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bro-ken-spoon · 3 years

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Percy Jackson Birthday Fic

Hey guys! I know I'm coming in just under the wire here, but it's once again August 18th, meaning it's once again Percy Jackson's birthday! I've written a little fic for the occasion!

Because it's me, it's a sickfic! Content warning for nightmares, and spoiler warning through the Heroes of Olympus series!

I will be posting this concurrently to AO3, but you can find it right here under the cut! If you like it, consider reblogging it or leaving a comment on ao3! Happy Birthday Percy!

Percy’s still in bed when Annabeth knocks on the door to the bedroom.

“You ready? You’ve got about fifteen minutes.” she calls through the door, and Percy just groans and rolls over. He forgot about his birthday dinner. It was too late to cancel, his mom and stepdad would be so disappointed. It doesn’t matter that he feels miserable, he’s got to get up. When he doesn’t give an answer, Annabeth opens the door. “Percy, it’s time to-oh. You’re still in bed.” She walks closer to him, and he closes his eyes. He feels Annabeth’s soft touch on his cheek, and she gasps slightly. “Oh.” she says in a small voice, and Percy’s not sure what that means, but now her hand is gone. That sure isn’t what he wanted.

He keeps his eyes closed. It does keep the headache down, and it stops him from feeling quite so nauseous. He can only sense Annabeth in the room by her footsteps pacing back and forth across the foot of the bed.

“Hey, Mrs. Jackson,” she says, and Percy knits his eyebrows a little. Not only does the sound send a bit more pain through his head, he also wonders why Annabeth might be calling his mom. “I just went to check on Percy to make sure he was getting ready, and he’s running a fever. Maybe we should postpone dinner until he’s feeling up to it, maybe next week just in case? Yeah, I can change the reservation, don’t worry about it. Yes. Yes, I promise I’ll update you every hour. Of course. Actually, yeah, I’ve got enough for tonight but if you wanted to drop by in the morning I’m sure he’d like that. Yeah. Alright, see you then. Alright. Bye.”

Annabeth’s footsteps move closer to him. He feels the same cool hand, this time on his forehead. She moves her hand, which makes him sad, but she plants a kiss there instead, which helps. She leaves the room and returns quickly.

“Hey, babe, do you think you can sit up for me? Just real quick.” she says. He wants more than anything to not move, but he can’t defy Annabeth, not when she’s asking so sweetly. He opens his eyes to see her worried face, and she helps him sit up. She sticks a thermometer in his mouth, which is a surprising sensation, but then she sticks a cool rag on the back of his neck, so he forgives her. When she takes it out, she makes a little sound of distaste. “This must’ve come on fast, huh?”

He doesn’t answer, just takes the medicine she sets in his mouth and a sip of the water. She helps him lay back down, and he drifts to sleep.

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Percy is in pain.

He’s on fire. His body is shaking. He’s on his knees, chained to a wall, wheezing. The air smells and tastes distinctly like Tartarus. That must be where he is, he decides. He never really left. Except he can’t find Annabeth. She’s not next to him. Maybe she made it out. Maybe she...no, she must have made it out.

She’s not there, but he is. He tries to move against the shackles, but it hurts, and he can’t get them free. There’s no water around, no water that wouldn’t also kill him, so he really feels backed against the wall this time.

He blinks, and suddenly Nyx stands before him. He recognizes her easily enough, and she has a wicked smile on her face. He sees darkness. He sees Annabeth, scared, stumbling around as she screams that he abandoned her. He sees his friends, lying dead from a war that didn’t need to happen. He sees his mom, flailing for her life, being squeezed by the giant fist of a minotaur. Anger wells up inside of him. He tries to use that strength to break the chains, but it only leaves welts on his wrists as they start to bleed from the force against the cuffs.

The goddess hums, a deep, discordant sound that rivals that of a dying whale, and Percy screams, the sound drowning out his will to live. The heat seems to rise around him. He was already on fire, but now it feels like the thermostat has been turned up to 6,000 degrees, which he’s pretty sure is bad in Fahrenheit AND celsius.

After the sound, Percy begins to see more scenes. He sees Luke, writhing with Kronos’s spirit in him, as he takes his own life, the blood spilling out onto the floor of Olympus, signaling a new era but also the loss of a friend. He sees Silena, her dying breaths spent believing she was a traitor when Percy only saw someone who wanted to do the right thing. He feels how his gut sank and his heart pounded when he realized that Beckendorf couldn’t survive the fall into the water the way he could. He feels the grief realizing Bianca had sacrificed herself to get them out of the junkyard, the weight of her death and Nico’s loss making him stagger even now.

“Stop, please.” he breathes out. Each wave, each reminder of a friend he’d never see again punches him in the gut. He’s sweating, the air is getting tighter around him, and he doesn’t think it’s the emotional pain. Nyx is doing this to him. He has to break out of it, to fight it, but he doesn’t have the strength. “No more.” he pleads, his voice hoarse and shaky. He realizes he’s been crying, and the tears are still streaming down his face.

Then, he sees Annabeth. He doesn’t remember Annabeth dying, so he knows he can’t take this one. If he doesn’t remember it, he must have repressed it. That must be why she wasn’t with him.

“Percy?” she asks, her voice full of concern as if he’s the one who’s in trouble. He can’t get a word out other than a simple, feeble “stop.”

She walks towards him and puts her hand on his cheek. It feels so good, so blissfully cool and real, that he whimpers.

“Oh, gods,” she says, cursing in Ancient Greek as she walks away. He doesn’t want her to go away. As soon as she leaves him, she’s going to die, and he has to watch. He lets out a strangled cry, which turns into a retch.

He leans forward, trying to catch his breath. He’s not sure what’s bringing it on, but he can’t breathe. The scenes he was forced to watch? The thought of Annabeth dying?

“Shit, Percy!” Annabeth exclaims, coming back over to him.

She puts an arm around him, and he wants to explain to her that he can’t leave even with her help, but somehow he’s moving, leaving Tartarus and everything behind.

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

When Percy fully wakes up, he’s in a bedroom.

It takes him a minute to realize he’s in his own apartment, not the actual hellscape that is Tartarus.

“You with me this time?” Annabeth asks, and Percy takes a second to breathe deeply before nodding gently. “Good. I was afraid I was going to have to haul your ass all the way to camp to get some help.” She says it jokingly, but it’s clear to Percy that she genuinely was concerned.

“I just had a nightmare, that’s all,” Percy says, but Annabeth gave him a look. They both knew that nightmares for them were never just nightmares.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Annabeth asks, sitting on the side of the bed. Her stormy grey eyes fill with worry, and it makes Percy’s heart clench. It takes him a second to respond.

“It’s never going to go away, is it? I mean, after all we’ve seen, is there even such a thing as a peaceful life?” Percy asks aloud, but he can’t expect Annabeth to have an answer. Even in her seemingly infinite wisdom, she doesn’t always know the right thing to say.

“No, Percy. It doesn’t go away.” she says.

“Oh, good,” Percy says sarcastically, “Just what I wanted to hear.” Annabeth smiles at him, and though he doesn’t see much to smile at, Annabeth’s smile has always had that effect on him. She rolls her eyes.

“It doesn’t go away, but it gets better. We’ll keep making good memories, keep having good experiences, and someday, the good ones will outweigh the bad ones. Like, y’know how we almost died like once a month as preteens?”

“No, I seem to have forgotten that.” Percy’s sarcasm knows no bounds. Annabeth punches his arm gently.

