5 Swift Seconds Of Theatre

|Leya| |she/her| |NOT A MINOR|

[disguisedbassethound]

Introduction

Hey everyone! I joined Tumblr since earlier this year but I never really posted anything because I am a very private person who's uncomfortable with having any kind of online/social media presence. But now, I decided that it probably wouldn't hurt to pretty much just reblog posts to support other creators. This will pretty much just be a fic rec account for Criminal Minds (Reid), Outer Banks (JJ), and Panic (Dodge). If you have any fic recs of your own, let me know so I can go and check them out. I'm also a Taylor Swift, 5SOS, Harry Styles, and Musical Theatre fanatic (if that's still not obvious lol). I also love the shows Brooklyn Nine Nine and Stranger Things. Please know that creepy or disgusting messages are not allowed (I already got some before this), and hate of any kind will not be tolerated.

[disguisedbassethound]

hello….. does anyone have an hd version of wicked for good that they are willing to give for free?

- sincerely, a poor asian in love with jonathan bailey

[disguisedbassethound]

so to those who have a full slime tutorial of jack wolfe and morgan dudley (esp with the suspiciously good quality seen on tiktok) in hadestown uhm…. SEND IT TO ME RACHEL SEND IT TO ME PLEASSEEEEE😭😭😭

[disguisedbassethound]

hello!!does anyone have a gdrive/copy of the pbs next to normal proshot? there’s no pbs in my country and i really really really want to watch it

[disguisedbassethound]

update: i have one now thank you for your help !!

[disguisedbassethound]

hello!!does anyone have a gdrive/copy of the pbs next to normal proshot? there’s no pbs in my country and i really really really want to watch it

[staticscreenwriting]

A BEAUTIFUL SOMEWHERE II CHAPTER TWO

Series Masterlist x OBX Masterlist x Full Masterlist x Series Summary

Chapter Two — Our Song

Chapter Summary: JJ and John B. have a talk about those dreaded papers. Stevie runs into an unexpected acquaintance and finds an outlet for her anger. The Pogues get together for the first time in years and decide what to do with the time they're given together.

The air smells like sawdust and summer heat and JJ’s skin is slick with sweat as the humming of the jigsaw ceases and makes room for the gentle lap of the waves mingling with the low music coming from the radio.

He can feel a sense of pride pushing against his skin, trying so desperately to find room inside of him, expanding in a way that makes it unable for him to not let himself feel it. It’s something he’s trying to get used to step by step. JJ never really had anyone be proud of anything he did so all of this is unfamiliar, it’s foreign. But he is trying. And looking at the cedarwood door frame before him, he tries to cherish the feeling of pride instead of covering it up with poisonous thoughts of self-depreciation.

“Looks good, man.”

John B’s voice cuts through the early afternoon quiet and catches JJ off guard like a cold splash of water on sun-burned skin.

“Thanks. What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t mean to sound rude, he really doesn’t, but it’s a fact that none of his friends ever show up here. Their friend group lives and breathes like some kind of natural organism that comes and goes as it does without much talking or planning. They all just gravitate toward each other in their own designated spaces like the chateau or the wreck or the beach. But this place? This is his little getaway, his shelter and his prison. Both a place to rest and to get absolutely obliterated by his own thoughts.

“Uh, good to see you too.” John B. scoffs though he grants JJ a look of mock offense void of any and all seriousness.

“You know what I mean.”

“I wanted to hang out and you weren’t at your place or the shack. And I know you stress-build so this was the only place you could be.”

“I don’t stress-build.”

He does. In fact, it’s one of the few healthy coping mechanisms he’s developed since leaving high school and forcing himself to grow up, at least a little bit. There’s a certain adult quality in building something when things get tough instead of breaking something down. You can choose to mess up when life treats you unfairly or you can choose to create something.

He’s been destructive for so long that he feels like he owes the world some creations. Or maybe he owes himself, JJ is not entirely sure.

“… and anyway, why would I be stressed? Life is fucking peachy.”

John B. lifts his eyebrow in that annoyingly smug way that is so quintessentially him it makes JJ feel both nostalgic and aggravated at the same time.

“Are you really asking me that? Like is that a legit question? Because that’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, I’m asking.”

“Well uh let me think. Maybe you’re stressed because Stevie is back home for the first time in years after the both of you had an atomic bomb-sized blowup, that you both still refuse to talk about. “

Many nights have gone by since then, many nights when JJ was so close to opening up. To telling John B. every excruciating detail, every heartbreaking word that had been spoken. He never did though. There is always something holding him back. Some invisible vine wrapping around his heart, then his throat and pulling close, cutting off all blood, all oxygen until the thought of spilling the truth evaporates from his mind as if they never existed in the first place.

“Not stressed about that. It’s been years, we’re good.”

