#Fuzzed and Buzzed Records

[dreamsofconsciousnessmetal]

Witchrot are a Canadian doom metal band with heavy psychedelic/shoegaze influences. Their second full-length Soul Cellar will be released on May 23rd via Fuzzed and Buzzed Records.

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[thescarletfang]

SPINNING OUT [part one]

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~4.7k

Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but it just works better in 3 parts! This is part one - the other two parts are outlined! First time really writing a multi-chapter fic, eeeep.

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, no smut in this part but eventual smut. Eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49). If I missed anything, let me know!

NOW

It starts again because of an accident. 

You’re driving home from work and you’re the kind of bone-deep tired that settles inside of you like lead. Your chest feels heavy and your shoulders ache. You grip the steering wheel, blinking bleary eyes to try and stay focused on the road. 

You dream of home. Stepping out of your heels. A glass of pinot noir in your favorite long-stemmed glass. You dream of putting the day behind you; of closing the tab on all the clients you saw today. All the words you offered them, and the space you held between your body and theirs; your mind is tired. It is fulfilled, yes - as it always is. You know being a therapist is your calling, and you’ve never been more grateful for work than you are at this particular time in your life. 

But you’re…exhausted. 

You can’t remember the last time you slept through the night. Likely in the before. Before your home was cold and lonely. Before everything felt so fucking hard. Before you slept alone in your bed and only brewed one cup of coffee and only made enough food for you.

You just want to rest. 

More than that? You’d like to hide. Your brain is all static and fuzz. It’s flipping its channels at a rapid pace and you’ve lost the remote. You think about the Xanax you have at home and think maybe tonight is the night you take one. 

You just crave peace. 

Everything changes in the span of a breath.

There is the screeching of metal-on-metal, your driver’s side door crunching in on itself. Your neck feels like it snaps. Your airbag deploys and then all you can feel is pain.

It hurts. Everything hurts. 

You feel like you can no longer breathe. You try breathing, you try opening your eyes but everything feels blurred, like you’ve taken your fingers and smeared the paint that makes up your vision. 

You cannot see. You cannot feel anything other than a burning pain that goes from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. 

You think you might be dead. You think of him, for just a moment. 

You do not know how much time passes.

In the ambulance, through the fog and haze of it all, as you lie on the gurney with your head, neck and limbs secure, you beg them to take you to a different hospital, anywhere but the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center because if you go there you’ll see him and you just fucking can’t. 

They ignore your pleas and they tell you to hang on. They tell you a drunk driver slammed into you and t-boned your car. You can barely process anything they are telling you and you feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness. 

A nap. A nap would be so good right now.

They ask you to keep your eyes open but you screw them up tight. It’s too bright in the ambulance and you don’t recognize these voices. 

You can’t see him. Not like this. Not after everything. 

You’re fading, feeling yourself pulled under the current of a dark blankness and then the gurney is being taken out of the back of the ambulance. You keep thinking not like this, not like this, like it’s a broken record in your head and you’re desperate to get to the next track.

You understand that your gurney is moving quickly and you know, despite really being aware, that they’ve taken you to PTMC. The doors slide open and there’s so much noise but your ears are buzzing and ringing. 

Everything feels far away. 

You catch snippets of dialogue in the trauma bay. “Unidentified 38-year-old female. MVA. Somewhat responsive. Severe blood loss. Possible lung puncture, difficulty breathing.” 

Then Robby’s face is above you and his brown eyes grow wide, rounding at the ages as he sees it’s you. 

“Fuck,” he bites out, harshly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” and then he barks an order at someone else and you manage to grab his sleeve. He turns back to you. 

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and raspy as he wheels you quickly into the trauma bay. “Just fucking hang on, okay?”

“Don’t tell him,” you rasp. “Robby, please, don’t—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath but it feels like you’re drowning. Blood splatters out of your lips. “Don’t tell Jack—”

A heartbroken look flickers across Robby’s face but then you gasp and you can’t finish your sentence because everything goes black. 

* * * 

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no. 

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life. 

When he works, he can stop thinking about you. 

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself. 

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has. 

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time. 

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight. 

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack. 

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack. 

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him. 

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life. 

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows. 

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1. 

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts. 

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own. 

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong. 

* * * 

BEFORE

It’s Robby who sets the two of you up in the first place.

Robby went to high school with your older brother. While back then, you were the baby sister always trying to play with the big boys (literally, you were two and Robby and your brother were 17), the two of you reconnected when you became a licensed therapist and moved into the city. Despite being fifteen years your senior, Robby became a good friend. 

The two of you tried dating – briefly – but after a few dates, you realized you were much better off as friends. It always felt forced, too platonic, and you were honestly relieved when you both confessed that the romance wasn’t there. 

“I just can’t kiss someone who I knew when they were a toddler,” Robby told you bashfully, face beet red, after you’d both pulled away from a rather lackluster kiss. You hadn’t even been offended; you’d just laughed and called him an old pervert.

He’s been a best friend ever since.

You’re grabbing a coffee with Robby before his shift and your first client of the day when you finish complaining about your latest string of bad dates. 

“He venmo requested me when I got home.”

Robby chokes on his sip of coffee. “No.” 

You laugh, nodding and playing with the plastic lid of your cup. “Yes! You know what? It’s on me for agreeing to go out with a guy who still lives in his mom’s basement. I am grown enough to admit that that’s on me.” 

“Jesus,” Robby mutters. “What a dick.” 

“I think I’m done. I’m too old.” You know you’re being dramatic, but it’s so easy to bitch to Robby. “You’d think being a therapist I’d be able to spot emotionally intelligent men, but I can’t. Can’t even find someone who’s in therapy himself.” 

Robby snorts into his coffee and rubs his jaw. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ old maid.” He pauses, lifts an eyebrow. “I know a guy in therapy.”

You purse your lips, studying Robby as you sit at the little cafe table in the coffee shop. “Oh yeah? He an ER doctor too?”

Robby smirks. “Yeah, he is.”

You roll your eyes. “You know I can’t do that again.”

Robby laughs, holds a hand to his heart like you’ve wounded him. “Ouch. Was it that bad?” 

You grin, bumping his coffee cup with your own. “Yes, it was that bad. Even if we–yanno, had actually been into each other in a real way, your schedule is atrocious. ER doctors are walking zombies. I can’t date another one!”

Robby studies you in that quiet way of his that makes you feel like he’s seeing through whatever bullshit you’re spouting. 

“His name’s Jack Abbot. He’s an attending on the night shift. He’s in his 40s, was a medic in the army.” Robby pauses. “He’s a good man.”

You take a moment and absorb the information. “Is he even looking to date?”

Robby grins, draining the last of his coffee. “When he meets you, yeah, I think he will be.”

* * * 

Falling in love with Jack Abbot starts out slow and then happens all at once. 

You meet for the first time at a little bar around the corner from your apartment. You’re nervous. If you were being honest, you didn’t think Robby’s colleague would be interested in a blind date. But you’d gotten a text from an unknown number that read, “Hey, this is Jack Abbot, Robby’s better half. Would it be okay if I called you? Not a great texter.” 

He’d called a minute after you said that was fine and the deep gravel of his voice had warmed you down to your toes. Robby had shown you a picture of him, the two of them at some hospital fundraiser gala a year or two back, and yeah, he was fucking handsome. Thick, gray curls. Broad shoulders. Crooked smile. 

Apparently, he hadn’t been opposed to whatever picture Robby had shown him of you, because you found yourself talking on the phone with Dr. Jack Abbot for over two hours that first phone call. The conversation flowed easily, winding between work and family and it began to sketch the shape of you to each other. 

It’d been natural. Scarily so, if you were honest with yourself. 

You’re still nervous to meet him in person. That phone call was a few nights ago, and your hands tremble a little as you open the door to the bar. You run your hands down the fabric of your little dress – a casual, first date number that makes you feel sexy and like yourself all at once – as you walk into the bar. Your eyes scan for a moment. 

Your heart is thumping. 

This feels weighted in a way that other first dates haven’t. This person is in Robby’s orbit, which automatically makes you trust him. 

Your eyes meet across the room and it feels like a little lock sliding into place. You’re taken aback by the feeling.

He’s standing at the corner of the bar, casually leaning against it, hands in his pockets and Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous. The salt-and-pepper curls look even better than in the picture you saw, and your fingers itch to run through them. He’s in nice jeans, a black sweater, expensive as fuck looking Nikes, and he’s…well, he’s staring at you in a way that nearly makes you stumble mid-step. 

“Hi,” you breathe when you’re in front of him. Jack’s smile is a little crooked and it’s so charming you feel flustered.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds just like it did on the phone: warm and raspy. “It’s really nice to meet you—uh, in person.” Oh my god, he’s so cute. He seems nervous and oddly, it sets you at ease.

You smile at him and fiddle with the strap of your purse. “It’s also nice to meet you in person.” Jesus, you sound like a robot. 

But Jack grins again and it makes him look boyish. 

“I’ll be honest,” Jack tells you, and he steps a little closer. His scent wafts over to you - like clean, fresh soap - and it’s very nice. “I uh…I haven’t been set up in awhile. I’m a little rusty.” 

You laugh. “Rusty’s okay with me.” You pause. “You don’t live in your mom’s basement, do you?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Tell me you’re joking. The bar’s that low?”

You purse your lips. “In the ground.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving breath and shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck. “I promise I don’t live in my ma’s basement.” 

You grin and he grins back crookedly and it’s so nice. He asks you what you’re drinking and after you both have your choice in hand - a pinot noir for you, a whisky on the rocks for him - you find a little table. The bar is one of your favorites, a charming little place with low lighting and a relaxed crowd. 

You’re once again surprised by how natural it all feels. You pick up right where you left off on the phone, and you’re grateful that Jack seems to enjoy talking. You’ve been on plenty of dates with men who can’t carry a conversation or seem physically incapable of asking you a single question about yourself, so this? 

This is just…lovely. 

The candlelight dances across Jack’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and the gray stubble. You…simply cannot stop looking at him. And he cannot seem to stop looking at you; you may not know him well yet, but an hour in his presence and you realize this man loves eye contact. He’s unafraid to hold it, and it keeps you grounded and in your body in a way that is calming to your anxiety. 

You find out Jack grew up just outside of Pittsburgh, that he’s a born and raised Steelers fan. You learn more about his time as a combat medic (you’d touched on it on the phone). You learn that he prefers the night shift, that it calms and quiets his mind. You learn that he’s been seeing his current therapist for two years after his previous one retired. You learn that he’s the oldest of four kids and has three younger sisters. A bunch of nieces and nephews that he — adorably — shows you on his phone. 

He learns that you’re prone to anxiety attacks. That you’ve wanted to be a therapist since high school. You tell him about your friendship with Robby and he laughs when you tell him about your ill-fated attempt at dating. He learns that you want to travel more, dream of going back to Sorrento, Italy and sipping limoncello while the briny sea breeze of the marina plays across your face. He learns about your family, and how much you love them. 

A lull in the conversation as you sip your wine and he studies you. You blush, looking into your glass.

“What?” you ask out of the side of your mouth. When you look back up at him, you notice he has a dimple in his cheeks when he grins. 

“I just didn’t think it’d be like this,” is what he says. Your heart thrums once, twice, a thudding in your chest.

“Like what?”

He doesn’t blink when he stares at you. “Easy.”

You smile at him and he lets out a breath like that smile is what he’s been waiting for. 

“I uh, I should tell you,” he says, his voice low and steady. “I’ve been married before. My wife passed ten years ago.” His jaw clenches once, twice. “I never know how to uh, bring it up.” He clears his throat. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Thank you for telling me,” you say softly, genuinely. And you mean it. 

He looks at you then like he’s a little surprised. “You didn’t say, ‘sorry for your loss.’”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. Do you want me to?”

His cheeks dimple when he gives you a small, gentle smile. “Fuck no. I’m just…everyone says ‘sorry for your loss.’” 

“It is an unthinkable thing to lose a partner, a thing that forever changes your entire chemistry as a human being,” you tell him. “And I hate that it happened to you. And I’m very thankful that you told me.” 

Jack taps his thumb against his whisky glass, and seems to study the melting ice within it. “She’s—she was the best person I ever met. She made me better. I think about her all the time.” He adds roughly, “I hope she’s proud’a me.” 

You resist the urge to take this man’s hand in your own. Your fingers itch for it, but you don’t want to assume he’s okay with that, especially during such a vulnerable moment. You sit in his words for a moment, letting them rest between you. 

“I’m so glad you had her. That you still have her, in a lot of ways, I’m sure.”

He nods and doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he lets out a breath and when he looks up at you, his eyes glisten a bit. 

“This what it’s like dating a therapist? You always say the right thing?”

You bark out a laugh because you can’t help it. “God, if I always said the right thing, I’d be a shitty therapist. I tend to believe you learn by failing and fucking up.” Your cheeks warm as he continues to look at you. “And this isn’t dating. This is our first date.”

He raises a teasing eyebrow. “Oh? First and last?”

You bite your lip and his eyes track the motion. He swallows. “That what you want? First and last?”

“Hell no,” he says immediately, voice so sure that it warms your entire body. The glisten in his eyes has given way to a brightness and you think, I like this.

I like you.

“Good,” you tell him, draining the last of your wine. “Me either.”

* * * 

You get tacos from the taco truck around the corner, and in between bites of carne asada and tinga de pollo, Jack tells you about work at PTMC.

“I like the teaching aspect of it,” he tells you after taking a sip of his water. You sit at a little folding table in the parking lot where the truck is set up. “I didn’t think I’d like that part, but as cheesy as it sounds, I think it’s part of what I’m meant to do.”

You’re smiling as you say, “I see why you and Robby are friends.” 

