#drinking a rock and rye

[everchanging-cryptid]

I LOVE MILF

MAN

I

LOVE

FAYGO ROCK & RYE

[terrifying-acceptance]

this is gonna sound so weird but idc

i get an unreasonable amount of gender euphoria from my acne. like, i genuinely look like a teenage boy and it's just-

[ablobwhowrites]

Baker y/n shenanigans

(some silly stuff I wanted to write for baker y/n as this office worker who's underpaid and overworked needed to be written again.)

I imagine when baker y/n was put into the new world. They thought it was a dream at first until later on realizing it wasn't as they where happy that it wasn't then the panic set in on that y/n's body changed into a cookie and that everything they own is now in this world and their pets as well but turned into animals that fit the cookie world. Y/n wonders why they didn't just leave back to their world without taking them and the cookies just keeping making excuses to try and justify taking y/n to their world and they definitely didn't have a whole plan that y/n is now declared dead in the human world so that they have no problem of keeping y/n here forever. Baker y/n is basically powerless in the cookie world as like they were just a regular ass human and they haven't gotten any magic or special movies like all the other cookies but rye cookie gave y/n a gun for protection but every cookie was against it but rye didn't want y/n walking around defenseless plus they have something of hers to keep so she sees it as a win win and y/n comes over to have the cookie help the use it.

Y/n cookies palette also changed as the jelly's now taste like meat which freaked out y/n because certain sugary foods that would be absurdly sweet and absolutely horrible to eat now just taste like regular meals y/n has eaten and y/n finds this very weird and off putting sometimes but y/n can't get away with eating like how they use to as the health cookies are bascially horrified and concerned on how y/n was able to scarf down 3 cup noodles and call that dinner and no water but a sugary drink!? That won't go unchecked any longer as y/n is forced to have three healthy meals or side dishes every day and if y/n decides not to eat sometimes like they use to back in their world to save money. They will sit down with y/n to watch them eat and the plate will be clean.

Y/n also had their office uniform on when coming into the cookie world so they wanted to have comfy clothes but didn't want to burden the cookie with a meaningless task but every fashion making cookie saw that y/n had one outfit and that is a absolute no go for them. The baker should have outfits that would make them absolutely stunning, so y/n was forced to go to every fashion boutique, tailor shop, ect, that the cookies had to fill this wardrobe and now y/n has punk rock styles from Currant Cream Cookie, the trade mark [A.C.I.D] clothes from Sour Belt Cookie, Hand made, hand embroidered suits, gowns and anything she sees that will be absolutely stunning on the baker from Chocolate Bonbon Cookie, Y/n then has outfits that are absolutely amazing but are more in the area of the brand Romantic Sugar by Pastel Meringue Cookie and y/n wears it sometimes by is scared of accident tearing it or getting something on it and staining it, the only fashion cookie who would listen to y/n's requests was Mont Blanc Cookie listened with the utmost attention and made some casual clothes for y/n but she couldn't resist and made some of her extravagant outfits for y/n but she still keeps her sketches of y/n around her shop. Y/n's closet is filled with clothes and y/n always has to choose carefully or else they'd have the fashion cookies argue amongst eachother of which of their clothes is the best (and in the cookie cities, y/n gets swarmed by paparazzi because well they are the baker and that makes them oddly famous somehow. Y/n doesn't understand it.)

Y/n doesn't have a car anymore or any way to have quick transportation and the kingdoms aren't very walking distance friendly as many go for horses and carriages or other means of transportation but one cookie always offers, Street Urchin Cookie as she does carry a helmet now because of y/n and sometimes drives a bit more fast on purpose cause y/n being terrified of going so fast will cling to her for dear life.

Y/n gets invited to hollyberry's celebrations a lot and y/n once tried berry juice and then ended up them getting drunk and basically shit talking their boss then ended up getting emotional because they never felt so nice at a place before then passed out later into the night. Thats the night y/n slept over at the kingdom cause bro wasn't making it back to their house.

The beast also tried to kidnap y/n when they first came to the cookie world but where unsuccessful but will try again.

(that's it for my yap session today! Hopefully you guys enjoyed but if you want more please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have! But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[fawninthesnow]

𝐎𝐟 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝 & 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝: Pt 1, Sands of the Conquered

Lucius Verus x fem!

Summary: Former Gladiator, Emperor Lucius, takes his rightful property-- the wife of his conquered enemy.

Warnings/Contains: fem character, slow burn, f4m, smut, unprotected sex, spit as lube, cock warming, public hum!l!, h@nd jobs, no proofreading, etc

a/n: slowburn warning!

SPOILERS for GLADIATOR I, II

Follow, like & Reblog pls

She had not known of the terror down in the city square. All she saw was smoke. A single, continuous line of smoke coming from miles away. The woman held her robe and squinted harder. The warning flame? No, who would come here. Through rain and drought to the East of Africa, Somalia. Any man, any army would be a fool to do so.

In her slumber that night, she tossed around in cotton sheets, hotter than usual. Slick and sticky sweat stuck to her skin, and her mouth was agape, breathing harshly to cool herself down. Hooves clomped on the pathway and bright torches held in the hands of savage men, forcing themselves onto her property. The shout of a command echoed through her open foyer. The woman rose from bed, gasping for air. “We are here on account of the Holy Roman Emperor and Court. Any man, woman or child! Show yourself!” The woman left her bed and with her infant daughter, slipped into her wardrobe, trying to calm her breath. “Show yourselves or we will burn this home to the ground.” As they shouted, making her ears ring, she shut her eyes. From the shelf inside the wardrobe, she grabbed a bottle of orange liquid.

“Please forgive me.” Into her daughter's mouth, the woman spilled a bit of the medicine. The girl fell into a deep sleep and rested on the young woman’s bosom.

“I can hear your breathing.” A voice, deep and unwavering, spoke into the small gap of the wardrobe doors. “I hear two.” He said playfully. Chills ran down her spine as he stood only a few inches from her.

The mother shut her eyes. “I- I’m so sorry…” She said softly. The emperor opened the wardrobe and helped her out by hand.

They sat together on plush cushions. Her bench was across from his. “This is a beautiful home…”

“Thank you, emperor…” Her gaze stayed on the floor. Even in her peripheral vision, all she could see was his feet.

“I am…not here to kill you.” His men waited outside each entrance, watching over the quaint home. “Your husband, he did something bad. You seem young so I’ll explain things softly.” She nodded, his accent coating his words. “He betrayed the people of Rome, my people. He was a murderer and a manipulative man. Unfortunately, your husband died by my hand outside of the city.” She cried onto her child’s clothing, holding onto the baby tightly. “I am aware he has many wives…and you are the youngest.”

“If you are here to hurt my baby or strip me of my titles, please spare us.”

“I am not here for that. How old are you?” The young woman did not speak for a few moments, “I asked you a question.” Emperor Lucius said sternly.

“I am seventeen.” Her voice just above a whisper.

“Not yet twenty-five. Excuse me, Miss.” She nodded. He stood and stepped outside. After a while of words and laughter, he came back inside. “I’ll have you.” He said in the foyer of her home. For the first time, she raised her head to him, the gold, leather and bronze armor on his body, the golden laurels on his head, the rings on his knuckles, although rough and scarred from battle. “Put her on a horse with the child. We leave now.” The young woman rushed to grab a wrap for her baby, enveloping herself inside of it before they raised her up on a horse behind the emperor.

With each hour, the men would offer her bread, cheese, fruits– exotic and domestic, pastries, and soups, all to which she declined. When they would stop at dining halls, she stood in the corner, rocking her child. She peeled the skin off grapes with her teeth before feeding it to the girl. She did the same with rye bread before offering the little girl water from the flowing drinking fountain outside the dining hall. After, the woman gently caressed the baby’s cheek before giving her the sedative again. Soon, the baby rested on her shoulder as she sat on the side of the fountain.

The men were rowdy, mostly drunk. Swords, spears and other weapons were thrown about carelessly and armor was left on horses and against the wall. “You need to eat.” The emperor brought the woman a plate.

“I am not hungry.”

“She can’t be the only one that eats.” The woman took the plate from his hands and sat it to the side. “You must understand, you are my responsibility now. I killed your husband, so now you are my property. You need to eat.”

She spitefully sucked her teeth before standing, “I am my own woman. I have been for months.”

“Your breasts are but tender buds, and you nearly fell off the horse more times than I can count. You are not nearly a woman.”

“My husband made me a woman! How dare you.”

“Your husband gave a child to a child.” The young woman’s lips pressed, and her gaze fell. “Yes, you are mature, in many ways, no doubt. However, you are what I say.”

