#who has to fill in as guitarist in the wedding band for a friend (not knowing it was for a wedding let alone topmew's)

[forcebookish]

idk about u guys but i'm still mourning nicksand

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part V)

Pairing | Eddie x reader

Warnings | 18+ minors and blank blogs don’t interact, bullying, friendship comes and goes, discussions of anxiety, discussions of virginity, discussions of sex shaming, frottage (PUSSYJOB), everyone’s very vulnerable.

Word count | ~11,800

A/N | Oooh, mama. It’s been a while. I hope most of the people who like this fic are still around.

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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You like calling Eddie, the sound of his voice over the phone. The way he answers it differently each time:

“This is Eddie Munson, lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin; available for christenings, bar mitzvahs and weddings.”

“Munson residence. The old guy’s out so if you’re looking to buy a collection of novelty mugs now’s the time.”

“You’ve reached the church of Satan; Abaddon the Destroyer speaking. For your free introductory handbook on summoning circles just dial six-six-six.”

And then there’s the happy rise in his tone when he hears it’s you on the other side, the surprised laugh at the sound of your soft hi, Eddie even when he’d asked you to call. The crackle of his breath through the receiver, the way conversations with him are easy however they happen. With anyone else, phone calls feel stilted and awkward, but Eddie talks as if you’re sitting right in front of him. 

It makes you warm all over to think about. Eddie wants to see you and kiss you and touch you, but he’s also happy to sit on his couch miles away and speak to you, listen in return to everything you can bring yourself to say.

You have taken to dragging a chair from the kitchen and sitting by the hallway table to talk to him like this whenever you don’t see him in the evening. You spend an hour or two at a time smiling at your mom’s address book, twirling the coiled cord of the phone around your finger while Eddie talks about this day, asks about yours, explains why he’s really into this new Swedish black metal band he’s discovered, checks what you’re reading, shares an idea he has for Hellfire, plans your next date.

Today is no exception. Your dad has walked past muttering about the phone bill twice. Your mom, as usual, has stationed herself in the kitchen within earshot, but what exactly she gets out of hearing the low buzz of Eddie’s voice and your laughter, you don’t know.

"And you're sure you don't wanna come, sweet girl?" 

"Yeah, I-" You hesitate, playing with a rose petal from the bowl of potpourri that sits by the phone. "I think I should stay here. Just in case." 

In truth, you don't have much hope that May will call, but imagining that she does and you aren’t here to receive it fills you with worry. The last thing you want is to make things any worse between you after you messed up so badly. 

It’s not unusual for you to feel this type of regret. When overthinking something delays your actions until it’s too late. You worried so much about how to tell May about Eddie that you left it too long. You should have told her the day you kissed him, should have phoned when you got back from your first date. Instead, you spent your time imagining the conversation, and let your best friend find out something important through somebody else. 

You hurt her. She is wounded enough that she really has given up defending you. When Caroline remarks on your silence now, May doesn't attempt to fill the emptiness your lumping throat leaves. 

"She's just shy," May used to say, waving her hand. Her embarrassment over your stumbled words and fidgeting hands was clear, then, but you knew she felt for you, even if she didn't understand why she had to. Now she just looks at you expectedly like everyone else, pulls awkward, embarrassed faces when you stumble and fidget through a non-answer.

You had taken to spending more of your lunches helping Heather with her new responsibilities as class president, sitting quietly at debate club and nodding along to her speeches, taking the role of a small country at her model UN meetings. But you are starting to feel her frustration with you, too. 

“You don’t have to come to every meeting if you don’t enjoy it.” She said to you after the last UN encounter you’d sat through without uttering a word.

“It’s just, I don’t really know much about Anguilla. But I like hearing you speak.”

Heather smiled with her lips closed. “That’s not what it’s for, though. I think maybe you’d prefer having lunch with May and the cheerleading girls again.”

You felt your cheeks burning, pulled the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands and fiddled with the woollen edges. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Sometimes you think about sitting at Eddie’s table instead. To have another hour of him every day. The picture is nice on its own. Talking to him, to Jeff, even the freshmen Eddie has adopted since the beginning of the year. But then the image zooms out; you at the Hellfire table, May with the cheerleaders, Heather at her clubs, and your chest aches. You don’t know when it happened, when you had to start holding on this tight, digging your nails into them. You only know you’ll leave claw marks on your friendship before you let it go easy.

And while you can never get enough Eddie, you aren’t normally deprived of him outside of the school walls. With anyone else, you might have worried about suffocating him, being clingy. But Eddie makes it clear at every turn how much he wants to be around you. His grin in the mornings when you climb into his van. The way he leans into your space, hair tickling your cheeks, and asks all soft and earnest if you want to go home with him. Some days, he invites you into the trailer to touch and taste you. Others, to sit on his couch or his bed and talk. Or to just spend hours just breathing the same air as him, listening to him scribble in his D&D notebook or strum at his guitar while you read or do your homework. 

But you won't see him tonight. Eddie is going to see Fright Night with most of the boys in his club, and it's all he's talked about the past week. He'd asked you to come, all wide brown eyes and dimples, and your stomach had twisted. 

"Normally May and I do something around this time each month." You hadn't been able to look him in the eye when you said it, fiddling with his hands instead. You'd rubbed the softness of your thumb over the callused pads of his fingers, knowing he had that look he'd been getting whenever you found yourself bringing your friend up. A little sad, guilt he shouldn't be feeling. Irritation, at you or at her you're not brave enough to ask. 

"You sure?" He asks over the phone now. "It'd be pretty easy for me to pick you up. I'm giving Wheeler a ride. He's just down the street from your place." 

You feel a wave of fondness for him, for the lie he’s just told. He isn’t aware that you know exactly where Mike Wheeler lives. You’ve babysat Holly since you were sixteen, and the route to her home takes half an hour in your dad's car. 

"I'm sure," you say, trying to sound firm. "But I hope you like the movie."

"If it's good, maybe we can see it together another time." 

"You wouldn't mind going twice?" 

"I'd watch the same movie twenty times in a row if you promised to come to the last one." He laughs, sounding enough like he means it that your smile hurts your cheeks. 

"That might be a touch excessive," you murmur. "Twice sounds like enough."

"How about tomorrow? We could get dinner first, make a real date out of it." 

Your face heats up like the first time Eddie asked you out. You touch your toe to your ankle, winding the cord of the phone tight around your finger. You whisper. "Okay."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." You press your knees together. "That sounds nice."

"Unless the movie's shit, then we'll have to call the whole thing off." You laugh down the phone, imagining the tease in Eddie’s smile. "I'll have a review for you by tomorrow, sweet thing."

"Okay, Eddie."

"And I'm not leaving for another ten minutes. If you change your mind, just call, okay?"

"Okay, Eddie," you repeat. "Have a nice time."

"See you soon, beautiful." 

Your toes curl. "See you soon." 

When he's gone and the phone is back in its holder, you have to sit tense and still for a second to avoid making some kind of happy squeal, settling for curling your fingers into your skirt and tapping your heels wildly against the floor. 

You still feel a little dizzy with the thought of him when you pull the chair back into the kitchen, enough that you jump when your mom speaks. "That Eddie on the phone?" 

You fix her with a look, because she knows exactly who you were talking to, and she gives you a mock innocent smile that shifts into a real one. 

“You were laughing a lot.”

Her hands drip soapy water from the kitchen sink, finishing up the dishes that would have been done ten minutes ago if she hadn't dragged it out for an excuse to stay where she could hear you. You chew the inside of your lip while you take the next freshly cleaned plate from her. Grabbing a dry dish cloth to drag across the ceramic, you shrug one shoulder. 

“He’s funny.”

“And you like that about him?”

“Mom.”

“Just a question!” She says, holding her hands up, before grabbing the dish towel from you to wipe her wet hands. “You talk more, when it’s him on the phone. Did you know that?”

“You listen to all my conversations?”

“I’m your mother,” she laughs, bumping your hip with hers. “And I’ve never heard you so chatty.” You give her another look and she reconsiders. "Chatty for you. There's been times I've rounded that corner surprised you were even on the phone, you're so quiet. I mean, with that last boy-” She hums a disapproving tone, reaches out to fix the collar of your cardigan. "I swear you'd sit there and not say anything at all."

“It's easier to talk to Eddie,” you admit, thinking about how pleased he looks when you ramble about what you're reading, the last kid you babysat, even the new eyeshadow palette you’d saved up for and felt a touch immature being so excited about. All his encouraging nods, all the questions and affirmations afterwards. "He's…" 

He’s a million good things. Too many to name, too many to put in order. You glance at her to the side, raising one shoulder. 

"I like him," she declares. "I think he's good for you." 

Your face is hot and uncomfortable, but it still feels nice to agree. "I think so, too." 

When the dishes are away and your mom is settled on the couch with your dad watching Quincy reruns, you walk slowly upstairs, hoping that the phone will ring again before your door closes. 

You make a bet with yourself in your head. If it rings before I get to my room, it’ll be May. It’ll be May and she’ll want to be friends again and everything will be alright. You reach the top, spy the door the end of the hall. Any time after, it’ll be somebody else; a sales call, a chatty relative. 

All you hear as you pad across the landing is your parents laughing at the TV. 

With your door closed, your heart sore, you glance at your desk on the other side of the room, the cork pin board behind it decorated with memories. There is your first concert ticket, next to a postcard from the first time you left this country by plane. An askew origami frog that a boy you used to babysit made for you. A pom-pom that detached from the winter hat you wore from October to March three years running in middle school. 

There is Heather. One photo as she is now, smiling at you over a yellow smoothie. Another couple from your first years together, at the edge of womanhood. Her in braces and her mother's lipstick, the aquamarine taffeta dress she wore to your first high school prom. 

And there is May. She is everywhere, over and over again, in all the stages of her life since you met. She is in pigtails, her small hand in yours, her gap toothed grin next to your close lipped smile. She is in this room, with sparkling eyelids, the earliest and most keen model for your interest. She is at the Spring fair of 1979, holding cotton candy you'd shared soon after the photo was taken. She is at that first concert, decked out in Wham! merchandise. Swim meets and cheer competitions. A line of photo booth strips. You are there with her; both giggling, eyes crossed and tongues rolled. 

May has been a constant in your life, but now your life has shifted. Maybe you have to accept that she doesn’t want to shift with it. 

The phone rings downstairs. 

You hear your dad huff, the sound of your mom rising from the couch and heading through the hall. You hold your breath, listen to the buzz of her landline specific voice, all breezy politeness. Then she calls your name.

You practically throw yourself down the stairs, slipping at the last couple in your socks. You have to hold yourself back from grabbing the phone from her. Taking just a second to glance over your shoulder to check that she's actually walking away, you whisper into the phone. “Hello?”

"Where are you? I rented Footloose." Tears prick in your eyes at the sound of May’s voice. You look up to the ceiling, silent for too long. “You still there?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Where are you?” She repeats. “Second Friday of the month. It’s movie night.”

“I didn’t-” You swallow, blinking tears away as they rise and trying not to sniffle. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to see me.”

"Of course I want to see you,” she answers. “You're my best friend."

You feel your bottom lip shaking, can’t fight the sniffles this time. You drag the sleeve of your cardigan across your eyes, voice cracking when you speak next. "You really mean it, May?"

"I’m inviting you round, aren’t I?” She says, sharp tone softened by a sigh crackling in your ear through the receiver. “Of course I mean it.” You hum a high sound, a stifled sob of relief, eyes squeezed shut. “Now, come watch Kevin Bacon shake his ass with me." 

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You are warm under the silken soft quilt pulled from May’s bed. Your stomach is heavy with buttered popcorn and gummy worms. Your skin is soft from the homemade face masks you made in her kitchen, singing along to Cyndi Lauper and listening to May read the recipe aloud from the newest YM magazine dropped on her doorstep just this morning.

Stirring oatmeal and yoghurt together like a potion, you felt a pang of nostalgia. For a second, you were seven years old, standing with May over a muddy puddle, your makeshift cauldron brimming with gathered leaves, stones, and red berries. You’d mix it up with long, gnarled twigs and cackle together like the witches. The mucky water wasn’t just mud, then. It was poison, it was love potion. It was magic, made together. 

Today, at eighteen, you glanced up at May’s concentrated face while she attempted to separate egg whites from yolks, and let yourself be soothed by the thought that maybe some things are still as they were. 

Footloose was abandoned after Kevin Bacon finished throwing himself rhythmically around an empty warehouse, May’s interest in it vanishing swiftly after that. You found yourself on the couch talking while the film played on in the background until the popcorn was finished and the oats could be washed from your face. 

Then May led you up to her room, almost as familiar to you as your own. 

The cream lambskin rug, still matted and stained in one corner from that time you’d spilt nail polish over it. Terrified you might not be allowed to come over anymore, May told her mom it was her, and she was grounded for a week. 

You bought her those fairy lights, the ones that hang above her bed. Last year, you wrapped them in pink tissue paper, felt the satisfying swell of a present well chosen when she’d hugged you tight with the box still in her hand. 

May has her own cork board. Amongst plastic medals and concert tickets, there is you at that fair, you and Heather at prom, the second strip from the photo booth. 

“And it’s like, when was it decided that we had to pick our whole future at eighteen, anyway?” May asks, eyebrows twitching like she wants to furrow them. She fights through it, keeping them high on her forehead to let you smooth powder over her lids. “Here I am, barely out of the cradle!” You snort, and her mouth tilts a touch. “Feels like I started walking last week, and now it’s all, what do you mean you don’t have a clue what you want to do with your life? It just feels crazy to me.”

“It is.” You shift forward on the soft shag carpet, your knees bumping hers under the throw keeping your legs warm. 

“Right? I mean, you know that your brain doesn’t even really mature until you’re, like, twenty-five? So I am close enough to a child that I really shouldn’t have this responsibility.”

Humming in agreement, you rub your thumb at the corner of her eye, smudging the edge of the lilac eyeshadow there. 

“At least I have an idea where I’m going. Indiana State, here I come. You’re still applying for NYU, right?”

“Mm. Maybe,”

“Oh, come on, you have to apply at least!” She insists, eyelids twitching. “It’s the place to be, for your poetry, right?”

You hum. “I might still do Chemistry.”

“Chemis- absolutely not!” Her eyes fly open, and you make a noise of protest.

“I’m not done!”

“You are not doing Chemistry.” May says, a comic picture with one eye bordered by soft pastel tones, the other bare of colour, while she looks at you sternly. “You don’t enjoy it!”

“But I could get a job at the end,” you reason. 

May snorts, eyes closing gently, chin peaking out to let you get back into it as though she’s already won the argument. “Job schmob,” she says. “When you’re in New York, you can find a rich man to worry about that.” You frown, and like she senses it, the eye you’re not working on opens again. “Or find a rich man for me. He has to be really rolling in it though, so he can look after us both.”

You hear Eddie’s voice in your ear like he’s in the room with you. Just wait, I’ll look after you. 

“Think you can do that?” May asks. “Keep an eye out for me, when you’re making all your arty, interesting friends in New York?”

You swallow, tuning back into the conversation. “I don’t think really want me to find you a man.”

“Mmph. The way my love life is going, I’ll need whatever help I can get.” She moves a little then, a slight tilt of her head that would be imperceptible to anyone but you, who's seen every degree of emotion on May’s face. You know she’s going to drop something serious before she even opens her mouth. “I saw Liam last week.”

You fight through the temptation to stop blending the eyeshadow on her lids, keeping your tone as even as possible. “Oh?”

“When I was in Indianapolis with the girls?” Those trips with the cheerleaders you avoid desperately. The thought of being stuck in a car with Caroline on the way there and back can make you break out in a cold sweat. “He was at one of the bars. He apologised, said he wanted to maybe go out again.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything-”

“That was your judgy mmmh,” she says, batting your hand away from her face to look at you straight. “Last time I heard it was when I showed you that top I bought last month.”

Despite yourself, you crack at the memory of the flouncy pink thing she’d shown you with an awkward, self-aware smile. You’d been working out how to gently tell her to burn it when she’d figured out the tone of your hum and thrown it off in front of you with a whispered, “what was I thinking?” 

Now, your tilted lips turn down at May’s solemn expression, her eyes shiny. 

You shuffle closer, tucking the blanket around the both of you gently, cocooning your legs in together. “He hurt you, last time. Used you.” 

She chews her lip. “That’s what boys do.”

“May-”

“I know you think what happened with Andy was bad, but you’ll learn, that’s just how they are. They need a little more forgiveness than girls, and some of them are worth it.”

You feel the beginning of the argument she might not be quite past. “Andy didn’t really like me, May. He only wanted-”

“The same thing they all want. The only thing they all want.”

Your heart aches for her. “That’s not true.”

“You think it’s not true right now, but when you hold out on Munson the way you did with Andy, you’ll see that it is.”

You fiddle with your fingers then, wondering if you should tell her. The guilt of not sharing that you’d started seeing Eddie prickles along the back of your neck. Your knee starts to bounce, and May blinks at you, just as attune to the meaning of your expressions. “Well, with Eddie-”

“Please, please, tell me you haven’t fucked Eddie Munson.”

“No. I mean, not yet but,” you begin, fiddling with your skirt. “Like, we’ve done, y’know, other stuff.” You glance at her shocked face, worry rising. “Don’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Why would I tell anyone something that would literally ruin what’s little is left of your reputation? You wouldn’t let Andy do anything but you’ve been seeing the freak for a few weeks and you’re, what, sitting in his dirty van giving him hand jobs?”

“Oh my god, May!”

“What? What am I supposed to think?”

You shake your head, tense your hands in your clothes. “It’s not like that with Eddie.” Your mind is awash with shiny brown eyes, soft pink cheeks, Eddie’s voice tickling your neck. “I don’t worry about anything, with him. It’s fun.”

“It’s fun.”

“It’s like, I thought sex was something a boy would do to me, something I’d have to let him do. With Andy, it was like if he took me on dates, it was what he would get in return,” you say, fiddling with the blanket. “But with Eddie it’s like,” you hum, hating how awkward this all sounds, so unused to talking about sex yourself, so used to hearing it from other, experienced, confident people. “We go on dates together, and talk together. And then with the, y’know, sexual stuff, we’re doing it…together.”

“But not really doing it, right?”

“No. But my point is,” you continue, grabbing her hand, clasping it in both of yours. “I know I don’t really know anything about boys, and I know you’re not Eddie’s biggest fan. But even though it’s not been long, I think he’s proof that, maybe, sometimes, boys aren’t what either of us thought. And if you really like Liam, then maybe he deserves your forgiveness. But I really, really don’t think he does if he hasn’t made you think twice about what all boys want. And maybe if you found somebody like Eddie-” She makes a face, but you ignore it. “I mean, somebody who doesn’t ask you to forgive them all the time. I think that would be better.”

“Well, I can tell you right now, I don’t want an Eddie.” You press your lips together, listen to her sigh. “But you’re also…probably, maybe right about Liam.”

“He doesn’t deserve you, May. I mean, to apologise when you happened to be at the same bar! If he was really sorry, he should have come to see you with flowers and everything. He probably just saw you, all pretty, and realised what a dunce he’d been.”

She smiles a little at the vitriol in your voice, usually so soft and quiet. “I missed you.”

You almost flinch. “I’ve been here.”

“You stopped sitting with me at lunch.” 

“I…” You close your mouth, shrug instead. 

“I know it’s partly my fault. I was angry, so I stopped defending you. But then, I mean, you just gave up.” 

“I just- Some of the cheer girls are so intimidating, I never know what to say to them.”

“But you don’t try.” Your heart is sore, the guilt of knowing you’ve made life a little more difficult for her. “Listen, if you want to date Eddie Munson, I can be okay with that. I am okay with that.” She nods, seemingly trying to convince herself. “But will you just try, a little more, with the cheer girls? You don’t have to defend your relationship all the time, but maybe just try talking to them about something else? You could come on our next trip!” 

Your toes curl at the thought. “I don’t know.” 

“Please? We can’t let a boy come between us.” You wonder what she’d say if she knew how hard Eddie seems to try not to come between you. “I like Heather, even though she abandoned us. And I like the cheer girls. But I love you. You’re my best friend.”

“I love you, May. It won’t change.”

“So you’ll try?”

You chew the inside of your lip, give her a little nod that has her breaking out into a smile. “Okay. Okay, great.”

You try not to think about exactly what you’ve just compromised on while you finish her make up. May sits, silent and smiling while you sweep dark eyeliner across her lids, brush mascara over her long lashes.

“There, all done.” You love this bit. May turns to the floor length mirror beside you and grins at her reflection, her pretty eyes bordered by soft pastels from your new palette. It sends a warmth through you that you’d never admit to. Knowing you’re good at this, that even the cheer girls who think you’re weird admire the way you’ll do their make up at competitions. “It’s cool, right?”

