#And not the turntable itself

[mycatismyfriend]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer | 2x01 → 2x16

[repulsiveliquidation]

Guardian of My Heart || Leah Williamson

based on this request here! it's not that long but i loved writing this so much so i hope y'all like it!

warnings : angst with happy ending. mentions of injury.

“And that’s the final whistle folks, Chelsea takes this game with a comfortable 3-1 win over the Gunners here at Stamford Bridge.”

Leah’s eyes fill with tears at the final whistle. Her heart shatters audibly in her chest. A game they needed to win to have a chance at the title, thrown away by silly mistakes and sloppy football. She walks around the pitch in shame, apologizing to all the Gooners in the stands who came only to see them fail.

“I’m sorry,” she says to the crowd, tears falling down her face. The rest of the girls do the same, making their way to the stands to thank fans and sign jerseys. The home side erupts in a painful cry of victory, one that makes Leah’s chest almost cave in on itself.

The changing room is silent except for the sound of bags being packed and the muted drumming of water on the floor from the showers. One by one the girls make their way to the bus, offending socks from the wardrobe mishap filling the trash bin in the locker room.

Leah sulks when she hears the girls all planning to see their partners at home and just forget today’s game. She just jammed her AirPods into her ears and played her country music loudly, hoping the gaping hole of loneliness in her chest would go away with the serenading words of Luke Combs.

She knew her house would be lonely. She knew her house would be quiet. She knew her house would be dark. There was no one waiting. The person she wanted most would not be there. There was only one person to blame for that.

“Leah, you can’t keep doing this to me!” you yelled, rounding the coffee table as Leah stumbled into the house at twenty past three on a Saturday. You came over at eight thinking Leah would be home since she promised to help you cook dinner and enjoy the Bachelor finale on TV together. Instead, you walked into her apartment with your spare key to an empty house and her bedroom a mess. Her makeup was all over the bathroom and she had clearly changed her shoes at least three times.

You waited and waited for her to get home, calling the Arsenal girls to figure out where she had gone. They felt sorry for you and tried to get Leah to go home to you but she said something that the moment it left her lips, your heart broke into pieces.

“You’re such a fucking needy bitch, get off my back for once!”

You don’t know why you still sat in her living room for three more hours and waited for her to get home. You knew you needed to know she was home safe. That she was okay. That she didn’t choke on her own vomit from drinking too much. Because despite being her second choice for a while now, you still loved the England skipper. You still love Leah Williamson.

Leah drove home in pin-drop silence. Her kit bag was thrown in the back to be dealt with later, her arm on the door holding her head up as the streets of London were a blur. She parked in her spot and walked out like a zombie, not noticing your car in her driveway and her porch light on.

The key turned easily and she walked into her house to the turntable on low and the smell of smileys and a roast coming from the kitchen. She looked down and saw a pair of shoes that she recognized and a voice that was singing along to the music that she had fallen asleep to a million times.

“Y/N?” Leah spoke aloud, toeing her shoes off and dropping her kit bag. She shuffled into the kitchen and saw you standing there at the stove, stirring in the roasting tray and making a gravy. There were two plates on the island she instantly knew which one was hers. You turn and give her a soft smile, pushing your chin out to gesture her to sit. She does and grabs the bottle of wine you’ve set out and pours the two glasses full of Cabernet.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, grabbing a smiley off the plate she knew was hers and nibbling on the cheek.

“I wanted to make sure you had something to eat,” you answer curtly as you put the whisk down and grab a gravy boat, smiling to yourself when you still remember where it was.

“Y/N,” Leah says sternly, putting her half-eaten smiley down.

You turn and put the gravy boat next to the roast, finally looking at your ex-girlfriend.

“I needed to know that you were okay, after today.”

“Why?” Leah asks, voice carrying a lilt of guilt with fresh tears filling her eyes.

You walked around the island and turned the skipper in her seat to face you. You held her face in your hands, wiping the tears that fell. You had been in this situation before when Leah tore her ACL.

“You’re going to be okay, Leah.”

“What if I never play like I used to ever again?”

“You don’t ever need to worry about that because you will. The Leah Williamson I know never gives up.”

She chuckles but more fear settles in her heart. Leah looks up at you at the very island she’s sitting at right now.

“I’m scared,” she admits sheepishly, looking defeated and terrified. You cup her face and wipe the tear stains off her face.

“You will get through this Leah and I will be there every step of the way.”

“You won’t leave? They always leave.”

“I would never. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers back to you before you kiss her, her mind willing itself to get better. If not for her, for you.

Zach Bryan’s voice fills the room softly, the lyrics of ‘Tourniquet’ “take care of the blood that your love runs through” remind you of why you packed up a roast and stopped at the shops for a bag of frozen smileys. It reminds you of all the nights you massaged her leg when it was feeling tight. It reminds you of all the nights when you sat beside her and held her close while she cried at another delay in her recovery. It reminds you of all the nights you spent awake with her when she couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

Was it worth it? Yes.

Would you do it all over again? Yes.

Leah breaks down when her eyes meet yours. The smell of your perfume and your musk flood her senses with all the reasons why she was in love with you all those years. Deep down inside she knew she still felt that way and hoped that you did too.

Leah cries. The pain of losing, hurting her hamstring just as she’s called to the England squad for the first time since her ACL, and the overwhelming sense of disappointment burst the moment you held her in your arms again. It was home and it was safe. Leah clung onto your hoodie and made a right mess on the front but you didn’t care. Leah needed you and you wished you could take away her pain.

“I just wasn’t me out there today and that cost us the game,” Leah muttered after calming herself down and her hiccups stopped.

“Today wasn’t just your fault, honey,” you cooed, taking the hair tie out of Leah’s hair and combing your fingers through her blonde locks. She rested her head against your stomach and closed her eyes, zeroing in on your touch.

“I let the team down,” she countered, pulling you closer to her.

“It just wasn’t anyone’s day today, my love,” you cupped her face and wiped more of the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. You leaned in a little and were a bit unsure, but feeling her nudge herself towards you gave you the approval you sought.  

Her lips felt familiar against yours.

Salty.

Warm.

Recognizable.

Home.

She chased your lips and melted into them, gripping your wet hoodie like her life depended on it or that you would vanish if she let go, even for a second.

“I’m sorry I treated you the way I did, you don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve someone willing to love you for you, Leah,” you reassure her and seal it with a kiss, walking away from her to chuck the roast back in the oven to warm up for a bit and her smileys into the air fryer for a little reheating.

Zach’s voice fills the blanks when you look at her blue eyes, her features blow you away every time you look at her. You bled your whole soul into things you can't control; in a world you'll never satisfy brings Leah back to reality. The game today was good. It didn’t go their way from the beginning with those wretched socks and their delayed start but they gave it their all. It was a lesson to be learned and one to look back on when the team had lost its spark.

Leah scoffs down half the roast and convinces you to throw a couple more smiley into the air fryer for her to drown in your delicious gravy. You put a fresh toothbrush next to hers in her bathroom and have a glass of warm milk on your bedside waiting for you like you like.

“You remembered,” you tell her as she hands you a ratty jersey for you to sleep in. You throw it on and inhale her delicate scent, your heart filling with warmth and ease.

“I still set it out sometimes you know, especially after you left.”

“You’ll have to try and remember again now, I think,” you tease, and she stands in front of you. You sip on your milk and she kisses the foam mustache off your lips.

“I’ll never forget, my love. Ever.”

[lattenha]

y(ours) — P1HARMONY!maknae line

a continuation of what it’s like dating the younger one’s and their familiarity with your personal belongings. ft. non-idol!p1h maknae line x gn!reader

a/n: this is my attempt at easing back into writing, apologize if it’s super rough :(

intak

your vinyl record.

it was gifted to you on christmas about two years ago. you’ve always dwelled on wanting one of your own, but never had the balls to go out of your way to purchase one because they could get pretty pricey. a lot of your extensive research and effort you spent scouring the internet to find the perfect vinyl record you’d like pointed to signs of something completely out of your budget. well, not completely, but unrealistically obtainable with the numbers you’ve been receiving paycheck-to-paycheck from your job.

so, each time that the holidays were around the corner, and whenever your mother would ask for your christmas wishlist, you’d throw in several other items you’d like but never included the idea of wanting a vinyl record. that secret desire of yours was something you kept to yourself, something you never brought up in conversation, nor was it something you’d expect to receive unless it was coming out of your pockets.

lo and behold, on the morning of a wintery cold december 25, when you were gathered around the christmas tree with your siblings and parents to open your presents, there sat a box with a fragile sticker stuck to the wrapping.

to: y/n :)

from: mom and dad

since then your prized possession has followed you to college and your off-campus apartment whom you share with your three other close friends.

intak, especially, took a liking to your music player and never misses an opportunity to use it. whenever he visits your place (which is almost every day) he makes it his unrelenting mission to flip through your vinyls and place his pick of the day on to the turntable. his personal favorite is cigarettes after sex, a band you actually introduced him to.

while you don’t mind sharing things, especially with your partner, you’re pretty sure intak has used your vinyl record more often than you have. ultimately, you don’t mind. it’s rather endearing knowing that what’s yours also belongs to him.

shota

your nintendo switch.

“y/n can i play super smash bros?”

shota doesn’t even need to ask for your approval. in fact, he already knows your answer will always allude to a ‘yes,’ but he does it anyway despite the electronic device already in his possession.

“of course,” you would say.

naturally you grew up owning multiple generations of nintendo ds’s. when nintendo came out with a new updated version you’d go to the game store to trade it in for store credit just to get the latest release. this routine continued up until middle school when your gaming hobby no longer prevailed itself in your interests.

as months passed and 2017 eventually rolled by, the internet buzzed with life after nintendo’s announcement about the upcoming hybrid console came to light. rest assured that you were one of millions who preordered the device and waited impatiently for it’s hard launch date to release in store.

but again, school started to pick up and extra curricula’s were time consuming, that playing video games became less and lesser of an option for you to indulge in.

leave it to shota to pick up your slack. because if it’s not super smash bros that he’s try-harding at, it’s either the suika game, animal crossing (if he really feels like it), or pokemon. an odd rotation but who were you to judge.