“Well, we did. But, you also remember that time the whole camp baked you a birthday cake? And that time we kissed under the water? And the campfires, and friendly capture the flag matches? Basically, what I’m saying is, of course there are going to be bad times,”

“Like the dying,”

“But there will be good times too. And those are what makes it all worth it.” Annabeth finishes despite Percy’s interjections.

“I get it. It’ll get better and all that,” Percy says, but he really is serious. “Thanks, Wise Girl.”

“Of course, Seaweed Brain,” she says, tousling his hair. He leans into the touch. It’s comforting. “Now get some rest.”

He’s asleep before she even leaves the room.

#Percy Jackson #pjo #annabeth chase #percabeth #sickfic #nightmares #post-HOO #happy birthday percy!#i also made blue pasta with alfredo and blue cookies and bought blue cupcakes but i'll spare you the photos they don't look edible

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Fuck the Afterlife

Don’t worry, nobody’s dead...that we know. Harringrove April Prompt Day 24: Afterlife! A misunderstanding leads to everybody appreciating Billy a whole lot.

Billy couldn’t stop snickering under the sheet, even with Steve’s arms around him, and his face sniffling against Billy’s side, so Max stalked over to the bed and kicked Billy’s leg. “Shut up,” she slurred, at five in the morning, her hand locked with Lucas’. Their wedding rings gleamed. “You’re dead, remember,” she told Billy, “—so shut the hell up.” Will giggled from over by the window, wiping his eyes, but El still looked solemn.

“You shut up,” Billy hissed back. “Stop drinking, everybody, jesus, how come I’m the only sober person here.”

“You think I’m gonna turn down free liquor,” Erica Sinclair said, sitting against the windowsill, and playing with the little umbrella in her glass. Robin laughed, leaning against the window, tears streaking down her face.

“Because…’cause we all thought. Thought you were dead,” Nancy muttered, staggering into the foot of the bed, and leaning her elbows on the footboard. “Steve here was drunk before he even called us.”

“I’m just saying, if I have to lie here like a corpse with a sheet over my face—” Billy started, but Max cut him off.

“Dead men don’t get cocktails,” she said, waving something blue, and taking a swig. “We gather here to celebrate the life of one Billy Hargrove,” she intoned, to general sniffles and giggles. “So shut up and listen, dead man, you brought this on yourself. Billy Hargrove,” she sighed, “—a man I definitely did not know and had no relation to, who died due to gross sex crimes.”

Everyone laughed harder, and Billy threw the sheet back, propping himself up on his elbow to glare around at the Sinclairs, and Robin Buckley, and what seemed like half the town. His face was flaming. “Hang on now,” he said, waving his splinted finger. “I’m not gonna sit here—”

“Lie here,” Dustin put in, from where he sat by Steve’s feet, and Billy flipped him off.

“I’m not gonna lie here and get accused of gross sex crimes when that’s not even what happened—”

“Don’t you look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve never committed any gross sex crimes, you fucking liar,” Max growled, and Billy stared around at the faces gathered around his bed, opened his mouth, cocked his head, and closed his mouth again. “And I can’t hear you anyway, you’re fucking dead, shut up.”

“I’m so glad you’re not really dead,” Steve sniffled into Billy’s chest, reeking of tequila. He rolled to flop an arm over Billy’s stomach and elbowed him in the gut, and Billy oof’d, and then put his splinted hand around his boyfriend, and leaned to kiss his hair. “Love you,” Steve mumbled, into Billy’s chest. “Don’t be dead. I miss you,” he gulped. “I miss you so much.”

“I’m not dead,” Billy said, for like the nine-hundredth time.

“Look at him,” Max pointed to Steve. “Look what you did.”

Billy laughed harder, grimacing. “I just jammed my finger! I didn’t die! I definitely didn’t die of any gross sex crimes without you, babe,” he whispered into Steve’s hair, and Steve harrumphed.

“Damn straight,” he mumbled. “No sex crimes without me. Love you.”

“Gross, this is a sex crime, my eyes are suffering, oh my god,” Max groaned.

“We’re all suffering, Billy,” Nancy said, finally, putting her hands on her hips. “How dare you drive yourself to the hospital with a broken finger and not call anyone for nine hours and then drive yourself home—”

“It’s not my fault they got the records mixed up!” Billy yelled again, laughing, and squeezing Steve gently. “I thought Steve was asleep! Look, I just jammed my finger and it swelled up, I didn’t wanna wake anybody—” Billy grimaced.

“How’d that happen,” El asked, frowning at his splinted hand, and Billy groaned.

“I...uh,” he grimaced, reluctant to admit he’d nearly died of what Max would definitely consider a gross sex crime—showering the jizz off himself after Steve fell asleep, he’d had a little jerk-off session remembering how good the night had been, gotten lightheaded as the blood rushed to his dick, and fallen in the shower. He cleared his throat, grimacing, and felt his face redden further. “I fell in the shower,” he said, sniffing as though Robin’s snickering was unfounded.

“You gross sex criminal,” Max hissed. “How dare you almost die of sex crimes—”

“You have people who care,” Nancy yelled, wiping her eyes. They’d all been crying, Billy registered, again. It didn’t seem any more believable than an hour ago, when he’d gotten home from the hospital, crept in from the garage so as not to wake Steve, and everyone had screamed, running towards him. Lucas Sinclair and Max had shaken him until his teeth rattled, both crying, and Nancy Wheeler had hugged him until his back cracked, taking ragged breaths into his shoulder. Steve hadn’t let go of him since.

Erica had tried to get Billy to lie down with his arms crossed on the coffee table, like a vampire, but he’d rolled his eyes and hauled Steve—and the crowd of crying drunks—upstairs.

Billy was pretty sure he was having a really weird dream.

“You can ask for help next time,” Nancy said, pointing at him, and rubbing her runny nose. She flailed a hand behind her, and Robin handed her a kleenex. “Wake your boyfriend up! Call me!”

“Yeah, shut up and take your punishment,” Erica Sinclair sighed. “You turned them into this, now lie the fuck down, you stupid corpse.”

Billy did so, sighing, but he left his arm sticking out to stroke Steve’s hair. “‘M not dead,” he muttered.

“We gather here to celebrate the life of one Billy Hargrove,” Max said again, “—my brother, who is annoying as shit, and I’m really pissed at him,” she said, her voice shaking, “—b-because I thought he died tonight.”

“Guys,” Billy mumbled, his eyes stinging, now, and she kicked his thigh.

“Shut up. I had to make Lucas drive me over here,” she said, sniffling, and clearing her throat, “—because I kept letting the clutch out and killing the engine, and all I could think was my brother’s goddamn ghost voice saying ‘—clutch, Max. Don’t murder my car, Max,’ and then I thought I-I’ll never have to take his shit again—” she covered her mouth, shutting her eyes tight on a strangled noise, and Billy peered wide-eyed at her over the edge of the sheet. “—and I missed you,” she choked out, and Billy tried to scramble up, but she kicked him in the leg again, bruising, by now, he was fairly sure.

“Stay there,” she hissed. “I pulled a sweatshirt of yours on on the way and smelled your stank and I thought—I thought I’ll never smell it again, I’ll have to just—just curl up in this, it’s the last time I’ll smell your shitty cologne—”

“It’s nice cologne,” Steve mumbled.

She stomped forward to kick Billy again, choking back a sob, and Lucas grabbed her around the waist, holding her back.

“Glad you’re okay, man,” he said, and Billy nodded, relieved, but Erica raised her hand.

“Foul,” she said. “This is a wake.”