She raised a hand to the guard and servant he assigned to her. “If I am yours, why should I be watched over by these men. Why-”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” He lifted her chin to allow his eyes to bore into hers. His were a shade of dusk blue, seductively terrifying. “They are here to protect you, not babysit. But if you’d like, I will dismiss them.”

“I- I,” She looked around the town at the commoners watching the campaign of men and the emperor. Their clothes were but scraps, and their frames were frail. Over by the entrance to the dining hall, armored men threw food towards a herd of people, desperate and savage. She held her baby tighter. “They may stay.”

“So be it.” He spoke softly, stepping closer to the young woman. “Her name?”

“Yasmeen.”

“May I hold her?” The woman hesitated before offering the baby to the emperor. The man held her in his arms gently as if her skin were made of wet paper and her bones of thin glass. “She’s beautiful. What a creation…you should be proud.” His thumb traced over her cheeks and forehead before his hand enveloped her small head. The child nuzzled in his palm; a bit of her saliva went down her cheek as she rested. “I was told you had a son when I set out. Macrinus, he didn’t live to see the birth of her, I guess.”

“Nearly all of us, his wives, were left with girls.” She nervously looked over the child’s expression.

“Baby girls are just beautiful…he should have been grateful.” His fingers rub the child’s soft hair and kiss her forehead before offering the child back to her mother. “Eat or I'll take her away this time.” He would never do such a thing, but it made her obey him.

At dawn, she was awoken by a servant, “The Emperor needs you outside now, the men are ready.”

Emperor Lucius gathered his men, some stood by their horses, others sat on top. The young woman left the sleeping quarters in a gown and shawl, her long curls flowed down her backside and towards the floor as she cradled her child in her arms. “How did you sleep?” He asked after helping her onto his horse. She began to wrap the baby to her breasts using long cloths in order to use her hands to hold sturdy onto his sides.

Pt 1: End <3

Follow, like pls

[liyv]

BAND AU (SECOND ATTEMPT)

+ my notes (slightly long. full of contrivances.) under the cut:

- i think their band breakup was truly historic and catastrophic. probably shockwaves could be felt from 600km away.

- hiro is haunting the narrative as usual by being a) the one who taught rei guitar b) former member of their band and c) currently missing

- the barcode numbers on the album are, in order, the manga chapter numbers, the case number, and the anime episode number for the stage of betrayal. this is bookended by 1 (for akai shuuichi) and 0 (for rei).

- similarly their band (duo? pair?) name is 1x0 for akai x rei. if anyone has another idea lmk, i will be so glad. after writing the tracklist i gave up.

- when hiro was still there their band name was probably three whiskeys. tangential, but it's always bothered me that bourbon & rye are both american alcohols that are fundamentally almost the same except for whether it's majority % corn or rye, but scotch is from scotland and unrelated. all this to say they were doomed from the start.

- i think hiro and rei played guitar with each other from childhood (with hiro teaching rei) and they met akai at an emo rock band performance as akai was drinking some awful whiskey cocktail jodie bought for him, and this led to their band name.

- instrumentation: rei (guitar + vocals) since hiro taught him guitar and he's the only one with a suitable personality to be the frontman; hiro (bass or guitar) he knows bass well, and he gives the guitar role to rei when they need a bass; akai (drums) although i'm sure he can play synth or bass as well. he's annoyingly skilled enough.

- hiro probably got mixed in with a bad group while looking for his parents' murderer, and disappeared. at the time of his disappearance, rei was away at an event and akai was obliged by rei to look after him (as hiro was likely already in a poor state).

- the last trace they have of him is a bloodstain on the rooftop of their rehearsal building.

- and of course rei's idolization of akai is alive and well... the band member that can play almost anything, the one with friends in intelligence (jodie), older than him, skilled in martial arts, and so sure of himself—but couldn't save hiro at all.

- the album name is ostensibly "unforgivable" but can be read "unforgivable, i'm unforgivable" if you really squint and indulge me. the former is rei's hatred, the latter is akai's guilt.

- this album would've been written after hiro's disappearance and their initial band breakup. somehow they endured sitting in a room together for long enough to finish recording without rei killing akai.

- i imagine their sound to lean towards a heavier rock, but given that their band only has 2 people you might just have to believe me. rei can sing angrily enough for 5 people.

- gave akai a lip piercing. it's fanservice. (im the fan.)

that's all for now! thank u for reading if you read all that. see you next post. hopefully i will not spell unforgivable wrong a third time.

[zmediaoutlet]

@spn20fest a cocktail menu for the bunker's bar.

Descriptions and recipes below the cut:

The Winchester

2 oz. whiskey (Kansas brand on-point but not necessary) 1 oz. amaro (Montenegro will be spicy & sweet, but other amaros would be reasonable; amaro sfumato would lean into bitter smoke for early seasons; amaro nonino would be much sweeter for s11 vibes) 0.5 oz blood orange syrup (50 percent blood orange juice, 50 percent sugar, heat until dissolved and let cool to room temp) 0.5 oz lemon juice Shake over ice; strain into glass over large ice cube. This cocktail was smoked with hickory chips using an over-glass smoker.

Whiskey, bitterness, spice, tartness and smoke: this is the Winchester way. A balanced, easy-to-drink experience. Geekboy's All-Nighter 2 oz. cold-brew coffee (I used Chameleon brand) 1 oz. bourbon whiskey (Maker's, but Woodford Double-oaked would be better) 0.5 oz cream (could also do whole milk/oat milk; would not recommend coconut milk) 0.25 oz cointreau (triple sec not recommended; you want the drier orange flavor) 0.25 simple syrup (I used a demerara but any sweet would work) dash orange bitters (go heavy if you want, coffee & orange is great) garnish with burnt cinnamon stick (mostly for aroma)

Shake hard over ice to create a coffee & cream foam; double strain to avoid ice chips in the drink. Serve over large ice cube, or over full glass of ice to dilute further.

Sweet, strong, and caffeinated -- this is Sam when he's at his best. Orange and cinnamon lends a gratifying and natural complexity.

Path of the Righteous Man

2 oz. rye whiskey (Rittenhouse Bottled-in-Bond is higher proof and extra spicy) 0.75 oz sweet vermouth (I used Carpano Antica for the nutty chocolate vibes; Punt e Mes would be more bitter if you want to lean into s9/10) 0.5 oz apricot liqueur (pie) 2 dashes cardamom bitters (seriously, pie)

Stir with ice in large glass until very cold; strain into rocks glass over large cube.

Sweet and complex and surprisingly strong: Dean's cocktail will go down very easy and you'll immediately want another. Drink responsibly, but let's be honest -- he wouldn't.

[hope-andwhatnot]

So uh … I would never comment a negative thing on someone’s fic or fan art but I have some … general critiques 🤷‍♀️ that are kind of fandom wide so here we go

1) there are a lot of you that are either too young to drink or don’t drink that don’t know enough about alcohol to write about it. This can be remedied by talking to your friends or family who do drink or by doing some research on the subject but here’s some basics incase you would prefer not to do that

On the rocks means iced. Neat means not iced (and usually straight from the shelf)

Bourbon is sweet, rye and scotch are not. All three are considered a type of whiskey - an alcoholic drink made of grain

Martinis are typically made with vodka, vermouth and olives. A dry one is made with less vermouth. A dirty one has olive juice. Some people like gin instead of vodka (which I think is gross but gin is also cheaper)

You need to drink a significant amount of alcohol (or have a very low tolerance and even still) to black out. I have notoriously sucked down about 8-10 drinks without losing consciousness or memory back in my party days and I am a petite woman who did not drink often outside of the bar scene

2) A lot of you don’t know what jambalaya is and it shows

Jambalaya literally translates to “mishmash” and is a dish that consists of a protein, the holy trinity (bell peppers, celery, and onions), rice and seasonings that directly relate to the chosen protein. My family always made it with kielbasa or sausage, but it can be made with any protein or combo. Also some people add more vegetables but you don’t have to (I like it with peas and corn but that’s just me)

3) there is TONS more to Louisiana cuisine than jambalaya and even more to southern cuisine. Alastor grew up in the middle of the Great Depression so he was privy to the peak of Southern food and culture which is what it is due to this time period where literally everyone was starving

Biscuits and gravy

Seafood boil (shrimp boil, crab boil, crawdad boil, etc)

Fried chicken (skin on to make the meat feel more filling)

The idea that anyone who comes to your home must be offered food and drink and that no one should ever leave hungry comes from this time period. Alastor likely would make sure the kitchen was always fully stocked and that guests were always fed if only because that was the politesse he was raised with and a gentleman (especially a southern one) would never be so rude

Sweet tea

4) Shudder: to tremble or shake

Shutter: a type of window covering popular in parts of the world that suffer from tornadoes. Also used as slang for being closed up tight.