Jack barks out a short laugh. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

You swallow the last bite of your taco, lick the salsa from your fingertips. Jack’s eyes linger on the movement and you feel a buzz in your blood. 

“You both can’t help but lead. It’s in your DNA.” You pause. “It’s how I know you’re a good doctor and I just met you.”

“Hey now,” Jack says, wiping his hands on a napkin. “You keep talkin’ like that and my ego’s gonna get too big to fit through the trauma bay.”

You grin and he grins back and you feel silly and light and…happy. 

“I wanna see you again,” Jack tells you. It’s so straightforward that it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. 

“You’re seeing me right now,” you say to deflect from the nerves you’re feeling. 

Jack shrugs. 

“Not enough,” he says and you think you might actually swoon. “I like schedules. You wanna see me again?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’m off in three days and I wanna make you dinner at my place. Would that be okay?”

You try to contain your excitement, to play it cool. You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought you were rusty at the whole dating thing,” you tell him. His eyes flash with something you want to name as mischief. 

Jack rubs his scruffy jaw. He puts his elbows on the table and leans forward. “You make me wanna be good at it.”

You think your smile may be so bright that it outshines the streetlight above. 

“Dinner at your place in three days sounds perfect.” 

* * * 

There’s an energy between you that wasn’t there earlier in the night as Jack walks you home. You can feel it. It’s heavy and pulsing and it makes you feel untethered in a way that is intoxicating. 

Your hands brush as you walk down the quiet, dark street. Shoulders swaying into each other. You can feel the heat of Jack’s body, how close he’s walking. You clock that he’s walking on the outside of the sidewalk, that his eyes scan your surroundings, like he’s making sure he’s aware of everything going on.

The two of you don’t speak much as you walk, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s…anticipatory. It feels like you’re on the precipice of something and whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine something very important. 

You reach your duplex, a sweet little place with night-blooming jasmine bushes that have been there since you moved in several years ago. You stop at the gate and turn to him. He stops walking, hands in his pockets as his eyes hold yours. 

You both don’t say anything for a moment. You just look at each other and it’s comforting to know that you can exist with this man, just as you are. 

“This is me,” you say after a moment and it makes laughter bubble out of both of you. He grins boyishly, the apples of his cheeks pushing upward. A chorus of cute cute cute chants in your brain.

“Yeah, I figured,” he teases. “Unless you’re in the habit of just stopping in front of random people’s houses.”

“You don’t know me,” you tease back. 

Jack steps closer to you and you look up at him. He’s not really tall but he’s taller than you and his entire presence is so broad and commanding that you feel swept into it. 

“Hopin’ to change that, though.” His voice has a husk to it. “If you’ll let me.”

You take in a breath as he studies you like he’s trying to memorize your face. 

“Yeah, Abbot,” you say, your own voice soft. “I’ll let you.”

He huffs out a breath, hazel eyes clear. “Yeah?” 

His right hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek for a tender moment. You nod as he leans down. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, right before his lips meet yours. 

It’s the best first kiss you’ve ever had. 

Light at first, both of you learning one another’s mouths. Jack’s other hand comes to your face and he’s cradling your head like it’s something precious, like it’s something to be cherished. You step closer to him, your own hands fisting the front of his sweater and pulling him closer. 

When your tongue traces his bottom lip, Jack groans and it lights you up from your scalp to your toes. 

He opens his mouth immediately, his tongue licking into you and you’re on fire. 

You’re in your thirties and you’re making out with this man with a mop of silver curls and it’s so heady that you feel like you’re floating. You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking kisses before the porch light comes on and you’re found out. 

You don’t know how much time passes, just that when you both break apart you’re equally short of breath. You’re seconds from inviting him up to your place which is not your typical first date move but that’s simply because nobody’s been worth it before. He grins down at you, lips kiss-bitten, face flushed, and plays with a loose strand of hair framing your face. He rubs it between his fingers, then tucks it behind your ear. 

“Three days. My place. Dinner,” he says, voice husky and wrecked and you smile up at him, the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. 

“Can’t wait.”

Later that night, when you’re in bed about to drift off, you get a text from Robby, asking how the date had gone. You respond with a simple thumbs up, knowing it’ll piss him off. He returns your text with ????????? and you snort. You put him out of your misery with your response: It was wonderful. He is wonderful. Seeing him in a few days. Robby sends back a thumbs up in retaliation, which in return makes you annoyed and then you engage in a battle of emojis (middle finger, gun, skull, etc.) until your phone buzzes with an incoming text.

Jack Abbot: Had an amazing time tonight and can’t wait to see you again. Sweet dreams.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you think maybe—just maybe—this is the start of a real good thing.

There’s no way you can know that in four years you’ll be separated from Jack and fighting for your life in a cold, dark hospital room.

[hairmetal666]

Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight. It's hopeless romanticism, childish fantasy, another way the straights just aren't okay. He's not wrong--look how love at first sight worked out for Romeo and Juliet, both dead by the final act. Couldn't be him.

This makes him strong, he thinks. Smart.

He won't end up like his parents, infatuated for six months, and then years of his mom's sleepless nights as his dad came home less and less.

He's never been sold on the whole white picket fence thing. The world's let him know that it's not meant for him, no matter how many millions of records sold and dollars earned. Plus, he's seen the most beautiful men in the world, slept with many of them, and none of them enticed him for more than a good time.

The band's on a break--after a hit record, a sold out world tour, a couple of Grammy's, they deserve it--plus, the other Corroded guys, they have serious relationships, families, the aforementioned white picket fence. It's been him and Wayne for as long as he cares to remember, and he loves his uncle more than anything, but when the offer comes in to solo headline a festival in Australia, he doesn't hesitate.

He has songs, plenty of them, that don't quite fit Corroded Coffin's sound. There's never going to be an Eddie Munson solo album, at least he's never really considered it, so why not play this stuff in a 'one night only' kind of deal? Plus, he loves festivals, the atmosphere, the music, the delirious rush of it all.

He gets a lot of flack in industry rags for being a music snob, and sure he has strong opinions about metal, but he listens to and loves a wide range of artists across all genres. It's why he's so good at his job. At any festival, he considers it a professional duty to check out as many of the acts as he can, especially the ones he doesn't know yet.

He's waiting for a performance right now, pushed up against the barricade, hoodie on, tattoos obscured, piercings removed, hair in a tight bun, dark glasses his hiding eyes. He hadn't recognized this name in the line- up, the stylized SH, and the only stage decoration is a black backdrop, white letters spelling out, "Shhh," the outline of a finger over cherry red lips. It's cute, Eddie thinks.

He checks his phone, just for a second, and in the space of that moment, the crowd begins to cheer. He looks up, eager for his first glimpse of SH.

A man crosses the stage towards the mic, guitar slung across his chest. He's wearing a yellow polo and a pair of Levi's so tight Eddie's already about to get down on his knees and repent. He's got this coiffed shock of brown hair, a face dotted with freckles, perfectly kissable pink lips. Eddie's seen the hottest men in the world, slept with most of them, but this guy, this guy, is the prettiest one, and somehow he'd never considered pretty.

SH lifts his arms to wave to the crowd, and his polo is short, right, maybe cropped, so the move exposes a large expanse of his stomach. And Eddie, he knows abs, but never before have they been this perfect for biting, can already imagining the give beneath his teeth.

Eddie is transfixed, mesmerized, totally enamored, and he doesn't realize at first that the noise of the crowd, of SH's banter, has blanked into nothingness. It's only the shape of him, the awareness of his existence, that bleeds through.

He watches the stage, mouth wide, as the man's fingers find their places on the strings, as he begins to play music Eddie can't hear over the electric sizzle of his blood, the fuzzed out distortion of his heartbeat.

He has a moment to think, no, this isn't supposed to happen to me before SH begins to sing. The crisp tone of his voice is the only thing Eddie hears, hits him like the sharp buzz of an amplifier, reverberates through him like a plucked guitar string.

Oh no, he thinks. Not this. But there's no outrunning it.

He watches the performance in awe, eyes never leaving SH, immovable for the entire set, slack-jawed with wonder and sensory overload. Too soon SH is introducing the band, names Eddie can't decipher, says, "I'm Steve Harrington, thank you!"

Steve. Steve Harrington. Steve dances in a circle around his brain.

Even once Steve leaves the stage, Eddie doesn't move. He stands at the barricade, knuckles gone white where they clutch the metal, mind whirling. He's done for, a goner, how could this happen, how could this happen, how could this happen.

He stays as the crowd drifts away, as crew pack up instruments and cords, and different crew brings out new equipment. He stays as people trickle up for the next scheduled act, until he's surrounded, and only then does reality click back into focus.

Shoving his way out of the crowd, he rushes backstage, hastily presenting his VIP badge to security. He's too late, he's sure. He spent too much time processing, and surely Steve is gone now, back to an RV or a hotel or boarding an airplane. And maybe that's for the best, Eddie isn't meant for this, Eddie isn't--

Voices stop him in his tracks, a gaggle of children shouting over each other, blending into a cacophony, and in the middle of it all is Steve.

"All I said was that your set starts in five minutes. Why are you yelling at me?"

A girl with long red hair puts a straw to her lips, a spitball hitting Steve square in the forehead.

"Who says we're mad?" She asks, as the wet paper unsticks from his skin, plopping to the floor.

With that, the whole crew of them bop towards the stage, leaving Steve with an annoyed smile on his face.

"Those fucking kids," he says to someone out of Eddie's line of sight. The undertone is alarmingly fond given the sentiment.

Suddenly, the distance between them is too much, and his feet are moving, bringing him closer.

Steve is still talking, but Eddie's movement catches his attention, has him throwing a glance down the hall. He stops mid-sentence, sitting straighter in his chair, a bemused little smile spreading across his mouth.

It's too much, stops Eddie in his tracks, takes his breath. It doesn't stop Steve, though. He's standing and crossing the distance between them before Eddie so much as blinks.

"Hi," he says, when they're toe to toe, when he can see every green speck in Steve's shining hazel eyes. He takes off his sunglasses.

"Hi," Steve answers in a half-whisper, awestruck.

They stare at each other, both smiling.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asks.

"Might die if you didn't."

He wraps his hand around the back of Steve's neck, draws him in, holds their lips a hairsbreadth apart. With a sigh, Steve closes the distance, slotting their mouths together.

Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight, but as Steve's lips part for him, he has to admit this might be one of the rare occasions where he's wrong. After that first taste, there's no doubt that his happiness begins and ends with Steve Harrington. Irrevocably, forever.

They part, gently, noses still touching. Steve's smile is like the sunrise, bright, breathtaking.

"I've been waiting for you," Steve says.

"You have?"

"My whole life."

"Sorry I made you wait, sweetheart. It won't happen again."

I swear that I saw a post with a pic from Djo's first Coachella set with a premise that it was Eddie's first glimpse of Steve and he falls hopelessly in love with him, which obviously inspired this fic, and I can't find that post at all to give credit. So, if anyone knows remembers a post like this, let me know so I can credit for the inspo!

[skzthelomlhehe]

A lustful collab

Masterlist Total Masterlist

Tag reqs: @arestoucries

Genre: music, fluff, smut, romance, slice of life.

Warnings: sexual descriptions (as the genre suggests)- fingering, harsh language, bleeding, first time, unprotected sex.

Description: In love with your voice he asks for a collaboration. You invite him to your studio but seeing how he was gonna be late you decide to do... Questionable things. And alas he walks in on you doing that cuz you're dumb and forgot to lock the fucking door and things get spicy hehe~

A/N: Heyy! This is my first time writing at Tumblr and also my first take on smut that isn't roleplay lmao the story itself is mostly fluff with smut in between. Hope it doesn't get too stretchy eeee- I literally came up with the plot while listening to connected fr and got even more inspiration from MOVIE by JUNNY srs! anyways~ hope this little delulu one shot can feed yalls delulu hearts~ also PS: A warning is given before the smut starts JUST IN CASE idk why I added it but I did lmao

Vibe with:

It was a beautiful autumn noon. Birds chirping, people probably at home napping or at work or whatever. The street was empty and you were inside your room working on your new song at your parents' house. After a while of humming and singing, you put down your guitar and took off your headphones before looking out the window of your room.

A quiet and peaceful afternoon painted with golden hues of the pretty sunset. Perfect time to record your song. So you decided to take your things which included your guitar, phone, a big tripod and a black foldable chair.

You headed out to the yard with your hands full of stuff barely managing your balance and not accidentally tumbling over and risking every bit of fortune you spent on your set up.

Upon reaching, you successfully manage to put down your stuff in the correct position which was unusual given your extraordinarily clumsy nature. But oh well, luck was just on your side. After you were done with all the silly little labor you finally sat in your chair and started recording. The melody flew gracefully, your guitar cooperated and didn't buzz as your hands guided each note, your voice obeyed your pleas and didn't crack but escaped your lips soft and smooth. The rhymes flowed by as if it were a river devoid of any bounds and for once you didn't feel disrupted or out of breath. Everything went down smoothly which was, once again, quite unusual given your tendency of taking a thousand takes.

All this while, your eyes remained shut as if naturally. You couldn't open them and frankly, neither did you want to. You preferred the soft breeze that tickled your skin, making your hair flow just the tiniest bit. As your song came to an end, you slowly opened your eyes and switched off the recording. Just as you were about to check the video you just took, you were startled by a soft clap followed by a deep, husky yet smooth voice. One that you knew a bit too well. "That was so beautiful! You've got an amazing voice, mate!" The voice spoke out. You looked up, utterly shocked thinking your ears were playing tricks on you. But when you did look up, your heart skipped a beat. In a good way obviously!

