#[space age love song intensifies]

[aliceindaisychains999]

[dear-bunnyboo]

𝐒𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒... || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 18+

a request from @joeburrowshottestwife 🤍 I got a little carried away and wrote a mini smut if you may…

I recommend listening to the song while reading and I hope you guys love it!!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐨 𝐈𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐞𝐬... - 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Who would’ve thought that seeing the prettiest blue eyes would lead to a lifetime of love and passion and so it goes…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content, cursing, smut, sex, sexual tension, drinking, flirting, hickeys, oral, gossip, quickie, lowkey public sex, against the wall, fluff, infatuated!joe, partying, strangers to lovers?, slight jealously, some cute moments

If you are below the age of 18 and or you are not comfortable with the warnings above, please don’t read this!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

See you in the dark

All eyes on you, my magician

All eyes on us

You make everyone disappear, and

Cut me into pieces

In the dimly lit bar, you and your girlfriends revel in the atmosphere of a girls' night out, surrounded by laughter and chatter. The bar is an intimate yet lively space, bathed in a dim glow that emanates from strategically placed low-hanging lights.

The walls, adorned with eclectic artwork and vintage posters, create a unique ambiance. The air is filled with a blend of laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep sound of the music playing from the speakers.

The dance floor, though not too expansive, beckons those eager to showcase their moves. Rustic wooden tables and plush booths provide comfortable seating for groups of friends, creating pockets of shared moments.

As you sip your drinks, the room suddenly hushes when Joe Burrow, the famous NFL quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, appears in a dark corner with his friends.

It's in one of these shadowy corners that Joe Burrow and his friends have claimed their spot, inadvertently becoming the center of attention as his fame draws glances from all around the room.

As you took another sip of your drink, your attention is stolen once more by the magnetic presence of Joe Burrow tucked away in the dim corner.

His fame precedes him, and the way he effortlessly commands the attention of the entire bar pulls you into a trance— it was like magic, you were hypnotized.

Your friends continue their chatter, but your focus is drawn to Joe.

In the low light, his silhouette exudes an intriguing allure, and you find yourself captivated by the subtle confidence in his posture.

Your heart quickens.

Your gaze locks onto Joe, and in that moment, the crowded bar seems to vanish. It's just you and him, a magnetic connection that cuts through the surrounding noise.

His back against the wall, Joe holds a drink in hand, mirroring your intrigue.

The bustling atmosphere fades into the background, leaving only you and him in this shared moment of unspoken connection.

His eyes, carrying a certain intensity, seem to cut through the crowd, reaching you even from a distance. Each glance feels like a subtle incision, dissecting every part of you.

There's a flutter of excitement and nerves as you contemplate making your way toward the bar.

The air is charged with anticipation, and as you decide to approach, you can't shake the feeling that this might be a moment where the ordinary collides with the extraordinary.

"I'll be right back," you announce to your friends, the excitement building within you as you decide to approach the bar. With each step, you can feel Joe's eyes following you, a magnetic pull that seems to intensify as you make your way through the crowd.

The soft glow of the dim lights casts a warm hue on your gold slip-on dress, catching Joe's attention.

You could practically feel his gaze, he was cutting you into pieces as if he's unraveling your every layer with his gaze.

The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as you reach the bar, the heartbeat of the music syncing with your own.

Before you can even order a drink, a deep voice, unmistakably Joe's, interrupts. "Let me get that for you," he offers, his baby blue eyes meeting yours. He gracefully places his hands on either side of the bar table, enclosing you within his captivating presence.

In that moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just you and Joe, locked in a magnetic connection.

The bar, once bustling with activity, transforms into an intimate stage for this unexpected encounter, marked by his confident gaze and the subtle thrill of a newfound connection.

Feeling like you're being dissected by his eyes, you can't help but be captivated.

Joe leans in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he says, "Allow me to be the magician tonight. What's your poison?"

You meet his gaze with a teasing smile. "Well, if you're the magician, surprise me with your best trick. Maybe something with a twist of mystery."

He chuckles, a low and melodic sound. "Mystery, huh? How about a classic, then? How does a whiskey sour sound? It's got just the right amount of intrigue."

You nod approvingly. "Sounds like you know your way around the bar. Whiskey sour it is."

As he signals the bartender, Joe turns his attention back to you. "So, what brings you to this corner of the bar tonight?"

You playfully twirl a strand of hair. "Just out with my friends, enjoying the night. But then I spotted the you in the dark corner, and curiosity got the better of me."

He raises an eyebrow, the charm in his eyes unmistakable. "You spotted me, huh? Well, it seems curiosity works both ways. What's your name?"

You extend a hand. "Y/N. And you're Joe, the attraction of the night, I presume."

He takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "Guilty as charged, Y/N. So, are you a fan, or was it just my irresistible charm that lured you in?"

You laugh, the banter flowing effortlessly. "Maybe a bit of both. Your eyes have a way of making the ordinary feel tempting."

Joe smirks, leaning a bit closer. "Well, I must say, your gold dress is doing its fair share of enchanting tonight."

The conversation continues, a dance of words filled with flirty exchanges and charming wit, creating a magnetic connection that goes beyond the confines of the bustling bar.

As you and Joe take to the dance floor, a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. The pulsating beat of the music seems to synchronize with your movements, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd.

All eyes gradually gravitate toward the two of you, creating an invisible spotlight on this spontaneous dance. The initial curiosity transforms into a collective recognition– Joe Burrow, the NFL quarterback, sharing a moment of connection with a stranger on the dance floor.

The dimly lit bar becomes a stage, and you and Joe the unwitting performers. Whispers and glances follow your every move, and the music seems to amplify, encapsulating the shared energy of the room. The air is charged with a mix of admiration, surprise, and perhaps a touch of envy as the ordinary night transforms into an extraordinary spectacle.

In that moment, the dance floor becomes a canvas, and your connection with Joe, the brushstroke that paints a captivating picture. All eyes are on the two of you, caught in the rhythm of the music and the chemistry that seems to transcend the boundaries of the crowded bar.

Gold cage, hostage to my feelings

Back against the wall

Trippin', trip-trippin' when you're gone

'Cause we breakdown a little

But when you get me alone, it's so simple

'Cause baby, I know what you know

We can feel it

The night unfolds with a seamless transition, and before you know it, you find yourself in a secluded corner behind the bar with Joe. The distant hum of the crowd and the rhythmic beats of the music create a cocoon of intimacy around the two of you.

Your back rests against the wall with you arms wrapped around the tall man in front of you, and Joe, with a casual yet confident demeanor, has his hands all over you.

“Fuck.” Joe breathes out against your lips.

Your lips molded against his, clashing and sloppy as Joe caressed your body all over before pushing you harder against the wall.

"Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” Joe says as he kisses down your neck and chest.

"Touch me" you practically purred, but this time it's a plea. "You want me to touch you?" Joe asks as he kisses down your neck and chest. You nod and gasp as his hand reaches up to cup one of your breasts through the fabric of your dress.

"Mmmm, you're so fucking sexy" Joe says as he starts to squeeze your breast. You moan and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hand. Joe moves his hand down to the hem of your dress and slowly slides it up over your hips.

You feel his hands on your thighs, massaging them as he pushes the dress up further. You feel his breath on your skin as he kisses down your stomach and then back up to your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks it hard, causing you to moan loudly.

He switches to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment. "Oh fuck, that feels so good," you moan as he continues to suck on your nipples. Joe moves his hand down to your pussy and starts rubbing it through your panties.

"Mmm, you're so wet for me, baby," he says as he slips his finger inside you. You moan even louder as he starts to finger you. "Fuck, I want to taste you," Joe says as he pulls your panties off. He licks his fingers clean and then starts to lick your pussy.

You moan and writhe against his tongue as he eats you out. "Oh god, yes, yes, yes," you moan as he continues to eat you out. “Please, more, Joe.” You gripped his hair, you could practically feel him smirking against you.

"Mmm, yeah? You want more, baby?" he asks as he slips his finger back inside you.

"Fuck, yes," you moan as he starts to finger fuck you. He adds another finger and continues to fuck your pussy with his fingers.

"Oh god, please don't stop," you beg him as he continues to eat your pussy out and finger fucks it at the same time.

"I'm not going to stop until you cum for me," he says as he starts to finger fuck you faster. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum!" you scream as you cum all over his face and fingers.

He keeps fingering you until you've finished cumming and then he stands up. "Can I fuck you, please?," he whispered against your ear as he placed more kisses against your neck.

“Please.” You breathed out impatiently.

Joe unbuckled his pants before lowering it along with his underwear showcasing his big hard on. You watch as he strokes his cock and then lifted your leg to wrap against him. He lines up his cock with your pussy and then thrusts into you.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," he groans as he starts to fuck you. You wrap your legs around him and start to meet his thrusts. "Fuck, you feel so good," he says as he continues to fuck you. He picks you up and pounded you against the wall.

"Just like that. You’re so good for me, baby," he says as he pounds you harder. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you bit the love of his ear, a whimpering mess, “Joe, harder.”

Joe did just that.

“Take it. Take it.” He slammed into you harder and harder, your nails digging into his back, you both moaned as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, Joe," you say as he continues to fuck you. "You're so fucking good." Joe started to fuck you harder and harder, his cock throbbing inside of you. He could feel himself getting close and he knew that he was going to cum soon.

"I'm going to cum," he says. "Do you want me to pull out?"

"No, just keep fucking me. I’m on birth control," you shook your head. "I want your cum inside of me." Joe smiles and continues to fuck you harder and harder. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his cock throbbing inside of you.

"I'm going to cum," he says again. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum." You moan and push him closer against you, urging him on.

He can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, and he knows that you're close too. "Cum for me," he says, thrusting harder and faster into you.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and then you finally let go, crying out as you cum all over his cock. Joe groans and follows suit, filling you up with his hot cum. He holds you tightly against him as he continues to pulse inside of you.

"I can’t believe we just did that," you say, kissing him softly. "You wanna get of here" he says, smiling down at you.

"Yes please."

You both get dressed and head out the door. You can't help but feel a sense of euphoria. You've just had amazing sex with someone who you just met but someone who makes you feel safe and comfortable.

And all the pieces fall

Right into place

Getting caught up in a moment

Lipstick on your face

So it goes

Leaving the enchanting sanctuary behind the bar, you and Joe walk out hand in hand, the cool night air providing a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the shared moments.

As you step into the night, you can't help but notice the subtle aftermath of your little moment and the whispered conversations. Joe's lips are tinted with a faint red hue, a playful smudge of your lipstick from an impromptu moment of closeness. You, too, wear the evidence on your lips, a charming reminder of the shared laughter and connection.

The onlookers can't help but whisper and gossip as you navigate through the lingering crowd. A few conspicuous lip marks on Joe's face and neck become the talk of the night, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to your departure.

Despite the whispers, you and Joe continue walking hand in hand, oblivious to the outside commentary. The city lights cast a gentle glow on the scene as you embark on the journey home, the echoes of the night's magic lingering in the air.

I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl

But I do bad things with you

So it goes

A few months into the relationship, the dynamics between you and Joe have seamlessly woven together.

You, typically labeled as the good girl since childhood, have followed rules diligently, excelled at school, and cultivated a high-paying job. However, with Joe, a transformation has occurred. He's managed to unlock a side of you that, until now, had been carefully tucked away

In his company, you let loose, embracing a freedom that transcends the boundaries of the familiar. The structured life you once led now coexists with moments of spontaneity and laughter. Joe has become the catalyst, bringing forth the ‘bad’ side– a side unapologetically liberated and carefree.

The dichotomy between the good girl exterior and the liberated spirit within becomes a harmonious dance in your relationship. Joe appreciates the layers, the depth beyond the conventional labels, and you find joy in the uncharted territories of letting go.

I make all your gray days clear and

Wear you like a necklace

I'm so chill, but you make me jealous

But I got your heart

Skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone

The morning sun bathes the charming streets in a warm glow as you and Joe step into a quaint restaurant for a brunch date. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle sizzle of brunch delights.

The restaurant exudes a cozy ambiance, adorned with rustic decor and soft, ambient lighting. Sunlight filters through lace curtains, casting a gentle pattern on the checkered tablecloth. The gentle hum of conversation and clinking of cutlery create a soothing backdrop.

Seated at a corner table, you and Joe peruse the menu, the anticipation of delightful flavors adding a spark to the atmosphere. The waiter arrives, and you both share playful glances as you place your orders.

As you wait for the food to arrive, the conversation flows effortlessly. The ambiance encourages intimacy, allowing you to share laughter and stolen glances, creating a shared world within the confines of the cozy restaurant.

The dishes arrive, each plate a work of culinary art. The flavors dance on your palate, and the occasional clinking of your utensils against the plate becomes a rhythm that accompanies your shared moments.

The scene is painted with the colors of love and the promise of the day ahead. The brunch date unfolds like a story, each bite a chapter in the narrative of your connection, as you and Joe savor both the delicious food and the joy of being in each other's company.

Amidst the delightful brunch spread, you and Joe find yourselves immersed in a conversation that effortlessly weaves between shared memories and future dreams.

Joe smiles, his eyes locking onto yours. "Remember that time we tried making pancakes together and ended up with a kitchen covered in flour?"

You chuckle, a warm nostalgia enveloping the moment. "How could I forget? We turned a simple breakfast into a floury battlefield. Good times."

The conversation takes a turn toward upcoming plans. "Speaking of which, any thoughts on that weekend getaway we've been tossing around?" Joe asks, his gaze filled with excitement.

You nod, enthusiasm mirroring his. "Mmm hmm. A change of scenery sounds perfect. Maybe somewhere with a beach or a cozy cabin in the mountains?"

Before Joe can respond, the waitress arrives, interrupting the conversation with a flirtatious demeanor. She directs her attention towards Joe, her smile overly friendly as she takes a moment longer than necessary to place the water glasses on the table.

"Hey there," she says, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You exchange a knowing glance with Joe, and as the waitress lingers a little too close, you can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the unwarranted interruption.

As the waitress hovers a bit too long, a subtle pang of jealousy tightens within. You've always been secure in your relationship with Joe, understanding that his charm might attract attention. You've been chill, confident that his heart belongs to you.

Yet, in this moment, an unexpected wave of possessiveness creeps in. It's not about doubt, but an innate response to the realization that your boyfriend, undeniably attractive, draws attention from others. The jealousy is fleeting but palpable, a twinge of discomfort you hadn't anticipated.

The waitress continues her lingering presence, focusing most of her attention on Joe. "So, Joe, do you come here often? I haven't seen you around before," she says, a subtle flirtation in her voice as she refills his water glass.

Joe, trying to be polite but sensing the awkwardness, replies, "Oh, well, it's our first time here for brunch. Heard great things about the food."

She smiles, leaning in a bit too close. "Well, I'm glad you chose to spend your morning here. You know, we have some special desserts today. Maybe I can tempt you with something sweet?"

You, sitting there, feel the tension rising, your jealousy now mingling with irritation. Despite Joe's efforts to redirect the attention back to you, the waitress continues to engage him, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

Reminding yourself of the love you share, you take a deep breath, letting logic override the momentary surge of jealousy. It's a reminder that even in a secure relationship, occasional pangs of possessiveness can surface, only to be soothed by the assurance that Joe is yours, heart and all.

Joe, maintaining his politeness, manages an awkward chuckle. "We'll have to check out those desserts, but for now, we're pretty set with brunch. Thanks."

As the awkward encounter with the waitress concludes and she finally leaves your table, Joe lets out a relieved sigh. "Sorry about that. She was a bit... persistent."

You smile, appreciating Joe's acknowledgment of the situation. "It's okay. People can be a little forward sometimes."

Joe reaches across the table, gently taking your hand. "You know I only have eyes for you, right, baby?"

Your gaze meets his, reassured by the sincerity in his eyes. "I do, but it's just one of those moments, you know? Sometimes, even when you know, a little reminder helps."

Understanding your sentiments, Joe smiles warmly. "I get it. And speaking of reminders..." He nods toward your neck.

You look down to see the delicate necklace, the chain adorned with a small pendant bearing Joe's name. It's a subtle yet meaningful piece he gave you, a constant reminder of the love you share.

"Remember the name you wear," he says, his voice gentle but filled with conviction.

As you trace the pendant with your fingers, you feel a renewed sense of connection. Joe's name against your skin serves as a steadfast reminder that, despite occasional external distractions, your bond is unshakeable.

The brunch may have had its awkward moments, but the shared glance and the necklace serve as anchors, grounding you both in the warmth of your relationship.

You smiled at the thought.

You did a number on me

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

I did a number on you

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

So it goes

dividers: @cafekitsune

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @jackkyhughes @h0e4fictionalme-n @queenmendes @rd14 @scoobydoopoo @estapa94 @karmasabitchybitch @literaturelustrr @toterry @fangirl-madz @atticusismybae @stargaryenx @haydee5010 @porter113 @ryiamarie @starrgir1 @flwries @slafgoalskybaby @unsaidjaelinrose @in-my-body-bag @cixrosie @siutforjjmaybank @youn-jo @nobystanderz @bb-swift @buckystwilight @kidrauhlakaperf @kkrenae @catswag22 @hustler-sinner @asparklysoul @kaydesssssssss @97bngchn @dunningz @whiteleoqueen @austinswhitewolf @wickedfun9 @minkyungseokie @boldlypessimistic @utopiakys

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUESTS AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡

-𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲ఌ

[celtic-crossbow]

The Rhythm of this Trembling Heart

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Commonwealth (No France)

Warnings: None

Summary: There isn’t anything Daryl wouldn’t do for you.

A/N: Happy (late) Halloween. Sorry it’s late. Regardless, the song attached is what I imagined toward the end. You’ll know it when you read it.

Halloween was in full swing! The community was alive with music and activities and best of all: costumes! Some were brought back from supply runs while others were handmade. Kids were out engaging in the age old tradition of trick-or-treat. It was surreal. 

It was just past dark, the activities for the younger ones winding down while celebrations for adults were just beginning. Several smaller parties were happening in individual residences but the masquerade ball— Ezekiel’s idea, of course— was where most were attending. 

But not Daryl. 

He was out making sure everything was safe while the adults of the community were otherwise occupied. There were guards on duty but he had special people here that he just couldn’t leave their safety to anyone other than himself. Jude and RJ were at their individual friends’ homes. Carol was at the ball. He didn’t know if you were going. While everyone else had been planning their attire, you had volunteered to help sew costumes for the kids. 

He had never been much for Halloween. No costumes or candy, just bruises and shouting matches. When he was older, it was pizza, beer, and maybe a movie. He could see the appeal if he really thought about it. One night to be anyone or anything else. He could definitely get behind that. 

“Yo, Dixon!”

He paused mid-step, hoping to god that the voice he’d heard was in his head. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Princess. She was a good person with a good heart. She was just… a lot. 

“I know you hear me, man!”

With a sigh, he finally stopped and turned, giving her a nod in greeting while she bounced up to him with her usual attempt at a hug, stopping with her hands up when he stepped back. 

“Still not a hugger. Respected.”  She was dressed in a black gown, frilly and lacy, but with her own Princess touch of pink rhinestones pressed into the waist and collar. Her hair was pinned up with a pink ribbon weaving throughout. “You’re not really dressed for the party. I mean, I guess you could wear that as long as you have a mask but it wouldn’t take much to guess who you are and that’s kinda the point of—”

Daryl raised his palms as well as his eyebrows, already exasperated. “Ain’t goin’ but hope ya have a good time.” With a squeeze to her shoulder and a curt nod, he turned to take his leave. 

“Y/N’s gonna be there.” 

He found himself stopping again, looking back over his shoulder. Princess was leaning out like she had expected his reaction, a huge grin on her pretty face. 

“So?” He tried to act like he didn’t care when he really wanted to know everything. Daryl cared deeply for you, having been close to you since the quarry. You had been the only person other than Carol to refuse letting him isolate himself, the only difference being Carol encouraged him to be a part of the group whereas you plopped yourself right down in his space and refused to leave. 

His feelings toward you had only intensified over the years. It used to make him uncomfortable because he didn’t understand it. He feared it. So, he had pushed you away, but you never strayed far. You had always been waiting for him with open arms, ready to forgive and forget. 

He was still scared, truth be told. It was the only reason he hadn’t had a very important conversation with you and asked you to be his. 

“So.” Princess mocked in a deep voice before laughing at herself and waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just playin’, man. Anyone with eyes can see you got it bad, dude!”

“I don’t got—”

“Don’t even try.” She shook her head with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. “Go change. Come to the party. She’ll appreciate the hell out of that.”

“Don’t do costumes. Even if I did, I ain’t got none.” He shrugged. Daryl and social events were not allies. He wouldn’t even know where to start for something like this. 

“Oh, I gotcha, man.” She held her Venetian stick mask up over her eyes with a daunting smile. “Just leave it all to me.”

How had he let Princess, of all people, talk him into this? 

She had all but dragged him back to her apartment, telling him to shower while she went through the rejected items she had picked for Mercer. He had never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. 

