#though I might post some of my cassettes later

[taohun]

any shape you take, indigo de souza, shopping cart yellow

[munsons-melody]

angeleyes

summary: after seeing nancy get pulled into a trance, eddie gets worried the same might happen to you and makes you a tape with your favorite song on a loop, even though you're broken up

pairing: eddie munson x female!henderson!reader

cw: bit of angst but ends with fluff

recommended songs: 'disillusion' and 'angeleyes' by ABBA

word count: 3.3k

a/n: did i start crying while writing this? yes, yes i did. also NOT PROOFREAD! also feedback is always appreciated :)

masterlist

part two of this fic called ‘your song’ can be found here

i do not consent to having any of my works republished, translated, or posted to any other site except here. if you see my works anywhere but tumblr, it has been republished without my knowledge, consent, or permission.

-

the two of you were together for almost a year. you were inseparable from the start but as months passed, you each kept getting busier and busier and whenever you were together, it would end in a giant screaming match with one of you crying while the other stormed off with no apologies in store till days later.

even though you knew the two of you were in a rough patch, you never expected the last fight to be your final one. you were at each others throats, a silly bicker turning into a full blown fight. you were both teary-eyed, throats sore from screaming and holding back tears, pacing all around the trailer. neither really knew what the fighting was about, but it didn't stop the screaming match that definitely caused the whole neighborhood to wake up from their peaceful slumbers

you still remember the exact moment you felt your world shatter. you stood in eddie's room, wiping the tears from your cheeks as you diverted your eyes from him to the floor, littered with his clothes and various items. you didn't want him to see you cry as hard as you were.

all you wanted was him to say anything like "i'm sorry" or "come here" and have him wrap you up in those strong arms of his, while he stroked your hair and told you he loved you and the two of you would be alright. but nothing of the sort came. the quietness deafening after the two of you stopped fighting.

"maybe we just aren't good for each other anymore," eddie muttered out, and you looked up at him with bloodshot eyes

"what? no! don't say that, please" you said, inching forward but he moved back to avoid your touch

"i think we should break up y/n" he said. it was like someone knocked all the oxygen out of your body as your heart started pounding

"eddie-" you tried but he shook his head, a couple of tears slipping down his cheeks

"y/n, please, just go" he said with anger hidden in his voice, facing away from you

"fine" you said, your blood boiling. you stormed out of his trailer and walked out into the cold evening air, using your walk home as a way to cool down and soon enough your anger turned into more sadness

once you arrived home, you couldn't help but let the tears flow freely, feeling as if your heart was broken into a million tiny little pieces

"shit are you okay?" dustin asked you as you crumpled onto the couch, not caring that you would most likely have to explain why you were crying.

"no" you muttered out, curling into a ball and putting a pillow over your face. he walked over to you, sitting on the coffee table across from you

"did you break up?" he asked and you nodded, turning your head to smush your face into the pillow, letting your tears soak into the fabric of the pillow

"shit shit you're gonna be okay i promise" dustin said with a panic

.

eddie's trailer was in pure chaos as everyone ripped his room apart, looking for some tape that wasn't a heavy metal song to aid nancy in freeing herself from vecna's trance

"music! we need music!" robin screamed out as you watched as she flung a handful of cassettes onto eddies bed, Eddie swiftly picking one of the iron maiden tapes up and screamed at her "this is music!" 

right as you grabbed another box of tapes you heard steve yell "guys!" and all of you ran to the small living room, littered with debris surrounding the mattress that served as your 'landing pad'

you looked up to see steve holding nancy on the floor and you immediately thought the worst, your heart pounding as it skipped a beat, not prepared to see the potentiality of your best friend dead in steves arms 

"she's okay! we're going to come through!" steve's voice rang out, laced with urgency. everyone nodded as they cleared the area. you watched as the two of your friends individually climbed up the makeshift rope and fall through the gate onto eddie's mattress

you saw everyone, or at least assumed everyone, swarm nancy, asking question after question of "are you alright?" and "what happened"

nancy just stayed quiet, holding her arms to herself blinking away tears, and you broke away from the group to get her some water as she slowly sat down on the couch

you moved through the all too familiar kitchen of the munson trailer, wanting to reminisce about the memories you shared with eddie in this kitchen, but refusing to do so due to the fact you a) didn't want to waste time helping nancy and b) didn't want to relive the memories that would just break your heart even more

once you handed nancy the water, you let her be, not wanting to overwhelm her or pressure her into talking about what just happened. you went back into the kitchen, not wanting to be in any ones way, and stood there with your arms crossed

this time you allowed yourself to let those memories creep back in. the early mornings where you would make pancakes for you and eddie's breakfast, and what would be wayne's dinner when he came home before he would go to sleep. the times you would teach eddie how to cook when you felt like making dinner together. the late nights you spent listening to the radio and would dance under the refrigerator light. the times you two would spend after hours of endless sex where even when you tried to have a break from each other to get some water just to end up fucking on the kitchen floor. 

hell, you even smiled to yourself about the time eddie accidentally bruised his knuckles after enthusiastically waving his hands around while in conversation and smacking them on the cabinet, and you of course had to kiss them better.

you heard some shuffling and mumbling behind you and turned to the hallway just to make eye contact with eddie as you watched him drag dustin down the hall and into his room

you heard the door close and some muffled voices, but you couldn't make out the conversation 

-

eddie shut the door and turned to dustin who stood there, confused as ever as to why he was being dragged down the hall 

"what is y/n's favorite song?" he asked with urgency. dustin looked taken aback.

"excuse me?" dustin questioned, looking at eddie as if he had five heads

"your sister, y/n, what is her favorite song?" he repeated with a stern tone

"shouldn't you know?" dustin snapped with an annoyed look upon his face. even though eddie was one of his best friends and someone he looked up to, this breakup between his sister and him was so new and fresh, he didn't know how to act in this situation

"well it changes with her, like it changes all the time man... for a while it was killer queen by queen and then it changed to dreams by fleetwood mac then it changed to, i think, amoreena by elton john? ugh" he groaned

"eddie, why do you want to know? didn't you two break up like a couple of months ago?" dustin pointed out and eddie shook his head, rubbing his temple 

"it was a little over a month ago but-" eddie started before dustin interrupted him 

"and didn't you break up with her?" he questioned further, crossing his arms 

"well technically but i-" 

"'technically' my ass! you completely broke her heart and now you want to know her favorite song? why do you even care all of a sudden? you didn't seem to care when she would come home crying after seeing you at school all day. you didn't seem to care when she wanted to go to her favorite place in this goddamn town but didn’t cause she was scared she'd run into you there. you didn't seem to care when she spent all of her money to buy you those stupid concert tickets for your birthday..." dustin's voice trailed off from his originally loud tone

eddie looked down, a lump forming in his throat

"i didn't know any of that..." he admitted, moving his head up to look at dustin with glassy eyes 

"what?" dustin said and eddie nodded, sniffling 

"i didn't know she did any of that, especially those tickets" eddie said, his voice cracking which mirrored the cracks forming in his heart

eddie sat down on the bed putting his head in his hands, feeling completely and utterly stupid 

"i am the biggest fucking idiot for breaking up with her. it was just the heat of the moment with that stupid fight- and i can't even remember what it was about! i was just tired of the fighting! and now it's been a month but i haven't even talked to her until all of this shit went down but god i love her so goddamn much and i will be damned if something happens to her- if nancy can get under his trance at random who knows if she's next" eddie ranted, standing up and putting both his hands on dustins shoulders

"please dustin, what is her favorite song?" he pleaded. dustin looked at him with sympathic eyes and sighed 

"angeleyes" he muttered out and eddie stared at him with a confused look written across his face

"i think her favorite song right now is angeleyes by abba... i always hear her listening to it and singing it around the house..." dustin told him and eddie's eyes widened 

he ran to the door to open it but as he did he it revealed you standing there, with your arm and fist up in a knocking position 

"y/n" he breathed out and you looked into his eyes, the knots turning in your stomach reminding you of the heartbreak he succumbed you to and you blinked, looking past him at dustin standing there

"sorry, uh we're heading to max's next door, it's safer over there" you said bluntly before turning around and walking down the hallway, steve wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you headed toward the door 

eddie watched you leave and made a b line into the cabinet that sat adjacent to their kitchen, opening the door and starting to rummage through the boxes

"what are you doing? didn't you hear y/n?" he heard dustin ask as he approached behind him

"i know for a fact that we have that abba song on an album somewhere" he rumaged some more before pulling out a handful of tapes by ABBA

"my mom loved them so we had a lot of their tapes," eddie explained, walking back to his room and grabbing a blank tape 

he looked on the back of each tape till he saw the small words ‘angeleyes’ on the back of the voulez-vous album

he put both in his boombox, playing the song and pressing record so he was able to make a loop of the song 

"eddie we need to regroup with everyone next door" dustin pleaded and eddie shook his head

"we can meet them after we get a good loop of at least 10 minutes" he said before turning back to his dresser 

"we shouldn't risk being here longer than we already have, what if someone hears us or even sees us in here?" he pleaded again and eddie shook his head, being stubborn as a mule 

"fine, we'll be all over there where its safe and you can be over here with the fear of being caught" dustin said with annoyance, starting to leave eddie's room when eddie walked over and stopped him 

"just wait 5 more goddamn minutes" eddie told him with an angry tone 

"jesus christ okay" dustin responded with his voice higher than normal 

eddie heard the end of the song and quickly paused the two tapes, and rewinded before pressing the play and record buttons 

he sat on his bed, listening to the song and the lyrics hit him like a train 

'Sometimes when I'm lonely, I sit and think about him And it hurts to remember all the good times When I thought I could never live without him And I wonder, does it have to be the same Every time? When I see him, will it bring back all the pain? How can I forget that name?'

shit he thought to himself, continuing to listen to the lyrics of the song 

'Look into his angel eyes One look and you're hypnotized He took my heart and now I pay the price Look into his angel eyes You'll think you're in paradise Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise Don't look too deep into those angel eyes'

once the song ended, he rewinded and played it again, internalizing each word he heard from the song 

he came to his senses that both of you were hurting just as much when it came to this break up and he felt guilt and resentment gnawing away at him

how in the world could i ever get her back? he questioned himself, feeling as lost as ever

he heard the song again a couple more times as it was recorded onto the blank tape, feeling like a piece of his heart was shattering with each note

he finally felt satisfied with the loop he had made, and quickly ejected the tapes from where they sat and slipped it into his walk man and shoved it into dustins bag along with a pair of headphones, and they carefully walked out of eddie's trailer and to max's trailer next door

-

you stood next to robin in the kitchen, the two of you hungrily snacking down a pb&j after finding your appetite now that you knew everyone was safe and was able to take a breather from the traumatizing experience you all shared 

"here's one for you and nance" robin said, handing the plates to steve and he smiled before turning to nancy who was in the living room 

"where's eddie and dustin?" max asked you, making a sandwich herself and you shrugged, gulping down some water 

"i'm not sure, i mean i told them we were coming here and that was almost 20 minutes ago" you said, wiping your face

"should we go check to make sure they're still over there and not getting sucked back into the upside down?" robin asked and you nodded

"yeah i'll go, you two finish eating" you said, putting your plate in the sink and walking out to the front door but you noticed the two of them running across the street from eddie's trailer to max's and you switftly moved from the door as they jumped in 

everyone stopped and stared at them since they were out of breath

"where were you guys?" lucas asked and dustin looked at eddie before looking at you and then back to lucas 

"uh sorry we had to reattach the caution tape to the front door so it didn't look suspicious" dustin said, and everyone seemed to buy the lie, nodding to each other as everyone convened in the living room

-

you sat in the stolen rv in the back, looking out the window at the birds playing in the trees. it was parked on the side of the store where there was room to fit it without taking up spaces in the main lot.

you heard dustin and lucas up front near the steering wheel in some conversation when you felt the seat dip next to you.

you turned your body to see eddie sitting there looking at you. 

"hey" he said softly

"hi" you said back, turning to face back to the window 

you hadn't really talked to him over the past few days, not knowing what to do or say since you hadn't spoken since your breakup

"y/n can i please talk to you?" he asked sweetly, and you looked at him again, seeing his eyes in a fixed stare

you just nodded, turning to face him completely

"the reason i was late coming from my trailer earlier wasn't because dustin was fixing the caution tape" eddie started, reaching for dustins bag which was by his feet. you blinked at him, muttering an "okay?" which came out with a more annoyed tone than you intended 

he pulled out a walkman from the bag, and popped the tape out 

"y/n... i don't know what the hell will happen next but i know for a fact if anything happened to you and we didn't have a way to save you i-" he said, wiping a few tears from his eyes

your brows furrowed as you looked at the tape and back at him, meeting each others gaze

"i made this, uh, it's like a 20 minute loop of angeleyes by abba... dustin said it was your favorite song... after seeing nancy be put in that trance just so vecna could talk to her really freaked me out, and i don't know if he'll somehow use you as a pawn in his game, so this is for you" eddie said, fiddling with the tape before replacing it back in the walkman and handing it to you

"oh eddie..." you said, rubbing your thumb over the piece of technology

eddie's heart fluttered as he heard you say his name

"listen, nothing will happen to me, i promise" you said, grabbing his hand in yours. the fact that he was in the shittiest situation to ever occur and he was still thinking about you just made your love for him grow strong, which in turn only fed into your heartbreak because he wasn't yours to love anymore, and he had made that very clear

"yeah but if anything does, i want to- no i need to tell you... i love you y/n henderson. you were the best thing to happen to me in this godforsaken town and the fact that i messed things up will be something i will always regret. i hate that i told you i wanted to break up. i didn't- i was just so sick and tired of always fighting. i've never had someone like you in my life and i thought you were going to break up with me so i went and pulled the trigger before you could. this past month has been pure agony for me, and dustin went and rubbed salt into the wound when he told me about those tickets you got for my birthday, and jesus- im just, im sorry and i love you" eddie told you, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of your hand 

you cupped his face, leaning in to kiss him, craving his lips on yours. he kissed back before you pulled away to look at him

"eddie, i don't even know what to say" you muttered out and he shook his head 

"you don't need to say anything, i just needed to tell you how i felt just incase" he said and you took in a deep breath 

"i've hated you so much these past few weeks for what you did, but fucking hell i love you more than words can say eds. it was very stupid of you to assume i would break up with you just because we were going through a rough patch but, maybe when all of this is over and you learn not to be an idiot, maybe we could have a picnic by lovers lake, just me and you," you said softly, and eddie smiled 

"yeah?" he asked, his eyes lighting up 

"yeah, maybe i can even tell you about the concert tickets i spent all my money on... it was supposed to be a surprise but i guess dustin ruined that" you joked, and eddie chuckled 

"oh honey you didn't have to spend all your money on me, especially not on tickets," eddie said, brushing his fingers through your hair to push it back on your shoulder 

"but you deserve it, your birthday's coming up and ozzy osbourne was going on tour and i knew you wanted to see him" you shrugged with a small smile 

he kissed you passionately, and you melted into his touch, feeling the warmth of his lips on yours and you didn't realize how badly you needed him till this very moment. it was soon interrupted however as the door to the RV swung open, and you pulled apart, watching everyone clamber in yelling that we needed to go

the engine of the RV roared to life as steve sped off the premises, leading you guys onto the next part of your adventure to killing vecna

fin.

[shimonerin]

Secret Santa w/ the Jujutsu High Students

Content: Giving Itadori, Megumi, and Nobara their favorite gifts Tags: fluff Words: 1.7k

a/n: literally my first time writing again after a year or two and also my first time actually putting myself out there and posting lol I apologize if it's messy or lengthy TvT

Itadori Yuji

I feel like Yuuji would ask for a DVD/cassette collection of his favorite movies and TV shows since he really is a “TV child” and grew up watching those. And also because DVDs/cassettes are not really a thing nowadays, it kind of gives him nostalgia to be watching the same movies he used to when he was younger. 

Another thing I think he’d like is a snack basket. Just a basket filled to the brim with sweets and snacks and sodas. Just something he can eat and share with someone while he’s watching his shows.

Yuuji doesn’t ask for much and he’d be completely fine if you only managed to buy one of them or even a completely different gift. I mean, he’s basically going out every weekend in the cinemas and he’s more than capable of buying a few snacks for himself at the store. Everything else is just a bonus.

What he didn’t expect was for you to go out of your way to buy him everything on his wishlist and even gave him a meal voucher to one of the popular ramen restaurants in Japan. You know he likes rice bowls a lot and what’s better than giving him a voucher that’s worth at least three different rice bowls.

“No way! You bought all of this for me?” He exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with stars as he looked over the rack full of DVDs, a large snack basket, and a meal voucher. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes, seeing you make an effort into giving him something special. 

You smiled fondly at him, chuckling softly at his lightly pouting face “I might as well, right?” You tell him so casually, as if you didn’t just crawl your way into this man’s heart with your gifts.

Without a second thought, he threw himself at you, wrapping you in a tight, almost suffocating embrace before burying his face at the crook of your neck “You’re so awesome, you know that? I was secretly hoping you were my secret santa.” He murmured softly, which you find extremely endearing. Nobara and Gojo snickered behind you and you knew you’d find yourself in the middle of another teasing session over the next few days.

As soon as Yuuji let go of you, he grabbed both of your hands, holding it in front of your chest “We should definitely stop by that ramen restaurant later! You’ve only been there once, right?” He suggested as he shook your hands excitedly like a child.

As much as he wanted to hang out with his friends this Christmas, he didn’t want to miss out on some one-on-one time with you. He’s basically begging the universe for it so he wouldn’t trade it for the world or for an extra day of training. That can wait.

Megumi Fushiguro

I feel like Megumi isn’t even interested in joining Secret Santa. Poor boy was just forced by Gojo and Itadori lol. As he’s not interested in receiving any material gifts anyways, at most he’d probably just ask for a book.

He didn’t even give you any specific book he’d want you to buy so you had to ask Gojo “Oh, he’s not really into fantasy books, if that’s what you’re thinking,” He tells you as he leaned back onto the sofa “He’s leaning more towards nonfiction novels. Like the classics, you know?”

Heading straight towards the bookstore after training hours, you decided to go for “In Praise of Shadows” by Junichiro Tanizaki, simply because the title reminded you of his cursed technique. Though, the synopsis for the book isn’t too far off from his tastes.

Giving him only the book felt empty so you decided to look for mini figurines for his shikigamis at a nearby pottery shop. You wanted to give him something to symbolize his immense care for these animals, which was one of the things you loved the most about him. In the end, you had bought a total of 10 mini clay figurines. You placed it alongside the book inside a neat box with Japanese wrapping paper and a small bunny origami that resembles one of his shikigami on top to finish it off.

When it was time to give your gift to Megumi, he was quite impressed with the way it was wrapped but kept his reactions to a minimum “Ah, thanks.” He’d say, with a hand behind his neck

Only when he opens his present will you see the visible change in his expression. He pulls out the book and the mini figurines of the Divine Dogs, his gaze darting all over it in subtle fascination.

You purse your lips, tilting your head slightly “Do you like it?” You asked him, albeit a little nervously.

“Hey! Say something, won't you?” Nobara shouted, crossing her arms at the boy “Don't just sit there and stare!”

Megumi lifted his head off your bundle of gifts as he gazed back at your smiling face, a sudden feeling of happiness swelling in his chest but he kept it in.

“It’s…nice. I like it.” He spoke quietly, as if he’s only talking to you, blocking out all of the other sounds around him “You shouldn't have bought so much.”

He wanted to say more than that but his real feelings can't be summed up in a few words and he didn't want to come off so cheesy in front of his friends.

You laughed in response, waving off his words “No, no, I want to! You seem so indifferent with Christmas and I just wanted to give you something to smile about!” You lightly teased him, knowing you would have loved him either way.

At this point, Itadori and Nobara were forcing Megumi to smile for you as a joke, poking and prodding at his cheeks like they always do.