“That why you can’t sign the divorce papers? Because you’re good?”

JJ doesn’t have a lot of good memories of hanging out with his dad but he does remember one memory that at least started good. He was maybe 9 and Luke had allowed him to skip school and accompany him on a trip to Raleigh. He doesn’t remember why they went there in the first place but he does remember eating greasy burgers at some dingy diner and drinking lukewarm Dr Pepper in the car while his dad was singing along to Lynyrd Skynyrd. At least JJ was drinking Dr. Pepper. The good memories stop there. On the way back Luke was grumpy and mean and aggravated and JJ remembers clutching the door handle with his tiny hands and hoping that Luke would slow down, just slow down.

He didn’t slow down, not until he ran a red light and someone stepped out into the street and Luke had to step on the brake with all his might, trying to get the car to a standstill before hitting the person.

Fortunately, they didn’t hit anyone, but little JJ was flung against the seatbelt with such force that to this day he still remembers the way all the air was knocked out of him, the way he couldn’t breathe. It just wouldn’t come and his lungs felt empty. All void of oxygen.

He feels that exact same way as those words tumble from John B.’s lips. Like the air has been sucked out of his lungs and switched out with gravel, stones, rocks. Heavy and rough.

The manila envelope is stuffed into the glove compartment of his car, stashed somewhere between parking tickets that still need to be paid, pens that don’t work anymore, and napkins from various fast food places around the island.

“I — look I don’t know why I can’t do it. It’s not like I believe we’ll get back together or anything like that. We haven’t spoken to each other in 4 years, I might as well sign them. It’s not like this marriage was a good idea to begin with. It just — “

“Just what?”

JJ has thought about this so many times, so many nights have been spent tossing and turning in bed with no thoughts but those dreaded documents. Her name in blue ink on white paper all swirly and graceful. She sent them before, the only form of communication they had in 4 whole years. Just a year after she left the island they landed unceremoniously in his mailbox. Back then he just ignored them. Pretended like he never received them. Maybe part of him wished that it would get her to call, to come visit even. He never heard back though and so for the time being it was easy to play along with this version of the truth he tried so hard to hold onto. But the thoughts never really left. He always knew they were there buried in his closet like metaphorical skeletons.

This time he can’t pretend. Can’t lie to himself or to her. She handed them to him personally. Blue ink on white paper. Manila envelope on sun-kissed skin.

And he still can’t bring himself to put his name on the dotted line. It’s supposed to be so easy. It’s the hardest fucking thing.

“If I put my name on those papers It feels like admitting this was a mistake. I don’t want this to be a mistake. I made a lot of shitty calls in my life but marrying her was not one of them. I know it doesn’t mean anything right now, this stupid piece of paper but I just can’t bring myself to sign it,” JJ explains then lets out a long sigh of frustration. “I know it’s fucking dumb.”

“Do you still love her?”

JJ Maybank doesn’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love Stephanie Collins. Loving her is part of him like the scar on his wrist from falling off of his surfboard and being smacked against a sharp rock. Like the dimple that’s only on one side of his face. Like that chip in his tooth from when he hit the ground jumping from a swing set.

“JB, I don’t think it matters.”

“You married her because you love her. If you still do, and I know you do, maybe you shouldn’t sign those papers.”

“Dude I — “

“Look, just maybe you two need to stop looking at the past and start seeing if there’s a chance for a future for the two of you.”

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“JJ, you bought a house for this girl. You’re building door-frames. Everything you do is for her. Would be a shame if she never got to see it.”

JJ’s eyes wander across the room. To the drywall that’s not fully painted yet. The fireplace he fixed up. The cedarwood door-frames and to the corner of the porch there are two bright orange ceramic tiles. One with a J, one with an S in sloppy blue handwriting. They were 10 maybe 11 when they painted them in her backyard while her mom was reading a book on the porch. He remembers the soft voice of Billy Joel coming from the radio and the smell of coral honeysuckle in the air and the taste of peach iced tea on his lips.

Most of all he remembers her smile, all gap-toothed and gorgeous. Even then he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Maybe John B. has a point.

“I — uh I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

John B. shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly before giving him a tiny smile. “Not sure but I heard sorry is a pretty good opener.”

The chainlink fence rattles as Stevie leans her bike against it, the hot summer sun beating down on her already, even this early in the morning, leaving her skin tingling.

In all the world there is no better remedy for the summer heat than a cherry popsicle from the gas station by her old house. It’s quite a ride now all the way from Figure 8 but some things are worth taking long bike rides for. Like cherry popsicles and the sweet taste of childhood nostalgia.

Stepping into the building is like stepping back into her childhood, her teenage years. The linoleum floor is still perpetually sticky and the air still smells stale and sharp like out-of-date candy and cleaning chemicals mixed with the smell of gasoline.

