in your entire life. You've masturbated here and there for something, but no, this was more than that. It was everything, and you didn't want it to ever stop. "How would your family be if they knew how much of a dirty slut you are, hm?" he cooed mockingly. His thrusts began to go sloppy and rough, bringing his thumb to rub your clit in a circle. "Billy, don't stop, please. Right there, I'm so close." Looking down, he sees the white, creamy ring forming around his cock.

"Come on... Cum for me. I know you want it badly. Don't hold yourself  back."He huffed out, sweat forming on his temple. His eyes were staring into yours deeply. Eyes full of love—the type of love where he would never let you go and forever call you his. But he knows that will never happen. and it is broken. Your back began to arch once more, stuttering your words as you came, with him following behind you and cumming inside of you. "Fuck..." He quietly spoke, the warmth filling up your womb. Both of you lay there, catching your breath, sweaty and sticky. Looking at each other once more before kissing him deeply. "I loved you for a while, and it hurts to know it took us so long to express our feelings." You watched him as he slid out of you before putting his pants back on.

Billy took a bottle of whiskey you hid sometimes for when he came over to drink and complain about things in life. sitting back next to you before taking a swig and hanging it on you. "Truly, but let this moment of the night be my gift for you to never forget me," he stated before whispering in your ear. "And that every time he fucks you, you'll be thinking of me instead." Kissing your neck and looking at you with an unspoken agreement between you both, you'll never forget this moment.

hoping you and he will one day be able to do this, as your future husband will be out on a business trip. You know he has a mistress anyway, so it would be fair, you thought. Kissing him once more, you'd know he'd be your safe place.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid smut #william bonney #tom blyth #cowboy smut #william bonney smut #billy the kid 2022

[yeahyeahchloe]

love love LOVE your works! 💗 So i randomly had an idea, hear me out!

drummer abby and bassist reader. I literally can see abby getting jealous if a fan approaches the reader and gets a bit touchy (not like a wired way, like hugging her ecc)

oh anon...i love me a jealous gf...

drummer!abby x bassist!reader

synopsis: You just wrapped up your last show of your tour, and run into some fans backstage who are acting like a bit more than just fans...

cw: smut18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, strap use (r!receiving), slight choking, some angst, fluff at the very end, me being too lazy to give the bandmates names, my mid smut writing (im learning lol), my excessive vocabulary

(a/n: pls lmk if u see any typos! )

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The crowd thundered with screams and applause as the final guitar cord strummed the final song, of the final tour.

Stage lights shown onto your face, encouraging your skin to sweat and your eyes to water.

You decided to relish in the feeling, as it was the last of it you would experience for a while.

Turning around you spotted a face adorned with pride and glee, showcasing a stoic grin.

Blue eyes met yours and that grin seemed to break just a small bit wider.

You, and the rest of the band inevitably had to step off the stage for the last time, and the second you were behind that curtain you were immediately wrapped in a strong hug.

But the hug was unfamiliar.

Very unfamiliar.

"Oh my god, I love you! You looked so incredible up there it was seriously like an angel on Earth or something!" said the body that was previously hugging and was now holding both your hands.

The girl was accompanied by another, who was standing slightly behind her, each holding a starstruck expression.

You quickly got over your initial shock and went into greeting mode.

"Oh! Thank You! Means a lot you enjoyed our last show,"

"Its seriously like nothing I've ever seen. And its so cool back here! My Dad runs tech so he let me in,"

Figures.

"Mhm, I bet,"

"Oh! I almost forgot, I made you something!" The girl reached into her pocket, pulling out a bracelet adorning the lesbian flag colors with a name in the middle.

Gracie.

You glanced at her wrist to see she had one with your name.

"O-oh thanks!" You said, now slightly creeped out.

"Ok, picture time!" she grabbed your waist pulling you in tight as her friend snapped a picture, "Thank you!! I'll see you on my feed," she attempted a joke at this point you wouldn't find funny, and walked away.

Turning around to your bandmates you made a wide-eyed expression and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Jesus what was that?" one of them asked.

"No fucking clue," You answered before realizing Abby had gone, "Hey, where's Abs?"

"She left just a second ago, towards the dressing rooms, looked pissed as fuck,"

You nodded in thanks before walking in the direction of yours and Abby's shared room.

You knocked before entering to find her getting her things together.

"Hey Abby," you greeted timidly.

"Can you get everything you need? 'm tired 'nd I wanna go to the trailer," she said, only glancing my way.

You knew when Abby was frustrated it was best to let her cool off, so you simply gathered your things, walked over to her to show you were ready, and she placed her hand on your lower back to guide you out of the room and to the trailer.

Once inside you both set down your stuff, and you decided that you would talk to her now.

You walked over to her as she sat on the slightly small bed and sat down next to her.

"You okay?" you wearily asked.

She managed a soft "mhm fine" before getting up and walking to where her clothes were, pulling off her shirt leaving her in her bra and jeans.

"Tell me what's wrong," you said, walking up to her slowly.

"I said I was fine, jesus," she grunted, rummaging around for her pajamas.

"Abby," you asserted, finally getting her to look at you, "Please,"

She turned away before saying "You're just too fucking nice to people sometimes,"

"What?" You asked, half not fully catching what she said, half wanting her to go on.

"I mean if some fucking weirdo comes over and hugs you, why wouldn't you deck them?"

"Okay, are you talking about that fan? What do you expect me to do; be a dick and shove her off?"

"Yes-No-I don't fucking know," she stuttered before stomping off back to the bed and taking a seat once again.

You sat next to her, in the same spot you were originally in before asking much more gently, "Abs, what's actually wrong?"

She sighed, "Its just, her fucking hands were all over you, and then she gave you that ridiculous thing like she was trying to claim you or something and it pissed me off,"

"Abby, are you jealous?" you asked, slightly teasing.

"Oh fuck off. I have no reason to be, nobody will ever make you feel as good as I do," she said, turning to you, her eyes now displaying her anger had morphed into lust.

"Yeah?" you asked, breaths becoming shorter.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna prove it to you,"

Before you could get another word in, her lips passionately, yet aggressively slammed into yours.

You immediately reciprocated the kiss and reached your hands us, one cradling her face and the other holding her still bare upper waist.

Both her hands creeped around your hips and gripped them harshly as your tongues met, lifting you and placing you straddling her.

You felt her move her lips from yours and quickly move them down to your neck, kissing and licking up until she got to your ear before whispering "you're mine, and no one's gonna fucking change that,"

Your hips grinded down on to hers as you let out a breathy moan at her words, and the new found bulge you felt in her pants.

"Yeah, feel that? Knew I was gonna fuck you tonight, got ready just for you," she whispered in your ear once again, sending waves of exitment throughout your entire body.

She moved her lips back to yours to continue kissing you as she took your shirt and removed it exposed your tits to her.

Abby took her mouth away from yours and hungrily moved them down to your nipples, sucking and biting at them, eliciting a moan from your chest as you grabbed her hair tightly.

You felt her hands reach down and unbutton your jeans before flipping you on your back so she was now hovering over you.

She quickly moved down, removing your pants and underwear together, revealing your sopping wet pussy to her.

"Fuck, you're so wet. Who makes you this wet?" she asked, toying at your lips, pulling them apart so she could see all of you.

"Mmmh you do," you answered her quietly, aching for her to touch you.

"What's that? You have to speak up sweetheart," Abby said, now looking up at you.

"Fuck, Abby, you make me so wet, you're the only one who makes me this wet," you whimpered in response.

You saw Abby smirk before placing a small kiss on your clit before removing her own pants to reveal her strap, looking as ready for you as ever.

"Do you want my cock baby?" She asked, sliding it up and down your pussy, teasing you.

"Shit-yes, Abby please. Please I only want your cock,"

Abby didn't even have to ask and she had you begging, it gave her an insane ego boost that only got her off more.

"Good girl, learning so fast," she praised before painfully slowly sliding her strap deep inside of you, stretching out your walls with each inch that entered.

She pulled out just as slow as before, and without warning, slammed into you at an alarming speed.

Screams of pleasure roared out of your chest as you felt her hips clip yours with every deep thrust.

Abby sat above you, seemingly watching every square inch of your body with pride as she fucked you senseless.

"That's right, my perfect girl taking my cock, perfect little thing," She groaned, feeling intense pleasure of her own from the sight of you mixed with the way her strap rubbed her clit deliciously at every move.

"Oh, god Abby! 'S too good...always so good,"

Abby loved it when you praised her, it made her feel like nobody else could ever compare to her.

And she fucking needed that right now.

She slithered a hand down to wrap around your throat and she squeezed lightly, just the way you liked it.

Abby saw the way your eyes were repeatedly rolling back at each moan as they became higher pitched and she knew you were about to cum.

"You gonna cum for me, huh angel? Cum on my fucking cock?" She asked, burying herself impossibly deeper.

All you could muster up in response was a weak nod and a feverish moan.

"That's right, go ahead, let it go,"

As soon as you heard those words you felt your orgasm wash over you in a wave and Abby's relentless pace slowed down to an eventual stop.

She slid out of you before getting a damp washcloth and cleaning you up, before slipping the both of you under the covers.

Abby wrapped her arms around you and pulled you close so that your head was resting under her chin.

After a long beat of silence you spoke up, softly saying, "I don't think I would ever love someone like I love you,"

Abby pulled your head out from under yours, and leaned down to give you a long, lovingly kiss.

"I'm sorry I got mad, I mean, I was jealous. I just-I just never want you to leave me," she spoke softly with vulnerability in her eyes.

You cupped her face with both hands, placing a kiss on her forehead before whispering, "You aren't ever going to have to worry about that,"

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#tlou #x reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abbyanderson #abby x reader #this is kinda bad sorry #im so sleepy #im tired #love yall #i hate being sick #poopy #yeahyeahchloe

[pfhwrittes]

"you love him. you've loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later." TW: references to transphobic bullying, angst, fluff, allusions to offscreen smut, alcohol mention, menstruation mention. pairing: kyle x ftm!reader

1.5k words of childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers. as always i've barely edited it so typos and errors may remain. edit to add: a massive thank you and shout out to @gemmahale for cheerleading me with this one and reminding me to trust my instincts. i love you a lot.

-- you love him. you’ve loved him since he first shared his curly-wurly during break time at primary school. head over heels puppy love. your mum teasing you with a “my little girl with her first boyfriend!” despite the way it makes your cheeks burn (and something twist inside your chest) when you both stand shyly together at 3.15 hand in hand waiting to go home. 

you love kyle when he’s the joseph to your mary in the nativity. you love the way the teatowel your mum leant his mum slips into his eyes and causes him to laugh and forget his next line about needing to find an inn. you love him when he wraps you up in a big hug when missus king takes a photo of you both as your mum cheers the loudest from the back of the little crowd in the assembly hall. 

you love kyle even when you both grow up and go to secondary school at 11, split up into different form groups and different timetables. you love him even more when he folds you into his little band of miscreants, “one of the boys” he says with a cheeky grin that warms you all the way through.

you love kyle when he chooses you first for the biology practical lesson, flicking little slithers of onion at you to make you laugh, despite the way anna-marie looks you up and down and whispers something cruel about how “he just pities the he-she” loud enough for you to hear. 

you love kyle when he skives off school with you the day your period takes you unaware. he sneaks in through the kitchen door 15 minutes after your mum leaves for work, a battered curly-wurly and bottle of oasis clutched in one hand and his rucksack in the other. you love him when he settles onto the sofa, dragging your duvet over the two of you, flicking the telly on so you can both watch bargain hunt together. 

you love kyle the day he cuddles you into his chest, completely uncaring about the way your snot and tears mark his t-shirt as you sob, both of you curled up on your bed. you love him so completely when he listens to you stutter out that you think you’re not really a girl. you still love him when he pulls away for the first time, a tiny frown on his face. you still love him when he doesn’t reply to your text asking him if he got home alright later that night. 

you still love kyle when he starts ignoring you in school, no longer coming to find you during lunchtime. you still love him when he doesn’t laugh along with harry when you trip during design tech but he doesn’t stop james hissing “freak show” as you rub at your hip from where you banged into their table. 

you still love kyle even when your mum sits you down at the kitchen and asks you how you feel about moving schools at 16. you still love kyle when you ask her “but what about kyle?” and her voice catches when she offers you a gentle “oh love” with wet eyes. 

you still love kyle when he stumbles into you at mattie’s house party when you’re both 18, a shocked look on his face when he takes in your close cropped hair and wispy facial hair on your cheeks, despite the fact you haven’t spoken in years. you still love kyle even when he calls you the wrong name and your mumble gets swallowed up by cheers from the kitchen as someone spots kyle in the hallway. you still love kyle when you spot him crowd mattie’s older sister georgia up against the bannister and kiss her breathless before leading her up the stairs with his hand on her waist. you still love kyle when you end up sobbing into alex’s neck, their hand rubbing your back gently as the dew from the front lawn soaks the knees of your jeans. you still love kyle even as alex murmurs that “you should just forget him babe” into your hair as you sob anew.

