#also my new favorite word is circa don’t ask

[cooliestghouliest]

LOVE ME TWO TIMES, ch. one

(chapter one) (chapter two)

PAIRING: eventual Mungrove x Reader

SUMMARY: Struggling to come to terms with the abrupt abandonment of your father, you’re left with two options – attend an “all girls’ therapeutic boarding academy” that’s really more Bedlam Insane Asylum than trusty reformative school, or move half-way across the country to a small town in Indiana to live with your older brother, Rick. The upheaval of your life in Fresno might just end up being a little star-crossed and a whole lot serendipitous.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k+

SERIES TAGS: angst. some pretty heavy topics in later chapters. just enough fluff to hopefully balance it all out. eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI). eventual love triangle. neurodiversity. dom/sub undertones (dom!Billy, switch!Eddie, switch!Reader), also bi!Eddie and bi!Reader but confused!Billy. drugs and drug addiction. no use of Y/N (but much use of nicknames and pet names). Reefer Rick is Matthew Lillard circa Senseless. more TBA as the story progresses.

CHAPTER TAGS: absent dads and mean moms. brief mention of self-destructive tendencies (way more about that later). your brother's a total cockblock. long-winded parental background information. this is really just some stage setting before we get into the nitty gritty.

A/N: this is my favorite fic i've ever written, and now it's coming at you re-edited. it's my verbose word child, sprinkled with a few What The Fuck and Holy Shit moments, dolled up with some silly humor and a dose of hot (and often borderline depraved) smut. a lot's already planned for this, so i hope you enjoy. :-)

—

chapter title: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

You weren’t expecting the high pitch of the doorbell that sounded throughout your colonial-style home, and proof of that was now spilled all over the kitchen floor.

Tiny green buds were sprinkled across the white-and-black linoleum tile, some scattered in the blonde mess of curls that belonged to the boy kneeling before you, his mouth busy between your legs.

You’d been attempting to multitask, rolling a joint while twisted awkwardly at the dining table, the quarterback’s head shrouded by your bare thighs, lapping noisily at your wet center.

You huffed out a frustrated sigh at the spillage, but it quickly turned into a moan when goldilocks gave a particularly harsh suck on your clit.

“You needa get that?” he mumbled against your folds, tongue halting its assault only to speak before diving back in, showing no intention of stopping.

You shook your head, one hand moving to tangle in the his hair, the other crumbling up the now empty and useless rolling paper. “Uh-uh… prob’ly just some Mormons,” you answer, beginning to rock your hips up into the warm mouth covering your cunt. “I don’t wanna be saved.”

Chris… or Carl… or Craig… whatever his name was, laughed, the sound vibrating nicely against your heat. Your toes curled at the sensation, thighs wrapping tight around his ears.

He moaned appreciatively at your movement, running his tongue flat against the length of your opening. Maybe you could keep this one around. He liked New Kids on the Block unironically, but holy shit, he knew what to do with his mouth.

The bell rang again.

And then again, and again, and again.

“Oh, little seeeee-eeee-ster!” came a familiar male voice from the other side of the front door. “I know you’re in there, Bean. I can see your shadow in the kitchen!”

You shot up straight, aligning your posture and pulling Chris Carl Craig from between your legs by the grip you had in his hair. He gave an unappealing whine, his fingers moving up to console his scalp.

Standing quickly, you adjusted your pleated skirt so it fell normal again, just above your knees. “Up, up, up,” you impatiently urged the jock still kneeling on the ground, smoothing your clothing and hair to make sure nothing looked too out of place.

“Who is that?” the blonde asked, finally following you into a standing position, large hand still cradling his head. “Still the Mormons?”

“It was never Mormons, Chet,” you said, hoping your shot-in-the-dark guess at his name was right.

It wasn’t.

“It’s Chad,” he said, eyes beginning to narrow. Whether it was in suspicion, confusion, annoyance, or a combination of all three, you didn’t know. And it didn’t matter. You needed to get him out of here without your new visitor catching sight of him, or else you knew you’d never hear the end of it. Chad was still intent on conversing, though. “We’ve literally been in the same school district since, like, kindergarten.”

You bit your lower lip, offering a sheepish smile. “Right,” you said. “I know that.” You didn’t. “Sorry. Head’s a little loopy right now. Your tongue could win awards.”

With Chad’s newfound cocky grin, you knew the flattery angle had worked out. It usually did. Boys were such suckers for some ego stroking.

“Oh, fuckin’ right!” you heard from the front door, the visitor’s voice now cheerful. The door handle began to jangle, and you heard the sound of a key in the lock.

He must have found the spare. Of course he had. He’d only lived here his entire childhood, just like you.

The key had been in the same place it always had been since moving to Fresno -- under the coir doormat that read Definitely Not a Trap Door, courtesy of your father. He’d made it for the family after moving from Chicago to California for his new teaching position at CSU in ‘70. Your mom still hadn't gotten around to throwing it out, even though she’d managed to get rid of almost everything else inside the home that reminded her of her ex-husband.

The door swung open and there stood your older brother in all his punk rock, Fuck-the-Bourgeoisie glory. Short bleached blonde hair, numerous facial piercings, ripped Dead Kennedys t-shirt, tight red tartan pants, muddy black Doc Martens. He was smiling wide, dopey.

Fuckin' Rick.

You started to match his expression, unable to resist your brother’s effortless and childlike charm, but your smile fell flat when Rick’s now disapproving gaze landed on the blonde still standing at your side.

“A Letterman, Bean? Really?” Rick asked you incredulously, having spotted Chad’s football jacket as the jock in question slid it from its place on the kitchen chair to rest over his broad shoulder.

“What?” you asked Rick coyly, quickly eyeing Chad. “You know I don’t discriminate. I’m a true equal opportunist.”

Chad seemed oblivious to the underlying context of the conversation between the pair of siblings. He was watching the two of you interact with seemingly nothing behind his eyes.

God, so cute but so totally stupid.

You closed the distance between the two of you, Chad looking hopeful he was going to be kissed or something, but you instead reached your hand out to pluck a few pieces of weed from his hair. “You can go now,” you told him, finger tapping his nose lightly.

Chad’s face scrunched at your touch but he then shrugged it off, picking his backpack up off the kitchen floor before making his way to the front door. “See ya at school,” he said to you over his shoulder. Stopping briefly next to your brother, Chad assessed him before saying, “Um, bye, whoever you are.”

Rick pulled his lips into a tight line, raising his brows in amusement. He clapped his hand hard on Chad’s back a few times before pushing the footballer out the door. “Later, loverboy.”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

An hour and a half later, you and Rick were seated on opposite ends of the tufted tuxedo sofa in the living room. A box of half-eaten extra cheese pizza laid open in between the two of you.

Some low budget horror VHS was playing on the TV across from the couch, the volume low. You thought it was called Ghoulies. You kept catching glances of tiny, ugly wet looking monsters scurrying on the screen out of your peripheral.

You’d been talking to Rick about senior year at Fresno Central High (you said you were doing great, straight A’s across the board, but in reality, you were failing everything but English and Music).

You'd been talking about work at Spins and Needles, the record store you’d been employed at for a little over two years now (you told him you’d gotten promoted to Assistant Manager, which was true, but you left out the fact that you were on Strike Two of Three for blowing off shifts to get high with some goth kids that routinely came in a few hours before closing).

And you'd been talking about your mom (this you were honest about – “She’s still a huge bitch, Rick, that hasn’t changed”).

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

But then he tried to bring up your dad, asking in an obnoxiously forced nonchalant tone if you’d heard from him lately.

That’s where you stopped him.

You were not going to talk about your dad.

Flipping the pizza box lid shut harshly, you sat up straight and faced him.

“Why are you really here?” you demanded.

Rick sighed, defeated.

He knew you’d catch on soon enough that this supposed innocent visit was actually a planned mission. He’d just been hoping maybe you’d be the one to breach the topic of going back to Indiana with him. Maybe you wanted out of this Californian hellhole. A chance at a fresh start, hundreds of miles away.

But he knew you recently had developed a penchant for self-destruction and self-catastrophizing, which meant getting you to see the bright side and the positives of his request was going to be near impossible.

Still, he had to try.

“Mom called me,” he admitted, which earned him a dramatic eye roll from you. “I know you’re failing your classes. I know your boss has been blowing up the landline wondering why you keep closing up shop so early. And I know mom’s a bitch. I’m trying to save you from her. She said she’s thinking of enrolling you into St. Mary’s.” Rick wasn’t surprised at the bewildered scoff you gave to that, St. Mary’s being Indiana’s notorious Catholic boarding school for wayward girls. He’d finally gotten to the point, the real reason he was there: “Come stay with me in Hawkins, Bean.”

“Wow, Rick, so noble. It only took you, what, ten years to come back for me?”

Rick couldn’t help but flinch, your wounding words accusing. And accurate.

It was true.

Rick, at twenty, had left Fresno in an old RV he’d bought for dirt cheap, with plans to travel the country and get the fuck away from his parents, Ronald and Maureen Lipton.

Or, away from his mother, really.

Ron Lipton was generally fine -- until a certain point in his life. To outsiders, the man seemed to be very happy and very put-together, successfully established in both his home life and his career.

Ron and Maureen had gotten married just a few short months following their high school graduation, after finding out Maureen was pregnant with Rick.

With the draft ever present, Ron enlisted in the army, while Maureen enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to take care of Rick (and eventually you, once you were born, conceived on one of Ron’s short stints back home), so she could work on her doctorate in psychiatry.

After being honorably discharged a handful of years later, Ron had gotten his Master’s degree in education and creative writing.

To the public, Ronald and Maureen Lipton were fantastic at keeping up the facade of Perfect Suburban Family.

In private, however, the Lipton household was like living in a layer of Hell.

Where Ron was imaginative and endlessly inquisitive, instilling a love of storytelling and curiosity in his children, Maureen was passive aggressive and judgemental, harboring jealousy for the relationship her children had with her husband. This eventually festered a spiteful dynamic between her and Ron, and between her and her offspring as well.

When the two of you were younger, Rick in his late teens and you in your last years of elementary school, one of your favorite backyard games was to wonder aloud to each other how and why your parents had ever even gotten together in the first place.

You were both sure that it must have been an arranged marriage of some sorts.

Rick thought maybe your grandparents had made a deal with the devil, and to ensure the safety of the family, Ronald and Maureen were forced to be betrothed for life.

You thought maybe Maureen was an evil sorceress who had cast a spell on your father, trapping him in a loveless marriage that he was an unsuspecting victim in.

The truth was not stranger than fiction.

The reason behind their nuptials was simple, really: Ronald was raised to believe he needed to provide for his family, and after having knocked Maureen up not only once but twice, he was resigned to the fact that this was his path in life.

Devoted father, loving husband.

While he couldn’t stand his wife, her harshness and indignation usurping any positive characteristics she may have once had, Ron did love his children. Dearly.

Rick was his wild child; his rebellious, rambunctious trouble maker.

Ron would sit on the front porch late at night, waiting for Rick to get home and tell him all about his latest escapades. What parties he’d gone to, what girls he’d kissed, whether he preferred the high from acid or mushrooms more. Ron lived vicariously through his son, encouraging the boy to play hard, but to play hard responsibly.

You were Ron’s Little Leia of Alderaan; his opinionated, open-minded warrior, brave enough to stand up to any bully who’d dare to make fun of you or your friends. You were Ron’s daydreamer, his whimsical muse, his daily reminder that there was still innocent softness in this cruel world.

You would have Daddy Daughter Dates twice a week, where you’d do things like go to the roller rink or have picnics in the park, and they always ended with a two scoop mint chocolate chip ice cream cone shared between the both of you.

But Ron’s love for his life dwindled the second he stepped foot inside his house -- where he was forced to occupy space with his resentful excuse of a wife, a woman who would never miss a beat to berate him for every choice he’d ever made in his life.

With your older brother gone, the squabbles between Ron and Maureen got worse.

Rick had been able to placate his father and put himself in the line of Maureen’s fire, taking her verbal hits so his father didn’t have to. You, being only ten when Rick had left, didn’t have much ground to stand on with your parents arguing, and trying to step in as Rick had would usually only make things escalate.

Ron fantasized about leaving, starting over anew. The immediate and resounding “no” that his subconscious always answered himself with, thinking of the kids, dwindled down over time, until all of his fantasizing led him to making actual plans of departure.

Last year, right before summer break was set to start, Ron finally left.

Having taken PTO from the campus, he’d waited that morning for Maureen to leave for work and for you to be on the bus to school. Alone, he took the time to pack all of his belongings, leaving only a few things behind, all with you in mind -- things to remind you of him in his absence. He’d intended on coming back for you as soon as possible, wanting to settle in somewhere before dragging his daughter into his uprooted life.

But it was over a year now that Ron had been gone, and you could count on one hand the amount of times he’d reached out to you.

You could count them on two fingers, actually.

The first time was the night after he’d left, when he’d tried explaining to you his reasoning, which you weren’t at all interested in hearing. You were beside yourself that he’d left you, just like Rick had, except Rick was your brother and that was normal, but Ron was your daddy and he was supposed to always be there.

Your mother, in anger that Ron would attempt to talk to you and not her, had disconnected the call, and while you waited by the phone all night for him to call back, he never did.

The second and last time he reached out was a few months ago, via letter for your 18th birthday. It was postmarked with an address in Fort Worth, Texas. When you’d tried writing back, you'd found the letter you'd sent in your mailbox a week later, marked Return to Sender.

It was mid-November now, and you hadn’t heard from him since.

At least Rick had kept in touch after he’d left.

He’d sent you care packages every month since arriving to Indiana in '81. They were full of sci-fi and horror books he’d found at the local Goodwill or Salvation Army, newspaper clippings for outlandish Classified segments, scribbled notes on stained notebook paper detailing concerts he’d gone to and new bands he thought you should check out.

Remembering this, you softened quickly after accusing Rick of abandoning, your biting comment causing guilt to swirl in your stomach.

Rick had his reasons to leave, you understood that. He was allowed to live his life. And even though he’d done just that, left and lived his life, he still always managed to keep tabs on you. The two of you hadn’t gone more than a few weeks without letters sent or parcels mailed back and forth since he’d first left home.

Never there, but never gone. Not really.

That was more than you could say for your father.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” you admitted, even though the hurt words you spoke did hold some kernel of truth. “It’s just… I don’t wanna have to start all over somewhere else.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Rick promised, choosing to let the accusation of his abandonment slide. He was sure you'd both get into it more later, considering it was a conversation that was long overdue. “The house is too big for just me anyway, and you know I’m fuckin’ shit at decorating. I’ve basically just been using beer cans for bookends and stuff like that – you could make it look way cozier.”

You laughed, sure your brother wasn’t exaggerating.

Rick was about as anti-capitalist as you could get, and that included being a minimalist when it came to possessions. Give the man a hand-me-down couch, a little TV, some weed, his cassettes, and a subscription to Playboy, and he’d be content for the rest of his life.

You were the opposite.

You loved things.

You had many different collections you’d amassed over the years -- your vast assortment of books had spilled from the two bookshelves in your room to several stacks littered throughout the house, much to your mother's annoyance; your vinyls were shoved into four big storage bins stacked under your octagonal bedroom window, which you draped a blanket over and used as a makeshift window seat nook; your cliques of creepy looking dolls you’d collected from estate sales and antique shops crowded your bed, your vanity, the storage shelf in your closet; the bug assemblages you’d been adding to since your childhood had their own corner of your room, little homes full of ladybugs, ants, and deathwatch beetles.

The idea that you could expand your knack for interior embellishing (hoarding, really) further than the confines of one room was one thing that made you start to consider taking Rick’s offer seriously.

That, and the realization that finally getting the fuck out of Fresno might not be such a bad idea.

Because what did you have there anymore, anyway? Shit grades? A handful of mean exes? A dead-end job?

Was any of that worth staying for?

You thought of your dad trying to reach out to you via telephone, imagined your mother answering and telling him you’d moved away and no longer lived there.

If it were only a few months since Ron had left, you didn’t think you would have gone with Rick back to Hawkins. You would have stayed just for the mere possibility that your dad would show up on the doorstep one day, begging for your forgiveness for leaving you alone with your coldhearted mother.

However, it was over a year now that he’d been gone. One year, four months, and fifteen days... if anyone was counting.

You’d never verbally admit it, but you still were.

There was a page hidden in the back of your diary where you kept track.

Your hopefulness was starting to make you sick.

Maybe a change wouldn’t be so bad.

Going back to Hawkins with Rick sure beat being forced to attend an all girls’ reformatory school, one with a reputation that claimed the headmaster performed shock therapy on students in lieu of giving them detentions.

You were sure that was just a rumor, but still. You didn’t want to take any chances.

“Bean, let me be there for you,” Rick said, reaching over to grasp your hand with his fingers. You noted his nails were painted a lime green. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, except now you’re older and actually cool so I won’t be embarrassed to introduce you to all my friends.” Dipping his head to the side, he wiggled his pierced brows, a grin toying on his lips as he added, “And we can smoke weed in the house.”

Pretending as if that alone was what sealed the deal, you stood swiftly. “Say less. You really should’ve started with that, Richard.” You headed off in the direction of the stairs that led up to your room, glancing over your shoulder at your brother who was staring off after you with a relieved countenance on his face. “Gimme an hour and then we can go?”

Rick answered with two thumbs up before grabbing a slice of pizza, shoving as much as he could of it into his mouth as you disappeared up the spiral staircase.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x you #eddie x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy x reader #billy x you #mungrove x reader #mungrove #billy hargrove smut #eddie munson smut

[p4x-639]

First and foremost I just want to say that I’m not the best at wording what I want to say and that this ask is meant to be respectful and loving towards you and your decisions and I’m extremely sorry if it comes off as something else! I’m usually a silent observer on here due to extreme anxiety but your art has such an impact on me that I just wanted to let you know how much it means to me.

I don’t really know how to put into words on how much your work will be missed by me. I only recently got into Heat as I watched the movie for the first time literally a few days ago and I was absolutely thrilled to see how many posts and amazing artwork you have contributed to the fandom. You really were carrying the entire Heat and Neil/Vincent fandom on your shoulders.

Your work has also inspired me to draw some more and the last few days I’ve been drawing Al Pacino and Robert De Niro for hours and I don’t think my hand will ever forgive me. Your art was quite motivational to look at as I’m a beginner artist, who hopes of one day gaining half of your skills, so I enjoyed looking back at your art whenever I became discouraged. (Especially the one small comic of them kissing over the desk, that was my favorite for sure and I think about it at least every hour!)

I am honestly gut wrenched to see that you have taken down so much of your work and l only have the few Al Pacino and Robert De Niro drawings you have left on your page to show my friends in an attempt to describe the art that has disappeared. I really really really do hope you reconsider taking your art off the internet for good as I personally absolutely adored it and it’s great addition to such a small fandom. Speaking of which, is there perhaps another place where you have your artwork still up?

Your tag saying that the fandom will miss you really stood out to me and I can’t speak for the fandom as I’m new to the movie but I know I will most certainly deeply miss you and your art even though I only had it for a few days. And I guess I just wanted to let you know how much of an impact you and your art had on me and will be loved and missed by a random stranger on the internet.

Sorry for such a long message but I hope you’re doing okay and I wish you the absolute best in whatever you do next!

Thank you for taking the time to write this and for braving your anxiety, I know how much of a bitch it can be. I really appreciate your message.

I... have been involved in the fandom for 2 and half years now, sharing my fanarts... It was fun until it wasn't, and, combined with IRL factors, I just needed to remove myself from the social media aspect of it. Social media is not made for fanwork... for all this time I've watched my most low-effort posts always, always taking over my art. My most popular Heat post was a bunch of pictures of De Niro circa 1995... after that were screenshots of dumb reddit comments, then low-effort black&white sketches, then the high-effort stuff. That's a normal outcome for social media; it's not personal either - but it just shows it's unsuited for fanwork & artists. And it's hard not to let it become personal after all that time putting out art and stories that are personal to me. I know plenty of people share their stuff here and keep on going through the limited engagement - I might just not be strong enough for that. I just need to leave before any more damage is done to my relationship to art. I do not wish to be here anymore, and, for now at least, my Heat fanarts are an extension of me.

So... once again, thank you for reaching out and sending me this message. It means a lot. I'm sorry you probably won't be able to find much more of my art. You should have reblogged it or saved it locally, haha. Keep on drawing and on observing the world, that's how one gets good.

As to how you can find my art: for my fanarts, they are currently set to private here, so while it's not impossible that they become viewable in some way in the future, I'd recommend not expecting it. I've also never posted them on other platforms, so right now they are effectively only visible through the reblogs floating around. For my graphic novel, and all the stuff around my Heat AU, black&white comics and the likes (like that small comic you were talking about), you can still find it on/through my AO3.

[yuniper]

Found your tumblr through that Arcade fic. Holy cow, your writing is amazing!!! I’ve gotta study how so many of you fallout fic writers write because I’ve noticed a distinct theme/style emerge from my favorites (of which yours is among them) that has forced the cogs in my head to start turning again as I write for myself.

If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any suggestions/tips when it comes to writing, especially for fallout and getting into/describing the world and characters within it?

thank you so much, oh my god! you have no idea what a serotonin boost your ask just gave me, haha!

the fallout community has some absolutely incredible writers and that you like my fic as much really means a lot to me!

so keep in mind that i'm by no means an expert, i was writing some very awkward fics circa 2011 and only just recently started to get back into writing again, but something i really wanted to accomplish with that story was to transport you into the world — i just love the setting of new vegas so much. so a lot of that just came from how i was imagining the sights, sounds, feelings etc. as i was playing the game.

the thing is though, and i'm sure you've probably also experienced this sometimes when you were reading, nothing pulls you out of a story like paragraphs upon paragraphs of scenery description. so i really tried to have all of these descriptions be sensory and have them directly relate to the characters in some way. this writing advice from fight club author chuck palahniuk was something that really helped me with that.

the dialogue was something i struggled to pin down way more but i honestly just like watching westerns, particularly contemporary and revisionist westerns, and that ended up really helping me with that.

when you watch a lot of cowboy media, you start to notice the unique way in which characters talk in those stories. this doesn't necessarily apply to arcade so much, since he's quite verbose, but a note to myself i kept at the top of my draft for my dialogue was:

abbreviate and omit but use ten dollar words

ulysses is a good example if you want to pick one from new vegas itself.

to me, characters in western settings always kind of feel like they're not used to talking a lot, even when they're currently holding long speeches like ulysses tends to do.

although he's the single most wordy character in the game, he has this very staccato way of speaking where it feels like he cuts off the start of sentences or omits parts of them.

an example of that when you're writing less weighty dialogue than any lines from ulysses is to just omit the "i" at the start of sentences.

so instead of saying "i don't see how that could happen," i would just say "don't see how."

this turned out pretty long, i hope it'll be of some use to you, haha! feel free to message me if you ever have any other questions or just want to chat, i always love shooting the shit about fallout!