There he stood, an averagely tall man, eyes sparkling as if millions of stars were held in them, the dimples at the end of the corner of his smile made you feel like you would drown in them and you honestly don't complain. His hair curled perfectly into a neat fuzz. These details, you knew it too well. A bit too well. Christopher, a well known musician who was the heart throb of many. He's your idol, someone you look upto a lot and also the one who inspired you to go against your family's disapproval and start a career in music. If not for him, you wouldn't be here making music right now.

you quickly put down your guitar on the chair and grabbed your phone stuffing it in your pocket while rushing to him who was standing behind the fence out on the sidewalk. "O-oh gosh thank you...! You flatter me!" You said flustered. You could feel your face getting hotter. Shy? Embarrassed? Flustered? Anything that falls into the similar synonym spectrum, you felt it.

"I'm serious! You make a great deal of a singer." He said, his smile Perking up hiding his eyes. He extended out his hand in a gesture of a shake, "I'm Chris by the way. Just moved here a few days back, nice to meet you!" And almost immediately like the silly fangirl you were, you held his hand, albeit gently unlike those psychos who don't know personal space and bowed "I-I'm Y/N!! It's very nice to meet you too sir!" And with that you just buried your self-esteem deep inside the ground. Sir? Seriously? You could do better Y/N.

Upon blurting out whatever you said, you were met with a rather charming chuckle. You looked up to see the man in front of you laughing, still holding your hand and covering a teeny bit of his smile with his other hand. "You're a funny one, Y/N!" He said, still having the after effects of the little laugh. He let go of your hand, you felt a little disappointed when he did so but you didn't bother to make an expression out of it. "So it seems you live around here? Ive heard you sing but never really saw you before." He spoke, possibly making small talks. "Ah no I used to live here. This is my parents' house, I come by every other week. I live 3 blocks away actually." You spoke quite calmly even though there was a storm raging inside your mind. But no one needs to know that except you and me right? Moving on!

"Ahh~ I see~ well! We'll still be seeing each other some time, no? Can I have your number? I don't really have many friends my age round here." He pulled out his phone and held it in front of you expecting you to type your number in. "o-oh sure..!" You took his phone rather abruptly cuz once again you're clumsy cuz why not~ and typed your number in. You made a quick call from his phone and saved your number in his. You handed him the phone before taking yours out and saving it as well. "great! So I'll text later yeah? I gotta run now, but I'll see you later?" He spoke, looking at you expectantly. You just nodded with a bright smile. "That's that then! See ya, mate!" He cheerfully bid you goodbye, turning away and looking at you one last time with a wink and waving his hands in a peace sign.

That was when you went into a faze. And the next thing you know, you're lying in bed, your stuff neatly organized. "So uhh... I was singing in the yard, someone came, said I sang great, the someone so happed to be my fucking crush and idol and he asked me for my number and he said he'll text me... He... He asked... He ASKED FOR MY FUCKING NUMBER OH MY FUCKING GOD IS THIS A DREAM?!?!?!" After taking your sweet sweet time processing whatever happened you started kicking your feet like a teeny tiny little girl in Love even though you're a fucking (your age) year old woman. (Y'all freaky minors I see you so you better get going)

And then all of a sudden amidst your delulu moment, you get jolted awake to reality by a text notification. When you open your screen your face lights up into a bright ass smile, heart in your eyes and just- delulu all over again.

And just like that you snatched yourself a date (not really) with your favourite local artist! How lucky aren't you? Anyways~ you looked at the clock and it was 4:16 pm already. You rushed up, swifting through your closet only to find nothing wearable. "Do I really not have anything here??? Why did I take everything there with me ugh!!!!" You whisper yelled cuz after your little yelling sesh earlier the last thing you want is for people (especially Chris) to think you're crazy. After failing to find anything wearable you quickly grabbed your things and drove off to your studio.

After a lot of deciding you finally found an outfit you wanted to wear and quickly headed into the shower. And after managing to shower, get dressed, put make up on and do any other finishing touches you were finally ready! You took one last look at yourself into the mirror and felt extremely self satisfied. The clock showed 5:35 pm and it takes about 15 minutes to get there by taxi and the last thing you want is to be late. So you hurried down and got yourself a ride and right to the cafe you went.

You've been to this cafe for a good long while now. It was your favourite spot to chill and the bells attached to the door was always a calming welcome for you. This time although, that same ring sent shivers down your spine. And you didn't know why. You were, as usual, greeted by a gentle young man who was pleased to see one of the regulars back again.

"a single seat again?" He asked as you entered. You shook your head, "not this time boy! I've got company" and soon a giggle left your lips followed by a confused, curious and pleased 'oh?' from the man. He smiled and led you to a comfortable seat. A perfect seat is what you considered it. A big glassed window which gave the perfect view of the lit up streets outside. The cafe was warm and cozy like its name. You took your coat off and draped it over the chair lean before taking a seat. After few minutes of waiting which seemed like hours your clock showed 5:56 pm. You were starting to get worried. Was he gonna ditch you? Were you gonna get stood up by a person you admire so much?

As you let yourself spiral into your overthinking, you were brought back to reality with a knock on the wooden table, "hello? Anyone there? Earth to Y/N!" You looked up, blood rising to your face making it warmer. "A-ah yes! S-sorry about that. I sorta uh... Lost myself there, heh." You mumbled, loud enough for him to hear albeit quite faint. "Right, it's all good!" The man took a seat in front of you, "lovely view." He said, looking out the window. "Ah... Lovely indeed." Your awestruck fangirl eyes stayed glued to this man's face, observing every little detail. His beautifully curly brown hair, big lips that stretched into a smile, that deep and gorgeous dimple that dug at the end of the corner of his smile. Lovely... He was more than just lovely.

"So... Which one of the view is lovely here, exactly?" You didn't realise he was looking at you. His right elbow rested on the table while his tilted head rested on his palm, his face painted with a shimmering smile.

You were dazed by the view in front of you, "You..." You muttered, your head falling off your palms, "N-no I mean both! I mean- no- the outside- or like no uh maybe both? Uh- ah! I don't know!" You hid your face within your hands and heard a soft chuckle. That chuckle tickled your ears turning them bright red.

After much awkward blabbering you guys finally got down to business. Having discussed a few of the details, you guys agreed to meet on the weekends in your studio since his new studio wasn't fully done yet. You both decided to discuss further details and make a contract on Saturday at your studio.

Time passed by in the blink of an eye. Before you know it, you guys have had chatted endless conversations in the meantime. Gotten much more closer. And before you knew it, your phone display showed 8:35 AM on a Saturday morning. Chris was supposed to arrive at 12:30 pm, grab lunch with you and then work on the song.

You looked around realising your room was a total mess. You had 4 hours to clean everything up, shower and get ready and you were quite determined.

You cleared everything up, every Speck of dust lying around was removed in what felt like an instant. You quickly took an everything shower. Washing your hair, shaving, skincare etc etc everything.

After all was done, you checked your phone again. The time showed 12:23 PM. You felt content, giving your chest a light pat of approval. You put on some casual clothes and put up your hair into a messy bun. You patted on some powder, a little blush, tad bit of eyeliner and some soft lip tint to tie it all together.

Just when you were done with everything, you heard your door bell ring. Anticipation grew with each step you took running to your front door. "coming!" You yelled.

Opening the door felt like opening it to a beam of light. You were greeted by a warm smile and a "Hey, pretty!" In the softest most endearing tone youve ever heard. It was like music to your ears. You replied with a "hey handsome~" as a giggle left both your lips.

You knew better than to delude yourself but right now... For a tiny bit... You wanted to think this was more than just some collaboration and something perhaps a little more special. Although getting to Collab with this man was a great deal of honor in itself.

You guys drove to the restaurant in his car. The way his veiny hands glided on the steering wheel made you feel things. The way he spoke, the way he sat there driving, the way he laughed, the way the wind ruffled his hair ever so softy, everything made butterflies rage inside your stomach.

You guys vibed to some music, both singing in tune as he drove. At the restaurant you both chatted while waiting for the food. Chris, curious of the food you were having, took a small bite and regretted immediately with how spicy it was. He coughed "good- lords! How do you eat that?" You chuckled. "or you're just too much of a baby to handle even this little bit of spice? You even have food on your face!" "Eh? Where?" He scanned through the corners of his lips trying to wipe the food away. Watching him struggle, you took a piece of tissue and leaned in to wipe it for him. It felt like time stopped, like some kind of a cliche rom com movie. You both stared at each other for a few moments before he cleared his throat. You sat back down clearing your throat as well.

After the lunch, you both came back to your place. For a second it was awkward but that tension was soon killed as he initiated a small talk that dragged into a conversation.

Getting home, you both talked about the collab. You both jotted down a small contract that his manager would review later to confirm it. But you guys were too excited to wait for any of that and decided to start working on the song.

You both presented ideas you guys had come up with in the meantime. While he took a look at the sheet of printed paperwork you switched on your computer. Time flowed like a river with clear path.

"Should we make some alterations in that part?" He spoke, pointing his pen towards the lit up computer screen. "Which one? This?" You moved your cursor towards the line and selected it. "No not that one, the one below. Here this-" without much thought, his hand trailed to the mouse and placed right about your hand. He clicked the line he had originally pointed to, "I think we could make it a little more feely here-" he paused and realised where his hand was. He looked at you, your face flushed a cute shade of pink. Seeing you, his face, too, flushed in a soft blush before he abruptly took his hand away. "R-right yeah we uh we could do that"

You looked away, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear as you bit your lower lip feeling a slight sense of disappointment having him pulled away. His hand was big on yours, the warm weight of it felt comforting. You've had your hand held by a lot of people, family, friends, exes. But this particular moment made you feel like your hand was on fire and frankly, so was your entire body.

You felt a wet slick in your lady down there. You quickly excused yourself to the restroom. You had considered that maybe it was... Something else ... But you had thought maybe it was just your period coming a day earlier. But once you had made it into the restroom, you realised, it was, in fact, what you had anticipated and that anticipation was definitely not your period.

You went back, things seemed a tad bit awkward. You didn't like it. You didn't like it at all. You hated the tension that had been created just because of a trivial matter like mistakenly putting his hand on yours while reaching for the mouse. Although the tension was there, you guys still managed to get some work done. After a while, Chris got a call from his manager asking him to get home since it was already 9:12 pm.

Time sure flew. You wished time would stop so you could spend more time with him but you knew you couldn't. So you swallowed down your disdain and walked him to the exit bidding him goodbye. It was bitter, but it is what it is.

You went back in finding yourself in a faze again. You could barely make sense of anything that was happening. You saved the progress on your computer and went straight to bed because frankly, you didn't have any energy left for anything else.

(just imagine some spicy stuff cuz idk how to write a wet dream 💀)

The next day, you woke up to your kitty feeling extra soaked. You groaned thinking it was the after effects of the wet dream you just had. But to your utter surprise and absolute agony, it was none other than that annoying cousin you despised. That's right ladies, you got your period. Periodt.

You took a quick shower before cleaning up last night's mess. You knew your cramps were about to HIT today. And you dreaded it. You could barely move around the entire day because of the excruciating pain you were in. No wonder your sex drive was so high and you felt pain in your waist for the past week.

Time ticked to 6 PM and it was about time Chris arrived. And just on time, you heard your doorbell ring. You tried your best not to look too groggy. You opened the door to his bright smile again, all the tension out the window. You smiled back, your abdomen almost on the verge of busting.

"Hey... You alright?" He asked, his eyes glistening in concern. "Y-yeah... I just got my period today and the cramps are wild." You replied. "oh... Then... Should I leave? I mean-.. I don't wanna cause you any more pain" you couldn't believe how painfully nice he was. Gosh he was just... So considerate. But you didn't want to miss this opportunity. You didn't want to wait an entire week. "No! No it's okay! I can do it! Don't worry!" You blurted. "alright then. But let me know if you're in any pain ok?" He wanted to make you feel comfortable and just him being so considerate made you feel like you could get through a thousand cramps.

You nodded before letting him in. You guys started working on the song again. But unfortunately, as optimistic as you were before, you couldn't help but feel the pain resurface ever so often. The pain felt harder each time it returned. At some point you couldn't help but groan, clenching at your tummy.

"Are you... Are you ok? You don't look too good." He held your shoulder ever so softly. "Ye-yeah I just... Need to use the restroom real quick. I'll be back." "Sure, take your time."

Just as you were about to stand up, your legs gave out and you tripped. Chris, who was right there, happened to catch you in time. Had you fell, your head wouldve went straight to the corner of the table cracking it open. Your heart raced. But, you couldn't tell if it was out of fear or the fact that you were practically groping his chest. Or maybe it was both.

You got up in a rush, your head felt fuzzy. "ah im- im so sorry! I didn't mean to!" "No- no it's alright! You were about to fall so I just... It's okay I don't mind... I mean... Uhh I would mind if it was some random person who just got all over me without permission but uhh what I mean is it's alright I didn't think anything of it..." He looked away turning his head, his ears a bright red.

You hurried off to the restroom and locked the door. "Stupid stupid! You stupid girl! Agh why did you have to fall on him??" You whisper yelled. Your hands still felt warm from the sensation. Your nipples had perked up and you felt aroused out of your mind. But you didn't want to feel it. You didn't want to be a creep and make him uncomfortable.

Time skip ...

A month had passed now. You guys got even more closer now. In the meantime you had many more physical contacts that ignited sparks within you. The sessions didn't last in tensed awkwardness anymore and you guys were having fun.

You were checking out your calender as usual to check out if you had something important in the coming days. Your period for this month had ended two days ago, you were supposed to have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday and the rent was due on Thursday. Everything was checked out. You looked at your phone that showed 10:34 am on a Saturday.

You suddenly get a text and your face brightens up when you see the sender of it.

If this was a while ago, you would find it illegal to even think of getting coffee with THE Christopher. Asking him to bring along coffee and having him treat you to pastry as an apology just would've felt illegal and a faraway day dream. But here we are.