So I’d better not be seeing the phrase “he shuttered” in a fic anymore because that’s not a thing people do. He shuddered

5) hunting dogs do not kill people. Hunting dogs do not kill period. It would be counterproductive to their job and also it is regurgitated PETA rhetoric that targets poor people (people who hunt for their food, notoriously a lower and working class activity as they could not afford to buy meat at the grocery store)

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[kindersurprisebacterium]

Take a Bite (Simon Riley/Reader)

CW: vampire!simon, blood, knifeplay, aphrodisiacs, exhibitionism, sex in a taxi, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, biting

Gender Neutral AFAB Reader

WC: 3.9k

Low, droning bass played over the speakers, accompanied by the clicking of drumsticks against a snare rim. I could feel the vibrations pulsing in my bones. I swayed my arms, letting my eyes close. My hips rocked to the beat of the music. I spun, letting my arms follow behind in a broad sweeping motion. A deep voice sounded over the speaker, distorted with reverb.

“The bats have left the bell tower”

Warmth wafted over my skin as a figure approached me from behind. I glanced over my shoulder, tilting my head until I met his piercing gaze. He was a hulking wall of muscle shrouded in darkness. A black surgical mask covered the bottom half of his face. I turned to face the man, lips curling into a smirk. 

I reached out, fingertips skimming up his toned biceps, and looping around the back of his neck. His expansive palms settled on my hips. We gently swayed back and forth along with the syncopated rhythm of the snare. 

“And who might you be?” I asked, tilting my head to one side. 

His brown eyes seemed to darken at my words, Pupils dilating in the dim light. His thick fingers gently nudged my body closer to his. He leaned down, hot breath wafting over my bare skin.

“Just someone who wanted a dance.” His voice was deep, gruff. It sounded weathered, like an old whiskey barrel. Maybe his lips would have the same bite that a glass of scotch did. I wanted to hear more of his voice, needed to feel the way his chest rumbled with every word. 

“Simon. That’s my name,” he continued. 

Closer, closer, closer I leaned. His brown eyes flicked to my lips, and back up to my eyes. Inches away now, he tilted his head down expectantly. I pulled back, lips curling into a half smile. 

“Buy me a drink, would you, Simon?”

His jawline was chiseled. Faint traces of scars littered his pale skin. I glanced at him over the rim of my glass. My throat burned as I took back a sip of rye. His eyes didn’t leave mine as I moved to rest my glass on the bar top. His warm palm splayed over my bare thigh. 

“Where’d a cute thing like you come from?” He asked, gently swirling his glass in his hand. My eyes widened, locking onto his coy smile and those pretty brown eyes. I clicked my tongue, gently shaking my head.

“You were doing so well,” I hummed. “Why’d you have to say something so patronizing?” 

He huffed, his toned chest heaving. The faintest trace of a smile crept across his face. 

“All right then. What’s your favorite band?”

“Corpus Delicti.” I draped my hand over his. His grin only grew, canines flashing in the dim lighting. 

“Second favorite?”

“Ministry. Next question?”

“Do you want to come home with me?” He caught his bottom lip between his teeth. I hooked my finger around the collar of his shirt and tugged him forward. My lips brushed against his only for a moment before pulling away. 

“Yes.”

His lips were rough against mine. I could taste a faint trace of smoke on his breath. His tongue skimmed against my bottom lip. In an instant, my body felt feverish. A soft noise rose from my chest as I parted my lips for him. His tongue slid into my mouth, twirling against my own. The palm on my thigh slowly crept higher until his fingers kneaded the flesh of my ass. A wave of paresthesia washed over me like the first hit of a cigarette. With the way my head was spinning, I could get addicted to his taste. 

He pulled away, leaving a silvery strand of saliva between our lips. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, not bothering to look down as he slid a handful of bills toward the bartender. 

“Come on.” He nodded toward the door. The stool beneath me squeaked as I stood. I glanced around the dimly lit room. My face flushed as I felt the burning hot gaze of the patrons. Furrowed brows and glossy eyes followed me as the man and I approached the front door. He kept his hand on the small of my back, nudging me forward. 

The nighttime air had a certain bite to it. I crossed my arms over my chest, silently cursing myself for wearing shorts. The man glanced down at me, brown eyes raking over my shuddering figure.

“You sure you want this?” He asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” My brows knitted. I pursed my lips in a weak attempt to stop my teeth from chattering. He glanced away, lips curling into a crooked smile. He gently shook his head, deep laugh bellowing from his chest. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he muttered, fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist. I glanced down, biting the inside of my lip. His digits nearly swallowed up my hand. Slowly, he lifted my hand, bringing it to his parted lips. The tip of my index finger slipped past his lips. A sharp sting of pain ignited in my digit as he pricked my fingertip with his sharp canine, only to swiftly disappear. Blood ran down my finger, and over my knuckles, threatening to soil my sleeves.

His tongue swirled around the marred digit, lapping up every drop of blood. Blood streaked my frigid skin. He groaned as my blood tinged his tongue. His eyelids fluttered closed. The grip on my wrist tightened. His nails left behind angry red crescents on my chapped skin. 

My thoughts swirled. A wave of static washed over me as my nerve endings ignited. Sweat oozed from my pores. I felt intoxicated, as if my breath was torn from my lungs. I stumbled forward into his broad chest. A deep laugh bellowed from his stomach. He draped his arm across my shoulders, fingers gently squeezing my biceps. 

“Did…did you put something in my drink?” I slurred, glancing up at him through my eyelashes. 

“You still don’t get it, do you?” He pouted, bringing his own finger to his lips. He pulled back his upper lip, baring his teeth. His canines were sharp, abnormally so. Almost looking like fangs. I swallowed, mouth going dry. 

I glanced over my shoulder at the neon sign that hung above the entrance. The bats nest. His hand cradled my cheek, thumb gently stroking my skin. I shifted my gaze back to him, this daunting figure before me. 

Fragmented memories filled my mind. Rumors of cattle slaughter , pale corpses drained of blood. Hushed whispers and stares at anyone dressed in black. Hungry eyes following me in the bar. 

“I didn’t even touch your drink.” He hummed. “That’s just the aphrodisiac in my spit.”

A pair of headlights turned down the street, illuminating the both of us. He turned, raising his hand to the cab. The brakes squealed as the car came to a stop. 

“Or the analgesic…or the anticoagulant.” He continued, locking eyes with me. I couldn’t process the words he was saying. I guess he really was some sort of monster. “Are you in or no?” His fingers wrapped around the door handle. 

“Are you going to hurt me?” My voice quivered as I whispered the words. He quirked an eyebrow, tongue darting across his bottom lip. 

“Only a little.” He stated plainly. 

I swallowed down my fear, hands fidgeting with the hem of my shorts. I fit the perfect victim profile, didn’t I? No family, no coworkers who’d care enough, no close friends, no roommate. That’s the type of background that would leave a killer drooling. 

This man above me seemed hungry, like he’d swallow me up in an instant. He didn’t have the malice I expected in his eyes. 

“Okay.” I stared down at the sidewalk, taking in a shaky breath. “I’m in.”

He pulled open the door and tugged me inside. With a slam, he shut the door behind the both of us. The car was silent, save for the sound of our heavy breaths. The driver’s hands flexed against the steering wheel, eyes narrowing as he stared the both of us down. 

“Hampton and James.” Simon grunted. He slipped his fingers into my belt loops and pulled me into his lap. His fingertips skimmed along the waist of my shorts before settling on the little copper button. My heart quickened as I watched him hastily tug at the denim.

“Simon-” I sputtered as he undid my zipper. His fingertips slid beneath my underwear. I tossed my head back against his shoulder. My eyelids fluttered closed as his fingertips skated up my core. 

“Excuse me, what the fuck are you doing?” The cab driver turned over his shoulder. He pursed his lips, nose scrunching up as he grimaced in disgust. Simon grunted, shoving his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill and threw it at the bewildered man. 

“Shut up and drive,” Simon grunted. The driver glanced at the bill, eyes widening. He nodded, shifting into drive. He gripped my chin between his fingers and tilted my head to the side. His other hand slipped further into my shorts. I bit down on my bottom lip, holding back the noises that threatened to spill from my chest. 

He circled my clit with two fingers, groaning as my arousal soaked his digits. He muttered soft profanities against my neck as he trailed wet kisses down my skin. His teeth skimmed along my skin, enough to pull needy noises from my throat, but not enough to draw blood. 