In the middle of the teasing session, you could definitely make out a small genuine smile from his otherwise stoic face, one that's easy to miss if you’re not looking closely enough. 

Later that evening, when you finally got home, you received an unexpected call from Gojo, saying “Hey, just called to tell you Megumi loved what you gave him.” He tells you “In fact, he’s arranging those figurines you bought him at his bedside table.”

Without a second thought, you could hear Gojo put his phone closer to Megumi’s room, as the faint sound of soft clashes of wood on wood fills your ears.

Gojo puts himself back on the call “Oh, and the book that you gave him? Yeah, he started reading it on the way home. Looks like you really got him this time.”

You couldn't help the smile slowly spreading across your face like a child “Really?” You say, trying not to let your voice give out what you're feeling “That’s…that’s great! Tell him to cherish it for me, Gojo-sensei!”

Unbeknownst to you, you were on speaker the whole time.

Kugisaki Nobara

Oh it was anxiety-inducing to think of what to give to Nobara. She’s a girl who knows her worth and knows exactly what she deserves. And while that was an aspect of her personality that you love and admire a lot, there’s only so much that you can do with your allowance.

Her wish list states that she wanted stylish clothing, accessories, or anything that looks good on her, given how much she loves shopping. Of course, she didn’t ask for Balenciaga or Onitsuka Tiger. She’s not that delusional.

But you can’t help as if every gift you’d think of wouldn’t be good enough for her. You only wanted to give her the best things because that’s when you’ll see her smile the brightest. And you’d probably do anything to see it on her all the time.

Over the weekend, you made a plan to go to Shibuya, going straight to the popular fashion mall, Shibuya 109. Entering one of the more affordable clothing chains in the establishment, you purchased a cute, oversized graphic tee for her. You also decided to buy her a box set of accessories like hairpins, bracelets, chains, and scrunchies.

Buying one last thing for her with the money that you have, you go to a local chocolatier and order a box of macaroons. Nobara has always been a fan of sweets, after all.

On Christmas Day, when it was your turn to give your gifts, you glanced towards Nobara who was sitting beside you before handing her a beautifully wrapped gift with a ribbon on top.

“Merry Christmas, Nobara. You’re gonna love this.” You’d sweetly say as she widened her eyes, delicately loosening the ribbon string.

As soon as her eyes landed on the top you bought for her, chic accessories, and the box of macaroons, she couldn't simply contain her excitement.

Her eyes were basically stars as she immediately tried on the shirt, twisting and turning to see how it looked “(Y/N), this is gorgeous!” She exclaimed 

Opening the box of accessories next, she quickly tried on the hairclips and wore the bracelets, hurriedly trying them on all at once “Where did you buy all this? It honestly looks so good.” She asked you, a wide smile plastered on her face

You scratched the back of your head and grinned “I…I honestly went to Shibuya this Saturday. I thought I might find you something different from the shops there.”

She immediately dropped everything she was holding and perked up in interest “And you didn't bring me with you? That would have been the best Christmas gift you could give me!” She says, her warm hands immediately wrapping around yours “Then maybe you shouldn't have spent all your money on me. I heard some stores there are so expensive.”

Your grip on her hand tightened into a gentle squeeze “You don't need to worry. I got my money's worth so it’s okay, really.” You reassured her.

You could see the tears forming on her eyes, only for her to wipe it off as she pouted “Well, at least let me share my macarons with you!” She tells you before picking one from the box and feeding you a strawberry cream-filled flavor macaron.

Nobara made a promise to be the one to take you to Shibuya next time and even go as far as to spoil you, even when you told her not to. 

How could she not? She’s so picky with everything but you’re the only one who seems to pinpoint her tastes so well. She’s never met anyone who could match her as good as you do so she’ll make sure to return the favor.

Happy holidays x

[rosarosierose]

Alright! After a longer time that I thought it was I have finished a massive project I've been doing with a mate of mine. It is a whole thing (long story short it was for a minecraft server) but I am only really interested in sharing the art that's come out of it. This will be more of a masterpost with lil ones going fully in depth on certain sprites later.

Here is the logo I made for the thing, Grimveil. I want to add the IP to get onto the server/discord link to it, but I figure I should ask first before posting it :/ Edit: He did not want to

Here is a sample of some of the coins I made, these were meant to be used in an in-game economy system. This has partly worked... kind of...

I made some tablets for him to use for lore purposes, although it seems he has only used one.

Here are some of my favorites, the cassettes! He wanted to add player-suggested custom music to the server with custom discs. I decided to use cassettes instead of discs for these custom songs because it felt more interesting and it gave me more freedom with my spritework. This also may or may not have gotten me into cassettes as a hobby. Song info in photo descriptions.

And now for the real goodies! The Paintings! There is a separate post showing off all of these, I highly suggest you go there and take a look at them all. For now though, here are some of my favorites.

This all might not even be it, I might be making more assets for this server soon. I'll be looking forward to sharing them all.

Paintings v

Artifacts v

Cassettes v

[fuctacles]

So i made that post some time ago...

Maxine was nearing the rebellious teenage years Steve was so scared of. She was already a feisty kid when he met her all these years ago, slingshotting cans off tree branches and fighting with her brother, and she made no sign of stopping. She was a savage on a skateboard, crashed other kids in arcade games and looked up to strong female role models, like Wonder Woman. Steve was happy to call her his daughter. Even if she hated it.

She liked to spend time actively, so he wasn’t surprised when she got into sports. It was a thing they could bond over. Recently, though, all she could talk about was music. She was pestering him about getting her a guitar, and he was slowly warming up to the idea. Robin, of course, was encouraging it.

He already took her to a music store, grabbing a couple of cassettes that made him dread the worst. She picked some rock bands and while Steve didn’t want to play on these stereotypes, he wasn’t thrilled to think she may become one of these brooding alternative kids dressed in black. She was feisty, but she was a radiating sun that he would rather keep burning than get shrouded by dark clouds.

And so when he heard the door slam loudly, he sighed softly, recognising an end of an era when he heard it.

Max stomped into the kitchen, fuming.

“They are cutting down the art department funds,” she said without prompting, her bag dropped unceremoniously on the floor.

That was not what he was expecting.

“What?” he frowned, watching her open the fridge and grab a box of chocolate milk. She angrily stabbed it with the straw.

“Exactly! They are transforming the practice room into a gym, and Mr Eddie had to move all the instruments into his class and the drama club.”

And there it was. The famous Mr Eddie. He was the reason Max took a sudden interest in music, and apparently, now the reason she was so furious about school funding injustice. Steve sighed.

“Unfortunately, the school thinks liberal arts aren’t as important as sports.”

Max’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. Her gaze slid down to his ancient swimming team hoodie.

“But you don’t think so?” Right?” Her eyes narrowed threateningly. Steve scoffed.

“I might have been a jock in high school, but my best friend plays in an orchestra. I think the funds should be divided equally.”

“Good,” Max drew out like she was content for now, but he wasn’t completely off the hook yet. She sat down in front of him, sipping from the milk box and studying him. “All the after-school practice has to be done at the drama club, which makes the schedule really tight. You know Mr Eddie used to give guitar lessons there? Now he’ll have to do house calls.”

“Mhm,” Steve nodded, eyeing her wearily. He flipped the page of the magazine he wasn’t reading. 

“Mr Eddie used to practice there with his band too.”

“Mhm.”

“Now he has nowhere to do so.”

“Poor guy.”

“He said he’s looking for a place to practice. Told us to ask our parents.”

“Max…”

“We have a big garage.” 

“Max.”

“Steve.”

He sighed.

“I’ll think about it. If he doesn’t find a better place, he can give me a call.”

Max let out a victorious whoop, but he held out his hand to stop her.

“Max, I’m serious. Only as a last option.”

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes.

And so, about a week later, Steve was picking up his phone to an unfamiliar voice.

“Mr Harrington? I’m Eddie Munson, Max’s music teacher. She told me you have some garage space I could borrow?”

Steve looked at the ceiling, leaning against the wall.

“Did she say it was only a last resort thing?”

The man on the other side chuckled.

“Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t be bothering one of my student’s parents if I had other options.”

“Okay. What do you need then?”

“I’ll take whatever you can give me, honestly. I’m kind of desperate,” the man sighed, and Steve felt a bit bad. The guy just wanted someplace to practice his craft.

“Okay, okay. So… I have a two-car garage space, but it’s only my car and I can park at the curb, you could have the whole space to yourself. I’m home most afternoons, so as long as you’re not too loud and give me a heads-up, any day works.”

“Hello?” he frowned when only silence answered him, but soon the man on the other side was laughing.

“Wow, you’re just as nice as Mad Max claimed.”

“She did? I thought I was, and I quote, ‘a raisin in her cereal’.”

The other man burst out laughing and Steve smiled.

“Ah, I’m not going to reveal her soft spots any further then.”

“Maybe I should show you the place before you commit? It might not be big enough for your needs.”

The man on the other side hummed in thought.

“Yeah, good thinking. Is today fine? I’m finishing in a couple of hours.”

“Sure. Do you have something to write, I’ll give you the address.”

Three hours later, the doorbell rang and Steve wiped his hands on the towel to open the door.

Eddie Munson was nothing that he expected from a music teacher, but after a second thought was what he should have expected from a music teacher who Max said was cool.

“Eddie Munson,” the man introduced himself, extending his hand full of chunky metal rings.

“Steve Harrington,” Steve shook it, the fingers unexpectedly rough against his skin.

The guy was of a smaller build than him, on par with his profession. His long hair was tied back, revealing a row of silver earrings. He was wearing a band tee and a leather jacket. He didn’t look like a teacher at all.

Steve motioned him inside.

“Come on, I’ll show you the garage.”

“It’s not in the basement, right? Should I be worried?”

Steve gave him a puzzled look.

“You know, leading a stranger to your basement to never be heard of again?” Munson explained.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, maybe not with the hawks I have for neighbours. Probably half the street knows I have a guest by now. So I better let you out at some point.”

“Some of these suburban moms should really get a job, huh?”

“They should, yeah.” Steve nodded, leading him through the kitchen to a plain side door. he opened it and flipped a switch. “Soo, that’s it. Would that work for you?”

The teacher stepped in, passing by Steve to look around. The garage was big, made for two cars, with only Steve’s Beamer taking up half the space. Besides some spare tires and boxes of Christmas decorations, there was nothing else inside. 

The man spread his arms, spinning around. Steve let out a surprised snort. The guy was probably his age and a teacher on top of that.

“That would be great, Mr Harrington! Are you sure about that? Like, sure-sure?” He stood in front of him, and Steve’s mind has already been set, even without the hope glistening in the man’s eyes.

“I’m a man of my word,” he nodded.

Munson swayed on his heels.

“We play metal, though? Might not be your thing.” He smiled weakly, like he was expecting a rejection. Steve frowned at him.

“If they let you do it in school, I think my garage will be fine. I have headphones, too.”

Munson beamed at him, dimples at all. And it was like a punch in the gut, a feeling he hadn’t felt since Max’s brother.

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he nodded stiffly, blinded by the soft metalhead in front of him. What did Max get him into?

Speak of the devil, there was a distant slam of the front door from the inside of the house. Steve winced.

“Want me to let you out this way,” he pointed to the garage door. “She won’t let you go that easy.”

Mr Munson only laughed. 

“It’s not a problem. Mad Max is one of my favourite students.”

“I thought teachers aren’t supposed to play favourites?”

“I’m not the teacherest out there, truth be told.”

Steve eyed his ripped jeans.

“I can see that.”

He led them back to the kitchen, where Max was hidden head-first in the fridge. She leaned back when she heard the steps, and her eyes widened at the sight of two men.

“Mr Eddie!” She slammed the fridge close, and Steve winced as he heard the bottles inside rattle against one another. “You’ll be using our garage?”

“Seems so, kiddo.”

Max made a victorious fist pump.

“Mike’s gonna be so jealous!”

Munson let out a startled laugh, while Steve scrunched his nose. 

“Don’t tell that’s all this is about. I thought we were doing something nice for Mr Munson.”

“We are, we are!” she placated him quickly, waving her hands. “Pissing off Mike is just a bonus. A very nice bonus.” She grinned sweetly.

“You’re, um…” Steve looked to the side to see the man scratching his cheek awkwardly. “The only parent who agreed. Most of them don’t trust me because I play metal.”

“Steve isn’t like that!” Max reassured quickly. “He’s not a judgmental bigot!”

Steve gawked at her choice of words while Munson laughed.

“A judgmental bigot wouldn’t raise such a great kid.”

“Duh.” Max beamed and Steve warmed all over. 

Being a single father was frowned upon even without their backstory. And Max’s attitude usually fuelled negative comments about his parenting. So it was nice to hear something good for a change. Maybe Steve could even make a new friend in this shitty town.

The teacher stayed for a coffee and insisted on being called Eddie. Steve found out he and his band had a show in a few weeks and were planning a small tour across the state over the upcoming break. But most of the visit was just him listening to Max and her teacher talking about bands he had no idea about. 

“I’ll tell the boys, and we could come over on Thursday? If that’s okay,” Eddie cocked his head as they led him to the door. 

“Sure. Works for me.”

“Sweet,” Eddie smiled, and again it did something pleasant to Steve’s heart. “See you tomorrow then, Red.” He fist-bumped the girl. “And you, Steve,” he raised his fist towards him. It took Steve a second to react and knock it with his own, but Eddie didn’t seem to mind. He waved at them, and soon Steve was watching a ratty black van speed away from his curb.

“I told you he was cool!”

“Uh-huh.” Steve closed the door. “You did.”

[hotflatrock]

Kansas at Golden Gate Theater

Back in the 90s, Berkeley was a music wonderland. As a kid from the suburbs that was only exposed to single Warehouse or Sam Goody stores in strip malls that would take an hour to walk to, I was stunned to discover the extensive array of record store options available to me in college. South of campus, you could find Rasputin’s, Tower Records, and Leopolds all within a block of each other, each with massive selections of an eclectic array of music. And that was a couple years before Amoeba Records came to the area and ramped up the selection even more.

The hours… days… spent rifling through bins of used CDs would come in later years. Freshman year, though, I was still buying tapes.

Freshman year in the dorms was wonderous, gaining exposure to everyone’s music collections at once. Tons of new (to me) music packed into a single hall, with everyone willing to loan for a quick dub using anyone’s stereo that had two tape decks. And we all had two tape decks.

Other songs came to me via the radio. I was a KFOG man at the time, at the tail end of my Classic Rock salad days that started towards the end of high school. Most of what KFOG would play was already familiar, but every now and then, some mind-blowing track would force its way out of the dust and the weeds and thoroughly wrest my attention.

Carry On My Wayward Son was one of those tracks. I knew it was by Kansas but had no idea what other song Kansas played. No one in my dorms had an album to steal. Cassette singles were not a thing that readily available, and I was not going to plunk down cash for a full album for a single song. MP3 were not even a pipe dream at that point, still 10 years away from being a thing.

I found my solution in a strange machine at Tower Records, the likes of which I had never seen before… or since. It was part jukebox - containing a huge catalog of songs - and part dubbing station. Basically, you pick 10 or 15 songs out of a catalog, plunk down a couple bucks per song, and it would press a tape for you of your selections. I can’t remember if it spit the tape out within an hour, or whether I had to come back for it another day. What I do remember is that I created a 7-song compilation album of completely mismatched songs, with the lovely title of Confused Shit.

Carry On My Wayward Son was the clear winner of the Shit.

Flash forward 3 decades and I can name precisely 1 other Kansas song (Dust in the Wind), and I can recognize one other song as a Kansas song, although I can not name it. Let’s face it, seeing Kansas was a total lark, a decision the wife made months before we started Year of the Concert in earnest. It weighed down our calendar like an anchor, tethering us to the date as other more appealing concerts appeared as conflicts. But we stuck with it, and it was OK.

I’ve never been a big fan of 70s prog rock bands. The music is bombastic, a progenitor of 80s hair bands that I never really cottoned to.  Mentally, I lump them together with other 70s bands that I never took a liking to: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, or Black Sabbath, for instance. What I can say honestly, however, is that the concert was fucking loud. It was the first show in this glorious concert binge that I felt might have damaged by hearing.

The guitarist, an original band member, never once looked up, instead spending almost 2 hours staring at his feet or his pedals. The fiddler was fun. The lead singer was solid. They played the unnamed song early, Dust in the Wind in the middle, and Carry on My Wayward Son at the end.

I’m probably not going to remember this one much in a few years, as it fades into the background of all the fabulous things we will have seen. This post and the ringing sound in my ears will likely serve as the only reminder of the experience and of the Confused Shit generated by that mystery box at a record store.

[rastronomicals]

Not that I don't have hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of CDs, but ever since I got rid of my records fifteen or so years ago, a LOT of my music library has been digital.

And it's not just digital versions of the records I shitcanned; my digital lists (now played through foobar) also include a good amount of stuff I first heard in my boss's workvan back in the late 80s early 90s, stuff I knew very well, coz he played it over and over, but never, you know, owned myself, until I later grabbed on the fileshares.

Overkill is a great example of a band in this category. I actually had <i>Taking Over</i> on vinyl, but it was Alan who bought the cassettes of <i>Feel the Fire</i> and <i>Under the Influence</i> and <i>The Years of Decay</i>. We were big Overkill fans and went and saw 'em at the Cameo Theatre in 1988 (?) when they were touring off <i>Years of Decay</i>.

Then, I stopped working for Alan. Grunge (and NIN and Helmet and Pavement etc) happened. I got coldcocked by a skinhead at a Pantera show. I got a GF who limited what I could listen to. A bunch of bullshit, and I went my way and Overkill went theirs.

So I missed <i>Horrorscope</i> and <i>I Hear Black</i> and <i>W.F>O.</i>, even though, like I said, I downloaded the albums I knew.

But now over the last year or so, I'm making a concerted effort to get the classic albums I don't have a physical copy of onto my shelves. And box sets are a great and economical way of doing that. The first box set I got was a three disc set on Budgie. Then some of the other bands I knew primarily from having downloaded their shit: Caravan, Atheist, Duster. Most recently there was a set of the albums Voivod made for Noise, and now the one I'm working through is Overkill's <i>The Atlantic Years</i>. <i>Feel the Fire</i> ain't included because it was Megaforce, but the three albums I knew, plus three others I didn't.

Like I say not through, but I am being reminded that if Overkill were a band that could produce a clunker or two they were also capable of absolute greatness. If you like metal at all, and don't know "Deny the Cross," stop fucking around with this post and go listen: it's a fucking rage that absolutely batters you with guitar.

And the "Overkill" tetralogy, "The Nightmare Continues" and "Evil Never Dies" and the rest and "Time to Kill" and "Electro-Violence," and even some doom/powergroove precongition with "Skullkrusher." Overkill to my mind were always more worthy of inclusion in the "Big Four" than Anthrax, and they're even still around: I might go even deeper. But for tomorrow, I'll be listening to "Horrorscope," and I'm looking forward to it.

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek day 4 prompt- tape recorders! once again post canon, but this time babes? it’s pure sappiness

~*~

When Martin dumps the box in front of him, Jon can’t help the sardonic huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Really? I would’ve thought you’d had enough enough of these damn things for a lifetime.”

Martin beams at him, obviously expecting a less than thrilled response to the charity shop cassettes. “Oh, believe me, I have. Buuuut..”

It’s clear Martin wants him to bite, and, what the hell, Jon can’t deny he’s curious. He sets aside the paperback he’s been thumbing through and asks, “But?”

“But it’s been a year and a half since we got here, and you know that I’ve been writing again, and the poems really do sound better on tape.”

“Oh..kay? Is that all? Because, love, you do know you can replicate that sound digitally, right? No need to bring..to bring those things into our home.”