Well, that is, until he was standing in front of the mirror while she adjusted the white mask, hiding the bands expertly within his hair, which she had combed and slicked back. 

“This is a masterpiece.” She was staring, wide-eyed and big-grinned, rubbing her hands together like she had just successfully animated Frankenstein’s monster. 

Daryl’s eyebrows shot up, though he could only see one. The mask covered the right side of his face. She had him in a white button-up and black slacks. The black boots were shiny and he hated that the black gloves actually covered his fingers. Almost everything was at least one size too big but manageable. Still, nothing made his lip curl more than the cape she had secured beneath the collar of the shirt. 

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere in this shit.”

“Oh, come on, man. It’s very Phantom of the Opera!” Princess beamed. 

Daryl scowled even harder. “I definitely ain’t goin’ nowhere in this shit.” 

“Dude, I’m telling you, she’s gonna swoon when she sees you. And you’ll match her!” She argued, absently plucking at the edge of the cape. 

“Ya seen her?” The archer met her eyes in the mirror. 

“Oh yeah. She looked—” Princess kissed her fingertips and thrust them outward in a chef’s kiss. 

Daryl’s eyes moved back to his own reflection and he sighed. He was about to make an absolute fool of himself, but at least he was doing it for you. 

He was on his third cigarette. Princess had wished him luck and already disappeared through the door to find Mercer, leaving Daryl alone with his thoughts and anxiety. What if you were there with someone? Princess didn’t seem to think so but the last thing he wanted to do was fuck up your evening. 

He tapped his gloved fingertips against the wall behind him, the other hand plucking the smoke from between his lips to flick it away. It was time to find his balls and go inside. If he didn’t, he looked like an idiot and he was a pussy. 

With a deep breath, he ascended the stairs to the door, nodding back at the guy who opened it for him. 

“Hey, Dixon. Have fun in there!”

“Fun. Right.” Daryl saved his confused expression for once the door had closed behind him. The guy had worked with him under Mercer. He couldn’t understand why there hadn’t been immediate laughter and punchlines at his expense. 

“Daryl?”

He raised his eyes to find Carol lowering her stick mask. She looked beautiful, her blue gown simple but elegant. Her hair had been styled delicately, the short curls even more defined than usual. 

“Uhh, yeah. S’me.” He scratched a nonexistent itch on the back of his neck. “Ya look pretty.”

“Thank you but let’s talk about you. Who did this cause I know it wasn’t you.”

The archer tried to wrinkle his nose in a sneer but it was difficult with the mask pressed to one side of his face. “Ya don’t think I could do this myself?” Carol put her hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow. “Was Princess.” He admitted rather quickly, his nerves wearing a hole through his chest. 

The silver haired woman gave him a gentle smile, reaching out to squeeze his bicep. “She did good.” Her name was called from somewhere in the crowd, her head turning so she could search. “Try to have some fun.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze before heading into the main room where people were all standing around talking, aside from those dancing in the very middle. 

He watched as Carol made her way around the outside of the crowd, pausing to lean into a tight circle. He recognized Gabriel immediately. Even at a masquerade party, he wore that god awful hat. Daryl could barely see who Carol was speaking with, but she was leaned in close and, to his horror, was looking directly at him as she spoke. She winked and held her mask up, walking away just as you leaned out and locked gazes with him. The way your face lit up made his heart stutter and his stomach do cartwheels. 

You turned to apparently excuse yourself and then you were heading to him. Princess had been right. 

You were a fucking vision. 

Your dress was black, with a bouffant style skirt and corset top. The thin straps could be seen under lace that covered your arms and dipped into a v at your neck. Your hair was piled atop your head with elegant curls hanging down in places, accenting the black lace Venetian mask attached to your face with a ribbon that disappeared into your hair. 

“Daryl?” You beamed, your heels click-clacking on the shiny floor. “Daryl, you look amazing!” You laughed, the smile brighter than he’d ever seen it. The archer had utterly forgotten how to form words, completely lost in the ethereal beauty standing in front of him. You laughed again and touched his forearm. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah!” He answered suddenly before clearing his throat. “Yeah, m’good. You, uh—ya look—” He trailed off when suddenly words like ‘beautiful’ and ‘gorgeous’ didn’t seem good enough to describe you. “Wow.”

“Pfft.” You chuckled, closing in to give him a hug. “I can’t believe you came. This is the best Halloween ever!” Daryl didn’t waste any time returning the embrace. He could smell your shampoo and whatever product you had used to style your hair. Vanilla. “Come on, let’s go hang out with everyone! They’ve gotta see this!”

You took his hand in yours and pulled but he didn’t move. When you looked back, he was staring at the crowd behind you with a painful look of uncertainty. Your eyes softened, understanding that just standing where he was had to be ridiculously outside of his comfort zone. You weren’t sure why he had come but you were damn sure not going to let it be a bad experience for him. Biting your lip, you glanced at the door leading to the upper level. 

“Do you trust me?” You asked him, squeezing his hand. 

“More than anyone.” He replied quickly but quietly. 

“Good!” You pulled him toward the door and away from the crowd, leaning out to make sure the security guards weren’t watching. Finding them agonizing over what hors d’oeuvres they might want from the tray, you opened the door and ushered Daryl in first before following and quietly closing it. You couldn’t suppress your hushed giggles as the two of you ascended the stairs, even finding yourself shushing him when he hadn’t made a single sound. “How’s this? Better?”

The upper level balcony overlooked the ballroom below, the acoustics allowing the music to be heard clearly but not the chatter of the crowd. Daryl leaned over to look over the people below, but quickly stepped back so as not to be noticed. 

“Much better.”

“Good.” You said, plopping down on an expensive looking chaise sofa to remove your heels. “My feet are killing me.” When the archer simply nodded, you pursed your lips over a barely contained smile. “Come here.” You said, actually moving toward him before he could comply. “I know you are hating this thing, so since I took off my shoes…” you trailed off, pulling the string that secured the cape. It pooled on the ground behind his feet. 

“Feel at least like I may deserve my balls back now.” He gave you a small half smile when you laughed and smacked his chest. When silence fell again, you found yourself just watching him and him, you. 

“Dance with me?”

His eyes widened, the side of his face that you could see turning a pale pink. “I don’t dance.”

“Can’t?”

“Don’t.”

“You do now.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him a little closer to the middle of the balcony, encircling your arms around his neck. He gave you a look that lasted only a moment before his hands landed on your waist. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a simple slow rocking like you see teenagers do at prom. Still, it had your heart fluttering. “I’m glad you came.” 

“Me too.”

“What made you decide to, anyway?” You tilted your head, looking up at him while your fingers toyed with his hair. He didn’t answer. He just stared at you. 

Oh. 

“You did all this for me?” 

He didn’t trust his voice so he simply nodded. 

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“I really want to kiss you right now.” Your eyes flitted down to his lips and back up to his eyes. He didn’t give you the chance. He closed the distance between you and pressed his mouth to yours. It was gentle, almost seeming shy, but it was perfect. All too soon, you separated, your wet eyes sparkling as you watched him for any signs of regret. 

You found none. 

Throughout, you had never stopped dancing. It was maybe the most perfect first kiss you could have ever imagined.

“I lied. Now, it’s the best Halloween ever.” You sniffled with a smile, laying your head against his shoulder. 

“Yeah. It sure is.” He agreed. You felt his cheek rest on the top of your head. “Tell anyone an’ I’ll still hafta kill ya.”

“What? That you kissed me?”

“Nah, that I was dancin’.”

You laughed and kissed him again. 

[frozen-fountain]

It's ten years today since I made a pilgrimage down to Brighton to see Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds live in concert. My purpose today isn't to get into the circumstances that preceded this or the specific reasons why being there meant so very much to me; maybe some day I'll do that under this name as well. For now, suffice to say it was the best show I've been to, and one I doubt will ever be surpassed. I think the Bad Seeds were on stage for the better part of three hours, with two encores and everyone clearly having a great time, reflected just as strongly in the audience. I really hope I get to go again eventually, though it'll be a more sombre affair now. And that's fine. I've always looked on his music as a big congregation that plumbs the depths of human existence without ever denying or shutting out the light, and it's this that's struck such a resonant chord with me across the years and made him one of the most key pillars in my musical journey.

One of my most vivid memories of the night doesn't even concern what was happening on stage. The whole time, I was fascinated by the two ageing punks sitting in front of us. I love ageing punks; I was raised by one, and they're my favourite people at shows because of their sheer enthusiasm for the music and utter disregard for what's generally considered age-appropriate dress and behaviour. Deeply inspiring stuff. But I remember one of them lifting both fists in a cheer when this song (from 1986) started playing – and he did the same for Higgs Boson Blues, a track from the contemporaneous album. And I was struck by what a gift it must have been to watch this wonderful group evolve and shift over the years, to meet new songs at different stages in life, and to remain no less excited for their new creations even decades later.

It was many things, but to me, it was a thick, bold line under what I'd spent the previous year working to convince myself of as I left my youth behind me, and that this band's congregational music helped so much in drilling through my obstinate, oblivion-seeking skull: there are and always will be things worth sticking around for.

I don't know anything about this man besides what the back of his head looks like and his enthusiasm for Bad Seeds old and new. He never even turned around to look at me in turn. I highly doubt we'll ever meet again, and if we do, I'll have no way of knowing it. But I still smile every now and then when I listen to Sad Waters, or simply when my mind wanders back to the show from time to time. When I need to remember the future is unwritten and the world has a capacity for many things, and one is endless surprise. Regular readers of whatever it is I'm doing here will know my young life was not the happiest, and I expended a lot of time and energy wrestling with the desire to end it. As I write this I'm closing in on the eight-year anniversary of the last time I seriously contemplated suicide – which is something I couldn't have even dreamed about saying back in 2013. It's these experiences, these moments of connection between strangers through the shared appreciation of another stranger's artistic expression, that go along way to making this so, and I'll never forget it.

This last decade has intensified a cultural shift that was gathering steam around the time of the concert. And one of many reasons I feel conversation can be so divisive and contentious is that we're rapidly becoming more aware to how badly we can hurt one another through simply existing as we are. Whether it's the descendants of colonisers reckoning with the ways we continue to benefit from that bloody history, or men being pushed to evaluate the allowances they are granted to take up space persistently denied women, or any of us learning the benefits of initiating awkward conversations about boundaries in our interpersonal lives, what is bit by bit rising to the surface of our awareness is how easy it is to become a bad story in someone's life just by being people. It's a very difficult thing to come to terms with no matter who you are.

And I wanted to write this memory down and share it because, at least to me, it's a reminder that we can help one another, too, and often without trying or knowing. You don't know what you might have done for a stranger you had no idea was watching. A simple, unguarded gesture that I doubt this man thought about for so much of a second has stayed with me, cheered me, and reminded me of several crucial lessons when I most needed them. If I've learned anything in the years since it's that, simply by being you and being open with your joys, I can guarantee you're someone's good story, too. Even if you'll never know about it.

In the meantime, if you're so inclined... maybe tell me a story about a time a stranger helped you in a similar way?

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

Bringin' Home the Rain - Chapter 3: "Demons"

Masterlist

Fandom: MCU - Age of Ultron, Black Panther Pairing: Ulysses Klaue x F!Reader Word count: 5.9K Chapters: 3/5 Rating: Explicit

Chapter Summary: You can't stop thinking about Klaue, and after an encounter where you find out he feels the same all you can think about is how you can get him to touch you again.

Warnings: Explicit Rating, Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Minor Injuries, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Age Difference, Masturbation, Smut, PWP, But a bit of Plot if you squint, Dirty Talk, Praise, Teasing, Oral (M! Receiving)

A/N: Well, there's a reason I separated the set up and turned this into five chapters! It was taking longer than expected, but then I remembered that it was more than twice as long as the first two and cut myself some slack. The smut is incoming, so thank you for your patience and your feedback so far, it's been lovely to read!

Title is from the song "Bringin' Home the Rain" by The Builders and the Butchers.

AO3 Link

You're dancin' with your demons baby You forgot your former lie It was hard swimming once And now you're daily diving in

You do end up asking Klaue for something.

Most of the space at the compound is in use, but while wandering around one night when you can’t sleep you find a set of doors leading to an unused tech wing: drafting rooms, large metal and wood shops, and most interestingly to you several smaller rooms each with TIG welding machines - something you haven’t been using very much in your current work - as well a welding table, a tungsten grinder, and built in fume extraction hood. Perfect.

TIG welding would give you a chance to practice your finer detail skills. It’s a technique that requires focus and steady hands, but at the same time you can be creative and “draw” with it, anything from an octopus to random patterns that might resemble a Rorschach test image. This was the other side of the coin of metallurgy, the one that allowed you to focus on the creation and the connection rather than worrying about pure functionality and the end result. 

When you tell your shift lead Tom, a short but very broad Irishman, that you want to get in touch with Klaue he looks surprised and then mildly concerned.

“Everything’s fine!” you assure him. “He just said to let him know if there was anything that I needed and, well, there’s something that I need.”

“Ok, sure, I’ll let him know,” he says, relieved but still uncertain, his expression indicating that he might think that you’re crazy for actively looking to draw Klaue’s attention, and you certainly can’t blame him for that.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to think of very much other than Klaue in the two weeks since your last encounter. You thought that maybe after a few days of giving in to the persistent thoughts of him that the feelings would temper, but as it turns out they only intensified. Most nights now, and sometimes mornings (and showers), your mind is drawn to him and your hand finds its way between your legs, though you keep his name clenched firmly behind your teeth.

The skull tattoo visible beneath an unbuttoned collar, muscle and tendon flexing beneath the ink as strong arms pick you up and press you against the wall.

You try to reason with yourself: You know that he’s not the kind of man you should be thinking this way about to begin with, not to mention that he barely touched you, and you have no idea if he even thinks about you at all, so why are you torturing yourself?

It’s not like you’ve never been interested in sex before, you’ve had plenty of good, even great sex. However you’d admit that your experiences tended to be mediocre more often than not, and generally speaking it wasn’t something that was typically front of mind for you. If you weren’t in a relationship sometimes weeks could go by and you’d find yourself barely thinking about it, and when it did happen it felt like it was more about scratching an itch than satisfying any particular need.

You’ve never ached for it before. Not like this.

Fingers curled in your hair, tongue moving relentlessly against yours and you’re unable to hold back the sounds he's drawing from you.

Two days after your request you’re surprised when you sleepily check your morning messages and see one from Klaue. 

You quickly sit up in bed and start typing a reply explaining what you found and what you want to do, and he responds back that that was fine and you could use the tools, but you would have to buy any extra materials and maintain the equipment yourself. Not a problem, you assure him, typing the last message with one hand and wondering how he would react if you sent him a photo so could see what your other hand was doing right now.

Kneeling between your thighs, hovering there for agonizing seconds, waiting for you to beg him.

You clear out several garbage bags worth of debris and old materials from the room, wipe down all the surfaces, and test everything to make sure it actually turns on. Finally you drag a ragged but solid (and very heavy) two seater couch that you found in the metal shop down the hall to complete the space.

The following week all of your new supplies have arrived and you’re spending some time after your shift taking inventory. Your gear is laid out, tungsten welding rods along with nickel, magnesium, and copper filler rods are all sorted, and the base material - your stainless steel canvas - has been cleaned and polished and is ready for you to finally get started during your free day tomorrow. 

You’re trying to decide what kind of design you want to start with when the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with awareness and when you whip your head around you see Klaue leaning against the doorway and watching you with a look that makes your breath catch. 

“Oh, Klaue. Hi, uh, I didn’t know you were back." 

He pushes his shoulder off of the doorframe and saunters into the room. 

“Got back this morning, just here for a couple of days. I wanted to see what all this was about,” he says, gesturing to the table as he comes to stand beside you.

“Ok, sure,” you say, relieved to have something to talk about and to keep your focus off of him. “Well, like I said before I want to work on my detail skills with the TIG welder so that I don’t get too rusty. Plus it’ll give me something to do inside now that it’s getting colder, and I always find it benefits my work all around.”

Klaue looks at the gear and papers that are spread across the table. “And how are you planning to do that?” 

You’re surprised that he actually seems...interested? And it’s been so long since you talked to someone about the craft that you eagerly start explaining.

“Ok, so TIG welding,” you look at him but then immediately look away when you’re see how blue his eyes are, even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “It makes a finer weld seam, and I can use that to create these intricate designs.” 

“And the different alloys make different colors?” He indicates the rows of filler rods you have lined up on the table. 

“Yes, exactly. Also some are shiny and some have more of a matte finish. Before you got here I was just debating if I wanted to start with a specific design or go with something more abstract and just kinda wing it,” you shrug. “That would probably be better since it’s going to be a mess to start with anyway, at least until I get the rhythm of it again.”

Klaue moves behind you, reaching around your body for the stack of designs and rifling through them. He stays close to you though, close enough that in the cool air of the room you can feel the warmth of him and your body is reacting swiftly, heat building with a throb between your thighs and you have to concentrate to keep the tremor out of your breath. 

He picks out a swirling design that emulates the plumes of waves crashing together. Or maybe flames.

“Like this?” Klaue’s voice is rough and low and it goes straight to your center. You're so keyed up that the sound of it combined with his proximity causes something in your brain to short circuit, and it’s involuntary when the muscles of your cunt clench and then your back is arching with a reflexive roll of your hips. 

It’s then that you find out how close he actually is when your ass makes contact with the front of his pants. You mindlessly revel in the sensation for a split second before realizing what you’ve done, and then you gasp and pull away in shock.

“Oh god, I’m sorry- '' you start to fumble out an apology but suddenly Klaue’s hands are on your hips, pulling you back against him, and you can feel it when he groans. Pushing you forward he traps you between the table and his body and when you feel the stiffening length of him pressing into your ass it’s your turn to moan as you lean back into him, unable to stop your hips from rolling again in response.

Your back is flush with Klaue’s broad chest and he presses his face into your neck, nosing into your hair. Hot puffs of breath torture your skin while his hands keep a bruising grip on you, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

“You’re going to drive me fucking insane.” he growls.

“I am??” you gasp. “You’re the one- !” You try to turn around to face him but he pushes you roughly back against the table with a rattle of metal and holds you in place, your own hands flying up to brace yourself against the weight of him.

“Yes”, he hisses against your ear. “Since the night you walked right up to me in that bar. You know I saw you as soon as I walked in? All alone,” he tsked. “Saw you staring at that other table, as if any of those men - those boys,” he spits out the word with disdain, “could give you what you need.” 

His hands leave your hips to brush up your sides, gathering up the hem of your shirt so that his fingers can find your skin beneath it. The metal of his rings is cool but his fingers seem to scald you and you’re sure they must be leaving behind blackened streaks of ash in their wake; he’s barely touched you and you’re burning.

“Oh?” you say, your voice coy even as you’re becoming breathless, panting at his words. “And you think you know what I need?” And, god, it's impossible to imagine at this moment that there's anyone in the world who is less capable of backing down than you.

Klaue growls again and the vibration drives your senses to the edge of reason. He’s rutting slowly and shamelessly against you, the now very hard curve of his erection digging into the swell of your ass. He still has you pinned which is preventing you from finding some relief, some friction of your own, and all you can do is squeeze your thighs together to try to ease some of the desperate ache that’s building deep in your belly.

“Yes, I think I fucking do, darling- “

Before he can say anything else you hear voices coming from down the hallway. Klaue suddenly pulls away from you and you find that you’re almost frantic at the loss while still trying to process that “darling”.

“Boss?” says David, standing in the doorway and looking between the two of you. He must be able to see how flustered you are, flushed and wide eyed, but mercifully he makes no outward indication that he notices. “The Minister is almost ready. Line three in your office.”

You finally dare to look at Klaue, dark eyed and disheveled and hanging onto his control by a thread. You desperately want him to stay, want to grab onto him for dear life and beg him to fuck you until you can’t breathe.

But he doesn’t and you don’t and he finally turns away without saying anything else and follows David out of the room.

You keep taking deep breaths until you start to calm down, the vibration in your body eventually dispersing to a faint prickle in your extremities. As you breathe you circle back around to something he had said, and at first you're furious because how dare he when he was the one driving you insane. But those feelings are quickly forgotten when your mind finally catches up to what the fuck just happened, followed swiftly by the realization that yes, Klaue has in fact been thinking about you.

If you hadn’t been interrupted how far would it have gone? Would he have bent you over, pushed your pants down around your thighs and bruised your hips against the table as he fucked your from behind? He had been so close, thin layers of fabric the only barrier separating you from a shift of his hips and the relief of his cock sinking into you.

That night is the first time his name slips off your tongue on a shaky moan when you come. It’s also the first time that it leaves you wanting, your own touch not enough now that you know the feeling of his hands on your skin, now that you know the way his cock feels grinding against you, thick and so fucking hard

You’ve tipped over the edge, you had a while ago in fact, and like waking from a half dream with a start you finally accept how long you’ve been falling. All you can think of is Ulysses Klaue and you’re no longer interested in pretending that you don’t, you just know that you really need to find a way to get him to touch you again.