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle the next time you run into him, many years later when you pop into the pub under oath from mattie to meet her for a quick pint to catch up. you recognise the shape of kyle’s smile even if he is partially turned away to grin at a man with broad shoulders and a slightly flattened mohawk standing next to him at the bar. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when he catches you looking and his smile slips momentarily as he offers you a tiny nod of acknowledgement before turning back to his friend. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle even when your eyes keep drifting over to him and the other three men in the corner booth as mattie fills you in on everything you missed during your years travelling around australia. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle when you bump into him again in the same pub the following week. literally bumping into him as you turn away from the bar with a pint in your hand. kyle steadies you with a hand on your forearm and you feel your heart soar before plummeting into the sticky carpet at your feet. you pull your arm away from him and your drink sloshes over the rim of your glass as you offer him a tight smile before stepping to the side. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle, but you can’t help but feel the warmth of his hand long after you’ve rejoined mattie and alex at your table. 

you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but a thrill goes up your spine when he asks you if he could “have a word with you, mate” as he joins you in the beer garden the week after that. you’ve forgotten how much you loved kyle but your heart aches as he stumbles his way through an apology. you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he makes you stutter out a surprised laugh when he talks about his friend soap knocking some sense into him. 

you’ve forgotten how much you missed your friend kyle when he texts you asking if you want to join him and his sisters for a chinese. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he hands you his vegetable spring rolls without asking. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when after dinner he leads you up to his childhood bedroom and he kicks his dirty socks under his bed like you’ve seen him do many times before. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when your ribs ache from laughing and he’s wearing that beautiful grin. 

you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he slips into the open seat next to you at the pub, his arm slung over the back of your chair, much to the matching shocked expressions of mattie and alex. you’ve forgotten how much you’ve missed your friend kyle when he takes alex’s frosty demeanour on the chin. you fall in love with your friend kyle again when he responds to mattie’s pointed rhetorical “you know you broke his heart, yeah?” with a small squeeze to your shoulder and serious “i know, i was a fucking idiot.”.

you fall in love with kyle again when his hands shake on your waist as he leans in to kiss you outside your house under the flickering glow of a streetlight. just like you hoped he would so many years ago when you were both teenagers. you fall in love with kyle again when he pulls away to take in your stupefied expression and he asks if you’re okay, if he can kiss you again. you fall in love with kyle again when he gently turns you around so he can push you up against the front door to trail sucking kisses down your neck as your keys hit the doormat with a tinkling sound. you fall in love with kyle again when you ask him to slow down - wait - please - as he’s reaching for the top button of your jeans. you fall in love with kyle again when he traces gentle fingers over the scars on your chest, adoration in his eyes.

you love kyle when you trip over your boxers and his shirt the following morning as you stumble to the bathroom. you love kyle when you slip back into bed and he sleepily nuzzles into your neck. you love kyle when his phone blares his alarm from the back pocket of his trousers near the door to your bedroom 30 minutes later. 

you love him. you’ve loved him since you were 9 and you love him now 20 years later as he presses a kiss to your hair. you love him. -- taglist: @kaadaaan

#binders and boyfriends #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #transgender reader #ftm!reader #tw references to transphobic bullying #tw menstruation mention #tw alcohol mention #angst #fluff #allusions to offscreen smut #kg #i hurt my feelings (and healed them again) writing this #also a MASSIVE shout out to gemma for cheerleading this

[thisismeracing]

Oh, what about someone with finnish! reader, pure fluff and gentleness for whichever driver you want ?

(loving from a finnish follower)

Hi, babes!!!! <3 I decided to go with danny, hope you like it!! *mwah* Also I hope I got the words right!! Let me know if I messed it up and I'll adjust!

Finnish Skies | DR3

― Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Finnish!reader (sher/her) ― Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff; typos. ―my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ― you can support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or  buying me a coffee

Your phone played a gentle melody while you read a book. Beside you, Daniel had a guitar on his lap, strumming the chords softly as if trying to come up with a new song, something he had been doing a lot lately. He loved racing, the adrenaline, and the constant travel, but he found peace in slowing down, especially with you beside him. So when his break rolled around and you told him you were visiting your home, he suggested to follow you. It was his idea to rent a cabin close to a lake.

It was also his idea to go to Helsinki. It would be his first time experiencing the city and the festival. He was eager to meet Finland with you. To discover more about your culture besides what you told him.

But right now, you were just bathing in how your country could feel like home even to Danny who was not from there. The green threes, the brown sand, the long and beautiful lakes, and especially, the starry nights. You had been to a lot of places, but none felt like home did. No other sky in the world was close to your Finnish sky.

"Kulta," you called Danny once you finished the chapter you were intended to. You were about to suggest you started on dinner but stopped yourself watching as his fingers stopped, and his face turned to you in a beat. He had a grin on his face, eyes not leaving yours.

"I love it when you call me that," he put his guitar on the coffee table in front of you and crawled close to your spot on the couch. "Olet kultaseni."

He had just called you his sweetheart.

"Where did you learn that?" You lace your arms around his strong neck.

Danny shrugs, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss, "I told you I was planning on asking you to visit Finland together, I've been taking classes."

You felt your body warm, and your heartbeat skyrocketing. There was something so pure and deep about someone learning your language even though you can already communicate using a different one. There was something magic about wanting to learn about one's culture and to experience life by one side. To know each small detail that makes you who you are, and to love them with all his heart.

"Minä Rakastan Sinua," he whispered, foreheads touching. He watched attentively as your expression changed once again. A bright smile graced your lips, lips which he couldn't help but kiss again.

The three magic words.

Sure he had told you he loved you in English, but it wasn't the same. It's never the same when there's a different way to say it, one you've been hearing since you were a kid. Since a time when you weren't even able to form words.

This is the most special kind of I love you.

"Minä Rakastan Sinua," you whisper back, bathing on how lucky you were for finding a home in him. Even though Finland was your home, Danny was also your home.

#dr3 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo blub #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #finnish!reader #f1 x reader #formula one x you #f1 fandom #formula one imagine #op: blurbs #millie writes #millies inbox #anon #requests #f1 x you #f1 imagine #q

[sinner-sunflower]

A HH Lucifer-centric AU 4/?

PART 1 , PART 2, PART 3, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22

Thanks to your support, I am so committed to this. When I finish this, I plan to make it into a long, proper, one-shot- better format and everything!

I've been doing these chapters in the middle of work lmao, so if you see a typo or some edits, it's me rereading it after work.

I'm trying to include more Alastor but he's pretty hard to write.

I used Velvette so much here cos I love her as that bitch you love to hate. She is obviously the spokesperson of the Vees

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

The hotel lobby is filled with unbearable silence as hell's overlords and high members of the Ars Goetia arrive one by one.

Just a few hours ago, Alastor heard from Carmila Carmine that the king had called a meeting for the top ruling people of hell. Charlie doesn't know why her dad called for it in the hotel.

The Ars Goetia (minus Stolas) were whispering among themselves and shooting the sinner overlords dirty looks every now and again. The overlords were good at pretending they couldn't hear anything. Apparently, they at least have the sense to know that that would be a fight they cannot win.

The hotel's residents collectively claimed it as their spot. Husk is talking with Angel quietly, keeping him distracted and out of view of Valentino, Vaggie is holding her spear as she keeps a close eye on the strangers in their home, Nifty is obsessively cleaning a corner of the bar (Husk keeps telling her that it is still dirty just so she won't venture elsewhere), and Cherri is playing with an unlit bomb in her hand.

Rosie and Stolas decided to approach Charlie and Alastor at the bar at the same time, both slightly bowed to her.

Charlie: Prince Stolas. Rosie.

Stolas: Hello, princess.

Charlie: How's Octavia?

Stolas: Via misses your outings together. But she is fine. She's with her mother today.

Rosie: Not that I'm not happy to see ya, Alastor. But why exactly are we here? Our Carmila has not stated a reason why.

Alastor: You know as much as me, my dear.

Stolas: It must be dire. His majesty rarely calls for the Goetia's presence. He is not here yet?

Charlie: No. He went down in Sloth earlier. I'm worried. After what happened yesterday, I..

Rosie: Yesterday? Did something happen, sweetie?

Charlie realizes the slip up and backtracks.

Charlie: Nothing, Rosie!

Rosie gives her a look that tells her they're going to be talking about it later. She gives the overlord a weak thumbs up.

Meanwhile, Velvette decides enough is enough and they have wasted too much time waiting.

Velvette: Ugh! Vois, let's go. This is a fuckin' joke.

Carmila: Velvette, calm yourself.

Valentino: Why should she? I had very important shit to shoot today and me being here is making me lose money.

Alastor: Then perhaps you should step down. Having to attend the bare minimum duty of their title must be so difficult for someone so... undeserving.

The Radio Demon has a giant patronizing grin plastered on his face. Alastor's comment prompted Vox to speak up.

Vox: Oh, you timely piece of shit! Fight us right now, Alastor!

Alastor: How unbecoming. Throwing tantrums in front of royalty!

Velvette: I for one, don't want to sit here waiting for a no-show fossil

Charlie's demon side flares as the demon insults her dad.

Charlie: How fucking dare you?!

Random Goetia: You shall know better than to disrespect your king, insolent pest.

Velvette: Ha! You think we're scared of a bunch of birds?

Alastor: Should have known you three cannot behave for a simple meeting haha!

Soon everyone was yelling obscenities at each other, filling the hotel with chaos. Before a proper fight could break out, the door opens with a bang, silencing every demon.

Lucifer has arrived, following him were the other Sins. They were arguing amongst themselves from behind him. Charlie can only catch glimpses of what is being said as voices overlap each other.

Beelzebub: Bel-

Mammon: Are you fuckin-

Satan: Wrath is-

Leviathan: We cannot-

Asmodeus: Evacuation-

Belphegor: Grown another mile-

Lucifer says nothing the entire time and just takes a seat in the middle of the semi-circle table he conjured up. With the way the table was placed in front of everyone else, Charlie gets the feeling of deja vu of her hearing in heaven. But now her dad will be the one passing judgment.

Most of the sinners in the room back up as the Sins continue to argue with their full form.

Lucifer sits back and raises a hand and the yelling stops.

Back then, she never really understood why demons were afraid of her dad. He was always a silly and happy guy when spending time with her. But one time, she sneaks into his rare meetings with the Sins and sees why he was called the devil.

The anger she saw then could have given her Uncle Satan a run for Uncle Mammon's money.

Lucifer: Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I will cut to the chase. I have called you all here because something is brewing at the very depths of hell. Something that may affect us all.

Stolas: The Ars Goetia is at your disposal, sire. But may I ask what is this about?

Belphegor: I can answer that. A few months ago, an anomaly appeared at the edge of Sloth. It was not a problem until-

She pressed her touchpad and a hologram screen appeared showing the infected ground.

Not a single demon didn't widen their eyes.

Angel: What the fuck is that?

Belphegor: We wouldn't have called you all here if it was not this severe.

She taps and shows a mutilated demon pig.

Belphegor: This is Patient Zero. An animal on a nearby farm made contact with the anomaly. It instantly infected the whole body, controlling the creature whilst killing it slowly. If it can affect an animal like this, we fear what it may do to-

Velvette: And what do you expect us to do about it exactly? Why the fuck would we care about some old place we can't even go to.

Belphegor is briefly stunned by the interruption but ignores the sinner's disrespect.

Belphegor: Because you would have to be naive to think that it will stop in Sloth. We cannot be too careful.

Velvette: So you think we would risk our lives? Yeah. No thanks. How do we even know that it will affect us? It's just a pig. The worst we can get is horrible floor decor.

Lucifer stands up and moves silently towards the middle for everyone to see.

Lucifer: Free will does not mean you are free from consequences.

The king starts to remove his shirt to everyone's panic, except Belphegor.

Mammon: Woah woah, mate. The fuck ya doin?

Lucifer shrugs off the last piece of clothing to reveal the glowing, infected marks. It has not been a day since he touched it but the veins are already covering the entire right half of his torso.

Charlie: Dad!

The princess attempts to go to her father's side but Vaggie holds her back.

Lucifer: Shall we proceed without any more interruptions?

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

What to look forward to in Part 5:

the rest of the meeting

more dialogue from the other Sins. Cannot decide what personality to give to Leviathan.

My HC for Satan is he's like one of those old butler types but has a jacked body (I know he has that workout app, but I'm leaning more of the liver king type of a gentle strongman with anger issues. I don't want him to be a fuckboy gymbro)

more badass lucifer

the Vees getting scolded like the children they are

#hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin lilith #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin spoilers #hazbin vaggie #hazbin valentino #hazbin niffty #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin cherri bomb #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel cherri bomb #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel sinner #hazbin hotel angel dust #radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #alastor x lucifer #lucifer x alastor

[cantwritethetword]

Biceps? Really?

Fic Descript: Superman finds out Batman has a very odd ticklish spot, and of course has to tease Bruce half to death over it.

~A/N  - HELLO ONCE AGAIN

Look at me being somewhat consistent with uploads SDJFHKALSDFJHKH amazing what meds can do

I've had these requests in my inbox for aaaaaages (im so sorry) and I feel like I can finally write something for them.

Prompts were:

Please excuse the typos and the "it's ok that this will be s(H)ort" cause that was back when I was like super burnt out AND unmedicated lmao so I was like OH JUST A LIL FIC YOU CAN DO IT but this will be a proper one lmao

Also lmao forgive me for the super boring title I couldn't think of another one.

EDIT: ALSO AGSKAGSKAGD ILL HAVE IT BE KNOWN I USE DARK MODE ON MOBILE THIS WAS ON MY LAPTOP AND IDK HOW TO GET TUMBLR TO BE DARK MODE ON LAPTOP HENCE THE WHITE SCREENSHOTS THANK YOU THAT IS ALL

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @constanteyeburn

Masterpost Link 

"I still..." Bruce huffed as he lay on the floor, glaring at his partner. "Don't get... why you're still so surprised... every time we do this."

Clark, the absolute puppy dog, was still beaming after launching yet another random tickle attack on Bruce. Since first discovering the Batman's hilarious (and quite frankly adorable) little weakness, it was like crack for Clark. Any time he had the opportunity, he launched himself at Bruce and just started squeezing. And, because Bruce was just that damn ticklish, the poor superhero couldn't last ten seconds before crumbling into a flood of chuckles.

"I don't know." Clark grinned. "You don't seem like the ticklish type, is all. Never have."

Bruce rolled his eyes, before starting to stand up. "I am not the ticklish type."

"Uh, oh yes you are!" Clark laughed, reaching to grab Bruce's arm. "And where do you think you're going?"

Normally, Bruce's response to this would be a swift bat (hehe) at Clark's hand to push it away from him as he stood, and an even swifter escape before Clark decided to go for round 2 (it had happened before, and Bruce swore he would've passed out if Clark hadn't taken pity on him).

But this time, whatever way Clark grabbed Bruce's arm, sent electric shivers coursing down Bruce's side. Bruce let out a yelp, and half-collapsed onto one knee.

Clark gasped, his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "No way."

"Clark." Bruce's eye's widened as he pieced together what had just happened. "That wasn't-"

"Wasn't what?" Clark interjected, pulling Bruce closer to him using the aforementioned grabbed bicep.