“Aha! I knew you would say that, but, no, Jon, that’s not all. Remember how our therapist said something about softening bad associations by re-contextualizing items with new, positive memories, or whatever? I thought these would be a good start, considering they’re not quite so visceral as lotion or, eugh, peaches. And, yes, there’s always the whole possibility of something listening on the other side, but I have actually accounted for that. I’ve had the recorder in my bag for the past week, and I’ve taken it to all sorts of locations that would be considered interesting or scary, and nothing. I brought it to a job interview, for Christ’s sake, and not a peep. I am almost certain that we have total control over when the recordings start and stop, and who gets to listen to them. You have full veto power here, obviously, and you don’t have to record anything yourself, but, I thought it might be nice, to record just notes and grocery lists or songs stuck in our heads or whatever. Maybe we could make tapes into something mundane and maybe even pleasant, if a bit outdated.”

Standing up for a better viewpoint, Jon eyes the box of cassettes and, crammed in the corner, the recorder itself. He’s not overly enthused at the sight, and if it comes on by itself at any moment, he’s tossing everything into an industrial shredder and never looking back. Yet, it would be preferable to not wince at the sound of static, to be able to use the tape deck in their beater car. He knows already that he won’t be using it himself, the imagined press of the recorder in his hand more than enough to make his skin crawl and throat tighten. Just Martin’s voice, however, might be tolerable. Perhaps even enjoyable, on those rare occasions that they have to spend more than a handful of hours apart. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suppose it won’t hurt to try. Though I must admit my confidence in this experiment isn’t particularly high.”

Martin rewards his willingness to go along with this with a kiss to the temple, and informs him, “That’s fine. I can be optimistic for both of us on this one.”

~*~

The next morning, Jon rolls over to find an upsetting lack of warmth at his side. He opens his eyes to find his delightful boyfriend has been replaced with a cold, uncaring tape recorder. It’s apparently locked and loaded, as it has a sticky note in Martin’s loopy handwriting that says “Play me :-)”. With bated breath, he ever so carefully presses play.

Hello, love. Remember how we completely neglected to do our shopping on Tuesday? Turns out, we have zero breakfast food now. I’m grabbing some bagels from the cafe that’s too pricey for us to regularly justify, I’ll be back in 15. I love you.”

Huh. Not terrible. Maybe this is something Jon could get used to after all.

After that morning, and Jon’s lack of averse reaction to it, Martin keeps his word and begins to record all sorts of things. Little reminders for both of them, a spoken journal, affirmations for Jon, and, yes, grocery lists, despite Jon’s continued insistence that a whiteboard would be infinitely easier. Martin even manages to capture Jon on tape a few times, either singing or having a very earnest conversation with their incredibly chatty cat.

The wild thing is that it works. Jon doesn’t flinch at the sight of a cassette anymore. At worst, they’re mental background noise, nothing to take note of. At best, they’re audio treats, a physical token of something wonderful or peaceful or loving or all of the above.

This culminates six months later, when Jon finds a tape awaiting it. On it is a spoken clue from Martin, leading to another cassette. He follows the path, and he has to admit, he’s enjoying the playful puzzle. After being lead to a number of locations loaded with fond memories, he ends up in front of Martin, waiting on a bench in the park where they first woke up Here. He goes to sit next to him, and with a silent smile, he’s handed one final tape. Jon raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Martin doesn’t give away anything, just nodding at the recorder. Jon shrugs, and goes for it.

My dearest Jon,We’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count, and throughout it all, we’ve somehow managed to stick by each other. Right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, and I have an inkling that it’s much the same for you. While it’s largely a formality at this point, I would like to declare to the world that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and perhaps even beyond them, together. My love, my light, my anchor, will you marry me?

Okay. He can admit he’s glad to have that on tape.

[inkedtae]

boogie business ⇾ myg, kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ceo!taehyung x curvy!reader (f.) x ceo!yoongi

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ 80s au, smut, pwp, filth, poly au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ after making an executive decision without the consensus approval of your co-partners, they generously show you how it’s done in the boogie business.

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 8.9k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!taehyung, blonde mullet!taehyung, switch!yoongi, undercut!yoongi, sub!reader, mentions of smoking (cigarettes), rough sex, public sex, ddlg kink, humilition kink, size kink, tongue kink, threesome, overstimulation, degradation, double penatration, exhibitionism, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, oral (m. and f. receiving), deep throating, cockwarming, fingering (with big rings), choking, body worshipping, clit biting, spanking, teasing, begging, rimming, light bondage, anal, ass play, spit play, breath play, breast play

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ this is the thirsting result of the dynamite teaser and yoongi posting selfies only half an hour later… enjoy!

✼ banner by ⇾ @namluve (thank you so so so much hunbun~ // requested through bangtanhq’s request board) 

✼ beta’d by ⇾ @uhgood-dooghu​ (thank you a bunch dear~) and  @kkulmoon (you’re a champ for putting up with my thirsty ass lmao~)

✼ le playlist

Working late, you sit in your office. The neon glow of the downtown’s nightlife seeps into the room in hues of green and pink. The candy green cassette plays soft pop. Your white calf high, rubber boots tap along to the beat. Smacking your mint gum, you scribble notes about the demo in your little notepad. Owning a record company is hard, especially when you have two co-partners that cannot seem to agree with you on anything. However, it’s moments like this, moments you have alone with just the music that keep you grounded. You glance up at the glass walls that give you a full view of the empty office. With everyone long gone, you have the whole office to yourself too. It’s just the peaceful space you need to collect your thoughts before you really need to get to work. Humming along to the rhythm, you wonder what song this is. Maybe you can pick something like it on your way home. Though, you doubt you’ll be able to find it now. 

A loud creak halts your writing. Trailing your gaze upwards, you find your business partners standing in the doorway. You’ve been expecting them, but you haven’t counted on them looking this good. The taller one, in a sleek emerald suit and swept blonde hair, leans against the frame. His uneven eyes already cloud with lust. The other one, sporting an undercut pushed up by a headband and a grey suit, tips his yellow tinted sunglasses down to get a better look at you. He smirks then bites his lip as if to keep from chuckling. 

You flash them both a sarcastically sweet smile. “Now, now boys,” you mockingly pout. “You can do better than that. Why don’t you shut the door and try it again, with a little knock this time?”

Mr. Kim is not amused. He tenses his jaw. Mr. Min raises a brow, intrigued and impressed that you have the courage to speak to them with such acerbity. 

Licking his lips, Mr. Kim pushes himself off the doorframe and steps around Mr. Min. “That’s cute,” he seethes through a taunting smirk. Already you feel your blossom pink thong wettening, sticking to your folds. His voice is so deep, reaching low enough to make the pit of your stomach tingle. He rests his palms on the edge of your desk and leans forward. You sit back in your chair, all smiles and feigned sweetness falling from your features. “You think you can tell us what to do, hmm? Little girl has her own office and suddenly thinks she owns the place.” 

Mr. Min makes himself comfortable in one of your armchairs before your desk. He props his feet up on the table and lights himself a cigarette. “She just doesn’t understand the business yet, Taehyung,” he mumbles after a puff. 

You drag your gaze from Mr. Min to Taehyung, slightly lowering your chin to gaze at him through your lashes. And while Mr. Min finds it amusing, Taehyung is still unconvinced. He cups your face, thumb over your freshly pink glossed lips. “I’m not quite sure that’s how she works, Yoongi.”

“Have a seat,” Yoongi tells him. “And let’s try to get to the bottom of this.” 

Taehyung is reluctant to walk away. He pauses, stares, calculates. The corner of your lips twitch. Humming a low growl, he lets go of your chin and stands to his full height. You cannot help but stare up at him with a careful degree of innocence, then glancing at Yoongi shyly. Taehyung bites his lip and back peddles until he reaches the other armchair to take a seat. 

Gaze bouncing all over your torso, Yoongi rubs his chin. “All you have to do is find the next star,” he starts before taking another puff of smoke and passing the cigarette to Taehyung. “Is that not what we told you when we signed off the contracts for the merger? Do you remember what we told you?”

You nod. 

“Tell me,” he lazily orders. 

Though lacking depth, Yoongi’s voice is raspy, scratching at that uncharted terrority of lust within your soul. So tiresome, so unbothered, his orders still manage to ripple through you, pooling your core with a fresh dose of arousal. Gulping, you repeat their words in a squeak, “You find the voices; we’ll handle the music.”

Taehyung chuckles, a cloud of smoke breaking through his lips. But his vocal additions to the conversation start and end there. His eyes continue to speak for him instead. With a hard glare, he chews on his bottom lip and quickly quirks his brows. You cross your legs under the desk to relieve some tension, but it only makes you crave them even more. 

“You’re such a good listener, darling,” Yoongi praises with a gummy smirk. “See?” He glances at Taehyung before redirecting his attention to you. “This is why I’m so confused. You listen so well but you still misbehave. Is it something we did, maybe something we said that made you think you can approve demos?” 

Squirming in your seat, you pout at him. His once cold stare warms up a bit at the sight. His heart melts at submission, you realize. Sparing a glance at Taehyung, you find that he does not respond the same way. But, maybe some neglect of attention his way might get him to warm up to you a bit. Pushing your chair back, you stand up and circle around your desk to lean on the edge of it. The smack, smack, smack of your gum piques their interest, but it’s the tight pink, white, and pale green striped dress that captivates them. Their cocky defences fall upon it’s reveal, hungry eyes dancing around your curves. Taehyung almost drops the cigarette, quick to smudge it out in the ashtray and keep his hands free. 

Resting your hands back against your desk, you arch your chest out and innocently explain, “I thought it was great. The artist asked for my opinion and as an equal member of the company, I approved of it. I don’t see why that’s such an issue. I wouldn’t be so upset if you found an artist even though it may be my job.”

The sweetness of your voice snaps them back into their roles. They share a knowing look before Taehyung rises from his seat. His eyes linger on how your ass sits on the edge of the desk, on the way the tabletop pushes it up and elevates its thickness. Meeting your gaze once more, he unbuttons his vest and smirks. “You really don’t understand the boogie business, do you, babygirl?” He whispers, one hand resting on your waist while the other cups your cheek.

Chest suddenly heaving, you find it hard to breath. So wet, you can feel the stickiness of your arousal slick on your thighs as you press them together. His gaze is so intense, you cannot hold it for long. Instead, you look to Yoongi. He has his hand over his crotch and tongues his cheek at you. 

Taehyung nudges you back to him then kisses you. You lean into it without much thought or protest. Yoongi chuckles somewhere beside you, his callous fingers playing with the wavy hem of your dress. He pulls it up as Taehyung slips his tongue in. Playing around, Taehyung is quick to show you who’s in charge. He attacks your tongue only to stroke it with his own. 

Breaking the kiss, he starts to chew on your piece of gum. “Mm, minty,” he notes with a wink. 

“Oh?” Yoongi asks before replacing Taehyung’s hand on your chin with his own and directing your face towards him. Before you can even react, he presses his lips onto yours. He’s just as needy, but a bit more tamed. He gives you an opportunity to play with his tongue first before taking the plunge. 

You moan into Yoongi’s mouth and Taehyung’s grip on your waist tightens at the sound. You break the kiss to look over at him. Yoongi does not seem too bothered with that fact, trailing kisses down from your jaw to your neck. His hands seem to keep busy too, one resting on the small of your back while the other cups your right breast, the one closest to him. 

Tangling his fingers in your perfectly styled hair, Taehyung pulls you in for another wet kiss. That piece of gum bounces between your mouths, doused in your saliva before he takes it once more and pulls away. Your chin drips with strings of saliva, eyes already half lidded from the mere implication of what the two of them can do to you. If you had known this is what was in store, you would’ve signed that contract sooner. 

He’s supposed to say something now, but instead he just loosens his red and green striped tie and takes it off. You let out a shaky breath, one that Yoongi picks up on as he stops all his kisses on your collarbone and looks back at Taehyung. He quirks a brow at his business partner, but Taehyung does not spare him a glance. “Hold her hands back,” he orders instead. 

“But-”

“Now.”

You look between the two of them. Taehyung regards you with feral desire, but Yoongi is more curious, and hesitant to follow Taehyung’s instructions. But the bark in his tone does not leave anymore room for an argument. So Yoongi caves, guiding you up off the edge of the desk and holding your hands back. And though you’re supposed to look nervous, you cannot hide your excitement. Little smile playing on your lips and eyes lighting up with intrigue, you hold Taehyung’s cold stare. You assume that’s another reason why Yoongi eventually caved. Both men know you’re eager to see what all this boogie business really is about. 

Taehyung raises a brow, gaze drifting down your frame for a second. “No, wait,” he pauses and Yoongi instantly lets go of you. Smirking, Taehyung hands Yoongi his tie then presses his body against yours. His erection, hard and bulging, cannot be ignored. He rubs it against your stomach for a second as his fingers trail the hem of your dress. Pursing his lips, Taehyung spits on your cleavage. You gasp, leaning into him. The action surprises both men, but they must know that you had no control. It was reactive. He spits and you give in. You probably would’ve done the same if Yoongi had spit on you too. 

As if reading your thoughts, Yoongi steps forward and tests the theory out. He spits in your face and you find yourself moaning, leaning in for a kiss only to have him nudge your chin towards Taehyung. All three of you snap back into the moment with that redirection. 

“You’ve spoiled your dress, babygirl,” he tsks, feigning concern. “Let us help you out of it.” 

Yoongi grips onto the edge of your dress while Taehyung rests his hands on your thick thighs. And as your older partner pulls your dress off you, the younger one slides his hands up, following every curve and dip of your body to your fingertips. He then brings your hands down and has Yoongi tie them tightly behind you. All you can do is gawk up at Taehyung as he towers over you. 

He misinterprets the gesture, or you at least think that he must have, since he purses his lips once more and drops a wad of spit in your mouth. Your eyes flutter close upon tasting the warm, minty liquid then you swallow. Previously stone faced, Taehyung finds your reaction so amusing that he chuckles and calls Yoongi over. 

“Spit in her mouth,” he laughs, once Yoongi circles from behind you. Taehyung’s eyes sparkle with excitement while Yoongi raises a brow. 

After thumbing your chin to open your mouth, Yoongi spits in it. Your reaction is the same only this time you savour the taste a bit more. Taehyung may have that gum to chew away the remnants of the cigarette, but Yoongi doesn’t. His spit tastes a bit charred, like it had been smoked. And, for some reason, you feel the need to savour it more. This is not what was planned at all, but they must like seeing you like this. You like seeing them like this. You open your mouth again, turning to Taehyung. The action is obvious. He knows you want another taste of his tongue, but he doesn’t give it to you. Instead, he sticks to what he’s supposed to be doing; punishing you. 

Yoongi tosses your dress somewhere in your office, distracted by the way your thong disappears between your cheeks. He tugs at the hem to find it as Taehyung kisses his way from your neck to the valley of your breasts. You’re not sure what to do even though you’ve been in this situation often. These men are different. Taehyung takes what he wants. He’s impulsive and instant. Yoongi adores dotting on you. The only thing he takes is his time. He’s patient and calculative. Shifting behind you, he nuzzles his nose through your hair and against the nape of your neck. They inhale your cherry lime scent in tandem, making you shiver with lust. 

Their cohesive force only starts there. The moment Taehyung cups your bare breasts, Yoongi does the same to your revealed asscheeks. Slap, clap, slap, clap, they alternate sides but the result is consistent. Your ass and tits jiggle with each hit, moans tumbling out of you. What have you done to be trapped in such a heavenly position? The thought almost troubleshoots your words back to you. 

“That hurts, daddy,” you pout. 

It doesn’t. Not too much anyway. But the complaint sparks something even darker within them. Taehyung lifts his face from between your breasts, sharing a sinister smile with Yoongi. “We hear you,” he smirks at you, groping your breasts like he owns you. “But we’re going to hit you harder anyways.”

“Sound familiar?” Yoongi questions in a whisper, lips pressed against your ear.

You’re supposed to reply, but they both seem to be eager to continue this punishment, cutting your words out again with more smacks. The stings ignite ripples of excited nerves to your core. The space between your legs is sticky, tacky, and sopping with your arousal. You don’t need to see it or reach a hand down to know that’s the case. Every hit sends a new rush of juices, coating your thighs with your horniness too. Clenching your fists, you try to resist the urge to stop Yoongi’s hand or fight against the silk tie. 

Taehyung growls, so fascinated by the way your tits bounce with each smack. He dives his face back between them, teeth out and attacking while his tongue soothes the little bite wounds. Groping your breasts, he rubs the pain he caused away. Whining, you gaze down at him. He’s all too focused to look back up at you, but just watching him nibble on your skin then lick over it has your pussy clenching, tightening for that kind of attention too. 

The hesitance lingers behind you. Yoongi is having trouble focusing on the punishment, wanting to ravish you as well. After one last smack, and a loud moan from you, he allows himself to get lost in the way your ass shakes. “What do you have to say for yourself, slut?” He questions on his knees in that rough rasp before his tongue meets your cheeks. 

They both seem to have an affinity for using their tongues. What a warm and wet surprise it is to have it all over you. Digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass, Yoongi pushes your cheeks up and slobbers all over your asshole. His tongue is heavy, moist, and highly skilled in making you scream, as you have already done so thrice from just two laps against your tightest hole.

“I-” You start only for Yoongi to cut you off. 

He groans after accidentally sneaking a taste of your wetness, piquing Taehyung’s interest too. Though he still holds onto your breasts, Taehyung lifts his head and peeks over at Yoongi on his knees behind you. Chuckling, he asks, “Does she taste sorry?”

You nod rapidly, leaning forward towards Taehyung to arch your back and give Yoongi a better grip on your ass. Taehyung smirks at you as he chews on your piece of gum. He looks absolutely sinful, but it’s the way Yoongi drags your arousal to your asshole and pushes his tongue in to ensure less resistance that has your jaw slack and eyes twitching. “Ahh, d-daddy,” you squeal as your knees tremble. 

“I need a better look to know for sure,” Yoongi replies, looking over to Taehyung and ignoring the way you whine at the loss of contact. 

Taehyung nods and nonchalantly suggests that Yoongi might be more comfortable on his back. He then turns back to you and wraps his hands around your neck. You can feel Yoongi pushing your legs apart and making himself comfortable beneath you. But, Taehyung refuses to let you watch his business partner gasp and gape at your drenched, thong covered pussy. He pulses his grip and whispers, “Feel that?” When you rush to nod, he says, “That’s how my cock will feel when it’s deep in there.” 

Holy shit. He’s not supposed to say that. He’s completely taken this entire interaction into his own hands. It’s his show now and both, you and Yoongi, will follow every little thing he wants. That’s clear enough in his eyes. And though you know you can easily call all this off, stop every single hand on you and step away from this, you don’t want to. It’s not at all what you signed up for; it’s better. 

You gasp, eyes watering from the ache of your pathetically needy pussy as Taehyung guides you down on your knees. Your crotch hovers over Yoongi’s face. As Taehyung tightens his hold around your neck, Yoongi brushes the top of his giant ruby jeweled ring between your clothed folds. You shutter through a dry sob. They’ve barely done a thing and you’re coming apart. You can cum in this very moment. The image of Taehyung towering over you, his concealed cock inches from your face, and Yoongi laid out under you, rings teasing, is ecstasy enough. 

“Beg a little.”

Taehyung’s orders are always so cryptic. Yoongi’s are blunt, straight to the point and sting far worse than any of their spankings have. But Taehyung enjoys making you search for the answer. He loves watching your gaze shift as you wonder who to beg to first. You want that ring to stretch you just as badly as you want Taehyung’s cock to alienate your throat. Chewing on your lip, you glance down at Yoongi, who merely raises his brows. If he’s growing impatient, you worry that Taehyung’s patience might be nonexistent now. 

Feeling him readjust his grip, most likely to cut your breath off for your defiance, you’re quick to plead, “Please just fucking ruin me, Daddys. Ple-” 

Yoongi shoves his fingers in and you find that you’ve miscalculated. It wasn’t one ring, but two. Three fingers, two rings and one fast pace of destruction as Yoongi holds your thong aside with his free hand. Mouth falling open, you scream from the sweet stretch. If they hadn’t made you this wet, that first pluge would’ve shocked your body still with pain. But, with the amount of arousal they’ve coaxed out of you, it all slides in so easily. 