“wHat!” he yelps from the couch. “how did he dodge that!”

you giggle at his typical gamer-behavior, closely reminded of yourself.

jongseob

your digicam.

the sony cyber-shot camera has been by your side since you were in the 5th grade.

it was a hand-me-down from your father’s box of electronic gadgets he owned back in the day; a lot of which were collecting dust in the garage for not being used in so long.

while tossing things away to relieve the clutter and deciding what to keep, you remember discovering the digicam at the bottom of the pile after laborious digging. your father briefly taught you how to turn it on and off, what button to press to take a picture, how to record a video, and the different settings you could play around with.

your digicam has followed you around the world to different countries for family trips, witnessed you graduate from high school, contained a lot of embarrassing photos of you and your friends, watched you grow since elementary to your first day of college, and captured numerous flicks featuring new faces.

when you started dating jongseob, your photo gallery has been nothing but candid pictures of you and him (mainly of you).

your boyfriend is constantly bringing it along with him to events or outings, because, in his defense, he just wants to create some memories for you both to look back on someday. sometimes he goes out of his way to point and direct you on how to pose.

once, over dinner, you asked jongseob if he’d rather upgrade to something better and not outdated, like a canon or even a proper film camera. however, he is not one to budge and refuses to give up the obsolete digicam he unintentionally took ownership of.

“it’s special,” he pouted. “and sentimental, too.”

you smiled, “i guess. i just can’t help but wonder if you prefer a greater upgrade.”

“trust me, this has everything i need. now show me that pretty smile of yours.”

[doodlingbot]

Intresting au thus far! Curious to see what you've got in mind for the boss fights now that the turntables have turned the table. That turnes. Does this mean that NSR Tower now has the Metro Division theme treatment, or is it just the man inside that's different?

The tower will likely have more of Metro Division's theming. Even if the player/B2J might not see more than the lobby, elevator, and Neon J's office.

Tatiana's office in game has her time theming, with the floor itself being a giant clock. (And the tower itself seeming so, Professional? Elegant? Orderly in a way.)

Neon J's office would go with Metro Division's 'party all night' theme. Of course with some military aspects in there as well, at the very least in him giving orders to his soldiers during the fight with the player/B2J. The combination of fighting on a dance floor, while a navy captain barks orders along to the music.

[AU]

[p1nkcanoe]

the polaroid collection: copia

this is part eight and the final part of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Swiss said he had been done taking pictures. He’d put the camera away – stored it back in its box in his closet and tucked away the extra film. He said he was more than satisfied with his work. He was done. 

So then how in the world did he get here? 

Swiss should have never invited himself into his Papa’s private quarters. He should have never agreed to stay for a glass of wine while something bluesy spun around and around on the turntable. He shouldn’t have made that flirty little joke that made Copia giggle, shouldn’t have reached for the sliver of pale, creamy skin that peeked out from the expensive fabric of his night robe, and definitely should not have pulled on the ties that held the entire thing together. 

But – fuck – Copia did not have the right to look that good. Captured under the caress of golden light and silhouette on full display as silk fell to the floor in a bundle, undereyes still smokey with old paint and graying hair messed from the long day. And his tongue didn’t have to be that loose after just a bit of wine… In truth, Swiss isn’t sure exactly what led to him wearing his Papa’s silken robe, his master below him and on his knees, covered in a thin film of sweat with his cock leaking profusely between his legs and a collar etched with the singular word “PRINCESS” buckled loosely around his neck… and to anyone looking in, the scene set out before him would look nothing less than taboo. A secret night of roles reversed, a servant become master, a most unexpected shift in power… but Swiss loves his Papa dearly, and he is hopelessly devoted to him, even with his leash wrapped securely around his fist. 

At some point between stripping him bare and guiding him gradually and carefully, step by step like an old dog to kneel in front of his own standing mirror, Swiss had managed to connect a leash to the loop at the front of the thing around his neck, and the pretty length of sleek leather felt too nice wrapped tightly around his fist. There’s an undeveloped photograph in his free hand and within the solid white border appears the faintest outline of his own broad silhouette as it looms from behind the one settled just in front of him. 

Just a ghoul and his Papa… spending quality time together over a vintage bottle of red… and yet he can barely focus because the larger-than-life Papa Emeritus the Fourth looks so small. 

“Nobody ever sees that,” Copia says in a single quick push of air. He’s panting, voice strained, shoulders slumped inwards, and a slightest wheeze has settled into his throat since he last spoke. He’s locked his mismatched eyes onto Swiss’ through the reflection of the mirror, something pleading and serious, and the corner of Swiss’ mouth curls upwards into a smirk as he flits his eyes back and forth between the photograph and his most unexpected muse. Copia swallows so hard that his throat clicks from behind the thick material of the collar. The metal loop clinks, glinting under the low light. “Not another soul, my ghoul, do you hear me?” 

The ghoul acknowledges his request but only barely. There are much more interesting things he’s become preoccupied with, and the future of the photograph in his hand is for, well, the future. 

Swiss watches in real time as the generous bulge of his own cock appears in faded color, just beside his Papa’s pretty head. It looks good, of course it does. Big and prominent. He presses the heel of his hand into his groin, pleased to find his arousal hasn’t deflated at all since the photo was taken, and Copia’s collar jingles as he twists his head up to readdress him, a hand firmly planting itself to the front of his strong thigh. 

“My ghoul–”

“Yes, Papa, I heard you,” he cuts him off, but doesn’t do so to be rude. Engrossed in the photograph, he’d failed to catch the hints of anxiety building in his words until he was begging for even a sliver of his attention – a sliver of assurance his dignity would be protected – and Swiss had been quick to stop him before any more of those terrible-sounding words could leave his mouth. For the first time since the photo was dispatched from the camera, he looks away and finds his Papa through the mirror’s reflection, his pink lips wavering between unspoken words and hands clasped shyly in his lap. His erection hid beneath them. 

Swiss doesn’t like that look on him at all. 

The photograph drops from where it was pinched between his fingers and flutters to the floorboards, flipping through the air until it settles somewhere out of sight, hiding partially beneath the edge of a woven rug. In an instant the ghoul drops to his knees and wraps his strong, dusky arms around the tops of Copia’s shoulders, hands lightly groping at his chest and tracing the curves of the tattoo on his breast. 

“I heard you,” he assures him and buries a lingering kiss to the crown of his skull, “and I promise that the only eyes that will get the privilege to see you like this are my own. You have my word.” 

He feels him relax in real time and only pulls him closer to his chest, allowing him a moment to shift his weary legs as he desires to feel comfortable settled securely in his ghoul’s arms. When his old knees crack and pop, Swiss pretends not to notice. The ancient floorboards are not kind to tired joints, but that is why Swiss is there to help him when he fails to find comfort and the pleasure in his aging body. He will always be there. 

Copia sighs and lets the air escape from his lungs in a single, drawn-out breath when he finds his position against his ghoul’s strong frame. Pressed firmly against his chest and nearly in his lap, the fabric of his own robe that has been borrowed by the other feels cool against his skin and yet fiery hot where the infernal heat of Swiss’ core leaks through. When he opens his eyes he’s met with the golden orbs of the other as they peer through the grand mirror’s reflection, watching the expressions change and shift on his features and returning only love and adoration back at him. It warms him. Somehow, this ghoul feels like home. 

“Comfortable, Papa?” 

“Yes, I–” he chokes on his voice when Swiss’ hand suddenly drops from his chest to reach for his cock and begin to stroke. Long, slow strokes from root to tip that make the old man want to melt into him for the rest of time and never leave the floor. “Yes– that. That is nice…” 

Swiss chuckles softly and the vibrations settle against his spine, blooming with warmth when his laughter rolls over into a lasting, gentle purr. His hand continues to rhythmically dance over his cock, tugging at the tip and dipping the tip of his index finger into the sticky pre that bubbles at his tip, spreading it over his skin for a more pleasurable slide. Copia goes practically boneless in his arms and lets his weight fall into the other’s more massive frame, and Swiss shuffles forward, humming softly when the hard bulge of his own cock finds pressure between Copia’s lower back. 

Swiss is warm there, too. Hotter than any other part of him, and Copia can’t help but lean further into it, asking silently for more of his body. Swiss is happy to oblige, spreading his knees slightly and rolling his hips forward, pulling Copia’s chest into him at the same time and moaning nice and low into his graying hair when they press together just right. A little more of that nice push and pull and Copia twitches in his hand, a little noise slipping past his lips that sets Swiss’ tummy aflame with desire. He dips his chin to nuzzle at the sweat-covered skin just behind his ear and shudders when his heady scent fills his nose, warm and so very human. The pulsing of his blood is deafening in his ears and he begins to radiate with a pulsating heat that not even dewdrop could match.

“Tell me what you need, Papa. I exist to serve you, my master. My muse.” 

His Papa moans, loud and pretty, completely unabashed, and Swiss clutches at his skin tighter, pulling him against his chest so insistently that his legs slide upwards along the floor and he’s pulled fully into his lap. He squeaks when Swiss’ arm temporarily restricts the ability for his lungs to expand and he clutches at his balls with his palm and the multi ghoul is quick to release him, smoothing the places where his hands were momentarily cruel with tender caresses of his mortal appreciation and a sincere, silent apology. 

Copia lifts a hand to one of the ghoul’s spiraling horns and sighs, catching his breath. “Reserve the roughness for your packmates, you know I am far more fragile than they are…” 

Swiss returns his hand to his cock and ghosts the pads of his fingers over the prominent vein at the side, his nose still buried in his hair. His breath tickles his skin when he breathes out and Copia shivers, grasping at whatever parts of the other that he can. 

“I know. Got the better of myself for a moment there.” 

Copia hums and covers Swiss’ hand with one of his own, guiding his much longer fingers to wrap more wholly around his shaft, and Swiss gets the message, stroking him more similarly like he was before, and Copia sighs blissfully into the air, eyes fluttering closed. The ring at the front of his collar jingles with every twisting stroke, glinting under the light of his golden lamp light, and the rest of the length of the leather leash lies in a messy coil to the side of their bodies. Merely a momentary prop for a carefully curated photograph. 