“Okay, okay,” Lucas said, obviously thinking. “Thanks for...getting better,” he said, grimacing. “You...you went from just being Max’s scary brother to saving one of my best friends,” he said, then paused, biting his lips together. “I’m glad you’re my brother too,” he said, shrugging a shoulder, and Billy groaned and made a face at him, knowing Lucas Sinclair was probably the only person as embarrassed by this situation as he was. Lucas grimaced back over Max’s head, but grinned.

After a long pause next to the bed, Will said “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” so shakily even Erica didn’t try and make him keep talking, and then El broke the rules of the fake funeral, and just hugged Billy.

Billy tried not to die of embarrassment as Nancy talked, long and sincerely, about how happy he made Steve, and Steve nodded against his side, occasionally raising his arm with a thumb up.

“S’all true,” he mumbled.

Robin waved Max and Erica off when they tried to get her to talk, smiling. She wiped her eyes too. “I’m just glad I don’t have to call everyone and tell them another gay dude died,” she said, a little bitterly. “Everybody asks about you.” Her eyes filled with tears, though, and Billy felt a pang of guilt for scaring her.

Dustin hauled off with a whole best man speech at that point, all about how annoying Steve was when they’d first started fucking, and Billy thought he might melt away at the news Steve had liked him so soon. Dustin, the little shit, knew exactly what he was doing. “He kept saying ‘I never want him to leave’,” Dustin said, just dropping that bomb with a sly grin. “Like, ‘Is that weird? Am I crazy? I never want him to leave.’”

“Oh my god,” Billy mumbled.

“S’true,” Steve sighed.

“I am conditionally glad you’re alive,” Erica said, and Dustin started cackling, “—because of the way the hospital told Steve you died. I was really looking forward to telling everybody,” she said, sighing.

“Wait, what the fuck did they tell you,” Billy asked, yanking the sheet off his face again.

“And then I remembered I’d lose my quiz night teammate,” Erica said, crossing her arms.

“Said I c’d do it,” Steve slurred. “Said—”

“Fucking hell fucking no, Steve,” Erica said calmly. “Billy told me about when you got the ‘who was president during the first gay marriage’ question—”

“ABE LINCOLN!” Steve yelled, again, and Billy groaned, cackling, as Max snorted loudly.

“...hun,” Billy said, and Steve shook his head, pushing himself up to frown back woozily.

“All...men...created...equal,” he enunciated carefully. “Abe Lincoln.”

“I mean, to be fair, that shoulda handled it,” Robin pointed out, and Steve gave her two fingerguns.

“I’ll stay alive and be your bar quiz partner,” Billy told Erica, crossing his heart, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Good, because your man there doesn’t believe in narwhals,” she said, and Steve groaned.

“Stop lying to me about narwhals,” he mumbled. “I’ve been to the zoo. Din’t see any...unicorn...whales.”

“They don’t keep them in cages, babe, they’re still whales,” Billy told him, and got a hard prod.

“He’s a conspiracy theorist,” Steve mumbled sadly. “Came back from the dead to lie to me about narwhals.”

“I didn’t die, babe,” Billy told him, leaning in for a tequila-flavored kiss.

“I couldn’t wait to tell the whole dorm a guy I knew shoved a lightbulb up his ass and electrocuted himself over Spring Break,” Erica said, sighing wistfully, and Nancy and Robin started laughing so hard they leaned in to each other. Billy shot upright in bed, dumping Steve off his shoulder, and nearly clonking skulls with El.

“I’m sorry, they said what,” he said flatly. “You guys really believed I stuck a lightbulb up my ass and electrocuted myself? How fucking stupid do you think I am?!”

“You have me,” Steve mumbled, sniffling and reaching for the Tequila, and Dustin snatched it away.

“Oh, no, buddy, you don’t need any more of that,” he said, and Billy nodded.

“You don’t need to put a lamp up your ass,” Steve mumbled into Billy’s thigh, sniffling, as Billy laughed helplessly. “You have me, babe—don’t cheat with a lamp.”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Billy said, yanking him into a tight hug. “Fuck heaven, right? Never gonna leave.”

Here are my other Harringrove April prompts!

#Harringrove #Harringrove April #Billy's not dead #I promise #He's getting kinda mad about it actually #GUYS I AM NOT DEAD

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maeve-writes · 3 years

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Little Red Corvette

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky x Reader

Rating: 18+; Minors DNI

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, public sex, slight praise and daddy kink.

Summary: Bucky finds happiness in fixing up classic cars. He has his sights set on one in particular. When he can’t find it, you make it your mission to do whatever it takes to get it.

a/n: This is written for @buckyblues 4k Follower Challenge. (Congrats again!) I chose Little Red Corvette by Prince. Normally I’m inspired by lyrics, but the idea of Bucky in a sexy red two seater with a pretty lil’ thing next to him made me weak. I wanted this to be straight up smut but feelings got in the way.

This is not beta’d. Forgive any mistakes!

When Bucky came to terms with his new life, found some peace in a world without Soldat looming over his shoulder, he found solace in his tinkering. He would often take apart whatever technology he could find to see how it worked only to put it together again. It was therapeutic, a constant reminder that things were never broken for long, someone would always be there to fix it.

You were the one to piece him back together. Sam helped, too, of course, tightening any loose screws you may have missed, but you did all of the heavy lifting. You found out what made Bucky work, what parts needed replacing and you fixed him. He would never be the original James Barnes, but no one ever stayed the same, and you didn’t want him to be. You liked the man you woke up next to every morning, who blinked at you with sleep hazed eyes and pressed lazy kisses across your face. You loved the man that ravaged you at night, on any surface, buried as deep as he could go so he could become a part of you, to feel you against his soul.

While you found his tinkering irksome at times, especially when he would steal the coffee maker or microwave when you were in a rush to get to work and just need to zap fry breakfast and fill up your thermos, it was mostly endearing to see his nose scrunched up in concentration as he disassembled things with childlike fascination.

What broke you was when you flopped down on the couch with controller in hand and no console to receive its signal.

Storming into the garage, you slammed open the door to find him hunched over his work bench. “James,” you hissed through clenched teeth. You could see his muscle tense underneath the grey henley he had on, his breathing stilled. Only two women ever used that tone with him, one was his mother, the other was you, and he wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of. When he didn’t answer, you leaned against the door frame and glared at the large frame of his back. “Care to tell me where my PS5 is?”

His shoulder dropped slightly and he dared to look over it at you. Bucky had seen death, had seen war, had seen the near end of the universe itself and nothing made his blood run colder than the receiving end of your icy stare. “I’ll put it back together,” he offered. The grinding of your teeth made him flinch and he dropped his tools to cross the room and make things right.

It took two months to find a replacement for your beloved PlayStation. How could he have known how hard it was to find one in stock? Even when it came in and he hooked it back up for you, you still held out one more day before you finally caved and forgave him with a two day fuckfest that ended with a proposal that Bucky moved on from electronics to cars.

He took the suggestion and ran with it. The next day he and Sam went to the junkyard to find a good frame with potential and towed it back with that bright, genuine smile of his and an eagerness to get started. He spent days on the internet ordering parts, looking up facts on what modern modifications worked best, and watched video after video of reviews on classic sports cars.

You found him in the garage most nights when his dreams became too much and he didn’t want to wake you. Some nights you would bring him snacks with a kiss and leave him to his work. Other nights you would climb behind him on his bench, wrap your arms around his waist and sleep against his back. Either way, you allowed him to work because that’s what Bucky needed.