“I love it,” she breathes, shifting closer to the mirror enough that the warm throw pulls from the tops of your legs, leaving your thighs chilly. “Just one last question. You’re not gonna play that Satanist game, right?”

Your brain short circuits, having thought you’d just agreed that you wouldn’t have to explain yourself. “Um, It’s really not what you think.” 

The scene plays out in your mind. Eddie, his lips on yours, your hands tangled in his hair, letting you tilt your hips to rub yourself over his thigh, suddenly pulled away from you with a gasp. He’d thrown himself from the bed dramatically, holding his open jeans up by the waistband. You’d watched him, breathless and warm, while he scrambled for a pen before writing in his D&D notebook and looking up at you in excitement. “I just thought of a really cool way to lure them into this whole cave thing I’ve been planning. Shit. They’re so fucked.” Before you could consider being offended that that’s what he’d been thinking about while kissing you, your legs were over his shoulders, his lips were smiling at your thigh. 

You can’t help your fond laugh. “Eddie’s such a dork about it. Last week-” You pause at her expression, realising that May probably doesn’t want to hear that story. You clear your throat. “They just pretend to be fantasy characters.” Witches over a cauldron, Princesses sharing a Kingdom. “Like we used to do, sorta.”

“Yeah, when we were kids.”

You have to swallow the lump that brings up to your throat. To hear her dismissal of the time you’ve been daydreaming about since you walked through her front door. “It’s not Satanist.”

“But you’re still not going to play it, right?”

“No,” you say, feeling cold. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it, anyway.”

She watches you for a second, but says nothing before grabbing the eyeshadow palette from the floor beside you. “Let me try, then. Get you all glammed up for making s’mores later.”

You smile with closed lips, let your eyes fall shut. You have to ignore the pang in your heart, the reminder that some things are entirely different from when you were seven. 

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“You know, I kinda thought there’d be more trembling.” Eddie’s breath tickles your ear as he whispers, again when he blows cool air on your neck just to see you wriggle a little while you look up at him, wide eyed. His pale face is illuminated only by the screen at the front of the room, but you can still see the mischief in his eyes, in the barely there turn of his smile. “I was told that taking a pretty girl to a scary movie would have you grabbing my thigh in pure terror. That you’d need me to comfort you with my masculinity.” 

You just about fight off the laugh, still glad that you are sequestered together in the back row when a soft amused noise escapes your throat. On screen, the newly transformed and aptly named Evil Ed laughs maniacally. The special effects and practical make up are impressive, but the whole thing has enough of a teen movie vibe that you’ve been about as scared as you were watching Kevin Bacon stuck on a tractor yesterday. 

“You and your masculinity should have picked a scarier movie.” You feel the flutter of nerves that accompanies teasing Eddie back, still always a little worried that it will come out wrong. The answer of Eddie stifling his laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides, has the butterflies scattering. 

“Noted,” Eddie whispers, cheeks dimpled. It strikes you how close he is now, his breath spreading over your cheeks. He leans down more, his nose at your temple, his lips pressing soft to the skin beside your eye. You shut both, breath shaking as Eddie’s mouth leaves a handful of kisses down your cheek to the corner of your mouth. There, he feels you twitch, and his eyes open to find you tense in your seat, fingers curled in your sleeves. 

You are fighting the urge to turn and check the rest of the row, the whole room, to make sure nobody is watching. The image of an attendant appearing with a flashlight taunts you, the thought of being escorted out of the theatre in shame. You open your mouth, trying to work out what to say, but Eddie just smiles at you. His hand finds yours, fingers tangling together in a gentle squeeze. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, licking his lips quickly. “M’sorry, baby.” 

You watch him lean back in his seat, face set in contentment to be sitting with you and feeling your palm against his. You’d been worried for a second there, that he might be angry with you, or that you might have to explain your worries until he understood. But it’s Eddie. 

You stare at his profile, the soft curls the brush his face, his pouty lips, and find you really, really want to kiss him, here and now. Eddie’s your boyfriend, you remind yourself with a shiver of happiness. Teenage girls have been kissing their boyfriends in the backs of movie theatres since the projector was invented, so why, why, shouldn’t you kiss yours?

You rub at the sleeve of your cardigan with your free hand, letting yourself have the comfort of looking around you quickly to make sure there really isn’t anyone else in this row, or even the one in front. With your eyes closed tight, you remind yourself that the boy who ripped your tickets looked about fifteen, not quite dedicated enough to this job to search the rows looking for kissing teenagers with an invasive flashlight. 

Pressing your knees together, you cuddle into Eddie’s side, smell his two-in-one shampoo and his aftershave and his skin. You press a kiss to his cheek, feel a little scratch of early stubble against your lips. His head turns, eyes scanning over your face. “We don’t have to, sweet thing.”

“I know.” You nod, tilting your chin up in petition. “Please?”

Eddie watches you for a second, giving you time to back out before he leans down to press his lips to yours. It’s a chaste thing; so quick that he has your mouth following him when he pulls away to make sure you’re still happy to kiss him here. Eddie breathes a soft laugh that has your stomach twisting, then his hand is covering your cheek. You feel his breath, your eyes close, and he’s kissing you. 

Eddie’s mouth is warm, but it tastes like blue raspberry slushy; sweet and sharp. At the first lick of his tongue against your lips, you feel a soft noise wanting to escape your throat, but it’s beaten back swiftly by the remaining fear that has your heart racing even as Eddie’s thumb smooths a gentle caress over your cheek. Underneath that is a new giddiness. The feeling that you’ve pushed past something, overcome a fear, however small. And to be doing this, making out with your boyfriend at the back of a movie theatre, like other girls have done.

Your arms find his shoulders, hands clasped together behind him, and Eddie smiles to your lips, just barely pulls away. His thumb stretches to rub your swollen bottom lip. “My brave girl.”

You shiver when he kisses you again, your toes curling in your sneakers. You think you could live on Eddie’s praise. Every pretty girl, smart girl, good girl he gives feels like it’s designed to leave you wanting to crawl onto his thighs, or else sit between them. Eddie’s mouth, intent on yours, wet enough that it feels like the start of something he definitely won’t finish in the back row of screen three, has you remembering how free he can be with his praise when your mouth is on him.

You weren’t expecting to like it so much, but thinking about the weight and taste of him in your mouth makes you squirm as much as the thought of his own tongue where you are most sensitive. You’ve enjoyed it every time since the first moment you spent looking up at him from between his thighs. Watching Eddie fight to keep his eyes on you, mess his own hair up when he forces himself not to take yours in his fist and push you down. His voice, desperate and breathy, coaxing you to try and take him just a little deeper, sweet thing. The quick hot flash of degradation when he taps his cock against your cheek or your tongue before pressing inside.

There is even something pleasant about the lasting ache in your jaw afterwards. The feeling that you’re willing and wanting to do something that hurts to make Eddie feel good is a sick satisfaction you're not yet used to.  

Cinema speakers fill the room with a swelling, dramatic soundtrack. A girl screams, a monster cries out in pain, no doubt making everyone else in the room jump in terror and shake with anticipation for how the whole thing will end. You can hear it, but only just, so firmly in the world of Eddie-Eddie-Eddie. 

Eddie has the beats of the movie memorised already, pulling away from you with a soft gasp just as the opening notes of the music over the end credits begin, a little line of spit connecting your lips until Eddie makes one last move to lick it away. 

The lights come up seconds later, the first groups of people standing to leave. They walk past you and Eddie, both breathless and dishevelled, without a second glance. Under the new lighting, Eddie’s cheeks are now clearly pink. It warms you from the inside out to know that you did that.

You feel the need to be close to Eddie as you leave, grasping onto his hand with both of yours when your jackets are on and he’s guiding you from the theatre. “How’d you like the movie?” He asks in the parking lot, dimples deep in his cheeks.

You hide your face in his arm, feeling that strange new embarrassment crawling up your spine. You mumble into the leather of his sleeve. “I hope nobody asks me how it ends.”

“Yeah, hadn’t thought about that.” Eddie opens the door to his van, holding your hand to help you up until you’re settled in the front seat. He leans in through the door with wide eyes. “Hey, maybe we could see it again next weekend?” 

You chew the inside of your lip. “Would I really see the end if we did?” 

His head falls forward, hair following in a wave. When his head tilts back up, one of his eyes is closed. “You figured me out that easy, huh?”

You smile at each other, Eddie looking over your face as you look over his. His big eyes, dark eyelashes, light freckles, sweet nose, plush pink lips. You’ve never seen another boy you could so comfortably describe as pretty.

You think he might walk round to his side, but instead you feel Eddie’s palm, warm at your knee. “So, uh, the thing is,” he rubs a circle with his thumb at the bottom of your thigh. “It’s Wayne’s day off, and most likely if we go to my place he’ll be in the living room watching MacGyver.”

“Oh.”

You feel guilty for being disappointed. Wayne is always polite, never breathes a word of complaint at the fact you seem to be in his home most days. The only inkling of irritation you get is never at you or Eddie. Instead, there is something in the way he drags himself from the trailer every evening, ready to stay up all night at the factory. When you’d asked where he slept, realising that the only bedroom in the trailer was the one decked out with posters and amps, Eddie had shown you the fold out bed in the living room with a close lipped smile. 

He is, more than anyone, due a day off. But you were gearing yourself up for being in Eddie’s bed tonight, trying to prepare the least awkward way of asking him. 

“And I’m happy to just hang out with you, sweet thing, you know that.” His hand squeezes, even the metal of his rings warm from his skin. “So we can go back to mine and watch MacGyver with the old man, or I could try to teach you some guitar again?” 

That’s tempting, certainly. You doubt sitting between Eddie’s legs with his arms around you, guiding your hands over his acoustic guitar was the most effective teaching method, but you certainly preferred it to any alternative. 

“But if you wanted,” Eddie continues. “Only if you wanted, I could maybe drive us to the quarry or something?” Eddie blinks, tucks some of his hair behind his ear with his free hand. “It’s, uh, quiet.”

Your heart beats a little faster, you can hear the sudden rush of it in your ears. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, in that sweet way of his, wanting to make sure you’re not just acquiescing to everything he suggests. 

“Sounds good, I mean.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Belt on, sweet thing.” He gives your knee one last squeeze while you pull the belt over your front, then pushes away from the frame of the door. He taps a quick rhythm under the window when it’s closed, grins at you through the glass. You watch him jog round to the other side, hair flying out behind him, and wonder if every single thing he does will make you want him more. 

You sit in companionable silence while Eddie drives, feeling that soft comfort you only get with a few people, knowing that he’s not waiting for you to speak. You look out the window, watch the shops and gas stations disperse into houses which in turn give way to trees. All of them appear more as streaks of colour than clear pictures with the way Eddie drives, like he’s being judged on time. 

“Hey, can I play you something?” 

You turn from the window, taking a second to fully register the question before you hum a positive noise. Eddie’s right hand reaches out to turn on the stereo, the sudden attack to your ears of wailing guitar making you jump until he turns it down all the way with a sheepish smile, a murmured, “sorry.”

You watch Eddie’s hand, pale and lithe, as he skips through tracks. The metal chain that adorns his wrist is twisted a little at the leather clasp, and you reach to straighten it out with your thumb and first finger. When he’s found the right track, he turns it back up a touch, wiggles his fingers until you grab his hand. An urgent rhythm fills the van, the tell-tale guitars of all Eddie’s music, and he sighs, leaning back into his seat with a grin. 

“Hear the rime of the ancient mariner, see his eye as he stops one of three, mesmerises one of the wedding guests. Stay here and listen to the nightmares of the sea.”

Something clicks.

“Oh, that’s a Coleridge poem!” You lean forward to turn it up further with your free hand, trying to concentrate on the words. It tells the whole story from the lyrical poem you’ve had a copy of since you took an interest in the romantics when you were fifteen; a mariner who kills an albatross and is blamed for the resulting misfortune by everyone on his ship. 

“I knew you’d know it. My smart girl.” Eddie is the picture of pride, eyes crinkled at the sides. “I was reading a Steve Harris interview - he, uh, writes most of Iron Maiden’s songs? And he mentioned the reference and I just thought, you know, you might think it was cool.”

“I do.” You picture Eddie, soft and comfy in his bed, flicking through a magazine. You imagine him reading about his favourite thing, and a spark lighting in his head relating to you. Something that made him excited to share it with you. “Thank you, Eddie.”

He shrugs, like it doesn’t mean anything, but his cheeks are blooming with pink. You can’t say anything else, for fear of blurting out every thought running through your head. 

You listen in silence, trying to decide how you want to ask him. Every way to say it feels awkward and wrong. Fuck me, take me, have sex with me. You picture asking Eddie to make love and feel a mix of yearning and nausea. By the time you reach the quarry, you have been playing with the ring on Eddie’s right hand, feeling the smooth stone, twisting it round his finger, for a good five minutes.

Eddie steals his hand from you while he parks by the trees opposite the quarry, pulling the keys from the ignition and throwing them on the dashboard before reaching out to let you take hold of his hand again. The easy quiet is gone. You can feel him waiting for you to speak. Your mind screams at you to remain silent, hating the thought that you might risk humiliation with Eddie. 

“Will you look at me, baby?” Eddie pulls your hands from between you. You follow it with your gaze, watch him press a kiss to your knuckles before you meet his eyes. "I really didn't mean to, you know, imply anything by bringing you here."

You shake your head emphatically. “I know. You’d never.”

Eddie breathes a little sigh from his nose, looking relieved. You think he has to be the sweetest boy ever born, and then you can’t help yourself. Eddie makes a soft happy noise when you bring your face to his, lets you kiss his soft bottom lip. He licks softly at yours, so you open your mouth to let him in, holding back a whine and reaching up to play with the collar of his denim vest; the material rough and familiar in your fingers. 

Eddie pulls from you, licks his lips, and breathes, "I can't get enough of that." 

"Mm?"

"The way you grab at me when you get a little shy."

Your eyes widen, processing the reminder that your silly little habits are not as inconspicuous as you might wish to believe. Of course Eddie has noticed the way you fiddle with his hands, his rings, his hair, his clothes, the second you feel an uptick in the pace of your heart. But then, Eddie just said he likes it. 

"S'not annoying?" 

“Not for me! They call me Eddie the stress toy, you know. People used to come for miles around to give me a squeeze."

You laugh at his attempt at an earnest face. "Used to?" 

"Yeah, well, you got exclusive rights, these days." Eddie says, tilting his head with a touch of endearing shyness. “What kinda idiot would I have to be, not to like my girl touching me all over?”

You want him, want him, want him.

You press your heated face to his shoulder, still playing with the frayed denim of his collar while you mumble into the vest. “Eddie?” You feel the vibration of his answering hum against your cheek. “I want-” You shake your head, as if you could bury yourself into his clothes. “Can we-” You turn your face, looking at the seat behind, all the space there. 

Eddie strokes at your waist. “You wanna, uh, get in the back?”

At your quick nod, Eddie clasps your cheek with his warm hand. He tilts your head, kisses you soundly. “Stay right there.” 

Eddie jumps from the van, legs swinging, and jogs round to your side to open the door for you. “Princess,” he says, offering you his hand with a flourish. You giggle, jumping down towards him and letting him lead you round to the back of his van like a gentleman. Still keeping up the routine, he opens the back door and gestures with a bow before helping you up. 

The back is a scene of amps and wires, a bass drum with CORRODED COFFIN scrawled over the skin. Luckily there is space enough for the two of you, so you settle yourself in the middle, surrounded by enough little pieces of Eddie that the back of this van feels a little like home. When you look up, Eddie’s still outside, staring in at you.  

You press your knees together, turn them to the side. “Eddie?”

“Yeah-” his voice breaks. He tries to hide it with a cough, clearing his throat and giving his chest a couple taps with the side of his fist. “Yeah,” he repeats, deeper now, as he climbs up after you. When the doors are closed, Eddie shuffles towards you, half squatting. “So, you’re happy with the carriage, Princess?” You nod, throat tight when Eddie kneels down in front of you. “That’s good.” Something in his face changes, a spark of excitement in his dark eyes. “You wanna lay back for me?” 

The space between your legs pulses. “Mm.”

“Here,” he says, pulling off his jacket and rolling it up into a makeshift pillow. You lean back and he leans in to place it below your head, face above yours while you settle into the soft leather. His hair tickles your cheeks until he tucks it back, staring down at you. Your heart, your body, screams at you, ask him, ask him, ask him. Eddie kisses your neck quickly, shakes his head like he’s emptying out a thought. “Fuck, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this dream.”

Again, ask him, ask him, ask him.

“Eddie,” you start, mind caught between the worry of how this will go and giving in to the gentle fuzziness of Eddie’s hands rubbing gently at your waist. You swallow, look to his eyes, then his forehead. “Will you-” The words catch, leaving you with a warm face and eyes squeezed closed in embarrassment. 

Eddie hums, gifts your cheeks his lips. His nose brushes the side of your face, and he murmurs. “Anything you want, pretty. Let me hear it, mm? ”

It’s Eddie, you tell yourself. From the first time you spoke to him, he’s never judged you for anything. He won’t judge you now. It’s Eddie, you repeat in your head. My Eddie. 

“I’ve never, um-” Your toes curl at the clear nerves in your voice, the beating of your heart that you swear he must be able to hear. “Nobody’s ever- Mmh.” 

“It’s just me,” Eddie says, thumb at your cheek. “It’s only me, sweet girl. Wanna know what you’re thinking.”

“I think,” you sigh, let some of the nerves out with it. “I think you’re beautiful, Eddie.” He blinks, surprised, but gives you a sweet smile when you touch gently at his pink cheek, feel the beginning of bristle under your finger. “And I want you. I mean, I want you to be first.” And second, and third, and every time after.

You stare at each other, breath heavy in your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine until he blinks it away. “Come- come here,” Even though he says it, he’s the one to lean down to you, giving you a chaste kiss that turns desperate when you reach up to play with his curls. 

Your head swims, relief and anticipation swirling together. A quiet moan escapes you when Eddie’s mouth moves to your jaw, down your neck. “Do you, um, have, like, protection?”

Eddie freezes. His face comes into view, brows furrowed. “Wait. You want me to fuck you right now?”

Oh. You hear the rush of blood in your ears, a ringing noise. You pull your hands from his hair, fingers curling, hands tucked to your chest. You suddenly wish he wasn’t on top of you, wish you could hide your face from him. Your head starts working overtime, supplying all the things he’s no doubt thinking about you now. You think of Erin, writing on the bathroom wall. Slut. Desperate. Whore.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. Eddie presses his pointer finger to your temple, gives it a playful rub. “Are you doing that thing you said you do? Lying there convincing yourself you’ve fucked something up?”

A little part of you resents that he nailed it down so quickly, but you nod, blinking away the first bubbling tears, staring at the collar of his Metallica shirt rather than his face. “I just thought you’d want to.”

Eddie makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. “C’mere.” He pushes himself up from the floor of the van, grabs your hand to pull you with him. You end up curled at his side, knees just resting on the side of his thigh, his arm tucked around your shoulder as he leans you both against the back of the seats. You pull your sleeves over your hands, fidgety even as Eddie is rubbing at your shoulder softly. 

“Course I want to,” he says, leaning into you. “I wanted you on that picnic table. I want you all the time.”

That soothes you a little, enough that your right hand peeks out from your sleeve to play with the hem of his shirt. But your sensitive heart still throbs, tentative and sore. “So, why…?”

“I- Shit. Give me a minute.” Eddie hugs you tight for a second, then shuffles across the floor of the van, practically launching himself out of the back doors with a practised ease that makes you smile despite yourself. You can’t see him from here, but you hear him outside, the passenger door opening and closing behind you. When he returns, he’s got that metal lunch box he carries around with him. A different kind of confusion blooms when he sits next to you and opens it, rummaging through the little plastic bags of illicit substances. He pulls out a wad of rolled bills, a little chunkier than when you’d bought weed from him in the woods that first day.

“Wanna know what this is for?” Eddie asks, looking unusually serious when you glance at him. He opens his mouth then closes it again, eyes fixing on where he is thumbing at the band holding the bills together. “I thought you might ask me, eventually. Hoped you would, at least.” He breathes a laugh, pings the elastic. “So I’ve been saving up, you know?”

“Saving up?”

Eddie nods, turns his wide gaze to you with a tilted head. “Wanted to take you somewhere nice. Buy you dinner, something other than a burger or a pizza slice. Get a room at a hotel, with a big comfy bed. Thought I could show you-” He twitches, eyes flickering away from your face and back again. He swallows, shrugs. “S’like I said. I wanna deserve you.”