You don’t see Klaue at all the next morning and after lunch you’re back in your workroom and finally ready to get started on the first design, hoping that it will double as a distraction. All of your gear is prepped and you’re checking the pressure on the argon tank when you see a familiar shape in your peripheral. Your heart rate spikes and you immediately straighten up in anticipation before realizing with a sting of disappointment that he’s not alone, there are two other men waiting outside in the hall.

Preoccupied by something on his phone Klaue doesn’t look at you when he speaks.

“I need you to make a run to Bucharest."

You pause in confusion because that was not what you were expecting him to say at all, and it takes you a moment to parse his words.

“It’s a small exchange. My usual people are already occupied with other jobs and this is time sensitive."

You finally clue in to what he’s talking about: this is one of those non-skill related things you were told might be expected of you when you started, and evidently your number has finally come up.

Now, you’ve always convinced yourself that you don’t actually have a death wish, that you just enjoy a good adrenaline rush is all, however you start to seriously question this after what you say next.

“Uh, no.” you reply simply. 

Maybe it's the frustration spilling over from yesterday, or the fact that he’s seemingly so unbothered as if he hadn’t had his cock pressed against you in this exact space less than twenty-four hours ago. Either way you’re so irritated by this interruption that your sense of self-preservation has evidently decided to zip off to another reality. 

"This is my time,” you continue. “I earned it, and I’m not particularly interested in being a ‘gopher’ right now.” 

Well, he’s definitely looking at you now, but other than his eyes searing into yours you receive no other reaction from him, and apparently deciding to ignore your refusal Klaue continues on.

“It should be a four hour round trip, and if you leave now you’ll be back before sundown.” The tone of his voice might sound even but his posture is tense and coiled, and even though you know that you should really take the chance he’s offering you, you just can’t make yourself do it.

“Listen, I work my ass off, I pull my weight around here and then some. I finally have everything ready to go here and I just want to relax for five fucking minutes.” 

A muscle in Klaue’s jaw twitches and he levels his gaze at you, dark salt and pepper curls falling across his forehead. His next words are quiet but no one could miss the simmering threat in them.

“You knew what you signed up for with this job,” his voice is so low that you nearly have to strain to hear him. “Everyone’s all the way in on this and sometimes that means doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done. No questions asked.” 

“But-”

He holds up a hand to silence you, his eyes dark and hinting at the danger that awaits if you continue pushing.

You’re only a few inches different in height but as Klaue squares his shoulders and steps toward you his anger fills all corners of the room, making it feel as though he’s towering over you. As he crosses the boundary into your personal space you force yourself to hold your ground and your nose fills with the scent of sweat and oil and something earthy, like juniper. 

“So even if you weren’t the best person available right now,” Klaue tilts his head down until he’s just inches away from your face. “When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it.”

Your eyelids flutter and you barely manage to suppress a moan as your sex throbs at his words. Staring up at him you’re overwhelmed by the thought that if you rose up on your toes you could easily close the gap between your mouths, however a single sane thought manages to cut through the haze of lust to remind you that he’s waiting for a response. While it doesn’t make you any less pissed off you know that he’s right.

“Fine,” you say curtly. “Whatever you need.”

He hesitates briefly, eyes flicking quickly down to your mouth.

“Good,” he finally says, stepping away. “You’ll need to leave immediately, I’ll send you the location and instructions.”

“Great.” you reply, a false sweetness in your voice.

Almost out the door he stops and turns back to look at you one more time.

“You should be careful, darling.” Klaue says, a dangerous smile playing across his face. “That mouth is going to get you into trouble.” And then once again he’s gone.

“Goddamnit”, you mutter and let out a shaky breath, then gather your things and run back to your quarters to change.

* * * * * * * * * *

You actually enjoy the drive, as much as you hate to admit it. It’s late September and the leaves are already well painted with their fall colours at the higher elevations, but it’s still comfortable enough that you’re able to keep the window down most of the way there, although even the roar of the wind isn’t doing much to muffle your thoughts.

Your entire body feels like a live wire, like he’s still touching you, and god it felt so good when he was touching you. It felt so good to come undone under his hands as he coaxed out something familiar, drawing to the surface the part of you that craves the rush, finding it there in the rock of your hips and then giving you permission to stop trying to tamp it down.

You shake your head to clear it as you arrive at the pickup location, grateful for the distraction. There is some brief tension when they don't immediately recognize you as one of the usual operatives, but once the ringleader confirms who you are things kick into gear, and you’re surprised by how smoothly everything goes. You hand them the sealed manila envelope that you were given, after which several unmarked containers are loaded in the back of the truck.

Once the exchange is complete you text Klaue confirmation as he’d instructed - moments later the other men all look at their phones, and evidently seeing what they want they lose interest and wave you along.

As you’re about to drive away your phone pings with another message and you stop to read it:

“Good girl.”

You make a sound that’s a cross between a laugh and a moan and then rest your head between your hands on the steering wheel. Something you’ve learned about Klaue is that there is nothing unintentional about what he says or does, so you know he did that on purpose. Because he guessed what it might do to you. 

“Yes, I think I fucking do, darling.“

And once again he's right because the thought of his voice speaking those words in a rough whisper against your ear has you burning, no longer shocked by how quickly you’re nearly writhing with arousal.

You don’t have time to wallow, though, the sun is setting and you’d rather not be driving through the mountains in the dark, so taking a breath you throw the truck into gear and turn back onto the road, once again driving with the windows down. The air is getting colder now with the sun close to setting yet it does even less now to distract you than before as his words repeat over and over again in your head.

You really just want to go straight back to your quarters but you still need to clean up the mess you left behind after leaving in a rush. 

Back in your workroom you hastily go to drop your bag and jacket on the couch but instead you get scared out of your wits, gasping comically as you grab your chest when you register the unexpected shape that’s already sitting there.

And of course it’s Klaue, chuckling infuriatingly at your startled reaction.

“What the hell!" you exclaim when you finally catch your breath. "What are you doing here??"

He doesn’t say anything, and after a few moments you gesture a wordless “Well?” 

It’s then you notice that his eyes are focused on your body rather than anything you might be saying. With a flush it occurs to you that other than accidentally getting partially undressed when you were hurt, Klaue hasn’t seen you wearing anything other than your work clothes since you got here, only ever the heavy and shapeless garments meant to protect you when you’re welding. Seeing you now in just the black leggings and fitted Henley you’d changed into before leaving for Bucharest seems to have caught him off guard.

After brazenly dragging his gaze over you for what feels like an eon Klaue finally leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees, eyes focusing directly on you now. 

“You seem to be forgetting that I own this building. And you're only here", with raised eyebrows Klaue looks around the room to make his point, "because I allowed it."

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a breath, all of the earlier frustration is rushing back in and you don’t have the patience to argue with his non-answer.

“You know what?” you say with a resigned sigh. “You're right. That's fine. Just don’t move my stuff around when you're in here. Please.” He leans back against the couch with a smirk and seems to turn his attention back to whatever he was working on when you walked in.

With a sigh you start to clear off of the table and put away your tools, all the while silently seething at him and painfully aware of his existence in your space. So maybe when you stretch your arms over your head to ease the stiffness from the long drive you arch your lower back a little. And maybe you bend over a bit further than strictly necessary to put something away on a low shelf, tilting your hips so that your ass is on display. With satisfaction you hear a sharp intake of breath behind you but when you look back Klaue still seems to be focused on his phone.

His posture seems relaxed with one arm stretched out along the back of the faded cushions and knees casually spread wide. As you watch, though, he shifts his hips and smooths a hand down his thigh, and when your eyes wander to his lap you lick your lips when clearly see the outline of his erection through the fabric. 

At first you wonder what he’s waiting for but then you find that you don’t really care, and a calm settles over you as you realize that you’re done waiting. 

Oh, I drive you crazy? Fucking watch me.

You gather your things and then make as if you’re going to leave, but instead of walking out you close the door and let your bag drop to the floor with a thud. 

The sound brings his attention back to you and confused but intrigued his eyes slide over your body as you stride over to stand in front of him.

“Undo your pants,” you say, looking down at him.

Klaue’s eyes fly up to meet yours, his lips parting slightly. 

“Pardon?” he rumbles, after a beat. His voice is steady but you don't miss another shift of his hips.

You tip your chin toward his belt and say again, “Undo your pants”.

A smile slowly crooks the corner of his mouth but it doesn't do a thing to mask the storm behind his eyes.

“If I have to ask again I’m just going to leave”, you said straightforwardly and begin to turn away.

That seems to break the spell and blindly tossing his phone aside Klaue’s hands move quickly to the buckle of his belt as you step the rest of the way forward to drop to your knees in front of him and he grins when he registers what you’re doing. 

“You been thinkin’ about this for a while, darling?” he asks with a Cheshire glint in his eyes as he draws down the zipper.

You run your hands up his thighs and when you slide a hand over where he’s straining against his underwear you can feel that he’s already almost fully hard, twitching under your fingers. 

“Seems like you have been,” you reply with a squeeze to illustrate your point, his groan cutting off any retort while you teasingly stroke along his length.

You don’t last long doing this though, you need more of him, so you reach your hands up to tug at his waistband. Taking the hint Klaue braces his booted feet on the floor to lift his hips, steadily working both layers down until they’re finally low enough to free his erection which drops heavy between his thighs. He’s deliciously thick, curving smoothly up to where the head is already dark and leaking precum, and you’re unable to suppress a low whine when he wraps a hand around himself to languidly stroke his length.

“Is this what you want, hm?” Klaue’s voice is a rough and he smirks at your hungry expression as you watch his fist sliding over his cock. 

“Not quite,” you reply and lick your lips as your own hand joins his to wrap around the thickness of him, finally feeling him. He draws a hissed breath through his teeth and removes his hand so you can work him properly. 

You use your thumb to spread the bead of precum around the head, drawing your hand down to the brush of hair at the base of him and then back up, your eyes following the trail up his belly to where you can see it meet the edge of tattoo that looks like the tail of a crocodile. You wish briefly that you could get his shirt off of him but your focus is drawn back to his cock and how fucking good it feels in your hand, hot and silky under your fingers.

“Do you think about this when you touch yourself?” Klaue hums and you look up so that you can watch his face as your hand strokes him, the focused expression in his eyes belying the heat behind them. 

“I think about a lot of things,” you say, confirming his implication with a teasing smile. “Like you bending me over that table and fucking me, hard, leaving the door open so anyone could see how much I want it.” You tighten your grip on him as you speak, deeply satisfied when his eyes go dark and hooded and he moans, and you definitely need him to do more of that, so you finally do what you’ve been wanting since you caught that shift of his hips and lean down to close your lips around him. 

It’s your turn to moan as the head of his cock pushes into your mouth and it’s answered by an intoxicating rumble as your lips and tongue slide down and around his now achingly hard length, starting off slow, savoring the tang of him as you explore every ridge and curve. You run the flat of your tongue from the base to the tip of his thick shaft, then swirl it around the head and along the sensitive underside before releasing him with a wet pop and starting over again.

You can feel how wet you’re getting just from this and when you look up the sight of his dark and greedy expression has you nearly coming undone. An aching throb rolls through your slick sex and you don’t mean to whimper a needy sound around him but you do, and Klaue grins when he hears it.

“You might’ve been playing coy, but I knew how much you’d love having my cock in your mouth,” he rumbles.

Well, you can’t exactly argue with that so instead you suck - hard - hollowing out your cheeks and allowing the pressure to drag him further into your mouth. Klaue’s eyes squeeze shut and with a startled inhale he’s groaning long and deep and you’d swear before god that you can feel it against your tongue.

As you continue to suck him in and out of your mouth like this you feel his fingers slide into your hair and tighten into a fist. He’s not pushing down, right now just following the steady bobbing movement of your head, but you can feel the edge of want in his grip and your scalp stings under his touch, your entire body aching in response.

As good as it feels and as much as you would love to give in and let him take control, you instead pull your mouth off of him before he can push any harder.

"None of that”, you say, gratified when he rolls his hips upward in protest, mindlessly seeking for the lost heat and sensation. "You can fuck my mouth later", you purr as your hand continues a teasing rhythm along his length that’s now slick from your mouth. "But right now I'm going to suck your cock."

You barely recognize your own voice, desperate and demanding and full of aching need as you sit back between his Klaue’s thighs while he stares down at you, chest heaving and eyes hooded with a combination of frustration and lust.

“You want me to keep sucking your cock, don’t you?” Then, keeping your eyes on his you lower your mouth and flick your tongue through the slit at the tip of him to gather more of the precum that’s leaking there now.

Klaue growls at that and you can see the thoughts warring behind his eyes. You don’t know if this man who is so used to taking what he wants will allow you to take instead, but you don’t want to let him think too long on which he wants more so you squeeze his cock hard enough to elicit a startled hiss, returning his focus to you with a surge of heat.

“Yes,” he grits out, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

If he was going to say anything else he doesn’t have the chance, the word is barely out when your lips are around him again and you throb at the sound of relief he makes when as your mouth returns to its ministrations. You’re surprising yourself with how much you really fucking want this, how much you love how hard he is under your tongue, and how delirious you feel as he nearly begs you, cursing and mumbling thickly, “Fuck, just like that.”

You take him further into your mouth, your lips stretching wide around him as the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, not taking him in all the way but enough to make your eyes start to water and to tease him with the tightening sensation.

“Fucking perfect mouth, Christ” he pants. “Looks so good with my cock in it.” Klaue’s words send another frisson of heat to your already soaked center and you can’t help rolling your hips in time with the movements of your mouth, and you know that he can see it. 

“Wish it was inside your tight cunt instead?” he says, teasing, and you moan around him because of course you fucking do and all of your focus is required to keep up your rhythm as think about where else he could stretch you open.

He’s starting to pant as he watches where he’s almost disappearing into your mouth while your hand continues a twisting stroke at the base of him.

“Fuck, gonna come soon, darling,” Klaue groans a warning, his voice straining against the fraying edges of his control.

You desperately want to make him come like this, want to feel him pulsing on your tongue and coating your mouth. However, the part of you that makes you want to jump off a cliff into the waiting ocean below, the chaotic part that you love and that’s felt so uncertain since you met Klaue is finally back in control and, well, it wants something else. It wants to fall.

Pulling back and shallowing your movements again you quicken your pace, and even though he’s still trying to temper his thrusts he can’t help flexing his hips so that his cock slides up through your spit-slicked fist. His tone shifts from pleasure to a more urgent need with every wet suck of your mouth until the only sound he’s making is a panting grunt that matches your rhythm as you feel him nearing his edge.

Then without warning you quickly pull your mouth and hands off of him and sit back, Klaue’s expression one of confused desperation, dark and unfocused.

“Finish yourself,” you demand.

Klaue’s eyes lock onto yours as a hand moves quickly to grip his cock and then you watch him jerk himself fast and rough and harder than you ever could have. He tenses suddenly, his expression momentarily frozen somewhere between agony and bliss and then his body bows forward and he’s coming with a strangled groan while you watch mesmerized as ropes of come spill thickly over his fist and on to his stomach. 

As Klaue strokes himself through the last spasms of his climax you stand up, wiping your mouth with the back of your arm and eyeing him appraisingly. Then, feeling absolutely high as a kite, you grab your things from where you had dropped them earlier and before he has a chance to recover you open the door and walk out the room.

Maybe if you’d looked back at him one more time you would have walked a little more quickly as you made your way back to your quarters. 

Because if you had looked back you would have seen a single thing burning in his eyes as they followed you out:

Run.

Thank you for reading! I hope the wait was worth it (and we're not done yet.)

Also, here's an example of the TIG welding art that's mentioned, it's actually really cool!

[kim-jonghyeon]

"Bungee Jumping With You" Ren - "Tears overflowed from finding value during a difficult time" (X-Sports News - X's Interview 1)

[source - This is the first part of a three-part interview. Part 2, Part 3]

In the aftermath of the film's release in 2001, the musical Bungee Jumping of Their Own intensifies its emotions through lyrical numbers.

This time, former NU'EST member Ren, who was bursting with talent and energy in the musicals Jamie and Hedwig, enthusiastically plays the main character in a love that transcends time, space, and death.

"I didn't know much about Bungee Jumping of Their Own. I heard about it for the first time when I got the offer, so I looked up the movie. It was a fresh story and also quite shocking. So I thought about it a lot. I worried about whether I could understand and pull off the character of Hyunbin. And the practice required for that was really difficult, since it gets more difficult and confusing the more you get into a character. I wondered if what I was doing was right.

In the end, I understood Hyunbin's feelings and had a good performance. During the curtain call after the first show, the fans and the audience members clapped and cheered, and I couldn't help but tear up. I cried so much. It felt like I'd gotten something of value from a difficult time. Even now, somehow I still get emotional."

Bungee Jumping of Their Own, which had its first show in 2012, was the first production resulting from the harmonious composer and writer combo of Maybe Happy Ending's Will [Aronson] and Hue [Park]. It received the award for Best Music in the 18th Korea Musical Awards and the award for Best Composer/Writer in The 7th Musical Awards.

"It's a really beautiful show. The songs are so good and the actors are all amazing. Everyone has good chemistry and it's a very emotional production, so I wish many people would come see it," Ren said confidently.

The film of the same name, featuring impressive performances by Lee Byunghun and Lee Eunju, subverts the structure of the typical melodrama by presenting a mysterious love that overcomes gender and even death. The musical faithfully follows the events of the movie.

"My first thought was that Lee Byunghun-sunbaenim acted so well. I kept getting overwhelmed with emotions as I watched it. I thought, he's not Lee Byunghun for nothing. He was a great actor even back then.

The way people interpret the conclusion depends on each person, but I personally think it was beautiful. Same-sex relationships used to be taboo back then, right? So I think that was the only choice they could make. I think they both made that choice with the belief that there is such a thing as reincarnation, that they could meet again. 'This way, I'll see you again, I'll love you again.' It was a really thought-provoking film."

In 1983, university student Inwoo shared a love with Taehee, who he felt was his destiny after she took cover under his umbrella. But Taehee passed away in an accident, and seventeen years later, Inwoo, now a Korean language teacher, is confused when a high school student, Hyunbin, reminds him of Taehee.

"While watching the movie three or four times, I kept referencing the character of Hyunbin. Not just Hyunbin, but I have to understand the whole production so I can express it well. So I watched it many times. Since I'm playing Hyunbin, I can't help but focus on him. While observing how the actor (Yeo Hyunsoo) carried out every emotion and tone, I followed what he did and practiced a lot. Hyunbin is completely different from Taehee in gender, appearance, and age, but her reincarnated self is in him. Since I have to figure out how to relay his story of deep connection and love, he's not an easy character to play.

"I thought I did well, but that was just pride," Ren confessed.

"The person who made me realize that is Choi Yeonwoo-noona. Hyunbin has to appear like Taehee, so if it doesn't appear that way, she said that the actors who play Inwoo will have a hard time too. My hyung-nims were really kind and respected me as an actor, so they didn't want to tell me because they thought I might feel hurt.

Yeonwoo-noona is an honest person. She didn't really care about those things and she told me about it because she thought it might help me. I listened to her say that it would be good for me to understand and analyze [the role] some more, and to think about it some more, and I really did think about it a lot at home.

Yeonwoo-noona's words really hit me hard. It was like I was missing the most important part. I worried so much that I even dreamed about it. I observed my noonas a lot. During practice when the noonas would be rehearsing, I could actually rest too. But I went to the center and kept studying how to move my hands and how to speak."

Ren's effort paid off. The actors were touched by his performance.

"After that rehearsal, everyone gave a standing ovation. They said they saw how hard I worked. Yeonwoo-noona watched that rehearsal and cried, too. I thought, this is really fun. it felt great to think about how I'd grown, and seeing these amazing actors moved to tears by my performance made me feel acknowledged."

[this is a fan translation by a non-native korean speaker and may contain inaccuracies. it has not yet been proofread or edited.]

[thinkingaboutmusics]

Jacob Collier: A Master of Performance

The COVID-19 pandemic created a problem for live-performers as the live-performance platform virtually disappeared for a while. Many artists scheduled 2022 tours and sold pre-sale tickets. Around this time, I had become really interested in the music of Jacob Collier, a now 28 year old music savant. From a young age, Collier was playing most instruments he could get his hands on and played them well. At 17 he began sharing youtube videos of his music, and at 22, he released his first album, In My Room. The album highlights, not only his extensive knowledge of music, but also includes such a dynamic range of songs. Whether soft and slow or fast and busy, Collier moves the listener and their emotions wherever he’d like. For my birthday in 2021 (amidst the pandemic), my girlfriend gifted me pre-sale tickets to see Jacob in May, 2022 touring his newest album Djesse Vol. 3. I went with my best friend, Chase, and we had such a time…

The show was held at Terminal 5, in Manhattan, NY, on May 4th, 2022. After meeting my friend at the port authority bus terminal, we set off for Terminal 5 and caught each other up on our lives… Upon our arrival at the venue, we were greeted by probably hundreds of Collier-loving hipsters- I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a convention of people before. We waited in line to have our tickets scanned and settled into the general-admission audience where we stood amongst the hipsters. After waiting for a while, Jacob emerged and began his performance. If you’ve done any research of Jacob Collier, or if you’ve listened to his music, you probably have an idea of how energetic the guy is, and it’s real! He was jumping around the stage like a monkey, and kept it up for the entire show. He certainly lived up to his expectations in that respect. His energy was also matched by the lights and effects of the show, which only intensified the Collieresqueness of the entire production. 