When he wasn’t off on a mission or wrapped up in you, he was researching cars or fixing them. After one was finished from the base up, he’d give it away or offer it to a charity auction, then start all over. He had his favorites, every “car guy” did, and he also had his white whale.

One night you felt him crawl up your body impressively hidden behind the spread of your book. You lifted a curious brow but before you could lower your novel, he shoved his tablet in your face as he took a seat on your thighs. “Every time I try to find one, someone snatches it away,” he told you, voice a little huffy as if he was seconds away from a tantrum.

“It can’t be that hard,” you tutted, tucking your book away to help him with his search. It turned out that it was incredibly hard to find any sort of form of his new obsession. Every post that either of you found had been sold or had a sale pending. Even body frames were hard to come by, much to your luck. “I’m sorry, babe, but we’ll find one soon.”

Bucky resigned himself to finding a filler car. While he was still enthusiastic about fixing up something new, you could tell his heart was set on it - the 1965 Corvette Convertible, specifically, Rally Red in color. There wasn’t much that your man asked for in life, even though it owed him so much, so for him to yearn for one thing so much and not be able to obtain it, it upset you.

So, you were going to make it happen.

You spent your days working as usual and your nights searching for his coveted car. Your browser was filled with tabs, each watching car auctions, only to be outbid on all of them. Frustrated, you flipped on your VPN, opened up your TOR browser and dipped into the dark web to dig deeper. It wasn’t your first time going through back channels to get what you wanted and it wouldn’t be your last. If it would make Bucky happy, it would be worth the risk.

Two weeks later you told Bucky you would be working later than usual. You had been playing up a huge project at work and the deadline was coming closer. He, of course, hated when you were out past dark without him, but he never vocalized his concerns because he knew the bite he would receive in return. You could take care of yourself, he knew that, but he would still worry because that was his job.

You took an Uber from work to meet the seller at the small airport on the edge of the city. The man was from Germany and specialized in vintage cars; if he didn’t have one you wanted, he’d find one for a hefty price, of course. But any amount was worth your man’s happiness, at least that’s what you tell yourself as you held the small bag of cash in your hand as you crossed the airfield.

Sitting outside what you assumed to be a private jet was the cherry red two seater, top already down and looking as beautiful as the picture you saw online. Yeah, it was going to be worth every penny. “Jonas,” you asked as you approached the man standing cross armed next to the car. He towered over you by at least a full foot and a half and was just as wide. His dark eyes watched you approach, a curious flint sparked in them.

“Yes. You are early,” he noted. He held out a beefy hand and you placed the money in it. “Not one for pleasantries, hmm?” His laughter echoed across the runway and you offered him an amused smile. “Your man is a lucky one.” His other hand was held out, this time with the keys to the car. “For you to meet a complete stranger in the middle of the night, it is dangerous, no?”

You narrowed your gaze and lifted a brow. It seemed your look was enough of an answer because Jonas gave you another laugh. “A woman of very little words, I like you. We will do business again, yes?” It was a statement rather than a question. “Enjoy.”

He swept an arm toward the driver seat and you slid inside. With a turn of the key, the car purred to life and a smile grew on your face. You revved the engine twice, nodded to the man a few feet away before you sped towards your house to give Bucky his gift.

When you got home, he wasn’t there. You found a note left on the kitchen counter: Beers with Sam. -B

Normally you wouldn’t mind him going out because you were happy that he would be even willing to leave the house, but to only leave a note and not text you seemed worrisome.

You pushed any more negative thoughts out of your mind and headed to take a shower. By the time you got out and headed back to the kitchen to make yourself a quick sandwich, Bucky was home, sitting on the counter and watching you. “Hey, handsome, how’s Sam?” You leaned up to kiss him, but it wasn’t returned. “Something wrong?”

“You weren’t at work,” Bucky said evenly. “We stopped by to grab you dinner and you weren’t there.”

Your skin heated and you sighed. “Bucky, I can explain-“

He cut you off with a dismissive wave of his metal hand. “Don’t bother. If you’re seein’ someone else, you can just tell me.”

You recoiled like he slapped you across the face. “James,” you snapped, which caused him to tense up, “I would never, ever even dream of being with anyone but you.” You forced your way between his legs and cupped his face in your hands to make him look at you. “You are all that I want and no one will ever compare to you. Don’t ever say that again, okay? You’ll break my heart.”

He didn’t say anything, not for a few minutes, and neither did you. All he could do was stare into your eyes and see the truth in them. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay, I know why you did,” you assured him and pressed another kiss to his lips, this time you received one in response. “Now, can I tell you why I wasn’t at work?” He nodded once, a tiny glint of worry still lingering in his eyes. “Well, I’d rather show you.”

You stepped away from the counter and pulled him along with you. With his hand in yours, you led him to the garage and flipped on the light with a, “Ta-da!”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed as he let go of you and stumbled into the room towards the car, all of the fear, worry and angst melting away instantly. “How did you-“ You pinched your forefinger and thumb together and twisted them in front of your pursed lips. He rolled his eyes but smiled and gestured to the driver seat.

“All yours, handsome,” you winked and hit the button to open the garage door.

He shook his head and patted the seat next to him, “You’re comin’ with me.” When you protested saying you were in your night clothes, he waved it off. “We’re just goin’ for a drive, sweetheart, nothin’ to dress up for.” You joined him with a reluctant sigh and flopped into the passenger seat.

When the key turned and the engine purred, Bucky let out a pornographic moan. You turned to him, brow perked. “Sweetheart,” he rasped, “you have no idea what this car does to me.” Your eyes flickered to the quickly growing bulge in his jeans before his deep chuckle caught your attention, “Or maybe you do.”

He reached over to pinch your chin between two metal fingers before crashing his lips against your own. His tongue fought its way inside of your mouth and licked sinfully against the roof of it. “Buckle up,” he whispered against the gasp you released as he sat back.

Lightheaded, you did as instructed and watched him adjust the mirrors and lights before he pulled out of the garage and sped down the driveway and through the neighborhood. His face was bright in the evening light, his smile outshone the moon. “You’re gorgeous,” you told him breathlessly, and you would have most likely not been heard over the wind whipping around you by any other person, but your super soldier caught every syllable and flushed at the compliment.

He took your hand into his and brought it to his lips, kissing each knuckle before it came to rest on his thigh. You could feel the happiness radiating off of him, seeping into your own pores and filling you up until your lips turned up into a matching smile. “What’re you thinkin’ about,” he asked you, flicking his attention from the road to you and back again.

“You,” you replied, “always you.”

The smile on his face grew and he squeezed your hand once more. He found a new happy place, one outside of your shared home, one not between your legs. It was there, in that car, racing free down the open road with his best girl in the seat next to him. “I’m thinkin’ about you, too,” he said as his hand guided yours towards his lap.

“Mr. Barnes,” you gasped playfully but allowed him to rest your hand against his tented jeans, “we can’t do this, it’s sinful.”

“Live a little, darlin’,” he played along, forcing you to squeeze him which caused him to groan.

You pinned your bottom lip between your teeth and rubbed at him over his clothes, feeling the heat of his arousal coming off him in burning waves. Your fingers worked open the button of his pants and with a little maneuvering, you were able to fish out his cock, hard and thick, violently red and dripping with need. His hiss as it hit the cool air caused you to jump back for a moment, but his needy whimper drew you back again. “I swear to god, Bucky, if you crash and kill me, I’m going to haunt you,” you warned him.

He blinked, taken aback by the rather brash statement, about to ask what you meant by that but you were already unbuckled, bent forward and taking him into your mouth. “Oh fuck,” he groaned, metal hand gripping the steering wheel tight enough to pop the stitching on the leather coating.