The icy AC air sends a shiver through Stevie and makes a layer of goosebumps appear across her skin. Back when they were kids, JJ would wrap his arms around her and rub her arms until she would assure him that he had warmed her up sufficiently for her to make a conscious decision on what candy to get. “You can’t think right if you’re cold. Your brain won’t work. Trust me, it’s science.” Even back then she severely doubted that statement but she never said anything to disprove his claims. It might not have been based on actual scientific research, but it was true to JJ and anyway, Stevie liked having his arms around her. So who was she to tell him wrong?

“Everybody wants to rule the world” echoes through the room reverberating between the coolers on one side and the metal rags filled with chips and condoms and beef jerky and canisters of 10W40.

Stevie pushes open the lid of the ice box, letting the stale static air escape before grabbing the object of her desire, the cherry red popsicle. Generic brand and probably a blend of every chemical one should not put in their body. But there is just something so addicting about the artificial cherry flavor that makes cutting her life short by a year or two just worth it.

As she puts the ice on the counter the song playing from the overhead speakers ends and Chicago’s “You're the Inspiration” starts playing, making it impossible for Stevie to suppress a smile. Talk about the universe sending a sign. A strange feeling settles in her stomach, a mix of happiness and nostalgia and longing and loss. A memory of what once was and what will never be.

“You found everything alright?” The cashier asks, turning around to face Stevie.

So many people pass in and out of your life leaving no lasting traces, nothing to remember them by, neither good nor bad. A fleeting moment in time spent together only to be but a distant shadow in a memory.

And then there are people like Luke Maybank. Reckless and cruel, leaving destruction and pain wherever they step. Bruises and scars on good people with good hearts.

She remembers the first time she met him, he smiled at her but it was all teeth and absolutely no kindness. He called her little miss and she hated the way those words sounded coming from his lips. Acidic and evil. Like a Disney villain only in real life leaving real bruises on real skin.

He looks older now, worn out by life and circumstance. His skin is leathery and grayish dull, suntanned, and dry from spending too much time in the sun without giving a single thought to wearing sunscreen. His eyes still hold the same icy glint though. Grey and sharp and slicing right through her cutting straight to the bone.

“Hey, do I know you?”

She almost wants to laugh at that, at his absolute incapability to take any interest in JJ’s life, so much so as to forget her of all people.

A little voice in her head is whispering mischievous thoughts into her ear. “Tell him, go ahead. Tell him you’re his daughter-in-law. See what he says!”

She doesn’t listen to the voice though, she used to when she was younger but part of growing up is learning when to shut them up and when to follow them. This is a shut-up moment.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You sure?” he musters her up and down trying desperately to find a place in his head to file her away.

“Pretty sure.”

“Well alright then. Could’ve sworn I’ve seen your pretty face before.”

And when he smiles at her then it’s no teeth or danger it’s that one dimple on his cheek dipping into his skin the same way JJ’s does. She thinks she hates this even more. Seeing a resemblance of the man she loves most in this world in this vile person before her. “That’ll be 86 cents please.”

She hands him a dollar bill and mumbles out a rushed “keep the change” before all but running out of the store.

Hatred feels red, it feels like burning you from the inside out. Bones and muscle and flesh and skin. Stevie has never felt hatred for anyone the way she feels for Luke Maybank.

He might not remember her but she remembers him alright. She remembers all the bruises and black eyes and scars littering JJ’s body. She remembers the fear in JJ’s voice and the tears running down his cheeks and all the pain and suffering he had to go through because Luke couldn’t be bothered to be a father and a decent human being.

Part of growing up is learning when to shut up the voices telling you to do irresponsible, dumb things. Stevie never claimed to be all that grown up. So when she catches sight of the ugly beige chevy suburban with the dent in the side and the crack in the windshield it feels like some higher power takes over. Her feet move as if on autopilot and bring her closer and closer to the car. Her hand reaches into the pocket of her denim shorts and grabs a hold of her key. The one with the pink plastic surfboard keychain and the small switchblade knife. Dad probably had other things in mind when he gave it to her. Protection, safety. But then again he said to use it in emergency situations and this emergency has been a long time coming.

She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until the satisfying hiss of a deflating tire pulls her back into the reality of the situation.

It’s morally wrong, she knows this as well as anyone. But every time she thinks about Luke Maybank all she can see is JJ bruised and battered and asking to be loved only for his father to leave him bloody and broken. Slashing the tire might be morally wrong but as she walks away from the scene of the crime, rides down the familiar streets of Kildare on her bike one hand on the handle one hand holding the popsicle, lips colored cherry red, there’s not a hint of regret inside of her. Sometimes things aren’t morally right but maybe that doesn’t mean they’re all wrong.