They continue like that for a while until Swiss is throbbing against his backside and Copia groans in slow building frustration. The position he’s been wrestled into is more than nice, but it is hard on his bones, and the constant pull of the multi ghoul’s arms has tightened his back and caused him to ache. He shuffles forward, cants his hips upward into Swiss’ hand, but it doesn’t seem to help. It only seems to make it worse and a sudden spike of pain zings up his spine and causes him to wince. He attempts to reposition himself again, twisting and turning in his lap, and Swiss loosens his grip, peering through the mirror and frowning at the looks of discomfort strewn across his handsome face. 

“So eager to get away from me? So soon?” He teases, yet his words are empty as he helps his Papa slide from his lap back to the floor. Copia offers him a breathy laugh and a slight roll to his mismatched eyes and reaches back to pat the multi ghoul’s knee, “Simply in need of a change, that is all.” 

“Tell me how you need me.” 

Copia sighs and settles back on his calves as he mulls over his options. His hands rest momentarily frozen on his thighs and his cock lies heavy between them, hard as ever and leaking. His knees ache in the position that he kneels in and he begins to feel a tingle in his toes from where his feet are trapped beneath his weight. 

Satanas, when did he get so old? 

The old man frowns and makes a pained sound when he attempts to readjust. Swiss is quick to assist him with gentle hands on his hips and his waist, yet when he manages to get up on his hands and knees, Swiss doesn’t allow him to go anywhere else. Copia strains his neck to find the mirror, and waiting there on the other side is his beautiful multi ghoul, holding him still and upright with both huge hands on either sides of his hips, and his eyes are darker than he remembered them being before–more of a deep cadmium now than a glimmering gold–and they stare into him like he wants to devour him, taste him beginning from his head down to the tips of his toes. That strong tail flicks behind him, gliding through the air, and Swiss pulls him back against him to press his hard cock into the meat of his ass. Copia feels something spread like ice water down his spine at the feeling, caught between pleasure and surprise. His voice shakes when he opens his mouth again to speak. 

“Per favore, my ghoul. Be gentle…” 

Copia looks so small on his hands and knees, somehow smaller than he appeared in the photograph. So fragile… Swiss could break him so easily. He could overpower his master in a single swipe of a clawed hand, a bite of sharp teeth, but he would never. Could never. His ghoulish hands are for holding, exploring and appreciating that most perfect body, his lips for worshiping every inch of creamy, wrinkled skin until he’s been blessed with the immortal magic that binds him to this mortal plane. Yes, Swiss wants to devour him entirely until nothing remains, memorize the scent of his skin and taint the richness of his blood that only mortals contain, but more than that, he wants to be a worthy servant. He wants to be the most devoted ghoul that his Papa has ever summoned. 

The air has gone still around them, suspended in a vacuum chamber, and Copia’s heart pounds between his lungs as the ghoul behind him grinds his cock more squarely between his bare cheeks and kneads at the swells of fat on his tummy. The fabric that separates them is barely there, shifting and changing in the light and bunching up over the swell of his ass. Fine silks that cost him a fortune, imported from places far away. He can feel Swiss’ cock weeping, leaking a wet spot into the material. It’ll ruin the fabric for sure, but it’ll be the least of his worries if his thighs continue to shake like they are. Copia swallows nervously and reaches back for one of the hands planted on his skin. He doesn’t even have to ask for what he needs. Swiss knows. 

The ghoul finds it in his eyes, the wrinkles in his forehead, the slight shaking of his muscles… he pulls his Papa up on his knees and wraps an arm across the front of his chest, hand tucked into the soft skin under his armpit, and gently knocks the fingers away that have migrated to his dick to take him into his own hand instead. Copia melts immediately, his shoulders falling forward and slumping slightly as Swiss takes good care of him and focuses all of his attention into his building pleasure. The position is less than ideal, and the grooves in the boards are already imprinting themselves into both of their kneecaps, but Swiss doesn’t plan on keeping him there for too long. He strokes him, pulls expertly at his slippery tip, and his Papa moans beautifully for him, whispering incoherent things into the air that get lost in the sweet heat of it all, and Swiss thanks him with kisses to his cheeks, his temples, and the soft curve of his ear. 

He shushes him when he begins to pant, reminds him to relax when his muscles tense and tighten, and noses at the slight stubble that he’ll happily shave for him when the morning comes – if he allows him the privilege to stay. 

He holds his Papa firmly and securely against his chest the moment he crests, his breath stolen away as his body climaxes and he paints Swiss’ knuckles with his release. And when it’s all over he continues to stroke him slowly until the bliss wanes and the sensitivity begins to creep in and he breathlessly asks him to stop. 

The reflection in the mirror that looms in front of them is starkly different from the one captured in the photograph that lies somewhere within the room, forgotten until it is found again, but it is one that Swiss will never forget until the day that he ceases to exist for a second time… And until then he’ll keep that mental image locked securely away in his brain for only himself to see. 

A privilege as great as this one, the photograph doesn’t belong in the box with the others, anyway.

[itsfeckinwimdy]

Dizziness - Soulmate Shorts 2

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Reader Pronouns: She/Her.

Letter: D = Dizziness (Soulmates start to feel dizzy when they’re apart for too long.)

Word Count: 456 words

Warnings: Mentions and discussions of nausea.

F1 Masterlist / Soulmate Shorts 2 Masterlist

Published: 18/03/2023

She felt as if she was going to throw up.

The world was spinning behind her eyelids, the darkness helping to subdue some of the sickness compared to watching the world swim around her. It was a never ending delirium composed of a turntable of colours, rotating endlessly without an end in sight.

The swirling darkness increased its tempo. The acid staining the back of her throat became more prominent as she tried slowing her breaths. The sweat lingering on her body from the race was practically revolting, her mind trying to focus on anything but the smell. She couldn’t shower until she got back to the hotel, so the bile, alongside the contents of her stomach, threatening its welcome was not wanted in any sense.

It was one thing to find your soulmate, that she was grateful for, but the constant dizziness and sickness that came with it after spending all but a few hours apart was the one thing she hated.

Her stomach clenched as she took another sip of water, her head lolling back against the wall as she pulled herself upright.

Okay, maybe she would trade Pierre if it meant no more sickness.

The door into her driver room opened and shut with a slam as a body collapsed ungracefully onto the floor next to her, a weight shifting itself onto her lap. It felt like she could finally breathe again, the swirling of her vision grinding to a halt.

She opened her eyes, the sight of Pierre’s mop of hair and head lying on her legs compared to his body strewn across the floor next to her was a sight to see. And one she missed of course.

Her fingers caressed Pierre's hair as a groan left his lips.

"Finally," he opened his eyes, his piercing grey-green ones staring directly into hers, "I don't feel like I'm going to empty my stomach over a reporter anymore."

She chuckled and shook her head at his words.

“Well, if you hadn’t spent so long with your interviews then we wouldn’t be in this situation now, would we?” She teased him back. The spinning had stopped. It was as if she could breathe freely again without worrying the contents of her stomach were to spew over an innocent passerby.

“You got me there,” Pierre smirked before hauling himself up off the ground, grabbing her hand to pull her up, “Come on ma chérie, let's get going. You can finally shower and wash the stench of sweat off yourself.”

“I don’t smell that bad,” she cried in mock offence, “If anything you smell worse.”

She pulled herself into his side, letting his arm drape across her shoulder, “Yep,” she fake coughed, “You definitely smell worse.”

[splatoongamefiles]

Hope it's not too much of a hassle but are the trains in the turntable area from the "Thang" levels the same model as the main subway train, or are they different?

it looks like these trains are part of the map itself rather than a seperate model!

(Left, Thang room, Right, normal train)

they're only one car long, but it's really similar to the normal train model! it's slightly less detailed though

(Top normal, Bottom thang room)

[extraordinarybennyyy]

remedy

pedro pascal x singer! reader

tw: quick proofreading, mention of death

Everyone has a shadow.

Not just the projection of your figure on the cement ground when you're walking on the sunny streets with sweat passing over your forehead and a cup of iced tea in your hand. Shadows are not only that, the distorted and stretched version of you.

Shadows live inside everyone, each of us, eating us from the inside. Whether they are shaped as fears, insecurities, traumas, anxieties: they exist and exploit us, like a virus which tries to expand itself before taking full control of the host. Even the happiest and bubbliest people suffer from this sickness, no matter how cheerful or famous they are.

And Pedro Pascal isn't an exception.

The always-grinning Chilean actor has terrible demons living inside his brain like an all-consuming parasite. People unaware of his past would probably envy him and every aspect of his checkered world, whose patina is only apparently good and utterly beautiful.

His index finger follows the pattern of the tattoo on his wrist, a P that becomes a V and vice versa. That, his mother's death, being his biggest trauma. Her memory wakes up with him and often makes him pull all-nighter, unanswered and completely useless questions whether he could have helped her spinning and sending him in a vertigo of fear and anguish.

Pedro knows those questions are no use and that, unfortunately, nothing would ever bring her back. However they keep and keep circling in his head continuously, a broken disco on the turntable.

He exhales deeply through his nostrils while glancing at your figure playing the piano. Your sacred and angelic self absentmindedly presses the keys of the piano, hair pull together in a messy bun while one of his shirts covers the upper part of your body. Seeing you, a worldwide singer, in such a domestic activity was something Pedro always considered him blessed for.

The actor is leaning on the door of the living room, a military green t-shirt on. His index kept replaying the same path, a V transforming into a P and a P becoming a V. Same pattern everyday, unchangeable like his past and present agony.

When the thoughts screamed in his head and he couldn't find an answer; when his shadows became too dark and he outstretched his hand to walk forward; when tears threatened to burst out of his dark eyes. In all those scenarios, the only thing that keeps him going is you and your love for him. The only cure.

His steps are soft and gingerly as if he is one of the cats he's allergic to, and you barely acknowledge his presence until he sits down next to you. Pedro places his head on your shoulder with an unusual calmness and silence. The bell rings that something is wrong and he knows you know it.

Your fingers caress his cheeks and your lips kiss his forehead. The music in the living room stops as your hands lift from the piano and you hug him tightly. Silence engulfs you in a bubble in which you two only existed, where caresses and breaths spoke louder than words. The world outside - the press, the media, galas, his movies and your albums were far far away, a distant planet where you often escaped from.

"Sing for me," he muttered in the crook of your neck, almost imperceptible. A simple and clear request, you didn’t need more to understand what he was referring to. Your latest album was full of songs of love, all inspired by him and dedicated to him, the love of your life. The world outside suspected that your friendship blossomed into something more, but you two always returned to your isolated den, where no one disturbed your flower of love.