What’s a Jacob Collier concert without crowd involvement??? He’s known to use the audience as accompaniment during his shows and it really is one of the best parts. As an audience member, not only did I feel involved and connected, but I was amazed to see how he manipulated different sections of the audience to sing different parts of a song. He did this during “I Can’t Make You Love Me” and it is, 100%, one of the most moving parts of the entire show. Closer to the end of the show, Jacob instructed everyone to pull out their phones to take a video of themselves singing an extended “BE” for a video he’s creating, in which thousands of “BE’s” will be glued together into a cohesive piece of music. No doubt, this was one of the coolest ideas I’ve heard, and I’m really excited to see what he makes of it, as I’m sure most Djesse Vol. 3 tour audience members are. 

Jacobs encore was intimate and just as talented as the rest of the concert. The musicians on stage all began "It Don't Matter" in the center of the stage before running back to their respective instruments to move into the meat of the song.

I needn't forget the post-concert! After Jacob's outstanding encore, Earth Wind and Fire's "September" played through the sound system of the venue and the audience wouldn't leave. What was before a collected audience of people there to see Jacob Collier was now a party of people dancing as they (sort of) made their way outside.

That show on May 4th, was probably one of the most sentimental music performances I’ve ever seen, not only because it was a gift from my girlfriend, but also because of the energy and intimate musical space Collier created. It was as if everyone in the audience was connected by a long wire and one of the ends was held by Jacob as he electrified that night's audience-choir. 

Other recordings of the nights performance:

"All I Need"

"Time Alone With You"

[claylowe]

The Ballad of the Bards: Tennyson vs. Coleridge

I asked ChatGPT who would win in a rap battle between Alfred Lord Tennyson and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. My money is on Coleridge for his pure inventiveness and imagination.

here is what the bot had to say:

🎙️ "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed lovers of verse and rhyme, gather round! We stand at the crossroads of time and literature, where the ethereal realm meets the earthly, for a spectacle like no other. Tonight, under the canopy of eternity, we bear witness to an extraordinary contest of wit, wisdom, and wordplay.

🌟 In one corner, hailing from the heart of the Victorian era, a laureate whose words have echoed through the halls of time, embodying the depth of human emotion and the sublime beauty of the natural world. A master of lyrical finesse, whose verses have captivated hearts for centuries, please welcome the esteemed Lord Alfred Tennyson!

🌊 In the other corner, emerging from the mists of the Romantic age, a visionary whose poetry transcends the bounds of reality, taking us on journeys into the depths of the human psyche and the wonders of the supernatural. A bard of dreams and otherworldly landscapes, let's hear it for the illustrious Samuel Taylor Coleridge!

🔥 These titans of poetry, each a legend in their own right, will engage in a battle of verses tonight. They will draw from their vast reservoirs of creativity and insight, enchanting us with their lyrical prowess. Will it be Tennyson's resonant cadences or Coleridge's imaginative tapestries that capture our souls tonight?

🌌 The stage is set, the poets are ready, and the air is thick with anticipation. So, without further ado, let the poetic duel begin! Let rhythm, rhyme, and reason intertwine as we embark on this unparalleled journey through the artistry of words. Poets, take your stage!”

  [Crowd erupts in eager applause, the air buzzing with excitement for the epochal battle of verse about to unfold.]

  Chapter I: The Summoning

In a realm where time and space entwined, Two poets from past ages were aligned. Lord Tennyson, with laurels in his hair,   Stood proud, his presence like a royal heir.   Across him, Coleridge, wild-eyed and keen,   Whose dreams had realms of Kubla Khan seen.

A crowd of specters from the ages past,   Gathered around, their shadows far and vast.   "Begin!" cried a voice, deep and profound,   The ancient poets looked around, astound.

Chapter II: Coleridge’s Verse

Coleridge stepped forth, his eyes a mystic glow,   “Listen, ye spirits, to the tales I sow.   In Xanadu, did Kubla Khan decree,   A stately pleasure-dome, a sight to see.   My words weave worlds, dreamscapes that unfurl,   Through opium mists, my verses whirl.”

His rhyme spun a world so lush and wild,   Nature and fantasy, sweetly compiled.   The specters listened, rapt in pure delight,   As Coleridge rapped through the spectral night.

Chapter III: Tennyson’s Turn

Then Tennyson, with a voice so clear and strong,   Stepped forth and sang his own powerful song.   “I am the master of the measured line,   Of loss and love, in elegant design.   Ulysses sailed through my rhythmic verse,   My poetry, diverse, a universe.”

He spoke of heroes, of time's cruel hand,   His words like waves crashing upon the sand.   The specters swayed to his lyrical tune,   Under the light of the ghostly moon.

  Chapter IV: The Duel Intensifies

Back and forth, the ancient poets went,   Unleashing verses as their instruments.   Coleridge, with his supernatural flair,   Tennyson, with his debonair air.

Their words, a dance of shadow and light,   Filled the spectral realm with delight.   Each bard, with a style so uniquely grand,   Held the ghostly audience in their hand.

  Chapter V: The Unseen Judge

But who would decide this lyrical duel?   Who amongst them could set the rule?   A whisper then spread through the ghostly crowd,   Soft at first, but then growing loud.

It spoke of beauty, of rhythmic grace,   Of the power of words in this timeless space.   “Both poets,” it said, “have won this night,   For in their verses, we find delight.”

  Chapter VI: The Eternal Bards

And so, the poets, equal in their fame,   Bowed to each other, their spirits aflame.   In this realm where past and present blend,   Their battle concluded, but their legacy won't end.

For in the hearts of those who cherish verse,   Their words will forever, the soul immerse.   Tennyson and Coleridge, though centuries apart,   In the rap of realms, both masters of the art.

[brishu]

Atsa My Band

I’m never sure of anything. Ever. Even at moments when I can fake certainty with a convincing degree of fake authenticity, the doubts are roaring. And justifiably so, because I am always a hairsbreadth from irrevocably fucking up. Not exaggerating. My relationships, my job, my health, all surrounded by a tension that keeps mounting until I finally succumb to one of the myriad absurd impulses harrying me while trying to blend in to polite society. The tension intensifies until stumbling offers more relief than staying the course, like deviation is inevitable. Say something rude. Argue a meaningless point. Treat something important dismissively and something trivial like it’s vital. Imagine grossly intimate activities with that person over there. So when I say that the people in my life who put up with me are saints, that ain’t hyperbole. Sometimes (always), I worry that the gratitude I feel toward friends and family, and the self-loathing implicit in that gratitude, is so exhausting that I’m actually urging them to recognize how much nicer their lives would be if they never had to deal with my infuriating mix of passive aggressive self-effacement and utterly unfounded arrogance, all wrapped up in a constant appeal for sympathy. I wouldn’t begrudge any of them the sudden realization that life is too short for my special brand of bullshit. And I know that’s probably just fear dressed up like sympathy to stave off its fulfillment, but whatever. The point is that, while I love my friends and family, for the good of everybody, I need large doses of solitude. But not silence. 

Like Peter and the Wolf’s anthropomorphically symbolic instrumentation, dynamic music can have metaphysical qualities, elevating rhythm, melody and harmony into a coherent, affirming message, something both resembling and removed from life’s more atonal, discordant realities. A good band takes you for a real ride, and NRBQ is a great band. Listen closely to their music and your reward will be bliss.

The similarities between NRBQ fans and XXX moviegoers are uncomfortably strong. We’re usually middle aged men. Raincoat or not, we aren’t dressed well and our hair is a mess, which is not our fault because how are we supposed to control our own hairlines? We often go to our shows alone. And we derive immense pleasure from something that most folks just don’t appreciate. I am aware of a community of NRBQ fans who have bonded over the years and are all happy to see each other. I’ve even met a few and they are lovely people. But then there are the fans like me, who prefer an unadulterated musical experience, pro-sonic, anti-social. And if they’re really like me, they’re ashamed of it, knowing that the worries about all the ways an interaction could go awry are indicative of much deeper flaws. If we were emotionally healthier, we’d happily get down with other audience members instead of grabbing as much space as we can find to dance goofily by ourselves. But our worries are real, though at least they’re quieter when the music is really sending me, which honest NRBQ does, honest they do, honest they do, whooaaaooaaaoh. Yeah, they played that too, and it was great.

First time I saw NRBQ live was in 1995 at the Cat’s Cradle in Chapel Hill, NC, a year after they’d released a 25 year retrospective called Peek-A-Boo, and also a year after the departure of their lead guitarist, Big Al Anderson, who moved to Nashville to write songs (and gain significantly more financial security than his former bandmates, one of whom recently needed a fundraiser for medical expenses). At the time I played electric piano for a band called The Spirits of Deviation and had gotten to know a few musicians around town. Chip, the drummer from a band called the Two Dollar Pistols who rented the same practice space as us, saw me at the show, slapped me on the back, handed me a beer and said, “This is the best band in the world.” The jovial certainty of Chip’s pronouncement made an impression, but not as deeply as the band did. Of course, I was mesmerized by Terry Adams, who still plays piano like Thelonious Monk, Jerry Lee Lewis and Chico Marx, all while conducting the show as both teacher and class clown. Also, midsong, the late Tom Ardolino, tossed one of his drumsticks to the bass player, Joey Spampinato, who, Jack Burton-style, caught it and threw it right back without anybody missing a beat. These guys were doing a highwire routine where, instead of fearing an inevitable fall, they kept adding more risk to the act, getting wobblier and wobblier, but never losing their balance. Near the end of the show, an older, almost angry man started clapping his hands and shaking the dust off his boots, shouting that he had seen music all over the world and it didn’t get no better than this! At the time, I was struck by his sincerity, even if I didn’t really understand what lent his whooping a note of desperation. But years later, I thought that maybe he really wanted to cut loose, but couldn’t quite get there without a little more reinforcement from the his neighbors in the audience. He needed the college kids hearing the same music as him to tell him he wasn’t crazy, that this really was the best goddamn Rock ‘n Roll you could ever hope to hear, but nobody really gave it to him. I wish I could buy that guy a drink because he was absolutely right, and we all shoulda partied harder to celebrate how lucky we were to see that band perform one stunning musical feat after another.

Since that night, I’ve seen the Q in Philadelphia, Atlanta, Hoboken, 3 different venues in Manhattan and 3 more in Brooklyn, and every time there are a few longtime devotees and a few newbies who come in voluntarily to see what the sparse but passionate fuss is about. The crowd is never large, but whoever shows up gets treated to the real fucking deal. These guys may not be in it for the money, but they sure do mean business. And to me, seeing commitment that deep for commercial rewards that paltry is one of the most beautiful things available in our culture. A noble stand. 

In 2004, Terry Adams was diagnosed with throat cancer, and the band stopped performing while he focussed on healing. In 2008, the Joey Spampinato left the band, along with his brother Johnny who had replaced Big Al, and Tommy, whose health was in decline. Terry had formed a new band called Terry Adams’ Rock & Roll Quartet, but in 2011, the TARRQ became NRBQ. The current lineup, with Jon Perrin on drums, Casey McDonough on bass and Scott Ligon on guitar, has been playing together for more than 10 years now, and I would argue they actually surpass their predecessors.

I caught ‘em again on Friday night at the Paramount Hudson Valley Theater in Peekskill, NY and it reaffirmed and even bolstered my admiration for the band. Before the show, I went to a Mexican restaurant and sat next to a guy I had seen 5 minutes earlier at the box office. Somehow, I mistook recognizing him for greater kinship than we shared, and talked to him like a superfan for about 20 minutes before he told me that, rather than traveling a great distance to see his beloved Q, he was a seasonal subscriber with a distant familiarity with tonight’s act. I tried to make it seem like this information was integrating itself seamlessly into a friendly back and forth conversation about topics of mutual fluency, but in my embarrassment, I nodded a little too agreeably when he said, “There’s somethin’ you don’t see everyday. Pink rugby uniforms!” I wasn’t interested in pretending Jim (not his name) and I were manlier than rugby players, but he wanted to seem funny, I’d give up a mini-guffaw for the cause. I’d blown any chance I had to be seen with any complexity when I uninvitedly yammered on about the Q song that SpongeBob covered, and now I felt like things between Jim and me would pass most pleasantly if I dumbed down considerably while still acting like the things he said were interesting, which was a check I wasn’t sure I could cash. Obviously there are social strategies that do not attribute unintentional oppression to one’s interlocutor, but I needed a reason to enforce distance with Jim that wasn’t completely fueled by my own embarrassment. I wanted this interaction to be over, and even wished I’d picked one of the three other Mexican restaurants I’d seen in a two block perimeter around the theater (also, their hottest hot sauce was not very hot). But I didn’t want Jim to feel like he was being soured on, so I kept smiling and nodding and saying something inane every few minutes just to make the coversation feel two-way, feeling increasingly apologetic as the feelings I was displaying grew increasingly counterfeit. “We’re all God’s children,” I kept telling myself. Finally he hopped off his barstool and said, “OK, good meeting you,” and I was relieved to see that he hadn’t remembered my name. I wasn’t there to make friends. 

The theater held over 1,000. I think maybe 200 people showed up, most of them subscribers like Jim. I wondered what the folks who’d never heard of NRBQ thought. I’d like to think they loved the music and weren’t turned off by the middle aged loners in the rear orchestra, flailing arthritically to some approximation of the beat. None of us look like we’re really in on some divine secret, and, since none of the people we’ve dragged before to experience this abiding source of joy ever come back, it seems like we’ve all been blown there by forces that other people subdue. It’s not that I think you have to be a weirdo to love NRBQ, just that whatever peace stronger or more successful people find is less reliant on music than mine is. Maybe if I hadn’t been driving, I would have gotten drunk enough to harangue the audience a bit, like my buddy did back in 1995. 

Jim pierced my little bubble late in the show and said, “I’ve definitely seen less talent in bigger arenas!” and, while I was glad that he appreciated the band, I also perceived that he thought validating my love for the band was some kind of good will gesture. But again, I did mistakenly geek out on the guy 3 hours earlier. So I patted him on the shoulder and nodded, hoping he’d go away so I could go back to listening without feeling too misanthropic about it. Like I was hoarding a drug. Not proud of it. On the other hand, if that’s my self-medication, I could be doing worse. 

 As the band came out for an encore, a group of women who looked like they’d been trying to show each other pictures of their grandchildren if they could only figure out what their oldest daughters did to their phones approached the stage. One of them said, “Terry! 1976!” Terry Adams looked at her, smiled and said, “Oh, I remember.” And I have to believe it’s memories like those that help a band that’s been touring for decades give a half-empty barn one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. No hyperbole. 

[ladyeliot]

Your legacy is my nightmare [½]  Re-written

Avengers: Age of Ultron / Post Civil War

Pairing: Avengers/Tony Stark x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Your past was marked by Tony Stark, ever since a Stark Industries bomb hit that restaurant when you were 10 years old, during an attack on Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia. From that moment on, the rage for revenge took hold of you, but things didn’t turn out the way you expected.

Warnings: Angst. Trauma. Deaths. Violence.

Word count: 5378

A/N:  Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader Powers: Psionic Force Projection. Psionic force fields that she can manipulate in various ways. 

When you were five years old you discovered that there was a completely different world inside that magic box. A world that seemed far away from the small town you lived in, a world that could capture your attention, that made you laugh, that grabbed you, and that you dreamed of living in in the future. It was then that American sitcoms became your world.

Your childhood in Novi Grad, the capital of Sokovia, was like that of any other child, totally happy. You were an only child, you were born and raised in a hard-working and extremely loving family, your parents loved you and you loved them, because all they wanted was to make you happy. Your birth took place on a sunny morning in June, creating the tradition that every birthday you went out to do something special, something out of the ordinary routine of everyday life. On your sixth birthday your parents took you to the amusement park, discovering that you weren’t too fond of Ferris wheels. During your eighth birthday your parents opted to take you to a football match, which you enjoyed quite a lot. On your ninth birthday, the three of you took a little trip to the mountains, discovering that you were completely allergic to wasp stings, but on your tenth birthday, everything changed.

For several weeks you had been pestering your mother to go to the new restaurant that had opened in the city centre. Remember that you were madly in love with American sitcoms from the 1950s, which were constantly on reruns on Sokovia television, so you couldn’t have been luckier when you found out that they had opened an American-style restaurant in the city centre. Your mother used to make excuses for not going, but not because she didn’t want to, but because she wanted to wait until your tenth birthday to go and have lunch with the three of you as a family, and that’s how it happened. The morning of your tenth birthday, Novi Grad dawned bright and shiny, there was hardly a cloud in the sky, and the sun was shining. It was Saturday, so there was neither school nor any job that would prevent you from spending the day apart. Your face changed to excitement when you discovered a note along with a special breakfast, informing you of a surprise lunch at Fred’s, the American-style restaurant. At the time you thought you were the luckiest girl in the universe, and that nothing and no one was going to change your mind, but things never work out the way you expect them to.

At around 13:15 you were seated at a table, and you yourself had decided which table you preferred, opting for the one right next to the large window, where you could watch the crowds passing by on the street. While your father informed the waitress about the menu you were going to have, you played with the bottle of ketchup while looking out of the window, on Saturdays the centre was usually crowded and that put you in a good mood. A Jukebox harmonised the atmosphere with typical songs of that decade, you had no idea what the song was, but you knew that you had heard it before in some sitcom. You were delighted, you seemed to be part of one of those comic scenes that made you laugh night after night, however something outside caught your attention, making you drop the bottle of ketchup from your hands. The scene was strange, people were no longer walking, running, no longer laughing, shouting, but you barely had time to utter “Mum…” before a bomb smashed through the large window.

Trauma. An inconsistent word that has so many negative connotations for the person who suffers from it. You never thought that a life filled with numerous catastrophic experiences could ever find the meaning of the word ‘Peace’ again, yet there you were, searching for it. The placid singing of the water crashing against the stones of the riverbed was the best melody you could wake up to every morning. After so many years you had found a place away from civilisation, far from the terror of humanity. A hut in the middle of the green and brown fields of Wakanda, a place where nothing and no one could disturb you. You could say, you could barely remember the time when you were at peace with yourself, maybe your childhood, but there was nothing left of that. However, the harmony around you, together with the humility of country life had given you back all the strength you needed to be able to go on with your life.

But now the question is how you came to Wakanda and why. It had been almost a year since a terrifying experience in the maximum security prison for humans with superpowers, also known as the Raft, prevented you from ever finding inner peace again. During the indeterminate period of time you were held in that underwater facility, the guards did terrible things to your brain. Fear for your powers caused them to take the initiative in using brain torture methods, the only way they discovered that was effective in overriding them. It left scars on you that would last a lifetime, if you made it out of there alive, which you came to believe would be impossible.

The next question is how you came to find yourself in that situation, but we’d better go back to the beginning, when that bomb hit that American-style restaurant in your hometown of Novi Grad. The darkness came moments after the projectile pierced the glass of that building and found its way into the ruins inside, creating a gaping hole underground. The loss of time and space came upon you, when you opened your eyes there was nothing, it was all darkness, yet a red, flickering light was just a few centimetres from your face. You could not move, your limbs were confined by the debris, you could only see the light that slightly illuminated the small air chamber in which you found yourself. You saw that metallic object in front of you, which had written on its side words that were engraved in your memory forever 'Stark Industries’.

It was a long period in which tears silently flowed from your eyes, it was indescribable the way fear clung to your body, with a small hope of being found that flickered on and off with that red light. You hardly knew what that light meant, that it really was a 'lucky break’ for you, at least that’s what all the news said when you were rescued two days later. Eventually you discovered that the bomb must have exploded, that like your parents and all the other members of the local, you must have died.

Your life after that did not improve, but you found them, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Your similar experiences during the bombing of Sokovia brought you together, they had also lost their parents and now you were three orphans who were confined from house to house waiting to come of age and flee the place.  The country of Sokovia became a war zone, with US troops frequently invading the streets, causing protests by the locals to intensify. During your youth you were a very active part of them, along with the twins, especially those against 'Stark Industries’. What those experiences generated was that the hatred you had hidden for Stark resurfaced again. The three of you wanted to purge your nation of foreign conflicts, so you met a division fighting for the same thing called HYDRA. You joined together, hoping to change the world, hoping to seek peace and freedom again, but that is not what happened. That group had very different ideas, ideas that you three were obviously not a part of, yet your innocence played a trick on you. Stucker, the leader of the division, offered you power, an outlet in the fight against violence, and you accepted, exposing yourselves to a series of physical experiments, called the 'Miracles’ programme. The programme consisted of exposing your bodies to radiation emitted through a sceptre that you had no idea what it was. Thirty-two people participated in the experiment, only you three remained alive. This caused a series of supernatural powers to develop in each of you. In your case, the psionic force took control of your body.