You flopped down on your bed, scrolling through the gallery in your phone. It had endless pictures of Chris. Even more of him than you, your family and friends combined.

You squealed with every picture as you realised again and again how attractive he was and this very man was coming over every other weekend for a collab. It was just... So unreal to you.

{Warning: here the smut starts so if you're not ok with that please skip until you see a divider. Thank you.}

As you were thinking of all this, you found yourself feeling a tad bit aroused. You put your phone down as you glided your hand through your body gradually sliding in down inside your shorts.

You rubbed your clit that had been a swollen bud and your hole had been leaking ever since, thirsting for a little action. You pulled your shirt up revealing your breasts as they bounced and you pulled your pants down. Your pants hung by your ankle as you slowly rubbed your entrance gently.

It throbbed. It wanted more. You started thrusting your finger in. First your middle, then both your middle and ring finger and soon your index as well. You gradually became a moaning mess. Occassionally calling out Christopher's name under your breath as you fondled your boobs.

Oh how you wished he were here with you. As you were in your moments of pleasure laying unbeknownst of anything, a thud jolted you awake from your fantasy.

You looked towards the door of your room realising the clear view of your kitty you had put on to anyone who stood there. Horror overcame you as you realised who was standing at the door. Chris. His bag had fallen, possibly due to shock of seeing you like that.

His face was utterly surprised. You quickly closed your widely spread apart legs scrambling to hide but it just didn't work out. "h-how are you here?!" You asked, shame and guilt overcoming you. "We-well the door was unlocked and I called out to you but you didn't hear me an-and I just-" his face brightened red. You looked down unknowingly and realised he had a painful bulge that looked like it would pop out any moment now.

"y-you... Why are you..." You pointed, he looked down and quickly hid it. "I'm oh lords I'm so sorry! I didn't-"

As if your body moved on its own, you got off the bed and walked closer to him. He stumbled as you did, "wha- what are you-"

"don't you..." You shut him off, "don't you feel repulsed? You heard everything didnt you?" "I- I mean I did hear you... Calling my name but.. uh.. no no... I ... I don't feel repulsed... Not in the slightest!" He blurted out. You weren't usually the bold type but today, for some reason, you felt unstoppable. You took the bag of coffee from his hand and set it down on the shelf near the door. "So... You're turned on by what you saw?" He looked away turning his head before softly nodding. That nod in itself made you even bolder. You slowly glided your hands to his shoulders, letting your arms rest around his neck as you leaned closer making him flinch.

"Come on, Chris... Look at me..." You whispered. "N-no I..." "But... I want you to look at me." You looked at him with sparkly eyes. He looked at you clenching his fists trying his best not to lose himself.

"Do you... Want to touch me...?"

"I shouldn't..."

"it's not about should or shouldn't... Do you want to? Or not?"

He clenched his jaw, unable to speak anything. You leaned in closer to his face. "if you don't want it... Push me away right now..."

And with that, you leaned in even more. Both of your lips not even an inch away from each other. You could feel his warm breath against your skin. You felt so... So turned on. You'd have thought he would push you away. But to your utter surprise...

He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in to a kiss. You flinched and were caught off guard but soon gave in to the passionate kiss. He was rushed, but not too much. It felt good. Your lips touched in perfect harmony. You mewled as you felt his tongue on your lips. Without any complaints you let him in.

Your tongues twirled in a beautiful rhythm. Your breaths clashed with each other. You grabbed onto him a little tighter, pulling him in towards the bed. He pushed you on the bed, kissing you again.

You broke the kiss, unbuckling his pants revealing his throbbing member. His dick was nice and long. Perfectly thick and girthy. You panted at the sight of it and your pussy throbbed. You wanted him. You want to take him.

You got up and pushed him down on the bed as you got on your knees. "Can I...?" You asked and he nodded biting his lips. You could see it in his eyes. Just how eager he was. He huffed as you blowed softly on his tip.

You rubbed it against your soft cheek making him groan. He was already overflowing with precum. You slowly glided your finger through his member. It both scared and aroused you to see his size and how veiny it was. It was throbbing and flinching every now and then.

"just... Do it alreadyy.." he begged and you couldn't wait to comply. You slowly started shoving it inside your face. Licking every bit of it. He threw his head back grasping onto your hair, pushing your head further down. You moaned again finding it incredibly hard to take it all in.

You choked as his tip hit the back of your throat and he let you go instantly. "Ah! Im sorry! Are you ok?" He asked pulling you closer to your face cupping your cheeks. "Yeah.. I'm.. I'm okay. I just don't have much experience with deep throating." You spoke still catching your breath. "it's ok if you don't want to. I don't wanna force you to do something you don't enjoy."

"no it's alright. I want to do it. So just relax." You went back to his groin. This time, taking it slow. Rubbing his member and licking the tip slowly preparing to him all in. Steadily you start putting it inside your mouth. It felt weird at first and you felt overwhelmed but you were determined. You wanted him to feel good.

It gave you immense pleasure when you heard his groans and moans. "Fuck baby you're so hot..." He moaned under his breath. That just aroused you even more. You went back up to his face, kissing him passionately. He pushed you down on the bed and took off his shirt.

Good lords that was the most sexiest and hottest thing you've ever seen. He soon made his way down between your thighs. First kissing your inner thighs along with soft bites that sent shivers down your spine. You yelped a moan when you felt his fingers circling your poor swollen bud and moaned even more when you found him licking it. You thanked your soundproof walls. You thanked yourself who worked endlessly to afford that soundproofing. It just meant you could moan as much as you wanted.

"Shit... Chris... Im... Fuck im so close...!" You mewled. He came up to your face, kissing you relentlessly again as if he was just going to devour you. "can... Can I put it in..?" He asked with these adorable puppy eyes. You felt his tip rubbing against your entrance. "yes.. god... Yes please... I need to Chris... I need you so much... Fuck just put it in already..." You moaned. You couldn't take it anymore. You needed him. You needed him so bad.

"but... There's no condom? Should I go buy some?" He said pulling away and almost getting up. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him closer. "Fuck condoms just do it! Im safe." (A/N: please use condoms even if you're safe. Your partner might not be safe 💀)

And without much ado, he started shoving it in. It was your first time. You didn't expect it to hurt so much. A drop of tear trickled down your face as you gasped in shock. "agh... Ah fuck... Fuck fuck fuck that hurts ngh..." You cried. It hurt. It hurt so much. You could feel your hymen tearing apart. Blood trickled down your hole. "fuck... Im sorry... Just... A little more... I promise it'll feel better..." Chris reassured you. He pulled you into a tight hug kissing your shoulders and neck. You cried in pain. It was even more painful than you had imagined.

You wrapped both your hands and legs around him. It was painful, but you wanted to keep going. After a while, it was in. His whole dick was completely inside you, wrapped by your walls. "I'm in... Im in..." He huffed. A wave of relief flooded over you. It hurt, but it was starting to feel a little better now.

He gently started moving. Each thrust started making the pain leave your body. And before you knew it, you were overcome by pleasure. Once what was a cry of pain turned to cry of pleasure.

You moaned loudly over and over again calling out his name. "Fuck angh Chris...! Aah... That... That feels so good nngh.." you moaned.

He thrusted inside you, relentlessly. "good fuck baby you feel so damn good... Oh gosh you're so pretty... You're so beautiful... Fuck I love you so much..." He moaned back. You were caught off guard. "you... You what...?" Another tear trickled down your face. Your heart raced like crazy. "I... Im sorry but... I just happened to feel it I... I don't know..." He stopped thrusting feeling hesitant. You smiled before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Why'd you stop, silly? I love you too... I always have... It feels like a dream to be here like this with you..." You pull him closer. He sniffles, his eyes teary and he smiles before kissing you and thrusting again.

He hugged you, kissing and sucking on your nipples leaving hickeys where only he can see. You suddenly felt a knot form inside your belly. And you knew what it was. "Shit Chris... Im... Im close... Im so close..." You mewled. "I'm... Im close too... Let's... Let's cum together yeah?" He groaned. "Yeah... Yeah let's do that..." You huffed.

Before you know it, his pace fastened and so did both of your grunts and moans. The room filled with noises you made and the noises of skin slapping, kissing and sucking.

And at last, that knot loosened and you felt yourself flinching and trembling and reached your climax. He quickly pulled it out and came on your belly before falling on you. Both of your pants unsteady. He turned to lay down on the bed, your head on his arm. "Fuck... That felt so good..." He huffed. "Yeah... It did.."

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

{smut ends here lmao}

After a while of laying there and catching up on breathing. You both decided to take a shower together and clean up. Having done that, you both made your way to the bed and laid next to each other.

"So... You like me?" Chris asked as he caressed your head gently. In embarrassment, you hid your face in his mascular chest. "We-well... I've been a huge fan of yours for a while now and... I've always liked you but... Ever since we've met... I couldn't help but develop feelings more than that of a fan to her idol..." You replied shyly.

"that's... Quite nice to hear actually..." He smiled. You looked at him, your chin rested on his chest. "what about you?" You asked.

"hmm... I've actually seen you before. You performed in the 'Railway Bar and Restaurant' right?"

"Oh yeah... I did. Don't tell me... That was the first time you saw me?"

"I did! I was amazed by your performance. Shortly after I saw you all over my tok tik and tube-you (names are funny cuz I'm pretending to be funny hehe). I really liked the music you made and I wanted to meet your for the longest time. You caught my eye like none other. So when I met you again, I couldn't help but feel this... Attraction towards you."

Your face flushed red. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. It felt like you were dreaming. "So... What are we now...?" You asked, unsure if you should ask to begin with. "I don't know... What do you want us to be?" He asked. "I... Kinda want us to date..." You spoke hesitantly. It felt illegal to ask him that.

But surprisingly enough again, he chuckled. "Sure let's do that." You looked at him in disbelief. He was smiling. And he wasn't lying. He wasn't kidding, he wasn't playing. He really wanted it too. You couldn't help but giggle. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then on your lips.

Time skip again....

Another few months later, the collab was finally done and posted. It turned out to be a super hit. Both your and his fandom went crazy over it. At first you both wanted to keep your relationship private but one day a fan saw you guys on a date in a cafe. You were scared his fan would be mad and throw a tantrum but what you didn't expect was that she would start squealing and saying how she was expecting it because of the collab.

A few weeks later you guys came out public. There were two sides of the fans. One side was toxic. They bashed you both for the choice you made. But the majority were nice and supported your decisions.

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but you guys were together and that's what mattered. Both your families loved each other as well. Although your family was a bit hesitant at first, they soon caved in to both your career and your relationship.

Things were looking up and you were happier than ever. Your face was all over different social media platforms, in a good way. Your popularity increased significantly and people loved the music you made.

Now the rest of the story? That's for you to write :3

This is the end of "The lusfut Collab" and I hope you guys enjoyed it! See you again with another oneshot! Byeee!

[carnalhaus]

american tradition: muted dark

subscribe to the substack here.

AUDIO DESCRIPTION START.

A SOFT WHIRRING OVERTAKES THE FIRST HALF OF THE TAPE. SEVEN MINUTES. IT ECHOES ON TOP OF ITSELF. EVERY SOFT WORD REVERBERATES INTO NOTHING. THE SUDDEN TAPE DEGRADATION IS EVIDENCE OF MANUAL TAMPERING. A VOICE SAYS SOMETHING SO CLEAR IT ALMOST SOUNDS LIKE A WORD. IT WAVERS, LIKE A WHIMPER BEFORE TEARS.

THE TAPE JAMS. IT CLICKS. CLICK. CLICK.

BREATHING. FUZZY VOICE.

L: It was 2002 when I found out she died three years before I met her. It was late—was looking through old newspapers to find something for my dad’s records. And um, I found her name. Found it in some crime column, some college paper in New York reported on it. Held it in my hands and all. I remember my first thought was, ‘well, that makes sense.’ I couldn’t bring myself to be… to be shocked. Y’know? Like finding out the tooth fairy isn’t real. You always know in your gut, but you don’t want somebody to say it out loud. My ma used to tell me I played with samovili in the yard when I was real little, cause I’d come home talking about all these girls she’d never heard of before. I don’t remember it, it was too long ago, but the feeling stays there. I guess that’s what I remembered. Girls are always the ones who disappear. So easy for the world to… to pick off like daisies.

R: You felt a connection to her?

L: No. She was my friend. I miss her. [pause] We were friends.

THE TAPE FIZZLES OUT INTO STATIC. VOICES BECOME MUFFLED. THERES A SOFT BEEP THROUGH THE FUZZ ABOUT TWO MINUTES THROUGH. A VOICE COMES BACK, QUIETER, BUZZING, LIKE STUFFED WITH COTTON AND A BEE-SWARM.

L: I had a dream about her that night I found out. It was all so… she used to stay at my house sometimes when she couldn’t go back home, sleep in my room, I’d go see how she was, if she was sleeping good. She had problems sleeping alone, I remember. I was sitting with her on the bed, we were talking, and I only realized it was a dream when I caught the way she was looking at me. You know when you’re at the zoo, and you can tell some animal would eat you if there weren’t glass between? There was just that look in her eye, y’know? Hungry. She never used to look at me like that. She always looked at me like I was the animal. I realized it wasn’t her, and something about it scared me so badly I woke up. Dug up a photo of us after that, and I haven’t been able to sleep without it since. I guess I felt like—like I was afraid I’d forget her, and I’d make up this nightmare version of her if I went too long without remembering her face. A different girl who looked like her, who didn’t get nervous when I held her hand, and didn’t like dancing with me and singing too loud in the kitchen when I’d get drunk. I want to remember how afraid she always looked.

THE LAST WORD SOUNDS AS IF IT’S BEEN RUN THROUGH A ZIP TIE. THE REMAINDER OF THE TAPE RUNS, BUT THERE IS NO AUDIO. AFTER TEN MINUTES OF MUSICAL BUZZING, THE TAPE WINDS BACK AND SWALLOWS ITSELF.