Your tongue swirled around his tip, gathering what leaked out before you flattened your tongue and took more of him in. He was thick and long, hard to take all at once, but you had learned from many hours of practice just how to get all of his glorious cock down your throat. Your hands worked what wasn’t wet with your tongue yet as you bobbed up to suck on his head and relax your jaw. “Feels like heaven, sweetheart,” he cooed above you, his free hand bundling up your hair to keep it out of the way. “Fuck, your mouth works my cock so good.”

Delighted at his praise, you hummed in return that sent sparks to his core. You took more of him in, nearly all of him, with your cheeks hallowed and your tongue dancing along his skin. More praise fell from his lips, encouraging words and filthy promises, you almost forgot you’re in the car until the tires started to hit the bumps along the white line - an indication that Bucky was veering off of the road.

You pulled off of him much to his disappointment and saw that he parked along the side of the road. “What’re you doing,” you asked, wiping your spit away with the back of your hand.

“You told me not to crash,” he shrugged and undid his seatbelt. “Now get over here and ride Daddy’s cock.”

The words hit you dead center and you nearly collapsed from how weak and needy they made you. “We seriously can’t do this, Buck, anyone can come by and see.”

“That’s livin’, darlin,” he replied. His flesh hand wrapped around his cock and started to pull on it, staring at you with half lidded eyes and a groan rumbled in his throat. “Are you gonna just sit there and stare or are you gonna enjoy the ride?”

Absently, you licked your lips and watched his hand work himself and honestly felt a little jealous of it. That was your cock, it was your responsibility to make it feel good. Thoughts of getting caught and thrown in jail over public indecency were thrown out of the window and you crawled over to him, losing your sleep shorts on your way over.

“No panties? That’s my good girl,” Bucky grinned, his hand moved from himself to your hips as you climbed into his lap. “Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy all day.” He hungrily licked his lips and reached between your bodies to run his fingers through your folds, drawing a gasp from you. “Absolutely soakin’, hm? Been thinkin’ about me, too?”

You nodded, your pussy clenching around nothing as Bucky’s fingers teasingly danced around your hole. “Daddy,” you whined, desperate for any sort of attention, “please?”

“What do you need, sweetheart,” he purred, his thumb ghosting over your clit as your slick began to run down your thighs.

“You, Daddy,” you answered, hoping that was enough. “All of you. Only you.”

Bucky seemed to be happy with that and slid two thick fingers inside of you. “Such a greedy little pussy,” he hummed, slowly pulling them out again as you whined above him. “You need to be filled, don’t you, baby? My fingers won’t be enough.”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip once more, threatening to draw blood, when you shook your head in response. “Need your cock,” you told him. “Please.”

“Always askin’ so nicely, sweetness, how could I deny you?” He twisted his fingers inside you one last time before he held himself steady so you could line up. “Sink down on Daddy’s cock like a good girl.”

You steadied yourself with one hand on the headrest of his seat and the other was used to guide his tip towards your core. Once he slipped inside, your hand shot up to grip at his shirt as you lowered yourself with satisfied moan which was nearly drowned out by Bucky’s. “Too big,” you sighed, seated and feeling stretched and full.

“But you’re takin’ it, darlin’,” he smiled up at you, his skin flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat. “You’re doing so good.” You preened at his compliment and returned his smile. “You move when you’re ready.”

You took the time to adjust to angle and his size, leaning down to exchange a lazy kiss. When you parted for air, you shifted your weight to wrap your arms around his neck and raised your hips to slide up his cock only to slam back down with a moan.

“Is that how you’re gonna to play it, sweetheart,” he asked breathlessly. When you replied with the same harsh roll of your hips, Bucky growled and his hands found your hips. You could feel the bite of his grip against your bone, you knew the bruises it would bring in the morning, but it would be worth it. “Can’t have a nice, slow fuck in the car, can we? My girl needs it hard and rough.”

He shifted his legs to plant his feet firmly on the floor of the car and started to meet your hips with a harsh snap of his own. Delighted at the feral snarl that curled his lips, you increased your speed, bouncing on his thick thighs as he fucked up into you, a growl erupting from him with each meeting of your hips. “Yes,” you gasped, “that’s it, Daddy. Just like that.”

“Yeah, I know how my dirty little girl likes it,” he grunted over the sound of your skin slapping and your slick sex sucking him in. “I can hear how much she likes it.”

Your head fell forward as he pounded up into you, the lewd squeak of the seat joined the chorus of your moans. “So close,” you told him.

But he already knew by the way you fluttered around him, coaxing him toward his own end. His metal hand left your hip and moved between you to seek out your swollen bud. “Gonna cum for me, good girl,” he asked. You tried to answer, tried to nod, but the way his hips shoved up into you and the cool metal against your heated sex that rubbed desperately at your clit was far too much.

A delicious snap came from within you and spread a white hot fire throughout your body. You came with his name on your lips, a desperate, holy cry. And he wasn’t far behind, a few hard thrusts and he spilled into you, whispering praise and adoration.

You stayed joined until the mess between your legs became itchy and the bugs started to swarm from the sweat on your bodies. “Best mill and half I’ve ever spent,” you sighed happily, lifting off of his lap.

“Wait, how much?!”

#bucky barnes x read #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #buckyblues 4k challenge

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jessaerys · 7 months

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wake up babe new white whale just dropped

it's a 21:9 toshiba satellite from 2012 and it seems to have vanished off the face of the earth

#I WANT YOU FREAK LITTLE LAPTOP. this would be sooo good to write on #retro computing

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Tower: Family - 21

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing: Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1855

Warnings: Pregnancy, smut (MMF, oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex)

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family. When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 21: Sleeping In

Things started to feel better after I met with my mother. Like the last peak had been scaled and we were finally on a downhill roll. Things were going well with mom. I was taking it very slowly. She still hadn’t met everyone but she had now also met Bucky as well as Bruce under nicer circumstances. I was planning to introduce her to Sam and Clint next, then Steve and finally Tony. If I was happy with how she handled all of them I would have a group meeting about introducing her to the kids. I’m not sure how they’d take the idea - I wasn’t sure how I felt about the idea - but the thought that they’d have one grandparent in their lives did make me happy.

I had entered the awkward and uncomfortable phase of pregnancy. That horny ‘can’t be sated’ feeling seemed to have doubled down. I was wet constantly and yet at the same time I felt like a beached whale. Every part of me ached, I couldn’t get up without help, and damn was I thirsty. Natasha was in a similar state as me, just more so, while Wanda still seemed to be an earth mother goddess.

Wanda was also very close to her induction day and so Hill and Clarke had arranged for a baby shower of sorts. Something I missed out on the first time too. It wasn’t for gifts exactly, more just a morning tea to share our excitement with friends and family. I was hoping for cute cakes with rattles on them and a lot of tiny sandwiches.

I woke to the sun streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows and the sound of kissing and soft moans. I opened my eyes just a crack to see Sam and Bucky. They were both lying side-by-side kissing slowly but passionately. Bucky was in a white tank top and gray sweats, his leg was up on Sam’s hip and his hands were traveling down Sam’s muscular back and into his boxers. The boxers were all that Sam had on. His hands were tangled in Bucky’s hair and he would almost pull Bucky on top of him and then push him back so Sam was the one on top.

I watched their heated makeout session feeling my already wet pussy get even wetter. Bucky began to kiss his way down Sam’s neck and Sam moaned and let his head fall back. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, he smirked at me and pulled Bucky’s hair. “What are you doing there, perv?” He teased.