You nod and he sits up. Finger pressing on the white buttons and your voice humming the song you secretly wrote for him fills the room, attaching to the surfaces of the furniture and the covers of books.

"But when the pain cuts you deep

When the night keeps you from sleeping"

Pedro closed his eyes, lulled by the sacred words leaving your mouth like a prayer. Under his eyelids, memories of his mother take life once more: she was reading him stories at bedtime, playing with him in the grass and clapping at every performance of his.

"Just look and you will see

That I will be your remedy"

Pedro smiled, knowing that it is true. You saved and cured him as if he was a bird with a broken wing and you placed it back. He can fly again, soaring high in the skies but- every pilot has a second in command, and he needs you more like the air.

When the world seems so cruel

And your heart makes you feel like a fool

A tear stream through his cheek, heart exploding with love. A comforting feeling spreads in his veins like a medicine on fluids, with the only difference that love was the cure you use for him. Every fiber of his being enacts again when touched by such devotion.

I promise you will see

That I will be, I will be your remedy

The shadows disappear slowly slowly, the light starting to appear under the thick, black patina of fear and dread. Breathing steadies as your sing words of reassurance. The curtain opens and the lights comes in again.

His dark and kind eyes gloss once more when you stop tuning the song for him, a warm smile stretching his beautiful lips. There isn't the need to say thank you, his eyes speaking enough for you. Eyes say much more than a gratitude or recognition, especially when you people love each other like you and Pedro do.

You placed your head on his shoulders and he holds you close to his body, his hand on your waist.

As every piece of the puzzle fit with his right match, the borders combine together in a tight embrace, you are his one, his forever match, his remedy.

[bluevelvetgvf]

home is wherever you are

(I do not claim to, nor do I know Greta Van Fleet; they are all real people with real lives, this is an entirely fictional work.)

3.5k words

warnings: slight sub!jake, oral sex (m!receiving), slight dirty talk, sensual filth, unprotected sex

•

Twelve thirty. His flight got in a half hour after midnight. That was what you reminded yourself from the moment your eyes opened that day.

Only a few hours until he came home. Not long until he was yours, wholly and fully, for over a month.

It had been a long year. Jake gone, touring with the band since March. The tour was difficult, hiccup after hiccup making it seem neverending.

You weren't ever alone for long. Jake whisked you away with him on long-weekends and holidays, when work allowed. You traveled the world together, as much as you could; touring wineries in France, immersing yourselves in local culture in Mexico. Jake even indulged you in assisting him writing a few songs for the new album.

None of the quality time was taken for granted. But nothing beat being at home with him.

Today was endless. From the moment you opened your eyes, the minutes felt like hours. You suspected it would be that way. They had a few loose ends to wrap up in LA before they headed home, so their flights weren't departing until the late afternoon. Coupled with a lengthy layover, and an already late landing time, by the time the sun had set you felt like you were going certifiable.

The house was cleaned top to bottom, not that you ever let it become any less than magazine-ready, but you always felt best when coming home to a clean house, so you figured Jake would feel the same.

The pantry and fridge were full with new groceries. All the laundry was done. The house was aglow with various lights from the particularly-placed Christmas decor you and Jake had put up a few weeks prior. The smell of the tree, and your favorite scented candle added extra comfort to the air.

It was just barely ten. You'd showered, changed into the coziest pajamas you could find, brewed some tea, and stuck a vinyl on the turntable. You flipped between aimlessly scrolling on your phone, and browsing through your latest library find.

You didn't even realize you'd drifted off to sleep. But the sound of the lock turning on the front door woke you with a jolt.

Jake.

You tried to play it cool, throwing the blanket off of your lap and turning your body, watching the door slowly open, revealing him.

You could feel your face flush, pure joy washing over your body. He didn't see you yet, a small pout on his lips as he struggled to bring his luggage inside quietly. He thought you were asleep.

A puff of air escaped him as he finally got all of his things inside. He turned back, locking the door, turning off the outside light, and then you stood.

He jumped, taken aback by your presence. "Jake." You sighed, too excited to act normal, and you climbed over the back of the couch, throwing yourself into his arms.

He let out a laugh, wrapping you tightly in his arms. "Hi pretty girl." He sighed, holding you tight. "Didn't know you were up."

You shook your head, rubbing your nose against his chest. "I wasn't- Fell asleep. But I heard your key."

A hand released itself from around your waist, gripping your chin gently. "I woke you up." He said, more like a question. He felt bad.

You shook your head again. "I wanted see you. Wanted to welcome you home. I just-" You shrugged. "It's too cozy."

His lips upturned slightly, turning to look around the room. "Guess so." He let out a puff of laughter before turning his attention back to you.

He leaned down pressing his forehead to your's, just relishing in the feeling of being close to you; The comfort in knowing you two were free to be together for an extended period of time washing over him. It was almost overwhelming.

A wave of desire overtook you, the feeling sudden and unable to be ignored. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his.

Jake let out a hum of content, pressing further into you. "God I missed you." He mumbled, lips still brushing your's. "Quit your job and tour with me full-time. That way we never have to be apart."

You grinned, pulling away for a second. "Saying goodbye is so hard, but it makes this so much better."

Jake rolled his eyes playfully, lifting you up slightly. "You wanna go to bed?" He asked, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Go to bed? Or "go to bed"?" You teased him, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of him.

"Don't care- Just want to be with you." He replied, fully lifting you and carrying you to your room.

The bedroom was just as cozy; A smaller artificial tree on your dresser, warm light illuminating the room just enough to see each other. Such a comforting feeling in such a place where sinful things occurred.

Jake dropped you on the bed, a laugh ripped from your chest. "So aggressive!" You laughed, shrugging your robe off.

Jake shrugged, partially ignoring you as he undressed as well. Jacket, shoes, shirt, pants. He moved quickly, before turning his attention back to you.

You raised your eyebrows, waiting to see what his next move was. He stepped closed, leaning over you and tucking his fingers beneath the waistband of your pants, pulling them down agonizingly slow.

With a huff, you threw your head back, trying to stay patient. "Jake-"

He took the hint, pulling your pants off the rest of the way, before tossing them over his shoulder and leaning fully over you again. One hand came to rest beside your shoulder, the other cupping your jaw, thumb rubbing gently on the space just beneath your ear.

His touch was intimate, grounding and dizzying at the same time. He could've lulled you right back to sleep, if not for the distracting fire slowly burning inside of you.

"Jake." You whined again, silently pleading him to get on with it.

He sighed, ignoring your pleads. "Relax baby-"

You shook your head, growing frustrated. You just wanted him, as close as possible. As soon as possible. You understood his want to take it slow, but this was too slow- It'd been too long.

You leaned up, catching his lips in your's, more aggressive than before, hoping he would catch the hint.

He pulled back, gasping for breath, but before he could fully separate from you, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth, biting for just a second before pulling back, trying not to smile.

He let out a sigh, jaw clenching. Maybe now he got the hint.

"Here, c'mon." You huffed, growing impatient. You pushed him off of you, leaning up on your knees. "Lay down." You commanded him with a gentle push to his chest.

He narrowed his eyes at you, hesitantly laying back, his hair fanning out onto the pillows beneath his head. "Just relax baby." You hummed, mocking his previous words. "Let me take care of you."

You reached down, pulling your top over your head, the fabric now becoming a burden in your desire to be close to him. Beneath you, Jake's eyes looked like they were going to blow out of his head, this change in dynamics doing things to him.

"I've missed you so much." You sighed, climbing up the bed to straddle one of his thighs. "Seeing pictures and videos, all the shows, the places you see-" His hands attached themselves to your hips as you leaned down pressing a kiss to his cheek. "It hurts to be apart for so long."

He hummed, fidgeting a bit, clearly struggling with the new position. "It makes me so happy, watching you live your dream. Everyone loves you, loves to watch you play." Another kiss to his nose. "My rockstar."

A groan escaped his lips as you brushed his hair behind his ear. "You work so hard. Just let me take care of you."

His fingers dug deeper into your hips, his skin burning hot.

His hand traveled up your body, one staying on your hip, the other coming to grip the soft plush of your breast. A gasp of surprise came from your lips. "Jake-" You warned, but he wasn't listening, he was too engrossed in his own desires. "I thought I was taking care of you?" You teased.

He hummed, shaking his head. "This is taking care of me."

You scoffed, hand coming down to grip his wrist. "Hands to yourself."

"Babe- really-" He gaped, still holding your hip with his other hand.

You nodded, standing your ground. "You can have your turn in the morning." You all but ripped his hands off of you, dropping them to the bed. "Sit back, chill out, and let me do the work. You've had a long year."

With a huff, Jake succumbed to your wishes, clenching his jaw in frustration.

You leaned back down, pressing kiss to his ear, right above his little hoop. Your teeth grazing the soft skin. "Did I ever tell you how much I love your earrings?" You asked, not waiting for a response. "Should get another one."

You kissed your way across his face, teasingly avoiding his lips. He was practically squirming beneath you as you traveled further down his body, agonizingly slow.

His neck, his chest, his stomach, running your hands up his thighs. Another moan ripped through him as you approached where he wanted you most.

Fighting a smile you looked up at him, raising your eyebrows in amusement at the sight of him. Cheeks flushed, mouth parted slightly, eyes dark and fixed on you.

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his member, still covered by his briefs. Above you, Jake inhaled shakily, hands gripping the sheets.

Reaching up, you dipped your fingers beneath the waistband of the briefs, running your nails gently along his skin. "You're being a fucking tease." He gritted his teeth, fighting for composure.

You chuckled, biting your lip. If he was gonna call you a tease, you may as well act like one. "What's the rush Jakey?"

He huffed, lifting his hips in search of any kind of relief. "You're one to talk-" You took advantage of his semi-distracted state and tugged the cotton down. "Finally." He sighed in relief, lifting his hips all the way for you to fully rid him of the fabric.

"So impatient." You rolled your eyes playfully, tossing them behind you just as he did before.

Now it was your turn to play it cool, feeling the desire grow even hotter inside of you. No matter how many times you two had been in this position, each time was just as exciting as the first.