THERE IS A LONG BRIGHT DARK IN ITS ABSENCE.

AUDIO DESCRIPTION END.

[whynotshaveme]

The Couple That Shaves Together

By whynotshaveme

“I still can’t believe we lost,” Dylan muttered.

Mia kept brushing her fingers nervously through her thick, glossy auburn hair. “I blame you,” she said through gritted teeth.

Their friend Zoey waited outside Al’s Old-Fashioned Barbershop. She held up her phone, already recording.

“C’mon, lovebirds. Time to pay up.” she said gleefully.

They stepped inside the musty, wood-paneled shop. It was like stepping into a time capsule with its worn leather chairs, yellowed posters of flattops and high-and-tights, and a single mirror above the only barber chair.

The barber looked to be pushing eighty, wiry and leathery, with icy eyes that narrowed at the sight of them. His smock was stained and faded.

Zoey beamed. “Hello sir! My two friends lost a bet, and they need to have their heads and eyebrows shaved. Are you able to help?

The old man smiled. “You came to the right place.” He turned his gaze to Mia. “You first.”

Mia froze. “Wait—”

“Nope,” Zoey said sweetly, giving her a little shove toward the chair. “Ladies first.”

Mia climbed into the chair, biting her lip. The old barber didn’t ask any questions. He just tugged her thick hair back into a firm ponytail, wrapped a rubber band around it several times. Then snip—he sawed through the base of the ponytail with a massive pair of industrial shears. Mia gasped as her head jolted forward upon release.

He held her severed ponytail up, inspecting it with a gleam in his eye. "Another trophy for my collection."

Mia said nothing. Her head hung forward, her breath shaky. The clippers buzzed to life behind her. A few seconds later, they were grinding against her scalp. The barber made no attempt to be gentle. He sheared deep, fast, ripping away chunks of hair with each pass. The back of her neck was quickly pale and bare. Then he tilted her chin up roughly and carved through the top, dragging the clippers down the middle of her head like he was mowing a lawn.

“Oh wow,” Zoey snorted. “She looks like a peeled egg.”

Mia didn’t reply. She kept her eyes locked on her reflection. Then the barber slathered her with shaving cream and scraped her scalp smooth with a straight razor. He paused. Without warning, he grabbed her chin and held her still. It was time for her eyebrows to go.

“No...” she whispered.

One brow vanished. Then the other. Just like that.

“Next,” the barber barked.

Stunned, Mia got up. Dylan sat in the chair without protest. Seeing what she went through had crushed any hope he’d had of mercy. The barber didn’t bother with dramatics this time. He dug the clippers right into Dylan’s thick brown curls, carving out a path down the center of his scalp.

Zoey laughed. “Ohhh, he’s getting the full monk treatment!”

Hair rained down around Dylan’s shoulders. In less than two minutes, the clippers had stripped him completely, leaving a fuzzed white scalp that made his ears look too big. The barber lathered him up, scraped him clean, then turned to his eyebrows. Dylan flinched, but he said nothing. The straight razor erased the last of his expression.

Zoey panned her phone across the pair of freshly-shaven, pink-skinned losers, with their heads gleaming under the fluorescent light.

“You two look amazing,” she giggled. “Like matching baby birds.”

The barber just nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Dylan and Mia stood slowly, brushing fallen hairs off their clothes. Zoey was already editing the video for social media. They didn’t speak on the way out. Above the door, inside the barbershop, her ponytail hung proudly.

A week later, they walked slowly through the bustling local fairgrounds, each wearing oversized hoodies and low baseball caps pulled down to hide their missing eyebrows.

“Do you think anyone notices?” Mia whispered, clutching the strap of her bag.

“You mean the complete lack of eyebrows and the fact we’re both wearing hats indoors and out?” Dylan said flatly. “No. Totally subtle.”

Mia winced. “I still can’t believe he kept my ponytail.”

“I still can’t believe Zoey filmed it.”

As if summoned by the sound of her name, a shrill voice called from across the fairgrounds.

“There you are!”

They turned to see Zoey jogging toward them with two fresh lemonades in hand, a wide grin on her face.

Mia’s stomach dropped. “Oh god. No.”

Zoey handed them each a drink. “Didn’t expect to see you two out in public yet. Glad you found your courage again!”

Dylan shifted uncomfortably. “We were just going to grab funnel cake and catch the last bus back—”

“Actually,” Zoey interrupted, “I need two volunteers to man one of the events for an hour, and you two would be perfect. And don't worry about getting home. I'll be happy to give you a ride."

“What event?” Mia asked cautiously.

“The charity pie toss booth,” Zoey beamed.

Ten minutes later, Dylan and Mia stood in front of the booth as a small crowd gathered.

“They’ll need to take those hats off,” said another fair volunteer.

Zoey nodded. “Oh, and before they go in the stocks, I found someone to tidy them up.”

From behind the booth curtain emerged the old barber.

Zoey just winked at the stunned Dylan and Mia. “Found him by the funnel cake booth.”

Before either could protest, the barber snapped on gloves and clicked his clippers to life. “Hold still, cueballs.”

Dylan was first. The old man yanked the cap off his head and ran the clippers over his scalp with practiced cruelty, removing a week’s worth of fuzz. Then came the razor, scraping until Dylan’s dome shined like a bowling ball.

Mia mewed as he did the same to her, re-lathering her scalp and brow.

Once they were smooth again, they were led to the twin wooden stocks. The booth operator pulled their arms into position, locked their necks in, and tightened the latches. They were bent over, submissive and fully exposed, in front to the amused crowd.

“Step right up!” Zoey shouted through a megaphone. “Three dollars gets you two pies and a chance to humiliate our lovely volunteers!”

The first pie hit Dylan square in the cheek. A splatter of whipped cream covered half his face as the crowd erupted into laughter.

Mia flinched as the next pie missed slightly, smacking her ear.

“You’re welcome!” Zoey called cheerfully. “They lost a bet—and now they’re here to serve the community!”

More pies followed. Some dead-on, others sloppy and dripping, each one adding to the layer of white, sticky mess covering their bare scalps and stunned faces. Cream dripped down their necks, into their collars, sliding over the clean-shaven skin the old barber had just finished scraping raw.

The crowd loved it.

Kids threw pies gleefully. Teenagers filmed it for social media. Adults laughed and took photos.

“Best fair event ever,” declared Zoe at the end of their humiliating hour, “You raised a ton for the animal shelter.”

Dylan and Mia were sticky from head to toe, their bare, gleaming scalps covered in bits of pie crust, whipped cream, and humiliation. The fair had started to quiet down for the evening, but Zoey wasn’t finished with them yet.

She led them around the back of the pie booth, camera in hand, smiling like she was still at the peak of the show. “Alright, cueballs,” she said cheerfully, “before you even think about getting into my car, we’ve got one more step.”

Mia hesitated as she saw the hose station behind the maintenance shed, the thick green coil already stretched out and waiting. Standing beside it was Zoey’s boyfriend, Logan, a tall, broad-shouldered guy in worn overalls and a sweat-stained hat. He gave them a once-over and smirked.

Zoey said brightly. “Get those clothes off and then Logan will hose you down."

Mia blinked. “Wait, what?”

Zoey stepped forward, already pulling at Dylan’s hoodie. “Off. All of it. Those clothes are garbage now anyway.”

When they hesitated, Logan crossed his arms. “You want the pressure washer before or after the clothes come off?”

Their silence answered the question.

Blushing furiously, Mia peeled off her sticky hoodie, then her T-shirt underneath. Dylan followed suit reluctantly. Zoey’s eager eyes caught every awkward movement, every stringy strand of whipped cream that clung to their undershirts as they were peeled away.

Shoes, socks, pants—all came off, wet and stained. Mia’s cheeks burned as she stood in her underwear in front of Logan, who didn’t look away. Dylan looked even more miserable beside her, scalp shining under the fading sun.

“Underwear too,” Zoey said simply, as if commenting on the weather.

“No way,” Dylan said.

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Do you want you or your girlfriend's naked bodies on the Internet? Because I can pull out my phone again.”

They stripped.

Cold evening air brushed over their bare, freshly-shaved skin. Both stood nude, pie filling still dripping slowly from their bald heads and shoulders, streaks trailing down between their legs.

Zoey held up a trash bag. “Say goodbye to your old outfits.” She dropped their stained clothes into the bag one by one, cinched it shut, and tossed it into the dumpster behind the booth. “Gone. Forever.”

Then Logan opened the hose.

The icy jet hit Dylan in the chest first, and he yelped, stumbling backward. Mia got it next. It hit her in the stomach and then the face. The pressure was intense. Logan had no mercy though. He directed the stream up over their smooth scalps, blasting off pie remnants and sending water cascading down their nude bodies.

They tried to shield themselves, but Logan just moved the stream to their backs, legs, and necks. Zoey kept giggling at their reactions.

“Turn around,” Logan barked.

They did. Eventually, satisfied that they were clean, from bald head to toe, Logan shut off the hose. Water pooled around their bare feet.

“Time to air dry,” he said, tossing the hose aside.

Zoey walked up, stroking Mia's bald, dripping head. “Perfect. You’re officially clean. And cuter than ever.”

Logan stepped forward, tossing each of them a folded grey smock—identical, shapeless, and thin. "The fair keeps these around for emergencies,” he said with a smirk. “One-size-fits-none.”

Mia pulled hers on quickly, grateful just to be covered again, though the rough fabric scratched against her wet skin. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. Dylan’s was loose in the shoulders but short at the waist, riding high enough to be deeply uncomfortable. Zoey, of course, needed to get her phone out again.

“Cute,” she said, walking a slow circle around them with her phone camera. “Matching outfits for my matching baldies. We're going to have such fun when we all go to my house.”

Mia and Dylan, of course, just stood there, humiliated.

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Press Here When You Miss Me” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Backstage dressing room.

There’s a hum backstage that never really fades — buzzing amps, the faint tremor of a subwoofer somewhere, the distant echo of a roadie laughing near the loading dock. But in this tiny dressing room, tucked behind a locked door, it’s just you, Reneé, and a moment that feels like it could shatter if either of you breathes too loud.

She’s sitting on the small couch, post-show hair still damp at the roots, legs curled up under her, hoodie half-zipped and cheeks flushed from the adrenaline that never fully lets go.

You pull the gift from behind your back like it’s contraband — not wrapped, just tucked in a soft cloth bag, its shape unmistakably childlike. Reneé quirks a brow.

“What's that?”

“Something dumb,” you mutter, placing it carefully in her lap. “But I saw it and… I don’t know. It felt like something you’d need.”

She opens the bag slowly — as if she already senses it isn’t dumb at all. And when she sees the little red plush face staring up at her, her breath catches.

“Elmo?” she says, voice cracking into a grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes yet. “You remembered.”

You shrug, but your heart is sprinting. “You told me once. Like, late at night. Tour bus insomnia confessions. You said you used to have one. Slept with it until you were what — twelve?”

“Thirteen,” she admits with zero shame, already pressing the worn fabric to her chest. “He had no eyes left and smelled like crayons and tears.”

“Well,” you say, half-laughing, “this one still has eyes. For now.”

Then, quietly: “But press the belly.”

She glances up at you, then does it.

The soft click of the voicebox is followed by your voice, just barely filtered through the static fuzz of the cheap speaker:

"You’re not alone. Even when it feels like the whole world is louder than you can handle — I’m here. I always am."

Reneé goes still. Like a thread’s been pulled from the center of her chest.

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just runs her thumb gently along the Elmo’s fur, over and over, like she’s grounding herself.

“You recorded that?” she finally whispers.

You nod. “Yeah. I know things get loud in your head sometimes. And I can’t always be in the room with you, so…”

She presses the Elmo to her lips, the way someone might kiss a rosary. When she looks up at you again, there’s glass in her eyes — but it’s not about to spill, not yet. She won’t let it. Reneé Rapp doesn’t cry in front of people easily.

But she does lean forward.

Not quite a hug. Not quite a kiss. Something softer. Her forehead presses against yours, her hand finding yours, fingers tangling without question.

“I don’t deserve you,” she says, eyes closed.

You whisper, “Then try to keep me anyway.”

Outside, the crowd chants her name through the walls.

Inside, it’s just your voice in her hands — and the version of her who still needed Elmo, still needs love she can trust, still finds home in your laugh.

Post-Vibe Notes:

That plushie lives in her bunk from now on.

She presses the button more than she’ll ever admit.

During a livestream weeks later, a fan catches it in the background and theories explode.

She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t explain it. She just smiles.

[charliegyrth]

Alex Gets Soft - Part 16

Who the Heck Is Charlie Gyrth?

Read Part 15 here.

The next day was a holiday, so we didn’t have to log into our computers. I let him sleep in while I jogged around the park. For the first time, I decided to go shirtless. I wanted to see what would happen.

With pop music filling my ears, I raced around the path, paying careful attention to the people I passed. Would they look at me? Would they ogle me like they used to ogle Alex?

Honestly, no. A few women glanced over. A gay couple stared. And an older woman (eating ice cream with her husband) smiled in my direction. But none of them seemed particularly turned on.

I guess I wasn’t surprised. My body wasn’t as muscular as Alex’s had been. I didn’t quite have abs yet. And I was much, much shorter, too. I think that had a lot to do with it.

In a way, I was relieved. So many things were changing in my life, and it was comforting to know that I was still my same, aggressively normal self. Cute but not hot. I finished my lap around the park, but I still had some energy to burn, so I decided to make another round. Maybe I could pick up some Indian fry bread for Alex on the way back.