Your tense shoulders slump. Your chest aches. “Eddie,” you whisper, shaking your head. Trying again to blink away tears, you grab the roll of dollars from him, throw it back into that dumb obvious lunchbox. You climb up into his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. Your wet eyes meet his. “You don’t have to prove anything. You deserve-” Me, whatever you want, everything. Your fingers twitch. You close your eyes tight, ashamed you can’t look at him when you say it. “I think, all the time, about how much I wish I knew you earlier. It’s like, before, I just spent the whole time missing you.” You find it in you to look at him then, gaze at his pretty face; pink, lightly freckled, shiny under his eyes. “I want you, Eddie. I want to be with you wherever you are.”

You stare at each other, listening to the steady rhythm of your breaths until they move in sequence, chests expanding and contracting together. You get that same feeling you got when Eddie held your hand after touching you for the first time, how he listened when you told him about how you blow out of proportion in your head, the way he was angry for you when you recounted how Andy treated you. When Eddie told you that he couldn’t understand you liking him, that people have held him at arm's length for being too much, that he refuses to give up on school, believes wholeheartedly in his dreams. One moment at a time, you are peeling back layers, exposing soft tissue. You are offering each other all your hidden parts, whispering, please look after this with every squeezed hand and kissed cheek. 

Eddie sniffs, wipes his eyes. Seeing his shaky smile, hearing his wet laugh, is better than any soft bed in any hotel.

“That’s good, cause, uh, I really hadn’t saved that much.” You giggle together through lumped throats. “At the rate I was going, you were gonna be waiting till you were forty-five.” You shake your head at him fondly, reaching up to play with the feathers of hair that brush the side of his face. Eddie pulls you in closer, ducks his chin. “But I still can’t take your virginity in the back of my van, sweet thing,” he says. “It just wouldn’t be right. You should be in a bed, at least. And if you’re happy for it to be mine? I’ll just make sure my sheets are washed.”

You rub the soft ends of his hair between your fingers. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah?” His hand comes to your cheek, helping you look at him. He must be able to feel the warmth of your face in his hand, but you lean into his palm anyway. When Eddie kisses you, it’s a gentle thing, a promise. 

When his tongue peeks out to lick into your mouth, it’s a request you’re happy to fulfil. Eddie groans at the taste of you, the sound of it registering across your whole body. Your hips roll subtly, and you feel the quirk of his lips. 

Eddie sighs into your mouth. “My pretty girl wants me to fuck her in my bed, mm?” 

The increasingly familiar zing of pleasurable shame zips up your spine. The air around you shifts, crackling like the split second of awareness before an electric shock. “Yeah, Eddie.” 

“But you need to be touched right now. So desperate,” he murmurs, the word that had mocked you minutes ago, now a warm tease. “So desperate you wanted to take my cock for the first time right here. In my van, parked by the side of the road.”

You shake your head, because you’re not really at the side of the road. Eddie was right when he said it’s quiet; nobody comes here. You’re about as likely to be found by the quarry as you are in his room. Eddie’s eyes light up with dark amusement, his hand drifting to the back of your neck. The pressure of his fingers there makes your hips twitch, your body recognising the signs, the promise of what’s to come when Eddie’s palm starts holding your head up. 

“No?” He asks, tilting his head, a teasing pout finding his pink lips. “You sayin’ I didn’t hear your right?”

Your toes curl. “No.”

The lines that run from the sides of Eddie’s nose to the corners of his lips deepen. “No, I did hear you right?”

“Eddie,”

“Ahh, yeah,” he breathes, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you lie back. He reaches out for his jacket, still rolled up on the floor, and places it back under your head. “That’s the good stuff.” You open your legs for him, let him settle his body on top of you, feeling the hardening length of him through denim and cotton at the apex of your thighs. Eddie licks his lips, tucks his hair back with a breathy laugh. “Shit. You got me thinking about it, now.”

Eddie sinks his face to your neck, the warm sting of his tongue making the mess between your legs increasingly hard to ignore. His big hand pulls at the hem of your skirt, lifting it up to your tummy. He glances down your body, eyes closing tight at the pale blue cotton cupping your mound, dark and sticky where it’s soaked up your wetness. “Wanna feel your little pussy on my cock so fucking bad. I can’t tell you how-” He cuts off a groan at the first run of his fingers over the wet material. “Christ. How many times I’ve thought about it.” 

You blink at him slowly, mind drifting into the calm of knowing Eddie’s going to make sure you both feel good. Your hips tilt naturally, helping him rub the curve of his finger over your clit through soaked cotton, then wiggling to help him more when his fingers hook into the elastic to pull them down your legs. Once they’re past your sneakers, he holds them in his hand for a second, rubbing his thumb along their centre. When you tilt your hips, pussy barely catching the rough denim over his crotch, his nostrils flare. “Don’t distract me, I’m holding precious cargo.”

He seems to settle on where to put them, draping the cotton over the top of one of the amps rather than letting them touch the floor. You giggle at his careful consideration, and Eddie’s dimples press into flushed cheeks. 

“You thought about it?” Eddie asks, watching your face when his thumb sweeps over your clit, noting the sensitivity before he starts up with tight circles that have you keening. “Thought about me inside you?”

He has to feel the new wetness between your legs that comes with your desperate nod. In truth, you’ve thought about it almost endlessly. You know it can hurt, have heard enough stories of virginity loss from the girls at the cheer table to know that it probably will. But when you imagine being close to Eddie that way, the only thing you can conjure up is the feeling of his fingers inside, how much further you’d have to stretch to take Eddie’s cock, the one that makes your jaw ache. Maybe the prospect should give you pause, but thinking about how Eddie would guide you through it sends excited shivers down your spine.

“Yes, Eddie.”

“You wanna feel my cock now?” He breathes, watching confusion flicker over your blissed face. “Know you like riding your pillow, sweet thing,” he says, your face hot at the memory of telling him how you masturbate. “But I think you might like rubbing up on me a little better.” 

Your clit twitches. You clench inside. Eddie either feels or sees the reaction of your body because he’s humming in excitement the next second, leaning down to kiss you, press his tongue to yours until you’re groaning into his mouth. He looks a little manic when he pulls away, hands scrambling with his belt when he throws himself to the side, lying on his back, ready for you to climb up on him. 

Without thinking, your hands catch his, stopping him from pulling at the loop. You squeeze his palms. “Let me?”

In answer, he moves his hands from his jeans, letting them rest flat across his stomach. You bite your lip, fighting the urge to sit on his thigh and grind against the denim just to get some instant relief. You reach out to the side of his head, grab his jacket and slide it to the back of his head. Eddie tilts his head up, lets you position it just so. You check, “comfy?” and he nods. 

Satisfied, you return to Eddie’s belt. The action of pulling at the leather is excitingly familiar to you now. The button of his jeans comes next, then his zip humming as you pull it down. His boxers are a soft check, the waistband positioned just under the first tufts of dark hair that lead to where Eddie is filling out the material. You think about his hands teasing your clit through your panties, mimicking him by brushing a knuckle over the mound peeking out from his zipper. It’s enough to make Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut, his fingers twitch. 

You hook your fingers into the elastic, start pulling them down. Eddie sighs in relief when his cock meets the air, hard enough to rise from his underwear the second he’s free. You imagine the stretch of him again, and clench down on emptiness. Eddie’s cock is a pretty pink all over. The furled skin at the top is a little shiny, and you know if you grasped his cock and pulled that skin back, his head would be wet with excitement. 

The thought strikes to just lean down and take him in your mouth, surprised to find that that’s already something of a comfort zone for you. But your clit throbs like it’s protesting, so you shuffle on your knees, feeling the sticky spread of your cunt when you open your legs to bracket his hips. You reach down, let yourself stroke Eddie’s cock just to hear the soft noise it draws out from his throat. You rub your thumb over that sensitive spot below his head, press his cock down until his length rests over the hair above it and the bottom of his soft tummy. 

With your free hand, you drift your hand between your legs, letting your fingers drift over your clit. You make a V with your fingers at the top, splitting your cunt open for him and feel a bone deep certainty that Eddie is the only person who could watch you doing this without real shame casting its shadow. 

“C’mon,” Eddie says, getting impatient. “Sit on it, use my cock how you want, just let me feel you.” 

Nodding, body instinctively wanting to follow his direction, you settle yourself on his cock. Eddie groans at the warm slick that surrounds him, hands immediately moving to your hips to help guide you. Your entrance flexes at the base of him, and he tries to pull you straight down like he could find more space between your lips for his girth. “Jesus Chri-”

Eddie’s words cut off with a choke when you glide yourself forward, hearing your wetness spread along his dick. You whine at the feeling, Eddie’s cock stimulating not just your twitchy button but your soft, clenching hole. Shifting back, your legs twitch when his head, exposed as the surrounding skin is pulled back by the clasp of your lips, catches just right against your clit. A few more blissful drags, and you are whining, hands flat against Eddie’s chest, fingers pulling at the softness of his shirt. 

You wiggle your hips, close to hysteria at how good it feels to have Eddie this close. Eddie grins up at you, the pride on his face making you all the more desperate. He looks overwhelmingly pretty like this, hair fanned out across his jacket, lips wet and swollen from his constant licking and your own kisses. His neck, as blushed as his face and his cock, is exposed and tense. His dark eyelashes that flutter every time his head drags over your clit and emerges from between your lips. His eyes, dark in the centre where his pupils have swallowed up mahogany, flicker back and forth between your face and where his cock vanishes and appears again, enveloped and released by the wet split of your pussy.

“You feel me now, mm?” He says, sounding hurried like he’s trying to get it out before his voice is swallowed up by groans. “Haven’t even taken three of my fingers, but you thought you could just lie back and take my cock?” You bounce a little when his head flicks your clit this time, torturing the swollen button with him a little longer. “Couldn’t’ve done it right, not how my desperate girl needs it. Just wanna make you feel good, you know?” 

“Feels good,” you murmur, wiggling your hips to feel his cock flex and shift over all the tender skin where you are most sensitive. “You always feel so good, Eddie.”

“Yeah? That’s it, that’s it.” Eddie’s fingers dig into your hips, no doubt leaving you with marks that will be satisfyingly tender by morning. “Fuck. Fuck, baby, I love you-r pretty voice.” He swallows, eyes now fixed on your pleasured face. “Love when you talk to me.” 

“Eddie, m’gonna-” You start to shake, and his hands grab at your hips, helping you keep moving along him even as the stimulation edges towards painful. 

“That’s it, cum on me. Let me feel it.”

Your body spasms, letting yourself move only with Eddie’s pushing and pulling as the throb of your clit spreads through your body, sends tingles up your spine. You feel your clit numb for a second, know enough now about your own body what that means for the intensity of your orgasm. You sit on that precipice, gasping in air. 

Pleasure bursts, has you shaking and moaning and, unbeknownst to you, repeating, “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” while the boy beneath you chases his own high, wanting to finish before you’re too oversensitive to keep your perfect warm pussy on him. 

Bending his knees, he grinds up into you, helping you slide along him. When he pulls your hips just so, and the tip of him barely catches the soft entrance of your cunt, Eddie finally cries out beneath you. The almost violent twitch of his cock between your legs makes you squirm, picturing that happening inside you. Eddie’s cum, thick and white, lands across his stomach in droplets, the last rope clinging to the tip of his cock in a way that, shamefully, makes your mouth water.

Sensitive, twitching, you rise from his body. Your shaking thighs fail you almost immediately, and you fall back on your butt between his open legs, a hand coming to cover your stimulated pussy like it needs protection. Eddie sits up, wipes his own hand across his stomach and draws his cum into his mouth with an ease that might surprise you if you hadn’t seen Eddie casually taste his own cum just about every time he’s orgasmed in front of you. 

This is what you meant, when you told May that being with Eddie is fun. Sex has always been something with disclaimers attached. Something to be enjoyed, but not too much. Something to get lost in, but not enough that you cross the line into acting slutty. It seemed to you like a tightrope nobody had shown you how to walk. 

And then there’s Eddie, who just watched you cum so hard on top of him that you immediately fell on your ass, and he’s grinning at you like he’s never been so proud of anyone in his life. “Now tell me that wasn’t way better than your pillow.” He reaches out for you, and you let him pull you into his arms, rest your head against his chest. You watch, warm in your face, while he tucks his softening cock, still covered in you, back into his boxers. “You feel okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, tracing the blue lines of lightning on his shirt with your finger. Your thighs twitch again, and you laugh together, soft and breathless. You settle into that post high afterglow, letting yourself be comforted by how surrounded by Eddie you are. His arm around you, his chest under your head. You can hear the way his heartbeat shifts from an intense rhythm to a steady beat under your ear. There’s another sudden uptick just before he speaks.

“I was missing you, too.”

You shift, look up at him from his chest, find him staring at the ceiling. 

“Sometimes my life has felt like being dealt one bad hand after another.” His gaze shifts then, eyes finding yours. “Now, I think, maybe I was saving up for something really good without realising.” 

Eddie Munson; town freak, rumoured Satanist, bad news for sweet girls like you, on the floor of his van, arms wrapped tight around you, says; “You’re a lifetime of good luck, sweetheart.”

And then you know. 

Next Part

[quotes121sworld]

Michael Hutchence's daughter Tiger Lily has confirmed her split from longtime boyfriend Nick Allbrook #Michael Hutchence #Tiger Lily

Tiger Lily Hutchence has broken up with her partner Nick Allbrook after almost six years of dating.The 26-year-old daughter of the late INXS frontman Michael Hutchence resurfaced briefly last year to release her debut album, titled Tragic Tiger's Sad Meltdown, and confirmed her split from the Australian rocker in her bio Bandcamp page."I recorded this cassette in the living room of our home in Fremantle, a coastal town in Western Australia," she wrote."I've always been shy about singing with others, but as I moved around the world and my ex-boyfriend Nick gave me some courage."Tiger Lily added, "Anything closer to nature meant I felt creative and open-hearted. It was like the vast Australian landscape had finally given my heart the space to really open up.”

Tiger Lily Hutchence (left) has broken up with boyfriend Nick Allbrook (right) after nearly six years of datingShe also paid tribute to her late sister, Peaches, who died of a heroin overdose in 2014."Most of the songs are about my sister, Peaches, who I lost when I was a teenager, so singing her out loud felt very powerful, but my band always made me feel held," Tiger Lily continued.Tiger Lily and her former partner were reportedly engaged in 2020 after she was spotted with a ring on her wedding finger.

The 26-year-old daughter of the late INXS frontman Michael Hutchence resurfaced briefly last year to release her debut album, titled Tragic Tiger's Sad Meltdown, and confirmed her split from the Australian rocker in her Bandcamp page's bioThe couple, who lived together in Fremantle, sent the rumor mill into overdrive after their roommate uploaded a romantic photo of them kissing.At the time, a Woman's Day source close to the Hutchence family said Tiger Lily was "excited to spend her life with Nick," a multi-instrumentalist who fronts psychedelic rock band Pond and is a former member of Tame Impala.Although Tiger Lily is releasing new music, she has no interest in being in the star spotlight.

Tiger (pictured with a friend) also paid tribute to her late sister Peaches, who died of a heroin overdose in 2014"She has no interest in being famous like her parents were, and while she's a singer, it's more of a hobby for her than a career," a source said women's Day Last month."The world is filled with regular reminders that she never wants a role in Michael's or Paula's world."In 1997, when Tiger was just 16 months old, her father Michael, aged 37, killed himself in a Sydney hotel room.

Although Tiger Lily is releasing new music, she has no interest in being in the star spotlight. "She has no interest in being famous like her parents were, and while she's a singer, it's more of a hobby for her than a career," an insider told Woman's Day last month Less than three years later, her mother Paula overdosed on heroin at her home in Notting Hill, London. she was 41Tiger was last seen in two different locations on stage in Perth in 2020 singing with a guitarist and playing the piano.Her life is a paradise of surfing, meditation and yoga - a world away from her late parents' gritty celebrity scene.

In 1997, when Tiger was just 16 months old, her father Michael Hutchence (pictured) killed himself in a Sydney hotel room at the age of 37 Last month, Paula Yates' legacy has been thrust into the spotlight again after a two-part documentary that aired on UK Channel 4.The documentary would have opened old wounds for Tiger, who was just four years old and alone at home with her mother when she found Paula dead.Tiger raised the alarm when a friend of Paula's called and she told her she couldn't wake mom.After the death of her parents, Tiger was raised by her mother's ex-husband, Sir Bob Geldof, along with her three older half-sisters, Fifi, Peaches and Pixie.

Tiger's mother, Paula Yates, overdosed on heroin less than three years later at the age of 41 at her home in Notting Hill, London. (The family is pictured in Sydney in 1996.) Read the full article

[sj-ficrecs]

1,000+ followers fic rec!

Recently noticed at some point a little while ago I passed 1,000 followers on this page! In honor of that here’s another fic rec of some good ones I’ve been reading lately. As usual, no specific order. 

PREVIOUS FIC RECS HERE!

(Hopefully this shows up in tags bc my last one didn’t & tumblr wouldn’t fix it) 

Thanks to @whimsicalrogers for this divider I’m using below :)

Bucky x reader:

3B by @softlybarnes Bucky x reader

“Bucky is used to being alone, so is the girl living in apartment 3B. He keeps to his routine, to crossing off amends. But mutual loneliness forges an unlikely friendship. Alone and reclusive, sweet and incredibly strange, with deep secrets and regrets, 3B has more to reveal than meets the eye.”

(un)cool by @belowva rockstar!Bucky x reader

“in the summer of 1973, after covering the howling commandos’ concert for a night, you - a young and inexperienced music journalist - accidentally end up following the up and coming band from new york city across the country. between shows, parties, backstage nonsense, interviews and failed attempts at writing a cover story for rolling stone magazine, you end up developing a love/hate relationship with their brooding, but devilishly handsome, guitarist james “call me bucky” barnes. (based on “almost famous”)”

Your Song by @summergrls​  Rockstar!Bucky x reader

“it’s not summer without you. or, that’s what your favorite rockstar always says. it’s all happening.”

Last Love by @wicked-mind Modern!Bucky x reader

“Based on the quote “He may be your first love but I intend to be your last” by Klaus Mikaelson.”

Remember Me by @wicked-mind​ Modern!Bucky x reader

“Y/N and Bucky were the unlikely match when it came to love, but they were inseparable since they met. After a fight, Y/N left to be a trauma surgeon in the military and returns without her memories. How will Bucky remind Y/N how she is the fire in his bones?”

Cake by @tellmealovestory (Part of the Something More universe) Modern!Bucky x reader

“The wedding plans continue as you and Bucky try to decide on a cake flavor.”

My Eyes by @invisibleanonymousmonsters Bucky x reader, past Steve x reader

“Steve is a good man, America’s golden boy, a hero. He’s Captain America for christ’s sake! So it’s normal to want what he has… right? Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t even deserve the second chance at life he’s been given. But Bucky can never let him know. Steve can never find out that his friend is in love with his best girl.”

The Mess by @sanguineterrain​ Bucky x Avenger!reader

“A wild night in Vegas changes everything between you and Bucky. Suddenly, all eyes are on you and you’re left wondering just how much can change between you and a man whose guts you hate (and who also hates yours).”

The Devil Has Lilith by @write-orflight Bucky x reader, soulmate AU

“They say your soulmate is supposed to be the one person you love unconditionally. So why did they make yours so insufferable?”

College!Bucky series / Couldn’t Be Me by @drunken-imagines College!Bucky x reader

Bucky is a known fuck boy trying to win over reader

Best of Friends by @anna-phora Modern!Bucky x reader

“When your best friend steals marries Bucky’s best friend, the two of you are left with only one solution: to become best friends yourselves.”

Back to You by @celestialbarnes Modern!ex-Bucky x reader

“desperate to find a place to stay after your boyfriend cheated on you, you end up crashing at bucky’s apartment, the problem is he’s the ex that you never really got over and he’s got a new girl who doesn’t like you very much.”

It’s Been a Long, Long Time by @luminnara Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

“When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back…and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!“

Friends Don’t by @watchtowerindistress Bucky x reader

“Reader is in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Bucky Barnes. Rule #1: no feelings - so don’t get attached (written by Bucky). Rule #2: don’t ever stay over (written by (Y/N)). After a fateful mission, one of them is going to break all the rules.”

Just a Touch by @buckychrist Bucky x reader

“Your powers? Controlling any feeling a human can have, from emotions to pain, with a simple brush of your fingertips. Your mission? The traumatized soldier with sad stricken eyes and scream filled nightmares.”

Under Pastel Skies by @redgillan Modern!Bucky x Artist!reader

“Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.”

A Long Ways Away by @ai-unknown Bucky x reader

“Connection, reconnection, and a small miscommunication. Bucky will travel however far, if it means making you smile.”