The tugging motion pressed Clark's fingers right into Bruce's muscle again, forcing a symphony of strange noises, squeaks, and choked laughs out of the absolutely screwed superhero. As Bruce fell, Clark expertly manoeuvered him onto his back (for the second time that day) so that Clark could kneel on his forearms.

"What the hell Kent?" Bruce grunted, pulling his tough-guy facade over his currently anxious and flustered self. "Let me go."

Clark chuckled. "Oh no, we're investigating this."

Bruce cursed under his breath. He remembered Clark's methodical tickle monster days all too well. When Superman himself had him pinned to the floor with no hope of escape, and took his sweet ass time tracing and prodding with various numbers of fingers on any tickle spot that came to mind.

This time would be no different. Clark began with his thumbs, massaging small circles into the very center of Bruce's muscle.

And holy fuck did it tickle.

Bruce's entire torso tried to lift itself off the floor for a moment, his eyes wide in shock at just how bad it was, before his body slammed back onto the floor and flailed. His legs kicked a ticklish drum beat as the highest pitched giggle either man had ever heard escaped his lips.

"Wow you're ticklish here!" Clark laughed over the noise. "I can't believe this is even possible!"

"SHUTUP!" Bruce shouted between bouts of hysterics, twisting his hips from side to side to alleviate the torturous sensations.

"Seriously though," Clark continued as if nothing was even happening. "Ticklish biceps? You've got to be kidding me."

"CLARK!"

Superman nodded to himself, resting his hands on his thighs. "You're right, you're right, it's time to move on to something else."

Bruce gulped in mouthfuls of air before registering what Clark was implying. "No-... wait-..."

Ten feather-light fingernails touched down right above Bruce's armpit and paused for a moment, soaking in the anticipation. Clark didn't have a chance to start moving before Bruce broke into deep streams of laughter.

"Really, Batman?" Clark taunted. "Breaking that easily?"

"Fuhuhuck ohoff."

Superman rolled his eyes, before trailing down Bruce's biceps from elbow to underarm. That singular smooth movement upped Bruce's laughter by a few pitches, a good sign for what was to come.

Clark lifted his hands and reset them back to their starting position on Bruce's arm, before letting his fingers begin their descent once more.

Except this time, each finger took its turn to softly trace up a few inches before lifting and straightening again while his wrist moved further to Bruce's elbow. Like two gliding spiders, Clark's hands pulled downright squeals from Bruce.

"NOHO!" The Batman pleaded. "I CAHAN'T- CAHAN'T TAKE IHIT!"

Smirking, Clark tutted. "Oh come on, you're usually so tough!"

But, now that he thought about it, Bruce was rather red by this point (and not just from sheer embarrassment). And while it certainly was fun tormenting the usually far too stoic superhero, the fun could wait for another day.

Clark wasn't forgetting about this any time soon.

#crow's tickle fic #superbat tickle fic

[grogusmum]

Hi my sweet friend Hazel:

It’s been a rough week, and I wondered if for your Slumber Party Saturday, you could write me a little “He .oves me so he’s gonna hold me while I cry and make me feel better ficlet with the Pedro man of your choice?

(but NOT Max Lord.)

I hope you know how much you’re loved!

Quica! I'm sorry this is coming to you in the morning, I was getting sleepy, and I wanted to give it the attention it deserved (so many typos in some of last night's answers 😬)

Okay, I am thinking this is a job for Frankie.

Every Day's A New Day

FRANKIE MORALES x READER

What a week. Nothing was going right, and you were at the end of your tether as you drove home Friday after work, so glad to be done. You turned into the drive, gravel crunching under your wheels, but Frankie's ancient truck wasn't in its spot. You checked your phone for messages, saying he'd be late, to find nothing. With a hitched sigh, you wearily hauled yourself out of the car and made your way up the walk.

"Hello?" You called somewhat flatly to house at large. Raffi came running tail wagging, and you gave a watery smile. "Hey boy."

You leaned over and gave the little dog's large ears a scratch as you plunked your bag on the bench and kicked off your shoes.

You made your way to the kitchen and Raffi followed behind, but not with the intensity of a dog looking for his evening meal after everyone has been away - just then the door from the garage opened and Frankie walked in wiping his hands with a shop cloth, a smile breaks warm and wide.

"You are home!"

"Yeah, the truck needs some babying," Frankie tucks the cloth in his back pocket, then his face falls as your eyes well with is a weeks worth of unshed tears, " oh hey, it looks like you need some too!"

Frankie opens his arms, and you tuck yourself as tightly to him as you can. Then his arms, strong and sure envelop you.

"Shhhh," he murmurs, "quireda, I've got you."

Your tears come, finally, freeingly, in the safety of Frankie's embrace. And he just holds you as you cry, kissing your hair and murmuring sweet words, rocking you gently, as he hums a song you can't quite make out yet...

"...love you more today than yesterday, but, darling, not as much as tomorrow..."

You give a small smile and give Frankie a kiss, humming with him.

"Do you want to talk about it," he says after you give a shuttering breath.

"Yeah, but not yet."

"Okay, let's go and get you on the couch."

"I don't want you to let go," you muffled voice comes from his shoulder.

"Oh no, I'm not letting go. You're going to sit right down on my lap."

Frankie leads you into the airy living room and plunks down on the couch arms, never leaving you. You give a little laugh as you both go down. Your legs across his lap, your side tucked into his broad chest.

Frankie's arms tighten, and his mouth roves gently over your neck.

"So, how can we turn this week around?"

🐟🧢🐟🧢🐟🧢🐟🧢🐟🧢🐟🧢🐟

I hope this brings a smile to your face, and you have a better day today than yesterday, and even better one tomorrow 💚

Song: More Than Yesterday by Spiral Starecase

#slumber party saturday #q³ in my inbox #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #comfort ficlet

[pjo-obsessed-nerd]

11yr old sister's reaction to Percy Jackson and the Lightning Theif - The movie (any typos are due to exhaustion, I've been up for nearly 48 hrs and still can't sleep)

Percy underwater - 

Sister: Whose he?

Me: That’s Percy.

Sister: Well, why is he underwater???

***

Sister: Grover sounds very different…

***

* talking about Perseus the son of Zeus *

Sister: OH, i thought they meant Percy, not… Ok.

***

* Percy gets thrown to the ground by Dodds *

Sister: Whoa!!!!! What the heck was that!?

***

* Brunner gives Percy a pen *

“This is a pen. This is a PEN.”

Sister: it’s not just a pen…

***

Percy fighting with Gabe

Sister: Ugh, i hate when they fight! It makes me annoyed.

***

Grover crutches Gabe in the soft spot

Sister: OH! Yes!

***

Minotaur flips the car

Sister: Oh, wow… That is… dangeroussss…

***

Sally: im not like you

Sister: hands over face, gasping, about to cry, then instantly gets distracted by her fingernails

***

Grover: “Annabeth, daughter of Athena, goddess of wisdom.”

Sister: pans around in chair to deadpan at me (i just about DIED)

***

Grover running to the duaghters of aphrodite.

Sister: ………………………………………………..

***

Chiron: your father built this (cabin) for you.

Sister: LITERALLY!? 

***

Sees the flag

Sister: Oh, that was easy… It probably won’t actually be, though. 

Annabeth drops

Sister: OH. OH!

“Did you really think it would be that easy?”

Sister: No.

***

“This is the best part!”

Sister: WHAT

“Stand up and fight. Hero.”

Sister: Wha- shes meeean.

***

Percy gets up from the river

Sister: hah. Water is how he heals… * giggles as Percy kicks the sons of Ares’ asses *

Percy gets Annabeth’s sword

Sister: * squeal * HA suck it

***

“I get the sense you don’t like me very much.”

Sister: nods frantically

“I mean our parents kind of hate each other.”

Sister: wait, really? (i’ve failed this kid in terms of mythos omg)

***

Hades comes out of the fire

Sister: Wha… What is that!?

***

“Give me the bolt and i will exchange it for your mother.”

Sister: liar…

***

“Ha, you’re being followed.”

Sister: ha-ha!

***

Luke gives Percy the shield.

Sister: Whoa…..

***

“You see my dad on the highway to hell… kick his ass for me.” * cue Highway to Hell *

Sister: What. What??

***

Random lady: “PLEASE HELP ME! SHE’S COMING!”

Sister: whose ‘she’?

***

Grover body slams Percy on accident

Sister: OH-ho-ho-ho-HO!

***

Sees Medusa

Sister: Whose she? Is THAT Medusa?? It is. Uh oh. It is.

***

Medusa gets hit by a broken statue

Sister: WHOA!!!!

***

“Why do I gotta take off MY jacket?”

“Cus you’re the protector…”

Sister: Oh, ya, true.

* finds pearl w/ medusa *

Sister: Oh, SHE had the pearl.

***

Grover drifts into oncoming traffic

Sister: look out, look out, look out! TIME TO GET OFF THE ROAD!

***

Grover takes bite of can

Sister: Why is he- Ow?

***

* camera pans up to Athena’s diadem in the Parthenon *

Sister: The pearls in her TIARA??

***

Janitors start speaking in unison

Sister: Uh oh…  

Janitors become Hydra

Sister: Is that Cerberus!?

Me: Nope, that’s the Hydra.

Sister: I was close, though, because they both have more than one head, right?

Me: * laughing * kinda…

***

Hydra heads grow back

Sister: oh no…

***

Percy uses water to stall Hydra

Sister: Good thing you have the son of poseidon with you.

Grover turns Hydra to stone

Sister: And medusas head.

Grover kisses Medusa’s head, “Oh, that’s nasty…”

Sister: Yup!

***

(I’ve shown her the Lotus Hotel and Casino scene with Poker face cus she was curious)

Sees Lotus Hotel and Casino on map

Sister: is, is that the scene we saw in the video!?!?

Percy Anabeth and Grover go inside

Sister: My question is, do they get the pearl??

***

Percy: Where would we find a green pearl in this place?

Sister: Idk, they look more cyan to me…

***

Poker Face begins

Sister: * giggling uncontrollably *

***

Dude at the pinball game: whats a DVD?

Sister: he forgot what a DVD is??

***

Percy: This year?

Dude at pinball game: Ya. 1971.

Sister: Oh…

***

Lotus Casino worker: is there a problem, Mr Jackson?

Sister: uh, oh… How’d he know his name?? 

LCW: Percy Jackson is awake.

Sister: They want to keep them there so they don’t complete the quest!

***

Percy, Annabeth and Grover start running

Sister: Get the pearl. GET THE PEARL!

Percy gets the pearl

Sister: Okay! They got the pearl!

***

Me: notice how they don’t have Ares at all? Or Waterland?

Sister: No, they don’t… ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?

(girlie is maaad hahah)

***

Charon burns the money

Sister: he just… burned all that money???

***

Had a small Underworth Mythology lesson so she wouldn’t get confused by the show compared to the movie, and she was very, very tuned in lmfao

***

Hades: Would you prefer I looked like… This? * goes monster mode *

Sister: jumps back in fear, “WHAT THE-”

***

Percy drops the shield and reveals the master bolt

Sister: OMG! Luke hid it in the shield!!!

***

Sees the hellhounds

Sister: They look more like ugly cats to me…

***

Persephone kisses Hades

Sister: ew…

Persephone knocks out Hades

Sister: Ok! I like that!

***

Persephone: go. Take the botl and your mother.

Sister: okay then.

Persephone: only three?

Sister: oh NO

***

Grover bleats when Persephone beckons him to her

Sister: Haha!

***

I had to put in my own sense here, but HOW THE FUCK DOES SALLY KNOW WHERE THE OLYMPUS ENTRANCE IS???? (they also totally fucked Luke’s motivations, it’s so dumb)

***

Luke kicks Percy

Sister: Oh, NO

***

Sister: so, how does Luke fly???

Me: * now has to explain that movie!Luke has several pairs of flying shoes while TVShow!Luke and Book!Luke only had one *

***

Sister: How does his mom know how to get into Olypus tho????

***

Percy and Annabeth run up to Zeus

Sister: oh, wow, he’s BIG

***

Poseidon walks up to Percy

Sister: whose he?

Me: That’s Poseidon.

Sister: That’s his dad? Heheeee!!!

***

Gover: noticed anything different about me?

Sister: fingers up at the top of her head “He has horns!!!!!”

***

Chiron: you left camp, betrayed my orders… Which is why you’re my favorite student.

Sister: OH!

***

Sister sees Annabeth’s shirt

Sister: Her arms look all red…

Me: That’s her shirt, hun.

Sister: oh…

***

Annabeth fakes out Percy, takes his sword

Sister: Haha!!!

***

Sister: Oh, wait, Annabeth doesn’t have the thingy that makes her invisible…

***

End Credit scene bonus:

Gabe opens up the fridge, Medusa’s head opens her eyes

Sister: AHHHHH! WHAT THE- WHY WAS HER HEAD IN THE FRIDGE!!!!!!

*****************************

Overall thoughts:

“I think it’s a good movie, but I prefer the tv show. Also, I’m glad Gabe got turned to stone. He totally deserved that.”

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy and annabeth #percy jackson show #percabeth #grover underwood #pjo tv show #leah is our annabeth #percy and grover #percy jackson fandom

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

What A View

Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: A trip to the Shard goes a little differently.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: The Shard is the tallest building in London. Also totally another case of my mind just jumping to something else in the bingo other than what was probably implied. So this is 'High Sex' and obviously I went, 'oh, right, so high in the sky?' I am so smart. (lie).

Warnings: swearing, p in v sex, Steven kinda having an exhibition kink, overuse of italics, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1329

You hadn’t expected the afternoon to play out like this. 

With your back pressed against the cool glass, Steven spreading you wide. His fingers dug into the fleshy part of your left thigh, pushing on your leg as you just about managed to keep your balance by pressing the ball of your foot against the marble sink. 

You’d spotted a discount voucher for the Shard and had asked if Marc, Steven, and Jake would like to come with you. 

Marc had rolled his eyes playfully, “I’ve seen London from up high plenty of times,” and declined.