Glancing up at him, you lifted your hand, reaching forward to swipe your thumb gently over the tip. Jake inhaled sharply as you removed your thumb just as quickly as you'd placed it there. "Wanna taste?" You raised your eyebrows, climbing back up his body.

As if they weren't already red enough, Jake's cheeks blushed more, his nose heating up too. He hesitantly opened his mouth, welcoming your finger onto his tongue. You pressed down, letting him taste himself before removing the digit from his lips, looking down at him expectantly.

"Thoughts?" You ask, leaning back a bit to fully see him.

"Not bad- Doesn't taste as sweet as you though."

You hummed, ever the pleaser, he was. Nodding to yourself you returned to your previous position, mouth inches away from your holy grail. "Can I touch you, please?" Jake whined, exasperated. "Just wanna touch you."

You nodded again, his hand releasing the sheet beneath him and threading itself into your hair. You knew he wouldn't push it, not with the mood you'd put yourself in.

Without wasting another tantalizing minute you lowered your mouth onto him, taking as much as you could before it became uncomfortable. Jake never pushed your limits, always letting you take as much as you saw fit. He never complained.

You sighed in content, it had been so long. So long since you two could do this in the comfort of your own home. Sure sex on the road was great; Bus sex was a complete no, and hotel sex did the job, but nothing beat being filthy in your own home.

You continued your actions, tongue teasing his tip as you hollowed your cheeks around him. One hand teasingly tracing patterns on his arm that was holding your hair, the other gripping into his thigh.

Jake was panting above you, small groans and puffs of air leaving him as he fought to stay calm. But he grew impatient with your teasing. "Okay, that's enough!" He practically squealed, moving his hand from your hair to the back of your neck and pulling you off of him forcefully. "Wanna finish inside-" He huffed, dragging you by your neck back up to him.

"Okay, okay!" You nodded frantically as his other hand grabbed your hip again, crashing his lips to your's.


You melted into the kiss, humming contently. Every moment spent touching him was heaven, and as much as you wanted him inside of you, you were on a mission: Please Jake. And you would be damned if you failed it.

You continued on, kisses growing hungrier by the second, and while he was completely distracted by your lips on his you reached back down, wrapping your hand around him again.

"Ah-" He gasped, breaking away from your lips. "Baby- Fuck." He gasped again, as you pumped him a few times experimentally. "I told you-"

"I know, but-" You hummed, pecking him again. "It feels so good, doesn't it?" You grinned against his lips, waiting for him to stop you. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

Jake groaned, shaking his head frantically. "Just go." He moaned, fully succumbing to your touch.

Triumphantly, you pressed your lips back to his, licking into his mouth as your hand worked him to his end.

Beneath you, Jake's body tensed, the hand on your hip gripping you so tightly you had no doubt there'd be bruises when you woke in the morning. He pressed you closer to him by your neck, mouth opening as he came onto your hand.

Your lips stayed on his giving him a few more pumps as he rode out his high.

As he relaxed beneath you, you finally parted your lips, his hand falling from your neck as you separated. "How was that?" You grinned slyly, knowing he would never admit he made the right decision by not stopping you.

"God I missed you so fucking much." He panted, stray hairs stuck to his cheek. Of course he wouldn't admit you were right.

You smiled, leaning forward and brushing the hair from his face with your free hand.

As sinful as it was, your brought your other hand to your lips, tongue making quick work of cleaning your skin. "You're filthy." Jake groaned, chest heaving.

His eyes never left your's as you wiped the remains of his release onto the sheets.

A slight shift in the air could be felt as Jake took advantage of your distraction, both hands coming down to your panties, using his fingers to rip them in two. "Jake!" You gasped, as he shook his head.

"I'll buy you another pair- I need to be inside of you before I fucking combust." He all but growled at you, using his grip on your hips to reposition you atop his cock.

An arm wrapped around your waist, the other on your hip, he lowered you onto him, the two of you groaning at the feeling.

"Never gets old." He moaned, giving you a moment to adjust. You shook your head, silent in agreement. He was right, so fucking right. "You good?" He asked, fighting the urge to go crazy.

You nodded, placing your hand against his jaw, just as he did with you not long ago. "M'fine."

Jake nodded too. "Now let me take care of you."

This position wasn't ideal, nor your favorite. Usually you were the one underneath, but the change in dynamic wasn't unpleasant.

Your other hand gripped his shoulder as he used what little leverage he had to thrust upwards, making you gasp. Yes, you definitely missed this.

It took a few moments but eventually he built up a steady rhythm, your face buried into the crook of his neck, eyes shut tight. The feeling of him everywhere almost overwhelming you to the point of tears.

When he said he wanted to be close to you, he meant it.

The fire in your belly grew with each thrust, the feeling of his hands on you, the scent of him, the noises he was making. You never wanted him to leave again.

"I fucking missed you so much Jake." You sighed, digging your nails into his shoulder.

"I missed you too baby." He panted, working so terribly hard towards his release.

You whined, now desperate for an end, for that indescribable feeling you loved so much. "Jake-" You groaned, lifting your head slightly.

"What is it baby? What do you need?" He asked, focused on keeping his rhythm.

"More." You replied. "Harder, just- Harder." You shook your head, unable to explain what you really wanted. You wanted to cum, with him, him inside of you, and the fastest way to get there was by returning to your normal ways: Fast and rough.

Without a warning Jake paused for a moment, skillfully sitting up and bending you backwards, laying you down against the sheets.

He smiled down at you. "You look so beautiful like this." He beamed, causing a heat to rush to your cheeks.

"You're such a flirt." You giggled, lifting your leg to hook onto his hip, pulling him closer. "Can we finish what we started though?"

He nodded, still grinning like he'd won the lottery. Both hands now had your hips in a death-grip as he began a steady pace, that was without a doubt harder and faster than before.

You reached up, hand grabbing his throat to pull him down. You crashed your lips to his as he pounded into you, now just as desperate for a release as you were.

Your hand stayed on his throat as he removed one of his from your hip, reaching down to press his thumb to your clit, wanting you to cum with him.

He could always tell when you were close, sometimes before you did; It was like a strange sixth sense of his. "Come on baby." He groaned, breaking away from your lips for just a second. "Show me how glad you are that I'm home."

It was like everything was falling into place; The perfect combination for a reaction, him on you and inside of you, his lips, the warmth of him, everything was right.

With one final thrust the coil inside of you snapped, and you gasped, eyes screwing tightly shut. Another few thrusts, now sloppy and desperate, and Jake came too, muffling his moans inside your mouth.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning as his lips stayed on your's, a few more thrusts to ride out your highs, and he groaned, removing his lips from your's.

You sighed in content as he lifted his head, bringing his hand from between your legs, to your face, brushing a few stray hairs from your face.

The room was silent, save for the sounds of your panting breaths as you two came down from your highs.

As your breathing regulated, he shifted himself, slowly leaving the warmth of your inside. You moaned softly, missing the feeling of him.

Jake sat back on his knees, holding a hand out to you. With a sigh, you sat up, leaning forward to press your face into his shoulder.

His arms wrapped around you again, holding you tightly to his chest. The two of you stayed still for a moment, the heat of his skin warming you even further.

After a few minutes Jake laid back, pulling you with him to lay atop his chest, arms still holding you securely.

You closed your eyes in content. He was home.

"Ya know..." He whispered, although nobody else could hear you two. "I meant what I said, about you coming on tour full-time." He paused, hesitant to continue, as if it was a potentially controversial question.

"I know it's not ideal, living out of a suitcase, but we'd be together."

You hummed, turning your head to gaze up at him, adoration overwhelming you. You reached a hand up, finger tracing the perfect cupid's bow of his upper lip, nodding. "As much as I love the welcome-home sex, I love the regular casual sex better- Just no sex on the bus.

Jake's chest heaved with laughter at your light-hearted comment. "It's really not funny Jake, I mean imagine if we got into a fucking wreck in the middle of fucking-"

"Okay, okay!" He laughed still, smiling down at you. "You know I love you so much, right?"

You nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. "I love you too- Probably even more than you love me."

Jake scoffed in mock-horror. "No way, that's not possible, I love you so fucking much-"

"Alright, fine, we both love each other." You laughed as he squeezed you tighter.

A few moments of silence passed, the two of you relaxing in each other's presence.

"Welcome home Jake."

[mrschwartz]

Alex Turner for OOR Magazine (October 2022)

Conducted in August 20th 2022 by Willem Bemboom

Alex in the sun on a terrace. Leather jacket, classic shades, a big head of hair in desperate need of a handful of Brylcreem. He almost looks like a time-traveller, someone from another dimension, unmoved by the sounds of the city in the distance and the swelling lunch crowd around us.

He talks slowly and dragging, as if the battery is almost flat.  His pauses in thought are numerous and stretched out, sometimes to determine what he DOES want to say, more often to think about what he does NOT want to say. Apparently he is so used to intelligent or difficult questions, that the easy ones throw him off. What are you listening to? What has changed? What do you think yourself is the most beautiful lyric? Endless silences, you can almost hear the brain cracking. But they are by no means painful. The lesson taken from previous interviews - and in fact the essence of Arctic Monkeys: just let Alex Turner meditate, that's where eventually the best things come from.

The sunglasses meanwhile are being taken on and off every minute. With wide eyes full of wonder Turner turns the casual things lying on the table into a journey of discovery. OOR's old trusted dictaphone for example. 'Reliable stuff', he judges. ‘At worst eats your tape one time, but such a device will not betray you. Two buttons, on, off, record, play. You don't need more options. I want to start working with these things a bit more.”

He weighs the device for a moment, as if he is testing a peach or tomato at the local fruit & veg. A mysterious short laugh follows. Who knows what goes on in that head.

The Car as a record makes an analogous impression, either way in terms of technique and instrumentation.

Right? Texture wise for sure. Old instruments, string arrangements. The ideas are kneaded to songs with human hands. Although this time we also have a Moog.

And the subjects as well seem to come from a different time. Classic Hollywood, faded glory, but also Cold War stuff. In various songs there are spying elements sneaking around.

That’s for sure what I’m doing in the new songs. Think of Gene Hackman in The Conversation, you have to search in circle of people as such.Vague surveillance stuff, listening devices [focuses on the recorder again]. A bit like how this conversation is also being recorded, haha.