No Rest for the Wicked by @abovethesmokestacks Trucker!Bucky x reader

Based upon this ask: “i have the absolute weirdest urge today to get railed by trucker!bucky in a motel in like southern florida🤨 and it’s late too, maybe 3-4 am. the place is kinda seedy & it’s rlly humid and hot outside & the ac barely works so we’d both be sweating a lot but it makes it hotter”

Meanwhile in Louisiana by @multifandomwriter Bucky x reader

“You are Sam’s best friend and you meet Bucky when Sam organizes a party down at the docks.”

A Tender Heart by @river-soul Alpha!Bucky x Omega!reader

“You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpected fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit.”

Steve x reader:

Jane Doe by @justkending Modern!Steve x reader

“They weren’t next door neighbors, but they did live in the same apartment complex. However, they were on completely different sides of the complex. Steve always sees her across the way doing her daily routines and way about life on her balcony from his own. Something about her has him checking in on her from across the way when he can… She’s intriguing and has a way about her life that he finds calming and captivating. He wants to know more about who she is, but there’s no non-creepy way of approaching a neighbor that doesn’t know you exist. Is there?”

[natromanxoff]

20 - Rockin' in Rio

Greetings one and all A quick return from the Bondi Bard. Last weekend there was a surprise party for Gerry and Sylvia in San Francisco, and judging from the email I got from Ratty a good time was had by all, and a few of our old mob were there. I would loved to have been there but I was committed to go to the wedding of a good buddy of mine. James and his new wife Suze got married on the original Manly ferry, which has been converted into an amazing houseboat and is moored at Balmain. The ceremony was at 7pm, just as the sun was setting to the left of us, and the Harbour Bridge to the right, very picturesque. An Aussie band called Leonardo's Bride sang their top five hit to the couple (of course I can't remember the name of it) and the girl singer has an incredible voice, and is also gorgeous and a very charming lady, who is shacked up with a DJ mate of mine. Lucky bastard. The booze was good, the food even better and a fun night was had. I can hear that question again, "Whats this got to do with Queen?" Well I shall tell you. James worked as an engineer at Metropolis Studios in London, along with the lovely Heidi, where the Queenies did a lot of recording, he also did some work with the band, but did a lot on BM's first solo outing. The next link is even weaker. I spent a good part of the evening chatting with Rob Hirst, who is the drummer with Midnight Oil, and is also a fabbo chappie. And being a typical drummer, while the Oils are not working he is recording his own solo album, as a singer/guitarist.......sound familiar. We had a couple of drinks and swapped a few stories, and as his wife was with us we managed to keep them all clean.

Staying on the subject of drummers I had an email, via Jacky, from a drummer who didn't seem that amused by the joke I told in my last ramblings, they might hit things but they are really quite sensitive deep down. So I suppose I should say I'm sorry, well I'm not. But here's another little jest to piss him off some more. Q: Whats the most asked question to a person with an IQ of 2? A: What sticks do you use?

Onto Sonia's request for some info on our trips to Brazil. What can I say about Rio except that it is a fun city and we all had a great time there, maybe that's why we went back a second time. On the first venture there I was still looking after the kit, and on one night myself and a few of the crew hit the town and got very drunk on the local drink, I think it was made from sugar, which I can pronounce but I've no idea how to spell it. (Help me out Sonia) We were in a bar getting louder and louder when a Welsh Rugby team came in, and they were big boys, and they are also on the tipsy side.

I'm 6ft, Jim Devenney makes me look small and Bob Bickleman made him look small, and the rugby players are of equal size, so we now have a contest on our hands as to which team can sing the loudest and dirtiest rugby songs. To start with the Welsh were winning because they had a couple of good looking women with them, and even though it was loud it was also in good fun. Devenney then comes up with the great statement that rugby is a girls game, the Welsh reply that at least they don't need padding when they play, unlike Gridiron, to which our team say, "OK, lets have a game on the beach tomorrow morning." This to me sounds like a really daft idea as I hate Gridiron, Rugby and Soccer, so one of the lighting guys and myself decided to leave, which means the Queen crew won by default cause neither team turned up on the beach to play, and as the two of us were leaving the bar we took their gorgeous ladies with us. Sorry Wales.

Our second visit to Brazil, when I was traveling with the band, was for the first Rock in Rio which was a two week festival with a host of big names on, each playing two nights. We did the opening night with three Brazilian acts, then Whitesnake who had Cozy as drummer, then Iron Maiden and then us. The second show was at the end and our opening acts were the B52's and the Go Go's. After the show I ended up in my room with a couple of Go Go girls, and boy were they party hounds. Apart from the bands I've mentioned there were other big names like Rod Stewart, AC/DC, Yes, George Benson and more. It was fun because we got to see old friends of the road, but it was also a nightmare cause we were almost prisoners of the hotel, due to the fact there were far to many fans outside the hotel, so we hung around the pool most of the time. The press were paying guests with poolside views so they could use the room and snap rockstars by the pool, which, of course, put an end to that.

The only thing left to do between shows was to get out of Rio and Roger and I heard of a great place called Buzios (Hope I spelt that correctly) which I suppose is about 100 miles away. Deaky and Wally decided to come as well, and being wimps they took a limo, unlike us drum type people, we don't eat quiche, we're gonna drive. The locals were all driving around in beach buggies, they look like fun, thats us, lets go. A buggy is basically a VW beetle with a different body, and our gleaming white buggy turns out to be the biggest pile of crap ever allowed on a road.

I take the wheel and we're not too far into our journey when 1st gear goes on the missing list, I don't care, I'm a good driver, I can start in 2nd. The gearstick decides to loosen on us, so trying to get it in gear was like stirring soup, who cares, onwards and by now our buggy decides to dump the clutch, so when it came to pulling away I just pushed the stick, and whatever gear it went in was the one we drove in. At least we can see the funny side of it all. What else can God give us to make this mission harder, how about torrential rain, which is great fun to drive in when you don't have a roof on the car. Needless to say the buggy rapidly filled up with water. Five minutes of this downpour and we get our next treat, the wipers pack up, so RT has to stand up and lean over the top and wipe the windshield so I can see where I'm going. By this time we look like a couple of soaking wet tramps, but we are killing ourselves laughing as we watch the red mud flow down the hillsides into the river we are trying to drive through. As we go round a bend we both screamed out "OH F***" at the same time. A huge truck was heading in the opposite direction to us, and as it passed at high speed a tidal wave of red water engulfed us and our crappy little car. I have to be honest here, that did wipe out a bit of the humour. We got to our destination, found the hotel and as the drowned rats walked in, the wimps were sitting in the bar, very dry with very cold beers. Next time, I'm with you Deaky. You would think the first thing I would want was a shower, nope, top of the list was a nice quiet chat with the company that rented us our friendly little buggy, and after a couple of well placed words they didn't charge us. Once there we had a good time. Oh, I nearly forgot, we did a couple of great shows as well.

Loads of the usual stuff

Crystal

[creativewritingpracticestudio]

Soulmates, Sort Of (Axl Rose x Reader)[Smut]

@classydizzyflowerchick sorry for the wait🥺hope you enjoy!

Description: This takes place in 1987. You and Axl meet at a bar, and strike up a conversation. The two of you end up confiding in each other and bonding over your abusive childhoods, realizing how alike you are. Axl’s entranced, to say the least, and things quickly get sexual. The next morning, Axl has to decide: has he found a soulmate, or was this thing just a one-time connection?

Warnings: Smut, mentions of drugs and alcohol, cursing, talk of abusive childhoods(brief mentions of past physical and emotional abuse!)

Every night, it’s the same old thing.

The thought creeped into your head in the spare moments between knocking back glasses of vodka and shooting wary glances at the awkward bartender who’d been eyeing you all night. This was your fourth night in the bar in a row, and the workers had definitely noticed. There wasn’t much else to do when you had no family or friends to be with.

You raised the glass back up to your lips, eyes trained on the ceiling, and were about to order another drink when a rough, deep voice spoke from beside you. “Rum and coke, please.” You glanced up to see a tall red-haired man, about your age, leaning against the bar as he spoke to the bartender. The bartender nodded, never breaking eye contact, and walked away slowly.

The man plopped down in the chair beside you, watching the unnervingly creepy bartender walk away with a weirded-out look on his face. “Creepy asshole.” You smirked, and he realized you’d heard him. “Isn’t he? I had to double-check my drink for pills when he brought it to me.” The man laughed, and reached his hand out for a shake. “Axl Rose.” You raised an eyebrow.

“As in, Guns N Roses? Thought you looked familiar.” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. You a fan?” You smirked and shook your head. “Haven’t listened to music that much lately, only heard a couple of your songs. Not bad though. You got a gift for sure. So, what the hell is Axl Rose doing in a shitty local bar?” He shrugged, picking up his glass as the bartender set it in front of him.

“Quieter than other bars, I guess. What about you? Wanna tell me your name?” You smiled. “It’s (Y/n). And I come here every night. Not much else to do.” Axl nodded, taking another sip of his drink. “That’s for sure. You come here with anyone? Some of my band’s over there.” He pointed towards the game room of the bar, and sure enough, the curly haired guitarist named Slash was playing pinball with the bassist, Duff.

They were drunkenly yelling at each other as they played, Slash threatening to smash his empty vodka bottle over the other man’s head. You laughed. “They look lively. No, I’m not here with anyone. Not too many friends in my life, if I’m being honest.” Axl looked suprised. “Really? You’re awfully pretty not to have any friends. What’s wrong with you?” You almost choked on your drink, surprised at his bluntness, but laughed. “Too much, let’s just say.”

He smirked. “Fair enough. So, you come here often, I’m guessing?” You nodded. “This is my fourth night in a row.” Axl raised his eyebrows. “Alcoholic much?” You rolled your eyes. “Fuck off, I get water sometimes.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. “So, you got family out here?” You winced. Sore question. “Yeah, negative. I haven’t seen my family in like 5 years. Got out of there as soon as I could, you know?”

“So you’re a runaway?” You nodded, and Axl grimaced. “So you’re just like me, then.” You raised an eyebrow. “You ran away from home?” He nodded. “Yeah. There was some shit with the cops, but it was also cuz my old man was an asshole.” You sighed. “Yeah, so was my mom.” Things went quiet for a second, and then he spoke again, softer this time. “Kinda dark to say, but looks like we got something in common.”

You laughed. “Yeah, that’s true.” Axl started to say something, but hesitated. “Do you..wanna talk about it? I don’t usually meet people like me. You don’t have to, obviously, I get it.” You were silent for a moment. You’d never really talked about it, especially not to a stranger. But then again, he’d been through the same shit. Ah, fuck it. You’d probably never see him again after this night, anyway. “Sure. My mom was a screechy-ass bitch. My dad hooked up with her and got her pregnant, and they had to have a shotgun wedding.”

You continued on. “She was always angry, always complaining about everything. She took it out on my dad all the time. One night, he couldn’t take it anymore. He just left. I was 10. That’s when she took it out on me. She’d beat me up and throw shit at me and scream about how ugly and useless and stupid I was. Eventually, I just couldn’t take it anymore. Ran away as soon as I was 18.”

Axl stared at you thoughtfully. “Same situation as me, then. My dad beat on me and my siblings a lot. Pretty sure he did some gross shit to me as a baby, too.” You glanced up in horror. “Dude, that’s awful.” He nodded. “Right? Fucked. Nice to have someone who can relate. Glad it’s a pretty girl, too. Two-in-one bonus.” You smiled. He was charming, you had to admit. Maybe a hookup wasn’t such a bad idea.

————————————————————

After another hour and another 3 drinks, the two of you had talked about basically everything. Your childhoods, your shitty parents, your goals in life, your issues. He was an insecure, anger-filled primadonna, you were a lonely, apathetic bar fly. It was an odd combination, but you felt a connection in a way. Things had also gotten steadily more tension-filled as the night went on. He had moved his body closer to yours, and every time you made eye contact there was a hint of lust.

When the conversation came to an awkward halt(his bandmates had come over to ask for more quarters for the pinball machine), you fidgeted with your skirt and stared off into space. When you glanced back at him, he was dead-staring at you. “What, Rose? See something you like?” You teased him. He nodded. “Yeah, I do. Just not quite sure how to get it yet.” A hint. You thought over what he was implying, wondering if you really were willing to hookup with a stranger from a bar. Well, he wasn’t really a stranger. You’d spoken for a while, and he was cute, and he seemed to understand you in a way no one else really did. So, you took a chance. You leaned forward, lips brushing against his, and whispered a soft reply. “Just ask.”

That was enough. He leaned forward, completing the kiss, smashing his lips against yours, one hand reaching up to cup your face. The other slid around your waist, and pulled you closer to him. After a second, you pulled away and stood up, grabbing his hand and leading him towards the back room that the employees had let you crash in before. Slash and Duff called out cheers and wolf-whistles as you passed, but he ignored them in his haste.

You threw open the door, turning on the dim lamp and closing the door behind you, revealing a room with a single bed, a tv, and a table. Axl quickly pulled you back in for another kiss, and this time you led him to the bed and pulled him down onto it with you, his body pressed against yours so tightly you could feel his bulge forming beneath him. You pushed your hips up against his, and he groaned loudly, grinding against you and deepening the kiss. “Fuck.” His lips were red and swollen.

“You sure you’re down for this?” You nodded quickly. “Hell yeah. Take those fucking pants off so I can suck your dick.” His eyes widened at your lust-filled statement, and he quickly undid his pants and threw the belt to the floor. “Don’t have to tell me twice.” You yanked his pants and his boxers down, tossed them aside, and pushed him into a seated position on the edge of the bed. His shaft was long and hard, the tip red and dripping with pre-cum.

You fell to your knees, hands reaching down to push his thighs further apart, and rubbed his tip teasingly. He hissed in pleasure and bucked his hips upwards. You pumped your hands over the shaft a couple of times, and then leaned down and took the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking it lightly as your hands continued to pleasure his shaft. He groaned loudly, throwing his head back, his ginger locks falling into his face sexily as he gripped your hair.

Axl pushed your head down further, begging you to take his whole shaft in, and you obliged, greedily slurping his precum up as you deepthroated his cock and licked at his balls. You glanced up to see his expression, and felt a wave of shock. His eyes were squeezed shut, lips parted open slightly, cheeks flushed, hair messily hanging in his face. He no longer looked like an arrogantly confident primadonna; he looked like the vulnerable 24 year old boy he was.

You felt a wave of affection, and pulled off of his cock to kiss his tip, taking it back into your mouth and suckling the head and rubbing his balls. He threaded his fingers through your hair, mumbling words of praise under his breath. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good..fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You pulled off abruptly, kissing his cock one more time, and stood up. He stared at you in confusion. “Can’t cum til you’re inside me.”

He grinned, and quickly pulled off his shirt, reaching out to grab you by the waist and pull you on top of him. He flipped over so you were beneath him, and hastily removed your shirt and bra, giving your breasts a bit of attention before his eyes wandered down to the skirt that concealed your pussy. He reached under and pulled your panties down to your ankles, but kept the skirt. “Pull it up enough that I can see that pretty little pussy, baby.”

You squirmed with pleasure at the compliment, and hastily yanked the skirt up to expose your pink, dripping pussy. Axl’s eyes lit up, and he moved down to press a kiss against your clit before pulling each of your legs over his shoulder and beginning to eat your pussy like a starving beggar. His tongue teased your clit, sucking at it as your legs tightened around his head. After a minute, your hips began bucking up against him, and you moaned loudly as you started to cum.

He pulled away at the last second, a grin on his face. “Payback, baby. Not til I’m inside you.” You flushed in irritation, but it was quickly forgotten as he began to tease your clit with the head of his cock. Axl settled above you, one hand resting on the bed beside you and the other holding his cock in place as he slowly began to push it down inside of you. You gasped at the sensation as his cock head stretched you out, and a groan left Axl’s lips as your tight, wet heat wrapped around him perfectly.

“Fuck, that’s good, baby. So tight and wet for me. God, your pussy feels amazing.” Your nails dug into his back, his body pressed tightly against yours as he slid his cock in and out of your soaking wet heat. The sound of your hips slapping together filled the room, as did his heavy breathing and your loud moans. He adjusted his position and began to thrust in from a different angle, his cock slamming against your g-spot at a rough pace. You were practically screaming in pleasure; it wouldn’t be surprising if the patrons of the bar could hear you.

Axl’s pace became sloppy, his hips stuttering and his breathing getting heavier and more erratic. Quiet, deep moans and soft words of praise began to spill from his lips as his orgasm neared; judging from the knot in your belly, so was yours. He thrust in one more time and then quickly pulled out, fingers automatically taking his place to rub and play with your clit until, with a shuddering gasp, you came hard all over his fingers.

Axl steadily jerked his fist over his cock, cumming as quick as you had with a loud groan, his head falling back as his cock painted white stripes of cum on your bare tummy. His breathing finally slowed, and he leaned down, kissing up and down your sweat-slicked neck and exhaustedly burying his face in your shoulder. “Holy fuck.” The only words he could seem to summon.

After a quiet moment where the two of you steadily came down from your highs, he carefully got up and grabbed a roll of paper towels from a cardboard box; he sat down on the bed next to your tired body, and lovingly began to clean you up. When he’d finished the job, he threw the roll aside and climbed in next to you burying his face back in your neck and wrapping his arms around your waist. The heat from his body was soothing.

“That was amazing.” He whispered softly to you. You smiled. “Yeah, it was.” Axl was quiet for another moment, and then spoke again, tentatively, as if he was worried he would upset you. “Is this a one time thing?” You thought it over. You didn’t want it to be. He was a lot sweeter than he seemed, and you were definitely more attached now that his cock had been inside you. “Do you want it to be?” “No.” It was quick, simple, honest. He meant it.

“I know we fucked and we barely know each other, but I kinda feel like there’s something here. A connection or whatever. I don’t know, I feel like this could go somewhere. But it’s fine if not. Let’s go to sleep here. If you wake up and don’t want this to be anything more, leave. If you do, stay.” You nodded. “Alright.” You could tell he was trying to sound more apathetic than he was. You brushed aside the heavy conversation and focused on your exhausted mind and his warm body. The two of you quickly drifted to sleep.

The next morning, Axl awoke to an empty bed and empty arms. His heart sank. He should have known this was a one-time deal. But then, his eyes landed on a folded-up piece of paper on the bedside table. He snatched it up and soaked in the loopy, slightly messy scrawl.

Axl-had to leave early, forgot I had work today. Last night was amazing. Call me tonight, we’ll go to a restaurant or something. xoxo, (Y/n).

Your number was at the bottom of the paper. Axl’s face broke out into a grin, and he flopped back down onto the bed, smiling up at the ceiling like a good, the memory of last night replaying in his mind. What a pair. The barfly and the primadonna. Soulmates, sort of. You had to be. That pussy was just too good to not be magic.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. “Ax? You in there? That chick you banged left like 2 hours ago.” Duff? “You and Slash are still here? It’s like 10am.” Axl could feel Duff’s grin from behind the door. “We stayed outside the door so we could hear. Chick must have some kick-ass pussy.” Slash drunkenly joined in from behind the door. “Yeah, that’s for sure. Let me have a go.” Axl groaned and pulled the covers over his head. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could go back to sleep, escaping his obnoxious bandmates and dreaming of you-and that kick-ass pussy.

[aion-rsa]

How The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street Earned Its Rep

https://ift.tt/3v9EdsV

Apple TV+’s docuseries 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything makes it seem like The Rolling Stones’ Exile On Main Street album was more fun to record than listen to, and that sets a high standard. The record distills the band’s sounds, from acoustic world music political ballads, through deep heartfelt blues, to honky tonk so funky you have to shake your ass. The group plays country, Southern blues, R&B, and the almost-punk-before-punk “Rip This Joint.” “Tumbling Dice,” is a radio staple. Keith Richards even took the lead vocals on a track to keep you happy. There was so much material, it came out as a double album. What could be more fun than that?

Richards’ Nellcôte mansion, on the Côte d’Azur in the South of France, was the hardest rocking musical getaway paradise in 1971. It was a Rock and Roll Main Street, and even the most mainstream players mainlined the exile vibe. Guitar god Eric Clapton and underground country legend Gram Parsons mixed drinks and drugs with movie stars like James Caan and Faye Dunaway, while playwright Terry Southern stopped taking note, according to Robert Greenfield’s book Exile on Main Street: A Season In Hell With The Rolling Stones. 

William S. Burroughs inspired Mick Jagger to cut and paste a word collage together to form the lyrics to “Casino Boogie.” Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr dropped by the almost-week-long afterparty for Jagger’s wedding to Nicaraguan-born model Bianca Pérez Morena de Macias in Saint-Tropez. John Lennon, who was on methadone treatment, reputedly threw up at the foot of the grand staircase and passed out in it.