His fingertips dipped down to my entrance, slowly circling before pushing in. I gasped, hips rutting into his hand. He didn’t give me even a moment to adjust, instead choosing to piston his fingers at a bruising pace. His knuckles thumped against my thighs with every thrust. Wet smacking filled the car, drowning out the music streaming from the radio.

He ground his palm into my clit, laughing as I squirmed under his touch. The pace of his fingers was rough and hasty. He fingered me as if he needed to hear my voice, needed to feel me squirm. His motions felt condescending, like a child playing with a battered toy. Somehow the degradation made it all the more delicious.

He curled the tips of his fingers, reaching even deeper inside of me. Each thrust drowned out every last fragment of hesitancy. His fingers were too delectable, too addictive to stop now. A string of desperate whines and moans fell from my tongue, running off my parted lips like drool. He swallowed up every sound, turning my head to press an open-mouthed kiss to my lips.

“Both hands on the wheel!” Simon spat at the driver. My neck went limp in his grasp, head tilting back against the headrest. My thighs quivered, body shaking with every thrust. I gripped his wrist, nails digging into his skin as he pushed me over the edge of my climax. 

I twitched, back arching away from his chest. My lips parted in a silent scream. The air was pulled from my burning lungs. My head spun as the hypoxia subsumed my twitching limbs. A wave of requiescence washed over my taut muscles, slowly loosening my tendons. 

I went limp in his grasp. He pulled his sodden fingers from my shorts and brought the digits to his mouth. He groaned, tongue laving over my arousal. It was disgusting, depraved, and yet I couldn’t take my eyes off of this man. I could help but clench around nothing as I watched him clean his fingers of my essence.

The car halted to an abrupt stop. My body jolted forward, only to be tugged back as The man wrapped his arms around my stomach. With a soft hum, he tugged me to his chest, holding me still in his embrace.

“Out, now,” the driver snarled, his jaw tensed tight. Simon pushed the door open, pulling me to my feet in a hurry. I stumbled forward into his chest, knees trembling beneath my weight. His keys rattled as he pulled them from his pocket. Stepping forward, he glanced back at me from over his broad shoulder. I followed behind, wrapping my arms around his biceps.

His boots thudded against the welcome mat. The lettering had worn away, no doubt from years of use. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” He asked, cradling my face. His fingers gently stroked my skin. I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes. Taking in a deep breath, I spoke. 

“Take me inside, Simon.”

He gripped the doorknob, key in his other hand. With a soft click the lock shifted out of place. He looked down at me, brown eyes piercing through me as he slowly pushed open the door. I peered inside the dimly lit entrance with wide eyes. He stepped forward, wood floors creaking beneath his weight. With a soft click, the front entrance lit up. 

I followed behind him, glancing around at the minimally decorated space. The roaring sounds of passing motorists dimmed as he closed the door behind us. His hands found my waist, fingers splaying over my skin. 

“You taste sweet,” he cooed, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. A grin crept across my face. I rested my hands on top of his. 

“My blood or my cunt?” I asked with a chuckle. 

“Both,” he muttered against my neck. “You’ll let me have another taste, right?” His tongue slid up the length of my neck. In an instant the aphrodisiac sunk into my skin, sparking alight every nerve in my body. 

“Long as you don’t drain me dry, Simon,” I smirked. He groaned, fangs ghosting against my skin, threatening to sink into my neck. “If you take more than a pint, I’ll stake you. Got it?”

“Got it,” he hummed. 

His thick fingers laced with mine. He took a step forward, tugging me behind him. I followed behind him, my gaze fixated on the way his hands seemed to swallow mine up. Even his shadow engulfed me in darkness as we stepped into his bedroom. 

He turned, staring down at me with those dark eyes. His finger slipped beneath my chin, tilting my head back. His lips were warm against mine, and his kiss was frantic. He groaned against my lips, hands finding the hem of my shirt. He toyed with the fabric between his fingertips. I hooked my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him down to my height. He chuckled against my lips, only breaking free for a moment to strip me of my shirt. 

His palms were warm as he pushed them against my bare chest. I fell back onto the bed, mattress squeaking beneath my weight. I curled my fingers, biting down on my bottom lip as I urged him to come closer. Maybe it was the aphrodisiac, or maybe it was his predatory glare, but I needed his body on mine. I parted my legs for him, making way for his broad hips to slot between my thighs. 

My body jolted from the sheer force of his hands. His fingers slipped beneath my shorts, tugging them roughly down my hip. I whined, watching his gaze lock onto my leaking cunt. With a thud he dropped the denim onto the floor behind him. 

“You want it that bad?” He asked, fingers roughly gripping my thighs. I nodded, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes. “You gonna let me use you?” He grunted, shoving his hand into his pocket. I nodded, a moan slipping from my puffy lips. He pulled something from his pocket, holding it up for me to see. With a soft click, a silver blade popped out of its hilt. The sharpened metal caught the dim light, casting a reflection onto the duvet. 

“You gonna let me feed on you?” He slowly inched the back of the blade closer to my face, stopping inches away from my nose. I tilted my head up, parting my lips. With my gaze fixed on him, I stuck my tongue out, dragging it over the length of the blade. He groaned, gritting his teeth.

He brought the blade to my stomach. My muscles tensed as the cold metal touched my heated skin. With the side of the blade he teasingly ran the knife up my stomach, stopping at my chest. His brown eyes locked onto me, expectantly.

“Go ahead. Take what you need.” I cooed. 

The dull sting of exposed nerves sparked in my skin as he dragged the blade across my chest. I closed my eyes, sinking deeper into the feeling. A moan slipped from my lips. 

I crossed my ankles behind his back, nudging him closer to my core. He groaned, leaning in. I could feel his hot breath wafting over my skin. His tongue laved over the open cut, lapping up every last drop of blood. The sting of the cut soon faded into a soft twinge. 

I carded my fingers through his blonde curls, gently tugging at his locks. He groaned against my skin, rutting his hips into mine. I whined as his jeans rubbed against my throbbing clit. 

He pulled back from the cut. Streaks of blood coated his cheeks. His brilliant brown eyes deepened to a near black as his pupils dilated. He trailed the knife to the other side of my chest, pushing down hard enough to split my skin. I groaned, rolling my hips against him. 

His tongue was back on my skin, drinking in every bit of me. I reached between our bodies, fingers finding the button on his jeans. I grunted, weakly attempting to push his jeans over his hips with my heels. He moaned against my marred flesh, using one of his hands to shove his jeans down. 

He rutted his leaking cock against my cunt. My cunt fluttered as I rocked my hips gently against his length. He sat back on his shins, guiding his cock up my core with his fingers. A desperate plea fell from my parted lips. My fingers clenched around the sheets, gripping tight enough for my knuckles to go white. 

My jaw went slack as he slowly pushed inside of me. My brows knitted. Pain swelled in my hips as he stretched me out. The aphrodisiac in my veins made every bit of burning tension that much more pleasurable. My toes curled as he inched inside of me. His large palms kept steady hold of my hips. 

“Fuck, feels so good,” he grunted. Cock twitching inside of me. His head hung low as he bottomed out. The tight curls at the base of his cock brushed against my skin. We sat in stillness, sticky chests heaving, straining for air. 

He twirled the knife between his fingers, bringing it back to my skin. With a whine of protest, I pushed his hand aside. My fingers wrapped around his shirt collar, yanking him closer. 

“Bite me.” I moaned.

Somehow his deep eyes dilated even more. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth, muffling a soft noise that rose from his throat. He cursed under his breath, shallowly rocking his hips into me. 

I whined, throwing my head back against the covers. His thick fingers slid through my hair, tugging my head to the side. With my neck now bared, he leaned in. His sharp teeth sunk into my skin, harshly biting down at my pulse point. My cunt fluttered around his cock, a stream of incomprehensible moans falling from my lips. Every drop of saliva only intensified the sensations. His sharp teeth, every inch of his cock against my insides. 

Drool pooled in the corners of my mouth, spilling over my puffy lips. His hips slammed against mine. The mattress springs squealed with every harsh thrust. He grunted, pulling his teeth from my flesh. Warmth spread over my shoulder as blood oozed from the wound. I whined as his tongue soothed over the mark.

My head was spinning, either from the blood loss or the way his cock head nuzzled against my cervix. I felt full, thick cock spreading me out. My skin tingled as my nerves pulsed. Jolts of pleasure shot up my spine, scrambling every thought I had. 

I wrapped my arms around his back, holding him tight to my bare chest. Sweat oozed from my pores. I felt unbearably hot, lungs swelling with need. 