Jake had been sleeping. 

Steven had grinned and nodded excitedly. “You know love, I’ve never actually been up the Shard? It’s true what they say, you live in London but you don’t do the normal tourist things.” 

Everything had been relatively normal on the way, though the elevator to the upper floors and viewing platform had been a little busy. Both you and Steven had shuffled into a corner, your back to his chest. 

He’d gone quiet after a few seconds, his grip on your hand tightening as his muscles stiffened. For a moment you had thought that Marc had fronted. 

Once you were on the right floor you had barely stepped out, heading towards the large wall length windows when Steven had pulled you in the opposite direction and dragged you into a bathroom. 

You hadn’t even had a chance to question him before his lips were on yours and his hands slipped under your top. 

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, up on the tiptoes of your right foot as he slammed into you. His thick cock hitting so deep you could see stars. 

You moaned against his hand, his palm haphazardly covering your mouth in a hasty attempt to muffle your sounds. You had never been much of a screamer during sex until you’d met them. 

No matter how hard you try little groans escape your mouth with every frantic thrust of his hips. He angles upwards with every buck, hitting just right on the spot he knows so well and rubbing his public bone against your clit with every motion. 

Steven’s own mouth is pressed into your neck, biting and sucking and leaving sloppy kisses as he tries to muffle his whines. He had always been a screamer. 

You pull tightly on his shirt, a fraction away from ripping the cotton as pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and impossibly higher.

His name is muffled by his hand as you say it, breathless and needy, but he still hears it. 

He pulls his mouth away from your skin just far enough to speak, frowning in concentration as he tries to keep his voice under control. “You… okay?” 

The slap, slap, slap of skin almost drowns him out. 

You nod, eyes closed but still let out a soft whine and he picks up the pace, fucking you even harder, like he is trying to get caught, trying to make you scream his name so loudly that the whole of the city will hear you.

“That’s it love, that’s it,” he whines, nipping at your neck and groaning as you clench around him. He knows you’re so close, can feel you approaching orgasm buzzing along your skin like electricity, practically taste it in the air. He wants it so badly, needs it more than breathing. 

“You… you… gonna be…” he swallows, having to fight back his own moans even more. “You gonna… be good? Gonna… gonna…” he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he pistons his hips. Everything’s too much it’s blinding, dizzying. But not enough. 

The way you squeeze him, your back arching off the glass as you meet his thrusts desperately. The bright sky behind you, the sweat on your skin. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe up your neck and he groans, his eyes rolling back.

There’s a light mist forming around you on the glass, the heat from both your bodies collecting. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his own pleasure close on his heels. “God, can you imagine if someone was cleaning the windows,” all his words come out in a rush, “and they just, fuck, just saw us here. Saw you moaning and taking my cock so well, saw how pretty you are all full of me and just begging. Saw how I need to keep you quiet so we don’t get caught because you just, just need it so bad that you can’t stop, and, and-” He groans loudly, the sound turning into a whine. “Love, fuck, please, please, please,” he punctuates every word with a sharp snap of his hips that has you reeling, sinking into pleasure.

“I need you to,” he groans as you squeeze and clench around him, your pussy fluttering and trying to pull him deeper. “I need to hear you.” He gasps, “please, if I move my hand can you please try, can you try not to be too loud? Please. I,” he moans again, “please, need it so bad, need it, need you.” 

You nod rapidly, barely getting a chance to register his words in your hazy, lust filled mind before he rips his hand away from your mouth and grabs onto your shoulder, pressing the full length of his body up against up against yours as he pounds into you. 

“Steven,” you moan, just managing to keep your voice below your regular talking level. 

He groans in response, much louder than you. 

“I’m gonna-”

He kisses you roughly, sliding his tongue messily into your mouth for a moment. 

“Gonna come, love? Gonna come on me?” His voice rises in pitch towards the end and you nod, your thoughts all turned to mush as all you can comprehend is the feel of his skin and the heat of his body as he pushes you higher and higher to ecstasy. 

“Need you to,” he whines, tears just pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Need you to.”

You moan his name, gasping against him. Every muscle tenses as he finally pushes you over the edge you've been dancing by. Pleasure washes over every nerve, running over your spine as you convulse and cling onto him like a lifeline. 

Steven whines, fucking you through your orgasm even as he comes, pumping his hot, thick cum deep inside and filling you to the brim. 

You breathe heavily as you both come back to yourselves, holding each other tightly. The sweat starts to cool on your skin and you swallow, a sudden flash of panic flicking to the forefront of your mind. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” You ask quietly. 

Steven shakes his head, still pressed into your neck. “We weren’t that loud.”

You laugh. “You sure?” 

“Nope.” 

You laugh harder. 

“Honestly, love, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Really?” 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you with a large grin on his face, his eyes soft and loving. “Too happy to care. Anyone says anything, I’ll sort them.” 

You giggle at his playful tone. “My hero.” 

He chuckles and kisses you softly.

“Does this count as joining the mile high club?” He giggles, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead. 

You shake your head as you laugh.

“Oh, well.” There’s a soft flush to his skin, an afterglow of his orgasm that you hate to admit makes heat pool a little in your stomach.

Steven notices the slight change in your expression, the small clench as you squeeze around his softening cock.

He groans softly and presses close to you again, mouthing at the love bites he’s left on your neck. He grinds against you slowly, not pulling out but pressing up against your clit with a roll of his hips. 

The little surprised gasp that leaves your lips makes him smile. 

“Give me a minute love,” he mutters, keeping up the soft rock and glide. “Maybe we can be louder this time.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Points of Contact

Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: M

Warnings: Slow burn, allies to friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, canon-typical sexism, alcohol, brief description of a car accident, me pretending to know anything about the law or criminal procedure beyond what I've read

Notes: ...I spent way too much time on this. Not beta-read. Edited it three times, but will likely find 102 typos as soon as I hit post.

Length: 11.4K

Summary: You reach out to Detective Magalon again and again. It goes on for a week before you’re forced to take matters into your own hands. 

But you don’t go to their office, oh no. 

You turn up at a crime scene. 

“It’s a doozy.” 

That’s what your new boss tells you. There’s an insidious little grimace on her lips as she says it. You want to tell her that whatever it is, you don’t want it; that you’re already spread too thin a month into this job. Instead, you take the file with a smile, a word of thanks, and flip it open. That smile stays frozen in place as you skim the details—the victim, the crime, the reasons for retrial, the rap sheet, and the department that handled the case. 

You’ve been warned about Nick O’Brien’s team. 

They’ve become known for effective, highly unconventional (and sometimes incredibly questionable) methods. This case is no different. You push a soft breath out between your lips as you scan the document for the lead and point of contact for the case— 

Det. Benjamin C. Magalon

--  

You send emails. You call and leave messages. You tell him over and over in different forms of communication that this is an urgent matter, but nothing seems to hammer the point home or garner a reply. In that time, you work other cases, and go over the facts on this one—the victim’s statements, the confession, the court documents. It makes your head spin. 

You reach out to Detective Magalon again and again. It goes on for a week before you’re forced to take matters into your own hands. 

But you don’t go to their office, oh no. 

You turn up at a crime scene. 

--

It’s bleak. It’s nothing that you haven’t seen before, but that doesn’t make it any less harsh. You eye the small cones marking out evidence in the dingy strip mall parking lot—shell casings, two darkening pools of blood, one car with a dented hood and a caved-in windshield. From the looks of it, someone either fell onto it, or was thrown onto it. You glance up at the height of the roof of the mall, the distance between it and where the car is parked at a crooked angle. If you had to guess, the person was thrown.

You approach the crime scene tape, flashing your credentials to a nearby officer and thanking them as they lift the tape for you to cross under it. Your eyes scan the officers and detectives on the scene, catching on a couple of familiar faces before you spot your point of contact. He’s talking with someone—a vic, or a witness, maybe?—so you hang back, watching closely. On second inspection, you’re not entirely sure he is talking to someone connected with the case.

They’re both smoking; Detective Magalon seems to only refer to the small notepad in his hand once in a few minutes before he’s patting the man’s arm and turning, flicking his cigarette away. Before you can step up and introduce yourself, he's intercepted by someone else—a tall attractive man that you recognize from another file that crossed your desk. You puff your cheeks out in irritation before you steel your resolve, striding over to them and speaking up:

“Detective Magalon.” 

The two men stop and turn to look at you, brows raising a lowering as you grow closer. 

“Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to step back behind the tape,” Magalon gestures behind you. “Press isn’t allowed here.” 

“I’m not press.” You draw your credentials out again, showing it to the two and introducing yourself. Recognition flashes across both their faces. 

“Ah, shit, you’re the chick that’s been blowing up his voicemail,” The other man laughs. Your brows raise. 

“Yes, Detective Henderson, I am the assistant district attorney that has been trying to get in contact about an upcoming retrial.” 

“Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you,” Magalon shifts from foot to foot. “We’ve been a little busy.” 

“Right, because I’ve just been twiddling my thumbs and sitting on my ass.” 

Magalon’s brows creep even higher up his forehead as Henderson scoffs a laugh and mumbles an excuse before he walks away from the two of you. 

“We need to go over your testimony,” You press on.  

“Right now?” 

“...Not right now,” You speak slowly, forcing yourself to keep your tone level and steady, “But soon. The retrial is in a month—” 

“So we’ve got time—”

“But this isn't the only case I’m trying, and I’m sure you also have your hands full,” You gesture toward a puddle of blood. “We need to get a time on the books that works for both of us.” 

“Could’a done that over email.” 

“And you know what, I would’ve, if you had answered any of them.” 

Magalon’s lips twitch with a small, amused smile. His gaze flits over your shoulder, his hand raising to signal to someone that he needs a moment before he returns his focus to you. 

“Look, I’ve gotta get back to the office, get a BOLO out on a stolen truck, and file this report. Soon as I’m done there, I’ll answer one of your emails, counselor.”

You just manage not snap at him as he brushes around you. Instead you draw in a deep breath and turn, calling out, 

“You better—if you don’t want me cropping up at any more of your crime scenes, detective.” 

He just raises a hand, giving you a dismissive wave. 

You wish your boss had been wrong—but this is really is gonna be a fucking doozy. 

-- 

You don’t expect a call. Hell, you start planning to commandeer a police scanner. And then your cellphone rings at nearly 11:30 that night. You don’t look at the contact name; you don’t check to make sure it’s not a spam call (answering the phone with your name and title usually gets scammers to hang up pretty quickly). You just answer as you typically do. You’re met with silence for a half-beat, and you’re about to draw the phone back from your ear to check that the person is still on the other side before the voice crackles over the line—“I figured I’d get your voicemail.” 

Your brows raise at the sound of his voice. 

“You said you were going to send me an email,” You counter.

“Did I?” 

“Yes, you did.” 

“Want me to hang up, hop on my computer?” 

You have to bite back a smile as you shake your head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think this’ll do.” 

“Have it your way. Are you available, ah…” Magalon trails off. You can hear papers shuffling on the other side. “...Tomorrow?” 

“Not really. I have a meeting at nine, and a deposition at eleven, another meeting after that. I’m honestly not sure how long that’s gonna go. Might be finished up around four.” 

“Four’s not gonna work for me.” 

“Alright, then after four.” 

“I can’t tomorrow night.” 

“Do you have an alternative?” 

“...You busy now?” 

“No, detective, I’m still in the office for fun,” You bat back dryly. 

“So am I,” He chuckles. “We goin’ to yours or mine?” 

The innuendo is unmistakable. It’s everything that your boss warned you to expect from O’Brien’s outfit—throw-away comments that can be excused as makin’ nice for the sake of interoffice cooperation; leering looks, whether you’re in a skirt, a suit, a dress; pointed smiles and niceties chased by grumbles of know-it-all-bitch behind your back. You need to get out ahead of this. 

“Mine.” 

--  

You know that you’re not shielding how unimpressed you look, but you can’t help it—the little penned drawing in the old flip notebook is laughable. Your gaze darts between Magalon and the notepad before you turn it over in your hands. There’s a rough (incredibly rough) sketch of the room, with a little stick figure on the floor. There’s a crude doodle that mocks and mimics the pool of blood around the body that you'd seen in the crime scene photos, and two small x’s mark out the eyes of the stick figure’s head. You turn the notebook around, brow furrowing at the doodled bloody footprints, and a half-moon shape beside a ‘couch’ labeled rectangle. 

“...Is that supposed to be the gun?” You ask, raising the book and pointing to the shape with the tip of your pen. 

“Yeah. You couldn’t tell?” 

You purse your lips before you turn the drawing back toward yourself, muttering, “It looks like a croissant.” 

“Is my drawing really what you need to be scrutinizing right now?” 

“The way you drew it looks pretty disrespectful to the deceased.” 

“I think that’s a matter of opinion.” 

It probably is, but holy shit, the guy can’t draw. Neither can you, but your doodles of a crime scene may not be material to a case. His, on the other hand? Well, you know for sure that the counsel for the accused has seen this doodle, as well as Magalon’s other notes. 

“Are the rest of your notes in here?” You ask. 

“Yeah.” Magalon shifts in his seat on the other side of your desk as you flip to the next page. You can see him looking around in your periphery. You don’t know what he’s looking at—especially considering that there isn’t really much to see. You have several shelves with 2-3 items on each of them. They're mostly notebooks, law tomes—the things that you absolutely needed from the box of shit that you’d shlepped into your office three weeks ago and ditched on the floor in the corner of the room. You hear the creak of the chair, glance up to find him twisting all the way around, eyeing said discarded box. You give him one curious sweep while he’s distracted, from his profile, his well-groomed head and facial hair, to the plaid shirt that sits atop his white t-shirt. You look back down at the notepad as he twists back, your eyes scanning the shockingly neat, loopy script. 

“Okay,” You set the pad down. You don’t hand it back to him; you just keep your eyes on it, and your own notes. “Take me through it.” 

Magalon eyes you with bored impatience from the other side of the desk. 

“We can’t just go over the basics?” 