At this point HYDRA had got what it wanted, three superhumans to fight the Avengers, including Iron Man, aka Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. It was impossible to admit that this was too juicy an incentive for you to pass up. The Avengers travelled to Sokovia with the intention of stealing the sceptre that gave you your powers. It was then, at the age of 25, after fifteen years of waiting for that moment, that you came face to face with the creator of the bomb that killed your parents, in that HYDRA operations centre in Sokovia. For the first time you could look him in the eye.

“Hey, J, a quick infrared scanner to the room,” he said in the middle of that wide ship, he had shed the suit, which was now operating on its own.

“The column to your left, I detected a human presence, with radiation levels off the charts,” the suit spoke up, discovering your position.

There was no point in staying hidden, it was the opposite of what you wanted, you wanted him to see you, to have the courage to look you in the eye, to not know who you were and let him know. Tony turned quickly towards that column that the inner voice of his suit had informed him about and bumped into you. The moment came. The brown of his iris projected towards you, he looked terribly harmless, he raised his left hand and Iron Man’s limb covered his own, projecting the palm of his hand towards your body. A smirk of arrogance amplified on your mouth.

“I mean you no harm,” his voice came out fast.

“So late,” you whispered without wiping away the smile, as you slowly raised your palms, creating a psionic field in a circular shape.

Just as Iron Man’s limb had attached itself to yours, the entire suit suddenly encircled your body. At that very moment you projected the psionic field towards him, starting a fierce battle in the middle of that ship. A battle that lasted no more than ten minutes due to your lack of ability to control, manipulate and project your powers. But that would be the first of many times you were to encounter him, that first encounter left you with a thirst for vengeance that would eventually fade, but at that moment it was impossible for you to know.

Things evolved over time, from HYDRA you came to ULTRON, who immersed you in his power, told you he was coming to save the world, but also to wipe out the Avengers, trapping you again in his intentions, believing his were the same as yours. Baron Von Strucker was killed shortly after by Ultron, now it was just the four of you, Ultron, the Maximoff twins and you.

At Salvage Yard, on the African Coast, was the second encounter. Your little group had headed out to meet Ulysses Klaue, an international criminal and underground black market arms dealer, to obtain the world’s most durable material, vibranium, however the Avengers also showed up, making the encounter more interesting. Thor, Captain America and Iron Man stood before the four of you in the middle of a gorge of corridors inside that container ship. There was Iron Man again, covering the body of Tony Stark inside.

“Are you comfortable?” Pietro turned his gaze to a set of missiles that were located on the lower deck. “Like the old times?

"This was never my life,” Iron Man replied, his voice neutral.

“Of course not,” you interjected, stepping to Pietro’s side. “He’s just the enforcer, isn’t he?”

“You can still walk away from this,” Captain America interjected, offering a nostalgic gesture from under his helmet.

“Oh, we’ll do it,” you said with marked indifference. “When the time comes.”

“I know you have suffered,” Captain America commented, eliciting a broad smile from you.

“You know that…” you whispered with a grin, lowering your gaze to your hands where psionic force was slowly concentrating through your fingers. “I really don’t care if you know.”

“It’s about me,” Tony’s stiff voice hit the mark.

“Bingo,” you said wryly just as a wide psionic field formed between your hands offering the signal for the battle to begin.

Disproportionate beams of light slammed into your pupils, energy bursting from each of you, causing the others to stand on guard and find their opponent to carry out their actions. Ultron’s minions moved to counterattack, while you scattered without a specific destination. You had had weeks of training to be able to face the new encounter you all knew was coming, and you could feel your control over your powers becoming more extended, but to do so you had to have your full attention focused on your actions.

The clash between you and Iron Man sent you off course, into a maze of dark corridors and passageways that were only illuminated by the energy coming out of that armour. Your psionic strength kept at bay the radiation that poured from the palm of his gauntlets and the monorail on his chest, causing it to bounce hard off the iron blocks of the walls.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Tony Stark’s voice came through the armour.

“Very subtle when you hide behind a mask,” your words caused the mask that covered Tony’s face to be exposed.

You stared into his eyes, feeling the energy burning inside you, feeling it building up in your hands, so you raised the palm of your hands without holding back, letting all that power come out and collide with the stealth lightning that Tony Stark let out of the palm of his hands. As if the two segments of energy were fighting a battle of their own they connected. With each draw of energy, exhaustion began to wash over you, knowing that you couldn’t last much longer than a couple of minutes in that situation. The clash caused sparks to reach each of the four sides of that corridor, denting the iron, melting it, but neither of you noticed.

At the third minute you pulled your hands away and threw yourself to one side so that its beam would not hit your body. Almost out of breath you dropped to the ground holding your palms up, Tony stopped the repulsor bolts of his gauntlets and turned his gaze upon you, but just as he took a step to approach you, a sharp, screeching noise caused you to change the destination of your gaze. What your eyes saw caused a nightmare to cling to your memory, the ceiling began to collapse, your exhaustion prevented you from creating a psionic field, your body became unresponsive and your mind locked. Your only institute was to close your eyes as tightly as you could, not knowing what was going to happen, but at that very moment when you heard how everything started to collapse, arms caught your body clutching it against a rigid chest and pulled you out.

So it was that once again a new failure was added to the list of your interventions. When you opened your eyes your body was lying prostrate in a corner of the main ship’s nave, where it had all started, but where there was no one left. The consumption of energy you had expended had left you without a shred of power within you. You looked up, your eyes a representation of the terror that had just reminded you of that moment, barely able to keep your breathing calm, and barely able to keep the words in your mouth when you saw Tony Stark’s face in front of yours again, before he looked away and walked away.

That was a turning point, for the next time you met Tony Stark face to face, you were on the same side. After the battle at Salvage Yard, the four of you, Ultron, the twins and you travelled to Seoul where Ultron’s true intentions were revealed. Ultron intended to create a genocide of humanity as a whole, he intended to create an enhanced body to dispose of his own. This horrified the three of you, causing you to flee from his power, causing Ultron’s wrath to prevail, creating a conflict in Seoul, in which the Avengers appeared. But the important thing in that was that the three of you joined the Avengers to save what had been your city, the place where you were born, Novi Grad.

You knew of Ultron’s plans for humanity, his intention was to create a device that would lift the city of Novi Grad into the sky, then drop it to Earth in a meteoric impact. On the way back to Sokovia, the place where it all began, a host of inexplicable feelings came to you, anger, shame, humiliation, hypocrisy… all related to your actions. Silence was present over the three of you, no conversations except those present to plan actions upon your arrival.

“Ultron knows we’re coming. Odds are we’ll be riding into heavy fire, and that’s what we signed up for. But the people of Sokovia, they didn’t. So our priority is getting them out, ” the words coming from Steve made you nod, keeping your eyes averted. “All they want is to live their lives in peace, and that’s not going to happen today.” You felt Tony’s eyes on you, you looked up to confirm it, but this meeting of glances made you uncomfortable, changing your position. “But we can do our best to protect them. And we can get the job done, and find out what Ultron’s been building. We find Romanoff, and we clear the field. Keep the fight between us.” He paused. “Ultron thinks we’re monsters and we’re what’s wrong with the world. This isn’t just about beating him. It’s about whether he’s right.“

Those last words crashed into you, you had been asking yourself the same question for weeks, you also needed to have an answer to it. So that’s how the end of the beginning began. You could never imagine what it would be like to see hundreds of people running through those streets again, the streets where you had grown up, where you had fought for your ideals and where you were now saving all those people so that the events you had experienced would never happen again. Each of you had a specific area, your mission was to guide the population to the safe side, protecting them from Ultron’s minions. Everything seemed to be going as assured, however time ran out, the ground began to crack, creating cracks, splitting the earth, causing an area of the city to rise into the air.

The terror of the scene brought you back to your childhood, you leaned against a building keeping your breathing as calm as possible and looked around you, the horror was present again, the screams of the people made a dent inside you, you closed your eyelids as tight as possible and put your hands to your head trying to erase that sound from your mind. Your back was slowly sliding down the wall until you were sitting completely on the ruins of the building.

“Hey!” Steve’s voice sounded close to you. “Are you okay?” his question barely got an answer from you, you felt his hand resting on your shoulder. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?” you opened your eyes again and with a terrified look on your face you nodded, looking for the strength to face it. “I need you, those people need you, I know this is crazy, I know you’re terrified, but so are they.” You looked around you contemplating the massacre. “You can help them, they are your people.”

Again, Steve’s words gave you the courage you needed to find the calm within yourself, stand up and do everything you could to stop those robots that Ultron had built and turned into his allies. You knew what your mission was, you had a mission now and you couldn’t let it paralyse you.

“Stark, you worry about bringing the city back down safely. The rest of us have one job: tear these things apart. You get hurt, hurt 'em back. You get killed… walk it off.”

The population was congregated in a specific point of the city, there was no solution to evict them if that part of the city did not come down and land again, until a ship, the Helicarrier, appeared between the clouds to create a solution to one of your problems, the eviction of the population. Now all that was left to do was to get that piece of land back in place.

“Avengers, time to work for a living,” Tony announced over the intercom. While the population was getting to safety in the boats, you as a whole had gathered at the church in Novi Grad, where Ultron had located the core, or rather the button, with which he would bring the city down, destroying all of humanity.

“What’s the plan?” you asked, confused by the situation.

“This is the drill. If Ultron gets a hand on the core, we lose,” Tony replied pointing to the vibranium contraption in the centre of the shattered dome.

In front of you hundreds of robots captained by Ultron approached without stopping their pace. You sucked air into your lungs, awaiting the arrival of one of the most crucial moments of your existence, perhaps the most crucial, for in a few hours you could possibly be extinct along with humanity.

“This is exactly what I wanted. All of you, against all of me,” Ultron also had his plan and that was. “How could you possibly hope to stop me?”

“Well, like the old man said,” Tony looked at each of you. “Together.”

The battle for survival began. You thought the previous battles you had fought were the ones that could change the course of your destiny, the ones where you had faced Tony Stark, but you couldn’t have been more wrong, that was nothing compared to what you were going through right now. Each of you was part of that team, your energy was renewed every time you used it because you were fighting for a reason, the strength in you shone through. You were all a team and you were getting through this together. One by one Ultron’s robots fell, until there were none left standing, but it wasn’t over.

“We gotta move out. Even I can tell the air is getting thin. You guys get to the boats, I’ll sweep for stragglers, be right behind you,” Steve asked just after the last robot was down.

“The core-” began Tony after he had bared his face, but you barely let him finish his words.

“I’ll protect it,” you said firmly, giving a slight nod to yourself, “it’s my job.”

Tony connected his eyes with yours offering you a slight nod, just before he covered his face again and flew away. “I’ll stay with you,” added Wanda to whom you offered a faint smile before everyone disappeared from the scene and Pietro was ordered to return to you once everyone was in the boats. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, only a few straggling robots were presenting themselves to you with the intention of overthrowing your mission, but something happened. You felt your friend’s body collapse right behind you, you turned your head and saw Wanda’s face distorted, your eyes widened in confusion as she began to utter a scream that made your eardrums ring. She fell to her knees, causing her powers to spiral out of control in the crash, destroying every element in her path, so you had to create a force field around yourself in the hope that you would be unaffected. Your thoughts began to connect, trying to find an answer to his attitude, and you found it. Pietro.

You both walked through the streets, but she scattered within minutes Wanda disappeared in search of Ultron, leaving you there, but there was no one left to fight with, or fight for. It was at the very moment you questioned the functionality of your existence that Novi Grad plummeted thousands of feet into the air, offering you the answer to your question. Your eyes closed but you were no longer afraid, on the contrary, you had been able to find peace, everything came to an end in the same place where it all began. But as if someone had been watching over you, you felt arms holding your body and slowing down the frantic rhythm of the plummeting fall. You opened your eyes and found yourself being held by Iron Man’s armour.

“ I got you,” he said flying in the opposite direction, managing to dodge the ruins of that city. “Now Thor!”

A new turning point that changed the course of your actions and your destiny lay before you. Despite your best efforts, nearly 120 lives were lost during the Battle of Sokovia, including that of Pietro Maximoff. It was a before and after, symbolising the power of war and what could be its fatal consequences. For you it was a judgement, a learning experience, feeling guilty for much of what had happened, for helping HYDRA, for helping Ultron, to elaborate his actions. Your guilt led you to rethink your future, the course of new events led you and Wanda to a new country. You arrived in the United States, welcoming the New Avengers Facility as a new home. Offering you a roof to sleep under, training for your powers and a new family, though you didn’t feel that way at first.

You spent many hours in search of solitude, at the end of that green esplanade, when the tall oak trees were beginning to remind you of home. It was one afternoon in the first week, when you were still adjusting to it all, and you found yourself reading, leaning against a tree trunk.

“Hiding?” Tony’s voice pulled you out of your reading. “Oh, Sylvia Plath, great,” you looked at him, but offered no response, so he opted to sit awkwardly right in front of you on the grass. “Listen, we haven’t had much time… you know,” he took off his sunglasses and shrugged. “I’ve been looking through the files and … I know what happened to you… with your parents.”

“You know,” you said with a raised eyebrow, putting the book aside. “Do you also know what happened to the other thousands of people or do you only have a file on me and a file on Wanda and Pietro?”

The confidence in your voice was at odds with the insecurity Tony was showing, so when you saw him turn his head to the right side as he crumpled his face you opted to do what you had been thinking about for the last few days, call it a day.

“Listen. I’ve spent many years imagining what it would be like when I had you in front of me,” you began to say calmly, keeping your gaze fixed on your fingers as Tony watched you with his head cocked to one side, listening to you intently. “In what I was going to tell you, in the way I would let you know the pain I felt inside, because to me you were to blame for everything bad that had happened to me,” you paused, took a breath and thought about what you were going to say next. “But the moment I had you in front of me I didn’t say anything I had planned to say, I let my anger and pain guide me, and it didn’t do any good. The same thing happened the second time, and the third time it was pointless because there was something much more important to fight for.”

“I…” Tony interjected.

“Please, let me finish,” you cut him off, causing Tony to nod and turn his attention back to you. Sadness clouded his features. “So now I have you in front of me again I just want you to know that I have realised that…” you paused causing Tony to make a slight gesture of approaching you, but when you started to speak again he stopped. “I have no intention of you bearing my ghosts, but I need you to know that I spent two days under the rubble waiting for Stark to kill me,” your voice cracked, and Tony’s eyes reddened. “Watching your name light up on the side of that missile every time that flashing red light illuminated the darkness, hearing that beeping sound that I still can’t erase from my mind, terrified that my breathing would cause that bomb to detonate because my limbs could barely move.”

For the first time you raised your face to meet wide open brown eyes, reddened and unable to hold your gaze for long. Tony’s face was pale during those moments, his body was no longer upright and he was nervously running his hand over his lips.

“With that said, it only remains for me to let you know that I will not let the hatred and vengeance of a ten year old consume me,” you looked back down at your hands, allowing Tony’s eyes to fall on you again. “I’ve seen the power that resentment brings with it, I don’t want that for myself,” you connected your gazes. “Then I suppose I must forgive you in order to move forward.”

Silence. Silence flooded the room leaving heavy breaths in the air that symbolised the tension of the situation you were both experiencing for the first time right now. There was no right answer to everything you had said, it was clear to you that Tony didn’t know how to act at that moment. You sat cross-legged on the damp grass, watching him, seeing how he couldn’t hold your gaze since you had explained that you saw his name reflected in that missile. Yet he fought against it and focused his brown eyes on yours.

“I promise you…” he began stiffly, but again you cut him off.

“Tony, don’t promise me anything,” your voice was soft, as if you were talking to a small child.  "Please.“

After your denial of his action, he only nodded. He merely nodded as he intertwined his fingers and began to fidget restlessly with his left leg.

"Then I don’t know what you want,” his tone offered an enormous insecurity marked by nervousness.

“That’s the point. I don’t want anything, Tony,” you said without fidgeting.

“All right,” he nodded confusedly, rising quickly but awkwardly from the grass in an attempt to get away from the situation. “So… I hope it’s all to your liking.”

With that said, he turned his back on you and left the same way he had come. Leaving you under the shade of that oak tree with Sylvia Plath.

Now, too much had happened since then, much of it was why you found yourself in Wakanda trying to juxtapose all that had happened, but what you didn’t know was that on that placid morning when you went for a walk along the banks of that small riverbed, Shuri and T'Challa would come to inform you that he was there and that he had asked to speak with you.

Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

[bitchiha]

To Eternal Bliss, I’m so Glad to Know (ModernAU!Hidan x Reader)

The Rats 1k event prompt: Street racer x Hidan

A/N: hey.. aha.. how y'all doing.. hum so i haven't been doing great, I think that is evident through my inactivity on this blog, but that being said i am in a bit of a better place now. i finally have some time to myself and i intend to put that towards my 900 follower event. Enjoy this wonderful piece of modern racer Hidan that strayed into crazy murder himbo I love car man Hidan.

Title inspired by: this song.

MAJOR TWs: smut, harassment (brief, undescriptive), uhm murter, reckless driving, lots of mentions of and contemplations of death. You are a literal accomplice to murter. Reader is confused. But.. It’s not supposed to be gory and dark, I kinda wanted it to just be stupid and reflect a himbo hidan as much as I could. Last like 6 paragraphs aren’t edited.

-

You shouldn’t be in a criminals car, much less in the middle of a police chase and much much less be falling in love with him.

 His silver hair flashes wildly in the occasional flicker of red and blue lights, teeth bared; he was making that face again. That one he had when he first met you, lips curled and canines showing. It looked like he was in pain. It was just because he was actually trying to use his brain, you think. He grips the wheel tightly, the whites of his pale knuckles glowing as he swerves onto one of the busiest city streets you know. 

Barely avoiding a collision with a distinct yellow blur you could barely classify as a taxi, he continued to speed through the lanes, horns blaring and merging into the sound of the wailing sirens quickly approaching. Another sharp turn onto a slightly less busy road had your body slamming against the console, leaning close to Hidan. Your eyes stray from the window and onto his face, unable to hear what he is saying, you make out the movement of his lips:

shit,shit,shiiit 

The tires screeched as he fumbled around with the controls, sending the car into a full 180 and narrowly avoiding a police car sacrificing its auto body in favour of capturing Jashin. That was real close call, just scratching the side of the passenger door, but you wouldn't know; you were still watching your boyfriends features as he speeds off down another dirty alley. 

You were pretty sure that one day you were going to die trapped in Hidans little metal box.. A distant part of you wanted to throw up when you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sure, he was obnoxiously annoying in the most serious of times and incredibly oblivious when you desperately needed him to get a clue. I mean fuck, it felt like despite his adolescent years of elementary and secondary school (which you’re not even sure he attended) his brain only had the capacity to process two things. The first being lewd shit and the second would be the gas pedal... and maybe half a braincell was in there thinking of you, but probably only of you in your panties or something really shallow like that. 

You really shouldn’t love him. 

Barrelling down the alley he randomly slammed the breaks down, the lack of warning sending you flying forward. Bracing yourself to be slammed into the front of car, but just when you thought you were going to break your nose Hidan reversed, sending your body backwards instead. You yelped and he sent you a stupid little apologetic curl of his lip before twisting his body, hand coming to your chair for support as he sped the car backwards through the trash littered street. You didn't understand why he suddenly changed his mind about the direction until a few seconds later when a black and white cop car swerved down the alley in the direction you were back pedalling from. Hidan must have known they were going to try and cut his route off.    

  At the sight of the police vehicle your boyfriend impulsively slammed the breaks, rolling his window down and leaning his head out of it, “Ha, you stupid fucks think you could catch Jashin with some lame shit like that? I could smell that from a mile away!” From your boyfriends childish tone you predicted he was going to blow a raspberry, but the sound of speeding tires approaching quickly stopped him. Sirens blaring, the police car sped its way forward. 

“Oh fuck.” Hidan sped Jashin backwards again. 

  You remembered the first time you met Jashin.

  It was late that night, you were making your long trek home after a disastrous closing shift. You were tired. So fucking tired. You never would have taken that shortcut if you weren’t truly physically drained. As you made your way briskly through that musky trash infested canal, you were stopped by a man who smelled just as intensely as the alley itself. It was so much so that you had thought that perhaps it was the mans smell that was so potent and not the space itself. 

  Defining what the source of that smell was wasn’t important though, not when he was coming straight at you with barred, yellow teeth. You didn't know what to do and to be fair, what the fuck were you supposed to do? He was yelling something, you couldn't hear it over the thrashing of your erratic heartbeat.  Were you going to die? You were so fucking tired. 

Maybe you should run.