“Simon-” I sputtered, nails digging into his muscles. “I’m gonna cum-”

“Yeah,” he pulled back to stare at me with half-lidded eyes. He dragged his tongue across his bloodstained lips, moaning at my taste. “I’m not done with you,” he grunted, bringing his lips to the other side of my neck. 

Another bite, another spark of pain that melded into pleasure. My breath grew shallow, erratic. I could hear my pounding heart in my ears. I choked out a sob, spit flying from my parted lips. My body tensed under his touch, pulling his hips closer to mine. My eyes ached as they rolled to the back of my head. Like a doll string with elastic, my limbs contorted, face grimacing as I reached my orgasm. 

He didn’t falter, only grunting as his hips powered into me. His nails dug into my hips hard enough to leave bloody marks. It only seemed to spur him on. 

An animalistic growl bellowed from his chest as his tongue laved over my marred neck. His pace grew faster, rougher still, like he was threatening to spear me in half with his cock. 

Still drowsy from the aftermath of my orgasm, the stimulation only threatened to drag me to another peak. I whimpered, eyes screwing shut as I held onto his shoulders. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, kissing down my neck. He left behind a trail of bloody kisses traveling down my clavicle. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw going slack as he neared his orgasm. 

“Fuck- cum with me. Please-” he groaned, pistoning his hips into me. He brought two fingers to my quivering cunt and quickly circled them around my clit. My hips bucked, as his motions pulled me through another orgasm. Hot tears ran down my cheeks as the overstimulation tugged at my tendons. Tension snapped in my stomach tightening around his cock. My legs tightened, holding him flush to my hips. Warmth flooded my cunt. His thick cock twitched as he came inside of me. 

He slowly pulled out, watching as his cum spilled down my thighs. I watched as his brown eyes flicked across my body, stopping at each bloody mark he left. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He grunted as he pulled open his bedside drawer. He rummaged through the contents before pulling out a handful of dressings and wound cleaner. I watched as he soaked the gauze in cleaner, bringing the dressing to my skin. He silently wiped away streaks of coagulated blood.

I brought my thumb to my lip, swiping it against my thumb. Bringing the digit to his face, I wiped away the bloodstains around his lips. His lips curled into a smile, somehow losing the predatory feeling from before. He wrapped his fingers gently around my wrist, bringing my palm to his mouth. He kissed my hand before letting go of my wrist. 

“How often do you need to feed?” I asked, letting my hand drop to the duvet. He brought his attention back to my body, fingers diligently cleaning my wounds. 

“Couple times a month.” He hummed, pressing a kiss to the cut he’d left on my chest. 

“Why don’t you call me next time, yeah?”

Masterlist

[sophaeros]

the strokes at a pub in london, with the robot gifted to them by rip it up's journalists

the strokes for rip it up - new zealand, october/november 2001 / no. 283 — web version print version

The Strokes, us and a robot in a pub...

by The Ballroom Regulars Photos by The Strokes and Ju-ju (unless otherwise noted)

'The coolest band on the planet', the saviours of Rock, featured in Elle Magazine, played on the Catwalks of New York and Paris, hounded, followed and adored - Not since Oasis broke have the British press put all their eggs in so fabulous a basket. Rumours abound - their names are made up, they were put together by the lead singers dad (John Casablancas, founder of The Elite Model Agency), they're constantly fighting with each other, they're constantly fighting with strangers, they drink too much, they're gay, they're straight, they're homophobes. Everybody wants to know everything they can. But one thing is sure, The Strokes are roundly agreed to be the quintessential Rock band, the 'great white hope' of nu-Rock'n'Roll. But they're more than that. They're five guys who hooked up in High School with a shared interest in booze, girls and guitars.

So what are they all about, besides saving us from the glut of pre-masticated pop and soul stifling dance, what are their hopes and ambitions?

Meeting Julian Casablancas is like meeting living proof that rock'n'roll will never die. At 22 he should be embracing the 'Now' culture of many of his peers. He should be scrupulously clean, drug and booze free, heading down to Florida for the summer break with a pretty blond on his arm and Basement Jaxx on his personal MP3 player.

But he's not. He's still in bed, hung over, refusing to get up. He is unwashed, jet lagged and beer crusted. YAY! When he finally does show, 2 hours late for the day's round of fanzine wackiness, he's disheveled and rye. His grin is about as infectious as rabies and he is, frankly, as sexy as fuck. "Hey" notes Ryan Gentles, their Wunderkind Manager, whose been sitting fretting in the hotel lobby for what appears to be half the night and all of the morning. "This is new..." he means Julian's tan La Coste jumper... not the attitude.

When we get our turn at The Strokes info trough the boys are tucking into Thai rice and a round of the amber nectar. It's 1pm. The sun is shining. Handshakes and suitably half-assed 'nice to meet you's' are flung at us and we wade in...

First, an Icebreaker. Giving them a present fresh from Brixton Market - Your All Plastic Friend: Sir Mixalot Prime - hastily re-christened toy Robot of Asian origin, is about as good as ice breaking gets. The mood of the interview is set... they like us, we admire and respect their ability to make Sir Mixalot simulate sexual intercourse with Nicolai Fraiture. "You bought us a present? That's so cool!" they chime satisfyingly. All except Julian who looks mortified, "I had a dream last night and that Robot... a Robot just like that destroyed the world..." Ah...Ok, maybe we should get straight to the questions.

Right, so what makes the world turn for them? Playing music and doing their stuff, by all accounts. Their stuff: a sublime mix of 70's NYC and noughty's savvy. Fashion flash and strep throats, with a smattering of anglophilia to match the op-shop chic. Garage soul sensibilities and themes as diverse as personal disgust and underage lust. They are 'The Kids' too so it seems right to mellow out with a few pop culture questions to gauge their mind sets:

In the movie Warriors, which gang did you relate to most? Fab: Oh wait...I've seen that. Is that like the 70's one where they're in gangs running across New York? Yeah! Nicky: There's the baseball gang, and the “girl gang” Fab: What was the main gang? WARRIORS! Albert: WARRIORS! Fab: Yeah, we're the Warriors!! Totally.

After an hour of this we discover that Julian always roots for the underdog and doesn't "really give a fuck about baseball" and that the last time Albert cried was "as the plane was taking off". For Fab it was when Nicky's girlfriend dumped him (for the cute one from Weezer no less). At this Nicky leaps to his feet to sing Don't Cry For Me Fabrizio! At the top of his lungs.

"The Beatles hated each other, but we love each other", Nicky says. To prove the point they all agree that if they could only take five things to a desert island they would take each other and their Manager. That is until Julian demands that one band member opt out so they can "take something more useful like a girl... or our fucking instruments". In the nick of time Nicky reasons that they can make their instruments out of coconuts and bamboo.

The band are open and unguarded - they want to chat. Chiefly with each other, but it's fine just being around this kind of energy. They even happily answer the question that's been raging through the music press for the last six months: YES! Their names are real. As Nicky puts it "Course they're fucking real," gulp, "what a stupid question."

"You wanna see my passport?" yells an unfazed Fab. Cue enormous Italian passport (he was born in Brazil of Italian parents but grew up in NYC) and suitably hideous soccer mullet teenaged photo, nom de: Fabrizio Moretti. "It looks ridiculous," he sighs, "It looks like I'm out of the Military!"

Julian is also carrying proof, so you know they've had this problem before. Cue credit card sized driver's license and an acute sense of having offended your new friends.

Julian F. Casablancas. Nicolai Fraiture. Fabrizio Moretti. Nicky Valensi. Albert Hammond Jnr. You have to ask. You just have to.

Oblivious to the fact that nearly everyone in England is named John Smith, they are dumbfounded that they get asked this question at all. "I guess we just had cool parents who chose our names," chimes Fab, "My mom was like (mock Italian accent) I think this boy will be a rocking roll star!"

The table then descends into chaos and spilt pints as they 'discuss' the finer moments of Mrs. Moretti's partum experience. "But," adds Fab soberly, "she didn't know I was only going to be a drummer... she was too extravagant."

And what about their collective name? 'The Strokes' brings all manner of vaguely squishy images to mind, not the least of which is that favoured by the British press. "What? You mean like...masturbation?" asks Julian looking all innocent, like he is daring us to say the word. Er...yeah, or is that more indicative of your interviewers mindset?

"Nah, it's got nothing to do with that... well... it has, but, no." Albert takes up the baton, "Actually I was reading something about strokes and it described it like a lightening strike in the brain that changes everything." He passes it to Fab, "It's like our music!" One hit and you're never the same again? "Exactly!"