Bucky pulled back and looked up at Sam a little startled. “What did I do?”

“Not you, babe,” Sam assured him. “Our little voyeur is watching us.”

I stifled a giggle and squeezed my eyes closed as Bucky turned to look at me. “Who do you think you’re fooling, doll?” He teased, poking me in the side.

“Hey, I’m sleeping,” I argued.

“Sure you are, princess,” Sam scoffed. “You gonna just watch us or do you wanna get in here?”

I opened my eyes a little and bit my bottom lip. “What time is it?”

“Just after eight,” Sam said. “Everyone else is downstairs. You didn’t wake up when the kids came in so Steve decided you needed the sleep.”

“And you’re in here still… because?” I asked.

“Sex, Elise,” Sam deadpanned. “You do know about sex right?”

“I think so,” I said. “I think you gave me a lesson in that once.”

“Oh yeah,” Sam hummed. “That was fun. You missed that, Buck. She had a school uniform on. I spanked her real good.”

“Yeah you guys like to remind me how I missed out on that,” Bucky said. “Come here, El. Show me what they taught you.”

I got up and crawled over to them. “Mm… they taught me how to use my mouth. You want to see that?”

Bucky rolled onto his back and patted his thigh with his prosthetic hand as he wrapped his flesh one around Sam and drew him in close. “Yeah, doll, show me what you know.”

“Clint said that if I had my mouth full, I couldn’t be mouthy,” I said, kissing Bucky’s hip as I ran my hand up Sam’s thigh.

“What a little shit he is,” Bucky chuckled, his hand caressing my jaw. I pushed his sweats down to his knees and nuzzled up the inside of his thigh.

“Not wrong though,” Sam teased.

I giggled and licked up the length of Bucky’s cock and nipped at his foreskin. Sam ran his hand down my back and over my ass. “Come on, El, you can do better than that,” he teased.

I pinched Sam’s thigh and dropped my head down, taking the head of Bucky’s cock into my mouth. Sam moved behind me and pulled down my pajama pants. As I dropped my head down, opening my throat and slowly taking Bucky as deep as I could, Sam plunged his face into my cunt. I gasped, choking on Bucky’s cock, and I spread my legs wider for Sam. His tongue lapped from my cunt to my ass. Swirling around and making me even wetter. The insides of my thighs felt damp from it and he seemed to be drinking up everything he could hungrily. He made content humming sounds like it was his most favorite flavor.

I bobbed my head up and down on Bucky’s cock, hollowing my cheeks and curling my tongue around my shaft. Bucky played with my hair as he moaned softly. His eyes stayed trained on both of us. They looked soft and slightly unfocussed, and the blue/grey was blown out black.

My cunt tingled and buzzed but I was quickly becoming uncomfortable in the position I was in. I pulled off slowly and looked up. “Sorry, I need to be on my side.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said as Sam pulled back letting me lie down. “Let’s mix it up.”

I lay on my side and Sam pushed off his pants and he spooned me. His arms circled my waist and he cupped my breasts, squeezing them and pinching my nipples. He slowly rutted his hips so the head of his cock slid up and down my folds.

I moaned and closed my eyes. Bucky was moving around us, but for the moment my attention was completely on Sam. “You like when I play with your tits, don’t you, princess?” Sam whispered. The head of his cock caught on the entrance to my cunt and slipped out running over my clit.

I moaned and pushed my chest out. “Yes, Sammy.”

He tugged on my nipples and I gasped and jerked against him. My cunt was dripping. I pushed back against him, aching for his cock to penetrate me.

“Oh, you want my dick, don’t you, princess?” He whispered.

“Yes, Sam. Give it to me,” I mewled, rocking back so his cock rubbed between my fold. His cock became slick with my juices as it moved back and forth, pressing and releasing against my clit.

He pinched my nipples painfully and I arched my back and cried out. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Sam. Please give me your dick. I want it inside me. I need it,” I begged.

Sam groaned. It was a deep gravelly rumble against my ear and it somehow made me even wetter for him. He didn’t give it to me though, he just kept on rutting against me and massaging my breasts.

I felt like a live wire. My nerves were screaming out for stimulation. Bucky moved behind Sam and just as Sam’s cock caught at my entrance again, he gasped and jerked hard, thrusting into me.

I groaned and pushed back against him, pushing him deeper into me and squeezing my walls around his thick shaft. “Fuck,” Sam gasped. “You two are trying to kill me aren’t you.”

“Be an interesting way to go,” Bucky teased, kissing Sam’s neck and running his hand over my hips.

Bucky began thrusting into Sam, just slowly at first. With each thrust, he pushed Sam into me. His hand moved from my hip slowly, teasing between my legs and over my pubic mound. He slipped his fingers between my folds and started to finger my clit.

There was nothing frantic or desperate about it. They were going slow, enjoying it, and I relaxed and gave myself to it. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Sam captured my lips and kissed me deeply, his tongue teasing into my mouth. I moaned and started to roll my hips a little faster. Sam took the hint. He picked up his pace, thrusting into me a little faster and a little deeper. Bucky followed on, snapping his hips as he thrust into Sam’s ass. His fingers moved quicker on my clit in random patterns.

I lost control. My cunt spasmed around Sam’s cock and my legs began to tremble. I kept kissing Sam, it restricted the flow of oxygen to my lungs and made my head feel fuzzy and soft. Every part of me buzzed and a pressure built in my core like I was a bomb ready to explode.

The sounds in the room got louder and more constant. The bed rocked under us, swinging on the cords with every thrust. Our moans and grunts became a constant soundtrack. I sat poised on the edge of my orgasm, my whole body quivering.

Sam broke the kiss and squeezed my breasts. “Come, princess,” he groaned.

It was like he’d pulled a trigger inside me. I came, arching my back so I was pressed even tighter against him as I shuddered and clenched around his cock.

“There you go, princess,” Sam praised, not easing up his pace at all.

“Your turn,” Bucky groaned, gripping Sam’s hips. He fucked him harder still, pushing Sam into me so our bodies slapped together. Sam groaned and bit down into my shoulder. I could feel his approaching orgasm through the thread connecting us and I knew Bucky was close too.

Sam’s hips began to stutter and with a loud groan, he jerked into me and came, groaning into my neck. His orgasm pulled another one from me, and it washed through me like a wave. Bucky jerked suddenly and moaned loudly as his own orgasm was brought over by the clench of Sam’s ass.

We lay there like that for a little while, just staying inside each other, and breathing heavily. I felt like I was going to doze off again but just as I fully relaxed the baby decided to remind me that I hadn’t been to the bathroom yet by headbutting me directly in the bladder.

I pulled away from Sam and awkwardly got up.

“Hey, where are you going?” Sam asked. “Don’t you like cuddling with us?”

“Eddie is using my bladder like a boxing bag,” I said as I struggled to get off the bed. “Besides, we have a party to get to.”

Sam chuckled as Bucky sat up and stretched. “I guess you’re right,” Sam said. “Time to go be social.”

// NEXT

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boycritter · 3 years

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BABE WAKE UP NEW WHALE JUST DROPPED!!!!!