“The sunshine bores the daylights out of me,” Jagger sings on “Rocks Off,” the album’s opening song. The Rolling Stones strolled through their recent past darkly. The murder of Meredith Hunter at the Altamont speedway concert in late 1969 signaled, to many, the death of decade’s peace-and-love counterculture. But the band’s troubles went all the way back to the Redlands drug bust of 1967, and the death of Brian Jones. Adversity worked well, creatively, for the Stones, and they continued to pump out classics like “Gimme Shelter” in 1969, and controversy like “Brown Sugar” in 1971. Sticky Fingers, their ninth album, hung nicely at the top of the charts on both sides of the Atlantic.

The songs, and Allen Klein’s aggressive managerial money-making maneuvers, put the band in the 93% tax bracket for Britain’s highest earners. The Stones owed more than they could pay. To avoid penalties, they moved to France. Mick went to Paris. Mick Taylor, Bill Wyman and Charlie Watts bought or rented places along the French Riviera. Richards and his girlfriend, German-Italian actress and model Anita Pallenberg, moved into Nellcôte, a villa in Villefranche-sur-Mer, near Nice. During the Nazi occupation of France during World War II, the seaside mansion was the headquarters of the local Gestapo. Swastikas were carved into floor vents, staircases and ventilator grates.

Read more

Culture

How Tina Turner and Frank Zappa Whipped Up Some Dirty Love

By Tony Sokol

As pointed out in 1971: The Year That Music Changed Everything, the Stones had recently signed with Atlantic Records, and the label wanted an album. The band scoured the Riviera for a suitable recording studio, but wound up parking their mobile studio next to Keith’s house. Richards transformed the basement into a recording studio, and the band stole electricity from the railway tracks across the street to power amplifiers and the mobile recording truck. 

The layout wasn’t the best. Bill Wyman, who is only credited for eight of the album’s songs on bass, plugged into an amp which was mic’d up in the hallway. Producer Jimmy Miller ended each take by running from the truck into the basement to check sound. The humidity caused the guitars to go out of tune. This gave the album its working title: “Tropical Disease.” The song “Ventilator Blues” was inspired by the conditions.

The band also had to deal with Keith’s erratic schedule. “I never plan anything,” Richards says in the documentary Stones in Exile. “Mick needs to know what he’s going to do tomorrow. Whereas I’m just happy to wake up and see who’s hanging around. Mick’s rock; I’m roll.” Richards, Taylor, Watts, pianist Nicky Hopkins, saxophonist Bobby Keys, drummer Jimmy Miller, and horn player Jim Price would jam all night while engineer Andy Johns ran the reels. Sessions would start when the guitarist rolled out of bed, or before he slipped off to put his son Marlon to sleep. After that Keith might pull a disappearing act, playing guitar in the un-mic’d second floor bathroom, or passing out. Richards was open about pot and alcohol, sharing liberally, but quiet about his heroin use.

Richards got clean in the spring of 1971, but hurt his back in a go-kart accident, according to Greenfield’s book. His vehicle flipped while racing his friend Tommy Weber at a track in Cannes. Richards took morphine for the pain, and within a few months, was using again. For sessions, he’d down a Mandrax, which is like a Quaalude, with whiskey. Charlie Watts was drinking brandy until he was past sloppy, and Jagger was taking speed to keep up with the hours Keith set. It was Richards’ place, and Mick was almost a hostage. When he left, it seemed nothing got done. Richards, left alone, could be downright dangerous. He almost burned himself, Anita and the entire house down when he fell asleep with a lit cigarette.

Richards was buying pure, uncut heroin from Castilian dealers. He was getting it by the kilo, and it became part of the social regimen of the villa. He shared so regularly with Gram Parsons that Mick got jealous, professionally. Parsons wanted Richards to produce his next album and join him on tour, which would have left the Stones without their guitarist for two years. Parsons was quietly asked to leave. Drugs split the Stones into two camps: Jagger, Wyman and Watts stuck to pills, booze and softer drugs. Richards, Taylor, producer Jimmy Miller, sax player Bobby Keys and engineer Andy Johns shot dope.

It cost them their gear. Wyman’s bass, Keys’ saxophone and nine of Richards’ guitars were stolen by dealers from Marseille who were owed money, while the entourage was watching television during the day. The Stones’ lawyers bribed local police to keep the party going, but even the most corrupt French cops, like Captain Louis Renault in Casablanca, have their limits. Besides, the Stones were welcomed in France because they were rich rock stars who were going to spend lots of money. If all their cash went to illegal and nontaxable drugs, the French government didn’t have much use for them.

The tipping point seems to have come with Anita Pallenberg. She maintained a steadily rocky relationship with the Stones. Richards stole, or saved, her from a paranoid and abusive Brian Jones, and there were rumors Jagger had an affair with her while filming Nic Roeg’s Performance in 1968. According to Greenfield’s book, Mick also slept with her while Richards was on the nod during the Exile sessions. Police came knocking to ask about a claim that Pallenberg had given heroin to the 14-year-old daughter of the villa’s chef. 

The French police left without validating the charge, but said they’d be back to have a better look around the mansion. Richards and Pallenberg took off on his speedboat, fittingly named Mandrax II. The rest of the band slipped out soon after with the tapes. Pallenberg and Richards were charged with possession of heroin with intent to traffic in 1973. They were then exiled from France for the next two years.

The party continued when the Rolling Stones reconvened in Sunset Sound studios in Los Angeles. The band tossed TVs off the balconies of hotel rooms with Marc Bolan and Neil Young. The tapes for the album stretched from 1969 to 1972. The band edited hours of jams into song structure. Jagger scatted melodic placeholders for unfinished lyrics, and recruited session players like Billy Preston and Doctor John to fill in any sonic emptiness. The words to “Tumbling Dice,” for instance, were written last minute. The song has an unusual structure, as the verses become shorter, the choruses get longer. It may have Watts’ best drum performance.

Exile on Main Street contains some of Richards’ best guitar work. The album really belongs to Keith. “Happy” is almost entirely his. He’s on vocals, guitar and bass, with Miller on drums, Keys on maracas, overdubs from Taylor, and backing vocals from Jagger. “Sweet Black Angel” is a political love letter to civil rights activist Angela Davis. “Shake Your Hips” put the hair on ZZ Top’s lips. The album cover set the visual tone for punk. Some people claim it’s the Rolling Stones’ best work. It is a classic which catches them at their hedonistic peak. Its dirty, loosely played backing created an identifiable sound. The Stones’ first double LP, it is best heard in its entirety, and earned its street cred.

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1971: The Year Music Changed Everything is available to stream on Apple TV+ now.

The post How The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street Earned Its Rep appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3yu3EYr

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

The First One - Bonus scenes in traditional written word

This is a smau and a zukoXreader, although i haven't decided how this ends yet.

Y/n has recently transferred to Ba Sing Se from Omashu university and meets the gaang through a schoolproject they do with sokka and suki.

Masterlist

Bonus 4: Good Morning

The sound of a machine of some sorts woke you up. A look out the window confirmed two things: It was still rather early and Haru’s parents’ neighbours had no idea what an appropriate time for high-pressure-cleaning patios was. Sighing you sat up and looked around. You found your shoes and thought you remembered where the bathroom was.

The short night definitely left its traces on you: Your clothes and hair looked deschevelled, you didn’t smell as fresh as you would like, you had dark circles under your eyes and your voice was rather hoarse. You did what you could without rummaging through the drawers of the bathroom, then you wandered through the house.

There were fotos everywhere. Most of them were of Haru, who you guessed didn’t have any siblings, but some had a very kind-looking couple on them. A wedding picture in which they both laughed at something happening out of frame. It seemed genuine, a true candid shot. He had his hand around her waist and her hand was in mid-air, presumably on its way to fix his tie for the actual wedding picture, but something must have had happened. They both were bending over laughing pointing out of frame looking at each other.

You studied the picture. I made you like the couple. It made you believe in their love and their relationship. It made you want to get to know them. Be a part of that happiness and trust and joy. There was no question why they chose to display this picture. It was amazing!

You watched the couple become parents, buy a house, get older and go through the decades that saw Haru grow from a baby into a smiley toddler, distracted child, unimpressed teenager and openhearted twenty-something. They seemed a happy family. Truly.

The journey through Haru’s life had left you at the front door and wanting some coffee. You found the kitchen empty but quickly discovered a coffee machine. While it was entirely too sophisticated for the broke student you were, you did manage to get it to spew out some dark and caffeinated goodness into a cup you found in the second cupboard you opened. With it you kept on strolling through the house until the living room introduced you to the French doors that lead into the garden. And boy, the garden!

You sat in that little paradise when your phone buzzed and Zuko begged you to talk to him. Apparently, he was at his uncle’s shop working the early shift and there was not a lot to do as it was Sunday. You texted back and forth for a good while.

Yesterday you hadn’t talked to him a lot, outside of him apologising for his uncle and the Sokka-rum-discussion. You know learned that he was a good nephew and studied International Business and International Relations. When you called him out as ambitious, though, he was quick to bring up the words pressure and expectations. You didn’t know him. And whatever those expectations and that pressure were about it seemed you weren’t competent to comment on it or them. Zuko struck you as a private person. You contemplated telling him exactly that. You didn’t. You conveyed the message, though. He seemed relieved. And he liked politics and diplomacy which told you a number of things: 

Be wary of any promises he makes. He might be doing that politician thing where he doesn’t keep them

If you ever want to ruin somebody’s life or career, ask him how to do it, he will have learned about it and remembered

If you ever don’t know how to handle a conflict ask him, he’s into figuring out compromises and status-quo-situation

He probably gives good advice. The kind that will be good for you and not too offensive to others

He is smart

He is into reading

He can find the good in the bad.

After all it sounded like his parents made him study those subjects and if he had had a true choice he would have gone for something else. Yet, he found aspects that he enjoyed, that he could use in his life and that he could be passionate about.

He liked travelling

All in all he was intriguing. A lot of layers to peel back. Whether it be the interest in politics – which were a lot of smoothtalking, manipulation, using popular opinions AND ideologies, the fate and future of countries and people and so many struggles or the family history. You could probably have real conversations with him. And you decided you would like to as well.

Another thing you learned about Zuko was that he was Sokka’s secret source for his part of the Worldhistory project. In the past couple weeks Sokka had gone on and on about how much information he had gotten form an anonymous sponsor.

“Sokka made it sound like you were the discovery of a century!”

“Am I not?” No, for all you knew he wasn’t.

Yes, he was intriguing and most likely multi-layered; yes he was tall and dark and handsome and that scar on his face added several facets to that handsomeness; yes, he had that tea-loving angel of an uncle, but he was no discovery of a century. He was some good-looking guy with an interesting background.

“To be determined” Better not alienate him by telling him he wasn’t all that special. You still wanted to be his friend.

Could you have gone on for two more hours talking to Zuko? Yes. Yes. You could have. But you didn’t because there were footsteps in the house. And it sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. You got up to investigate. Hoping you’d find Sokka, Suki, Toph, Aang or Katara in the kitchen, you would have been okay with Haru, but instead you found an agile white haired gentleman. From the fotos you recognised him as Haru’s father. He was doing something to the sophisticated coffeemachine and congratulated himself. Then he turned around, saw you, got scared and nearly let his cup fall and crash on the kitchen tiles. Instead he just made a weird move with his arm that resulted in a wave of hot liquid jumping into the air and splashing on the floor.

“Ouch!”, the man screamed. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry, Sir. Y/n. I’m friends with… I know your son. Haru. We helped him pack up the party yesterday and he told us we could stay here. I assumed you knew…Excuse the intrusion, please.”

“Tyro”, he extended his hand. You shook it.

“You’re not intruding. Haru told us that some of his friends might stay over. I just didn’t expect anybody to be awake yet. And we don’t know each other.”

“Again, sir, sorry.”

“That cup empty?” Tyro pointed at the mug you had brought with you.

“Nearly. I took the liberty of drinking your coffee.”

“Do you want more? I can offer you black coffee and black coffee with milk from the fridge. The thing is supposed to be able to come up with all kinds of fancy drinks, but that’s more my wife’s department. I didn’t bother learning about that.”

“Black coffee would make me really happy, Sir.”

Tyro filled your cup and gestured for you to follow him back into the garden. So, you did. He asked about who you were and how you knew his son.

“To be honest, Sir, there isn’t a lot to tell. I moved to the city for this semester. Transferred from Omashu University. I’m studying anthropology. One of the classes I take together with Sokka and Suki, who are friends with Zuko who used to be Haru’s roommate. Aaaaaaand they brought me to the party yesterday. There I met Haru. The end.”

“You helped him tidy up the speakers and all that jazz after having only met him that night?” You nodded your head yes.

“Commendable.”

You carried on talking to Haru’s dad, brushing on the subjects of family, education and music. The band Haru played in was called “Grounded”. According to Tyro they were “just having fun” but they also “sounded like actual musicians”. This band needed to be inspected.

You told him about Gray Sky and Tiff on the Rocks, the pub you used to play. It turned out that Haru inherited his passion for music from his father. Dad all but interrogated you on you average guitar playing and experience with piano lessons, when his wife walked through the French doors.

She introduced herself to you and asked if you wanted more coffee. As she was the coffee-maker-whisperer, you now were offered the entire range of coffee-drinks and gladly accepted a Cappuccino the size of your head. After she mad you happy with that, she sent you back out, with the intention of preparing breakfast. You offered to help but were quickly shut down.

The moment you sat down in the lounge chair by big tree, Haru entered the kitchen, got a cup of coffee from his mum and was surprised to find you in musical discussion with his father. Thankfully, he did remember you and was delighted to hear that you were a fellow guitarist, even though he was likely a lot more skilled than you were. In fact, you said this multiple times, resulting in Haru running inside and grabbing one of his dad’s guitars.

You  started by playing some of the 90's hits that Sokka had massacred the night before, proving that Haru was better than you. You handed the instrument back to him. 

"How about You Oughta Know?", he suggested. You looked at him, blinking. 

"You said you used to sing in Omashu. Let's hear it."

"Uhm…", you hesitated.

"I'm with stupid", Tyro chuckled. "I'm curious."

"Fine."  You let Haru play a few tacts before you started the verse. He harmonised with you in the chorus, during which Tyro got another guitar.

From Alanis you moved to the Verve; from "Nothing compares 2 u", to "Loser". Haru and his dad loved the 90's. Nirvana, Take That, TLC, Blur, Oasis, Britney, Beasty Boys, you named it they had it. Aang, Katara, Suki, Sokka and Toph joined you three out on the patio, all carrying cups of various coffees and plates full of food. While harmonising to Tyro's lead you remembered that his wife had talked about preparing breakfast. From what you saw on your friend's - yeah friends! - plates, she had not held back. There were eggs and bacon, pancakes, bread, cinnaminrolls and meats, cheeses, jams, butter and honey.

When she herself came out to join the table, she carried a  bowl of yoghurt and nuts, that she assured everyone was an option for everyone. Tyro got his own plate and dat down next to Sokka. He motioned for Haru and you to come eat but you two were determined to finish the decade. So, you did. And then you entered the 2000s. Every now and again you'd pick up the second guitar, while alternating with Haru singing lead and harmonising. You had the time of your life!

Haru's mum topped off your coffees and although your stomach was screaming at you to give it some of the wonderful smelling food, you played and sang for more than two hours. The others enjoyed your efforts and sang along when they were done eating. Tyro relieved his son of guitar duties and jammed with you while Haru diminished the pancakes. 

He then took your spot and you praised the eggs, bacon and cinnamonrolls.

"If you're ever desperate  for something to do, you're welcome to my appartment and put on breakfast!",  you said, all but crying, after noon when you had finished. Haru's mum blushed. But die didn't say no.

After you had finished your breakfast, everyone helped clear the table and load the dishwasher. Tyro insisted you all had another round of coffee, during which there was more music and Sokka got the recipe for the hangover cure smoothie that Mrs Haru  had made him as soon as he entered the kitchen.

You left around 2:30 with many "thank yous" and "you're the bests" and "we can help some mores". Although you hadn't slept much you decided to hit up the Jasmin Dragon to see if Zuko had  died from boredom already. 

[julian--yeun]

✧ ˖ * ° ><> ╱ christian yu, cis male, he/him — look who’s fresh from the ferry, aren’t you JULIAN YEUN ? your eroda brochure says you’re TWENTY FIVE and that you’re currently residing in MARMOTON. your favourite tourist attraction to hang around is ERODIAN BEACH , and the locals around these ports would describe you as FRIENDLY & CREATIVE , RECKLESS & SCATTERBRAINED. your resting fish face really gives off LAUGHING OUT LOUD, LIKE UNDERSTANDING EVERY LEVEL OF A HIGH-BROW JOKE WHILE TRYING NOT TO GIVE AWAY THAT HE’S NOT ACTUALLY AN AIRHEAD; AN UNSPOKEN INVITATION TO HANG OUT AND MAKE VIDEOS WHILE UNEXPECTEDLY FINDING COMMON GROUND; MAKING ODDLY SPECIFIC PLAYLISTS AT THREE IN THE MORNING FOR EVERY MOOD UNDER THE SUN BECAUSE “SAD BOY HOURS” ISN’T THE SAME AS “MELANCHOLIC AND ALONE WHILE TRYING TO FORGET HIS SMILE,” and i’m a big fan of the VIDEO CAMERA you seem to always be attached to. well, if you see the minister this morning; make sure you head on home as quick as possible, you never know what bad luck he could bring. (Also filling Arlo Donegan’s guitarist bandmate WC.)

Hello everyone! I’m Skelly and I’m excited to bring you my fun-loving, secretly-a-philosopher videographer who’s also in a band. Read more below for some basic info! I’m open to any and all types of plots as long as they’re threadable!

For more character info regarding appearance and personality type, click HERE.

BASIC INFO

Full Name: Julian Kai-seok Yeun

Nickname(s): Jules, Juley

Pronouns: He/him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Age: 25

Birthday: March 23, 1995 (An Aries man!)

Blood type: AB

Birthplace: Sydney, Australia

Occupation: Videographer & Part-Time Guitarist

Residence/ Time Here: Marmoton, 11 years

ABOUT

Julian was about fifteen years old he was when his mother brought him over on a ferry boat ride. It was supposed to be just a visit, but then she dropped the bomb on him that she was divorcing his father and his brother would be staying behind with him. He was angry that he didn’t get a choice, leaving behind the sunny coasts of Sydney for the hazy fog of Eroda. He even tried to leave on a little dinghy once when he was seventeen, but every time he tries to think about how he ended up nearly drowned on the beach, his mind wanders, and the mental fog refuses to clear up. All he knows is that he cannot leave. Nobody can.

As he grew up in Eroda, Julian developed behavioral problems that stemmed from his uprooting. He grew angry and rebellious, and it was a wonder that he somehow managed to finish school with how often he was suspended for making trouble. Rebellious teenage years passed, and he managed to find solace in playing the guitar and making videos.

Julian started to go to college, but dropped out after the first year because he didn’t see the point in it. He taught himself how to make good videos, and after working his ass off at one of the local grocery store since his teenage years, he bought himself a good camera and began making videos. When people noticed, he began to take on freelance work making and editing videos-- weddings, birthdays, you name it-- while still working at the grocery store.

When he heard that a local band was forming up three years ago, he immediately jumped on the opportunity and brought his guitar skills to the table. He can do back up vocals, too, but loves to shred on the guitar best. Bass, electric, acoustic, you name it. It’s something he likes to do for fun as a passion project with Arlo Donegan.

Since then, he quit the grocery store and has been living on the money he makes from playing gigs, and from his videography work. He’s even collected snippets of footage around town to use for music video ideas, including the fog, although some of that footage seems to turn into nothing but static when he tries to use it. Weird.

Two years ago, his mother passed away, leaving him alone in the house they lived in. Not long after, he adopted a puppy to keep him company, and they’ve been inseparable since.

FACTS

Is the adult version of the “Have You Ever Had a Dream” kid.

His favorite color is teal.

DOES YOGA a lot. Picked it up after college as a way to calm his mind and center himself.

He’s very introspective, and his thoughts can be a little eccentric and out there for some people, so he prefers to play dumb sometimes. Big Dumbass Energy is strong regardless of his intellect, however.

Will smoke to get stoned all day long, but will NOT drink to get drunk. Drinks only socially.

Has a black and gold Miniature Pinscher dog named Gadget who thinks she’s a wholeass Dobermann. (Size comparison lmao!)