Evidently no subject is sacred. When we finally get round to asking them the all-important 'Who was better - Wham! Or Duran Duran?' question, they almost all say Wham! (Except Fab who's enjoying singing 'Rio' at the top of his voice...bless) Why not Duran Duran? "They took themselves too seriously." states Nicky emphatically.

Fair cop. But a bit rich coming from a band that refuse to do video's, co-produced their debut album without taking any credit, and toured every little pub town from here to Toad Suck, Arkansas. A band who have yet to release an LP (slated for September) despite appearing on the cover of every self respecting music mag on both sides of the pond. They take themselves seriously, OH YES.

The album, 'Is This It', took them one month to record... one month... thirty days. It is the product of their 'salad days' gigging around Manhattan and Philadelphia.

 "That's why it works so well," says Fab, "we've had a really really long time to perfect the album outside the studio... an album that's like... that's who we are as The Strokes."

Who they are is a piece of carefully crafted art that WILL move you from the groin on out. A record to be cherished for its ability to make you smile and get up. Surely this is the wonder of 'Is This It', it's Rock 'n' Roll that makes ya wanna move.

After experimenting with a different producer, namely Gill Norton of Hüsker Dü fame, the boys went back to their old friend Gordon Raphael who originally produced their 3 song EP 'Modern Age'. They wanted to cut back on production, as Albert says, "To keep it true to the live set." They all agree that Norton was great, but not for them.

"Doing things professionally doesn't fit with our style," the lax and by now pissed voice of Julian crawls across the table, "if we stay...raw it sounds, like...great." RAW?! Talk about understated! On the track 'Take It Or Leave It' you can hear this man's tonsils crying out for mercy, you can smell the blood on Albert's shirt sleeves... This ain't no Radiohead mate.

The band even co-produced the album to maintain a level of control over the sound. The chemistry between them and Raphael worked it's way onto the vinyl.

"When you're working with someone and you know that the two of you are just doing something better than you were doing on your own. That's the best way to work." says Julian of the experience. They're not completely pleased with the Steve Albini School of Sound Engineering however. "I don't think it looks that cool when a band produce themselves," pipes Nicky, "You wanna picture the band going in and playing the songs (not) oh now they're too cerebral. It's like a fun thing." So no credits for the boys. They just wanna rock, and drink. Which has to be admired.

They're also un-phased by the press's insistence on linking them to The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, The Ramones and any number of late 70's NYC Punk they care to mention. 'Is This It' isn't going to shatter anyone's illusions about what these boys want to sound like. This album springs from the head of John Cale fully formed and fighting fit.

"What a cool band to be compared to," admits Julian about The Velvet Underground. He means a band that's beloved and credible, different and weird... not to mention fucking good. "It's sorta a subconscious goal to have music that cool, but actually make it popular... a cool way to make popular music more interesting." Hurrah.

We demand an explanation for so suddenly signing to majorinos RCA then. A chorus of oohs and ahhs goes up around the table before the earnest protestations that RCA are the best of a bad bunch, not so bad, and quite ok really fly. They do look slightly... defensive? Cautious? Albert pipes up: "It's like being a bisexual!" Being with RCA is like being a bisexual? "Yeah, you get the best of both worlds."

The rest of the band agrees. "They just give us money and stay out of our way" says Nicky, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

Are they unrepentant about signing to a major?

"I had the fucking head of RCA on the phone at 4 o'clock in the morning," states Julian, "telling me how much he loved the album." Yes indeed.

So sign to the Rough Trade phoenix for your soul's sake and the Big Money for lig? Why is this not sickening? Why are the credibility censors not in overdrive? Because this is a BAND pure and simple. Mates who saw the spark reflected in each other. And they ain’t that pretty or well dressed. OK they are, but the point is, they just ARE. The Strokes were always going to happen thank Christ. A wake up call for the apathetic. No slouching unless you mean it. More than the sum of their parts, more than The Velvets/Stooges/Television honorists.

"I had this idea to make it (the album) sound like music heard in the future from 30 years ago," says Julian. Fab explains, they were listening to the radio and La Bamba by The Gypsy Kings came on.

"It was terrible and Julian said we should make it (their music) sound like it was the original, by Richie Valens."

Huh? Julian pipes up, "I wanted to make the music sound like it was from 30 years ago, but being heard now. With everything that entails. Do you understand?" If he means pared down and honest to the point of embarrassing, then yes. "Or the other way", he says, "like music from the future heard now..."

True, 'Is This It', sounds a little like it's something you dug out of your Dad's wardrobe where the band on the cover are all wearing winkle pickers, whatever they are. There's more though, an understanding and knowledge that blasts the naïveté of 60's Garage out into space. It's lyrical. 'The Space ships they won't understand'?

"The lyric is 'IN space ships they wont understand'," corrects Julian talking about the bridge to 'Last Night', "and what it means is that in the future, when we're all flying to work in fucking space ships, it'll still be the same old shit. Like, no one will understand why you have to just do it." Fab leaps up to hug Julian, "That's fucking beautiful man!"

Julian's descriptive powers aside, aren't they worried that they'll loose this edge? Money, girls, and power, have wrecked havoc with better men than them.

"But who cares as long as it sounds like we want," mutters a very distracted Nicky, only putting his head up occasionally from his magazine. "I mean, rawness (derisive snort), maybe we will want it more produced if that's what we like."

And here in lies the rub. In a perfect world RCA would not throw money at these kids. RCA would ignore them no matter how good they actually were, no matter how much they want the cotton wool cosseting of the Big League. The band would have to work, creating themselves every step of the way. Paying their dues and becoming in the end a band utterly worthy of the great white hope tag that has been hanging so carelessly on their coat hanger shoulders. They are SO good, but you want them to be great. And Christ you can smell the greatness waiting to get out in every jangled chord of Hard to Explain, on every slinky line of Barely Legal. These things take time. One album does not a legacy make. There has to be more to come, and there is such a thing as too much too soon.

A friend said, they'll get exactly what they wanted. And the sad thing is so will we, the 20-episode Pop Stars fix. Will hype drown the creative spark? The worry is that in 6 months time no ones gonna give a fig about Fab's broken hand, and Julian's Dad, anymore than they'll care about any second album. The backlash that never should have been may have already begun...

A few days later we bump into The Strokes lending moral support to fellow NYC space cadets, the Moldy Peaches, at their first London gig. The boys are high as heaven having come straight from the BBC where they recorded three songs for the legendary Top of The Pops. "Man," wails Julian, resplendent in pink silk tie and shiny grey suit jacket, "It was so fucking cool! It fuckin' rocked!"

Fab is more sedate. "I can't believe we did it, but I fucked it up!" Surely not? "I was so nervous I kept making mistakes. I sucked." But watching their performance on the show later it is easy to see that this is a band still on the rise, perfectionism aside they control the stage, the cameras and above all the hearts and souls of an audience more accustomed to Shaggy and Nelly Furtado. The fact that they're on TOTPs at all (their single Hard to Explain entered the UK charts in the top 20 on a wave of passion and NME hype) speaks volumes about the music buying public's desire for some goddamn GRUNT.

At their epoch marking, celebrity studded, sold out show at Heaven in London, tickets are changing hands for £150! At the after party the place is in a frenzy. The boys can barely move for the cameras clicking, autographs to be signed and girls hanging off every thread of their thrift store suits.

"I've been trying to get to the other side of the room for the last hour," Julian says incredulous and separated from his mates as they are accosted from all sides.

Nicky is posing in a photograph for a fan. Nicolai is signing a CD. Albert is being followed and literally clawed by a young female. It is as if she senses that this is her only chance before he gets blasted into the rock god pantheon. Fabrizio escapes the seething mass, broken hand in a sling (sadly replaced temporarily half way through their UK and Australian tour with Strokes friend Matt Romano), opting to talk to people outside the guest pass zone.

They have made it, with all it entails. Young, talented, beautiful, cool and full of charisma, it seems that the rock and roll glitterati is at their blessed Rock'n'Roll feet. Hype and fashion aside, the music stands for itself. This is what we've been waiting for.

[ashleyknoxtrilogy]

🦐 MIXED FRIED / Writing share ( with ART) 🦐

****

THANK YOU for all the open tags to 🦐@the-golden-comet HERE

and HERE and for all the OPEN KISSES tags HERE HERE 🦐

+ various flavors of writing share to 🦐 @tragedycoded HERE ,

🦐 @peach-the-gospel HERE and 🦐 @aalinaaaaaa HERE

****

Wip The scarred angel / DRAFT Zero - actual chp 9 "The den"

ART (IbisPaint, yes, I'm playing with it) + Text under the cut / CW body fluids (?)

.......