Taehyung takes your wide gaping lips as an invitation in. While you’re distracted with the way those rings brush up so perfectly against your tight walls, he pulls out his cock and slips it into your mouth. Crossing your eyes down on his cock, you moan around him. Less than a quarter of him is in you, but he’s still so thick, so heavy, so fucking big. Your jaw’s straining, on the verge of aching from the sheer weight of him. And he’s so fucking veiny. Is Yoongi this veiny too? This fucking huge? 

Hypnotized by the sight of Taehyung’s cock and the waves of pleasure from Yoongi’s rings, you fall out of your role. They both had verged off their goal of punishing you. Why should you continue to act like this is terrible when it’s all you’ve dreamed of. Hips rolling into Yoongi’s long fingers, you relax your throat and snap your gaze up to Taehyung. He sees something different swimming in your eyes. No more does that innocent act exist. If they want to flex their years of experience, then so will you. 

Before he can react, you take him all in one go and hold him there. You gag, moan, and drool, saliva falling over Yoongi’s forehead, making him groan. Taehyung furrows his brows, lips in a scowl. He looks completely at your mercy. His board chest heaves at the sight of you so fucking compliate and eager to please. In the same rhythm Taehyung pressed around your neck, his cock pulses in your throat. It makes you cry, quite shamelessly, but it is not what makes you whine. 

“Oh, is that what you are?” Taehyung questions. “A fucking cocksleeve? Babygirl wants her daddys to use her, hmm?”

Is that really the impression you’re giving? You barely even had to play into it. These men really brought out your most feral, unbounded side and let you run wild. And within what, the first ten minutes? This is not how it’s supposed to go. You’re supposed to talk more, flirt, establish a base to build off of before any dicks and tits are whipped out. And even as you are thinking all this, you cannot refuse the sexual call these two hold on your very body. It’s almost as if you were made for this kind of praise and attention from Taehyung and Yoongi only, no one else. They each reach a different side of you that you have not even discovered yet. 

You nod your head slightly in response to Taehyung’s questions. He smirks down at you as if allowing you to be used as such, as the cocksleeve you so proudly are. 

Though, your reign of pride ends there. Mewling desperately, your eyes widen as Yoongi pulls his fingers out, almost losing his rings from your tightness in the process. Ignoring your muffled protests against his decision, he barks, “Sit the fuck down, babygirl.” 

You cannot resist that order, let alone his voice. Instantly, you drop your pussy down on his face. Very little care and grace greets that action, but you are confident that he will find his way through. And he does. With your panties already pushed aside, Yoongi slurps up your juices within seconds of your land. He gruffs and grunts and you’re worried that you might be suffocating him until you feel him hold your thighs down on him like he wants you to do so, to take all the air out of him and replace his life source with your arousal instead. 

He’s a beast down there, but that doesn’t allow you to forget that you have a beast lodged down your throat too. While Yoongi is drowning in your pussy, you’re choking on Taehyung’s cock. Warming his length in your mouth has teased him enough, it would seem, as he flares his nostrils and glares down at you. He wants to be upset, wants to be furious, yet his eyes tell a different story. Pupils dilated and gaze soft, all you can see is a needy, desperate daddy in need of some release. 

And who the fuck are you to deny him that? 

Pulling him out, you leave his tip resting on your lips as you huff for air through your nose. You moan and whine at Yoongi’s ministrations below, rolling your hips into his mouth, then open up your own when you see Taehyung sneering at you. “Did Daddy tell you to stop?” He hisses. 

Was that rhetorical? You suppose it must have been since he rams his cock back in your mouth, denying you the opportunity to answer. This may be seen as a disadvantage if he wasn’t doing what he knows you want him to, if he wasn’t using your mouth like his personal cocksleeve. 

You hold your breath. In and out goes his cock, hips jolting with every moan of yours that vibrates around him. You’re being dined while dining. Is this always how the boogie business goes? If so, you have no problem getting down with it. 

“Yoongi, she’s so adaptable,” Taehyung groans over your gagging whines. “So eager to learn and please.” 

Mouth full of pussy, Yoongi mutters something against your folds and Taehyung chuckles, agreeing. The sight might have been more amusing to you if that little ripple of vibration from Yoongi’s response with his tongue darting in and out of you hadn’t taken you over the edge. Fighting against Taehyung’s grip on your hair, you try your best to pull him out of your mouth before you completely fall apart. 

Taehyung’s still deep in you. Yoongi holds you in place. You are trapped and cumming while choking on moans, gags, whines, and a monster cock. Body shaking, you try to loosen your tied hands from their place behind you. All you need is a moment to ground yourself and try not to pass out from the mere wave of ecstasy that overwhelms you. With your head tilted back, Taehyung rams into your throat, unbarred and unleashed. Yoongi slurps you down below all the while. Your tears are boundless, streaming down your face. Both men hold very little remorse for the waves of pleasure they caused you. 

“Babygirl is cumming,” Taehyung laughs, cooing down at you. Of course, it’s all while he’s thrusting in your mouth like the true toy you are.

“So sweet,” Yoongi seems to mumble. “So cute.”

He shakes his face between your legs as you grind down against him. You’re so eager to ride out this orgasm… until you’re not. Like a switch the pleasure flashed into hints of pain. Too much is the constant attack on your clit, the intrusion of your pussy. Too much is the warmth of his wet mouth. Too much is his tongue technology. You understand why they call him that now. There really isn’t anything that tongue can’t do, especially you. 

Petting your hair back, Taehyung could have easily given the impression that he’s gentle. But his cock is jerking into you at an ungodly speed. “So precious,” he smiles, smacking that piece of gum like he did your tits. 

There’s something in his tone though. Or maybe it’s the overstimulation of Yoongi’s tongue. Either way, you’re sobbing. Moans and cries escape you from the overwhelming pleasure and Taehyung suddenly breaks this Daddy character, and pulls his cock out. Yoongi halts all movements as well. He tires to lift you off him, but you only seem to want to grind further into his mouth, even if it means more blissful pleasure. 

You heave freely with Taehyung’s cock now vancat from your throat and cry to your heart's content. “Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you whine with every circle of your hips. 

Both men understand the cause now, and neither are pleased. Taehyung grasps onto your neck, digging his fingers in. Yoongi grazes his teeth on your clit, nibbling on it instead of sucking. You scream. Your once rolling eyes shoot open at the harsh actions. Taehyung lifts you up from his grip on your throat. You’re having trouble staying upright. Still, Yoongi slips out from underneath you. He wraps his arm around your waist and to keep you steady, telling Taehyung, “Get down there. She’s a fucking treat.” 

Taehyung smirks, admiring the way you have completely smeared Yoongi’s face with your orgasm. He gets on his knees as you whine, “But, it’s too much, Daddy!”

Yoongi tsks. He smacks your ass with one hand and gropes one of your tits with the other. “No, no, babygirl,” he sighs. Up close, you can see every wet sheen of your arousal all over his face. You can smell yourself off him even inches apart. An involuntarily whine escapes you at the sight. Then a louder one fills the room when Taehyung takes a long, slow lap from your entrance to your clit. They’ve only just started. You’re already ruined. 

“Nothing is too much for you, remember?” he asks before pressing his lips to yours. Taehyung goes in for another taste. You whimper. Yoongi spanks. “You took our duties, our jobs. That wasn’t too much for you, was it?” 

Shivering against Taehyung’s face, you nod to Yoongi. “It was! It was!” You cry just to get Taehyung out from under there. His tongue is just as warm and wet. However, his approach to savour every bit of you he tastes just might drive you crazy. You’re not even supposed to give in yet, but he’s already going to make you cum a second time. 

And he feels it. 

“Hmm,” Yoongi hums before nodding. “Maybe bending you over might help make sure the message sticks. What do you think, Tae?”

Taehyung’s too consumed with your pussy to look up at either of you. “Once she cums in my mouth too,” he mutters before feasting on you as well.

All it takes is five good jabs of his tongue in you before your legs are giving out and Yoongi has to cradle you to his chest to keep you standing. Kissing your cock bruised neck, Yoongi asks, “She’s delicious, right?” 

“Fucking juicy,” Taehyung mumbles between slurps. 

Or, at least you think that’s what they’re staying. Cumming twice in a row has you somewhat dizzy. Your ears are full of distortion, voices morphed and distant. Your vision is not any better as your tears only seem to blur it and the rush of ecstasy to your brain fogs your mind. Are you even thinking straight? You don’t think you’d ever know with Taehyung’s tongue still against you. The safe word is on the tip of your tongue but you don’t want to say it. You want them to continue to use you as they please. They’re having so much fun dominating you, playing off each other’s reactions to your body. You cannot end this fun for them, or yourself. This is the best fuck you’ve had since you came into this business and they haven’t even stuffed you with their cocks yet. 

Taehyung suddenly emerges beside Yoongi. The effects of both their tongues are so lasting, it seems as though you can still feel their faces between your legs. Yoongi shushes your little mewls as Taehyung cups your cheek. “See what happens when you have too much on your plate?” He questions. 

You nod but neither one of them acknowledges it. Instead, they get you into the next position. On your knees, Yoongi stands in front of you and Taehyung behind. You bend forward and spread your legs, looking over your shoulder to find Taehyung admiring the view. The sound of Yoongi’s zipper pulls your attention back to the front. His cock springs out and it’s just as enormous as Taehyung’s. Yoongi looks slightly thicker though. 

Mouth watering, you reach forward to wrap your lips around the tip, but Yoongi tugs your head back with a tight grip of your head. “Did you ask?” 

When did he get so cold? You pout and his expression somewhat softens but his point still stands. No, you didn’t ask. But, you hope that the exaggerated innocence in your eyes is enough to grant you what you want without the continuous betrayal of your dignity and power. Why must you always ask? That was never planned. In their eyes though, you know it’s what they both want. And Yoongi has no problem showing you that. 

Taehyung, about to push into you, hesitates for a second. Upon only hearing the demo you approved on the cassette player and not your needy begs, he growls. Your ass jiggles once more with the force of his spanks. “Too busying being a slut, you forgot your manners?” He asks between spanks. 

Yoongi watches your face wince, smirking when he hears you whine. “A good cocksleeve begs to be used,” he adds. “Can’t you do any of your jobs correctly? How long do we need to keep fucking you into your place?”

“As long as it takes until I’m satisfied.” 

Both of them freeze. They never agreed to you being this bratty. You’re supposed to be meek and easy to control. Their dominance brings something else out of you, though. It’s almost as if they’re coaxing you into talking back and when have you ever been able to resist them? 

Taehyung gropes your ass, pushing the supple flesh up. Your breath hitches. Not being able to see the anger in his eyes is chilling. However, Yoongi’s frozen frame is terrifying. You also cannot read his expression for the life of you. Leaving you in suspense seems to be his method of punishment. Taehyung, though, decides that teasing your asshole is even more torturous. 

A breathless gasp escapes you as he spits on your gaping hole. Long fingers swiping through your folds, Taehyung brings your orgasm up to your ass. Staring up at Yoongi, you realize Taehyung’s not teasing you. He’s preparing you. The new conclusion has you spreading your legs even more, inviting him in. 

“Satisfied?” Yoongi asks, finally breaking the thick silence between the three of you. His voice drips with sarcasm. Completely unamused, he leans down and shakes his head, “No, babygirl. Satisfaction is not our goal.” He tugs your hair back, your mouth falling open for a gasp. “Discipline is.” 

The moment Taehyung begins to push his tip into your asshole, Yoongi shoves his cock down your throat. Having seen the challenging look in your eye, Yoongi does not give you any time to adjust. He snaps his hips up into your mouth, your throat walls burning from the forced stretch of his thick girth. Your tears return but you do not care. Gagging and whining, you show him that you’re fine being used. 

Behind you, Taehyung is a bit more considerate… until he realizes there’s little to no resistance around his cock. Your ass adjusts to him a bit slower than usual, but quicker than most others. It’s obvious you’ve been in this position before. You’re not sure if that’s what’s got Taehyung switching the pace of his thrusts or if it’s merely the fact that he thinks you can take a rough fucking, but either way he’s giving you his all. You barely even have to bob your head around Yoongi’s cock now. The force of Taehyung’s body smacking against yours is enough to rock you back and forth. 

“That’s right, you incompetent slut!” He shouts behind you like he’s supposed to. “Suck his fucking cock!”

Yoongi chuckles a bit through raspy moans at his business partner’s words. Moving his hands to his hips, he watches your tearfully innocent eyes as you look up at him and choke on his dick. “She’s so pretty like this,” he smirks between grunts. 

Taehyung rumbles a deep laugh, his thrusts never missing a beat. “Isn’t she?”

Their compliments should put you off. But, you can’t help the swell of pride in your chest. They think you’re pretty on your knees with a mouthful of CEO dick. You cannot argue against that logic, squealing to show them your agreement. 

Everything you do seems to be a source of amusement, even when you’re supposed to be disciplined and punished. You knew they were wrapped around your finger the moment you got up from that chair and walked around your desk. The way they ogled your dress and curves makes you think that they might as well have undressed you there and then. So the fact that they chuckle at your reactions and responses, call you cute, pretty and precious as they fuck both ends, makes you hornier for both of them. You are unable to envision one of them near you without the other around. 

Taehyung twitches inside you. It makes you moan and hollow your cheeks around Yoongi’s cock. You don’t care if you’re supposed to be learning some sort of lesson right now. Both of them need to cum inside you, filling up both your holes at the same fucking time. However, while Taehyung is on the verge of releasing any second now, Yoongi seems to need more convincing. He’s into it and reveling in the way your lips wrap around his length, but he needs more than just a sucking to get off, you conclude. If only you can use your hands. You’d play with his balls too and really drive him insane. 

Yoongi’s cock pops out of your mouth as Taehyung wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap. Holding you still, he circles his hips against your ass and shoots his warm cum deep in you. Yoongi groans and steps forward. In the midst of your high pitched moans from the erotic sensation, Yoongi grips onto your hair and returns his cock in its place down your throat. 

“If you got something to say, slut, say it on my dick like a good babygirl,” he seethes. 

He’s unbarred now, not letting his amusement get the best of him anymore. He continues to fuck your mouth while Taehyung nuzzles his face into your back and fills you of his load with the roars of his pleasure. Not too long after that, Yoongi fulfils your goal of having both your holes filled. He has your cheeks puffed with his lust too. Then, he slowly pulls out and orders you to swallow. You’re a professional, knowing when to breath and when to swallow to ensure you get every last drop in your mouth. With every gulp, your throat tightens around his cock. He throws his head back as grunts and curses escape him.

Once you’ve flattened your cheeks and Yoongi is completely out of you, Taehyung shoves you forward and pulls himself out too. His cum follows along. It trails down to your pussy in thick globs. You shudder, pressing your cheek against the wet shag rug. Wait… why is it wet? Looking up you find a puddle of Yoongi’s cum soaked in the rug. Have they both fucked you so hard that you’ve completely lost a hold of yourself? Your cheek is stained by his white cum, but neither one of them seems too concerned by that. 

Gasping for air, you try to recollect yourself and stick to the next part. You’re meant to ride one of them now while the other has another go at your ass. But Taehyung suddenly performs the unexpected. He begins to untie your hands. They both have a habit of following directions until they don’t want to. But they’re professionals too so you suppose that they know what they’re doing. 

“On your feet,” he orders in a gruff voice. All that moaning seems to have taken a toll on his vocal chords. Your voice is also shot from the dual attack on your throat. Now every moan and whine that leaves you trickles out in a horse croak. 

Pushing yourself up, you shakily return to your feet. It’s a bit odd using your hands now after having them bound for so long. You almost feel like they should’ve kept them behind you for the next round. It doesn’t matter much now though since you can’t even summon the words to tell them this. You didn’t cum, but it sure feels like you did. Still clouded and stumbling, you try to regulate your heartbeat. Both men hold onto one of your arms to keep you stable, but that only does so much. Knowing you’re going to fall, you stumble and lean into Taehyung. 

He laughs and gropes your tender asscheeks to press you against him. He’s still hard. They both are. Not a lot of men in this business can continue to perform this well in such a short timeframe. But, you suppose that’s what makes them such professionals. 

“What do you think, Tae? She learned her lesson yet?” Yoongi asks behind you, pushing your hair aside to bury his face in the crook of your neck. 

Taehyung hums in thought. He stares into your soul with that cocky sparkle in his eye. His face glistens with sweat, adding a heavenly glow to his unholy features of beauty. You wonder if you still look that good or if they’ve messed you up so hard that you’ve become a total wreck.

As Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, Taehyung swipes the pad of his thumb from under your chin. Shit, have you been drooling or is that just the slobbery remnants of Yoongi’s fuck in your mouth. Taehyung smirks and shoves his thumb into your mouth. You taste Yoongi’s salty cum. 

“I think one last round should pound her back in her place,” Taehyung finally replies.

You’re not given a chance to speak as he lifts you up by the grip on your ass. The wrap of your legs around his waist is instant to which he smirks and shifts his jaw. Wait, is he still chewing that piece of gum? Your taste must be entrenched in it based on how he ate you out not too long ago. He’s either genuinely interested in you or just that committed to his role. 

Taehyung shifts his grip up to your waist while Yoongi moves his down to your ass. You know what’s coming, but you don’t think you’ll be able to stay as coherent as they’ll want you to be. You shudder a breath then hear their colliding chuckles at your anticipation. 

Yoongi kisses your shoulder saying, “Relax, babygirl. Your Daddys are just teaching you how to behave.”

“Be a good girl and next time we’ll take turns,” Taehyung adds.

The idea of doing this all over has your eyes widening. Taehyung huffs a chuckle at your reaction then nudges you back into leaning against Yoongi. “She’s fucking adorable,” he tells him. 

Yoongi nods. He kisses your temple then replies, “So cute, it almost makes me want to let her get away with acting like a sluty little brat.”

He tucks his cock between your cheeks, letting his length glide up and down. Taehyung adopts the same technique. His hard length also grinds between your folds, but doesn’t enter. You still mewl and rile your head from side to side. Everything feels so sensitive and raw. Your pussy is quivering and ass shaking from the little bits of friction against your clit and tight hole. 

It’s all too much without being enough. The teasing impression of their dicks so close to ruining you but all holes so empty has you groaning out in frustration, “Just fuck me already! Fucking stuff me until I can’t function!” 

Taehyung growls, slapping your breasts with one hand. “Where are your fucking manners, you little bitch? You still think you can demand shit from us, huh?”

Yoongi bites on your neck, nibbling on your flesh all while Taehyung scolds you. “Where’s our good girl? Fucking ask politely or you won’t cum at all,” he threatens, voice thick with lust but not at all as aggressive as his business partner. 

You let out a loud whine like a child throwing a tantrum. You’ve noticed that they’d usually soften up when you act as meek as this, but they’re just not yielding this time. Pouting, you cave in and desperately beg, “Pretty please use my holes, Daddys. Please, please, please just fucking ruin me. I don’t want to walk without your cum dripping out of me.”

They share a cocky look. One, two, three beats of silence with only that demo playing in the background and they still haven’t made any sort of effort to enter you. It must not have been enough, you think. Parting your lips, you go to beg all over again, so needy to feel full that you don’t care how much of a pathetic whore you sound like. 

In unison, they push in you. The collided catastrophe of their moans rattles your bones and warms your blood. Then, there’s the simultaneous stretch of both your holes. Full does not begin to describe how well they don’t fit in you. They’re splitting you open, tearing you apart so beautifully, you can’t even breathe. A loud, long scream escapes you as they bottom out. 

You thought Yoongi would slip in so easily with your ass already having been stretched by Taehyung’s monster cock. But, you forgot that Yoongi is slightly thicker meaning he stretches you a bit more. And Taehyung’s cock in your pussy barely even pushes its way through. 