Social media seems completely absent, you are far from sketching a contemporary time frame. People talk on the phone together.

Good point. I imagine that phone in Big Ideas like that, on the wall, with a turntable. It is indeed an analog world, there is no apping or anything like that. On the first song on our first record I sing about a phone that is being unlocked [The View From The Afternoon]. You had to press the asterisk key to avoid accidentally turning on your cell phone. We still play that song every night, I’ve now sang it so often that I’m not thinking about those lyrics at all. A few days ago I did have a clear mind and suddenly I realised: gosh, this is not how phones are any more! Back in the days I was more up-to-date with my technological references, on AM there are still text messages and such. That's gone now. I have gone back in time, it seems.

Your previous album took place at the moon. Where - and especially when - is The Car set?

Hm. [long silence] You know what, I really don't have any idea whatsoever. Even for Tranquility Base I now wonder if it all took place at the moon. That sort of thing reveals itself only later, sometimes even a lot later. The music triggers something in me, I build on the atmosphere and the sound, and I just let The Idea run wild - though I refine the lyrics endlessly after they get into shape. But the source? Dunno, that can't be guided or be explained. I did try to steer away a bit more from the sci-fi idiom than on the previous one. Whether it succeeded is question number two. For some reason there’s somehow always science fiction seeping through.

You now refer in several numbers to old movies and showbiz, like the musical Anything Goes, 1930s Broadway, with music by Cole Porter. New fascination?

Hmmm, no. By the way, it is indeed lifted from a movie. Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom begins with the song Anything Goes, from that musical, sung in Chinese. Nice opening, although I’m certainly not the biggest Indiana Jones fan. I suddenly thought about it, so it ended up in that song. That's how it goes with most things. Who knows where it comes from and what it means. It's suddenly there.

Is Sculptures Of Anything Goes a New York song? Apart from the Broadway link you sing about 'city life 09', the period you lived in Brooklyn, and ‘Village coffee mornings, with not long since retired spies’.

As in: written in New York? No, I haven't been to New York in ages. The Village is in there…. I think this is another of those science fiction things. You've been nervously playing around with that empty cassette box for 15 minutes now, and I’m now imagining that it contains City Life 09. I’m fond of the idea there will be a city life cartridge in the future, a simulation that you can board. I’m imagining a full box of those cartridges, from 1929 to 1959 to 1969 to 1979 to 1989 and so on. That’s because I think there should be intervals of ten years to notice a substantial difference in such a huge city. And the 2009 one is missing from that lyric, it's inside the machine because it's used most often. Whether it's also refers to my time in New York… No idea. It's purely a bit of fantasy.

Let’s swap the fantasy for the facts for a little bit: where and when did you start making this record?

Even before the lockdowns, right away after the Tranquility Base tour in South America. In April and May 2019 I wrote the first attempts of new songs, we already recorded some bits in late 2019, but that attempt led to nothing. Only after the lockdowns we came back together again, last summer, in Butley Priory, an old monastery at the coast of Suffolk. No one knew we were there, it was a remote place. It reminded me of our first record, when we went from the madhouse to the countryside for a while as well. We never did that again ever since, until now. Recording a record in England also was a while ago, same counts for a summer album. So there we were again, at the English countryside, as a rrrrock band! [big eyes and a rolling rrrrr] No distractions, like in the city. Extra focus, no prying eyes. All in the same zone. Good morning, you know.

We will come back at that ‘rock band’ part for a bit later. What did a day in Suffolk look like for the rest?

Oh, every morning we got trumpeted out of our beds with a reveille. And a while after a bell was ringing: go to work, lazy bastards! Thereafter a Powerpoint presentation with schedules and tactics. No, just joking, it was the opposite. Very calm and relaxed, everything in our own tempo. These days I find it essential to take the time. That’s because every project has to search and find its own way. As a maker you also have to let a piece of work go its own way. During the summer of 2019 I read a book about movie editing, In The Blink Of An Eye by Walter Murch. Although movie editing is not my discipline, I did get interesting things out of it anyway, there are parallels with how I put together a record these days. Editing usually involves cutting out bad bits. The question that immediately arises: what is a bad bit? Are there bad bits at all? This Sir Murch calls the process of editing the discovery of a path through all the available material. The more you shot, the more possible paths there are. And because I had quite a lot of ideas, more than ever actually, which all wanted to exist, it was extra important to especially follow the feeling. Sometimes I got a direction in mind, and then the piece itself drags you in the opposite direction anyway. It has other ideas. It lives, it is an entity. Let it go. That’s how it went now as well.

You keep on avoiding the meaning of your lyrics. Is the writing of it not a conscious process then?

Hmmm, that always comes last anyway. I am endlessly adjusting and rewriting. When we were working on the music in Suffolk, I hardly sang on top of it. I do believe that at this moment in time I write down what I am experiencing more directly. I'm a bit more open, more honest, apparently inspired by four guys who are just standing together in a room making music.

What do you consider your favourite find on The Car?

Oh… I forgot to bring my cheat sheet. I’ve got a folder with notes, which I planned on bringing with me. But it also feels a little know-it-all and self-conscious to start giving a lecture from my own notes here. My best line… I wouldn’t know! I simply don’t know all the lyrics by heart yet. [long pause] I think ‘Big Ideas’ as a whole is a very accomplished song.

Ah, with the ‘hysterical scenes’ that are reminiscent of a band just breaking through. ‘We had ‘em out of their seats, waving their arms and stomping their feet’ – that’s where the echo of Monkeymania is audible.

Strange times.

Or just The Beatles. ‘Clap your hands and stomp your feet’, is what Lennon sometimes shouted from the stage…

Hm, yeah. No. Here I imagine sort of more like a movie producer giving someone a call. Or something like that.

Big Ideas is full of melancholy – and that counts for more songs in general.

It’s not just in the words, you know. Yes, so that’s how it works for me: the words arise from the feeling the music evokes. The melody supplies the words and ideally they complement each other. In that way, the things it makes you say are indeed not conscious. It purely revolves around what the music allows you to say.

“Over and out, it’s been a thrill”, you sing on Big Ideas. Hello You, Jet Skis On The Moat and Perfect Sense also contain “goodbyes” and “goodnights”. Are you saying goodbye to something?

Yeah, I think that’s fair. That all has to do with where I arrived in life at the moment. I’m 36, the band exists for about twenty years, including the whole run-up. So I’ve been in the band for more than half of my life. You leave things behind, while the clock keeps ticking. People, places, your younger self. Time. Though that’s not necessarily a bad thing, you get new things in return. But it’s human nature to sometimes look back on what has been, what’s behind you. Though I’m pretty good at leaving things behind.

Like loud guitar music for example.

[big eyes] Ha!

The rrrrrrrrock band you just mentioned is not the same as the one from 2006 anymore.

Haha, not on the record, no! But on stage we just keep on rocking, that all co-exists. But you know what’s the funny thing? We could very well still have made a loud guitar record after all. If the music had asked for it, I think I would have obediently followed. When we finished touring in 2019, everything pointed in that direction. Much louder than Tranquility Hotel, in any case. But that started to shift towards a different direction and that’s why we took a break from it at the time. I was afraid I would start forcing things. And sometimes you just have to accept the fact you can’t go back to the riffs from ten years ago. At the end of the tour I knew what kind of songs I wanted to do, with the lights of the stage still in my eyes and the thundering roars of the audience in my ears. Big, loud guitars should have been part of that. That’s what I’m gonna do! I even put on my motorcycle boots to get a hold of that mood. But that didn’t feel right in the end, as said. You’re not that person anymore, your music wants to go in a different direction. Then I can only follow that.

Put the Arctic Monkeys who were recording at the English countryside in 2006 next to the band working at Suffolk last summer. Not to see what has changed, but what hasn’t changed?

Well, everything has changed. [2 minutes of silence while you can almost hear a movie playing in his head] … except for the countryside and England, haha! I did find it more fun this time though. Maybe because right now we finally know what we’re doing. Yes, that has remained the same. The only reason we now can not make a loud guitar record in all peace and comfort, is because we’re still Arctic Monkeys. Everyone has grown up, the essence of the band has grown with us. The faces are a bit more round, the boys call their children instead of their parents, but the feeling remains the same. Life itself happened – and not in an unpleasant way. It’s all good, everything. Yes, it’s fine.

Why did you have more fun now than back then? Did that 20 year old kid that recorded ‘Whatever People Say I Am…’ not know what he was doing?

Not what happened to him, no. It was a great time, but oh dear, so much stress! Now I’m completely relaxed in everything I do. Looking back at 2006, everything was so… tight! My guitar was hanging just below my chin, the strap was almost pinched around my back. That example alone. I let the guitar nicely hang nowadays. And sometimes I even leave it in its stand. The schedules are looser, the people are looser, the music is looser. Less heavy, not as frenetic and whaaaargh! It’s fitting better in its own skin. Just like ourselves. The jacket is hanging loosely unbuttoned. I’m sitting behind a grand piano in the corner. And still it feels like Arctic Monkeys, because we’re still walking the same path, however strange the path winds. The same timeline and the same principles. The path, following the music, is the constant factor. 15 years ago we followed our instinct as young lads and The Record is what resulted from it. Now we’re still doing that, and this time that record is The Car.

Oh yeah, The Car. What kind of car is it?

Just a car.

Does it stand for anything?

No, it’s standing on a roof. The cover photo was taken by Matthew Helders, our drummer. When I saw that photo a few years ago, I immediately knew it had the potential to be an album cover for the band. There’s not just spies and goodbyes in the lyrics, if you listen closely you can hear a few cars. And after [raises voice] Tranquility Base Hotel + Casino the temptation to call something ‘The Car’ is simply too big. It is what it is.

So just a car.

Yep. And that car on the cover in particular.

Where was the photo taken?

If I’m not mistaken, in Los Angeles.

Ah, Los Angeles. There you’re nothing without a car. What kind do you drive?

I don’t own a car. I’m back in London now and it’s just not practical there. No car…

Where did you used to go on holidays as a kid?

Oh, eh, Eastbourne, on the south shore. With my grandparents on the Dotto Train, one of those tourist carts along the beach. But how did we suddenly end up here?

I wondered about this when I heard The Car, the song. Nicely melancholic, you sing about past holidays, falling asleep at the back seat.