#answer #tf2strategist

[wavesmp3]

I think you should all unfollow me actually

#this blog is barely holding it together #I haven’t written anything to put on here in so long #and I don’t think I will be soon #working on original stuff babes #but when that gets boring or too hopeless #I’ll be back #this is where I play the wait for me reprise from hadestown #these tags are progressively making less and less sense #goodnight #shawna speaks and no one listens #I feel like ppl who have followed me recently don’t understand the essance of this blog #need to return to how this blog was ran circa this time last year #also my new favorite word is circa don’t ask #oOMG I just remembered my crochet hooks are supposed to come in tomorrow #good bye life I’m gonna crochet til o get bored #how does one spell essence (?) essance(?) #spell check had failed me #now I am the king and the jester #cause I am the fool but also the only one watching #thinking 🤔💭 about the love 😍❤️💦between a king 🤴👑 and his jester 🤡😍 now that homies 😳🔨 that’s true love 😫🥵 #oh wow okay I can’t believe I typed that out #I really need to go to sleep don’t I #wait why is it almost 2 am .... I thought it was still one #the fact that people saw this post before I updated the tags #I can’t tell if that’s more embarrassing for me or for you #for my sake let’s say you 😋

[svt-junhwan]

virtual fansign |

in which | a fan expresses her gratitude for junhwan

characters | kim junhwan, a fan

word count | 0.8k

circa | home;run

note | i am making it canon that junhwan wrote “smile flower” about seventeen. especially since it’s kind of his anxious thoughts like “what if this happened” but then the reassurances that it wouldn’t & his members will have his back & hnnnnnn it fits him so well

TRIGGER WARNING | there are mentions of contemplating suicide in this post (not from junhwan dw), please read with discretion!

A new fan appears onscreen almost immediately after their number is dialed. She greets Junhwan in English.

“Hi!” she says, waving excitedly at him.

“Hello!” Junhwan returns with a wide smile.

“Um, hi!” she repeats, nervous but smiling widely. “I’m Bianca and I’m from America.”

“Oh, really? That’s awesome.”

“Yeah, I’m actually from Maine, so not too far from New York.”

“Yeah, that’s not far at all.”

“Um, so, this might be a weird question, but would you by any chance know what time you were born? Oh my god, I’m sorry. That’s so creepy. I-It’s so I can create your full astrology chart. Y’know, like, sun and moon signs?”

“Ah, okay,” Junhwan laughs. “I was a little confused.”

“Sorry,” Bianca apologizes again.

“It’s alright,” Junhwan assures her. “Um, I actually don’t know what time I was born because I was put up for adoption right when I was born. I’d have to contact the hospital I was born at to find out.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bianca is quick to cover up her disappointment, “No, it’s okay! I was just wondering. I don’t know what time I was born either off the top of my head.”

Junhwan laughs, “Yeah. Hopefully I can answer any other questions you have!”

“Right! Okay.”

Bianca seems to be sitting at a desk, where she looks down at whatever is in front of her.

“Okay. Okay. Um, what’s your favorite book?”

“I can answer that one with thinking; Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.”

“Uh, I’m turning sixteen next month and my parents are letting me get a tattoo. I was wondering what your favorite flower is so I could get that.”

“Oh,” Junhwan seems surprised, “Um, well, first off, happy early birthday!”

Bianca giggles, “Thank you.”

“Second... you should get something you want.”

“But I want your favorite flower!”

“No!” Junhwan argues.

“Yes!”

They both laugh.

“Okay, how about you tell me your favorite flower first, then I’ll tell you mine?” Junhwan offers.

“Okay, um,” Bianca thinks for a moments, “Probably daffodils.”

“That’s my favorite, too; that’s so weird.””

“Oh my god,” Bianca groans as Junhwan laughs, “How did I walk right into that?”

After a moment, she looks back at the camera.

“Please, tell me your favorite flower?”

“Okay, okay,” Junhwan relents. “Probably an iris.”

“Irises are pretty! That’ll look great.”

“I hope so. Please don’t just get it because it’s what I like but you don’t like how it looks,” Junhwan pleads.

“I won’t! I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.”

The minute warning timer goes off.

“Ah, okay, okay. There’s one last thing I want to ask- well, tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, okay.”

Bianca releases a slow breath to calm herself.

“Um, so, I’ve been a Carat since 2017 and you have always been my bias. I have always admired you and how hard you work. You’re such an amazing person and you are so talented. You’ve helped so many people just by being you and even more through your songs.

“Uh... last year I was having a really tough time. Life was really rough and I contemplated... committing suicide. But the thing that pulled me out was your song ‘Smile Flower.’ I-I don’t know why but I could just always listen to that song or watch videos of you and I would be able to feel better for a short while and I just want you to know how thankful I am to you.”

Junhwan opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. After a few moments of failing to say anything, he lets out something between a laugh and a sob as her starts to cry.

“I am so grateful that I was able to help you in that way,” Junhwan finally manages out. “I am so happy you’re here talking to me today and I know I can’t literally be there for you but it means everything to me that you are able to find comfort in my music. That is the most amazing thing I could ever hope to have done with my life.”

From a staff member, Junhwan receives a tissue and a motion that he needs to wrap this video call up.

“Thank you so much, Bianca,” Junhwan says. “You have no idea how much that means to me. ... Well you might because I’m crying, but I cry easily so I don’t know.”

Bianca laughs, also teary-eyed herself, “Thank you so so so very much for everything you do, Junhwan. It really means everything to some of us.”

“Don’t make me cry harder,” Junhwan says, trying his best to be careful of his makeup while wiping his tears.

“Sorry,” Bianca laughs.

“It’s been so amazing talking to you, Bianca,” Junhwan says. “Thank you so much for all your support and your kind words. Goodbye!”

“Bye, Junhwan! It was great meeting you!”

“Bye!”

#junhwan’s just a big crybaby alright 😢 #hwan.writing #kpop addition #kpop au #kpop oc #kpop #kpop fanfic #14th member of seventeen #fourteenth member of seventeen #kpop additional member #kpop fanfiction #seventeen #svt #seventeen au #seventeen oc #seventeen additional member #seventeen addition #seventeen fourteenth member #seventeen 14th member #kpop extra member #seventeen extra member #koc

[kingstylesdaily]

Stevie Nicks Answers All Our Questions About Harry Styles

Of all the disciples to worship at the altar of Stevie Nicks, none have managed to capture the attention of rock’s reigning priestess quite like Harry Styles.

The 26-year-old rocker (who this week received three Grammy nominations) is the Gucci-clad poster boy carrying the torch for a bygone era of music history that the Fleetwood Mac frontwoman helped crystallize. Styles recently cited the group’s 1977 (and still charting) classic “Dreams” as one of the first songs he learned the words to growing up. Their friendship began in 2015 after the former One Direction member presented his idol with a hand-piped birthday cake after a Fleetwood Mac gig in London. (“Glad she liked carrot cake,” he later said.) The years since have seen the duo’s mutual affection blossom into one of pop culture’s most cherished bondings.

Last year, when Styles inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he proclaimed the 72-year-old “everything you’ve ever wanted in a lady, a lover, in a friend.” Nicks has gushed about him in interviews as everything from “the son she never had” to her “love child” with bandmate Mick Fleetwood. Styles earned her official seal of approval after covering “The Chain” every night of his first solo tour in support of a record that sounds closer to Crosby, Stills & Nash than anything he released under his prior band.

“Harry could’ve lost a lot of fans, but he didn’t,” Nicks recently told Vogue over the phone. “I’m so proud of him because he took a risk and didn’t go the One Direction route. He loves One Direction, I love One Direction, and a gazillion other people do too, but Harry didn’t wanna go the pop route. He wanted straight-up rock and roll circa 1975.”  

Nicks has been embracing some of the busiest years of her dual careers as both Fleetwood Mac frontwoman and solo sorceress—and doing so amid a global pandemic. Since she last performed with Styles at the Forum for his Fine Line release show in December, she’s released a 24 Karat Gold concert film and “Show Them the Way,” her politically minded single and first piece of original music in six years. After Miley Cyrus asked for Nicks’s blessing before releasing her “Edge of Seventeen”–tinged “Midnight Sky,” the two joined forces for an exhilarating new mash-up titled “Edge of Midnight.”

In honor of Styles making history as the magazine’s first solo cover boy, Nicks caught up with Vogue to answer all our questions about their cosmic connection. Currently beachside with her quarantine bubble in Hawaii, she’s been doing what one would expect Stevie Nicks to be up to during a pandemic: writing new music, dancing around her house to “Watermelon Sugar,” and “casting little spells.” As befitting rock’s foremost storyteller, our intended 30-minute chat turned into a two-hour confessional about her love of Styles, working with Cyrus for the first time, joining Fleetwood Mac, the president-elect Joe Biden, the Met Gala, betta fish funerals, and much more.

ksd note: edited to only include Q&A about Stevie and Harry!

Did you get a chance to look through Harry’s cover story yet?  

Right before I called you, I sat here and looked at all the pictures on my new iPad. What can I say? That’s my Harry. I think the thing that’s most wonderful about him—and I’ve told him this, and sometimes I think he takes it the wrong way—is that he’s such a kooky guy. He’s the type of person you’d wanna live next door to. He’d look out the window, see you having a hard time planting flowers, and rush out asking, “Can I help you with those roses?” “Sure, but you are Harry Styles, right?” That’s who he is.

I really only know him to a certain extent, but I have gotten to experience some big moments in his life, like when he released his first solo record at the Troubadour. I always think of Tom Petty saying, “So, you wanna be a rock star or you wanna be a pop star?” It’s two completely different things, and he really could have gone pop like his friend Zayn [Malik]. I was sorry that Zayn didn’t keep going more because I thought he was really good. But he took the pop route, which I think was right for him. Harry could’ve lost a lot of fans doing rock and roll, but he didn’t. Harry did a long tour with that first record and said, “I’m a different person now. I have a full-on rock band, and this is what I’m gonna do.” With many of my records, I’ll stuff down peoples’ throats until they like it, and that’s exactly what he did. Then he went away and wrote Fine Line, one of my favorite records.

What were your immediate thoughts listening to Fine Line for the first time?

Me and four of my friends sat with Harry in his living room  in London and listened to it a few times before it came out. But it wasn’t really Fine Line yet. The first time we listened to it, nobody really said anything. The second time everyone started to go, “I think this song is great, but it should be second in the sequence.” By the third listen, it was five girls screaming, “Well, Harry really now, I think you need to take these four that are called Harry Songs and do this and that—” while he’s sinking in his reclining chair thinking, Are these women ever gonna leave? Thanks for your opinions, but oh, my God, stop already.  

What changed when you heard the record in it’s finished form?

This record means a lot to me. When it was all put together, I listened and said, “Oh, my god, the Beatles live.” A whole lot of people live in these songs. Fleetwood Mac lives there. I live there. When I listen to “Fine Line,” I hear melodies that would’ve worked on “A Day in the Life. “It has that same kind of complexity. I think the Beatles would’ve thought, Here we’ve influenced a young man who took some incredible things from us and made them his own years and years later.

Earlier this year you posted a message saying that Fine Line is Harry’s Rumours. Can you elaborate on what you meant by that?

When Harry asked me to do “Landslide” with him at the Forum, I asked why, and he said, “Because I want you to be there. You were there for my first night at the Troubadour for the first record.” That night I wrote him a letter that said, “This is your Rumours so you have to really respect it and adore it because these kinds of records sometimes don’t ever come again.” Fleetwood Mac went on to make many great records, but people would bet their life on the fact that Rumours was the one. And this might just be the one for Harry. We were all kind of the same age when we made Rumours. I was 28, and Lindsey [Buckingham] was 27. I actually don’t even know how old Harry is—he’s that timeless to me.

Do you have a personal favorite of his songs?

Every one represents a different thing to me. “Sunflower” is such a great little song. He loves to do crazy videos, and one time I called him and said, “I have an idea. You’re gonna be a bee, and the sunflower would be your girlfriend, and you guys would get married and live in a beehive with your little bee children. You’d sing the lyrics ‘kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor duh duh duh’ and show this entire bee relationship.” 

What did he think of that pitch?

When I finished, the other end of the phone was silent. I said, “No, really, think about it. It’ll be fantastical like a Francis Ford Coppola movie.” He’s like, “Yeah, okay...” [laughs]. I also love the “Adore You” video with the little fish because I have my own special relationships with fish.

In what sense?

I always have two beta fish, but they have to be separated otherwise they’ll kill each other. I stick my finger into their aquarium, and the blue one will swim around my hand like a little dolphin. When my fish get old and suddenly die, I have funerals for them in my backyard where I play Celine Dion. I have them filmed, and everything [laughs]. It’s too much, but I thankfully haven’t had any recent fish deaths. I haven’t even been able to sit down and show Harry the videos of my little fish, so when I saw the “Adore You” video, I couldn’t believe it.

Why is it important for you to foster these relationships with younger artists like Harry who’ve been so openly influenced by you?

I’m inspired by them. I’m inspired that Miley wants to make music with me. I’m inspired that the Haim girls are my biggest fans—and I theirs. A lot of these kids are making the amazing records I’ve been waiting for them to make. I’m not like other 72-year-olds. I listen to current music because I want to be current. When people find out how old I am versus the music I’m listening to, they think it doesn’t gel at all. I’ve been collecting musical knowledge since I was in the fourth grade listening to the singles my grandfather used to bring home. I listened to Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers until the sixth grade when R&B radio became Top 40. I said goodbye country and hello R&B, so it’s not like I’m ever stuck on one thing. What I love about Harry is that he’s very old school but still modern. And that’s kinda like me.

You both also transitioned from massive groups to equally massive solo careers rather seamlessly.

When I decided I wanted to be a solo artist, I’d only been in Fleetwood Mac for a few years. I tried to figure out a way to do it gracefully because I didn’t wanna break up the band. I just wanted to sit at my piano and write poetry. After we did a record and a really long tour, the band scurried off to different parts of the world while I’d just be home writing songs for a year and a half. What did they care what I did while they were all on vacation? I’ve always said all the way through these two careers I’ve had: If you’re in a band first, never break it up.

Do you think One Direction would ever reunite?

I think it’s a good idea. For all we know, One Direction is completely broken up forever. But I think those guys are friends, and five or ten years down the road, they could all go, “You know what, wouldn’t it be really fun to do a One Direction tour?” Because that’s what people do. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did reunite at some point just because they can. And because it would just be fun. Harry is the kind of person who would never stomp on that idea. He would never say, [imitates posh English accent] “Never! I would never do that again!” Because why not just keep the door open?

Was there any particular detail or passage in Harry’s cover story that stuck out to you?

According to this article, he can get in a car with his friend to drive all over Europe then drive back by himself. I stopped driving in 1978 because my driver’s license expired and I’d already made a lot of money. I very smartly thought, “You know what, if someone even hits you and it’s not even your fault but you’re a little drunk, you are done. You’re finished, and the fortune that you’ve made is gone, so why should you drive anyway?” By then me and Christine were very cloistered, but Harry’s able to live a freer life because he’s a guy. He’s like Mick. He has a free life.

Would you say that you don’t?

I’m only comparing us in the way that Harry goes off to the Bahamas to work on songs, then flies back to L.A., then London, then Italy—I can’t do that. I can’t do that by myself. He’s able to do whatever he wants by himself, and it’s a whole different way of life. Being that Harry is a guy, he’s able to be a loner more than I am. As a woman, I’m not free to do all that. Even when I was his age, I couldn’t just get off anywhere I wanted. When we were on the road, Christine and I didn’t have a clue in the world what the boys did. We went to our rooms with security guys standing outside. It’s not like we ever escaped to go club-hopping in downtown Manhattan. We never got to live that life, so freedom as Harry knows it is very different than it’s been for me.

Did you ever have any figure in your life who provided some sense of mentorship the way you have to artists like Harry?

I didn’t really have anyone. If I had any guiding force at all, it probably would’ve been Christine McVie because she was five years older than me. And five years is five years, you know? Chris was friends with Eric Clapton and knew all the famous musicians in London. She’d married John [McVie] and done a bunch of records with Fleetwood Mac before I came along, so she’d been in the music business for a long time. I was breaking up with Lindsey when she was breaking up with John. She was my therapist and my go-to person for just about everything. We had each other to get through that really difficult situation where no one was gonna quit the band. Christine and I kept the whole thing together by telling the three men, “You quit because we’re not stopping” Thank God I had her, but on the other side of that, thank God she had me. We really were a force of nature.

** I’m curious to what extent fashion plays a role in your and Harry’s relationship. Have you** gifted him any accessories that were significant to you?

I actually gave him a ring at the Forum thing. It’s very masculine and has a pink stone in it. I told him it was a pink diamond, but it really isn’t. It would’ve cost $5 million. It was mine, and I really loved it, but I thought, This should be for Harry. You can see it on his hands in the “Falling” video where he’s playing the piano. If Harry and I were in a band together, we’d be trading all kinds of crazy stuff.

What are your thoughts on him being the first solo male cover in Vogue’s history?

It makes me feel so inspired. I’m extremely jealous he’s on the cover of Vogue because I’m 72 years old and have wanted to be on the cover my whole life. I’m such a magazine hag, so I’m incredibly jealous of Harry, but I’ll get over it. As far as all the crazy things he’s wearing, you do whatever you have to do to be on the cover of Vogue. I’m very proud of him, and I think it’s great that there’s a man on the cover…but I should’ve been in the corner off in the distance [laughs]. Did you know I’ve never been to the Met Gala?

We would be honored to have you at the next gala and every one after that. I’m putting this in the article to make sure it’s in the public record.

As Mick Jagger says, “We still have our freedom, but we don’t have much time.” I would like to be not much older than I am now so I can wear a fantastic outfit and entertain everybody. It’s a dream of mine, and most of my dreams have come true, but I need to not be 90 when it happens.

Harry and you could perform together.

We wouldn’t even have to rehearse. We’ve got a couple of duets that are really great. We do “Landslide” and “Two Ghosts” together really well. We actually have five or six terrific acoustic numbers that we could do at the drop of a hat.

You hinted earlier this year that there might be a role for Harry in the miniseries based on the stories of Rhiannon. Is there any update there?

This is probably the third-biggest thing I’ve ever done in my life after Fleetwood Mac and my solo career. There’s a lot to be done in the movie business before I can start riding my horses across the mountains of Wales. I’ve signed with a movie company—I’m not gonna tell you who—and we just signed a writer. I’m not gonna tell you who that is either, but there’s an amazing part for Harry. My favorite character in the series is the only man who goes through all four books. He’s a magician who doesn’t wanna be king, and I think Harry would just be so perfect.

Have you and Harry discussed collaborating on any future music together?

We’re open to making music together because we’ve been very successful when we go onstage just to do one song. I would love to be in a band with Harry, but even if I never saw him in person again, he’s made a record that breaks my heart in a million places like Fine Line. As far as music goes, there’s plenty of fun things that he and I could do. We can just reach out to each other and do it. I’m always ready to slip back into those high-heel black suede boots and become my alter ego.

via Vogue.com

#kingstylesdaily #Harry Styles #hs: mention #Stevie Nicks #november 2020

[hlupdate]

Of all the disciples to worship at the altar of Stevie Nicks, none have managed to capture the attention of rock's reigning priestess quite like Harry Styles.

The 26-year old rocker (who this week received three Grammy nominations) is the Gucci-clad poster-boy carrying the torch for a bygone era of music history that the Fleetwood Mac front-woman helped crystallize. Styles recently cited the group's 1977 (and still charting) classic “Dreams” as one of the first songs he learned the words to growing up. Their friendship began in 2015 after the former One Direction member presented his idol with a hand-piped birthday cake after a Fleetwood Mac gig in London. (“Glad she liked carrot cake,” he later said.) The years since have seen the duo's mutual affection blossom into one of pop culture‘s most cherished bondings.

Last year, when Styles inducted Nicks into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, he proclaimed the 72-year old “everything you’ve ever wanted in a lady, a lover, in a friend.” Nicks has gushed about him in interviews as everything from “the son she never had” to the “love child” of her and bandmate Mick Fleetwood. Styles earned her official seal of approval after covering “The Chain” every night of his first solo tour in support of a record that sounds closer to Crosby, Stills & Nash than anything he released under his prior band.

“Harry could've lost a lot of fans but he didn't. I’m so proud of him because he took a risk and didn’t go the One Direction route," Nicks recently told Vogue over the phone. "He loves One Direction, I love One Direction, and a gazillion other people do too, but Harry didn't wanna go the pop route. He wanted straight-up rock-and-roll circa 1975.”

Nicks has been embracing some of the busiest years of her dual careers as both Fleetwood Mac front-woman and solo sorceress—and doing so in the midst of a global pandemic. Since she last performed with Styles at the Forum for his Fine Line release show in December, she’s released a 24 Karat Gold concert film and “Show Them the Way,” her politically-minded single and first piece of original music in six years. After Miley Cyrus asked for Nicks's blessing before releasing her “Edge of Seventeen”-tinged “Midnight Sky,” the two joined forces for an exhilarating new mash-up titled “Edge of Midnight."

In honor of Styles making history as the magazine’s first solo cover-boy, Nicks caught up with Vogue to answer all our questions about their cosmic connection. Currently beachside with her quarantine bubble in Hawaii, she’s been doing what one would expect Stevie Nicks to be up to during a pandemic: writing new music, dancing around her house to “Watermelon Sugar“ and “casting little spells.” As befitting rock’s foremost storyteller, our intended 30-minute chat turned into a two-hour confessional about her love of Styles, working with Cyrus for the first time, joining Fleetwood Mac, the president-elect Joe Biden, the Met Gala, betta fish funerals, and much more.

Did you get a chance to look through Harry's cover story yet?  

Right before I called you I sat here and looked at all the pictures on my new iPad. What can I say? That's my Harry. I think the thing that’s most wonderful about him—and I've told him this and sometimes I think he takes it the wrong way—is that he’s such a kooky guy. He’s the type of person you'd wanna live next door to. He’d look out the window, see you having a hard time planting flowers and rush out asking "Can I help you with those roses?" "Sure but you are Harry Styles, right?" That's who he is.

I really only know him to a certain extent but I have gotten to experience some big moments in his life like when he released his first solo record at the Troubadour. I always think of Tom Petty saying "So you wanna be a rock star or you wanna be a pop star?" It's two completely different things and he really could have gone pop like his friend Zayn [Malik]. I was sorry that Zayn didn't keep going more because I thought he was really good. But he took the pop route, which I think was right for him. Harry could've lost a lot of fans doing rock-and-roll but he didn't. Harry did a long tour with that first record and said “I'm a different person now. I have a full-on rock band and this is what I'm gonna do.” With many of my records I’ll stuff down peoples' throats until they like it and that's exactly what he did. Then he went away and wrote Fine Line, one of my favorite records.