“Tightest babygirl, huh?” Taehyung asks over your screams.  

Yoongi only hisses in response. His face continues to nuzzle into the crook of your neck. That tongue of his does not take a day off, working around every inch of your skin as they’re joined thrusts begin. 

Open for their pleasure, tears of ecstasy pool in your eyes. They start to bounce you back and forth between them. Cock in your ass means one pulling back from your pussy. Left and right, up and down you’re passed between them. Your grip around Yoongi’s head and Taehyung’s shoulder tightens. It doesn’t help you out much since you’re still losing your mind with how good they're pounding you. Taehyung presses his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans as he tastes Yoongi on your tongue. You feel that piece of gum hop around your tongues but Taehyung doesn’t let you take it back. 

“We know you’re a good girl,” he mutters against your lips while you pout and nod rapidly. “You’re the bestest little one. But you have to learn where you belong, baby.” 

Yoongi pushes the meat of your ass up with one hand while his other massages your tit. “Do you have anything to say to your Daddys?” He questions against your jawline. 

You want to answer but Taehyung’s praises and the joined sound of their pleasure has completely stolen your voice. You cannot even summon the words to reply. All that leaves you is squealing cries of bliss. And they’re getting impatient. Enough of that hopping around. They keep you still to ram into you at the same time instead. 

“I’m sorry!” You cry, voice breaking from the pleasure. “I’m sorry for- Ahh Daddys, Daddys please!” 

Your vision keeps blanking, flashing blurry images of Taehyung and Yoongi. They’re not too bothered by that though. It’s that broken sentence you didn’t finish that’s consumed their attention. 

“For what?” Taehyung growls. His grip is becoming deadly. 

Another meek squeal of a moan leaves you as you force yourself to answer, “For not doing my job. Ah-ha, I’m so fucking close!” 

Yoongi purrs praises of encouragement in your ear. But Taehyung wants more out of you. The three of you know that’s not all you should be sorry for. Though, just as you’re squeezing around them and losing control over your entire body, so are they. Their thrusts don’t match anymore even if they are still fast and rough. Each man has taken a different consistency of destroying your holes until they can only accept their cocks. 

Breasts bouncing, skin slapping, holes clenching, you screech the loudest, earaching whine and cum. Taehyung sighs, his load not too far behind. You do not register it at first. Your eyes have rolled back your head, and your body convulses so hard that you almost slip from their combined grip. That extra force down on Yoongi’s cock also has him filling your hole up to the brim. 

In, in, in. They continue to go in and imprint themselves within you. Your legs around Taehyung are starting to slip and in the midst of his own orgasm, he’s having a hard time concentrating on keeping you up. One of your legs fall and this new angle knocks the life out of you. You gasp, eyes shut, and lose the ability to speak entirely.

It’s a complete blur from there. Holes leak, cocks soften. However, their thrusts are still persisting, as if they’re not ready to let go of you yet. At one point, they both shove their tongues in your mouth at the same time and kiss the life back in you. Your eyes flutter open but vision does not fully return. You think they’re out of you. Their cum leaks out, or you think it does. You think you can feel it trickling down your legs. 

Back in your dress, they’ve somehow clothed you again. It is now you register the fact that they’ve degraded you so much to the point that they remained dressed while you were stark naked, your white boots and pink thong the only items of concealment you were offered. It makes you crave them all over again, even when you know you can’t take them so soon. 

They sit you down back in your seat behind your desk. After tucking themselves back in, Yoongi fixes his shirt and belt. Taehyung puts his tie back on and sweeps his hair back from the sides with both hands. 

Smiling, Yoongi puts his yellow shades on and asks, “All is forgiven, babygirl… This time anyway.”

Taehyung rolls his sleeves as Yoongi speaks, then takes out a cigarette. He lights it, takes a puff then bumps his fist against Yoongi’s. Smoke out, he smirks, “And that’s the boogie business.”

“Annnnnnnd cut!” 

The lights of the studio come alive all at once. Out of the eighties and back into the twenty-first century, all three of you return. The two men in front of you fall to their knees the moment cameras are off. You fall forward, folding your arms on your desk and resting your head on them. You know you’re a total mess. Nothing went according to the script and you hope they don’t make you all redo this after a touch up to your hair and make up. 

The director claps, stepping onto the set. “Well done,” he beams before turning around. “That’s a wrap for Boogie Business.” 

Sitting back up, you catch both Yoongi and Taehyung already staring at you. The video is done but they still have that look of absolute sin in their eyes. You furrow your brows as someone offers you a towel and a bottle of water. Set designers are already working on tearing the little retro office apart. The crew is packing up their equipment. And still, these two pornstars look ready to devour you all over again even in their exhausted state. 

This is usually the time when you stop pretending to have been worn up and stand up like nothing happened. You’d go to your seat near the hair and makeup section and get your face all clean from whatever sexual endeavours you’ve agreed to. Only this time, none of your performance was exaggerated. You truly came all those times and apologized for something you didn’t really do. Honestly, you enjoyed your time with both of them. They’ve very big in the porn industry, their reputations of owning a scene really rings true. So you are honoured to have worked with them. 

You raise a brow, wiping your mouth and face. Every part of you wants to get up. You’ve done your job and done it well. But, you’re half conscious and completely aching all over. They did exactly as you asked. They ruined you. 

“Good job, boys,” you smile after a few gulps of water.

A crew member offers each of them a bottle of water and towel too. They raise to their feet and clean themselves up. Taehyung approaches the prop desk first, tossing his towel and water on the surface like he really is a CEO of a record company. “You really came,” he mutters, sounding surprised. “Three fucking times? Is that what you also do?”

You don’t think too much of his shocked tone. Being a pornstar is a job after all and finishing is not always a guarantee. You smirk as Yoongi approaches the desk as well with the same impressed look. “Mhm,” you hum innocently. Their eyes light up. “And you both did too. It happens sometimes. I don’t see the issue.” 

Tossing a glance at each other, both men share a look. You freeze. It’s identical to the ones they’ve been giving each other the entire time while filming. Were they…Were they serious? Is that why they delved off the book so many times? They really wanted to fuck you. You’re not one to complain or judge since you really wanted it too, but you expected all this to be an act. 

“Do you have anywhere to be?” Yoongi asks. 

You bite your lip. Looking between them, you feel rejuvenated with horny energy all over again. “No,” you smile. 

Taehyung nods. “You do now. Meet us at my trailer in twenty.” He smiles at Yoongi before looking back at you. “There’s still a couple of things we’d like to try.”

You have a rule against getting involved with coworkers. But, clearly, these two men seem to be something more. You couldn’t resist them before and you sure as hell can't resist them now. Sitting back in your seat, you cross your cum slick legs and nod. “Yes, Daddys,” you chime in your most delicate voice. 

Their eyes darken.

With a lasting smirk and innocent giggle you add, “Anything you want.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[hiscyarika]

Landslide: Chapter Three

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: Reader revisits the life that she and Javier once shared together. Javier seeks to escape his father’s haunting words. 

Warning(s): Angst, Alcohol Use/Drunkenness 

A/N: So it’s only been three days since I posted Ch2, but here you go anyways. I put my heart and soul into this chapter, and I just hope that you guys are really able to connect with it and feel something when you read it. It’s a lot of angst, but this is a really important chapter, and a bit of a turning point for Javier and Reader. Thank you all so, so much for the lovely responses that I have gotten for this series. It really means the world to me. I reread the comments all the time because I just can’t believe that you all are enjoying this so much. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you 💙 And a special thank you to both @aerynwrites and @bestintheparsec for reading this chapter over before I published it. The amount of stupid mistakes you guys caught for me is astounding. Thank heavens I’ve got you or this would be some serious clownery 😂❤️ I love you both endlessly!

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Chapter One, Chapter Two

(Gif by @pascvl​, originally from this post) Please let me know if you’d rather me not use the gif. I’ll remove it immediately! No questions asked.

You shake your head as your mother brings over another box of old junk to sort through. “Mom, promise me you’ll never hoard things like this again,” you tease, chuckling softly and rolling your eyes. You then take a seat next to her on the floor of the attic, ready to help her sort through the items.

“Now you just listen,” she starts, “Some of this stuff can make us a few bucks in the community yard sale.”

“You’re gonna need your own entire estate sale to get rid of all this,” you reply, pulling out the heavy case at the top of the box. It immediately catches your eye, and you laugh as you realize what it is. “I think everything in here is mine,” you tell her, beginning to unzip the aged leather case.

Your mother searches the surface of the cardboard box, looking up at you again when she finds what she’s looking for. “Ah, yes!,” she confirms, “This is some of the stuff we boxed up after you left for San Antonio, when you were working as a secretary for that law firm.”

You open the case, smiling when you see the old typewriter it holds. Dust covers every inch of the little machine, and you giggle softly as you press down on a few of the keys, causing the strikers to shoot up, though there’s no paper for them to mark. “I remember when I got this. It was the first one I had for myself. Dad was so happy I wasn’t using his all the time.” You zip up the case and set it aside. The task of cleaning things out for the yard sale has been forgotten.

“Oh, yes. He would gripe at me all the time, telling me you needed to quit using all of his paper and ink,” your mother tells you, laughing right along with you. She reaches into the box next, pulling out a rather large photo album. She puts it on the floor between you, and you feel a light blush come to your cheeks as she starts to go through all of the pictures she has from your childhood. You remember well that she always had her camera out. She never wanted to miss the opportunity to capture a memory, no matter how silly it might have seemed in the moment.

The two of you go on that way for some time, flipping through the pages of the album. You listen to her as she tells you the stories behind many of the pictures, from times that you were too young to remember. It’s nice, being able to indulge in more lighthearted nostalgia–certainly a welcome change from the more painful memories that you’ve been forced to relive in the last couple of weeks.

Once you’ve gone through the photo album, you continue to pull random things from the box. More long-forgotten trinkets from your teen and college years. It’s nearly an hour later that you make it to the bottom, where you find one last treasure. It’s a shoebox, though as you lift it, you’re not sure what it contains. It’s only when you bring it closer to you that you can read the words on the lid.

Javier - Mi Corazón

You stare at those three words for what feels like a lifetime. They’re written in your elegant handwriting with a thick black marker. You lightly trace the flourished “J” of his name with your finger. You remember the day you put it all together, and you know already a bit of what you’ll find when you open the box.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and at your silence your mother leans closer. She frowns when she too reads what’s on the box. “Give that here, love. I’ll put it away. I’m sorry. I forgot I packed it away in here with everything else,” she says quickly, her tone soft and sorrowful. But you only tighten your hold on the box as she tries to take it from you.

“No,” you tell her, “I want to look at it.” Logically, you know that you’ll only cause yourself more pain by looking through the memories of what your life used to look like with Javier, but you can’t stop yourself. You’ve spent ten years keeping any memory of him locked away. And now that he’s back, there’s nothing you can do to stop the flood as that once young, hopeful life comes rushing back to you.

“Well,” your mother sighs softly, “if you’re sure.” You can tell that she doesn’t like the idea. Since the day Javier left, she and your father have been a little more detached than you ever were. They’ve never blamed the Peñas or sought to shame them. But where you’ve only grown closer to the family, your parents have drifted apart.

You nod. “I am,” you murmur.

—

The shoebox feels much heavier than it truly is as you step into your apartment with it. After dropping your keys on the coffee table in the living room, you go straight back to your bedroom. You close the door behind you, though you know that there won’t be anyone to walk in on you as you willingly subject yourself to more pain.

You gingerly place the box on your desk, staring at it for a few moments as you second guess yourself. It would be so much easier to tuck it somewhere deep into your closet where you won’t find it again, not unless you really want to. You could bury those memories, ones that should be sweet but have been soured by time and circumstance. You could bury your love. You could bury the painful reminders of the man you would have followed to the ends of the earth.

You sit down in the chair and make your choice.

You open the box.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as you look inside, and immediately you feel your chest swell with an emotion that sits somewhere between nostalgia and regret. You can’t place it exactly. Taking a deep breath, you gently lift the first thing from the box. Dried petals crinkle between your fingers as you hold up your corsage from senior prom.

Your mother laughs softly as she walks over to you and Javier. He’s tried his best, but he just can’t get the ribbon tied around your wrist the right way. You giggle as your mother gently takes over, though as she ties the ribbon, your eyes never stray from Javi’s. You can see a light blush creeping up his neck, and you shake your head minutely. “It’s alright,” you mouth to him.

When your mother finally steps away, Javi takes your hand again, pulling you closer to him so that more pictures can be taken. You both hate the fussing, but know that it’s better to just endure it for the sake of your parents. Your mothers, especially, are excited to see the two of you off to the dance.

“Alright. Alright. That’s enough pestering the two of them. Let them go and enjoy their night,” Chucho finally says, and you let out a soft laugh. You can always trust him to come to the rescue.

“Thanks, Pops,” you say. Javier releases you then, giving you a moment to say a quick goodbye to your parents. Once you’ve given your mother a hug and your father a quick kiss on the cheek, you wave to Javi’s parents, then take his hand again. He leads you over to his father’s truck, which he’d so graciously agreed to let you borrow for the night.

Javi walks over to the passenger side with you, helping you up into the cab and making sure that your dress doesn’t get caught as the door is shut. He joins you inside of the truck shortly after, and you move a little closer to him on the bench seat.

“Sorry I couldn’t get the stupid corsage on,” he says, chuckling softly at himself. He lifts your arm, looking at the ribbon that your mother tied and shaking his head.  After a moment though, his eyes meet yours again, his gaze soft. Without breaking eye contact, he brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “You look beautiful tonight, querida,” he murmurs shyly.

You smile softly at him, reaching out to straighten his bow tie. “You’re looking pretty dashing yourself, Javi,” you reply.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m glad you think so. I think this looks ridiculous. There’s a reason I don’t dress like this unless I have to,” he says, though he’s grinning as he speaks.

You press a quick kiss to his lips. “It’s just one night,” you tell him, “Now let’s go before we’re late.”

You let out a soft breath as you think about the rest of that night. The two of you hadn’t spent very long at the dance at all, opting instead to jump back into Chucho’s truck and drive somewhere more quiet. Rather than trying to enjoy yourselves in a dark, sweaty gymnasium filled with your classmates, Javier had driven to the top of a hill not far outside of town. With a perfect view of the softly illuminated town below you, the two of you slow danced for hours to one of the cassette tapes you’d found in the glovebox.

With a mirthless laugh, you wonder if the cassette tape is still there.

Setting the corsage aside, you look back into the box, pulling out a stolen menu from the diner just a couple of blocks from your childhood home. It was a place that you and Javier had frequented, especially during the late hours of the night when you didn’t have anything better to do than drink cheap milkshakes and steal french fries from each other’s plates.

You curse under your breath as Javier foils your plans again, scribbling a quick “X” into the top right corner of the grid, keeping you from winning what was easily the eighth game of tic-tac-toe you’d played in the last twenty minutes. “Damn you, Javi,” you say, tossing the pencil at him, though there’s a grin on your lips as you look across the booth at him.

“Lo siento, querida. But you know you’re not allowed to win,” he replies, catching the pencil against his chest and placing it back on the table. His smile is bright as ever as his eyes meet yours again.

You roll your eyes, picking up the pencil and pulling the menu closer to you. You write out a short note on it, then turn it around so Javi can read it.

You’re a pain in the ass, but I still love you.

Javi lets out a soft laugh, reaching over and taking the pencil from you. He writes something underneath your words, but shields it from your view with his forearm. Only when he’s done does he let you see.

The feeling is mutual, querida. There’s a little heart doodled next to it.

Your expression softens, and you feel your heart swell in your chest. You place both hands on the table, using them to brace yourself as you lean over the table. There’s a knowing look in Javi’s eyes, and he does the same, meeting you in the middle for a tender kiss. “Te quiero tanto, mi corazón,” he murmurs against your lips.

You close your eyes, leaning back further in the chair with the menu held firmly against your chest, close to your heart. A few moments pass where you don’t move, giving yourself some time to compose yourself before you keep going. That hadn’t been the first time he’d called you “mi corazón,” but to hear those words fall from his lips had always caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach. That’s why the same words had been scribed next to his name. He was your heart, too.

Shaking your head to yourself, you sit up again. The next thing you pull out is a dozen or so Polaroid pictures, all with varying dates and locations penned on the back. Most of them had been taken by your mother. She’d always insisted on taking pictures of the two of you whenever she could, and it only got worse after you’d gotten engaged. She’d told you that one day you’d be grateful that so many of these moments were documented. You’d believed her then, though now there’s a part of you that wishes there weren’t so many pictures to remind you of just how deeply integrated into your life that Javier had once been.

There’s one photo, however, that catches your eye as you flip through the small stack. Unlike the others, which are more staged, this one is candid. You’re standing in Javier’s dorm room at Texas A&I, and you immediately recognize it as the day that you and your mother had gone to help him move in. Though really, she’d only gone because you didn’t trust yourself to be able to drive back to Laredo on your own. You would only be a couple of hours away from Javier once you moved into your own dorm in San Antonio, but two hours seemed like days when you’d grown up right down the road from him.

“That’s the last box,” Chucho declares, folding down the cardboard to make it easier to dispose of. You take in a deep breath as it hits you. You’re about to go back home without Javier. You’d already spent the last few nights alone with him, saying your more official goodbyes, but they hadn’t felt real. Now you’re really leaving him.

You feel Javi snake his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and the gentle contact causes tears to spring into your eyes. You hold on tightly to his arms, not wanting to let him go.

Then there’s a flash, and you look up to see your mother with the camera pointed at the two of you, the photo sliding out the bottom just a moment later. You shake your head at her. “Mama, please,” you chastise her, to which she shrugs, but smiles apologetically. You know she doesn’t mean any harm.

“We’ll give you two a few minutes,” Javier’s mother says. Alicia then takes her husband’s hand, and the two of them file out the door with your mother close behind them.

Javi chuckles lowly, pressing a kiss to the juncture of your neck and your shoulder now that the two of you aren’t being so closely watched. “You’re gonna be alright,” he whispers.

“I should have just applied here,” you murmur, frowning deeper. As an English major, you could have chosen to go to school just about anywhere.

“No. You liked visiting San Antonio. You’ll have fun there. I promise,” he tries to convince you. “And we’ll both be home for holidays and spring break,” he pauses to kiss your temple, “though I think a spring break trip with just the two of us sounds like a good time.”

You grin at the idea. “That would be nice,” you reply softly.

Javi loosens his grip on you, but only enough to turn you so that you face him. He brushes a few strands of hair from your face, tucking them back behind your ear. As your eyes meet his, they fill with tears, and there’s nothing you can do to stop them as they begin to slide down your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, querida. Please,” he whispers, cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his chest. For his sake, you take a few deep breaths, pulling yourself back together.

Once your tears are mostly dry, you look up at him again. “Alright. Alright. I’m done,” you say, cracking the slightest smile.

Javi smiles back down at you, leaning in for another kiss. He stops just before his lips can capture yours. “It doesn’t matter how far away we are. It doesn’t change anything,” he murmurs.

“I love you, Javi,” you whisper, taking his face gently in your hands and closing the remaining distance between the two of you.

“I love you too, mi corazón.”

A single tear escapes you as you relive the tender moment, though you quickly wipe it away with the sleeve of your shirt. For just a moment, you think about shutting the box and leaving it alone–at least for the night. But you’ve already gotten yourself sucked in the current. The only thing you can do now is ride it out.

You continue looking through all the old memories, reliving the moments almost as vividly as the day they happened. There’s a keychain from the spring break trip that you and Javier did actually take. You find a cheesy birthday card, the cork from the bottle of wine he’d brought you the night he proposed. There’s even a couple of letters that he’d written to you during those college years filled with lofty promises about what your lives would look like once you graduated and got your careers started.

It’s as you read the letters that your emotions get the better of you, and your single tear gives way to a wave. More than once he’d described the day that the two of you would finally be married, and it tears you apart to know that he’d painted that picture so vividly in your mind, only to be the one to so cruelly destroy it at the last moment.