  You didn’t though. Didn’t have the energy. So you let the man come face to face with your figure, grabbing at the lapels of your coat and screaming. His breath was unbearable and you thought you were going to pass away just from the smell as opposed to actually being murdered. Although you suppose this could probably qualify for a murder, his breath was most definitely a weapon. But despite his shouts being directly at you, his humid breath spraying across your face as his chest constantly heaved, you couldn't understand what he was saying. 

“Jashin! Jashin is coming!” 

  What the fuck was Jashin? Could you still not hear him? He was probably sick. You were tired. So you continued to let him shake your form. Was he going to kill you or just ask for some money?

  Thats when a beast of sleek red metal swerved down the alley, trampling over peeled open garbage bags and beer bottles, approaching you with each sound of a crinkled can. It was gunning straight towards the man who was backing you up against the wall, he was frothing and screaming at the sight and the next moment the hood of the car slammed into his form. Despite your close proximity to the man, you were left barely unscathed and a little bit disappointed.  

  The scene laid frozen for a good thirty seconds: the man unconscious on the floor, your unsteady breathing and the window of the car rolling down. It inched back to reveal a man about your age - which made him just barely a man - with silver slicked back hair, barred teeth and knitted eyebrows. 

“Shit.” 

  You just stared at him, backpack beginning to slide down your shoulders. He stared back at you, waiting to see what your next move was going to be. You didn’t have one. 

  “...If it makes you feel any better, douchebag deserved it.” The man said a few minutes later, he clearly wasn't expecting the crumpled body on the floor to have tried to seek out help, let alone from a cute girl. He smoothed his hair back. 

   His crappy attempt to seduce you didn't work and nor did his equally crap words of consolation, you were tired. This whole situation was even more tiring. You just wanted to sleep. 

  “I won't tell anyone, if you just drive me home.”

  He clearly wasn't expecting that, you could tell that from the pained look intensifying on his face and his little choked gasp. A few moments later it released like an elastic band snapping and his features set into a smug smirk. A cute girl who wasn’t gonna snitch on him?

  “You’re not going to question the fact that I just hit someone with my car? Is it cause I'm so fucking sex-” 

  You weren’t listening, walking over the heap of a body and around the car into the passenger seat. The contrasting smell of vanilla and cigarettes clouded your senses as you clicked your seatbelt into place - noticing his lack of one in the process.

You hated that your face was burning up as you spoke. “I live a few blocks away.” 

For a while you were sure that this was the first girl Hidan had ever had in his car. It was obvious that he was freaking out, maybe if he didn’t hit people in alleyways and then blamed your silence on the fact that he was so fucking sexy, then maybe he would be able to talk to more.

  He tried to blab to you the whole way to your apartment accidentally making wrong turns to try and extend the length of your stay. He told you about that man in the alley, said something about how he totally fucked him over in some black market shit for auto parts. Said his enemy, - he stressed this word very intensely - Shikamaru probably put him up to it. Nobody messes with Jashin goddamit, I fucking hate that guy. It was a shit justification for murder no doubt, there is never a good reason to hit someone with a car, but you supposed your indifference wasn't any better. 

  You stole a couple glances at him every now and then, when his eyes took a break from darting back and fourth between your thighs, your face and the road. He had a sharp jaw, pretty cheekbones, gelled back hair with small strands escaping every so often - causing him to brush them back when too many tickled his forehead - his lashes were long and his eyes so pretty so in the dim light of the empty city streets. His teeth were straight and sharp canines peeked out whenever he sent you a suggestive smirk.

You also spent an unbelievably long time watching his fingers maneuver the steering wheel, the way his hands flexed with a certain turn. The veins of his forearms travelling underneath his leather jacket pushed up at the elbows, his jeans were all worn out and faded and his shoes looked like they were about to fall apart, it was a big difference in comparison to the well kept state of his handsome car.

  When he finally made it to your complex after running out of roads to take wrong turns down, he looked at you like a lost puppy, rolling the passenger window down to call out to you as you opened the lobby doors. “So I’ll meet you out here tomorrow then? Say, around 9?” 

  You turned to look at him confusedly, inquiring as to why he would be picking you up when you made no reservations to see him again, why would you want to see your accomplice in a murder ever again? But he was already speeding off before you got the chance. 

At least you could finally go to sleep.

The next day he was outside your apartment fifteen past nine, blaring his horn as he maneuvered his upper body to hover out the window of his lovely Jashin. You were nestled on your couch, staring at the blue light of the TV screen in your dark apartment desperately trying to avoid the textbook glowering at you from the coffee table.

‘Cute kitten saved from tree’ was sprawled across the bottom of your television in bold letters as a perky blonde read off the little cue cards in her hand. You’d been watching the news all day, waiting for the red breaking news! To slice across the screen and read out the description of a crippled homeless gambler found dead in an alley, but it never came.

It mad you feel a little angry when you realized his death wasn’t going to be announced and you knew there was no way it hadn’t been discovered yet. Then you sat startled at the realization that you didn’t feel anything towards what happened. That the anger you felt in wanting it to be so desperately displayed on the news was because you hoped you would feel something then.

The sound of Hidans car horn threw you out of your thoughts as you jumped like a frightened cat to the window. Peeling back the curtain you were surprised to see that blood stained blotch on the road with a lavender haired boy peeking out, baring his teeth.

You contemplated staying inside, he didn’t know your apartment number, but you knew that he definitely wouldn’t stop blaring the horn if you didn’t. His hand was undeniably laying flat against the centre of he wheel as he continued to sound out, you heard someone yell for him to fucking shut up. Hidan continued as if he didn’t hear. It kind of flattered you.

You wanted to vomit.

You took the stairs.

It was the beginning of winter when you finally let Hidan fuck you. You were in some parking lot lined with pitch black shops on a Sunday night. Everyone closed early going home to their families, except the two of you of course.

It was odd being with him for this long. One outing turned into another and then another, before you knew it he was picking you up every night at nine -sometimes fifteen minutes passed,- blaring his horn excitedly as he peeked out his car.

He told you it was the perfect place to do donuts, didn’t you want to do donuts? You did. It was the beginning of winter. It was icy. His idea was incredibly fucking stupid. But you agreed because maybe you’d skid on the ice and smash into a store, get crushed by the crumbling debris..

There was little snowflakes hitting the windows of Jashin as you two sat parked in the middle of the deserted lot.

“You ready? Oh you’re gonna love this, babe.”

He grinned as your face heated up at the name, you always got all flustered whenever he said anything like that. It made him feel giddy. His long fingers start Jashin up, moving to clutch the wheel as the car thrums to life.

When he makes the first swerve with his car, he turns his head to watch your body all stiff and frightened. It was funny. He laughed as your face twisted into an even more flustered one - if that was possible. God, you were always such a hard ass at the beginning of the night, but when he dropped you off outside your apartment early into the morning he always made sure to leave you with a little smile on your face. Even now, this early into the night he could see the beginnings of one.

He twisted the wheel again and your body flew to the left, smooshing into the console and the surprised laugh that left your mouth had his guts twisting. He wanted to hear it again. Your walls always fell when he did stupid shit like this. You were kinda fucked up now that he thought about it. Always getting all giggly when you should probably be screaming at him to be more careful for fucks sake! But you never did and he loved that about you. Just as fucked as he was.

“Hey babe, babe! This one’ll be good. Watch, watch.” He gripped the wheel again and grinded his sneaker into the gas, the first skid across asphalt was intentional, but when he tried to regain the reigns of his dark red beast it began to thrash out of his control.

Goddamn ice patch.

The car twisted, screeched and burned into the pavement for a good twenty seconds and when he was sure you should be screaming because I mean come on, that was fucking scary, he heard silence.

As the car came to a complete stop and your body was once again flung against the console, he turned to you. He thinks he was gonna ask if you were okay but he couldn’t remember because the next moment you were grabbing tufts of his gelled hair and sucking his face off.

He loved every second of it. The amount of times he’d tried to get his dick wet with you before was astronomical, but you’d always tell him no and he would pout like a dog. But hey, now you’re shoving your tongue down his throat like a dog so he settled on the idea that good things do come to people who wait.

The reason you decided to do it then was blurry. One moment his car was skidding around the parking lot and you were laughing and thinking of the chance of death and the next second it spat onto your tongue and you realized you didn’t want it anymore.

Like that first time you slid into his car, as you kissed him now you tasted contrasting flavours. Mint and cigarettes. For a moment you thought you were going to pull away, but you felt the sudden need to drink all of it. To somehow understand why you felt like you were burning from the inside.

It was his fault really. Hidan made you feel less tired, if that was a good way to put it. You started looking forward to things after you two met and eventually you actually started to feel a bit more deeply for poor crumpled man in the alley. It felt as if you’re body was being thawed out by this silver haired idiot who was groping for the clasp of your bra underneath your shirt.

So you climbed over the console, fumbling with the side of his chair to pull his seat back as you began to strip off your top in haste. You unbuttoned his jeans and slid down to the space between his leg, choking and drooling all over his cock because when you did you felt all these funny emotions bubbling in your body, you felt alive.

He was a loud mouth when you had his dick down your throat, groaning and saying the dumbest, lewdest shit his sex wired brain could think of. You know how many times he’s thought of this? You feel so good, you feel so good. God this is so good, Jashin probably loves it too... We should fuck on the hood of the car next. Long slender fingers guided your head up and down him as he began to twitch thrust his hips upwards, finally spill into your mouth. Douchebag didn’t let your head go and you felt some of his juices dribble down your tongue.

“Swallow it, swallow it while my dicks still in your mouth... Atta girl, you’re so good. So greedy..”

And you swallowed it all, he hoisted you back onto his lap and pushed your skirt up. He was whispering all this perverted stuff in your ear and your mouth fell open against his neck. Words making you flush fiercely and slowly grind your hips against him. You stopped him when he was beginning to shove your panties down your thighs, though.

For the first time you felt small in comparison to him as you met his eyes. He stopped his movement seeming like he was going to say something too, but you cut him off.

“- Hidan... I’ve never done it before.”

He stares at you all wide eyed before laughing and for a second and you think about getting out of his car and walking home because that’s such a douchebag thing to do, but then he surprises you.

“Me too, I was just about to say.. but I mean it can’t be hard right? Well, I am hard,” he laughed and you found yourself huffing a small giggle at his stupid joke, good mood returning as he continued, “I was just gonna go with what I seen in hentais.” That explained his dirty talk.

It was pretty good for your first time though. Ideally not the best place to have sex, you kept hitting your head and he couldn’t quite get his hips thrusting at a good pace with the confined space, but you didn’t care. You didn’t care because it was Hidan and you think you just might be in love with him.

That’s why you don’t say anything when a few weeks later you see “Shikamaru Nara, infamous street racer found dead in a back alley crash.” flashing across your tv screen.

You don’t comment, just give a little understanding hum when Hidan calls you and tells you he can’t pick you up tonight babe, or for a few nights, Jashin needs some repairs..

It’s why now, as he speeds through the streets recklessly with your bags in the trunk and the sound of sirens ringing in your ears that you feel tears prick your eyes. You wish you could have told him to be more careful, that he shouldn’t have done what he did without planning it. Something, anything.. it’s too late now. But he’s not to blame.

You think it’s your fault, really.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: a stupendously underrated classic of queer punk meets synth sophistication, and an album without which we wouldn’t have Dare by the Human League: Homosapien, the 1981 solo opus of Buzzcocks frontman Pete Shelley. Find out more by watching the video, or reading the transcript below!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today, I’ll be talking about one of those albums that isn’t necessarily the most acclaimed or best remembered work of its period, but nonetheless played an important role in history, and remains unrivaled for its uniqueness: Pete Shelley’s Homosapien, first released in 1981.

Shelley has historically been chiefly remembered as the frontman of the punk act, Buzzcocks. But, despite punk’s reputation for simplicity to the point of obnoxiousness, Shelley was one of many musicians to come from the punk scene with a penchant for experimental or otherwise ground-breaking music. His very first solo release, 1980’s Sky Yen, features little more than a brash wall of oscillating electronic noise, not unlike the earliest provocations of industrial artists like Cabaret Voltaire.

Music: “Sky Yen (Part One)”

Subsequent generations of critics have gone great lengths to coin and define terminology, in the hopes of breaking this period down into constituent parts, but the more I study it, the more I’m inclined to view it as just a huge soup. There was, quite simply, a lot going on in Britain’s underground in the late 70s and early 80s, and in practice, the lines between punk, post-punk, industrial, synth, noise, and other avant-garde miscellany are frequently illegible. As an artifact of this era, Homosapien resonates with all of the contradictions this melting pot would imply, fusing emotional rawness and pristine production in a way that never quite settles down and feels comfortable.

Music: “I Don’t Know What It Is”

“I Don’t Know What It Is” served as the opening track of the album’s second side, as well as its lead single. With a bona fide guitar solo as well as a propulsive, and truly soaring, chorus, it somewhat resembles that most 1980s of art forms, the power ballad. It is, ostensibly, a love song, and is revealed to be one quickly enough, but its portrayal of love is far from kind. While a real power ballad might take the concept of love for granted, “I Don’t Know What It Is” seems to portray it as something mysterious, inscrutable, and dangerous. And I can’t forget to mention just how much Pete Shelley stands out as a vocalist--his high-pitched, perhaps even fried or shrill vocals add a great deal to the song’s sense of unease, and really sell the idea of someone who’s being overtaken by an uncontrollable and dominating force.

Of course, perhaps the most noteworthy thing about Homosapien’s sound is its fusion of the hard, driving acoustic guitar of punk with the electronic sensibilities of its producer, Martin Rushent. I wouldn’t say this combination is ever terribly cohesive in its sound, but I think that’s why I find this album so interesting: there’s a tension that permeates each track, a feeling that things don’t fit together. While Homosapien is a pioneering work of electronic-centered production, enough of the pieces are still in place that you can certainly hear the shape of music to come as you listen to it. It’s not just the synthesisers, but also the use of electronic percussion here--it’s difficult to overstate the impact that so-called “drum machines” had around this time. While reviled by many, both then and now, rhythm machines were undeniably “instrumental” in changing what popular music sounded like. Even synthesiser-based electronic acts like Gary Numan, OMD, and Kraftwerk often relied on traditional percussion, so this genuinely was pretty shocking at the time.

Perhaps the most important element of the legacy of Homosapien is the fact that Martin Rushent would go on to use the skills he honed here to produce one of the most influential albums of the 1980s, and perhaps of all time: The Human League’s Dare, which would go on to cast an enormous shadow on nearly all popular music to come, after playing an enormous role in instigating an era of popular dominance of synth-pop. In that sense at least, Homosapien is certainly a very historically important album, and for that reason alone, I think it deserves a fair bit more attention than it gets. Still, for as much as the electronics might be the most forward-looking element of this album, one also can’t deny that it remains full of aggressive and perfectly punk overtones, as on the crass or perhaps dismissive screed of “Guess I Must Have Been In Love With Myself.”

Music: “Guess I Must Have Been In Love With Myself”

While Homosapien has many moments of seemingly being too thorny to get a good grip on, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t also times in which it can feel like a bit more than the sum of its apparent parts, as on its most narrative-driven track, “Pusher Man.”

Music: “Pusher Man”

“Pusher Man” is one of, if not the, most synth-centered compositions to be had on Homosapien, but its insistent pacing and neurotic portrayal of the “low life” theme of buying illicit drugs mean you’ll never confuse it for run of the mill synth-pop. Moreso than anything else the album offers, this track reminds me of the sort of “synth-punk” that American acts like the Units and Crash Course In Science would put forward at around the same time. “Pusher Man” was, at the very least, a sufficiently experimental track to earn the honour of being cut from the US release of the album in order to make room for some non-album A-sides, as happened to many albums at the time. But hey, that’s enough beating around the bush. Let’s talk about the real crown jewel of this album.

Music: “Homosapien”

If you’ve heard anything from this album before, chances are, it was probably the title track, which proved to be quite the commercial success--despite being banned by the BBC on account of its homoerotic content. Given that this very same year, they also came after OMD’s “Enola Gay” for its obviously nonexistent reference to homosexuality, one might be forgiven for thinking that a tune called “Homosapien” was simply misinterpreted. The title track isn’t terribly explicit material, but its clever wordplay nonetheless deals quite deftly with issues of sexuality and personal identity. In the earlier verses, Shelley introduces us to typified roles of gay male sexuality--the “cruiser,” the “shy boy”--only to seemingly doff them with the tune’s defiant refrain, asserting that the only truly important identity a human being has is that of “Homosapien.” Far from being an unfortunate coincidence, the similarity of “Homosapien” to “homosexual” is being employed here completely deliberately, particularly with it being mashed into a single word and thus gaining a greater resemblance to the word “homosexual” in print. It not only allows Shelley to belt out a borderline dirty word, but also creates a sort of unconscious syllogism, suggesting, in a sense, that homosexuals are people too.

With elements of both unapologetic pride in one’s own queerness, as well as the uncompromising assertion that humanity is something much deeper than that, the title track of Homosapien is one of the most fascinating and inspiring queer anthems of its time. Its artsy slipperiness has prevented it from feeling more shallow with time, and its straightforward or raw quality, intensified by that constant acoustic guitar, has kept it sounding equally sharp. It genuinely does surprise me that this album isn’t at least a little bit better remembered than it is. Outside of the title track, most of this album is currently not available on services like Spotify and YouTube Music at the time of this writing, and I actually struggled to present musical examples here. That’s really a pretty high level of neglect in this day and age, and I hope it can be rectified in the relatively near future.

It would be no exaggeration for me to say that Homosapien features some of my very favourite cover art of any album. Homosapien’s sleeve design sees Shelley occupy some sort of sleek, but hollow hyper-modernist office. Geometric forms suggest the world of the artificial or ideal. An Egyptian statue beside Shelley is a reminder of history, and the idea that even the greatest empires must eventually fall. Likewise, the telescope and early computer positioned nearer to Shelley are evocative symbols of science and technology--but in context they seem more sinister, being juxtaposed against a phrenology bust, which evokes the ways in which our attempts at science have caused misunderstanding and great human misery in the past. The central scene is framed in with large areas of black, which make the space feel even more claustrophobic and uninviting, and Shelley appears to be pushed into the background, almost belittled by the inanimate objects. Overall, I think it’s sort of funny that this album’s cover is perhaps more iconally “New Wave” than the music itself ended up being, particularly with Shelley clad in this somewhat foppish white suit and bow tie--certainly a big change of attire for a former punk!

Given the experimental nature of the collaboration between Shelley and Rushent, you might be surprised to learn that Homosapien actually wasn’t a one-off. Just two years later, Shelley would release a follow-up LP, XL-1, which was also produced by Rushent and largely continues the same ideas. While Shelley would never see the success of “Homosapien” again, the XL-1 single “Telephone Operator” would also chart to a lesser degree.

Music: “Telephone Operator”

My favourite track on Homosapien is “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça,” which closes out the first side of the album. If you’re familiar with my other work, you probably already know that I’m coming at this as someone chiefly interested in the electronic side of things, and I think that of everything on this album, “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça” is the closest to being convincing as a synth-pop tune. With a bubbly, synth-dominant sound and lyrics that are more contemplative than aggressive, it’s much closer to the mould of what I usually listen to for fun than a lot of the other tracks are. That’s everything for today--thanks for listening!

Music: “Qu’est-ce que c’est que ça”

[leerongrong]

Your Baby?

Pairing: Nct Dream x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You and Mark have been best friends ever since childhood, staying by each others’ side even after he became a Worldwide Idol. When he finally introduces you to his members, who think you’re older than you actually are, what a mistake.

A/N: my first fic lmao i’m soo nervouss, also shout out to my girl @neoculturalshit​ for handling my shit while writing this

Shoe sole squeaking fills the air with the constant jagged breaths and stuffy humidity coming from the room, intensified with multiple voices mixing in with groans. Mark’s rambles are like mumbling in your ear, replaced with constant buzzing like bees and an unfamiliar feeling resting in your belly. Your bag is on your left shoulder, clutched between stiff fingers as you try to keep up with his fast footsteps.

His twelve a.m to twelve p.m schedule and your eight a.m to eleven p.m schedule proved hard enough keep up with. In between his dance practices, studio recording and your everyday micro engineering studies, there was only little time to catch the other without one having to run off in between hangouts. And even then, Mark always had the dreamies call on him about some unforeseen circumstances that’ll make him leave you all alone.

He’s been apologizing ever since the last time he left you, albeit in a super creepy rooftop at midnight, and wouldn’t stop until you brought on the idea of introducing the dreamies as an apology and here you are now, in SM entertainment heading straight to the practice room where you’ll meet them for the first time. And on the contrary, you feel more scared than excited.

“And there’s Chenle. He’s like realllyyy loud but like really funny and he has this dolphin laugh that’ll make you- Are you even listening right now?”

“Mark, i’m scared.” Saying it out loud makes you feel like a baby, some helpless child afraid of going to their first day of kindergarten, afraid they won’t have any friends or anyone to talk to. You’re embarrassed for feeling this way but right now you have Mark and he knows you. The best out of everyone in your whole life, “what if they don’t like me?”