What were your immediate thoughts listening to Fine Line for the first time?

Me and four of my friends sat with Harry in his living room  in London and listened to it a few times before it came out. But it wasn't really Fine Line yet. The first time we listened to it nobody really said anything. The second time everyone started to go "I think this song is great but it should be second in the sequence." By the third listen it was five girls screaming "Well Harry really now, I think you need to take these four that are called "Harry Songs" and do this and that—” while he’s sinking in his reclining chair thinking "Are these women ever gonna leave? Thanks for your opinions but oh my god stop already."

What changed when you heard the record in it’s finished form?

This record means a lot to me. When it was all put together I listened and said "Oh my god, The Beatles live." A whole lot of people live in these songs. Fleetwood Mac lives there. I live there. When I listen to "Fine Line” I hear melodies that would've worked on “A Day in the Life.“ It has that same kind of complexity. I think the Beatles would've thought “Here we’ve influenced a young man who took some incredible things from us and made them his own years and years later.”

Earlier this year you posted a message saying that Fine Line is Harry’s Rumours. Can you elaborate on what you meant by that?

When Harry asked me to do "Landslide" with him at the Forum I asked why and he said "Because I want you to be there. You were there for my first night at the Troubadour for the first record.” That night I wrote him a letter that said “This is your Rumours so you have to really respect it and adore it because these kinds of records sometimes don't ever come again.” Fleetwood Mac went on to make many great records but people would bet their life on the fact that Rumours was the one. And this might just be the one for Harry. We were all kind of the same age when we made Rumours. I was 28 and Lindsey was 27. I actually don't even know how old Harry is—he's that timeless to me.

Do you have a personal favorite of his songs?

Every one represents a different thing to me. “Sunflower” is such a great little song. He loves to do crazy videos and one time I called him and said “I have an idea. You're gonna be a bee and the sunflower would be your girlfriend, and you guys would get married and live in a beehive with your little bee children. You’d sing the lyrics “kiss in the kitchen like it's a dance floor duh duh duh” and show this entire bee relationship.”

What did he think of that pitch?

When I finished the other end of the phone was silent. I said "No really, think about it. It’ll be fantastical like a Francis Ford Coppola movie.” He’s like “Yeah, okay...” (laughs). I also love the "Adore You” video with the little fish because I have my own special relationships with fish.

In what sense?

I always have two betta fish but they have to be separated otherwise they'll kill each other. I stick my finger into their aquarium and the blue one will swim around my hand like a little dolphin. When my fish get old and suddenly die I have funerals for them in my backyard where I play Celine Dion. I have them filmed and everything (laughs). It’s too much but I thankfully haven’t had any recent fish deaths. I haven't even been able to sit down and show Harry the videos of my little fish so when I saw the “Adore You” video I couldn’t believe it.

Why is it important for you to foster these relationships with younger artists like Harry who’ve been so openly influenced by you?

I'm inspired by them. I'm inspired that Miley wants to make music with me. I’m inspired that the Haim girls are my biggest fans—and I theirs. A lot of these kids are making the amazing records I’ve been waiting for them to make. I’m not like other 72-year olds. I listen to current music because I want to be current. When people find out how old I am versus the music I'm listening to they think it doesn't gel at all. I’ve been collecting musical knowledge since I was in the fourth grade listening to the singles my grandfather used to bring home. I listened to Buddy Holly and the Everly Brothers until the sixth grade when R&B radio became Top 40. I said goodbye country and hello R&B, so it’s not like I'm ever stuck on one thing. What I love about Harry is that he's very old-school but still modern. And that's kinda like me.

You both also transitioned from massive groups to equally massive solo careers rather seamlessly.

When I decided I wanted to be a solo artist I'd only been in Fleetwood Mac for a few years. I tried to figure out a way to do it gracefully because I didn’t wanna break up the band. I just wanted to sit at my piano and write poetry. After we did a record and a really long tour the band scurried off to different parts of the world while I’d just be home writing songs for a year and a half. What did they care what I did while they were all on vacation? I’ve always said all the way through these two careers I've had: if you're in a band first, never break it up.

I know Beyoncé because I spent a day with Destiny’s Child making the “Bootylicious” video. I owe them a debt of gratitude because that’s the one time I ever got to pretend I played rock-and-roll guitar! But when Beyoncé made the decision to be a solo artist she did not see herself going back to Destiny's Child every couple of years. And that's a perfectly acceptable decision because sometimes that's what people wanna do. I, on the other hand, said why not have the ability to go back to Fleetwood Mac whenever I want? Being a Gemini I get bored really easily, so being able to have those two careers was great.

Do you think One Direction would ever reunite?

I think it's a good idea. For all we know, One Direction is completely broken up forever. But I think those guys are friends and five or ten years down the road they could all go "You know what, wouldn't it be really fun to do a One Direction tour?" Because that's what people do. I wouldn't be surprised if they did reunite at some point just because they can. And because it would just be fun. Harry is the kind of person who would never stomp on that idea. He would never say (imitates posh English accent) "Never! I would never do that again!" Because why not just keep the door open?

Was there any particular detail or passage in Harry’s cover story that stuck out to you?

According to this article he can get in a car with his friend to drive all over Europe then drive back by himself. I stopped driving in 1978 because my driver's license expired and I'd already made a lot of money. I very smartly thought "You know what, if someone even hits you and it's not even your fault but you're a little drunk, you are done. You're finished and the fortune that you've made is gone, so why should you drive anyway?” By then me and Christine were very cloistered, but Harry's able to live a freer life because he's a guy. He's like Mick. He has a free life.

Would you say that you don’t?

I'm only comparing us in the way that Harry goes off to the Bahamas to work on songs then flies back to LA then London then Italy—I can't do that. I can't do that by myself. He's able to do whatever he wants by himself and it's a whole different way of life. Being that Harry is a guy, he's able to be a loner more than I am. As a woman I'm not free to do all that. Even when I was his age I couldn't just get off anywhere I wanted. When we were on the road Christine and I didn't have a clue in the world what the boys did. We went to our rooms with security guys standing outside. It's not like we ever escaped to go club-hopping in downtown Manhattan. We never got to live that life so freedom as Harry knows it is very different than it’s been for me.

Did you ever have any figure in your life who provided some sense of mentorship the way you have to artists like Harry?

I didn't really have anyone. If I had any guiding force at all it probably would've been Christine McVie because she was five years older than me. And five years is five years, you know? Chris was friends with Eric Clapton and knew all the famous musicians in London. She’d married John [McVie] and done a bunch of records with Fleetwood Mac before I came along so she'd been in the music business for a long time. I was breaking up with Lindsey when she was breaking up with John. She was my therapist and my go-to person for just about everything. We had each other to get through that really difficult situation where no one was gonna quit the band. Christine and I kept the whole thing together by telling the three men "You quit because we're not stopping” Thank god I had her, but I think on the other side of that thank god she had me. We really were a force of nature.

I’m curious to what extent fashion plays a role in your and Harry’s relationship. Have you gifted him any accessories that were significant to you?

I actually gave him a ring at the Forum thing. It’s very masculine and has a pink stone in it. I told him it was a pink diamond but it really isn't, it would've cost $5 million. It was mine and I really loved it but I thought "This should be for Harry.” You can see it on his hands in the "Falling" video where he’s playing the piano. If Harry and I were in a band together we’d be trading all kinds of crazy stuff.

How did you come to decide on your all-black stage uniform?

I started getting paid when I joined Fleetwood Mac but up until then I didn't have any money to buy food. All of a sudden we were going on tour so I just packed up my normal clothes. We started eating because there was room service and there I was gaining ten pounds in the middle of the tour. I didn't fit in any of the clothes and I didn't have time to shop so when I got home I said “I can never do this again.” I knew a friend who knew a designer and I told her I needed a uniform because I can't be thinking about what I wanna wear every night. It makes it so much easier since everybody that's in Pittsburgh isn't necessarily gonna be in Philadelphia. Harry's done the same thing with his white pants and pink shirt.

What are your thoughts on him being the first solo male cover in Vogue’s history?

It makes me feel so inspired. I'm extremely jealous he's on the cover of Vogue because I'm seventy-two years old and have wanted to be on the cover my whole life. I’m such a magazine hag, so I’m incredibly jealous of Harry but I'll get over it. As far as all the crazy things he's wearing, you do whatever you have to do to be on the cover of Vogue. I'm very proud of him and I think it's great that there's a man on the cover… but I should've been in the corner off in the distance (laughs). Did you know I've never been to the Met Gala?

We would be honored to have you at the next gala and every one after that. I’m putting this in the article to make sure it’s in the public record.

As Mick Jagger says, "We still have our freedom, but we don't have much time." I would like to be not much older than I am now so I can wear a fantastic outfit and entertain everybody. It's a dream of mine and most of my dreams have come true, but I need to not be ninety when it happens.

Harry and you could perform together.

We wouldn't even have to rehearse. We've got a couple of duets that are really great. We do "Landslide" and “Two Ghosts” together really well. We actually have five or six terrific acoustic numbers that we could do at the drop of a hat.

You hinted earlier this year that there might be a role for Harry in the miniseries based on the stories of Rhiannon. Is there any update there?

This is probably the third-biggest thing I've ever done in my life after Fleetwood Mac and my solo career. There’s a lot to be done in the movie business before I can start riding my horses across the mountains of Wales. I've signed with a movie company—I'm not gonna tell you who—and we just signed a writer. I'm not gonna tell you who that is either but there’s an amazing part for Harry. My favorite character in the series is the only man who goes through all four books. He's a magician who doesn't wanna be king and I think Harry would just be so perfect.

Have you and Harry discussed collaborating on any future music together?

We're open to making music together because we've been very successful when we go onstage just to do one song. I would love to be in a band with Harry but even if I never saw him in person again he’s made a record that breaks my heart in a million places like Fine Line. As far as music goes there's plenty of fun things that he and I could do. We can just reach out to each other and do it. I’m always ready to slip back into those high-heel black suede boots and become my alter ego.

This interview has been edited for clarity and space.

#harry styles #stevie nicks #vogue magazine #251120

[oneweekoneband]

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages.  (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time. 

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. 

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift,  she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

#taylor swift #folklore

[duckprintspress]

A Brief(ish) History of Duck Prints Press

For this week’s blog feature, I thought I’d talk a little about how Duck Prints Press came about. (hi, it’s @unforth!)

In 2012, an old friend of mine - @fireun, now Burdock, they/them - got in touch to suggest that I submit a story to an anthology for which they would be the anthologist. That project became Fight Like a Girl, a successfully Kickstarted anthology with over 20 contributors. Having gotten a taste for anthologizing (is that a word? it is now...) fireun proposed a second anthology - What Follows - to which I also contributed, and they made an attempt at a third which never got off the ground. fireun’s dream was to work with new, young authors - many of whom we had met while attending World Fantasy Convention over the years - to help them get their first writing credentials, pay them a market rate, and springboard them into further writing careers. However, by the third anthology it became clear there was a challenge to: new authors didn’t have the clout to successfully launch Kickstarters. fireun couldn’t raise the funds to pay authors what they deserved.

Around when the second anthology came out in 2014, I also finished the first draft of a novel that eventually became A Glimmer of Hope, and I began to post fanfiction (having been a lurking reader for several years). As I joined fanfiction author communities, I realized there was a vast untapped pool of writing talent - individuals who, for a multitude of reasons, weren’t interested in pursuing traditional publishing but might still want to get their original work out into the world. Furthermore, unlike the new authors that fireun invited to their anthologies, the fic authors had a following which could potentially help raise the funds necessary to pay for a project.

(read more...)

These two ideas combined over the summer of 2015. We got to talking - could we work with both these audiences? Could we make this into a company? What would that company to look like and how would it be structured? What kinds of works would we want to publish? I especially sank my teeth into the project, doing a lot of research - on competitors (ask me about Big Bang Press sometime...), on similar models, on pay scales and legalities and many other aspects of starting a business. We planned to meet in June, then it got pushed back to July...and then I found out I was pregnant, and fireun was trying to leave a bad relationship, and the whole project derailed - shelved, but not forgotten.

Several times, I tried to revive fireun’s interest, but they increasingly were moving in a different direction with their life (nothing wrong with that, they’re much happier now, and we’re still friends). Thus, I forged forward alone.

Based on the research I’d done in 2015 (and which I re-did periodically to make sure it was current), I had a basic idea of what I wanted to create: a Limited Liability Corporation, owned by me but with a team to help since it’s way more than one person can do alone. I’d looked into Book View Cafe, a cooperative publisher that works with established authors to put out works they want to do but for whatever reason don’t want to go a traditional root with, and I loved the idea of a co-op (that remains our ultimate goal). By reducing initial outlay costs on editing, graphic design, and other “basics,” and doing a lot of the production work on a barter basis, we could minimize expenses and maximize the amount we pay authors. I started quietly sending out feelers, to see what other fanfiction authors might be interested in joining something like this, and found a lot of support that helped me think the core idea would be viable.

But could we make money? I need to prove that, to myself and in a way demonstrable to others, before I could proceed.

Despite having a rough pregnancy, and then an infant, I edited and preparing A Glimmer of Hope for self-publishing (I also have my own reasons I’m not interested in pursuing traditional publishing). In fall, 2016, drawing on the support of people who enjoyed my fanfiction, I successfully funded a Kickstarter for A Glimmer of Hope, which convinced me that my core idea from the previous summer was sound: working with fanfiction authors who wanted to publish original work could produce enough support to pay for putting out books, especially if those books catered to fanfiction reader’s taste. 

If I could do one book by myself and turn a profit, surely many authors working together to produce works of different lengths and anthologies could do even better! Validated, and having found the Kickstarter surprisingly easy to put together, I continued to form my plans.

As I putting together the final draft of A Glimmer of Hope, I wanted a publisher imprint to put on the spine and title page, and after a lot of pondering, I settled on Duck Prints Press. This was an homage to fireun and our time in college as roommates, when we pranked each other in increasingly absurd ways that always involved ducks (my favorite was when I propped a bucket of stuffed ducks over their door such that it fell out on their head when they opened the door...another excellent one was when fireun used all the ceiling light drawstrings in our house to hang rubber ducks threateningly around...it all stemmed for a ridiculous AIM conversation, circa 2001, where we swore vengeance on each other over some absurdity but we could only use ducks, Gackt music, and library books to exact our revenge). Ducks were near and dear to my heart because of all this, and strongly associated with my relationship with fireun, so of course I wanted to immortalize that in our name. I also developed the initial version of our duck print logo, with the intention that someday, I’d make the press a fully-realized reality, and not merely an imprint on a single self-published book.

Since I sent those books out in 2016, it’s taken more than 4 years to convert those nascent plans into the reality of Duck Prints Press LLC. I made a push in 2019, and that’s when jhoom, formidablepassion, alessariel and adaille signed on to help. We did a lot of planning then, but fall of 2019 was busy for us and we had to put things on hold, and then 2020 happened (need I say more?).

As the last difficult year came to a close, I reached out to the others and we agreed: 2021 would be our year.

So, here we are, and we’re excited to finally be sharing the dream that started as mine and fireuns, and then was mine alone, and now belongs to many people - and more all the time. We’ll be announcing author recruitment for our first anthology imminently (...probably tomorrow!) and we’re hoping that, just as once fireun hoped to help launch new authors with anthologies, the five of us who run Duck Prints Press will be able to recruit a core team of authors interested in publishing original work with us in the future. We’re very excited - to publish new works, to bring in new readers, to support authors, and to publish original fiction that brings all the joy that our favorite fanfiction elicits.

We couldn’t be more thrilled to be writing books about your new OTPs.

Thanks, everyone, for joining us at the start of this journey. We can’t wait to see what the future holds for all of us!

#duck prints press #about duck prints press #mod post

[thatbanjobusiness]

Salty Dog Blues Before Flatt & Scruggs

Old Salty Dog Blues is a Flatt & Scruggs classic and today the song is considered a staple of bluegrass music. However, bluegrass itself is a recent genre, with its inception typically dated 1945. Many songs from its early repertoire came from other sources, both popular and folk.

Above you will hear a compilation of Salty Dog Blues from recordings between 1924 and 1950 (ending with the Flatt & Scruggs version). Below the cut I will provide more details of each selection you hear. This is not a comprehensive compilation; for instance, I don’t have Lead Belly’s 1948 audio here. However, what’s incredibly fun about this recording is how DIVERSE the music is. And how incredibly NOT bluegrass it is.

Like many people, I became familiar with Salty Dog Blues through the Flatt & Scruggs version recorded in 1950. The song was catchy enough for me to love it as it was, but listening to the lyrics further piqued my interest. I realized I was assuming what a “salty dog” was through the lyrics rather than comprehending a precise meaning. But looking at the lyrics for clues was hard. There’s a narrative, but it feels just off-kilter enough I suspected the song had folk origin. Some folk tune variations can sound like the verses were sewn together haphazardly like patches of different fabrics on a quilt. It makes sense, when you consider how people would’ve gotten the words. Passing lyrics through oral tradition can create curious, wonky results and fascinating variations and divergences. It’s a game of generational telephone. Clearly, I had to go beyond the Flatt & Scruggs version in order to decipher my term.

And so. I found myself. Deep-diving this tune’s origin.

There hasn’t been a second wasted in my life fishing through this. Holy wow have I run into a jackpot of wildly fun things! I still have so much more I could look into. I had suspicions of what I’d find, but the following lyrics posted into a forum went way beyond expectations:

Two old maids laying in the grass, One had her finger up the other one's ass Honey, let me be your salty dog!

Welp. If I hadn’t been interested already, I would have been THEN. And the sexual explicitness... and other fun times... just kept COMING (wordplay intended here).

So! Below cut, I want to go further into the meaning of “salty dog” and listen to how the song developed from a blues tune to the 1950 Flatt & Scruggs country song. It would require a whole other post to go past 1950, so that’s why I’ve restricted my range from the earliest recorded tunes to the moment it entered bluegrass.

1. What *IS* a Salty Dog?

The first entertainment I got was seeking a definition for “salty dog.” The OED gave nothing to me, sadly, so I was left to peruse other sources. Reading forums, interviews, articles, and more, I encountered a hilariously diverse array of proposed definitions. I got peeps saying:

It’s a type of soft drink.

It’s a type of cocktail using grapefruit juice and gin or vodka. It’s served in a glass with a salted rim.

It’s the name of a specific bar in North Carolina.

It’s a medicinal solution from early frontier communities, especially in eastern Appalachia. A sausage soaked in brine solution was placed under people’s clothes during winter as a counter to pneumonia and flu.

It’s an ornery sailor, mariner, or pirate who’s spent a large portion of their life at sea. Just like a sea dog or an old salt.

It’s any person who’s really good with their work. A tough fellow, since salty can mean “full of spirit and fight.”

It’s a sweetheart, someone you love, or a favorite person. Applying salt to hunting dogs was believed to keep ticks away, and because salt was a rare commodity in those times, you’d only apply it to your favorite and most valuable dog.

It’s an illicit lover or libidinous man or woman, someone getting sex the wrong way.

It’s a pimp.

It’s a reference to oral sex. Have sex with one individual, then shortly later have someone perform oral on you.

The last one, which was embellished by Urban Dictionary (thanks, Urban Dictionary) could likely be an instance of linguistic pejoration, in which a word’s meaning “worsens” semantically over time. That said, I’ve seen everyday people in forums comment that in the 1940s and 50s in their communities, it did refer to oral sex. I’ll believe their testimony. So, contemporary to the time Flatt & Scruggs recorded, the more crude sexual sides appear to have been in vernacular use. It’s likely most if not all of the definitions proposed are real meanings of “salty dog,” but clearly the song Salty Dog Blues isn’t referring to all simultaneously.

Bluegrass musicians have not always been helpful providing a definition. For instance, Curly Seckler, one member of Flatt & Scruggs, proposed the benign soft drink suggestion. He said in this moment onstage in 1985:

Curly Seckler: I found out what a salty dog was. I think I was down here before I didn’t know, but I do now. I went home here, I believe it was last year, they had a big day down there. And, course I went over through the Smokies over there, and I stopped over there at Wiley Morris’s garage. . . . And we sang Salty Dog Blues and some of the old numbers together. But I asked him, I said, “Wiley, I’d like to know before I pass on, what in the world is a salty dog?” See, they wrote the Salty Dog Blues, him and Zeke. He said, “Well, North Carolina, years and years ago, had a drink they called salty dog. Now that’s a pop, a soda. And I said, “Well, I’m from North Carolina, but I don’t remember that.” But he said that’s why that got them the idea of writing a song called—”

And then, hilariously, Curly is distracted by his band, who’ve been whispering to each other the entire time and grinning, and calls out, “What am I hearing?” I’d like to imagine they were talking about the real meaning and Curly picked up the chatter’s more scandalous side.

After all, Zeke and Wiley Morris did not write Salty Dog Blues, and their story seems to be a coverup to defend their writer’s credit (which for the record is legitimate... a novel arrangement was given writer’s credit frequently in these times) and a polite way to get around the meaning of what a “salty dog” was. An article written by Wayne Erbsen shows that the brothers themselves gave varying definitions of the term:

Wiley explained that “I have a different definition of a salty dog than Zeke has. Back when we were kids down in Old Fort we would see a girl we liked and say “I’d like to be her salty dog.” There also used to be a drink you could get up in Michigan. All you had to do was say “Let me have a Salty Dog,” and they’d pour you one.” Zeke remembers that “I got the idea when we went to a little old honky tonk just outside of Canton which is in North Carolina. We went to play at a school out beyond Waynesville somewhere and we stopped at this place. They sold beer and had slot machines. At that time they were legal in North Carolina. We got in there after the show and got to drinking that beer and playing the slot machines with nickels, dimes and quarters. I think we hit three or four jackpots. Boy, here it would come! You know you had a pile of money when you had two handfuls of change. The name of that place was the “Salty Dog,” and that’s where I got the idea for the song. There’s actually more verses to it than me and Wiley sing, a lot more verses.”

As I and others who’ve read the article noticed, the fact that the Morris Brothers admitted there were many more verses... is indirect admittance of folk origin. The Morris Brothers were professional musicians in the 1930s, their recording of Salty Dog Blues was recorded September 29, 1938... and our earliest audio versions of the song come from the 1920s. There are many recordings of this song that predate the Morris Brothers. Still, even in a documentary from the 1970s, they maintained their story they wrote it.