“Look, detective,” You sigh heavily. “I know it’s late, and I’m sure you’ve had a long day, but I’ve got a meeting with Webster’s defense in the morning to talk about a plea deal,” Magalon’s expression shifts from disinterest to shocked anger at the revelation, but you push on: “And if they don’t take it, I need to know what I’m getting into with you on the stand.” 

“A plea deal?” It comes from him low, and pissed off. The sound makes your stomach churn. Still, you force your face into a calm mask and give a shrug. 

“Orders from the top,” You excuse. “There are other cases, new, untried cases that we could be putting the state’s resources to.” 

“What are the terms?” 

“Alford, second degree. Thirty.” 

“He’d be out in ten.” 

“And if we try this again and it doesn’t clear a jury, he’ll be out in a couple of months,” You point out. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t it clear this time?” 

“Different jury, different sentencing standards, new evidence allowance, and he's got new counsel. Could be a whole new ballgame.” 

You don’t scold him about his tone, or the cursing. You don’t even flinch when he pushes his chair back and begins to pace. You just watch, and consider him. You know that if it comes to it, it’s better that his frustrations are letting out now. You raise your brows as he stops, his hands flexing on his hips, squeezing and loosening, like he’s trying to pull himself back down from whatever conclusions his mind is jumping to. 

“I need to know what I’m getting into with you on the stand,” You repeat patiently. “Take me through it.” 

Magalon is quiet for another moment, seeming to gather himself. He stares at the desk hard, eyes lingering on his notes intently. 

“...You want the pad?” You ask. 

“No.” 

The reply is surly and flat, like a moody teen. You give him another moment, and when he doesn’t start, you push, “Fine. If you’re not gonna tell me, let’s game it out.” You lean forward, folding your arms on your desk and beginning to rattle through the questions you'd ask him in court:

“Are these your notes?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are they in your handwriting?”

“They are.”

“And they were written at the time of the event?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are they in pen or pencil?”

“You can see them, you tell me.” 

Your neatly manicured nails press into the palms of your hands. 

“Doesn’t matter. It’ll be needed for the record,” Is your careful reminder. “Are they in pen or pencil.” 

“Pen.” 

“Have they been altered, added to, or corrected?” 

“No.” 

“Can you recall the events in question?” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“Do you need the drawing of the croissant gun to refresh your memory?” 

It cracks his tension, a little. His hands loosen a touch around his hips; his lips twitch with a smile that disappears as quickly as it appears. 

“I do.” 

You take the pad up, holding it out. Magalon takes the three steps forward needed to reach it, and you. He takes the pad from you, but he doesn’t look at it. He just absently taps it against his hand and turns, pacing again. 

“You know you’ll be stationary for this, right?” You ask. 

“We don’t need to game it out. I can just tell you.” 

“You sure about that?” 

Magalon turns and drops like a stone into the seat, scrubbing his palm over his eyes. You think you’re going to have to press him again, but—

“I got the call at 12:32 in the morning.” 

“Were you already on shift, or did you get called in?” 

“I was on shift. It was a slow night. It came in as a tip on a man named Jesse Briggs.” 

“Who is Jesse Briggs?” 

“He was a drug dealer, pretty high on our most-wanted list. He had an outstanding warrant for ditching parole. He’d been ducking us for two, three months, which was understandable, it was his third strike.” 

“What was the tip?” 

“A sighting, and an address. We’d had a couple tips similar to it in the previous weeks, but none that had pinned him so accurately. They’d mostly been area sightings.” 

“What was the address?” 

“Mill and Industrial Street. Skid Row.” 

“I think we ought to frame it as the Wholesale District for the sake of testimony.” 

Magalon gives a small nod, mutters, “Understood.” 

“Go on.” 

“There were already cops on the scene when I arrived. They’d been on patrol when they’d gotten a call about a disturbance in the same apartment building. They had already gotten into the apartment, found Briggs’ body and cordoned the area off.” 

“And what state was Mr. Briggs found in?” 

“Incredibly deceased.” 

You have to fight back an inappropriate smile as you try again: 

“And what state was Mr. Briggs found in?” 

“California.” 

“Detective.”

“He’d been dead for a little over a week.” 

“How could you tell?” 

“The state of the body’s decomposition was advanced. It had been there for ten days at the height of summer. No air conditioning, no open windows.” 

“We can skip what that does to a body for now,” You wave him on as you look down at your notes. “How would you describe the scene?” 

“Briggs was laying on his back, surrounded by dried blood. There were multiple visible gunshot wounds—one in his head, three in his torso. There was a discarded gun by the couch, 22 caliber.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Yeah, there were dried, bloody footsteps leading from the body to the door.” 

“Were there any in the hall?” 

“No.” 

“And did it seem that someone had gone out of their way to clean up in the hall?” 

“Objection. Leading the witness.” 

You bite back a smile as a teasing one blooms on Magalon’s face. He shifts in his seat, averting his gaze as he adds, “We checked—luminol on the tiles from the door to the elevator. Checked the walls and backstairs for splatters, nothing popped. Webster took his shoes off before he left the apartment.”

“Allegedly.” 

“It’s not alleged,” Magalon argues. “It’s in his confession.” 

“His confession which has been thrown out because your department went through four hours of questioning before you Mirandized him, despite considering him a suspect from the moment you arrested him.” 

The atmosphere that seemed so light a moment ago is sinking again, holding the same charged indignation that Magalon directed at you when you told him about the plea deal. You’re quiet for a moment before you draw in a deep breath, eyeing the time. 

“Maybe we oughta call it for the night,” You finally say, “Regroup after I discuss the plea with Webster’s team. But this was good, this was a good start.” You’re not entirely sure you believe it, even as you say it yourself. You don’t think Magalon does, either. He’s staring you down like he’s ready to go to court now, like he can talk you, the judge, the defense attorney, the jury—anyone he needs to convince out of giving Webster a plea of Alford, second degree murder, and thirty years.

But after a moment, he nods, and breaks eye contact, rising out of the chair. 

“You need a ride home or have you got one?” He asks. 

“Ah…Thanks, but I'll just take my car. I’ll be here a while.” 

“I don’t mind droppin’ ya.” 

You nod a little. “I appreciate that, detective, but I really do have things that I need to finish before heading home. I’ll let you know how the negotiations go tomorrow.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Thanks for coming in.” 

“Sure.” Magalon pats the back of the chair he was sitting in before turning away. “Goodnight, counselor.” 

“Night.” 

--  

You notice the car when you finally leave work two hours later. It’s hard not to—there are only three cars in the parking lot besides yours. You can see that someone’s in it, but you can’t see their face. You’re a block away from the courthouse when you see that same car behind yours. Your stomach twists with nerves, but you force yourself to remain calm. You have no real reason to worry, not until you have proof. You take a long winding way home and manage to lose track of whoever it is. When you reach your apartment’s parking complex, you make a hasty retreat from your car to the elevator. 

You don’t dwell on it. It could be a coincidence—you weren’t the only person in the building. Maybe whoever it was takes a similar route home. 

Whatever the reason, you’re sort of glad you didn’t take your typical route and find out. 

-- 

“He take it?” 

Magalon doesn’t bother with a hi or a hello. You don’t gripe. You kept the guy out pretty late last night. 

“Nope,” You tuck your phone between your shoulder and your ear as you set your bag down beside your desk. “Deal’s gonna stay on the table, but I don’t think they’re gonna go for it.” 

“They really think they’re gonna get him off?” 

“Considering the fact that his confession was thrown out and there’s a video of Webster on the other side of town at the time of the murder, yeah. They’re feeling pretty fucking confident.” And you don’t blame them. Magalon sighs heavily. 

“Maybe we got the time of death wrong,” He offers. “The Medical Examiner wasn’t completely solid on his estimate, the body’s decomposition was so advanced—” 

“Right—” 

“I mean when they turned it, it popped—” 

“Okay, I could really do without that detail,” You shudder, shaking your head. 

“You squeamish, counselor?” 

“No, but I’m starting to rethink the spring roll I got with my lunch.” 

Magalon chuckles softly on the other side of the phone. It’s a sweet sound, one that sends wholly inappropriate butterflies fluttering in your chest. You raise your hand to steady the phone, setting your free hand on your hip. 

“I’ll take another look at the ME’s report,” You offer. “Maybe there’s something in there that we seize on.” 

“Alright. You callin’ him?” 

“I might have to. Could help us out. If we can reframe the time of death, the video’s gonna validity can be called into question.” 

“Don’t forget the shoes,” He adds. “We found a pair that matched the footprints on Brigg’s body and floor to a pair from Webster’s dumpster, two nicks in the sole in the exact same spot as the prints.” 

You nod. “Right. DNA match on the shoes?” 

Magalon’s lengthy pause tells you everything you need to know, and you mutter, “Right,” Again. 

“It’s his MO. He dropped the gun, picked up the casings, took his shoes off to avoid leaving prints,” Magalon argues. “I can point you to four other cases that he was convinced in where he did the exact same.” 

“Good, I’ll need you to point to them for the jury.” 

“Just tell me when, counselor.” 

You settle down in your chair behind your desk. 

“Alright. I’ll track down the shoes, see if there are any additional tests we can run. Was there a pop on the luminol?” 

“And a swab. Confirmed for bleach.” 

“Damn.” 

“I know. He’s not stupid.” 

“Bummer, huh?” 

“My job’s so much easier when they’re stupid.”

You laugh, nodding. “That makes two of us. Alright, I’ve got a call in half an hour that I need to prep for, so I’m gonna let you go. As soon as I have more on Webster, I’ll let you know.” 

“Alright. Keep me close on the ME?” 

“Sure thing.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you, detective.” You hang up, dropping your phone on your desk. You reach out for the bag with your egg roll, then go still, frowning. You look up, spotting one of the paralegals passing your open office door. 

“Hey Ang!” You call out. “You want a spring roll?” 

-- 

“Uh-oh.” 

It’s muttered behind you. You don’t mind it at first—but it’s chased by, “Ay, Borracho! Your attorney is here!” 

You frown, turning and finding a ginger-headed man behind you. He turns to face you, giving your body an open sweep before smiling tightly. “He’ll be right over,” He adds. 

“No, that’s—” You start, frowning. It doesn’t matter—he’s already walking away. You puff softly, looking around the hall and shifting from foot to foot. Magalon pokes his head out of a door down the hall before he steps out. 

“Did I miss an email?” He asks. 

“No,” You chuckle. “But I’m starting to get the feeling I have a reputation with you guys.” 

“You sent me thirteen emails and left six voicemails. Think they’re just jealous that we have such a committed relationship.” 

“Ha-ha,” You drawl sarcastically, folding your arms across your chest. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I had a meeting.” 

“With someone other than me? You’re breaking my heart, counselor.” 

“Something tells me you’ll recover.” 

“Yeah. Hey, thanks for the notes from the ME.” 

“Sure,” You nod. “I think we’ve got enough to work with from the tongue, I’m trying to get them to retest the soles for Brigg’s DNA.” 

“The tongue?” 

“...Of the shoe.”

“Right.” 

“We’re pretty far down on the pecking order, though. Results might take a while.”

“You done with your other meeting?” He asks, nodding over your shoulder. 

“Yep.”

Magalon nods, considering. “What are you doing for lunch?” 

“Hitting up the vending machine for some doritos and a cliff bar.” 

“No more spring rolls?” 

“I have sworn them off.” You smile, stepping around him. “Have a good day, detective.” 

“Thanks…Hey.”

“Yeah?” You ask, turning to face him. 

“You heard anything from Webster’s team on the deal?” 

“Not a thing.” 

Magalon nods, eyes lowering to the floor. You sweep your eyes over his face, the knit of his brow. 

“I’ll let you know if I do,” You offer. 

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” You give him one more look and a half-hearted thumbs-up before turning away again. 

--  

The next month and a half are a blur of depositions, discovery, voir dire, pleas, trials. Now and again, on late nights, you note a car following you out of the parking lot at odd hours, but you’re able to convince yourself that it’s a coincidence every time. Your work on the Webster case is slowgoing. You don’t remind them of the plea on the table. You don't have to. Your conversations with Magalon are sparse and perfunctory—hi, anything new, no, bye. It’s enough, more than enough, until you get a call from him on a Thursday evening. 

“What’s up?” 

“...Where are you?” Magalon asks. You go still, frowning, adjusting your phone between your ear and shoulder. 

“Uhhhhhhh,” You glance around. “My apartment. Why?” 

“Your voice sounds strange.” 

“Acoustics weren’t the number one thing on my li—” You wince as the dishwasher rack falls to the floor. “...List. What’s going on?” You add. 

“I got new notes from the ME.” 

“Oh, great! Can you drop them off?” 

“Your office?” 

“I’m actually out for the next couple of days. Could I ask you to run it by my place?” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay. I’ll send you the address.” 

“No need, I’ll pull it from our file.” 

You blink dumbly for a moment. “You have a file on me?” 

“I’ll be there in an hour.” 

“Please answer my question.” 

“One hour, counselor.” 

You huff softly, shaking your head and reaching up, taking the phone from beneath your ear and peering down at he’s hung up. You set it on the kitchen counter, turning and leaning in to look at your dishwasher. Why the hell isn’t it working? 

You glance dejectedly at your sink full of dishes. Aw, hell. 

-- 

You jump at the sound of three harsh knocks on the door. You scuttle away from your sink, grabbing the dishtowel and jogging over to the door. You peer through the peephole before opening the door. 

“Hi,” You greet. 

“Hey. Got the file for you.” 

“Great.” 

He peers over your shoulder, brow furrowing. “Did you leave your water running?” 

You huff, embarrassed. “You used the cop knock, dude. I panicked,” You grumble, turning away from him and hurrying back to your sink, shutting it off. You set the dishtowel down and turn in time to see Magalon stepping inside and shutting the door behind himself, file in hand. 

“Thanks for running it over,” You add, holding your hand out. “May I?” 

“Sure,” He nods, holding it out. You lean back against the counter, taking the file from him and flipping it open. 

“...Why aren’t you using the dishwasher?” Magalon asks. 

“Hm?” You glance over to where he’s looking at the unit. “Oh, it’s broken.” 

“What happened to it?” 

“I don’t know. My thing is the law, not the plumbing.” 