#fizz.txt #tw caps #scientists have identifed abt 150 members of the group after looking at 100k images!!!#and theyre giant killer whales that eat large sea mammals

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

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Listed: His Name Is Alive

While Warren Defever’s name is perhaps less recognizable than that of his band His Name Is Alive, he’s also been connected with a seemingly endless array of other projects: Princess Dragon-Mom, Elvis Hitler, ESP Beetles, Control Panel, and far more. This doesn’t get into his recording and production credits for the likes of Michael Hurley, Iggy and the Stooges, and Mdou Moctar. Forever associated with Michigan’s weirdo-underground music scene, Defever has recently been issuing a series of long-buried recordings as His Name Is Alive. In February, the Disciples label released Hope Is a Candle, the third and final volume in the "Home Recordings" trilogy exploring Defever's teenage tape experimentation as well as A Silver Thread (Home Recordings 1979 - 1990), a four-volume collection of many of Defever’s solo home recordings prior to His Name Is Alive releasing their debut album Livonia on 4AD in 1990. In his review of A Silver Thread, Tim Clarke writes “For a collection of home recordings, what’s most striking about this music is how fully realized and carefully executed it sounds, comparable at times to contemporary artists such as Grouper, Benoît Pioulard and Tim Hecker. This is not the 1980s that I remember.”

Defever gives us his “What Else Is New” list, a set of personal snapshots, memories of a life spent in music, warning the reader that “the descriptions don’t always have an obvious correlation to the video, but welcome to my nightmare brain.”

In The Line of Fire

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I started performing when I was five. My grandfather was a self-taught musician from Saskatchewan in Western Canada and he showed me and my brothers how to play banjo, guitar and fiddle. One of my earliest memories is having a full size 127 lb. accordion placed onto my lap and my grandmother voicing her disappointment when I refused to play. I did learn slide guitar from her later though. I have many, often terrible, memories of performing at square dances with his band and we would play old timey country music, folk songs, polkas and waltzes. There were also gigs at the trailer park, old folks homes and a convent. Although my grandfather believed that popular music died with Hank Williams in 1953, he still found room in his heart for Lawrence Welk and Slim Whitman.

Meet Me By The Water

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By age ten I had a tape recorder and was using it to capture the sounds of nearby lakes, thunderstorms, and my older brothers LP collection played at the wrong speeds. I recently found the cassette, Echo Lake (1983) which features waves crashing onto the beach on the Canadian side of Lake St. Clair but it was recorded right after I got an echo pedal so it’s got a heavy dose of dreamy delay. Tape loops of the next door neighbor raking leaves and shoveling the driveway would be repurposed a few years later as rhythm tracks on the first His Name Is Alive LP, Livonia (4AD, 1990). Detroit in the late 70s and early 80s had totally insane radio and one of the highlights was Met-Ezzthetics, a late night show on WDET hosted by Faruq Z. Bey who also played saxophone in Griot Galaxy. Shortly before his death he played with His Name is Alive and we had a chance to formalize our student-teacher relationship.

Search For Higher Energies

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In high school I was studying Bach Chorale harmonization and counterpoint during the day but recording and touring with the band Elvis Hitler at night. The other guys in band were older but at 16 I was a familiar sight at shitty Detroit punk clubs and Hamtramck dive bars, the nerdy teenager reading a book or doing homework sitting at the bar waiting ’til midnight or 1am for our slot to play our hellbilly hits, “It’s A Long Way From Berlin To Memphis,” and “Hot Rod To Hell.” I was still trying to make sense of the post 1953 music scene and when I met the guy with a giant afro and shiny super hero outfit complete with shiny cape I had no idea he was Rob Tyner of the MC5. We released three records before I was twenty one and played shows and toured with Devo, the Dwarves, the Dead Milkmen, Reverend Horton Heat, the Beat Farmers, Helios Creed, Babes In Toyland, the Cro-Mags, Corrosion of Conformity, the Frogs, the Gories, Pussy Galore, the Unsane and way more I can’t remember I was just a kid. It was some kind of education.

You Don’t Have To Go Home But You Can’t Stay Here

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When I signed with 4AD I thought I was a composer and they let me write my own bio, so I called His Name Is Alive the work of a “fucked up, irresponsible teenage composer.” I had only been writing music for three years. When I heard “Tom Violence” by Sonic Youth I thought for the first time in my life, “I think I could do that.” In 1988 I made a mixtape with Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car, Leadbelly and some of Big Star’s third album and I tried to arrange it like it was an album, then I made my own album in that same shape, it was called I Had Sex With God and I sent it to 4AD. Our first album contained three of the first five pieces of music I had ever written. Within a few years I was playing festivals for contemporary classical composers and new age artists who were thirty or forty years older than me. His Name Is Alive played the Musicas Visuales Festival in Mexico with Harold Budd, Paul Horn and Jorge Reyes. The mayor of the city presented me with a guitar but then dramatically walked out of the theater during our performance realizing he had made a terrible mistake. I remember the surreal moment when from across the room Harold Budd walked in and greeted me as “Mr. Defever.” He had a cold and was sniffling during his set, the audience thought he was crying. I recorded his show and when I got back home to Livonia I added my own guitar to some of his songs and then edited the tapes, looping my favorite parts and editing out the parts I didn’t like, also adding additional layers of reverb and echo. More recently I did a concert in a five hundred year old temple in Japan where the unamplified meditation music never rose above a whisper and the monk had to turn off the furnace because the heat molecules were too loud. The show was recorded and released under the name Mountain Ocean Sun and features Ian Masters and Hitoko Sakai.

Energy Dealer

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Both my parents were born in Canada, my mother in Saskatchewan, my father in Ontario. I have dual citizenship as my father was American and my mother had Canadian citizenship. I spent summers, holidays and weekends in a tiny cottage on Lake St. Clair that did not have a telephone and had curtains instead of doors separating the two rooms. Myrt Fortin who lived next door would receive phone calls for my mom, walk over to our place and yell into the window, “Hey wake up your ma, your dad’s on the phone.” My mom took a lot of naps, so she was always asleep when something important was happening. I remember always getting cut on broken glass while swimming in the lake or getting stabbed by one of the neighbors and having to go wake up my mom to take me to the hospital.

Lord I Don’t Believe You Exist

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When I was ten my parents sat me down and told me it was time that I got a summer job. There were only two businesses in town, a gas station and a hardware store so I walked up to the hardware store and asked the owner for a job and immediately fell to the ground crying. Completely fell apart. He asked me why I wanted to work in hardware. I didn’t know what to say, I was only ten but I knew not to tell the owner that his store was stupid and I didn’t think he could handle the truth. It turned out he also owned the gas station so that didn’t really work out. Later that summer, I began working for the Pickseed Corporation as corn de-tasseling season was just beginning. All the moms would drop off their kids in the church parking lot in Tecumseh, just outside of Windsor, around 4:30am where an unmarked windowless cargo van was waiting that had cinderblocks and 2'x4' boards instead of benches so they could squeeze in the maximum amount of children. There were three job requirements to work in a cornfield, the child (it was only children, no adults) needed to show up with a baseball hat, a thermos with water and a large black plastic garbage bag. I think this was before sunglasses were invented. Upon arriving at the cornfield, we were separated into pickers and checkers, younger kids each taking a row of corn (a row could extend a mile or more) and a slightly older kid would organize and manage several of the younger kids. In the morning we were instructed to poke two arm holes and a head hole into our garbage bags and put it on like a raincoat because the corn was covered in dew and kids wearing wet clothes would walk slower than dry kids. So almost every day there was a point, usually around 11am when the dew would dry and we would be roasted alive from the summer sun coming down on our ridiculous shiny black plastic outfits. We worked from sun up until sun down. I received three dollars and thirty five cents an hour. For all you city folks, corn is planted in alternating rows of types of corn so that when the top part of the plant is removed, or “de-tasseled,” it can seed or cross-pollinate easily. It’s a terrible job with a high turnover rate and every day I would hear the sound of kids in nearby rows that had given up hope, sat down in the middle of the field and crying for hours. The following year, at age 11, I was promoted from picker to checker, and was put in charge of a group of about ten sixteen year old’s.