The song blaring on my headphones faded away, replaced by a man’s steady, low-pitched voice. This was one of Alex’s hypnosis tracks. I must’ve been on his playlist by mistake. I was about to change it when I decided to give it a listen. Why not? I didn’t really believe in hypnosis anyway.

The track started off how I’d expected: “You’re hungry. You crave food.” Stuff like that. Then he got more detailed, describing how the listener’s body was going to change. He focused on growing a big, round belly. Wide shoulders. Beefy pecs.

He was basically describing Alex’s preferred body type. He even used his favorite word. “Solid.” He said that like ten times in the span of a few minutes.

I stopped running and just jogged in place as I looked through Spotify. Charlie Gyrth (the artist) had hundreds of these motivational tracks, though this was the only one that Alex had added to his playlist. The title was “Fat Motivation – Standard Bear,” which made me laugh at its bluntness.

Other tracks had titles like “Fat Motivation – Muscle Chub” and “Fat Motivation – Ex-Jock.” Charlie Gyrth, whoever he was, had basically recorded the same audio dozens of times, tailoring each track to a different body type. Some of them had less than a hundred downloads. Others had thousands. “Standard Bear” was one of the most popular.

How interesting. How weirdly specific.

I scanned through the titles to see if there were any that matched with what Alex was growing into. “Chub,” I guess. Maybe “Superchub.” Maybe “BHM 1” or “BHM 2.”

Then I found a title that made my crotch stir. “Fat Motivation – Double-Belly Blob.” The “double-belly” part made me think of Alex’s deepening crease across his stomach. And the “blob” part… Well, that was just ridiculously hot.

I was about to listen to it, but I noticed a familiar face heading over. I quickly added the track to Alex’s playlist and turned off my phone screen. “Rob! Hey!”

Rob jogged over, smiling brightly. Like me, he was pretty short, pretty normal-looking. He’d buzzed his hair off since the last time I’d seen him. “Jake! Looking good.”

“Back at ya. I like the new look.”

He slid his palm over the brown fuzz. “Out of necessity, I’m afraid. Terry noticed the beginning of a bald spot, so… I don’t know. I think it fits me.”

A bit. It definitely made him look more macho.

“Where’s Terry?”

“Oh, he’s at home with Braxton. I needed to get some fresh air. And I thought I’d bring Terry back some Indian fry bread.” He nodded toward the food stall off to the side.

“I was just gonna get some for Alex!” I said.

“I’m sure you were,” he said with a wink.

We headed over and I asked for three orders, all with different toppings.

Rob elbowed me in the side. “You two are still going strong, huh?”

“Yeah. We had a minor lapse in… confidence yesterday, but I think we’re good.”

I loved talking to someone who understood where I was coming from, even if our conversation was a bit coded. There was no doubt in my mind that Rob had a definite encourager streak, and since Terry would never allow himself to gain weight, he had to live vicariously through me.

“Must be nice,” he said wistfully.

With three to-go boxes in my arms, I said goodbye and left him. But while I was still in earshot, I heard Rob say the strangest thing to the seller. “I’d like the exact same order, please.”

Hmm.

Read Part 17 here. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 You can also read all 22 parts of Alex Gets Soft in one ebook (with a bonus story). You can find all my stories here.

[bandcampsnoop]

2/18/25.

I'm not really sure how a small label based in San Diego, California got their mitts on this release, but it's great for all of us. Meat Whiplash were a East Kilbride (south of Glasgow...same town that The Jesus & Mary Chain are from), Scotland band. According to Monorail Music, "Their name came from the Fire Engines and their legendary 45, Don’t Slip Up, ranked high in Creation initial run of singles."

Their sound is indebted to The Jesus & Mary Chain, but it's actually noisier in spots. They have that classic Scottish buzz-saw guitar sound that I associate with the previously mentioned Fire Engines and Josef K. But this is definitely more abrasive. It also kind of sounds like the melodious fuzz of Crystal Stilts. Some of the demos turn down the the distortion enough for me to make out a melody, bass and drums.

Again, this is being released by Silver Girl Records. This is the same label that released Chico, California stalwarts DeathStar.

[sherwees]

tomorrow (a sequel to sappoyo)

cw : stalking, literal murders, trespassing, obsession, un consented photography, reader has self harm marks!!!, yangyang has a past of juvenile detention and overall fucked up shit.

side note : PLEASEEE READ part one first because it'll just be confusing.

Yangyang's hair felt frozen, brittle as his chapped lips sighed through a brisk gust of wind, his eyes gazing from the Moon to the processing film in between his middle and index.

His teeth gnawed his bottom lip, ripping a little tear of dry skin. The pain felt numb, the only time he felt real was within the distance of you. You only knew him as a fucking juvie, not like the ones from that one movie where they dug holes in a deserted land; but a starved for days on end juvenile.

His fingers feather the back of his head, he could hear the razor buzz as his pretty brown hair fell to his feet. He basically killed it with all the bleach and hair dye he went through; the white counters covered in a mis-mash of colors, empty bottles scattered on the ground and the cone nozzles in the sink.

“Rainbow” He mouthed, the memory of his heavy eyes looking at the bizarre colored strands in between his quivering fingers in the stained mirror.

But, he wasn't him.

He was different, every dye depicted a new phase.

A new him.

Another starting point for you both.

He'll try again tomorrow.

There you were, yet again. Too immersed in the ingredients of a cooking spray, you were allergic to soy.

The time when you dropped a wine glass at your feet when you were on a fancy date with your “sugar daddy” Kun. He was too immersed talking about his business to realize your allergy, the salmon dish scattered on the ground along with the glass on the marble flooring during your struggle.

His shopping cart came to a cease, taking a moment to bask in your raspberry scent that took up the isle. Something urged and ached his soul to get his attention and he was willing to take the leap of faith.

But you took the leap before him.

Turning around, your eyes were wide with confusion and now filled with woe. A smile appeared and faded on his face once you looked back to the bottle and placed it inside your shopping cart; trying to egg some type of conversation out of this. Your lips shuddered, your eyes looking down at your shoes in shame as you walked closer.

“I'm sorry for what happened..”

He gave a hum, scrunching his nose and played with the hem of his sleeves.

You nodded your head, your hands slid inside your pocket; simultaneously gazing at him with fond eyes. But right before Yangyang fully processed it, you already turned and grabbed the handles of your shopping cart and walked away with a slower, solemn tempo.

His fist clenched, tear after tear fell until the floor was a mess of blurry lines.

Looking back up, you were gone.

His feet paced against the tiled floors, the endless shelves of cereal just became a blur of colors. His hands trembling, unsteady on the shopping carts bar as his teeth clenched and bared together in some sort of resentment.

Your sheepish voice ran through his broken head like a broken record.

Every note and every line became tiring.

But there was still time.

Try again tomorrow.

He observed the subway cart carefully, his feet tapping at the ground. There were no cameras and the area was remote besides him and the lady across from him, asleep. Her drool dribbled down the pole, her fuzz coat covering her chest.. but he mainly eyed the coffee cup in her hand.

Not just any lady. The scum from that very day. Her nasty hands groped and gripped at his body, he took about 5 hours in the shower just to get the icky feeling off of his skin. He even tried to manipulate his memories to believe that the lady's hands were yours at some point.

You were going to forget, soon.

A new path would be opened for a beginning.

His hand reached deep in his pocket for the small bag of fentanyl.

I mean one pill kills right?

He fiddles with the bag with a sigh, walking over to the lady.

An end is always a new beginning, right?

It'll work out soon.

Soon tomorrow.

“Everything's just fucking weird, why won't God just leave me alone? Am I next? That lady fucking DIED.” Your hand trembled writing the entry into your journal, totally not aware of the male in her closet.

'Did the plan work?' Yangyang wondered with a crooked smile rising at the tips of his lips. He wished he could caress your shoulder and tell you “It's ok” but it was merely impossible.

The pen scritch and scratched on the paper once more.

“It'll be me next, I know it will. I feel eyes on me every night, I feel something tingle at the back of my neck everyday.” A tear drops on the paper, dramatically. You looked over to the closet for a mere second, Yangyang's heart palpitated.

“No, No, No..” You cried in a murmur, his eyes went wide in confusion but he then realized.

The films..

His eyes scurried through the films he pulled from his pocket in a frantic rush. Looking through them with the peeking light in between the small opening between the ridges of the closet.

In one photo of you in a pretty white negligee studying for your finals, there was little burn marks that lined vertically and a little too perfectly on your forearm.

Was this all about him?

“I know you're here!” He noticed the blade you now held inside your trembling palm, your innocuous eyes were now rubbed red from the tears. The eye bags under your eyes pushed his concern even further, your face was conspicuously starved.

What all happened while he was gone?

In the tense moment, he pushed open the door in slight hesitation. His blazing red hair met your eyes before seeing his startled eyes come into your full vision, his combat boots making the height difference intimidating.

“So this is the end.. To be killed by you.” You seethed, his heart jumped at the way the word “you” was specifically said. Looking up at him, you notice his expression not even budging. His lips parted like he was about to say something but only a weak sigh came out with a long blink and a furrow to his brows.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

“No!” He grabbed at your shoulders with a broad yell, his cold fingers travelled your neck. His eyes were wide, frantic but you could still sense the hint of a lie in his retort.

“I'll never hurt you.” He coughed before tears finally breached his waterline, his eyebrows were creased in regret.

“But you did.” Your voice carried a cruel tone, your orbs seems to be filled with spite suddenly. Your warm fingers brushed against his icy forearm as you lowered his (now that you noticed) trembling hands, a chill ran through your body at the realization; your hard facade faltering.

“I haven't eaten or slept ever since that same lady fucking died! I knew that somebody was stalking all around my house like a ghost,–” You inhaled sharpily, your gut caves in at the nauseating sensation accumulating within at the memories.

“My clothes are going missing, I reported to the police about how many fucking times about YOU. They never believed me at all, you never even thought about me.–”

“Well I do–” He attempted to stand his reason but you only continued on.

“You're just fucking selfish and–” Yangyang's eyes flashed with animosity, the frustration bubbled up into his throat as his chest expanded into a heave.

“I'm selfish?”

“Yes, you fucking are–” You stepped back, hand resting on your dresser where you placed your emergency pocket knife.

“You don't ever care about my feelings, huh?”

“BECAUSE THEY DON'T FUCKING MATTER.” Your breath became hot and irregular with fury, your frustration bore from your eyes into his own. He knew that you wanted him dead, your body language showed it all.. your fingers inching for the knife and just everything.

“I got sent off for you! I wrapped my cold fingers around that pillow and suffocated that fucking scum because he was planning to kill you if you said no to his fucking prom invitation! You don't even remember me, huh?!” His hands clasped your jaw, he inched closer. His orbs searched yours as if he trying to rerun your memory like a psychic.

Oh...

“Liu Yangyang?” You mumbled at the familiarity that rushed through your mind. Yangyang tried to ignore the warmth in his gut at your remembrance but it quickly died down once he noticed that you stepped away in alert.

The one that got sentenced to 3 years during your junior year for being involved with the smothering of Xiao Dejun.. Your ex? All those notes he sent to you, ending with “Your savior” or “My 爱” creeped you out bad. You responded with a vile letter filled with threats and it ended there.

An uneasy silence settled in, you unconsciously counted the tempo of your heart beat as your hand slid for the knife; slowly and steadily.

“Yangyang, tell me this now..” The knifes edge slid against the wood now fully grasped in your trembling hand, the steel gleamed in your lamp's light. You look down for a second and notice his fist tighten, palms turning white.

Yangyang's love and glory for you now faded into pure resentment.

Maybe he did want to kill you.

Your evil was nothing different of the officer's that handcuffed him that very day ignoring his pleads, his mother that never believed in him like his father did, the lady on the subway and Xiaojun himself.

You were both meant each other.

Meant to be dead and cold.

Before he even knows it, he grabs the knife right from your very hands.

He remembers everything.

Your gurgled scream from the first plunge.

Your final pleads.

Your hands flying everywhere on his coat, neck, shoulders as you cried and cried,

The final puncture to your rib with the blade.

“I don't wanna–”

Another plunge, crimson stained the grey of your shirt.

“just let go!”

Your chest coming to a stop for the final time.

Your eyes stopping mid blink, never blinking again.

No more writing in your journal, no more talking with your friends on the phone, no more listening to music, no more parties, no more dates.

There was nothing for him but so much for you.

Now, there's no time for you both.

He doesn't even register the banging at the bedroom door, your still head in his lap. His nimble fingers trail your jaw to your still warm silver heart pendant, your frozen skin against his warm own, he sighed. You didn't deserve this.

Looking deep into your still eyes, moving a strand that fell down from the force of the door swinging open. There was some sort of command yelled in his ear but he only continued looking at your dead beauty.

There was then a kick to his torso, he looked up at the pistol aimed at his forehead.

He leaned towards his killer.

The cold tip meeting his forehead.

There will be no future for you two.

What was the point of all this then?

There won't be a tomorrow, or a day after.

Try again, maybe another time. .

[dreamsofconsciousnessmetal]

Dreams of Consciousness Podcast Episode 383 features an interview with Peter Turik and Myles Deck of Witchrot.

Watch on Youtube Listen on Youtube Music Listen on Apple Podcasts (IOS) Direct Download [right click + "Save As"]

My thanks again to Peter and Myles for speaking with me, and to you for listening.