“Want me to take a look at it?” 

It doesn’t land right away—you’re distracted. You manage a belated, “What?”, but it doesn’t matter. Magalon’s already kneeling down and prying the door open, looking inside as he draws his phone out to use the flashlight. You raise your brows, watching in open amusement. 

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Saving you a $500 fine for wasting water.” 

"Thought you'd be happy to add a ticket to your quota."

“You know that’s illegal in California?”

“I do know that. I’m just glad to hear that you do, too.”

"Keep it up, counselor."

You can’t help but smile, watching him. You raise your brows as he leans back, shrugging out of his short-sleeve unbuttoned button-down, tossing it and watching as it lands on the back of one of your chairs. Your gaze skims his biceps as he reaches in, fishing around. Your tongue absently sweeps your lips as you watch the play of his back muscles beneath his t-shirt. Oh…Boy. You puff your cheeks out before you turn away again, looking at the file. 

Look, you’ve been busy. You’re still new to LA, you haven’t had a ton of time to make friends, or to date. And while your vibrators are good company, it’s not the same as being with someone. You miss the press of a body against yours, the tender worry of kisses, the sting of grasping hands and the blooming of marks the next day. 

You’re horny, and the very attractive, moderately muscular detective that’s currently trying to fix your dishwasher isn’t helping a goddamn thing. 

You draw in a deep breath, forcing yourself to refocus on the file. You make it through three lines before your eyes widen, and you straighten up. 

“We got a match?” 

“We got a match.” Borracho’s voice is muffled from where his head is still stuck into the dishwasher. 

“We got a goddamn match for Brigg’s blood—” 

“Dumbass must’ve used Clorox. They ran a leucomalachite, got the sample out of the two nicks.” 

“Son of a bitch,” You chuckle. “Oh, he’s so fucked.” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

You jump at a clatter when something is slapped onto the counter. Your brows raise, and you turn to look at it. 

“What’s, uh…What’s that?” You frown. 

“Looks like a bread tie,” He groans, leaning back. “It was wrapped around the washer arm.” 

You frown, watching as he stands, shoving the drawer of the dishwasher closed and pressing the button for the quick wash. It’s only a moment before you hear the hum of the machine, and the shushing of water. Magalon listens for a moment before turning the machine back off. 

“...Damn,” You raise your brows, “Thank you.” 

“No problem. So,” He nods toward the file. “Can you work with that?”

“Between this and the surveillance footage from the apartment's back door, I can do a lot.” You smile. “Thank you for running this over, and, uh…Thanks for fixing my dishwasher.”

“Sure.” 

You could just send him off. You could just tell him that you’ve got a lot to do, thank him one more time, and shoo him out. It would be the easy route. But… “You want a beer?” 

-- 

“You gonna eat that slice?” 

“Nn-nn. Go nuts,” You insist, nudging the box toward him. There’s only one slice left—between the two of you, you’ve whittled down the pizza that you ordered fairly quickly. You lean back in your seat, sighing softly as you take a sip of your beer. You’re already regretting the inevitable bloat. 

“...Can I ask you something?” 

You arch a brow at the question, already bracing for some stupid put-on. 

“Sure,” You nod.

“How long you been doing this?” 

“Few years.” 

“You like it?” 

You purse your lips, considering. “At moments. Do you like being a detective?” 

“Most of the time.” 

“When don’t you?”

“When I’m completely KO’d and I get a call at three in the morning.” 

“That’s the only time?” 

Magalon shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not gonna pretend it’s all sunshine and roses. You’ve seen what we deal with. I try not to think about it outside of work.” 

“Yeah,” You nod. You reach for your beer, taking it up and sipping it. You can feel Magalon watching you closely still. 

“...Why’d you ride me so hard when we met?” He asks. Your brows raise as you set your beer back down. 

“Wasn’t aware that I did.” 

“C’mon,” He rolls his eyes. “You turned up at a scene, you chased me down.” 

“Because I had to. I wasn’t getting through to you.” 

“You ever consider that I may’ve been busy?” 

“You ever consider that you weren’t the only person that was?” 

Magalon’s eyes narrow slightly, and you sigh through your nose. 

“Look,” You manage as patiently as you can, “I picked up my entire life and moved here for this job. I have…No one here, and nothing to go back to there. I need this to work.” 

It’s more honest than you’ve even been with yourself since you moved, and far more honest than you’ve been with anyone that’s asked. You’re not sure what prompted it—Magalon’s irritated indignation that you’d dogged him that first week, the lateness of the hour and how loose your tongue has become, or the beer. Whatever it is, it makes your stomach churn with fatigue and lonely defeat. 

It’s a moment before Magalon nods, lowering his gaze to the table. You sigh again, sliding down in your seat a little. 

“That was unnecessary,” You add. 

“What was?” 

“The look,” You raise a finger, waving in the direction of his eyes. “You know, the interrogation…Gaze.” 

He chuckles. “You seen that a lot?” 

“Oh, I’ve seen it plenty. I’ve worked with a lot of cops.” 

“Surprised it still works on you.” 

“What? It does not work on me,” You shake your head. Magalon’s brows tip up before he raises his hands in concession, muttering, “Alright.” 

“It does not,” You insist. 

“Whatever you say, counselor.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. 

“What the fuck makes you think it works on me?” 

“Objection. Badgering.” 

“Alright, get out,” You groan, standing and taking up the empty pizza box as Magalon laughs. 

--  

You’ve stopped noticing it so much. Sure, it still happens, but this is the worst it’s been yet. This puts a scare in you. 

You tend to get into work early, and leave late. Now and again, a car follows you out. But when two cars follow—when one drives directly behind and the other directly beside until you manage to peel through an empty drive-thru and around a corner, you concede that something is very, very off. 

You lean back in your seat with the car's lights off, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a lump in your throat; your mouth is dry. You chew your tongue, trying to work up some saliva, to wet your lips and your throat as you wait and wait. You sit on an unfamiliar, dark street for an hour. There’s no sign of either car. Still, when you can bring yourself to move, you take a long, convoluted route home. When you arrive, you keep your hand on the little can from your purse, the keys in your hand as you run to the elevator from the parking lot. 

It’s worse. It’s worse than it’s been since you arrived in LA—and the increasingly threatening emails that you’ve been receiving are doing nothing to calm your mind as you creep closer to Webster’s court date. You don’t sleep well. You push your panicked energy into your work, unsure of what else you can possibly do with it. If you do more than panic—if you dive into the potential truths and implications behind the threats, you’ll never sleep again. 

You’re prepared to just eat it, to swallow it and let it go. But when Magalon storms into your office, a stormy look on his face and a handful of papers clutched in his first, you have a sneaking suspicion that this incident isn’t going to go quietly. 

“What can I do for you, detective?” You ask placidly. 

“You’ve been getting death threats from Webster?” He asks, slapping the copies of your emails onto your desk. 

“They are not directly from him as far as we know, they are from his associates. Anything else?”

“His associates?” Magalon repeats, dumbfounded. “His gang.”

“Anything else?” 

“This is serious.” 

“I’m well aware of that, thank you,” You lift your head to meet his eye, your expression stoney and set. “I thought these matters went to Homicide, not to the Sheriff’s department.” 

“Considering how closely we’re working on this retrial, they passed it on to me.” 

“How kind of them.” 

“You should’ve been the one to tell me in the first place.” 

“It’s none of your concern.” 

Your insistence is met with silence, and a tightening of Magalon’s expression. It takes him a few moments before he presses out—

“I’ll be escorting you home in the evening from now on.” 

“That’s totally unnecessary. I’ve been fine.” 

“And the cars following you home, that’s fine?”

It’s your turn to go quiet, for your eyes to narrow slightly at his assertion. 

“What have you got to protect yourself with, anyway?” He presses. 

“If you must know, I have wasp spray.” 

“...Wasp spray?” He repeats with unimpressed slowness. 

“Yes,” You nod. “It reaches up to thirty feet away.” 

“How effective is it against gunfire?” 

“I’ll keep you updated.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Magalon takes a few steps back, his head shaking a touch. “You text me when you’re ready to go home.” 

“Seriously, you don’t have to do that.” 

“That wasn’t a request, counselor. It was an order.” 

Your jaw drops in shock as Magalon turns away from you without waiting for a reply. He stalks out of your office, shoving the door shut behind himself. You manage to scoff out a stunned, embarrassed laugh to your office, leaning back in your seat as your face goes hot. Audacity must’ve been on sale, two for one—you have no clue where and why he’s gotten this damn attitude with you. 

--  

“Ready to go?” 

You only just manage to stave off a flinch at the question. You haven’t contacted Magalon; you haven’t called, you haven’t emailed, you haven’t texted, nothing. You can’t imagine how long he’s been waiting for you, but it’s 2:17 in the morning and there he is. 

“Yep,” You chirp shortly, striding past him. He falls in just a couple of steps behind you. He stands by your side as you wait for the elevator, as you get on the elevator. Before you can get off, he reaches out, stilling you and stepping out ahead of you. Your brows raise as his hand lowers to rest on his belt, steadying there authoritatively as he waves you out. You bite back a comment, walking at Magalon’s side and trying to ignore the way his head swivels around the mostly empty garage. 

“You know which car is mine?” You tease. 

“2015 Honda Civic, dyno blue pearl. Two dings on the bumper, one scratch on the right side.” 

“Show off. You know the license plate, too?” 

“You're kidding, right?"

You roll your eyes a little, drawing your keys out of your pocket and hitting the button to open the doors. You wait as Magalon peers into the backseat, a little surprised as he opens the door for you. You set your bag down in the passenger seat, going still when you see Magalon reach in and shove your bag into the backseat. You peer after it, frowning as he gets into the seat beside you. 

“What, uh…” You shake your head. “What are you doing? I thought you were going to follow in your car.” 

“My car is parked near your apartment.” 

“How’d you get here?” 

“Connors drove me over.”

You stick your key in the ignition, turning it and stilling as the car rumbles to life. Magalon frowns when you don’t move, and he waves forward. 

“Go on,” He insists. 

“Seatbelt.” 

Magalon sighs heavily, leaning back in his seat and doing his seatbelt up. You nod to yourself, satisfied, and drove off. You absently check your rear and side mirrors for anyone following you, but there doesn’t seem anyone trailing you out of the garage. You absently check the mirrors again for the first few blocks. 

“How long were you waiting?” You finally ask, glancing toward him. 

“...A while.” 

“How long’s a while?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You have other questions—how long has he been on shift, is he hungry, is he tired, does he want to crash at yours—but any goodwill bridges that you’ve built with Magalon were burnt with his demands and your attitude that afternoon. You’d felt a little regret once he’d left. He was only doing his damn job. But you didn’t want to make a big deal out of this. It was a hazard of the job, something that you had grudgingly reported because you’d known that if it had come up later, you would’ve caught hell for keeping your mouth shut. 

“...Caught any cases lately?” You hedge. Magalon doesn’t answer for a moment, and you’re certain you’ll be riding home in silence. Maybe there’s something good on the radio—

“Shooting this morning.” 

“MO?”

“Seemed related to a stolen goods rap.” 

“Sounds like a dunker.”

You frown as you hear Borracho chuckle beside you, and you can see him shaking his head beside you. 

“You spend too much time with cops,” He mutters. 

“Occupational hazard.” 

Magalon grunts. 

“Should be a dunker,” He agrees. “Or would be, but we pulled a separate set of prints from the scene.”

“Someone else that lives there?” 

“Someone that was reported missing and subsequently declared dead about three years ago.” 

“Fresh?” 

“Piping hot, straight outta the oven.” 

“Yikes,” You mutter. You shift in your seat, gazing in the rear and side mirrors. 

“...So how long are you gonna be riding back with me?” You ask. You expect him to say until the end of the trial, but—

“Long as I need to.” 

“That’s gonna get pretty boring. There’s gotta be a better use of your time.” 

“Not if we keep up these delightful little chats.” 

You shoot Magalon a sidelong glance, eyes narrowing a touch. You return your gaze to the road as you reach out, flicking his shoulder petulantly. 

“Ah ah ah,” Magalon warns, “I can cuff you for that.” 

“Well that would just make my night.” 

The comment is off-handed, and loosed without a thought, but you belatedly realize how it may’ve sounded. Your face goes hot. You don’t dare look at Magalon. The two of you are completely silent for a few moments. 

“Maybe when I’m not on shift,” He finally says. 

And it’s in the same vein as what he threw at you the first night he came to your office—that smiling question of your place or mine from the other end of the phone. But it doesn’t infuriate you the same way. It doesn’t make you want to scoff, or roll your eyes. It just excites the nest of butterflies in your belly, sending them swirling. You keep your eyes steadfastly on the road, biting back your next comment—

Will you still be on your shift when we get back to mine?

-- 

You chalk it up to your loneliness. You just need to get laid, that’s all. You’re not into Magalon. You’re not physically or romantically interested in a material witness. Nope. You’re not at all into the man that can clearly barely stand your general presence while having to ferry you home after work. 

What he said, about him being off-shift? That was a reflex, the same shit he probably spits in the office with the guys, or to anyone he meets in a bar. It’s his schtick. 

…His night schtick. 

You could use his night sti—

Nope. No. Not going there. 

-- 

The rides get better. Every night, you’re less and less on edge. You almost forget why he’s been assigned to you. Magalon seems to lighten, too. He’s a little more chatty, more engaging. He asks you how your work day has been, and when you tell him, he seems to actually care. 

The case moves along, and as you get nearer and nearer to trial, you become more and more certain that Webster is really going to hold out for the process, rather than taking the deal. Still, you’ve gained more confidence in your defense. You’ve run through the evidence, the witnesses; your theory of the case is solid, you’ve crafted your opening statement, and drafted your closing statement. 

You’re comfortable—until you’re not. 

--  

You don’t think to call him. It’s still practically broad daylight. You’re planning on heading home early, on getting some fricking rest before the trial the next day. You’d text Magalon when you got home. You’re certain that he was used to you leaving the office so late that there was no way he’d get to your office before you got home. 