But the song’s true origin outside the Morris Brothers allowed me to expand the scope of my investigation. It was time to peep into the alternate lyrics from earlier versions, and hope that those gave me a better understanding of the song and what a salty dog in this context meant.

2. The Lyrics of Salty Dog Blues

What the Morris Brothers and Flatt & Scruggs sang were fairly tame. However, the lyrics still involved a gun being shot and a person singing the following lines:

Looky here Sal, I know you Run down stocking and a worn out shoe Honey, let me be your Salty Dog

Let me be your Salty Dog Or I won't be your man at all Honey, let me be your Salty Dog

“I won’t be your man at all” in the chorus is a good hint of what a salty dog is supposed to be. It wouldn’t make sense to replace the term “salty dog” with mariner. I suspected from the start this song’s meaning veered toward the concept of a lover, and alternate versions of the lyrics prove that the case, oftentimes in wonderfully blunt or creative verses.

As I was investigating these recordings and their artists, I ran into information discussing the early years recording Salty Dog Blues, including times from before it was recorded. Jazz musician Bill Johnson (1872-1972) had his band playing this song circa or prior to the 1910s, and in an excerpt from the book Early Blues: The First Stars of Blues Guitar, I read:

Papa Charlie’s follow-up release, the ragtimey, eight-bar “Salty Dog Blues,” made him a recording star. . . . Old-time New Orleans musicians from Buddy Bolden’s era recalled hearing far filthier versions of “Salty Dog Blues” long before Papa Charlie’s recording.

Papa Charlie Jackson recorded his version of Salty Dog Blues in 1924 and Buddy Bolden (1877-1931) was popular with his band in New Orleans from 1900-1907. So... what were these filthier lyrics from the early twentieth century?

I want to go back to the lyrics I quoted at the beginning of this post... “Two old maids laying in the grass / One had her finger up the other one's ass. Honey, let me be your salty dog!” The individual who shared these lyrics on a forum said they heard Sam Bush sing that at Rockygrass in 2002. Maybe that was a recent permutation. However, I found variations on this lyric submitted independently by others, indicating this wouldn’t have been Sam creating lyrics out of nothing. Some posts, I don’t know if they were serious or not... “Two necrophiliacs lying in a bed / Each one a-wishin' that the other was dead,” but there’s too many similarities across what I’m seeing. Other individuals said they sang lyrics like these in college parties: “Two old maids, laying in bed / One rolled over to the other and said / Honey, let me be your salty dog.” And the Kingston Trio, whose music was folk-oriented and part of the Folk Revival movement, in 1964 sang in their version of Salty Dog Blues, “There were two old ladies sitting in the sand / Each one wishing the other was a man.”

Digging deeper, I found other folk songs contained variations on the “Two old maids laying in a bed / sand” concept. This discovery is in line with authentic folk lyrics. Remember that folk music is a game of telephone, and sometimes the same verses are found in two or more songs. I found several variations of Brown’s Ferry Blues with this couplet, some of them coming from Folk Revival musicians.

These lyrics give a starting point both to how Salty Dog Blues can contain bawdier concepts, and what a salty dog is.

But lyrics from Salty Dog Blues recordings in the 1920s and 1930s give even more reliable indication. Clara Smith’s 1926 version includes:

Oh, won't you let me be your salty dog? I don't want to be your gal at all. You salty dog, you salty dog.

Oh honey babe, let me be your salty dog, Salty dog, oh, you salty dog.

It's just like looking for a needle there in the sand Trying to find a woman that hasn't got a man. Salty Dog oh you salty dog.

Her lyrics also include a couplet I found in many of the early versions:

God made a woman, he made her kinda funny Lips around her mouth sweet as any honey, Oh, you salty dog, oh, you salty dog.

It says a lot: a verse about romantic love was one of the most oft repeated couplets across Salty Dog Blues variations. Papa Charlie Jackson included that verse, as well as these others:

Lord, it ain't but the one thing grieve my mind, All these women and none is mine.

Now, scaredest I ever been in my life, Uncle Bud like to caught me kissing his wife.

And for those of you who aren’t familiar with the sentential construction, “liked to” means “almost.” Uncle Bud almost caught me kissing his wife. This is a song about a lover, and in one of these verses, the lover’s doing something taboo.

Some forum dudes claimed Mississippi John Hurt and his friends sang a line like this one below, even though they also said it didn’t make any recordings:

Well, your salty dog, he comes around When your sugar daddy's outta town Baby, let me be your salty dog

And there’s yet more elaboration about what a salty dog is in verses in Afro-Creole singer Lizzie Miles’s 1952 recording, which we do have:

Mardi Gras is a dream You can meet all those Creole queens They’re salty dogs, yes, salty dogs

If you want to blow your cares away Just walk on in the Vieux Carré You’ll find salty dogs, yes, salty dogs

Never had no name, never went to school But when it comes to loving, I ain’t no fool I’m a salty dog, yes, a salty dog

I’ve got sixteen men in love with me But the man I love ain’t legally free He’s a salty dog, yes, he’s a salty dog

Granted, I *am* sifting through a huge storm of verses and intentionally picking ones that match this narrative. But these are all lyrics that show a wonderfully off-color, sexual side to Salty Dog Blues. This song sure as hell ain’t singing about soda pop or sailing.

3. The Earliest Recordings of Salty Dog Blues

So. In my compilation you’re listening to, what is it you’re hearing?

Between the 1920s and 1940s, “race records” were records from African-American musicians. The term would be used to describe the blues, gospel, etc. that these musicians performed. OKeh Records was the first company to use that term in 1922. Also during the 1920s, another line of records, “hillbilly” records, began; this was used to describe what was perceived as rural white musician fiddle and string band music.

These record companies, however, were separating music by race somewhat artificially. There were plenty of Black musicians playing string band music, for instance, during these times. The early history of American country music involves an amalgamation of musical ideas from many demographics sharing and adopting ideas from one to another and back again. When you listen to the compilation I made of early versions of Salty Dog Blues, you may hear a difference between the white and Black musicians, likely because of that artificial distinction I mentioned.

Still, there’s a fascinating amount of overlap. I think it’s particularly interesting to pay attention to how the melodic material varies; it’s the same core melody, but there’s certainly differences. Listening to the variations can get you a sense of how folk music is a wild world of branching versions. There’s different strains, with both the melody morphing as it gets passed person to person, and the lyrics morphing as it gets passed person to person.

Specifically, I took my samples from the following recordings:

Charlie Jackson - Released 29 Nov 1924. Papa Charlie Jackson was the first commercially successful male blues artist who played both fingerstyle and with a flatpick on his guitjo. He was born in 1887 in New Orleans. Even when he was producing his records in the early twentieth century, his music would have been old-fashioned to listeners and given people an ear to what African American music sounded like before the turn of the century. He’s similar to Lead Belly in this regard, whose 1948 recording of Salty Dog Blues I did not include in the audio compilation. Jackson’s music was also in that vague area that leaned toward hillbilly in the early days before the race records / hillbilly records division became distinct. 

Lem Fowler’s Washboard Wonders - Released 30 Dec 1925. Between 1922 and 1932 this jazz musician recorded 57 songs and 23 player piano rolls in New York and Chicago. A composer, most of his recordings feature his own work; Salty Dog Blues is one of three pieces recorded with his band that is not his own. I love this recording.

Clara Smith - Dated 26 May 1926. The first commercially successful blues singers were women. Clara Blues was an early classic female blues singer, a genre sometimes also referred to as vaudeville blues that combined traditional folk blues and urban theater music. This native of South Carolina excelled at emotional slow drag blues.

Freddie Keppard and His Jazz Cardinals - recorded July 1926. Freddie Keppard was a New Orleans musician. Interestingly enough, Papa Charlie Jackson is in this version as well, this time played with a full band, and you can hear someone declare “Papa Charlie done sung that song!” at the end.

Allen Brothers - Recorded 7 April 1927. I think this is the first recording of Salty Dog Blues by white musicians we have. Born and raised in Tennessee, Austin and Lee Allen were an early hillbilly duo popular in the 1920s and 1930s. Austin played banjo; Lee played guitar and kazoo. They were influenced by local jazz and blues artists as they were growing up. It’s interesting to note that Salty Dog Blues came out of their first recording session and became a hit, selling over 18,000 copies. And this band, the first white hokum blues musicians (so I’ve seen claimed), were accidentally issued first as a race record by mistake.

McGee Brothers - Recorded 11 May 1927; released Jul 1927. Sam and Kirk McGee were white old-time / hillbilly musicians from Tennessee who performed on the Grand Ole Opry starting in 1926. Sam learned blues techniques from Black railroad workers and street musicians, and the duo would adapt blues and ragtime pieces into string band music. I LOVE this version of Salty Dog Blues; while it squarely hits the “hillbilly” genre, some of the minor melodic fragments mirror what Black blues musician Kokomo Arnold sang.

Stripling Brothers - Recorded 10 Sep 1934. Fiddler Charlie Stripling and guitarist Ira Stripling were born in the 1890s in Alabama. They’re an old-time hillbilly music duo and Charlie Stripling is considered an important old-time fiddler. Their earliest recordings reflect what they learned at home; later recordings contained increasing pop influences. Salty Dog Blues is one of their later recordings; their last release was from 1936. I would love to know more about where they got this version of the song, as I feel its melody is diverges more than the others recordings in this time period.

Kokomo Arnold - 1937. Mentioned above. Kokomo Arnold was a left-handed slide blues guitarist from Georgia.

Morris Brothers - First recorded 29 Sep 1938; released 21 Dec 1938. Second version recorded 1945. I’ve already mentioned the Morris Brothers, but there’s more information you need to know. Zeke, Wiley, and George Morris were hillbilly musicians from North Carolina popular in the 1930s. The Morris Brothers was also the band in which now-famed banjo picker Earl Scruggs had his first professional job. Scruggs played with them about eight months in the late 1930s or early 1940s. If you listen to the full Morris Brothers, it’s obvious Earl learned it from them; Flatt & Scruggs keep everything from the lyrics, harmony choices, and instrumental break points the same as what you hear here. But the Morris Brothers’s version of the song is rather original compared to everything else in this compilation, which is probably why they managed a writer’s credit for it.

Flatt & Scruggs - Recorded 20 Oct 1950; released 1 May 1952. Earl Scruggs would have brought Salty Dog Blues to the band he was now heading, Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys. This song was often sung as a trio in concerts when their usual lead vocalist, Lester Flatt, was taking a break. Their band rotated singers, performers, and other forms of variety in their radio, television, and stage shows, but such repertoire never made it onto official Flatt & Scruggs records. This record is, as far as I remember, the only instance in which another musician besides Lester Flatt sings both the verses and lead. That singer is their fiddler, Benny Sims. In later performances and recordings of Salty Dog Blues by Flatt & Scruggs, Lester Flatt took his usual role singing.

I find it interesting to also note the early musicians’ origins. Everyone came from the South. New Orleans especially appeared to have old widespread use of the song. I haven’t had time to listen to see if the musicians’ home location correlates to similarity in lyrics and melodic structure, but that would be hella fun to do sometime, too.

But! I have already fished through the song enough and given you a giant essay. Maybe at a later point I’ll have to entertain myself more and keep digging into Salty Dog Blues.

#hopefully I didn't make a link mistake or some obvious type #typo #I've written on this long enough #hope it's fun! #music #Americana Deep Dive #thatbanjobusiness #that banjo business #long post #Song Showcase #Tuning In #Haddock Deep Dives #General Banjo Business #audio #audio compilations #those old songs

[atc74]

The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

Warnings: Fluff, parental crap, fluff, love,  scary situations, canon level violence, TW: Major Character Death

Summary: Y/N finds love with a young man who is new in town. Will their love last forever like she hopes, or will it end before it’s really begun?

Pairing: Lee Webb x Reader

Word Count: 4025

Written for: @amanda-teaches​ Amanda’s 2K Writer & Reader Challenge (“I can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me.”), @alleiradayne​‘s Summer Shut In Challenge (“Can you please come get me?”), and @katymacsupernatural​ Katy’s Make Me Feel Challenge (”That’s...a lot of blood.”. Writing has been such a struggle that I combined them all!

Beta’d by: @crashdevlin​ and @dean-winchesters-bacon​. Thank you both so much for taking a look and being so supportive of a new character. Also to @dolphincliffs​ for continually supporting (and feeding) my Christian Kane fix. 

A/N: We all know the orgin stories of our favorite, and not so favorite characters. But when a new character is introduced in the way Lee Webb was, there is so much to learn. He is a blank slate, except for his ending. We really don’t know what is and what not is OOC for him, so this is going to be so fun. I was inspired to write this after listening to The Band Perry’s “If I Die Young”. I’ve always thought this would be a great intro for a hunter, and I finally found it.  I hope you enjoy the journey!

P.S. I am using my forevers and my Dean list, since he does make an appearance. Please let me know if you prefer not to be tagged, should there be future Leo installments. Thank you. 

Circa 2001 - Somewhere in Oklahoma

“Mama, he’s a good man,” Y/N sighed loudly as she set the table for supper. 

“He’s a drifter, Y/N. He’s only been in town a short time. And working at that place!” her mother, Ruth, spat. 

“Not everyone gets a good family upbringin’. He’s had a hard life and is trying to make it better. And it’s a bar, Mama, not the Devil’s playground.” Y/N protested, slamming the last fork down harder than she intended. 

“That’s exactly what it is! Nothing good ever happened in that place and you’re not going there!” It had been a long time since she had heard her mother raise her voice. 

“Mother, I am twenty years old. I am not a child. Lee is a good man and I’ve been seeing him for more than three months. He’s coming to supper and you’ll be the gracious hostess we all know you are. Please reserve judgement until you’ve met him. Isn’t that what Jesus would do?” Y/N smiled sweetly, knowing how her religious mother always followed the Golden Rule. 

“Of course I will, Y/N. I’m not a heathen!” 

“Supper was delicious, Miss Ruth. Thank you so much for having me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a meal this good,” Lee smiled at her as he stood to clear the dishes. 

“Well, I’m pleased you liked it. I’ve got plenty left over. Would you like me to pack you some to take home?” Ruth blushed at the compliment from her daughter's boyfriend as she searched for a container for his leftovers. 

“That would be wonderful, thank you ma’am. Now, you ladies go enjoy your tea, I’ll clean up here,” Lee shuttled the remaining dishes from the table to the sink. 

“Nonsense! Guests don’t do my dishes,” Ruth swatted him away with her towel. 

“Then let me dry, please. It’s the least I can do after such a meal. I haven’t eaten that well in, forever I think,” Lee offered. 

“Mama, let him help.” Y/N’s  voice carried through from the dining room as she carried the platter of fried chicken to the kitchen. 

~*~

“He’s a good man, Y/N. I can see he cares deeply for you,” her mother told Y/N quietly that night after Lee had gone. They sat on the back porch, sipping chamomile tea, as the sun set.

“He loves me, Mama. And I think I love him, too.” She smiled ear to ear. “You changed your tune pretty quick, though.” 

“He told me a little about his life, ya know. How his daddy left and his mama got sick. That’s no way for a child to live. But he’s making something for himself, and for you one day,” she commented. “He looks at you the way your daddy used to look at me.” 

“Yes he is, but please don’t go putting a ring on my finger. I’ve barely started living. I won’t always be working at the library, content to stay in this town,” Y/N stated. 

“I know, baby girl. There’s big things waiting for you out there. But leave room for him, too.” 

“Mama, three hours ago you didn’t even like the man, now you want us to run away together and get married?” Y/N laughed.   

“No, baby. I want you to get married, then run away and live your lives. I don’t want you stuck here like I was after your daddy passed. It’s no life for a young woman so vibrant and with so much to give the world,” Mama sniffed slightly, running the crumpled tissue in her hand underneath her nose. She rose and kissed the top of her head. “Goodnight, girl. Don’t stay up too late.”

A pack of coyotes howled in the distance as Y/N thought about what her mama had said. “Goodnight, Mama.” 

~*~

“Lee, what are we doing all the way out here? Why did you bring me out here? It’s dark and creepy,” Y/N muttered as Lee led her away from his truck, the path dark and obscured by shadows from the ancient pines towering above them. 

“I have a surprise for you, darlin’,” Lee smiled, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks. “Ta da!” 

“What is this?” Y/N gasped seeing a crippled cabin in front of them. The porch steps sagging from years of rot, the roof following suit. 

“It’s ours...well, mine. I bought it from Ed for just the deed transfer fees. It’s going to be incredible,” Lee beamed at the compromised structure, then turned back to Y/N, his smile falling as he did. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Is it safe?” Y/N asked hesitantly, brows furrowed. 

“Not yet. It needs some work, but I’m gonna fix ‘er up real good. It’ll be a good home for us, darlin’.” 

They sat on the hood of his truck and Y/N listened as he told her his plans for the small two bedroom cabin, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of her hand folded in his. Y/N was content to stay tucked under his arm, his body fending off the chill of the night. Time passed as they talked about their future, laid out under the slivers of moonlight. “I love you, Lee.” 

“I’ll love you forever, Y/N.”

It wasn’t until the night air became too cool that they decided to head back into town. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.” As Lee opened the passenger side of his truck, the sound of breaking glass came from the direction of the small cabin. He pushed Y/N inside the cab and shut the door. “Get behind the wheel, if I’m not back in five minutes, leave! Call the sheriff.” 

“Lee, let’s just go!” Y/N shouted through the open window as he grabbed a two by four from the bed of his truck. He turned and winked at her, then kept walking, right around the side of the cabin. Four minutes. 

The night was too dark to see anything solid, the slivers of moonlight playing tricks on her eyes as she scanned the small clearing. Three minutes. 

Y/N slid across the bench seat and started the old beast, her engine rumbling to life. Two minutes. 

She heard nothing as she continued to search for Lee, her eyes darting back and forth, the headlights of the truck brightening the clearing. One minute. 

“Damn, baby, you smell so sweet!” A man jumped through the passenger window, breathing deeply through his nose. And then he smiled at Y/N. Only there were far too many teeth and they were all wrong. 

A scream ripped from her body as he grabbed her arm, pulling it towards him as he tried to shimmy further into the truck. He suddenly lurched backwards and Y/N heard a sickening crack as wood connected with his skull. Lee rushed around the side of the truck and wrenched open the door. Y/N scooched over to give him enough room to get behind the wheel. 

“What the H-E-double hockey sticks was that?” Y/N cried, noticing the tears on her face for the first time. 

Lee threw the truck in reverse and gunned it back down the dirt road to the main highway. “I don’t know, baby. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I think so.” 

“Something is going in this town. That man, and others have been squatting in our cabin from the looks of things. I’m calling the sheriff as soon as I get you home. He’ll figure it out. Maybe they have something to do with the two missing people,” Lee pondered as he slowed down as the highway came into his rearview mirror. He straightened the truck out and put her in drive, heading back towards town.

“Who’s missing? Why didn’t you tell me?” Y/N asked. 

“Coupla regulars down at the bar. I reported it to the sheriff. Not really the type of guys that people miss, but they hadn’t been in for a few nights and that’s not normal. Sheriff confirmed today, they just up and gone, or so he said,” Lee shrugged. 

Lee drove the last few miles into town silent with his hand clutching Y/N’s. He pulled into her driveway and cut the engine before getting out to open her door. Always the gentleman, Lee walked Y/N to the door, but this time he came inside. “What’re you doing, mister? My mama’s upstairs!” 

“Just checking that all the doors and windows are locked. Gotta make sure my girl is safe,” he winked at her before he went up to the second floor. He returned moments later. “All set upstairs.”

When he was satisfied with his inspection of the first floor, he came to a stop in front of Y/N. She was leaning against the counter, a cup of tea next to her. She pulled him tight to her, fingers trembling as she grabbed his shirt. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m here.” He pressed his lips to the side of her head, holding her gently, as if he was afraid she’d break. 

~*~

The library was empty the next day as Y/N settled behind the counter, her third cup of coffee in hand. She didn’t want to work today, but since Miss Birdie was out of town visiting her grandchildren there was no one else to open the library. It’s a library, so it is usually quiet, but it was too quiet. Even the online courses couldn’t drown out the quiet today as she followed along and took notes. 

Y/N was lost in the online lecture until the bell above the door dinged, reminding her she was still at work. A tall young man, dressed in a leather jacket walked through, smiling at her as he passed the desk. He headed to the back, where the periodicals are kept. Y/N returned to her laptop, but now unable to concentrate on anything for longer than a few minutes, her mind occupied with Lee, their “future” and the events of the last few days. She sighed and gathered the stack of books next to her, adding them to the cart for restocking.

It took less of her time than she hoped to return the books to their rightful place on the shelf. Y/N went back to the desk and closed her laptop, stowing it in her bag, when she heard a voice from the back. 

“Dad, I’m telling you, there’s nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch!” The young man was on his phone, waving his free arm in annoyance. “Yeah, okay. Bye.” 

Y/N looked at the clock, noticing the time. “Sir, we’re closing in a few minutes.” 

He was walking towards her, a confident swagger in his step. He winked at Y/N as he passed. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” 

She flipped the lights off and followed the young man out the door, locking the doors behind them. Y/N took a deep breath of fresh air and hooked her bag across her body, starting the walk home. It was just past five in the evening and the weather was perfect, not too hot yet, but warmer than it had been. She smiled, making her way down the street. She wanted to rush home and get supper ready to bring to Lee down at the bar. 

He was working so hard, for them, for their future, and he deserved home cooking more than he got it. Y/N swung left through the small forest in the middle of town. It would easily cut ten minutes off her walk and that was more time to cook for her boyfriend. Lee was indeed her boyfriend, and hopefully, with the way he talked, her future husband. Y/N smiled at that. Husband. 

~*~

Y/N had said she would bring him supper even after he told her she didn’t need to. She just said he needed to eat proper and if he was being honest, he liked it. He was in love with that girl. Lee wanted to make her his wife, provide a future for her, for a family. He wanted to make her happy, even if that was letting her bring him supper at work, for now. He was such a goner. And for the first time in his life, he was okay with that. 

The bar wasn’t busy being a weeknight and all, but it was still early, only a hair past nine. A few regulars at the bar, a couple new faces playing pool, and a handful taking up tables. Y/N should have been there by now, or at least called. Lee started to worry. He should call her and check in. He should have told her to stay home, with everything that was going on. He cursed himself as he reached for his phone. It started vibrating in my pocket. Y/N’s picture lit up the screen and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Baby? Are you alright? I was so worried!” Lee blurted out. 

“Can you please come get me?” Y/N sniffed and she sounded small, almost fragile. 

“Where are you?” He asked, signaling Ed he needed to leave. 

“I think I’m at the cabin. I don’t know. Someone grabbed me on my way home from work, and now it’s dark. I don’t know, Lee,” she was crying so hard, he could barely understand her. 