Just as you think you’ve made it to the end of memory lane, you find two more things left in the box, buried at the bottom. The first is a piece of cardstock. Time has yellowed the original white color, and when you turn it over, you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

It’s your wedding invitation.

They were a formality that your grandmother had insisted on, even though you and Javier had both agreed that it wasn’t necessary. The wedding was supposed to be a smaller, family affair, much in the way that Danny’s had been. There were a lot of the traditional details that you just hadn’t been worried about. The ceremony wasn’t your priority. It was being able to call Javier your husband that mattered the most. As long as you were able to say “I do” with Javier, you’d be the happiest woman in the world.

The last thing in the box is a small drawstring pouch. You can hear something metallic jingling inside. You pull the drawstring open and shake the contents into your waiting palm. Immediately, your fist closes around the three rings: your engagement ring, and the wedding bands meant for you and Javier.

A choked sob forces itself from your lips, and you hold your closed fist close to your chest, right over your heart. You don’t know why they were in the box or who put them there. You haven’t even seen the wedding bands since they were handed over for safekeeping before the wedding.

However, your last memory of your engagement ring is all too vivid.

You stand in the back room of the church, your mother standing with you. You’re both waiting for Chucho to tell you that Javier is ready, and that it’s time for you to walk down the aisle. Anxiety has taken up residence in your chest, and while you try to convince yourself that it’s only wedding jitters, you can’t help but feel like there’s something very wrong.

“Mama, what time is it?,” you ask quietly. It’s the only way you can keep your voice from shaking. It feels like there’s barbed wire wrapped around your throat. Speak any louder and you know you’ll be fighting off panicked tears.

She looks at the watch on her wrist, sighing softly. “It’s a quarter after three, honey,” she admits. The wedding was supposed to start at three. “Let me go see what’s going on, sweetheart. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just a lost boutonnière or a button that needs sewn back on. Take a deep breath. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she tells you. You nod, taking a set on one of the benches.

As you wait, you start twisting your engagement ring around on your finger. It’s been a nervous tic since the day Javi put it on your finger, and even as the edges of the metal rub your skin raw, you can’t bring yourself to stop. Even as you try to breathe deeply, nothing helps assuage the panic that you feel. Surely someone would have given a warning if it were a simple issue. Surely they wouldn’t leave you so worried for something so trivial.

The passage of time is lost on you. There’s no clock in the room and in your panic, you can’t be sure how long your mother has been gone. But when you hear the knob on the door turn, you’re immediately on your feet, nearly tripping over your dress as you move across the room to whoever is coming in.

Tears blur your vision when you see the somber look on Chucho’s face, his eyes tinged red with tears of his own.

“What happened? Where is he?,” you ask desperately. Without waiting for an answer, you try to make your way past the older man, set on going to the other dressing room yourself to find Javier. But Chucho wraps his arms around you, preventing you from moving any farther.

He shakes his head. “He’s gone, mijita. I’m sorry.”

And just like that, your whole world comes crashing down on top of you. Burying you and the life you’d wanted to live so fiercely.

The first sob that claws its way from your throat sounds more like a scream, and you bury your face in Chucho’s shoulder, letting him take most of your weight as you all but collapse in his arms. “Where is he?,” you beg, “Pops, where did he go?”

Chucho is quiet, his voice thick with emotion as he speaks. “I don’t know, mijita. He left without telling anyone. No one saw where he went,” he tells you. He sniffs softly, tightening his hold on you.

“Why?,” you whimper, raising your head just enough to look Chucho in the eye. But seeing the look on his face only makes your chest throb. Your breaths come in sharp gasps as you wait for an answer, though you know that he doesn’t have one.

He just shakes his head.

“God, what did I do? What did I do,” you weep, your fists curling tightly around the edges of his suit jacket, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck. You can just barely hear him trying to shush you, to soothe you in any way that he can. You’re shaking violently with every cry that escapes you, and though you know you’re breaking Chucho’s heart, you can’t bring yourself to stop. You’ve never felt grief like this, so forceful and agonizing and real. You feel like you’ve been pulled underwater and your lungs are burning for air that they’ll never get. You know that they won’t

Javier was the air you breathed, and now he’s gone, leaving you to suffocate alone. 

You sit there at your desk, unending waves of tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re not in the same fit of hysterics that you were on that day, but you still feel the same anguish, the same throbbing in your chest. It burns, a reminder that you haven’t truly lived or breathed since the day Javier left. Slowly, you uncurl your fingers from around the rings, wincing at the indentations in your palm from where you’d held them so tightly. You drop them onto your desk, not at all bothering with the pouch you’d found them in.

You stand from the chair, forcing your tears away as you stalk out of your room and towards the front door. You grab your jacket and your car keys, and then you’re gone.

There’s only one way to drown out the pain you feel.

—

Towards the edge of town, out past the railroad tracks, there’s a run down bar that Javier used to frequent when he was younger, before he took off for Columbia. As he pulls into the crowded parking lot, he’s not surprised to see that the building hasn’t changed a bit. The paint is still worn. The roof still needs patched, and even the busted window hasn’t been replaced, just patched over with plywood boards.

Before he even gets out of his dad’s truck, he can hear the roaring conversations of people trying to be heard over the rest of the background noise. He sighs, running his hand over his face before he gets out. This isn’t the most ideal situation. Javier would much prefer to be drinking in the comfort of his own home, but he knows that his father is getting suspicious about the amount of alcohol he’s been consuming for the past couple of weeks. He can deal with the noise for a few hours if it means he doesn’t have to sit through another one of Chucho’s heart-to-heart talks. There have been a few too many since he came back from Colombia.

He just hopes that no one bothers him. The last thing he needs is to have all of Laredo down his throat asking him about Colombia. He never wanted to be a hero. He doesn’t think of himself that way. How can he? After everything he’s done, all of the destruction he’s caused, how could he ever be considered a hero? If only they knew what kind of man Colombia had turned him into.

Javier opens the door, stepping out of the cab. He shuts and locks the door before walking into the bar. It’s hard to see through the thick haze of smoke that fills the room, and it doesn't help that the only dim lighting comes from the television and the neon lights on the walls. All that matters to him right now though, is that he’s able to drown out the echo of his father’s words in his head.

If it’s even possible, Javier’s sleeping habits have worsened. Where he once dreamed of the hurt in your eyes when he’d seen you in the market, he now only sees you being held in his father’s arms the moment you learned he’d run off. He can’t shake the haunted look in his father’s eyes as he’d finally revealed the details of that day. And all Javier feels is guilt. He’s being crushed under the weight of knowing just how deeply he’d hurt you.

He doesn’t even want to explain himself anymore. He knows that nothing he says will ever rid you of the scars he’s left on your heart. It’s something that he’ll never forgive himself for.

Javier takes a seat at the bar, and he’s surprised that there’s even a seat open, given just how crowded the room is. He remembers though, even when he was younger, the bar never really seemed to hit any sort of capacity. People kept coming, and somehow it all worked out. Like somehow the finite space of the building became infinite when lonely, broken people came seeking refuge.

Thankfully, there’s a glass of whiskey in front of him just moments later. Javier takes a sip of the dark amber liquid, closing his eyes as he feels the warm burn down his throat and into his chest. He’s glad to feel something there that isn’t the suffocating sense of grief and guilt he’s felt since the night of Danny’s wedding.

But he knows his father was right. About all of it. Even if he doesn’t want it to be true, Javier knows that he’s screwed up, and that he’s running back to Colombia just so he doesn’t have to face it. But it would be so much easier to just go back to work, back to dismantling cartels and incarcerating drug lords. He could bury himself in his work, in booze, in women.

Women that are not you.

And as he drains the first glass of whiskey and starts on the second, Javier realizes that there’s one more thing his father was right about: he’s not the man that he used to be.

He closes his eyes again, thinking about the simple way that life used to be before he took off. Before Escobar, everything was linear. He met you, fell in love with you, planned to marry you. You’d both gone to school and started your careers, ones that would take you far away from Laredo if that was what you’d wanted.

And God, did he want that. It was one thing that he had always talked about with you. You’d both grown up feeling caged in by the small-town atmosphere. College had been the most freeing experience. The feeling of independence and anonymity was so intoxicating that neither of you could get enough of it. You’d been so on board with his idea of escaping Laredo, no matter where the two of you ended up. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Javi,” you’d told him once.

You would have. He knows that beyond any doubt in his mind. Even to Colombia.

He opens his eyes again, discovering that his glass is empty again. His eyes search the room for the bartender, but something else catches his attention. Through the haze of smoke and sea of moving bodies, it’s hard for him to know for sure, but as he looks a little longer, he finds that he does indeed see what he thinks he sees.

You’re sitting at a small table in the back of the bar, nursing a glass of something he can’t quite make out in the inadequate lighting. But then you stop, like you can sense his eyes on you. You turn, your head toward the bar, your gaze moving slowly as you try to find the source of your unease.

Your eyes lock onto his, and in the low neon lights he can see that they’re glistening with unshed tears.

Javier feels his heart leap into his throat, and he watches as your entire body tenses. He drops his gaze, looking back down at the empty glass in front of him. Immediately his father’s words come back to him. He’s done seeking you out and forcing you into conversations that you don’t want to have.

But he looks up again when he sees quick, unsteady movement in your general direction. Javier doesn’t know how much you’ve had to drink, but one look at you as you walk to pay your tab tells him that you’re in no shape to drive yourself home. He stays still, waiting to see what the bartender does. If he’s any good at his job, he’ll make sure that you don’t walk out of the bar without a safe way to get home.

You walk away without a word from the bartender. And though there are plenty of other people around you, none of them seem to feel the need to stop you either.

“Fuck,” Javier mutters, knowing that he has to do something.

After slapping a few bills onto the counter, he stands from his barstool, nearly knocking it over with the force of his rapid movement. He then follows you out of the bar, calling out your name before you can reach your car. You stop, frozen in your tracks.

“What do you want, Javier? Haven’t you figured it out yet? I want nothing to do with you!,” you shout back at him, turning on your heels to face him. Your eyes are dark with anger, and he knows immediately that this isn’t going to go as smoothly as he might have dared to hope.

Javier takes a tentative step in your direction, swallowing thickly. He holds his palms up in mock surrender. “You’re not driving yourself home. I’m just making sure you get there safely. That’s all,” he tells you. You straighten up then, and he can practically see the gears turning in your head as you study him closely. In your anger, he can see that you’ve sobered up considerably, but he’s still not taking any chances, not with your well being and quite possibly your life.

You scoff, shaking your head. “Fuck off, Javier. I’m fine. I live right down the road,” you spit back.

“No. I’m not gonna fuck off. I don’t care if it means I have to call your mom myself. You’re not driving home,” he insists.

You take a step closer to him. “Why do you even care, hmm? You didn’t give a shit about what happened to me for ten fucking years, and now all of a sudden you wanna play the good guy who’s just looking out for me? Well that’s bullshit, Peña,” you bite.

“I–”

“No. Actually, you wanna talk about what happened so badly? Let’s do it. Right here,” you start. And even from a distance he can see you trembling. Whether it’s from the cool night air or the heat of your fury, he can’t tell for sure.

“We’re not doing this while you’re drunk,” he states firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

You take another step forward. You’re only about ten feet from him now. “Oh no. Everything I think about you is crystal clear in my mind, Javier Peña,” you shoot back.

He takes a deep breath, knowing that there’s no escape from whatever you’re about to lay on him. But he knows that he deserves to hear every horrible thing you’ve thought about him in the last ten years. And even then, it won’t compare to what he’s done to you.

“What did I ever do to you?,” you shout at him. “What did I do to make you leave me like that? Didn’t you ever think that maybe I deserved an explanation? And I mean before you left, not ten years after the fact.” Javier stands there in silence, and he just hopes that the people inside the bar can’t hear you over the music and the chatter and the television. The last thing he needs is for this to turn into a spectacle.

“I didn’t know what to tell you,” he admits. It’s not enough.

“You left me without a word, Javier. No warning. Nothing. If it weren’t for your dad, I wouldn’t have ever known what happened to you. For so long I have tried to figure out what happened. Tried to figure out what I did,” you stop for a moment as your voice finally breaks. Javier feels a pang in his chest as your eyes well up with tears. He wonders how many you’ve shed because of him. How much pain will he cause you before this is all over?

“I loved you, Javi. I thought you loved me too, but–”

“I do love you, querida.” He says the words before he can stop himself. He can take your verbal lashing. He can listen to you tell him about all the terrible things he’s done and the consequences of those actions. But he can’t take this. Never this. Even if it makes sense for you to think he doesn’t love you, that he ever stopped, it’s not true.

“Don’t call me that,” is your only response to his words. “You don’t get to fucking call me that anymore. Because you let me believe that we were gonna spend the rest of our lives together. Our story was gonna be the one that I could tell, and then you were just gone,” you weep.

Javier takes a couple of tentative steps forward, so that you’re just within his reach. He wants nothing more than to be able to take you into his arms, to hold you close and comfort you the way that he used to. Every fiber of his being vibrates with the need to wipe your tears away and stay with you until you smile again. But he can’t. The only thing he can do is stand there and watch as you break right in front of him. He’s absolutely helpless.

“You were the love of my life. I gave you everything. I would have followed you anywhere, Javi. But you left me here,” you tell him, your breath coming in short gasps now.

He sighs softly. “I know. I’m so sorry,” he breathes.

You look up into his eyes with a new resolve, despite the effort you’ve already expended. “I hate you,” you declare resolutely.

Javier nods. “You should. That’s the least I deserve for what I’ve done,” he replies, and though his exterior appears unshaken by your words, his heart is breaking in his chest. To hear you say the words makes it all too real.

“I hate you,” you say again, a new wave of tears overtaking you. And then you close the remaining gap between the two of you, shoving at his chest as hard as you can, though in your current state it’s not enough to really move him. “I hate you, Javier,” you repeat, stumbling into him. He doesn’t hesitate to catch you, keeping you upright as your legs give out from under you.

And you keep repeating it, sobbing the words into his collarbone. Every declaration is punctuated by a weakly thrown punch to his chest and torso. He lets you. A sick, twisted part of him wishes that you had the strength to hurt him that way.

“I hate you,” you wail one last time, “but I don’t know how to love anyone else…”

Your hands fall uselessly to his shoulders, gripping onto the lapel of his leather jacket as you continue to cry into his chest. Something inside of Javier breaks as he feels you trembling in his arms. He can feel every bit of the pain that radiates from your body. It brings tears to his eyes and cuts off his breathing. He’s never felt agony this way, not even in Colombia.

Suddenly, Javier understands what his father felt like the day he left.

—

Javier carries you from the truck into your apartment, using the keys he found in your jacket pocket. You’re sleeping restlessly in his arms, soft choked cries escaping you every few minutes, but he’s just glad that he was able to get you home.

He wanders down the hall with you, finding the bedroom relatively easily given the small size of your apartment. He then lays you gently on your bed, frowning at the way your brows are knit together, deep worry lines marring your forehead. Javier has to resist the urge to smooth them out with his thumb. He knows better than to touch you right now, when you’re far less than aware of what’s going on.

Instead, he takes a seat next to you, making quick work of removing your shoes and your socks. He’ll leave you to sleep in your clothes, not wanting to wake you. Sighing, he pushes himself up, feeling exhaustion settling in on his shoulders. It’s been a long night even without considering his inability to sleep.

But as he stands, you stir, one hand blindly reaching at him. Javier looks to see that your eyes are just barely open as you finally manage to wrap your fingers loosely around his wrist.

“Don’t leave me, Javi. Please. Not again,” you whimper.

He knows that you don’t mean it, that they’re just words fueled by alcohol and exhaustion. But the plea still hits him square in the chest. If only he knew you wouldn’t want different when you woke up in the morning, he’d stay right next to you for the rest of the night.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers. If you hear it, he can’t tell. Your eyes are closed again, your hand slowly slipping away from him.

Javier turns to leave, but as he moves to turn off your desk light, he sees the various things spread out on the wood surface. His chest constricts as he realizes what it is and where it came from. All of these memories of what your lives looked like before stare back at him. He lets out a shaky breath, hardly able to believe that you still have the keepsakes.

He gathers it all back up, placing it gently back in the box, and he carries it with him out to the living room, where he too can take the painful trip down memory lane. Javier sits heavily on your couch, placing the box on the coffee table and beginning to reminisce.

By the time he’s done, he understands why you’d ended up at the bar. If he weren’t so exhausted, he’d need another drink too.

As the clock on your wall gently chimes at three in the morning, Javier lays his head down on the arm of your couch. He aches so badly for sleep, that he can’t help but pass out right there.

It’s restless, but sleep nonetheless

—

You wake with a start as the first rays of light filter their way through your bedroom curtains. You look down at yourself, finding that you’re still in your clothes from the previous night. But you don’t know how you got home from the bar. You don’t know how you made it to your bed. You don’t know how your socks and shoes managed to lie neatly on the floor next to you. All you remember is–

Javi.

You stumble out of your bed, moving as fast as your aching, fatigued body can manage even though it makes your head throb. When you make it to the living room, the first place you look is the couch. He never liked leaving you alone on the nights you got drunk.

But he’s not there.

The only sign that Javier has been in the living room is the mess on the coffee table. He’d found the box on your desk. He’d gone through it and relived the same memories you had. You sink down on the couch, resting your elbows on your knees and pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Your words come flooding back to you and you let out a shaky sigh. You don’t know where to go from here.

You sit up straight again, noting the early hour, and decide to just crash on the couch for a few more hours. As you settle yourself onto the cushions, you feel something hard press into your back. You reach behind you, your fingers wrapping around the offending object. A groan escapes you as you bring your hand back into your eyeshot.

Javi’s aviators.

You place them on the table. You don’t have the strength to consider the idea of taking them back to him just yet. Instead, you close your eyes, letting the pull of exhaustion put you back under.

The last thing you’re consciously aware of before you fall asleep again is the faint scent of Javier’s cologne under your nose. A soft smile graces your lips, and in your sleep your burrow further into the cushion.

-

Spanish Translations

Mi Corazón - My Heart (Nickname)

“Lo siento, querida.” - “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Te quiero tanto, mi corazón.” - “I love you, my heart.”

Mijita - My Daughter (Nickname)

-

Chapter Four

-

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[three--rings]

Story time! 

I was just reminded of this out of nowhere by that Secret Garden/quarantine post.

So when I was very small, back in the dark ages of the 1980s, I went to a preschool run by my mom’s best friend.  She’d started the school because there wasn’t a good local preschool in our neighborhood (and the public schools didn’t offer pre-K of course, even though they really should, developmentally speaking, okay I’ll shut off my developmental psych brain.)

So I was part of the first graduating class of this school, which was in an old wooden house.  Just a couple dozen students and a handful of teachers.  The vibe of the school was sorta PBS-hippy, with diverse teachers and unconventional curriculum.  (I actually first learned some French in preschool, because we had a cajun teacher.) (All these years later she runs a chain of very successful preschools all across our city.)

Anyway, so one day someone, and it might have been my mom’s friend herself or might have been one of the teachers, started reading The Secret Garden to the class.  I was ENTHRALLED.  It was like the best fairy tale I’d ever heard, but BETTER.  (My favorite story prior to this was Cinderella.  I was obsessed with Cinderella.)

But because The Secret Garden is a pretty long book (and I think this may have been an abridged for children version, not sure) and kids have a limited attention span, the story was cut off for the day.

And I was DISTRAUGHT.  I was SO INTO this story about the little girl in the scary gothic house and the mean little sick boy and the utterly magical secret garden.  I think I probably threw a tantrum or just a crying fit or something.  I went home seriously disturbed at not getting to hear the end of this story.

And then, a few hours later, my mom’s friend came to our house.  She presented me with a gift: a cassette tape.  I was too young to read The Secret Garden for myself.  So she had sat down and recorded herself reading the whole book for me. 