Everything seems normal as you leave the parking lot. One car trails you out, but it turns in the opposite direction. You feel yourself relaxing back in your seat, sighing softly. You glance back, watching another car merge into traffic behind you. You take a turn, eyes darting to the rear view as they follow. It’s not that strange. So someone had to take the same turn as you. So what? You’re just reading into things. You eye an upcoming turning lane and switch on your signal, sliding over to it. Your eye catches the car behind you doing the same. Your stomach twists with nerves, your fingers flexing nervously around the steering wheel as you hurriedly push your car through a yellow light. Your heart leaps into your throat as the bar behind speeds up, following you through. 

You speed up a touch, rounding a corner without signaling. The car follows steadily. Okay, this is getting weird. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, eyeing your phone in the console holder. 

“Call Detective Magalon,” You say hurriedly. The phone screen lights up, and the phone rings through the car speakers. You bounce warily in your seat. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” You mumble, “Pick up.” 

“You miss me already, counselor?"

You want to revel in how cute the greeting is, but your nerves supersede your excitement. 

“Can you run a plate for me?” You ask, glancing in the rear view mirror. 

“Sure. Gimme a second.”

You don’t have a second. You speed through another yellow, making a hasty right turn without signalling, mumbling a curse as they follow you. 

“Okay,” Magalon tacks on, “Go ahead.” 

You squint in the rearview, rattling the plate off. You can hear him typing on the other end. 

“...You’re not gonna like this,” He warns. 

“Why?” 

“It’s registered to Webster’s number two.” 

“Well, Magalon, you’re not gonna like this.” 

“What?” 

“It’s following me.” 

“It’s what?” 

You wince at his snap, and the scrape of his chair scraping across the floor. 

“Where are you?” He presses. 

“I was gonna get on the freeway, try to shake ‘em off.” 

“Do not do that.” 

“Why not?” 

“What if you wind up in a gridlock? You can’t move, they get outta the car, and then what?” 

You wince. He has a point. 

"I still have my wasp spray?"

“Where are you?” He presses. You glance at the street sign as you pass it, hurriedly rattling off the cross streets. 

“Stay on the phone with me,” He urges, “Which way are you headed?” 

“Uhhh…” You reach out, glancing hurriedly between the road and your phone as you unlock it. You swipe to your map app, opening it and eyeing the compass rose. “East.” 

“Stay on that avenue if you can. If you have to turn, let me know—if they speed up, if you see anything weird—” 

“Weirder than being followed?” You snip, glancing back at the car. “I don’t like going straight. I feel like a sitting duck.” 

“You start winding through streets, it’s gonna be harder for us to find you.” 

“Us?” You push the car through a light flashing red, pushing it even harder when the other car is stopped short by traffic. “What’s the plan here, Magalon?” 

“Just keep calm, we’re on our way.” 

“That’s the plan?” 

“That’s the only part that concerns you right now. Eyes on the road, don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Stellar advice, detective.”

You’re met with stony silence from the other hand. You swallow thickly. You can hear the crackle of walkie-talkies on their end, the odd comment passed between Magalon and whoever else is in the car. You manage to bite back your plea for him to keep talking, to reassure you that everything’s going to be alright. You just look between the mirror and the road every few seconds, squirming as the vehicle gets closer. 

Don’t do anything stupid, don’t do anything stupid—

“Shit, shit shit shit shit shit,” You hiss as they step on the gas, rear-ending you at a red light. You fight to keep the vehicle in control as you’re spun out into the intersection, cursing again as the car speeds into and side-swipes you, sending you spinning. 

“What the fuck was that?” Magalon spits through the phone. You swallow thickly, trying to gather your bearings. Does anything hurt? Can you still move your arms, your fingers, your neck? Are there any other cars incoming? You draw in a deep breath and push it out shakily, carefully steering your car to the other side of the intersection and shutting it off. 

“Are you still there?” Magalon tacks on, “We’re a block away.” 

“They’re gone,” You answer quietly. “Still headed east. I’m at the corner.” 

“Don’t move.” 

You aren’t going to. You’d snipe back as much, but you can’t bring yourself to. You’re certain you’re going to be sick. You swallow thickly, shutting your eyes and tipping your aching head back against the rest. You can hear sirens creeping closer and closer until they’re practically blaring in your ears. You pick your head up, wincing at the flashing of red and blue lights. You reach down, undoing the seatbelt with shaking, sweating hands. You step out of the car as one pulls up just behind you, screeching to a halt. You lean back against the door, peering at the asphalt. You don’t want to look back at the broken pieces of tail and headlights laying in the intersection; you don’t dare look at the back or opposite side of your car.

“Damn,” You hear behind you. It’s Henderson’s voice. It’s chased by the thudding of sneakers rounding your car, and sneakers are in your view for just a moment before two warm hands land on your shoulders. It makes your tense body melt, your shoulders relaxing under the warm, steady touch.

“Are you alright? Hey,” Magalon hardly waits for your answer before he’s dipping his head into your field of vision. You tip your chin up, clenching your quivering jaw and giving him a short nod. 

“‘M fine.”

It doesn’t sound very convincing, but the fact that you’re able to push the words out at all feels like a miracle. 

“Does anything hurt?” He adds. 

“No.” 

“You sure?” 

Your head does, but after everything that happened, you don’t so much as wanna flinch in front of the guy. 

“I’m sure,” You reiterate. “Shouldn’t you be going after them?” 

“Rest’a the team’s on it.” Magalon’s hands fall away from you. He walks around the car, taking in the damage done. 

“What happened?” He asks, rounding to you again. 

“I got caught at a red. They rear-ended me, then hit me again when they were leaving.” 

Magalon pushes a sigh out of his nose, glancing between you and his teammate as he comes around your car. 

“Tow truck’s on the way,” Henderson reports. “We need an ambulance?” 

“No,” You shake your head. 

“I think we should at least go to the hospital,” Magalon argues. 

“I’m fine,” You insist stubbornly. “My neck feels fine, my back feels fine, I didn’t hit my head on anything.” 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have a concussion. If you’ve got something and we don’t head it off at the pass now, it’ll be worse tomorrow.”

“I don’t have time for it to be worse tomorrow. We have court tomorrow.” 

“All the more reason to get checked out now.”

You tip your head back, scrubbing your head over your face and squeezing your eyes shut, trying to push back frustrated tears. 

“Fine.” You straighten up, turning to open your door. 

“We’re not taking that car—” Magalon starts to argue. 

“I am getting my crap,” You pronounce primly, lowering yourself into the car. You pull your phone out of the holder before leaning over, taking your bag out of the passenger’s seat. 

“I’ll wait here for the tow,” Henderson offers. 

“C’mon. We’ll handle the report while we wait,” Magalon rests his hand between your shoulder blades, steering you to their car. You find yourself shivering at the thought of climbing up into the cab, but you do it regardless, leaning back and pulling your seatbelt across yourself. You slide down in the seat a little, pointedly ignoring the rubber-necking pedestrians and drivers. You keep your eyes set on the dashboard as Magalon gets into the driver’s seat, shutting the door and starting the car up. 

--  

“...You should’ve told me you were leaving.” 

You’re surprised it’s taken him so long to say so. Magalon’s chastisement is spoken with quiet control. He’s sitting in a seat beside your exam table. Your head is throbbing more viciously now, and your body is beginning to ache. You’ve been at the emergency room for almost an hour, in an exam room for nearly twenty minutes, and you still haven’t seen a single medical professional. 

You nod a little bit. 

“Thought I’d leave early, give you the night off,” You admit. 

“How’d that work out?” 

You think he’s trying to tease you, but it hits right where it hurts. You turn your head from him, jaw quivering again as tired tears rush to your eyes. You raise your head, scrubbing over them again and sniffling softly as you fail to pull in a steadying breath. It’s a moment before you hear the slight scrape of the chair, the soft pad of his sneakers rounding the bed to stop beside you. His hand curls warmly around your wrist, giving it a gentle tug back from your face. You let him, raising your other hand to take its place. 

“Look at me,” Magalon plies quietly. “You told me you were alright.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“If you’re fine, then you probably shouldn’t be here,” Someone chirps. You tip your head up as Magalon lets go of you. Your tear-flooded eyes swim and muddy whoever it is. You can just make out navy blue scrubs. 

“I shouldn’t be,” You agree. “But he’s a worry-wart, so.” 

“Really? How new for you, Ben.” The comment is too familiar a tease. You blink to clear your eyes, getting a better look at the woman. She’s a petite, slight woman, with bronze skin and fiery red hair. She has an almost smug smile affixed on her lips as she eyes the detective beside you. You look between her and Magalon, brows raising when you find his face a placid mask. 

“Angelique,” He greets with a nod. 

“So, what happened in here?” She plucks your chart up, scanning it. 

“Hit and run,” He answers. 

“She can tell me, she clearly didn’t lose the ability to speak in the accident.” 

Oh—damn this is awkward. You shift uncomfortably on the bed, glancing over as Magalon shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Just what he said,” You agree, “I was rear-ended. And then, uh—Side-swiped.” 

“Mm,” Angelique sets your chart back down, rounding to the opposite side of the bed. “Are you feeling any pain? Soreness in your back or neck?” 

“I have a bit of a headache,” You admit. “But besides that, I’m okay.” 

You can see Magalon shifting in your periphery. Angelique hums sympathetically. You answer each of the questions she rattles off, moving this way and that as she checks your heart rate, your blood pressure. You wince a touch when she shines a penlight in your eye. God, it's bright.

But it's also the least uncomfortable part of being in the room with the two of them. 

-- 

“Alright,” Magalon shuts his car door, looking over at you. “Let’s get you home.” 

It sounds warm and fuzzy, and oddly close as he says it. You just grunt, leaning back in your seat and letting your eyes close. The sun is beginning to dip, the sky darkening. So much for getting home early. 

“...Are you hungry?” He plies. 

“A little,” You admit. “But I just…Wanna be in my space right now.” 

Your body relaxes a little when he turns the car on this time. You hesitate before you pick your head up a touch, glancing down at your phone and opening a food delivery app. Maybe you can be smooth about this. “What do you wanna eat?” 

“Hm?” 

“You’ve been stuck with me all day. I may as well feed you.”

You can’t just ask him to stay. You already know that your empty, quiet apartment is going to make you twitchy and nervous. Magalon’s quiet for so long that you don’t think he’s going to answer. But—

“There any good chinese places near you?” He asks. 

You almost sigh with relief. You just nod, typing it into the search box. 

“Uh-huh. A couple.” 

--  “So how long did the two of you date for?” 

It's a hunch you've had for a couple of hours. You ask him while his mouth is full. He takes his damn time chewing, digging his fork into the container and stabbing at the remainder.

“...Couple months.” His muffled mumble of concession almost makes you laugh. 

“Seemed like a pretty cool reception for a couple of months. What happened?” 

“Nothing happened. We both have busy schedules. Just didn’t work out.” 

“You ghost her?” 

“...Yeah.”

“Got it,” You nod, taking up your beer. 

“Put that all together pretty quickly, counselor.” 

You smile for the first time in a few hours.

“It’s a tale as old as time, detective.”

You lean back in your seat, just managing to stave off a wince. Your body is beginning to ache a little, but it was as much as you’d been told to expect at the hospital. 

“What about you, huh?” He asks in turn, setting his food down. You frown. 

“What about me?” 

“Seeing anyone?” 

“No,” You scoff. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t have time. In fact, your team is right. This,” You wave a finger between the two of you. “Is the most committed relationship I’ve had in a few years.” 

Magalon’s smile widens, his eyes sparkling with something that you don’t recognize. 

“You oughta get out there, you know,” He offers. “Might find someone else to drive you home.” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re right, I should. Is Henderson single?” 

“No. And you’re not his type.” 

“Oh, well. Thanks for the warning.” 

“...Is he your type?” 

You consider for a moment before you shrug, shaking your head. “I guess not.” 

“What is?” 

It should be the perfect inane conversation—but with your current, nagging, budding crush on this man, it’s starting to feel a little stressful. 

“I don’t know that I have one,” You pass off. 

“Bullshit. Everyone has one.” 

“Well, what’s yours?” 

“We’re not talking about me.” 

“Maybe we should be.” 

Your insistence spurs a shiteating grin from Magalon, as he leans back in his seat. 

“Deflect, deflect, deflect,” He laughs. “That what makes you such a good lawyer?” 

“It can help sometimes,” You concede. “But it’s not the bulk of what I do.” 

He nods. “Well, that I believe.”

You smile, looking down at your table, hesitant. “Thank you,” You offer after a moment. “For…Hanging out. You didn’t have to.” 

“I don’t mind. Figured you might wanna go over my testimony again, anyway.” 

You shake your head. “No need. I trust you.” You meet his eyes as you insist. Something passes over Magalon’s face before he nods a little bit. You give a small smile before turning away again. You wave toward his beer, pushing yourself out of your seat.

“You want another one?” 

“...Nah. I should get going.”

You try not to feel so put out about it, but it makes sense. He's already been there long enough. You nod a little bit, and take your time trailing toward the door. You rest your hand on the doorknob and glance back, finding Magalon shifting his jacket on his shoulders. 

“You know,” You comment. “I think today’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone use your first name.” 

“That so?” He asks, adjusting his collar as he walks toward you. 

“Mhm. Think I’ve mostly heard ‘Magalon’. Or uh…What’d that guy call you at the office? ‘Borracho’?” 

He smiles a little, nodding. “Sounds about right.” He stops in front of you. “Haven’t heard you use it either.” 

You shrug a little. “Do you need me to?” 

“...Not need, no.” 

Before you can read into it, to ask the questions you have, Magalon adds: “I‘ve got one of the guys keeping an eye on the apartment. You don’t feel well, you feel weird, get a feeling that something’s up, you call me. Connor's'll get up here and I'll be by as soon as I can.” 

You nod, fingers flexing around the doorknob. 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll come pick you up for court tomorrow.” 

“Don’t be late.” 

“I won’t be.” 

You begin to turn the doorknob, expecting that to be Magalon’s parting shot, but he rests his hands on your shoulders again. It steadies you, centering your mind the way it did at the scene of the accident. He crowds a little closer, gaze skimming your face. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” He asks softly. Your stomach flips at his voice, his closeness. You nod a little bit, swallowing thickly. 