“The cabin? I’m on my way, baby. Hold tight!” Lee was already in his truck before the call disconnected. The cabin was only about ten minutes outside of town, but he wasn’t obeying traffic laws that night. Lee needed to get to her and now. 

The waning moon barely broke through the cover of the trees overhead as he eased his truck down the narrow drive. There were no other vehicles in sight, so if someone had brought her here, they had done it on foot, or left already. Either way, it didn’t sit right. What did someone want with her? Sure, Lee hadn’t always been a law abiding citizen, but he had done his time, made his peace with God, and changed his ways. Y/N made Lee Webb a better man. He wanted to be a better man for her. 

He killed the engine and slowly opened the door, trying to be quiet. Lee searched the bed of his truck, looking for a weapon of any kind, and all he could find was a length of rusty pipe. It would have to do. He slid around the back of the cabin, searching for any sign of movement or sound, but it was quiet. Almost too quiet. He crept up the back steps and the door was ajar. Someone had been there recently. Lee pushed it open and walked inside. Something fast moved in front of him and before he knew what hit him, he was flat on his back, the air knocked out of his lungs, his weapon rolling across the sagging floor.  

“I knew you’d come for me!” Y/N cried out, straddling Lee. 

“Y/N? Baby, what happened? How did you get here? Are you okay?” The questions flew from his mouth faster than he could process the lewd smile on her face. 

“I don’t know! One minute I was walking home from the library, taking the shortcut through the woods, when a man grabbed me. I think he knocked me out, or I passed out, I don’t know. But when I woke up, I was here. Alone. I don’t know what happened or where they went, but I knew you would come for me,” Y/N recounted the events since she left work rapidly. 

“Of course I came. You’re my girl and I’m going to protect you and take care of you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, but I’m here now, baby. I’ve got you,” Lee cooed softly, holding her tight to him, just relishing in her safety for the moment. 

“I was so scared,” Y/N sniffed, her face buried in the crook of his neck. 

“Shhhh, I’ve got you now. It’s okay,” he soothed before pulling back and inspecting her carefully. Y/N looked okay, a little disheveled, but she didn’t appear to have any injuries that he could see immediately. “What else do you remember? Anyone come into work today?” 

Y/N shook her head. “A few families came in for story time, Billy and his girlfriend, Jenna, to study for a couple hours.” Then she remembered. “There was a man, a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, wearing a dark jacket, maybe gray. He had um, spiky, light brown hair, and was wearing a necklace, with a weird looking pendant on it.” 

“I saw that guy tonight. At the bar. He was with another man, an older guy. Thought they were just a father and son, having a beer and playing some pool. Son of a bitch!” Lee growled, knowing exactly the man she was talking about. “I’m calling the Sheriff.” 

“No, baby, don’t. We can do that later. Just hold me,” Y/N begged, putting her face back into his neck. 

He was angry and scared that someone took her, but his instincts to hold her won. Her body was warm against him and he let his thoughts linger over what she would feel like laid out beneath him. They hadn’t gone far in that department, as much as he wanted to. He loved her enough to respect her wishes and she wanted to wait until they were married. Lee thought it was sweet, and he did love her. He had been with many women who were quick to please, but none of them could hold a candle to the woman he held in his arms.

He felt her shift above him, slowly grinding her hips into his as she licked and sucked along his neck. Lee attempted to stop her. “Y/N, baby. This isn’t what you want. You’re scared and you need me to tell you you’re okay. I’m going to do that, but not like this, okay? I told you I’d wait for you and I will.” 

“I don’t care anymore about some stupid promise. I want you now,” Y/N bucked into him harder, and he responded in kind, despite how strong he thought he could be. 

“No, not like this. If we do this before we get married, we’ll do it proper, not on the floor of a dirty, run-down cabin,” Lee gasped, pulling back, but she didn’t loosen her grip on him. 

“No!” Y/N screamed, biting down hard into the meat of his neck. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! What the hell was that?” Lee screamed, pushing her back and jumping off the floor. 

“I’m the new and improved Y/N. If you won’t fuck me, maybe one of these men will,” Y/N smiled wickedly, Lee’s blood dripping from her lips, and that’s when Lee noticed they weren’t alone. Two men slinked from the shadows and stared him down. 

Lee looked around the room, gauging the distance to each of the two exits, when he spotted a body by the front door, slumped over. And another near the hall. “What is going on here, Y/N?” 

“Oh, we gave your girl here a makeover. Stronger, faster, better. We’re immortal and we’re going to live a long, bloody life with her by our side. Eat up, baby girl,” one of the men said, grinning as he took in the look on her face. She was hungry and he knew the feeling too well. 

“Come here, baby. I want a taste. It’s your choice. I change you and we live happily ever after. Or, I bleed you dry and my new friends here will be my first, and second. What’s it going to be, baby?” Y/N laughed maniacally as she advanced on Lee. “You want a real taste of this tight little body? Make me cum over and over for eternity?” 

“No, this isn’t you, Y/N!” Lee shouted, rounding the small table, trying to put a little distance between them. 

The front door blew open, wood flying through the small cabin. The two men from the bar entered, blades raised. 

“No, it isn’t Y/N!” the older one announced and the first two men advanced on the newcomers. 

Lee watched in disbelief, possibly shock as well, as the older man swung his blade, easily decapitating the first man as Y/N screamed, launching herself at him. The younger fought against the second guy, fists flying and grunts filling the small room. It was like a well choreographed fight scene from an action movie until another head rolled to a stop next to him. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Lee demanded. 

“We can’t explain right now, but I need you to trust me.” The younger man approached him, while his father restrained Y/N. 

“Trust you? You just killed two men and I should trust you?” Lee bellowed. “This is my house and you better explain yourself right now!” 

“Those were not men. They were monsters. They took your girl here and changed her. She’s a monster, just like them. And now, she’ll die, just like them.” The older one spoke, dragging Y/N to a chair and securing her tightly. He pulled his machete from its sheath and lifted it high, ready to swing. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just stop! What the hell are you talking about? Tell me now!” Lee demanded. 

“My name is Dean Winchester and this is my dad, John,” Dean said. He then pointed to the headless men on the floor. “Those are, were, vampires. And that is a newborn vampire.” He gestured to Y/N tied to the chair. 

Lee looked at the girl, the woman, he swore to love forever. Her teeth were bared, long blood stained fangs brushing against the soft pink of her lips he had kissed so many times. He looked down at himself, the front of his shirt bright red with blood. Then he remembered she bit him. 

“You bit me?” Lee asked her. 

“You are my first meal, or should have been, if these assholes hadn’t interrupted dinner time,” she laughed. “I was going to feed on you, then turn you so you were like me and we could live forever, fucking and killing, the way it should have been.” 

“What?” Lee asked, still reeling. 

“Vamps think they should rule the world. No cares, just living out their basics instincts, for an eternity,” John announced. 

“Feeding and fucking, “ Dean shrugged, a small smirk on his face. “Now, Y/N, sweetheart, do you have anything you want to say before we chop your head off?” 

“Fuck you!” Y/N spat at the two hunters. She looked to Lee, her teeth returned to normal and smiled sweetly at him, a small glimpse of the girl he loved. “Please don’t tell my mother. Tell her I’m in heaven, please. I’m so sorry, Lee. I really do love you.” 

Lee took one step closer, aching to kiss her once last time.  “Y/N, I’ll love you forever.” 

“Dean, son, take him outside, he doesn’t need to see this,” John ordered his son. 

“Come on, man. Let’s take a walk.” 

Lee hesitated, but Y/N just nodded and smiled. He turned and stepped out into the cool night, Dean by his side. He flinched when he heard a thump from inside the cabin. Their cabin. Where he planned to love her, start a family with her. Funny how forever can be severed by the sharp knife of a short life. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, before letting it out and opening them again. 

He looked down at his shirt with tears in his eyes before looking back up and meeting Dean’s eyes. “That’s...a lot of blood.” Lee dropped to his knees in the dirt.

“You’re going to be okay. Eventually,” Dean told him, pressing a cloth to the side of his neck. “I’m sorry this happened to you, to your girlfriend. Everyone has a story. This is how yours starts.”

~*~

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

~*~

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean​ @dolphincliffs​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @flamencodiva​ @blacktithe7​ @evansrogerskitten​ @amanda-teaches​ @hannahindie​ @wotinspntarnation​ @winchesterprincessbride​ @winecatsandpizza​ @kickingitwithkirk​  @wi-deangirl77​ @hobby27​ @mogaruke​ @gh0stgurl​ @alleiradayne​ @idreamofplaid​ @manawhaat​ @crashdevlin​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @emoryhemsworth​  @imaginationisgrowth​ @babypieandwhiskey​ @deans-baby-momma​ 

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants  @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore @akshi8278 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deanwanddamons

#alleiradayne's 2020 SSSI #amanda-teaches #katymacsupernatural #tw: major character death #Lee Webb #lee webb x reader #lee x reader #lee webb angst #lee webb fluff

[queenlua]

The Good Game Critics TM (a giant post o’ links)

yesterday i was complaining:

damn, how come the only people who are writing The Good Video Game Criticism TM are exclusively relegated to… abandoned Blogspots and Tumblrs that haven’t been updated in five years…?

and someone asked:

addadashofpepper: can you like, post links to some of these? cause the thing about these is that they are really hard to find!

oh boy, tumblr user @addadashofpepper, i would be DELIGHTED to share.  i dug through my RSS reader / bookmarks, and here’s what leapt out at me:

[under a cut because this got LONG and i got EXCITED]

ella guro: indie dev and creator of Problem Attic, which made a splash back in the day (a somewhat Braid-inspired platformer iirc).  she’s mostly removed herself from the game scene these days, but she still blogs about artsy-culture issues from time to time, and if you dig through the archives, some of her old posts on games (probably circa 2012-2015?) are so so good

prophet goddess / blood church: i discovered them literally two days ago, but i’m digging what i see (their ladykiller in a bind review was the first post i stumbled on)

dead genre chronicles: a group of three friends did a monthly JRPG podcast, where they’d play a JRPG in its entirety and talk about it.  see, they found mainstream discussions around JRPGs annoyingly stilted, including the term JRPG itself—like, we’re still using the term “JRPG” to mean “turn-based combat with funky anime aesthetics,” but that airbrushes over so many weird and fun and distinctive mechanics that developers inside-and-outside of Japan have been experimenting with, right?

they had a blog attached to the podcast, and the blog was ALSO excellent

unfortunately, they took their main website down a while back :( however:

you can get some of the old blog posts by fiddling with the wayback machine

becky backed up a bunch of her contributions to the site (i particularly liked her ffxv post & this sort-of ffxiii post that punched me in the face in a good way)

leeroy, one of the other contributors, blags here, though i don’t think he backed up his stuff from the original site

the entirety of the podcast is archived on libsyn and is very good if you’re into podcasts!

no don’t die: okay, this blog/interview series is AMAZING.  and still active!!!  ahh!!!

the whole concept is, this dude finds people who work in games.  or used to work in games.  or who ran a weird fansite for video games back in the early 00′s.  or curate some video-game-shaped things as part of a museum exhibit.  and so on, and so forth.

the dude has a knack for finding really interesting people with all kinds of windows/perspectives on games, and manages to get them to talk about really interesting things.  two of my fave interviews: rebecca heinman, who ported Doom to 3DO in ten weeks on her own in utterly batshit conditions, and mustin, because i’ve got that overclocked remix nostalgia

my friend pokey: so, they’re on tumblr, they write in all lowercase, and their writing style tends to be on the dense and referential side, which ordinarily has all the warning signs of “all pretentiousness, no substance,” right?  (i am not exempt from this, by the way; look at me typing in all lowercase like a scrub.)  but, i’ve reliably gotten interesting insights out of their posts & have been surprised how often i mention their blog to a Friend Whose Aesthetic Tastes I Respect and they’re like “ah! i LOVE that blog!”  also i liked their notes on chrono cross at the end of this post because i literally want to talk about chrono cross every waking moment of my life, come talk to me about chrono cross friends, etc

em reed’s blog is excellent.  i really liked this post about what the phone/gacha game experience is like

auntie pixelante: anna anthropy’s old blog; still not sure why she didn’t archive it somewhere?  but whatever, the wayback machine has your back.  this early review of Gone Home is reasonably representative

tim rogers: i have kind of mixed opinions on him, but i do find something in his work compelling enough that i keep coming back to him, so.

the dude made his initial splash with his extremely long mgs2 review back in the day; there’s a slightly more recent archive too; he also does a lot of sadposting on medium that ranges from “guy in my MFA” to “fuck i can’t believe this dude’s making me feel feelings” in quality, ymmv.  (he also apparently does video reviews now? that are like many hours long? and i am just not the youtube generation so i tapped out on that one bud)

tevis thompson: another critic i have mixed feelings about, but if you’re the kind of dork that enjoys reading stuff that Made A Splash At The Time, and like, nerd subculture histories, you'll have to read his “on videogame reviews” for that reason alone.  i also really dug his 100-word video game reviews series

ludus novus: i haven’t read this dude’s blog in ages, but i liked it a lot when i read it in 2012ish and there’s TONS in the archives

emily short: an IF writer who goes way back.  i haven’t read her blog lately, but the archives / older posts definiely have cool thoughts on the structure of interactive fiction

jonas kyratzes: indie game dev, creator of The Sea Will Claim Everything.  he tends to blog about lefty politics and general arts stuff more frequently than he blogs about games, but he does blog games from time to time.  i liked [1] and [2], for starters.

adam cadre: this guy goes waaay back in the IF scene and has made a bunch of Inform stuff.  i’ve never actually played his games!  but i like his blog a lot (convenient tumblr mirror here).  he almost exclusively blags about books and movies and such these days, but if you dig you can find him talking about games sometimes.  (also, Masterchef Australia, which he loved so much he wrote over fifteen thousand words about it and it’s one of my favorite bizarre blog posts on the internet)

the fool reversed: this blog is focused on LARP game design & issues around that, but i’d say it’s relevant to anyone interested in game-y topics.  as a mostly-outsider to that scene, i thought this was a fun find!

annnd a few last ones:

i haven’t kept up with critical distance in ages, but it used to be a great way to find new game writers, and quite possibly still is, i dunno

while i’ve personally bounced off timber owls a few times, i know some folks who like their writing a lot

hope this helps!!!  happy digging through internet archives and such

#link post

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Nerd 11

Previously on Nerd

There weren’t any nerves because of the dance. Lexa had been forced to go to dances by her sister in an effort to make her feel included, and then with friends from various teams who all seemed to have similar goals. It was just a dance that would last a few hours and then she’d be done and that was okay. After going to about a dozen already in her life, Lexa couldn’t spend too much time allowing herself to be nervous. 

The nerves came because Clarke promptly informed her that her parents were at a conference for the week, and she should come over after the dance. That was a very good invitation. It was probably the best invitation and Lexa knew what it meant. And she wasn’t sure about it. But she was also afraid of lying to her parents. Because she couldn’t rightly tell them she was going over her girlfriend’s house for the night, no matter how supportive they were with their new “gay daughter” parenting books and Pride-colored paraphernalia. 

The nerves came because she had a girlfriend and was going to a dance with her. They came because she was somehow dating the head cheerleader, and she fell into meeting her and what if it went badly? What if she went over to Clarke’s place and forgot how to kiss? Or breathe? Or stand? Because all seemed likely with the fact that her brain short circuited when she saw her girlfriend in her cheerleading uniform. Surely seeing her in anything less than fully-clothed would lead to disaster. 

Lexa took a deep breath and stared at herself in her mirror before adjusting her hair and then her sleeve. She was afraid to call her sister. She didn’t want anyone to know. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know, just that she really wanted to go over Clarke’s place and not go to the dance at all. But she didn’t know how to go to Clarke’s, in the euphemistic sense. Despite all of the research that just seemed to cloud her brain even further, the idea of sex was intriguing and scary, but not altogether frightening. 

“Well, golly, aren’t you a real dreamboat?” 

Despite herself and the worry that crept in just a few seconds before, Lexa blushed and smiled before pushing herself away from the mirror, grabbing her leather jacket a second later. The conversation she had with her reflection shed no light on her predicament. 

“Are you sure this isn’t stupid?” 

“I’m very sure,” Clarke promised, leaning against the doorway. “You are a very dreamy date and I’m so glad you offered to take little ol’ me to the Hop.” 

“Are you going to talk like this all night?” Lexa cocked her head as she slid on her jacket, careful to not mess up the slicked hair and pristine white shirt. 

“Sure am, Daddy-o.” 

“You look adorable, by the way,” she offered when she reached the door and her date didn’t move, just smiled. 

Hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, Clarke’s dress was out of an episode of Happy Days or something, poodle skirt in place and all. She looked like she was made to be an advertisement for apple pie and the American way circa 1957. It was in that moment that Lexa realized she was dating someone who liked going full into whatever they were going to do. This wasn’t a put together costume— this was precise. 

“Thanks. I wanted to make sure a cool cat like you had a primo date.” 

“This is a lot more comfortable than prom will be.” 

“If I get to go. No one has asked me yet,” Clarke teased.

“I’m sure someone will,” Lexa promised, kissing her finally as she reached the door, eager to have that feeling again. 

“That’s true. I’m a cheerleader. I get asked to prom. And I think I’ll say yes to whoever asks me first.” 

“Good plan.”

“Are you going to come over after?” 

Lexa gulped slightly before nodding, afraid to say to many words. That was tough. 

“No funny business, just wanted to hang out with you alone. It’s been a while since we’ve hung out.” 

“True,” she nodded, smiling as Clarke adjusted the lapels of her jacket.  “But maybe a little funny business.” 

There it was. Clarke smiled a little and then it grew into a lot, spreading wide on her cheeks as she kissed the corner of Lexa’s mouth. It burnt the entirety of her girlfriend’s neck and tips of her ears. Lexa felt like she could breathe because Clarke dispelled her fear with such an off-handed joke, that she tried to remember to be bummed about not having sex. She’d put so much effort into figuring out how she felt about it, it seemed like a waste. 

“Hurry up, Lex!” her mother called from down the stairs. “I can’t wait to see how cute you two are!” 

“Thanks for being around,” Clarke offered before letting go of her girlfriend. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.” 

“Thanks for letting me touch your boobs. That’s been one of the best things to ever happen to me in my entire life.” 

“Now that’s a compliment.” 

“Yours too,” Lexa smiled before putting her arm over Clarke’s shoulders as they made their way down the stairs to the waiting parents. 

“Oh my! Lexa you look so cute! And Clarke, you are a dream!” 

“I’m not cute, I’m tough,” Lexa explained. 

“I think that’s one of those things that if you say it, it’s not true,” her father offered. “But that jacket does look very cool on you. Grandpa would be absolutely thrilled to have a gay granddaughter greaser.” 

His wife hit his chest as Lexa shook her head and laughed. 

“Alright. I think we’re ready to leave.” 

“Wait wait,” her mother bustled about. “I need some pictures.” 

Lexa groaned despite her girlfriend’s arms wrapping around her waist, always ready for a picture. Somehow, Lexa had pictures of her and Clarke on her phone. She saw pictures of herself on her date’s Instagram. She had a strip of pictures from the photobooth in the winter festival downtown taped beside one of her monitors in her room. Clarke documented and Lexa stopped fighting it. She was someone who wanted to remember now. 

“Mom, we don’t—”

“Just smile. Clarke is humoring me.” 

“Clarke humors everyone.” 

“And that’s why she’s my favorite partner you’ve brought home,” she muttered as she snapped a few pictures. “There. That wasn’t so bad. Was it?” 

“It’s part of the routine,” Clarke reminded her girlfriend. “You just have to let it happen.” 

“I don’t have to like it.” 

“Lexa never did like pictures,” her father explained, looking at a few he took himself on his own phone. “She covered her face in her picture with Santa when she was four.” 

“I’d love to see that,” the cheerleader decided. 

“Nope, it’s gone. Burned. Lost to time and space,” Lexa shook her head, staunchly refusing. She ushered her date toward the door. “Have a good night. Thanks for the jacket. I’ll see you both tomorrow night.” 

“Be home for dinner please!” 

“I will.” 

“Make sure you tell Luna we said—”

The front door shut and Lexa paused before letting out the deep breath she’d been holding in her chest. She still had her arm over Clarke’s shoulder, and she felt the slight chill in the March air, but she didn’t move. 

“That was embarrassing. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t. Your parents are truly some of the coolest people I’ve ever met.” 

“They’re not.” 

“I know you don’t believe that,” Clarke chastised as she opened the passenger side door for her date. “You love them and the attention they give you and the love and support.” 

“Sometimes it’s overwhelming.” 

“Better than underwhelming.” 

“They really like you,” Lexa offered as she put on her seatbelt and the truck roared to life. 

“I bet that’d stop if they knew you were coming over tonight,” she grinned, almost proud to be doing something she shouldn’t. “Or that you propositioned me for a little funny business.” 

All of her blood rushed to her cheek and Lexa felt her brain go through a billion options for what to say next. The real flaw of her innate design being that she then tried to say all billion options at one time and it just left her gaping. 

“But I’d win them back by promising to have nothing but pure intentions with their baby girl.” 

“That’d save me from another safe sex talk.”

Clarke chuckled as she flipped from reverse back to drive and pointed them toward the school gym. 

“Nothing but necking and malts for Lexa Woods. I have a reputation to uphold,” Clarke reminded her as she pressed play so that a feisty little bop started playing on the radio, perfectly in line with the theme of the night. 

Amazed, Lexa looked at the tape deck and then at the girl driving who did a stupid dance to an outrageously peppy song by the Ronettes because Clarke made a soundtrack and it was a movie except it was real, and that was all that mattered. 

Clarke sang along, nudging her girlfriend until she hummed along as well. 

XXXXXXXXXX

“So you admit, it was fun.” 

“It was the most fun I’ve ever had at a dance,” Lexa finally acquiesced as she slid off hr coat and hung it on the banister. 

“I will take all the credit then,” Clarke decided as she kicked off her shoes and made her way down the hall, flipping on lights as she went. “I’m clearly an amazing date to these types of things. I should hire myself out.” 

For a few minutes, Clarke kept going on about the dance, but Lexa was somewhat distracted. She heard her voice, tossed down the hall as she approached, filled with a kind of happiness that was contagious. But Lexa found herself looking around the house that she’d only been in once before, now fully able to enjoy it without fear of running into Clarke’s parents. She wasn’t sure if it was her that was nervous to meet them, or Clarke’s possible fear. 