Music In This Episode:

"Colder Hands" "Devil in Your Eyes" taken from the album Hollow

"Spineless" "Tombstone" taken from the album Soul Cellar Witchrot on Facebook

Witchrot on Bandcamp Witchrot on IG

Soul Cellar on the Majestic Mountain Records webstore

fuzzedandbuzzed.com

[fatuismooches]

FUCK DAMN IT i have another angst im so sorry but its okay i... made it possible for a happy ending dw!!!! im finally talking about fragile!reader again

it has been months since you've fallen back into a vegetative state. teetering at the edge of life and death. inside a massive glass capsule that glowed blue as you float inside, preserving you, keeping you away from death. a futile attempt but... it's a must. he cannot work on you like he did before after his decision to kill off all of his segments...

his laboratory never felt so empty. only him, the buzzing of the machinery that kept you alive, and alone in his thoughts.

dottore hasn't been doing well... he hasn't showed up in meetings, nor accepted any visitation from other harbingers. he couldn't be bothered by them at this moment, not when he has almost lost you and now you're slipping from his fingertips.

going through your old stuff for comfort, he stumbles upon a very ancient contraption, probably something he made before for you. it was... a recording device it seems, though it is so outdated he had to reverse engineer it, as well as make another device that could actually run the recording inside it of. he didn't mind at all, it kept him busy, it kept him distracted.

and as soon as he pressed play, he regretted it.

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

the screen was nothing but white and black fuzz, white noise emanating from the recording, before it slowly began gaining color, and subtle form.

"gods, why does he make things always so complicated- this thing is so poorly engineered, did he really make this as a gift for me?"

your voice, high-pitched and young. annoyed as the recording glitches, loud thumps coming from the screen. the recording miraculously got fixed, albeit a bit glitched.

"there you go!" you smile, pointing the device at your face. "so, zandik got this for my birthday. it was very sweet of him actually, to make me something so cool!" you hum happily, walking toward somewhere the recording wouldn't see, "gonna use this to record some shit that happens on our everyday lives, so i can look back and laugh at everything happened when i graduate."

and so the recording showed dottore as such.

from your bickering, walking to the akademiya, recordings of his younger self rambling about something, funny moments like a concoction he made exploded and covered him with pink dust, experiments dottore long forgotten, your smiles, your laughs, you simply talking about your day, or ranting about your frustrations, to you talking about how much you loved him...

then, the recordings grew shorter. less lively. slow.

like you had when your illness first started showing signs.

the recordings grew less energetic, but more calm and soothing. whispers of sweet nothings, loving confessions, soft giggles, coughing here and there, holding his hand and calling him so many sweet nicknames, the view outside your window, birds flying and flora dancing along the wind...

then the last recording plays, and it was you, holding an instrument, with an iv drip attached to your arm.

dottore remembers this. it was when you first passed out due to your illness while you were out on an exhibition and almost didn't make it back to the akademiya for medical attention.

"hi zandik," your voice, still soothing despite the rasp in it, "for a while... i wanted to make you something... it was supposed to be a device but... i could barely hold my tools without dropping them after a while..." a small sad laugh slips past your lips.

"so i'll just give you this. something i made in my spare time... considering i've been doing nothing but rest on my bed."

and it was a song. with you tapping to pens onto a metal surface, a slow and steady rhythm, just enough for you to be able to play it with ease. it started off with a sweet hum of a tune he recognized, a tune you've been singing ever since you were young, and then you sang.

he could tell that you were struggling, shoulders shaking and taking in sharp shallow breaths in between your singing. but you powered through, singing with a heavenly voice.

it was all about him. and how much you loved him, how much you adored him and wished to love him even more. to hold him in your arms and call him yours forever and more, to kiss him, to hug him. you listened everything you liked about him, how you felt before you confessed, how you felt when you were with him, how you wanted to be part of his lips.

forever and more.

then you ended with a cough, blood dripping down the corner of your lips, face contorted in pain.

"ah... that was the best i could do..." you say sadly, turning away from the recording device, too ashamed to look. "im not sure if you'll ever see this, but... i really did put my heart and soul..." you look back with a smile, eyes teary and glimmering. "i trust that you will cure me, no matter what. and i hope you know i appreciate it, for everything you do to me. i know that you love me more than you'll ever admit, and i hope you know that i'll love you, even in this wretched fragile state...

you're my world zandik, i love you so, so much.

and if... if i pass on... please, i beg of you.

take care of yourself, i wouldn't want to see my lover become so miserable.

if you ever need reassurance, play my song. i like to think it's everything how i feel for you in a nutshell.

see you, my love."

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

some fatui soldiers, especially the new recruits, think that a section of the palace was haunted. specifically dottore's.

they say they hear the singing of a voice, it echoed through the silent, empty halls, for days, never stopping, only looping.

it was soothing, at first. before it became haunting.

it never stopped.

it just kept singing.

singing and singing and singing, filling the silence in the cold, cold palace.

and as you sing, dottore would stare onto your sleeping body. inside a machine, floating, with death looming behind his back.

he will save you, no matter what.

perhaps then he could hear you sing the song you made all those years ago from your lips.

sorry :) promise no more angst next time ,, im glad u like my writing smooches i love yours too,, ty for indulging my insanity 😭😭

KAIIII OH GOSH IT JUST KEPT GETTING MORE AND MORE SAD, IM CRYING 😭 You know what... i give you permission to keep sending me angst... it's so good but in a heart-stomping-crushing way 😍 I WILL ALWAYS INDULGE YOUR SANITY 😤😤❤️

Dottore wishes he was smarter.

It's an odd thing for a man such as himself to wish, in fact, him "wishing" for anything was entirely strange, for he was certainly one of the most knowledgeable people in all of Teyvat. But looking at you, having regressed back into a coma, he doubts it. He has paid a price for everything he's learned, and none of it has bothered him, yet none of it has been helpful in this endeavor. He's tried everything in all of his great minds, yet nothing. Dottore wonders what would the ultimate price to pay for knowledge would be, but he quickly acknowledges that he wouldn't care if it meant finally saving you.

He remembers the day when you simply fell back asleep. Dottore had thought that you would stick beside him for a while longer at least. To skip around the lab looking around, to bother him to take breaks. But one day it simply stopped. Zandik felt empty. Wasn't centuries of loneliness enough? Just when he thought he could revel in your company again, it was over in the blink of an eye? And he was truly alone. No longer did the thoughts of his other segments buzz in his mind or the lab. Without them, there was far too much to be done. Only him, you, and work existed. But really, you were no longer here.

With them and you gone, he realizes how truly tedious it is to be a Harbinger. No longer could he send a segment to the meetings or extra work, and no longer did he have you for comfort. But he doesn't particularly care right now, he'll just pass most of it off to random agents. You are far more important, yet no matter how much time he pours into his research, he seems no step closer to healing you.

Zandik decides to enter your room. He'd already gone through his own items of yours multiple times. It was completely untouched, the bed made up without a wrinkle, shelves collecting dust. It was very you, having planned out the decoration yourself with the clones helping you. He doesn't realize how much stuff you have stuffed into room, though he recognizes most of it as you always liked to show him your things. Until he encounters something that he knows belongs to an era long forgotten. The recording device looked as if it had gone through war, he almost thought it was broken until he decided to look more into it and give it a try using his own technology. If this was something of yours, it deserved that kind of treatment, anyway.

Zandik doesn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. As soon as he sees your face and voice come into frame, his smile drops. Your smile and words, so happy. Albeit a bit annoyed and sassy, but he loved that. He had almost forgotten what your voice sounded when it was like that, for you struggled to speak in that tone now. You're wearing the Akademiya's uniform, your mouth grinning from end to end. He faintly recognizes the dorm as the background, neat and tidy as you liked to keep it. A part of him knows he needs to turn it off, to turn it off right now, or else. But he's transfixed.

He doesn't know how much time goes by, but he watches it. All of it. Some of it is complete silence of you literally just recording him (he has no clue how he didn't notice some of this stuff). Some of it is you simply making silly faces at the device while his younger self's voice yells out in the background at you. Some of it is him cussing out former professors and students as you try to hide your cackles. Some of it is you holding him as he slept in your arms. And some of it is just utter nonsense and idle chit-chat. But all of his senses are tuned into it.

But it was easy to recognize the change. It had started slowly. No longer were you bouncing around all excitedly. The backgrounds of the videos were no longer very unique. It was mostly in the dorm, the Akademiya, or the forest on good days, the only places where your body could take you during those times. Your voice had grown more quiet, you struggled to quip back and banter with him like you used to. It seemed like you focused more on tender moments with him than before. Yet in one instance you accidentally dropped the device with a huge crash and a string of curses flew out your mouth, then soft apologies to him followed.

Zandik's face is expressionless when the last recording plays, but he is unsettled by how vividly he remembers that particular day. He was... scared for you. It leaves a horrible taste on his tongue, both the incident and the feeling. As you speak, he feels both dread and interest as to what your words will be.

And you sing. Out of all things, you sing. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers you scribbling onto paper with pen quite frequently when you were bedridden, but he didn't think too much of it since he was already too preoccupied with how he was going to save you. So you were composing. About him of all things. And you were in pain, so much pain from merely singing. And yet you looked happy, you were on the verge of hacking your lungs out but there was still a soft smile on your face, as you professed your love for him unabashedly and proudly. And even at the end, when you're crying and panting from all the effort, you're smiling. Normally, he likes seeing you smile, but this kind of smile is not one of them. If it weren't for his gloves, he would have surely drawn blood by now from how hard he was balling his fists.

Yes, he did love you more than he'd ever admit. And that was why this was not the end.

The older Fatui tell stories of when the second Harbinger's clones used to occupy the palace and lab, running about and bickering with each other. Yet the new ones can only tell tales of an eerie voice echoing throughout the corridor. The voice wasn't professional. But it was soothing, nice, good. But hearing it over and over again was starting to cause the regular agents to freak out.

No one could ever find out what or who it was, or where exactly it came from. Many came to accept that it was a normal occurrence. Especially Dottore. At least with this tape, he could never forget what your sweet voice was like, no matter if a century or two or three or more passed by again. He had every last word memorized in his mind, but it wasn't enough. Of course it wasn't, when the real deal was lying asleep in front of him, but it was a sufficient and lovely replacement for now.

As every morning and night passes by, a single thought constantly makes its way into his mind - 'I will save you.' And then maybe, you'll be able to sing that song without coughing throughout. A perfect rendition. Though, he would like to see if you could release a newer edition of it, considering how much he has changed.

I AM EXPLODING BC OF U KAI 😭😔😨😨🫠🫠

[dustedmagazine]

Bruce Russell — Demonstration Record (Carbon)

Back in the mid-1990s, Bruce Russell published the Free Noise Manifesto, a declaration of content, intent and parameters for the sound work done by him and fellow travelers around the globe. He knows how to use words, so let’s give him a bit of space to indicate what this record of cell phone recordings made over the course of a southern summer (he lives on New Zealand’s southern island) are about:

“Mono, no mastering.”

Editing, and adjusting speed and volume were the only steps taken between the nine performances recording and pressing. Demonstration Record (more on that title in a minute) eschews inessentials; there’s no polishing, no tunes, no singing to draw you in. But that doesn’t mean that it lacks hooks. A hook is anything that makes you listen twice, and Russell , who is also a member of the Dead C, knows a good noise when he hears (or makes) one. This record’s full of them. There’s the slowed-down water cistern on “Climate Study #1” and the layered pot lids and water jugs on “Climate Study #3,” which wobble out of the speakers like a projection of The Prisoner’s Rover bulbously bouncing across your wall. There’s the sputtering, billowing waves of fuzz on “Reduced Listening,” which combine the visceral pleasures of applying an electric razor to your cheek and a chainsaw to a tree stump.

And there’s the irresistible gravity exerted by the complex wobble that introduces “Holly Springs #2,” a piece that also demonstrates (aha!) Russell’s links to known music. While he has often represented himself as unburdened by chops, he sure knows how to get a blues sound by setting slide to guitar. Hook you it will, like barbed wire snagging your coat as you try to get over the top of some wall. He also manages to simultaneously reference the band Suicide and make them seem ostentatious by comparison with alternating buzzes and sizzles that he obtains from the Dirtbox Modulator (a device invented by Omit aka Clinton Williams, a recurrent associate of Russell’s over the years) on “Metal Petal.”

Russell uses nothing extra, but he also uses just enough to get his point across. The minimal dedications appended to the technical notes for each song transform them into simple signal sequences that make lucid statements of influence and apprehension. When your message is clear and your tools are sturdy, a little is all it takes. 

Bill Meyer

[mingiswow]

Chapter 02

CW: mentions of anxiety, depression, and social anxiety, commentary on the industry, Hyunjin being a menace to Jisung, political commentary (?)

a/n: thank you so much for everyone who read the last chapter and for everyone's feedback. As always, taglist is open, feedback is appreciated, English is not my first language so sorry if there are any mistakes.

Y/N's POV

“A what?” I asked, unbelieving of my company’s director’s words, my voice cracking mid-sentence like a teenager.

After finishing my recording, me and Jiah went straight back to the company for the meeting with the director as scheduled. I was expecting anything but that.

“I know this is something new, but the government is studying to change a few things in the industry. And that includes things related to the idols’ image” the man said, unfazed by the idea.

Choi Hyunjae, the company’s director and founder, was a young man with a young mind. He founded the company as only a producing company. He wanted to create music with intent, with meaning. After a while, he decided to release a few artists under the company’s name, none of them in the K-pop industry. Not that they weren’t good, quite the opposite, it’s just that the industry wasn’t their goal, it never was. These artists, just like me and Hyunjae, wanted to put their art into the world while still being themselves. 

Director Choi was the one who contacted me first, I was losing my hope of working in music back then, already getting a job at a local gimbap restaurant as a waitress. But one day he recognized me and asked if I wanted to work for him, just as a lyricist and producer. “If you don’t want to go back to stages that’s up to you, I just think is a shame the world to lose such an amazing writer as you, your lyrics are emotionally raw and I know a lot of people enjoy your music” was what he said to me back then, leaving me with a few days to think about and decide.

After signing the contract with his company, I worked for months writing and producing, but even though I loved doing that, I missed the chaos, the buzzing, the screams, the thrill of being on stage, the lights on you as you pour your heart out. So eventually I went back to doing my thing.