Has way too many tattoos to count, and is still collecting them. Most of them have a personal meaning behind them. His favorite one is a dark horse galloping across his back left shoulder.

LOVES TO SURF. When he’s not busy biking around the island working, he’s out on the beach catching rays and catching waves.

Colors his nails black and chrome from time to time.

Has a playlist (or at the very least a song) for every occasion

Will throw hands and doesn’t have a problem getting in trouble if it means defending his friends and people he cares about

Loves spooky stories, but hates watching true crime by himself at night because it freaks him out

His favorite ice cream flavor is Ben & Jerry’s chunky monkey

Hates getting haircuts and lets his hair get kind of shaggy

LOOKING FOR

Friendships

Enemyships (people whose property he vandalized growing up, etc)

Flirtationships/ hookups

Exes (Getting over a break up with a guy that happened about 9 months ago.)

Crushes

Clients

[ubernoxa]

Authors Note: This is just something that has been popping in and out of my head over the past couple of weeks. I thought why not spend some time writing it up. Let me know if you would be interested in me writing another chapter!

Summary: The 70s and 80s had Iron Madden, Guns N’ Roses, Skid Row and Morley Crue. It’s 2025 and Rock N’ Roll is more alive than ever thanks to Broken Voodoo kickstarting the rock n roll heart.

Introduction

The room was plain, and by plain I don’t mean it as an insult. It was a good plain. The plain that was almost calming. The plain that reminded me of a blank canvas, one that I would be painting with my words. I had done hundreds of interviews, but this was the first one in years that I was truly nervous for.

I took a deep breath as I looked into a mirror to check my appearance. I had looked like me, and for the first time in over 5 years I was happy about that.

The layers of foundation and mascara I used to hide behind was gone. My signature piercing cherry red lips were replaced with a pair of soft pink ones. I smiled at myself in the mirror fidgeting with my hair before having someone route a small microphone through my shirt and clipped it on my collar.

I waited outside of a pair of skinny doors that led into the plain room. I fidgeted with my wedding ring trying to find comfort, wishing that he was here. He had to be in Australia to accept an award for our band. Sadly Oli and Jax couldn’t make it because they had other obligations. As I hear the female host announce my name, I took a deep breath and forced myself to walk through those door.

A smile quickly grew on my lips as I sat down on a small white chair in front of a crowd that had come to see a daytime talk show. This wasn’t the first time Dixie was interviewing me. The first time felt like ages ago, back when she was an interviewer for some small Snapchat news show. The main difference is the last time we met was both are clothes and the fact that the first interview was in the bathroom of some bar on Sunset Strip. I felt an ease flush over me as she sent me a warm smile. It had been at least a year since we had last talked.

“Well I would like to welcome a very dear and close friend of mine, Andrea ‘Andy’ Mitchell also known as the multi award winning guitarist of Broken Voodoo. A band which has been heavily attributed for the resurgence of hard rock into the modern era. There was Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, Cinderella, Guns N’ Roses, and now there is Broken Voodo who brought hard rock back from the 80s to the present,” Dixie sent me a warm smile as she spoke.

“Thanks for having me, Dixie. It’s been too long since we have done one of these,” I sent her a genuine smile in return. I could feel the nerves slowly melt away.

“I don’t known if this is well known or not, but my first interview I ever performed was with Andy”

I let a laugh escape me, “Oh God how long ago was that interview ten years ago?”

“At least, and it was an absolute train wreck!”

“Well it might have gone better if I was sober.” I reminded her. Memories of the interview of it flooded my mind.

“It also didn’t help that I had not properly done my researched and confused you for a groupie.”

“Good times,” I teased back.

“The thing I remember most about that interview was Oli, your drummer, kept correcting you whenever you said you were a rhythm guitarist!” Delight filled her features as she talked about it.

“To this day I don’t know why I was so set on being a rhythm guitarist. I was a terrible at it. Plus it’s hard to have a rhythm guitarist when you’re the old guitarist in the band. At the time I wanted nothing but to hide from the spotlight, and that stays pretty true to how I feel today...Seb and I were actually talking about that last week, the whole rhythm guitarist vs lead guitarist. He was actually supposed to find a lead guitarist, so I could focus on more rhythm stuff back in the day. I wouldn’t hold your breathe though because he was supposed to do that a little over nine years ago. Plus it would be hard to find someone who could put up with us and our stupidity.”

“Speaking of Seb, happy 8 year anniversary! God I still can’t believe you kept the fact that you were not only dating, but married a complete secret from the press.”

“Dixie, I can’t believe that we kept it a secret for so long too. We were almost caught several times....but we weren’t ready to tell the world yet. The media was never kind to me, and after everything that happened to my first ‘marriage’, if you could even call it that, I wanted to keep the personal personal,” I felt another smile cross my face as I remembered the night Seb proposed to me. The bassist and the guitarist, definitely an interesting couple.

“Well, since you brought up your disliking in the media....” I couldn’t hold back the laughter that escaped my lips and interrupt Dixie.

“Disliking is a nice way to put it,” I added unable to hide the smirk that had grown on my face.

“Well I just want to say thank you for reaching out to my team and I...You don’t have to answer this, but why now? Why are you breaking your silence?”

“Whenever you interviewed me, even when I was at that really low point where I didn’t think I could get back, you treated me like a human being. I wasn’t just another headline,” I paused and looked into the crowd and back a Dixie.

I took in the plain room one last time before I painted it with my stories.

“Why now? Because it’s about damn time the world knew what the hell happened behind the scenes. I finally feel safe to tell my story. It wasn’t always the super glamorous life that it was played out to be. In interviews we (Broken Voodoo) would always be harassed, and time and time again we would say something along the line of ‘shut up you don’t know the whole story’ or ‘it’s none of your damn business’. It’s time, the world should know. The sad part is that my story isn’t the only one like this. Maybe if I speak up........others will too,” I added.

“Thank you,” Dixie held my hands and I sent her a warm story.

“Where would you like to begin,” I quickly asked changing the topic.

“The beginning?” Dixie asked earning a nod from me.

I took a deep breath as I readjusted myself in the leather chair.

My name is Andy Michelle

The guitarist for Broken Voodoo.

Multi award winning, platinum record selling artist.

I’ve been taken advantage more times than I can count and in more way I can count.

I’ve probably consumed more alcoholic than there is water in Lake Michigan.

I’ve been both fired from my band, and quit just like everyone else in our fucked up band.

I’ve blacked out for days on end.

I’ve died.

This is my story.

[solastia]

Feels So Right  | 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1,493 (I know it’s pretty short, but I literally wrote this on my phone at work. The next chapter will be longer) 

Summary: Yoongi’s falling in love with his neighbor. She’s beautiful, talented, has the same sense of humor, great taste in music - and she’s married.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, domestic violence(all from the male OC, not our main characters). Infidelity. Eventual smut.

Notes: Commissioned by @ehn-ee-elle

Yoongi stared at the cast-covered right hand of his main guitarist, feeling a lovely blend of various emotions that ranged from shock to utter despair. He loved the guy, he really did, but at this moment he wanted to do nothing more than beat him with the nearest object available. 

“The track is due in two weeks. That thing stays on for how long?” Yoongi glared at the offending vibrant pink cast. Who over the age of twelve picks that color for a fucking cast? 

The guitarist shrugs sheepishly, “About six weeks. I’m sorry, man.” 

Yoongi sighs wearily as he runs a hand down his face. 

“I know, it’s not like you bashed it up on purpose. Just make sure you get your notes together for whoever I find to fill in for you.” 

Once he’s alone in his studio again, he drops his face onto his desk, groaning loudly. Sure, he was the best producer this company had - in his own humble opinion - but even he can acknowledge how impossible finding a guitarist with similar skill would be in two freaking weeks. 

But that’s a problem for tomorrow Yoongi. Today Yoongi is going home. 

***

He had just started putting the finishing touches on his dinner when the first notes of an acoustic guitar trickled through the thin walls. He held his breathe for a moment as he tried to make out what she was playing, since he could usually base her moods off of that. He snorts as he identifies the upbeat tones of Here comes the sun by the Beatles. She’s obviously in a good mood and her prick of a husband is probably “away on business” again. 

He’d become friends with Y/N during the past three months of her living here, at least as much friends as they could be when the only time he could interact with her was when they were walking their dogs or when her husband was away. He guessed the man was the type to get jealous really easily, probably due to knowing from personal experience just how easy it is to cheat. Not that Yoongi believed she ever would; if anything, she was too loyal. 

Still, they’d managed to maintain an odd sort of friendship after finding out how much they had in common. They had similar tastes in music (for the most part. He was still highly offended that she liked The Chainsmokers), a similar sense of humor, same taste in television...he could go on. There were times when his traitorous mind whispered words like soulmates in his head, but all he had to do was remember that shiny gold band on her finger to shut that shit down. 

Yoongi sighed went back to finishing up his stew. He had other things to worry about right now other than his idiotic crush on a married woman. He was just pulling out the side dishes he was going to have for dinner when she suddenly switched songs to something fast and complex. He wasn’t sure what it was but he thought he remembered hearing it on Pirates of the Caribbean. He grinned as he imagined her fingers flying on the strings, maybe sending him a little grin because she was damn good and she knew it.

Yoongi groaned aloud at his stupidity when he finally realized it, because he’d been freaking out all day about finding a guitarist when the answer was literally right next door. He quickly packed up his dinner, glad that he always made extra to take for lunch the next day. He packed it all up in a bag to lug next door and called for Holly. 

When he knocked on the door he didn’t have to wait long for the music to stop and for Potato to start barking at the door like the little asshole he was. His Holly would never. 

She opened the door and her expression quickly went from confused to happy, making Yoongi preen a bit on the inside that he was the one to cause that smile. 

“Yoongi and Mr. Holly! To what do I owe the pleasure? Was I being too loud?” 

“Nah, you know I don’t mind the music as long as it’s actually good,” Yoongi smirked as she giggled, then lifted up the bag in his hands. “I made a lot of dinner. Thought since you were alone today I’d save you from having to cook.” 

Her eyebrow quirked as she gestured for them to come in, Potato already running circles around Holly. 

“How’d you know it was an alone night?” 

“You played “Here comes the sun.” You always play an upbeat Beatles song when he’s out of town.” 

“Huh,” she mused, like the fact that her husband being out of town making her happy was news. Yoongi wished he could say something about what that meant without coming off like a nosy dick. 

“So what’d you make me?” She peers cutely over his shoulder as he pulls containers out and begins plating. 

“Galbi Jjim. Just don’t let the mutt know he’s eating his namesake when you’re sneaking his potato bits under the table.” 

“I would never,” she grins, turning to pull out silverware and glasses. 

“Your dog is not a fatass by mistake.” 

“Potato, cover your ears. You don’t need to hear this slander.” 

Yoongi snorts and brings to heaping bowls of stew to the table, purposely ignoring the giant wedding photo above it. He’d already inspected it a few too many times; his wayward imagination often envisioning himself next to the beaming beauty draped in ivory lace. 

He smiles softly as she enthusiastically eats the food he made, every now and then releasing a pleased moan that made his pants feel a little tight. 

“There’s dessert after this too. A walnut tart and some good coffee if you want.” 

She finishes chewing as her eyes narrow. “Wait. You mean the Saint Helena Coffee that I distinctly remember you saying you wouldn’t even let your own mother try? Min Yoongi, why do I get the feeling this is a bribe meal?” 

“Can’t I just make you a meal without wanting something?” 

“If this was just the meal I would have never suspected. But your $200 a bag coffee? Never. Spill.” 

Yoongi sighs and grins sheepishly. “Fine, you caught me. So...I’m a producer, as you know.” 

She quirks her eyebrow and waves to signal ‘go on you slow asshole.’ 

“My main guitarist messed up his wrist and is in a cast for six weeks. Problem is, we have a track that’s up for review in two weeks that isn’t anywhere near finished, thanks to my own perfectionism. I need a guitarist and you’re incredibly talented. Be forewarned that I’m kind of an asshole to work with, because everything has to be just right, but I would really owe you. Oh, and of course I’d pay you.” 

Her eyes were wide with shock as she listened, finally stuttering out,” I just play as a hobby, Yoongi. You literally make stuff for famous people.” 

“If that’s your only worry, I can tell you right now that your skill is on par with anyone else working with me. I’ve heard you play Jimi Hendrix effortlessly. A simple ballad is going to be no issue for you.” 

She sighs and sends him a grin as she shakes her head. “Do you have the sheet music?” 

Yoongi smirks triumphantly and jumps up to grab the notes from his bag. He hands them to her, watching anxiously as she looks them over. Finally, she nods and glances up at him. 

“Seems easy enough. When do you want me?” 

Yoongi sighs in relief. “Whenever you’re next available. Tomorrow would be ideal. We can see how it sounds in the studio and figure out if you need time to practice. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to record in one take, but knowing myself I wouldn’t count on it.”  

She nods, “I can do tomorrow. Should I bring my guitar, or use the one there?” 

“Yours is good. You should use an instrument you’re familiar with.” 

“Good. Now I believe you owe me expensive coffee.” 

Yoongi laughs as she tugs him into the kitchen. 

“That I do.” 

As they enjoy their dessert together, Y/N spends the time asking about the song and trying to get a feel for the emotions behind it so she would know how to play. Yoongi did his best, describing the sense of melancholy and wonderment behind the words without giving himself away. Words of adoration and every other emo emotion that Yoongi felt poured onto paper. 

Words about her.

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2019 Day 12: Enemies To Lovers

Mine | @dean-cas-in-the-impala Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5095 Main Tags and Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, First time, Demon Dean, Angel Cas, Enemies to Lovers Summary: With his grace bound and wings injured, Castiel stumbles into a bar full of demons. Someone saves him from inevitable death, but at what cost?

Coffee Spills and Subway Sandwiches | @asexualcas Rating: General Word Count: 2710 Main Tags and Warnings: No Warnings Apply, College AU Summary: Castiel hates the cold. But not as much as he hates Dean Winchester. When Dean spills scalding coffee on Cas’s new bee shirt, that does nothing to help his dislike for the man. Spending an afternoon hellbent on inconveniencing him? That just might.

Scars | @lemonsorbae Rating: Explicit Word Count: 147565 Main Tags and Warnings: Hate at First Sight, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Domestic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, From Sex to Love, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Drinking, Underage Drinking, Drug Use Summary: Dean Winchester doesn’t answer to anybody about anything. Not about his ever changing hair color or tattoos, not his music, and definitely not about all the fucks he definitely doesn’t give. Of course, then he meets pretentious, skinny jean wearing, ugly sweater buying Castiel Edlund who’s hardest lot in life is probably alphabetizing inventory at his uncle’s record store, and suddenly Dean has to answer for everything. Castiel, on the other hand, had long since accepted his fate as an anti-social, directionless, and misunderstood soul, with his cat, Meg, and a bottle of whiskey being the only company he needed. But then fate threw him Dean, the abrasive, infuriating punk who wears guyliner, and walks around like the chip on his shoulder is something to be proud of, and Castiel’s carefully constructed life was turned ass over teakettle. After a heated exchange upon first meeting, a mutual loathing afterwards, and the glaring opposites in their lives, neither of them sees the point of mixing oil and water. Which would be all good and well, except neither of them seems to be able to stay away from the other.

The Difference Between a Pirate and a Gentleman | @pimentogirl Rating: Explicit Word Count: 67739 Main Tags and Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of slavery, pining, slowburn Summary: The Righteous Man, feared pirate captain of The Black Impala, scourge of the Caribbean, is rapidly climbing the chart of The Royal Navy’s Most Wanted list. Although, it’s hard to get the message out: Woodcut wanted posters mysteriously disappear from the noticeboards as fast as they are posted, to be secreted in diaries and scrapbooks, and tales of his daring do are so popular in the taverns and brothels throughout the region, he’s rapidly becoming a folk hero. Lieutenant Castiel James Milton on the other hand is relatively unknown, but well-regarded by the crew of HMS Swallow. They should be sworn enemies, of course, but then being an anglo-french aristocrat born in Tortuga to parents who should never have been together in the first place, Castiel has never been very good at ‘should’, despite his best efforts to do his ‘duty’ to his domineering grandfather, the Earl of Northumberland. By the time his real enemy catches up with Dean, it’s pretty obvious to everyone that there’s very little difference between a pirate and a gentleman…

don’t go breaking my heart | @breathingdestiel Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2485 Main Tags and Warnings: au, past friends with benefits, misunderstandings Summary: Dean absolutely hates Castiel Novak. He’ll do whatever it takes to stop that asshole from getting the promotion.

The Galaxy’s Most Wanted | @saltnhalo Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10160 Main Tags and Warnings: Space pirates, enemies to lovers, sci-fi Summary: Dean had been the one always up to mischief, running around with his father’s broken laser pistol and constantly getting into places he shouldn’t have been. Sam, in comparison, always seemed to be the smart, studious one – until he reprogrammed the AI in their neighbours’ house to play ‘Happy Birthday’ at the loudest possible volume while keeping all the doors and windows firmly locked. It had taken two experts seven hours to undo the coding that Sam had managed to integrate into the house’s programming. So, yes. They had been exceptional even from the beginning. And when John Winchester crossed one too many people, his sons inherited his beloved ship, and took to the cosmos doing what they knew best: stealing. And they were damn good at it too. Almost unrivalled, across their own galaxy and even those neighbouring. Almost.

Shot Through The Heart | @peanutbutterjelly-pie Rating: Explicit Word Count: 156327 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, UST, Slow Build Summary: As a hunter Dean finds himself more often than not relying on the help of the Men of Letters. Most of the time that’s not much of a problem - if it wasn’t for Castiel, the smartass bookworm with the piercing blue eyes, the messy hair and the rude attitude. Yeah, he’s been an annoying thorn in Dean’s side since day one - and nothing will ever change that! Seriously NOTHING!!

Dean Winchester is Not Afraid of Ghosts | @DesiraeLovesDestiel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 481000 Main Tags and Warnings: photographer Dean/Medium Castiel, paranormal AU, enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, humor Summary: When photographer Dean Winchester is not capturing momentous occasions like weddings and graduations with his Nikon, he is moonlighting as the cameraman for the South Shore Paranormal; a ghost hunting series on YouTube, headed by his brother Sam, and Sam’s best friend Gabriel. Despite his brother’s adamance, Dean Winchester does not believe in ghosts. And no one is going to change his mind. Certainly not a scam artist like Castiel Novak. Castiel is a self-proclaimed medium… and Gabriel’s brother. When a member of the SSP team has to leave the crew, Castiel is the replacement, much to Dean’s dismay. But the more they work together, the more Dean is drawn to Castiel, the man stirring up protective instincts usually only reserved for family. What happens when Dean realizes that Castiel is not the fake he always thought he was, but instead, a generous soul that Dean is rapidly falling in love with?

Just A Gigolo | @sheinthatfandom Rating: No Rating Word Count: 1658 Main Tags and Warnings: escort au, escort service, escort dean, escort cas, mentioned clients, switch Dean, implied sex acts Summary: Dean Winchester is the one of the top escorts of his company and uses his charms and personality to steal clients from his friendly rival. Castiel is the top escort of his company and is known for being high class and able to network with politicians and many powerful men. So stealing Dean’s clients is just a bit of fun for him, especially when he gets to rub it in. But what will happen when Castiel decides to see for himself what the draw is to being with Dean?

Classroom Conflict | @galaxystiel Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5616 Main Tags and Warnings: AU, Human!Castiel, Professor!Castiel, Professor!Dean, university, enemies to lovers, 5+1, Summary: Five times Literature Professor Castiel Novak and Physics Professor Dean Winchester clashed, and one time they didn’t.

You Shook Me | @braezenkitty Rating: Mature Word Count: 12317 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Dean Plays Guitar, Singer Castiel, Singer Dean, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Homophobia Summary: The Salty Demons are set to compete in a battle of the bands, but when their lead singer drops out at the last minute, they need someone to fill in. Bass guitarist Meg brings in her friend Cas to audition and Sam thinks he’s a good fit, but Dean is worried he’s too punk. With the competition looming though, they don’t have much choice, and Castiel is the best option they have. Dean has to come to terms with the new lead singer and the attraction he feels towards him before he ends up sabotaging the band’s chance at winning the competition.

For This Night and All Nights to Come | @thursdays-fallen-angel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 14554 Main Tags and Warnings: Game of Thrones Fusion Summary: Back in the southern castle Castiel once called home, cold was used to describe a bath that had sat too long and was no longer steaming, or a room with a draft. It was cold if one had to put on a tunic with sleeves to go riding. North of the Wall, cold takes on a whole new meaning. Here, cold means frozen rations and endless snow, frostbitten limbs and stolen breaths. Cold is steel biting at your throat in a wordless threat. Cold is when the dead rise again.