But that doesn’t take place in Eastbourne [rolls his eyes]. But where does it take place, I can hear you think… In a parallel universe full of espionage and science fiction, haha!

Sounds exciting. Have you ever tried writing a script yourself?

No. The kind of stories I tell are mostly… based on the music and the melodical ideas, as I already explained. Those bring forth the story. If I wouldn’t have that, I would struggle. I would like to learn this though, sometime, one day. But I’m not working on it now, it’s a whole different skill to the one I’ve currently got on board. Never say never, we’ll see. But definitely not tomorrow [thinks for a bit, laughs]. Tomorrow’s Pukkelpop. There’s no time for drafting scripts. Although it is a world I would like to roam about, one I’d like to explore. At the Priory I had an old 16mm camera with me, one that fits in the palm of your hand and you have to crank up yourself. Still not even close to Hollywood. But ah well, that’s a hobby.

What music are you listening to yourself at the moment?

[two minutes of silence] I used to be able to always draw a straight line from what I was listening to right to the new record, that’s different now, I think. No more adding this, this, this and this and you’ve got the new Monkeys. It’s not as clear what those things are this time, not even for me.

If you could go to Record Palace at the opposite of Paradiso with 50 euros right now, what would you pick from there?

Oh wow, that place is amazing! I actually should stop by there later. We’ve been so busy fine-tuning the show, this morning I only took a walk in the park for a bit… Lovely morning.

But at the moment you’re listening to…

Oh man… After finishing the record, nothing for a while, for a few months. Now it’s starting up again a bit. Headphones on… listening to things. What do I want to share here right now?

I’ll just write down Nookie by Limp Bizkit.

Oh no. Is that a threat? Alright, in that case do… Nat King Cole! The song ‘Where Did Everybody Go’. Why? That’s why.

At There’d Better Be A Mirrorball you actually sound a bit like Nat King Cole. Coincidence?

Ha, that’s nice! Eh, yes, coincidence. On the other hand: what’s a coincidence?

You sing a lot in falsetto, you croon, sometimes you’re channelling Bowie. Are you still looking for your voice or are you finally coming close?

Always in search of! You look for a manner of singing that guides the music the easiest way. A way that’s in tune with the feeling you wanna convey. That’s the hardest part… no, that’s what you’re aiming for, that connection.

Connection with?

With what you can’t really grasp. And can’t understand. Or can’t express into words. How you as a normal little person can become part of that wonder, the music. There’s a technical component to it, by practicing a lot I can reach a higher pitch or hold a note better. Those are means. The purpose is something bigger though. There’s this great song on Sinatra at the Sands, 'Don’t Worry About Me', that he introduces as one of the best songs ever. In one part of a verse he sings a step-up note, bigger and bigger, that fills all gaps in the notes just to get to the next step. It’s off, but because of that it’s actually perfectly right. It stands out. That’s why I call magic. That’s what it’s about. Getting completely lost in that feeling and getting to a place where everything is right. Even when it’s not right. Even more so when it’s not right. Then you know it’s right.

[sanerontheinside]

Look, Goncharov is an excellent movie. It has the sense of inevitability about it, of ever-encroaching tragedy. Its execution of both the suspense and the despair, the mounting fear of what you knew was coming all along—it’s staggering, the perfection of it.

But at the same time, this isn’t a Scorsese, not truly. It’s a Matteo JWHJ 0715. It is, in some ways, a little hamfisted in its execution, and I would argue the American audience is not wrong to analyze it in terms of very American themes. They are! Hollywood movies set the tone for much around the world, from fashion to storytelling in a media as globalized as film.

And as I’ve said, I do love this movie. I love it even for its anachronistic quirks—many of them deliberate and thought-through stylistic choices. I think the fact that goncharov’s primary activities are moving drugs and guns are one of these stylistic departures. Guns and drugs are easy to understand; goncharov is the bad guy, the antihero we’re meant to sympathize with. Certainly, he makes for a rather charming and impressive bastard.

But I think the movie, this particular script rather misses out on the poignancy of the alternative: that goncharov likely wasn’t dealing drugs and weapons, at least not at the beginning. Truth is, you could make an unimaginable amount of money just by smuggling ordinary European goods across the Iron Curtain.

Painfully ordinary. Shoes and coats and and dresses and suits, like all those pretty things that Katya wears. Turntables. Jeans! Plain old dishware. Sure, maybe eventually goncharov didn’t have much of a choice and got into the hard stuff

(this would actually serve the narrative—Goncharov stepping clear over his own lines in the sand, over and over again until he no longer recognizes who he is—perfection)

(anyway)

but you see, the Soviet Union didn’t have a whole variety in production, nor even necessarily great quality of it. There was no (legal) access to imported goods. I’ve already seen mention of the bootleg copy of the film that became a cult classic in the USSR itself (and probably inspired generations of bratva in years to come 🙄) but I wonder if it simply didn’t occur to anyone to consider that the Soviet bloc had largely isolated itself after WWII, and with a struggling economy, with creakily functioning infrastructure, did its best to achieve the impossible and pull itself ‘up by its bootstraps’.

So just think about it: almost every item that Katya owns is like those pretty gowns and crystal shoes in old fairytales; the moment she steps out of this magical realm—the moment the scales fall from her eyes—all of it will begin to melt away into nothing. She would never have had anything like it, were she not married to Goncharov. And he gave her the keys to this magical kingdom, didn’t he? Her Prince, who in the end is not a prince at all, not a fairytale. The illusion, the glamour falls away from him as well.

And then there is Sofia. Sofia, for whom all these clothes and shoes and jewels are very real. All right, sure—Sofia’s backstory tells us she lucked into this world, and in some sense it is also a sort of fairytale space for her. But the thing is, Katya’s grasp on it is far more tenuous. Sofia is nowhere near as richly dressed as Katya, but when everything goes to pot Sofia will still have something of her own, hard-won with sacrifice.

Katya will not. And how unfair is that: Katya is her own woman, she survives her husband’s world and makes her own way, only to be left with nothing if the worst should happen.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2023: Day 11 - Roundhouse

Edward Doesn't Like Tidmouth Sheds:

Tidmouth Sheds sat in an interesting spot; considering the yards at the Big Station. It sat just on one side of the mainline, a giant brick structure that held a number of tracks. On the other side of the shed, a retaining wall used the sheds as a base to expand almost up to the Big Station, as well as in the other direction. Behind the sheds themselves was the crew breakroom, then the Tidmouth Sheds community garden and the carpark. And in front of it was a mess of tracks, with refuelling facilities on one side, the yards across the mainline and the Big Station right ahead.

Even more curious was the design of the shed. Originally a small shed built for the joint Tidmouth, Wellsworth, and Suddery Railway in 1912; a small, brick building meant to hold four engines at most. It had been rebuilt several times, gaining a turntable outside at one point, a six-row brick shed at another, and then most recently the roundhouse itself, bringing the turntable inside and away from the high winds of the Irish Sea.

Edward didn’t like Tidmouth Sheds all that much. He spent every night he could at other sheds – at Wellsworth, or at Brendam – but sometimes it just couldn’t be avoided.

“Good evening, Edward,” chirped Duck one brisk evening. “How’ve you been?” “Not too bad, Duck,” replied Edward politely. “Though the rain has made things difficult.” Duck agreed.

“There’s going to be a fog rolling in soon,” the Pannier observed. Edward winced, but said nothing. Instead, he gazed through the sheds to the six ‘original’ berths. They still existed – two led onto the turntable, while four kept their buffers, acting as extra space for visiting engines – with the one on the furthest edge closest to the city being the diesel refuelling and cleaning berth. It was a clever arrangement – sometimes Percy or Thomas slept on one of those older berths when they brought in a late train, or a visitor would sidle up into one of the extra spaces to rest in out of the wind and cold.

“That rain won’t let up!” snorted Henry, steaming into the sheds. “And a fog is settling in too – tonight is going to be grim for any engine who can’t get out of the elements.” Edward couldn’t help but disagree.

One by one, the engines all arrived back in the sheds. They settled into their spaces, all resting around the turntable with Edward sat between Duck and Henry. The engines chattered for a bit – about annoying passengers, difficult trucks, the weather, and about the latest gossip. Edward didn’t contribute much.

Duck fell asleep first, snoring quietly as he let his tiredness take him. Then Bear, then Donald and Douglas – without whom Oliver became bored and fell asleep – after which Henry would yawn and say goodnight, leading the others to do the same. James was the last to fall asleep, almost as if making it a point to close his eyes after Gordon.

Still, Edward stayed awake, waiting quietly.

That was when the outside shed door creaked open. The fog seemed to billow in with every inch that that door crept open, groaning on its hinges. There was a hiss of steam, and then a low grinding sound, of metal parts scraping against one another. A little engine eased into the shed, eyes red as its paint.

“Glynn,” whispered Edward. The engine did not reply – it did not seem to even notice Edward. Instead, the engine came to a rest in the extra berth closest to the mainline. Sparks began to light up the foggy sheds, as did low whimpers and gasps.

“No… no… please… I’m still useful… where is Topham… he would never… no… get away… please…” Edward felt like crying, unable to fall asleep; cursed to watch as little Glynn grew smaller and smaller, parts vanishing off him into the mist. “Sir Topham’s on the Mainland right now,” a second voice said. This voice was grimy – it sounded as though it came from a smarmy individual just from the way it pronounced its words. The voice seemed to revel in Glynn’s pleas, egging them on and tormenting the poor soul.

Finally, the eyes flickered over to Edward. “Why?” they whispered. “Why didn’t you help me?”

And then, the little engine was gone, leaving behind a glowing pair of red eyes. The eyes backed out of the shed; the door squeaked as it groaned closed.

Edward did not sleep that night.

***

There is one thing I forgot to mention about Tidmouth Sheds. In 1924, the sheds were used to cut up one of the old Coffee Pot engines from the Knapford, Tidmouth and Elsbridge Light Railway. None of the other engines knew – they’d lived at Vicarstown, and had only known there to be two of the odd-looking engines.

But Edward knew. Edward had been unfortunate enough to bring a train down to the harbour by the sheds on a cold, foggy night. He’d had to sleep in Tidmouth Sheds. He’d had to sit in the sheds as the last pieces of Glynn were taken apart by the smarmy man and his gang of brutes – he’d had to endure being unable to help.