Sleep It Off

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Mostly I like to record – His Name is Alive has over a hundred releases and I’ve done another fifty records under various names, Control Panel, Warren Michael Defever, ESP BEETLES, ESP SUMMER, Forest People, Infinity People, Jeepers Creepers, Layla al-Akhyaliyya, Mirror Dream, Princess Dragon-Mom, the Dirt Eaters, the Fishcats, the Whales, plus way more I can’t remember probably because the names were so dumb. I’ve recorded about four hundred records for other bands at my house or other studios. I’ve worked on records with Danny Kroha, Ida, Fred Thomas, Elizabeth Mitchell, Wild Belle, Michael Hurley, and when I was a teenager I helped record the first Gories album which was especially unique as I was the junior assistant engineer who helped move their equipment into the dirt floor garage next to the studio where it was decided the acoustics would be way worse. Also, I helped collage about a hundred Destroy All Monsters tapes from the 70s for a couple of their releases which led to remastering a bunch of tapes from the John Sinclair White Panther Party archives. I’ve done remixes for Thurston Moore and Yoko Ono and when Iggy and The Stooges started touring again I got a phone call from Ron Asheton seeing if I would help them record demos for their reunion album with Mike Watt on bass. They wrote the songs together while they were recording in Niagara’s basement sort of simultaneously. Iggy didn’t have a notebook with all his lyric ideas, instead he just sang about whatever happened that day – one song was about the airline losing his luggage, one about ATM machines and another was about reading in a newspaper that Ray Davies of the Kinks had been shot in New Orleans. In the end they weren’t terribly excited by my suggested song titles including “No Shirt” (you know because it’s like “No Fun” plus you know Iggy never wears a shirt) and they didn’t seem to love the mixes that I did that sounded kind of like those crappy Raw Power bootlegs.

Cost Of Living

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Two summers ago I recorded an incredible concert by Mdou Moctar live at Third Man Records in Detroit. They’re wild hypnotic Hendrix style jammers who live in the desert. The band didn’t speak much english but I think I was able to communicate to them how excited I was about their amazing fingerpicking and hot guitar solos after the show by screaming and replaying the best solos over and over again and then screaming the word fuzz and pointing at their fingers. It’s insane and having seen them a few times since then with a different drummer and the addition of a bass player, I’m convinced it’s their best album. It’s wild but it’s still not Tchin-tabaraden wedding wild.

Licked By Lions

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Jonathan Richman walks into Ethan and Gretchen's studio and asks if I can remove all the rugs, take the acoustic treatments off the walls and strike the baffles which normally separate the instruments, drums and amps, so the room will have the most echo possible, he has also invited about ten friends including Johnny Bee Badanjek the drummer from Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels and Mary Cobra from the Detroit Cobras to dance, sing and play percussion in the studio while he records. He has two vocal microphones set up at either end of the room and has brought his own microphones for the drums along with his own desired placement for them. He notices a tamboura near the control room and asks if I know how to play it or if I know how to tune it. Within seconds he’s tuned it and proceeds to sing Indian classical music accompanying himself on tamboura drone for about thirty five minutes. It’s beautiful and very surprising. He asks me if I recorded it, I lie and say no. Later he asks me not to play it for anyone. We record for hours. Some songs are quite long – ten and fifteen minutes, some are medleys of oldies or soft rock hits from the seventies segueing into new songs of his. It’s a confusing session as it’s not clear when songs are starting and ending and he often plays guitar and sings nowhere near a microphone. The distance between him and the microphone seems to have some meaning, there’s some formula to when he chooses to walk away in the middle of a verse but I am unable to determine the secret code. At the end of the session three or four songs are deemed usable, edited and mixed, although, sadly, an attempt at a completely insane and unexpected fuzz guitar solo is left unreleased. (The Harold Budd piece is at the opposite end of this spectrum.)

Calling All Believers

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Shortly after Tecuciztecatl was released, I received an email from Dr. James Beacham at CERN inviting us to perform at a series of concerts that would combine experimental music with experimental science at the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, Switzerland. He didn’t contact our booking agent, which would be how we generally receive offers for gigs, instead he sent an email to me, which would be how we generally receive crazy messages from our completely insane fans (murderous, delusional, poetic, threatening messages usually). I assumed the invitation was fake or a prank and replied that we would prefer to wait until they had successfully opened a pathway to interspatial dimensions and we’d play on the other side or that if that was unlikely to happen at a convenient time then perhaps we could set up our equipment right on the edge of a mini-black hole and perform as the Earth is being destroyed so we could release the concert film “Live At The End Of The World.” After a few messages back and forth, it was clear that he was legit and I apologized for being such a jerk. Soon I discovered poetry within the language of particle physics as well as a certain beauty in the idea that these scientists have devoted their lives to dreaming, searching and discovering basic principles that connect all things in existence. The song “Calling All Believers” refers to this devotion. “Energy Acceleration” compares the scientists to monastic life in medieval times and mystics trying to find and define the line between this world and the next and at the same time invoking the incredible amounts of energy needed to create the collisions experiments. The Patterns of Light LP was released in 2016 on London London Records and is about interpreting visions of light, trying to find universal truth with whatever tools available, it’s about the search for how everything works, why it works and how it got that way but also about being inspired on a basic level by the way a thing looks and how all your senses take in a thing. A thousand years ago Hildegard Von Bingen was writing about this same thing in letters, songs, medical texts, and had even developed her own language to use in her mystical writings, similar to Magma drummer Christian Vander using his own language for their concept albums or French black metalists Brenoritvrezorkre and Moëvöt.

The Light Inside You

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We get a lot of letters from fans, mostly weirdos though. I think it started when we released Song of Schizophrenia, that sort of connected us to a certain demographic I suspect. Here’s a recent typical message we received. “Growing up in Panama City, Mouth By Mouth and Livonia were like passages to other realms. I drank a ton of cough syrup at the time but those albums helped make life more livable. I was about to go to art school for sculpture and graphic design and the textures I heard on those records had actual shapes to them. Most music I knew at that time was flat or linear. I got them on cassette via mail-order from an ad placed in a bmx magazine. Mouth By Mouth arrived just before going to work at the amusement park and I was able to listen to it twice on the way thanks to the never-ending beach traffic. As luck would have it, I worked on “The Abominable Snowman” ride, basically a tilt-a-whirl inside a dome with lots of fog machine action, blue lights, mirrors, and lots of air conditioning. It took about 10 listens that day before it wasn’t as weird as when I first put it on. Maybe it was my bubblegum flavor/robitussin combo slushie on top of no-doz that pulled it all together, but it was probably a weird ride for a lot of vacationing beach tourists and townies when all they really wanted to hear was “Naughty by Nature” by O.P.P. I had no business running those rides at the age of 17 but I really loved how disorienting that ride could be with all the mirrors, the fog, the cold and for the final 90 seconds the ride would go in reverse. I had a buddy named Kevin that did acid at work and would repeatedly run the mini-train off the tracks and all the riders had to walk back through the woods for about a half mile that summer.”

#dusted magazine #listed #his name is alive #warren defever #warren michael defever #poppy #griot galaxy #faruq z. bey #slim whitman #mdou moctar #sly stone #harold budd #steve wonder #elvis hitler #princess dragon-mom

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