“Pogue meetup. 8 on the dot @ the chateau. Mandatory!”

John B. isn’t a texter. Never has been. He gets right to the point and if his point takes more than 3 sentences to explain he will call you. So when the text comes through Stevie doesn’t even have to question who it is summoning her to the old stomping grounds. Immediately the new number is saved in her phone as John B. He’s the only John she knows but it feels entirely wrong not to put the B where it has always been and always will belong.

The Chateau looks familiar and yet different. The big tree behind the house still stands grand and proud, the string lights still attached. She wonders if they still work. If they can still turn a backyard into a fairytale. The house looks different though, newer. It’s sporting a fresh coat of paint, light olive green, and the porch seems to have been built completely new from the ground up.

Music sounds from the backyard and laughter rings through the early afternoon daze. Her heart aches with a sense of longing, a remembrance of different times with the same people.

Their laughter still is her favorite sound in the world.

“Look who it is! Princess Pogue herself!” John B. calls out across the yard as she rounds the corner, smiling faces greeting her.

“Yo, I don’t know if that title still applies. Miss Collins is living on figure 8 now.” Pope inquiries, though Stevie can tell there’s no malicious intent in any of his words. It’s pointless teasing between friends forever entangled in each other's lives.

“Uh, objection your honor. May I remind you of one simple fact please?”

“Granted, what is that fact, Mr. Maybank?”

“Once a Pogue, always a fucking Pogue.”

His exclamation is met with a roar of applause and cheers and for a moment Stevie feels 18 and invincible again. 4 years feel like a lifetime sometimes and in moments like this one 4 years feel like they’re but a blink of an eye.

JJ’s arm falls around her shoulders as she plops down on the tree stump next to him. He smells like salty air and cheap mint body wash and fire. A can of beer is pushed into her hand, condensation cold and wet against her skin. It’s the same brand they’ve always had, the cheapest they sell at any of the stores around the island. It’s nice to know fundamental things haven’t changed.

The fire casts the group in a reddish golden glow, like oil paintings, like movie scenes too beautiful to be real life.

“You all wanna know something crazy?” she says, a smirk spreading on her lips.

Curious eyes regard her awaiting her next words.

“Richard has bidets installed in every bathroom. Remember when we didn’t have running water after one of the storms? Francine or Fiona or something? And we had to flush using collected rainwater.”

“When we sneaked into the country club to shit?” JJ asks with that cute little innocent smirk on his face that is all but innocent but works so well with his big blue eyes and the shaggy blond hair.

“Yeah JJ, that time. Well while we had to do that, figure 8 has fucking bidets.”

“Typical,” Kiara says and rolls her eyes in a way that Stevie missed so dearly. If only she could bottle up this moment, with all her friends smiling and happy and talking nonsense the way they always did.

“Does it like … tickle? Does it feel nice? Like nice nice, if you know what I mean.”

“Okay, woah JJ. No. No, come on. “ John B. speaks up accompanied by a harmony of groans following JJ’s question, earning him a confused “what?” from JJ himself.

“No more talk about — butt stuff. We’re here to celebrate the first time all of us Pogue are back on the island at the same time in years. So I would like to propose something.”

“He said butt stuff.”

“JJ!” Stevie scolds, slightly shoving her elbow into his ribs. Just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Never.

“Sorry.”

“I propose the idea of making this the best summer ever. No drama. No problems. Just pure old Pogue shenanigans. That means fun, drinks, music, and maybe a blunt or two. What do you guys say?”

Sarah chimes up with an enthusiastic “Sounds good to me” and a grandiose bright smile. It doesn't take more than a second for the rest of the group to join in, a joy radiating from all of them that is simply contagious.

“Well, let's drink to that!”

“To the best summer of all time.” John B. says.

“To good friends.”

“To best friends.” Kie corrects Pope earning herself an agreeable nod of his head from the boy. The man.

“To spending time with the people you love most.”

As those words fall from Sarah’s lips, Stevie can’t help but glance at JJ through the corner of her eyes. It would be the world's most egregious lie if she were to deny that part of her still loves JJ. That part of her will always love him, no matter how much time or distance is put between them. Being here again just makes that so abundantly clear to her. Just because she knows though, doesn’t mean anyone else has to. So when his eyes catch hers she looks back towards the fire, acting as if nothing happened in the first place.

“To letting go of the past and building new futures.”

JJ’s words sound so honest and meaningful and back 4 years ago she immediately would’ve known what they meant. Would’ve been able to read him like an open book.

Not anymore though. And maybe those are the consequences of her own actions that she now has to live with. You are not the girl you were when you left, her mind tells her, and he is not the boy you left behind.

“To old memories. And to making new ones.”