What they see are metal bars running from the ground to the ceiling same as a prison cell, bare and completely empty but for the deadly stink of urine mingled with the stale of other non specified substances.

Ashley clenches her teeth while she swipes the rye of the torch's light over the rock walls, the unwilling tension clasping at her nape and the pit of her stomach obviously going unnoticed by the two women with her.

Which is exactly how it has to be.

The lingering stink reminding ammonia's does speak loud enough about people that have been held captive inside.

Now the cell's door has been left locked, the key nowhere to be seen.

Since there is nothing more to check they resume the inspection and walk deeper into the gallery.

.........

..................

Eyes open wide in shock when they push open the second door.

"Is this a lab ?" Amy speaks first, almost in aw, while she takes in the surroundings.

A fair work has been achieved to get this part of the gallery almost matching a typical white collar working space, including a ventilation system and rather some equipment, considering what's been left, to re-create a functional setting.

"They lack on the decoration side..."Amy mutters in bitter irony to balance the surprise.

These walls are bare indeed but for a few office magnetic boards that have been swiped clean, and a regular paper print of the Holy Mary stuck crookedly on the wall near the entrance.

Amy follows Ashley's gaze lingering over that one.

"Do they pray?" she asks not holding back the disbelief in her pitch at the sight of the sacred image.

Pretty much out of place, to say the least, borderline surrealistic.

Ashley's eyes narrow for a moment, brow furrowed, then she shrugs as a response and sweeps her attention across the rest of the space.

....

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

Drink of the week 🍻☕🍷☕ 🍹🍻 + tag (NP) to :

@cowboybrunch @lavender-gloom @mk-writes-stuff

@deanwax @alinacapellabooks @wyked-ao3

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@castiels-favorite-hunter @badscientist @saturnine-saturneight @orphanheirs @lullabynorth @riveriafalll

[a-998h]

hi!! May I request rye cookie x kind/sweetheart and shy/quiet fem reader?

bonus if first meeting is included!

READER IS THREATENED AND GETS KIDNAPPED WILD WEST STYLE!

It all started when she walked into the saloon you worked at. You were a saloon girl there. The staff and customers love you, as you were so kind to everyone who deserved. Though, you were also shy and quiet so most customers didn't pay you too much mind. The cookies who knew you well were so taken by your kindness that they gave you a nickname, Sweetie girl. Your shyness meant you somewhat relied on your co workers if someone was bothering you, which is how you ended up in the situation you're currently in.

It was a regular evening. Juice was flowing, people were merry, and things had been relatively calm. They a cookie with a long ponytail the color of grain walked in. The Wild Gun they called her. She took her seat at a corner table and ordered a juice on the rocks. The other saloon girls were busy so you'd have to be the one to deliver the drink. Gulping down the saliva forming in your throat, you approached the Wild Gun's table.

"Well, thanks for the drink, darlin' " she says as you place the glass on the table.

You get a bit flustered and scurry off to serve another patron. Rye cookie couldn't help by chuckle. She had been coming to this saloon for a good while but she never paid too much attention to you or the other saloon girls. She was a decent customer, but not overly friendly or chatty while on the job. That's why she was here after.

Pulling the crumble wanted poster from her pocket she scans the saloon for a cookie matching the description of a well known gun slinger that terrorized these parts. So, she drank her juice and waited for him to show his face.

Well, she didn't have to wait long as the outlaw bursts through the saloon doors, causing deathly silence to settle over the once rowdy saloon. He walks over to the booth Rye Cookie is sitting at, glaring down at her.

"Move it! This is my table," he demands.

Rye Cookie smirks under her hat as she stays right where she is. The outlaw gets angry, slamming his fists on the table as he shouts at Rye Cookie to move. When she doesn't he begrudgingly sits at a different table, demanding a drink.

The energy slowly comes back, though not as cheerful as it was moments before. You're the unfortunate soul who has to deliver him his drink, so you just stay quiet and place the drink on the table before going to scurry off. He grabs you, asking you to stay and chat for a bit. You try to get away but his grip is unrelenting. Rye Cookie stands up and walks over to the table, looking at the outlaw.

"Now, I do believe that darlin' asked you to let her get backed to work. So, let her go and we won't have a problem," she says, her accent and low voice making your face turn the color of a sugar gnomes' mustache.

"Or what?" The outlaw mockingly asks.

Rye Cookie looks him dead in and eyes and she can see the fear and recognition within them. She smirks, demanding the outlaw come quietly. He doesn't listen, instead he pulls out his gun as he pulls you against him. Tears start to leak from your eyes as the outlaw backs his way to his waiting horse. Rye Cookie follows behind carefully, waiting as he ties you up before tossing you onto his horse. She gets on her own horse and starts following the moment he takes off.

The chase is intense as Rye Cookie tails the outlaw like a bloodhound. She wants her bounty, but she also wants her new favorite saloon girl to be safe. She pulls out her lasso and manages to get the outlaw. Though, once he's pulled off the horse it stops and you're bond body falls and almost hits the group.

"I got ya darlin'" Rye Cookie reassures as she holds you bridal style in her arms.

Your face is red and tear stained by the time she brings you back to the saloon with her target in tow. Patrons and coworkers alike ask if you need anything and if you're OK. You reassure them, saying all you need is a moment to break and some water. A fellow saloon girl leads you to the back while the bartender makes you the fanciest water he can.

Rye Cookie has already collected her reward when she comes back to check on you. She saw you working as normal and sat down at a table. When you came by with her drink she asked if you were doing alright. You tell her you're fine and she softly chuckles.

"Whats so funny?" You ask.

"Nothin', it's just that you're such a sweetheart I thought you'd faint like a baby deer. Well, nice to know you're alright," Rye Cookie explains.

You giggle a bit and go to turn away but Rye Cookie gently grabs your first. Turning you nervously ask if everything's OK.

"Yeah, I was just winderin' if you'd want to go out sometime," she badly admits.

Your face is now a new shade of red as you cover it with your tray. Rye Cookie laughs, saying that your blush makes you look so much cuter. That makes you blush more but you do accept her invitation.

Now you have a loving cowgirl girlfriend who thinks you're the greatest bounty she's ever caught.

[memepocalypse]

American Pie pt 1

Lyrics from American Pie by Don McLean gently arranged into starters and memes. Pt 1 of 2!

"A long, long time ago."

"I can still remember."

"That music used to make me smile."

"I knew if I had the chance that I could make those people dance."

"Maybe they'd be happy for a while."

"February made me shiver."

"Every paper I'd deliver... bad news on the doorstep."

"I couldn't take one more step."

"I can't remember if I cried."

"I read about his widowed bride."

"Something touched me deep inside."

"That day... the music died."

"We were singing."

"Bye bye miss American Pie."

"Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry."

"Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye."

"This'll be the day that I die."

"Did you write the book of love?"

"Do you have faith in God above?"

"Does the bible tell you so?"

"Do you believe in Rock and Roll?"

"Can music save your mortal soul?"

"Can you teach me how to dance real slow?"

"I know that you're in love with him."

"I saw you dancin' in the gym."

"You both kicked off your shoes."

"Man I dig those rhythm and blues."

"I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck."

"With a pink carnation and a pickup truck."

"I knew I was out of luck the day the music died."

"Now for ten years we've been on our own."

"Moss grows fat on a rollin' stone."

"That's not how it used to be."

"When the jester sang for the king and queen."

"A coat he borrowed from James Dean."

"A voice that came from you and me."

"While the king was looking down the jester stole his thorny crown."