“But don’t you think a PR relationship is a step too big?” it was Jiah’s turn to speak, her voice calm, but I knew she was as lost as me. “Why this sudden change in the business model? This feels a little bit like a trap”.

“With the rising pressure of the US in the country and the recent break of the political and commercial alliance with China, the minister thinks is better to try to change a little bit” the man spoke again, his relaxed state showing he seemed rather stoked with the idea. “According to the minister, and I have to agree with the old man here, if they are going to keep focusing on the international market, they need to change the international view on our rules” he took a sip of his coffee, and leaned on his table, hands crossing. “The regular public already has a rather romanticized vision of our artists, but we need to prove we are like this, especially with the number of foreigners coming to the country”.

“But isn’t that even more unfair? These girls come here expecting something they won’t have” I spoke, that I was the worst part of my job, being part of this scheme, of this play-pretend. “And I get K-pop is dated and the fans are even more aware of the industry, but why not start with something simple like letting us be ourselves? And most importantly, why me?” 

“Because you are our little chain-breaker, the odd one, and because the fuzz with Lee Ryuk gave them the perfect opportunity to test it out. That is, if you want to, I won’t force you to do anything” Director Choi smiled.

“Let’s say I accept the deal,” I said, my hands getting sweaty with anxiety once again that day, “what will I get with this?”

“Who will be her boyfriend?” that was a very good question. Who would accept this suicide mission?

Considering this could majorly affect anyone’s career, the most I’d get would be probably an idol from a small nugu group, or a small soloist. And even then, I would already consider myself lucky if anyone accepted this. I saw what happened before, idols being kicked out of their groups, and if not, having their so-called fans demanding their expulsion, sending death threats, giving black oceans at concerts. It wasn’t an easy change. It was something that needed to be done with time, little by little. Yet, that change was being given to me, put on my lap. I had the power to, at least try, to change the industry I was in. 

“Once you accept, we will have two weeks to collect candidates” Hyunjae spoke. “You both would also get even more security, trained soldiers from the actual army, as well as psychological support”.

“Psychological support? They really are trying to change things up” Jiah sounded a little ironic.

“Actually, that was something I asked for, I  won’t risk the mental well-being of my artist or anyone else”.

“Of course it was you, the government would never care about us” I rolled my eyes, arms crossing on top of my chest. 

“I know it’s scary, but just know I’ll be here with you throughout all of this” director Choi squeezed my forearm gently, a soft smile on his lips. “And, again, you don’t need to accept. It’s up to you. I‘ll give you a few days to think if you need it, ok? Talk to your therapist, talk to Jiah, your friends, take your time”.

I simply nodded not knowing how to act or even respond. I took a deep breath. What did I want? I didn’t know. To be honest, I was very scared of the idea, it was a big commitment, not only for me, or the company, but also for the entire industry and the future of it. What if even with the psychological support I couldn’t handle it? What if the person was even worse than Ryuk? What if no one signed for it? There were so many questions in my head.

The whole ordeal scared me more than I expected, and how wouldn’t it? When I entered the doors of the company I expected everything but that. Deep down I wished I had only to write a stupid handwritten note apologizing and saying that me and Ryuk were only good friends. But to sign a PR relationship contract was never in my mind.

“Again YN, you have complete freedom to say no. Now go home and rest, Jiah and I cleared your schedule” the man got up from his chair, and I followed his gesture. He held me gently by my shoulders. “You know you are our little kid here in the company and I see you as my own kid. That being said, I would never put you in something I feel like it would be bad for you” I nodded as he hugged me. “Now go, I have to deal with a fucking plagiarism again, seem like that company loves our music, doesn’t it?” I giggled knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Me and Jiah left the building and went straight to our apartment, even after years we still lived together. Not only did it cut costs on our living, but also was very convenient. But also because I hated living alone. 

The ride to our apartment was quiet, the radio playing some soft tune that I didn’t care to recognize, while the radio in my brain kept playing the director’s words over and over again. Sometimes the radio turned into a theater and started to play my most anxious thoughts. I tried to close the curtains, but it was hard, my apocalyptic thoughts taking over.

What if? what if? WHAT IF? WHAT IF? WHAT IF?

“I know that head of yours is already full of bullshit” it was the first words that came out of JIah’s mouth as soon as we entered the apartment. She knew me so well. “Go straight to the bathroom, make yourself a warm bath with the most relaxing bath bombs and bath salts you can find, put on that playlist that quiets down your brain, and while that I’ll make us a delicious lunch, okay?”

“Yes, mom” even with the irony in my tone, I was already taking my clothes off and grabbing my speaker. 

Han’s POV

The people on the street already started to leave the establishments, feet stumbling, too drunk for their own good. The doors closing and leaving only the workers inside, the lights lighting the dark starless night sky as I watched Seoul slowly starting to go to sleep as I envied them, their simple, normal, and seemly easy life.

I loved comeback season as much as I hated it. I loved the creative part, the writing, the recording, the producing, the practicing with the boys. I loved all of this. I like that even on the hardest days we manage to have fun with each other. This was the fun part.

What I hated the most was the public presentations, the pressure of doing everything perfectly, the nerve of having to remember the lyrics and dance moves and maintain myself calm, having to deal with the swarm of people and camera flashes and sasaengs and still smile like nothing affected my mental state. Not to mention having to interact with some people as fake as their nose bridges and waists, and sometimes people that I admired. Like today, when I almost made a fool out of myself in front of one of my absolute role models. 

“Earth to Jisung~ah” Minho, who always seems to notice when I’m too much into my brain, took me out of my inner monologue. “Are you okay?” he asked, hand on my shoulder as Felix and Hyuinjin happily talked about their interaction with Viviz in the front seats. I nodded in automatic mode, not sure if I was really okay. “Are you sure?”

The thing about Minho is that we have a really strong bond, which means we get along, but also means he knows how to read all my signs. Good or bad. 

“I’m just a little tired, that’s all” I said, which wasn't a lie, I had the tendency of closing myself in my own world when I was tired or overwhelmed. Or both. As Jeongin liked to call it ‘when my brain got smoother than raw chicken breasts’.

“You do know we have dinner with manager-nim now, right?”

“More like breakfast, it’s literally 2AM” the older one rolled his eyes, always the loving one. “I know I just hoped I could say I’m not feeling well and go to bed”. 

“As if that ever worked” even though it made me want to sulk and pout like a little kid he was right, that never worked, for any of us. Never. 

Another of the worst parts of this job is that it wasn’t just a job, it was almost a life sentence, 24/7 locked in this cage, in this zoo, where people from all around the world looked at you, watched you perform, clapped at you but didn’t seem to see the pile of dirt and whatever fetid and putrid things you can imagine behind me. The pieces of my own skin and life I was leaving bit by bit in that pile. 

It has been almost two weeks that I haven't had more than three hours of sleep per day. Living on coffee mixed with Pepsi mixed with energy drinks, and pills to keep us awake (that I wouldn’t be surprised if had some type of illegal drug in it). Thank god I didn’t need to diet much seeing that I worked out a lot, because if on top of all that I had to cut food income, I wouldn’t be here today. 

“Does this meeting have to be today?” I threw my head back, a low groan leaving my lips, disappointment clear. 

“What is Jisung complaining about now?” It was Hyunjin’s voice. I rolled my eyes, an old habit. 

“He’s just tired, you know how he gets when he’s like that” Minho answered for me, his hand caressing my hair and I allowed myself to relax for the first time in so long. When was the last time someone touched my hair? 

A low satisfied groan left my lips and the boys chuckled.

“You need a partner, Sungie” Felix spoke, and even though I couldn’t see due to my eyes being closed enjoying Minho’s playing with my hair I knew he turned his body to look at me with a smile on his face. “You’ve been pretty stressed lately, you need someone to talk to, to confide to, to play with your hair…”

“To wet your cookie on…” Hyunjin complemented and laughed at his joke.

“As if you’re getting some yourself” I responded a little ruder that I intended but sometimes it seemed that sex was all that he thought about.

He was about to answer with a witty response when his phone rang. By the responses he was giving it was our manager on the other line, probably mad that we were late or some. But I couldn’t be less bothered about it. 

I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Minho’s fingertips, now completely stilled, on top of my head, the heaviness of them making home on my scalp as I drifted off to sleep. 

I dreamed of me, my future partner, and our kids living a secluded life on a farm with a bunch of animals.

Taglist (open): @venusmoonxnight @hanstarrs @mrskill2 @cupidcures @yoontaethings @soupbinlily @luvyev @adorawritesalot

[doomedandstoned]

Sardinia’s FUZZRIDERS Drop New Single en route to Electric Valley Records debut

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Love me some fuzz. In fact, it may be the best way to start your day, forget the coffee. Cue up a little FUZZRIDERS and sail right into your day, rain or shine, good or ill. The fuzz has got your back.

Another Electric Valley Records release, a label which can practically do no wrong with one irradiated downtuned issue after another, Fuzzriders bring us a long awaited full-length, having played in the Mediterranean island of Sardinia for some 8 years, home also of Loose Sutures, 1782, and other notables in the Italian heavy music scene as of late.

Fuzzriders channel a vintage sound from an era that just got rock right, amped up with modern innovations to the fuzz rock genre and vocals that for me recall vintage Bobby Liebling of Pentagram ("I am a demon" the singer chants at one point in the album). At the same time, the single before us roils with fearsome undertow that makes it more menacing than your standard '70s fare with an injection of jaded grudge. The fierceness of that album cover says it all: this ain't your grandad's stoner rock.

Here is the title track for Fuzzrider's I Like It, coming out on EVR and available soon for pre-order here starting April 16 (release date June 6). US distribution via Glory or Death Records (get it here).

Give ear...

SOME BUZZ

Electric Valley Records is stoked to announce the release of I Like It, the debut LP of the Italian stoner/fuzz rockers Fuzzriders. Scheduled for June 06, the album will be available on three vinyl variants and across digital platforms.

Fuzzriders took shape in 2017 in craggy, sun-drenched Sardinia, born from an idea by Bonettu and Carrasco. After a few trial runs, they were joined by Willy and Cisko, and together they began writing fast, raw, and punchy tracks, full of fuzzy, heavy sounds. On 01 January 2020, the Cagliari-based group released their self-titled EP, Fuzzriders, marking the beginning of a journey that shows no signs of stopping, with a full-length already in the works, set to take the band to new horizons.

In 2020, after the release of their self-titled EP, Fuzzriders reached out to Electric Valley Records with the intention of starting a collaboration. But, unfortunately, with the world shutting down due to the pandemic, the project was shelved before it could take shape. Now, with their debut album finally ready, Fuzzriders and Electric Valley have reignited the conversation, and this time, it’s become a reality.

Fuzzriders’ debut full-length, I Like It, is a sonic explosion: loud, unruly, and packed with the rhythm of chaos. Each track lands like an unexpected slap, leaving you breathless and on edge for unexpected. This is an album that doesn’t ask for permission, it rather kicks the door in and crashes through your consciousness without warning, leaving you rattled but craving more. Expect beefy, riff-heavy songs riding alongside stoned-out, intoxicated vocals, a groove-ready low end, and unfiltered garage convulsions.

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[johnkatsmc5]

Pond "Man It Feels Like Space Again" 2015 Perth,Australia Neo Psych,Psych Pop Rock (Tame Impala,The Growl,The Novocaines, Mink Mussel Creek,The Dee Dee Dums,Allbrook/Avery...members)

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Australia’s Pond was born as a collaborative creative outlet for Tame Impala’s touring members Jay Watson and Nick Allbrook, along with Joseph Ryan. Now, four albums in—each featuring a revolving door of talented buddies to jam with—the spacey psych-rock group has successfully shed the “spin-off” stigma with the aptly titled Man It Feels Like Space Again. Pond’s latest LP is as confident a beast as you can find floating around the psychedelic garage-rock galaxy. Space Again’s individual tracks frequently stumble upon contrasting styles featuring raging guitar solos and fuzzed-out glitches, but the album’s out-of-this-world sonic thread is what ties the nine tracks together so nicely. There’s a steady buzz of stylized synth and calculated distortion—heard strongly within tracks like “Zond” and “Outside Is the Right Side”—that place the album firmly in the present. Space’s rock elements are driven, and the kaleidoscopic tones are woozy. Altogether, it’s a record that certainly sends your head spinning into the great infinity....~

Line-up / Musicians - Nick "Paisley Adams" Allbrook / vocals, flute, keyboards, guitar - Jay Watson "Wesley Goldtouch/Wirey B. Buddah" / guitar, keyboards, bass, backing vocals - Joseph "Shoseph Orion McJam" Ryan / guitar, bass, backing vocals - Cam Avery / drums - Jamie Terry / keyboards, bass Tracklist Waiting Around For Grace Elvis' Flaming Star Holding Out For You Zond Heroic Shart Sitting Up On Our Crane Outside Is The Right Side Medicine Hat Man It Feels Like Space Again

Pond "Tasmania" 2019 Australia Indie Rock,Neo Psych,double vinyl (Tame Impala,The Growl,The Novocaines, Mink Mussel Creek,The Dee Dee Dums,Allbrook/Avery...members)

https://johnkatsmc5.blogspot.com/2020/04/pond-tasmania-2019-australia-indie.html

Pond "Man It Feels Like Space Again" 2015 Perth,Australia Neo Psych,Psych Pop Rock (Tame Impala,The Growl,The Novocaines, Mink Mussel Creek,The Dee Dee Dums,Allbrook/Avery...members)

https://johnkatsmc5.blogspot.com/2025/01/pond-man-it-feels-like-space-again-2015.html?view=magazine

https://johnkatsmc5.tumblr.com/post/773025841649221632/pond-man-it-feels-like-space-again-2015