Edward had feared being next.

Now, the old blue engine avoids Tidmouth Sheds. Whenever he can, he stays on his branchline, far away from the ghost who haunts his mind and his past. He doesn’t tell anyone either. Who would believe him? And what would they do? So, Edward bears the weight of the knowledge that he alone possesses; at least, until now.

Back to Master Post

[bemusedrodent]

hey girl are you a microwave because *door shuts a bit too loud* mMMMmMMMMmmmmmMmmmmmMMmmMmmMmMmmmMmmMmmmmmmmmmMmmmmmmnMmmmmnmnMmmMMMMmmmmm*loud pop comes from food*MMmmmmmmmMmmmMmmMmmMMMMMMmmmmMmMmMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMmmmM *microwave turntable stops spinning* *you open the door and fuck up the table more* *you realise that no matter what happens, you can only make it worse. like salt on a fresh wound, you can never make things better. you aren't even both the poison and the antidote, you're just the poison to both yourself and others.* *microwave turntable works again* *door shuts a but too loudly again* mMMMMmmmmMMmmMmMmmMmmMmmMmmMmMMmMmmmmmmmmmMmmMMMNmnMmmmmmmmmmmmmMmmmmMmmmmmmmmmmm *loud beep as you forget the microwave is on* *you open the door and take your food out* *the plate is too hot and you drop it, causing the food to fall and the plate to break* *the food is still frozen solid*

guess who

no words can describe the incomprehensible horror i felt reading this

my jaw unhinged itself my mouth opened so wide

consuming

the microwave turntable

and all that it stands for

you think you hold power... you shall learn

[hiphopncountrychick]

🎤🌟 Once Upon a Beat: The Birth and Tale of Hip Hop! 🎶📜

Gather 'round, music lovers and history enthusiasts! Let me take you back to the gritty streets of the Bronx, where a musical revolution was about to be born. 🏙️🎧

In a world colored by disco balls and rock anthems, a new rhythm began to stir. It was the late 1970s, and amidst the concrete and chaos, something magical was brewing. Picture a neighborhood pulsating with energy, where creativity and resilience ran through the veins of its people.

Enter the pioneers: DJs spinning vinyl records, searching for the grooviest beats; MCs, or "masters of ceremonies," stepping up to the mic with tales from the corners of their lives; B-boys and B-girls, turning empty lots into dance battlegrounds, showcasing moves that defied gravity. This was the birth of Hip Hop.

The turntables spun stories, the lyrics wove narratives, and the dance moves spoke a language of their own. It wasn't just music; it was a voice for the unheard, a spotlight for the marginalized, and a celebration of the struggles and triumphs that shaped a generation.

From those humble beginnings, Hip Hop exploded like fireworks on the 4th of July. It spread from block parties to boomboxes, from borough to borough, touching hearts and inspiring minds. The movement was unstoppable, giving birth to legends like Grandmaster Flash, Afrika Bambaataa, and Run-D.M.C., whose words and beats resonated far beyond the concrete jungle.

But Hip Hop didn't stop there. It evolved, adapted, and embraced new influences. It wasn't confined by geography or language; it was a universal language in itself. From the golden age of the '80s to the fusion of the '90s and the innovation of the 2000s, Hip Hop kept rewriting its own story.

Today, it's more than a genre; it's a cultural force that shapes fashion, art, and social change. It's a reminder that from adversity comes creativity, from struggle comes strength, and from beats comes unity.

So next time you nod your head to a catchy rap verse or find yourself moving to a groovy beat, remember the journey that brought us here. Hip Hop is a story of empowerment, expression, and evolution, and it's a story we're all part of. 🎵📖

[newtsselfships]

Hiya there 💃✨ I have a fun question! Are there any particular hobbies/activities you enjoy to do with your F/O(s)?

I quite enjoy learning about my f/os' interests, so I usually imagine doing those together. I got a turntable recently, so now I can entertain the idea of me and Jono going record shopping together.

I also feel like reading into his comics portrayal is a whole hobby in and of itself. It definitely feels like spending time together and I get to know him even better, even on rereads.

[negative-speedforce]

Your OCs find themselves face-to-face with a fairy-tale trickster! They're told they have to perform one song of their choosing, and it must be suitably entertaining to the trickster, or they'll lose their greatest skill forever! We're talking superpowers, Max's ability to design tech, Hyun-Ki's kills with performance (how ironic), whatever it is that makes them stand out.

What song do they pick, and how do they make sure the trickster is entertained by their performance?

Siv: Shows off their years of guitar lessons with a half-decent performance of "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

Jay: Can't sing to save his own life, so he gives backup vocals for Cassandra's performance.

Cassandra: Sings "Texas Hold 'Em" by Beyonce, and while her performance by itself would have impressed the trickster by itself, she ends up making them leave because they got uncomfortable when Jay and Cassandra started making out.

Hailey: "Jokes on you, you can't curse me, I'm dead."

Ember: Uses his powers to make gemstones rain on them from the earth as they lipsync to P!nk's "Raise Your Glass" in her glitteriest outfit.

Arya: Mostly impresses the trickster with the fact that every songbird and squirrel was falling out of the trees around them because of their siren song, rather than their performance of BlackPink's "As If It's Your Last"

Gina: Asks if the trickster can wait like ten minutes, and she calls a few of her choir friends over and they perform "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" together.

Esme: Performs "Work Bitch" by Brittany Spears, and impresses them with the fact that no one should be able to dance that well while wearing heels that high and a skirt that short and tight

Cat: Joins Gina and her choir friends for "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" because they're gonna need someone for the alto line (or potentially the tenor line, if Freaking Travis doesn't show up again).

Max: Takes the microphone and starts singing Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" while slow dancing with Kyle and looking longingly into his eyes.

Kyle: Gets his old turntables from when he tried to learn how to DJ and makes a sick remix of Mad Love by Mabel

Eric: Pulls out his violin and performs "The Devil Went Down To Georgia".

Jacob: Serenades his husband with Elvis Presley's "I Cant Help Falling In Love With You".

Khalil: Sings "Daniel In The Den" by Bastille, attempts to impress the trickster by using his magic to create illusions to go along with the lyrics

Ameerah: Growls out a passionate cover of Hell's Coming With Me by Poor Man's Poison

Reggie: Manages to get through Rap God by Eminem without missing a single beat, impresses the trickster because xe's just this tiny kid who can rap that fast.

Antonio: Follows the trickster around for two hours playing The Song That Never Ends on kazoo until they promise not to curse him (yay psychological warfare)

Rania: Sings "Can't Catch Me Now" by Olivia Rodrigo and manages to impress the trickster with the sheer emotion coming through her performance (she is actually crying tears of rage by the end)

Kelsie: Sits the trickster down and pulls out a pad of paper and her glasses, and begins digging down into why they feel the need to do things like this. They feel much better after this impromptu therapy session.

Torryn: Just steals the trickster's magic and runs off with it.

Cory: Impresses the trickster with her fry scream and midair acrobatics while singing Monstarrr by Ennaria

Meredith: Starts signing aggressively about how she's "deaf and mute, dipshit, how is she supposed to perform music?" until the trickster feels bad and goes away.

Director Hawke

Onnie: Disintegrates the trickster before they can curse them and then she goes on with her day to day life.

Pippa: Sings a dreamy cover of "Flowers In My Hair" by Wes Reeve while daydreaming about kissing that mysterious Thawne girl she's only met a few times...

Jessi: Performs one of her own hit singles, puts on a really great show, and attracts a crowd of people because "OH MY GOD IS THAT JESSI JUNO???" (if you're looking for a real-world song with a similar vibe to her music, try "Bitches" by Tove Lo)

Hyun-Ki: Sings a haunting cover of Ave Maria, because no one expects the K-Pop star to be classically trained.

Marie: Screams out Girli's "More than a Friend" while useless lesbian-ing out over Qiara's existence, until she's blushing so bad that her face is bright green.

Liah: Dances to "Bombay Dreams" by KSHMR and shows off her skills from her former job as a Bollywood star.

Qiara: "No." *vanishes*. Jokes on you, you can't do that to an omnipotent space god.

Soraya: Asks for a religious exemption, since she's of the school of Islam that doesn't allow music or singing, so therefore she doesn't really know that many songs.

<note: for the Star Wars OCs, just assume it's the space equivalent to the song>

Thalia: Sings Elastic Heart by Sia (Space Version), actually does a fairly good job.

Reyna: Thinks she sounds great, but actually sucks so hard as she quite literally screeches out Space Demi Lovato's "Cool For The Summer".

Laila: Sings "Trouble" by Space Halsey, very obviously singing it to Athena. Stabs the trickster for even daring to suggest cursing her once she's done.

Athena: Manages to capture the trickster in a sack and then takes them back to her lab, where she decides to vivisect them to see how they work, all while singing a very sultry, seductive cover of Space Ariana Grande's "Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I'm Bored"

Pyrrha: Screams out "Weapon" by Space Against the Current (which is basically her theme song), and impresses the trickster with her dance moves, since her cybernetic limbs have higher strength and range of motion than her natural ones.

Samira: Duets "Rewrite The Stars" with Aldrich, since it's their song as a vampire/human couple (BIG taboo on that one)

Aldrich: Duets "Rewrite The Stars" with Samira, taking Zac Efron's part while Samira does Zendaya's part.

Sohelia: Sings "Snakes" By PVRIS, all while visualizing Mr. Head of the Hunters' Guild, immortal alchemist, and accidental creator of Vampires everywhere, Thaddeus St. James, so she puts far more vitriol into her performance than necessary.

Dolores: Sings "Which Witch" by Florence + The Machine and impresses the trickster with her powerful belting and the sheer emotion behind the performance (living your life at risk of being hunted for sport will do that to you)

Victorie: Plays Vivaldi's Four Seasons on violin, since that was new music when she was alive.

Matt: Sings "Believe" by Cher, can't really do anything that special with his performance with his EDS and everything, so he makes sure and puts some extra "oomph" in with his voice.

Vanessa: Sings "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri, while slow dancing with Victorie, putting special emphasis on the line "Beauty is all she is".

Ellis: They're an angel, so they sing the Hallelujah Chorus with the voice of one. Probably go into the full "be not afraid" Biblically Accurate Angel form too.