Beers raised in the air, they all let out a whooping “Pogues for life” before taking sips from their drinks. Turning to JJ, Stevie is met with him already looking at her. God, he really does have the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen. There have been so many times she’s gotten lost in them and she can almost feel herself slipping back into them. Letting the blue waves pull her in and pull her under. She wouldn’t even mind. There has never been a death as sweet as drowning in JJ’s eyes.

“Cheers, sunshine.”

“Cheers, JJ”

What a traitorous heart she has, one that won't stop fluttering just because her husband looked at her and granted her a smile. Oh, what a traitorous heart.

The moon sits high in the sky like a spotlight shining down upon the backyard of the Chateau. John B. and Sarah have turned in a while ago and both Kiara and Pope are softly snoring away on the cough inside the house, leaving only Stevie and JJ out by the dying fire.

Just them and the moon and the stars, the soft humming of the radio, and the melodic chirping of the katydids.

“Why are you smiling like that?” JJ asks, now sitting on the floor, back resting against the stump and hands locked behind his head.

“Just — you’re not gonna believe what I did today.”

“What did you do? You’re going all red, what did you do Collins?”

His eyes are wide with mischief and adoration and he’s got a red glow dusting his face. She’s not sure if it’s sunburn or the result of one too many beers. Either way, she thinks it makes him look so fucking adorable.

“I ran into your dad today.”

There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, one that’s always been there but one she hopes will go away one day. She doubts it ever will but there’s no harm in hoping.

“Yeah, I heard he’s back in Kildare.”

“He works at the gas station by Willow Drive. Didn’t even recognize me.”

“Of course, he didn’t. Never took an interest in any of the things that mattered to me.”

“Mmmh. Well, I was — god I was so mad, JJ. When he looked at me all friendly I just thought of all the things he did to you and how he never got his comeuppance and I just — freaked. It doesn't even absolve half of what he did to you but I just couldn't help myself.”

“What did you doooo?”

He’s giggling. A grown man giggling like he’s been told the funniest story in all of time’s existence. She loves the sound. Wants to hear it over and over and over again.

“ I slashed his tire.”

“You did not.”

“Uh—huh. I did. With a tiny keychain switchblade too.”

“Stephanie Collins, you’re a full-on criminal. I’m so proud of you.”

“I learned from the best.”

The two of them descend into a fit of laughter, half drunk on beer and high on weed but mostly intoxicated by the magic of being around each other again as if the last 4 years never happened and those kids who were dumb and in love are still there inside of them just under the surface waiting to break free.

“Hey, Stevie?”

The sincerity in his voice sends a funny sensation through her heart.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He shrugs his shoulders and averts his eyes, training them on the dying embers of the fire. It’s funny how something can burn so brightly, so viciously and suddenly it’s but a dim light, barely a spark. There’s a metaphor there for their relationships, she’s a writer, she finds metaphors in everything. But being drunk on nostalgia and residual love, she can’t quite seem to uncover it.

“For everything. Just — I should’ve said it a while ago and I never did so I just wanted to say it now.”

Vulnerable JJ is still something that is quite unfamiliar to her. He is so full of laughter and smiles and overcompensating for how he really feels, he doesn’t show this side of him often. Never did. So when he does it’s special and it means more than he probably even realizes himself.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. I’m sorry too.”

He places a kiss on the top of her head, so soft and gentle that she wonders for a second if she imagined it.

“You know, earlier before I noticed your dad I felt like the universe was welcoming me back to the island in the weirdest way possible.”

“Huh? How’s that?”

“They played “You’re the Inspiration” over the gas station radio. Our wedding song.”

JJ turns to her, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. She’ll never get tired of looking at his face, Stevie decides at that moment.

“That’s not our wedding song.”

“Uh, yes it is! We had our first dance here in this very backyard while that song was playing. We all sang along. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember every single second of that day. But that was not our first dance.”

He shakes his head, shaggy blond hair swaying messily with the movement, before dusting himself off and standing up. Fumbling his phone from the pockets of his cargo shorts, he furiously starts typing before the Bluetooth speaker lets out a thumping sound and then reconnects to JJ’s phone.

“Our first dance,” JJ says and holds out his hand to her, pulling her to her feet and closer to his body, snaking one hand around her waist. “wasn’t even here. The first time I danced with my wife was on the back patio of the Wreck while we were waiting for the food that Kie couldn’t bring because she was at the Chateau getting the decorations ready for the reception.”

He’s right. Of course, he is. JJ never forgets the little things that turn out not to be so little after all. Back when they were still together he would remember the most inconsequential details. Her favorite flowers, food, songs. The way she liked her coffee and that waking her up with kisses was entirely more successful than a damn alarm clock.

“And this song was playing.”

When he presses play on his phone, a loud voice advertises a Spotify original podcast to them, yet another true crime one, because there aren’t entirely too many of those.