“I’ll be fine,” You insist, tipping your chin up defiantly. He smiles a little, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze before letting go of you. You open the door, stepping back to give him room to leave. 

“Night, Ben.” 

“...Goodnight, counselor.” 

--  

There’s an additional swell of nerves as you get ready for court the next morning. There’s usually a little bit of wariness on your part, but it’s bolstered by the previous day's events. Still, you’re resolved to put on a brave face, and not to let Webster or his crew see you flinch. If this gang of thugs is able to intimidate you, it could spell trouble for the remainder of your time at this job. You can’t just pack your life up again—you will not run from this.

You get a text from Borracho at 7:50 that he’s just parked, and to wait for him inside your apartment. You wait impatiently, shifting from foot to foot, and you're only a little startled when his cop-knock wraps against your door. You open the door, brows raising, chastisement ready on your lips. It goes quiet at the sight of him. You’re used to seeing him in casual button-downs, long- and short-sleeve shirts, sweaters. You know that he’s given testimony before, this is hardly his first rodeo—but you somehow didn’t expect him to look so damn good. 

His button-down and suit pants are well-fitted. His neck tattoo winks at you, half-shrouded by his collar. You force an unaffected expression, stepping into the hall and shutting your door behind yourself. 

“I can’t get from my apartment to the car alone now?” You ask. 

“Do you need to relearn yesterday’s lesson?” 

You purse your lips at his smiling tease, grumbling as he leads the way to the elevator.

“How are you feeling?” 

“I’m alright. A little sore,” You admit. “But nothing unmanageable.” 

“Sore where?” 

“My back.”

He hums sympathetically, nodding you into the elevator and jabbing the lobby button. You lean against the wall, eyeing the numbers as they tick down. 

“...No jacket or tie?” You ask. 

“They’re in the car.” 

“Mm.” 

“Good morning to you, too, by the way.” 

You glance over at Borracho, smiling a little. 

“Good morning, detective.” 

“That’s better, counselor.” 

The two of you step off of the elevator, and you try to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your belly as he rests his hand on your lower back, steering you through the front door.

--  

Any port in a storm, right? That’s what this feeling is. 

Borracho was there for you in a moment of crisis. He took care of you when you were hurt, stayed to make sure you were alright. He’s still ferrying you to and from court every day, even if that day has nothing to do with his testimony. The two of you talk in the car—really talk, like you're friends and not colleagues.

Sure, you like his smile. Sure, he’s unfairly attractive in a suit. Sure, his testimony was damn-near perfect, and you'd practically preened with pride as he held up under cross-examination. 

Your last couple of months have been absolute chaos, and despite your initial rocky start, Ben has been a constant. That’s why you’re nagging crush has blossomed into full-blown infatuation. That’s why you invite him up for a beer every night. 

Thing is, you don’t know why he always agrees. Is it out of politeness? His want to make nice for the case? Is it out of friendship? 

You don’t think he’d insist on bringing over a six pack every now and again if it was just politeness. 

You don’t think he’d make it a point to touch you on the arm or side or the thigh if he was just trying to make nice. 

You don’t think that your long good nights would get even longer if he was just being friendly. 

--  

“They better nail his dick to the wall.” 

You glance toward Ben as he grumbles, unable to help your smile. He’s staring moodily at the things on your shelves, eyeing the contents of the boxes that you’ve finally gotten around to unpacking. 

“Visceral,” You comment. Your eyes shift to the time on your laptop. It’s been about forty minutes since the judge gave the jury their final instructions.

“Would you settle down?” You add. “All of your,” You wave toward him. “You’re making me antsy.” 

“All of my what?” 

“Just, the way you’re looking around. You’re all frowny. Your bad energy is gonna kill my snake plant.” 

Borracho chuckles softly, rounding to sit opposite you at your desk. You’re a little surprised he’s hanging around—there must be other cases that he’s assigned to work, something that he could be following up on. 

“How long do you think they’ll take?” He asks. Before you can answer—before you can tell him not to get his hopes up, that it’ll probably be at least a few days—you get a knock on your door. One of the paralegals pokes her head inside, looking harassed. 

“They need you back in court. Jury has their verdict on the Webster case.”  

Your heart drops into your stomach.

“Already?” You ask, raising your brows. 

“Uh-huh.” 

You hurriedly stand, shoving your laptop shut and beginning to get your things together. 

“Is this good or bad?” Borracho asks. 

“Fuck, I don’t know. It hasn't even been an hour. Half an hour of this would’ve been filling out the paperwork.” 

--  

The jury looks resigned as they file in. None of them meet Webster’s eyes. It’s a good sign, one that bolsters you as the judge addresses the jury. 

It’s cut and dry: guilty of first degree murder. A bolt of vindication bursts through your body as you force a neutral expression. Guilty. Fucking guilty. Even without a confession—even with the odds stacked against you, even with months of intimidating you—guilty. You turn, eyes scanning the rows behind your table and landing on Borracho. He’s grinning, as if smiling extra-wide when you can’t. You give a small nod, your lips twitching with a smile regardless. You’re not sure if your glee is a result of the verdict, or the sight of him. 

--  

It feels frighteningly natural for Borracho to follow you off of the elevator and down the hall to your place. But—you’re celebrating, right? That’s why you feel so buoyant. That’s why you force your overthinking mind quiet as he crowds up against you, waiting for you to open your door. 

That’s why you wind up in bed together. 

…Right?

--  

“Don’t move.” 

You smile at the mumbled order, lifting your head a touch to get a better look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting comfortably on your bare belly. You reach down, gently combing your fingers through his sex-ruffled hair. He groans softly as you massage his scalp, his head rising and following with your gentle giggles. He tips his chin up, smiling as he catches your eye. 

“What made you think I was gonna move?” You ask. 

“Felt your legs tensing.”

You hum. “Put that together pretty fast.” 

“That’s why they pay me.”

You watch as Borracho pushes himself up, bracing himself over you. You reach up, gently stroking his rough cheek, and steadying your hand there as he leans in for a kiss. You sigh, lips slipping against his. You smile, giggling again as he plants his knees against the mattress, lazily rolling his hips against yours. You’re still slick, still aching from him. You let your head tip back against the pillow again, blinking up at him and sliding the tip of your finger along his lower lip. Quick as a flash, his tongue pokes out, swiping against your skin. 

You smile, leaning up and pecking his lips. 

“Alright, get off of me,” You wave at his chest. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I wanna get some water. Is that alright with you, detective?” 

He grunts, rolling off of you and settling down on his back, yawning widely. 

“I’ll allow it, counselor.”

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[madrone33]

I finally listened to Hadestown! 🎉

Starting with the Original Cast Recording, ‘cause might as well do it in release order. Loved it! Groovy music. Snickered. Cried. Wrote down my reaction as I went, so if you're chill with rambled thoughts and observations, here you go lol

(Soz for any typos, I was touch typing most of the time, and I've edited it but probs missed stuff)

Road to Hell (Live)

Oh it’s JAZZY. Huh. Didn't expect that, but I am living.

I like how at the start they’re simulating a train’s chugging.

Those call and response harmonies tho *chef's kiss*

Kinda reminds me of Udad.

Oh that’s Hermes!

“It’s a sad song” he says, while singing the boppiest of bops.

I like that “suitcase full of summertime” line.

“About someone... who tries.” Oho, we’re gettin into it now! *rubs hands together*

Also, I completely get now why Jorge said that first draft of EPIC: The Musical Hermes was like Hadestown.

Livin' It Up on Top (Live)

That’s a smooth transition👌

Persephone’s voice is really cool. Kinda rough texture?

Oh I didn’t realise Persephone and Hades would be having a turbulent relationship in this.

Oooh Orpheus’ voice is smooth.

They’re all so happy huh. Welp, you know there’s gonna be a crash in their future.

Orpheus seems really grateful for Persephone’s... graciousness? When he said that she'll always fill their cups and they'll raise them to her and stuff. Theory: either she’ll have a soft spot for him later, or he’ll feel betrayed and blindsided by the more cold side of her later.

All I've Ever Known (Live)

I don’t know anything about Eurydice, but is this her song?

Ah yeah Orpheus is singing, so it must be.

Oop. Foreshadowing.

Way Down Hadestown (Live)

Hermes is back!

“Bored to death” HA

“Graveyard” wow the puns/metaphors are going hard XD

I can’t tell who’s singing lmao. This is like when I listened to Hamilton for the first time. I’ll need lyrics, or familiarity RIP

The coins as the percussion/tambourine is a nice touch.

Hades’ voice is DEEP.

They haven’t mentioned gods yet, I don’t think? Just the Fates, right? It sounds more like a mining operation metaphor for mythos right now, hmm.

Epic II (Live)

King of diamonds and spades - like the playing card suits, but also like the mining operation.

It’s the La la la la thing from Wolfy’s animatic! Almost. A different rendition - I bet I'll hear that later 👀

Why is it called Epic II? Where’s 1? Am I missing something?

Chant (Live)

Oh they’re doing overlapping meodies!!

Ah wait this is Eurydice now, gotta go back a few seconds to catch that. I keep getting her mixed up with Persephone 😅

Oh now we’ve got Eurydice and Orpheus relationship troubles? Huh, I kinda assumed they’d be the perfect couple till her death.

And a semi callback to her song, nice.

Hay Little Songbird (Live)

DAMN his voice is deep!

Is this Eurydice??

Is- Is Hades seducing her? To work for him of smth? Ummm.

Not the canary!

That shaker sounds like a rattlesnake, and it does not bode well for a little bird.

When the Chips are Down (Live)

Oh hey I was right! It is a metaphorical rattlesnake!

Does she choose to go to the Underworld of her own volition? I thought she like- died.

Gone I'm Gone (Live)

She does??

Ouch. She sounds so resigned.

Is this a metaphor for her starving to death? Oof.

The harmonies!!

Wait for Me (Live)

“Six feet under” oh yep.

“Lay low, stay outta sight” - getting Hamilton's Stay Alive vibes.

“Don’t look back” ah. FORESHADOWING.

Ohhh the River Styx being a high wall is so smart!

“And don’t look no one in the eye” I must be too deep in the Odyssey related fandoms, because I'm seeing puns where there are none lmao

The HARMONIES!

Poor Orpheus, but I mean, he was kinda being a bit… naive? If he didn’t prepare for winter and just went off in his own head to make songs?

Why We Build the Wall (Live)

Free from who?

Enemy? 👀

(Yes, I'm aware I'm being led into asking all the questions he wants me to ask, but in my defence, it's very effective.)

Oh huh. Wasn't expecting it to be poverty, tho maybe I should've.

Him calling them “My children” plus the chanting is uh. Why does this sound like cult propaganda?

His voice sounds like the Ozymandias poem guy.

Also giving Frollo “She ran, I pursued” vocal vibes.

“Behind closed doors” - ominous.

Ha! Ok nice subversion.

Our Lady of the Underground (Live)

Persepone is a drug dealer XD

That’s a strange note on “there’s a crack in the wall”

Oh no, am I supposed to remember all these band member names? *crying*

Way Down Hadestown II (Live)

Bringing back motifs I see.

The pickaxes as percussion is cool.

Oop, Eurydice is getting a bit of a wake up call.

Chant II (Live)

Ooooh does the ‘backdoor’ Hermes meant, mean that Orpheus doesn’t have to ‘die’ to get there? ‘Cause he didn’t sign anything, which is a metaphor for him not actually being dead in the myth, so he can still leave.

“Hungry for the underworld” - the pomegranate?

And now Eurydice and Orpheus are singing half the La la la la tune each as if to each other from across the Underworld!

Ooh I LIKE those slant rhymes! "Young man, you can strum your lyre, I have strung the world in wire."

Oh this is where Orpheus sings his plea!! I know this is a thing because of Udad's Underworld Blues lol.

Epic III (Live)

The harmonies 🥺

Oh! It’s that part from Wolfy's animatic :O

I’m tearing up bro.

Just thinking that Eurydice was so upset with Orpheus for focusing on writing his song about Hades and Persephone, but it's that very song that is giving him a chance to sway Hades' mind. But on the other hand, if he'd focused less on the song, he never would've had to use it, y'know?

Word to the Wise (Live)

Ha the Fates(?) doing Hades’ inner monologue like, yeah bro u screwed yourself.

Uh oh this is probs where Hades comes up with the ultimatum. Wait no don't-

His Kiss the Riot (Live)

Those strings are creepy.

Belladonna? Oh the poisonous flower.

Did he call Orpheus the Jack of Hearts?

That acordian is awesome.

Fuck, I knew it.

He sounds like the guy who does the creepily ominous monologue in Micheal Jackson's Thriller.

Promises (Live)

Oh huh. It’s my theory from the 2nd song but it's Eurydice feeling betrayed that the world isn't always plentiful and not Orpheus?

Those strings are gorgeous!

Oh! A duet!

When the couple actually works out their shit:

“I do” omgggg!

KEEP WALKING. DONT LOOK BACK.

Wait for Me II (Live)

Aww that’s nice. Persephone and Hades are gonna try too!

Oh no not the “wait” like in Hurricane-

Doubt Come In (Live)

Oh noooooo

KEEP GOING. JUST KEEP GOING. SHE’S WITH YOU

OH NOOOO DON’T FALTER

LISTEN TO HER! HOLD ON! KEEP GOING!

... Oh god

Road to Hell II (Live)

NO THERE'S A FUCKING AD

Hermes sounds so sad but resigned. Like, 'Oh well. I knew it would turn out like this, but I'd hoped.' Which like. SAME.

The instruments stripped away so it's only silence and one voice is so good.

I can just imagine Orpheus collapsed shell shocked on stage as Hermes not unkindly pushes him to go on.

That reprise and ending is so fucking good AHHH omg no regrets. Some regrets. Whatever, it was good.

... Time to listen to it again with lyrics :D

And then I'm gonna listen to the Original Broadway Cast Recording!

#immediate reactions #reactions #my posts #hadestown #orpheus #eurydice #hades #persephone #long post