But now, she gazed at a few pictures on the wall before moving into the modern living room. She always thought her parents were sparse, disinterested decorators, but Clarke’s place took the cake. It was spartan, but on purpose, which Lexa never really understood. Maybe it was the lack of people, maybe it was the night, maybe it was what she already knew, but it didn’t feel as warm as her house, there were no signs of life, and Lexa furrowed as she touched the back of the couch. 

“My mom re-did the whole place,” Clarke interrupted Lexa’s perusal, leaning against the wall closer to the dining room. “It’s for when my dad needs a wheelchair. He can get around better.”

“I wasn’t—”

“It’s not quite right, right?” 

As much as she wanted to lie, Lexa didn’t have it in her. Instead she just shrugged and tried to find something. 

“It’s a beautiful room. It reminds me of something you’d see in a movie. Perfect, you know?” 

“Maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with making a mess,” Clarke suggested, earning a smile as Lexa approached her slowly, still looking around. “My mom gets so mad, but I leave clothes all over the place, homework, books, trash, cups, just so it seems like we live here.” 

“Maybe you’re just a troublemaker.” 

Pulled back from too much thinking, Clarke snorted but smiled at the accusation. There was a little of that to it all, too, but no one had to know that part. 

“Want to shower? I can grab some snacks.” 

Lexa nodded, disliking the feeling of sweat and hair gel and make up and all of it on her skin, terrified to have to sleep in it. But she didn’t move. Just stood in front of the girl who tentatively reached out her hands and snaked a finger through her belt loops, tugging forward. 

Pressed against Clarke, Lexa anchored her hands on Clarke’s ribs and smiled, eyes darting toward her lips. 

“Can I, uh,” Lexa furrowed, her brain eventually overcoming the haze that happened when she was near Clarke, her brain finally thinking for itself despite how disorienting it was. “I really would like to— There’s... “ she clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. “Don’t move, okay?” 

Amused by the display, Clarke just nodded and watched Lexa overthink too much. She could never really articulate that this was why she enjoyed Lexa; this brain, this honesty, this feeling that nothing else in the world existed. She was quietly consuming. 

But slowly, Lexa leaned forward, and Clarke held her breath when she felt Lexa’s against her skin. And she gripped her fingers tighter. And she closed her eyes when Lexa kissed her cheek, kissed her jaw, moved to her neck. A hand moved to the other side of her throat and it must have felt Clarke gulp as warm lips softly kissed her pulse. Even though her eyes were knit tight, they rolled back at the feeling, taking a few extra seconds to realize it wasn’t happening anymore. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. 

“I, um, I like that. Uh, the. Um,” Lexa nodded slightly, bashful. “I like kissing your neck. I thought about that a lot tonight. You look very pretty.” 

As she said it, eyes roved over Clarke’s face, moved to her own hand that was cupping her neck, and Lexa smiled as her thumb moved along jaw bone. And when Clarke opened her eyes, she smiled involuntarily and pushed hair from her face. 

“That’s a fairly good place to start some funny business. And you should definitely give me a minute.” 

Lexa furrowed and watched the blood rush to Clarke’s cheeks. She could almost feel the burn beneath her fingertips. 

“I’m sorr—” 

A hand went over her mouth as Clarke shook her head and smiled, taking a shaky breath as she got her wits back. 

“I want you to feel comfortable doing whatever you want,” she promised. “And fuck if I didn’t love that. You don’t have to be afraid of me, or messing up, or… I don’t know. You’re allowed to kiss me, however you want.” 

“Like right now or in general?” 

Clarke chuckled and shook her head, letting it flop back against the wall with a thud as she rolled her eyes. She knew the look Lexa had on her face, perplexed and unsure, and she knew the furrow would be there. She knew that all of it would make her hear feel warm. 

“My girlfriend doesn’t need to get a permission slip every time she wants to touch me. In fact, I’d prefer a real blanket level of consent that you trust I’ll stop something I don’t like.” 

“Who’s that?” Lexa furrowed. “Oh. Wait. Me?” 

Clarke sighed and moved her hands to hold Lexa’s ears as she wiggled her head slightly, Lexa’s smile finally coming despite her eagerness to stifle it. 

“If you think you’re woman enough for the job.” 

“And I get to kiss your neck like a lot. And you can sit on my lap at parties. And go to dances together. And all of that?”

“Those are some of the basic requirements, yes, but also not limited to listening to me talk during movies,” Clarke explained, earning a bit of a frown, which just further solidified her affections, “Letting me be your pep squad during soccer and track season.”

“With cookies?” 

“With cookies. And definitely kissing me often. Holding my hand sometimes. Letting me give you rides after work. Being someone I talk to about anything. And definitely letting me grab your butt a lot.” 

“Should I be writing this down?” 

Clarke laughed, her hands slipping slightly as she wrapped her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and hugging her tightly. 

“Just keep being the girl who walked into the diner and texted me all night.” 

“I can do that.” 

“Good.” 

Lexa smiled, her heart racing as she hugged her girlfriend back. She said that word in her head a million times in under a second. It flashed quicker than sound. 

XXXXXXXX

“I feel like a whole new girl. Showers are the best invention of all of human history,” Clarke moaned as she walked into the bedroom, toweling at her wet hair. 

“I’m sure the polio vaccine must be up toward the top. Or electricity. People are nuts about sliced bread.” 

“I stand by my pick for the best invention. Yours are boring.” 

Lexa just rolled her eyes and smiled as she readjusted in Clarke’s bed, crossing her legs and snuggling deeper into the pillows as some old movie she didn’t recognize played on the television. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Clarke finish brushing her hair before clicking off a light and making her way around the bed. Her eyes never left the figure as the room was lit only by the black and white screen. 

“Is this okay? I can stay in the spare?” Clarke offered as she lifted the edge of her duvet. 

“No, no this is… yeah. This is great.” 

“Good.” 

With a quick jump, Clarke was beside her, though they were separated with Lexa outside of the cocoon. Lexa smelled Clarke’s soap and her room and it was more than enough. 

“You called me your girlfriend,” Lexa began after a few moments of quiet. 

“I did. I guess I had been in my head for a while.” 

“I never imagined that I’d be someone’s girlfriend. Or… that you’d be mine. Does that mean you’ll stick around?”

“I really want to.” 

“Even when I’m not… even when like, my-- I don’t. Even when I-- when I-- when this happens and I can’t say words right?” Lexa finally blurted. 

“Especially then,” Clarke promised. Lexa nodded. 

“Sometimes it’s like my brain doesn’t work right.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just that it… It sometimes. I know how I feel, but sometimes I can’t get it out.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed. But when you get there, it’s fantastic.” 

Lexa blushed slightly at the observation, suddenly confused as to how someone saw her and knew these things. She wanted to know what she looked like to Clarke so badly. She wanted to see the things she liked that she hated about herself. She wanted to know who she was to someone like that. Instead she just sighed and offered a small smile. 

“We joke that my sister got all of the feeling. I like movies because they make people feel things.”

“I don’t think you’re bad at saying things. I think you’re precise, and I think people are impatient. But I’d rather hear what you have to say than most people.” 

Clarke watched as her girlfriend furrowed and stared at the movie, her jaw clenching somewhat, the purposefulness of her thoughts wrestling around her brain and playing across her face. And when she turned to her, in the dim light of the bedroom, the movie flashed across her face dramatically. She very much wanted to know what Lexa saw that made her furrow lessen and her smile grow just the slightest. 

“I really like you,” Lexa confessed.

It was very honest. It was exceedingly honest and pure and Clarke knew it because Lexa put so much weight into it and so much thought, debating it from every side before she confessed. 

“See? You’re great with feelings,” Clarke teased. 

“Nah.” 

“I think I might try a page out of your book.” 

“Oh?” 

Clarke moved only slightly to sit up beside Lexa, moving so she was on her knees. She smiled and pressed her hand against her chest, pinning her there gently. 

“Just. Don’t move, okay?” 

Lexa nodded, almost imperceptibly, as if Clarke’s request started immediately. With a small smile, Clarke moved forward, her lips on Lexa’s  softly at first and then deeper. She was kissing her girlfriend, and she was allowed. 

But Lexa wasn’t good at listening. She pushed forward and held Clarke back, enjoying the feeling of her tongue so much she whimpered. It didn’t matter. Clarke straddled her and the covers got tangled and her hands were on hips. She gripped there tightly. 

When lips moved to her neck, Lexa knew she was a goner. There wasn’t anything better in life. She moaned, unsure of why that was a noise she now made. Clarke just smiled. 

“I don’t want to move too quickly,” Clarke muttered. “But you are insanely hot.” 

“It’s not that warm in here.” 

That was it. Lexa ruined it in two minutes. Clarke pulled back and looked at her with an amused smile. She adjusted her glasses, finally tearing her hands from feeling her girlfriends hips. 

“You really don’t know how absolutely sexy you are, do you?” 

“God, me? No,” Lexa scoffed, blushing slightly at the notion, earning a roll of eyes before Clarke leaned forward again. 

Lips moved to the other side of her neck and Lexa fumbled with words she didn’t need, so she kept quiet. Clarke’s hips moved slightly and Lexa felt her thighs shift, making her woozy. 

“When do you want me to stop?” Clarke whispered, her hand somehow halfway up Lexa’s shirt without her noticing until she felt fingertips near her bra. 

“Fuck. Never.” 

Clarke chuckled and pulled away before earning a needy, heady kiss from the girl beneath her. 

“How far are we going?” Clarke asked, breathless and aching. 

“How far can we go?” 

“How far do you want to go?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I want to do something.” 

There was a smile that started on Clarke’s lips despite the honesty Lexa was hopeful was enough. She certainly wasn’t sure what she was allowed to do; she didn’t even know that having a girlfriend meant she had to let her talk through movies, and frankly that part was still concerning and something she wanted to remember to come back to in the near future. 

With a slight shift, Clarke moved so she wasn’t straddling her girlfriend anymore and laid down on the bed beside her, hair drying and making a mess around her. The movie played and didn’t illuminate much, but Lexa saw Clarke start to lift up her shirt, saw her stomach show in the grey of the screen. 

“I didn’t invite you over for funny business,” Clarke promised. “But since we’re here, right?” 

Lexa couldn’t really speak. She just nodded eagerly, her mouth obscenely dry. She wanted water. She wanted to taste Clarke’s hip bones. No sex talk with her parents prepared her for this, and even thinking about their sex talks did nothing to deter her in the slightest. 

“I… I… I don’t know what to do.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

“Can I…?” Lexa shifted, her hand stuttering over Clarke’s at the edge of her shirt. She waited, hovering until she earned a nod. 

Clarke saw the studious face. She saw the hesitation mingling with the dark of the room and the light from the television. She was entranced, oddly vulnerable, and insanely turned on and she wasn’t sure what else was going to happen just that she never trusted anyone as much as Lexa because Lexa looked at her like she was precious and a natural wonder of the world, and no one had a right to look at anyone like that. Never. 

Very slowly, Lexa let her fingertips find Clarke’s skin. She sat up, leaned forward, watched as she touched her in the light of the movie. She moved up along the ridge of ribs there, feeling them buried, feeling them shift and swell as she took a breath. 

With a swallow and a quick look at Clarke, she pushed the shirt a little higher, her breath growing quicker as she did until she stopped. Clarke bit her lip and swallowed what felt like a purr, confused as to why her body did that. But Lexa placed her palm on her rib, ran her thumb along her chest and kissed the other side. 

“Jesus,” Clarke whispered. 

It didn’t seem quite right, that someone could be so tender. She wasn’t fragile, but there was something to be being held like she would break. 

“That’s what you wanted to do?” 

“Yeah,” Lexa smiled, kissing her again, inching the shirt up higher. “One of the things. Thank you for… thanks for going this speed.” 

“What speed is this?” 

“Unsure.” 

Clarke watched Lexa not push her luck. She watched her look at her hand. She felt her kiss her one more time before pulling away and staring back at her, content, as if she was happier than she ever felt she should allow herself to be. 

She held her own hands at her shirt, prepared to take it off. Prepared for much more. But the look on Lexa’s face was perfect, and before she could decide, Lexa shifted and laid down beside her, kissing her neck, kissing her jaw, running her nose along her cheek before kissing the corner of her mouth. 

“You’re going to kill me, Woods.” 

“Shut up and kiss me.” 

“You can’t talk to me like that, I’m your girlfriend.” 

Lexa beamed, even with her eyes closed. Fingertips tickled along Clarke’s ribs and a leg shifted against her hip. 

“I really need you to write me a rule book.”

next

[snarkysarcasm]

Hi. Golly Prompt: Holly gets stuck in a Groundhog Day loop.

Sorry this took so long, Weedy, but here you go:

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

Holly hit the button on her alarm clock and enjoyed the slight burn as she stretched her muscles.  Five o’clock in the morning was an unnecessary time to be awake.  It wasn’t that she was a morning person per say but she enjoyed running and the only way to guarantee a run with her crazy schedule was if she got up early enough to do it.  

Glancing at her phone she saw a text from her favorite snarky cop.

“Wookiees are less hairy than this guy.  And probably smell better. I don’t know what the Superintendent was thinking.  If this is the best I can get I should give up men entirely.” 

Of course, Gail was complaining about another one of her mother’s set-ups.  Holly hated the pleasant way her stomach flipped at the thought of Gail giving up on men.  She knew that she was being ridiculous.  That she shouldn’t be happy that her friend’s date had turned out to be a fiasco.  Gail was straight and it was just a hopeless crush.  And she did want Gail to be happy.  She did.  If going on Elaine-approved dates was the way to it then she would support Gail no matter.  

Meanwhile, she’d keep pining away.  And running.  The running helped.

She had just gotten out of the shower when she saw a new message on her phone.  She hated the sinking feeling when the disappointment crashed down that it was only Lisa (who would kill her for thinking such a thing). It really was becoming a hapless crush. 

The text was a reminder of the date that Lisa had set up for her that night.  See, she wasn’t a completely hopeless lesbian.  Just because she was falling hard for Gail didn’t mean she had completely written off her own chances at finding someone else. She pushed away the memory of Lisa coercing her into said date at their last “Whine and Cheese” night.

Still she made a mental note to leave work early enough to give her a chance to wash the smell of the lab off of her.

Heading into work, there was still some snow on the ground so her commute took a little longer than usual.  As luck would have it, she walked in to find the object of her affection waiting for her with a coffee.

“Did you lose your phone, Lunchbox?”

Holly felt her pocket. Her phone was there.

Gail followed her motions and arched one of her perfect eyebrows, “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“Oh, sorry, guess I got distracted this morning.”

“Were you exercising?”  

The look of disdain was adorable and Holly couldn’t stop herself from chuckling.  “You know I do every morning.”

‘Gross.” Gail’s face had Holly’s head shaking with affection. The blonde officer hopped onto Holly’s desk as the pathologist sank into her chair, coffee in hand. 

“You know there are better ways to burn calories.”

“So I’ve heard.” Holly muttered into the cup, mostly to herself. A little bit louder than intended for the universe to take note.

“How long has it been, anyway?”

She groaned, “You really should bring me more than coffee if you want to have this conversation at this time in the morning.”

“It’s just a question.”

For Holly, it hardly felt as innocent as Gail made it sound.  The last time Gail was “just asking questions” had been at Frank and Noelle’s wedding.  As much as Holly may want to, kissing Gail at work in order to shut her up probably wasn’t the best idea. Maybe? No, probably not. 

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about that brought you to the groundhog’s lair?”

Gail let out a suffering sigh as she collapsed onto one of the stools and started spinning, “Superintendent Peck has yet another date set up for me.  I think as a medical professional you should explain to her the definition of insanity.”

“How is it insanity?”

“You sure you’re a doctor?  Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

“You do know that Albert Einstein didn’t actually say that?  In fact, the first evidence of even a similar quote appeared in a Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet circa 1981.  Although, in 1892 Max Nordou-”

“Will you save me from both the history lesson and my mother’s fruitless endeavors?”

Holly really wanted to push Gail to find out why she continued to go on these “dates” if she didn’t think they’d actually amount to anything.  She also really wanted to ask her why she didn’t think they would.  But the mention of the night reminded her of her own date.  

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Didn’t you promise to do no harm?”

Holly contemplated telling Gail about her date that night.  About how she had been set up herself.  She also wanted to tell Gail about why she had been avoiding dating.  But she couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Luckily she was saved from answering when the radio on Gail’s shoulder crackled to life.  She listened for a minute before hopping off of Holly’s desk and grabbing her coffee.

“Criminals need to learn to sleep in.”

“I thought crime never sleeps.”

Gail rolled her eyes at the quip but Holly could still see her smile.  “Smell ya later, Nerd.”

Holly let out a deep exhale.  She hated to see Gail go, but damn she really loved to watch her walk away.  

Unfortunately the sound of glass breaking and Rodney shouting a “Sorry, Doc” forced her from her ogling and back to her job.  It was going to be a long day.

—

Rushing into the bar, Holly hated how flustered she felt.  Trying to salvage the samples during the day had taken longer than she would’ve liked and she had barely had time to change her clothes let alone figure out a place to go.  It was how she ended up at the Penny.  

Glancing around she didn’t see anyone matching the description of her date for the night.  She headed towards the bar.  She needed a little liquid courage to steady her nerves.

“Hellooo.”

She wanted to blame it on the shock, but Holly knew that it was just the sight of Gail that had her heart quickening.  She tried to fight it but could feel the smile overtake her.

Gail looked at the bartender, “Can you make it two?”

“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”  She had chosen the Penny because it was close and she was late.  She also thought Gail would’ve been on a Superintendent approved date, not hanging out at the well-known cop bar. That or it was because she was a masochist.

“Yeah, Dov is on a new trivia kick and he’s not going to let us leave until he’s crowned king of the dorks.”

Holly knew that as much as she might protest, Gail really did like her friends.  Or she was just really desperate to not go on that blind date.  Holly tried not to get her hopes up though.

“Hey why don’t you let me get this one and you can get the next round.” 

Gail was already gesturing to the bartender when Holly remembered why she was really there that night.

“Actually, umm I’m meeting someone.”

The reality of her situation had disappointment settling deep in her gut. She knew that she would rather be anywhere, doing anything with Gail than pretty much anyone else. But she also knew that it wasn’t healthy to keep pining the way she was.

“Oh. Sorry.” 

It was dark but Holly was pretty sure Gail looked disappointed too.  The soft way she apologized cut deeper than it should’ve.  Holly probably should’ve just told Gail that morning and saved both of them the awkwardness they were in. 

Holly couldn’t stop herself from reaching for Gail’s arm. “Don’t be sorry.”

Gail shrugged and took a sip from her drink, seemingly recovered from the set back, “Is it like someone or someone someone?”

Holly swallowed hard at the way pink lips played with the straw.  “I don’t know yet.” She offered.

She vaguely heard the bell over the door, but when she glanced over she saw someone matching the picture Lisa had sent. “Oh.”  That was her cue.  “Thanks for the drink.”

“No worries.”

As hard as it was, Holly pulled herself away from Gail and plastered a smile on her face.  Heading towards her date, Holly greeted the woman with a hug.  Maybe it was a little overkill but she needed to get over Gail and this was the way to do it.

So she spent the night laughing a little too loud, she leaned a little too close into each touch, she bought a little too many drinks, and when her date offered to get out of there Holly followed her out a little too quickly.  And she most definitely didn’t look back on her way out the door for a little too long.

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

Holly hit the button on her alarm clock.  5am, really was an ungodly hour, but she stretched her muscles anyway.  She kind of hated herself.  She had had the perfect opportunity to get laid the night before and instead had decided to go home alone.  This crush on Gail was ridiculous.  It had been a perfectly fine date.  Beautiful.  Smart.  Funny.  And yet when Holly had walked her to her front door and had gotten the offer for a nightcap.  She balked.  God, she was stupid.

Holly glanced at her phone and noticed a text from Gail.  

“Wookiees are less hairy than this guy.  And probably smell better. I don’t know what the Superintendent was thinking. If this is the best I can get I should give up men entirely.” 

What the...Holly reached for her glasses and sat up.  She could’ve sworn Gail had sent that message the previous morning.  And hadn’t Holly seen her at the bar? Gail hadn’t gone on any dates.  She glanced at the date on her phone.  

February 2nd.  

But that was yesterday.  Assuming her phone was broken, she restarted it, and went for her run.  

Holly had just gotten out of the shower when she went to check if her phone was fixed.  She saw a new message on her phone.  It was the same reminder of the date from Lisa.  Either her phone was messing with her or she had had the most realistic dream the night before.  She opened a browser on her phone, hoping for some clarity, but even Google said it was still Groundhog’s day.  

Holly hit the call button.

“Hey sexy.”

“Hey Lis, what’s today’s date?”

“Did you finally fry that big brain of yours with all those nasty chemicals you play with?”

“Just answer my question.”

“It’s February 2nd.  But more importantly it’s your date night.”

Holly’s stomach clenched painfully, “Right.”

“You didn’t forget or worse you didn’t get any ideas of cancelling did you?”

“No,”  She ran a hand through her hair, “no I just had the weirdest dream last night.”

“Well as much as I’d love to hear about your sex dream about me I have to go, I have an early surgery I need to scrub into.  I’ll text you the details for your date.  Love you.”

Holly stared at her phone.  It had to have been a dream.  A realistic dream.  Just a really realistic dream.

--

She was late heading into work, both from her checking the date a thousand times and from the snow making the commute long.  But her car, the radio, and her phone continued to claim it was still February 2nd so Holly decided to accept it.  

She stopped when she found Gail waiting for her with a coffee.

“Did you lose your phone, Lunchbox?  You didn’t answer my texts.” The deja vu was making her head hurt.

“Uh, sorry, it was having some issues this morning.”  Or she was. Just a ridiculously realistic dream, Holly reminded herself.

“Were you exercising?”  

The look of disdain was just as adorable as she had imagined and Holly let out an awkward chuckle.

“Gross.  You know there are better ways to burn calories.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

“How long has it been?”

Okay, the similarities were too much to handle.

“Longer than it should’ve been”  Holly wanted to kick herself when she realized that she had said the words out loud.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Gail glanced at her phone let out a suffering sigh as she collapsed onto one of the stools and started spinning, Holly waited but she knew what was coming next.

 “Superintendent Peck has yet another date set up for me.  I think as a medical professional you should explain to her the definition of insanity.”

Holly played along, “How is it insanity?”

“You sure you’re a doctor?  Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Funny.  Holly was pretty sure she was doing everything over again.

“You do know that Albert Einstein didn’t actually say that?  In fact the first evidence of even a similar quote appeared in a Narcotics Anonymous pamphlet circa 1981.  Although in 1892 Max Nordou-”

“Will you save me from both the history lesson and my mother’s fruitless endeavors?”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Didn’t you promise to do no harm?”

Holly didn’t answer and waited for the radio on Gail’s shoulder to crackle to life.  Sure enough, she listened for a minute before hopping off of Holly’s stool and grabbing her coffee.