The Age-long Rivalry Between Pilots and Engineers | @cas-lost-grace Rating: Mature Word Count: 7786 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Roommates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Aliens, Spaceships, Engineer Castiel, Pilot Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Space Battles, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Summary: Living on a space station isn’t easy. Especially when you share your quarters with someone like Castiel Novak.

Hot Men, Unmasked | @castielrisingabove Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 43195 Main Tags and Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, DC Comics, Nightwing, Red Hood, AU, implied past Meg/Cas Summary: Castiel’s a superhero who just wants to make his big break. When he stumbles upon an attractive anti-hero, he’s left with a choice: turn him in, or work together to solve a crime bigger than both of them.

It’s Affection | @funnywings Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 7711 Main Tags and Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Angst with a Happy Ending, AU, Enemies to Lovers Summary: After getting catfished by a federal agent, Dean is angry at the world and the world is angry right back at him. When one of Sam’s friends from Oxford comes to stay at Mary’s house, he’s determined to be as unpleasant as possible to the newcomer. However, being pissed at the world can only get you so far, and Dean finds in Castiel someone he can confide in truths he rarely likes to admit to himself.

Enemies Closer | @almaasi Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5291 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Teacher Castiel, Openly Gay Castiel, Student Counsellor Dean Winchester, Openly Bisexual Dean, Nerd Dean Winchester, Middle School, Vandalism, A.V. Club | Audio-Visual Club, Children, Doctor Who References, First Dates, One Shot Summary: A “You caught me keying the wrong car in our middle-school parking lot, but when you found out my motivation you wanted to help me… except now we’re both complicit in the same crime, and we have the power to end each other’s teaching careers – and as they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer – sooooo is a nerdy date at your after-school A.V. club close enough for you?” AU

Drop Anchor | @almaasi Rating: Explicit Word Count: 42124 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternate Universe, Historical, Romance, Fluff, No Angst, Pirate Castiel, Sailor Dean, Domestic, Settling Down, Desert Island, Hate to Love, Grumpy Castiel, Dominant Castiel, Gardener Castiel, Bi-Curious Dean, Bottom Dean, Shipwreck, Storms, Sharing a Bed, Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Hammock Sex, Cuddling, Tickling, Rimming, Virgin Dean, Epistolary Summary: AU. A sailor and an enemy pirate are marooned on an island together, and while awaiting rescue they accidentally achieve domestic bliss. Or: Dean Winchester is lieutenant of the Royal Trading Ship Echelon. On a pleasantly sunny but particularly catastrophic day, he is marooned on an island somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with only one man for company. That man is Castiel, captain of the black-sailed Leviathan: a pirate, no less. Given the circumstances under which they are stranded, rescue seems unlikely, and it could be aeons before a ship even comes by. The two of them may as well make the most of their own private island, personal differences be damned.

We’re the New Romantics | @almaasi Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 8138 Main Tags and Warnings: Alternative Universe - High School, Summer Camp, Hate to Love, Bullying, Dean Has a Crush on Castiel, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Smart Dean, Fanboy Dean, Smart Castiel, Hipster Castiel, Punk Castiel, Pierced Castiel, Fanboy Castiel, Aromantic Castiel, Smart Charlie, Star Trek References, Holding Hands, Cuddling, First Kiss, Long-Distance Relationship Summary: “He’s so pretentious.” “Who is?” “Castiel.” Dean sneered as he said the name. “Look at him. He only brought one bag, and it’s tiny. And orange.” “Maybe he doesn’t like carrying a lot of stuff,” Charlie said, shouldering her own rainbow-coloured weekender bag, leading Dean out of the crowd and towards the picnic benches. “Gifted-and-Talented Summer Camp is only four days. A change of clothes and a toothbrush, that’s all most people need.” “What about when he sleeps? Doesn’t he at least need a pair of jammies? And that freaking nose ring. Seriously, he looks like a bull. I wonder if anyone’s ever told him.”

The Law of Fire (WIP) | @katekarnage7 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 42624 Main Tags and Warnings: Western AU, Mentions of Child Abuse, Torture, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Main Character Death. Summary: When Castiel was young there was a fire, a fire which caused much pain and grief for many, however, there was one shining light, one good thing that came from it; Castiel’s adopted little sister, Anna, who had been orphaned by the very same mysterious fire. A year went by, it was relatively happy for the Novaks, but just like all good things, it had to end… It ended when Castiel’s mother died, sending his father into a downward spiral, which left Castiel alone to take care of Anna. Eventually, they were found and raised by the Sheriff of a small town in Kansas. Years later Anna and Castiel would learn that the fire that took so much from both of them wasn’t an accident, it was arson, and that the man who had done it has a bounty on his head, a man by the name of Dean Winchester. They start their mission to track down this man who ruined their lives and the lives of many others, however, when they finally catch up to him, they learn that when it comes to Dean Winchester, there may be more than meets the eye.

Close Up and Personal | @sternchencas Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 19358 Main Tags and Warnings: paparazzi!Dean, celebrity!Cas, Cas with cats Summary: To help his brother Sam to pay for law school, Dean Winchester works as a paparazzi. His current target, award-winning author Jimmy Novak, is so camera shy that most people don’t even know what he looks like, unlike Dean, who finds out when he literally runs into the man. When Jimmy confronts him about ruining his life, Dean tries to change his ways, and in a sudden turn of events, he gets to unravel the secret that is Jimmy Novak, or better, Castiel.

one thousand and ninety-four days ‘verse (Series) | @envydean  Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8096 Main Tags and Warnings: Prison AU, inmate!dean, Inmate!castiel, Rough Sex, Mild Pain Kink, Come Marking, dubcon but mostly con, bottom!dean, top!cas, sassy!cas Summary: In which Dean and Cas are in prison. “Get in your bed.” “Make me.” He teases. Dean smirks, standing up and facing the man. Before Dean can even blink, the man is out of his bed and shoving Dean up against the wall with a deadly quietness.

[crue-sixx]

Save the Girl

Title:  Save the Girl

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt (Motley Crue)

Summary: The reader is getting married to her fiancee Jerry and Tommy has feelings for her, but thinks that she's happy with Jerry so he doesn't say anything.  Looks can be deceiving though.

Warning: Domestic abuse mention, swearing, fluff.  If any of these makes you uncomfortable please don't read.

Things were all ready for the wedding, just a few weeks away.  You were happy to be marrying Jerry, the love of your life.  He had his moments, but he was only human.  We all have our faults, like you couldn't cook for shit or do housework correctly.  Of course, you'd never even thought of doing housework when you were going to university for finance.  You were the top of your class, graduating valedictorian will a full ride to the best business school in the country.  Then you met Jerry and everything changed.

He told you of all the things he'd do for you when your first got together- get a job so you'd never have to work, stay home and take care of the house and eventual children.  That seemed like a beautiful dream, then he started doing things to hinder your chances at being your own person.  Like hiding your acceptance letter from business school and the accompanying forms for you to fill out.  He only mentioned it after you asked about it, which of course was after you called the school to see what was taking so long.  By that time, the acceptance date had passed.

You got into a screaming match with him, and in the middle of a sentence, that was the first time he hit you.  The both of you were stunned into silence, before you left the apartment you shared with him and went to your mother's house.  There, you got yet another shock when she said "It's your fault he hit you.  You should give up on your silly dream and settle down" you mother had always been the traditional housewife and all you saw was a miserable shell of what she used to be.  You then left her house and went to a hotel for a few days.

Then you made the biggest mistake of your life-you went crawling back to Jerry begging for forgiveness.  He took you in and said "Now don't make me hit you again, Y/N" you looked to the ground in shame.  He let you apply to the school again, but he had to know all the names of your teachers, classmates, when you had class and when you'd be home.  If you were even a few minutes late, you'd be in one of your lover's quarrels again.

In time, you got a job in an accounting firm as a financial advisor to one Mick Mars, the guitarist from the notorious rock band Motley Crue.  He seemed cool at first but when you saw notes in his financial record for $10,000 loans under the tag "snacks" you knew you were dealing with a substance abuser.  You looked up at him during one of your weekly meetings and said "Mr. Mars, if you keep taking out loans for 'snacks' you will be bankrupt in four months" you didn't care about what he did, but if he didn't have enough money to pay you to keep his checkbook balanced then you'd have to drop one of your most notable clients-an event that would have ended your career.

"Okay Miss L/N" he sighed, getting up with a grunt.  He had disclosed his medical condition to you, and you felt for him.  You would make sure that he'd have enough money for medications and treatment, even if it meant that you'd secretly put some of your own money in his account.  He remained quiet a moment then asked "Would you like a drink with me when you get off?"

You were taken aback by this offer, but it had been a long time since you had a drink with another person.  Jerry never let you go anywhere without him-even to your mother's house on holidays.  He'd even call you at work multiple times a day to see what you were doing, and if you didn't answer he'd interrogate you when you got home, accuse you of cheating on him and he'd hit you again.  "Just a quick drink wouldn't hurt" you smiled at Mick, since you'd be off the clock in a few minutes anyway.

When you drank with him, you found him much more interesting than you originally thought.  He was only a year or two older than you and you'd been his financial advisor for over a year now.  You felt a real connection with him and he was a perfect gentleman.  You started talking about Jerry, how he never lets you do anything and you always had to be on call for him.  Mick looked at you with utter shock.  "If he's such an asshole to you, then why are you with him?"

"I don't know" you answered truthfully, playing with your engagement ring "he's the only one who talked to me when I was in school, the only man to show interest in a nerd like me..."

"That's not a reason to marry someone" he told you "Hell, even dating him sounds like a nightmare!" he laughed, but you just shuddered.  You became very uncomfortable at that point and excused yourself, saying you'd see him at next weeks client meeting.

After you'd left, Mick scolded himself.  "I'm such a goddamned idiot..." he had liked you from the first client meeting.  You were intelligent, courteous and explained everything in layman's terms so he'd understand what you were doing for him.  He was quite impressed at the delicate way you told him to stop with the "snack" runs.  The last few financial advisors he'd hired cursed him out and dropped him as a client after a month.  He sat at the bar and sighed, taking a swig of vodka.

Jerry was waiting for you when you came in "Who was that old dude you were just with at the bar?" in the calmest tone he could muster.  The pit of your stomach fell through, knowing that tone meant a beating.

"Just one of my clients" you choked out "we had a weekly meeting today and he invited me for a drink afterward..."

"Is that so?" Jerry got up and grabbed your wrist tightly "are you fucking him too?"

"Jerry, let go" you winced "You're hurting me..."

"ARE YOU FUCKING HIM LIKE THE LITTLE SLUT YOU ARE?!" this was the last thing you remember before he hit you again.

The next morning, you surveyed the damage to your face-a black eye and a busted lip.  Your eyes started tearing up as you put on make-up to cover the injuries.  The looks you got at the office were a mixture of sadness, horror and pity.  This you expected after a beating, but what you didn't expect was Mick Mars coming in to apologize for saying what he did last night.  He took a good look at your face "What the fuck happened?!"

"It's nothing..." you assured him.

"A black eye and split lip isn't nothing!  Who did that to you?!"

It was then your best friend Lily walked by and answered "Her good for nothing, woman beatin' fiancee!"

"Lily!" you scolded "I told you that in confidence!"

"Yeah!" Lily shot back "I am confident that man'll kill you if you don't leave his sorry ass!  Hell, you can come stay with me a while!  Me and Johnny love havin' you around!" Johnny being her husband.

Mick looked like he was about to explode in rage "Or me!  I wouldn't mind having you in Mars Mountain with me!" that being the name he'd chosen for his residence, as he bought a whole mountain for himself.  Lily looked Mick up and down in a playful, quizzical manner.  He grew annoyed and said "What?"

She smiled and said "Nothin'" she shuffled some papers on the desk "Just that I've been seein' the glances you been eye'n Y/N with ever since she took you on as a client" her tone had changed from serious to flirty.

He blushed a little and said "I have no idea what you're talking about..."

"Don't play dumb!  You've wanted to hold her in your arms for a long, long time!"

You too were blushing, you having the same thought from time to time.  Just the other night, you dreamed that you were getting married to him instead of Jerry, and you were happy.  You cleared your throat and said "Mr. Mars, if you have no other business today, please leave..."

He bit his lip and showed himself out, after he left you chewed out Lily for bringing your personal business to a client.  "Girl, when are you gonna see that man isn't fit to be your pool boy much less your husband!  Does he have to put you in the hospital for you to leave him?!"

"Jerry loves me!  He just gets rough sometimes!" you defended him.

Lily stared at you like you had seven heads.  "That isn't what love is, Y/N!  He loves the control you let him have over you!  That man you just put out" she motioned to the door "that man loves you!"

"How do you know that?" you asked sarcastically.

"Because he looks at you the same way my husband still looks at me after ten years of marriage!"  she slammed her hands on the desk "he even offered his home to you, you stupid bitch!"

That was all you could take for today, so you informed your supervisor that you'd be taking the rest of the day off and to cancel all your appointments.  This was a rare thing for you so you'd been granted the off time right away.  You went back to the apartment and went to sleep.  When you woke up, Jerry had come home and asked "What are you doing home?" in the calm, dangerous voice.

"I had a bad day at work, so I came home to chill out" you wiped your eyes.

"Were you waiting for your other boyfriend?  The old guy from the bar?" he asked.

"No!" you got up to defend yourself "Yes, he came by the office but that was to apologize for something he said yesterday!" you then felt his hands around your neck and squeeze.  You were gasping for air, hearing the words "slut", "tramp" and "I'll kill you" before the world began to shrink and spin, until there was only black.

The next week, Mick went to his meeting with Miss L/N as usual, but he was greeted by Lily, who had taken all of Y/N appointments for her.  In her most professional voice, she said "I'm very sorry Mr. Mars, but Miss L/N is indisposed for a few days" she was writing something on a note card and slide it over to him "If you'd like to reschedule for when she comes back, I'd be more than happy to set that up for you!"

"No, that's okay" he read the card, putting it in his coat pocket "Please let her know that I stopped by" he shook Lily's hand.

"Go save that woman from that devil, ya hear me?" he nodded and walked to a payphone, where he dialed three numbers and asked for the same favor from all three recipients.  They all know it had to be serious-Mick Mars never asked for favors.

The note card read "L.A. General Hospital.  Room 342" he knew from experience that the third floor of L.A. General was the   intensive care floor, so you HAD to be in a bad way.  He was met by Vince, Tommy and Nikki at the door and they all made their way to 342.  He wasn't ready to see you in a comatose state with a tube breathing for you.  He was expecting Jerry to be there, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Doc" Mick pulled the doctor inside the room "What the fuck happened?"

The doctor looked over the chart and said "From what her fiancee told us, she tried to hang herself with a leather belt"  he was skeptical and added "but those bruises look an awful lot like hand prints, wouldn't you agree?"

The four of them nodded their agreement when Tommy asked "Where is her fiancee now?"

"Jail" the doctor said "we didn't believe his story one bit and the police investigated the scene, found no belt in the apartment at all and questioned some of her coworkers" Mick gulped and his eyes began to water.

"How long's she been like this?" he nervously asked, his band mates putting their arms around him to comfort him.

"Six days" the doctor answered "she does show signs of improvement, brain activity and such.  The bastard crushed her windpipe..." the doctor had gotten angry.

"So there's a chance she'll wake up?" Vince asked, Mick too distraught to continue.

The doctor smiled "She's stronger than she gives herself credit for.  She was dead when they bought her in.  She gets better everyday."

Mick had composed himself and asked "Has she said anything since..." he couldn't finish the sentence.

"She keeps saying 'Mick' from time to time.  Who Mick is, we don't know" Mick smiled a weak grin, but he went to sit next to you and held your hand.  The doctor had a spark of realization and he excused himself, explaining that if they had any more questions, just ask him.

"So what do you want us to do now, Mick?" Nikki asked him.

"Go to her apartment, pack her stuff and take it to Mars Mountain" he interlocked his fingers with yours "Go to Underhill Financial Advisors, ask for Lily Collins.  Explain who you are and what's happened.  She'll give you everything you need" they did as they were asked and Lily did help them, her and her husband Johnny helping move your things to Mick's house.

A few days later, your eye fluttered open.  The tube having been removed from your throat seeing as it wasn't needed any longer.  The day Mick came to you and held your hand like a lover for the first time, you began breathing on your own.  You looked around gathering your surroundings.  Mick felt you stir and he looked down at you "Y/N?"

"Mick?  Where am I?" you said in a hoarse voice, you flinching at the pain it caused you to talk.

"The hospital" he answered "Jerry choked you into a  coma about a week and a half ago" you bolted upright at the mention of Jerry's name.  Not out of concern, but out of fear he'd come back to finish you.

"Is he here?!" you looked like a scared meerkat, scanning the area for danger.

"No, honey he's in jail" he stroked your hair lovingly "he can't hurt you any more..."

You cried silent tears of relief as he comforted you, thoughts of what that man put you through the last three years melting off you like wax.  "What about the apartment?" you asked him, looking up with your big E/C doe eyes.

"My friends, Lily and Johnny moved all your stuff into my place" he said, kissing your hand "if you'll have me that is."

"Mind if we take it slow?" you asked.

"Of course, honey" he then kissed your forehead "We have all the time in the world."

[mrsrcbinscn]

Instead of doing replies, here’s this massive hc post that nobody needed or wanted lmao ayyy

Seoul Hanoi'd

  Genre: The Wikipedia page describes them as an indie rock alt-rock group, with the genres listed under the main box being indie rock, alternative rock, and some forrays into indietronica. 

  The group is described as genre-bending, as they will stick mainly with an indie rock vibe/folk punk (think violent femmes with that term), but they’ll pull elements from a wide range of genres. Seoul Hanoi’d is made up of singers and musicians whose wheelhouses include jazz, country/bluegrass/Americana, folk rock, indie rock, glam rock, garage rock revival, pop rock, classical, traditional Eastern, and R&B, so it isn’t unusual for a song to feature a cleverly placed jazzy bass throughout (like Ladies’ Code, Galaxy) or a mandolin. 

Background: Seoul Hanoi’d was founded in 2010 when a “joke in a conversation” between American-Cambodian singer, song-writer, and musician Franny Sor Robinson and Scottish drummer Max Jin-ho Cho came to life. The group currently consists of ethnic Korean, Vietnamese, Bhutanese, Cambodian, Lao, Hmong, Malaysian, Indonesian, Mongolian, Kazakh, Chinese, Nepalese, and Thai diaspora who rotate out for live shows as their schedules permit. All members of Seoul Hanoi’d have either their own solo music careers, or are primarily involved in acting, or have a primary band they are active in. There are four founding members and eight other members, totaling twelve. In addition to the twelve official members of Seoul Hanoi’d, other guest musicians have played with them when none of the twelve in the official lineup could fill a role. 

  The "core” members are almost all at every performance. Of the core members, Franny is absent the most because of her wildly busy schedule. She has a hand in composing almost every original song, arranging most of the covers, writing a huge chunk of their lyrics, and is the common thread between most of the other musicians, so she is considered the leader of the group.

  The band has won Grammy Awards, and since many of the band members are British they’ve won awards in Britain too, and because of the two Canadian members they’ve been nominated for awards in Canada. The band is labeled British-American-Canadian on the Wikipedia page. Though, one member is from Australia, and one from New Zealand. They joke that since Canada, the US, and UK all have at least two members, they get to be on the Wikipedia page.They have been given numerous honors from various Asian cultural organizations in The United States, United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, France, New Zealand, and Canada.

  Because of Seoul Hanoi’d’s unique structure, any touring is done in small legs and there’s usually a live lineup switcheroo from leg to leg. The band has a massive online following -- even when they don’t do live shows for a while they pump out content on their YouTube channel including covers, performances of their original content, charity livestreams, Learn [Language] with [Member], and occasional vlogs where the members teach you about their culture(s) by showing the viewer around a cultural festival or a traditional wedding or something.