And I just remember sitting on the hideous bright green carpeting that I had in my room, playing this tape over and over, listening to the story.  I had to play it on a tape player that looked like this, by the way. 

On the built-in tinny speaker.  And make sure not to press the red record button or I would erase the tape.  Which I did over time and there were little pauses in the story.   The only other sound device I had at the time was a record player that only played 45′s. 

So anyway, that’s the story about how The Secret Garden became my favorite book when I was 4, how I got my first audiobook, and probably why I remain obsessed with the Victorian era to this day.  And a time when an adult went way out of their way just because I showed interest in something. 

[stillunusual]

The Sun Shines Here (issue #1) YEAR: 1985 CREATED BY: Matt Haynes LOCATION: Bristol SIZE: somewhere between A4 and A5 WHAT'S INSIDE.... Like his future partner Clare Wadd, Matt Haynes moved to Bristol to study, and also published his own fanzine before they co-founded indie label Sarah Records in 1987. The Sun Shines Here (named after the debut single by Hurrah!) was actually Matt's second attempt at a zine and came out in between the first two issues of his more famous creation Are You Scared To Get Happy (the name of which was inspired by the lyrics of the second single by Hurrah!).... During the punk and immediate post-punk years the term "indie" was generally used in reference to independent record labels and distribution networks, but by the mid-1980s it had turned into a fully fledged musical genre epitomised by skinny white kids playing jangly guitars, and was accompanied by a fanzine boom spearheaded by Wadd, Haynes and others who dedicated themselves to documenting what is now regarded as the golden age of indie rock and pop. While affirming that punk was definitely dead, Matt wrote the contents of The Sun Shines Here with the same kind of passion as the original punkzine pioneers:

...."fanzines, fanzines, written in anger written in love, should be written in pure fucking adrenaline or you might as well not bother, should burn a hole in your pocket with the sheer INTENSITY of the writing, of the belief, should scream LOVE scream HATE from every page every line every fucking WORD, that inexpressible gut feeling slashed incoherently onto paper, one great ROAR of disapproval of everything that isn't RIGHT, a sprint along a tight-rope with only momentum preventing a fall....move onto the offensive - in BOTH meanings of the word, YEAH!! - "vehement expression aiming to annoy" - YES!....a fanzine should leave you TREMBLING when you put it down, trembling with RAGE and FRUSTRATION and DESIRE, the desire to do something, anything, if only to write to the author saying "yes yes YES" or "NO NO NO".... He namechecks a few mid-80s fanzines that managed to live up to his high standards of what a zine should aspire to be (Hungry Beat, Surfin' Swordfish, Pure Popcorn and Adventure In Bereznik) and oozes with positivity about the indie bands that excited him the most - principally Hurrah! (naturally), The Jasmine Minks and June Brides. Just as interesting is Matt's opinionated disapproval of the bands he didn't like, such as The Membranes (although what he says about them is mainly bollocks). He also had a general dislike for mixing up music and politics, but made an exception for the excellent Big Flame, because even though they took their name from "a revolutionary socialist feminist organisation with a working-class orientation", they managed to include political themes in their songs without resorting to sloganeering. Matt also makes it clear that singles are better than albums (which is true in the world of indie rock and pop) and that he was no fan of compact discs, which were launched in 1983 and had already started to seriously compete with vinyl records and cassettes by the mid-1980s. CDs were heavily promoted by the music industry with exaggerated claims of better sound quality and the inclusion of extra tracks. They also cost less to manufacture than vinyl records and cassettes but were much more expensive (which was the main reason I didn't get around to buying my first CD player until 1988).... However, Matt's supreme confidence that the likes of Hurrah! were making the greatest music ever - and that he'd still be listening to it with the same degree of excitement decades later, when the music he didn't like had all been forgotten - does seem a little wide of the mark. That's not to say that I wasn't partial to some 1980s indie rock and pop myself (for example, I also bought Hurrah!'s first two singles and the second one is still very listenable) but even at the time, it was a bit shite compared to punk and post-punk, and a lot of it sounds pretty lame today. Not to mention the fact that there were more interesting musical developments going on in the mid-1980s - like electro, hip hop, world music and the rise of DJ and club culture - all of which were virtually ignored by fanzines (it wasn't until the end of the 1980s that a significant number of indie kids finally learned to dance). In retrospect, the most interesting band featured in The Sun Shines Here is Blue Orchids, formed in 1979 by ex-Fall members Martin Bramah, Una Baines and Rick Goldstraw (AKA Eric McGann or Eric The Ferret). Their long forgotten album "The Greatest Hit" is well worth tracking down.... Click on the title above to see scans of all the zine's pages.... my box of 1980s fanzines flickr

[xaandiir]

Last Stop to Nowhere - Chapter Three

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Summary: Ryan and Min got off the train, but spending several months away from home while dealing with a very traumatic experience on an interdimensional judgment train. Recovery is not instantaneous and one good band session does not mean that everything is solved. It’s going to take more work, more talking, and being honest. However, it’s very hard to have an absolutely honest conversation in the 1980s, especially with everything that both boys are withholding.

Warnings: Homophobia, micro-aggressions

Word Count: 2549

———————————————————————

 Ryan didn't wake up on his own. He was woken up by the clatter of dishes and drawers from in the kitchen. He is half hanging off the couch when his eyes open, and drool is staining the throw pillow he was lying on. Ryan groans, holding his head and pushing himself up onto his elbow. He peers over the couch, managing to get just a glimpse into the kitchen. He can't quite see who is in there, even if he had his glasses on.

After sitting up and stretching, Ryan slips on his glasses and walks to the kitchen. He stands hesitantly in the doorway to see his dad preparing breakfast. His father always found time to get food made for all the kids, despite how many of them there were, and that he still had his own job to attend to. Ryan's stomach twists as he watches his dad work, though his dad's back is turned to him.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" his dad asks, giving a quick glance over his shoulder. "First time you're home in almost two years."

"Oh. Yeah," Ryan murmurs, glancing down at the ground. "Um. How've you been, Dad?"

"Good." He starts mixing up some pancake mix in a bowl.

Ryan scuffs his shoes against the ground and crosses his arms. He leans in the doorway and looks anywhere but his dad. "I can, uh, leave? Just needed a place to stay back in town."

"No, no, stay. Your mother will be happy to see you," his dad says. "Besides. You think I still make pancakes every morning? This is a special occasion."

Ryan looks back up and smiles a bit. "Yeah?"

His dad nods and gives him a smile.  "Want to help me cook?"

Ryan's heart does a little dance in his chest. He hasn't helped his dad cook breakfast since he was younger, and that turned out--messy. When he got older, he was too focused on music to try and help his dad with any kind of cooking. It almost feels like a nostalgic kind of activity now. "Uh--yeah, sure, dad."

"I'll need a pan and some oil." He continues mixing up the batter while Ryan goes to grab the items.

The oil was easy to find, but the pans aren't in the place they always were. Ryan frowns and checks the next cabinet, finding nothing there either.

"They're in top cabinets now," his dad says. "Over the stove. Easier to grab that way."

"Oh. Yeah, that, that makes sense." Ryan moves to that cabinet and grabs a larger pan from it. "It seems like a lot has changed since I left."

His dad shrugs. "Well you had a central room in the house. Your mom was excited to get things moved around once there were a few rooms opened up after you and your sisters moved out."

'Moved out' wasn't exactly an apt description for Ryan. His was more like 'got out'. He says, "So she rearranged like everything in the house?"

"Just about. I keep forgetting that she moved the sock drawer in our room." His dad laughs.

Ryan pours some oil into the pan and turns on the stove, letting it heat up. He watches it closely so the oil doesn't pop. It also gives him something else to focus on. Something other than his dad, or this kitchen, or how different this house has become in the time that he's been gone.

"Y'know, I was surprised you didn't call on your birthday," Ryan's dad says. "I would have expected that you would have wanted to come back and ask me to throw you a few bucks so you could celebrate."

Ryan is quiet for a long minute. His birthday. Yeah. His birthday passed. They were gone for months and he was only a month away from turning nineteen when he took Min onto the train. He wanted to celebrate with Min. He wanted their nineteenth birthday to be special together, on the road, in New York. He kind of got what he wished for, but not in the way that he actually wanted. It never even crossed their minds that their birthday passed.

He finally finds his words and he says, "Oh, well. Y'know. I was doing okay on my own and all. Got busy and stuff."

His dad nods as he steps up beside him. He pours some of the batter into the pan and it sizzles as the batter starts to cook. "Well you're home in time for Tommy's birthday next week. Are you sticking around that long?"

Ryan chews his lip. He has been doing a lot in the past year and a half. Not even counting the train. It might be good if he takes a bit of time to stay at home and collect himself before he hits out on the road again. That is...

"Would I be able to?" Ryan asks hesitantly.

His father gives him a weird look and then laughs. He pats Ryan's back. "Of course. Just. Don't be weird while you're here."

Weird. Right.

"Are you making pancakes?" a familiar voice laughs. Ryan looks over his shoulder just as his mother enters the room. She somehow looks so much older just in the last year and a half he's been gone. He notices more prominent wrinkles and she's stopped dyeing her hair so some grays are being shown at the roots. She stares at her son for a moment, like her mind is catching up to what it is that she is seeing in her kitchen. "Ryan. You're home."

Ryan smiles sheepishly. "Uh. Yeah. I came by last night .I got in pretty, uh--pretty late."

She nods slowly. Her expression adjusts and it looks like she has accepted the circumstances. "It's nice to have you home. Did Mark let you in?"

"Yeah." Ryan looks down at his brother's pajamas he's wearing. "He let me get cleaned and everything."

"Good of him," Ryan's dad says. "I'm sure he and Tommy will be up later into the morning, so it'll just be the three of us eating breakfast this morning."

Oh. Great.

"Come on, Ryan," his mother says, gesturing for him to come and sit at the kitchen table with her. "How have things been on the road? We got your cassette."

"You've got some pretty good ones on there," his dad adds.

Ryan's eyes widen. "You--You listened to it?"

"I think you could clean up a few songs," Ryan's dad adds. "But you've definitely got potential. I bet you could really make it if you applied yourself."

"I do. I am!" Ryan promises. "It's been really fun touring around the place." Even if it hasn't been exactly successful.

"What sorts of places have you performed?" his mother asks.

His dad chimes in, "Anywhere really cool? Any big gigs?"

Ryan feels embarrassment burn on his cheeks. "Oh. No, nothing super special. Mostly just open mics and casual parties and stuff. It takes a while to get noticed. Once I get an album made, I'm sure that I'll really start to make it."

His mother pats her hand on Ryan's hand, in that way that she always did when she was comforting one of the kids that was crying over something silly. It makes Ryan's stomach turns over like the pancakes that his father was flipping.

"I hope you...enjoyed your time on the road," his mother says. "And didn't get into any trouble."

Ryan wants to force a smile on his face the same way Min does, but he can't bring himself to. "Yeah. I was--I got a girlfriend actually. Uh. Three, actually."

"Three?" His father whistles and grins wide. His mother also smiles at that. "Looks like you inherited the same genes as your dad after all."

"Oh hush," his mother huffs.

"C'mon Yui, I know that you fell for me because I made you jealous with all my arm candy," he teases.

She rolls her eyes. "You were the one who begged me to go on a date with you for half a year. I just wanted to see how long you would try."

Ryan watches his parents banter. He wants to enjoy it. He always enjoyed seeing his parents talk like this when he was younger--even if some of the lovey-dovey stuff was gross--but it just makes him feel sick now. They don't want to acknowledge any of it beyond vague references and hopeful glimpses at his love life. Nobody wants the queer kid as their son.

The pancakes are served on the table after they are finished cooking. Ryan silently takes a couple and douses them in syrup, choosing to skip the butter. He's had plenty of that for a lifetime.

"Hey," Ryan says quietly, "Dad, when you were a kid, did you get served like. Super nasty food in America?"

His mother gives a grossed-out moan. "Did you find out about American post-war food? What a travesty."

"Hey, it was delicious," his dad insists. "I still think that if you would just let me throw some bologna on the grill-"

"Absolutely not," she says, shaking her head. "You grew up in an era where everything was stuck inside of gelatin."

"It wasn't the brightly colored sugary mess that it is now!"

"Still a crime," she says simply.

Ryan chuckles. "I tried cooking some of that," he says. "It was a disaster. The only thing I could make was brownies."

That makes Ryan's dad smile. "Now what were you doing trying to cook post-war recipes?"

"Oh. Just, y'know, I was um. Thinking about home. I wanted to give it a shot."

"Well if there's something you didn't inherit from your father, it was your cooking skills," his mom said. "You really made it all on your own?"

"Min-Gi helped," Ryan promises.

His parents grow quiet for a minute. Ryan pauses, his fork almost to his mouth, as he looks at his parents inquisitively. His mother is the first to speak. "The Parks called us a few months ago asking about Min-Gi. You were with him?"

"Oh, yeah, we--we went to New York together. For a gig thing." Ryan looks down at his plate. "I kinda made him."

His mother gives a disappointed sigh. "You should have let his parents know. Or just not made him. They were out of their minds. They bothered us for almost two months. We kept telling them that it was probably fine, but after a while we started to get worried too."

"You wouldn't answer your phone when we tried to call too," his father points out.

His mother nods. "You should have put more thought into things."

Ryan picks at his pancakes, losing his appetite with every passing minute. "Yeah. I guess I didn't really think about it at all. Sorry."

"Well so long as Min-Gi is back, then that's all that matters," his mother says.

Ryan nods a bit. He sets his fork down. "I'm actually not that hungry. I think I'm going to just go for a walk for a while."

His father laughs. "A walk? I would have thought that you would want to go for a drive. Sick of staying in that van after so long?"

Ryan's cheeks flush an embarrassed red. He had never exactly planned on going back home, so the van was never something that he planned to...

He clears his throat and says, "I kind of, uh. Don't have the van."

"You-" His father blinks a couple times. "You don't have the van?"

"It's, um, it--Y'know, a long story, but-" 

"Ryan!" his mother cries.

"Are you kidding me? You lost my van?" his father demands. 

"It was--um--It was my van. You gave it to me," Ryan stammers.

His father shakes his head vigorously. "Under the assumption that you wouldn't lose it, Ryan! How do you just lose a van?" He groans and holds his head in his hands. "Actually, no. It was probably t hat you were just being foolish and weren't thinking."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Dad."

"You know what?" He sighs and stands up, picking up his plate. "It's a good thing you're staying here for a while, Ryan. You need to apply yourself. Get a real job. Stop messing around and actually apply yourself."

Ryan stands up too, feeling his face burning hot with shame. "You--No, I. I don't have to stay here."

"You're going to pay me back for that van," his father snaps. "I lent it to you on the assumption that you would be responsible, Ryan. Instead you come back with nothing to show for it, and you have lost a van! You are going to stop all of this messing around you did in high school. You're going to get a job and--and be more like Min-Gi! Learn to be responsible!"

Ryan's chest is pulled so tight it feels like he's going to tear in half. He has to swallow several times before the lump in his throat is pushed down far enough that he can speak. "I'm going for a walk."

He doesn't give his parents a moment to protest. He grabs his jacket from the couch and jams on his shoes and leaves. He doesn't care that he's still dressed in pajamas or that his heels are sticking out of the back of his shoes so they clop as he hurries down the sidewalk. He just has to get out of there, as fast as he can.

Ryan is hunched forward as he walks, feeling anger begin to fester in his gut as the anxiety of facing his angry parents starts to subside. He mutters under his breath to the tune of his song My Dad's Van. "What does my dad love more than anything? My dad's van, my dad's van." He kicks a rock and it goes skittering across the pavement. "What gets more attention even though I went missing? My dad's van, my dad's van."

He comes to a stop and lets out a loud groan. "Gee Ryan!" he shouts to the sky. "It's great that you're home! We missed you so much, we thought about you every day! We didn't change your room because we wanted to make sure you had a place to stay when you finally visited home. We've accepted you fully and realized that we were foolish for how we treated you before you left! We'll never be so mean to you again!"

He sighs and lets his head fall back forward, defeated. "Get a job," he mutters. "I'm nineteen and I have no job experience and they expect that I can get a job just like that, huh?" He crosses his arms. "...Maybe I can get a job at Dumpty's with Min-Gi? Wait. Does he still work there?" He remembers how Min threw the Dumpty keys out of the castle. Yeah. No way is he still employed there.

"Oh yeah. We're nineteen now," Ryan says softly to himself. They didn't get to celebrate anything when they were on the train. Maybe they can have a late celebration. Ryan has no money to his name, but if he gets a job, then maybe... He groans again. "Fine. But Dad isn't getting my first paycheck."

[fanficimagery]

Another One Bites the Dust

Summary: In which you accidentally run into the new guy, only for him to take an interest in you.

Words: 2.8K Warnings: None really.  Requested? This wasn’t requested, but it was inspired by THIS POST posted by @thehargrovewhore​ It’s not necessarily what they were looking for, but this fic is what snowballed from me thinking about someone running into Billy XD

High school would have been a living nightmare had you not been befriended by Heather Holloway. She was one of the- if not the most- popular girls at Hawkins High and she made attending school bearable for you. But being friends with someone like Heather was bound to land you high up in the popularity rankings and it unfortunately made you a target for people like Carol and Tommy who wanted to tear down those they considered a threat to their own ranking.

Fortunately for you, Heather wasn't one to back down from a confrontation. If you weren't particularly feeling up to defending yourself, then Heather stepped in with her too sweet words laced with venom that usually shut the couple up. And though Heather was popular, she wasn't the type that everyone feared. She was the cool girl everyone idolized, the girl everyone adored, and since you were her best friend everyone else made sure to respect your boundaries and leave you be if you weren't feeling very sociable.

But now it's been about a month since the girls of Hawkins High have gone crazy for newcomer Billy Hargrove and you're so over all the giggling, the whispers, and the cocky persona he puts on when he notices he's being stared at. Normally someone's attitude like his wouldn't bother you, but the girls don't seem to have a care in the world when attempting to get close to him even if it meant pushing you out of the way to do so. And that, that bothers you.

"What's wrong with you?" Heather asks, leaning against the lockers next to yours, popping her bubblegum. "You're in a mood."

You sigh as you pick out your sketchpad that you need for your last class of the day. "I only got four hours of sleep last night and I've got a headache. I thought that by now the fascination with Mr. California would have died down, but apparently the girls are more desperate than ever, including Carol who seems to see me as some sort of competition and won't stop pestering me about the new guy."

"Really?" Heather perks up, pushing off the lockers. "You've talked to that sunkissed God?"

"One, ew." Your nose wrinkles in distaste and you start walking towards the Art room. Heather follows. "And two, no. I haven't talked to him which is why I'm confused and so over Carol talking shi-" You're cut off as you walk into a wall- or what you think is a wall- and you actually fall backwards down on your ass with a startled yelp. "What the hell was that?!" You ask, rubbing at your now sore nose before glancing upwards. An amused Billy Hargrove stands above you, hands on his hips which hold open his denim jacket to show off his white tee that fits him like a second skin. "Did I just run into you?" You ask, clearly not distracted by his cocky stance at all. "What the hell are you made out of? Brick?"

He smirks, but before he can say anything Heather is bending down and collecting your dropped sketchpad. She giggles. "You really shouldn't walk and talk, Y/N. You never know who you're going to run into."

"You're a bitch. You know that? You totally saw him standing there and didn't warn me."

"It's about time you get some one on one with Mr. California. I think you're the only girl he hasn't chased yet."

"And it's going to stay that way!" You hiss.

"Need a hand there, Princess? I mean I don't mind your current position, but-"

Your head jerks to stare up at Billy, gaze narrowing. "Not another word." He holds his hands up in mock surrender, winking. You roll your eyes. "And thanks, but no thanks."