“They’ll love you,” he chuckles, “If anything, you’ll be the one begging Chenle to shut up.”

Your entire walk there had remained quiet, an occasional quip here and there from Mark whenever he sees you still so stiff. He had done a good job at getting rid of your initial fear, the feeling reducing until all that’s left is jitters and a bit of shyness. Despite your previous fear of them, you still wanted to meet them and become friends, it doesn’t matter if one of them doesn’t like you, you’d at least add one more person to your mark’s-friends-that-became-yours-too list.

“You stay here, aight? I’m gonna gather them first.” He nods to your direction before opening the door and going inside. You hear him greet multiple people, the noise inside exploding with screams and laughter. The nerves come at full force and suddenly your feet feel like jelly and the constant reassurance from mark has lost its grip on you.

The weather outside has calmed down significantly. The storm has reduced itself to raindrops pelting down the window, the constant patter doing nothing to calm you down. Your heart is beating erratically inside your chest and you have to thank Mark for his timing because you feel you’d have burst if he hadn’t come out faster.

All eyes are on you the moment you step in.

Multiple lights shine down the wide room, creating an illusion that it’s bigger than it already is. Gray walls surrounding the space loom high and act as pillars to hold up the entire architecture. your eyes move to the corner where there are an abundant of water bottles looking as if they were thrown messily along with multiple bags, one you recognize as Mark’s.

You’re broken out of your trance when mark leaves your side and crosses the room to the corner, effectively grabbing his bag and water bottle from where they lay. You see him exchanging a few words with the choreographer before he makes a beeline for the door just behind you.

“Where are you going?” You snatch his bicep in a tight grip, frowning when you see him slowly chuckle.

“I have a recording session with the hyungs,” he mumbles, “But i’ll be back in 3 hours?”

Mark flinches when your grip tightens, said boy visibly shrinking under your gaze. “mark lee, i swear-”

“They’re really nice! i promise!”

“I don’t care if they’re nice or whatever. You’re not leaving me-”

“Noona, watch us dance!” The voice breaks you and Aark from your whispering match. You turn your head, only to have Mark break away from your grip and run out of the room at full speed leaving you to stare at his retreating form with a face full of disbelieve. “Don’t worry about hyung, he’ll be back soon!”

The dreamies all surround you, each one introducing themselves in their own unique way. Your heart’s still beating erratically as you try to learn and differentiate their names and personalities, making a mental note in your brain; Jeno’s the shy one with an adorable eye smile, Donghyuck or Daechan is the tan one with a knack for jokes, Renjun’s a little shorter than the others with the sharp mouth, Jaemin’s the one with weird blue hair, Jisung’s the youngest but the tallest, and Chenle’s the one who called you noona.

The jitters and nerves melted away completely in the first hour, the boys doing a good job in including you with them. They told you funny stories about Mark, about when they first debuted, they even went into a detailed explanation about how they knew your name from Mark and how they’ve asked him multiple times to introduce you to them. They insisted you didn’t need to reintroduce yourself because they pretty much already know everything there is, courtesy of Mark. Well almost everything.

Jeno, Jaemin, and Hyuck had decided early on to call you by your first name, the three agreeing that you’re roughly around their age. While on the other hand, Renjun, Jisung, and Chenle had decided to call you noona. You don’t consider yourself to look mature for your age and you certainly didn’t think any of them would be calling you noona, when in reality you’re younger than Jisung.

‘Do i really look that old?’ The annoyance is simmering in you at the thought, little bits of it breaking to the surface when you pout and cross your arms while you watch the boys goof around after finishing their routine. The thought of them thinking you were older leaves an unpleasant feeling in your mouth.

“Time for revenge.”

The multiple shoe screeching in the room had lessened a significant amount, the boys having done their practice and are currently playing a few rounds of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’ll be buying food. You watch from across the room as Renjun walks to the corner to pick up his water. “Renjun-ah! Can i have some water too?”

You giggle to yourself when he crosses the room to give you some from his bottle, the boy completely oblivious to your sneaky intentions. “Thank you, Renjun-ah.”

“Noona!” Chenle’s shrill voice is something you’ve gotten used to both before and after officially meeting him. Mark’s always let you listen to snippets of their unreleased songs and you’ve been able to recognize their voices for years to help with giving your inputs and comments. “Can we go to the store?”

“Why’d you need to ask me?” You cut yourself off before opting to rearrange your choice of words. “I mean, you can go if you want? I’ll stay here to wait for Mark.”

“We didn’t want to leave you alone!” he smiles, “but it’s okay, Jeno hyung and Jaemin hyung are gonna go for us!”

You watch as Jaemin and Jeno gather up their shoes and put on masks, the two chatting around with the other members for a bit and your heart clenches when you see Jaemin squishing Donghyuck’s cheeks, the latter shooing Jaemin’s hands away before pushing them out the door. “Adorable.”

Donghyuck’s gaze is on yours the second the words drop from your mouth and he sticks his tongue at you when he sees you looking at him, a teasing gesture the two of you have adapted. You’ve been acquainted with Donghyuck for the last two months, the two of you starting out awkward before one day, he had stuck out his tongue at you and now you’re always sticking tongues out at the other for no apparent reason, something Doyoung doesn’t approve of.

“Donghyuck oppa, lemme pinch your cheeks.”

Your response is a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raise, “Oppa? We’re like the same age tho?”

“Chenle-yah, let noona pinch your cheeks!” You ignore Donghyuck’s statement in hopes of not blowing your cover, smiling brightly when Chenle comes over and plops himself right in front of you. His cheeks are like mochi in your hands, the skin all dewy, soft to the touch that you have to remind yourself to stop squishing before you become addicted. “Gosh, Chenle, you’re too cute. Like a baby!”

Jeno and Jaemin get back just in time, multiple managers and choreographers burst into the room just moments after them, stopping by to check on their progress. Long hours have ticked away while the sun sets, casting its golden rays and warm hue through the window and into the room. the air is filled with low chatters and you’re in a conversation with Jeno when the door opens again.

“Hey everyone-” 

You recognize the voice to be Johnny’s but his next words are muffled from multiple footsteps coming into the room at once, some faster and bolder while others are quiet and dainty. You’re listening as they increase from slow steps into full out sprints and you don’t react quick enough and you shriek when you feel someone heavy crash onto your back, making you face plant to the hard floor, them tumbling down with you

“Mark, really?” Doyoung nags before turning towards you, “Hello, little bugs.”

“Noona, look. Mark hyung’s back.” The minute those words fall from Jisung’s lips, the person on your back, who you realize to be Mark, looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. The air turning awkward for moments until two laughs explode from somewhere behind you and he joins in.

“Noona?” Johnny laughs, “Jisung, she’s younger than you by months!”

Both Chenle and Jisung launch onto their feet, crowding beside you and Mark. You try to push Mark off of you while looking at the two boys and how their mouths are moving so fast you don’t understand what they’re saying, while the expressions on their faces make you laugh along with Johnny and Doyoung.

“Yah! I’ve been your Oppa the whole time?!”

“Call me Oppa!”

“Jisung you’re a few months older than I am! And you’re a babie.”

“Well you’re a babie too!”

“This is disrespectful!”

The room bursts into chaos as each of them try to convince you to call them Oppa, Hyuck and Chenle protesting the most out of the six. The laughs and giggles echo throughout as Doyoung and Johnny shake their heads and watch from afar, smiling fondly at the way you’re slowly blending in with the dreamies. Mark’s hand is on yours for a while, the emotions in his eyes too misty for you to read until he grins. “Told you they’d love you.”

Your laugh is airy and full of emotion, “Yeah and its all thanks to you.”

[cakesunflower]

Who’s Gonna Love You Like Me? [Brother’s Best Friend!Calum AU] Part 1

A/N: the title is STUPID long. like a whole ass mouthful. but it is what it is. before y’all dive in, i just wanna say that this fic would NOT be possible without @bigheadbabybitch (it’s not letting me tag her bc tumblr is a whore) but god DAMN without her, this fic would not be what it is. every scene is planned with her and made better with her. i’m very lucky to be working with this on her.

Josie’s Face Claim here!

so, without further ado, here’s part 1 of my new brother’s best friend!Cal fic!!

She never experienced feeling the weight of someone’s eyes on her until this moment.

It wasn’t like Josie didn’t want to return his gaze—she just couldn’t, not if she wanted to freeze where she stood. She could feel his intense gaze on her the moment he had walked into her older brother’s house. What she had expected to be a celebration turned into an internal prison as she found herself contemplating what exactly he was thinking about. The way he had been looking at her. . . She didn’t think either of them knew just how much power he held over her. So Josie pretended to be oblivious, acted as though his stare wasn’t burning right through her skin as she talked to friends of her brother’s she was only vaguely familiar with. She had a good excuse, too; after all, Luke had thrown this party to welcome her to California, had been a good older—by three years—brother and opened his home to her so she had a place to stay right after graduating college while looking for one of her own. And nothing said welcome like a good house party. At least, according to Luke Hemmings, anyway.

A soft smile played on her lips as she nursed her drink, thinking of her brother’s welcoming arms. The warm welcome she received was one that calmed her nerves, at first feeling like she was intruding when she moved into Luke’s home, despite his encouragement. Her brother wanted her to move in with him, and yet there was still a small part of Josie that had felt as though she was encroaching on his space. But it came with the territory of being labeled as the little sister among the inseparable group of her brother and his best friends, always feeling as though she was pushing herself into their friend group, even if her company was welcomed.

Eventually, she finished her drink and was in need of more, excusing herself from the group she was chatting with before making her way to the kitchen. Luke’s house was one she loved, proud of her brother for doing so well for himself, starting off as an accountant by using the math skills their mom instilled in them before rising to the top. High ceilings and lots of windows with a view of the trees and hills of the Valley, and an open space that was so much better than the cramped dorm room she’d been living in for too long. Her brother’s spacious home was definitely an upgrade. Josie knew she’d enjoy living in a space where she wouldn’t have to stack her belongings on top of one another, now having room to spread out comfortably.

Too busy admiring her new—albeit temporary—home and pouring herself another drink, Josie had become unaware of who she’d moved towards until the familiar voice spoke up nonchalantly, “You look like you’re fittin’ right in.”

Josie put down the bottle of Coke, biting the inside of her lower lip as she raised her head to finally meet the gaze she had been avoiding. His voice was unmistakable, eyes sharp as always as she schooled her expression into one of ease right when she looked at him. She went from chewing on her lower lip to biting the tip of her tongue to focus on the sting rather than the quickening of her heart. Her skin felt warm, frustration flushing her for not being able to slow her heart rate. Still, Josie offered a smile, the perfect combination of friendly and smug even if the latter felt incredibly made up. “’Course—it helps that I’m really likable.”

Calum sucked in his teeth, giving a brief, semi-accepting tilt of his head. One hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, he was gave her a once over before responding, “Depends on who you ask.” His words were followed by a sip of his beer, but Josie could make out the smirking curl of his lips from around the mouth of the bottle.

Despite the bass of the music thrumming deep in her chest, and the nerves she wished would subside because it was ridiculous to even feel so, Josie offered a smile and rested her hip against the counter she was near. She faced him as he stood a few feet away, left arm braced on the counter as the chain bracelet glimmered against the hanging light above the center counter. He looked good, Josie wasn’t afraid to admit that. To herself, anyway.

With a single shouldered shrug, Josie smiled knowingly and raised an eyebrow at Calum. “I’m asking you.” A risk, those words falling past her lips, but she couldn’t take them back. Nor the implication behind them. But Josie was trying to learn not to be regretful of things, standing by decisions she made. 

There was a subtle shift in his features, lips parting to lick his lower lip. Calum looked almost impressed, if not a bit startled, at Josie’s words, and she didn’t quite blame him. She watched something flash in his dark eyes, eyebrows lowering as a bit of a warning, silently telling her she was wandering into territory she shouldn’t be. Not that she had to be told that. The hitch in her throat was a sign enough.

Before Calum could respond, however, a sudden weight of an arm settled around Josie’s shoulders, a soft yet startled gasp escaping her as her six-foot-four brother playfully hung off her shorter frame. “Do you love your party or what?”

Josie tore her gaze away from the dark haired man across from her to grin up at her brother, whom she could tell was already well on his way to getting drunk. His cheeks were flushed, pushed up to show off his dimpled grin, eyes glazing over. A chuckle equal parts forced and amused escaped Josie, his presence tightening the knots in her stomach, as she wrapped her free arm around his waist. “Of course,” she answered. “I’m feeling all the love.”

Luke grinned, clearly satisfied with her answer. “Good,” he declared, wrapping his other arm around her as well, keeping her close. Josie could feel Calum’s eyes on them but she didn’t look back at him, letting her brother hug her as he continued, “You were too far away at Davis. ’m glad you’re here now.”

His words widened Josie’s smile, a happy warmth flushing her skin. Despite sometimes inserting herself in Luke’s friend group when they were kids, her brother never made her feel as though she was just tagging along or that she wasn’t welcomed to join. Being so close in age, Luke was Josie’s first best friend—honestly, he had a higher friendship role than any best friend she’s had—and she was easily closer to him than she was to her other two older brothers, Jack and Ben. Don’t get it wrong, Josie loved all of her brothers. But if she had to pick a favorite, it would be Luke.

Which was why Calum’s gaze on them felt so heavy, like it was weighing her down, slowly squeezing the air out of her lungs. Luke’s hug felt warm for all of the wrong reasons as Calum watched them, and Josie forced herself to look up, for her blue eyed gaze to meet his brown. His stare was intense as ever, looking right through her, and despite the neutrality of his features, Josie picked up on the look in his eye. She saw the reluctance that swam in them, a hint of panic he was doing a good job in hiding from those who wouldn’t expect to see it there. But Josie knew; she knew to look for it, knew it was probably present because she could feel it knotting her insides, too.

It was a kind of emptiness in her chest that allowed for the bass of the music playing in the house to settle too deeply, wondering if Calum felt it too as he tore his gaze away from them and took a long sip of his drink. Did he feel guilt, too? 

She hoped he didn’t regret it because she sure as hell didn’t. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t any room for the guilt to take up residence. Not when her brother was holding her so tightly, so happily, rambling on about how excited he was for her to be living with him. Oblivious to the tension his presence only intensified between his best friend and sister.

“It’ll be just like old times, right, Cal?” Luke’s voice pulled Josie out of her thoughts, swallowing the lump in her throat as Calum looked at them once more. The song playing through the speakers changed to an unfamiliar R&B type that Josie thought was more Calum’s style than her brother’s. 

A wry expression briefly twisted Calum’s features, a subtle quirk of his eyebrows and purse of his lips as his eyes met hers quickly. A silent scoff of yeah, right being spoken by him just through his features to her as Josie bit the inside of her cheek, her smile disappearing.

“Yeah,” Calum responded, his voice sounding too deep, heavy with the thoughts swirling in his head. Josie figured she had an idea what was running through his mind. He took another sip of his drink, brown eyes on blue, her own gaze following the way his tongue swiped across his lower lip, hating that she couldn’t pull her gaze away. All too aware that he was watching her track his movements, a hardship she would have to learn to get past. His eyes never left hers as he raised his cup, a silent cheers, as he repeated, “Just like old times.”

*****

The sun was bright. Then again, this was California, and the sun was always bright. Especially as June began and the sun remained high and relentless. It felt warm against Calum’s skin, which he’d eventually cool down by taking advantage of the tempting pool in front of him. And he wanted to jump in already, except he remained planted on the poolside chair, refusing to submerge himself in the cold water because of the woman already enjoying it. So he stayed put, feeling the heat burn his legs and the thin layer of sweat that clung to his skin, depriving himself of the welcoming water because he needed to keep his distance.

Music was playing through Luke’s backyard, but Calum couldn’t tell what song was playing, attention muffled by his focus being on Josie. Or, specifically, it was on trying not to be on the woman. Sipping his beer, Calum blinked behind his sunglasses, trying to anchor himself to the conversation happening around him by trying to get a grasp on reality. It was just him, the boys, and Josie—how it used to be at times when they were younger. Except there was nothing adolescent in the way his gaze lingered on Josie from behind the shades of his glasses. Yet he tried to listen to the song, foot tapping as his mind slowly picked up on the beat. Anything to try and get a solid grasp on his surroundings to pull out of his jumbled thoughts.

“The salon’s nice, then?” Ashton questioned, popped up from the middle of a hideous duck float, arms crossed on top as he looked at Josie.

She was laying on her stomach on a pool float, legs kicked up and ankles crossed. “So nice,” she answered with an appreciative groan. Calum took a breath, sipping his beer again as the sound rang in his ears. “Really fucking fancy, and everyone’s so nice. And the same company owns the nail salon next door so we get discounts.” With a wide grin, she added, “Pretty nails twenty-four-seven.”

She emphasized this point by lifting one hand and wiggling her fingers to show off already painted and long nails. Calum’s eyes followed the movement from where he sat, and the sun burned his skin. He straightened his posture, trying to rid of the all too familiar stinging sensation that dragged down his back. His muscles twitched, taking a breath as he tried to rid of the feeling, the reminder of a memory that was still fresh in his mind despite the months that passed.

Calum smacked his lips after forcing down the sip of beer, looking down at the bottle he held in mild distaste. Suddenly, he felt as though he needed a drink far stronger than this. Something to wipe the images lighting up his mind. 

Michael walked out from the house, flip flops echoing on the concrete, signaling his presence as he walked down the few steps from the back door to the pool area. He settled down on the chair next to Calum. “A friend of Crystal’s booked a couple of tables for tomorrow night at the new club that opened up in West Hollywood.” His green eyes looked at the four people he was with. “You guys down to go?”

Luke waded into the water behind Josie, and Calum watched with a quirk of his eyebrows, noting the way his best friend was making it a point to be particularly quiet in his silent approach towards Josie as Ashton answered, “Yeah; I’ve got a business dinner so I’ll meet you guys there.” He munched on some chips. “Just send me the details.”

Michael nodded, looking between Calum at his right and Josie in the pool in front of them. “What about you guys?”

“Sure,” came both of their responses, Josie’s excited while Calum’s more subdued. His gaze wandered back to Josie and he didn’t miss the way her smile kind of froze on her face, rolling her lower lip into her mouth before breaking their gaze. She couldn’t seem to hold their gaze for too long, as opposed to him, who couldn’t stop looking at her, enough to notice the way her eyes dulled when she heard his hesitated answer. Look at me. The words echoed in his mind, wanting her to hear them. Look. At. Me. Why he wanted her to look at him, he had no idea. All he could think about when their eyes connected, even for a few seconds, were the overwhelming memories he had shoved into a box in his mind. But the more he looked at her, the more prominent the images in his mind became.

Calum hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation that followed, looking out to the five foot brick wall that surrounded the perimeter of Luke’s yard. The sky was clear of clouds that made the heat of the sun all the more relentless, only adding heat to the tightness of his muscles. His attention was drawn back to the scene in front of him by the sound of Josie’s scream, eyebrows raising as he watched Luke, from underwater, pushed the float Josie was on to flip it, sending his sister splashing into the water as the sight of her flailing limbs erupted laughter from everyone else.

An amused grin tilted at Calum’s lips, his own laughter mixing in with those of the boys as Josie finally surfaced with a gasp. And suddenly the laughter from Calum ceased, watching as she rose up with her head tilted back, her slender neck drawing his gaze. For a moment, he could picture it. All of it. The droplets of water covering her skin glimmered under the sun, the blue bikini she wore attracting Calum’s attention more than he’d admit, biting his tongue as Josie turned her back to him to splash at Luke in retaliation.

Calum excused himself then, muttering something about needing to use the bathroom as he headed inside the house, the sliding door at the back of the house opening right into the kitchen as he walked through to get to the downstairs bathroom in the hall. Calum found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, hoping it was from the sun. His eyebrows lowered into a frown as he looked at his reflection, annoyance with himself spiking.

Get it together. It was all that he could say to himself as he exhaled slowly. He felt like a teenage boy, the sight of Josie in the pool stirring something in the pit of his stomach that had him sucking in a breath. What could he do? The sight had been all too familiar. 

Calum gave a shake of his head. Nope. He couldn’t do this.

He exited the bathroom, shaking his hands as if he was trying to get rid of the thoughts that clung to him, walking towards the kitchen. The sound of someone messing around in there caught his attention, distinct in the rattling of bottles, and Calum stopped when he caught sight of Josie shutting the fridge. A Mike’s Hard Lemonade was in her hand as her eyes locked on his, the fall of her sun-flushed face an obvious tell of her discomfort of being caught alone with him.

Calum could vaguely hear the boys still outside, but he was all too focused on Josie; her wet blonde hair hung around her shoulders, and he fought to keep his eyes from wandering any lower than her eyes. He didn’t want to observe the blue bikini top that complimented her eyes, grateful for the little reprieve he had with her tying a towel around her hips. Just a little reprieve. He bit the tip of his tongue, scolding himself for so easily losing his train of thought in her presence, knowing now was not the time to allow himself to fall into a silent stupor.