“Criminals need to learn to sleep in.”

Holly nodded, she couldn’t do much else with the knots in her stomach.  Deja vu or dream, it didn’t matter this was fucking weird.  

The sound of glass breaking and Rodney shouting a “Sorry, Doc” forced her into action.  It was already a long day and she wasn’t even done with breakfast yet.

—

Rushing into the bar, Holly was still late from trying to salvage the samples during the day.  Glancing around she didn’t see anyone matching the description of her date for the night (or the person she had dreamt).  She headed towards the bar.  

“Hellooo.”

Holly jumped.  She had been hoping that maybe only the first half of the day would’ve been like her dream but no here was Gail, exactly where Holly had imagined she’d be.

Gail looked at the bartender, “Can you make it two?”

“Hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”  Except she did know.  Damn her dream had been spot on.  

“Yeah, Dov is on a new trivia kick and he’s not going to let us leave until he’s crowned king of the dorks.  Hey, why don’t you let me get this one and you can get the next round?” 

“Actually, umm I’m meeting someone.”

The disappointment still settled deep in her gut, even knowing that the previous night had only been a dream.

“Oh.  Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Is it like someone or someone someone.”

“I don’t know yet.”

She heard the bell over the door and when she glanced over she saw her date.  “Thanks for the drink.”

“No worries.”

Holly went through the motions with a smile on her face.  She greeted the woman with a hug,  she spent the night laughing a little too loud, she leaned into all the touches, she bought drinks, and when her date offered to get out of there Holly followed her out.  But when she glanced back on her way out.  Gail was nowhere to be seen.

This time when Holly was offered a nightcap she decided to take the woman up on the offer.  How many times did people get a do-over anyway? 

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

Holly hit the button on her alarm clock.  It was 5am and she stretched her muscles.   She kind of hated herself.  The sex wasn’t great.  It had been a long time and Holly figured she deserved to have a little fun.  But when it was over she couldn’t bring herself to stay.  She headed back to her own bed more than a little disappointed.  She had hoped that sleep would’ve been enough to make her feel better.  

Holly glanced at her phone and noticed a text from Gail.  Her stomach sank further.  Gail.  Holly was pretty sure that the blonde copper was a huge reason that she couldn’t enjoy the night before the way she should’ve.  She hadn’t been able to get Gail out of her head and it hadn’t been fair to her date.  Ugh.  She opened the message.

“Wookiees are less hairy than this guy.  And probably smell better. I don’t know what the Superintendent was thinking. If this is the best I can get I should give up men entirely.” 

Okay, what the fuck? Her dreams could be vivid but this was too weird.  Checking the date on her phone, it was definitely still February 2nd. Holly shook her head.  A dream within a dream.  What were the odds? She scrolled through her phone.  There were no messages from Lisa telling her about her date or asking how it went.  There was no messages from the woman in question.  Nothing else from work or anyone else.  No, really, what the actual fuck?  

Holly was a little desperate as she looked for anything that said that she was wrong about the date.  She even went to the nearest coffee stand to check the morning paper but nope it was still February 2nd.  Realizing that she had wasted her morning, Holly went about the motions of heading into work. She purposefully ignored the text message she saw come in from Lisa.

Seeing Gail standing there with coffee made her heart race in a different way than usual.  

“Did you-”

“What’s today’s date?”

“I was about to ask if you lost your phone before I was so rudely interrupted but I guess that answers my question.”

“Don’t mess with me, what day is it?”  

“It’s February 2nd, Lunchbox.  You know, that day of the year that a bunch of losers gather around to get excited about a large squirrel predicting the weather. Really it’s pitiful. A thousand people freezing their butts off waiting to worship a rat. What a hype.”

“Yesterday was February 2nd.”

“No, yesterday was February 1st and one of the worst dates to have ever happened.  Seriously my mother set a new terrible standard.”

“No, it was February 2nd and I had a date.”

“You told me you had to work late last night. Remember the double homicide in the park on Breadalbane? Seriously how late did you work that you don’t even know what day it is.”

“No that was the day before.  Last night I ran into you at the Penny.  You were playing trivia with Dov.”

“How’d you know that the king of the dorks was on a trivia kick? I mean he’s there every night but I wasn’t with them last night.”

“But…”

Gail’s radio crackled to life.  She listened for a minute.  “I have to go but you should really drink that coffee.”

Holly watched her go.  She wasn’t sure what was going on.  But whatever it was, was fucking nuts.  Or she was.

The sound of glass breaking caused her to jump.

“Sorry, Doc”.  This day couldn’t get longer if it tried.

---

Holly took her time heading to the bar.  She was still distracted trying to figure out how she had managed to experience the same day three times in a row.  Once she could blame on her dreams.  Twice maybe deja vu.  But the entire day had played out exactly as before.  Including Lisa setting her up on this date and her having to spend the day cleaning up the broken samples.  She was so distracted by her thoughts that she was genuinely surprised when she heard the …. 

“Hellooo.”

She couldn’t stop the shock to her system.  Maybe it was just being on edge.  Or maybe and more likely it was that Holly couldn’t help her body’s reaction to Gail’s proximity.  

Gail looked at the bartender, “Can you make it two?”

“Hey.”   

“Couldn’t resist trivia night?”

The awkwardness somehow never dissipated no matter how many times she went through having to tell the woman that she wanted to date that she was actually going on a date with someone else.  “Actually, umm I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh.  Sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry.”

“Is it like someone or someone someone.”

Holly huffed, “I don’t know yet.”

She didn’t even have to look over when she heard the bell.  “Thanks for the drink.”

“No worries.”

Maybe third time was the charm and she just didn’t know it.  So Holly tried again.  She laughed at the same jokes.  She leaned into all the touches.  She walked her date to her apartment.  And knowing exactly what the woman liked, Holly tried to distract herself with mindless sex.

But her brain never turned off and her body definitely wasn’t turned on.  She didn’t even bother trying for a real orgasm before she headed home and hoped that this time when she woke, she wouldn’t remember the night. 

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

The second her alarm went off, Holly checked her phone.  February 2nd.  And the same damn text from Gail.

Fuck!

She was definitely reliving the same day.  But why? How?  This was the kind of thing that happened in movies, not real life.  It wasn’t possible to get stuck in a time loop.  Well, maybe it was possible.  Physics certainly hadn’t disproved it.  So maybe it was possible.  But if she was stuck in time and getting to the live the day again and again, maybe she should try to enjoy it.

Afterall, she had always wanted a motorcycle.

---

After spending most of the day indulging things she had always wanted.  It was time for her date.  Even if she was reliving the same day, she didn’t want to deal with Lisa’s wrath.  But this time Holly decided to skip the Penny this time.  She didn’t want to run into Gail and deal with the disappointment that always seem to come with having to turn down her drink offer.  It was such a simple thing but if she kept having to do this day over she must be doing something wrong.  Maybe she just wasn’t giving her date enough of a chance to work out.  

And the night had gone well.  Holly had picked her up and taken her to a fancy dinner across town.  She enjoyed riding around the city, even if she secretly wanted someone else with their arms wrapped around her.  

But that wasn’t the point of tonight.

She finally pulled up in front of her building.  

“Lisa didn’t mention that you rode a motorcycle.”

“Oh, yeah, well I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try new things.”

“Yeah? What other things have you been willing to try?”

It was easy to be confident when you had already had a couple of trial runs.

“How about we go in and I can show you rather than tell you.”

“Lead the way.”

 She was halfway to her door when she saw a figure sitting outside her door.

“Gail?”

Holly’s heart was pounding her chest as she watched the blonde scramble to her feet.  Even in the dark she could see a slight blush filling pale skin.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I uhh shouldn’t have come.”

“Wait!”

“No, you’re clearly busy, I shouldn’t have just dropped by.” 

Holly thought she heard Gail mumble something about being stupid.

“It’s fine.  What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“No. Uh. Everything’s fine.  Just bored and figured you’d be home.  But clearly you weren’t and had better things to do so I’m going to let you get back to them.”

She didn’t know what to say but she couldn’t stop from staring even as Gail booked it out of sight.  She had almost forgotten she had company until she heard a frustrated sigh beside her.

“So I guess this was the complication Lisa had warned me about.”

“It’s not like -”  

“Goodnight Holly.”

With the damage done and Holly having two women walk out on her, she decided to call the day a wash.  If she ever needed a do-over, well, this was it.

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

Holly was relieved to wake and see it was still the 2nd.  She was a scientist and if there was anything a scientist was good at it was testing a hypothesis.  

She spent the better half of the day coming up with her plan.  She even called out of work to avoid anything distracting her.   And when the time came, she headed over to the Penny with one thing on her mind.

She spotted the table right away and instead of heading to the bar, Holly strode across the room with a different purpose.

‘Hey I didn’t expect to see you…”  

Holly cut off Gail’s greeting with her lips.  For a moment she felt it. Felt Gail’s lips move against her, press just a little bit harder, but the feeling was brief before she was pulling away.

“Wh-what are you doing, Holly?”

Holly didn’t expect the look of shock and fear on Gail’s face.  She watched Gail’s eyes dart around everywhere but to make contact with hers.  What had she been thinking?  Well she knew what she had been thinking.  She had thought that in all the days prior Gail might have been jealous.  That she might have been disappointed.  That maybe her feelings were for more than just friendship.  But clearly it had just been wishful thinking.

“Ummm….uhhh….I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have.  I should go.”

And she ran.  Ran right out of the bar.  Ran right home and into her bed.  If kissing Gail and finally acting on her feelings wasn’t enough to get her out of this time loop, nothing else would be.  She was trapped and worse, she finally knew that her stupid crush was just that.  And damn was it crushing.   

So much so that she felt like she couldn’t get enough air in her lungs.  Panic.  She was actually panicking.  As her heart thudded hard in her chest, everything felt tight and small.  She struggled to take deeper breaths, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but wait for the feeling of seemingly never-ending-doom to pass.

It took a while but finally the vice grip on her chest loosened.  As her breathing calmed, Holly wiped the sweat and tears from her face.  She hadn’t had a panic attack since medical school.  And she really hoped if she had to live this day again she wouldn’t have to experience that part of it.  

She was still struggling with pins and needles crawling against her skin when there was a knock on her door.  She tried to ignore it at first but then it got more persistent.  She did her best to compose herself before opening the door a crack.

“Gail?”  She opened it more, “What are you doing here?”

Gail didn’t say a word as she crossed the threshold of Holly’s home and crashed right into her.  This time the shock to her system was even more than the panic that had rocked her before when she finally registered that Gail was kissing her.  But unlike at the bar, Holly seized the moment, pulling the blonde against her and kissing her back with everything she had to offer.  

The first brush of her tongue into Gail’s mouth had the blonde moaning and Holly could feel herself already getting wet at the sound. She let herself get pushed against a wall.  Her head thudded hard and for a second she saw stars, but she was more than happy to let Gail have what she wanted. But it did remind her that things were moving and moving fast if the way Gail’s hands under her shirt (when had they gotten there?) were any indication.

“Wait,” Holly barely got the word out before Gail’s hungry mouth was on hers again. She was starting to cave again.  

“Wait.” She panted again, this time she pushed Gail slightly back by the shoulders.  The smouldering look in the blue eyes staring at her lips was almost too much. But Holly had to be strong.  

“What’s going on, Gail?  Why did you come here?”

“To finish what you started.”

Holly felt Gail start to lean in again, but she held firm.

“But you stopped us.”

Finally Gail pulled back, a frustrated sigh leaving swollen lips and the warm hands that had been against her were now running through blonde hair.  The cool rush against her skin had Holly questioning her sanity for stopping them in the first place. 

“We were in a bar surrounded by everyone I work with.  And you surprised me.  I didn’t-i didn’t know what to do.  But after you left I couldn’t think about anything else but you kissing you again.”

Holly didn’t need to hear much else. She took two tight fistfuls of Gail’s shirt and pulled hard. Gail crashed into her with little resistance, her lips were just as soft as Holly had always imagined but the kisses were anything but soft. It didn’t take long before she felt Gail’s hands against her skin again. They tightened against her sides and the way they burned was driving her insane, she reversed their positions. 

As she pressed a thigh between Gail’s legs, Gail finally broke and let out a gasp allowing Holly to move her attention to the pale neck that was stretched against the wall. Her mouth made its way down, nipping and sucking against the previously unblemished skin. She was probably leaving marks but she was too invested in what she was doing to care. And from the sounds Gail was making and the feeling of her hand in Holly’s hair, she figured the blonde didn’t care either. 

She started to pull at the hem of Gail’s shirt, “Is this -”

Suddenly the shirt was being tossed across the room and her own shirt was being pulled over her head. 

Gail looked at her seriously, “Don’t stop.”

The command sent a thrill down her spine and Holly didn’t waste any more time. They were both clumsy as Holly tried to maneuver them to her bedroom without them tripping over one another. It seemed that neither one wanted their lips to part for more than a few seconds.

After what felt like an eternity, Holly finally tumbled onto the bed pulling Gail with her. But being on the bottom wouldn’t do. At least not at first. Holly had wanted and waited for too long. She needed to have Gail all to herself. To feel her shaking under her mouth and hands. All her years of sporting can in handy as she easily flipped their positions. Gail looked surprised at first but as Holly reached for the button of her jeans, her attention shifted towards trying to shed the skinny pants as quickly as possible.

“Yours too.”

Holly hated to separate herself but was also more than happy to have as much skin as possible to press against the porcelain body in her bed. It all felt like a dream. Something that was too good to be true. 

“I thought I told you not to stop,” Gail’s voice was a low growl, it held no real chastisement but a hunger for more.

“Who’s stopping?”

Holly pressed her whole body against Gail’s, their mouths meeting in an almost lazy kiss, like they had all the time in the world.  Maybe they did. If Holly had learned anything from the last few days, it was that time was a relative concept. 

“I want to taste you.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Gail asked, her legs spreading wider, inviting Holly in.

She wasn’t waiting. Not anymore. Holly made her way down. Taking her time to truly worship what she had been given. A gift that she wasn’t sure she’d ever have. But Gail seemed to have other plans, pushing Holly lower, faster. She wanted her too and she wanted her now it seemed.

Who was Holly to deny Gail anything? She parted pink lips and took a second to enjoy the sight of Gail wet and swollen and waiting for her before she dipped her tongue in. The slight tangy against her taste buds was everything and she savored it before she went to work. She dipped her tongue in deeper to warmth before sliding up to Gail’s clit. She started with a wide circle, heading back down to press into her before moving up again and again. Each time, the circle getting tighter.

She could feel Gail moving against her mouth, her hips rising and pushing against Holly harder and harder every time her tongue moved to her entrance. She could feel Gail getting more and more wound up.

“Hooooollllllly” Gail whined.

As much fun as she was having, she also wanted to make Gail cum. She wanted her to cum hard.

So she moved her hand up to take over, circling her clit again and again and her tongue pumped into Gail, deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, jesus fuck, yes, Holly,” Each of Gail’s cries, made Holly want to keep going, her tongue and fingers speeding up until finally Gail was tightening against her hand and her cries went silent as her orgasm overtook her.

Holly brought her down slower, she wanted to push for more but there would be time and she didn’t want to overwhelm the blonde. Gail was already whimpering and she felt Gail’s hands weakly pulling her back up. 

“Hey.” Gail’s voice was almost shy.

Holly pressed a gentle kiss to a flushed cheek. “Hey.” She settled herself more comfortably.

“Hey.” 

“You said that already”

“You know, it sounded familiar.” Gail’s voice was quiet and the words came out slowly.

Holly laughed as her hands traced lightly along Gail’s muscles. She could feel her own eyes getting heavier too.

She felt Gail’s hand sliding lower on her waist. As much as she wanted to be touched, she just wanted this too. Wanted to hold Gail and fall asleep with her beside her. So she caught her hand and pulled her closer. “Later.” And Holly drifted off into a peaceful sleep with the woman she wanted wrapped in her arms. Maybe living in a time loop wasn’t the worst thing. It had given her enough chances to finally do something right.

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

When her alarm went off, Holly was painfully aware of how empty her bed was.  She grabbed her phone.  February 2nd.

“God fucking damn it!” 

She threw her phone across the room. Tears were already blurring her vision as she pressed them hard with the heels of her hands. How?  How could she have everything she wanted and the day still not change?  Why would the universe show her what she could have and take it away like that?  What was she doing wrong?

---

Rushing into the police department, Holly wasn’t sure if she was making an even bigger mistake but she had to try. Well even if she was wrong, she’d probably have to do this all over again tomorrow anyway. She was glancing around the busy hallways, when she heard the voice she was looking for behind her.

“Holly, hey, what are you doing here?”

Oh right, Gail had no idea why Holly would be desperately seeking her out before they’d even had their morning coffees.

“I had to drop off a report on a murder from a few weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t the courier usually bring that stuff over.”

“Ummm, yeah, he was sick...or something.” Holly mumbled. She could barely look at Gail but it was clear that the blonde didn’t believe her.

“Hey, come here.” Holly pulled Gail into the nearest room.

“What’s going on?”

“Listen, I know that this is going to sound crazy but I have to tell you this. Because we tell each stuff. And that’s what’s so great about us. But I keep reliving today. This day.  February 2nd.  I know what’s going to happen tonight, this afternoon, I know what’s going to happen in the next hour, because I’ve already been here and done it. I know that I’m going to meet a great woman on a stupid set-up tonight and that even when everything goes perfectly that I’m still going to be thinking about you and wishing it was you with me instead. Because no matter what happens she isn’t you. I don’t know why it keeps happening and why I can’t move on. But the one thing that I do know is that I’d live this day a thousand times because the only thing that matters is that I get to spend it with you. Whatever happens tomorrow, or for the rest of my life, I’m happy as long as I’m with you.” Holly’s words were tumbling out faster and faster but she had to say them, even as Gail just looked at her intently. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you all this, it’s too much, I just -”

Holly was finally cut off by Gail’s lips in a kiss that melted her in a way that none of the previous encounters had.

Gail pulled back, still holding Holly’s face. “I’m sorry. You just, you just had to stop talking.”

“I won’t say another word.”

They stayed like that for a while. In their little bubble, with soft kisses and just enjoying the moment. When it was time for Gail to go back to work, she hovered by the door.

“I don;t know that I believe you’re stuck on a time loop but how about tonight, we both skip our set-ups and you take me to dinner instead.”

“Sound perfect.”

---

It was a perfect night. They talked and laughed and there were plenty of kisses. Gail decided to stay the night in borrowed pajamas curled up beside Holly. For once, Holly wasn’t filled with dread. Even if there was no tomorrow, she’d give anything to keep having days like today.

///

Then put your little hand in mine

There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb

Babe

I got you babe I got you babe

Holly hit the button on her alarm clock but didn’t open her eyes. Not yet. 

“Who sets an alarm this early in the damn morning?” A grumpy voice beside her gumbled.

Her eyes flew open, Gail was still there in the clothes she had given her the night before. She grabbed her phone. No new messages. She looked at the date.

February 3rd.

“Sorry, you’re right. Go back to sleep. There’s no rush. We have all day.”

[1dfangirls35]

Voir Dire (N.H.)

A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates and risking it all for love

Masterlist // Tell Me What You Think!

nineteen

Niall was hammered. More hammered than he'd ever been in recent memory. He was hammered and lonely, and that was a miserable combination. 

It all started at the after party for the announcement of his tour. It was supposed to be a happy moment in Niall's life, but instead he'd never felt lower. He'd never felt lonelier. What should have been a celebration, an event to kick off his favorite part of being a musician in the first place, had once again become a reminder of the state of his emotions and a catalyst for drinking away his feelings.

It had been a month since Kelsey tore his heart apart. Yes, tore was the best way to describe it, because Niall wasn't sure there would ever be a way to stitch it back together again. He'd had his heartbroken before, but never like this. Never in a way he didn't see coming.

Usually, music was the one thing Niall could always count on getting him through his emotions. For Niall, music had always been the bandage to his open wounds, providing cover for him as he slowly healed. His past heartbreaks had produced some of his best songwriting and cured his broken heart in the process. But for some reason this time, every note sounded out of key, every lyric seemed inadequate and soon, he couldn't bring himself to play a single chord.

His songwriting wasn't the only thing suffering. Heartbreak had drifted into every aspect of his life. He'd found red carpet appearances unbearable, he struggled to make it through interviews, and his fans had been picking up on his lack of social media interactions.  And then there was the Range Rover incident. A night when Niall's emotions got the better of him, so much so that he'd lost his focus on the road, resulting in him having to abruptly swerve to avoid hitting another vehicle. This, of course, resulted in his Range Rover meeting a large metal telephone pole. The scariest part of that night was that Niall didn't feel a thing. There was no adrenaline kicking in, no fight or flight response, his body stayed numb. And even a TMZ headline and a call from Alan Michaels asking what the hell was going on with him couldn't get Niall to care.

The only person that had kept Niall out of hitting full on disaster, Britney Spears circa 2017, was surprisingly- Krystal. She'd saved him a few too many times from being a drunken mess on the red carpet of an awards show. She'd shoved his drunk ass into limousines after their "dates", when Niall had downed tequila shots like they were juice instead of slowly sipping on wine. She'd answered interview questions with a smile, about their relationship, about music, about anything that Niall couldn't find the words to answer.  She didn't know about things with Kelsey, not officially- but somehow she did. He was grateful for Krystal. Saving a heartbroken former boybander from a downward spiral wasn't part of her job.

And here she was again tonight, helping him find his way home after he had a few too many rounds of Guinness at the tour announcement party.

"Basil could have brought me home you know," Niall slurred, his bloodshot eyes meeting Krystal's in the backseat of the Uber. Niall wouldn't admit it, but he was happy that it wasn't Basil driving him home again. He wasn't sure he could deal with another one of Basil's attempts to find out just what exactly was driving his star client to rock bottom.

"I know," Krystal replied, the glitter in her eyeshadow catching in a passing street light. "But I wanted to make sure you got back." She offered Niall a soft smile.

Niall gave her an appreciative nod, then leaned his head back, resting it between the black leather seat and the window. His eyes grew tired, and he closed them in an effort to stop the world from spinning. He'd only passed out a few minutes before he hears Krystal's hushed voice next to him.

"I told you, I can't tonight. I had a prior commitment," she whispered, her tone laced with irritation.

Niall couldn't make out the words being said on the other end of the phone. But from what his altered mind could comprehend, the person on the other and was yelling. He opened his eyes, squinting in attempt to alter the blurred image of Krystal in front of him.

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow, okay? Promise," Krystal paused. Niall watched as her face began to relax once more. "Good night." And with that she hung up the phone, setting it down in her lap and running a hand through her hair while letting out an exasperated sigh.