“Sorry, I don’t pay for premium. I think it’s a scam.”

Stevie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, sure there is a completely rational explanation to JJ as to why the premium service is a scam. It probably even makes a little sense if you let him explain it thoroughly.

She doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just wraps her arms around his neck like she’s done so many times before in a lifetime that feels like it wasn’t even her own but also like it happened just hours ago. Time is a funny thing.

A guitar chord fills the air followed by the hauntingly beautiful voice of Eva Cassidy.

“You'll remember me when the west wind moves Among the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold”

Suddenly she’s back on the patio of the Wreck, 18 and in love, and freshly married to the boy that has always had her heart. Life was so complicated and yet so simple. Nothing has changed, everything is different.

“You looked so beautiful in that white dress. And I — “

“JJ, I loved your outfit. Those damned cuffed jeans and that crisp white shirt? That was my husband right there.”

“I liked being called your husband.” He admits with a bashful smile that evokes the dimple on his cheek. On him, nothing is menacing or uneasy. There’s not a hint of his father in him, this is all JJ.

“Yeah?”

They’re softly swaying through the night, stars illuminating the dark around them.

“Oh yeah. Made me feel like a real adult. Like I had done something right in my life. If someone as amazing as you thought I was worth marrying then how fucked up could I really be?”

Stevie never liked hearing him talk about himself like that. Granted, that version of him was usually overshadowed by the fake confident, big-mouthed, larger-than-life persona he put on, but whenever this version did show up, it almost broke Stevie’s heart.

“Is that why you didn’t sign the papers the first time I sent them?”

“You sent them before?”

“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, JJ. I know you got them. It’s okay though. I get it. It’s hard for me too.”

He bites his lip in consideration as if for the first time in his life weighing his words, deciding what to say next.

“I just — I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Every time I try I just can’t bring myself to sign them. Like I forgot how to spell my own name or something. It’s kinda really fucked up.”

“JJ, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it right now, I’m here all summer. Just give them to me before I leave.”

The thought of her leaving is sending a pang of hurt through her heart. There’s still so much summer left, she tells herself, no need to think about the end yet.

Resting her head against his chest, Stevie closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tightly it makes her see phosphenes for a second, shutting out the reality of what is happening. If she closes her eyes tight enough she doesn’t have to face the fact that with the end of the summer comes the actual proper end of her marriage. But this is what she wants right? Closure?

“JJ?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you come to my mom’s wedding?”

"Obviously. I’m her favorite.”

She chuckles against his chest, the fabric of his shirt swallowing most of the sound.

“Only if you promise me something though.”

Stevie pulls away and looks up at him and just for a small moment she allows herself to get lost in the blue. Just this once.

“You’ll save a dance for me.”

All her dances are his. Forever. It’s something she promised herself in silence when they danced in the back garden of the country club that one night when they were 16 and meant to work at the midsummer event but snuck away to slow dance as the band played a soft song. Just because things changed between them doesn’t mean that promise will be broken.

The fire is out, just a burned-down log and a pile of ash as Eva Cassidy lulls JJ and Stevie into a soft haze. The song is about to end but neither of them is ready to let go. Not yet. Maybe when the summer ends and things go back to normal. But not right now with the night all inky black. Not right now when it’s just them and the moon and the stars and the melodic chirping of the katydids and Eva Cassidy singing their song.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll save a dance for you.”

“I never made promises lightly And there have been some that I've broken But I swear in the days still left We'll walk in fields of gold We'll walk in fields of gold

Ooh Many years have passed since those summer days Among the fields of barley See the children run as the sun goes down As you lie in fields of gold.”

[disguisedbassethound]

OH MYYY THIS IS SO GOOD!!!

the more i read it the more interested i became with the story!!

the writing is amazing as well!

[taylorswift]

The Eras Tour has been the most meaningful, electric experience of my life so far and I’m overjoyed to tell you that it’ll be coming to the big screen soon 😆 Starting Oct 13th you’ll be able to experience the concert film in theaters in North America! Tickets are on sale now at taylor.lnk.to/TSTheErasTourFilm. Eras attire, friendship bracelets, singing and dancing encouraged 🫶 1, 2, 3 LGB!!!! (iykyk)

[disguisedbassethound]

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH

[disguisedbassethound]

if there's anything that i have learned from the last year until july this year is to never trust red headed wife guys who can imitate the laugh from a character in spongebob because they will cheat on their wives with someone they work with

[vampiretendencies]

hi love :) idk if your requests are still open but if they are.. ik you’ve done so many physical touch blurbs with jj but i just need more lmaooo. like it could be whatever you’d like, i just need some clingy, touchy, jj yk?

hope you’re having a great day ! remember to take your time and eat some good food <3

warnings; fluff

pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader

authors note; i present to you early weekend mornings with mr. maybank himself, i don’t make the rules

There’s a measly draft, whisting in the whole of the shared bedroom. It’s distant, acquired a sort of eerie presence that JJ was foreign to. So dauntingly cold— enough to raise goosebumps and he wasn’t one to get those.