Licking his lips, Calum looked towards the glass door that led out back, briefly watching his friends talk amongst themselves. Their conversation was drowned out by the music playing, and Calum exhaled, not looking back at Josie as he said, “You could’ve given me a warning, you know.”

He heard the bewilderment in her voice. “A warning?” she repeated. “For what?”

“That you were movin’ here.” Calum turned his head to look at her, taking in the frown furrowing her eyebrows and tilting her lips downwards. His throat worked, keeping his eyes on her as an attempt to keep himself from watching a lone bead of water run down the column of her throat and race towards the valley of her breasts. Conjuring up the nostalgic image of her in the flannels she used to wear was proving to be difficult, his attempt of distracting himself failing. “Would’ve liked a heads up.”

Josie gaped at him, and maybe Calum wasn’t being fair to her. She didn’t really owe him anything, he knew that. But from the moment Luke had dropped the bombshell that Josie was moving in with him—the day she was driving down from Davis—Calum had found himself in a state of panic he wasn’t familiar with. One that made his stomach feel hollow and chest tighten when he thought about seeing her practically every day. 

“A heads up?” Josie scoffed, clearly finding Calum’s words as ridiculous as he felt saying them. With a tilt of her head, she raised an eyebrow and challenged, “Even if I did, what would you have done? High tailed it out of L.A.?”

Calum huffed, arms crossing over his chest, picking up on her gaze drifting to his arms briefly. He would’ve smirked if he wasn’t for the conversation at hand. His lips twisted to the side before he responded, “I would’ve at least been a bit prepared.”

“You think I was prepared?” Josie retorted, eyebrows shooting up as she stared him down. She took a step towards him, her own gaze drifting towards the back door before looking back at him. “Moving to L.A. was a last minute decision. You’re not the only one who can’t look Luke in the eye.”

He licked his lower lip, finger tapping against his bicep as he shook his head, anxiety ridden thoughts running rampant in his head. He wasn’t used to feeling so. . . Frustrated. Panicked. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like feeling as if he was trapped in a corner with no way out. “Pretty sure I have more to lose than you.”

That had been the wrong thing to say; Calum knew it as soon as the words escaped his mouth. He watched the way Josie’s eyebrows shot up and lips parted. She stared at him in disbelief, incredulous that he would try to knock down what was at stake for her in this situation by trying to emphasize his own. It was a dick move, he knew, and he was sorry for it. “Fuck you, Calum,” she frowned, her voice resigned. He hated that he could see her disappointment and hurt more than the anger. He swallowed inaudibly at the thought of bringing that look on her face; one that settled a solemnity in her features against him. “We both screwed Luke over,” she added, making her way around the center counter, taking the longer way around to avoid walking past him as she headed towards the door.

Calum’s jaw set, wanting to apologize as he watched her go, feeling badly for making it seem like his guilt was stronger than hers. Josie stopped then, right before reaching the door, and looked at him over her shoulder. The hurt was still in her eyes, and she spoke with an edge creeping into her voice. “But if you take into consideration who’s more likely to get punched if Luke were to ever find out. . .” Her blue eyes gave him a once over, expression looking almost too empty for Calum’s liking until her gaze met hers. She smiled humorlessly then, wanting to fire back to mask the hurt his words had caused her by being spiteful in hers as she finished off, “Then yeah; you’ve got more to lose.”

And then with a roll of her eyes, she turned back and slid the door open, the music clear for the brief moment the door was open until she slid it shut. Calum rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, shaking his head as he released yet another slow, long breath, finally in tune with the racing of his heart he had failed to notice earlier. So fucking screwed.

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @loveroflrh​ @sweetcherrymike​ @astroashtonio​ @softforcal​ @highfivecalum​ @novacanecalum​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @imfuckin10plybud​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @old-zeppelin-shirt​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @madelynerin​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @calistheloml @aestheticrelated​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @wildflowergrae​

[messyfruit]

Eremin week: singer x fan

Armin’s fidgety hands only stilled once Mikasa took a hold of them.

“Relax.”

“Sorry. It’s just the cold,” he told her and chuckled stiffly. The outside queue to the concert arena was bothered by a chilly breeze, but both of them knew that wasn’t why Armin was shaking.

“Sure. And I’m the front singer of Shifter Lines.”

“If you were, I’d be pissing my pants right now.”

They looked at each other and laughed. Mikasa stroked his shoulder and gave him a quick hug.

“I’m sure he’ll be cool,” she said. “They’ll like you.”

Armin hoped she was right. He had daydreamed of this opportunity for years. It was crazy to think the day had actually arrived.

“I can’t believe I won us backstage passes. I never win anything!”

The butterfly activity in his stomach was intensifying as their turn to present tickets drew closer. In a matter of minutes, they’d get to see the band. THE band. And its lead singer.

The guard raised his eyebrows as he inspected their tickets. His eyes fixed on Armin’s deluxe edition Eren-shirt from 2013.

The backstage area was a lot more cluttered than Armin had envisioned. It looked like several productions were sharing space: racks of feathery costumes, random props and wooden set pieces were everywhere. The staff of today’s concert seemed to hang out mostly by the small kitchen area, where the feathers receded to walls covered in band posters and signed records hanging in important frames. The guest sofas were torn and leathery and placed in front of the minibar. And in them - Armin saw them the moment they were admitted from the opposite end of the hallway - the band members.

None of them looked their way as the door creaked open, yet Armin’s heart was going wild in his throat all the same, and he stopped in his tracks.

“Armin?” Mikasa put her hands on his shoulders and pushed. “Be cool,” she whispered, nudging him to follow their escort. “You’ve read their interviews. Eren’s as people shy as you.”

“I don’t know what to s-“

“Hi!”

Both of them went rigid as the buzz cut drummer called for them from the sofa. All four of the stars were looking their way now. Armin’s eyes searched - and his legs went limp like boiled pasta as he met the eyes of the singer. The guy was hiding his expression behind long, dark hair. Though, his eyes peered clearly through the strands, and although he couldn’t see the green from where he stood, Armin knew them well from all the posters he owned: Eren’s eyes were green and gorgeous - and apparently of a Medusa-esque nature in person.

The eye contact felt ages long, and intense almost to a suffocating degree, but eventually the singer broke it to reach for a can of coke.

“Are you the VIPs?” the drummer continued. “Come sit with us!”

Mikasa managed to shove Armin forward - until he got his legs back in order and he proceeded as if on stilts, over to the second sofa. My god, they were sitting down opposite his four mortal gods!

“I won the tickets,” he said, lamely.

“Congrats!” The guitarist with the long face was talking now. He came off like a douchebag in most of the interviews, but Armin was convinced he was a good guy underneath. “You bigs fans?”

Armin felt his cheeks burning when he saw Eren looking at his shirt.

“Uh-huh. Yeah... big. Big fans.” He crosses his arms and looked at Mikasa. The heat was getting to his brain.

“He’s your biggest fan, actually.” Mikasa was taking a bullet for him now, and he was thankful. “He has all your albums and merch. He even wrote you all fan letters once. Your music got him through some bad years.”

“We’re honored,” Jean said.

“You got a favorite song?” the girl, Sasha, asked.

Armin nodded and fought for his words. “Yeah. Or. Well, it’s hard to- to choose...” Jesus, he was so nervous. He looked at Eren again, but the guy wasn’t talking, only staring silently behind his coke and curtain of hair. Armin worried he was boring him already. He bet he was. But this was his chance. “... I really like ‘unconditional’. It... it really resonated with me.” He was looking at Eren and Eren alone. He wanted his words to meet this guy, to mean something. “I know you must hear this all the time... but y-yeah. I lost my mom too, and your song helped me... a lot...” He wiped his hands on his knees and felt a lump grow in his throat. “I just wanted to say... well. Thank you. For that.”

“Man, sorry to hear it,” Connie said with an honest frown. He picked a can from the minibar and threw it. “Here.”

“Do you want us to sign something?” Jean asked awkwardly. But before he could get a reply, Eren said: “did you get an answer?”

He was looking at Armin.

“... I’m sorry?” Armin’s stomach was in a knot in under a millisecond. They were locking eyes again, and his mouth was dry with nerves. Don’t say the wrong thing, don’t say the wrong thing.

“... your letters. Did we write you back?”

“Oh!” Armin knew he was hot red now, the heat was unmistakable. His hands were back on his knees and he was praying his shirt wasn’t dark with pit stains. “... No... But- but I understand! You must get fan mail every day! You can’t possibly to get all of them.”

“It’s not an excuse.” Eren’s voice was dark and serious. “You pour your heart out and I don’t even answer. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“Really... it’s ok.”

“It’s not.”

The other band members tried to lighten the serious mood, but eccentric Eren Yeager seemed inconsolably angry with himself until it was time to get ready for the stage. The conversations eventually found a natural flow, but Eren wouldn’t - or couldn’t - entertain the more casual. He seemed to be weighted by what he’d been told. And just before showtime, he pulled Armin into a dressing room for a word in private. Armin was ready to pass out, but mustered the strength to follow - with his heart in his throat and his guts it a knot.

The room smelled of indoor cigarettes and spilled booze, and for once, Eren didn’t fit in with the bad boy scenery; his hair was behind his ears and his frown read softly of sincerity and compassion.

“Armin, I feel really bad,” he told Armin, leaning with his back both hands against a makeup station.

Armin shook his head and hugged himself. “I didn’t come here to hold anything against you,” he said. “I love your music because you say what’s important through it. I got all the answer I needed in your songs...”

Eren sighed and shook his head down. He shoved a hand inside his pocket and pulled out a note Armin had seen him scribble just previously.

“Write me a new one.”

“What?”

Eren gently took Armin’s hand and held it out with its palm upturned. He put the note there and looked intently at Armin. A phone number.

“Write me a new letter. And I promise, I’ll write you back this time.”

Eren would keep his word, turns out. More than once. The texts soon became a regular occurrence, then FaceTime was a thing. And two years later, the album ‘Ocean eyes’ dropped. The tabloids would have it that the famously sullen singer, finally looked like a man in love.

Mikasa said the same about Armin.

[runenc03]

Back to me

Writing date: June 2020

Genre: fluff

Warnings: crazy paparazzi? Lol

Word count: 2.8k 

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

You sighed in relief as soon as the fresh night wind hit your face, replacing the thick, musty air inside the building you just got out of. You exhaled, fog momentarily clouding your vision. It made you smile. As a child, you'd always imagined being a baby dragon who couldn't spew fire yet, but instead spit smoke. You sometimes wished to return to the simplicity your life held back then.

A fraction of the buzzing from inside managed to find its way outside, but it was faint, and therefore much more bearable for your eardrums.

Still, you knew you should be inside right now, yelling along with the crowd, head over heels in love with the lead singer, like every other girl, or boy, in there. You knew, however, that being inside just wasn't an option right now. You had tried, for him, but the loud noise was too much for your head, and the lyrics were not sung, but screamed by the singer, too much for your heart.

Carefully, considering you were wearing your only pair of heels right now, you started to walk alongside the wall, breathing in deeply, letting the wind wrap itself around your body. But the more physical distance you created between you and the stage, the more your thoughts seemed to focus on that same stage, and the singer on it.

From an outside perspective, he was everything you would expect from an ideal guy, 'boyfriend material', they'd say, and you saw all of that too, but he wasn't right for you, not in the beginning, and not now.

'The beginning' had taken place around 7 months ago. He had been your new classmate. Whispers had filled the classroom as soon as his famous face had been visible, and all the girls in your class had been jealous of you when the teacher put him next to you. You, however, had grimaced as discreetly as you could, not really keen on giving up your extra space. The jealousy of the other girls had only continued as the two of you constantly got paired for partner assignments. You would rather work on your own than having to compromise with someone else though.

For some reason however, he seemed to have a special interest in you. The interest wasn't genuine and you knew it, but you couldn't turn him, nor the attention he offered you, down. Not because he was irresistible, no, you knew for sure that you'd rather be alone than with him. It was the icy tone behind his charming words, the cold eyes above his broad smile, that made you unable to say no to him. You were scared.

What started as being classmates, ended up in many more labels. Friends, some would say. Lovers, others would gossip.

The truth was much more complicated. The truth was that you didn't really know what to think of the two of you, only that you felt an immense amount of pressure from the outside world to finally get together.

'What do you actually want? He's perfect! If you don't claim him soon enough, he's going to be gone, he won't wait forever. And then that's your loss. Stop being so picky!'

You had lost count of the number of times someone had felt the need to tell you something along those lines. It made you panic, made you feel restricted, invisible claws pinching your throat closed. You didn't know exactly what you wanted from a romantic relationship, all you knew was that he couldn't give it to you. True, he was perfect to the outside world, society, but you knew better. You had soon picked up on the small things, like how he always divided the work of partner assignments and made you do the harder part, or how he treated all girls with an equal, but fake kind of chivalry.

Soon, making duo assignments 'together' had turned into you writing the songs for his band while he claimed them as his own, you taking the pictures he posted on his Instagram, you writing back nice letters to his fans after they had sent him fan mail.

You couldn't do it anymore. Dealing with all the pressure from the outside world, combined with his behaviour towards you...it was too much. You felt trapped in between two walls, getting closer and closer towards each other, waiting until they would finally be close enough to pulverise you.

Suddenly, your eyes and ears started registering flashes. You looked to the left, your eyes quickly scanning the area, looking for the person who was taking pictures of you. When you found them, you gasped. At least 4 photographers were sitting behind a car, hastily taking as many pictures of you as they could.

You rapidly looked the other way again, continuing your walk at a faster pace. It had never been this bad. True, his band had been known before he became your classmate, but he had only really blown up when he began to release the songs you had written. He had started homeschooling as well, not being able to go to school anymore without being followed like this. It worked for him, but you still had difficulties with the press, considering you were often spotted together. This wasn't the first time pictures had been taken from you, but it had never been in a situation like this, with you feeling overwhelmed, at night, alone and in the dark. You didn't want to be seen like this, not by the photographers and not by every other person in the country who bought a magazine the next morning. All you wanted was to get away from these people as fast as possible.

So you ran.

You ditched your heels altogether, never having been keen on shoes anyway, and started to run as fast as you could. You ran through the city centre, turned left, and right, and left again, until you were completely disoriented, stranded in a local park, bright yellow lights the only thing to make you see something. The photographers, however, were still chasing you. You faltered for a second, hands on your knees, your breath being completely knocked out of you. You mentally noted that you should start working on your stamina. You knew the only reason you were ahead of the press was because you didn't have to carry those heavy cameras.

"Hey, come here, quickly, I'll help you."

You looked up again, only now noticing a figure sitting on the bench, about 12 feet away from you. You walked in the person's direction, and upon further inspection, you saw it was a guy, probably around your age. He was wearing a jacket with a hoodie underneath, a guitar was balanced on his lap. The guy smiled at you when he heard you come closer. Before you even had the chance to say something, he pulled something out of his pocket and threw it in your direction. Out of instinct, you caught it. The material felt cold in your hands, and so it took you a second to realise he had given you keys.

"My bike is in the grass, there. You can take it and bike away, so that you're faster than the press."

You looked in the direction his arm indicated, and indeed saw a bike thrown against one of the light poles. You were astonished.

"Why do you trust me? How do you know I won't just steal your bike?"

He only smiled knowingly, not really giving you an answer.

"I have a feeling you'll come back to me."

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

He had been right. Of course you came back. How could you not? First of all, you were not the type of person to do anything mean, let alone illegal, and second, you hadn't been able to get the kind boy out of your head throughout the entire process of escaping those photographers. It had taken you a while, true, but you had managed to get rid of all of them. Now was the time to bring the bike back to its rightful owner.

Leaves rustled as you entered the park the boy had been sitting in, and the chaos in your head only intensified because of it. Questions swirled through your mind, why he had trusted you, what he had been doing there so late at night, who he even was.

You spotted his figure, hood over his head, slightly leaning forward. You stepped off of the bike and slowly started walking next to it, trying to buy some time, your shyness suddenly coming in full force. How should you approach him? What did you say to a stranger who had loaned you his bike in the middle of the night?

You noticed you had stopped walking altogether because the spikes of the bike were silent, making it possible for you to hear the gentle strumming of a guitar - a guitar he was playing right now.

Your feet decided for themselves to start moving. He only noticed you when your shadow towered over him, blocking the artificial light coming out of the lamp posts from reaching his fingers on the guitar. He looked up, smiling. The artificial lighting didn't illuminate his features at all, but you were still happy to have a better look at his face. And what a face it was.

"Hi there. I see you've found your way back to me. Did they follow you for a long time, or were you just lost?"

His teasing tone made you grin, questions still on your mind, but the chaos gone now.

"A combination of both, I guess. Thank you, really, I don't know what I would've done without your bike."

And then, to change the topic:

"What were you playing?"

"Recuerdos de la alhambra"

"How can you play that piece by heart? I've been practising for months and I still can't get it completely right. And that's with sheet music."

He looked up from his guitar and to your face for longer than absolutely necessary for the first time since you'd come back to him. When you looked into his eyes, you knew his lack of eye contact before hadn't been because you bored him, but because he'd been shy. What had changed now was that his curiosity had won, while the shyness had lost. Your heart fluttered without your permission at the realisation, and suddenly, you were the one having difficulties upholding that eye contact.

"I've always felt like sheets hinder me while I'm playing. It's like I'm too busy trying to decipher the notes on the sheet that I can't actually make music anymore, you know? Anyway, that's not what I where I was going to. Did you just hint that you play the guitar too?"

Your shyness had definitely taken over now. Why had you told him you played?

"A little bit, I'm definitely not as good as you are, I taught myself."

"Okay but that only makes it more impressive. Do you want to play?"

He held his guitar out to you, but you shook your head. You barely dared playing in front of your friends, let alone a stranger. Then, a thought struck you, and the giddy feeling inside you numbed.

"Is this the part where you're going to force me to play guitar, or do something else I'm uncomfortable with, because you let me use your bike?"

His face fell a bit, a worried expression now taking over the smile. The giddy feelings inside you numbed even further now his smile wasn't visible anymore.

"No, no of course not, I honestly just wanted to do something good, and you just needed help in that moment. I'm nothing like that, I'd never ask you for something unreasonable in return for giving you the help you needed, but didn't even ask for. I'm sorry if I came across that way, I should've realised I'm a stranger to you. You couldn't have known my intentions were solely to help you out."

You had seen your fair share of false remorse throughout your life, and so you knew from the tone of his voice and the look on his face that his wasn't false. An immediate punch of guilt attacked your stomach, this wonderful guy had helped you, and you came and doubted his intentions, just because he offered you his guitar. You seriously should work on keeping your fears under control. Carefully, you parked his bike against the lamp post and went to sit on the other end of the bench.

"I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to doubt you or anything. I should keep my fears under control."

He looked at you again, eyes widened at the fact that you suddenly sat next to him, even if there was still over a foot of space between you.

"You mean, your fear of playing?"

You nodded your head, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Yeah, I don't know how you do it. I mean there's no need to be insecure, obviously, but where did you learn to play this well? I've never found a good guitar teacher around here. Then again, where are you from? What's even your name? Or am I asking too much now?"

The mysterious smile was back on his face, and you felt your own smile promptly match his.

"Well, to each their secrets, I guess. You don't want to let me enjoy your musical talent, what makes you think I'd want to share what my name is?"

You could tell he was only teasing you. There was a twinkle in his eye when he looked at you, and you couldn't help but think you'd never been as intrigued by a pair of eyes before.

Suddenly, you had an idea.

"Okay, you've convinced me. Let's play a game. For every song I play for you, you have to answer a question, and vice versa."

"So, like an advanced, musical version of twenty questions?"

"You've got it. You can start with a question while I mentally prepare myself to play the next song."

He played a few random chords before silencing the strings, looking you in the eye. For the first time that night, you noticed the dimples gracing his cheeks. You thought they were cute.

"Okay, first question: what's your favourite song?"

You knew where this was going to, so you told him your favourite song. You even told him the story of why it was your favourite, something that surprised both him and yourself.

And so he started playing. At this point, you weren't even surprised he knew the correct chords right off the bat. You closed your eyes, taking in the gentle strumming of the guitar next to you, allowing yourself to finally completely relax.

And then, when the second verse was about to start:

"Do you want to sing?"

You couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that made you cave in, maybe it was his smile, or the fact that he hadn't added 'for me' to his question, but you started humming along. Shy at first, not used to singing in anyone's presence but your own. The humming gradually morphed into singing actual words, and when you dared opening your eyes again, you saw that his smile had only broadened, his eyes closed now, fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar.

This is how you spent your entire night, sitting on a bench, with a guy you didn't properly know yet, humming famous and self invented melodies, bonding over smiles and chords.

You hadn't realised it yet, but somewhere during this night, the foundation had been set to eventually fall in love with this beautiful stranger.

He would end up being your first -and last- true, romantic love, and you were going to be forever grateful that you decided that night to come back to him.