  Founding members: Franny Sor Robinson (Cambodian-American), Vanessa Pham (Vietnamese-American folk indie singer-songwriter and guitarist), Max Jin-ho Cho (Korean-Scottish singer-songwriter, drummer, and pianist), Mary Xiong (Hmong-American indie rock singer and musician)

  Other members: Pangfoua Zangkai (Hmong-Canadian actress, singer,  and guitarist), Lawrence Hardjono (Indonesian-Australian bassist, lyricist, singer), Roslan Ali (Malaysian-New Zealand glam/indie rock singer, director, musician, song-writer, and author), Souksakhone “Holly” Rasavong (Laotian-Canadian pianist/keyboardist, composer, producer, drummer), Aisulu Niyazova-Li (Kazakh-Chinese-English actress, singer, and musician), Jodie Batbayar (Mongolian-English musician, singer, violinist, activist, and producer), Andrew “Andy” Chaiyaporn (Thai-American drummer, guitarist, singer, and violinist), Hannah Sadutsang (Nepalese-Bhutanese-English musician, lyricist)

  Main singer on album recordings: Franny Sor Robinson, songs v personal to the other singers are sometimes recorded by them, the main male vocalist is Roslan Ali

  Main singer live: Generally Franny Robinson for Europe shows, but of the core members she’s absent most and in her absence Aisulu Niyazova-Li, Vanessa Pham, or Mary Xiong typically will take lead

  Core live members: Franny Robinson (singer, main lyricist), Max Cho (drummer),Vanessa Pham (backing vocals, lead guitar), Pangfoua Zangkai (rhythm guitar, harmony lines), Roslan Ali (main male vocalist, lyricist, assorted instruments, directs most music videos), Lawrence Hardjono (bassist), Holly Rasavong (piano, keyboard), Andy Chaiyaporn (violinist, stringed instrument god)

  Most common live substitutes: 

  Franny Robinson (singer) may be replaced with Aisulu Niyazova-Li, Vanessa Pham, or Mary Xiong 

Max Cho (drummer) may be replaced with Andy Chaiyaporn who is usually in charge of string instruments or Holly Rasavong

Andy Chaiyaporn (string god) can be replaced with Jodie Batbayar

Vanessa Pham (lead guitar, backing vocals) can be replaced with Mary Xiong, Aisulu Niyazova-Li, or Jodie Batbayar

Pangfoua Zangkai (rhythm guitar, some harmonies) can be replaced with Hannah Sadutsang or Mary Xiong

 Roslan Ali (male singer, various instruments) can be replaced with Andy Chaiyaporn, or Lawrence Hardjono will sing and play bass

Lawrence Hardjono (bassist) can be replaced with Mary Xiong, Aisulu Niyazova-Li, Jodie Batbayar, or Hannah Sadutsang

Holly Rasavong (piano, keyboard) can be replaced by Hannah Sadutsang, Jodie Batbayar, or Aisulu Niyazova-Li

  Connections:

  Franny was friends with all of the members individually before most of them knew each other, Franny is the common thread. 

  Vanessa Pham is an American solo artist that Franny went to NYU with

Max Jin-ho Cho is a Scottish drummer, pianist, and singer that Franny met during a song-writing session with a mutual friend who is in Max’s main band, a Scottish rock band called Glasgow Gravedigger Society

Mary Xiong is the frontwoman of an American glam rock band called Borrowing Sally’s Mascara that Franny met when they performed at the same music festival that Daniel Maitland’s main band was (an alternative female-fronted  rock band called Venus and The Flytraps; he’s the other half of the bluegrass/indie country/americana duo Dara & Danny that Franny does) and Franny was there to support him, and a mutual friend introduced them to Mary

Pangfoua Zangkai is a Canadian actress that Franny met in 2008 when they were actually co-starring in an indie comedy movie directed by a mutual friend. The film was about two first-generation American women nearing the end of their final year of university, and deals with the pressure children of immigrant parents often deal with regarding their families hopes and dreams, and the feelings of not feeling American “enough” and not feeling Hmong or Cambodian “enough” through a comedic lens. The film won several awards from different organizations in the West meant to promote Asian/Southeast Asian culture and art, and has become pretty important to many people in Southeast Asian diaspora groups. Pangfoua is primarily an actress, but can sing and play guitar.

Lawrence Hardjono is an Australian singer and musician who is mostly known for his solo career primarily across Australia, New Zealand, and in his parents’ native Indonesia. Franny met him when they were both speakers at a Southeast Asian cultural event in Australia

Roslan Ali is a New Zealand rock singer, musician, and author that had been friends with Lawrence Hardjono for a while. He fronts an all Asian-New Zealander and Maori band called Kiwaisa Pacific

Holly Rasavong is a Canadian musician and producer that has produced several of Venus and The Flytraps’ albums, so she’s someone else that Franny met through her connection to Daniel Maitland.

Aisulu Niyazova-Li is one of the youngest members of Seoul Hanoi’d, at twenty-nine. She is an English actress, singer, and musician that Franny met when Aisulu reached out to Franny via her publicist about coming to speak at her (Aisulu’s) university. Aisulu was the president of the Asian Student Union at the time. Franny thought Aisulu was pretty damn great and kept in touch with her, even hooking her up with an audition for a record label. She has a solo R&B singing career under the name Niya Li.

Jodie Batbayar is an English singer, violinist, and activist most known for her violin skill. She can play classical style and fiddle style. She met Franny when the two of them were speaking at an event about Asian women’s empowerment

 Andrew “Andy” Chaiyaporn is an American drummer, guitarist, singer, and violinist. He typically plays violin in an American indie folk band called Maggie Creek, named after a stream in his native Nevada. He met Franny through a Facebook group for Southeast Asian-American creatives.

Hannah Sadutsang is English musician and lyricist most famous for writing the lyrics for many popular songs in the UK. Hannah is actually the youngest and most recent official member of Seoul Hanoi’d. She’s a former student of Franny Robinson’s at Pride University.

  Inspiration playlist: Link 

  Seoul Hanoi’d experiments with both live instruments and some elements of electronic music, but it’s always meant to accompany live instrumentation. 

  They have an entire album that’s explicitly political, aptly named The Political One, and a couple other songs subtly so. 

Awards, iconic performances, etc:

  Seoul Hanoi’d has won Grammys

Main songwriter, Franny Sor Robinson, was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2019 at the age of thirty-nine

Their Glastonbury 2016 performance, fronted by Franny Sor Robinson, has been heralded as one of the best live shows of the Festival in the last decade

Seoul Hanoi’d has performed at SXSW almost every year since 2013 

They have been invited to perform in Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, Mongolia, Bhutan, Korea, Nepal, Malaysia, and Indonesia by important figures either in entertainment or government to thank them for promoting and educating about their various cultures abroad

[certifiedskywalker]

Give Me Love - Brian May

You’re more than happy to be attending John and Veronica’s wedding; even despite the fact you don’t have a date. Luckily for you, the entertainment for the evening has had his eyes on you since the day the two of you met.

Or...Where Brian sings a song for the Deacon’s wedding and you realize love had been in front of you all this time…

The ceremony had been lovely. The floral arrangements were gorgeous, the color scheme was spot on, and the happy couple was very much in love. Never before had you seen someone smile like how John Deacon did as Veronica made her way down the aisle. You were certain you saw Roger even wipe a tear from his eye. The fact Brian said he saw it to filled you with pride; not only because you were right but because of how far the band, the family, had come.

It felt like yesterday when you were asked to be assistant to Jim Beach as he acted as Queen’s lawyer. Looking back, it only seemed like a week ago you were at Rockfield with them all, witnessing history in the making. Now, Deaky was married and the band was stronger than ever.

 “I am so dreadfully looking forwards to this reception,” Freddie drawled, “aren’t you darlings? Deaky dancing will be the highlight of the evening!” The singer couldn’t help the chuckle that filled the car as Brian drove him and yourself to the reception hall.

“You’re not going to be in the limelight, Fred?” Brian asked teasingly, eyes darting to the rearview mirror to gauge Freddie’s reaction. You gave him a bright smile as you giggled, prompting Freddie to laugh as well.

“I would never steal the light away from true love, Brian. How bold of you to assume.” You heard the guitarist chuckle in the driver’s seat and you glanced in the mirror again. When you did, you found him already looking at you with a softness in his eyes that made you blush. You weren’t quite sure as to why, but Brian’s eyes seemed more stunning than usual.

Perhaps it was the form fitting suit that hugged his lithe frame perfectly that accentuated the flecks of green. Or maybe it was his curly mess of mane that he had attempted to tame for the day’s events that framed his face so beautifully. It couldn’t be the years you had spent yearning to see him a suit like that, years pining over him in general. While the true reason laid untouched in your heart, you gazed out the window and watched the enchanting scenery whizz by.

“Don’t you think your new song will steal the attention away?” Freddie asked Brian loudly, bringing your focus back to the conversation.

“New song?” You questioned, glancing up in the rearview once more. Brian’s cheeks turned a cute shade of pink at your investigating. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

“It was meant to be a surprise,” he grumbled, “Fred.” The man beside you raised his hands in protest, brown eyes wide at being accused.

“I was told nothing about this! A surprise for whom, may I ask?” You didn’t have to look in the mirror to see Brian tense up. His knuckles turned white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. His silence was only interrupted once he parked.

“We’re here,” he announced, turning the engine off. You watched as he came around and opened the door for you and Freddie. The singer jumped out before you, eager to get inside the party as he already started towards the door. Carefully, as to not tear your dress, you wiggled your way out of the back seat. Graciously, you took Brian’s already extended hand as he helped you in your escape.

“Thank you, fine gentleman,” you proclaimed, trying on your best impression of Freddie. Brian smiled, that type of smile he only reserved for the band. The same smile you wish you had the pleasure of seeing everyday.

“You’re very welcome,” he said, bowing to play along. He shut the door and hooked his arm in yours as you both followed in Freddie’s wake. “You look lovely, by the way.” You turned your head to face Brian the moment the words reached your ears. He spared a brief, bashful glance at your features before looking back at the building before you. The skin of his long neck turned a shade of red when you pecked his cheek affectionately. You let out a happy hum and tried your best to calm your thundering heart.

“You are rather dashing as well,” you admitted, thumbing the sleeve of his suit with your free hand. “Black is definitely your color, you make it work for you.” Brian whispered a soft thank you as you neared the doors of the reception hall. Freddie was holding the door open for the two of you, smiling at the sight of your joined arms.

“Aw, aren’t the two of you adorable? You should have gone as each other’s dates.” Freddie had a way of making anything anyone ever did romantic. It was like a bad habit, in all honesty. However, over the years, you had noticed his favorite victims were yourself and Brian. Without fail, Freddie would always seat the two of you next to each other and fawn over the idea of you as a couple.

He wasn’t alone in that idea though. You had thought about it yourself on many occasions but never had enough courage to do anything. Brian was the wonderful guy who everyone loved, the guy who was so kind to you that your heart nearly melted every time you brought you a cup of tea. He was he guy that had been your shoulder to cry on for years now and you didn’t want to risk losing that. You needed Brian in your life; so you endured Freddie’s teasing.

“Take it easy, Fred,” Brian scolded gently as his arm unlinked from yours. Your brows knitted together at the loss of contact, only to relax again when you felt his warm hand on the small of you back guiding you inside.

The hall was stunningly decorated with brightly colored roses littering every table in sight. There wasn’t a flat surface in the place that didn’t have some floral arrangement resting atop of it. Freddie was spinning around, taking every inch of the place in while you and Brian gazed around. You were so busy taking in the sight surrounding you, that you missed how Brian’s eyes took in the wonder on your features.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured before turning to Brian. His eyes were already on you, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it is.” You were about to correct him, as if he made some mistake in the way he was looking at you rather than the decor, but you heard an all too familiar laugh. Roger was already holding a glass in his hands, smiling like a fool.

“Roger’s already found the refreshments,” Freddie cheered, taking your hand. You glanced over your shoulder to look at Brian and mouthed a ‘I’m sorry’. He gave you a thumbs up and watched on as Freddie lead you away. Brian waited until he knew you were with Roger to turn away and find John with his heart caught in his throat.

-

 Despite his best efforts, Freddie did not get you to drink too much. You split a beer with Roger, who vehemently denied ever crying, and a fancy cocktail Freddie had ordered for you. In the very least, you felt fuzzy from the drinks in your belly but nothing more. However, as soon as you found Brian with his hair a little more wild and his button up slightly buttoned down, you felt a bit drunk off of something else entirely.

 “There you are,” the guitarist said fondly, grabbing for the hand you had reached out for him with. You allowed yourself to lean against him slightly before facing the newly weds. You beamed at John and Veronica, whose happiness seemed to fill the air around you.

“You two are lovely,” you said to the couple. Veronica smiled and pecked John’s cheek, making the shy man blush.

“I take it Freddie’s shown you the drinks?” The bassist gestured to your empty glass and you nodded. John sighed, glancing over to this friends at the bar with concern. 

“Don’t worry, I told them to take it easy tonight.” John thanked you before someone standing behind him and Veronica pulled his attention elsewhere. Before he left completely, he turned back to Brian.

“Everything is set up for when you’re ready. Just head up when you’re ready.” Brian nodded his head at his friend who winked before turning to his wife. You leaned against his side a little more, resting your hands on top of his shoulder to pull Brian down to a more accessible height.

 “I can’t wait to hear this new song,” you whispered in his ear. You were so caught up in taking in his reaction that you almost didn’t feel the arm that wrapped snugly around your waist. He held you close to his form and the contact, despite his body heat, made you shiver.

“I hope you’ll like it,” he said nervously and you pecked his cheek.

“I love everything you do. I have a feeling this will be no different.” You could almost hear the way Brian’s breath caught in your throat and you realized just how close you were to him. Maybe you were a bit tipsy. As, had you been sober, you wouldn’t be sharing such a close proximity. Silently, you thanked the liquid courage. As you tried to pull away, you felt Brian’s arm tighten around your waist as if to keep you for a moment longer.

 “Y/N, I’ve been really thinking about it and I need to-”

“Brian, darling, go sing!” You nearly jumped out of you skin when Freddie’s voice rang out from behind you. Brian noticed and let out a heavy sigh.

 “Fred, now isn’t really-”

 “Please darling,” Freddie pleaded, “you’ve been teasing us all day!” You placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

 “Go, just tell me later, okay? I’ll wait for you.” The look in his eyes were starlit; like the skies he longed to study in university until Queen fell into his lap. Until you lit up his night like the moon and gave him something to search for. 

Speechless, Brian nodded and walked over to the smaller stage where the actual band had set up for the evening. You watched him go over to his guitar case with Freddie clinging to your arm. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, you pulled at the hem of your favorite dress and tried to fix any loose strands of hair. You heard Freddie chuckled lightly and when you looked at him, the singer was shaking his head. He reached for your hands to stop their mindless quest for perfection.

“He already thinks you’re gorgeous, darling, just relax.” An intense shade of red fell across yours skin like a blanket and Freddie laughed again. “Trust me, darling.” You tried to as Brian strummed lightly on the fret of his guitar, testing out the song. 

The wedding guests suddenly fell quiet as John and Veronica moved to the middle of the polished dance floor. You nearly melted when you realized that the newlyweds had chosen Brian to perform the song for their first dance. Watching on, John took Veronica’s waist in his arms and they nodded at Brian. His chest shook as he took a deep breath and you could’ve sworn he glanced at you one last time before the song began. 

Since the day we met, I knew I would never forget, Just how much I knew I wanted you to give me love.

To hold me close and steady Swaying to the beat, Ask me for anything and I will fall at your feet.

The lyrics reached your ears and, as if pulled by the magnet force that was Brian May, your eyes moved from the dancing couple to the man with the acoustic guitar balanced in his lap. The pounding of your heart only increased when you saw Brian’s eyes already on you as he sang. It was only when his eyes closed to reach higher notes when his gaze was not on you. He was singing to you, you realized, and you swallowed thickly as he continued.

It was so heartfelt, like each word had been written not in ink but in the color of Brian’s own soul. You watched as his long, nimble fingers expertly plucked and pulled at strings to keep the tune in play as the first dance came to an end. It was finishing far too soon in your opinion. You wanted to hear Brian sing forever.

And I knew that day Our eyes first met I wanted you and only You to give me love.

 The song came to a slow end, Brian stretching out the last few notes so Deaky could spin Veronica right into his arms. The crowd clapped wildly, cheering for the couple and for Brian’s song. The guitarist stood, taking a nervous bow before John rushed over to him and wrapped him in a strong hug. You smiled at the sight, reaching up to wipe a tear you didn’t know had fallen from your eyes. 

 “Oh,” Freddie cried, “was that not the most lovely thing you’ve ever heard? Dare I say, I believe he wrote that for someone.” You turned to face Freddie, whose lips were upturned in the most knowing, childish smile you had ever seen.

“Fred, did you-”

“Here he comes, darling. Hopefully I won’t see you later.” The singer gave you a wink and flew off to find someone else to chat to. You watched him go, suddenly too bashful to look in the direction Brian was in. That was, until, you felt his warmth standing in front of you. Looking up at him, you saw his eyes were slightly glassy and his mouth parted with unsaid words stuck on the tip to his tongue.

 “That was beautiful, Brian,” you gushed, ignoring the heat that rose up on your skin. He let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like an exhale than anything else. You peered up at his face, holding his gaze as you said, “Really, it was amazing.” His mouth opened then pressed into a thin line, as his mind raced before him.

“It was for you,” he admitted, his eyes searching yours for your immediate reaction. “I didn’t know how else to say it and I couldn’t not tell you any more. I felt like-” You put a halt to his babbling by reaching a tentative hand up to his face. With your fingers tracing along his jaw, Brian fell silent to savor the feeling of your skin against his. He reached for you, his hand falling on your waist to pull you flush to him. You thumb brushed his bottom lip and you felt a sharp inhale of his breath.

“Do you still want that?” You question had Brian nuzzling his face into your hand, urging your touch to remain on him. He hummed in response and the vibration against your skin cause goosebumps to rise along your arms. “Do you still want me to give you love?”

 “Always,” Brian whispered coolly, nothing but the truth in his eyes, “always and only you.” You heart melted then, you were sure of it; but you didn’t care much for the mess. Instead, you leaned up on your tippy toes and placed a searing kiss to his lips. His mouth parted and he moaned slightly against your lips. His hand tugged at the material of your dress in an attempt to pull you impossibly close. 

Your chest was pressed against against and you had confused the thumping of your own heart with his. Either way, you could not fight the feeling rushing through you, It was like you had been made or this moment. You only parted when music started up and Brian was left gasping.

“I love you,” his mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. You smiled as you tangled your fingers in his curls affectionately.

“I love you too, Bri.” He brushed his nose against yours at the sound of your words. You pecked his lips one last time before you pulled away. Tangling your fingers with his, you glanced over at the dance floor. Couples were swaying to the slow beat and you pulled gently on Brian’s arm. “Dance with me?”

“Always.”

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Wedding Band Or Wedding DJ?

It's that age old conundrum that plagues every couple planning their wedding, do we choose a wedding band or DJ for our wedding reception?

It's a difficult choice that is easily answered if you've got the money, get both! That way you can start the evening with a chilled band set, the wedding DJ can fill in the gaps when the band has a break and then the wedding DJ can take over for the remaining die hard dancers! If however like most couples about to choose their wedding entertainment you only have the budget for one or the other the choice is a bit more difficult so in this article we'll discuss the virtues of both. Before we do that though we need to find out a few things that will be key to your decision.

1) The average age of your wedding guests

The answer seems obvious, 'they'll be from 8 to 80 of course!' Well actually they won't and when choosing your wedding entertainment this is a big factor. You'll be able to find out the age of your average wedding guest from your and your fiance's age. E.g. if you're 28 then most of your mates will be 28 and therefore at least 50% of the guest will be about the same age. It's also important to find out the average age of the guests as the younger they are the later they will want the wedding entertainment to go on as long as possible for them to party!

2) Wedding Ceremony and Venue times

What time is your wedding ceremony? If it's at 11am and your venue stays open until 1am the likelihood is that most of your guests (no matter what age) will flake out by about 11pm, 12 hours is a long time to party!

Wedding DJ

For:

-They generally play for up to 5 hours and they'll probably put on some wedding friendly music over your meal for free extending the time you get them by about 3 hours. Click here how to book a live wedding band

-They take requests.

-A wedding DJ tends to be cheaper than a band.

-You only have to feed one of them!

Against:

-Unless you see them at a friend's wedding, you don't know what you're getting, a brilliant professional wedding DJ or a cowboy.

-You don't get a 'live feel' which can seem a bit cheesy.

Wedding Band

For:

-You get a great live feel, especially if you ask them to learn your first dance.

-If you have older guests they will probably prefer a live wedding band to a DJ.

Against:

-You will probably have to feed 4 or 5 of them!

-They will only play for up to about 3 hours max which means they will be more expensive.

So to sum it up, if you can afford it get both! But if not I would suggest getting a wedding band (make sure they have their own lights) and then make a playlist on your iPod and then be a wedding DJ yourself after.

Also get the wedding band to play your first dance as this makes a huge difference!

Good luck!

Simon Baum is a London based Guitarist and vocalist who has performed in the UK and internationally for over 10 years. He also runs a successful, entertainment agency using the best of London wedding bands, wedding DJs, casinos and all other entertainment, providing entertainment for both wedding and corporate clients. If you need any help with your wedding entertainment or corporate entertainment he'd be happy to advise you.