No, not with your body warmth. It’s the last thing he goes to bed too, and the first thing he wakes up to in the morning.

Especially with lack of clothing, he falls to slumber in nothing but his boxers. And, you do so in the smallest of panties and a bralette of some sort. There’s something so satisfying about drifting to sleep at the hands of the other with little to nothing close to nakedness— inside and out.

His puffed out morning cheeks are grumpy, met with linen sheets and a dip in the open space where you should be laying. The more he lies here thinking you’ll be back within seconds, is the more he trembled uncontrollably. For even the weighted comforter could not bring him the familiar snugness you did.

He’s defeated now, aware that without you in this bed next to him he won’t be falling asleep. His real questions have been ‘where are you?’ and ‘what the hell is taking so long?’. You obviously weren’t in the bathroom, it’s feet away and the dimly lit light was off, door having the slightest crack showing no trace of you— and that’s so fucking disappointing.

“Ugh!”

His rasp-ridden voice carries, he does so purposefully because he knows you’ll hear it down the hall— the only explanation for as to where you could be at this given moment is in that vicinity. Kitchen or living room.

With one twirl of the blanket, his muscular frame is throwing the white comforter over his shoulders, crinkling the entirety of the sheets that were tucked in at one point before. Sinewy arms portruded outward to keep his shivering body intact.

JJ would like to believe that this is a near death experience.

Because he is compelled by your affectionate touch— making everything feel painless.

He is so insufferable.

For the complaining and whining that you know is about to ensue, has already caused an eye roll; with continued grunts and loud coughs the whole while he travels in search of you. He drags the comforter that’s wrapped around him on the hard wood oak floor, scuffing it and corrupting the pure white fabric with pelts of debris.

Catching glimpse of your figure with a spatula in hand, flipping at what he deemed to be french toast. Cinnamon invaded his senses, such a sultry taste he could almost taste it without even eating it. But, that’s not important right now.

Your tender skin peeks through your usual morning attire so amorous and ardent, his knees are about to buckle.

Christ. You looked so heavenly.

But, that’s not important right now either.

He hopes to grin, but he doesn’t as he remembers you left him feeble and lonesome this morning. His pout deepening whilst he approaches you. You don’t gaze from the the soaked bread, the waddle of his padded feet giving him away.

It’s so unfair that you left him so early and sulking in a melancholy manner.

The weighted material that was over his shoulders, he drops— he no longer needs that solace anymore, he wants the one in front of him. It collides in a pool on that same floor, JJ didn’t necessarily care about the fact that the bedroom set comforter is splattered with dirt that was unseen, it was just a ploy really— to get to you.

His hands palm at your hip bones, shaping smooth figure eights with his index finger. He pushes you so flush against the stove you think you might fall head first into the pan with the saccharine breakfast. Rocking the two of you, in steady rhythms. Nothing is ever close enough for JJ, he’d live in your brain if you let him. Take your rich blood maybe wear it around his neck. Perhaps if you wouldn’t be able to touch him physically then you’d be touching close to his heart— the one that beats for you. Thinking maybe he can just settle for that, toppling the weight of his entire body onto your back, his cheek smushed against your shoulder. Boxers hanging low on his structured waist, nearing his v-line, he’s flat there, allowing you to feel all of him.

“You left me,” his voice is stained with a pout, and muffled from his breaths against your shoulder.

Oh, you wanted to melt into him, let him carry you back to the bedroom. Though, you’ve wasted almost an hour this morning trying to figure out this damn french toast recipe, practically drooling in your sleep for something more filling than cereal. JJ could live off the stuff, however you think it’s about time either of you learn how to cook. After all, there is no personal sous chef in this apartment.

His sullen look continues, because this is just not enough. He aspires to feel you in his veins, injecting you, flowing through, and giving him this strength of outlasting indulgence no other could. Every exhale and inhale should be your air, shared with with him. Call it overly clingy, whatever, the man is just overly consumed by you. Alike, you were a radiant opening to a world he had yet to discover, once he stepped foot into that world he couldn’t compensate for turning back.

“Got up to cook us some real breakfast,” you giggle, despite this not being a laughing matter to JJ whatsoever. Making things go stale.