[live-laugh-lurk]

kevin spencer headcanons

kevin is ftm. got testosterone and top surgery on the black market. that’s why his voice is high pitched in the episode “dreamland”. it’s also one reason why kevin doesn’t talk much, his high pitched voice makes him dysphoric. kevin’s parents are so drunk all the time that when he stopped responding to his deadname and all his files suddenly said kevin and the courts started calling him that too, they just assumed they forgot they had a boy (they frequently forget about his entire existence, so they’re easily gaslight-able). this is also why kevin’s principal didn’t want to let kevin into the sport teams at school, because the locker room would draw attention to his “problem”. a part of me feels he didn’t get bottom surgery at all and another feels like he may have gotten medtodioplasty.

kevin has major hang ups about his masculinity, which is one of the big reasons he wants a girlfriend, to affirm his maleness. also, “don’t be gay” is basically the only advice about being a man percy ever gave him, and kevin really took it to heart. kevin is actually bi, but definitely isn’t ready to think about that

kevin wants to date shawna but also wants to date timmy. he doesn’t like feeling confused so he pushes it all down.

kevin is autistic and semiverbal, schizophrenic, has insomnia, has arfid, and has aspd (colloquially referred to as being a sociopath, but this is the real medical term)

kevin’s favorite cigarette brand is camels, he isn’t picky when it comes to drinking but loves vodka and whiskey and rye more than beer, and his favorite/safe foods are anything chocolate (especially cocoapuffs) and anything meat (especially bacon) but neutral towards seafood. he also loves waffles.

kevin is a sadist in the bedroom. he likes the control (and hurting people).

kevin would dress a little like jesse pinkman (but much more punk) if he could afford more clothes

kevin really enjoys music (punk, rock, (nu)metal), movies (mostly horror) but can never afford them. he also loves videogames (sandboxy creative games as well as first person shooters).

kevin really likes the circus and carnivals like his mom, and it’s one of his special interests along with torture methods, movie trivia, pagan religion/witchcraft, psychology, ritualized killing across cultures, weapons (particularly guns and knives), cars/motorcycles, and serial killers ofc.

kevin likes his mom deep down, but he will never admit that to himself because deeper down he knows anastasia doesn’t like him.

bradley depalma is also trans, but his parents paid for his transition.

allen the magic goose is not an imaginary friend, but a tulpa that kevin created on accident. this is why allen is able to interact with other people and the physical world in some episodes

the axe monkey is also a tulpa that kevin created on accident. that’s why allen chastises kevin for bringing the axe monkey into existence

shawna only likes kevin and goes out with timmy to get a rise out of kevin. they both like kevin more than each other (timmy also likes kevin), and the relationship is maintained more out of spite than love or lust.

timmy is anorexic and has depression

timmy is gay but is in deep denial

shawna has aspd and bpd and frequently splits on timmy and kevin.

[soulless-computerbug]

Toby:

Oak, birch, aspen trees, sunlight filtering through the leaves, the rush of the north wind. Babbling brooks and creeks, a trout jumping and splashing on the surface. Campfires, woodsmoke, ash and dust rising from a glowing plume into the starry night. Bonfires. House fires. Dumpster fires in the cold icy streets. Car exhaust and drunk drivers on empty lonely highways, flat energy drinks in the cup holders. The sound of splitting wood, cracking ice, falling stone. Granite sparkling in the dusk light. Icy cold fingertips pressed against your palm, nails gently biting your skin.

Kate:

Stale cigarette smell in old musty carpet. The clack of billiard balls against each other, quiet chatter and laughter, low blues music crackling through old speakers. Blues, classic rock, hard rock, headbanging to old punk music in the car with your friends, parked in the lot after a highschool game. Smiling so wide your cheeks ache. Pounding throbbing feet on concrete, the rough grooves of brick and mortar under your nails. The chokehold of terror in your chest, the moon through douglas firs and redwood trees. February breeze at 3am, cold air seeping under your jacket, the flannels of your pants. Cold fingers, cold toes, steaming hot water that stings like pure bliss. The taste of medicine that follows the ringing of an alarm.

Liam:

Larks and robins at 5am. The smell of black coffee and old books, the rustle of papers and shuffle of feet. Linoleum tile under leather doc marten soles. Rye grass and blue river water, stormy gray skies. The thwap of latex gloves against your wrist like a second skin. Bubbling, fizzing, foaming, colors shifting from green to gray to blue to orange. Apple slices as you scratch note after note onto old notebook paper. Losing your voice after screaming for hours, dull migraines and illusory palinopsia. Lyssavirus, crutzfeldt-jakobs disease, marburgvirus, all neatly labeled in perfect little vials. Lying in wait.

[jazzmasternot]

What kind of liquor everyone at the hotel drinks

This is a continuation of @hazelfoureyes’s post abt what kind of drunk everyone is.

My credentials for this that I’m a bartender and work in both restaurants and nightlife so I’ve served all kinds of ppl and Ik what customers want before they even order.

Alastor

So we know this man likes rye and I stonefly believe that he would drink either uncle nearest or makers mark. I mean cmon have you seen the bottle for makers mark it even fits his aesthetic. And yes he will smoke a fat cigar with it too.

Lucifer

Yeah this man drinks wine and is real pretentious about it too, he just gives off mega wine drunk type energy. Like will try to tell you all about how this wine is special because you can taste the hints of sandal wood and how it has a appley after taste even tho no one cares. Also the kind of person to say “I’m just gonna have one glass” then boom the entire bottle is empty.

Angel dust

He drinks vodka you can’t tell me otherwise, he’ll drink tequila when he really wants to turn up but it’s mainly vodka. His favorite is a vodka Martini with little (none) vernouth, so just shaken vodka in a martini glass and yes he can tell if you didn’t shake it. His favorite is highway vodka yk the one that’s made with weed and gets you a lil high aswell.

Husk

Another whiskey drinker everyone, I mean he even says it in the show, straight from the bottle no less. It’s probably either jack Daniel’s or Hennessy doesn’t care much about the quality like Alastor does. No rocks glass no ice cube straight up room temp (yuck). Every once in a while he’ll drink jägermeister if he’s feeling particularly devious that night.

Charlie

Listen don’t ever give her straight liquor, bc she will drink it if ppl cheer her on enough and then immediately throw it up, so everyone’s learned their lesson with her. The closest she’d be able to do without dying instantly is the deep eddy Lemmon/grapefruit. Just give her a Bellini or a margarita, also I feel like she’d love lemon drops.

Vaggie

Beer drinker I don’t know why but she gives off a beer girly kinda vibe that makes husks job so much easier. I feel like she’d like the cream and amber ales too. She’d only drink it on draft though no cans or bottles she thinks it ruins the flavor (she’s not wrong) but most ppl don’t understand that. When she’s not drinking beer it’s vodka crans and seabreazes with Tito’s all they and it’s definitely not bc those are the only two cocktail names she knows.

Nifty

Straight tequila no mixer no chaser not even dressed or chilled, right down the hatch bc she likes it when the alcohol just burns on the way down. YAY PAIN! Fun fact tequila isn’t a depressant which is why you start actin crazy when you drink it, and we all saw how she was acting in episode 6 classic tequila drunk behavior.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Ember Sinclair Thompson

Voice Claim: (

Partner(s): None Parents: Samuel Cullman Thompson & Jazper Sinclair Kids: None. Siblings: Storm Thompson Sinclair & Juniper Thompson Sinclair (and many other half siblings) Age: Translates into mid-late 20’s Birthday: September 1st Height: 185cm 6 ft Body type: Slim but muscular Eye color: Very pale green with chocolate brown around iris. Classification: Wolf Shifter.

About: ~ Charismatic, Humble, Friendly, Genuine, Outgoing, Adventurous, Creative, Practical, Honest, Spontaneous, Cheeky, Teasing, Open-Minded, Adapatble, Disciplined, Approachable, Balanced, Charming, Affectionate, Fair, Helpful and Kind. ~ Thrift store - Hippie! ~ Sexuality Bi. ~ Long wavy auburn hair, which he always wears in some sort of bun. ~ Has some tattoos scattered on his body, including a wolf on his upper right arm to symbolize his wolf form. ~ Smokes a lot of weed. ~ Is very easy to hang out with, people straight away feel comfortable in his company. ~ Known for always having a listening ear. ~ Lives with his "siter" from another Mister, Gloria. ~ Likes to adopt all sorts of kritters. ~ Plays acoustic guitar pretty well. ~ Never walks into a thrift store without buying anything. ~ His house is made up of thrifts and his whole wardrobe is thrift finds as well. ~ Travels a lot. ~ Often gets lost in music. ~ Smells like Verbana and Thyme. ~ Drinks a lot of herbal tea, his favorite mix is Licorice/Peppermint/Lemongrass ~ Hates coffee. ~ Likes to go camping. ~ Takes long walks by the sea. ~ Always has weed. ~ A safe space to rest your head. ~ Collects rocks and gemstones. ~ Goes swimming even during winter. ~ His parents are literallly his best friends, and he's not ashamed of it. ~ Burns a lot of incense. ~ Loves animals, his parents, thrifting, tea, sex, weed, hanging out with his friends, camping, fresh herbs, fire, Bart Simpsons, incense, nature, helping others, meeting new people, exploring, cooking, daydreaming, plants, rye bread, roast pork, tomato soup, beer, sunrise/sundown, cozy blankets and cuddling. ~ Romantic. ~ Dresses in whatever he finds at the thriftstore, yes everything matches! ~ Very much a hippie at heart, though he dresses in just whatever. Ember’s tag Ember’s house/home Ember’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One Gif to describe him:

One song to describe him: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis - Thrift Shop Feat. Wanz

Personal play list: Whatever Gloria listens to.