"That your boyfriend?" Niall slurred. He knew  it was an inappropriate question, him asking about Krystal's love life. He also knew it wasn't  a question he should be asking in front of an Uber driver who may catch on to the fact that Niall is supposed to be Krystal's boyfriend. But the alcohol had made him speak his mind and he couldn't comprehend the consequences.

Krystal turned to look at him. Obviously not aware that Niall had regained consciousness and was listening to her conversation. "I don't know if you could go as far as to say that," she rolled her eyes just a little. "It's complicated."

"Well if you want him to be your boyfriend you should tell him Krystal," Niall said grandly, as if he had just had a genius breakthrough.

Krystal shook her head, "That easy huh?"

Niall got the feeling that Krystal wasn't going to reveal much more information. He wasn't sure if that was because she wasn't in the mood to discuss her love life or if she was trying to shelter his already emotional state from anymore mentions of love. So he loosened the tie around his neck and turned his attention to the road ahead of him, the Los Angeles streets empty at this time of night.

Krystal broke the silence, turning to face Niall again. This time her face is filled with worry. "Don't say anything to Capitol about it will you? I don't think there's anything in my contract about it but, I can't lose this job."

Niall laughed. "You think I'd tell those bastards anything? Your secret's safe with me," he held out his pinky. "Pinky promise."

Krystal gave a small smile, sticking her finger out to meet Niall's he wraps them together. "Don't think you'll remember in the morning anyways," she giggled to herself with a raise of her eyebrow.

"What do you mean, my mind is as clear as an Irish summer day!" Niall feigned astonishment.

"Sir, I seem completely sober to you don't I?" he reached a hand out to tap their driver on the shoulder. Krystal's eyes grow wide with embarrassment. The man, gives him a hesitant nod, which leads to Niall's cackles filling the air. He realizes that it's the first time in weeks he's let out a laugh.

"Sure it is," Krystal responds with a laugh, shaking her head.

When the Uber pulls into Niall's house a few minutes later, Krystal grabbed Niall's arm in an attempt to help him out the car. He stumbled towards the door, letting out an obnoxious thank you towards the Uber driver as Krystal waved him goodbye.

"Let's get you some water," she said as she leads him inside, setting Niall on the couch before making her way towards the kitchen. Niall heard the tap water run from his position, and soon Krystal returns with a glass of fresh water. Niall sat up and took the glass from her hand, bringing it to his lips and drinking the liquid in big gulps.

"Are you okay?" Krystal asked, her voice hesitant as if she wasn't sure she even wanted to ask. There was a look of concern flashing onto to her face, her forehead crinkling in the middle.

The real answer to Krystal's question was a resounding no. Niall wasn't even close to being okay and he didn't know if there was anything that would make him okay again. But even in his less than sober state, Niall wasn't about to speak freely about his inner struggles. Instead, he flashed Krystal a cheeky grin and said, "Just need some water, aspirin and sleep in me and I'll be good as new in the morning love."

"Listen Niall..." Krystal looked down at her fingers. "I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to, but if you ever need someone, I'm here. You shouldn't have to struggle alone."

"Thank you," Niall replied softly. "And thanks for saving me from looking like a hot mess half the time."

Krystal's lips half smile. "That's what friends are for."

A friend. Niall had misjudged Krystal all that time ago. While Kelsey could never see past Krystal as the villain in her love story, Niall had come to see that she was far more than an actress hired to play his girlfriend. She was a person that had Niall's back.

Krystal stood abruptly from the couch, glancing down at her phone. "Uber will be here in five minutes," she muttered more to herself than to Niall. She turned her attention back towards Niall, who was slowly beginning to feel himself crash again. "Get some rest, okay?" Krystal gave Niall's arm a comforting pat, before making her way towards the door.

It was later that week when Krystal called Niall sobbing. He didn't know what came over him; maybe it was the fact that Krystal didn't have anyone else or maybe it was because he was trying to return the favor, but thirty minutes later Krystal was standing on his doorstep, and even in the darkening sunset he can see her red, puffy, make-up-free eyes. 

"Come in," he said, opening the door and letting Krystal in. She stepped inside, sliding off her sneakers on the entry way rug. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know who else to call," she apologized as she followed Niall towards the living room. Krystal sat down, pulling down the sleeves of her crewneck sweatshirt before crossing her arms in front of her.

"Don't apologize, what good of a friend am I if I turn you away in your moment of need?" Niall sat down on the couch next to her, his shoulders just brushing Krystal's.

And so Krystal began to pour her heart out to Niall. She told him about Eric, the minor league baseball player she had been seeing on the side. About how it had all started out as a friends with benefits situation until Krystal started to catch feelings. She told Niall that she'd his drunken advice about simply telling Eric that she wanted him to be more today, and that Eric had promptly kicked her out of his apartment, yelling her for trying to turn some good sex into something more complicated.

And as Krystal cried into Niall's shoulder, her tears turning the blue of his t-shirt into navy, he reached his arm around her and gently rubbed her back. "I'm so stupid," Krystal sobbed. "I should have none that he wouldn't want anything more, but I was just so lonely and he was someone and..." Krystal looked up at Niall, her eyes meeting his. "I'm sorry you're the last one I should be complaining about a broken heart to. I wasn't even with the guy and..."

"Krystal," Niall interrupted her before she can continue. "Look at me." 

She grew quiet, looking up at Niall, her hazel eyes meeting Niall's blue ones. "Stop comparing your heartbreak to anyone else's. If you hurt, you hurt okay? That's not wrong or insensitive. And this guy... well quite honestly, if he couldn't see what a beautiful person you are, inside and out, well that's his problem okay?" He brought his thumb to the corner of her eye, wiping away a stray tear.

Krystal nodded. "You're a good guy Niall," Krystal said softly. "She made a mistake, letting you go."

"They both did," Niall whispered, looking Krystal in the eyes.

He didn't know what came over him. Maybe it was that they were both hurting. Two broken souls in need of something, anything to take the pain away- even if only temporarily. But the sun was shining through the window illuminating Krystal's golden locks, and his eyes have focused on the pink of her lips, and it was like he'd suddenly seen Krystal in a whole new light. And before he could realize what was happening, his lips were on Krystal's and his hands were fumbling with his belt, and he was leading her up the stairs to his bedroom and it all happened so so fast.

When their done, Niall couldn't help but feel like something was eating the inside of his stomach alive. He wasn't sure if it was guilt or pain or fear, but it lingered as he laid there, with Krystal's head on his bare chest, her fingers combing through his hair. For a moment, he imagined he would look down and see her-that chocolate brown hair that always smelled like a hint of lavender. But it's blonde hair sprawled across his torso, and the ache in his chest was still there as strong as ever.

He thought that this would make him feel better. Relieved. That maybe two aching hearts would come together for a moment and not ache anymore. But all he can see is her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she looked when she first woke up in the morning, her hair sticking up on the side. And then Niall thought about what she would think, about him wrapped up in the sheets with the very person who she always feared. The insecurity that haunted their relationship from the moment Kelsey learned about the contract.

Niall wanted to feel some sense of payback. Like him sleeping with Krystal was the eye for an eye of Kelsey breaking his heart. But he didn't feel like he'd won the battle. He just felt like he'd stabbed himself in the chest all over again.

Niall wondered if he should say something. If he should apologize to Krystal for what had clearly been a mistake, a temporary lapse in judgement in the name of emotions. But before he even has time to think of the right words Krystal has jolted upright.

"Oh shit," Krystal muttered, jumping out of the bed. "I always miss that darn alarm, where's my purse." She grabs her t-shirt from the side of the bed and rushes out of the room, and as she leaves, Niall can't help but notice that the pit in his stomach is worse.

Tag List: @awomanindeniall​ , @ihearthemcallingforyou , @niall-is-my-dream​ ,​  @stylishmuser​​ , @thicksniall

#didn't mean to leave you hanging for a month #but we are getting close to the chapters that I have had written for FOREVER #which means quicker updates #please don't hate me too much after this one #voir dire #nh #writingby1dfangirls35 #niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall fanfiction #niall ou #1dff #one direction fanfiction #fake dating ou #secret relationship ou #niall x ofc #NH x ofc

[harrisonarchive]

George Harrison, Friar Park, circa 1990; photo by Terry O'Neill.

George's jukebox at Kinfauns has been explored by the Harrison Archive (and is available as a playlist here), thanks in large part to an article about it, published in the Record Mirror's 1 January 1966 issue.

George's jukeboxes at Friar Park, however, are a little more obscure. The following playlist of songs featured on the jukeboxes and mentioned in some way from 1970 onward is an approximate one only, based on doing some digging into print interviews, audio interviews, and written pieces by family and friends. (The tracks include information previously posted on the Harrison Archive. For - hopefully - easier navigation, I've also bolded the artists -- and tracks known for certain to have been either on the jukeboxes or George's favorites.)

"Stardust" (instrumental) - Hoagy Carmichael "Our son, Dhani, and I, like George’s friends, were spoiled by his rich and loving presence: from the morning wake-up call, which could have been (depending on our location and mood) a morning raga, a Vedic chant, a Mozart concerto, Cab Calloway’s ‘Bugle Call Rag,’ or Hoagy’s earliest instrument version of ‘Stardust'..." - Olivia Harrison [read more]

"Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch)" - The Four Tops "Rescue Me" - Fontella Bass

These tracks receive shoutouts in George's "This Song" (and the Four Tops were Sixties favorites, too, appearing on his Kinfauns jukebox).

"Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea" - Cab Calloway Clearly a favorite by one of his favorite artists, covered by George for Jools Holland's TV show, and also released on his posthumous album Brainwashed.

"When I'm Cleaning Windows" - George Formby "September In The Rain" - Dinah Washington "Dizzy Fingers" - Zez Confrey

George was a member of the George Formby Society (and attended conventions with Olivia and Dhani), and became friends with another attendee, Ray Bernard, who recalled the latter two of the above songs as some of George's favorites. (The Beatles also covered "September In The Rain" for their Decca audition; I'm not sure if George preferred Dinah Washington's version to any other, but its release year is closest to when the Fabs covered it, hence the inclusion on the playlist.)

"A Shine On Your Shoes" - Fred Astaire

Covered by George in a home video shared by the Harrison Family in the Guitar Collection app and the deluxe limited edition of Living In The Material World (and, on 1 February 2020, by Olivia on her Instagram, where she explained that George was playing a Danny Ferrington Keoki ukulele).

"True Love" - Bing Crosby & Grace Kelly

George covered this song as well, for his 1976 album Thirty-Three & 1/3. As Olivia recalled on Dark Horse Radion in 2018: "We'd been watching ‪Bing Crosby‬ and Grace Kelly, watching that movie ['High Society'], and they do a duet, and just that little harmony thing they do, because she wasn’t known as really a singer; he’d play and then we'd sing it." [read more]

"Roll Over Beethoven" - Chuck Berry

A longtime favorite, George covered this with The Beatles, during his 1991 Japan tour, and during his 1992 Natural Law Party concert, where it became the last song he played live onstage at a concert in his lifetime. As George said, "there hasn’t been any rock & roll better than that." [read more]

"Hong Kong Blues" - Hoagy Carmichael

Hoagy Carmichael was a favorite of George's, and he covered this song for his 1981 album Somewhere In England.

"Barnacle Bill the Sailor" - Hoagy Carmichael

A favorite, associated with George by Dhani, and mentioned by Olivia. "He would go up at parties to the DJ and say, ‘I’ve got something really amazing.’ ‘Cause he was who he was, they would listen to him, and then everyone would just be bummed out, it would clear the dance floor. And then he’d come back later - ‘I’ve got something else’ - and he’d put it on again. You know, he would just do this until the DJ was like [exasperated]." - Dhani Harrison, la minute rock, Rolling Stone France, 28 Nov 2017 [read more]

"Midnight Special" - Leadbelly "I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry" - Hank Williams "The Great Pretender" - The Platters "Words Of Love" - Buddy Holly

The songs themselves might not be George's favorites or jukebox selections -- as yet, I haven't found any mention of actual song titles, so these are just personal choices -- but the artist were mentioned by George and Olivia; and "Words Of Love" was obviously a favorite, having been covered by The Beatles, and, according to Mark Lewisohn's Complete Beatles Chronicle research, initially having been sung by George and John.

"The Ying Tong Song" - The Goons "I'm Walking Backwards For Christmas" - The Goons

Both these tracks were mentioned by Olivia as having been on the Friar Park jukeboxes in December 1974.

"The Lumberjack Song" - Monty Python "Spam Song" - Monty Python "Layla" - Eric Clapton

These tracks were mentioned by Eric Idle as having been on George's jukeboxes at Friar Park. "The Lumberjack Song" was of course also performed at the Concert for George.

"Heartbreak Hotel" - Elvis Presley

Eric Idle also recalled early Elvis being on the jukeboxes; and of course, George named the song as his first musical root.

"Blue Suede Shoes" - Carl Perkins "The Bells of Rhymney" - The Byrds

These two Perkins and Byrds songs were mentioned as favorite songs by George in the March 1997 issue of Guitar World.

"Mauna Loa" - Gabby Pahinui

Another artist loved by George, although again, this track choice is just a haphazard personal one, since there doesn't seem to be any public mention of which of Pahinui's songs were George's preferred ones.

"Ooo Baby Baby" - The Miracles "I'll Try Something New" - The Miracles

George absolutely loved The Miracles, and Smokey Robinson specifically, collecting their records, and writing songs in honor of Smokey ("Ooh Baby (You Know That I Love You) -- a nod to the first of the two Miracles tracks listed here -- on the 1975 album Extra Texture, and "Pure Smokey" on the 1976 album Thirty-Three & 1/3). As Olivia has recalled: "We used to sit around singing a lot of Smokey Robinson songs. That kind of sealed our relationship, I think. [George] said, 'You're the only person I've ever known who sang the high note at the end of "I'll Try Something New."'"

“Back On The Chain Gang” - The Pretenders “Brothers In Arms” - Dire Straits “Cold Day In Hell” - Gary Moore

The three tracks by The Pretenders, Dire Straits and Gary Moore were mentioned as favorites by George in the March 1997 issue of Guitar World.

"Long Tall Sally" - Little Richard

George was a Little Richard all his life, as various comments over the years show.

"Tandoori Chicken" - Ronnie Spector "I Am Missing You" - Lakshmi Shankar "Rebel Music" (live) - Bob Marley & The Wailers

Put down on tape during the "Try Some, Buy Some" sessions, "Tandoori Chicken" was an improvised song, as George recalled: "a 12-bar thing done on the spot with Mal our roadie and Joe the chauffeur." For Dark Horse Records, and featuring Lakshmi Shankar, one of [George's] favorite singers," another song for this playlist is "I Am Missing You." The Marley track was chosen from the setlist of the three 1975 Roxy show attended by George and Olivia, recalled by George as "the best thing I've seen in ten years. [...] I could watch The Wailers all night."

"The Rain Song" - Led Zeppelin "Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)" - The Beach Boys

"The Rain Song" was written in response to a comment made by George, and subsequently made it on one of the two jukeboxes. The Beach Boys song was on the jukeboxes, and -- like "The Rain Song" -- played at the wedding of Dhani and Sola, as reported by Vogue in 2012.

"Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours" - Stevie Wonder "Telephone Line" - Electric Light Orchestra "Come On In My Kitchen" - Robert Johnson "When The Levee Breaks" - Memphis Minnie

All four of these artists were mentioned as favorites by George in a 1976 interview. (The titles are arbitrary choices, since the interviewer didn't ask George for any further details. However, Johnson's "Come On In My Kitchen" was covered by George and band during rehearsals for the Concert for Bangladesh.)

"Maria Elena" - Ry Cooder "Concert in B (live in 1963) - Andrés Segovia

Two artists mentioned frequently by George as being favorites (Segovia first in 1963 -- hence the choice of a live piece from that year -- and up through the 1990s). The Cooder track was specifically mentioned by Olivia in the June 2018 issue of Songlines.

"Piano Concert No. 21" - Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Olivia mentioned a Mozart concerto as being something George would play in the mornings as they were starting the day, so this is another random choice of a concerto.

"The Weight" - The Band

The atmosphere of the song inspired the Harrisong "All Things Must Pass," as George recalled in 1987 -- he also named it as a song he admired in that same interview. In a 1974 interview with Capital Radio, George deemed The Band "the best band I've ever seen."

"Farther On Down The Road (You Will Accompany Me)" - Jesse Ed Davis

A Harrisong was given to Jesse by George, and recorded by Jesse before it was released by George himself (but since "Sue Me, Sue You Blues," the song in question, is already on a collaborations playlist....); this Davis selection (written by Jesse and Taj Mahal) was covered live by George and Eric Clapton in December 1978.

"Isn't It A Pity" (cover) - Nina Simone "Backwater Blues" - Big Bill Broonzy "Changes" - Bix 'n' Bing

Nina Simone's cover of the Harrisong "Isn't It A Pity" in turn influenced the mood of another Harrisong; and Dhani recalled listening to Simone, Big Bill Broonzy (who is name-checked in the Harrisong "Wreck Of The Hesperus") and Bix 'n' Bing together with his dad (these tracks are once more personal choices).

"April Kisses" - Eddie Lang

The first song on this playlist, "Stardust," was "one of [George's] favorite songs," as Olivia has recalled; she also named Eddie Lang (though she didn't mention a specific title).

"Kalimankou Denkou" - Le Mystere des voix bulgares

George enthused about this Bulgarian choir in numerous interviews, and introduced this particular song during his interview on Rockline in February 1988.

"Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All" - Ry Cooder

"Later, after a lasagna dinner in his ornately paneled kitchen with his wife Olivia, their son Dhani (just home from his school year at Brown University in the States), and Olivia’s sister, Linda, Harrison takes his visitor upstairs to his Friar Park Studio. Picking up a nearby National dobro from the vast array of vintage guitars hanging from the walls, Harrison slips a glass bottleneck on his finger as he seats himself to strum 'The Farmer Is The Man Who Feeds Us All,' the traditional tune of 1860s America made famous in the 1920s by Fiddlin’ John Carson and later popularized on Ry Cooder’s 1971 'Into The Purple Valley” album as 'Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All.' 'That’s where I first heard the tune,”'says Harrison of Cooder’s interpretation, before he begins to sing: 'The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man/Buys on credit until the fall/Then they take him by the hand/And they lead him from his land/And the merchant he’s the man who gets it all.'" (Billboard, 19 Jun 1999)

"God's Own Drunk" - Lord Buckley

This particular Buckley piece was mentioned by George in a 1979 radio interview promoting his eponymous album, and the song "If You Believe": "Pray, give up, and it all recedes away from you. I don’t know if you… you must have heard Lord Buckley, you know, well, there is a thing he did called 'God’s Own Drunk.' I think it was that. Anyway, it was one of Lord Buckley’s things and he was talking about love. He said: 'Love is like a beautiful garden, you know, when you use it it spreads, but when you don’t -- it recedes.' And it’s true. It’s really that in its simplest form." [read more]

"Free Fallin'" - Tom Petty

As Dhani has said, he can remember "getting advance copies sent to my dad from Tom. He’d be like, 'You want to hear Tom’s new stuff?' And it would be the first time anyone’s heard 'Free Fallin'." (Premier Guitar, Jan 2018)

"Let It Be Me" - The Everly Brothers

Covered by George in a demo version after seeing the Everly Brothers in concert (George's cover appears on Early Takes Vol. 1).

"Clair de Lune" (cover) - Isao Tomita

One of George's favorites, as Olivia has recalled.

"México Lindo y Querido" - Jorge Negrete

Negrete was mentioned as a favorite by George, and Olivia recalled Negrete being on George's jukebox.

"Bugle Call Rag" - Cab Calloway

Recalled by Olivia in her introduction for Harrison, and as George's school wakeup call for Dhani.

"Cool River" - Maria Muldaur "Fear Of Flying" - Charlie Dore

Two more specific songs mentioned or covered by George.

"Sweet Leilani" - Bing Crosby

Mentioned as a favorite of George's by Tom Petty, and by Olivia.

"Every Grain Of Sand" - Bob Dylan

Named as one of George's favorite songs in his June 1999 Billboard interview: "I mean, you tell me one person other than Bob Dylan who has a moral message in a tune that's improved upon Bob's words in his song 'Every Grain of Sand.'"

"Kaliyuga Varadan" & "Ragam Tanam Pallavi" & "Gajavadhana" - U. Srinivas

One of George's favorite artists, as he, Dhani and Olivia have recalled; these three particular tracks were singled out by Olivia in the June 2018 issue of Songlines.

"Raga - Manj Khamaj" - Ravi Shankar "Guru Bandana (Prayer)" - Ali Akbar Khan "Abhogi" - Hariprasad Chaurasia "Kafi Holi (Spring Festival Of Color)" - Ravi Shankar "Enna Thavam" - Papanasam Sivan "Thumri - Mishra Tilang Raga - Addha Taal" - Sultan Khan "You And Me" - Zakir Hussain "Raga Chayya Nat" - Kala Ramnath

The eight selections above are mentioned by Olivia in the June 2018 issue of Songlines.

“México” - Mariachi Sol de Mexico

In 1998, George commissioned José Hernández - founder of Mariachi Sol de México - to translate and arrange the Harrisong "Dark Sweet Lady" in Spanish, as a special version for Olivia. While that recording is understandably a private one, mariachi music seems to have been a favorite of the Harrison family and the Arias family, as it's mentioned as having been played at family events held in California. And: "Last year I brought over a mariachi orchestra [Mariachi Sol de México] and we had a private concert at Friar Park because I got tired of waiting 30 years for someone else to do it. It was my way to let my friends experience that music – which was what George was always trying to do. He wanted people to understand and be moved by the music that he loved." - Olivia Harrison, Songlines, Jun 2018

"Last Thoughts On Woody Guthrie" - Bob Dylan "Bhoop Ghara" - Hariprasad Chaurasia, Shivkumar Sharma, Brij Bhushan Kabra

"George used to always say that if ever you are not feeling right, you should listen to Bob Dylan's 'Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie' and 'Call of the Valley.'" (Olivia Harrison) This track from "Call Of The Valley" was mentioned by Olivia in the June 2018 issue of Songlines: "[it was] something George had on our juke box. We played it as a remedy in our home if you were feeling a certain way. Kabra was one of George’' heroes as a slide guitarist, up there with Ry Cooder."

"Sarve Shaam" - Ravi Shankar

From the 1997 album Chants of India (produced by George), the song was also performed at the Concert for George, and was clearly very special to George, as Olivia remembers: "At the end of his life George said to me that all he could listen to was 'Sarve Shaam.' After all the sounds and sights and tastes you experience over a lifetime, it came down to the purity of 'Sarve Shaam.'"

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