His cheek left your shoulder— squish-able at best. His arms elongate further, pulsating with bulging muscles, swallowing you in his hold with a wrap of his arms around your waist. Hands meeting at your front, interlocking and resting there. The nape of your neck seemed neglected, it was almost a trance that he touch it. Bits of flyaways there from the remainder of your hair being tied up. His sweet lips manage a light sleepy kiss to the space, it’s slow and a bit wet from being half awake. Your insides erupt into a fit of giddiness, millions of uneasy jitters swarming your insides. You have yet to get use to his hold or his kiss, feels just like the initial time though somehow it’s worsened as your love for him picks up pace with every growing hour. He presses another whilst you attempt to flip the sugary bread on its pale side, spatula scooping beneath.

A part of you has this inkling that there will be no syrupy french toast to dive into during these early hours.

“Don’t want food,” he breathes, lips moving to another crevice of your neck now, nose catching a waft of your emphatic scent. He nuzzled his nose there, letting it linger like he needed feel it within the centres of his bones. His next swift movement catches you off gaurd, flipping the heat notch on the stove off, and forcing the spatula out of your hands. “Want you.”

Before you can comprehend, he’s spinning you on your heals and you wriggle in his grasp, seating you atop the kitchen island the granite sending a tremble down your spine.

“JJ?! M’fuckin’ hungry!”

You gesture at the meal that you were ready to scarf down behind him. And his pout is now glimmering with a toothy, tip-lipped grin, your face is stoic trying to pretend as if you don’t like it.

“I’ll order us something, yeah?”

With a cross of your arms, he’s standing between your legs at eye length and he swore someone kicked at the backs of his knees the way they want to give out, rendering him a nothingness of putty at the sight of you. Large hands grasping so tight to your inner thigh, his nails would surely leave the shape of crescent moons— he’s trying to contain himself.

You can’t believe the fiending boy before you— eager to readmire every centimeter of you for the better part of his day, keeping him continuously high.

“No J, you came in and interrupted me, there’s perfectly good food right there. All you have to do is let me finish-“

“Didn’t hear you complaining when I did, baby.”

He knows he’s got you by the glint in your eyes and from the effervescent smile you’re trying to hold back.

“Might have missed you a little … but it was quieter when you were sleeping,” you tease and his lips quirk impossibly higher.

“Believe you owe me somethin’, pretty girl.”

His eyes shut, long eyelashes fluttering, whilst he puckers his lips obnoxiously awaiting his ‘good morning’ kiss. His day is not the same without it. You oblige, small hands cupping either of his cheeks, one higher up and carding a hand through his blonde tresses. Mouths connect, it’s enveloping and filled with hunger. He can’t help himself the way his hand accidentally slips beneath your thin bralette and you grab athis wrist, humming into his mouth, a signal for him to stop before you let go.

He doesn’t stop, and you never let go.

Mornings like these spoke volumes, these mornings are the ones JJ lived for.

[disguisedbassethound]

the!!!actual!!!dream!!!

[taylorswift]

It’s here. It’s yours, it’s mine, it’s ours. It’s an album I wrote alone about the whims, fantasies, heartaches, dramas and tragedies I lived out as a young woman between 18 and 20. I remember making tracklist after tracklist, obsessing over the right way to tell the story. I had to be ruthless with my choices, and I left behind some songs I am still unfailingly proud of now. Therefore, you have 6 From The Vault tracks! I recorded this album when I was 32 (and still growing up, now) and the memories it brought back filled me with nostalgia and appreciation. For life, for you, for the fact that I get to reclaim my work. Thank you a million times, for the memories that break our fall. 💥🐉🏰  Speak Now (MY VERSION!) is out now. 

http://taylor.lnk.to/SpeakNowTaylorsVersion

PC: Beth Garrabrant 

[littleeliza-lotte]

DEREK PLEASE (x)

[disguisedbassethound]

help me HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[jilllovesmike]

[andyet-i-smile]

I was specifically hoping to see a picture of them together from the show and I still feel like I was unprepared

They’re all beautiful, I’m gonna go into shock or something

[disguisedbassethound]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[disguisedbassethound]

i think i like someone im not supposed to like???

[disguisedbassethound]

uh oh oh no oh no oh no

[disguisedbassethound]

i think i like someone im not supposed to like???

[princeoconnor]

Zendaya’s new Instagram story

[disguisedbassethound]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

[taylorswift]

It fills me with such pride and joy to announce that my version of Speak Now will be out July 7 (just in time for July 9th, iykyk 😆) I first made Speak Now, completely self-written, between the ages of 18 and 20. The songs that came from this time in my life were marked by their brutal honesty, unfiltered diaristic confessions and wild wistfulness. I love this album because it tells a tale of growing up, flailing, flying and crashing… and living to speak about it. With six extra songs I’ve sprung loose from the vault, I absolutely cannot wait to celebrate Speak Now (Taylor’s Version) with you on July 7th. Pre-order now at http://taylor.lnk.to/SpeakNowTaylorsVersion 💜💜💜

[disguisedbassethound]

WAAAAAHHHHHHH