You stand up without any aid, avoiding everyone's gazes who had stopped to stare. Yanking your sketchpad back from Heather, you scowl at her. Then when you move to continue on walking, you and Billy end up going in the same direction at once. You sidestep at the exact same time he sidesteps and he chuckles when you get visibly annoyed. Groaning, you slap a hand to Billy's chest and push him aside. But before you can step away, you glance at his chest where your hand is at and you end up poking him. "Jesus. Why are you so-"

"Hard?"

Heather giggles and you quickly glare up at him, snatching your hand back. "Gross. But essentially, yes."

"Well-"

The warning bell rings, startling you from hearing what Billy has to say. Glancing at your best friend, you say, "Shit. I need to get to class. If you're not in my car ten minutes after the bell's rung, I'm leaving your skinny ass behind."

As Y/N runs off, Billy watches her go. Heather smirks, pulling down her heart-shaped sunglasses from the top of her head to perch on the bridge of her nose.

"Where have you been hiding her, Holloway?"

"Don't even think about it, Hargrove." Heather pops her bubblegum, grinning. "Y/N is happy to be a wallflower. She doesn't care for that seductive charm of yours when you set your sights on a girl."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Been talking about me with her, huh?"

"Nope. Your girl Carol won't stop harassing her about you." Letting her smile fall, Heather practically sneers at Billy. "Get Carol in check. If Y/N is unhappy, I'm unhappy. And trust me, you won't want us to be unhappy."

Billy chuckles, stepping closer and tugging on one of Heather's curls that's been gathered into a sideways ponytail. "Don't worry about Carol. Y/N, however, I have a feeling she's going to be begging me for a ride pretty soon."

Heather's smile makes a comeback. "Good. And since I think my best friend needs to have some sort of fun, I'll give you this piece of information. Be pushy, but not too pushy. Rile her up just enough and her annoyance with you will eventually turn into fondness."

The final bell rings and Heather starts to walk backwards, wiggling her fingers in a mock wave before Billy can say anything in return.

A few days later, you've stayed behind after the final bell has rang for the school day. The art teacher is off making copies of some worksheets she plans to hand out the following week in the main office and you're adding the finishing touches to your current project. The painted cassette tape takes up nearly seventy percent of the canvas and the plastic film is painted in a mangle of loops around the tape. The tape is just wide enough for you to carefully paint lyrics along it which is what you're doing right now since there are no distractions around.

You're painstakingly painting the lyrics to Girls Just Want To Have Fun with the thinnest paint brush you could find when you hear footsteps behind you.

"Just ten more minutes, Miss Ackers. I'm almost done."

"I know I'm pretty, Princess, but not as pretty as that art teacher of yours."

That particular voice makes you sigh before you lean back, placing your paintbrush in a cup of water. "What are you doing here, Hargrove?" Turning around you see him staring at your canvas.

"Not bad," he says. "You're pretty good."

"It's just a cassette tape. Nothing fancy."

"Oh but it is." He says. "You didn't just paint a tape. You painted a tape that looks like it's been handled numerous times. Almost like it's.. worn down."

Your lips twitch at the sight of Billy actually studying your art. You inhale deeply, swallowing down the urge to immediately bicker with him. "Thanks."

He smirks, tucking his hands into the front of his jean's pockets before dragging his gaze back to you. "So a little birdie told me you liked burgers. Wanna grab a bite to eat with me, Y/N? I promise to make it worth your while."

"And you ruined the moment." Your shoulders slump and you turn back around to gather all your supplies. Walking towards the back of the room where a sink resides, you wash off your paint pallet, clean your brushes, and rinse out your cup. When you turn back around, Billy is a lot closer than before and you gasp in surprise. "Jesus."

"Close. It's Billy."

"Whatever you say, Bobby." He snorts and when you sidestep him you bite back a smile at the brief back and forth. "I've actually got stuff to do. If you're looking for a date, I hear Nicole's seconds away from getting down on her knees. Have fun."

"You'll cave sooner or later."

"Keep dreaming, Benny."

A few more days pass and your walls are starting to crumble.

Billy Hargrove has learned your entire class schedule and is now just around every corner. You can't seem to escape him, and when you do Heather takes up the reigns and talks non-stop about him. His flirtations, instead of making you blush, start to make you laugh and he's got you right where he and Heather want you. The rest of the high school female population, however, are not happy with the turn of events.

Lunch has just ended and you've dumped your tray alongside Heather. The both of you have walked out into the hallway, but in order to keep the conversation going you've turned around so you're walking backwards.

"Alright. Who would you rather: Joe Perry from Aerosmith or Roger Taylor from Queen?"

You scoff. "You could have made it harder. Roger Taylor, of course."

Heather's eyes briefly flicker behind you, but you don't pay it any mind. Not even when her eyes light up. "Oh. Of course," she grins. "You obviously have a thing for those light-haired boys."

"I might have a thing for some light-haired boys." You shrug and start to turn, keeping your gaze on Heather. "But if anyone's going to get me on my knees, it'd be- oomph!" You crash into someone and stumble back, your cheek hurting from the chest you've hit. Heather cackles as hands quickly grab onto you to steady you and then wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"Princess," Billy drawls.

You tense. "Nope." This can't be happening. You did not just crash into Billy while talking about getting on your knees. Chancing a glancing up, you cringe. It's definitely him.

"What were you saying just moments ago? Who's going to get you on your knees?"

Heather laughs some more and you shake your head. "We're not doing this today, Hargrove."

"Well I mean, just pick a day. Any day. I've been dying to get you on your-"

"Gross!" You wrinkle your nose and elbow him in his side, he smirking down on you. "I was talking about Roger Taylor. You know, the drummer from Queen."

"You mean my twin?" This time it's your turn to laugh and you don't even fight him when he starts leading you down the hallway with Heather practically skipping at your side. "So what were you ladies up to before Y/N tried seducing me with her words?"

"We," Heather quickly cuts off your retort, "are just going to kill the rest of the lunch period in Y/N's car. Care to join us?"

"And before your brain runs away with whatever it conjures up, no this isn't an invitation for a threesome. We're just going to listen to music and talk, and that's it. If you can't keep your dick in your pants for twenty minutes, then you're not welcome."

Billy sighs. "Take away all my fun." Heather giggles and you grin, and Billy continues to walk you to your car. "Next time though, we're skipping school food and going out."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bennett."

After the final bell rang, it was no surprise to find Billy waiting outside the art classroom. He waited until everyone had left, he then entering the room to help you carry a couple of your canvases you were taking home now that they've been graded and on display long enough.

Even after weeks of flirting and getting absolutely nowhere, a real friendship somehow blossomed between you and him. He's still the most arrogant boy you've ever met, and downright mean at times to your peers, but it's.. it's Billy.

So after laying your artwork in the trunk of your car and still no Heather, you join Billy over at his car. You readily hop onto the hood, smirking when he glares at you, and promise to not scratch his baby. He rolls his eyes, lights up a cigarette, and leans on the spot right next to you.

"So you're telling me you never once hooked up with Tina?" You ask, giggling. Billy shakes his head, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin. "Seriously? She's been telling anyone and everyone that she's slept with you at least twice."

Billy shrugs. "There was some heavy petting the night of her Halloween party, but that's about it."

"Jesus. Halloween? Didn't you move here like a day or two before?"

"Something like that."

"That girl sure does move fast."

Billy chuckles and takes a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke sit for a few seconds before exhaling it all out. With your backpack next to you, you open up the front pocket and take out a bag of skittles you'd been snacking on during lunch. Pouring some into your palm, you hold out your hand towards Billy to see if he wants some. He chooses the red ones since he knows they're your favorite and quickly tosses them into his mouth.

"You're a dick."

The school kids are slowly pouring out from the main entrance and still there's no Heather. There is, however, Carol and her little lackey Nicole.

"Careful, Billy. The cow you have sitting on the hood of your car is bound to leave a dent or two." Nicole practically cackles at Carol's remark- Carol who's smirking as if she's just won some sort of confrontation.

You merely smile in return. "Careful, Carol. Jealousy doesn't suit you."

She scoffs. "Jealousy? What exactly do I have to be jealous of? You're nothing."

"Oh I don't know," you slowly grin, leaning towards Billy and sliding an arm around the back of his shoulders. He chuckles. "Maybe you're jealous over the fact that Billy hasn't given you the time of the day. Then again, your boyfriend is practically his little lap dog so maybe you're pissed because the only one on one time you can have with him, he spends it with me."

Her amusement completely vanishes, but before she can open her mouth to retort Tommy is putting an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, babe. What's going on?" He asks before nodding at Billy. "Hey man."

"Nothing." Carol then pastes on a smile and kisses the underside of his jaw.

"Nothing?" You muse, feigning innocence. "Now I wouldn't say that." Carol glances at you, eyes narrowing and Nicole frowns before taking a step back. Glancing at Tommy, you then say, "Put a leash on your girl, man. She's acting kind of bitchy because Hargrove hasn't asked her to get on her knees for him yet."

Tommy's smile drops. "What?"

"Sorry, man, but it's true." Billy tells him. "I've known my fair share of persistent girls, but yours really takes the cake."

"Hey fuck you, man." Tommy stands a little taller, clearly defending his girlfriend.

You roll your eyes. "Don't get pissy at him, Tom-Tom. Carol's the one who can't take a hint and get bent somewhere else."

"Screw you, Y/N!"

"Nah. I rather save the screwing for Billy." You smirk.

You hear a slight sharp inhale from your friend, but don't bother looking at him. Carol sneers, Nicole cracks a grin, and Tommy scoffs. "Lets go, babe. Obviously Billy isn't a friend of ours."

"Took you long enough to catch on, did it?"

As the trio finally take their leave, you lean back and slide your arm off of Billy's shoulders. He turns, but you immediately shake your head. "Don't. I didn't mean it."

"Are you positive?"

"Oh my god." You laugh. "I just said it to get under her skin."

"Get under whose skin?" Heather's finally joined you, smacking her gum.

"Carol's." You slide off the hood of Billy's car, but he doesn't let you go far.

"Y/N told Carol she would screw me."

Heather gapes, but you're quick to defend your word choice. "In a joking manner!" Billy laughs and you groan as he pulls you under his arm as usual. "Goddammit. I'm never going to live this down."

"Not a chance in hell, Princess. Wanna go to the movies with me?"

You sigh and start to walk towards your own car. "Get bent, Brad."

"That's not even close to sounding like Billy," he calls after you.

"I don't care!"

Heather starts to giggle and Billy smirks over at her. "Progress, Holloway. This is good progress."

[radramblog]

Album Discussion- Shinjuku Mad

Usually on a Tuesday I like to take my time with a blog post. Listen to a full album, do a little research, put some real effort into it.

Unfortunately, time is not my ally today. So I kinda have to do one that’s a bit easier- in this case, I think I’d rather go after one of the ones that’s already on my phone, in case I have to do this on the bus or something.

(wait, I drove in today…)

Today we’re going to go into a self-titled album that is somehow not the artist’s debut. Rather, Shinjuku Mad is the second of two albums released under the name- the reason I specify as such is that one of the two (and later, the vocalist would help out again) members would go on to relative fame under a different name- Vaportrap pioneer Blank Banshee.

Peering into this album is like looking at a beta version of what was to come. It’s very much a different genre, an IDM album that completely predates Vaporwave’s explosion of popularity and Blank Banshee’s seminal album, Blank Banshee 0. It’s a solid enough album in addition to this, but it’s kind of hard to talk about seeing as there’s basically nobody who knows about Shinjuku Mad that didn’t learn about it through Blank Banshee. As such, expect a lot of BB coming up in this post.

Also a block of words, because no music videos exist for this at all. It’s one of those obscure albums.

This album opens on Cure for Fear. It’s one of those introductory tracks you often get in albums, at about a minute and a half long, with very reverb-y percussion and vocals and an almost ethereal haze of noise. It’s got these chimes that occasionally come up, reminiscent of some of the tracks from the AKIRA soundtrack, but beyond that there’s not a huge amount going on here. It does introduce a problem, however, one which we’ll get to later. It’ll be pretty evident if you’re listening along, though.

Track 2: Kowloon. I really did forget how short a lot of these songs were, with this being 2:13- the whole 10-track album clocks in at under half an hour. There’s a mix of drum machine and hollow wood percussion on this track that gives it a really interesting sort of feel, and some of the effects on the vocals feel extremely vaporwave- it’s no surprise that the dude behind this went on into that genre. Here’s where I can’t help but hammer on that issue I mentioned earlier, though.

The vocals on this album are quite weak. I know they’re very much trying to be ethereal, the reverb and falsetto make that much clear, and that style very much suits the instrumentation. But it just doesn’t sound great. It kinda comes and goes, but by and large I’d label them as subpar. I don’t really think it’s the fault of the performance either, it’s not like the bloke is missing his lines or mumbling more than is necessary for the album’s aesthetic, but there’s just something about them. They might be too loud in the mix for this kind of genre? I’m not 100% sure.

Resistor, the third track, is the best known song from this album by an order of magnitude. I mean that quite literally, as the track as over 540,000 monthly listens on Spotify as compared to Kowloon’s 32000. It’s kind of shocking, I mean for such an obscure album with zero singles, why is this of all tracks the one people suddenly latched onto?

As it turns out, it’s because again of the artist’s future work as Blank Banshee. Resistor would be reworked into one of the more popular tracks from BB0, Dreamcast, and it would appear that people got curious as to what the source was.

The thing is, aside from sharing a vocal performance, the tracks are very different. As it is, Resistor is a much faster track than the previous, driven by this fast percussion and bassline, making for a genuinely solid exercise track of all things (I say from experience). It’s got a fun little synth solo in the middle, the vocals are pretty solid (aside from like right at the end of the last chorus, holy shit), and the song’s coda and outro are a fun little bit of controlled chaos. I’d put Resistor as one of the better tracks on the album, is what I’m saying.

I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a while when discussing music on this blog- I’m going to jump through a few things. As much as I like this album, the songs aren’t nearly interesting enough to justify a song-by-song breakdown. I think if you listen to Resistor and like it, it’s probably worth chucking on the rest of the album- it is, again, less than half an hour long. But its an album where it’s more valuable on a meta level than it is sonically.

Shinjuku Mad as an album feels a lot like a hybrid between older IDM trends and the synth/vaporwave elements that would become popularised in the 2010s. There’s also tracks like Inductor, which border on rock songs with the power behind that bassline and percussion- in general much of the instrumentation is cleaner than you’d expect from an artist like this, especially considering how muddied much of the vocals get. There is a real focus on the vocals, which as I’ve discussed is a weakness of the album, but I do think it’s possible to look past that issue. There’s some really fun synth lines, some excellent percussion, and real aesthetic. Songs like Human Wave Attack feel stark and lonely, notes echoing into the void, which ironically is not at all like Track 4, Void- with synths and vocals disguising a guitar and drum line that feels extremely garage band. As in, the concept, not the program. Singularity is a song that feels again predictive of Blank Banshee’s future work, a low, slow synth track reminiscent of BB songs like Hyper Object or Metamaterial.

There are some genuine gems on here in addition to Resistor, though. City of No Tomorrow, the eighth song, has got to be one of my favourites- somehow, despite featuring none of the instrumentation typical of the genre, it’s extremely cyberpunk, a sense of struggle and futility resonant through the track. It’s the one song on the album I listen to regularly, getting myself lost in the groove of the bass and tapping my foot along to the percussion. It’s just really good, man.

If this isn’t your first time encountering Shinjuku Mad, reading this might cause you to go back and have another listen, upon which you may notice a few somethings missing. I don’t expect that to be the case for literally anyone reading this…but I needed a segue. This is because, upon the reintegration of Shinjuku Mad and its predecessor Organic Thoughts from the Synthetic Mind into Hologram Bay’s catalogue for the 2019 reissue, two songs were cut, likely for fears of legal issues regarding sampling. The version of this album that I remember has those tracks!

Those songs are Negatives (formerly track 6) and Neon Exodus (formerly track 12). Negatives is another one that’d show up as a Blank Banshee track (in this case, Gunshots), and is actually really solid? Like it integrates a raid siren into the instrumentation without having it sound weird, out of place, or, well, alarming. Neon Exodus is…wow I just don’t know this track at all. It’s fuckin aesthetic though. Welcome to this spontaneous live-reaction, I guess. I recognize the sample this is built around (and thereby why it isn’t on the album anymore) but I cannot name it for the life of me. It’s, uh, interesting. I dunno, 6.5/10?

Anyway, part of the reason I bring this up is that before I want to close this out I have some complaining to do. Said 2019 reissue was something I tracked at the time, and noticed both SM albums were releasing on Vinyl, Cassette (because, you know, nerds), and digitally. But not CD. I threw an email at the website about it, and they did eventually respond (it genuinely took like two months though), but not in the positive. The reissue had no plans to include a CD, unlike all three previous Blank Banshee albums.

But the original 2010 version of the album, along with a few slight differences in songs and in album order, does have a CD release, albeit an extremely limited one, according to Discogs. These CDs have to exist, they’re now listed on the new Shinjuku Mad website. Apparently one sold 6 months ago through Discogs. I need to find a copy, though considering on that site 7 people list it as owned and 72 (including myself) list it as wanted, it’s probably not going to happen.

And that, ultimately, is Shinjuku Mad. It’s a very odd piece of history as far as vaporwave goes, considering it’s both a prototype and also something completely, utterly different. The album is pretty decent on its own, but not mindblowing, and something you could probably live without. There are like two tracks (three if you include Negatives) that are 100% worth it, but the rest are skippable. Which is a shame, but mediocre music has to exist somewhere, right?

That I apparently haven’t discussed Blank Banshee on this blog before (aside from when I was talking about Vaperror) is actually kind of shocking. I suppose, then, that there might be some lacking context. I probably will have to do that at some point, though I probably won’t do BB0 because I like picking the hipster options- so either BB1 or MEGA. Metamorphosis didn’t really pique my interest, and I somehow missed GAIA existing in the first place and still haven’t listened to it. So if you’re interested in seeing me ramble over some of that, I’ll see you then. I mean, it’ll still happen if you aren’t interested, but nobody’s going to make you read it.

Or am I…?

[epersonae]

Multiples of 7 for the Spotify thing <3

7. The song that had me bawling when they played the opening in my Wrapped story! I've mentioned Hair Match a bunch of times, but this is actually the FIRST song on that playlist, and it's a song that Ryn asked me to play for them on laptop over the phone while they were in inpatient in the spring, and I loved the original, and so I built a whole playlist out of bookending this at the beginning and the original at the end, and I hadn't heard it since the morning Ryn died. They said it was the best playlist they'd ever gotten.

14. This was one of my first cassette tapes, when it was new and I was in junior high, and then it was on my main fic writing playlist, and then on our Reckoning playlist, which I put for the first time in a while when I went for a walk the morning after Ryn died.

21. This is the one song on That Album that actually reminds me less of this grief, and more of the strange grief of after I left my ex.

28. Oh look, more Bach!

35. Ryn put this on a playlist for me, and that's how it ended up on the master "Romancé" playlist, which was one of my regular rotations until September. It's surprisingly fun.

42. I believe also Romancé playlist, also from Ryn? Not 100% sure tho. Iron and Wine does do some good covers.

49. Bach continuing to rock

56. I found out recently that these guys started as *Christian music* (from a former evangelical friend who was deep in that scene) and I haaaaate that I can't tell Ryn because it's that kind of curséd knowledge that you have to share. Also I love that they put this on a playlist for me, even though it's a song that was big when I was younger.

63. I think I put this on a playlist for them? Possibly because Spotify kept adding it to the end of other playlists. I made one called "the algorithm loves you" out of stuff it threw in after playing a whole list.

70. There's no fucking numbers on this playlist, at least not in the android app, so I've been counting by hand, and when I posted Get Famous it was by approximating how many songs per screen. But apparently that was wrong, and Get Famous is #70, so here's number 69: even more Bach

(suite #3 was my favorite to play, actually)

(I've hit the limit, so I might continue later, or maybe not, we'll see)